《GearPunks: Heart Of A Machine Golem》


 Chapter 1: Devildog (Part 1)

    Amelia


    Amelia¡¯s footsteps echoed through the grand halls of the Primarian Arc, the polished stone floors reflecting the soft glow of lanterns. The regal architecture loomed above her, but the familiar weight of the locket hidden in her boot anchored her¡ªa reminder of what she had left behind. The black-and-white family portrait flashed in her mind¡ªBolton smiling beside their mother, while her brother Michael, now the King, stood distant, his eyes cold. How many strings had he pulled to set this in motion?


    The Greisha Ceremony had been the final blow¡ªa series of grueling challenges held when a royal turned eighteen. For the victor, it meant honor and a future at court; for the loser, disgrace and exile. The details of the challenges had grown hazy over the past five years, but the sting of failure remained fresh. Stripped of her title, the punishment had been swift, her exile as sudden as a thief in the night. The would-be princess of New Dwarden no longer had a home.


    ¡°I remember falling...¡± Amelia¡¯s thoughts echoed into the dark void, tethering her consciousness to a disorienting pull. ¡°Isn¡¯t death supposed to be a rush of memories? Even fun? At least right before you go.¡± Her mind floundered in a murky expanse. She could feel the sensation of cold, weathered metal beneath her, the world humming with a low mechanical thrum as if it were alive. Darkness surrounded her like coiling mist, tightening its alluring grip with each passing second. Echoes of clinks and clanks grew nearer, resembling the sound of a broken-down carriage, while her body remained paralyzed.


    Suddenly, her mind fought back¡ªWake up!


    "She¡¯s twitchin¡¯! Wake her!" A voice cut through the void, sharp with urgency, like thunder. The voice continued in garbled, unintelligible bursts, fighting through the haze in her mind.


    A peculiar light pierced through the fog, a soft, warm glow enveloping Amelia. The voices became clearer: one familiar but distant, the other metallic and disjointed, as if filtered through static.


    Her senses returned in fragmented pieces. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, her head pounding with a dull, persistent ache. The distant argument grew clearer¡ªa cacophony of voices blending into a surreal harmony. She inhaled, the air thick with the scent of oil and steam.


    "Roy! Get your metallic keister over here!" The voice barked again, closer now. ¡°By the Earth and Sea, you blasted machine, I said make it look real, not rattle her brains out!"


    ¡°Error. Rick. The directive was as follows: Return the MARBLES to her,¡± Roy¡¯s voice droned, each word laced with mechanical precision.


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Rick tried to interject.


    ¡°¡ªUntil her HEAD was right as rain,¡± Roy mimicked back, his tone unwavering.


    Amelia listened to their bickering, the voices cutting through the fog that clouded her thoughts. She could feel her breath returning, shallow and uneven, as though emerging from a long, deep sleep. Her body remained stubbornly unresponsive, her thoughts a muddled mess.


    Amelia¡¯s mind swam as she tried to focus on what was happening around her. She felt their movements more than saw them. Her head spun, but there was an undeniable sense of care in how she was being handled.


    Her vision slowly cleared, and as it did, she saw them¡ªa towering man with a thick mustache and a smaller, metallic figure beside him. She blinked hard to make sense of it.


    ¡°I can confirm Amelia Woltwork is not deceased!¡± said the metallic figure, its glowing eyes fixed on her.


    The name¡ªWoltwork¡ªfelt heavy, a title she had long since tried to shed. She sat up slowly, her limbs feeling like lead. "Just Amelia," she muttered.


    Rick smirked. "Right, ¡®just Amelia.¡¯ Well, you¡¯re lucky to be alive, so let¡¯s skip the formalities and all the pretty words like ¡®how are you¡¯ or¡ª"


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    ¡°Nice to meet you!¡± Roy chimed in, his tone bright.


    ¡°Yes, that too,¡± Rick agreed with a shrug.


    As Amelia regained her senses, a flood of memories rushed forward¡ªher brothers, the life she had fled, the Greisha Ceremony. It felt like a thorn buried in her chest, ever present, never healed. She had once been royalty¡ªthe would-be Crown Princess of New Dwarden¡ªbut that title now felt alien. She had chosen exile in the Conkle Mines, the harsh underground preferable to the suffocating expectations of royalty.


    She touched the locket at her neck, her only connection to her past¡ªa gift from her brother Bolton. The glowing blue gem embedded within it pulsed faintly, as if responding to her thoughts.


    "Confused? Like a playful wolf among stray dogs, eh?" Rick grunted, his voice gruff yet not unkind. He knelt before her, pulling out a small piece of bread from a pouch and handing it to her. "Eat. It''ll help settle your come-to nerves."


    She hesitated but took the bread, biting into it. The familiar crunch and savory flavor reminded her of meals in the royal kitchens. She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    "Name¡¯s Rick. Used to bake all sorts of breads for the royal family. A secret chef," he said, scratching his head. "All back when I had all my blasted limbs. More pressing matters¡ªyou¡¯re now aboard an airship known as the Pappy Long Legs,¡± he continued, his voice softening. "We picked you up right after some monster almost made ya¡¯ dinner. An expensive Crowny dinner."


    The memory of the beast¡ªits curled fangs, it¡¯s throbbing muscular body, the overwhelming terror¡ªflashed through her mind, sending a chill down her spine. She shuddered, her gaze drifting downward as if seeking reassurance. But instead of flesh and bone, her eyes landed on the intricate, spider-like metal appendages where his legs should have been. The gleam of metal caught her off guard, and she followed the line of his limbs, realizing his arms were equally mechanical, glinting in the dim light. She swallowed the last bit of bread, her confusion deepening.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    The ship hummed beneath her, the low, steady thrum of its engines a constant reminder that she was no longer on solid ground. Amelia¡¯s gaze drifted to the porthole¡ªclouds stretched out as far as she could see, and the world below felt impossibly distant. Her thoughts turned inward again¡ªBolton, Michael, the Greisha Ceremony. What kind of people had they become? Were creatures hunting them, even in their homes? And then, the memory of the beast resurfaced¡ªits smoke-blackened mouth, its glowing blue eyes¡ªrelentless and monstrous. Amelia had dubbed it the Devil Dog. It wasn¡¯t just a creature; it was a warning.


    Rick¡¯s mechanical limbs whirred as he moved toward the control panel. "We¡¯re headed for Veranus. It¡¯s a rough place, but it¡¯ll give you time to figure out your next move."


    She nodded absently, though her mind was miles away. She gripped the locket tighter, the faint glow from the blue gem inside pulsing faintly.


    "You ask what happened? You got many questions, I¡¯m sure," Rick said, glancing back at her. "But take it one step at a time. No rush in solvin¡¯ world hunger and peace at the same damn time. Does us both no good." His voice trailed off as he watched Amelia¡¯s body slump, her exhaustion overtaking her. It was clear she was fighting to stay awake but kept losing the battle, succumbing to the overwhelming grogginess that weighed her down.


    As they turned Amelia¡¯s limp form, Roy¡¯s sharp gaze caught something curious nestled in her right boot, peeking through the weathered laces near her ankle. Rick¡¯s eyes followed, and the two exchanged a knowing glance. Their movements became more deliberate, cautious, as they leaned in closer to examine the faint, dwindling blue glow emanating from her boot.


    ¡°Rick. Humans... they generally do not glow, correct? They do not typically possess cores like you,¡± Roy noted with a hint of wonder. ¡°So why does she?¡±


    ¡°Well, my core... my core is like a red-hot one that beats like a piston-driven bongo inside of me,¡± Rick paused, searching for the right words. ¡°But I ain¡¯t runnin¡¯ on blood no more. I run on¡ª¡±


    ¡°A SOUL,¡± Roy interjected firmly.


    ¡°Somethin¡¯ like that, sure,¡± Rick nodded, his expression growing solemn. ¡°But let¡¯s not get lost in the mystics of those who breathe and those who don¡¯t! Check if that¡¯s the glowing locket in her boot. The King was adamant about keeping that thing safe. Unless she¡¯s got a thing for glowin¡¯ rocks, that¡¯s gotta be it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s gold, as the letter described. HIGHLY probable we are correct,¡± Roy concurred.


    ¡°Keep fidgeting with the locket, Roy! I¡¯ll check if her soul ain¡¯t planning to vacate her body anytime soon,¡± Rick instructed.


    Following Rick¡¯s command, Roy carefully examined the source of the ghostly blue glow. Meanwhile, Rick gently opened Amelia¡¯s eyes, his penlight ticking softly as it scanned for signs of brain trauma. His examination paused, however, when something unusual caught his attention¡ªa frog-shaped tattoo just above her right breast. The intricate designs extended toward her neck, its metallic green hue glinting in the light. Intrigued, Rick leaned in closer, his eyes alight with curiosity as he studied the rune-like patterns woven into the ink.

 Chapter 1: Devildog (Part 2)

    ¡°By the dirt under my feet, I had only heard of this mark,¡± Rick remarked, his voice tinged with astonishment.


    ¡°Marks are commonplace among machines. Is Amelia a machine?¡± Roy asked, poking curiously at the side of Amelia¡¯s neck.


    ¡°When the royal triplet babes are born, they¡¯re given this bugaboo weirdo tattoo with ancient writin¡¯,¡± Rick explained, leaning in to closely examine the intricate swirls, sharp curves, and the subtly pulsating glow of the tattoo. ¡°This mark¡ªthis tattoo¡ªis more like an oath. It¡¯s supposed to eat yer¡¯ body whole after only four years old, like a parasite grown from a deal with Yerro,¡± Rick continued, his gaze narrowing. ¡°A deal for power.¡±


    ¡°Rick?¡± Roy asked, his finger inching toward Rick¡¯s throat.


    ¡°What¡¯s that finger hurlin¡¯ towards me for?¡± Rick shot back.


    ¡°You have no mark. No tattoo. It¡¯s not the same. WE are not part of her deal?¡± Roy asked innocently. ¡°Yerro did not grant me your soul. I must ask again¡ªwho did?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. They''re gone,¡± Rick replied, his voice trailing off as he turned away from Amelia. ¡°What¡¯s going on with us¡­ it¡¯s different¡­ I¡¯ve gone and made a one-sided deal. Lucky it¡¯s the side that matters,¡± he muttered, gently pushing Roy¡¯s finger away and redirecting his attention back to Amelia.


    ¡°This tattoo¡­ best believe it lives and breathes with Amelia¡ªat least, that¡¯s the rumor among the Quadrants. If it¡¯s here, she¡¯s fine.¡±


    Amelia could feel the distant thuds and thumps as Rick and Roy paced around her, their voices growing muffled as her focus wavered. No matter how far she drifted in her mind, a strange warmth around her feet kept her anchored to the voices around her.


    ¡°¡­ what¡¯s the extent of that mark, Amelia? Can¡¯t just be liftin¡¯ heavy boulders,¡± Rick wondered aloud, though his voice seemed to drift further away from her.


    ¡°Yerro: A Colossus or Great Spirit responsible for creating the City of New Dwarden upon its death. Like many colossi millennia ago, they are gifts from¡ª¡± Roy began to explain, his voice trailing off as Rick cut him short.


    ¡°Break that crank, Roy! Don¡¯t need that kind of information right now,¡± Rick scolded. ¡°Look at the girl.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t need it?¡± Roy asked, his head lowering in confusion as the light in his eyes dimmed to a softer white.


    ¡°Best understand you¡¯re not just some hodgepodge conveyor belt robot. And best get used to it! You have blood, thoughts, and maybe even some more emotion than me. Don¡¯t act like a block of metal,¡± Rick corrected. ¡°Just gander the damn rock¡ª¡±


    ¡°LOCKET. The locket¡ªas it would appear¡ªcarries within it a picture of the royal family, an embedded blue gem, and a crinkled piece of paper,¡± Roy explained, it¡¯s eyes returning to its usual yellow glow.


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    ¡°The gem, Roy. What¡¯s the expensive rock about?¡± Rick pressed.


    ¡°This gem indeed carries a piece of Yerro¡¯s heart. Its glow is faint; however, this is what King Woltwork warned us about,¡± Roy explained, carefully extracting the locket from within Amelia¡¯s boot.


    Roy delicately picked up the locket, his metallic fingers maneuvering the delicate item with precision. He scrutinized the inscriptions, tiny cogs, and the faded picture of Amelia at its center before turning his attention to the gem. Inside, Roy observed a small piece of shining metal wrapped in tiny moving vines and a pulsating light. Satisfied with the examination, he began to tuck it away, but Rick¡¯s hand swiftly stopped him.


    ¡°Best not be handlin¡¯ that longer than ya¡¯ have to, Roy,¡± Rick cautioned, his voice carrying a note of solemnity. ¡°That¡¯s a precious thing for them. Crownies¡­ they¡¯re different beasts. Among the three, Amelia is said to be the nicer Woltwork. Best leave it until she wants to show us, or until we have to take it¡ªshould it come to that. She may not be our King Woltwork, but she¡¯s got some sense of law, if our emergencies become¡­ more emergent,¡± Rick explained, gently guiding the locket back into Amelia¡¯s boot.


    ¡°Shall I continue my DIRECTIVE?¡± Roy inquired, his metallic voice resonating.


    ¡°Well now that we know that death ain¡¯t hollerin¡¯ her name we can finish scannin¡¯ her,¡± Rick ordered. ¡°I¡¯ll wake her the way my momma used to¡ªwith an iron grip.¡±


    ¡°Command recognized: scan Amelia Woltwork,¡± Roy responded, refocusing on the task at hand.


    ¡°Amelia Woltwork!¡± Rick cheered theatrically. ¡°Younger sister of King Michael and older sister to Bolton. Our royal trio! It is now your turn to feed the hand of the Iron Grip!¡±


    Amelia could feel the heat radiating from the man crouched over her. The scent of oil and freshly baked goods drifted into her nostrils, playful yet stinging. Slowly, she began to stir, feeling the world around her come back to life with faint sensations¡ªgentle pinches, soft prods, and the distant hum of machinery¡ªall working to draw her back into consciousness.


    ¡°You forced my hand, Crowny,¡± Rick taunted, his voice hovering ominously above her.


    Before Amelia could utter a sound, she sensed the man drawing closer. Through a narrow slit of her vision, she caught a blurred image of Rick¡¯s fingers inching toward her nose with mischievous intent.


    ¡°The trick to a good dream,¡± Rick proclaimed, ¡°is that it must be a story worth telling. And a good story always begins with¡­ a dream and a TWIST!¡± He emphasized his point with a purposeful flick and twist of his wrist.


    ¡°Assault!¡± yelped Amelia, jolting awake. ¡°Mugger! Thief! I¡ªI¡­ monster?¡±


    Amelia suddenly sprang to her feet, wobbling as she propelled herself upwards, only to immediately fall back into a sitting position.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the monster? That thing? Why was it trying to eat me?¡± Amelia blurted, her voice smooth and angelic compared to Rick¡¯s gruff tone. ¡°It was just here¡­¡± she panicked, scanning her surroundings before her voice trailed off into exhaustion.


    ¡°Calm down, Crowny! We saved ya! No creatures here,¡± Rick assured her. ¡°We¡¯re the closest thing to a doctor you have right now, and I got my certification at a junkyard.¡±


    ¡°What¡­¡± Amelia muttered, her head spinning from the rush of sensations.


    Rick¡¯s ¡°IRON CLAW¡± grip remained as painful as ever, and Amelia groaned loudly as she fully regained consciousness, the sensation of pain flooding back. Slowly, she blinked her eyes open, the world appearing dim and hazy as she struggled to comprehend her surroundings.


    ¡°Tell me Crowny. Did ya¡¯ always wear a birthmark on your right cheek? How about them green eyes? A tiny bend in the nose? A distinct yet modest jawline?¡± Rick examined her closely, moving at an uncomfortable speed. ¡°Do ya¡¯ prefer the clothing of a Yardrat? Or have you spent your royalties¡­ elsewhere? Moreso, was it necessary to work in those mines all those years? AAAAAAND what happened after your eighteenth birthday? The Greisha Crown Ceremony. Go on, I¡¯ll wait.¡±

 Chapter 1: Devildog (Part 3)

    ¡°I¡ª¡± Amelia tried to respond, but her head was bowing closer to the ground, her thoughts scattering.


    ¡°And that¡¯s how you¡¯ll sound if I let ya. Questions! Questions! Questions! Let¡¯s try and look at this conundrum one screw at a time,¡± Rick interjected, his tone both commanding and oddly comforting.


    ¡°Initiating wellness analysis: Gender: Female. Heart rate: elevated. Potential concussion detected, though no significant wounds present. Height: approximately 1.88 meters. Weight: approximately 75 kilograms. Skeletal and facial structures are consistent with data documented five years ago. Scent detected: body odor and feces, originating from a mix of species¡ªIgnorpa, dog, Crestfish, human, and unknown. Confirmed identity: Amelia Woltwork. Age: 23. New status: alive and healthy,¡± Roy¡¯s metallic voice rang out loudly, the clinical assessment echoing in the small space.


    Rick turned toward Roy, a look of visible disappointment on his face, though a trace of satisfaction flickered in his eyes at the thoroughness of Roy¡¯s analysis.


    ¡°Add pissed to that. You didn¡¯t have to squeeze my nose, you know. Back in the Conkle Mines, pranks like that got you killed¡ªor worse,¡± Amelia grumbled under her breath, her eyes closing as she drifted into a daze once more.


    ¡°Little Crowny, you¡¯re still royalty¡ªnot just some Quadrant Seven Yardrat. I had to check if you were awake or even capable of wakin¡¯ up,¡± Rick replied, a hint of irritation in his voice. ¡°Understand that the jaw we pried you from was one of no return. Ain¡¯t never seen a beast like that,¡± he added, lowering his gaze toward Amelia, who was struggling to even open her eyes all the way, let alone distinguish left from right.


    ¡°I heard everything you and¡­whatever that is next to you were saying! You¡ª¡± Amelia began, trying to gather her thoughts.


    ¡°No, ya¡¯ didn¡¯t! Because if ya¡¯ did, ya¡¯ wouldn¡¯t have yelled ¡®Assault,¡¯ ¡®Thief,¡¯ ¡®Mugger¡¯ as loud as the cosmos would allow,¡± Rick retorted. ¡°Got a kick and ¡®arrest me¡¯ sign somewhere in your Yardrat overalls?¡±


    ¡°No, but I got a knife if I can¡¯t figure your goals in the next ten seconds. I-I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening or who you are. Or¡ª¡± Amelia rambled, her voice trembling as she made a shaky attempt to stand. ¡°Or if I¡¯m even alive or will live for the next five minutes! All I remember is a hole. Some falling. Being eaten¡­ and now my head hurts.¡±


    ¡°Oi! Girl, listen. Tiptoe now, we¡¯ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I would¡¯ve gladly thrown you off my airship two seconds ago if I wanted you dead, but now¡ª¡± Rick attempted to explain.


    ¡°Not advised,¡± Roy added innocently.


    ¡°But now, here¡¯s the mercy: just focus on gettin¡¯ better and not makin¡¯ me or Roy spill steam from a bucket. And I promise I¡¯ll explain everything,¡± Rick continued, brushing off Roy¡¯s interruption.


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Amelia began, her brow furrowing in thought.


    ¡°Little Crowny, stop! I can see the rounds of yer¡¯ eyes spinnin¡¯ like an evenin¡¯ after too much to drink! You¡¯ve barely gathered the strength to see what¡¯s two inches in front of you,¡± Rick added, a mix of concern and admiration in his voice for Amelia¡¯s fighting spirit. ¡°Just take a rest! Fresh yourself over a breath or two! I¡¯ve got bread¡ªfreshly baked¡ªand it¡¯s yours if ya¡¯ make the wise choice and use your rattled brain to wait and listen!¡±


    ¡°Where am I?¡± Amelia¡¯s voice cut through the air, her fingers brushing against her temple in confusion.


    ¡°That¡¯s a better question. Welcome aboard the Pappy Long Legs!¡± Rick announced proudly, his words pulling Amelia from her daze. ¡°Need a tour and a drink? I designed and built this beauty of an airship to be manageable for someone like Roy here, but still accessible for regular folks with two capable arms. I¡¯d bet it¡¯s a vast improvement over the standard and boring New Dwardian Akiyoma¡ªwhatever version they¡¯re on. This ship¡¯s my own.¡±


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    Amelia shook her head gently. ¡°Not necessary.¡±


    Rick¡¯s expression fell slightly. ¡°Too bad. Roy would have loved to show you around. Roy¡¯s more than just an automaton¡ªa creation like no other.¡±


    ¡°This is my primary purpose here, Ms. Amelia,¡± Roy chimed in, his metallic voice tinged with eagerness. ¡°I aim to LEARN and to quote Rick, ¡®have a good time,¡¯ but I am to protect you secondarily.¡±


    ¡°I can do that myself,¡± Amelia replied softly, her attention drawn to the intricate machinery surrounding her. ¡°Are¡­are we still in Quadrant Seven?¡±


    ¡°Yes, just outside your little mineshaft in Little Creek. We¡¯ve been hovering here since your¡­incident,¡± Rick explained, a note of concern creeping into his voice. ¡°Which we¡¯ll clarify once you stop reachin¡¯ for your knife.¡±


    ¡°If we meant harm, I have a practical function in my chest that could incinerate¡ª¡± Roy began, his concern palpable.


    ¡°Roy!¡± Rick interrupted quickly. ¡°Roy was built with the body of a repurposed mining bot. Once you¡¯re fully bright and shining, you¡¯ll see he¡¯s quite harmless despite his appearance,¡± he explained, gesturing for Roy to retract the sharp objects slowly emerging from his body.


    After a moment of hesitation and a scornful look, Amelia reluctantly agreed. With a deep breath, she released her grip on her knife, letting it clatter to the floor. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against a metallic fence nearby, drawn to the comforting scent of distant, freshly baked bread. With a weary sigh, she tucked her knees to her chest and stared distantly at the metallic orange of the ground.


    ¡°Get the damn girl some bread, Roy,¡± Rick instructed, and Roy moved in perfect unison, their voices blending seamlessly in the air.


    ¡°Roy, I¡¯m¡­somewhat impressed with your initiative,¡± Rick sighed. ¡°But mimicry doesn¡¯t always equal flattery! Like looking in a mirror isn¡¯t always excitin¡¯. Right? Sometimes, too much bread goes right to the hammies,¡± Rick warned almost frantically.


    ¡°I see. Does a HUMAN heart allow the metal in my body to gain weight?¡± Roy inquired with a touch of curiosity.


    ¡°Yes! But only in places you can¡¯t see,¡± Rick replied in a rush. ¡°Never mind that now! Roy, finish fetchin¡¯ me some Morsha bread from the hatches and help me wake the girl¡¯s senses¡ªand ease my travelin¡¯ stomach.¡±


    Amelia curled up against the fence behind her. She looked down at her ankles and saw scuff marks, scratches, and two patched-up gashes. Her hands, once blurred, came into focus¡ªdirty, riddled with dried blood, and covered in strange ash-like dust.


    ¡°What happened to me? And why do you smell familiar? I can¡¯t see you quite yet, but¡­¡± questioned Amelia, her voice tinged with uncertainty, as if an authority figure had just reprimanded her.


    ¡°Calm your mind. Focus on breathing. I¡¯ll do the rest,¡± Rick responded gently.


    ¡°You get eaten, almost killed, then kidnapped! Then tell me to calm down!¡± Amelia raged, her chest heaving as panic set in. ¡°Until a couple of seconds ago, I couldn¡¯t even see my hands!¡± Her voice wavered with the onset of tears.


    ¡°The name¡¯s Rick. I¡¯m a damn good baker, an engineer, and now an airship pilot! Not just any airship pilot, but the pilot of the Pappy Long Legs! That combination is uniquely mine while Roy, well¡­, better you see him then meet just open my mouth.¡± Explained Rick.


    ¡°You might find it surprising, but according to Rick, ¡®I am not HUMAN, but uniquely human,¡¯¡± Roy remarked, his tone almost contemplative. ¡°You¡¯ll see what he means once you¡¯re more awake.¡±


    ¡°Right you are, metal man,¡± Rick chimed in with a hint of playful agreement. ¡°Anyway, I used to cook for you and your brothers when you were young Crownies. Things looked a bit different back then¡ªno mustache, fewer metal limbs, and¡­well¡­I didn¡¯t have this blasted affliction. As Roy said, you¡¯ll understand once your sight clears up,¡± Rick explained, his voice tinged with nostalgia.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ but I don¡¯t know a Rick,¡± Amelia confessed softly. ¡°Or a Roy. Never did.¡±


    ¡°Then you damn well know Tammersmith,¡± Rick replied, his voice carrying a note of certainty.


    Amelia¡¯s eyes flew open as if waking from a deep slumber, the sudden realization hitting her. To Rick¡¯s surprise, she leaped up from the ground with a burst of energy, landing in a shaky crouch.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ You¡¯re Tammersmith!? From the Primarian Royale! The capital! But¡­ how¡­?¡± Amelia stammered in disbelief. ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be here! You¡¯re not supposed to be talking to me, looking at me, caring for me! You¡­ you¡¯re¡­ changed?¡± she added, her emotions swirling. ¡°What affliction!?¡±


    ¡°Could ya¡¯ have picked a better word?¡± Rick retorted teasingly. ¡°Disabled is one of ¡¯em that goes around.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± Amelia sighed, at a loss for words. ¡°Wha¡ªwhat happened?¡±

 Chapter 1: Devildog (Part 4)

    ¡°They call it Soul Rot. Didn¡¯t do good on my end with a spirit-binding contract. These rules¡­for things that are beyond our understandin¡¯, they¡¯re as rough and unforgiving as those metal Clinkers in the inner quadrants. No if¡¯s or ands. Just hasn¡¯t taken me yet¡­¡± Rick added with a somber smile. ¡°Besides, Rick¡¯s the name I took when this wretched rot left me lookin¡¯ like a melted sack o¡¯ flesh. Ain¡¯t no one gonna believe I¡¯m a Tammersmith now, not with a face like a piece of gum in the sun. People don¡¯t need to know what used to be... And since I last saw ya¡¯, it¡¯s gotten to my arms and legs already.¡±


    ¡°I felt you moving around me¡­ w-with no legs?¡± Amelia stuttered, bewildered. ¡°No arms either?¡±


    ¡°Innovation! Best seen, not explained,¡± Rick replied with a grin. ¡°Now sit back, rub your eyes for a bit, and take a gander at what¡¯s ahead. You¡¯ll have to get used to a lot of change soon,¡± he added gently. ¡°Your brother, the King, made sure of that. But don¡¯t worry about me¡ªI¡¯ve got Roy.¡±


    Amelia took a moment to collect herself, the absurdity of her situation weighing heavily on her. Summoning her resolve, she clenched her fists and slowly rose to her feet. Despite the lingering sense of unease, her curiosity won out. Gradually, her surroundings began to sharpen from their blurred state, revealing a massive, jagged circular platform. It was covered in an array of intricate knobs, levers weathered from use, and coiled rails twisting like metal serpents. Around her, consoles of all sizes blinked and hummed, offering a glimpse into the mysteries of the strange vessel she had awakened on.


    ¡°So¡­ airships aren¡¯t too different from waterships, huh?¡± Amelia remarked, a hint of excitement in her voice. ¡°I-I¡¯ve never been on an airship before!¡± she added, her eyes lighting up with sudden wonder.


    ¡°You mean a boat?¡± Rick chuckled. ¡°And yes! Since your time away from the capital, New Dwarden¡¯s perfected the airship¡ªAkiyoma style, but I have to argue and will continue to argue that mine¡¯s a step above. Each of the thirteen quadrants have their own version of what they consider ¡®perfect¡¯, and well¡­ from what I can see those airships just don¡¯t explode as much anymore. Oh, and they have bigger cannons,¡± he boasted, the wind gusting into the cockpit as he stood tall. ¡°See! If ya¡¯ had stabbed me, ya¡¯ wouldn¡¯t have seen any of this!¡±


    Before Amelia could respond, Rick shoved a piece of his famous Morsha bread into her mouth. The sudden yet familiar crunch was enough to bring her back to years long past, filling her with crunchy, flaky, nostalgia. She devoured the bread eagerly, savoring the memories it evoked and the delicious flavor that danced on her tongue. For a brief moment, she forgot about the danger and strangeness of her situation, lost in the warmth of something warm and familiar.


    ¡°What do you think, Amelia? Just like ya¡¯ remember?¡± Rick asked with a large grin.


    Amelia raised her eyes to meet his for the first time in what felt like decades. Standing before her was a stout man with four metallic limbs¡ªspider-like, yet fluid and precise. His cartoonishly large mustache sat above a crinkly red nose, and his wide brown eyes peered out from behind round spectacles perched precariously on his face. The scent of machine oil and freshly baked goods clung to his overalls, a curious mix that somehow suited him. Despite the heavy wrinkles lining his face, Amelia wasn¡¯t fazed. To her, Rick was just another person who¡¯d had a hard lot in life¡ªmuch like the Yardrats she¡¯d worked with in the Conkle Mines.


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    ¡°I¡¯m calling you Tammersmith... I don¡¯t like Rick,¡± Amelia chuckled. ¡°Seems silly to deny yourself a history.¡±


    ¡°Could say the same to you,¡± Rick teased. ¡°But respect¡ª¡±


    ¡°Look,¡± Amelia sighed, a fresh piece of Morsha bread hanging from her lip, ¡°I¡¯ll call you Rick,¡± she conceded between bites, ¡°but I don¡¯t like it. You¡¯re no uglier than the Yardrats down at the mines.¡±


    ¡°And you¡ªstart chewin¡¯ with your mouth closed, and you¡¯ll be half as ugly! Plus, ya¡¯ won¡¯t choke,¡± Rick shot back, accepting her remark with a grin. ¡°My great auntie choked on a piece of Cerulean silk meat after too much mead. Wasn¡¯t a pretty sight.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true! Meat-based organisms have LIMITED storage in their orifices¡­ err¡­ holes,¡± Roy chimed in from across the platform, his voice echoing awkwardly in the metallic expanse.


    ¡°Ah, yes¡­ something better left unsaid, Roy,¡± Rick remarked with a sudden frown.


    Amelia couldn¡¯t help but laugh, a grimace crossing her face as the memories continued to flood back. She felt an odd mixture of raw emotion, the bread stirring something deep within her.


    ¡°The Greisha Ceremony¡­ I¡¯m not supposed to make contact with anyone from the capital. I¡ª¡± Amelia started to say before trailing off, her voice growing distant. ¡°Silly rule.¡±


    ¡°Best not to dwell on it. There are things in this world we can¡¯t even begin to understand,¡± Rick warned.


    ¡°You sound like them,¡± Amelia muttered, her mouth still full of bread.


    ¡°And you? Who or whaddya¡¯ ya¡¯ sound like?¡± Rick asked, raising a brow.


    ¡°Does it matter anymore?¡± Amelia sighed. ¡°I was attacked by some monster. Taken aboard this airship. Now I¡¯m sure the capital wants to hang me for some stupid rule I didn¡¯t even know I broke¡ªand you¡¯re my polite executioner,¡± she ranted.


    ¡°You¡¯re quick to line the axe to your neck, Crowny,¡± Rick replied, moving closer to her. His metallic limbs navigated the wires and consoles with eerie precision. ¡°Here¡¯s the secret to good bread,¡± he said with a chuckle, ¡°is that it gets you to shut up long enough to listen. So please, do that, and everything else will become clear.¡±


    ¡°Gracefully said, Rick,¡± Amelia teased, her voice laced with sarcasm. ¡°So why am I here? How¡¯d I survive?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re on a mission ¡®ordained by your older brother¡¯, King Woltwork,¡± Rick explained, his voice turning serious. ¡°Something unknown tried to bury ya¡¯. It ain¡¯t public knowledge yet, but I believe your brother foresaw this monster comin¡¯ for you¡ªat least to some extent. The ¡®why¡¯ isn¡¯t our concern right now. ¡®When¡¯ is the real question¡ªand that monster will come, make no mistake. As for ho-¡±


    Amelia suddenly began to walk slowly toward Rick, pulling the locket from her boot and opening it to reveal a black-and-white family portrait. She stared at it for a moment before turning it toward Rick, pointing at the image with a mix of frustration and sadness.


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me the same brother who pushed for us to be kicked out of the Capital¡ªQuadrant Zero¡ªis now looking out for us? The same man who showed no mercy during the Greisha Ceremony?¡± Amelia asked, her voice filled with doubt. ¡°The one who sent Bolton to fend for himself?¡±


    ¡°Games not fair but your family plays by different rules, Amelia. Invisible strings guide those with power. You¡¯ll figure it soon enough,¡± Rick replied, his voice softening. ¡°Your brother knows of your time in the Conkle Mines. He knows how they¡¯ve been treatin¡¯ ya¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Like family?¡± Amelia interjected bitterly.


    ¡°Like family,¡± Rick agreed, gently urging her to put the locket back into her pocket.


    As their conversation continued, Roy approached Amelia with a mechanical flower in hand¡ªcrafted from scraps of metal and wire. Amelia eyed the automaton warily, her hand instinctively reaching for her knife once more.

 Chapter 1: Devildog (Part 5)

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are¡­¡± Amelia muttered, stepping back defensively.


    ¡°Then allow me,¡± Rick interjected, swiftly grabbing the metallic flower and tucking it into Amelia¡¯s front pocket. ¡°He¡¯s the reason you¡¯re alive.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a weapon?¡± Amelia asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.


    ¡°He¡¯s my¡­ son. Now take a good look,¡± Rick replied, his tone defensive but resolute.


    Amelia hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she examined Roy. She swallowed her pride and reluctantly slipped the knife back into the front pocket of her overalls. Her gaze traveled up and down Roy¡¯s form, noting how his mannerisms were more human than machine. His body was squared yet sleek, with a rustic, makeshift appearance. His head seemed to be fashioned from repurposed headlights, while his mouth opened and closed like any other living creature, though it lacked lips. Roy was relatively tall, with mobile fingertips, rustling toes, and stiff yet expressive eyebrows. The metallic jingles and creaks of his exaggerated movements were reminiscent of a standard mining bot down in Quadrant Seven''s famous Conkle Mines.


    ¡°I have many questions,¡± Amelia admitted, a hint of disbelief in her voice. ¡°Yerro¡¯s grace¡­ What have you done, Rick?¡±


    Before Rick could respond, Roy stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of Rick. He raised a hand toward Amelia and pointed above her head, gesturing toward the vast sky behind her.


    ¡°Our mission now is to meet with Bolton and his guardian soon. All will be explained,¡± Roy stated calmly.


    Rick moved gracefully to Roy¡¯s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at Roy with concern before turning his attention back to Amelia.


    ¡°Listen to Roy. For now, the story is that you were some monster¡¯s expensive snack. Locals thought you¡¯d brought this creature to Little Creek, as it allegedly whispered your name¡ª¡®Amelia¡¯¡ªwhile it wreaked havoc. Best lean into the lie and have them assume you were eaten,¡± Rick advised, his tone serious.


    ¡°What kind of creature whispers names? Worse, my name? Local hogwash,¡± Amelia challenged, her skepticism evident.


    ¡°I verified it myself,¡± Rick replied, pointing to his ears with a metallic finger. ¡°Listen, I ain¡¯t done. The locals would¡¯ve hanged ya if we hadn¡¯t found you collapsed on the ground. They were the bigger danger, disgruntled over their destroyed shops, farms, and whatnot. Worse yet, the creature hadn¡¯t eaten you and ran off, leaving the blame on you. Roy had to give your noggin a tap to prove we were there to ¡®arrest you¡¯. He put on a show that was a bit too convincing but also scared off the remaining anger with some well-placed weaponry. Honestly, you were starting to come to, and¡­ we didn¡¯t need that just yet,¡± Rick explained, his voice tinged with guilt.


    ¡°According to Rick, you needed MARBLES,¡± Roy added innocently.


    ¡°Ah, yes¡­ that explains the searing headache I¡¯ve got,¡± Amelia replied sarcastically, her hand playfully reaching for the knife in her pocket. ¡°What¡¯s this mission, then?¡± she demanded, pointing the knife at Roy before putting it away.


    ¡°Listen, Crowny! We did what we had to,¡± Rick said with a nervous laugh, eager to change the subject. ¡°Now, if you please, let¡¯s move on. It¡¯s in the past.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s in the past,¡± Amelia mimicked with an exaggerated southern twang. ¡°Attempted murder can¡¯t just be ¡®in the past¡¯. This has to be connected to some royal dogwater.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit,¡± Roy chimed in from beside Amelia.


    ¡°Yes, bullshit!¡± Amelia agreed, winking at Roy in approval.


    ¡°And now you¡¯ve come to what? Save me? With your son as a robot? On an airship more expensive than a whole Quadrant? Did New Dwarden fund this?¡± Amelia blurted, her brow furrowed in confusion. ¡°Ah, forget it¡­ I have too many questions, Rick,¡± she added, clutching her head in frustration.


    Amelia looked from Rick to Roy, then back to Rick. She examined the cuts and bruises scattered across her body. The white shirt she had worn under her overalls was now tattered, and her boots were scorched and covered in ash. She turned to Roy once more, noticing the angular notches and sockets in his frame that seemed ready to house some built-in rifle.


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    ¡°I¡¯m supposed to trust this living weapon. I¡ª¡±


    ¡°I already told ya! He ain¡¯t no weapon!¡± Rick interrupted, his voice rising in anger. He shuffled to Amelia¡¯s side, his metallic limbs springing to life like a spider darting toward its prey, stopping just short of her.


    ¡°He¡¯s not a weapon¡­¡± Rick continued softly. ¡°Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ more to know about my son than¡­,¡± Rick sighed, ¡°than a powerful spirit holds my soul with some spooky quill written in bleeding ink. Can¡¯t die without Roy, and he can¡¯t live without me. Once Roy completes his repairs, I die. He lives. That¡¯s the deal,¡± Rick explained solemnly.


    ¡°Who or what allowed such a condition to occur? Contracts with spirits are strictly regulated,¡± Amelia inquired, her voice tinged with concern. ¡°Hardly ever possible without the signing of¡­,¡± Amelia trailed off as she saw the sadness unfold behind Rick¡¯s furrowed brows. ¡°Dammit, I¡¯m sorry, Rick. I¡¯m just upset.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t sign a spirit contract without a King or a vessel of Yerro. There are ways to break the rules,¡± Rick interjected. ¡°One must simply be desperate enough to find it¡ªor have a method find you.¡±


    ¡°I thought rules regarding spirits were absolute?¡± Amelia replied, pacing around Rick in disbelief. ¡°If I¡¯d known, I would¡¯ve gone back to Quadrant Zero myself. I would¡¯ve confronted the King and given my brother a piece of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Look at me, Amelia! Rules are damn well there to follow, but they aren¡¯t there to force your thoughts! You cursed the Greisha ceremony only minutes ago, which leads me to believe you understand how ridiculous rules can be. I chose not to follow, and I¡¯ve paid the price,¡± Rick retorted, his tone edged with frustration. ¡°By the green and gold, this conversation is meant for another time! The consequences of breaking these contracts are uncharted and beyond terrifying.¡±


    ¡°Fine. Roy, would you do me the favor of logging a reminder to have this conversation again?¡± Amelia asked with a touch of sass.


    ¡°CONVERSATION logged,¡± Roy responded dutifully.


    ¡°How¡¯d you know he can do that?¡± Rick asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.


    ¡°Mining automaton parts. I¡¯ve got experience aplenty,¡± Amelia replied matter-of-factly, inadvertently dissipating some of the tension between her and Rick.


    ¡°Anyway, new game. New rules. I know we aren¡¯t hovering our noses over a round table, but ya¡¯ need to listen to what I have to say. So if ya¡¯ keep talkin¡¯, I¡¯ll just keep shoveling bread down the yappin¡¯ hatch,¡± Rick threatened lightheartedly.


    Amelia sighed deeply and reluctantly chewed on another piece of comforting Morsha bread. She walked toward a small stool next to a console in the ship¡¯s cockpit, determined not to let even a crumb escape as she gnawed on the bread.


    The scent of burning oil and fresh bread continued to trigger memories of her late father¡¯s tales. As Amelia chewed, she recalled how her father had mentioned Rick¡ªTammersmith at the time¡ªas the elusive ¡°Baker¡¯s Wrench,¡± a uniquely talented member of the esteemed Primarian Hammers. This select group was entrusted with maintaining the Primarian Royale, a monumental structure located between Quadrant One and Two where royalty resided and laws were crafted. Her father emphasized the importance of their duties daily¡ªeven if, at the time, Amelia didn¡¯t quite understand their roles.


    Rick, among them, oversaw the creation, care, and dismantling of specialized machinery. Their responsibilities extended to attending New Dwarden¡¯s beating heart: the infamous Yerro¡¯s Heart, the only living essence of Yerro the Golem, and the lifeblood of the city¡¯s energy reserves.


    ¡°Quit starin¡¯!¡± Rick shouted, breaking the heavy silence. ¡°Just eat your bread.¡±


    Rick pulled up another stool next to Amelia and began chewing on a piece of Morsha bread from the basket atop the ship¡¯s main console.


    ¡°I remember,¡± Amelia muttered between bites of bread. ¡°You repair Yerro. Top secret, right?¡±


    ¡°Lil¡¯ Crowny, I¡¯m one of the few Primarian Hammers,¡± Rick replied solemnly.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the rest?¡± Amelia asked, finishing her bread.


    ¡°Seeing to an emergency. If¡­ they¡¯re still alive,¡± Rick admitted, bowing his head in thought. ¡°There¡¯s a reason I¡¯m gawkin¡¯ here with you and not at the Primarian Royale with your Kingly brother.¡±


    ¡°Got a question?¡± Amelia asked quickly, sensing something deeper. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard a lick of news about any catastrophe. Just the usual pirate and monster attacks. Heinous as they are, where¡¯s this emergency?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not so sure yet,¡± Roy added, his voice cutting through the tension. ¡°But that creature that attacked you is the best lead we¡¯ve got. Plus, there are¡­ let¡¯s say, discussions¡­ about who¡¯s rubbing whose metal.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like that euphemism,¡± Amelia quipped, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re not going to like what¡¯s behind it either,¡± Rick admitted, a shadow crossing his face. ¡°That monster that attacked you might just be the beginning.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we can lean away from ancient cryptic talk and tell me things as they are,¡± Amelia suggested, her tone firm.


    ¡°Okay. How¡¯s this, Crowny? Monster attacks. We don¡¯t know why. Betrayal among the Quadrant Leaders and maybe even Yerro itself. The King¡¯s holding his cards close, so even I don¡¯t know all the details,¡± Rick remarked, his voice heavy with concern.


    ¡°Down in the Conkle Mines¡­¡± Amelia began again, reaching for another piece of Morsha bread that dangled from one of Rick¡¯s claws, ¡°¡­we saw monsters. Unusually large monsters. Some of them were ghost-like¡­ and others¡­¡± She continued, chewing thoughtfully, ¡°¡­others were just bigger, nastier versions of creatures that live there. But none like the one that attacked me.¡±

 Chapter 1: Devildog (Part 6)

    ¡°Gotta admit, you Woltworks have a mindless appetite for chaos,¡± Rick chuckled, his gaze lifting toward Amelia as if he had just stumbled upon a warm memory. ¡°No wonder you took to chewin¡¯ on Quadrant Seven''s minin¡¯ life. Outta¡¯ all the rockwork, Conkle¡¯s the worst there is. There¡¯s a reason you Yardrats are local heroes and not just another batch of black-lunged workers.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know Bolton or Michael the way I do. I¡¯m the best of the three!¡± Amelia declared, a smile tugging at her lips as her voice echoed through the chamber with a hint of incredulity. ¡°I don¡¯t have a throne to sit on, but¡­ I fend for myself. Despite the creatures¡ªmonsters, whatever¡ªthe Yardrats take care of each other. I might not be the strongest, but I make up for it by being crafty. If Bolton had gotten lucky after the Greisha Ceremony, maybe he¡¯d be one too.¡±


    Her gaze wandered into the distance, lost in contemplation. ¡°That stupid ceremony¡­ the stupid Greisha Ceremony,¡± she murmured, her words heavy with frustration. ¡°Shoves us out of the capital at eighteen, only to float by while one of us gets to be King and the others get hunted by monsters for the rest of their lives. Should¡¯ve read the fine print that never existed.¡±


    ¡°Or Queen,¡± Rick interjected, his tone gentle and reassuring.


    Amelia¡¯s eyes gleamed with introspection as she continued, ¡°Because of some spirit-binding contract, all royalty is born with a twin. Sometimes a triplet. Doesn¡¯t matter, though. People don¡¯t tend to remember anyone without a crown.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t need a crown to be remembered. I hear Yardrats are notoriously rude. Considerin¡¯ their job, they¡¯ve got more grit and spirit than most,¡± Rick remarked with an affectionate grin. ¡°Notoriety can¡¯t be ignored. Ask the other Hammers.¡±


    Amelia laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep within. ¡°And you? You¡¯ve been responsible for almost every large-scale incident¡ªand I quote ¡®incident¡¯¡ªwe¡¯ve had at the capital,¡± she retorted, barely suppressing her laughter. ¡°I can remember that detail even from when I was eight years old!¡±


    ¡°Crowny, I¡¯m an inventor! There are steps to the inevitability of success! Very doughy, snappy, golden, meticulous steps,¡± Rick explained with a chuckle.


    ¡°Old man, are we still talking about inventing?¡± Amelia teased.


    ¡°NO,¡± interjected Roy from afar, his voice cutting through their banter.


    A strange wedge of silence settled between them, broken only by the wind whistling through the massive swirling fans that kept the airship aloft. Amelia¡¯s smile faded into a more thoughtful expression as memories of her life in New Dwarden¡¯s capital flooded back. Rick noticed her eyes glistening with unshed tears, lost in thought. He leaned against a waist-high metallic barricade beside her, ready to offer comfort.


    ¡°Tammer¡ªah, Rick¡­¡± Amelia sighed, her voice tinged with weariness. ¡°I appreciate the bread.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what else to do,¡± Rick replied with a sympathetic smirk. ¡°I think life¡¯s gonna change for both of us soon. Whether we suck the spoon or spill it.¡±


    ¡°Seems serious enough,¡± Amelia said, slipping another piece of bread into her overall pocket. ¡°Tradition, contracts, houses¡­ all just rules with different names.¡±


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    ¡°Rules are usually there because some bloke took the time to smell the air and didn¡¯t want to shit in it,¡± Rick mused as he wandered deeper into the mechanical heart of the cockpit. ¡°But truth be told, they¡¯re broken for the same reason too!¡±


    ¡°Are you suggesting I break the rules?¡± Amelia teased, her tone lightening.


    ¡°What was that!?¡± Rick shouted, his attention abruptly snapping to the control panels.


    ¡°Nothing!¡± Amelia replied, leaning on the same barricade Rick had just vacated, the wind tousling her hair.


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Rick muttered dismissively as he brushed off Amelia¡¯s smug smile. ¡°Keep your fat noggin¡¯ busy! I need to set our course. Go look around! Take a breath of that borrowed time you and I¡¯ve come to be so lucky to have.¡±


    ¡°And where might this next destination be, royal kidnapper?¡± Amelia asked, approaching the cockpit with a hint of curiosity.


    ¡°To Veranos! A miracle city in the sky, just outside of New Dwarden,¡± Rick proclaimed, his voice carrying through the air. ¡°Your younger brother¡¯s done a better job than we have in capturing the thing that attacked you. Whether you choose to come with us or stay in those blackened mines, we¡¯re likely to meet more of those creatures gunnin¡¯ for a royal snack! Doesn¡¯t take much imagination to figure that situation out. I suggest you at least give this new nomadic life a try,¡± he shouted from deep within the lantern-lit cockpit. ¡°Oh, and do take a moment to look around. Ya might have to cozy up a bit.¡±


    ¡°Rick!? What am I supposed to say to my boys below? That I quit?¡± Amelia¡¯s frustration carried over the roaring wind.


    ¡°I told the local scrapper you¡¯re under arrest. Maybe I should¡¯ve said you died,¡± Rick replied sternly.


    ¡°Rick!?¡± Amelia exclaimed in disbelief, stepping toward him anxiously.


    ¡°Relax! You¡¯re in my custody. Your job¡¯s legally waiting until you return. So buckle up!¡± Rick¡¯s voice echoed from afar as he busied himself with various levers and contraptions. ¡°Besides, the damage that creature caused won¡¯t be forgotten anytime soon.¡±


    Amelia paused, taking a moment to absorb her surroundings, her breath escaping in a relieved sigh. Rick¡¯s words echoed in her mind, providing a strange comfort amidst the uncertainty. With a few grunts and effort, she pushed herself away from the waist-high swinging wooden door of the cockpit, turning her gaze toward the expanse of the ship before her.


    Her spirit stirred with anticipation as she surveyed the Pappy Long Legs. Multiple masts reached toward the heavens, colorful flags fluttering in the wind. Giant fans, moist from clouds, hummed rhythmically. Wood and metal intertwined in a symphony of craftsmanship, each component contributing to the ship¡¯s formidable presence. It was a marvel of engineering, its design reminiscent of familiar machines and tools yet transformed into something entirely new. As Amelia marveled at its intricacies, the weight of her worries momentarily lifted, replaced by a sense of awe and excitement for the adventure ahead aboard this extraordinary vessel.


    Amelia moved swiftly across the deck, her eyes darting to every corner of the ship. She first glanced at the giant rotating cogs that lined the ship¡¯s exterior, their rhythmic movements hypnotic and precise. Then she tilted her head toward the numerous plump pipes bursting with hot steam, blasting into the air like a giant organ.


    The sight and sound of so many moving parts and wiggling mechanical bits filled the atmosphere with palpable energy, creating a symphony of industrial ambiance that set Amelia¡¯s senses on edge.


    ¡°Spent too much time underground¡­¡± Amelia mused aloud, excitement bubbling up within her.


    She paused, taking a deep breath to steady herself as she shuffled toward the thick metallic railing encircling the airship. With a hopeful glance downward, she leaned over the railing, her gaze fixed on the world stretching below. And for a timeless moment, she was lost in the vast expanse of the horizon, the weight of her worries forgotten amidst the awe-inspiring panorama.

 Chapter 1: Devildog (Part 7)

    Amelia gazed down at the airship''s lower decks, marveling at the intricate machinery on each level. Though she recognized the basic layout, it felt as if Rick had crafted its inner workings with the complexity of a living organism. It was like being lost in an enchanted labyrinth of gears and cogs, each piece humming with life.


    The first platform, situated on the airship''s lowermost level, appeared dedicated to navigation. An assortment of levers, knobs, buttons, and peculiar makeshift pulleys adorned its surface. In contrast, the second level resembled an artist''s canvas, where the inner mechanisms of the machine seamlessly blended into what could only be described as a potential living space. Gleaming golden pipes, intricately crafted woods, hand-carved furniture, and even the glint of a luxurious hot tub caught Amelia''s eye through the glass panels under her feet.


    "Rick! You have a hot tub?! In the air!?" Amelia exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement. "Unheard of!"


    She quickly leaned over another barricade, peeking toward the Pappy Long Legs¡¯ last level. Squinting at the ship''s swirling bow, she tried to decipher its purpose, guessing it served as the airship''s engine compartment¡ªa mysterious clockwork heart hidden from view.


    Minutes passed as the airship soared toward the clouds, casting a vast shadow over the fields below. Amelia watched the ship hover above the green stretches of grass, endless crops, and stone houses dotting the hilly horizons of Quadrant Seven. The Pappy Long Legs offered her a reintroduction to the wider world beyond the Conkle Mines, back toward the famous cities of steam. Lost in the view, she barely noticed an hour had passed until Rick found her gazing into the distance.


    ¡°Watch yourself, Crowny. Dangle that noggin¡¯ any further, and you¡¯ll meet the harshness of gravity quicker than you can blurt locket in a boot,¡± Rick cautioned, his voice light but firm.


    ¡°Ah yes, gravity and I are as acquainted as you are with bread,¡± Amelia quipped, breaking the awkward silence with a grin. ¡°Obviously, I couldn¡¯t hide much from you.¡±


    Rick nodded, smiling before maneuvering his spider-like legs next to her. He examined her for any wounds Roy might have missed, then joined her in peering over the railing, watching as the warm sunset began to paint the sky.


    "Best we start talkin¡¯, isn¡¯t it?" Rick suggested, gesturing to a cluttered table where tools and various machine parts were waiting. ¡°Last step before we go. Roy¡¯s going to put in the final coordinates and set up fuel for the journey. Sit down, and take a breath. We¡¯ve only a moment longer before we blast through the clouds again.¡±


    ¡°Flying. We¡¯re really flying,¡± Amelia said, her voice filled with disbelief and wonder.


    ¡°How else are we going to reach the city that floats in the sky?¡± Rick replied, gesturing toward a nearby wooden table. ¡°Come, sit.¡±


    Amelia eagerly nodded and made her way to the table, darting past a catwalk with determined steps. She swiftly settled onto a tall stool, firmly bolted to the ground.


    Rick was close behind. Upon reaching the table, he retrieved a blocky remote from his coat pocket. With a flick of a switch, his mechanical legs whirred to life, allowing him to descend gracefully to the ground.


    He made room on the table for a seemingly endless bowl of warm bread and two stone cups of hot tea, which he gathered from a small metal compartment beneath the table.


    As Rick¡¯s metallic limbs retracted into the metal box on his back, he settled into his seat with a satisfied nod. His stool adjusted to eye level with Amelia¡¯s, and he lit a small lantern with a match from his sleeve, gently breaking a piece of bread in half and offering it to her.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    "More?" Amelia inquired, her appetite whetted by the aroma.


    "Why not?" Rick replied with a smile.


    "Ah, dammit," Amelia muttered, unable to resist the pull of the freshly baked bread.


    As she savored each bite, Amelia scrutinized Rick, her thoughts stirred by the taste of Morsha bread. Memories of her father¡¯s frequent mentions of Rick during their rare dinner conversations surfaced¡ªrecollections of his enthusiasm for expanding New Dwarden, his ideas far beyond her comprehension.


    Since then, Amelia had encountered Rick sporadically while tending to repairs on the Primarian Royale¡ªa central law-making building in New Dwarden. His distinctive mechanical legs and the tantalizing aroma of his baked goods were etched in her memory. The scent had become an integral part of the Primarian Royale¡¯s ambiance, earning New Dwardians the moniker "Baker''s Guild" from foreigners.


    "Oi! Enough with the starin¡¯, girl. I more than understand I''m just a walkin¡¯ memory. Let''s push past that," Rick remarked, his tone gruff yet laced with a hint of understanding. ¡°You¡¯ve got me almost tearing up, thinkin¡¯ ¡®bout the past now,¡± he added with a sarcastic grin.


    "I know we didn''t exchange many words, but¡ª" Amelia began.


    "Don''t bother! What could an old man like me have to say to a little girl besides ''hello,'' ''goodbye,'' ¡®clean your nose,¡¯ and ''enjoy''? Let''s focus on the matter at hand," Rick replied, cutting her off with a stern yet caring tone.


    ¡°You¡¯re not just a memory, Tammersmith,¡± Amelia muttered with a light smile. ¡°Not anymore.¡±


    Rick''s eyes softened for a split second before he quickly turned his gaze into a grimace, looking toward Roy¡¯s general direction.


    ¡°Roy! How long ''til the fuel''s ready?¡± Rick shouted, his voice barely audible over the mechanical symphony of the ship. ¡°Must be five clicks of a revolution. Five minutes,¡± he continued, his voice trailing off.


    ¡°Rick, sorry. Something''s always happening, and as usual, I haven''t the foggiest idea what''s going on,¡± Amelia pressed, her frustration evident. ¡°It always feels like tradition is forcing me¡­ forgive me, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Crowny, don''t apologize. I''ve got more to be sorry for than you ever will,¡± Rick interjected, his voice solemn. ¡°Life has a foolish way of charting its course while ignoring our desires.¡±


    ¡°Just because you have more to regret doesn¡¯t mean mine are any less,¡± Amelia replied softly, her eyes beginning to water.


    ¡°True enough. But it helps to know that I¡¯m still standing. And so will you,¡± Rick responded, his voice steady yet firm.


    Amelia observed the small lantern flicker at the center of the table, her reflection glistening in its warm glow as she lost herself in the sudden flood of emotion.


    ¡°Listen, Crowny, the path we''re on is shrouded in mystery, even to me. If I told you everything, you¡¯d be left like a chicken gawking at the rain.¡± Rick continued, his tone lightening. ¡°For now, you''ve gained an old man¡ªand his son¡ªas companions. This adventure will only heat up as we go. If you choose to buckle down, that is.¡±


    "You and I?" Amelia wondered aloud, her voice laced with uncertainty. ¡°An ex-royal and an old man?¡±


    "Who else?" Rick affirmed, his gaze softening as he reached for Amelia¡¯s shoulder. "This¡­ this should help confirm our little predicament."


    Amelia looked down at Rick¡¯s mechanical hand, noting the four large tendrils for fingers. They moved as if they had no bones, but once they held something, Rick¡¯s mechanical prowess was evident.


    "Take this, little one. A letter from your big brother," Rick said, handing her the violet letter embroidered with gold and sealed with the initials W.W.


    "Michael? King seat-splitter can go suck a thorn," Amelia retorted with a hint of bitterness. ¡°Probably didn¡¯t even write this himself.¡±


    "Can''t blame the sass, given how things went after you and your younger brother were left at the end of the ceremony... to fend for yourselves," Rick acknowledged. ¡°Wish we could¡¯ve intervened."


    ¡°Do we need to discuss this now?" Amelia sighed reluctantly, her gaze drifting toward the warm horizon.


    ¡°Dunno. You readin¡¯ the letter or not?¡± Rick replied.


    Amelia paused for a long moment, glancing at Rick¡¯s usual scowl before taking the letter. Years of pent-up rage from surviving in the Conkle Mines surged within her, as if she had been denied a proper life. But her curiosity overpowered her anger, and she slowly opened the letter.

 Chapter 1: Devildog (Part 8)

    Dear Tammersmith,


    I hope this letter finds you well! I have a matter of utmost importance that could determine the fate of New Dwarden. I cannot disclose all details here for fear of interception, but know this task is crucial. Amelia and Bolton must rebuild Yerro¡¯s heart by finding the 13 pieces located in each Quadrant of our kingdom. New Dwarden teeters on the brink of disaster, and unconventional measures are necessary for our salvation.


    As I write, I must confess that my condition is deteriorating. Fatigue weighs heavily upon me. Nevertheless, I have dispatched a member of the Primarian Hammer to locate Bolton and bring him to the Primarian Royale. Despite the Greisha Ceremony''s rules, the fate of New Dwarden takes precedence over any consequence. If the Primarian Hammer is successful, Bolton will meet you in Veranos alongside him.


    Bolton carries all the knowledge we possess regarding our predicament. Time is of the essence. Please find Amelia swiftly and show her this letter if she doubts you. Communicating with her is a risk, but you and I have a deeper understanding of those consequences.


    Amelia, if you are reading this, you may not understand everything yet, but I ate your ham sandwich years ago. Forgive me and smile.


    With urgency and resolve,


    King Michael Woltwork


    Rick eased away from the table, his mechanical legs extending with a graceful hum as he took a contemplative stance. His gaze lingered on Amelia, seemingly captivated by the swift passage of time reflected in her eyes. In response, Amelia carefully returned the letter to Rick, her demeanor shifting to one of quiet introspection, her head bowed in thought.


    "I-I... why?" Amelia sighed heavily, her voice laden with a mixture of emotions. "I should hate him, but I don¡¯t," she admitted, her gaze unwavering as she looked directly at Rick, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He¡¯s got Soul Rot, doesn¡¯t he?"


    ¡°Eh, you don¡¯t know that,¡± Rick replied nonchalantly, though a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s different every time.¡±


    Amelia raised her gaze from her lap to the man sitting before her. Rick, once legendarily strong and chiseled, now appeared fragile. His lips were dry, his eyes exhausted and detached behind his red glasses, and his head hung low as if trying to stave off sleep.


    ¡°Do we know how long?¡± Amelia blurted out, shaking her head back and forth.


    ¡°Not relevant information,¡± Rick replied sternly, his distant stare silencing her.


    ¡°Not relevant!? Rick! Soul Rot¡¯s no jest, no joke! You don¡¯t just die from it! You ask for death!¡± Amelia¡¯s voice trembled with dread and concern.


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    Amelia met Rick¡¯s sunken gaze with one of her own. Rising from her stool, she paced around before leaning onto the table, propped on her shaking arm.


    ¡°Is there a cure?¡± she mumbled, her words catching in her throat.


    ¡°No. There ain¡¯t no ancient ale, super ore, or wandering doctor that¡¯ll heal me¡­or your brother,¡± Rick muttered, picking up another piece of Morsha bread, his eyes hiding behind the soft reflection of his red circular glasses. ¡°I got an expiration date like soggin¡¯ milk now. And that¡¯s all there is to it.¡±


    ¡°Okay, so you¡¯re just another person I care about, ready to leave! Giving up!¡± Amelia blurted, her green eyes vulnerable with pain.


    ¡°You just met me! I¡¯m old! I was going to die anyway! My mistake! My¡ª¡± Rick yelled, his mechanical legs raising him high over the table, causing a bowl of bread to tumble forward.


    ¡°Tammersm¡ª¡± Amelia tried to speak.


    ¡°Responsibility. My responsibility. And my name¡¯s Rick!¡± Rick shouted, cutting her off. The ship fell into a void of silence. ¡°I go by Rick now,¡± he said softly, his voice quieting from the outburst.


    ¡°WHY¡¯D YOU DO IT!? WHY DID HE DO IT!?" Amelia cried, her voice trembling as she wiped her eyes and refocused.


    "You don¡¯t have a child. You don¡¯t know," Rick replied earnestly, his tone heavy with gravity.


    "No! DOES MY BROTHER KNOW!?" Amelia demanded, slamming her arms on the table. "What happened to you, Tammersmith!? What¡¯s going to happen?"


    ¡°Crowny, don¡¯t talk to me like I don¡¯t know what it feels like to have your heart ripped out! Stomped on, Amelia!¡± Rick blurted out, his mechanical arms flailing in an emotional flurry before settling down. ¡°These are hard choices, child! There is no right or wrong! There are more important things than living a long time¡­¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± Amelia whispered, a lump forming in her throat as her stance softened, retreating upon seeing Rick¡¯s rage.


    ¡°Roy, Amelia,¡± Rick replied sternly, his voice trembling as the sound of ticking gears grew louder from the center of his chest. ¡°The King loves you more than any citizen in this city. New Dwarden be damned if my son is dying,¡± Rick shouted, his voice quivering with silent anger. ¡°I don¡¯t know what he did, but the King¡¯s a better man than me.¡±


    Amelia stood up from her stool, her balance wavering as she walked toward Rick, whose head was now bowed in rage. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder. ¡°...he¡¯s your son. Roy¡¯s your son,¡± she said, her voice swelling with sadness, as if understanding, for a moment, that things were not as they appeared.


    Rick looked at Amelia, his clouded brown eyes softening at her pouting face. ¡°Eh, you¡¯re young. There are many ways to tweak a cog anew. I¡¯m old; I prefer one.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Rick,¡± Amelia said softly, adjusting her overalls. ¡°The creature that attacked me¡ªit scares me. Rattles me. And if my brother knows, well¡­ he must be in danger too,¡± she continued distantly. ¡°Guess we all have to consider ¡®unconventional measures¡¯ now, huh?¡±


    Amelia glanced toward Roy, who was diligently working in the cockpit of the Pappy Long Legs, his focus unwavering. Despite the gravity of their conversation, she felt a warmth toward him. With a small smile, she waved to Roy. He looked up, returned the gesture with a friendly nod, and then went back to his tasks, seemingly without a care in the world.


    ¡°Not too long ago, Roy fell victim to a bond with a nefarious spirit. The wicked kind. The kind that lures your darkness into sinister spaces. My son... wasn¡¯t perfect. Hell, he couldn''t drown a fly in the rain, let alone use a hammer and chisel, but desperation caught him at his lowest. And like me, he made a terrible deal. Just know, Amelia, the King¡¯s likely got his rear hung on a similarly swirled horn,¡± Rick recalled, his eyes reflecting the sadness that weighed heavily upon him.


    ¡°What kind of deal?¡± Amelia asked, her voice faltering as she sought answers.

 Chapter 1: Devildog (Part 9)

    "Stop. No more about my son. Just look at him. He¡¯s alive. I¡¯m alive. Your brother is alive. And so are you. Gamblin¡¯ don¡¯t give ya¡¯ better odds," Rick asserted, his voice firm yet tinged with a subtle tenderness.


    An awkward pause settled between them as Rick swiftly cleared the table, his movements deliberate despite their seeming randomness. Amelia watched, intrigued, as he began tapping out a simple rhythm on the metallic surface with his four mechanical arms. The melody intertwined with a whistling tune, surprising her with its unexpected beauty.


    "Listen for now," Rick urged, a soft chuckle escaping him as he continued to whistle. The tune caught Roy''s attention across the platform, and as if on cue, Roy joined in, humming and whistling alongside Rick. The platform''s bells and whistles seemed to quiet, falling into harmony with the makeshift melody.


    "Change! A tough inevitability!" Rick suddenly sang, his voice carrying a playful lilt.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Amelia asked, suspicion laced with a hint of amusement as her mood began to lighten.


    ¡°That¡¯s still my son. He used to love the aerophone! Flutes, pipes, what-not. Just listen,¡± Rick said, his tone nostalgic and warm.


    Rick and Amelia both turned their attention to Roy, who was dancing carefree while operating the Pappy Long Legs'' machinery, his movements surprisingly fluid for a machine.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s best we take this sing-song as far as we can right now,¡± Rick continued, humming the same tune that Roy was whistling. ¡°Please,¡± he added, extending his arm toward Amelia.


    A moment of silence passed before Amelia, feeling the lump in her throat dissipate, found herself tempted to join in.


    ¡°What about Bolton?¡± she asked, her curiosity sparking anew. ¡°Is he alright?¡±


    ¡°Likely. Can¡¯t say for certain, but I believe fate has a backward gaze on everything turning out okay. There ain¡¯t much value in digging yourself into a hole and looking down,¡± Rick replied smoothly, the rhythm of Roy¡¯s whistling providing a soothing backdrop.


    Amelia looked up at Rick, her frown slowly giving way to a shaky smile. She began to tap her leg in time with the metallic beat Roy created, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the quirky duo.


    "Change! A gained ability! For some," Rick sang in a playful tone, "when the world isn¡¯t watching! And our story is long forgotten! You must¡ªmost of all¡ªREMEMBER TO CHANGE!" His voice rose in a spirited crescendo as he leaned over the table, rising into a lighthearted dance.


    "Rick, isn¡¯t there a better time for this?" Amelia pouted, trying to suppress a grin.


    ¡°Listen to the wind, Amelia! We¡¯re alive and breathing! We¡¯re on a quest! Ain¡¯t a better privilege than that!¡± Rick roared, turning to Roy, who had picked up a flute-like instrument and joined in with an infectious tune. "Dear Amelia," Rick said warmly, "you, of all citizens of New Dwarden, should know that song is the ultimate cure for a life that seems bent on stranglin¡¯ us. Now, don''t let Roy''s hard work of beating on pots and pans go silent in the wind. Just listen to the sound of the ultimate airship¡ªthe Pappy Long Legs!"


    The Pappy Long Legs, which had previously been a cacophony of mechanical sounds, transformed into a living, breathing orchestra. The whirs and clanks of its machinery melded together, creating a symphony that filled the air. Like an aerophone choir, it whistled angelic tunes that danced with the wind. Each note carried a whisper of magic, resonating through the metallic frame of the airship and turning it into a vessel of ethereal melodies.


    "I damn well know you know this one, Amelia!" Rick remarked, his tone soothing and melodic. "It''s one of those sing-songs sung deep in those mines and in the minds of those who park themselves in all thirteen quadrants of New Dwarden. I promise you, if you humor me, life will feel that much lighter," Rick challenged, a smirk spreading across his face as he reached his hand toward Amelia.


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    Amelia raised her head skyward, her gaze fixed on the evening sky. Then, turning to Rick, she noticed a glimmer of hope reflecting in his eyes. "My mother used to say something before every lullaby, every song. It was like a sign of respect," Amelia reminisced. "She had this silly belief that one should be grateful to sleep because you¡¯ll never know if you wake." She stood up from her chair, reached toward Rick, and shook his metallic claw of a hand.


    "The Queen was wise. Nothing silly about that at all," Rick nodded, firmly shaking Amelia¡¯s hand.


    "Nothing at all," Amelia agreed, her voice soft yet resolute.


    ¡°Went like this,¡± recited Amelia, her tone shifting to one of gentle reverence.


    Dear Amelia:


    Deep in the night, you twist and you turn


    Hush now and sleep, for peace will return


    Work through the night, rest through the day


    In dreams, find comfort, lead worries astray


    For gears and cogs, cost fingers a day


    Awake forever, I¡¯m here to stay


    "I always hum the tune before every song, prance, or dance," Amelia admitted, chuckling at the memory.


    ¡°Unconventional indeed, Crowny!¡± Rick cheered, his spirit-lifting.


    "And with that, everything will magically fall into place, I assume?" Amelia quipped, arching an eyebrow at Rick.


    ¡°Smell the flowers that come after the storm! We simply must embrace all of the signs given to us. Each and every scent! Whether it¡¯s bitter like Quadrant Three¡¯s Barley Beer or sweet as Whistletop¡¯s Candy! That¡¯s the philosophy this New Dwarden has given us," Rick explained earnestly, his gaze thoughtful.


    "Alright! I¡¯ll bite. Best show you this Yardrat¡¯s secret skill," Amelia remarked, her voice infused with determination as she prepared to join Rick in their musical endeavor, her movements becoming more fluid with the tune around her.


    Of gears o'' brass and steam we dwell,


    Where toil and hustle our feet never fell,


    A world of wonders, shinin¡¯ and bright,


    But change creeps in wi'' each comin'' night.


    (Chorus)


    Oooooooh, winds of change, they¡¯ve blown so strong,


    In this steam world below all the fog,


    Wi'' every cog n¡¯ every gear,


    Our future''s path been never so clear.


    Ooooo airships glide o''er skies o'' gold,


    Tales o'' change are often told,


    For progress marches to ever-unfold,


    Through the clockwork mist, our destinies mold.


    (Chorus)


    Oooooooh, winds of change, they¡¯ve blown so strong,


    In this steam world below all the fog,


    Wi'' every cog n¡¯ every gear,


    Our future''s path been never so clear.


    "Enough," declared Amelia, her voice firm yet gentle. "I''ve heard plenty of songs down in the Conkle. I know what you¡¯re doing," she added, playfully pointing at Rick with a twinkle in her eye. ¡°Yardrats are no strangers to tap-dancin¡¯ song, old man.¡±


    From the corner of her eye, Amelia saw Roy observing her from a distance, his large, spotlight-like eyes softening with a hint of disappointment.


    "Oh, and what do you reckon I''m up to, dear Amelia?" chuckled Rick, his laughter warm and hearty. "Just trying to make sense of fate''s craptastic joke," he continued, pointing back at Amelia with a knowing grin.


    "Feelin¡¯ all... cheery... and well¡­ it¡¯s certainly okay, but¡­ Roy¡¯s gotta be finished fuelin¡¯ the ship by now," Amelia grumbled, rubbing the small bump at the top of her head, her mood conflicted. ¡°Albeit, it was a cute and wholesome attempt," she admitted while stealing a glance at Roy, a soft smile of approval tugging at her lips. ¡°And¡­I appreciate it, Roy.¡±


    "Damn shame we stopped then," Rick lamented, shaking his head lightly. "You''ve got a pleasant worker''s rasp in your voice," he remarked with a playful glimmer in his eye. He patted Amelia''s back with his mechanical arm, inviting her for a cup of warm tea. "Can''t please everyone," he added with a shrug and a smile.


    "When do I pack my bags?" Amelia asked in a light-hearted tone, quickly taking a sip from her tea.

 Chapter 1: Devildog (Final Part)

    "No need to rush a spark into the rain!" replied Rick, his voice commanding urgency as he glanced at Amelia playfully. "Pappy''s already taking off! She''s scraping the clouds as we speak. We''ll reach top speeds soon."


    "Before we go and our problems get worse, I want to be clear about something," Amelia said, redirecting Rick¡¯s tea from his face.


    "And what might that be?" Rick asked, his eyebrow raised in confusion at her brazen maneuver.


    "My day started normal. I didn''t just stumble into that sewer drain like a hungry blind mouse!" Amelia retorted sharply, her eyes narrowing as she recalled the events. "There was this blinding blue light emanating from my locket. It grew big, then small, and before I knew it, the Little Creek copper badges showed up with their handcuffs! Admittedly, I don¡¯t remember much of what happened. Only what they accused me of. They called me a demon. Scared everyone. Even me. So, I made a run for it, and then..." She trailed off, lost in her memories.


    "And then?" Rick prodded gently, urging her to continue.


    "They cornered me into a sewer under the Loshlit Tavern," Amelia said, her voice distant. "It¡¯s spotty, but just when I thought I was doomed, a creature appeared¡ªlike an mangy animal combined with a machine, full of unfiltered rage and pulsin¡¯ muscles. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it. Never want to see it again."


    ¡°Let¡¯s focus on gettin¡¯ outta here. Not give that beast a chance to even whiff ya.¡± Urged Rick.


    "How far is this city?" Amelia wondered aloud, standing from her stool.


    "Far away, Amelia," replied Rick, his tone serious yet filled with anticipation. He walked away from the table and approached a giant steering wheel mechanism shaped like a gear. It was perched at the back end of the Pappy Long Legs atop a podium made of intricately decorated and polished wood mixed with golden pipes.


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    "About time I see the world from above," Amelia replied with a hint of cockiness in her voice, watching as Rick used four of his mechanical limbs to pull levers, twist knobs, and push buttons of all kinds before spinning the steering wheel.


    "Must be refreshin¡¯! Like a fish finally viewin¡¯ the land to which he lived under this whole time!" shouted Rick. "Wrap your little hands tight to any rail, or make your way downstairs! Ask Roy for a room! Doesn¡¯t matter to me!"


    Amelia smiled at Rick¡¯s attempt at concern. She looked toward the dawning horizon and took a huge breath of cold, fresh air from the surrounding clouds. She dusted off her overalls and gazed at the sky. The orange-hued dawn seemed closer, her thoughts racing with the wind.


    "Roy! Man the Pappy Long Legs! We¡¯re heading far away from New Dwarden! Away from these bygone thirteen quadrants and towards the streets of Veranus across the Longhill Plains! Across the neighboring lands of machines!" shouted Rick over the cacophony of hissing pipes and puffing smokestacks.


    "Command initiated: Beginning navigation to Veranus! Estimated arrival: Sixteen hours. Beginning travel protocol: five dashes, three dashes, one. Avoiding pedestrian land," repeated Roy.


    Amidst the orchestrated chaos, the Pappy Long Legs soared higher into the sky, climbing with breathtaking speed until it came to a sudden, screeching halt, leaving Amelia breathless and awestruck as she clung to the nearest rail.


    "Looks like the City of New Dwarden is calling for your help now, Amelia!" explained Rick over the distant explosions of pistons. ¡°Best not keep her waiting!¡±


    "Our help! Don¡¯t snake your way out of this!" she playfully responded, her grip tightening on the railing.


    Rick simply smiled and nodded at Amelia, his hands deftly adjusting the controls as he focused on steering the Pappy Long Legs. The airship rattled to life once more, its engines humming with renewed vigor. Amelia stared off into the horizon, her mind racing with countless questions yet to be answered. As the landscape outside shifted from the familiar streets of Quadrant Seven to the unexplored wilderness beyond, she couldn¡¯t help but wonder what new adventures awaited her. The rolling hills and dense forests beckoned, promising mysteries and challenges far beyond anything she had ever known.

 Chapter 2: Braverys Whistle (Part 1)

    Bolton Woltwork


    [¡­Approximately 24 hours earlier]


    Deep in the heart of New Dwarden, between Quadrants One and Two, lies the notorious Whistletop Alley; a vibrant hub where distinctions of status, sex, and species fade into the wonder of the thickening crowds. By day, the alley hums with the activity of vendors from both near and far, offering exotic goods and lively entertainment to families and travelers alike. But as the sun sets, a remarkable transformation unfolds, and Whistletop Alley reveals its true character, unburdened by the revealing rays of sunlight.


    As the sun sets, grills ignite, entertainers put on elaborate costumes, and musicians add the final touches to their instruments. In these moments, the alley transforms into a distinct realm where the air is thick with temptations from all corners of the mind. As quickly as entertainment takes center stage, precious rings momentarily disappear, bills are forgotten, and estranged relationships light anew, earning Whistletop Alley its local moniker¡ªthe "Blown Whistle District."


    Stepping into the alley, one is greeted with meandering wide smiles and tantalizing scents wafting through the air, drawing them further into the labyrinth of stalls that populate the streets from end to end. The hypnotizing aroma of grilled and barbecued spiced meats dances carefree in the breeze, mesmerizing even the most stubborn passersby. Yet, this is only the beginning of the sensory feast that awaits. Once trapped by the large portions of food and drink, melodic hums of music and captivating dramatic performances dazzle long into the morning. From dusk until dawn, the alley comes alive with energy as audiences are swept away by the captivating spectacle unfolding before their eyes, each moment brimming with anticipation and excitement.


    Whistletop Alley''s unique architecture adds to its allure, with charming, quaint buildings crafted meticulously from orange brick, cobblestone, local woods, and iron, creating a contrasting scenic backdrop from the often congested Quadrants around it. And though other streets boast similar beauty, Whistletop Alley stands out as the largest and most vibrant, stretching from the outskirts of New Dwarden to its very core.


    Whistletop Alley exudes an irresistible allure, whether you look at its tall rooftops, gaping sewer grates, or winding offshoot alleys. It seems purposefully crafted for adventurous souls seeking excitement. Its charming streets whisper tales of hidden treasures and secret passages, drawing crafty and nimble explorers to uncover its mysteries, one nook and cranny at a time.


    Tonight, however, Whistletop Alley held an even greater allure. Amidst the lively, fire-lit atmosphere of a summer night, a sudden commotion shattered the tranquility, drawing all eyes upward to the rooftops. "By the dog neath¡¯ it''s tail! It¡¯s that damn¡­ bleedin¡¯-¡­" exclaimed a spook vendor, his voice trailing off in shock. Another onlooker gasped, adding to the surrounding vendors'' sudden surprise, recognizing the agile silhouette as none other than the infamous Whistletop Burglar. Whispers of disbelief spread through the crowd, and the atmosphere crackled with excitement and apprehension. Some drank to the sight of the man seemingly floating above the rooftops, while others bowed their heads in fear. Nevertheless, the sudden appearance of the ¡°Whistletop Burglar¡± captivated all who dared to look upward.


    Amidst the metallic labyrinth of winding pipes, giant oscillating cogs, and pistoning contraptions that formed the canopy above Whistletop Alley, a young man named Bolton Woltwork, mischief twinkling in his eyes, moved through the sky with a strange kind of grace. Each of his movements seemed to echo a rigid dance as if choreographed by an erratic puppeteer. No matter how hard people searched, most onlookers could only catch a glimpse of the wispy plume of hot white steam and smoke that trailed behind him.


    ¡°They¡¯ve taken a shinin¡¯ to me?¡± wondered Bolton aloud. ¡°Already? I haven¡¯t even gotten to doing a flip with my new¡­ Air Shoes? I¡¯ll work on the name, I promise!¡± shouted Bolton to the lively crowd, his voice drowning in the bustle.


    Noticing the crowd''s fascination, Bolton paused, briefly perching himself atop a sturdy red tent, considering whether to stir up further commotion in the already lively night.


    "Impure thief! Freak of a half-breed!" shouted a group of men from below.


    Tall and sturdy, Bolton stood out against the dark sky, his figure sharply outlined against the night. Clad in a brown bowler hat, dark overcoat, golden suspenders, white shirt, and brown boots, he resembled the tradesmen of old. Despite his familiar attire, Bolton''s presence stirred fear and doubt among the onlookers, who hurled accusations of "Thief," "Demon," and "Burglar" at him in an unending chorus.


    A storm of drunken insults and threats arose from the angry crowd below, but Bolton simply tilted his head in mock confusion. The moonlight reflected off his goggles as he scanned the crowd with keen anticipation, daring anyone to meet his gaze.


    "I hope everyone here is having a wonderful night! See, it¡¯s my first night in town since¡­ well, too long," Bolton called out to a crowd too loud to hear him. "Might have to raise me an octave or two," he thought, coughing loudly before speaking again. "Can any of you drunkards tell me where I might find the original Akiyoma Airship?" he called from his elevated perch, his voice carrying over the bustling square. ¡°You know¡­the-?"


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    "In the same direction as a prison cell!" retorted a toothless old man from below. "New Dwarden¡¯s no place for bottom-dwelling feed! Thief!"


    "...airship," Bolton continued, reluctant to finish his sentence.


    "The Clinkers will fill the streets here soon! You won¡¯t be able to get away with picking someone else''s nose!" threatened another man below.


    "By chance, did this thief steal your front teeth and your sense of humor?" Bolton quipped aloud, much to the crowd¡¯s annoyance. His smile soon turned to a scowl as his words became lost amidst the murmurs of the angered crowd.


    "Shoulda waited on the midnight grog to loosen their tongues. Well, anger isn¡¯t going to summon my informant or rescue these frogs," Bolton sighed to himself, wiping a loose bit of dripping food from his shoulder, hurled from the crowd below. With a swift movement, he disappeared in a puff of hot white smoke. The metallic glint and clink of his gloves and heels filled the night air with mystery and wonder, punctuating the scene with puffing sounds and hissing steam before he vanished into the shadows.


    Bolton watched as the crowd seamlessly redirected their focus to the next spectacle: an approaching float in the shape of a giant frog smoking an even more colossal pipe. Almost offended by the crowd¡¯s ability to brush him off so quickly, he couldn''t help but be drawn to the sight of the frog. As he soared above the thickening crowds, his thoughts began to drift. Memories of his family and their time together surfaced uncontested. He daydreamed about a life that felt long past, his eyes momentarily losing focus on the bustling scene below. Glancing back at the float, he observed the procession of musicians harmonizing around it as they traversed the rain-kissed amber roads below.


    "I hear parades are more fun when you''re not welcome," muttered the young man under his breath, his lips reluctantly curling into a smile. "We¡¯re very unwelcome. And now, we''ve got Primarian Clinkers to worry about," mumbled Bolton to himself, directing his gaze towards metallic beings weaving their way through the crowd effortlessly.


    In the warm lantern glow, towering Clinkers stalked the alley like mechanical scarecrows, their angular faces and rotating cogs casting eerie shadows. Bolton watched them from his stone perch, his eyes narrowing as they prowled on mechanical stilts. Colorful smoke billowed from their gaping mouths, adding to their unsettling presence. Their yellow, crosshatched eyes scanned the crowd with an almost human intensity, searching for anything out of place.


    Among the hundreds of Clinkers, one shifted its gaze to Bolton with snapping precision. Unlike the rest, this one¡¯s metallic body was littered with confetti and random paint. Whether by chance or not, the Clinker¡¯s head tilted jarringly before it suddenly lifted itself high into the sky on its metallic stilts, responding as if to a threat. Its eyes flashed red as it carefully poked its leg through the crowd below, making its way toward Bolton.


    After an audible gasp, Bolton wasted no time and immediately turned in the other direction, making his way deeper into Whistletop Alley. Once again, he whisked himself away into the darkness of the night, leaving thoughts of any Clinkers far behind him.


    Bolton navigated Whistletop Alley''s nooks and crannies, ducking under low-hanging banners and dodging bustling crowds. He reached Akiyoma Square, five miles from the guarded Primarian Royale. Amid the lamplight glow stood the revered Akiyoma¡ªa sky-scraping airship replica, a testament to New Dwarden''s ingenuity. Without hesitation, Bolton boarded the monument, scaling its towering mast with practiced ease. From his high perch, he scanned the cityscape and the imposing iron gates of the Primarian Royale looming at the alley''s end.


    Bolton surveyed the sprawling city, pride swelling in his chest. His emerald-green eyes shimmered with the fireworks painting the night sky. He glanced at the city, reminded of New Dwarden¡¯s ingenuity. As he adjusted his stance, the thirteen Quadrants stretched out around him, each a world of its own


    "How has it only been five years?" Bolton mumbled under his breath, his gaze fixed on the vibrant cityscape. He daydreamed of a life that felt long past, his eyes glued to the intricate machinery, colossal cogs, and towering structures of Quadrants One and Two. Quadrant One, with its buildings fashioned like giant flutes, caught his attention. These structures harmonized with the wind, producing melodies that drifted through the air like ghostly whispers. Meanwhile, Quadrant Two was filled with shorter, stockier buildings, each shaped according to the enterprise they housed.


    Bolton¡¯s eyes often wandered upwards, not only scouting escape routes but also marveling at the uniquely porous buildings of Quadrant One. Creatures dubbed Ignorpa¡ªNew Dwarden¡¯s resident giant lizards¡ªlounged under the buildings'' lips and extending balconies, their bright colors and tufts of fur visible from miles away. When his gaze shifted to Quadrant Two, he fantasized about entering a busy chicken drumstick-shaped restaurant, its alluring scents tempting him. He watched as crowds of people, smiling, hugging, and dancing, moved in and out of the restaurant like well-organized traffic.


    One view in particular captured Bolton¡¯s attention for longer than he realized: a woman with short black hair, wearing an elegant black skirt and top. Her nose had a subtle shade of red, and her eyes were large, accentuated with makeup. He watched as she laughed with her friends, similarly dressed, before disappearing into the crowd. For reasons unknown to Bolton, a feeling of longing and guilt washed over him, his eyes softening as he observed their bond.


    Before Bolton''s thoughts could wander further, a gentle rustle and tug of his wavy hair snapped his attention back to the present moment. The bustling scene below faded as he looked up at the magnificent Primarian Royale. This serpentine building housed New Dwarden''s political elite, with King Woltwork reigning from its highest peak.


    Prominent structures jutted from the mountainside, each representing a Leader Of A Quadrant -often called Master''s my New Dwarden citizens. While Bolton couldn''t discern all thirteen, he noted the prominence of the "Owl" just below the King and the "Bear" at the mountain''s base. The height of each structure symbolized its occupant''s political stature. Only the King¡¯s figure remained immovable, perpetually perched atop Corazco like a grandfather clock, commonly dubbed the ¡°King¡¯s Clock.¡±


    Bolton stretched his arms toward the top of Mount Corazco, his voice brimming with excitement and anticipation. "Vermolly! Before you say anything, you¡¯re always reminding me of what¡¯s important, and it¡¯s much appreciated."


    A sudden shuffling could be heard from under Bolton¡¯s brown bowler hat, causing him to wince in pain between each movement.

 Chapter 2: Braverys Whistle (Part 2)

    ¡°Ow! Now, before we willingly¡­ Dammit! Relax... break one of the king¡¯s most sacred rules," he winced, a painful grin spreading across his face. "You can-" His youthful voice broke the stillness, accompanied by bursts of fireworks overhead, prompting a swift reply from Vermolly.


    A gentle, croaky voice emerged from beneath the brim of Bolton''s brown bowler hat. "You can stand to be more patient! And by the powers of earth and sea," Vermolly gasped, "may Yerro bless me with a touch of cool air. Unlike a frog, I cannot endure this warmth for long." Amidst the crackling excitement, a small webbed green hand emerged from beneath the hat, lifting it slightly to reveal eight additional pairs of luminous yellow eyes blinking rapidly. Each eye boasted uniquely colorful slit irises surrounded by mesmerizing rotating patterns.


    Among the nine creatures nestled within Bolton¡¯s hat, Vermolly, a pocket-sized Alchemian, crawled out and dangled proudly in front of Bolton''s face. Her webbed fingers easily gripped the rim of his fur-felt bowler hat.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid the Greisha ceremony is something you are compelled to respect,¡± Vermolly added with a smirk. ¡°We Alchemians abide by less divisive customs.¡±


    Vermolly often reminded Bolton that Alchemians are a species of frog-like creatures, a mix of salamander and bullfrog. They possess human characteristics such as standing on two legs, speaking various languages, and their famous alchemy¡ªconcoctions brewed from their often corrosive throat fluids. More importantly to Bolton, they are easy to carry, a convenient trait if one should befriend you.


    ¡°Spend one day in my thoughts, Vermolly. I¡¯d be willing to bet the average Alchemian wouldn¡¯t know an ocean from pond water, let alone be attuned to the entire human race,¡± laughed Bolton.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it, ¡®pond water¡¯. Did she remind you of her?¡± Vermolly prodded. She reached her tiny hands toward Bolton¡¯s nose and tapped it playfully until she crinkled it. Bolton was ready to sneeze before gently swatting her small, sticky hands away.


    ¡°Who?¡± Bolton responded coyly, his cheeks reddening.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to tap into an Alchemian collective to see that she did,¡± Vermolly replied, lightly teasing Bolton. ¡°I could feel your heart rate gush from the top of your head. Your cheeks are still warm.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t going to work out,¡± Bolton muttered defeatedly.


    ¡°What¡¯s not?¡± Vermolly prodded. She perched on Bolton¡¯s right shoulder, observing the world seemingly spin around Bolton as he gestured animatedly.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­so¡­. SO OUT HERE,¡± replied Bolton, splaying his hands outwards toward the city. ¡°And she¡¯s so in there,¡± he continued, pointing to his heart. ¡°I know it sounds stupid but it¡¯s all I got. It would be like having a wolf kiss a hare.¡±


    ¡°Why limit yourself to two schools of thought?¡± wondered Vermolly aloud. ¡°...and I take it you¡¯re the tough wolf?¡± she asked, playfully pushing against Bolton¡¯s cheek.


    ¡°Sure ain¡¯t the hare,¡± replied Bolton confidently yet playfully. ¡°She¡¯s scared of the world. I¡¯m not. I want to whisk her away. She doesn¡¯t want to go,¡± he continued softly, his voice trailing off. ¡°When we¡¯re together, it¡¯s like our eyes burn bright together. But adventure appears to only call for me¡­¡±


    ¡°Maybe she isn¡¯t ready. Matters of the soul are like seeds. If we focus on growth, who knows what you both might become? Friends, best friends, lovers¡ªit doesn¡¯t matter when the future is unknown. The best thing we can do is love all the same. Pursue your ambitions and let growth come to you,¡± Vermolly consoled, gently removing her hand from Bolton¡¯s cheek. ¡°She¡¯ll come if it¡¯s her path. Otherwise, look forward, like you humans usually do.¡±


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    ¡°You know¡­I was hesitant to leave the shop today. To come out here and risk it all over a fancy letter,¡± Bolton said softly. ¡°How did that ol¡¯ guy even know where I was?¡±


    ¡°Sounds like you regret snatching the letter from his satchel,¡± Vermolly accused. ¡°Coulda been useful having him around.¡±


    Vermolly watched as Bolton¡¯s gaze meandered toward the restaurant, watching it longingly. She positioned herself in front of him, her large eyes meeting his.


    ¡°The letter. The king is ¡®risking it all¡¯ just meeting with you. Soul Rot is what waits beyond breaching the Greisha Ceremony,¡± Vermolly explained in an understanding tone. ¡°Likely to be of the utmost importance.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t trust royalty. Unless it¡¯s my brother himself, I¡¯m not dealin¡¯ with them. Everything feels wrong. My brother and I aren¡¯t ever to communicate again¡ªthat¡¯s the condition of that stupid ceremony. As far as I know, the letter still counts,¡± Bolton explained, his voice tinged with anxiety.


    ¡°And your older sister?¡± wondered Vermolly.


    ¡°Amelia? Last I heard, she went toward Quadrant Seven. Five years ago.¡± Bolton replied, his hand pointing behind him. ¡°She and I were close.¡±


    ¡°Were?¡± Inquired Vermolly.


    ¡°I got nothin¡¯ against her. She just disappeared ya know? Straight into the crowd and¡­that¡¯s the last I saw her.¡± Lamented Bolton, looking toward a pocket watch hanging from his jacket pocket. ¡°She was good to me.¡±


    Bolton opened his golden pocket watch with a satisfying crack, revealing a blue gem embedded within. On the opposite side was a small black-and-white picture of three children under the former King Woltwork and Queen Woltwork. Vermolly observed the photo with a fond smile. Alchemian. Vermolly examined each child individually.


    Amelia smiled with missing teeth, flashing a peace sign as she cuddled next to her mother. Michael¡ªthe current king¡ªstood regal and unsmiling beside his father. Bolton, meanwhile, lifted his dress shirt to reveal a toy airplane underneath, his shirt stained with food that had escaped his parents'' notice.


    ¡°You don¡¯t change, do you?¡± Vermolly observed.


    ¡°Neither does my brother. He¡¯s never been one to take risks. I can¡¯t help but be curious about what this is about,¡± Bolton pondered, perching his chin on his hand as he dangled his feet over the crow¡¯s nest.


    ¡°So, let¡¯s meet this sewer boy mentioned in that other letter and get back to our humble garage?¡± Vermolly suggested. ¡°Our humble beginnings.¡±


    ¡°It was more like a note on a crumpled napkin, but we shouldn¡¯t waste more time,¡± Bolton agreed with a quick smirk. ¡°The signal¡¯s about to go off anyway.¡± His eyes shone with confidence as he surveyed the ship.


    With renewed determination, Bolton stood up, looking skyward. He fixed his suspenders and gently scooped Vermolly onto his palm, tucking her back under his cap. Ready to explore the Akiyoma, Bolton set off with a confident stride, anticipating new adventures rejuvenating his steps.


    A surge of excitement coursed through Bolton at the thought of taking the helm of an airship rather than just tinkering with its components. With practiced ease, he descended the side of the monument using a sturdy rope attached to a large anchor. Before he could further explore the airship, a peculiar sensation came from his front pocket where his pocket watch sat. Grabbing the watch, he watched it vibrate with a blue gleam emanating from within. "That¡¯s never happened," he muttered, shaking off the distraction. ¡°What did you do, Michael?¡± Bolton opened his pocket watch to reveal a strong blue light from the embedded gem before putting it away in a panic. ¡°Something to address¡­later,¡± he thought nervously.


    ¡°This whole thing¡¯s one big attraction now,¡± mumbled Bolton in disbelief. ¡°Better get moving if I¡¯m going to make it,¡± he said, glancing toward the highlighted exit sign near the ship¡¯s mast.


    As Bolton crossed the slanted deck, he admired the ship''s large, intricately carved helm. Some images depicted Alchemians like Vermolly surfing the stars, while others featured Gale Whales soaring among the clouds¡ªcreatures said to hold a city on their backs while remaining light as a feather. The helm''s centerpiece bore a bold motto: "The Akiyoma Airship! First to brave distant horizons unscathed! First to return without a loss or mishap! First to shield New Dwarden from its adversaries!"

 Chapter 2: Braverys Whistle (Part 3)

    As Bolton traversed the grand, seemingly endless metallic corridors of The Akiyoma, he found himself lost in the ship''s storied past. With each step towards the ship¡¯s tilted hull, he passed countless plaques and trophies, each a testament to the ship¡¯s history and New Dwarden¡¯s advancements in airship technology. These sights stirred memories of tales told by his late mother and father¡ªgrandiose stories of the formidable Akiyoma IV, battle-ready airships embarking on perilous missions, fending off sky pirates and other dangers in daring escapes. Each glossy plaque reminded him of a time when he was destined to protect New Dwarden¡¯s skies as King of New Dwarden and Commander of the Akiyoma fleet. Each passing plaque was reminiscent of a different story told to him and his siblings when he was young.


    Among the many stories told to Bolton and his siblings, one always stood out. As a child, every morning upon waking up, he would rush to brush his teeth and quickly lean against the nearest window. He didn¡¯t always stay inside the Primarian Royale, but when he did, it was a prime opportunity to observe the children playing ''soldier'' in Whistletop Alley below. They depicted New Dwarden¡¯s military with large cogs on their backs and makeshift metallic outfits, battling other local kids dressed in cloaks who threw tiny smoke bombs to represent the notorious pirates known as the ''Whistlin¡¯ Death'' and their often smoky trails left behind.


    Deep down, Bolton had always wanted to join the other kids, but as a royal child, he could only watch them live out their adventures or play with his often stricter older brother, Michael. ''Older by seconds but each second years,'' Bolton often thought. After being scolded on multiple occasions for trying to pretend spar with Michael, he instead eagerly awaited the nights when his father or mother had time to tell him the legendary stories New Dwarden had to offer; although to Bolton, his favorites were the ones particular to the sky.


    Between all the stories and adventures, Michael was always quick to remind Bolton and Amelia that only ''miscreants'' and ''vermin'' would adopt a life in the sky. Unless they flew under the banner of New Dwarden, they had no place in the clouds. This sentiment resonated well with their father and most of those around them. He often spoke of the ¡°Whistlin¡¯ Death¡± pirates, who flew crude, square boarding vessels that whistled through the parting clouds like bombs, landing on any unfortunate ships below.


    Yet even Michael wasn¡¯t immune to the sheer adventure emanating from these tales. Before any scoldings and corrections, Bolton, Amelia, and Michael would often sneak into the royal library, located close to their room on the 13th floor of the Primarian Royale. There, they would scour the shelves for tales and stories, accounts, and even logs of dangerous creatures, criminals, treasures, and, of course, stories of pirates, which they would re-enact deep into the night. Bolton smiled at the thought. Sometimes, Michael would pull his blanket off in the middle of the night to scare Amelia, who slept next door, pretending to be a ¡°Whistlin¡¯ Death Pirate.¡± Their night escapades came to an abrupt end when the King and Queen installed a robotic bodyguard known as an Arc Soldier in the Primarian Royale. Bolton called them Wind-up Soldiers due to the constant ticking sound from their metallic chests and the slowly rotating wheel that rose from their backs.


    Upon finally arriving at the base of the ship, Bolton couldn''t help but smile at the enormous, gaping squared windows. Just like in the stories, the windows were made of a light, durable metal, ready to swing open with equally enormous triangular cannons poised just behind them, ready for battle at any second. ''These cannons were said to rotate upon firing, each shot stronger than the last,'' read the plaque below the complex machinery holding them upwards. To Bolton, a detail far too exciting to skip.


    Regretfully, he kept moving. As he descended the candle-lit stairs¡ªnormally meant for tour guides and tourists¡ªhe came upon wide arched doors of wood and metal. Like the doorway, the inside of the ship appeared carefully crafted, light enough to fly but strong enough to withstand damage. It was a delicate balance of a wordsmith¡¯s grace, a blacksmith¡¯s beauty, and their combined grit.


    ¡°The Akiyoma standard,¡± mumbled Bolton aloud.


    The ship had a crosshatched roof, while the floor was thin, light metal. The walls were made of beautiful, sturdy wood, a brilliant brown with just the right amount of gloss. Through the archway was the largest chamber of the airship, where its giant wings were attached to a cylindrical engine. The wings spanned twice the ship''s length, sprouting from thin slits in the ship''s walls. Gears, tubes, levers, and pulleys generously made up the inside of this chamber, giving it a metallic sheen in the lantern light.


    After venturing deeper into the engine room, Bolton noticed a giant, gaping wound in the ship''s walls. It hadn''t been repaired, left as a display of the battle scar the ship had suffered before it was decommissioned¡ªa wound from the notorious Whistlin'' Death pirates. The cracked wood and metal bore scorch marks, and the hole size was large enough for a Clinker to easily step through, even when its stilt-like legs were extended.


    This was an eerie reminder of the dangers lurking outside and perhaps even within the walls of the Akiyoma. The plaque beside the ship¡¯s wound noted, ¡®After incapacitating their targets, the pirates would capture their prey using the first successfully stolen Akiyoma known to New Dwarden¡ªan injured ship taken during a decommissioning ceremony on [illegible due to being scratched out]. Belonging to fleet Alpha 3-213, the enemy Akiyoma was modified to wield a giant screeching claw that would descend from the blackened clouds, capturing the vessel below with terrifying efficiency, leaving only a booming echo in its wake. This ship survived. Praise be to New Dwarden¡¯s superior engineering. Airships have since been significantly fortified to prevent such crimes.¡¯


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    ¡°Exit¡¯s down to the right. Best make your move, Bolton, lest we miss our only chance of seeing your brother without handcuffs,¡± reminded Vermolly from under Bolton¡¯s cap, her voice muffled.


    ¡°This moment would¡¯ve been far more magical if I wasn¡¯t in such a hurry,¡± lamented Bolton aloud before turning to his right. ¡°Shame. There¡¯s so much to learn, even from this hole in the wall.¡±


    ¡°And more when we take care of business,¡± Vermolly reminded, tipping Bolton¡¯s hat upward so she could be heard clearly.


    After exhausting two loose lanterns and making a quick trip to the Akiyoma¡¯s notorious latrine, Bolton finally reached the bottom of the hull. There, he encountered one more wooden door, an exit for tourists finishing their visit early. Although this Akiyoma had been repurposed as a display, the door itself bore a large, angular bronze bust. The intricate bust provided context on the ship''s original builders and proclaimed it a gift to New Dwarden, following its near destruction five years ago. It depicted a giant slamming a hammer down on a warm blue forge. Its blue sparks were carved in marvelous detail, and the giant''s expression was firm and unwavering in his focus.


    Bolton carefully examined the door, recalling several famous giants who had served New Dwarden faithfully, at least according to his father. However, none by the name of Hios.


    Nevertheless, he pressed on and opened the door, following a stairway that stretched under a giant brass chain leading to a beautifully decorated golden triangular anchor, pressed firmly on the orange-bricked floor.


    ¡°This thing¡¯s a giant. Like a village in the sky,¡± Bolton observed, looking up at the enormous ship from under the hull. ¡°Tourist be damned, this airship belongs in the sky.¡±


    Vermolly crawled from under Bolton¡¯s cap, noticing his gaze meandering into contemplation, his eyes flickering between confidence and a curious kind of sadness. He stared longingly at the towering mast of the Akiyoma peeking above him, likely pondering his repeated dream of being an airship pilot. Drawing closer, Vermolly perched delicately atop the bridge of his nose, her webbed feet barely making a sound.


    "Remember what ol¡¯ Dani Alton used to say," she began softly. "Being an airship pilot isn''t just about gazing skyward. It''s about understanding what keeps you anchored to the earth below. A steadfast will forms the foundation for a resilient crew."


    ¡°Are we on about this again?¡± Laughed Bolton, his eyes crossed looking toward Vermolly. ¡°He took that from a Primarian Arc recruitin¡¯ pamphlet.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± Said Vermolly playfully.


    ¡°And¡­dreams keep the ship afloat; hard work lifts it off. I remember, blah blah blah¡± Bolton mimicked, now refocused.


    ¡°Your emotions lack subtlety,¡± Vermolly admitted.


    ¡°Subtlety doesn¡¯t run in the family,¡± Bolton agreed lightheartedly.


    ¡°An airship¡¯s pilot should be chosen by merit, not by family. Rules be damned,¡± Vermolly comforted, her croaking voice a soothing melody amidst the quiet night. ¡°We¡¯ll build one eventually. Start small.¡±


    Bolton chuckled, ¡°Should I mark you down as my loyal Alchemian airship engineer?¡±


    ¡°Oh, blessed no. No. Quadrant Thirteen is our home now,¡± Vermolly admitted, swaying carefree from one side of Bolton¡¯s hat to the other. ¡°No airship¡¯s for my immediate future.¡±


    "Do Alchemians usually frequent airships anyway?" Bolton wondered, carefully handling Vermolly from arm to arm.


    "Perhaps when someone of a more responsible background pilots it?" Vermolly teased.


    "Like another Alchemian?" Bolton suggested.


    Vermolly recoiled with mock horror. "By earth and sea, no! Too arrogant. They generally can¡¯t see beyond their flat snouts. I''m far superior," she declared, her gentle laughter filling the air. ¡°Besides, I¡¯m far smaller than the average Alchemian. Can¡¯t repair anything larger than your average cog.¡±


    Vermolly leaned over Bolton¡¯s curled finger, hanging from his nail and gazing up at the fireworks lighting up the sky. Hearing a larger, more sizzling firework, she suddenly a particular detail from the note Bolton received before his quest into the deeper Quadrants. The note instructed him to approach a specially designed sewer hole when the fireworks exploded at midnight. The first firework would be a purple dazzle, the second a green array with a purple center, and the last a large star-shaped explosion signaling the start of the late-night festivities in Whistletop Alley and Bolton¡¯s chance to enter the Primarian Royale


    ¡°Signal should be soon, Bolton. Head up, pend your thoughts,¡± Vermolly said, rushing up Bolton¡¯s arm onto his makeshift leather helmet. ¡°I¡¯d say we have five minutes until the second signal.¡±


    "Quickly off-topic, Vermolly,¡± Bolton wondered, looking up over his head. ¡°You say I¡¯m reckless, but you¡¯ve never talked about your time aboard the..."


    ¡°I¡¯m not so gullible to know you won¡¯t go venturing off to the people who wronged me. An airship is not difficult to find. Even for a Quadrant Thirteen bumpkin,¡± Vermolly replied sternly.


    ¡°It¡¯s only been two years with you, and you know me that well?¡± Bolton laughed suddenly.


    ¡°As I¡¯ve said, you¡¯re not subtle,¡± Vermolly laughed back. ¡°Now let¡¯s get those Gale Frogs outta your helmet. The second firework will explode soon.¡± Refocused, Vermolly tilted Bolton¡¯s helmet, revealing the frogs underneath. ¡°Now hurry and unclip your chin strap, get these lil¡¯ guys out.¡±


    Bolton quickly agreed and unclipped his chinstrap, then removed his helmet. Nine Gale Frogs¡ªeach adorned with unique, striking patterns¡ªaligned themselves into a haphazard formation, croaking louder and louder until they naturally formed a circle.


    ¡°Ah, well, once they stop pulling your hair, it¡¯s difficult to remember they¡¯re there,¡± Bolton said with some embarrassment. ¡°Right now, Vermolly, think you can do that Alchemian bubble thing? Just shove ¡¯em in a bubble and wave ¡¯em farewell. I know these guys belong in the air.¡±


    Vermolly''s expression fell. "Still not quite at full strength. Can¡¯t make any bubbles at the moment. More like, not¡­ even close, to be honest," she confessed, her voice softening while examining the nine colorful tiny frogs.

 Chapter 2: Braverys Whistle (Part 4)

    ¡°You¡¯re curious, aren¡¯t you? If I¡¯ve healed?¡± Vermolly challenged, inflating her throat pouch to reveal a scar. ¡°I haven¡¯t,¡± she said, her voice disappointed.


    Bolton nodded slightly. Vermolly inflated her throat pouch, slightly hovering over Bolton¡¯s hands. She struggled to maintain the pouch''s inflation, slowly falling into a sudden plummet.


    "I''m not a New Dwardian Iron Medic, but at least I can save a life," Bolton said as he caught Vermolly mid-fall. ¡°Could¡¯ve done better, though,¡± he admitted with guilt. He examined her throat pouch with a halfhearted, pain-filled smile, recalling the day he had rescued Vermolly. "Not so different from working on machines and doing surgery," he remarked sarcastically, meeting Vermolly''s pouted expression.


    "Wouldn''t be here if you didn''t try. Plus, my pouch works well enough to help you run your makeshift shop," Vermolly said, comforting Bolton.


    "Last I checked, we both run that. Don¡¯t you dare give me more responsibility than I need," Bolton affirmed gently, cradling Vermolly on his shoulder.


    Suddenly, the Gale Frogs sprang to life on Bolton¡¯s head, their slimy feet shuffling before they began croaking rhythmically. At the same time, the second firework exploded, sending sparks of green raining throughout Whistletop Alley, giving it a mysterious green allure.


    "Ah, well... looks like you can speak frog," Vermolly remarked. ¡°They seem to be reacting to the wind conditions.¡±


    ¡°Which are?¡± Bolton wondered.


    ¡°Good enough,¡± Vermolly replied.


    ¡°So not the firework?¡± Bolton inquired sarcastically.


    ¡°Fraid¡¯ not,¡± Vermolly joked back. ¡°Look at ¡¯em, they appear to be croaking in the direction of the howling gales.¡±


    With a sense of order and urgency, the Gale Frogs seemingly instinctively made their descent down Bolton''s form. They gripped his wavy hair like nimble climbers, then sprang from his ears to his shoulders before leaping into the swirling winds that enveloped the surrounding buildings.


    ¡°Observe how they shoot air from between their webbed appendages even as they walk. Remind you of something?¡± Vermolly said, following closely behind the last Gale Frog in line.


    Bolton nodded, continuing to watch the Gale Frogs closely. They approached the edge of his extended arm, jumping one by one into the wind with great confidence. In the air, their pouches inflated as they blew reflective bubbles, suspending them in a mesmerizing swirling dance.


    ¡°The Airshoes? That¡¯s where you got the idea?¡± Bolton suddenly realized, grabbing the harness hidden under his jacket. His shoes, originally designed for use in a bog, were repurposed for bursts of air. His gloves, made of leather and metal, could release powerful blasts of air from compartments attached to his legs. His jacket, in turn, acted like a parachute.


    ¡°I¡¯m certain we agreed on calling them Vapor Jets. You¡¯ve been using them for about a month now,¡± Vermolly replied, perched on Bolton¡¯s finger. ¡°You¡¯ve done well to navigate with them so efficiently. However, I¡¯ve yet to perfect them. They cannot carry much fuel, likely just enough for a handful of escapes.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten,¡± chuckled Bolton. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to let me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been around you long enough to know that it doesn¡¯t take an airship to have your thoughts in the clouds,¡± Vermolly said, placing her eyes in front of Bolton¡¯s.


    ¡°Tell me this, Vermolly¡­¡± Bolton gently placed Vermolly on the brim of his hat. ¡°How do these little critters know where they¡¯re going?¡±


    ¡°Their instinct overpowers their fear. There are things in life more powerful than immediate danger. More important. Perhaps you can learn from the Gale Frogs,¡± Vermolly replied.


    "They eventually find their way back to the sewers, which in turn leads to their pond and far from the clamor of exotic animal vendors."


    Vermolly reclined on the brim of Bolton''s helmet, her legs swinging gently as she observed the Gale Frogs vanishing into the night. With a gentle hand, Bolton guided her back beneath his hat. But not before she took one last glance toward the skyline, then nestled comfortably once more.


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    ¡°Let¡¯s get movin¡¯, Vermolly. Truth be told, it scares me that I know nothing of what the rest of this day looks like, but then again, it¡¯s also far more exciting. Maybe that¡¯s what the lil¡¯ guys feel?¡± Bolton mused aloud. ¡°Anyway, there goes the third firework,¡± he mumbled, carefully hiding in the shadows of the Akiyoma.


    "Now, where was I supposed to meet this¡­ sewer fellow?" he pondered, refocusing on his task. Tapping his lips thoughtfully, he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a crumpled note with instructions for the rendezvous: a hidden sewer entrance near the revered Akiyoma Statue, depicted in a crude sketch featuring an Alchemian perched atop a towering Giant.


    "Dear Bolton,


    Hurd you''ve been a sniffin'' around for a way through the tunnels. That! Ain¡¯t! EASY! Also, some scary ol¡¯ guy has been sniffin¡¯ all over Quadrant Thirteen for ya too. Says he¡¯s from the capital and ¡°doesn¡¯t have much time!¡± or somethin. Don¡¯ nobody have time! Any which way, everyone''s got a bleedin'' interest in gettin'' through ''em tunnels lately! What''s lurkin'' down there, that''s got folks so far wedged in their own streaker? Well, ya done me a solid fixin'' up me motor when it was on its last legs and didn''t blab to the local scrappers, so I reckon it''s time to repay the favor. Don¡¯t get caught. (Flip the note, I ranna outta space)


    Got me, cousin, Occilo. Runs a cheeky li¡¯ operation down under. Underneath Quadrants One, Two, and Eight, that is. Pay him a visit near that Akiyoma Airship replica. Meet him ova¡¯ the sewa¡¯ hole with the fancy drawin¡¯s of the frog people and Giants. Ya¡¯ think they might want to take their ol¡¯ stomping grounds back someday? Anyway, the lad might sort you out proper. Or he might just end up gettin'' you snuffed out. There''s a reason he''s down there, and I''m up here.


    Oh and next time you''re around for a fixin¡¯, please do that. I may or may not have crashed into your garage door again.


    With regards,


    Selton Fox


    PS: Bout¡¯ Midnight. I¡¯m told a purple firework -colorblind ya know-, greenlight and purple light, and Big Star Finish. Bout¡¯ 2 minutes between each. That¡¯s always been the signal.


    ¡°The man signed his name yet doesn¡¯t want to be caught? Colorblind too¡­¡± chuckled Bolton, crumpling the note and sliding it back into his coat pocket, his mind already focused on the task.


    Guided by whispers from his informant, Bolton set off to locate the elusive Occilo, a man renowned for his mastery of the intricate sewer networks beneath New Dwarden. He combed the monument''s base, scanning for any sign of the manhole. Carefully, he crouched and stuck to the shadows under the Akiyoma until he spotted one that matched the description in the letter. The manhole lay just beneath the ship''s hull, to the left of its informational plaque.


    Before setting out on foot, Bolton paused for a moment of respite, casting a cautious glance around him from the shelter of the monument''s shadow. An eerie emptiness filled the typically bustling Akiyoma Square, a stark departure from its usual lively ambiance. The square lay deserted tonight, its tables and podiums left unattended in anticipation of an upcoming gathering. Despite the stillness, Bolton remained vigilant, his gaze flickering warily towards the circular windows of the surrounding buildings. He noticed the occasional Clinker patrolling, blinking their long beams of light in his direction, and the occasional drunk passerby, but none ventured toward the center of Akiyoma Square.


    "I don¡¯t mean to interrupt your mission, Bolton, but the closer you get to the Primarian Royale, the less likely you''ll be to dodge those Clinkers unscathed," cautioned Vermolly from beneath his hat, her voice soft yet urgent. ¡°Try staying in the shadows whenever possible.¡±


    ¡°My brother¡¯s robots have their flaws. They can¡¯t be everywhere, Vermolly. Besides, I have full faith in your¡­ Vap-va,¡± replied Bolton, his voice also soft and quiet.


    ¡°Come now. It¡¯s the moniker you came up with,¡± teased Vermolly.


    "Vaporjet Harness," echoed both Bolton and Vermolly in unison. "Alright, alright," chuckled Bolton. "You built it, so you¡¯ve got more of a duty to remember it," he added playfully, his eyes twinkling beneath the brim of his large brown bowler hat.


    ¡°Well, I agree the Clinkers can¡¯t be everywhere, but unless humans have some skill I¡¯m unaware of, neither can you. More so, an over-reliance on the¡ª¡± Vermolly began before Bolton interrupted.


    ¡°The Vapor Jet Harness!¡± Bolton interjected.


    "Yes!" Vermolly replied happily. "An over-reliance is dangerous. The invention itself is not optimized. We''ll see where this passionate spirit gets you once we¡¯re back at the shop. For now, steer clear of the Clinkers so we may have the chance to begin breakin¡¯ rules," snarked Vermolly under her breath.


    "We''re not getting¡¯ caught. Probably," whispered Bolton playfully. "Besides, Primarian Royale or not, my brother nor New Dwarden can argue with a bright glowing blue gem," he trailed off with uncertainty.


    "Let us hope that is a suitable defense in court," replied Vermolly, her voice disappearing into the sound of loud star-shaped fire-work above.


    Before Bolton could utter another word, a large, looming shadow fell over them. Moments earlier, he had sensed a change in the air, a faint rustling noise that made his heart race. He turned, his breath catching as he saw a towering figure emerge from the darkness of the Akiyoma, jumping down from the ship¡¯s mast. A humanoid creature that wore a patchwork of dark armor, adorned with mechanical enhancements that hissed and rattled with each step. It¡¯s eyes gleamed with a dangerous intensity while his chest pounded with the sound of powerful pistons.

 Chapter 2: Braverys Whistle (Final Part)

    The humanoid creature advanced, and a swarm of Clinkers flooded the square, their cold, metallic bodies blocking every exit. The once-quiet space erupted into a cacophony of grinding gears and clanking metal, drowning out the distant fireworks. Bolton¡¯s heart raced as he realized there were too many to count¡ªan overwhelming wall of machinery closing in on him.


    Before Bolton could react, the Clinkers screeched in unison, moving as one towards him. They halted abruptly, their eyes¡ªglowing with an unnatural light¡ªshifting from Bolton to the humanoid figure looming just behind him.


    Of all the Clinker¡¯s, one Clinker caught Bolton''s eye. It stood at the forefront, eerily adorned with confetti and paint, much like the one he had encountered before. Upon seeing it, instinct took over, and Bolton began frantically searching the ground for the sewer mentioned in the letter, nearly forcing himself to forget the presence of the terrifying creature behind him.


    "Bolton! Escape!" Vermolly''s frantic voice yelped from within his cap, snapping his attention to the sewer hole a short distance to his right.


    Vermolly released two spurts of gas, carefully concealing the area around Bolton but making sure he wasn¡¯t caught within it¡ªone grayish cloud meant for concealment, the other green, designed to confuse and disorient anyone unlucky enough to breathe it in. However, this also meant that the humanoid figure behind him remained unaffected by the gas, as it was too far away to be impacted.


    Two sewer holes were visible around Akiyoma Square. One bore an industrial stamp, a carving of a bear roaring into an anvil, symbolizing Quadrant Two¡¯s leader. The other sewer hole, just within reach, glistened under the moonlight¡ªits metallic design matching the description in the letter.


    Escape was all Bolton could think about. He twisted a couple of levers on his belt, clicked a button on his shoes, and launched himself toward the glistening sewer hole using his Vapor Jet Harness, clenching his teeth at the thought of the ¡®thing¡¯ just behind him.


    But before he could gain any ground, Bolton was yanked out of his dash by an iron grip around his ankle, slamming him to the ground and jarring his jaw painfully. A sharp pain shot through his legs as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened.


    "This¡­is wrong¡­something¡¯s wrong¡ª" Bolton¡¯s heart pounded as he turned his gaze upwards, meeting the deafening sounds of the Clinkers and then the ominous sight of two large, glowing red eyes like smoldering brimstone looking down at him.


    "I am Quadrant Leader Two, Enton, The Bear," the figure declared, stepping closer, his voice cold and dripping with malice. "You will know my name. You will remember it, and you will leave New Dwarden. This is your only warning."


    ¡°I remember you... what you were! What happened to you? I... I can¡¯t just leave¡ªI won¡¯t!¡± Bolton stammered, his voice wavering under the crushing weight of fear that radiated from the shadowy figure.


    ¡°Understood.¡± Enton¡¯s voice rumbled, a chilling void of emotion.


    Without warning, a loud whirring sound erupted from Enton¡¯s right side, sending a jolt of terror through Bolton. Instinctively, he scurried away the sound, his mind racing. Desperately, Bolton tried to shield Vermolly and escape with a burst from his Vapor Jet Harness, but it was too late. The whirring abruptly ceased, and Bolton felt a cold, metallic grip latch onto his back, crushing the air from his lungs and yanking him with terrifying force. The impact sent him crashing to the ground once more, his cap flying off in the process.


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    Bolton¡¯s mind spun from the blow, his thoughts a jumbled mess of pain and confusion. Despite the chaos, his eyes fixated on the sewer hole, gleaming faintly just a few feet away¡ªa distant beacon of escape. But before he could move, a sickening crunch reverberated through the air. Time seemed to slow as Bolton turned his head, dread pooling in his stomach. There, he saw it: Enton¡¯s massive foot retracting from the flattened remains of his cap¡ªof Vermolly.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Bolton¡¯s voice was drowned out by the fireworks exploding overhead.


    He reached for the crushed cap, but it was too late. Vermolly lay motionless, her tiny form mangled and lifeless, the vibrant spirit that had guided him through countless storms snuffed out in an instant. Pain radiated through Bolton as he lay on the cold ground, his gaze fixed on her broken body. A wave of despair crashed over him, quickly overtaken by a surge of viciously raw fury. Vermolly wasn¡¯t just a companion¡ªshe was his anchor in this chaotic world, a voice of guidance and reason. And now she was gone, leaving him adrift in a sea of guilt and rage. The tears that threatened to fall simply didn¡¯t, giving birth to seething vengeance.


    ¡°This... this is enough! What happened to you!?¡± Bolton¡¯s voice cracked with anguish, his breath ragged, his fury shaking the platform beneath him. Rage and sorrow surged through him as he faced the Enton, whose gaze remained cold and unfeeling.


    ¡°An alchemian aligned herself with a pirate. That is her fate. There are no more warnings,¡± Enton said, his tone as icy as ever.


    With almost no effort, Enton flipped Bolton over with his large arms, and hoisted him up, bringing their faces inches apart.


    Before Bolton stood Enton, his large, imposing form illuminated by the sporadic bursts of fireworks in the sky. His oily, metallic skin gleamed under the faint light, accentuating his sharp jawline and chiseled features. He wore a long, dark jacket that hung loosely over his broad shoulders, the absence of a shirt beneath revealing glimpses of his muscular torso. His mechanical components were subtly integrated into his frame, and the pistons at his back shifted silently as he moved, a menacing contrast to the night¡¯s stillness.


    Bolton¡¯s mind raced, his thoughts spiraling as he tried to grasp the horror before him. ¡°Why!? You¡¯re supposed to protect us! That¡¯s what Quadrant Leaders do!¡± he shouted, his voice breaking with desperation. ¡°You¡¯re Yerro¡¯s will¡ªmy brother¡¯s will! How could you¡ª?¡±


    Enton¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°A heart. None will be taken. Look at what I¡¯ve done and understand: mine will not be taken¡ªnor my brethren¡¯s. This is a threat, and I will deliver. To you. To Amelia. To the King.¡±


    Bolton¡¯s world splintered, his heart torn between viscous rage and a call for vengeance. The truth cut deeper than he could have imagined. Anguish burned in his eyes as he glared at the figure before him, his teeth grinding until the taste of blood filled his mouth.


    ¡°I will ki¡ª¡± Bolton¡¯s words were cut short by a swift, metallic palm striking his face, knocking him out cold.


    ¡°You will do nothing,¡± Enton replied, his voice chillingly calm, before the sound of Bolton¡¯s vapor jet harness being crushed echoed through the square.


    Bolton¡¯s body went limp, his consciousness fading as tears welled in his eyes. He stared at Vermolly¡¯s remains, his vision blurring as darkness consumed him.


    Suddenly, another shadow emerged from the nearby sewer hole. It was a creature cloaked in the darkness of the night, its eyes boiling with a fiery orange glow and its mouth filled with pulsating, swollen red tissue, saliva dripping from its gaping jaws. In an instant, the creature¡¯s tongue shot out like a striking serpent, wrapping around Bolton¡¯s waist and yanking him out of Enton¡¯s grasp, dragging him swiftly toward the sewer.


    Bolton watched in stunned disbelief as the creature¡¯s tongue pulled him in. He was too weak to resist, too terrified to move. Enton reeled from a sudden, unknown blow that struck the side of his cheek. As Bolton was dragged away, he caught sight of a figure crouched on the Akiyoma anchor, holding a smoking weapon and wearing a sinister, playful smile. Smoke curled from Enton¡¯s face where the blow had landed.


    Like the creature lurking in the sewer, the figure was obscured by the night. They appeared to be dressed in a long, flowing robe, possibly trimmed with fur and wore goggles that reflected the moonlight with an orange tinge. Their grin was unnaturally wide. After firing what seemed to be a hand cannon-like weapon at Enton, the figure leaped over Enton¡¯s head, diving headfirst into the sewer and landing gracefully above the creature. As darkness closed in and the creature¡¯s mouth enveloped him, Bolton heard a voice in the distance: ¡°Who¡¯s your favorite cousin!?¡±

 Chapter 3: Whistlin Death (Part 1)

    Amelia


    As the Pappy Long Legs ascended higher into the tranquil evening skies of Quadrant Seven, Amelia pressed her face against the grand circular window at the end of a dimly lit corridor. The window, like a domed pier reaching into the heavens, offered vistas only an airship could provide. Below it, the metallic platform shimmered with a bronze sheen, while sleek wooden rails provided just enough height for Amelia to peer over the edge.


    Stretching her arms toward the sky, Amelia marveled at the breathtaking panorama unfolding before her. There was no wind, no scent of flowers, and no dust in the air as there had been in the Conkle mines. Yet, the warm golden glow of the evening sunlight made her feel as if she were flying. For a moment, the weight of her recent fears seemed as light as the clouds wisping around the airship, carried away by the boundless horizon.


    Beneath the airship, a patchwork of colorful fields and distant forests, with towering trees spiraling aggressively into the heavens, spread out like a living tapestry. The landscape blurred beneath her, and Amelia¡¯s thoughts flitted between the thrill of venturing beyond New Dwarden and the familiar thirteen Quadrants¡ªplaces far from the reach of any king or ruler. "No more uniform. No more rock scratchin¡¯," she mused, glancing down at her loosely worn pajamas.


    These oversized blue-striped pajamas, originally tailored for a more human-sized Roy, had been gifted to her by Rick earlier with a morbid chuckle. Despite his grim humor, the pajamas provided a surprising comfort, perhaps even a small solace for him as well even though it smelled of old mead and a strange vanilla mix. Amelia¡ªbefore Roy¡¯s mysterious transformation into a machine¡ªwas relatively the same height, give or take longer sleeve sizes and chest size.


    After wandering the ship for what felt like hours, Amelia found herself drawn to the observation deck, which seemed oddly out of place yet somehow the only logical destination. The floors above offered cozy furniture and even a hot tub, but the allure of the hidden mysteries beneath the surface was far stronger. Every other direction led to dimly lit metallic corridors, their cold, industrial feel amplified by the rhythmic ticks and clanks that hinted at secrets waiting to be uncovered. What began as a simple quest to find the hot tub she had glimpsed from above soon turned into a captivating exploration of the ship¡¯s massive clockwork mechanisms and intricate metallic gearwork.


    Her quarters, barren save for a small cot and a basket of bread offered little to occupy her thoughts. The captivating sunset, however, provided a much-needed distraction from the shadows of melancholy that lingered in the corners of her mind.


    The Pappy Long Legs felt like it had a mind of its own. Its metal bones groaned and twisted in the still night air, and every breath seemed to resonate through its hull like the pulse of a living thing. After her initial nap aboard, Amelia had pressed her ear against her door, listening as the airship carved its way through the skies. The creaking and shifting of its inner workings sounded like whispering voices, as though the ship was sharing secrets she wasn¡¯t meant to hear.


    Despite her wandering thoughts, Amelia felt a swell of pride as she gazed toward the horizon. From a life of relative privilege and comfort to one of darkness, death, and newfound strength, she had ventured far beyond her accustomed boundaries. But with that pride came a gnawing worry¡ªwhat price would she and her brothers ultimately pay for this journey into the unknown?


    "ALL ROYS, PLEASE REPORT TO YOUR NEAREST STATION. It''s high time we prepare for a nightly cruise," crackled Rick''s voice over a rusted intercom embedded between the golden pipes lining the dimly lit halls. ¡°Get the right yeast! The right yeast, ya¡¯ Hogpin!¡±


    "All Roys?" Amelia mumbled to herself. "How many sons¡­?" she wondered.


    "Except the Roy¡ª" Rick''s voice coughed with metallic reverberation. "Except the Roy with the uhh¡­ the bloomin¡¯ pliers. And I may¡ªwill¡ªneed that Roy¡­ here and now," he explained, followed by a loud crash over the intercom. "Right now! Oh, and D-dear Amelia!¡±


    ¡°Old man. Do you need help?¡± Amelia thought, but before she could act, Rick¡¯s voice crackled back to life.


    ¡°Amelia! I know you said you need time to think, but thinkin¡¯ means¡­ not touchin¡¯ anything that spins, moves, creaks, crumps, and¡ªwell, you get the idea,¡± Rick added after a brief moment of static. ¡°I recommend you rest Crowny, however, I ain¡¯t gonna stop ya¡¯ from wandering. Just understand it¡¯s all boots on deck when we arrive at Veranus. Straight to meet a fellow Hammer by the name o¡¯ Pistol and your brother Bolton.¡±


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    ¡°Rick, about the damn ceremony!?¡± shouted Amelia toward the general direction of Rick¡¯s voice.


    ¡°You¡¯re probably wondering how you could see those brother of yer¡¯s without succumbin¡¯ to somethin¡¯ uglier than me? Soul Rot is the word. Oh, and if I can see you? Well, I can¡¯t see you. This isn¡¯t science fiction,¡± said Rick in a matter-of-fact tone. ¡°Anyway, I don¡¯t know the details, but one of ¡®em other Crowny brothers of yours¡ªI¡¯m sure¡ªwill fill ya in. He may have found a way through or around it. I suppose consequences be damned.¡±


    Amelia rolled her eyes at Rick¡¯s comment and leaned over the railing, lost in thought as the metallic hum of his voice faded back into the network of copper pipes. To her, the rules of the Greisha ceremony were simple and absolute: First, upon reaching the age of 18, royalty must bond with a spirit representative of Yerro and form a contract, undertaking three challenges that test their core values, much like New Dwarden¡¯s military slogan of Power, Pride, Practice. Second, upon completion of these challenges, the victor is crowned by the former, current, or acting ruler. Third¡ªas far as Amelia could recall¡ªthose who fail to become King or Queen are bound by contract to leave the Primarian Royale never to contact one another. ¡°So how could she see Bolton without breaking the contract?¡± she wondered.


    The abrupt, jarring noise of something breaking snapped Amelia out of her thoughts about the Greisha ceremony, forcing her to focus on the present as Rick¡¯s clattering sounds filled the air. She couldn¡¯t shake the guilt of leaving Rick alone in his makeshift bakery, regretting her reassurances that he was better off working independently while she explored the ship. The image of his reluctant agreement replayed in her mind, though her worry eased as she recalled his agile metallic limbs, moving with the precision of an iron spider. ¡°Perhaps the old man was just tired or distracted?¡± she mused, letting out a light giggle and shrugging before refocusing on the world unfurling just beyond the railing.


    Her world had long been confined within the borders of Quadrant Seven, cradled in the protective embrace of its vibrant tree line. Each glance into the wilderness of Quadrant Seven brought a wave of nostalgia, pulling her thoughts back to the brown leather shoes and wooden sandals of the villages below. Each village, a tiny cluster of islands, brimming with culinary delights, lively taverns, and exotic creatures roaming cobbled streets and dirt roads. It was nothing like the inner quadrants, but the sense of community flowed as generously as the ale in its taverns.


    However, amidst the delightful aromas of smoky foods and savory drinks thrived a large community of miners, affectionately known to the locals as Yardrats¡ªand to Amelia, as brothers¡ªwho toiled tirelessly to keep the Quadrant''s lights aglow from deep beneath the earth. Whether extracting crystals or ores, the Yardrats were local celebrities, often treated as if each meal might be their last. Though the work was dangerous, the enduring memories of perilous adventures and frequent brushes with death brought a serendipitous smile to Amelia''s lips. The now precious moments like being trapped between cave-ins, discovering precious ores dangling over pitch-black ravines, or encountering dangerous animals, monsters, and curious spirits only widened her smile.


    Even now, never in her wildest dreams had Amelia imagined witnessing the majestic canopy of Quadrant Seven''s legendary Kalpin Trees. Scattered across the landscape, these trees held the notorious record for producing one of the most expensive fruits in New Dwarden¡ªa fruit coveted by the city''s top air and seafarers. It was said that a single piece of the giant Kalpin fruit contained enough nutrients to sustain a person for five days without water. Amelia had to see it for herself. As the airship drifted higher into the skies, she leaned over the rails, determined not to miss a glimpse of the legendary giant red fruit that grew exclusively at the summits of the Kalpin Trees.


    ¡°Rick! I don¡¯t care if you can hear me, but I see them! I can actually see the fruit! And even the monsters that guard them! Woooooo! What an animal!¡± she cheered, her voice brimming with excitement. ¡°What a dream!¡± Her words gradually faded, swallowed by the sound of the gale outside the glass dome.


    From this height, she could make out the swirling patterns atop the fruit, adorned with yellow polka-dotted protrusions. She also noticed the large bee-like insects that called the insides of the giant fruit their home. Amelia recalled the many legendary stories of how denizens from all around the Quadrants would attempt to harvest the fruit, only to fall victim to the creatures'' fatal paralyzing scent and deadly pincers. Though she didn¡¯t know all the details, she, like all Yardrats, knew that few had ever seen the fruit, let alone tasted it.


    The Kalpin Trees were almost everything she had imagined. Though they didn¡¯t quite reach the fabled heights spoken of in tales, their sturdy trunks provided the timber for many of the fortified homes built within the inner Quadrants, capable of withstanding even the fiercest New Dwardian storms.


    ¡°Amelia!¡± called out several overlapping voices, as if suddenly manifesting from thin air.


    Amelia frantically searched around, initially dismissing the strange voices as a figment of her imagination¡ªperhaps a side effect of an overlooked head injury, or maybe Rick or Roy calling from a great distance.


    ¡°Amelia Woltwork!¡± the voices insisted loudly. ¡°Look at your locket-er, pendant! Whatever the hell¡¯s on your neck! Open it!¡± they urged in unison.


    With her heart racing, Amelia looked down at her silver pendant. She carefully opened it, as if handling a delicate explosive. Inside, the blue crystal embedded within glowed once more.

 Chapter 3: Whistlin Death (Part 2)

    ¡°Who or what are you?¡± Amelia blurted out, her voice a mix of surprise and frustration. The world around her had become increasingly complex, and she was growing tired of the constant barrage of mysteries. ¡°Must I interrogate everything?¡± she muttered to herself, raising her locket toward the fading evening sun. The light danced on its surface, casting a warm glow over her fingers. She wondered, not for the first time, if this small trinket held the answers she desperately needed. Frustration welled up inside her as she shook it slightly, hoping to shake loose a revelation.


    ¡°There are quite a few of us here, really. But let¡¯s not be coy. I¡¯m Cameron. I¡¯m your brother¡¯s -The King- Keeper,¡± came a voice, soft yet firm, from the locket. ¡°We¡¯re at the Primarian Royale known to you as Quadrant Zero.¡±


    ¡°I got his letter! And where¡¯s my brother? Where¡¯s is he?¡± Amelia demanded, her voice edged with confusion and growing worry.


    ¡°Understood. And not to worry. He¡¯s here. Most of him...¡± Cameron replied, but the way the words trailed off made Amelia¡¯s stomach twist with unease.


    ¡°Most of him?¡± Amelia echoed, her voice sharpening with curiosity and anxiety. She could feel her heart beginning to race.


    ¡°Yes. However, on my honor, he¡¯s still alive and will continue to be should you listen,¡± Cameron¡¯s gentle yet stern voice became muffled, as though struggling against a strange, ethereal interference.¡±


    Before Amelia could process what was happening, the locket began to levitate, tugging at the chain still fastened around her neck. It spun in place, faster and faster, until it hovered just above her hand. A brilliant blue light erupted from it, bathing the room in an otherworldly glow. This was different¡ªbefore, the locket had only glimmered faintly in the presence of unseen danger or its potential. She had always felt a subtle, uneasy sensation whenever it was near, but this was something else entirely. The light felt calm, almost reassuring, yet she couldn¡¯t shake the fear that the necklace might strangle her in its spinning frenzy if the pivoting piece at its top broke or jammed.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t the time for idle chatter!¡± Another voice broke through, rougher, deeper, and far more urgent. ¡°Let me get in... l-et me...¡± The voices clashed before the rougher one took control. ¡°Er¡ªHear me, Crowny! I¡¯m Ehmir, a member of the Primarian Hammer. I¡¯ve got Cameron of the Primarian Arc here, your fool of a brother Bolton, and the mud puddle of a King in a sewer under the Primarian Royale.¡±


    ¡°Put ¡¯em¡ªwhatever this is! P-put ¡¯em on the crystal!¡± Amelia shouted, gnawing at her fingers in a mix of confusion and desperation.


    ¡°Er¡­¡± Ehmir grumbled, ¡°It¡¯s not that easy, missy.¡±


    ¡°Pass the crystal, no?¡± Amelia suggested, her frustration intensifying.


    ¡°Listen, Dolly. Do you know how to grab a floating crystal? Better yet, do you know how to ring someone with a bloody rock? No? Well, Dolly, you see the predicament. We¡¯re all playing baseball with two sticks and no ball.¡±


    Amelia sighed, understanding Ehmir¡¯s tone but growing more anxious by the second, especially since she hadn¡¯t heard anything concrete about her brothers. She glanced back at the walls of the Pappy Long Legs, hoping Rick might be listening in, just in case she was imagining this entire bizarre situation.


    ¡°Next lesson, Crowny. I knew your brother Bolton would find a foolish way to get here, and so did the King. I just didn¡¯t expect him to show up wedged between a giant lizard and an attached caveman to boot.¡±


    ¡°Caveman?¡± shouted another voice from the distance, causing Amelia to blink in confusion. ¡°Like, ancient? Because that¡¯s kind of right.¡±


    ¡°Never mind that. In a world of giants, monsters, and spirits, let¡¯s just toss in a caveman for good measure!¡± Amelia said sarcastically.


    ¡°Good idea! Let¡¯s¡ª¡± Ehmir started to say.


    ¡°No, Ehmir! Help me bring some sense into this. Spit some truth,¡± Amelia interrupted, forcing herself to stay calm. The situation was spiraling out of control, but she needed to keep her wits about her.


    ¡°Soul Rot. ¡¯Fraid it¡¯s got the King. He¡¯s really not himself. As you know, it manifests differently in everyone,¡± replied Cameron softly. ¡°As for the caveman, we¡¯re working on that.¡±


    ¡°Are my brothers okay?¡± Amelia¡¯s hand instinctively reached toward the locket, as if by some miracle she could touch the King and offer comfort.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, nor am I allowed to say. Please, Amelia, as hard as a nut Ehmir can be, he speaks truth and he cares. You¡¯ll find that to be a rare quality. Please, just listen,¡± Cameron¡¯s voice pleaded. There was a weight in his words that made Amelia¡¯s heartache.


    ¡°Listen here, Dolly, before the rot began to eat away at your brother¡¯s thick noggin, he instructed me and the other Hammers to relay some crucial information. I¡¯m specifically supposed to tell ya that the gem around you and your brother was to be crushed. The blue part, that is. He knew full well that Yerro would overhear and leak information like a hive mind¡ªor however it does its spreading. We can only assume Yerro hears everything, if not in person,¡± Ehmir explained.


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    ¡°What, do I have to go looking for each Primarian Hammer to know if my brothers are okay?¡± Amelia asked, her sarcasm masking her rising panic.


    ¡°Focus, girly. Now hear me, yah?¡± Ehmir proposed.


    ¡°Yah,¡± Amelia agreed reluctantly.


    ¡°Inside the gem is a fleshy sphere. Keep that close and don¡¯t crush that thing. Only the shell. That shinin¡¯ blue shell of that gem gives out some sort of soundwave¡ª¡±


    ¡°Frequency,¡± Cameron interjected from just behind Ehmir.


    ¡°Yes, frequency, that some dangerous blowhorns can track. Every New Dwardian and all of their unborn children know not to mess with a Quadrant Leader and I¡¯m sure much more. But it seems fate has decided to play a new game with the Woltwork family at its center. As far as we know, Yerro is now the enemy -at least at the moment-, and so are all thirteen Quadrant Leaders,¡± Ehmir continued.


    ¡°Enemies?¡± Amelia muttered, her thoughts swirling in a mix of disbelief and horror. What had she gotten herself into? ¡°And the Quadrant Leaders are the enemy too? Why?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tug a lion¡¯s tail, Dolly. Information is the killer of loose lips. Now listen, Amelia. Your brother yapped about containin¡¯ one¡¯s soul inside of one¡¯s heart, and how that rule doesn¡¯t come out of any storybook,¡± Ehmir pressed on.


    ¡°It¡¯s a natural law that applies to Yerro as well,¡± Cameron interjected gently. ¡°However, we fear it applies to you. When you crack that gem of yours, please think about that when holding onto the¡ª¡±


    ¡°We call it the fleshy circle,¡± Ehmir interjected.


    ¡°Terrible name, really. But yes, the fleshy circle,¡± Cameron agreed reluctantly.


    ¡°Yerro is¡ª¡± Amelia began, but Cameron cut her off.


    ¡°Stop. Best not to say anything more unless you want to incur the wrath of what appears to be the entire city. Again, unfortunately, this conversation can be heard on more channels than just our ears,¡± Cameron warned.


    ¡°Oi, Amelia, I saved yer¡¯ brother! Now, pay me!¡± Another gruff voice suddenly blurted out, causing Amelia to flinch. ¡°Don¡¯t think he can no¡¯ more. Least for a while.¡±


    ¡°Off with you! Get away from the crystal, will you! Our problem is far larger than any paycheck you¡¯ll ever receive!¡± Cameron snapped back, her frustration evident.


    ¡°More pay, you say?¡± the gruff voice responded sheepishly. ¡°Well, I¡¯m as sorry as the underside of a dog¡¯s tail.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re sorry, are you? Since you¡¯re sorry, what was it¡ªOccilo? Occilo the caveman? I suppose the Primarian Guard won¡¯t kill us then,¡± Cameron added, her tone dripping with sarcasm as it echoed further away and close again. ¡°¡¯Fraid you¡¯re in this predicament too. Pulled right in,¡± Cameron mocked, her voice now becoming clearer.


    ¡°My brothers. Are they alive?¡± Amelia asked again, desperation creeping into her voice, ignoring the banter unfolding before her.


    ¡°Bolton¡¯s stuck visiting the underside of his eyelids,¡± Occilo added.


    ¡°Occilo!?¡± Cameron yelled. ¡°Will you please!?¡±


    ¡°The sewer caveman¡¯s right. Young lad¡¯s been roughed up by a Quadrant Leader, but he¡¯s alive and should heal just fine in the coming days. I know Pistol¡¯s going to see to that,¡± Ehmir commented. ¡°Dolly, our fine King, on the other hand... you¡¯ll hear of him when you arrive in Veranus. I received a directive statin¡¯ ¡®divulge information to the former Primarian Hammer named Pistol. He works on a Midnight Train dubbed¡ª¡± Ehmir continued. ¡°Well, can¡¯t tell ya the rest. You¡¯ll meet him either way.¡±


    Amelia leaned closer to the crystal, almost as if she could hear Ehmir grinding his teeth at Occilo¡¯s comments. ¡°Anyway, sorry to cut our yappin¡¯ reunion short, Amelia!¡± Ehmir¡¯s voice suddenly boomed, overpowering Cameron¡¯s. ¡°Are you with Rick now?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Y-you can¡¯t see me? Right?¡± Amelia wondered aloud, glancing around as if the shadows themselves could be spying on her.


    ¡°No, this isn¡¯t science fiction. Just tell the ol¡¯ bread baker that we are delayed in our exit but will meet at Veranus all the same! He¡¯ll know where¡ªleast he should,¡± Ehmir instructed.


    ¡°I will!¡± Amelia nodded, her focus narrowing in on the conversation. ¡°Anything else? What do I do?¡±


    ¡°Take in the bloody sights! As for the King, his soul¡¯s in a scruff with the city of New Dwarden itself. He¡¯s fightin¡¯ for all of us! Fists up and gob closed,¡± Ehmir¡¯s voice was urgent, pressing her to understand the gravity of the situation.


    ¡°His soul?¡± Amelia whispered, the word feeling heavy on her tongue.


    ¡°I¡¯ll write a book on it later,¡± Ehmir¡¯s voice began to fade, leaving Amelia with more questions than answers. ¡°He¡ª¡±


    ¡°He what?¡± Amelia blurted out, fear tightening around her heart. She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep her emotions in check. ¡°Watch out for a creature with a dog head! He tried to eat me!¡± she shouted, but the silence that followed was deafening.


    ¡°Dammit! Smash my finger betwixt a cog! Why a floating city!? ... I should¡¯ve stayed in the mines,¡± she thought to herself. "What have I gotten us into? What kind of danger have my brothers and I been stewing in?¡±


    Amelia¡¯s fingers twitched around the locket. Crush the blue gem? The thought was both reckless and tempting. The gem¡¯s soft glow seemed to taunt her, daring her to act. Maybe beneath this glowing facade lies the fleshy circle. I can¡¯t deny my curiosity, she thought. But does it hold answers or just more trouble?


    She scowled, knowing full well that whatever was inside the ¡°fleshy circle¡± probably wasn¡¯t anything pleasant. The name alone made her stomach churn.


    Am I really supposed to crack this thing open and hope for the best? She sighed, shaking her head. "Crush the shell, but not the fleshy circle," Ehmir had said. Easier said than done. With one last glance at the gem, she lowered her hand, muttering, ¡°What a time to be me.¡± Then, as if a small spark of reason broke through, she added, ¡°Best ask Rick. He might know.¡± There were too many unknowns, and Amelia knew better than to play with fire¡ªat least for now.

 Chapter 3: Whistlin Death (Part 3)

    Amelia leaned over the railing, deep in thought. ¡°Take in the bloody sights,¡± he said. How can I do that now? she wondered. A story that begins with an attack from a creature should¡¯ve ended just as fast. Am I really just lucky?


    The vast wilderness below stretched endlessly, a living tapestry of greens and golds, whisping beneath the airship like the world¡¯s grandest canvas. It was a sight meant to inspire awe, yet Amelia¡¯s mind clung stubbornly to darker memories¡ªthe moment the "Devil Dog" had crashed into her life, setting her on this harrowing journey. The beauty of the landscape couldn¡¯t wash away the lingering terror.


    New Dwarden¡¯s dangers weren¡¯t just confined to the shadows or the mines; they thrived in the open wilds, where creatures as fierce as Kalpin monsters guarded their territories, and spirits roamed with purposes beyond human comprehension. Quadrant Seven was no different. From her vantage point on the Pappy Long Legs, Amelia caught glimpses of the Quadrant¡¯s infamous inhabitants¡ªsome grotesque and imposing, others so small they seemed like mere specks from her height.


    But none of these beings held the same grip on her thoughts as the Devil Dog. That monstrous entity was more than just some monster; it was a shadow that refused to be banished, a constant reminder of the fragility of life but more importantly of the mystery her life may hold. The terror it instilled had carved a permanent scar in her memory, a scar she couldn''t ignore no matter how stunning the view.


    She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the present. The horizon was painted in hues of red and gold as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the landscape. Suddenly, a flock of Ignorpa¡ªcreatures resembling oversized lizards with feathered wings¡ªsoared alongside the airship. Their appearance offered a brief but welcome distraction from her dark thoughts.


    "I guess¡­ some animals don¡¯t want a fresh slab of you," she muttered, a wry smile tugging at her lips. ¡°Though I wouldn¡¯t mind if things were a bit smaller. And fewer teeth would be nice too¡­¡±


    The rhythmic flapping of the Ignorpas'' wings cut through the wind, a steady beat that was strangely calming. Amelia¡¯s hand instinctively reached for a weapon that wasn¡¯t there, a reflex born from the countless dangers she¡¯d faced. But there was no need for it now. The Ignorpas, graceful in their flight, were uninterested in her or the ship. She watched them, captivated by their effortless glide through the air, the sunlight catching on their pale wings.


    ¡°Am¡­elia?¡± a voice called out from the distance, distorted and faint.


    Amelia stiffened, her hand dropping from the railing. She scanned the dimly lit interior of the airship, eyes narrowing as she tried to make out the source of the voice. ¡°Bolton!? Ehmir!? Rick?¡± she called out, her voice echoing off the metallic walls. The playful tone she¡¯d used moments ago faded quickly as unease crept in. "See, this is why I¡¯m not sold on the whole ''I¡¯m not being kidnapped'' concept," she muttered to herself, adding more quietly, "...Roy?"


    But no response came, just the soft sway of the triangular lanterns lining the hallway. The airship¡¯s steady hum seemed louder in the absence of any other noise. She tried again, her voice more urgent this time, ¡°Roy. Roy! Which way¡¯s the hole I¡¯m stayin¡¯ in?¡±


    Only silence answered.


    Amelia¡¯s gaze dropped to the blue gem embedded in her locket, her fingers brushing it as if seeking comfort. The quiet pressed in around her, thick and heavy, as she started down the hallway. Each step echoed ominously in the dark, her earlier curiosity now tinged with apprehension. The idea of exploring a city in the sky had once filled her with excitement, but now the ship¡¯s dimly lit corridors felt more like a labyrinth of looming dangers. The memory of the Devil Dog surfaced again, its dark form threatening to engulf her thoughts. Tears welled in her eyes as she muttered, ¡°Fear¡­doesn¡¯t¡­suite me.¡±


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    ¡°In-qui-si-tive,¡± a robotic voice echoed, cutting through the stillness.


    Amelia¡¯s heart jumped, her eyes darting to the source. The lanterns flickered, casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the walls. The Devil Dog¡¯s ticking shadow receded, replaced by ghostly memories of her Yardrat family and other miners¡ªfigures from a past that urged her forward toward a goal she didn¡¯t yet understand.


    At the end of the corridor, shadows seemed to swirl and dart from corner to corner. Overlapping whispers filled the air, growing louder as she approached until a bright blue light shone from beneath a door just a few steps away. Cautiously, she moved closer, each step heavy with trepidation.


    ¡°Rick!¡± Amelia called, panic rising in her voice. ¡°Can you invent some better lights? And maybe a sign too.¡±


    ¡°INQUISITIVE?¡± the voice responded, now a ghostly wail, followed by another flash of blue light from under the door.


    ¡°Push a Yardrat!¡± she muttered, puffing up her chest as if to summon courage. ¡°You blast the mines!¡± Her steps were careful, her movements precise as she approached the door, her scowl deepening.


    The door was unlike any other on the Pappy Long Legs¡ªlarge, wooden, circular, with an orange iron handle and a metallic owl emerging from it. The owl¡¯s dark metal eyes seemed to follow her, its body poised as if ready to leap from the door at any moment. Above the owl, the number two was etched alongside the words, ¡°Perch by night. Stalk the day.¡± Another inscription, in a language foreign to her, added to the door¡¯s mysterious allure.


    She leaned in, her curiosity piqued by the door¡¯s design. The wood was glossy and inlaid with ornate gems, unlike anything she¡¯d seen before. The owl¡¯s eyes, made from an unfamiliar material, reflected the dim light in a way that made them seem almost alive.


    ¡°You are inquisitive¡­ like me,¡± a voice whispered from behind her.


    ¡°By the¡ª!¡± Amelia yelped, spinning around, her fist instinctively ready to strike. She found herself face-to-face with a small metallic being. Its square-shaped head was adorned with tiny rotating cogs and wheels, its eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light, and its mouth a simple round hole, like a mechanical walking jack-o-lantern.


    ¡°Down in the Conkle, I¡¯ve seen all sorts of automatons,¡± Amelia panted, trying to steady her breath. ¡°So what¡¯s your speed, little guy? Dancin¡¯ or smashin¡¯?¡± She lowered herself to the robot¡¯s eye level, torn between fear and fascination.


    ¡°I am¡­ Looking¡­ For¡­ Friend,¡± the robot replied, its eyes glowing with a hint of emotion.


    Amelia straightened, taking a cautious step back as the robot¡ªRoy¡ªopened its head to reveal a tiny gyrocopter. She watched, bewildered, as it began to hover before her, its metallic limbs hanging limp.


    ¡°Only moles make friends in the dark,¡± she teased, trying to mask her nerves.


    ¡°And¡­ Owls?¡± the robot pondered, its head tilting in a jerky motion toward the door beside Amelia. ¡°Owl¡­ Like¡­ Dark.¡±


    ¡°Maybe, little automaton¡­¡± Amelia sighed, relenting. ¡°Mind guiding me to my room? Or at least the hot tub?¡±


    The robot didn¡¯t answer immediately, its body twitching in what seemed like an idle dance. Something in its eyes¡ªlike the first Roy she¡¯d encountered¡ªlooked almost human, radiating a sense of innocence.


    ¡°Please¡­ Away from Owl¡­ To home,¡± the machine suddenly exclaimed, launching into another joyful dance, its arms spinning wildly. ¡°Orders. Orders. Orders.¡±


    ¡°Away from Owl?¡± Amelia repeated, her suspicion growing as she glanced toward the door beside her.


    ¡°Roy¡­ Life¡­ Inside¡­ We¡­ Roy¡­ Many¡­ Many,¡± the robot explained cryptically. ¡°You¡­ Can¡­ Be¡­ Roy.¡±

 Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Whistlin Death (Part 4)

    "See, when automatons talk like that...?" Amelia repeated her confusion deepening as she tried to make sense of the strange interaction. "Just being me is the better option."


    She again crouched to meet the little Roy at eye level as it descended to the ground again. There was something behind its eyes that had caught her attention¡ªa small blue glow, similar to the one in her locket, flickering deep within its seemingly hollow head. The light was faint but unmistakable, as though a tiny spark of life was trying to reach out to her. Before she could examine it any further, the machine seemed to notice her staring and swiftly concealed the blue light behind the more prominent yellow glow of its eyes, as if shielding a secret.


    ¡°Little Roy," Amelia said, her voice gentle but probing, "care to explain what you mean by ¡®life inside¡¯?" Her eyes narrowed slightly as she focused on what she thought might be a small, hidden pupil in the form of a tiny blue flame within the machine¡¯s gaze.


    Before the little automaton could respond, the walls of the Pappy Long Legs shuddered, a low rumble resonating through the ship as if it were waking from a long slumber. The tremor rippled through the very bones of the vessel, and Amelia instinctively reached out to steady herself against the wall.


    ¡°What now...?¡± she muttered, her heart quickening. The hallway around her began to shift, panels sliding open and closed as though the ship itself was rearranging its innards. It was as if the Pappy Long Legs was alive, and Amelia was suddenly very aware that she was standing within its belly.


    ¡°Rick. Owl. Heart. More Hearts. One. Soul,¡± came Roy¡¯s flat, almost lifeless response, the light in its eyes dimming as it spoke, leaving it motionless and inert.


    ¡°One soul?¡± Amelia murmured to herself, her voice barely audible as she tried to comprehend the strange words.


    Startled, Amelia staggered backward, her breath catching in her throat. From hidden crevices, grates, vents, and darkened corners, a swarm of robots began to emerge, their metallic forms clinking softly as they entered the dim light. A small glimmer of blue shone its way through the darkness, flickering between the interchanging yellow and blue in their eyes. Each one was slightly different from the next, yet they all shared the same makeshift, jack-o''-lantern-like shape. Despite their varying appearances, there was an unsettling uniformity in the way they moved¡ªpurposeful, deliberate, and with a strange unity that set Amelia¡¯s nerves on edge.


    The machines turned their gaze toward the Roy closest to Amelia, almost as if awaiting orders. With a mixture of awe and unease, Amelia watched as the robots formed a silent assembly, their glowing eyes fixated on her with an intensity that felt almost human. She could feel the weight of their collective gaze, a silent pressure that seemed to pulse in the confined space of the corridor.


    "Okay¡­ friends? You are all Roys, correct?" mumbled Amelia, her voice quivering slightly as she tried to break the oppressive silence. The uncertainty in the air was thick, almost tangible, as if the ship itself was holding its breath.


    ¡°Friend!¡± the robots echoed, one after another, their voices ringing out in unison. ¡°Yes. FRIEND. Order. Order.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s heart pounded in her chest, the word "friend" feeling more like a declaration than a reassurance. "How do I get back to my quarters? Care to show me?" she asked with a playful bow, trying to mask her growing anxiety. Sweat trickled down her neck, pooling at the base of her chin.


    She cautiously turned to face the door adorned with an owl, a symbol of wisdom and watchfulness that offered no comfort in the current situation. But before she could take a step toward it, she was intercepted by yet another Roy. This one was smaller than the rest, but its presence was far more unsettling. Its blank, glowing eyes were fixed on her with a cold, almost malevolent intensity. Unlike the others, this Roy bore no trace of the mysterious blue light behind its eyes¡ªonly a stale, lifeless yellow that radiated an eerie emptiness.


    There was something inherently wrong about this automaton. Its stance was more aggressive, its movements sharper and more deliberate, as if driven by a different, darker purpose. The ticking and tocking of its gears were harsh and disjointed, like a clock that had been wound too tightly and was now on the verge of breaking. The sound was unnerving, each tick echoing like a countdown to some inevitable catastrophe.


    With a sudden, almost contemptuous flick of its wrist, the small Roy shooed the previous Roy away. The motion was harsh yet disturbingly precise, as if this automaton held authority over the others. The other Roys hesitated for a moment, their gears clicking in a collective murmur of unease before they slowly backed off, retreating into the shadows like obedient soldiers deferring to a superior officer.


    Amelia''s heart pounded as she watched the small Roy. There was no longer any hint of camaraderie in the air¡ªonly a growing sense of foreboding. The corridor, once filled with the faint, mechanical hum of the Roys, now seemed to close in around her, the silence punctuated only by the dissonant ticking of the small Roy¡¯s gears.


    It stood there, unblinking, its unyielding gaze locked onto hers. Amelia could feel the tension tightening around her, like the pressure of a storm about to break. The air seemed to grow colder, and the ship¡¯s familiar creaks and groans took on a more sinister tone, as though the very structure of the Pappy Long Legs was watching and waiting.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible as she tried to keep her composure. But the small Roy remained silent, its eyes narrowing slightly as it continued to stare at her, its expression foreboding.


    The oppressive stillness pressed down on her, making it difficult to breathe. Amelia could feel a chill creeping up her spine as the small Roy slowly raised one of its arms, pointing directly at the owl-adorned door. The movement was slow, deliberate, and filled with an ominous weight that made Amelia¡¯s blood run cold.


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    ¡°Okay¡­ little guy,¡± Amelia stammered, her voice faltering as she slowly turned back toward the growing crowd of Roys behind her. Panic began to bubble up in her chest. "Rick!" she called into the darkness, her voice tinged with desperation.


    Amelia could hear the tiny automaton suddenly retreating into the thin floor grates that lined the Pappy Long Legs with incredible speed, its presence slipping away like a shadow. She kept her body half-turned, unsure of what was going to happen next. Before she knew it, there were no more Roys around her, her back simply faced the door with the owl on it and her gaze focused on the growing crowd of Roys.


    As she scanned the large crowd of Roys, Amelia called out to the smallest one she had been speaking to earlier, distinguishing it by the large golden gear embedded in the side of its temple. "Don¡¯t go! Listen¡­ uh, the walking bucket in the front," she addressed the foremost robot, beads of sweat sliding down her neck as her brows furrowed in deep thought. "I won¡¯t call ya¡¯ Roy anymore. We¡¯re f-friends now, right? Give me a name?"


    "Name. R-," began the automaton, its mechanical voice faltering as if struggling to form the words. Before it could finish, Amelia interjected, her tone more decisive.


    "Whisky! I promise. You''ll warm up to it. You are now Whisky," she insisted, a touch of resolve in her voice, trying to assert some control over the situation.


    The smallest of the Roys¡ªnow Whisky¡ªstood before her, its once-empty gaze sparking to life. The gears inside it began to tick faster and louder, its curiosity evident in the quickened rhythm. It seemed to consider the name, its mechanical mind processing the new identity with a kind of childlike wonder.


    "If. I¡¯m. Whisky. You. Are. Roy?" inquired Whisky, his voice tinged with a newfound curiosity, as if the simple act of naming had granted him a deeper sense of self.


    "No, I''m still Amelia," replied Amelia, forcing a nervous smile. Despite the tension, she couldn¡¯t help but feel a strange connection to this little machine.


    ¡°I am Wh-is-ky?¡± Whisky repeated, almost as if testing the name on its non-existent tongue. Then, with a sudden burst of pride, it turned to the other Roys lingering in the shadows. ¡°I am Whisky!¡± it declared loudly, its voice echoing through the corridor.


    Amelia, still nervous but now reluctantly amused, watched as Whisky seemed to command respect from the other Roys. They shifted slightly in the darkness, their eyes dimming as if acknowledging Whisky¡¯s newfound status. The little automaton paced back and forth, its gears ticking with excitement, as though it was beginning to understand its role as a leader among the Roys.


    "Look at your hands¡ªthey''re like whisks. That''s why you''re Whisky," Amelia explained, trying to keep the conversation light to ease the growing tension.


    "Your. Hands. Like¡­ Wren-ches. You. Wrenchy?" replied Whisky, tilting its head as it tried to comprehend the comparison.


    "Not at all!" Amelia chuckled awkwardly, though her laughter was laced with unease. "Curious machine, aren¡¯t you?" she observed, studying Whisky closely. The more she looked, the more she noticed the intricacies of its design¡ªhaphazardly assembled from extra sheets of metal, rusted gears, and mismatched tools. It was clear that Whisky, like Roy, was more than just an ordinary automaton. There was something almost¡­ alive about it.


    Once again, Amelia¡¯s eyes were drawn to the dim blue light behind Whisky¡¯s gaze. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, captivating her attention. But before she could examine it further, a tiny metallic claw reached up and grasped the locket around her neck.


    ¡°Roy¡¯s heart. Rock. You¡¯re Heart. Rock,¡± said Whisky, its gaze suddenly becoming eerily human. The automaton held the locket for a moment longer before releasing it, its metallic fingers clicking softly as they withdrew.


    ¡°This was a gift. When I was born,¡± Amelia replied, her voice softening as she gently pushed down her fear. Despite the strangeness of the situation, she couldn¡¯t help but feel a small sense of endearment toward Whisky. ¡°Do you like it?¡± she asked, but Whisky remained silent, its attention elsewhere.


    Whisky turned its gaze up toward Amelia, its square, cracked spotlight-like eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, the yellow light in its eyes was overwhelmed by the blue glow, as if something deep within the machine was trying to communicate.


    ¡°Know anything about monsters that like blue light?¡± Amelia wondered aloud, her fingers idly fiddling with the locket around her neck. She opened the locket, revealing a small, worn picture embedded within. The image depicted a family¡ªfive individuals laughing together, their clothes smeared with food as though they had been caught in the middle of a playful food fight.


    ¡°Do you know what family is?" Amelia asked tentatively, hoping for some kind of response. But Whisky didn¡¯t answer. Instead, it seemed to lose interest, its focus drifting as it resumed its peculiar dance, spinning and ticking in an oddly rhythmic pattern.


    Amelia sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she realized she was no closer to understanding the strange little automaton. "Whisky¡­ let¡¯s just head back. Back to wherever it was, I could get some sleep."


    Whisky paused its dance, turning to confer with the other machines nearby. After a moment, it refocused on Amelia with a determined stare. "You. Know. Where," it stated, its tone firmer now. "We. Are. Too. Inquisitive."


    "Why not show me? Whisky, please," Amelia sighed, the exhaustion creeping into her voice. She gestured for the other robots to disperse with a wave of her hand, but to her dismay, they simply ignored her, their glowing blue pupils fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.


    A strange silence settled over the ship, heavy and foreboding, like the quiet before a storm. Whisky rolled up to Amelia, its rickety gears squeaking as it stopped in front of her. Its squared, cracked spotlight eyes flicked between Amelia and the others, its posture stiffening as if sensing danger.


    Without warning, Whisky began to whirr like an alarm, a cacophony of overlapping screeches that set Amelia¡¯s nerves on edge. The noise was shrill and disorienting, sending shivers down her spine. The sound acted like a signal, and upon hearing it, the rest of the Roys melted back into the shadows, disappearing into the grates, vents, and cracks in the walls, leaving only Whisky standing before her.


    "Owl. Heart. Owl. Soul," announced Whisky, bowing its head to Amelia with a solemnity that felt strangely human. Then, with a final glance, Whisky turned and disappeared into the darkness of the ship, leaving Amelia alone in the dimly lit corridor.


    Amelia watched as Whisky¡¯s small form vanished into the grates, only turning back to wave goodbye before it too was swallowed by the shadows. The hallway was now empty, the ship returning to its usual mechanical hum.


    "Who would have thought I''d walk away from this feeling guilty?" Amelia mused, her confusion deepening as she realized just how strange the encounter had been. The Pappy Long Legs seemed to be hiding more secrets than she could have ever imagined. "Looks like I''m on my own," she murmured to herself, her voice trailing off into the stillness.¡°Shit.¡±

 Chapter 3: Whistlin Death (Final Part)

    Between the gentle flicker of the warm lanterns, A strange warmth tugged at her, pulling her toward the owl-shaped door at the end of the hallway. It hadn¡¯t been there before. Was it calling to her? She hesitated, remembering the Roys lurking in the shadows. Too many unknowns. With a sigh, she turned away, deciding it was better to head back, still reeling from the Devil Dog.


    As Amelia turned to venture deeper into the ship¡¯s labyrinthine corridors, the boundary between life and machine blurred. Statues and busts of frog-like figures lined the halls, their glassy eyes tracking her every step like silent sentinels. The ship seemed to shift around her with every turn, as though the Pappy Long Legs was alive and reshaping itself in response to her presence. Questions gnawed at her¡ªhow many sons did Rick have? What was happening to the Roys¡¯ pupils? Were they even machines, or something more, like the real Roy she had encountered upon waking?


    ¡°Whisky could¡¯ve at least stuck around to show me back,¡± Amelia muttered, her voice echoing off the cold, metallic walls. ¡°The belly of this ship roars louder than a minecart down a mineshaft¡­ but, thankfully, no monster¡¯s waiting at the end.¡±


    Her sense of adventure, once burning brightly, had begun to flicker and dim. The relentless ticking of gears and the whir of machinery filled her senses, each sound reminding her of the Devil Dog¡ªthat monstrous entity whose terrifying form lurked in the shadows of her thoughts. As her mind drifted back to the encounter, a chill ran down her spine, her heart growing heavy with unease. The deeper she went into the ship, the more the halls seemed to close in around her, suffocating like the weight of an underground cave.


    The corridors twisted and shifted, sealing up and opening at will. Every turn left Amelia more disoriented. She tried retracing her steps, but the familiar paths were gone, replaced by cold, unyielding metal walls. Am I going in circles? The thought of being trapped in this mechanical labyrinth gnawed at her.


    The lanterns began to dim, their flames shrinking into embers, except for one at the far end of the corridor. Its warm glow flickered above a wooden door, cracked down the middle. A sudden weight settled on Amelia¡¯s chest, her breath growing shallow. Panic clawed at her, pulling her toward the door as if it was her only escape from the growing madness. The mechanical whir of the ship grew louder, deafening, drowning her thoughts in chaos.


    ¡°Can¡¯t turn on the lights there, dear Amelia? Does everything have to look like the ass-crack of a mine to ya?¡± Rick¡¯s voice cut through the noise, sharp yet familiar.


    With a flick of his wrist and a verbal command¡ª"Lights on"¡ªthe lanterns flared to life with a cool blue glow before settling into their usual warmth. The eerie shadows receded, and the corridor took on a fresh metallic sheen, dispelling the darkness that had threatened to consume Amelia.


    As if by some unseen magic, the cacophony of sounds faded, and Amelia realized she had curled up against the cold metal wall, knees tucked to her chest. Disoriented, she blinked, finding Rick standing over her, his expression a mixture of amusement and concern.


    ¡°Am I... losing everything again?¡± Amelia whispered, her voice so soft it barely touched the air. The weight of her words hung between her and the vast sky outside. Tears stung her eyes, but she fought to not let them fall. Not here. Not now. Each breath felt heavier than the last as if the ship¡¯s atmosphere was pressing down on her chest, forcing her to relive the losses she wasn¡¯t ready to face again.


    Rick¡¯s mechanical legs clattered as he settled next to her, his gaze softening. ¡°It¡¯s a conversation, sure,¡± he said, his voice rough but surprisingly gentle. ¡°We¡¯ve got to learn to trust each other, Crowny. I¡ª¡±


    "I can''t, Rick! A former royal can¡¯t just dive into her dark pond she sees. Eventually she¡¯ll just drown. Right?" Amelia¡¯s head sank deeper between her knees, her voice muffled. "How do I know you''re not like the others, trying to take me from my home? Or worse, pushing me into someone else''s throne? What if you''re just another criminal wanting a royal head?" Her voice grew louder, tears spilling down her cheeks. ¡°I mean... I won¡¯t. I can¡¯t lose another home. Not again.¡±


    Rick leaned back, mechanical limbs creaking as he looked off toward the shadows. ¡°Crowny, I don¡¯t trust ya¡¯. Ya smell like Conkle soot, hoard shiny things in your boots, and ya nearly got mauled by my security system¡ªI heard every damn step from down the hall. Infact, the Pappy Long Leg¡¯s kept ya here for whatever reason. Sadistic creation it is.¡± He let out a dry chuckle but there was something deeper behind it. ¡°Anyway, your brother¡¯s mess? Has me inches away from a Primarian Shock Rifle and a soul contract that¡¯s as good as a noose around my neck. Truth is... you¡¯ve made things real complicated for me.¡±


    Amelia blinked, stunned by Rick¡¯s bluntness. She had expected him to cheer her up with a joke, maybe even offer her some fresh Morsha bread. But his words carried something else¡ªfear. His usually mischievous eyes had softened, lost in the distance.


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    ¡°Lucky for me, I¡¯m damn near sawdust as it is,¡± Rick added with a chuckle, though there was no joy in it. ¡°Ain¡¯t much left to ruin at this age. Just a few more creaks, a few more breakdowns.¡± His mechanical fingers clicked lightly as he adjusted his glasses. ¡°But that¡¯s life, Crowny¡ªfalling apart before your very eyes, whether you¡¯re made of flesh or metal.¡±


    He pulled up his long coat sleeves, revealing not just flesh, but mechanical limbs¡ªpolished metal grafted where human arms should have been. Adjusting his circular red glasses, he revealed his eyes¡ªone normal, the other gleaming gold under the flickering lantern light.


    ¡°Never seen someone so dead and alive at the same time, huh?¡± he smirked, his mechanical arms folding themselves neatly.


    Amelia tried to respond but found herself speechless, her thoughts spiraling.


    ¡°No-no-no. Get up, girl. Your brothers and I can¡¯t hear you from down there,¡± Rick muttered, hoisting himself higher with his mechanical legs.


    Amelia¡¯s cheeks flushed, a mixture of sadness and understanding washing over her. She stood up, brushing herself off before shooting him a wry smile. ¡°Could you let me finish a sentence?¡±


    ¡°Just did,¡± Rick grinned, as wide as ever. ¡°That creature¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Devil Dog?¡± Amelia interrupted.


    ¡°Yes. That Devil Dog didn¡¯t eat ya, sure. But it¡¯s still out there, hunting. But hey, we¡¯re out here breathin¡¯ too. Roy, your brothers, and me too.¡± Rick¡¯s voice softened just for a moment. ¡°Family¡¯s the kind of soup that sucks when it boil¡¯s, terrible when cold, but the best thing when -albeit rarely- settles somewhere in the middle.¡±


    ¡°I¡ªI... it¡¯s been so long since I cried,¡± Amelia stammered.


    ¡°Sorry for what? Life ain¡¯t supposed to be a sorry state, girl! Adventure ain¡¯t a choice¡ªit¡¯s what you make of it. Take that fear and throw it right back at whatever beastie ruined ya. Use it to wipe that... that Devil Dog,¡± Rick said, his tone growing somber.


    Amelia wiped her tears and nodded, though her voice remained distant. ¡°I barely remember what happened... just teeth, explosions, and darkness.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a mystery. And monsters like that love to keep it that way,¡± Rick replied, hoisting himself up on his mechanical limbs, spider-like. ¡°But don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll get you ready ya Yardrat.¡±


    Amelia shifted uncomfortably, her thoughts drifting back to the surreal conversation through the blue gem. Her fingers instinctively brushed against the pendant around her neck. Finally, she broke the silence.


    ¡°Rick... this pendant,¡± Amelia whispered, her voice trembling as she held up the glowing blue gem. ¡°It¡¯s like it¡¯s alive.¡± She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. ¡°I talked to Ehmir... Cameron. Through this. And they¡ªthey told me about my brothers. They said you¡¯d know where to meet in Veranus. But more importantly¡­they¡¯re alive... I think.¡± Her voice cracked slightly. The gem seemed to pulse in time with her fear as if responding to the weight of her words.


    Rick blinked, his mechanical eye whirring softly as he processed her words. ¡°Wait, you talked through that thing!? That¡ª¡± He scratched his head, clearly taken aback. ¡°That ain¡¯t exactly the kind of trinket I¡¯d expect to pick up chatter like that. Ain¡¯t no tele that¡¯s for sure. Now what was it you said about the King?¡±


    ¡°They said something about the King being¡­ preoccupied, and my brother Bolton being attacked. They said Yerro is not an ally,¡± Amelia¡¯s voice trembled as the words left her. For a moment, the weight of it all hit her. She¡¯d spent so long imagining the worst, preparing herself for the news that they were gone. ¡°But they weren¡¯t. Not entirely.¡±


    Her breath caught in her throat, a mixture of relief and fear swelling inside her chest. They¡¯re alive, she thought, clinging to the hope, but it came with an icy chill. "They¡¯re alive... but for how long?" The question lingered in her mind, twisting her stomach into knots.


    ¡°Yerro? Devil Dog?¡± Rick wondered, his voice tinged with concern. ¡°Think it attacked again? So soon?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ it wasn¡¯t the Devil Dog. It felt different. And¡­ there was a creature, but it was an ally, I think. The whole thing was confusing, like I dropped into the middle of someone else¡¯s conversation.¡±


    ¡°By the Goblet and the Green¡ªwhat in Yerro¡¯s name is happening back in that Primarian mess? I haven¡¯t heard those names since... since your Greisha Ceremony six years ago. Thought they¡¯d gone quiet, disappeared into their respective nooks and crannies.¡±


    ¡°One more thing. The gem¡­¡± Amelia hesitated, replaying Ehmir''s words in her mind. "They said¡­ to crush the outer shell and leave a fleshy circle intact. Otherwise, Yerro would know¡­ everything. Like we¡¯re being tracked."


    Rick¡¯s eye narrowed, gears whirring as he processed her words. ¡°That ¡®fleshy circle¡¯? It¡¯s a piece of a soul. Likely yours. Maybe Bolton¡¯s or the Kings? Who can say for sure with those terrifying amalgamations of things beyond our understanding? If you crush that¡­¡± he paused, leaning in, ¡°chances are someone will be killed or hurt. Worse, sound¡¯s like Yerro isn¡¯t the friendly colossus we thought it was.¡±


    ¡°A soul?¡± Amelia blurted, her heart pounding.


    A low, ominous rumble shuddered through the airship, vibrating beneath Amelia¡¯s feet. She froze. The air thickened around her, like the atmosphere just before a storm, pressing against her lungs. Then came the whistle¡ªsharp, shrill, and piercing the eerie quiet like a blade. It was faint at first, almost imperceptible, but it carried with it a sense of dread that made her stomach twist. The sound grew closer, a warning that something dark was on its way.


    Rick¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Whistlin¡¯ Death,¡± he muttered, his voice low and urgent. ¡°Brace yourself, Crowny. We¡¯ve got company.¡±


    Amelia blinked, her fear mixing with a wild thrill. ¡°Is this my¡­ first airship battle? Like in the Akiyoma stories!?¡±


    Rick turned to her, his face suddenly serious. ¡°Keep your wits about you, Crowny. This isn¡¯t a battle. We¡¯re salvaging a loss.¡±

 Chapter 4: Aboard The Whisky Sunday (Part 1)

    Chapter 4: The Whisky Sunday


    The first thing Bolton heard was the steady clinking of glass, the scrape of metal on wood, and a low hum that seemed to vibrate deep in his bones. His eyes fluttered open, the dim glow of lanterns casting soft shadows across a rustic ceiling. Where am I?


    His body felt leaden, every movement met with resistance from the dull ache of his bruised ribs¡ªa brutal reminder of the assault beneath the sewers, just below the hull of the Akiyoma Airship. He tried to sit up, but a sharp, searing pain shot through his side, forcing a groan from his lips. Blinking hard, Bolton struggled to make sense of his surroundings.


    This isn¡¯t the sewers.


    The air here was different¡ªwarmer, almost stifling, filled with the sweet tang of puffed smoke, rich mead, and roasted meat. The subtle sway beneath him hinted at something in motion, though he couldn¡¯t quite place it. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light from flickering lanterns that lined the walls. Shadows played across thick wooden beams, giving the place a rustic yet oddly comforting feel. Long, winding nets adorned the walls, barrels stood taller than him, and the room was dressed in riverboat charm, as if it had been plucked from a world far removed from the one he knew.


    Vermolly? Panic jolted through him like lightning. ¡°Vermolly!¡± Bolton shot up, but the sudden movement sent a wave of pain crashing through his body, forcing him back down. He winced, groaning. ¡°Vermolly¡­¡± he whispered, feeling the sting of his wounds.


    His heart pounded as he scanned the room, eyes flitting from shadow to shadow. Where is she? But no sign of her. Just the haze of his pain and the steady click of train tracks below.


    Looking down, Bolton noticed the worn bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. He tugged at them, momentarily lost in thought, before realizing his arms were bandaged as well. He lay in a narrow cubby, the bed bolted to the wall, with a small table attached by a sturdy metallic arm just to his left. The soft, rhythmic click of train tracks rumbled from below. A faint sound, but unmistakable.


    I¡¯m on a train? His pulse quickened, a rising sense of dread knotting in his stomach. How did I end up on a train? More importantly¡­ how am I still alive?


    Fragments of memory fluttered back to him¡ªthe fight, the desperate struggle beneath the airship, the crushing blows dealt by the Quadrant Leader. His body had given in to darkness then, hadn¡¯t it? He had felt it close in. But something, or someone, had saved him. Someone with a strange, otherworldly presence... and a foul scent of oil and sewage.


    But who?


    Bolton¡¯s breath quickened, the realization settling like lead in his gut. He wasn¡¯t safe. He was far from the sewers, far from the fight, but that didn¡¯t mean anything. Whoever saved me¡­ they¡¯ll know. They¡¯ll find me.


    A creak from nearby snapped him back to reality. He wasn¡¯t alone.


    Across the cart, a large, round-bellied man with a wild, white beard stormed toward the far end where a bar stood beneath the glow of lanterns. His boots clunked against the wooden floorboards with each step, shaking the glasses hanging behind the bar. The man¡¯s voice boomed, echoing off the walls as though it were meant to shake the very structure of the train.


    ¡°Pistol! This is yer brilliant Midnight Train, and brilliant for certain!¡± The man bellowed with laughter, his voice rumbling through the car like thunder.


    Bolton¡¯s heart thudded in his chest, his mind racing. I can¡¯t be here. They¡¯ll see me, they¡¯ll know. He tried to sit up again, but the sharp pain in his ribs flared, keeping him pinned. His hand instinctively moved to his side, fingers brushing over the rough, makeshift bandages. The memory of the Quadrant Leader¡¯s assault came rushing back in vivid flashes¡ªthe fight, the desperation, and then¡­ nothing. Blackness.


    But someone had saved him.


    Who?


    His head swirled with fragments of thought, fear clawing its way up his spine. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to move, to get out, but his limbs refused to cooperate.


    The gruff voice of a man at the bar cut through the din. It was dry, gravelly¡ªseasoned by years of rough work, full of grit and character.


    ¡°Just boarded and already makin¡¯ noise, Chief Hogswind,¡± the bartender muttered, wiping a glass with a rag that had seen far better days.


    Chief Hogswind. The name hit Bolton like a punch to the gut. He¡¯d heard it before¡ªstories, rumors of a legendary miner turned leader, a rough man who commanded respect in the New Dwardian Kenton Mines of Quadrant 9.


    The steady rumble of the train beneath Bolton reminded him he was far from the sewers. But how far? And why?


    Hogswind¡¯s voice filled the cart again, raucous and full of wild energy. ¡°Oi, every young¡¯un and ol¡¯ beard here¡¯s heard the stories! Tales of an infinite train, filled with monsters, deadly spirits, and royal arseholes from across the world!¡±


    The crowd cheered. Bolton¡¯s heart thudded against his chest, louder than before. They¡¯re all here¡­ and they could find me at any moment.


    Bolton¡¯s pulse quickened even more. Can¡¯t they find me? Can¡¯t they see?


    Hogswind¡¯s voice filled the cart again, raucous and full of wild energy. ¡°Oi, every young¡¯un and ol¡¯ beard here¡¯s heard the stories! Tales of an infinite train, filled with monsters, deadly spirits, and royal arseholes from across the world! But what do we see when we arrive? A fancin¡¯ five-cart train with a tavern, a bath cart rivalin¡¯ the Springs of Veranus, and a whorehouse to boot!¡±


    The patrons erupted in cheers, their soot-covered faces breaking into grins as they raised their drinks high. ¡°Yardrats! We¡¯ve earned this! Workin¡¯ the hardest mines in all the thirteen Quadrants!¡±


    Bolton¡¯s head throbbed. It felt like he was sinking into the fog again, the haze of exhaustion threatening to pull him back under. His eyelids drooped, but he couldn¡¯t afford to slip into unconsciousness¡ªnot again. He forced himself to stay alert, his mind racing through fragments of memories, half-formed plans, and a creeping sense of dread.


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    With effort, Bolton tried to focus on the conversation happening at the bar. The bartender¡ªan older man with gray-streaked hair and a face weathered like old leather¡ªglanced in his direction, his eyes narrowing as if sensing something was off.


    Bolton¡¯s pulse quickened. ¡°Damn it. What kind of mess¡­?¡±


    He shifted, trying to move, but his limbs refused to cooperate. His vision blurred, the dim light of the train car mixing with the haze of pain and exhaustion. He couldn¡¯t stay here. He needed to escape¡ªbut how?


    ¡°Pistol!¡± came a voice¡ªa woman¡¯s, firm yet gentle. Bolton¡¯s ears perked up, catching the tone beneath the words. ¡°We¡¯ve got a small, tiny problem we need to talk about after these guys leave.¡±


    Pistol. That must be the bartender¡¯s name. Bolton glanced toward him again, noting the way Pistol¡¯s eyes darted to the woman before narrowing in thought. Something was off.


    Bolton¡¯s pulse quickened further. His skin prickled as if something cold and sharp was creeping up his spine. I need to get off this train. Now.


    The scrape of a rickety wooden stool from the far side of the cart made him freeze. Then, the heavy thud of worn leather boots echoed across the floorboards. A voice followed¡ªa primal shout, deep, gruff, and hoarse, breaking through the low clatter of the train.


    ¡°Pistol!!!¡±


    Pistol barely turned his head, wiping his hands on a dirtied rag. ¡°How¡¯s it I¡¯ve got a shelf of ale behind me, yet I can smell Nicholas Hogswind all the way from here?¡± he thought with a wry smile. ¡°Like the damn mines of old. By the blessed, time passes right through ¡®em.¡±


    He caught sight of the man approaching¡ªa ragged, smoky-white beard above a protruding belly. Chief Hogswind. There was no mistaking that booming voice or the swagger in his step.


    ¡°Pistol!¡± Hogswind shouted again, dragging out the L¡¯s in his name. ¡°This is yer¡¯ brilliant Midnight Train! And brilliant for certain!¡± He laughed, each step shaking the glasses behind the bar. ¡°Oi, how¡¯s one come about getting a job on this train? HOLD ON! Don¡¯t answer! Politics,¡± he whispered with a devious grin. ¡°I hear¡­ that¡¯s how we got in the mines too. POLITICS!¡±


    Pistol smirked as Hogswind¡¯s voice filled the cart. Roaring laughter and chaotic murmurs rippled through the train as soot-covered miners crowded every corner. Dusted hardhats, sooted overalls, and blackened boots lined the booths from end to end, adding to the hearty chorus of cheers greeting Hogswind¡¯s bombastic arrival.


    ¡°We drink to Chief! Chief drinks for us! In our moment of death, we wish for a moment of luck. To drink again, oi, a request for our life. To drink som¡¯ more, lest we return to our wife!¡±


    Hogswind raised his arms, a grin spreading wide across his face as his loud, raspy hum reverberated through the car. With dramatic flair, he belted out his response:


    ¡°I drink for life, I drink for you. Chief Hogswind arrives, insane it¡¯s true. What¡¯s crazier than me is the job that I love. We drink to my death, our moment beloved!¡±


    ¡°Chief Hogswind! Chief Hogswind! Chief Hogswind!¡± The crowd erupted, chanting until Hogswind hushed them with a thunderous ¡°Halt!¡±


    Bolton¡¯s mind raced. I have to move. I can¡¯t stay here. He tried again, struggling to shift his weight, but his body felt sluggish, pinned down by a force he couldn¡¯t fight.


    ¡°Pistol!¡± whispered a soft voice beside him.


    Pistol didn¡¯t respond at first, focused on cleaning his barrel-shaped mugs, paying little mind to the chaos around him. But the footsteps grew closer. The voice called again¡ªsofter, more insistent.


    Finally, Pistol turned, glancing toward the sliding wooden door at his side. Two glowing orange eyes peered from the crack in the door, watching.


    ¡°We have a whorehouse!? Where is it?¡± the voice asked, filled with a mixture of wonder and amusement.


    ¡°No,¡± Pistol responded dryly.


    ¡°That¡¯s rough,¡± came the reply, followed by a chuckle. ¡°Two questions: who¡¯s the injured guy? And who¡¯s this Chief guy? Looks like you, but somehow has a bigger belly.¡±


    ¡°The boy... A powerful favor. Nicholas¡ªor Chief¡ªis an old beard like me,¡± Pistol muttered, turning back to his work. ¡°Now close the door. You¡¯ll spoil the food.¡±


    ¡°Okay. But there¡¯s a tiny problem we need to talk about. After these guys leave,¡± the voice said, a playful note creeping in before fading into the shadows.


    Pistol sighed, continuing his work. He glanced at the sliding door with its intricate circular window, which separated the bar from the dimly lit storage room. Enough provisions to feed a small village sat inside, and tonight, they¡¯d need every last bit of it.


    ¡°Oi! Close the door! Fruit¡¯s gonna rot right outta the baskets!¡± Pistol barked, looking toward the darkened doorway. ¡°Sarah!?¡±


    There was no reply. Frowning, Pistol brushed past the swinging waist-high doors and peered into the storage room. The absence of lit lanterns sent a chill up his spine.


    ¡°Sarah? Where the hell¡¯s that girl?¡±


    Before he could take another step, Sarah appeared, rushing in with her fiery red hair catching the dim light.


    ¡°The Moonfruit creature¡¯s at it again! Turning off the lights and scurrying through the train like it¡¯s a sweet shop!¡± she huffed, snickering as she caught her breath. ¡°I was tryin¡¯ to catch the little bugger.¡±


    ¡°Moonfruit? By the blessed¡­¡± Pistol groaned, shaking his head. ¡°That thing¡¯s still scuttlin¡¯ around? A problem for another hour. Close the door and get Grissm¡¯ ready¡ªwe¡¯ve got orders coming in fast.¡±


    Sarah¡¯s eyes flickered toward the passengers, narrowing as she spotted the rowdy crowd. ¡°Yeah, I see him. Thunder boots and his rock brigade back there, huh? What happened to this train, Pistol? It used to host royalty. Now it¡¯s all miners and muck.¡±


    Pistol¡¯s gaze followed hers. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dismiss it just yet. That boy over there? Royalty. And we may or may not have a New Dwardian Quadrant Leader somewhere in these cars.¡±


    Sarah¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Royalty? A Quadrant Leader!? What happened to predictable clientele?¡±


    Bolton felt the conversation between Sarah and Pistol like sharp, whispering knives, prodding him to his feet. Danger seemed to lurk between every cheer and roar of the crowd, which only grew louder around him.


    Pistol glanced over at Bolton, finally noticing him awake before dropping his voice into an even lighter whisper, his words firm. ¡°Speculation leaves our mouths open in the rain, Sarah. Keep the boy safe and serve the everyday workin'' man¡ªthat¡¯s our job tonight. More important now, considerin'' life back home in Dwarden.¡±


    Sarah sighed, nodding as the reality set in. ¡°As you put it, Whisky Sunday doesn¡¯t run on two hands,¡± she muttered in a raspy mimicry, knowing there wasn¡¯t time for argument.


    As Chief Hogswind¡¯s heavy boots echoed closer, Pistol squinted down the train¡¯s aisle. The lanterns cast a warm, fire-lit glow across the car, bathing the rustic interior in an almost enchanted light. The Whisky Sunday felt alive, its atmosphere thrumming with energy. But something darker loomed on the horizon¡ªPistol could sense it like a drunkard ready to brawl at any moment.


    ¡°Miner Company #32! Settle and beg me an ear!¡± Hogswind¡¯s voice growled.


    Pistol¡¯s heart quickened, the familiar chaos of the night just beginning. He didn¡¯t know then that something far more dangerous than miners or muck was about to breach the safety of his Midnight Train.


    ¡°I just heard¡ªBolton Woltwork is in the train car tonight!¡± Chief Hogswind¡¯s voice boomed, stirring excited murmurs from the crowd. ¡°And look at him now, crawling out of his cubby like we all should be doing in a couple of hours! That¡¯s the spirit, Woltwork. Lead. By. Example.¡±

 Chapter 4: Aboard The Whisky Sunday (Part 2)

    The train fell into a sudden, heavy silence. Every pair of eyes locked onto Chief Hogswind, his large frame illuminated by the swaying, fiery lamp overhead. Shadows and moonlight brushed across him with each jolt of the train, lending his already imposing figure an almost mythic quality.


    Bolton turned his gaze to Chief Hogswind, watching as the man approached with deliberate, measured steps. A growing unease crept over Bolton as his eyes flicked toward Pistol behind the bar. The man was just as formidable¡ªbarrel-chested, shirtless, his sweat-slicked skin barely contained by his grease-streaked overalls. Pistol¡¯s bald head glistened in the dim light, and his long, scraggly white beard, smoke-stained and tangled, drifted down his chest. He was a mountain of raw muscle, equal in size and presence to Chief Hogswind.


    Standing just beneath Pistol¡¯s chin, Sarah moved fluidly around the bar, working in perfect sync with him. Her bright orange eyes gleamed beneath the oil lamp, occasionally catching the glowing tip of Pistol¡¯s beard. Despite her smaller frame, she had more than proven herself capable, evident in the unconscious figure slumped near the bar, a bruise already forming on his head. Her slender figure and loose-fitting uniform added to her fiery demeanor, a striking contrast to the brute strength around her, yet she held her ground with quiet authority.


    As Chief Hogswind drew closer, Bolton¡¯s gaze drifted over the dimly lit train car. The miners, scattered in booths on both sides, looked different now. The train''s low hum echoed through the metal frame, but it was the miners¡¯ uniforms that caught Bolton¡¯s attention. No longer dressed in the black-and-blue of the past, they now wore denim blue overalls with striped white shirts and flat caps. Though the uniforms had changed, the grime and soot that clung to their boots remained, a constant reminder of their labor in the deepest depths of the earth.


    Bolton¡¯s attention returned to Chief Hogswind, whose black-and-blue overalls were relics of another time, stained and worn from years spent underground. Dirt clung to every crevice, a testament to his past. Before Bolton could sink further into his thoughts, Pistol¡¯s voice shattered the silence.


    ¡°Cut it will ya!?¡± Pistol snapped, his fist tightening in frustration. ¡°Bolton¡¯s about as useful as a one-winged bird. His crown¡¯s on the ground right next to your vacation, my pay, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°And my conductor¡¯s license?¡± Sarah chimed in, her voice light and playful. She flashed a fleeting smile before returning to her work, polishing gourd-shaped glasses and barrel mugs for the rush ahead.


    ¡°I¡¯m in no rush to leave the Yardrat life! It¡¯s truly all I know!¡± Chief Hogswind¡¯s booming voice echoed through the train, shaking the walls. ¡°It¡¯s all we know. See, you escaped the life, Pistol. Bravo! But how many carts does this Midnight Train, this Whisky Sunday, need before you realize it¡¯s just another shaft, another tunnel, yet another cave? You and I¡ªwe¡¯re Yardrats! Born to remain in our tubes, tunnels, and lamp-lit adventures!¡±


    Chief Hogswind¡¯s eyes bore into Pistol¡¯s, his cheeks flushed, his flask leaking liquor with every sway of the train. His brows furrowed, not with anger, but with something darker simmering beneath the surface.


    ¡°Nicholas?¡± Pistol sighed, exasperated. ¡°Life¡¯s a damn series of endless tubes and tunnels either way. You and I both know it¡¯s best to face a bucking horse from its front.¡±


    The Chief paused, his heavy boots squeaking on a metallic sheet spread across the wooded floor as he took a deep breath. A single nod passed between them, a gesture of mutual understanding. Then, slowly, Chief Hogswind continued toward Bolton. Each footfall grew heavier, sending vibrations through the train, until Bolton could feel the pressure mounting in his chest.


    ¡°Whisky Cream, anyone?¡± Sarah¡¯s cheerful voice broke through the tension, holding up a bottle. The brightness of her offer clashed awkwardly with the thickening atmosphere. ¡°Bad time for drink¡­¡± she mumbled, stepping back toward the bar.


    ¡°Right time! Always!¡± Roared Chief Hogswind with a wide disarming smile.


    Bolton¡¯s heart raced as Hogswind¡¯s massive frame towered over him, filling the narrow space. He pressed himself back into the booth, his body aching and stiff. His eyes darted between Hogswind and Pistol, trying to gauge his options. It was hopeless¡ªhe felt trapped, like prey caught between two predators.


    ¡°Best follow me, Prince!¡± Hogswind¡¯s voice thundered, breaking the stillness. ¡°A New Dwardian¡¯s denizen would like a chat! An opportunity rare! I imagine.¡±


    Bolton¡¯s hands instinctively dove into his pockets, his mind racing for a weapon¡ªor anything¡ªto defend himself from the approaching giant. ¡°I was free to roam yesterday! Only thing that¡¯s changed are these bandages,¡± he blurted, desperate to deflect the rising confrontation.


    As Chief Hogswind drew closer, the tension in the train car tightened. The miners exchanged uneasy glances, torn between laughing at Bolton¡¯s boldness or staying silent in fear, waiting for Hogswind¡¯s next move.


    ¡°Grit! A sharp and valuable quality with direction! Dictation! Designation! Delivery! Eh, King?¡± Hogswind¡¯s voice boomed in a sing-song, but Bolton barely registered it. His attention was elsewhere, drawn to his clothes. He suddenly realized that nothing he wore was familiar. In his frantic search for something to defend himself, his fingers closed around the one thing he still recognized¡ªhis pocket watch.


    As he pulled it out, something strange caught his eye. The watch trembled in his hand, pulsing faintly¡ªsomething he hadn¡¯t noticed before. Bolton flipped it open, expecting to see the familiar gem nestled inside with the family photo. But his heart skipped a beat. The gem was gone, shattered into fragments. In its place was a strange, mechanical-fleshy core, softly pulsing. It seemed alive in a way that made Bolton¡¯s stomach twist.


    He stared, transfixed by the soft blue glow. The world around him faded as the watch¡¯s steady rhythm synced with his heartbeat.


    "Why would someone¡­ or something steal the gem and leave this?" he thought.


    The core pulsed again, its wires and veins¡ªa grotesque blend of machine and flesh¡ªalive in a way that defied logic. Bolton had seen many machines in his life, but none like this. He reached out, drawn to the faint hum it emitted. The moment his fingers touched the core, it recoiled, releasing a puff of hot air. A sharp pain lanced through his chest, and he flinched.


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    ¡°Was this core part of him now?¡± The thought flashed through his mind.


    ¡°What¡¯s that in your hand?¡± Chief Hogswind¡¯s voice snapped Bolton from his trance. The Chief¡¯s large hand clamped down on his shoulder, dragging him back to reality. ¡°I¡¯m trying to inspire here, and you¡¯re fiddling with some freak watch?¡± Hogswind¡¯s voice was sharp, cutting through the fog clouding Bolton¡¯s mind.


    Before Bolton could respond, Hogswind leaned in, squinting at the pocket watch. His eyes lingered on the strange, pulsing core for a long moment. Then, with a grunt, he straightened up, turning away. ¡°Ahhhh! Should¡¯ve expected you¡¯d make a deal,¡± he muttered under his breath.


    Bolton¡¯s heart pounded, but defiance flickered in his eyes as he raised his head. ¡°Don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talkin¡¯ about,¡± he muttered, shoving the watch back into his pocket.


    Hogswind chuckled darkly, glancing over his shoulder. ¡°Come now, I don¡¯t care about the watch or whatever deal you and your family made.¡± His voice dropped to a low rumble. ¡°Let¡¯s talk terms for us Yardrats moving forward. That¡¯s far more interestin¡¯.¡±


    As Hogswind spoke, the train remained eerily silent, save for the soft hum of its movement and the flicker of lanterns. Bolton, seeking answers but desperate to escape, followed Hogswind reluctantly toward the bar. He slipped into a seat across from Pistol, his eyes flicking to the miners on either side of Hogswind. Their faces were unreadable, but their eyes locked onto Bolton, waiting for whatever came next.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a lot of faith in that boy, Pistol,¡± Hogswind said, casting a glance at Bolton before turning back to Pistol.


    ¡°Not the boy, Chief. Like I said, just a favor,¡± Pistol replied casually as if discussing the weather.


    ¡°The Legendary Rock Brawler, ¡®Pistol¡¯ of the Kenton mines, doing a favor?¡± Hogswind barked, disbelief in his voice. ¡°Tell me that doesn¡¯t sound like the beginning of¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡­another complicated adventure,¡± Pistol interrupted with a half-smile, swaying his head in disbelief.


    ¡°Precisely, old friend!¡± Hogswind¡¯s scraggly laughter rang through the car. He took a seat at the bar, settling into Bolton¡¯s right with a wide grin. ¡°Now. Do I drink with this potential threat?¡±


    Bolton tensed, his ears catching every word, but he kept his gaze down, pretending not to listen.


    ¡°Threat? Sounds to me like you¡¯re afraid of¡ª¡± Pistol¡¯s voice cut through the chatter as he took a long swig from the barrel mug at his side, ¡°¡ªa mere boy.¡±


    ¡°Mere boy?¡± Hogswind chuckled, his voice low and rough. ¡°Since I met you many ticks ago, I¡¯ve learned not to underestimate what a boy is capable of.¡±


    Bolton¡¯s heart pounded, but he stayed still, straining to hear more.


    Hogswind leaned back in his seat, his eyes flicking to Pistol. ¡°Now, let¡¯s try that legendary drink. Ain¡¯t too often a ¡®mere¡¯ Yardrat gets to ride the Midnight Train.¡±


    Pistol nodded in agreement. He grabbed a mug and filled it with a golden, frothy liquid from one of the many giant barrels mounted on the walls and overhead. The miners gripped their empty mugs tightly, their eyes following the stream of drink as it flowed into Pistol¡¯s hands. When the tap snapped shut, a collective sigh of anticipation swept through the car, the comforting scent of the drink now filling the air.


    Pistol had the train car prepared¡ªmugs and glasses neatly arranged, each fitting perfectly into the train¡¯s compartments, complementing the warm firelight that flickered across the room.


    All eyes were on Chief Hogswind now. The men watched with bated breath, eager to see his reaction as he wrapped his massive hand around the mug. Pistol, too, stood still, his rag forgotten over his shoulder as he leaned slightly forward, waiting. The glow from the fire reflected off the drink, casting an inviting shimmer as Hogswind slowly lifted the mug to his lips. Every miner leaned in, the moment drawn out, thick with anticipation.


    Even Bolton, despite everything, found himself caught in the moment, watching intently as Hogswind prepared to take his first sip of Pistol¡¯s alleged ¡®legendary¡¯ drink.


    ¡°By the damn green, Pistol!¡± Hogswind bellowed after a long gulp, his voice slicing through the air. ¡°You¡¯ve outdone any man, god, or Colossus. This drink is divine!¡±


    Laughter erupted through the train car, quickly followed by a roaring cheer that seemed to shake the very walls.


    ¡°The Yardrats will drink good tonight!¡± Chief Hogswind shouted, rising triumphantly from his seat, his booming voice igniting another wave of celebration.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s been decades, but you know this boy ain¡¯t no threat,¡± Pistol said, chuckling deeply. ¡°I¡¯ve known you to sniff out a spent cigarette in a loo.¡±


    ¡°Why not let the act play out?¡± Hogswind grinned, wiping foam from his mouth as he glanced at Bolton. ¡°Bolton, this is Nicholas Hogswind! Always makes a grand entrance. Exclusively drunk too,¡± Pistol teased, tugging at his beard.


    ¡°Call me Chief,¡± Hogswind said warmly, leaning back into his seat at the bar. ¡°A friend of Pistol¡¯s is a friend of mine. Practically an obligation.¡± He settled in, his posture relaxed but his presence still commanding.


    ¡°The name¡¯s Sarah,¡± sprang a voice to Bolton¡¯s left.


    Bolton turned to see Sarah standing next to him, her fiery orange hair flaring at the tips. As she slipped off her orange gloves, Bolton noticed her freckled face, the spots tightly packed around her nose like scattered embers on her pale skin. She leaned her elbow on the bar, a grimace on her face that even made Pistol uneasy.


    ¡°The old guy in front of us?¡± She nodded toward Pistol. ¡°He¡¯s the sweetheart who made sure you were doing okay,¡± she said with a large smile. Her eyes sparkled in a way that made Bolton momentarily forget his pain, lost in the warmth of her gaze.


    ¡°Delivered to you by¡ª¡±


    ¡°Someone¡­ who really cares for you,¡± Pistol interjected, guarding the secret.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Sarah added, her voice softening as she caught Bolton¡¯s eye again. ¡°If you need anything, just let me know. I know you¡¯ve got questions, but for now, sit tight and enjoy a drink. Sounds like you¡¯ll need it.¡±


    Bolton stole a glance at Sarah, his mind briefly drifting. The soft hues of her loose skirt contrasted with the warm firelight, and her bright eyes flickered with a quiet kindness. For a moment, he found her undeniably charming.


    But now wasn¡¯t the time. He tore his gaze away, refocusing on the looming figure of Chief Hogswind.


    Chief Hogswind downed the last of his drink before leaning in with a broad smile. ¡°Now, what Primarian Royalty¡­¡± he burped, grabbing the top of Bolton¡¯s and forcing him to meet his eyes, ¡°doing on a Midnight Train?¡±


    Bolton heard Sarah recede into the shadows behind him, her boots softly thudding as she tended to the booths. He had no choice but to meet Hogswind¡¯s reddened, weary eyes. The smell of liquor was heavy on his breath.


    ¡°Leave the boy alone. He doesn¡¯t know much. Got banged up from a fight,¡± Pistol interrupted, pouring another drink for Bolton.


    ¡°With whom?¡± Hogswind¡¯s voice turned sharp.


    Pistol glanced at Bolton, eyes narrowing, as if warning him to remain silent. Bolton leaned forward slightly, eager to piece together how he ended up on this train, how much time had passed since the fight.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. He ain¡¯t dead,¡± Pistol said firmly.


    Bolton frowned, struggling to remember. ¡°I... I was fighting... my friend... she was killed. Then¡ª¡±


    ¡°What kind of drink did ya serve me, Pistol?¡± Hogswind cut in, his voice lighter but firm, steering the conversation away as Bolton¡¯s words faltered.


    ¡°Orange Smooth Honey from the Gallup Mountains. A kick of allspice from the Essessel Woods,¡± Pistol explained, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Well, give it to him¡ªand double the potency!¡± Hogswind boomed, his laughter filling the car. ¡°Everyone on this train deserves a drink, huh?¡± he shouted, riling up the passengers once more.


    ¡°Here¡¯s a secret, my royal¡­ eh, understudy!¡± Hogswind¡¯s deep belly laugh shook the air as he smoothly swiped a shot of liquor from Pistol¡¯s hand and passed it to Bolton. ¡°Drink makes things a little easier, but money¡­¡±


    Pistol chimed in, finishing the thought with a knowing grin. ¡°¡ªMoney is always the result of someone¡¯s hard work.¡± He gave a satisfied nod, watching Bolton with a gleam of pride as the young man hesitated, then reluctantly downed the drink.


    Hogswind stood tall, raising his mug high. ¡°On my mark, Yardrats. We drink!¡±


    The miners, their empty mugs clutched in eager hands, leaned forward, eyes flicking between Bolton, Pistol, and their Chief, waiting for the signal.

 Chapter 4: Aboard The Whisky Sunday (Final Part)

    "Chief! Hogswind! Chief! Hogswind! Chief Hogswind!" The crowd chanted in unison, their voices rising between the booths lining the train. Stomps shook the wooden floorboards beneath them.


    "Oi, Yardrats! Half past the time to scratch your arses! If you wan¡¯t the drinks ya earned then eyes on me!" Chief Hogswind bellowed, his voice booming through the train, shaking the flames of the lanterns above.


    "Sir, MY HEART IS FOR SIR!" one side of the train cheered.


    "Sir, MY ARMS IS FOR SIR!" the other side shouted, even louder, eager to outdo their rivals.


    Hogswind leaned over the bar, scanning the rows of oddly shaped bottles¡ªmeads, exotic juices, liquors¡ªbefore settling his gaze on Bolton, who was still reeling from his first swig of mead.


    "Boys! Some bigwig from Dwarden City, maybe a Quadrant Leader¡ªhell, could even be the King¡ªsaw fit to reward those who keep the pistons pumping and gears churning by letting us ride this Midnight Train! A rare honor!" Chief Hogswind''s voice boomed over the crowd, commanding their attention. "But rarer still, we got royalty among us. This here is Bolton Woltwork, a man who''s likely been through¡ª"


    "You don¡¯t know me," Bolton interrupted, his breath shallow.


    "A man who¡ª"


    "I said, you don¡¯t know me!" Bolton¡¯s sharp retort sliced through the air, plunging the cart into an uneasy silence.


    From the bar, Pistol took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes narrowing on Bolton, intrigued by his next move. He gave a subtle nod to Sarah, who stood tense, her gaze fixed on Chief Hogswind, ready to spring at any moment. Pistol¡¯s attention lingered as Hogswind clamped a heavy hand on Bolton''s shoulder, his glare darkening with unspoken menace.


    "Lay off! He''s clearly been through a lot, you rock ogre!" Sarah shouted at Chief Hogswind, positioning herself behind him after handing out the barrel-shaped mugs to the miners. Her tray wobbled precariously, but her voice remained steady, her eyes locked on him.


    Hogswind didn¡¯t even glance her way, his focus entirely on Bolton, as if her words didn¡¯t register. The train cart fell into a heavy silence, tension thickening in the air.


    ¡°Nicholas, do you remember when we were first conscripted into becoming Yardrats?¡± Pistol asked, wiping one of many glasses, his tone casual but intended to ease the rising tension between Hogswind and Sarah.


    ¡°Ah, yes,¡± Hogswind replied, his eyes distant. ¡°We had just finished kicking some teeth in at Whistetop¡¯s adult section. Four sorry excuses for men and their monster, knocked down into the dirt like human pegs.¡±


    Pistol paused, his gaze falling into a moment of nostalgia. ¡°...Ya¡¯ you remember why?¡±


    ¡°We were rounded up quickly. The Primarian Arc¡¯s just as ruthless with children as with adults,¡± Hogswind said, his voice growing somber. ¡°The rest¡­ well, we know how that went.¡±


    As Pistol¡¯s face shifted from light-hearted to serious, Sarah instinctively moved closer to Bolton, her expression mirroring the grim look that had settled on Pistol. She glanced at Bolton, who seemed lost in thought, watching as his gaze flicked between Pistol and Hogswind, both momentarily caught in their own memories. Seizing the moment, Sarah leaned in toward Bolton, who rested his face on his arms, head propped up.


    ¡°Trust Pistol,¡± she whispered softly. ¡°He¡¯s the conductor of a Midnight Train. These things run on a little more than just steam¡ªthink good will and soul magic.¡±


    ¡°Wha¡ª?¡± Pistol¡¯s confused voice cut through, his eyes darting toward Sarah.


    She gave him a playful glance before turning back to Bolton. ¡°He¡¯s a good guy, and he knows your brother. More importantly, he knows the Quadrant Leader who saved you. And hey¡ª¡± she added with a wink, ¡°you¡¯re still breathing, so that¡¯s something.¡±


    ¡°Who saved me -Sally?¡± Bolton asked, quickly sitting up straight.


    ¡°It¡¯s Sarah.¡± Sarah replied suddenly growing into a frown before springing in her usual happy go lucky self. ¡°Aurous. Smelled like a sewer, but it was Quadrant Leader One¡ªAurous.¡±


    ¡°Who saved me¡­ Sa¡ªSal¡­ Sa¡­?¡± Bolton stammered, struggling to refocus as he sat up straight.


    ¡°It¡¯s Sarah,¡± she corrected, her brief frown melting into her usual cheerful self. ¡°Aurous. Smelled like a sewer, but yeah, it was Quadrant Leader One¡ªAurous.¡±


    ¡°Aurous!¡± Bolton shot up from his seat, the name hitting him like a bolt of lightning.


    Pistol, mid-conversation with Hogswind, caught Sarah¡¯s revelation and shot her a disapproving scowl. Sarah, seeing it, responded with a lighthearted smile before gently tapping Bolton on the shoulder.


    ¡°You¡¯re not invincible,¡± Sarah said softly, guiding Bolton back to his seat, ¡°but you¡¯re very protected.¡±


    Bolton¡¯s body tensed, his muscles itching to spring into action. A part of him wanted to shove Sarah aside, storm down the train¡¯s narrow aisle, and throw himself off at the next stop¡ªanything to escape the growing pressure. His eyes darted toward the counter, his mind calculating how quickly he could hop over it and grab something¡ªanything¡ªto use as a weapon. The weight of his pocket watch pressed against his chest, a reminder of the unknown forces he now faced.


    Then, the name Aurous echoed in his mind. A man of legend in the Primarian Royale, a figure so mysterious and boisterous that his very presence was enough to command respect. Aurous, the creator of Quadrant One, a name whispered with both reverence and fear. Bolton had heard the stories¡ªhow the man¡¯s strength and cunning had shaped an entire Quadrant, his boisterous laugh shaking the halls of the Royale as easily as he moved armies. The idea that Aurous had saved him felt surreal, almost impossible.


    His thoughts drifted back to the bedtime stories Michael used to tell him and Amelia¡ªtales of the thirteen Quadrant Leaders, each represented by a revered animal in their respective domains. There was Enton, the Bear¡ªstrong and immovable. Aurous, the Ape¡ªboisterous and cunning. Glassford, the Owl¡ªsilent and wise. Newton, the Ignorpa¡ªa beast of instinct and speed. Drock, the Toad¡ªsly and adaptable. And Davina, the Cat¡ªgraceful and elusive.


    Before Bolton could recall the rest, the weight of the present dragged him back. The pressure inside him mounted, the sense of impending danger closing in once again.


    But Sarah¡¯s calm expression and the revelation of an old friend who had come to his aid eased the edge of his panic. Slowly, his heartbeat began to steady. Before he knew it, his legs had given in, and he found himself back in his seat at the bar. He exhaled, his gaze shifting toward Pistol and Chief Hogswind on his right, their conversation pulling him reluctantly back into the moment.


    Pistol cleared his throat, refocusing the conversation with Hogswind and speaking louder as if signaling Bolton to pay attention. ¡°Anyway, we did the right thing back then. Just got caught in¡­¡±


    ¡°In the fuckin'' middle,¡± Hogswind finished, nodding in agreement.


    Pistol leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. ¡°Yeah, keep things under your breath, but Quadrant Leader Aurous rides with us on the Whisky Sunday¡ªtwo carts ahead, near the front of the train. He expects the boy at a destination, to meet with another. The less we know, the better.¡±


    ¡°The boy¡¯s mind is broken¡­¡± Hogswind began, his voice trailing as if thinking aloud.


    ¡°He saw his best friend murdered in front of him,¡± Pistol said quietly, his voice carrying a weight of understanding.


    Bolton¡¯s shoulders tensed, his fists clenching briefly before loosening. His eyes, hard with disgust, flicked to Pistol, but the anger drained from his expression as he caught Pistol¡¯s steady, knowing gaze. Pistol didn¡¯t speak further, but the way he held Bolton¡¯s stare, with a slight nod, said more than words could.


    ¡°Familiar,¡± Hogswind muttered, noticing the silent exchange between the two.


    ¡°So maybe we take a little more caution when speaking with him,¡± Sarah chimed in, her voice gentle but firm.


    Pistol gave her a soft, knowing smile, his eyes warm as he gestured for her to leave. There was no disapproval in his look¡ªonly affection, as if silently thanking her. Sarah¡¯s face softened in response, and without another word, she slipped away behind the counter, preparing for the next round of service.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Are we certain we don¡¯t understand each other, Bolton Woltwork?" Hogswind challenged, locking eyes with him. "You were exiled, weren¡¯t ya? At eighteen?"


    Bolton met Hogswind¡¯s gaze, anger and confusion flickering across his face before he slumped back into his seat.


    "Right!?" Hogswind barked, grabbing Bolton¡¯s stool and spinning it to face him directly.


    "F¡ª" Bolton began, but the words stuck in his throat, the weight of Vermolly heavy on his mind, his eyes welling with unshed tears.


    "Greisha," Hogswind enunciated slowly, each syllable landing like a hammer. "The ceremony at eighteen, right?" He raised his voice, addressing the crowd now. "Challenges set by the Quadrant Leaders: Power, Pride, Practice. Ring any bells?" His voice boomed, the stool creaking beneath him. "The ruler chosen by the final challenge. The rest? Exiled."


    "I don¡¯t need my life explained to me! Why!? For what!? So I can be told to leave again? To wave at the people who were cheering me on minutes ago, only to never see them¡ªor my sister¡ªagain? My brother! To go command a world that might not even need me?" Bolton screamed in a sudden outburst before slumping back down. ¡°Why?¡±


    "Don¡¯t ya?" Hogswind shot back, turning to the miners. "Boys, how many of us got no home?" Cheers erupted. "How many of us come from dirt? How many of us got no families, no wives, no kids?" With each question, the train roared louder. "And at what age did life¡¯s ''complications'' conscript us into becoming Yardrats!?"


    "At eighteen!" the train cart roared back in near unison, the sound shaking the air, with only Pistol, Bolton, and Sarah remaining silent.


    "At eighteen, we¡¯re expected to descend into the bowels of the underground! At eighteen, we become the necessity that keeps the city lit! At eighteen, we give up our lives in the Quadrants to fight monsters, all for a crown that¡¯s worth little more than a train ride and a few drinks. But we¡¯ve sharpened our purpose from a dull spear!" Chief Hogswind¡¯s voice thundered, the crowd erupting in wild cheers.


    Bolton glanced around, his thoughts drifting to Vermolly, the memories of his small workshop tucked inside Mama Alton''s bakery flooding back. He recalled how Vermolly had taught him the intricacies of "machinerium"¡ªthe study of engineering using Gigarock, the precious ore derived from Yerro¡¯s remains. His mind wavered between Chief Hogswind¡¯s expectant gaze and Pistol¡¯s patient, knowing one. Both men were waiting, eager to see his next move.


    The warm, swamp-like atmosphere of the train blurred in Bolton''s vision, his mind slipping back to the Greisha ceremony. The faces of the miners seemed to morph into the crowd that had once watched him at the ceremony. Everything swirled and darkened until he found himself floating in a black void. The voice of the former King¡ªhis father, Hios Woltwork¡ªechoed around him: "We forfeit the right to be like everyone else, just as a parent gives their life so that their child may walk a higher path."


    Suddenly, Bolton snapped back to the present, the roaring of the train and Chief Hogswind¡¯s face inches from his own, practically crouched down in front of him.


    "See, boy? You¡¯re not alone in this. Most of us got nothing to go back to. Exiled! Darkness, tunnels, monsters, drink¡ªrepeat. That''s all we know." Hogswind¡¯s voice softened, but the steel remained. "Far as I see, you¡¯re just another Yardrat in the making."


    The train erupted in cheers again, but Bolton barely heard them.


    "So," Hogswind leaned in closer, voice low but firm, "you got a choice. Grab my mug and drink the mead, or... let life sink you to its bottom and float up only when it¡¯s molded you into a slab of manure."


    "I¡ª" Bolton tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.


    "But know this," Hogswind continued, his voice unwavering, "if you grab that mead, we¡¯re in this fight together."


    Bolton stared at the mug in front of him, its worn wooden surface reflecting the dim light of the train car. Chief Hogswind had placed it firmly in his hands, but Bolton hesitated, his fingers tightening around the handle. The weight of his choices felt heavier than the mug itself. He could walk away, leave this life behind¡ªor embrace what was coming, Yardrat or otherwise. Slowly, he raised the mug, the scent of mead filling his senses. His eyes darted to Pistol, who gave him a small, knowing nod.


    ¡°Best celebrate that we¡¯re alive anyway,¡± Pistol said with a wry smile, ¡°Yardrat or otherwise.¡±


    Bolton¡¯s grip tightened, and with one last, deep breath, he tilted the mug back. The cold liquid hit his throat, and he guzzled it down, the foam spilling over his lips as the cheers of the miners filled the train car.


    ¡°Clearly, we choose to live again!¡± Chief Hogswind cheered, wrapping one massive arm around Bolton, a wide grin on his face as he swigged from his flask. ¡°The monsters fail again! And we¡ªwe drink again!¡± His voice boomed through the train car. He turned to Pistol, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. ¡°So, with your permission, Pistol¡ªare we ready?¡± Hogswind asked, eager for the signal to let the celebration truly begin.


    ¡°What say you, Sarah? Ready for a night on the tracks?¡± asked Pistol.


    ¡°Glasses and mugs are served,¡± she sighed from just behind him. ¡°Guess all we gotta do is open the tap.¡±


    Pistol chuckled, then turned to Bolton. ¡°What say you, Bolton? Our destination is still half a day¡¯s journey. Care to join us?¡±


    Bolton hesitated, his fingers tightening around his mug. His mind wandered back to his father, Hios Woltwork, and the words he had once spoken: A parent¡¯s duty is to smile alongside his children when possible. The memory hit him like a wave, pulling him between the past and the present. His father¡¯s voice seemed to linger, urging him forward, reminding him that even in the darkest of times, there was room for moments of joy.


    He took a deep breath, then raised his mug, his smile spreading. ¡°Open ¡¯em!¡± he shouted, surrendering to the energy of the moment.


    The train cart erupted into a cacophony of voices¡ªcheers, clanking mugs, and the rapid footfalls of miners swarming toward the center of the giant train cart, where the bar waited. Music emerged from the chaos, a mix of humming, banging on tables, and stomping feet, as if the train itself had joined in the celebration. The swaying lamps above cast flickering light over the red carpet that lined the center aisle, illuminating the wild, joyful scene that had sprung to life in an instant.


    Suddenly, one of the miners jumped up, banging his mug on the table, his voice booming above the crowd as he launched into song.


    Coffins With Mead


    Miner 1:


    My mother once told me, It''d be best if she¡¯d left for a bucket of mead (Miners together: Ha!)


    She bit her lip, her lip quivering pissed, and she spat her rum on me! (Miners Togethers: Ha!)


    All Together:


    She was a whore! A stinkin fat boar!


    A pig foul indeed!(Together)


    One hundred adored, a hundred on four,


    for being on her knees! (Together)


    We drink to the whores, we drink out the door,


    We¡¯ll drink a barrel on me (Together)


    Brothers and sisters!


    Fuckers and fisters!


    Prepare our coffins with mead


    Miner 2:


    My mother once told me, love is a bet, my lassie¡¯ but a dream (Miners Together: Ha!)


    She quivered her lip, the cunt royally pissed, and she poured her rum on me (Miners Together: Ha!)


    All Together:


    She was a whore! A stinkin fat boar!


    A pig foul indeed!(Together)


    One hundred adored, a hundred on four,


    for being on her knees! (Together)


    We drink to the whores, we drink out the door,


    We¡¯ll drink a barrel on me (Together)


    Brothers and sisters!


    Fuckers and fisters!


    Prepare our coffins with mead


    Miner 3:


    My mother last told me, life is best, licken those accursed bottles clean (Miners together: Ha!)


    She ran her lips, her breath burnin¡¯s of piss, then she-


    The swaying lamps flickered as the noise and energy filled the train, the miners'' voices rising into a chaotic anthem. Just as the final verse was about to hit its crescendo, a sudden, forceful bang echoed from the far end of the train cart, cutting the song short.


    The doors slammed open, and Enton strode in, his cold blue eyes locking onto Bolton. The celebration froze. Bolton¡¯s breath caught as rage broke through him, before settling into icy fear.


    Enton was an unsettling blend of authority and monstrosity. His sleek, military-style black robe clung to his hulking frame, with precise tailoring that added to his aristocratic demeanor. His paperboy-style cap, perched neatly atop his head, contrasted the terrifying power underneath. Beneath the robe, the rhythmic clanking of pistons could be heard as they jutted out from his spine, powering the grotesque fusion of human and machine. His metallic legs, clicking with each step, were threaded with steely strands that reinforced his towering, mechanical bulk.


    He moved through the crowd like a force of nature, his cold presence sending miners back into their seats. With each heavy step, the ground trembled beneath him.


    Chief Hogswind¡¯s eyes flicked to the opposite end of the train car. His brow furrowed as he muttered, ¡°Aurous¡­¡± the name barely audible over the growing tension.


    Before Enton could reach Bolton, a thunderous crash came from the far end of the cart. The doors burst open, and Aurous charged through. His broad, muscular chest was bare, his body human-like but draped in a simple loincloth. Massive mechanical arms jutted from both sides, adding to his four-limbed form, his shorter legs giving him an ape-like stance.


    Aurous¡¯s entrance cut through the chaos, his confident smile never wavering. He locked eyes with Enton and, with a playful grin, asked, ¡°Who¡¯s your favorite cousin?¡±

 Chapter 5: An Owl And Its Machine (Part 1)

    The screech of the Whistlin'' Death tore through the air like knives scraping glass, sending shivers down Amelia¡¯s spine and rattling her bones. It felt as if the ship itself was crying out in agony. She had heard stories of this sound¡ªships collapsing under pressure, whole structures reduced to splinters¡ªfrom the bedtime tales Bolton and Michael used to hear from New Dwarden''s former king, recounting the Whistlin'' Death''s relentless assaults on Akiyoma''s ports. But now, it was all too real. Explosions echoed through the halls, the notorious whistle vibrating the ground beneath her feet with an intensity that made her wonder if the ship could withstand it.


    Before the chaos erupted, there had been a deceptive stillness. The quiet moments before the storm had lulled Amelia into a false sense of security. She glanced toward Rick in confusion, her hand instinctively reaching for a knife in her front pocket¡ªonly to find it wasn¡¯t there. Then, without warning, the Pappy Long Legs'' embedded lanterns flared a burning red, casting the corridors in an ominous, pulsating glow. It felt as though the ship itself anticipated the Whistlin'' Death. Each pulse of red was like a heartbeat, counting down to disaster.


    Amelia and Rick clutched their ears, crouching against the vibrating metal walls as the relentless cacophony assaulted them. Every second felt like an eternity as the ship''s metal frame trembled violently, threatening to shatter under the weight of the sound.


    "Rick?! The stories!? What do we do?!" Amelia screamed, her voice swallowed by the overwhelming noise.


    Rick didn¡¯t respond. His mechanical arms braced against the trembling walls, leaving deep impressions in the metal as if sheer force could stop the chaos. His gaze locked onto hers with urgency, and he pointed to the door shaped like an owl at the far end of the hall.


    Amelia didn¡¯t need further explanation. She bolted toward the door, but the ship¡¯s violent shaking threw her off balance. She stumbled, catching herself against the wall as the floor vibrated beneath her. When she reached the door, her fingers fumbled for the handle, trembling as sound waves pulsed through her body. She yanked, then pushed¡ªnothing. The vibrations had rendered her almost powerless, the sound now more than just noise¡ªit was a paralyzing force.


    Her gaze shot to Rick, panic wide in her eyes. This can¡¯t be it. It can¡¯t end like this. Her thoughts spun under the weight of the collapsing world around her. Rick¡¯s silence gnawed at her distrust¡ªhad he planned this? But there was no time for questions.


    Rick was close behind, his ears covered by two of his mechanical arms while the others worked feverishly on the door. His metallic fingertips extended, seemingly transforming into a gyrating saw that sliced into the small gap between the wall and the door. He motioned for Amelia to stay low, his face tense as the screeching metal blades carved their way through.


    Before Rick could finish, the original Roy¡ªAmelia¡¯s strange, mechanical guide¡ªemerged from behind the door. His metallic fingers beckoned them forward, his spotlight-like eyes cutting through the chaos like a guiding beacon.


    ¡°You are not allowed. EXCEPTIONS have been made,¡± Roy added, his voice innocent, as if he had been merely resting moments before.


    They rushed through the doorway, passing through a thin veil of crackling blue light. The buzz of static surrounded Amelia, making her skin prickle, but as she stepped through, the world beyond suddenly quieted. The deafening screech was muffled, reduced to a low rumble. Yet even in this silence, a deep sense of foreboding lingered¡ªit felt like stepping into the rumbling eye of a storm.


    ¡°My MISSION is now to ensure your safety, Amelia,¡± Roy said, his voice eerily devoid of emotion.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Take a real nice breath before speakin¡¯, Crowny,¡± Rick warned, rushing just behind her.


    Amelia nodded weakly, her body moving out of instinct more than understanding. Relief washed over her, but it quickly disappeared as her eyes adjusted to the light.


    The room was vast, lit by an unsettling mix of flickering flames and crackling electric arcs that framed a towering mechanical figure suspended in midair. Half of its body was a mangled metallic skeleton, battle-worn and scarred. Deep gashes marred its frame, with exposed wiring sparking sporadically, barely clinging to life. The other half was disturbingly familiar¡ªa white coat with tail ends speckled with black dots, and a frayed bomber jacket draped over its shoulders. A bird-shaped helmet crowned its head, its surface cracked from a violent blow.


    Amelia¡¯s heart froze. Glassford. Quadrant Leader Glassford, the Owl of Quadrant 8. She had seen him countless times in newspapers and on television¡ªpristine, calm, in control. But here he was, a twisted, broken shadow of that leader.


    The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. He¡¯s a machine! The thought twisted her stomach with shock and disgust. Glassford¡ªthe powerful, respected leader¡ªhad never been human. He was a construct, a lie hidden in plain sight. How could I have never known?


    ¡°A...machine. Rick¡­¡± she muttered weakly, her gaze fixed on the mechanical skeleton. ¡°My father¡¯s best friend. A machine.¡±


    Her mind raced, unraveling the longer she stared. This wasn¡¯t just a lifeless machine¡ªit had lived, it had fought, and now, it was dying or dead. The gashes, ruptured cables, and worn-out metal patches told a mysterious, tragic story. Was everything she knew about leadership a lie? If Glassford, the calm and composed, was a convincing human-like machine, what about the other leaders? What about her brothers? Were they even human?


    ¡°Amelia!¡± Rick''s voice cut through the fog, but she didn¡¯t respond.


    The weight of the realization churned in her stomach. Are the leaders alive? Are they like Roy¡ªmany? Or just living batteries? The thoughts gnawed at her, but she forced them aside for now.


    ¡°Amelia! Listen, Crowny!¡± Rick called again, his tone sharper, pulling her back to the present. ¡°If the Whistlin'' Death wanted this airship shredded, it¡¯d already be torn to the ground. They¡¯re after the owl! And if they can¡¯t get him, they might just settle for you.¡±


    Her gaze drifted to the thin tubes snaking from Glassford¡¯s ravaged body into the walls, pulsing faintly. His energy was being drained¡ªa Quadrant Leader reduced to a mere fuel source. The weight of the betrayal pressed down on her, but another thought crept in, unsettling her further.


    ¡°Rick. Quadrant Leaders don¡¯t get assassinated. Or murdered. They¡¯re the best of the best! This is... impossible,¡± she muttered, her voice shaky with disbelief. If Glassford could be taken down like this, what did that mean for the others? For the leadership she once thought was untouchable?


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t defeated in battle, at least not at first. However, the story must come later. Focus, girl! We don¡¯t have time for this. My security won¡¯t hold them off for long,¡± Rick snapped, trying to ground her.


    ¡°Seems like monsters aren¡¯t content staying in their caves anymore, huh?¡± she shot back, her voice trembling with anger as her eyes locked onto his, searching for answers he wasn¡¯t giving.


    Rick shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darkening. ¡°Thirteen pieces! You remember the letter! The Quadrant Leaders aren¡¯t untouchable anymore. If not apparent, Yerro is no longer protecting them. Least, not like before. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening but if we get to Veranos alive, we may just figure it out.¡±


    ¡°So y¡ª¡± Amelia tried to speak, but Rick cut her off.


    ¡°Trust me, Crowny. This is bigger than us, Amelia. There¡¯s a reason your brother can¡¯t yap his mouth over a letter! He¡¯s a Crowny too but he¡¯s well aware of the dangers of loose information! Nevermind that now! Follow the worker Roys into the darkness. It¡¯s your best shot.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s fury flared. ¡°Trust who!?¡± she yelled, her voice echoing through the massive room. The weight of hidden truths pressed down on her, threatening to crush her


    Rick¡¯s patience snapped. ¡°By the blasted Tumbling Greens! You Woltworks wouldn¡¯t trust the stink of shit right in front of you!¡± His voice cracked under the strain. ¡°I didn¡¯t bring you here to die! Yes, that is Glassford! And yes! I¡¯m not innocent! Didn¡¯t kill the thing but¡­didn¡¯t help him either, at least not yet! Now hide or pick up a weapon, unless you want to get permanently tangled in this mess as well!¡±

 Chapter 5: An Owl And Its Machine (Part 2)

    Amelia hesitated. Her gut screamed to keep pressing Rick for answers. Could she trust him now?


    ¡°I¡¯m not doing a damn thing until you explain¡ª"


    ¡°Explain what? The spirit world? You want it written on a popsicle stick?!¡± Rick roared, eyes wild with desperation. ¡°Crowny! I don¡¯t know how it works. I¡¯m just a father. Believe me or don¡¯t, but more-or-less I found him like this. More than half-dead.¡±


    ¡°So let him die!¡± Amelia¡¯s shout cut through the tension.


    ¡°I can¡¯t, girl!¡± Rick leaned in close before turning to Roy. ¡°All I know is, if he dies, so does my... son. Roy.¡± His voice faltered, heavy with confession. ¡°My... son¡­¡±


    Amelia looked away, the thundering pistons of the Pappy Long Legs growing louder in her ears. The ground shook beneath her, and she stumbled, falling to the floor with a heavy thud.


    ¡°Now scurry over here! Please, Amelia. Pick up a weapon from the wall,¡± Rick pleaded softly, his voice barely audible beneath the hum of the machinery. His eyes were hidden behind the glare of his red sunglasses. ¡°Don¡¯t do it for me. Do it for Roy. We need to be ready for Extraction Protocol Q8.¡±


    ¡°Extraction Protocol Q8?¡± Amelia¡¯s eyes darted to Rick, who avoided her gaze. ¡°Now, what ominous thing could that be?


    ¡°To put it as simply, it¡¯s a ship inside a ship. Our vehicle outta¡¯ here... should you still want to trust me,¡± Rick snapped, his voice edged with frustration.


    Amelia¡¯s brow furrowed as she glanced toward the platform housing Glassford. The engines circled the base, faintly humming, the platform itself slightly raised from the floor. She noticed a subtle vibration under her feet, like the low growl of something waiting to be unleashed. The glass floor beneath it reflected the dull glow of the containment wires, flickering in sync with the pulsing lights. A containment system? Her mind flashed to her days as a Yardrat, remembering the glass chambers built to hold volatile creatures, each one ready to be studied¡ªor destroyed¡ªat a moment¡¯s notice.


    The idea that something so powerful could be housed here unsettled her. She hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing down on her chest. Her hand instinctively hovered near the locket around her neck, but she quickly lowered it, frowning as if the action had betrayed her uncertainty.


    Her eyes flicked toward the small hand cannons embedded in the wall. For a moment, she remained still, fingers curling into fists as she sat in stunned silence. The idea of trusting Rick lingered at the edge of her thoughts. She could feel the tension in the air¡ªthe weight of what he wasn¡¯t saying. But the vibrations under her feet intensified, a low rumble reminding her that hesitation wasn¡¯t an option.


    She glanced at Rick, who was furiously welding the door shut, his posture tense, shoulders hunched as if holding the weight of the ship¡¯s chaos on his back. The clang of metal against metal echoed through the room. His movements were frantic, sharp, as though fighting against time itself. Meanwhile, Roy tinkered with a small ventilation unit, his mechanical fingers clicking away with precise, playful indifference.


    The platform hummed louder. The engines seemed to come alive, the faint vibration now pulsing through the glass beneath her feet. Amelia shifted uneasily, glancing down as if the ground could fall away at any second.


    ¡°Where¡¯s my knife, Rick? The one that should¡¯ve been in the front pocket of my uniform,¡± Amelia asked, her voice cold but measured.


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    ¡°By the Goblet and Green! Grab a hand cannon, girl!¡± Rick shouted, frustration spilling over as debris crashed from the ceiling, cracking one of his lenses.


    Amelia shot him a sour look, her frustration still simmering, but without a word, she knelt to pick up his cracked glasses. Rick kept welding, the sparks casting fleeting shadows across his face, but there was an unspoken tension in the air. Gently, almost reluctantly, she slid the damaged frames back onto his nose. Her fingers brushed against his skin, and for a moment, his mechanical limbs stilled. His frown, once hard and set, softened at the edges. Neither of them spoke, but in that quiet gesture, the argument seemed to fade, leaving behind a fragile truce.


    He grunted, his tone quieter. ¡°Roy¡¯s got your knife,¡± he said, his voice still rough but with a hint of reluctance. His gaze lingered on her briefly, almost as if weighing his next words. ¡°Get it. Help me fight. Live another day.¡±


    With that, he nodded toward Roy, leading her in the direction of the small machine, his previous gruffness easing into something a bit more protective.


    She nodded in agreement, quickly making her way toward Roy, who was standing just a few steps away, manning a console that controlled the pistons galloping in the room.


    ¡°Rick said you have my knife,¡± Amelia stated.


    ¡°This is TRUE,¡± Roy nodded, his spotlight eyes dimming slightly as if puzzled.


    ¡°So hand it over,¡± Amelia demanded.


    ¡°WHY?¡± Roy tilted his head. ¡°Whisky was going to USE it. Whisky requested something of yours.¡±


    ¡°Whisky?¡± Amelia asked, her confusion growing.


    ¡°Yes. The security bot YOU dubbed Whisky. It is currently... dancing in the incinerator,¡± Roy explained matter-of-factly.


    ¡°Really?¡± Amelia blinked, momentarily thrown off before refocusing. ¡°Never mind that, Roy! Give me the knife. Rick¡¯s orders,¡± she insisted, her confusion now mirroring Roy¡¯s.


    Roy turned toward Rick as if to verify her words, while debris continued to rain down from the ceiling.


    ¡°Do it, boy,¡± Rick called from across the room, standing on a small stair leading to another console near Glassford. ¡°And ready Protocol Q8.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡± Roy looked back at Amelia with an unnervingly human gaze before opening a compartment in his shoulder joint and retrieving her large hunting knife. Amelia quickly took it, strapping it to her waist with a loose wire she found among the rubble.


    ¡°Wait. AMELIA,¡± Roy pleaded suddenly.


    Amelia, mid-step, froze and turned halfway, barely acknowledging him, her mind still swirling with uncertainty about Rick, the room, and this entire chaotic mess. ¡°What is it, Roy?¡± she asked, trying to keep her voice steady despite the tension gnawing at her.


    ¡°Your hat. From your Yardrat uniform. I fixed it. It was ripped. I FIXED it,¡± Roy said, his metallic fingers extending a flat cap toward her, the one she had long forgotten in the chaos.


    Amelia blinked, taken aback. Her Yardrat hat¡ªthe simple flat cap she had worn countless times in the mines¡ªsat in Roy''s hands, as pristine as ever. But something was different. Roy had added a patch, a small metallic smiley face, its dull sheen catching the flickering light. It was an odd, almost childlike touch, completely out of place amid the noise and destruction around them.


    ¡°Y-you fixed it?¡± Amelia whispered, reaching out to take the cap, her fingers brushing against Roy¡¯s cold, mechanical ones. The weight of it in her hand felt strangely comforting, a relic of a simpler time before the weight of machines and broken truths had pressed down on her.


    Roy¡¯s spotlight eyes flickered, dimming slightly as if unsure of how to respond. ¡°Yes. You are¡­ Yardrat. Uniform must be whole.¡±


    She stared at the hat, her mind struggling to reconcile the innocence of the gesture with the chaos unfolding around her. For a moment, the cacophony of battle and the screeching of the Whistlin'' Death seemed to fade, replaced by the simple truth of this small act of kindness. Roy, for all his oddities and mechanical nature, had fixed something. And not just anything¡ªhe had fixed something that mattered to her, something tied to her identity, her history.


    "Your eyes... they perspire water far too much," Roy observed, giving Amelia a gentle look.


    ¡°Thank you, Roy,¡± she muttered, her voice softer than she intended. Her fingers traced the small patch¡ªthe metallic smiley face, an innocent addition that now felt like a reminder of the strange, chaotic world she had been thrust into.

 Chapter 5: An Owl And Its Machine (Part 3)

    The red lights from the Pappy Long Legs flickered ominously, casting an eerie glow that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Amelia¡¯s heart raced, a memory stirring deep within her mind. It had flashed like this before¡ªa warning. Her gaze snapped to Rick, who stood silent, his grim expression telling her everything. This wasn¡¯t just another fight. The Pappy Long Legs itself seemed to sense the danger, mirroring Rick¡¯s own sinking unease.


    Rick, still recovering from the attack, glanced toward her, his face tense with the knowledge that more trouble was on the way.


    ¡°So, you believe me to be this ¡®Devil Dog?¡¯¡± the silhouette mocked, a sinister, glowing smile spreading across its blurred features. ¡°Humorous name for an anim¡ª¡±


    ¡°Like you!¡± Amelia interrupted, her voice sharp. ¡°I remember the smoke. That thing nearly killed me. It¡¯s not¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wrong!¡± The silhouette¡¯s voice cut her off smoothly, and a thin wave of razor wires sliced through the smoke, grazing her cheek.


    Amelia stumbled back, feeling the sting as a line of warmth trickled down her face. She fell onto a taut row of razor-like strings hidden behind her, their edges biting into her skin. She winced, jerking forward to escape the sting and freezing, each tiny movement risking more cuts. Her clothes hung in mangled strips, her every breath shallow, every shift a dangerous gamble.


    ¡°I am Number Two. Behind me are Numbers Three, Seven, and Twenty-Two. And you, my delusional ex-princess, must be Amelia Woltwork.¡± Its voice, distorted and digital, dripped with arrogance. The pause that followed felt like a challenge, daring Amelia to respond.


    "Girl. Do you want to know what Gigarock can do?" Number Two¡¯s voice sharpened, each word dripping with menace. "The gem embedded in your necklace. Do you even understand what it truly is?¡±


    Amelia hesitated, casting a quick glance at her torn clothing, her hands trembling slightly. She looked back up at Number Two, barely visible through the thickening smoke. Only its cold, mechanical eyes pierced through the haze, glowing with a light that matched her locket. Behind him, the faint outlines of the others¡ªNumbers Three, Seven, and Twenty-Two¡ªhovered in the fog, their eyes blinking in unison, an eerie orchestra of mechanical intent.


    ¡°How it acts as a cage for souls? Its rarity? Its forms? Its value?¡± The words hung in the air, heavy and calculating, like a threat wrapped in a riddle. Number Two¡¯s eyes, chillingly fixed on her, darted over her locket, jerking with a puppet-like precision. She could just make them out¡ªhuman in shape yet disturbingly off, moving with a stiff, wooden rhythm that made her skin crawl. The others remained silent, their mechanical gazes adding to the dread that settled around her, an audience of silent judges lurking in the fog.


    ¡°That tattoo¡ªdo your brothers carry the same? Does it tingle in the presence of Yerro¡¯s soul?¡± The silhouette¡¯s voice dropped to a murmur, unnervingly direct.


    As if in response, her locket glowed faintly blue, casting an eerie shimmer through the fog, illuminating the twisted metal threads snaking through the smoke.


    Amelia¡¯s eyes flashed with defiance. ¡°Metal or man?¡±


    ¡°Why the concern?¡± Its metallic teeth clattered from the fog, accompanied by the faint sound of winding gears.


    ¡°You¡¯re either some rogue muscle of the Primarian Arc or an ex-suit from the Primarian Royale. Human has been optional lately. Which one is it?¡± Amelia challenged, her voice steady despite the dread twisting like ice in her stomach.


    Number Two chuckled, a grating, hollow sound that reverberated through the mist. Outside, the Pappy Long Legs¡¯ rumble faded to silence, leaving only the sinister whisper of sharpening wires behind him. His form remained blurred and shadowed, barely distinguishable through the thickening fog.


    ¡°I¡¯m just Number Two,¡± he replied, his voice dropping to a slow, deliberate tone. ¡°And I¡¯m here to offer you a deal. Otherwise, you¡¯d already be dead. Down. With. The. Ship.¡±


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    Thick smoke curled around him, consuming Number Two¡¯s form entirely, leaving only faint, haunting glimpses of his glowing blue eyes piercing through the haze. His form was obscured, yet Amelia caught sight of a dark, tattered coat draped over him, an odd, almost humanizing detail that only deepened her unease. She slipped the locket back into her pocket, her fingers brushing its cold surface one last time before tightening her grip on the knife in her other hand. Her heart hammered, her breaths shallow as she weighed her next move, her grip slick with nervous sweat.


    From the corner of her vision, a thick, corded wire shot from Rick¡¯s mechanical arm, its texture like stretched muscle tendons with a rubbery elasticity as it extended into the smoke, aimed directly at Number Two. The wire moved with a fluid, sinewy strength, pulsing with a deep red light that flickered in rhythmic bursts, mirroring the lamps of the Pappy Long Legs.


    Amelia squinted, barely able to make out the faint shape of the coat clinging to Number Two¡¯s form, its hard edges softened and warped by the sticky, swirling smoke that clung to him like a shroud. She couldn¡¯t see Rick¡¯s precise hit through the dense fog, but the red charge arced through the wire, flooding the room with a sinister glow. The silhouette of Number Two absorbed the current, his form twitching slightly, but he remained disturbingly unaffected, his stance loose and unshaken.


    "And that must be Rick," Number Two sneered, his voice carrying a mocking edge from somewhere in the haze. "The legendary Rick. Former Primarian Hammer, am I right? Those wires look familiar."


    Rick¡¯s voice broke through the tension with an experienced calm. ¡°They should be. Now whistle your way out.¡±


    ¡°Violence first, questions later? Isn¡¯t that what got you into this mess, Rick the Primarian Hammer?¡± Number Two mocked. ¡°One. Of. Five.¡±


    Rick¡¯s mechanical limbs tensed. ¡°How di-¡±


    Number Two¡¯s eerie gaze shifted toward a giant metal ball hanging just above Roy¡¯s head. ¡°Ah, perhaps it¡¯d be wise to listen before you act,¡± he replied smoothly. Roy remained blissfully unaware, focused intently on Glassford, the former Quadrant Leader, as the metal sphere swayed ominously in the enveloping smoke creeping above him.


    ¡°This fog,¡± Number Two continued, his voice dropping to a chilling murmur, ¡°only grows thicker. It strangles organic life¡­ but electrifies and ignites machines. Gives us a little extra oomph.¡±


    In the background, Roy paused, his curious eyes lingering on the thick cables feeding into the walls of the Pappy Long Legs. The machinery surrounding Glassford¡¯s remains was complex, almost hypnotizing, humming with ominous energy. Roy¡¯s fingers hovered above the strange mechanisms, twitching slightly as if drawn to uncover the secrets woven into the design of the fallen Quadrant Leader.


    Rick noticed Roy¡¯s distracted fascination. ¡°Boy! Where¡¯s your mind!?¡±


    Roy hesitated, quickly withdrawing his hand, though his gaze remained fixed on the large wires, clearly unsettled by Glassford''s degenerating and limp appearance.


    ¡°Tammersmith! Where did you put his mind!? In a deal best served by royalty!? Which King did you ask for the favor!? Michael or his puppet father!?¡± Number Two¡¯s voice rose to a sudden, unhinged pitch before he forced himself back into calm. ¡°I bet you didn¡¯t ask. Did you? Wh¡ª¡±


    Before he could finish, a barrage of thick, tendon-like wires shot from the walls, each ending in spear-tipped edges that slammed into Number Two, pinning and skewering him in place. Dark oil dripped from the metallic strands, pooling beneath his suspended form as the Pappy Long Legs sprang to life in defense. The wires pulsed with a familiar, sinewy strength, echoing Rick¡¯s own but thicker and humming with a darker, ominous energy. Electricity crackled through the strands, searing with a final violent burst before subsiding, leaving Number Two¡¯s lifeless form swaying eerily.


    Amelia¡¯s breath came in shallow gasps. ¡°What about the deal, Rick?¡± she asked her voice tight with unease.


    Rick¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Should¡¯ve kept its mouth shut about my son. Don¡¯t forget¡ªit¡¯s not alone. Whatever it is, it¡¯s using Primarian Hammer tech.¡±


    ¡°The wires?¡± Amelia pressed, glancing toward the thick strands. ¡°It seemed¡­ familiar with them.¡±


    Rick nodded grimly. ¡°Modified, sure, but I recognize the shotty yet particular design.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s gaze shifted back to the fog, catching eerie shadows hovering beyond. ¡°And the others?¡± she whispered, her voice barely audible. ¡°I can see their shapes¡­ unmoving. They¡¯re just¡­ waiting.¡±


    ¡°Still as stone,¡± Rick confirmed, his voice hard. ¡°My security bots are on em'' like a living wall. Even those things know better than to test it.¡±


    ¡°Whisky¡­¡± Amelia murmured under her breath, grounding herself amid the tension.


    Rick¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°That ¡®number whatever¡¯ isn¡¯t dead because it was never alive,¡± he muttered, glancing her way. ¡°This is all a game to one man¡ªa puppet master pulling strings on machines that should¡¯ve stayed buried. Worse is, I once looked up to him¡­ back when I was an apprentice Primarian Hammer. Never one for subtlety.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s eyes narrowed, suspicion and defiance flickering within them. ¡°And now he¡¯s after you? Or¡­me?¡±

 Chapter 5: An Owl And Its Machine (Part 4)

    Rick nodded grimly. ¡°Can¡¯t say for certain. But the Whistlin'' bastards tore apart my shop in Veranus lookin'' for something I may or may have not had¡ªa rare piece of Gigarock. Not your typical Yardrat grade; this is S-Class. Straight from Yerro¡¯s heart, like the gem in your locket. The kind that keeps a Quadrant Leader ticking.¡±


    ¡°The kind of power that¡¯s a nightmare for New Dwarden¡¯s enemies,¡± Amelia murmured, her voice barely a whisper. She glanced quickly at Roy, who remained transfixed by the wires. Like the machines behind number two, Roy remained unmoving. Her gaze hardened as she turned back to Rick. ¡°Rick¡­ what did you do? What is Roy?¡±


    ¡°Your Crowny brother, the King, knew about Glassford¡¯s disappearance three years ago," Rick began, his voice low. "It¡¯s a mystery for the ages¡ªthe original Glassford was never recovered. So, the King and I fashioned a convincing replica, powered by the Gigarock in his locket.  After a series of long nights and seat-denting research, the fake Glassford began to make public appearances, a secret kept tightly among the Crownys and the Primarian Hammer. Only the King or Queen of New Dwarden could use that power, and even then, only in dire emergencies. It was risky¡ªbarely tested and volatile.¡±


    Rick¡¯s expression darkened, and he looked down as if weighed down by the memory. ¡°It was a penny-knicked setup. The damn replica would fail constantly, and I was left to keep it ¡®alive¡¯ between appearances like some shitty wind-up doll. But something¡­ changed. Over time, a small piece of the King''s Gigarock must¡¯ve fused with the machine. Among other things, the replica began to believe it was Glassford, like it had a mind of its own.¡± He hesitated, his voice lowering. ¡°That¡¯s when I knew I had to take it out of commission. It¡¯s been hidden away in the Pappy Long Legs ever since, a ghost running on borrowed life.¡±


    Amelia felt a chill creep down her spine. She glanced at her own locket, the faint glow of the Gigarock casting a soft light against her hand. This same power¡ªuntamed, unpredictable¡ªwas hanging around her neck. Her fingers closed over it, instinctively protective yet uneasy.


    Rick¡¯s gaze drifted toward her, his eyes filled with haunted regret. ¡°Eventually, I paid the price for this deception, and so did others. One¡­ didn¡¯t make it out,¡± he murmured, his voice strained as if the words themselves were a weight he carried. ¡°The kind of power that can breathe life¡ªor something close to it¡ªinto a machine¡­ it doesn¡¯t come without consequences.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s gaze hardened, suspicion rising like a shield. ¡°Does my brother know?¡± she asked, her voice low, almost accusing. A tense silence settled between them, thickening the air. Her eyes flicked to Roy, still transfixed by the strange, pulsing wires that ran through the Pappy Long Legs.


    Rick¡¯s silence spoke volumes, and Amelia exhaled, a hint of resignation in her sigh. ¡°So¡­ did you use it to grant him a second life?¡± she whispered, her tone a mix of wonder and fear, as if the question itself carried a hidden danger. ¡°Was it leverage for some kind of deal?¡±


    Rick¡¯s expression darkened, his jaw clenching. ¡°One of many ghoulish spirits that inhabit Yerro offered me a reward¡ªfor returning what it called a ¡®tainted piece¡¯ of Yerro¡¯s heart. It was vague, preyed on my insecurities, made promises it knew I wanted to hear.¡± His voice grew rough. ¡°Left me barely breathing, my son without flesh¡­ and here I am, talkin¡¯ about what¡¯s alive and what isn¡¯t. I¡¯m beginning to lose my wonder for this world.¡±


    ¡°My brother has you cleaning this up, doesn¡¯t he?¡± Amelia asked, her voice edged with bitterness.


    ¡°Out lookin¡¯ for Glassford¡¯s original, yes,¡± Rick replied, his tone weary. ¡°Now caught up in whatever you are and the puzzle you fit into. You-¡±


    Before Rick could finish, the fog thickened, shifting from vague shadows to defined, mechanical shapes¡ªhulking figures with jointed limbs and cold, expressionless faces, reminiscent of Number Two and its kin. It was as if the figures¡¯ movement stirred up more smoke from the ground, causing the mist to billow and coil like living tendrils. To Rick and Amelia, the shapes looked disturbingly human, a crowd of spectral forms emerging from the mist, drawing nearer with each passing second.


    Thick smoke continued to pour into the room, filling the air with an oppressive haze. Tendrils of fog wrapped around them, blurring reality and distorting the space until everything felt surreal, and disorienting. Amelia¡¯s heart pounded, her gaze darting through the fog, trying to make sense of the figures that swayed and shifted like eerie, mechanical phantoms.


    Then, as if reacting to the threat, the walls of the Pappy Long Legs came alive. The small security bots she had dubbed ¡°little Roys¡± clung to the walls like silent sentries, each with glowing red eyes that flickered ominously. Their mouths opened, revealing spear-tipped wires coiled within, ready to strike. The faint blue flames she¡¯d noticed before in their eyes now burned fiercely, a searing intensity that replaced their earlier subtlety. It was as if the entire ship had awakened, bracing itself for battle.


    Suddenly, embedded vents along the walls began to hum, siphoning the fog from the room as though the Pappy Long Legs itself were breathing, purging the smoke in slow, rhythmic pulses. The tendrils of mist were drawn toward the vents, swirling in mesmerizing patterns before vanishing, leaving a strange, eerie clarity in the room.


    Amelia staggered, trying to steady her breathing. What¡¯s going to happen, Rick? she wondered, her gaze flicking nervously between the mechanical shapes and the vigilant little Roys clinging to the walls.


    Rick stepped closer to her, his voice low and bitterly amused. ¡°I hear shitty puppets could always use more string,¡± he mocked, his eyes never leaving the lifeless figure of Number Two. ¡°Now, let¡¯s find who¡¯s in control so we could get to our damn destination.¡±


    Amelia nodded, gripping her knife tighter, her body tensed and ready. She quickly wiped away the soot and debris that had collected on her from the falling wreckage, her mind racing to keep up with the chaos around her.


    ¡°What man¡ª¡± Stammered Amelia before being interrupted.


    ¡°Pause.¡± Another silhouette emerged from the smoke, speaking with unsettling calm. A large metallic ball slammed into the ground before Rick with a deafening crash, denting the floor. The ball reeled back into the shadows, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Why ruin the fun? Puppets are inherently a proxy for entertainment. The man behind it is no fun. He is merely the vessel of illusion."


    As the smoke finally parted, it revealed a man with metallic stilts for legs and a single mechanical arm, gleaming mischievously in the dim light. He wore brass goggles, their lenses catching the faintest flicker of light, giving him a playful, aristocratic air¡ªlike a rogue engineer from some forgotten, eccentric aeronautical order. His attire, though once crisp and elegant, had the rough edges of a well-worn adventure, as though he had danced between the stars and the storm clouds alike.


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    In his mechanical hand, he wielded a pneumatic weapon that could only be described as absurdly magnificent. Attached to it by a thick chain was a massive ball of dented steel, which swung lazily at his side, as if it had all the time in the world. The weapon hissed softly, puffing little clouds of steam, like an Ignorpa waking from an afternoon nap.


    The closer he came, the more Amelia could feel the weight of his presence¡ªa cold, calculating energy that crawled up her spine and made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. His glowing blue eyes locked onto hers, unblinking, as he closed the distance, stopping just a breath away.


    Amelia¡¯s heart pounded in her chest as the towering figure loomed over her, his distorted voice slicing through the uneasy silence. "Hi, yes! Number two, three, a hundred, whoever again. So. I was thinking. I could say I¡¯m not your enemy, but¡­ I am. I won¡¯t lie to you like the ol'' man here. And shut it!" His voice snapped suddenly, cutting off any response. ¡°Omission is still lying. I aim to hurt you badly, Amelia. Not kill. Not today. Not yet. You see, I need that Gigarock in your locket. It won¡¯t work if you¡¯re dead.¡±


    As the smoke cleared further, four more figures emerged behind him, each a twisted reflection of the first. Tall, lanky, and mechanical, with strange protrusions jutting from their backs and metallic stilts for legs, they stood in unnerving silence. Their worn attire bore crude markings¡ª¡°IRON 1,¡± ¡°GOLD 1,¡± and other titles scrawled hastily across their chests, each engraving as rough as it was unmistakable. Despite their battered appearance, the markings spoke of a brutal, rigid hierarchy. The faint light from Glassford¡¯s wires flickered across their frames, casting long, angular shadows that gave their metallic bodies a ghostly, otherworldly sheen.


    ¡°Why ranks? Why numbers?¡± Rick mocked, subtly gesturing for Amelia to shift away from him and toward Glassford.


    His voice dropped, urgency lacing his words as he spoke quickly to her. ¡°Wake Glassford or destroy him. I don¡¯t know this thing¡¯s true objective, but if the master of this puppet is a rogue Primarian Hammer, we¡¯re in for a world of trouble. We¡¯ll have no choice but to fight through hell.¡±


    ¡°Come with me. Com¡ª¡± Amelia began, her voice a panicked whisper.


    ¡°Shhh¡­ girl. No time,¡± Rick corrected gently, his golden, mechanical eyes softening as he looked at her. ¡°Look for an empty cavity near his heart¡ªremove the damaged Gigarock, and consider using yours to revive him. Whatever you decide, make the choice, Crowny.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s breath caught as her eyes flicked down to her knife¡¯s reflection, her green eyes staring back with a mixture of fear and doubt. If I bring him back, could we face something even worse? she wondered, her heart pounding as she weighed the unknown risks against Rick¡¯s urgent tone.


    ¡°Or destroy The Owl? The Owl Of Quadrant eight¡­¡± she whispered, her gaze drifting back to Rick.


    ¡°Aye. So they can¡¯t use him like I did,¡± Rick replied, his voice laced with regret. ¡°There¡¯s a button deep in the cavity of his heart, red and bulging. Pull it out, and Glassford dies.¡± He paused, his steady gaze betraying a rare vulnerability. ¡°Just consider your options, Amelia. I¡¯ve made mine.¡±


    Amelia glanced up at Rick, who now stood taller, his mechanical legs hoisting him above the chaos as he scanned the room, calculating how many Whistlin¡¯ Death Pirates lingered in the drifting smoke. Her heart pounded as she tried to steady herself, feeling the weight of the choice before her.


    ¡°Listen, Crowny,¡± he called, his voice rough but steady. ¡°I¡¯m far from perfect, and I don¡¯t know everything. But after going over some notes while you were nappin¡¯, I can tell you this much: we Hammers know a few things about Yerro. Sometimes it bleeds from the veins your Yardrats harvest, sometimes it breathes through the land itself. And sometimes¡­ it births these ¡®fleshy circles¡¯ you mentioned.¡±


    He paused, his gaze distant, his jaw tightening as if reliving an old memory, before refocusing on her. ¡°Life doesn¡¯t always give us answers. But we can choose to accept today¡¯s battles as a pocket¡ªa way to make tomorrow better. Maybe not for me.¡± He glanced at her, his golden eyes softening, with a hint of the fatherly concern she rarely saw. ¡°But at least for Roy. And maybe, Crowny, for you too.¡±


    Amelia felt a strange calm settle over her, mixed with a fierce determination. Rick¡¯s words lingered, and for the first time, she felt the weight of her choice not just as a burden, but as a chance. She took a deep breath, her hand steadying on her locket, and nodded.


    ¡°If I destroy the Owl, what¡¯s going to happen to Roy?¡± Amelia asked, her voice tight with concern as she glanced toward the massive figure of Glassford, towering at the center of the room even amidst the giant pistons surrounding them.


    ¡°He¡¯ll survive¡ªat least for a while,¡± Rick replied, pointing to a large vat filled with thick, glowing blue liquid on the far side of the room. ¡°I¡¯ve gathered enough residual power from the fake Glassford to keep him stable. After that¡­ he¡¯ll be in your hands. I trust you¡¯ll find a way to figure something out. Now go¡ª¡±


    ¡°No matter the body! I am Number Two!¡± The voice erupted suddenly, cutting into Rick¡¯s words with furious intensity, shattering the stillness. Amelia¡¯s heart leapt, her pulse quickening as she froze, caught off guard by the sudden rage in its tone.


    ¡°Go ahead and destroy me! Another will always take my place,¡± Number Two taunted, the bitter edge in its voice quickly shifting to a chilling calm. Each word dripped with malice. ¡°Why!? Deny me fun!? Why!?¡± The echo of its laughter lingered, mocking and sinister, thickening the silence that followed.


    ¡°Tell me about the deal!¡± Amelia demanded, her voice sharp as she redirected Number Two¡¯s attention, worry for Rick flickering in her gaze. ¡°What do I need to do to get you out of here¡ªto keep the Pappy Long Legs afloat?¡±


    ¡°It appears¡­ Rick has run out of time,¡± added another voice, this one sorrowful, hanging in the air like the thick smoke around them.


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Amelia began, her voice faltering, a question forming on her lips.


    ¡°Dear Amelia, don¡¯t,¡± Rick interjected, his voice heavy with dread as he sensed her intent. His gaze drifted downward, one hand gripping his side as though steadying himself, his voice wavering just slightly. ¡°Can¡¯t you see? Even the deal came with strings.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s breath caught, her eyes welling with tears as the weight of Rick¡¯s words settled over her, realization dawning painfully. He was preparing to sacrifice himself. She bit her lip, struggling to steady herself as a tear slipped down her cheek, her heart clenching with a mixture of fear and grief.


    Before Rick could say more, the new machine, still claiming to be Number Two, moved with unnerving precision. Without hesitation, it ripped a spear-tipped wire from the limp body of the previous Number Two. The metallic strands, slick with dark oil, glistened under the dim lights. In one swift, calculated motion, the machine embedded the wire deep into Rick¡¯s organic and mechanical frame.


    Sparks flew as Rick¡¯s body seized up, his limbs jerking violently. The pulse of red light that had once flowed through him began to flicker and dim, like a heartbeat struggling to keep rhythm.


    Rick let out a strained groan, his voice distorted as he fought to stay upright, but the wire dug deeper, paralyzing him. His towering frame wavered before collapsing with a heavy thud, leaving Amelia vulnerable and exposed.


    ¡°No. No. No. No, no, no, no,¡± Amelia muttered in disbelief, staring at Rick¡¯s motionless form as blackened smoke rose from his limp body. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering over his chest, hoping for any sign that he was still alive.


    With a shuddering breath, Rick¡¯s eyes flickered open, dim but determined. ¡°Amelia¡­¡± he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Forget me¡­ focus on Glassford.¡±


    She hesitated, glancing toward the massive, silent figure of Glassford looming in the center of the room.


    ¡°Make the choice, Crowny,¡± Rick urged, each word a struggle. ¡°Either revive him¡­ or end it. But don¡¯t waste time on me.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s hands clenched as she looked down at him, her heart pounding with the weight of his words. She gave a single, reluctant nod, a fire sparking in her eyes as she turned toward Glassford, his words echoing in her mind.

 Bonus Extra 1: Winds Of Change (Song)

    (Verse 1)


    Of gears o'' brass and steam we dwell, Where toil and hustle indeed have never fell,


    A world of wonders, shiny bright,


    But change creeps in wi'' the comin'' night.


    (Break, supporting singers)


    And so we sing, through gears that grind


    (Chorus)


    Oh, winds of change, they blow so strong,


    In this steam-filled world where we all belong,


    Wi'' every cog n¡¯ every gear,


    Our future''s path ain''t never too clear.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    (Verse 2)


    Ooooo airships glide o''er skies o'' gold, Tales o'' change are often told, For progress marches ever on, In this realm where dreams are drawn.


    (Break, supporting singers)


    "And so we sing, through gears that grind,"


    (Chorus)


    Oh, winds of change, they blow so strong, In this steam-filled world where we all belong, Wi'' every cog n¡¯ every gear, Our future''s path ain''t never too clear.


    (Break, supporting singers)


    And so we sing, through gears that grind,


    (Chorus)


    Oh, winds of change, they blow so strong, In this Steampunk world where we belong, Wi'' every cog and every gear, The future''s path ain''t never clear.


    (Outro)


    So let us embrace the shiftin'' tide,


    In this Steampunk world, let change abide,


    For in the flux, we find our might,


    And steer our course through day and night.

 Bonus Extra 2: Chapter 1 - Devil Dog(All-In-One)

    Amelia


    Amelia¡¯s footsteps echoed through the grand halls of the Primarian Arc, the polished stone floors reflecting the soft glow of lanterns. The regal architecture loomed above her, but the familiar weight of the locket hidden in her boot anchored her¡ªa reminder of what she had left behind. The black-and-white family portrait flashed in her mind¡ªBolton smiling beside their mother, while her brother Michael, now the King, stood distant, his eyes cold. How many strings had he pulled to set this in motion?


    The Greisha Ceremony had been the final blow¡ªa series of grueling challenges held when a royal turned eighteen. For the victor, it meant honor and a future at court; for the loser, disgrace and exile. The details of the challenges had grown hazy over the past five years, but the sting of failure remained fresh. Stripped of her title, the punishment had been swift, her exile as sudden as a thief in the night. The would-be princess of New Dwarden no longer had a home.


    ¡°I remember falling...¡± Amelia¡¯s thoughts echoed into the dark void, tethering her consciousness to a disorienting pull. ¡°Isn¡¯t death supposed to be a rush of memories? Even fun? At least right before you go.¡± Her mind floundered in a murky expanse. She could feel the sensation of cold, weathered metal beneath her, the world humming with a low mechanical thrum as if it were alive. Darkness surrounded her like coiling mist, tightening its alluring grip with each passing second. Echoes of clinks and clanks grew nearer, resembling the sound of a broken-down carriage, while her body remained paralyzed.


    Suddenly, her mind fought back¡ªWake up!


    "She¡¯s twitchin¡¯! Wake her!" A voice cut through the void, sharp with urgency, like thunder. The voice continued in garbled, unintelligible bursts, fighting through the haze in her mind.


    A peculiar light pierced through the fog, a soft, warm glow enveloping Amelia. The voices became clearer: one familiar but distant, the other metallic and disjointed, as if filtered through static.


    Her senses returned in fragmented pieces. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, her head pounding with a dull, persistent ache. The distant argument grew clearer¡ªa cacophony of voices blending into a surreal harmony. She inhaled, the air thick with the scent of oil and steam.


    "Roy! Get your metallic keister over here!" The voice barked again, closer now. ¡°By the Earth and Sea, you blasted machine, I said make it look real, not rattle her brains out!"


    ¡°Error. Rick. The directive was as follows: Return the MARBLES to her,¡± Roy¡¯s voice droned, each word laced with mechanical precision.


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Rick tried to interject.


    ¡°¡ªUntil her HEAD was right as rain,¡± Roy mimicked back, his tone unwavering.


    Amelia listened to their bickering, the voices cutting through the fog that clouded her thoughts. She could feel her breath returning, shallow and uneven, as though emerging from a long, deep sleep. Her body remained stubbornly unresponsive, her thoughts a muddled mess.


    Amelia¡¯s mind swam as she tried to focus on what was happening around her. She felt their movements more than saw them. Her head spun, but there was an undeniable sense of care in how she was being handled.


    Her vision slowly cleared, and as it did, she saw them¡ªa towering man with a thick mustache and a smaller, metallic figure beside him. She blinked hard to make sense of it.


    ¡°I can confirm Amelia Woltwork is not deceased!¡± said the metallic figure, its glowing eyes fixed on her.


    The name¡ªWoltwork¡ªfelt heavy, a title she had long since tried to shed. She sat up slowly, her limbs feeling like lead. "Just Amelia," she muttered.


    Rick smirked. "Right, ¡®just Amelia.¡¯ Well, you¡¯re lucky to be alive, so let¡¯s skip the formalities and all the pretty words like ¡®how are you¡¯ or¡ª"


    ¡°Nice to meet you!¡± Roy chimed in, his tone bright.


    ¡°Yes, that too,¡± Rick agreed with a shrug.


    As Amelia regained her senses, a flood of memories rushed forward¡ªher brothers, the life she had fled, the Greisha Ceremony. It felt like a thorn buried in her chest, ever present, never healed. She had once been royalty¡ªthe would-be Crown Princess of New Dwarden¡ªbut that title now felt alien. She had chosen exile in the Conkle Mines, the harsh underground preferable to the suffocating expectations of royalty.


    She touched the locket at her neck, her only connection to her past¡ªa gift from her brother Bolton. The glowing blue gem embedded within it pulsed faintly, as if responding to her thoughts.


    "Confused? Like a playful wolf among stray dogs, eh?" Rick grunted, his voice gruff yet not unkind. He knelt before her, pulling out a small piece of bread from a pouch and handing it to her. "Eat. It''ll help settle your come-to nerves."


    She hesitated but took the bread, biting into it. The familiar crunch and savory flavor reminded her of meals in the royal kitchens. She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    "Name¡¯s Rick. Used to bake all sorts of breads for the royal family. A secret chef," he said, scratching his head. "All back when I had all my blasted limbs. More pressing matters¡ªyou¡¯re now aboard an airship known as the Pappy Long Legs,¡± he continued, his voice softening. "We picked you up right after some monster almost made ya¡¯ dinner. An expensive Crowny dinner."


    The memory of the beast¡ªits curled fangs, it¡¯s throbbing muscular body, the overwhelming terror¡ªflashed through her mind, sending a chill down her spine. She shuddered, her gaze drifting downward as if seeking reassurance. But instead of flesh and bone, her eyes landed on the intricate, spider-like metal appendages where his legs should have been. The gleam of metal caught her off guard, and she followed the line of his limbs, realizing his arms were equally mechanical, glinting in the dim light. She swallowed the last bit of bread, her confusion deepening.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    The ship hummed beneath her, the low, steady thrum of its engines a constant reminder that she was no longer on solid ground. Amelia¡¯s gaze drifted to the porthole¡ªclouds stretched out as far as she could see, and the world below felt impossibly distant. Her thoughts turned inward again¡ªBolton, Michael, the Greisha Ceremony. What kind of people had they become? Were creatures hunting them, even in their homes? And then, the memory of the beast resurfaced¡ªits smoke-blackened mouth, its glowing blue eyes¡ªrelentless and monstrous. Amelia had dubbed it the Devil Dog. It wasn¡¯t just a creature; it was a warning.


    Rick¡¯s mechanical limbs whirred as he moved toward the control panel. "We¡¯re headed for Veranus. It¡¯s a rough place, but it¡¯ll give you time to figure out your next move."


    She nodded absently, though her mind was miles away. She gripped the locket tighter, the faint glow from the blue gem inside pulsing faintly.


    "You ask what happened? You got many questions, I¡¯m sure," Rick said, glancing back at her. "But take it one step at a time. No rush in solvin¡¯ world hunger and peace at the same damn time. Does us both no good." His voice trailed off as he watched Amelia¡¯s body slump, her exhaustion overtaking her. It was clear she was fighting to stay awake but kept losing the battle, succumbing to the overwhelming grogginess that weighed her down.


    As they turned Amelia¡¯s limp form, Roy¡¯s sharp gaze caught something curious nestled in her right boot, peeking through the weathered laces near her ankle. Rick¡¯s eyes followed, and the two exchanged a knowing glance. Their movements became more deliberate, cautious, as they leaned in closer to examine the faint, dwindling blue glow emanating from her boot.


    ¡°Rick. Humans... they generally do not glow, correct? They do not typically possess cores like you,¡± Roy noted with a hint of wonder. ¡°So why does she?¡±


    ¡°Well, my core... my core is like a red-hot one that beats like a piston-driven bongo inside of me,¡± Rick paused, searching for the right words. ¡°But I ain¡¯t runnin¡¯ on blood no more. I run on¡ª¡±


    ¡°A SOUL,¡± Roy interjected firmly.


    ¡°Somethin¡¯ like that, sure,¡± Rick nodded, his expression growing solemn. ¡°But let¡¯s not get lost in the mystics of those who breathe and those who don¡¯t! Check if that¡¯s the glowing locket in her boot. The King was adamant about keeping that thing safe. Unless she¡¯s got a thing for glowin¡¯ rocks, that¡¯s gotta be it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s gold, as the letter described. HIGHLY probable we are correct,¡± Roy concurred.


    ¡°Keep fidgeting with the locket, Roy! I¡¯ll check if her soul ain¡¯t planning to vacate her body anytime soon,¡± Rick instructed.


    Following Rick¡¯s command, Roy carefully examined the source of the ghostly blue glow. Meanwhile, Rick gently opened Amelia¡¯s eyes, his penlight ticking softly as it scanned for signs of brain trauma. His examination paused, however, when something unusual caught his attention¡ªa frog-shaped tattoo just above her right breast. The intricate designs extended toward her neck, its metallic green hue glinting in the light. Intrigued, Rick leaned in closer, his eyes alight with curiosity as he studied the rune-like patterns woven into the ink.


    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°By the dirt under my feet, I had only heard of this mark,¡± Rick remarked, his voice tinged with astonishment.


    ¡°Marks are commonplace among machines. Is Amelia a machine?¡± Roy asked, poking curiously at the side of Amelia¡¯s neck.


    ¡°When the royal triplet babes are born, they¡¯re given this bugaboo weirdo tattoo with ancient writin¡¯,¡± Rick explained, leaning in to closely examine the intricate swirls, sharp curves, and the subtly pulsating glow of the tattoo. ¡°This mark¡ªthis tattoo¡ªis more like an oath. It¡¯s supposed to eat yer¡¯ body whole after only four years old, like a parasite grown from a deal with Yerro,¡± Rick continued, his gaze narrowing. ¡°A deal for power.¡±


    ¡°Rick?¡± Roy asked, his finger inching toward Rick¡¯s throat.


    ¡°What¡¯s that finger hurlin¡¯ towards me for?¡± Rick shot back.


    ¡°You have no mark. No tattoo. It¡¯s not the same. WE are not part of her deal?¡± Roy asked innocently. ¡°Yerro did not grant me your soul. I must ask again¡ªwho did?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. They''re gone,¡± Rick replied, his voice trailing off as he turned away from Amelia. ¡°What¡¯s going on with us¡­ it¡¯s different¡­ I¡¯ve gone and made a one-sided deal. Lucky it¡¯s the side that matters,¡± he muttered, gently pushing Roy¡¯s finger away and redirecting his attention back to Amelia.


    ¡°This tattoo¡­ best believe it lives and breathes with Amelia¡ªat least, that¡¯s the rumor among the Quadrants. If it¡¯s here, she¡¯s fine.¡±


    Amelia could feel the distant thuds and thumps as Rick and Roy paced around her, their voices growing muffled as her focus wavered. No matter how far she drifted in her mind, a strange warmth around her feet kept her anchored to the voices around her.


    ¡°¡­ what¡¯s the extent of that mark, Amelia? Can¡¯t just be liftin¡¯ heavy boulders,¡± Rick wondered aloud, though his voice seemed to drift further away from her.


    ¡°Yerro: A Colossus or Great Spirit responsible for creating the City of New Dwarden upon its death. Like many colossi millennia ago, they are gifts from¡ª¡± Roy began to explain, his voice trailing off as Rick cut him short.


    ¡°Break that crank, Roy! Don¡¯t need that kind of information right now,¡± Rick scolded. ¡°Look at the girl.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t need it?¡± Roy asked, his head lowering in confusion as the light in his eyes dimmed to a softer white.


    ¡°Best understand you¡¯re not just some hodgepodge conveyor belt robot. And best get used to it! You have blood, thoughts, and maybe even some more emotion than me. Don¡¯t act like a block of metal,¡± Rick corrected. ¡°Just gander the damn rock¡ª¡±


    ¡°LOCKET. The locket¡ªas it would appear¡ªcarries within it a picture of the royal family, an embedded blue gem, and a crinkled piece of paper,¡± Roy explained, it¡¯s eyes returning to its usual yellow glow.


    ¡°The gem, Roy. What¡¯s the expensive rock about?¡± Rick pressed.


    ¡°This gem indeed carries a piece of Yerro¡¯s heart. Its glow is faint; however, this is what King Woltwork warned us about,¡± Roy explained, carefully extracting the locket from within Amelia¡¯s boot.


    Roy delicately picked up the locket, his metallic fingers maneuvering the delicate item with precision. He scrutinized the inscriptions, tiny cogs, and the faded picture of Amelia at its center before turning his attention to the gem. Inside, Roy observed a small piece of shining metal wrapped in tiny moving vines and a pulsating light. Satisfied with the examination, he began to tuck it away, but Rick¡¯s hand swiftly stopped him.


    ¡°Best not be handlin¡¯ that longer than ya¡¯ have to, Roy,¡± Rick cautioned, his voice carrying a note of solemnity. ¡°That¡¯s a precious thing for them. Crownies¡­ they¡¯re different beasts. Among the three, Amelia is said to be the nicer Woltwork. Best leave it until she wants to show us, or until we have to take it¡ªshould it come to that. She may not be our King Woltwork, but she¡¯s got some sense of law, if our emergencies become¡­ more emergent,¡± Rick explained, gently guiding the locket back into Amelia¡¯s boot.


    ¡°Shall I continue my DIRECTIVE?¡± Roy inquired, his metallic voice resonating.


    ¡°Well now that we know that death ain¡¯t hollerin¡¯ her name we can finish scannin¡¯ her,¡± Rick ordered. ¡°I¡¯ll wake her the way my momma used to¡ªwith an iron grip.¡±


    ¡°Command recognized: scan Amelia Woltwork,¡± Roy responded, refocusing on the task at hand.


    ¡°Amelia Woltwork!¡± Rick cheered theatrically. ¡°Younger sister of King Michael and older sister to Bolton. Our royal trio! It is now your turn to feed the hand of the Iron Grip!¡±


    Amelia could feel the heat radiating from the man crouched over her. The scent of oil and freshly baked goods drifted into her nostrils, playful yet stinging. Slowly, she began to stir, feeling the world around her come back to life with faint sensations¡ªgentle pinches, soft prods, and the distant hum of machinery¡ªall working to draw her back into consciousness.


    ¡°You forced my hand, Crowny,¡± Rick taunted, his voice hovering ominously above her.


    Before Amelia could utter a sound, she sensed the man drawing closer. Through a narrow slit of her vision, she caught a blurred image of Rick¡¯s fingers inching toward her nose with mischievous intent.


    ¡°The trick to a good dream,¡± Rick proclaimed, ¡°is that it must be a story worth telling. And a good story always begins with¡­ a dream and a TWIST!¡± He emphasized his point with a purposeful flick and twist of his wrist.


    ¡°Assault!¡± yelped Amelia, jolting awake. ¡°Mugger! Thief! I¡ªI¡­ monster?¡±


    Amelia suddenly sprang to her feet, wobbling as she propelled herself upwards, only to immediately fall back into a sitting position.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the monster? That thing? Why was it trying to eat me?¡± Amelia blurted, her voice smooth and angelic compared to Rick¡¯s gruff tone. ¡°It was just here¡­¡± she panicked, scanning her surroundings before her voice trailed off into exhaustion.


    ¡°Calm down, Crowny! We saved ya! No creatures here,¡± Rick assured her. ¡°We¡¯re the closest thing to a doctor you have right now, and I got my certification at a junkyard.¡±


    ¡°What¡­¡± Amelia muttered, her head spinning from the rush of sensations.


    Rick¡¯s ¡°IRON CLAW¡± grip remained as painful as ever, and Amelia groaned loudly as she fully regained consciousness, the sensation of pain flooding back. Slowly, she blinked her eyes open, the world appearing dim and hazy as she struggled to comprehend her surroundings.


    ¡°Tell me Crowny. Did ya¡¯ always wear a birthmark on your right cheek? How about them green eyes? A tiny bend in the nose? A distinct yet modest jawline?¡± Rick examined her closely, moving at an uncomfortable speed. ¡°Do ya¡¯ prefer the clothing of a Yardrat? Or have you spent your royalties¡­ elsewhere? Moreso, was it necessary to work in those mines all those years? AAAAAAND what happened after your eighteenth birthday? The Greisha Crown Ceremony. Go on, I¡¯ll wait.¡±


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Amelia tried to respond, but her head was bowing closer to the ground, her thoughts scattering.


    ¡°And that¡¯s how you¡¯ll sound if I let ya. Questions! Questions! Questions! Let¡¯s try and look at this conundrum one screw at a time,¡± Rick interjected, his tone both commanding and oddly comforting.


    ¡°Initiating wellness analysis: Gender: Female. Heart rate: elevated. Potential concussion detected, though no significant wounds present. Height: approximately 1.88 meters. Weight: approximately 75 kilograms. Skeletal and facial structures are consistent with data documented five years ago. Scent detected: body odor and feces, originating from a mix of species¡ªIgnorpa, dog, Crestfish, human, and unknown. Confirmed identity: Amelia Woltwork. Age: 23. New status: alive and healthy,¡± Roy¡¯s metallic voice rang out loudly, the clinical assessment echoing in the small space.


    Rick turned toward Roy, a look of visible disappointment on his face, though a trace of satisfaction flickered in his eyes at the thoroughness of Roy¡¯s analysis.


    ¡°Add pissed to that. You didn¡¯t have to squeeze my nose, you know. Back in the Conkle Mines, pranks like that got you killed¡ªor worse,¡± Amelia grumbled under her breath, her eyes closing as she drifted into a daze once more.


    ¡°Little Crowny, you¡¯re still royalty¡ªnot just some Quadrant Seven Yardrat. I had to check if you were awake or even capable of wakin¡¯ up,¡± Rick replied, a hint of irritation in his voice. ¡°Understand that the jaw we pried you from was one of no return. Ain¡¯t never seen a beast like that,¡± he added, lowering his gaze toward Amelia, who was struggling to even open her eyes all the way, let alone distinguish left from right.


    ¡°I heard everything you and¡­whatever that is next to you were saying! You¡ª¡± Amelia began, trying to gather her thoughts.


    ¡°No, ya¡¯ didn¡¯t! Because if ya¡¯ did, ya¡¯ wouldn¡¯t have yelled ¡®Assault,¡¯ ¡®Thief,¡¯ ¡®Mugger¡¯ as loud as the cosmos would allow,¡± Rick retorted. ¡°Got a kick and ¡®arrest me¡¯ sign somewhere in your Yardrat overalls?¡±


    ¡°No, but I got a knife if I can¡¯t figure your goals in the next ten seconds. I-I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening or who you are. Or¡ª¡± Amelia rambled, her voice trembling as she made a shaky attempt to stand. ¡°Or if I¡¯m even alive or will live for the next five minutes! All I remember is a hole. Some falling. Being eaten¡­ and now my head hurts.¡±


    ¡°Oi! Girl, listen. Tiptoe now, we¡¯ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I would¡¯ve gladly thrown you off my airship two seconds ago if I wanted you dead, but now¡ª¡± Rick attempted to explain.


    ¡°Not advised,¡± Roy added innocently.


    ¡°But now, here¡¯s the mercy: just focus on gettin¡¯ better and not makin¡¯ me or Roy spill steam from a bucket. And I promise I¡¯ll explain everything,¡± Rick continued, brushing off Roy¡¯s interruption.


    ¡°I¡ª¡± Amelia began, her brow furrowing in thought.


    ¡°Little Crowny, stop! I can see the rounds of yer¡¯ eyes spinnin¡¯ like an evenin¡¯ after too much to drink! You¡¯ve barely gathered the strength to see what¡¯s two inches in front of you,¡± Rick added, a mix of concern and admiration in his voice for Amelia¡¯s fighting spirit. ¡°Just take a rest! Fresh yourself over a breath or two! I¡¯ve got bread¡ªfreshly baked¡ªand it¡¯s yours if ya¡¯ make the wise choice and use your rattled brain to wait and listen!¡±


    ¡°Where am I?¡± Amelia¡¯s voice cut through the air, her fingers brushing against her temple in confusion.


    ¡°That¡¯s a better question. Welcome aboard the Pappy Long Legs!¡± Rick announced proudly, his words pulling Amelia from her daze. ¡°Need a tour and a drink? I designed and built this beauty of an airship to be manageable for someone like Roy here, but still accessible for regular folks with two capable arms. I¡¯d bet it¡¯s a vast improvement over the standard and boring New Dwardian Akiyoma¡ªwhatever version they¡¯re on. This ship¡¯s my own.¡±


    Amelia shook her head gently. ¡°Not necessary.¡±


    Rick¡¯s expression fell slightly. ¡°Too bad. Roy would have loved to show you around. Roy¡¯s more than just an automaton¡ªa creation like no other.¡±


    ¡°This is my primary purpose here, Ms. Amelia,¡± Roy chimed in, his metallic voice tinged with eagerness. ¡°I aim to LEARN and to quote Rick, ¡®have a good time,¡¯ but I am to protect you secondarily.¡±


    ¡°I can do that myself,¡± Amelia replied softly, her attention drawn to the intricate machinery surrounding her. ¡°Are¡­are we still in Quadrant Seven?¡±


    ¡°Yes, just outside your little mineshaft in Little Creek. We¡¯ve been hovering here since your¡­incident,¡± Rick explained, a note of concern creeping into his voice. ¡°Which we¡¯ll clarify once you stop reachin¡¯ for your knife.¡±


    ¡°If we meant harm, I have a practical function in my chest that could incinerate¡ª¡± Roy began, his concern palpable.


    ¡°Roy!¡± Rick interrupted quickly. ¡°Roy was built with the body of a repurposed mining bot. Once you¡¯re fully bright and shining, you¡¯ll see he¡¯s quite harmless despite his appearance,¡± he explained, gesturing for Roy to retract the sharp objects slowly emerging from his body.


    After a moment of hesitation and a scornful look, Amelia reluctantly agreed. With a deep breath, she released her grip on her knife, letting it clatter to the floor. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against a metallic fence nearby, drawn to the comforting scent of distant, freshly baked bread. With a weary sigh, she tucked her knees to her chest and stared distantly at the metallic orange of the ground.


    ¡°Get the damn girl some bread, Roy,¡± Rick instructed, and Roy moved in perfect unison, their voices blending seamlessly in the air.


    ¡°Roy, I¡¯m¡­somewhat impressed with your initiative,¡± Rick sighed. ¡°But mimicry doesn¡¯t always equal flattery! Like looking in a mirror isn¡¯t always excitin¡¯. Right? Sometimes, too much bread goes right to the hammies,¡± Rick warned almost frantically.


    ¡°I see. Does a HUMAN heart allow the metal in my body to gain weight?¡± Roy inquired with a touch of curiosity.


    ¡°Yes! But only in places you can¡¯t see,¡± Rick replied in a rush. ¡°Never mind that now! Roy, finish fetchin¡¯ me some Morsha bread from the hatches and help me wake the girl¡¯s senses¡ªand ease my travelin¡¯ stomach.¡±


    Amelia curled up against the fence behind her. She looked down at her ankles and saw scuff marks, scratches, and two patched-up gashes. Her hands, once blurred, came into focus¡ªdirty, riddled with dried blood, and covered in strange ash-like dust.


    ¡°What happened to me? And why do you smell familiar? I can¡¯t see you quite yet, but¡­¡± questioned Amelia, her voice tinged with uncertainty, as if an authority figure had just reprimanded her.


    ¡°Calm your mind. Focus on breathing. I¡¯ll do the rest,¡± Rick responded gently.


    ¡°You get eaten, almost killed, then kidnapped! Then tell me to calm down!¡± Amelia raged, her chest heaving as panic set in. ¡°Until a couple of seconds ago, I couldn¡¯t even see my hands!¡± Her voice wavered with the onset of tears.


    ¡°The name¡¯s Rick. I¡¯m a damn good baker, an engineer, and now an airship pilot! Not just any airship pilot, but the pilot of the Pappy Long Legs! That combination is uniquely mine while Roy, well¡­, better you see him then meet just open my mouth.¡± Explained Rick.


    ¡°You might find it surprising, but according to Rick, ¡®I am not HUMAN, but uniquely human,¡¯¡± Roy remarked, his tone almost contemplative. ¡°You¡¯ll see what he means once you¡¯re more awake.¡±


    ¡°Right you are, metal man,¡± Rick chimed in with a hint of playful agreement. ¡°Anyway, I used to cook for you and your brothers when you were young Crownies. Things looked a bit different back then¡ªno mustache, fewer metal limbs, and¡­well¡­I didn¡¯t have this blasted affliction. As Roy said, you¡¯ll understand once your sight clears up,¡± Rick explained, his voice tinged with nostalgia.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ but I don¡¯t know a Rick,¡± Amelia confessed softly. ¡°Or a Roy. Never did.¡±


    ¡°Then you damn well know Tammersmith,¡± Rick replied, his voice carrying a note of certainty.


    Amelia¡¯s eyes flew open as if waking from a deep slumber, the sudden realization hitting her. To Rick¡¯s surprise, she leaped up from the ground with a burst of energy, landing in a shaky crouch.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ You¡¯re Tammersmith!? From the Primarian Royale! The capital! But¡­ how¡­?¡± Amelia stammered in disbelief. ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be here! You¡¯re not supposed to be talking to me, looking at me, caring for me! You¡­ you¡¯re¡­ changed?¡± she added, her emotions swirling. ¡°What affliction!?¡±


    ¡°Could ya¡¯ have picked a better word?¡± Rick retorted teasingly. ¡°Disabled is one of ¡¯em that goes around.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± Amelia sighed, at a loss for words. ¡°Wha¡ªwhat happened?¡±


    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°They call it Soul Rot. Didn¡¯t do good on my end with a spirit-binding contract. These rules¡­for things that are beyond our understandin¡¯, they¡¯re as rough and unforgiving as those metal Clinkers in the inner quadrants. No if¡¯s or ands. Just hasn¡¯t taken me yet¡­¡± Rick added with a somber smile. ¡°Besides, Rick¡¯s the name I took when this wretched rot left me lookin¡¯ like a melted sack o¡¯ flesh. Ain¡¯t no one gonna believe I¡¯m a Tammersmith now, not with a face like a piece of gum in the sun. People don¡¯t need to know what used to be... And since I last saw ya¡¯, it¡¯s gotten to my arms and legs already.¡±


    ¡°I felt you moving around me¡­ w-with no legs?¡± Amelia stuttered, bewildered. ¡°No arms either?¡±


    ¡°Innovation! Best seen, not explained,¡± Rick replied with a grin. ¡°Now sit back, rub your eyes for a bit, and take a gander at what¡¯s ahead. You¡¯ll have to get used to a lot of change soon,¡± he added gently. ¡°Your brother, the King, made sure of that. But don¡¯t worry about me¡ªI¡¯ve got Roy.¡±


    Amelia took a moment to collect herself, the absurdity of her situation weighing heavily on her. Summoning her resolve, she clenched her fists and slowly rose to her feet. Despite the lingering sense of unease, her curiosity won out. Gradually, her surroundings began to sharpen from their blurred state, revealing a massive, jagged circular platform. It was covered in an array of intricate knobs, levers weathered from use, and coiled rails twisting like metal serpents. Around her, consoles of all sizes blinked and hummed, offering a glimpse into the mysteries of the strange vessel she had awakened on.


    ¡°So¡­ airships aren¡¯t too different from waterships, huh?¡± Amelia remarked, a hint of excitement in her voice. ¡°I-I¡¯ve never been on an airship before!¡± she added, her eyes lighting up with sudden wonder.


    ¡°You mean a boat?¡± Rick chuckled. ¡°And yes! Since your time away from the capital, New Dwarden¡¯s perfected the airship¡ªAkiyoma style, but I have to argue and will continue to argue that mine¡¯s a step above. Each of the thirteen quadrants have their own version of what they consider ¡®perfect¡¯, and well¡­ from what I can see those airships just don¡¯t explode as much anymore. Oh, and they have bigger cannons,¡± he boasted, the wind gusting into the cockpit as he stood tall. ¡°See! If ya¡¯ had stabbed me, ya¡¯ wouldn¡¯t have seen any of this!¡±


    Before Amelia could respond, Rick shoved a piece of his famous Morsha bread into her mouth. The sudden yet familiar crunch was enough to bring her back to years long past, filling her with crunchy, flaky, nostalgia. She devoured the bread eagerly, savoring the memories it evoked and the delicious flavor that danced on her tongue. For a brief moment, she forgot about the danger and strangeness of her situation, lost in the warmth of something warm and familiar.


    ¡°What do you think, Amelia? Just like ya¡¯ remember?¡± Rick asked with a large grin.


    Amelia raised her eyes to meet his for the first time in what felt like decades. Standing before her was a stout man with four metallic limbs¡ªspider-like, yet fluid and precise. His cartoonishly large mustache sat above a crinkly red nose, and his wide brown eyes peered out from behind round spectacles perched precariously on his face. The scent of machine oil and freshly baked goods clung to his overalls, a curious mix that somehow suited him. Despite the heavy wrinkles lining his face, Amelia wasn¡¯t fazed. To her, Rick was just another person who¡¯d had a hard lot in life¡ªmuch like the Yardrats she¡¯d worked with in the Conkle Mines.


    ¡°I¡¯m calling you Tammersmith... I don¡¯t like Rick,¡± Amelia chuckled. ¡°Seems silly to deny yourself a history.¡±


    ¡°Could say the same to you,¡± Rick teased. ¡°But respect¡ª¡±


    ¡°Look,¡± Amelia sighed, a fresh piece of Morsha bread hanging from her lip, ¡°I¡¯ll call you Rick,¡± she conceded between bites, ¡°but I don¡¯t like it. You¡¯re no uglier than the Yardrats down at the mines.¡±


    ¡°And you¡ªstart chewin¡¯ with your mouth closed, and you¡¯ll be half as ugly! Plus, ya¡¯ won¡¯t choke,¡± Rick shot back, accepting her remark with a grin. ¡°My great auntie choked on a piece of Cerulean silk meat after too much mead. Wasn¡¯t a pretty sight.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true! Meat-based organisms have LIMITED storage in their orifices¡­ err¡­ holes,¡± Roy chimed in from across the platform, his voice echoing awkwardly in the metallic expanse.


    ¡°Ah, yes¡­ something better left unsaid, Roy,¡± Rick remarked with a sudden frown.


    Amelia couldn¡¯t help but laugh, a grimace crossing her face as the memories continued to flood back. She felt an odd mixture of raw emotion, the bread stirring something deep within her.


    ¡°The Greisha Ceremony¡­ I¡¯m not supposed to make contact with anyone from the capital. I¡ª¡± Amelia started to say before trailing off, her voice growing distant. ¡°Silly rule.¡±


    ¡°Best not to dwell on it. There are things in this world we can¡¯t even begin to understand,¡± Rick warned.


    ¡°You sound like them,¡± Amelia muttered, her mouth still full of bread.


    ¡°And you? Who or whaddya¡¯ ya¡¯ sound like?¡± Rick asked, raising a brow.


    ¡°Does it matter anymore?¡± Amelia sighed. ¡°I was attacked by some monster. Taken aboard this airship. Now I¡¯m sure the capital wants to hang me for some stupid rule I didn¡¯t even know I broke¡ªand you¡¯re my polite executioner,¡± she ranted.


    ¡°You¡¯re quick to line the axe to your neck, Crowny,¡± Rick replied, moving closer to her. His metallic limbs navigated the wires and consoles with eerie precision. ¡°Here¡¯s the secret to good bread,¡± he said with a chuckle, ¡°is that it gets you to shut up long enough to listen. So please, do that, and everything else will become clear.¡±


    ¡°Gracefully said, Rick,¡± Amelia teased, her voice laced with sarcasm. ¡°So why am I here? How¡¯d I survive?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re on a mission ¡®ordained by your older brother¡¯, King Woltwork,¡± Rick explained, his voice turning serious. ¡°Something unknown tried to bury ya¡¯. It ain¡¯t public knowledge yet, but I believe your brother foresaw this monster comin¡¯ for you¡ªat least to some extent. The ¡®why¡¯ isn¡¯t our concern right now. ¡®When¡¯ is the real question¡ªand that monster will come, make no mistake. As for ho-¡±


    Amelia suddenly began to walk slowly toward Rick, pulling the locket from her boot and opening it to reveal a black-and-white family portrait. She stared at it for a moment before turning it toward Rick, pointing at the image with a mix of frustration and sadness.


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me the same brother who pushed for us to be kicked out of the Capital¡ªQuadrant Zero¡ªis now looking out for us? The same man who showed no mercy during the Greisha Ceremony?¡± Amelia asked, her voice filled with doubt. ¡°The one who sent Bolton to fend for himself?¡±


    ¡°Games not fair but your family plays by different rules, Amelia. Invisible strings guide those with power. You¡¯ll figure it soon enough,¡± Rick replied, his voice softening. ¡°Your brother knows of your time in the Conkle Mines. He knows how they¡¯ve been treatin¡¯ ya¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Like family?¡± Amelia interjected bitterly.


    ¡°Like family,¡± Rick agreed, gently urging her to put the locket back into her pocket.


    As their conversation continued, Roy approached Amelia with a mechanical flower in hand¡ªcrafted from scraps of metal and wire. Amelia eyed the automaton warily, her hand instinctively reaching for her knife once more.


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    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are¡­¡± Amelia muttered, stepping back defensively.


    ¡°Then allow me,¡± Rick interjected, swiftly grabbing the metallic flower and tucking it into Amelia¡¯s front pocket. ¡°He¡¯s the reason you¡¯re alive.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a weapon?¡± Amelia asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.


    ¡°He¡¯s my¡­ son. Now take a good look,¡± Rick replied, his tone defensive but resolute.


    Amelia hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she examined Roy. She swallowed her pride and reluctantly slipped the knife back into the front pocket of her overalls. Her gaze traveled up and down Roy¡¯s form, noting how his mannerisms were more human than machine. His body was squared yet sleek, with a rustic, makeshift appearance. His head seemed to be fashioned from repurposed headlights, while his mouth opened and closed like any other living creature, though it lacked lips. Roy was relatively tall, with mobile fingertips, rustling toes, and stiff yet expressive eyebrows. The metallic jingles and creaks of his exaggerated movements were reminiscent of a standard mining bot down in Quadrant Seven''s famous Conkle Mines.


    ¡°I have many questions,¡± Amelia admitted, a hint of disbelief in her voice. ¡°Yerro¡¯s grace¡­ What have you done, Rick?¡±


    Before Rick could respond, Roy stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of Rick. He raised a hand toward Amelia and pointed above her head, gesturing toward the vast sky behind her.


    ¡°Our mission now is to meet with Bolton and his guardian soon. All will be explained,¡± Roy stated calmly.


    Rick moved gracefully to Roy¡¯s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at Roy with concern before turning his attention back to Amelia.


    ¡°Listen to Roy. For now, the story is that you were some monster¡¯s expensive snack. Locals thought you¡¯d brought this creature to Little Creek, as it allegedly whispered your name¡ª¡®Amelia¡¯¡ªwhile it wreaked havoc. Best lean into the lie and have them assume you were eaten,¡± Rick advised, his tone serious.


    ¡°What kind of creature whispers names? Worse, my name? Local hogwash,¡± Amelia challenged, her skepticism evident.


    ¡°I verified it myself,¡± Rick replied, pointing to his ears with a metallic finger. ¡°Listen, I ain¡¯t done. The locals would¡¯ve hanged ya if we hadn¡¯t found you collapsed on the ground. They were the bigger danger, disgruntled over their destroyed shops, farms, and whatnot. Worse yet, the creature hadn¡¯t eaten you and ran off, leaving the blame on you. Roy had to give your noggin a tap to prove we were there to ¡®arrest you¡¯. He put on a show that was a bit too convincing but also scared off the remaining anger with some well-placed weaponry. Honestly, you were starting to come to, and¡­ we didn¡¯t need that just yet,¡± Rick explained, his voice tinged with guilt.


    ¡°According to Rick, you needed MARBLES,¡± Roy added innocently.


    ¡°Ah, yes¡­ that explains the searing headache I¡¯ve got,¡± Amelia replied sarcastically, her hand playfully reaching for the knife in her pocket. ¡°What¡¯s this mission, then?¡± she demanded, pointing the knife at Roy before putting it away.


    ¡°Listen, Crowny! We did what we had to,¡± Rick said with a nervous laugh, eager to change the subject. ¡°Now, if you please, let¡¯s move on. It¡¯s in the past.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s in the past,¡± Amelia mimicked with an exaggerated southern twang. ¡°Attempted murder can¡¯t just be ¡®in the past¡¯. This has to be connected to some royal dogwater.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit,¡± Roy chimed in from beside Amelia.


    ¡°Yes, bullshit!¡± Amelia agreed, winking at Roy in approval.


    ¡°And now you¡¯ve come to what? Save me? With your son as a robot? On an airship more expensive than a whole Quadrant? Did New Dwarden fund this?¡± Amelia blurted, her brow furrowed in confusion. ¡°Ah, forget it¡­ I have too many questions, Rick,¡± she added, clutching her head in frustration.


    Amelia looked from Rick to Roy, then back to Rick. She examined the cuts and bruises scattered across her body. The white shirt she had worn under her overalls was now tattered, and her boots were scorched and covered in ash. She turned to Roy once more, noticing the angular notches and sockets in his frame that seemed ready to house some built-in rifle.


    ¡°I¡¯m supposed to trust this living weapon. I¡ª¡±


    ¡°I already told ya! He ain¡¯t no weapon!¡± Rick interrupted, his voice rising in anger. He shuffled to Amelia¡¯s side, his metallic limbs springing to life like a spider darting toward its prey, stopping just short of her.


    ¡°He¡¯s not a weapon¡­¡± Rick continued softly. ¡°Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ more to know about my son than¡­,¡± Rick sighed, ¡°than a powerful spirit holds my soul with some spooky quill written in bleeding ink. Can¡¯t die without Roy, and he can¡¯t live without me. Once Roy completes his repairs, I die. He lives. That¡¯s the deal,¡± Rick explained solemnly.


    ¡°Who or what allowed such a condition to occur? Contracts with spirits are strictly regulated,¡± Amelia inquired, her voice tinged with concern. ¡°Hardly ever possible without the signing of¡­,¡± Amelia trailed off as she saw the sadness unfold behind Rick¡¯s furrowed brows. ¡°Dammit, I¡¯m sorry, Rick. I¡¯m just upset.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t sign a spirit contract without a King or a vessel of Yerro. There are ways to break the rules,¡± Rick interjected. ¡°One must simply be desperate enough to find it¡ªor have a method find you.¡±


    ¡°I thought rules regarding spirits were absolute?¡± Amelia replied, pacing around Rick in disbelief. ¡°If I¡¯d known, I would¡¯ve gone back to Quadrant Zero myself. I would¡¯ve confronted the King and given my brother a piece of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Look at me, Amelia! Rules are damn well there to follow, but they aren¡¯t there to force your thoughts! You cursed the Greisha ceremony only minutes ago, which leads me to believe you understand how ridiculous rules can be. I chose not to follow, and I¡¯ve paid the price,¡± Rick retorted, his tone edged with frustration. ¡°By the green and gold, this conversation is meant for another time! The consequences of breaking these contracts are uncharted and beyond terrifying.¡±


    ¡°Fine. Roy, would you do me the favor of logging a reminder to have this conversation again?¡± Amelia asked with a touch of sass.


    ¡°CONVERSATION logged,¡± Roy responded dutifully.


    ¡°How¡¯d you know he can do that?¡± Rick asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.


    ¡°Mining automaton parts. I¡¯ve got experience aplenty,¡± Amelia replied matter-of-factly, inadvertently dissipating some of the tension between her and Rick.


    ¡°Anyway, new game. New rules. I know we aren¡¯t hovering our noses over a round table, but ya¡¯ need to listen to what I have to say. So if ya¡¯ keep talkin¡¯, I¡¯ll just keep shoveling bread down the yappin¡¯ hatch,¡± Rick threatened lightheartedly.


    Amelia sighed deeply and reluctantly chewed on another piece of comforting Morsha bread. She walked toward a small stool next to a console in the ship¡¯s cockpit, determined not to let even a crumb escape as she gnawed on the bread.


    The scent of burning oil and fresh bread continued to trigger memories of her late father¡¯s tales. As Amelia chewed, she recalled how her father had mentioned Rick¡ªTammersmith at the time¡ªas the elusive ¡°Baker¡¯s Wrench,¡± a uniquely talented member of the esteemed Primarian Hammers. This select group was entrusted with maintaining the Primarian Royale, a monumental structure located between Quadrant One and Two where royalty resided and laws were crafted. Her father emphasized the importance of their duties daily¡ªeven if, at the time, Amelia didn¡¯t quite understand their roles.


    Rick, among them, oversaw the creation, care, and dismantling of specialized machinery. Their responsibilities extended to attending New Dwarden¡¯s beating heart: the infamous Yerro¡¯s Heart, the only living essence of Yerro the Golem, and the lifeblood of the city¡¯s energy reserves.


    ¡°Quit starin¡¯!¡± Rick shouted, breaking the heavy silence. ¡°Just eat your bread.¡±


    Rick pulled up another stool next to Amelia and began chewing on a piece of Morsha bread from the basket atop the ship¡¯s main console.


    ¡°I remember,¡± Amelia muttered between bites of bread. ¡°You repair Yerro. Top secret, right?¡±


    ¡°Lil¡¯ Crowny, I¡¯m one of the few Primarian Hammers,¡± Rick replied solemnly.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the rest?¡± Amelia asked, finishing her bread.


    ¡°Seeing to an emergency. If¡­ they¡¯re still alive,¡± Rick admitted, bowing his head in thought. ¡°There¡¯s a reason I¡¯m gawkin¡¯ here with you and not at the Primarian Royale with your Kingly brother.¡±


    ¡°Got a question?¡± Amelia asked quickly, sensing something deeper. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard a lick of news about any catastrophe. Just the usual pirate and monster attacks. Heinous as they are, where¡¯s this emergency?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not so sure yet,¡± Roy added, his voice cutting through the tension. ¡°But that creature that attacked you is the best lead we¡¯ve got. Plus, there are¡­ let¡¯s say, discussions¡­ about who¡¯s rubbing whose metal.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like that euphemism,¡± Amelia quipped, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re not going to like what¡¯s behind it either,¡± Rick admitted, a shadow crossing his face. ¡°That monster that attacked you might just be the beginning.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we can lean away from ancient cryptic talk and tell me things as they are,¡± Amelia suggested, her tone firm.


    ¡°Okay. How¡¯s this, Crowny? Monster attacks. We don¡¯t know why. Betrayal among the Quadrant Leaders and maybe even Yerro itself. The King¡¯s holding his cards close, so even I don¡¯t know all the details,¡± Rick remarked, his voice heavy with concern.


    ¡°Down in the Conkle Mines¡­¡± Amelia began again, reaching for another piece of Morsha bread that dangled from one of Rick¡¯s claws, ¡°¡­we saw monsters. Unusually large monsters. Some of them were ghost-like¡­ and others¡­¡± She continued, chewing thoughtfully, ¡°¡­others were just bigger, nastier versions of creatures that live there. But none like the one that attacked me.¡±


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    ¡°Gotta admit, you Woltworks have a mindless appetite for chaos,¡± Rick chuckled, his gaze lifting toward Amelia as if he had just stumbled upon a warm memory. ¡°No wonder you took to chewin¡¯ on Quadrant Seven''s minin¡¯ life. Outta¡¯ all the rockwork, Conkle¡¯s the worst there is. There¡¯s a reason you Yardrats are local heroes and not just another batch of black-lunged workers.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know Bolton or Michael the way I do. I¡¯m the best of the three!¡± Amelia declared, a smile tugging at her lips as her voice echoed through the chamber with a hint of incredulity. ¡°I don¡¯t have a throne to sit on, but¡­ I fend for myself. Despite the creatures¡ªmonsters, whatever¡ªthe Yardrats take care of each other. I might not be the strongest, but I make up for it by being crafty. If Bolton had gotten lucky after the Greisha Ceremony, maybe he¡¯d be one too.¡±


    Her gaze wandered into the distance, lost in contemplation. ¡°That stupid ceremony¡­ the stupid Greisha Ceremony,¡± she murmured, her words heavy with frustration. ¡°Shoves us out of the capital at eighteen, only to float by while one of us gets to be King and the others get hunted by monsters for the rest of their lives. Should¡¯ve read the fine print that never existed.¡±


    ¡°Or Queen,¡± Rick interjected, his tone gentle and reassuring.


    Amelia¡¯s eyes gleamed with introspection as she continued, ¡°Because of some spirit-binding contract, all royalty is born with a twin. Sometimes a triplet. Doesn¡¯t matter, though. People don¡¯t tend to remember anyone without a crown.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t need a crown to be remembered. I hear Yardrats are notoriously rude. Considerin¡¯ their job, they¡¯ve got more grit and spirit than most,¡± Rick remarked with an affectionate grin. ¡°Notoriety can¡¯t be ignored. Ask the other Hammers.¡±


    Amelia laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep within. ¡°And you? You¡¯ve been responsible for almost every large-scale incident¡ªand I quote ¡®incident¡¯¡ªwe¡¯ve had at the capital,¡± she retorted, barely suppressing her laughter. ¡°I can remember that detail even from when I was eight years old!¡±


    ¡°Crowny, I¡¯m an inventor! There are steps to the inevitability of success! Very doughy, snappy, golden, meticulous steps,¡± Rick explained with a chuckle.


    ¡°Old man, are we still talking about inventing?¡± Amelia teased.


    ¡°NO,¡± interjected Roy from afar, his voice cutting through their banter.


    A strange wedge of silence settled between them, broken only by the wind whistling through the massive swirling fans that kept the airship aloft. Amelia¡¯s smile faded into a more thoughtful expression as memories of her life in New Dwarden¡¯s capital flooded back. Rick noticed her eyes glistening with unshed tears, lost in thought. He leaned against a waist-high metallic barricade beside her, ready to offer comfort.


    ¡°Tammer¡ªah, Rick¡­¡± Amelia sighed, her voice tinged with weariness. ¡°I appreciate the bread.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what else to do,¡± Rick replied with a sympathetic smirk. ¡°I think life¡¯s gonna change for both of us soon. Whether we suck the spoon or spill it.¡±


    ¡°Seems serious enough,¡± Amelia said, slipping another piece of bread into her overall pocket. ¡°Tradition, contracts, houses¡­ all just rules with different names.¡±


    ¡°Rules are usually there because some bloke took the time to smell the air and didn¡¯t want to shit in it,¡± Rick mused as he wandered deeper into the mechanical heart of the cockpit. ¡°But truth be told, they¡¯re broken for the same reason too!¡±


    ¡°Are you suggesting I break the rules?¡± Amelia teased, her tone lightening.


    ¡°What was that!?¡± Rick shouted, his attention abruptly snapping to the control panels.


    ¡°Nothing!¡± Amelia replied, leaning on the same barricade Rick had just vacated, the wind tousling her hair.


    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Rick muttered dismissively as he brushed off Amelia¡¯s smug smile. ¡°Keep your fat noggin¡¯ busy! I need to set our course. Go look around! Take a breath of that borrowed time you and I¡¯ve come to be so lucky to have.¡±


    ¡°And where might this next destination be, royal kidnapper?¡± Amelia asked, approaching the cockpit with a hint of curiosity.


    ¡°To Veranos! A miracle city in the sky, just outside of New Dwarden,¡± Rick proclaimed, his voice carrying through the air. ¡°Your younger brother¡¯s done a better job than we have in capturing the thing that attacked you. Whether you choose to come with us or stay in those blackened mines, we¡¯re likely to meet more of those creatures gunnin¡¯ for a royal snack! Doesn¡¯t take much imagination to figure that situation out. I suggest you at least give this new nomadic life a try,¡± he shouted from deep within the lantern-lit cockpit. ¡°Oh, and do take a moment to look around. Ya might have to cozy up a bit.¡±


    ¡°Rick!? What am I supposed to say to my boys below? That I quit?¡± Amelia¡¯s frustration carried over the roaring wind.


    ¡°I told the local scrapper you¡¯re under arrest. Maybe I should¡¯ve said you died,¡± Rick replied sternly.


    ¡°Rick!?¡± Amelia exclaimed in disbelief, stepping toward him anxiously.


    ¡°Relax! You¡¯re in my custody. Your job¡¯s legally waiting until you return. So buckle up!¡± Rick¡¯s voice echoed from afar as he busied himself with various levers and contraptions. ¡°Besides, the damage that creature caused won¡¯t be forgotten anytime soon.¡±


    Amelia paused, taking a moment to absorb her surroundings, her breath escaping in a relieved sigh. Rick¡¯s words echoed in her mind, providing a strange comfort amidst the uncertainty. With a few grunts and effort, she pushed herself away from the waist-high swinging wooden door of the cockpit, turning her gaze toward the expanse of the ship before her.


    Her spirit stirred with anticipation as she surveyed the Pappy Long Legs. Multiple masts reached toward the heavens, colorful flags fluttering in the wind. Giant fans, moist from clouds, hummed rhythmically. Wood and metal intertwined in a symphony of craftsmanship, each component contributing to the ship¡¯s formidable presence. It was a marvel of engineering, its design reminiscent of familiar machines and tools yet transformed into something entirely new. As Amelia marveled at its intricacies, the weight of her worries momentarily lifted, replaced by a sense of awe and excitement for the adventure ahead aboard this extraordinary vessel.


    Amelia moved swiftly across the deck, her eyes darting to every corner of the ship. She first glanced at the giant rotating cogs that lined the ship¡¯s exterior, their rhythmic movements hypnotic and precise. Then she tilted her head toward the numerous plump pipes bursting with hot steam, blasting into the air like a giant organ.


    The sight and sound of so many moving parts and wiggling mechanical bits filled the atmosphere with palpable energy, creating a symphony of industrial ambiance that set Amelia¡¯s senses on edge.


    ¡°Spent too much time underground¡­¡± Amelia mused aloud, excitement bubbling up within her.


    She paused, taking a deep breath to steady herself as she shuffled toward the thick metallic railing encircling the airship. With a hopeful glance downward, she leaned over the railing, her gaze fixed on the world stretching below. And for a timeless moment, she was lost in the vast expanse of the horizon, the weight of her worries forgotten amidst the awe-inspiring panorama.


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    Amelia gazed down at the airship''s lower decks, marveling at the intricate machinery on each level. Though she recognized the basic layout, it felt as if Rick had crafted its inner workings with the complexity of a living organism. It was like being lost in an enchanted labyrinth of gears and cogs, each piece humming with life.


    The first platform, situated on the airship''s lowermost level, appeared dedicated to navigation. An assortment of levers, knobs, buttons, and peculiar makeshift pulleys adorned its surface. In contrast, the second level resembled an artist''s canvas, where the inner mechanisms of the machine seamlessly blended into what could only be described as a potential living space. Gleaming golden pipes, intricately crafted woods, hand-carved furniture, and even the glint of a luxurious hot tub caught Amelia''s eye through the glass panels under her feet.


    "Rick! You have a hot tub?! In the air!?" Amelia exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement. "Unheard of!"


    She quickly leaned over another barricade, peeking toward the Pappy Long Legs¡¯ last level. Squinting at the ship''s swirling bow, she tried to decipher its purpose, guessing it served as the airship''s engine compartment¡ªa mysterious clockwork heart hidden from view.


    Minutes passed as the airship soared toward the clouds, casting a vast shadow over the fields below. Amelia watched the ship hover above the green stretches of grass, endless crops, and stone houses dotting the hilly horizons of Quadrant Seven. The Pappy Long Legs offered her a reintroduction to the wider world beyond the Conkle Mines, back toward the famous cities of steam. Lost in the view, she barely noticed an hour had passed until Rick found her gazing into the distance.


    ¡°Watch yourself, Crowny. Dangle that noggin¡¯ any further, and you¡¯ll meet the harshness of gravity quicker than you can blurt locket in a boot,¡± Rick cautioned, his voice light but firm.


    ¡°Ah yes, gravity and I are as acquainted as you are with bread,¡± Amelia quipped, breaking the awkward silence with a grin. ¡°Obviously, I couldn¡¯t hide much from you.¡±


    Rick nodded, smiling before maneuvering his spider-like legs next to her. He examined her for any wounds Roy might have missed, then joined her in peering over the railing, watching as the warm sunset began to paint the sky.


    "Best we start talkin¡¯, isn¡¯t it?" Rick suggested, gesturing to a cluttered table where tools and various machine parts were waiting. ¡°Last step before we go. Roy¡¯s going to put in the final coordinates and set up fuel for the journey. Sit down, and take a breath. We¡¯ve only a moment longer before we blast through the clouds again.¡±


    ¡°Flying. We¡¯re really flying,¡± Amelia said, her voice filled with disbelief and wonder.


    ¡°How else are we going to reach the city that floats in the sky?¡± Rick replied, gesturing toward a nearby wooden table. ¡°Come, sit.¡±


    Amelia eagerly nodded and made her way to the table, darting past a catwalk with determined steps. She swiftly settled onto a tall stool, firmly bolted to the ground.


    Rick was close behind. Upon reaching the table, he retrieved a blocky remote from his coat pocket. With a flick of a switch, his mechanical legs whirred to life, allowing him to descend gracefully to the ground.


    He made room on the table for a seemingly endless bowl of warm bread and two stone cups of hot tea, which he gathered from a small metal compartment beneath the table.


    As Rick¡¯s metallic limbs retracted into the metal box on his back, he settled into his seat with a satisfied nod. His stool adjusted to eye level with Amelia¡¯s, and he lit a small lantern with a match from his sleeve, gently breaking a piece of bread in half and offering it to her.


    "More?" Amelia inquired, her appetite whetted by the aroma.


    "Why not?" Rick replied with a smile.


    "Ah, dammit," Amelia muttered, unable to resist the pull of the freshly baked bread.


    As she savored each bite, Amelia scrutinized Rick, her thoughts stirred by the taste of Morsha bread. Memories of her father¡¯s frequent mentions of Rick during their rare dinner conversations surfaced¡ªrecollections of his enthusiasm for expanding New Dwarden, his ideas far beyond her comprehension.


    Since then, Amelia had encountered Rick sporadically while tending to repairs on the Primarian Royale¡ªa central law-making building in New Dwarden. His distinctive mechanical legs and the tantalizing aroma of his baked goods were etched in her memory. The scent had become an integral part of the Primarian Royale¡¯s ambiance, earning New Dwardians the moniker "Baker''s Guild" from foreigners.


    "Oi! Enough with the starin¡¯, girl. I more than understand I''m just a walkin¡¯ memory. Let''s push past that," Rick remarked, his tone gruff yet laced with a hint of understanding. ¡°You¡¯ve got me almost tearing up, thinkin¡¯ ¡®bout the past now,¡± he added with a sarcastic grin.


    "I know we didn''t exchange many words, but¡ª" Amelia began.


    "Don''t bother! What could an old man like me have to say to a little girl besides ''hello,'' ''goodbye,'' ¡®clean your nose,¡¯ and ''enjoy''? Let''s focus on the matter at hand," Rick replied, cutting her off with a stern yet caring tone.


    ¡°You¡¯re not just a memory, Tammersmith,¡± Amelia muttered with a light smile. ¡°Not anymore.¡±


    Rick''s eyes softened for a split second before he quickly turned his gaze into a grimace, looking toward Roy¡¯s general direction.


    ¡°Roy! How long ''til the fuel''s ready?¡± Rick shouted, his voice barely audible over the mechanical symphony of the ship. ¡°Must be five clicks of a revolution. Five minutes,¡± he continued, his voice trailing off.


    ¡°Rick, sorry. Something''s always happening, and as usual, I haven''t the foggiest idea what''s going on,¡± Amelia pressed, her frustration evident. ¡°It always feels like tradition is forcing me¡­ forgive me, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Crowny, don''t apologize. I''ve got more to be sorry for than you ever will,¡± Rick interjected, his voice solemn. ¡°Life has a foolish way of charting its course while ignoring our desires.¡±


    ¡°Just because you have more to regret doesn¡¯t mean mine are any less,¡± Amelia replied softly, her eyes beginning to water.


    ¡°True enough. But it helps to know that I¡¯m still standing. And so will you,¡± Rick responded, his voice steady yet firm.


    Amelia observed the small lantern flicker at the center of the table, her reflection glistening in its warm glow as she lost herself in the sudden flood of emotion.


    ¡°Listen, Crowny, the path we''re on is shrouded in mystery, even to me. If I told you everything, you¡¯d be left like a chicken gawking at the rain.¡± Rick continued, his tone lightening. ¡°For now, you''ve gained an old man¡ªand his son¡ªas companions. This adventure will only heat up as we go. If you choose to buckle down, that is.¡±


    "You and I?" Amelia wondered aloud, her voice laced with uncertainty. ¡°An ex-royal and an old man?¡±


    "Who else?" Rick affirmed, his gaze softening as he reached for Amelia¡¯s shoulder. "This¡­ this should help confirm our little predicament."


    Amelia looked down at Rick¡¯s mechanical hand, noting the four large tendrils for fingers. They moved as if they had no bones, but once they held something, Rick¡¯s mechanical prowess was evident.


    "Take this, little one. A letter from your big brother," Rick said, handing her the violet letter embroidered with gold and sealed with the initials W.W.


    "Michael? King seat-splitter can go suck a thorn," Amelia retorted with a hint of bitterness. ¡°Probably didn¡¯t even write this himself.¡±


    "Can''t blame the sass, given how things went after you and your younger brother were left at the end of the ceremony... to fend for yourselves," Rick acknowledged. ¡°Wish we could¡¯ve intervened."


    ¡°Do we need to discuss this now?" Amelia sighed reluctantly, her gaze drifting toward the warm horizon.


    ¡°Dunno. You readin¡¯ the letter or not?¡± Rick replied.


    Amelia paused for a long moment, glancing at Rick¡¯s usual scowl before taking the letter. Years of pent-up rage from surviving in the Conkle Mines surged within her, as if she had been denied a proper life. But her curiosity overpowered her anger, and she slowly opened the letter.


    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Dear Tammersmith,


    I hope this letter finds you well! I have a matter of utmost importance that could determine the fate of New Dwarden. I cannot disclose all details here for fear of interception, but know this task is crucial. Amelia and Bolton must rebuild Yerro¡¯s heart by finding the 13 pieces located in each Quadrant of our kingdom. New Dwarden teeters on the brink of disaster, and unconventional measures are necessary for our salvation.


    As I write, I must confess that my condition is deteriorating. Fatigue weighs heavily upon me. Nevertheless, I have dispatched a member of the Primarian Hammer to locate Bolton and bring him to the Primarian Royale. Despite the Greisha Ceremony''s rules, the fate of New Dwarden takes precedence over any consequence. If the Primarian Hammer is successful, Bolton will meet you in Veranos alongside him.


    Bolton carries all the knowledge we possess regarding our predicament. Time is of the essence. Please find Amelia swiftly and show her this letter if she doubts you. Communicating with her is a risk, but you and I have a deeper understanding of those consequences.


    Amelia, if you are reading this, you may not understand everything yet, but I ate your ham sandwich years ago. Forgive me and smile.


    With urgency and resolve,


    King Michael Woltwork


    Rick eased away from the table, his mechanical legs extending with a graceful hum as he took a contemplative stance. His gaze lingered on Amelia, seemingly captivated by the swift passage of time reflected in her eyes. In response, Amelia carefully returned the letter to Rick, her demeanor shifting to one of quiet introspection, her head bowed in thought.


    "I-I... why?" Amelia sighed heavily, her voice laden with a mixture of emotions. "I should hate him, but I don¡¯t," she admitted, her gaze unwavering as she looked directly at Rick, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He¡¯s got Soul Rot, doesn¡¯t he?"


    ¡°Eh, you don¡¯t know that,¡± Rick replied nonchalantly, though a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s different every time.¡±


    Amelia raised her gaze from her lap to the man sitting before her. Rick, once legendarily strong and chiseled, now appeared fragile. His lips were dry, his eyes exhausted and detached behind his red glasses, and his head hung low, as if trying to stave off sleep.


    ¡°Do we know how long?¡± Amelia blurted out, shaking her head back and forth.


    ¡°Not relevant information,¡± Rick replied sternly, his distant stare silencing her.


    ¡°Not relevant!? Rick! Soul Rot¡¯s no jest, no joke! You don¡¯t just die from it! You ask for death!¡± Amelia¡¯s voice trembled with dread and concern.


    Amelia met Rick¡¯s sunken gaze with one of her own. Rising from her stool, she paced around before leaning onto the table, propped on her shaking arm.


    ¡°Is there a cure?¡± she mumbled, her words catching in her throat.


    ¡°No. There ain¡¯t no ancient ale, super ore, or wandering doctor that¡¯ll heal me¡­or your brother,¡± Rick muttered, picking up another piece of Morsha bread, his eyes hiding behind the soft reflection of his red circular glasses. ¡°I got an expiration date like soggin¡¯ milk now. And that¡¯s all there is to it.¡±


    ¡°Okay, so you¡¯re just another person I care about, ready to leave! Giving up!¡± Amelia blurted, her green eyes vulnerable with pain.


    ¡°You just met me! I¡¯m old! I was going to die anyway! My mistake! My¡ª¡± Rick yelled, his mechanical legs raising him high over the table, causing a bowl of bread to tumble forward.


    ¡°Tammersm¡ª¡± Amelia tried to speak.


    ¡°Responsibility. My responsibility. And my name¡¯s Rick!¡± Rick shouted, cutting her off. The ship fell into a void of silence. ¡°I go by Rick now,¡± he said softly, his voice quieting from the outburst.


    ¡°WHY¡¯D YOU DO IT!? WHY DID HE DO IT!?" Amelia cried, her voice trembling as she wiped her eyes and refocused.


    "You don¡¯t have a child. You don¡¯t know," Rick replied earnestly, his tone heavy with gravity.


    "No! DOES MY BROTHER KNOW!?" Amelia demanded, slamming her arms on the table. "What happened to you, Tammersmith!? What¡¯s going to happen?"


    ¡°Crowny, don¡¯t talk to me like I don¡¯t know what it feels like to have your heart ripped out! Stomped on, Amelia!¡± Rick blurted out, his mechanical arms flailing in an emotional flurry before settling down. ¡°These are hard choices, child! There is no right or wrong! There are more important things than living a long time¡­¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± Amelia whispered, a lump forming in her throat as her stance softened, retreating upon seeing Rick¡¯s rage.


    ¡°Roy, Amelia,¡± Rick replied sternly, his voice trembling as the sound of ticking gears grew louder from the center of his chest. ¡°The King loves you more than any citizen in this city. New Dwarden be damned if my son is dying,¡± Rick shouted, his voice quivering with silent anger. ¡°I don¡¯t know what he did, but the King¡¯s a better man than me.¡±


    Amelia stood up from her stool, her balance wavering as she walked toward Rick, whose head was now bowed in rage. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder. ¡°...he¡¯s your son. Roy¡¯s your son,¡± she said, her voice swelling with sadness, as if understanding, for a moment, that things were not as they appeared.


    Rick looked at Amelia, his clouded brown eyes softening at her pouting face. ¡°Eh, you¡¯re young. There are many ways to tweak a cog anew. I¡¯m old; I prefer one.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Rick,¡± Amelia said softly, adjusting her overalls. ¡°The creature that attacked me¡ªit scares me. Rattles me. And if my brother knows, well¡­ he must be in danger too,¡± she continued distantly. ¡°Guess we all have to consider ¡®unconventional measures¡¯ now, huh?¡±


    Amelia glanced toward Roy, who was diligently working in the cockpit of the Pappy Long Legs, his focus unwavering. Despite the gravity of their conversation, she felt a warmth toward him. With a small smile, she waved to Roy. He looked up, returned the gesture with a friendly nod, and then went back to his tasks, seemingly without a care in the world.


    ¡°Not too long ago, Roy fell victim to a bond with a nefarious spirit. The wicked kind. The kind that lures your darkness into sinister spaces. My son... wasn¡¯t perfect. Hell, he couldn''t drown a fly in the rain, let alone use a hammer and chisel, but desperation caught him at his lowest. And like me, he made a terrible deal. Just know, Amelia, the King¡¯s likely got his rear hung on a similarly swirled horn,¡± Rick recalled, his eyes reflecting the sadness that weighed heavily upon him.


    ¡°What kind of deal?¡± Amelia asked, her voice faltering as she sought answers.


    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    "Stop. No more about my son. Just look at him. He¡¯s alive. I¡¯m alive. Your brother is alive. And so are you. Gamblin¡¯ don¡¯t give ya¡¯ better odds," Rick asserted, his voice firm yet tinged with a subtle tenderness.


    An awkward pause settled between them as Rick swiftly cleared the table, his movements deliberate despite their seeming randomness. Amelia watched, intrigued, as he began tapping out a simple rhythm on the metallic surface with his four mechanical arms. The melody intertwined with a whistling tune, surprising her with its unexpected beauty.


    "Listen for now," Rick urged, a soft chuckle escaping him as he continued to whistle. The tune caught Roy''s attention across the platform, and as if on cue, Roy joined in, humming and whistling alongside Rick. The platform''s bells and whistles seemed to quiet, falling into harmony with the makeshift melody.


    "Change! A tough inevitability!" Rick suddenly sang, his voice carrying a playful lilt.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Amelia asked, suspicion laced with a hint of amusement as her mood began to lighten.


    ¡°That¡¯s still my son. He used to love the aerophone! Flutes, pipes, what-not. Just listen,¡± Rick said, his tone nostalgic and warm.


    Rick and Amelia both turned their attention to Roy, who was dancing carefree while operating the Pappy Long Legs'' machinery, his movements surprisingly fluid for a machine.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s best we take this sing-song as far as we can right now,¡± Rick continued, humming the same tune that Roy was whistling. ¡°Please,¡± he added, extending his arm toward Amelia.


    A moment of silence passed before Amelia, feeling the lump in her throat dissipate, found herself tempted to join in.


    ¡°What about Bolton?¡± she asked, her curiosity sparking anew. ¡°Is he alright?¡±


    ¡°Likely. Can¡¯t say for certain, but I believe fate has a backward gaze on everything turning out okay. There ain¡¯t much value in digging yourself into a hole and looking down,¡± Rick replied smoothly, the rhythm of Roy¡¯s whistling providing a soothing backdrop.


    Amelia looked up at Rick, her frown slowly giving way to a shaky smile. She began to tap her leg in time with the metallic beat Roy created, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the quirky duo.


    "Change! A gained ability! For some," Rick sang in a playful tone, "when the world isn¡¯t watching! And our story is long forgotten! You must¡ªmost of all¡ªREMEMBER TO CHANGE!" His voice rose in a spirited crescendo as he leaned over the table, rising into a lighthearted dance.


    "Rick, isn¡¯t there a better time for this?" Amelia pouted, trying to suppress a grin.


    ¡°Listen to the wind, Amelia! We¡¯re alive and breathing! We¡¯re on a quest! Ain¡¯t a better privilege than that!¡± Rick roared, turning to Roy, who had picked up a flute-like instrument and joined in with an infectious tune. "Dear Amelia," Rick said warmly, "you, of all citizens of New Dwarden, should know that song is the ultimate cure for a life that seems bent on stranglin¡¯ us. Now, don''t let Roy''s hard work of beating on pots and pans go silent in the wind. Just listen to the sound of the ultimate airship¡ªthe Pappy Long Legs!"


    The Pappy Long Legs, which had previously been a cacophony of mechanical sounds, transformed into a living, breathing orchestra. The whirs and clanks of its machinery melded together, creating a symphony that filled the air. Like an aerophone choir, it whistled angelic tunes that danced with the wind. Each note carried a whisper of magic, resonating through the metallic frame of the airship and turning it into a vessel of ethereal melodies.


    "I damn well know you know this one, Amelia!" Rick remarked, his tone soothing and melodic. "It''s one of those sing-songs sung deep in those mines and in the minds of those who park themselves in all thirteen quadrants of New Dwarden. I promise you, if you humor me, life will feel that much lighter," Rick challenged, a smirk spreading across his face as he reached his hand toward Amelia.


    Amelia raised her head skyward, her gaze fixed on the evening sky. Then, turning to Rick, she noticed a glimmer of hope reflecting in his eyes. "My mother used to say something before every lullaby, every song. It was like a sign of respect," Amelia reminisced. "She had this silly belief that one should be grateful to sleep because you¡¯ll never know if you wake." She stood up from her chair, reached toward Rick, and shook his metallic claw of a hand.


    "The Queen was wise. Nothing silly about that at all," Rick nodded, firmly shaking Amelia¡¯s hand.


    "Nothing at all," Amelia agreed, her voice soft yet resolute.


    ¡°Went like this,¡± recited Amelia, her tone shifting to one of gentle reverence.


    Dear Amelia:


    Deep in the night, you twist and you turn


    Hush now and sleep, for peace will return


    Work through the night, rest through the day


    In dreams, find comfort, lead worries astray


    For gears and cogs, cost fingers a day


    Awake forever, I¡¯m here to stay


    "I always hum the tune before every song, prance, or dance," Amelia admitted, chuckling at the memory.


    ¡°Unconventional indeed, Crowny!¡± Rick cheered, his spirit lifting.


    "And with that, everything will magically fall into place, I assume?" Amelia quipped, arching an eyebrow at Rick.


    ¡°Smell the flowers that come after the storm! We simply must embrace all of the signs given to us. Each and every scent! Whether it¡¯s bitter like Quadrant Three¡¯s Barley Beer or sweet as Whistletop¡¯s Candy! That¡¯s the philosophy this New Dwarden has given us," Rick explained earnestly, his gaze thoughtful.


    "Alright! I¡¯ll bite. Best show you this Yardrat¡¯s secret skill," Amelia remarked, her voice infused with determination as she prepared to join Rick in their musical endeavor, her movements becoming more fluid with the tune around her.


    Of gears o'' brass and steam we dwell,


    Where toil and hustle our feet never fell,


    A world of wonders, shinin¡¯ and bright,


    But change creeps in wi'' each comin'' night.


    (Chorus)


    Oooooooh, winds of change, they¡¯ve blown so strong,


    In this steam world below all the fog,


    Wi'' every cog n¡¯ every gear,


    Our future''s path been never so clear.


    Ooooo airships glide o''er skies o'' gold,


    Tales o'' change are often told,


    For progress marches to ever-unfold,


    Through the clockwork mist, our destinies mold.


    (Chorus)


    Oooooooh, winds of change, they¡¯ve blown so strong,


    In this steam world below all the fog,


    Wi'' every cog n¡¯ every gear,


    Our future''s path been never so clear.


    "Enough," declared Amelia, her voice firm yet gentle. "I''ve heard plenty of songs down in the Conkle. I know what you¡¯re doing," she added, playfully pointing at Rick with a twinkle in her eye. ¡°Yardrats are no strangers to tap-dancin¡¯ song, old man.¡±


    From the corner of her eye, Amelia saw Roy observing her from a distance, his large, spotlight-like eyes softening with a hint of disappointment.


    "Oh, and what do you reckon I''m up to, dear Amelia?" chuckled Rick, his laughter warm and hearty. "Just trying to make sense of fate''s craptastic joke," he continued, pointing back at Amelia with a knowing grin.


    "Feelin¡¯ all... cheery... and well¡­ it¡¯s certainly okay, but¡­ Roy¡¯s gotta be finished fuelin¡¯ the ship by now," Amelia grumbled, rubbing the small bump at the top of her head, her mood conflicted. ¡°Albeit, it was a cute and wholesome attempt," she admitted while stealing a glance at Roy, a soft smile of approval tugging at her lips. ¡°And¡­I appreciate it, Roy.¡±


    "Damn shame we stopped then," Rick lamented, shaking his head lightly. "You''ve got a pleasant worker''s rasp in your voice," he remarked with a playful glimmer in his eye. He patted Amelia''s back with his mechanical arm, inviting her for a cup of warm tea. "Can''t please everyone," he added with a shrug and a smile.


    "When do I pack my bags?" Amelia asked in a light-hearted tone, quickly taking a sip from her tea.


    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    "No need to rush a spark into the rain!" replied Rick, his voice commanding urgency as he glanced at Amelia playfully. "Pappy''s already taking off! She''s scraping the clouds as we speak. We''ll reach top speeds soon."


    "Before we go and our problems get worse, I want to be clear about something," Amelia said, redirecting Rick¡¯s tea from his face.


    "And what might that be?" Rick asked, his eyebrow raised in confusion at her brazen maneuver.


    "My day started normal. I didn''t just stumble into that sewer drain like a hungry blind mouse!" Amelia retorted sharply, her eyes narrowing as she recalled the events. "There was this blinding blue light emanating from my locket. It grew big, then small, and before I knew it, the Little Creek copper badges showed up with their handcuffs! Admittedly, I don¡¯t remember much of what happened. Only what they accused me of. They called me a demon. Scared everyone. Even me. So, I made a run for it, and then..." She trailed off, lost in her memories.


    "And then?" Rick prodded gently, urging her to continue.


    "They cornered me into a sewer under the Loshlit Tavern," Amelia said, her voice distant. "It¡¯s spotty, but just when I thought I was doomed, a creature appeared¡ªlike an mangy animal combined with a machine, full of unfiltered rage and pulsin¡¯ muscles. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it. Never want to see it again."


    ¡°Let¡¯s focus on gettin¡¯ outta here. Not give that beast a chance to even whiff ya.¡± Urged Rick.


    "How far is this city?" Amelia wondered aloud, standing from her stool.


    "Far away, Amelia," replied Rick, his tone serious yet filled with anticipation. He walked away from the table and approached a giant steering wheel mechanism shaped like a gear. It was perched at the back end of the Pappy Long Legs atop a podium made of intricately decorated and polished wood mixed with golden pipes.


    "About time I see the world from above," Amelia replied with a hint of cockiness in her voice, watching as Rick used four of his mechanical limbs to pull levers, twist knobs, and push buttons of all kinds before spinning the steering wheel.


    "Must be refreshin¡¯! Like a fish finally viewin¡¯ the land to which he lived under this whole time!" shouted Rick. "Wrap your little hands tight to any rail, or make your way downstairs! Ask Roy for a room! Doesn¡¯t matter to me!"


    Amelia smiled at Rick¡¯s attempt at concern. She looked toward the dawning horizon and took a huge breath of cold, fresh air from the surrounding clouds. She dusted off her overalls and gazed at the sky. The orange-hued dawn seemed closer, her thoughts racing with the wind.


    "Roy! Man the Pappy Long Legs! We¡¯re heading far away from New Dwarden! Away from these bygone thirteen quadrants and towards the streets of Veranus across the Longhill Plains! Across the neighboring lands of machines!" shouted Rick over the cacophony of hissing pipes and puffing smokestacks.


    The ship hummed beneath her, the low thrum of its engines filling the air as it sailed smoothly through the skies. Amelia glanced toward the porthole, her thoughts drifting once again to her brothers¡ªBolton and Michael. Were they still out there, safe, or had the weight of New Dwarden¡¯s politics consumed them both?


    Rick adjusted his mechanical limbs and headed toward the control panel. "Veranus; It¡¯s not the safest city, but it¡¯ll give us some time to figure things out. Plus, your Crowny brother requested it."


    Amelia nodded, but her mind was already turning. There were too many unanswered questions. She clutched her locket, the dim blue glow pulsing in time with her heartbeat. What¡¯s waiting for me out there?


    The ship¡¯s engines roared to life, and the Pappy Long Legs ascended higher into the clouds. Amelia¡¯s past was behind her, but her future felt just as uncertain.

 Bonus Extra 3: Chapter 2 - Braverys Whistle (All-In-One)

    Bolton Woltwork


    [¡­Approximately 24 hours earlier]


    Deep in the heart of New Dwarden, between Quadrants One and Two, lies the notorious Whistletop Alley; a vibrant hub where distinctions of status, sex, and species fade into the wonder of the thickening crowds. By day, the alley hums with the activity of vendors from both near and far, offering exotic goods and lively entertainment to families and travelers alike. But as the sun sets, a remarkable transformation unfolds, and Whistletop Alley reveals its true character, unburdened by the revealing rays of sunlight.


    As the sun sets, grills ignite, entertainers put on elaborate costumes, and musicians add the final touches to their instruments. In these moments, the alley transforms into a distinct realm where the air is thick with temptations from all corners of the mind. As quickly as entertainment takes center stage, precious rings momentarily disappear, bills are forgotten, and estranged relationships light anew, earning Whistletop Alley its local moniker¡ªthe "Blown Whistle District."


    Stepping into the alley, one is greeted with meandering wide smiles and tantalizing scents wafting through the air, drawing them further into the labyrinth of stalls that populate the streets from end to end. The hypnotizing aroma of grilled and barbecued spiced meats dances carefree in the breeze, mesmerizing even the most stubborn passersby. Yet, this is only the beginning of the sensory feast that awaits. Once trapped by the large portions of food and drink, melodic hums of music and captivating dramatic performances dazzle long into the morning. From dusk until dawn, the alley comes alive with energy as audiences are swept away by the captivating spectacle unfolding before their eyes, each moment brimming with anticipation and excitement.


    Whistletop Alley''s unique architecture adds to its allure, with charming, quaint buildings crafted meticulously from orange brick, cobblestone, local woods, and iron, creating a contrasting scenic backdrop from the often congested Quadrants around it. And though other streets boast similar beauty, Whistletop Alley stands out as the largest and most vibrant, stretching from the outskirts of New Dwarden to its very core.


    Whistletop Alley exudes an irresistible allure, whether you look at its tall rooftops, gaping sewer grates, or winding offshoot alleys. It seems purposefully crafted for adventurous souls seeking excitement. Its charming streets whisper tales of hidden treasures and secret passages, drawing crafty and nimble explorers to uncover its mysteries, one nook and cranny at a time.


    Tonight, however, Whistletop Alley held an even greater allure. Amidst the lively, fire-lit atmosphere of a summer night, a sudden commotion shattered the tranquility, drawing all eyes upward to the rooftops. "By the dog neath¡¯ it''s tail! It¡¯s that damn¡­ bleedin¡¯-¡­" exclaimed a spook vendor, his voice trailing off in shock. Another onlooker gasped, adding to the surrounding vendors'' sudden surprise, recognizing the agile silhouette as none other than the infamous Whistletop Burglar. Whispers of disbelief spread through the crowd, and the atmosphere crackled with excitement and apprehension. Some drank to the sight of the man seemingly floating above the rooftops, while others bowed their heads in fear. Nevertheless, the sudden appearance of the ¡°Whistletop Burglar¡± captivated all who dared to look upward.


    Amidst the metallic labyrinth of winding pipes, giant oscillating cogs, and pistoning contraptions that formed the canopy above Whistletop Alley, a young man named Bolton Woltwork, mischief twinkling in his eyes, moved through the sky with a strange kind of grace. Each of his movements seemed to echo a rigid dance as if choreographed by an erratic puppeteer. No matter how hard people searched, most onlookers could only catch a glimpse of the wispy plume of hot white steam and smoke that trailed behind him.


    ¡°They¡¯ve taken a shinin¡¯ to me?¡± wondered Bolton aloud. ¡°Already? I haven¡¯t even gotten to doing a flip with my new¡­ Air Shoes? I¡¯ll work on the name, I promise!¡± shouted Bolton to the lively crowd, his voice drowning in the bustle.


    Noticing the crowd''s fascination, Bolton paused, briefly perching himself atop a sturdy red tent, considering whether to stir up further commotion in the already lively night.


    "Impure thief! Freak of a half-breed!" shouted a group of men from below.


    Tall and sturdy, Bolton stood out against the dark sky, his figure sharply outlined against the night. Clad in a brown bowler hat, dark overcoat, golden suspenders, white shirt, and brown boots, he resembled the tradesmen of old. Despite his familiar attire, Bolton''s presence stirred fear and doubt among the onlookers, who hurled accusations of "Thief," "Demon," and "Burglar" at him in an unending chorus.


    A storm of drunken insults and threats arose from the angry crowd below, but Bolton simply tilted his head in mock confusion. The moonlight reflected off his goggles as he scanned the crowd with keen anticipation, daring anyone to meet his gaze.


    "I hope everyone here is having a wonderful night! See, it¡¯s my first night in town since¡­ well, too long," Bolton called out to a crowd too loud to hear him. "Might have to raise me an octave or two," he thought, coughing loudly before speaking again. "Can any of you drunkards tell me where I might find the original Akiyoma Airship?" he called from his elevated perch, his voice carrying over the bustling square. ¡°You know¡­the-?"


    "In the same direction as a prison cell!" retorted a toothless old man from below. "New Dwarden¡¯s no place for bottom-dwelling feed! Thief!"


    "...airship," Bolton continued, reluctant to finish his sentence.


    "The Clinkers will fill the streets here soon! You won¡¯t be able to get away with picking someone else''s nose!" threatened another man below.


    ¡°What¡¯s this, then? Did that thief swipe your front teeth along with your sense of humor?¡± Bolton quipped, his voice dripping with mockery. But his smile quickly faded as the crowd¡¯s murmurs grew louder, their annoyance cutting through his bravado.


    "Shoulda waited on the midnight grog to loosen their tongues. Well, anger isn¡¯t going to summon my informant or rescue these frogs," Bolton sighed to himself, wiping a loose bit of dripping food from his shoulder, hurled from the crowd below. With a swift movement, he disappeared in a puff of hot white smoke. The metallic glint and clink of his gloves and heels filled the night air with mystery and wonder, punctuating the scene with puffing sounds and hissing steam before he vanished into the shadows.


    Bolton watched as the crowd seamlessly redirected their focus to the next spectacle: an approaching float in the shape of a giant frog smoking an even more colossal pipe. Almost offended by the crowd¡¯s ability to brush him off so quickly, he couldn''t help but be drawn to the sight of the frog. As he soared above the thickening crowds, his thoughts began to drift. Memories of his family and their time together surfaced uncontested. He daydreamed about a life that felt long past, his eyes momentarily losing focus on the bustling scene below. Glancing back at the float, he observed the procession of musicians harmonizing around it as they traversed the rain-kissed amber roads below.


    "I hear parades are more fun when you''re not welcome," muttered the young man under his breath, his lips reluctantly curling into a smile. "We¡¯re very unwelcome. And now, we''ve got Primarian Clinkers to worry about," mumbled Bolton to himself, directing his gaze towards metallic beings weaving their way through the crowd effortlessly.


    In the warm lantern glow, towering Clinkers stalked the alley like mechanical scarecrows, their angular faces and rotating cogs casting eerie shadows. Bolton watched them from his stone perch, his eyes narrowing as they prowled on mechanical stilts. Colorful smoke billowed from their gaping mouths, adding to their unsettling presence. Their yellow, crosshatched eyes scanned the crowd with an almost human intensity, searching for anything out of place.


    Among the hundreds of Clinkers, one shifted its gaze to Bolton with snapping precision. Unlike the rest, this one¡¯s metallic body was littered with confetti and random paint. Whether by chance or not, the Clinker¡¯s head tilted jarringly before it suddenly lifted itself high into the sky on its metallic stilts, responding as if to a threat. Its eyes flashed red as it carefully poked its leg through the crowd below, making its way toward Bolton.


    After an audible gasp, Bolton wasted no time and immediately turned in the other direction, making his way deeper into Whistletop Alley. Once again, he whisked himself away into the darkness of the night, leaving thoughts of any Clinkers far behind him.


    Bolton navigated Whistletop Alley''s nooks and crannies, ducking under low-hanging banners and dodging bustling crowds. He reached Akiyoma Square, five miles from the guarded Primarian Royale. Amid the lamplight glow stood the revered Akiyoma¡ªa sky-scraping airship replica, a testament to New Dwarden''s ingenuity. Without hesitation, Bolton boarded the monument, scaling its towering mast with practiced ease. From his high perch, he scanned the cityscape and the imposing iron gates of the Primarian Royale looming at the alley''s end.


    Bolton surveyed the sprawling city, pride swelling in his chest. His emerald-green eyes shimmered with the fireworks painting the night sky. He glanced at the city, reminded of New Dwarden¡¯s ingenuity. As he adjusted his stance, the thirteen Quadrants stretched out around him, each a world of its own


    "How has it only been five years?" Bolton mumbled under his breath, his gaze fixed on the vibrant cityscape. He daydreamed of a life that felt long past, his eyes glued to the intricate machinery, colossal cogs, and towering structures of Quadrants One and Two. Quadrant One, with its buildings fashioned like giant flutes, caught his attention. These structures harmonized with the wind, producing melodies that drifted through the air like ghostly whispers. Meanwhile, Quadrant Two was filled with shorter, stockier buildings, each shaped according to the enterprise they housed.


    Bolton¡¯s eyes often wandered upwards, not only scouting escape routes but also marveling at the uniquely porous buildings of Quadrant One. Creatures dubbed Ignorpa¡ªNew Dwarden¡¯s resident giant lizards¡ªlounged under the buildings'' lips and extending balconies, their bright colors and tufts of fur visible from miles away. When his gaze shifted to Quadrant Two, he fantasized about entering a busy chicken drumstick-shaped restaurant, its alluring scents tempting him. He watched as crowds of people, smiling, hugging, and dancing, moved in and out of the restaurant like well-organized traffic.


    One view in particular captured Bolton¡¯s attention for longer than he realized: a woman with short black hair, wearing an elegant black skirt and top. Her nose had a subtle shade of red, and her eyes were large, accentuated with makeup. He watched as she laughed with her friends, similarly dressed, before disappearing into the crowd. For reasons unknown to Bolton, a feeling of longing and guilt washed over him, his eyes softening as he observed their bond. "In a world where metal and flesh mix like midnight mead, the heart keeps us human. But sometimes, I wonder if even that can rust.", he thought.


    Before Bolton''s thoughts could wander further, a gentle rustle and tug of his wavy hair snapped his attention back to the present moment. The bustling scene below faded as he looked up at the magnificent Primarian Royale. This serpentine building housed New Dwarden''s political elite, with King Woltwork reigning from its highest peak.


    Bolton admired the Primarian Royale¡¯s lifelike grace as it wound around Corazco, New Dwarden¡¯s largest mountain. Structures jutted from the mountainside, each representing their respective Master of their Quadrant. While Bolton couldn''t discern all thirteen, he noted the prominence of the "Owl" just below the King and the "Bear" at the mountain''s base. The height of each structure symbolized its occupant''s political stature. Only the King¡¯s figure remained immovable, perpetually perched atop Corazco like a grandfather clock, commonly dubbed the ¡°King¡¯s Clock.¡±


    Prominent structures jutted from the mountainside, each representing a Master Of The Quadrant. While Bolton couldn''t discern all thirteen, he noted the prominence of the "Owl" just below the King and the "Bear" at the mountain''s base. The height of each structure symbolized its occupant''s political stature. Only the King¡¯s figure remained immovable, perpetually perched atop Corazco like a grandfather clock, commonly dubbed the ¡°King¡¯s Clock.¡±


    Bolton stretched his arms toward the top of Mount Corazco, his voice brimming with excitement and anticipation. "Vermolly! Before you say anything, you¡¯re always reminding me of what¡¯s important, and it¡¯s much appreciated."


    A sudden shuffling could be heard from under Bolton¡¯s brown bowler hat, causing him to wince in pain between each movement.


    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°Ow! Now, before we willingly¡­ Dammit! Relax... break one of the king¡¯s most sacred rules," he winced, a painful grin spreading across his face. "You can-" His youthful voice broke the stillness, accompanied by bursts of fireworks overhead, prompting a swift reply from Vermolly.


    A gentle, croaky voice emerged from beneath the brim of Bolton''s brown bowler hat. "You can stand to be more patient! And by the powers of earth and sea," Vermolly gasped, "may Yerro bless me with a touch of cool air. Unlike a frog, I cannot endure this warmth for long." Amidst the crackling excitement, a small webbed green hand emerged from beneath the hat, lifting it slightly to reveal eight additional pairs of luminous yellow eyes blinking rapidly. Each eye boasted uniquely colorful slit irises surrounded by mesmerizing rotating patterns.


    Among the nine creatures nestled within Bolton¡¯s hat, Vermolly, a pocket-sized Alchemian, crawled out and dangled proudly in front of Bolton''s face. Her webbed fingers easily gripped the rim of his fur-felt bowler hat.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid the Greisha ceremony is something you are compelled to respect,¡± Vermolly added with a smirk. ¡°We Alchemians abide by less divisive customs.¡±


    Vermolly often reminded Bolton that Alchemians are a species of frog-like creatures, a mix of salamander and bullfrog. They possess human characteristics such as standing on two legs, speaking various languages, and their famous alchemy¡ªconcoctions brewed from their often corrosive throat fluids. More importantly to Bolton, they are easy to carry, a convenient trait if one should befriend you.


    ¡°Spend one day in my thoughts, Vermolly. I¡¯d be willing to bet the average Alchemian wouldn¡¯t know an ocean from pond water, let alone be attuned to the entire human race,¡± laughed Bolton.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it, ¡®pond water¡¯. Did she remind you of her?¡± Vermolly prodded. She reached her tiny hands toward Bolton¡¯s nose and tapped it playfully until she crinkled it. Bolton was ready to sneeze before gently swatting her small, sticky hands away.


    ¡°Who?¡± Bolton responded coyly, his cheeks reddening.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to tap into an Alchemian collective to see that she did,¡± Vermolly replied, lightly teasing Bolton. ¡°I could feel your heart rate gush from the top of your head. Your cheeks are still warm.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t going to work out,¡± Bolton muttered defeatedly.


    ¡°What¡¯s not?¡± Vermolly prodded. She perched on Bolton¡¯s right shoulder, observing the world seemingly spin around Bolton as he gestured animatedly.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­so¡­. SO OUT HERE,¡± replied Bolton, splaying his hands outwards toward the city. ¡°And she¡¯s so in there,¡± he continued, pointing to his heart. ¡°I know it sounds stupid but that''s all I got. It would be like having a wolf kiss a hare.¡±


    ¡°Why limit yourself to two schools of thought?¡± wondered Vermolly aloud. ¡°...and I take it you¡¯re the tough wolf?¡± she asked, playfully pushing against Bolton¡¯s cheek.


    ¡°Sure ain¡¯t the hare,¡± replied Bolton confidently yet playfully. ¡°She¡¯s scared of the world. I¡¯m not. I want to whisk her away. She doesn¡¯t want to go,¡± he continued softly, his voice trailing off. ¡°When we¡¯re together, it¡¯s like our eyes burn bright together. But adventure appears to only call for me¡­¡±


    ¡°Maybe she isn¡¯t ready. Matters of the soul are like seeds. If we focus on growth, who knows what you both might become? Friends, best friends, lovers¡ªit doesn¡¯t matter when the future is unknown. The best thing we can do is love all the same. Pursue your ambitions and let growth come to you,¡± Vermolly consoled, gently removing her hand from Bolton¡¯s cheek. ¡°She¡¯ll come if it¡¯s her path. Otherwise, look forward, like you humans usually do.¡±


    ¡°You know¡­I was hesitant to leave the shop today. To come out here and risk it all over a fancy letter,¡± Bolton said softly. ¡°How did that ol¡¯ guy even know where I was?¡±


    ¡°Sounds like you regret snatching the letter from his satchel,¡± Vermolly accused. ¡°Coulda been useful having him around.¡±


    Vermolly watched as Bolton¡¯s gaze meandered toward the restaurant, watching it longingly. She positioned herself in front of him, her large eyes meeting his.


    ¡°The letter. The king is ¡®risking it all¡¯ just meeting with you. Soul Rot is what waits beyond breaching the Greisha Ceremony,¡± Vermolly explained in an understanding tone. ¡°Likely to be of the utmost importance. At least, one would hope.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t trust royalty. Unless it¡¯s my brother himself, I¡¯m not dealin¡¯ with them. Everything feels wrong. My brother and I aren¡¯t ever to communicate again¡ªthat¡¯s the condition of that stupid ceremony. As far as I know, the letter still counts,¡± Bolton explained, his voice tinged with anxiety.


    ¡°And your older sister?¡± wondered Vermolly.


    ¡°Amelia? Last I heard, she went toward Quadrant Seven. Five years ago.¡± Bolton replied, his hand pointing behind him. ¡°She and I were close.¡±


    ¡°Were?¡± Inquired Vermolly.


    ¡°I got nothin¡¯ against her. She just disappeared ya know? Straight into the crowd and¡­that¡¯s the last I saw her.¡± Lamented Bolton, looking toward a pocket watch hanging from his jacket pocket. ¡°She was good to me.¡±


    Bolton opened his golden pocket watch with a satisfying crack, revealing a blue gem embedded within. On the opposite side was a small black-and-white picture of three children under the former King Woltwork and Queen Woltwork. Vermolly observed the photo with a fond smile. Alchemian. Vermolly examined each child individually.


    Amelia smiled with missing teeth, flashing a peace sign as she cuddled next to her mother. Michael¡ªthe current king¡ªstood regal and unsmiling beside his father. Bolton, meanwhile, lifted his dress shirt to reveal a toy airplane underneath, his shirt stained with food that had escaped his parents'' notice.


    ¡°You don¡¯t change, do you?¡± Vermolly observed.


    ¡°Neither does my brother. He¡¯s never been one to take risks. I can¡¯t help but be curious about what this is about,¡± Bolton pondered, perching his chin on his hand as he dangled his feet over the crow¡¯s nest.


    ¡°So, let¡¯s meet this sewer boy mentioned in that other letter and get back to our humble garage?¡± Vermolly suggested. ¡°Our humble beginnings.¡±


    ¡°It was more like a note on a crumpled napkin, but we shouldn¡¯t waste more time,¡± Bolton agreed with a quick smirk. ¡°The signal¡¯s about to go off anyway.¡± His eyes shone with confidence as he surveyed the ship.


    With renewed determination, Bolton stood up, looking skyward. He fixed his suspenders and gently scooped Vermolly onto his palm, tucking her back under his cap. Ready to explore the Akiyoma, Bolton set off with a confident stride, the anticipation of new adventures rejuvenating his steps.


    A surge of excitement coursed through Bolton at the thought of taking the helm of an airship rather than just tinkering with its components. With practiced ease, he descended the side of the monument using a sturdy rope attached to a large anchor. Before he could further explore the airship, a peculiar sensation came from his front pocket where his pocket watch sat. Grabbing the watch, he watched it vibrate with a blue gleam emanating from within. "That¡¯s never happened," he muttered, shaking off the distraction. ¡°What did you do, Michael?¡± Bolton opened his pocket watch to reveal a strong blue light from the embedded gem before putting it away in a panic. ¡°Something to address¡­later,¡± he thought nervously.


    ¡°This whole thing¡¯s one big attraction now,¡± mumbled Bolton in disbelief. ¡°Better get moving if I¡¯m going to make it,¡± he said, glancing toward the highlighted exit sign near the ship¡¯s mast.


    As Bolton crossed the slanted deck, he admired the ship''s large, intricately carved helm. Some images depicted Alchemians like Vermolly surfing the stars, while others featured Gale Whales soaring among the clouds¡ªcreatures said to hold a city on their backs while remaining light as a feather. The helm''s centerpiece bore a bold motto: "The Akiyoma Airship! First to brave distant horizons unscathed! First to return without a loss or mishap! First to shield New Dwarden from its adversaries!"


    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    As Bolton traversed the grand, seemingly endless metallic corridors of The Akiyoma, he found himself lost in the ship''s storied past. With each step towards the ship¡¯s tilted hull, he passed countless plaques and trophies, each a testament to the ship¡¯s history and New Dwarden¡¯s advancements in airship technology. These sights stirred memories of tales told by his late mother and father¡ªgrandiose stories of the formidable Akiyoma IV, battle-ready airships embarking on perilous missions, fending off sky pirates and other dangers in daring escapes. Each glossy plaque reminded him of a time when he was destined to protect New Dwarden¡¯s skies as King of New Dwarden and Commander of the Akiyoma fleet. Each passing plaque was reminiscent of a different story told to him and his siblings when he was young.


    Among the many stories told to Bolton and his siblings, one always stood out. As a child, every morning upon waking up, he would rush to brush his teeth and quickly lean against the nearest window. He didn¡¯t always stay inside the Primarian Royale, but when he did, it was a prime opportunity to observe the children playing ''soldier'' in Whistletop Alley below. They depicted New Dwarden¡¯s military with large cogs on their backs and makeshift metallic outfits, battling other local kids dressed in cloaks who threw tiny smoke bombs to represent the notorious pirates known as the ''Whistlin¡¯ Death'' and their often smoky trails left behind.


    Deep down, Bolton had always wanted to join the other kids, but as a royal child, he could only watch them live out their adventures or play with his often stricter older brother, Michael. ''Older by seconds but each second years,'' Bolton often thought. After being scolded on multiple occasions for trying to pretend spar with Michael, he instead eagerly awaited the nights when his father or mother had time to tell him the legendary stories New Dwarden had to offer; although to Bolton, his favorites were the ones particular to the sky.


    Between all the stories and adventures, Michael was always quick to remind Bolton and Amelia that only ''miscreants'' and ''vermin'' would adopt a life in the sky. Unless they flew under the banner of New Dwarden, they had no place in the clouds. This sentiment resonated well with their father and most of those around them. He often spoke of the ¡°Whistlin¡¯ Death¡± pirates, who flew crude, square boarding vessels that whistled through the parting clouds like bombs, landing on any unfortunate ships below.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Yet even Michael wasn¡¯t immune to the sheer adventure emanating from these tales. Before any scoldings and corrections, Bolton, Amelia, and Michael would often sneak into the royal library, located close to their room on the 13th floor of the Primarian Royale. There, they would scour the shelves for tales and stories, accounts, and even logs of dangerous creatures, criminals, treasures, and, of course, stories of pirates, which they would re-enact deep into the night. Bolton smiled at the thought. Sometimes, Michael would pull his blanket off in the middle of the night to scare Amelia, who slept next door, pretending to be a ¡°Whistlin¡¯ Death Pirate.¡± Their night escapades came to an abrupt end when the King and Queen installed a robotic bodyguard known as an Arc Soldier in the Primarian Royale. Bolton called them Wind-up Soldiers due to the constant ticking sound from their metallic chests and the slowly rotating wheel that rose from their backs.


    Upon finally arriving at the base of the ship, Bolton couldn''t help but smile at the enormous, gaping squared windows. Just like in the stories, the windows were made of a light, durable metal, ready to swing open with equally enormous triangular cannons poised just behind them, ready for battle at any second. ''These cannons were said to rotate upon firing, each shot stronger than the last,'' read the plaque below the complex machinery holding them upwards. To Bolton, a detail far too exciting to skip.


    Regretfully, he kept moving. As he descended the candle-lit stairs¡ªnormally meant for tour guides and tourists¡ªhe came upon wide arched doors of wood and metal. Like the doorway, the inside of the ship appeared carefully crafted, light enough to fly but strong enough to withstand damage. It was a delicate balance of a wordsmith¡¯s grace, a blacksmith¡¯s beauty, and their combined grit.


    ¡°The Akiyoma standard,¡± mumbled Bolton aloud.


    The ship had a crosshatched roof, while the floor was thin, light metal. The walls were made of beautiful, sturdy wood, a brilliant brown with just the right amount of gloss. Through the archway was the largest chamber of the airship, where its giant wings were attached to a cylindrical engine. The wings spanned twice the ship''s length, sprouting from thin slits in the ship''s walls. Gears, tubes, levers, and pulleys generously made up the inside of this chamber, giving it a metallic sheen in the lantern light.


    After venturing deeper into the engine room, Bolton noticed a giant, gaping wound in the ship''s walls. It hadn''t been repaired, left as a display of the battle scar the ship had suffered before it was decommissioned¡ªa wound from the notorious Whistlin'' Death pirates. The cracked wood and metal bore scorch marks, and the hole size was large enough for a Clinker to easily step through, even when its stilt-like legs were extended.


    This was an eerie reminder of the dangers lurking outside and perhaps even within the walls of the Akiyoma. The plaque beside the ship¡¯s wound noted, ¡®After incapacitating their targets, the pirates would capture their prey using the first successfully stolen Akiyoma known to New Dwarden¡ªan injured ship taken during a decommissioning ceremony on [illegible due to being scratched out]. Belonging to fleet Alpha 3-213, the enemy Akiyoma was modified to wield a giant screeching claw that would descend from the blackened clouds, capturing the vessel below with terrifying efficiency, leaving only a booming echo in its wake. This ship survived. Praise be to New Dwarden¡¯s superior engineering. Airships have since been significantly fortified to prevent such crimes.¡¯


    ¡°The exit¡¯s to the right¡ªmove now, Bolton, or we¡¯ll miss our only shot at reaching your brother,¡± Vermolly urged from beneath his cap, her voice tense with urgency.


    ¡°This moment would¡¯ve been far more magical if I wasn¡¯t in such a hurry,¡± lamented Bolton aloud before turning to his right. ¡°Shame. There¡¯s so much to learn, even from this hole in the wall.¡±


    ¡°And more when we take care of business,¡± Vermolly reminded, tipping Bolton¡¯s hat upward so she could be heard clearly.


    After exhausting two loose lanterns and making a quick trip to the Akiyoma¡¯s notorious latrine, Bolton finally reached the bottom of the hull. There, he encountered one more wooden door, an exit for tourists finishing their visit early. Although this Akiyoma had been repurposed as a display, the door itself bore a large, angular bronze bust. The intricate bust provided context on the ship''s original builders and proclaimed it a gift to New Dwarden, following its near destruction five years ago. It depicted a giant slamming a hammer down on a warm blue forge. Its blue sparks were carved in marvelous detail, and the giant''s expression was firm and unwavering in his focus.


    Bolton carefully examined the door, recalling several famous giants who had served New Dwarden faithfully, at least according to his father. However, none by the name of Hios.


    Nevertheless, he pressed on and opened the door, following a stairway that stretched under a giant brass chain leading to a beautifully decorated golden triangular anchor, pressed firmly on the orange-bricked floor.


    ¡°This thing¡¯s a giant. Like a village in the sky,¡± Bolton observed, looking up at the enormous ship from under the hull. ¡°Tourist be damned, this airship belongs in the sky.¡±


    Vermolly crawled from under Bolton¡¯s cap, noticing his gaze meandering into contemplation, his eyes flickering between confidence and a curious kind of sadness. He stared longingly at the towering mast of the Akiyoma peeking above him, likely pondering his repeated dream of being an airship pilot. Drawing closer, Vermolly perched delicately atop the bridge of his nose, her webbed feet barely making a sound.


    "Remember what ol¡¯ Dani Alton used to say," she began softly. "Being an airship pilot isn''t just about gazing skyward. It''s about understanding what keeps you anchored to the earth below. A steadfast will forms the foundation for a resilient crew."


    ¡°Are we on about this again?¡± Laughed Bolton, his eyes crossed looking toward Vermolly. ¡°He took that from a Primarian Arc recruitin¡¯ pamphlet.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± Said Vermolly playfully.


    ¡°And¡­dreams keep the ship afloat; hard work lifts it off. I remember, blah blah blah¡± Bolton mimicked, now refocused.


    ¡°Your emotions lack subtlety,¡± Vermolly admitted.


    ¡°Subtlety doesn¡¯t run in the family,¡± Bolton agreed lightheartedly.


    ¡°An airship¡¯s pilot should be chosen by merit, not by family. Rules be damned,¡± Vermolly comforted, her croaking voice a soothing melody amidst the quiet night. ¡°We¡¯ll build one eventually. Start small.¡±


    Bolton chuckled, ¡°Should I mark you down as my loyal Alchemian airship engineer?¡±


    ¡°Oh, blessed no. No. Quadrant Thirteen is our home now,¡± Vermolly admitted, swaying carefree from one side of Bolton¡¯s hat to the other. ¡°No airship¡¯s for my immediate future.¡±


    "Do Alchemians usually frequent airships anyway?" Bolton wondered, carefully handling Vermolly from arm to arm.


    "Perhaps when someone of a more responsible background pilots it?" Vermolly teased.


    "Like another Alchemian?" Bolton suggested.


    Vermolly recoiled with mock horror. "By earth and sea, no! Too arrogant. They generally can¡¯t see beyond their flat snouts. I''m far superior," she declared, her gentle laughter filling the air. ¡°Besides, I¡¯m far smaller than the average Alchemian. Can¡¯t repair anything larger than your average cog.¡±


    Vermolly leaned over Bolton¡¯s curled finger, hanging from his nail and gazing up at the fireworks lighting up the sky. Hearing a larger, more sizzling firework, she suddenly a particular detail from the note Bolton received before his quest into the deeper Quadrants. The note instructed him to approach a specially designed sewer hole when the fireworks exploded at midnight. The first firework would be a purple dazzle, the second a green array with a purple center, and the last a large star-shaped explosion signaling the start of the late-night festivities in Whistletop Alley and Bolton¡¯s chance to enter the Primarian Royale


    ¡°Signal should be soon, Bolton. Head up, pend your thoughts,¡± Vermolly said, rushing up Bolton¡¯s arm onto his makeshift leather helmet. ¡°I¡¯d say we have five minutes until the second signal.¡±


    "Quickly off-topic, Vermolly,¡± Bolton wondered, looking up over his head. ¡°You say I¡¯m reckless, but you¡¯ve never talked about your time aboard the..."


    ¡°I¡¯m not so gullible to know you won¡¯t go venturing off to the people who wronged me. An airship is not difficult to find. Even for a Quadrant Thirteen bumpkin,¡± Vermolly replied sternly.


    ¡°It¡¯s only been two years with you, and you know me that well?¡± Bolton laughed suddenly.


    ¡°As I¡¯ve said, you¡¯re not subtle,¡± Vermolly laughed back. ¡°Now let¡¯s get those Gale Frogs outta your helmet. The second firework will explode soon.¡± Refocused, Vermolly tilted Bolton¡¯s helmet, revealing the frogs underneath. ¡°Now hurry and unclip your chin strap, get these lil¡¯ guys out.¡±


    Bolton quickly agreed and unclipped his chinstrap, then removed his helmet. Nine Gale Frogs¡ªeach adorned with unique, striking patterns¡ªaligned themselves into a haphazard formation, croaking louder and louder until they naturally formed a circle.


    ¡°Ah, well, once they stop pulling your hair, it¡¯s difficult to remember they¡¯re there,¡± Bolton said with some embarrassment. ¡°Right now, Vermolly, think you can do that Alchemian bubble thing? Just shove ¡¯em in a bubble and wave ¡¯em farewell. I know these guys belong in the air.¡±


    Vermolly''s expression fell. "Still not quite at full strength. Can¡¯t make any bubbles at the moment. More like, not¡­ even close, to be honest," she confessed, her voice softening while examining the nine colorful tiny frogs.


    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°You¡¯re curious, aren¡¯t you? If I¡¯ve healed?¡± Vermolly challenged, inflating her throat pouch to reveal a scar. ¡°I haven¡¯t,¡± she said, her voice disappointed.


    Bolton nodded slightly. Vermolly inflated her throat pouch, slightly hovering over Bolton¡¯s hands. She struggled to maintain the pouch''s inflation, slowly falling into a sudden plummet.


    "I''m not a New Dwardian Iron Medic, but at least I can save a life," Bolton said as he caught Vermolly mid-fall. ¡°Could¡¯ve done better, though,¡± he admitted with guilt. He examined her throat pouch with a halfhearted, pain-filled smile, recalling the day he had rescued Vermolly. "Not so different from working on machines and doing surgery," he remarked sarcastically, meeting Vermolly''s pouted expression.


    "Wouldn''t be here if you didn''t try. Plus, my pouch works well enough to help you run your makeshift shop," Vermolly said, comforting Bolton.


    "Last I checked, we both run that. Don¡¯t you dare give me more responsibility than I need," Bolton affirmed gently, cradling Vermolly on his shoulder.


    Suddenly, the Gale Frogs sprang to life on Bolton¡¯s head, their slimy feet shuffling before they began croaking rhythmically. At the same time, the second firework exploded, sending sparks of green raining throughout Whistletop Alley, giving it a mysterious green allure.


    "Ah, well... looks like you can speak frog," Vermolly remarked. ¡°They seem to be reacting to the wind conditions.¡±


    ¡°Which are?¡± Bolton wondered.


    ¡°Good enough,¡± Vermolly replied.


    ¡°So not the firework?¡± Bolton inquired sarcastically.


    ¡°Fraid¡¯ not,¡± Vermolly joked back. ¡°Look at ¡¯em, they appear to be croaking in the direction of the howling gales.¡±


    With a sense of order and urgency, the Gale Frogs seemingly instinctively made their descent down Bolton''s form. They gripped his wavy hair like nimble climbers, then sprang from his ears to his shoulders before leaping into the swirling winds that enveloped the surrounding buildings.


    ¡°Observe how they shoot air from between their webbed appendages even as they walk. Remind you of something?¡± Vermolly said, following closely behind the last Gale Frog in line.


    Bolton nodded, continuing to watch the Gale Frogs closely. They approached the edge of his extended arm, jumping one by one into the wind with great confidence. In the air, their pouches inflated as they blew reflective bubbles, suspending them in a mesmerizing swirling dance.


    ¡°The Airshoes? That¡¯s where you got the idea?¡± Bolton suddenly realized, grabbing the harness hidden under his jacket. His shoes, originally designed for use in a bog, were repurposed for bursts of air. His gloves, made of leather and metal, could release powerful blasts of air from compartments attached to his legs. His jacket, in turn, acted like a parachute.


    ¡°I¡¯m certain we agreed on calling them Vapor Jets. You¡¯ve been using them for about a month now,¡± Vermolly replied, perched on Bolton¡¯s finger. ¡°You¡¯ve done well to navigate with them so efficiently. However, I¡¯ve yet to perfect them. They cannot carry much fuel, likely just enough for a handful of escapes.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t forgotten,¡± chuckled Bolton. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to let me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been around you long enough to know that it doesn¡¯t take an airship to have your thoughts in the clouds,¡± Vermolly said, placing her eyes in front of Bolton¡¯s.


    ¡°Tell me this, Vermolly¡­¡± Bolton gently placed Vermolly on the brim of his hat. ¡°How do these little critters know where they¡¯re going?¡±


    ¡°Their instinct overpowers their fear. There are things in life more powerful than immediate danger. More important. Perhaps you can learn from the Gale Frogs,¡± Vermolly replied.


    "They eventually find their way back to the sewers, which in turn leads to their pond and far from the clamor of exotic animal vendors."


    Vermolly reclined on the brim of Bolton''s helmet, her legs swinging gently as she observed the Gale Frogs vanishing into the night. With a gentle hand, Bolton guided her back beneath his hat. But not before she took one last glance toward the skyline, then nestled comfortably once more.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get movin¡¯, Vermolly. Truth be told, it scares me that I know nothing of what the rest of this day looks like, but then again, it¡¯s also far more exciting. Maybe that¡¯s what the lil¡¯ guys feel?¡± Bolton mused aloud. ¡°Anyway, there goes the third firework,¡± he mumbled, carefully hiding in the shadows of the Akiyoma.


    "Now, where was I supposed to meet this¡­ sewer fellow?" he pondered, refocusing on his task. Tapping his lips thoughtfully, he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a crumpled note with instructions for the rendezvous: a hidden sewer entrance near the revered Akiyoma Statue, depicted in a crude sketch featuring an Alchemian perched atop a towering Giant.


    "Dear Bolton,


    Hurd you''ve been a sniffin'' around for a way through the tunnels. That! Ain¡¯t! EASY! Also, some scary ol¡¯ guy has been sniffin¡¯ all over Quadrant Thirteen for ya too. Says he¡¯s from the capital and ¡°doesn¡¯t have much time!¡± or somethin. Don¡¯ nobody have time! Any which way, everyone''s got a bleedin'' interest in gettin'' through ''em tunnels lately! What''s lurkin'' down there, that''s got folks so far wedged in their own streaker? Well, ya done me a solid fixin'' up me motor when it was on its last legs and didn''t blab to the local scrappers, so I reckon it''s time to repay the favor. Don¡¯t get caught. (Flip the note, I ranna outta space)


    Got me, cousin, Occilo. Runs a cheeky li¡¯ operation down under. Underneath Quadrants One, Two, and Eight, that is. Pay him a visit near that Akiyoma Airship replica. Meet him ova¡¯ the sewa¡¯ hole with the fancy drawin¡¯s of the frog people and Giants. Ya¡¯ think they might want to take their ol¡¯ stomping grounds back someday? Anyway, the lad might sort you out proper. Or he might just end up gettin'' you snuffed out. There''s a reason he''s down there, and I''m up here.


    Oh and next time you''re around for a fixin¡¯, please do that. I may or may not have crashed into your garage door again.


    With regards,


    Selton Fox


    PS: Bout¡¯ Midnight. I¡¯m told a purple firework -colorblind ya know-, greenlight and purple light, and Big Star Finish. Bout¡¯ 2 minutes between each. That¡¯s always been the signal.


    ¡°The man signed his name yet doesn¡¯t want to be caught? Colorblind too¡­¡± chuckled Bolton, crumpling the note and sliding it back into his coat pocket, his mind already focused on the task.


    Guided by whispers from his informant, Bolton set off to locate the elusive Occilo, a man renowned for his mastery of the intricate sewer networks beneath New Dwarden. He combed the monument''s base, scanning for any sign of the manhole. Carefully, he crouched and stuck to the shadows under the Akiyoma until he spotted one that matched the description in the letter. The manhole lay just beneath the ship''s hull, to the left of its informational plaque.


    Before setting out on foot, Bolton paused for a moment of respite, casting a cautious glance around him from the shelter of the monument''s shadow. An eerie emptiness filled the typically bustling Akiyoma Square, a stark departure from its usual lively ambiance. The square lay deserted tonight, its tables and podiums left unattended in anticipation of an upcoming gathering. Despite the stillness, Bolton remained vigilant, his gaze flickering warily towards the circular windows of the surrounding buildings. He noticed the occasional Clinker patrolling, blinking their long beams of light in his direction, and the occasional drunk passerby, but none ventured toward the center of Akiyoma Square.


    "I don¡¯t mean to interrupt your mission, Bolton, but the closer you get to the Primarian Royale, the less likely you''ll be to dodge those Clinkers unscathed," cautioned Vermolly from beneath his hat, her voice soft yet urgent. ¡°Try staying in the shadows whenever possible.¡±


    ¡°My brother¡¯s robots have their flaws. They can¡¯t be everywhere, Vermolly. Besides, I have full faith in your¡­ Vap-va,¡± replied Bolton, his voice also soft and quiet.


    ¡°Come now. It¡¯s the moniker you came up with,¡± teased Vermolly.


    "Vaporjet Harness," echoed both Bolton and Vermolly in unison. "Alright, alright," chuckled Bolton. "You built it, so you¡¯ve got more of a duty to remember it," he added playfully, his eyes twinkling beneath the brim of his large brown bowler hat.


    ¡°Well, I agree the Clinkers can¡¯t be everywhere, but unless humans have some skill I¡¯m unaware of, neither can you. More so, an over-reliance on the¡ª¡± Vermolly began before Bolton interrupted.


    ¡°The Vapor Jet Harness!¡± Bolton interjected.


    "Yes!" Vermolly replied happily. "An over-reliance is dangerous. The invention itself is not optimized. We''ll see where this passionate spirit gets you once we¡¯re back at the shop. For now, steer clear of the Clinkers so we may have the chance to begin breakin¡¯ rules," snarked Vermolly under her breath.


    "We''re not getting¡¯ caught. Probably," whispered Bolton playfully. "Besides, Primarian Royale or not, my brother nor New Dwarden can argue with a bright glowing blue gem," he trailed off with uncertainty.


    "Let us hope that is a suitable defense in court," replied Vermolly, her voice disappearing into the sound of loud star-shaped fireworks above.


    Before Bolton could utter another word, a large, looming shadow fell over them. Moments earlier, he had sensed a change in the air, a faint rustling noise that made his heart race. He turned, his breath catching as he saw a towering figure emerge from the darkness of the Akiyoma, jumping down from the ship¡¯s mast. A humanoid creature that wore a patchwork of dark armor, adorned with mechanical enhancements that hissed and rattled with each step. Its eyes gleamed with a dangerous intensity while his chest pounded with the sound of powerful pistons.


    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    The humanoid creature advanced, and a swarm of Clinkers flooded the square, their cold, metallic bodies blocking every exit. The once-quiet space erupted into a cacophony of grinding gears and clanking metal, drowning out the distant fireworks. Bolton¡¯s heart raced as he realized there were too many to count¡ªan overwhelming wall of machinery closing in on him.


    Before Bolton could react, the Clinkers screeched in unison, moving as one towards him. They halted abruptly, their eyes¡ªglowing with an unnatural light¡ªshifting from Bolton to the humanoid figure looming just behind him.


    Of all the Clinker¡¯s, one Clinker caught Bolton''s eye. It stood at the forefront, eerily adorned with confetti and paint, much like the one he had encountered before. Upon seeing it, instinct took over, and Bolton began frantically searching the ground for the sewer mentioned in the letter, nearly forcing himself to forget the presence of the terrifying creature behind him.


    "Bolton! Escape!" Vermolly''s frantic voice yelped from within his cap, snapping his attention to the sewer hole a short distance to his right.


    Vermolly released two spurts of gas, carefully concealing the area around Bolton but making sure he wasn¡¯t caught within it¡ªone grayish cloud meant for concealment, the other green, designed to confuse and disorient anyone unlucky enough to breathe it in. However, this also meant that the humanoid figure behind him remained unaffected by the gas, as it was too far away to be impacted.


    Two sewer holes were visible around Akiyoma Square. One bore an industrial stamp, a carving of a bear roaring into an anvil, symbolizing Quadrant Two¡¯s leader. The other sewer hole, just within reach, glistened under the moonlight¡ªits metallic design matching the description in the letter.


    Escape was all Bolton could think about. He twisted a couple of levers on his belt, clicked a button on his shoes, and launched himself toward the glistening sewer hole using his Vapor Jet Harness, clenching his teeth at the thought of the ¡®thing¡¯ just behind him.


    But before he could gain any ground, Bolton was yanked out of his dash by an iron grip around his ankle, slamming him to the ground and jarring his jaw painfully. A sharp pain shot through his legs as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened.


    "This¡­is wrong¡­something¡¯s wrong¡ª" Bolton¡¯s heart pounded as he turned his gaze upwards, meeting the deafening sounds of the Clinkers and then the ominous sight of two large, glowing red eyes like smoldering brimstone looking down at him.


    "I am Quadrant Leader Two, Enton, The Bear," the figure declared, stepping closer, his voice cold and dripping with malice. "You will know my name. You will remember it, and you will leave New Dwarden. This is your only warning."


    ¡°I remember you... what you were! What happened to you? I... I can¡¯t just leave¡ªI won¡¯t!¡± Bolton stammered, his voice wavering under the crushing weight of fear that radiated from the shadowy figure.


    ¡°Understood.¡± Enton¡¯s voice rumbled, a chilling void of emotion.


    Without warning, a loud whirring sound erupted from Enton¡¯s right side, sending a jolt of terror through Bolton. Instinctively, he scurried away the sound, his mind racing. Desperately, Bolton tried to shield Vermolly and escape with a burst from his Vapor Jet Harness, but it was too late. The whirring abruptly ceased, and Bolton felt a cold, metallic grip latch onto his back, crushing the air from his lungs and yanking him with terrifying force. The impact sent him crashing to the ground once more, his cap flying off in the process.


    Bolton¡¯s mind spun from the blow, his thoughts a jumbled mess of pain and confusion. Despite the chaos, his eyes fixated on the sewer hole, gleaming faintly just a few feet away¡ªa distant beacon of escape. But before he could move, a sickening crunch reverberated through the air. Time seemed to slow as Bolton turned his head, dread pooling in his stomach. There, he saw it: Enton¡¯s massive foot retracting from the flattened remains of his cap¡ªof Vermolly.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Bolton¡¯s voice was drowned out by the fireworks exploding overhead.


    He reached for the crushed cap, but it was too late. Vermolly lay motionless, her tiny form mangled and lifeless, the vibrant spirit that had guided him through countless storms snuffed out in an instant. Pain radiated through Bolton as he lay on the cold ground, his gaze fixed on her broken body. A wave of despair crashed over him, quickly overtaken by a surge of viciously raw fury. Vermolly wasn¡¯t just a companion¡ªshe was his anchor in this chaotic world, a voice of guidance and reason. And now she was gone, leaving him adrift in a sea of guilt and rage. The tears that threatened to fall simply didn¡¯t, giving birth to seething vengeance.


    ¡°This... this is enough! What happened to you!?¡± Bolton¡¯s voice cracked with anguish, his breath ragged, his fury shaking the platform beneath him. Rage and sorrow surged through him as he faced the Enton, whose gaze remained cold and unfeeling.


    ¡°An alchemian aligned herself with a pirate. That is her fate. There are no more warnings,¡± Enton said, his tone as icy as ever.


    With almost no effort, Enton flipped Bolton over with his large arms, and hoisted him up, bringing their faces inches apart.


    Before Bolton was a human being unlike any he had ever seen. Enton was massive, his shoulders broad, his muscles unnaturally chiseled. He wore only a pair of overalls hanging loosely from his sides, exposing a glass-like window in his chest that revealed his heart, glowing with the same eerie light as his eyes. Dark metallic patches of armor were embedded across his body, and pistons jutted from his back, reminiscent of the crank mechanisms common among New Dwarden soldiers. Despite his mostly human appearance, Bolton felt as if he were staring into the maw of a human furnace.


    Bolton¡¯s mind raced, his thoughts spiraling as he tried to grasp the horror before him. ¡°Why!? You¡¯re supposed to protect us! That¡¯s what Quadrant Leaders do!¡± he shouted, his voice breaking with desperation. ¡°You¡¯re Yerro¡¯s will¡ªmy brother¡¯s will! How could you¡ª?¡±


    Enton¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°A heart. None will be taken. Look at what I¡¯ve done and understand: mine will not be taken¡ªnor my brethren¡¯s. This is a threat, and I will deliver. To you. To Amelia. To the King.¡±


    Bolton¡¯s world splintered, his heart torn between viscous rage and a call for vengeance. The truth cut deeper than he could have imagined. Anguish burned in his eyes as he glared at the figure before him, his teeth grinding until the taste of blood filled his mouth.


    ¡°I will ki¡ª¡± Bolton¡¯s words were cut short by a swift, metallic palm striking his face, knocking him out cold.


    ¡°You will do nothing,¡± Enton replied, his voice chillingly calm, before the sound of Bolton¡¯s vapor jet harness being crushed echoed through the square.


    Bolton¡¯s body went limp, his consciousness fading as tears welled in his eyes. He stared at Vermolly¡¯s remains, his vision blurring as darkness consumed him.


    Suddenly, another shadow emerged from the nearby sewer hole. It was a creature cloaked in the darkness of the night, its eyes boiling with a fiery orange glow and its mouth filled with pulsating, swollen red tissue, saliva dripping from its gaping jaws. In an instant, the creature¡¯s tongue shot out like a striking serpent, wrapping around Bolton¡¯s waist and yanking him out of Enton¡¯s grasp, dragging him swiftly toward the sewer.


    Bolton watched in stunned disbelief as the creature¡¯s tongue pulled him in. He was too weak to resist, too terrified to move. Enton reeled from a sudden, unknown blow that struck the side of his cheek. As Bolton was dragged away, he caught sight of a figure crouched on the Akiyoma anchor, holding a smoking weapon and wearing a sinister, playful smile. Smoke curled from Enton¡¯s face where the blow had landed.


    Like the creature lurking in the sewer, the figure was obscured by the night. They appeared to be dressed in a long, flowing robe, possibly trimmed with fur and wore goggles that reflected the moonlight with an orange tinge. Their grin was unnaturally wide. After firing what seemed to be a hand cannon-like weapon at Enton, the figure leaped over Enton¡¯s head, diving headfirst into the sewer and landing gracefully above the creature. As darkness closed in and the creature¡¯s mouth enveloped him, Bolton heard a voice in the distance: ¡°Who¡¯s your favorite cousin!?¡±

 Bonus Extra 4: Chapter 3- Whistlin Death (All-In-One)

    Amelia


    As the Pappy Long Legs ascended higher into the tranquil evening skies of Quadrant Seven, Amelia pressed her face against the grand circular window at the end of a dimly lit corridor. The window, like a domed pier reaching into the heavens, offered vistas only an airship could provide. Below it, the metallic platform shimmered with a bronze sheen, while sleek wooden rails provided just enough height for Amelia to peer over the edge.


    Stretching her arms toward the sky, Amelia marveled at the breathtaking panorama unfolding before her. There was no wind, no scent of flowers, and no dust in the air as there had been in the Conkle mines. Yet, the warm golden glow of the evening sunlight made her feel as if she were flying. For a moment, the weight of her recent fears seemed as light as the clouds wisping around the airship, carried away by the boundless horizon.


    Beneath the airship, a patchwork of colorful fields and distant forests, with towering trees spiraling aggressively into the heavens, spread out like a living tapestry. The landscape blurred beneath her, and Amelia¡¯s thoughts flitted between the thrill of venturing beyond New Dwarden and the familiar thirteen Quadrants¡ªplaces far from the reach of any king or ruler. "No more uniform. No more rock scratchin¡¯," she mused, glancing down at her loosely worn pajamas.


    These oversized blue-striped pajamas, originally tailored for a more human-sized Roy, had been gifted to her by Rick earlier with a morbid chuckle. Despite his grim humor, the pajamas provided a surprising comfort, perhaps even a small solace for him as well even though it smelled of old mead and a strange vanilla mix. Amelia¡ªbefore Roy¡¯s mysterious transformation into a machine¡ªwas relatively the same height, give or take longer sleeve sizes and chest size.


    After wandering the ship for what felt like hours, Amelia found herself drawn to the observation deck, which seemed oddly out of place yet somehow the only logical destination. The floors above offered cozy furniture and even a hot tub, but the allure of the hidden mysteries beneath the surface was far stronger. Every other direction led to dimly lit metallic corridors, their cold, industrial feel amplified by the rhythmic ticks and clanks that hinted at secrets waiting to be uncovered. What began as a simple quest to find the hot tub she had glimpsed from above soon turned into a captivating exploration of the ship¡¯s massive clockwork mechanisms and intricate metallic gearwork.


    Her quarters, barren save for a small cot and a basket of bread offered little to occupy her thoughts. The captivating sunset, however, provided a much-needed distraction from the shadows of melancholy that lingered in the corners of her mind.


    The Pappy Long Legs felt like it had a mind of its own. Its metal bones groaned and twisted in the still night air, and every breath seemed to resonate through its hull like the pulse of a living thing. After her initial nap aboard, Amelia had pressed her ear against her door, listening as the airship carved its way through the skies. The creaking and shifting of its inner workings sounded like whispering voices, as though the ship was sharing secrets she wasn¡¯t meant to hear.


    Despite her wandering thoughts, Amelia felt a swell of pride as she gazed toward the horizon. From a life of relative privilege and comfort to one of darkness, death, and newfound strength, she had ventured far beyond her accustomed boundaries. But with that pride came a gnawing worry¡ªwhat price would she and her brothers ultimately pay for this journey into the unknown?


    "ALL ROYS, PLEASE REPORT TO YOUR NEAREST STATION. It''s high time we prepare for a nightly cruise," crackled Rick''s voice over a rusted intercom embedded between the golden pipes lining the dimly lit halls. ¡°Get the right yeast! The right yeast, ya¡¯ Hogpin!¡±


    "All Roys?" Amelia mumbled to herself. "How many sons¡­?" she wondered.


    "Except the Roy¡ª" Rick''s voice coughed with metallic reverberation. "Except the Roy with the uhh¡­ the bloomin¡¯ pliers. And I may¡ªwill¡ªneed that Roy¡­ here and now," he explained, followed by a loud crash over the intercom. "Right now! Oh, and D-dear Amelia!¡±


    ¡°Old man. Do you need help?¡± Amelia thought, but before she could act, Rick¡¯s voice crackled back to life.


    ¡°Amelia! I know you said you need time to think, but thinkin¡¯ means¡­ not touchin¡¯ anything that spins, moves, creaks, crumps, and¡ªwell, you get the idea,¡± Rick added after a brief moment of static. ¡°I recommend you rest Crowny, however, I ain¡¯t gonna stop ya¡¯ from wandering. Just understand it¡¯s all boots on deck when we arrive at Veranus. Straight to meet a fellow Hammer by the name o¡¯ Pistol and your brother Bolton.¡±


    ¡°Rick, about the damn ceremony!?¡± shouted Amelia toward the general direction of Rick¡¯s voice.


    ¡°You¡¯re probably wondering how you could see those brother of yer¡¯s without succumbin¡¯ to somethin¡¯ uglier than me? Soul Rot is the word. Oh, and if I can see you? Well, I can¡¯t see you. This isn¡¯t science fiction,¡± said Rick in a matter-of-fact tone. ¡°Anyway, I don¡¯t know the details, but one of ¡®em other Crowny brothers of yours¡ªI¡¯m sure¡ªwill fill ya in. He may have found a way through or around it. I suppose consequences be damned.¡±


    Amelia rolled her eyes at Rick¡¯s comment and leaned over the railing, lost in thought as the metallic hum of his voice faded back into the network of copper pipes. To her, the rules of the Greisha ceremony were simple and absolute: First, upon reaching the age of 18, royalty must bond with a spirit representative of Yerro and form a contract, undertaking three challenges that test their core values, much like New Dwarden¡¯s military slogan of Power, Pride, Practice. Second, upon completion of these challenges, the victor is crowned by the former, current, or acting ruler. Third¡ªas far as Amelia could recall¡ªthose who fail to become King or Queen are bound by contract to leave the Primarian Royale never to contact one another. ¡°So how could she see Bolton without breaking the contract?¡± she wondered.


    The abrupt, jarring noise of something breaking snapped Amelia out of her thoughts about the Greisha ceremony, forcing her to focus on the present as Rick¡¯s clattering sounds filled the air. She couldn¡¯t shake the guilt of leaving Rick alone in his makeshift bakery, regretting her reassurances that he was better off working independently while she explored the ship. The image of his reluctant agreement replayed in her mind, though her worry eased as she recalled his agile metallic limbs, moving with the precision of an iron spider. ¡°Perhaps the old man was just tired or distracted?¡± she mused, letting out a light giggle and shrugging before refocusing on the world unfurling just beyond the railing.


    Her world had long been confined within the borders of Quadrant Seven, cradled in the protective embrace of its vibrant tree line. Each glance into the wilderness of Quadrant Seven brought a wave of nostalgia, pulling her thoughts back to the brown leather shoes and wooden sandals of the villages below. Each village, a tiny cluster of islands, brimming with culinary delights, lively taverns, and exotic creatures roaming cobbled streets and dirt roads. It was nothing like the inner quadrants, but the sense of community flowed as generously as the ale in its taverns.


    However, amidst the delightful aromas of smoky foods and savory drinks thrived a large community of miners, affectionately known to the locals as Yardrats¡ªand to Amelia, as brothers¡ªwho toiled tirelessly to keep the Quadrant''s lights aglow from deep beneath the earth. Whether extracting crystals or ores, the Yardrats were local celebrities, often treated as if each meal might be their last. Though the work was dangerous, the enduring memories of perilous adventures and frequent brushes with death brought a serendipitous smile to Amelia''s lips. The now precious moments like being trapped between cave-ins, discovering precious ores dangling over pitch-black ravines, or encountering dangerous animals, monsters, and curious spirits only widened her smile.


    Even now, never in her wildest dreams had Amelia imagined witnessing the majestic canopy of Quadrant Seven''s legendary Kalpin Trees. Scattered across the landscape, these trees held the notorious record for producing one of the most expensive fruits in New Dwarden¡ªa fruit coveted by the city''s top air and seafarers. It was said that a single piece of the giant Kalpin fruit contained enough nutrients to sustain a person for five days without water. Amelia had to see it for herself. As the airship drifted higher into the skies, she leaned over the rails, determined not to miss a glimpse of the legendary giant red fruit that grew exclusively at the summits of the Kalpin Trees.


    ¡°Rick! I don¡¯t care if you can hear me, but I see them! I can actually see the fruit! And even the monsters that guard them! Woooooo! What an animal!¡± she cheered, her voice brimming with excitement. ¡°What a dream!¡± Her words gradually faded, swallowed by the sound of the gale outside the glass dome.


    From this height, she could make out the swirling patterns atop the fruit, adorned with yellow polka-dotted protrusions. She also noticed the large bee-like insects that called the insides of the giant fruit their home. Amelia recalled the many legendary stories of how denizens from all around the Quadrants would attempt to harvest the fruit, only to fall victim to the creatures'' fatal paralyzing scent and deadly pincers. Though she didn¡¯t know all the details, she, like all Yardrats, knew that few had ever seen the fruit, let alone tasted it.


    The Kalpin Trees were almost everything she had imagined. Though they didn¡¯t quite reach the fabled heights spoken of in tales, their sturdy trunks provided the timber for many of the fortified homes built within the inner Quadrants, capable of withstanding even the fiercest New Dwardian storms.


    ¡°Amelia!¡± called out several overlapping voices, as if suddenly manifesting from thin air.


    Amelia frantically searched around, initially dismissing the strange voices as a figment of her imagination¡ªperhaps a side effect of an overlooked head injury, or maybe Rick or Roy calling from a great distance.


    ¡°Amelia Woltwork!¡± the voices insisted loudly. ¡°Look at your locket-er, pendant! Whatever the hell¡¯s on your neck! Open it!¡± they urged in unison.


    With her heart racing, Amelia looked down at her silver pendant. She carefully opened it, as if handling a delicate explosive. Inside, the blue crystal embedded within glowed once more.


    ¡°Who or what are you?¡± Amelia blurted out, her voice a mix of surprise and frustration. The world around her had become increasingly complex, and she was growing tired of the constant barrage of mysteries. ¡°Must I interrogate everything?¡± she muttered to herself, raising her locket toward the fading evening sun. The light danced on its surface, casting a warm glow over her fingers. She wondered, not for the first time, if this small trinket held the answers she desperately needed. Frustration welled up inside her as she shook it slightly, hoping to shake loose a revelation.


    ¡°There are quite a few of us here, really. But let¡¯s not be coy. I¡¯m Cameron. I¡¯m your brother¡¯s -The King- Keeper,¡± came a voice, soft yet firm, from the locket. ¡°We¡¯re at the Primarian Royale known to you as Quadrant Zero.¡±


    ¡°I got his letter! And where¡¯s my brother? Where¡¯s is he?¡± Amelia demanded, her voice edged with confusion and growing worry.


    ¡°Understood. And not to worry. He¡¯s here. Most of him...¡± Cameron replied, but the way the words trailed off made Amelia¡¯s stomach twist with unease.


    ¡°Most of him?¡± Amelia echoed, her voice sharpening with curiosity and anxiety. She could feel her heart beginning to race.


    ¡°Yes. However, on my honor, he¡¯s still alive and will continue to be should you listen,¡± Cameron¡¯s gentle yet stern voice became muffled, as though struggling against a strange, ethereal interference.¡±


    Before Amelia could process what was happening, the locket began to levitate, tugging at the chain still fastened around her neck. It spun in place, faster and faster, until it hovered just above her hand. A brilliant blue light erupted from it, bathing the room in an otherworldly glow. This was different¡ªbefore, the locket had only glimmered faintly in the presence of unseen danger or its potential. She had always felt a subtle, uneasy sensation whenever it was near, but this was something else entirely. The light felt calm, almost reassuring, yet she couldn¡¯t shake the fear that the necklace might strangle her in its spinning frenzy if the pivoting piece at its top broke or jammed.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t the time for idle chatter!¡± Another voice broke through, rougher, deeper, and far more urgent. ¡°Let me get in... l-et me...¡± The voices clashed before the rougher one took control. ¡°Er¡ªHear me, Crowny! I¡¯m Ehmir, a member of the Primarian Hammer. I¡¯ve got Cameron of the Primarian Arc here, your fool of a brother Bolton, and the mud puddle of a King in a sewer under the Primarian Royale.¡±


    ¡°Put ¡¯em¡ªwhatever this is! P-put ¡¯em on the crystal!¡± Amelia shouted, gnawing at her fingers in a mix of confusion and desperation.


    ¡°Er¡­¡± Ehmir grumbled, ¡°It¡¯s not that easy, missy.¡±


    ¡°Pass the crystal, no?¡± Amelia suggested, her frustration intensifying.


    ¡°Listen, Dolly. Do you know how to grab a floating crystal? Better yet, do you know how to ring someone with a bloody rock? No? Well, Dolly, you see the predicament. We¡¯re all playing baseball with two sticks and no ball.¡±


    Amelia sighed, understanding Ehmir¡¯s tone but growing more anxious by the second, especially since she hadn¡¯t heard anything concrete about her brothers. She glanced back at the walls of the Pappy Long Legs, hoping Rick might be listening in, just in case she was imagining this entire bizarre situation.


    ¡°Next lesson, Crowny. I knew your brother Bolton would find a foolish way to get here, and so did the King. I just didn¡¯t expect him to show up wedged between a giant lizard and an attached caveman to boot.¡±


    ¡°Caveman?¡± shouted another voice from the distance, causing Amelia to blink in confusion. ¡°Like, ancient? Because that¡¯s kind of right.¡±


    ¡°Never mind that. In a world of giants, monsters, and spirits, let¡¯s just toss in a caveman for good measure!¡± Amelia said sarcastically.


    ¡°Good idea! Let¡¯s¡ª¡± Ehmir started to say.


    ¡°No, Ehmir! Help me bring some sense into this. Spit some truth,¡± Amelia interrupted, forcing herself to stay calm. The situation was spiraling out of control, but she needed to keep her wits about her.


    ¡°Soul Rot. ¡¯Fraid it¡¯s got the King. He¡¯s really not himself. As you know, it manifests differently in everyone,¡± replied Cameron softly. ¡°As for the caveman, we¡¯re working on that.¡±


    ¡°Are my brothers okay?¡± Amelia¡¯s hand instinctively reached toward the locket, as if by some miracle she could touch the King and offer comfort.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, nor am I allowed to say. Please, Amelia, as hard as a nut Ehmir can be, he speaks truth and he cares. You¡¯ll find that to be a rare quality. Please, just listen,¡± Cameron¡¯s voice pleaded. There was a weight in his words that made Amelia¡¯s heartache.


    ¡°Listen here, Dolly, before the rot began to eat away at your brother¡¯s thick noggin, he instructed me and the other Hammers to relay some crucial information. I¡¯m specifically supposed to tell ya that the gem around you and your brother was to be crushed. The blue part, that is. He knew full well that Yerro would overhear and leak information like a hive mind¡ªor however it does its spreading. We can only assume Yerro hears everything, if not in person,¡± Ehmir explained.


    ¡°What, do I have to go looking for each Primarian Hammer to know if my brothers are okay?¡± Amelia asked, her sarcasm masking her rising panic.


    ¡°Focus, girly. Now hear me, yah?¡± Ehmir proposed.


    ¡°Yah,¡± Amelia agreed reluctantly.


    ¡°Inside the gem is a fleshy sphere. Keep that close and don¡¯t crush that thing. Only the shell. That shinin¡¯ blue shell of that gem gives out some sort of soundwave¡ª¡±


    ¡°Frequency,¡± Cameron interjected from just behind Ehmir.


    ¡°Yes, frequency, that some dangerous blowhorns can track. Every New Dwardian and all of their unborn children know not to mess with a Quadrant Leader and I¡¯m sure much more. But it seems fate has decided to play a new game with the Woltwork family at its center. As far as we know, Yerro is now the enemy -at least at the moment-, and so are all thirteen Quadrant Leaders,¡± Ehmir continued.


    ¡°Enemies?¡± Amelia muttered, her thoughts swirling in a mix of disbelief and horror. What had she gotten herself into? ¡°And the Quadrant Leaders are the enemy too? Why?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tug a lion¡¯s tail, Dolly. Information is the killer of loose lips. Now listen, Amelia. Your brother yapped about containin¡¯ one¡¯s soul inside of one¡¯s heart, and how that rule doesn¡¯t come out of any storybook,¡± Ehmir pressed on.


    ¡°It¡¯s a natural law that applies to Yerro as well,¡± Cameron interjected gently. ¡°However, we fear it applies to you. When you crack that gem of yours, please think about that when holding onto the¡ª¡±


    ¡°We call it the fleshy circle,¡± Ehmir interjected.


    ¡°Terrible name, really. But yes, the fleshy circle,¡± Cameron agreed reluctantly.


    ¡°Yerro is¡ª¡± Amelia began, but Cameron cut her off.


    ¡°Stop. Best not to say anything more unless you want to incur the wrath of what appears to be the entire city. Again, unfortunately, this conversation can be heard on more channels than just our ears,¡± Cameron warned.


    ¡°Oi, Amelia, I saved yer¡¯ brother! Now, pay me!¡± Another gruff voice suddenly blurted out, causing Amelia to flinch. ¡°Don¡¯t think he can no¡¯ more. Least for a while.¡±


    ¡°Off with you! Get away from the crystal, will you! Our problem is far larger than any paycheck you¡¯ll ever receive!¡± Cameron snapped back, her frustration evident.


    ¡°More pay, you say?¡± the gruff voice responded sheepishly. ¡°Well, I¡¯m as sorry as the underside of a dog¡¯s tail.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re sorry, are you? Since you¡¯re sorry, what was it¡ªOccilo? Occilo the caveman? I suppose the Primarian Guard won¡¯t kill us then,¡± Cameron added, her tone dripping with sarcasm as it echoed further away and close again. ¡°¡¯Fraid you¡¯re in this predicament too. Pulled right in,¡± Cameron mocked, her voice now becoming clearer.


    ¡°My brothers. Are they alive?¡± Amelia asked again, desperation creeping into her voice, ignoring the banter unfolding before her.


    ¡°Bolton¡¯s stuck visiting the underside of his eyelids,¡± Occilo added.


    ¡°Occilo!?¡± Cameron yelled. ¡°Will you please!?¡±


    ¡°The sewer caveman¡¯s right. Young lad¡¯s been roughed up by a Quadrant Leader, but he¡¯s alive and should heal just fine in the coming days. I know Pistol¡¯s going to see to that,¡± Ehmir commented. ¡°Dolly, our fine King, on the other hand... you¡¯ll hear of him when you arrive in Veranus. I received a directive statin¡¯ ¡®divulge information to the former Primarian Hammer named Pistol. He works on a Midnight Train dubbed¡ª¡± Ehmir continued. ¡°Well, can¡¯t tell ya the rest. You¡¯ll meet him either way.¡±


    Amelia leaned closer to the crystal, almost as if she could hear Ehmir grinding his teeth at Occilo¡¯s comments. ¡°Anyway, sorry to cut our yappin¡¯ reunion short, Amelia!¡± Ehmir¡¯s voice suddenly boomed, overpowering Cameron¡¯s. ¡°Are you with Rick now?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Y-you can¡¯t see me? Right?¡± Amelia wondered aloud, glancing around as if the shadows themselves could be spying on her.


    ¡°No, this isn¡¯t science fiction. Just tell the ol¡¯ bread baker that we are delayed in our exit but will meet at Veranus all the same! He¡¯ll know where¡ªleast he should,¡± Ehmir instructed.


    ¡°I will!¡± Amelia nodded, her focus narrowing in on the conversation. ¡°Anything else? What do I do?¡±


    ¡°Take in the bloody sights! As for the King, his soul¡¯s in a scruff with the city of New Dwarden itself. He¡¯s fightin¡¯ for all of us! Fists up and gob closed,¡± Ehmir¡¯s voice was urgent, pressing her to understand the gravity of the situation.


    ¡°His soul?¡± Amelia whispered, the word feeling heavy on her tongue.


    ¡°I¡¯ll write a book on it later,¡± Ehmir¡¯s voice began to fade, leaving Amelia with more questions than answers. ¡°He¡ª¡±


    ¡°He what?¡± Amelia blurted out, fear tightening around her heart. She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep her emotions in check. ¡°Watch out for a creature with a dog head! He tried to eat me!¡± she shouted, but the silence that followed was deafening.


    ¡°Dammit! Smash my finger betwixt a cog! Why a floating city!? ... I should¡¯ve stayed in the mines,¡± she thought to herself. "What have I gotten us into? What kind of danger have my brothers and I been stewing in?¡±


    Amelia¡¯s fingers twitched around the locket. Crush the blue gem? The thought was both reckless and tempting. The gem¡¯s soft glow seemed to taunt her, daring her to act. Maybe beneath this glowing facade lies the fleshy circle. I can¡¯t deny my curiosity, she thought. But does it hold answers or just more trouble?


    She scowled, knowing full well that whatever was inside the ¡°fleshy circle¡± probably wasn¡¯t anything pleasant. The name alone made her stomach churn.


    Am I really supposed to crack this thing open and hope for the best? She sighed, shaking her head. "Crush the shell, but not the fleshy circle," Ehmir had said. Easier said than done. With one last glance at the gem, she lowered her hand, muttering, ¡°What a time to be me.¡± Then, as if a small spark of reason broke through, she added, ¡°Best ask Rick. He might know.¡± There were too many unknowns, and Amelia knew better than to play with fire¡ªat least for now.


    Amelia leaned over the railing, deep in thought. ¡°Take in the bloody sights,¡± he said. How can I do that now? she wondered. A story that begins with an attack from a creature should¡¯ve ended just as fast. Am I really just lucky?


    The vast wilderness below stretched endlessly, a living tapestry of greens and golds, whisping beneath the airship like the world¡¯s grandest canvas. It was a sight meant to inspire awe, yet Amelia¡¯s mind clung stubbornly to darker memories¡ªthe moment the "Devil Dog" had crashed into her life, setting her on this harrowing journey. The beauty of the landscape couldn¡¯t wash away the lingering terror.


    New Dwarden¡¯s dangers weren¡¯t just confined to the shadows or the mines; they thrived in the open wilds, where creatures as fierce as Kalpin monsters guarded their territories, and spirits roamed with purposes beyond human comprehension. Quadrant Seven was no different. From her vantage point on the Pappy Long Legs, Amelia caught glimpses of the Quadrant¡¯s infamous inhabitants¡ªsome grotesque and imposing, others so small they seemed like mere specks from her height.


    But none of these beings held the same grip on her thoughts as the Devil Dog. That monstrous entity was more than just some monster; it was a shadow that refused to be banished, a constant reminder of the fragility of life but more importantly of the mystery her life may hold. The terror it instilled had carved a permanent scar in her memory, a scar she couldn''t ignore no matter how stunning the view.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the present. The horizon was painted in hues of red and gold as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the landscape. Suddenly, a flock of Ignorpa¡ªcreatures resembling oversized lizards with feathered wings¡ªsoared alongside the airship. Their appearance offered a brief but welcome distraction from her dark thoughts.


    "I guess¡­ some animals don¡¯t want a fresh slab of you," she muttered, a wry smile tugging at her lips. ¡°Though I wouldn¡¯t mind if things were a bit smaller. And fewer teeth would be nice too¡­¡±


    The rhythmic flapping of the Ignorpas'' wings cut through the wind, a steady beat that was strangely calming. Amelia¡¯s hand instinctively reached for a weapon that wasn¡¯t there, a reflex born from the countless dangers she¡¯d faced. But there was no need for it now. The Ignorpas, graceful in their flight, were uninterested in her or the ship. She watched them, captivated by their effortless glide through the air, the sunlight catching on their pale wings.


    ¡°Am¡­elia?¡± a voice called out from the distance, distorted and faint.


    Amelia stiffened, her hand dropping from the railing. She scanned the dimly lit interior of the airship, eyes narrowing as she tried to make out the source of the voice. ¡°Bolton!? Ehmir!? Rick?¡± she called out, her voice echoing off the metallic walls. The playful tone she¡¯d used moments ago faded quickly as unease crept in. "See, this is why I¡¯m not sold on the whole ''I¡¯m not being kidnapped'' concept," she muttered to herself, adding more quietly, "...Roy?"


    But no response came, just the soft sway of the triangular lanterns lining the hallway. The airship¡¯s steady hum seemed louder in the absence of any other noise. She tried again, her voice more urgent this time, ¡°Roy. Roy! Which way¡¯s the hole I¡¯m stayin¡¯ in?¡±


    Only silence answered.


    Amelia¡¯s gaze dropped to the blue gem embedded in her locket, her fingers brushing it as if seeking comfort. The quiet pressed in around her, thick and heavy, as she started down the hallway. Each step echoed ominously in the dark, her earlier curiosity now tinged with apprehension. The idea of exploring a city in the sky had once filled her with excitement, but now the ship¡¯s dimly lit corridors felt more like a labyrinth of looming dangers. The memory of the Devil Dog surfaced again, its dark form threatening to engulf her thoughts. Tears welled in her eyes as she muttered, ¡°Fear¡­doesn¡¯t¡­suite me.¡±


    ¡°In-qui-si-tive,¡± a robotic voice echoed, cutting through the stillness.


    Amelia¡¯s heart jumped, her eyes darting to the source. The lanterns flickered, casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the walls. The Devil Dog¡¯s ticking shadow receded, replaced by ghostly memories of her Yardrat family and other miners¡ªfigures from a past that urged her forward toward a goal she didn¡¯t yet understand.


    At the end of the corridor, shadows seemed to swirl and dart from corner to corner. Overlapping whispers filled the air, growing louder as she approached until a bright blue light shone from beneath a door just a few steps away. Cautiously, she moved closer, each step heavy with trepidation.


    ¡°Rick!¡± Amelia called, panic rising in her voice. ¡°Can you invent some better lights? And maybe a sign too.¡±


    ¡°INQUISITIVE?¡± the voice responded, now a ghostly wail, followed by another flash of blue light from under the door.


    ¡°Push a Yardrat!¡± she muttered, puffing up her chest as if to summon courage. ¡°You blast the mines!¡± Her steps were careful, her movements precise as she approached the door, her scowl deepening.


    The door was unlike any other on the Pappy Long Legs¡ªlarge, wooden, circular, with an orange iron handle and a metallic owl emerging from it. The owl¡¯s dark metal eyes seemed to follow her, its body poised as if ready to leap from the door at any moment. Above the owl, the number two was etched alongside the words, ¡°Perch by night. Stalk the day.¡± Another inscription, in a language foreign to her, added to the door¡¯s mysterious allure.


    She leaned in, her curiosity piqued by the door¡¯s design. The wood was glossy and inlaid with ornate gems, unlike anything she¡¯d seen before. The owl¡¯s eyes, made from an unfamiliar material, reflected the dim light in a way that made them seem almost alive.


    ¡°You are inquisitive¡­ like me,¡± a voice whispered from behind her.


    ¡°By the¡ª!¡± Amelia yelped, spinning around, her fist instinctively ready to strike. She found herself face-to-face with a small metallic being. Its square-shaped head was adorned with tiny rotating cogs and wheels, its eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light, and its mouth a simple round hole, like a mechanical walking jack-o-lantern.


    ¡°Down in the Conkle, I¡¯ve seen all sorts of automatons,¡± Amelia panted, trying to steady her breath. ¡°So what¡¯s your speed, little guy? Dancin¡¯ or smashin¡¯?¡± She lowered herself to the robot¡¯s eye level, torn between fear and fascination.


    ¡°I am¡­ Looking¡­ For¡­ Friend,¡± the robot replied, its eyes glowing with a hint of emotion.


    Amelia straightened, taking a cautious step back as the robot¡ªRoy¡ªopened its head to reveal a tiny gyrocopter. She watched, bewildered, as it began to hover before her, its metallic limbs hanging limp.


    ¡°Only moles make friends in the dark,¡± she teased, trying to mask her nerves.


    ¡°And¡­ Owls?¡± the robot pondered, its head tilting in a jerky motion toward the door beside Amelia. ¡°Owl¡­ Like¡­ Dark.¡±


    ¡°Maybe, little automaton¡­¡± Amelia sighed, relenting. ¡°Mind guiding me to my room? Or at least the hot tub?¡±


    The robot didn¡¯t answer immediately, its body twitching in what seemed like an idle dance. Something in its eyes¡ªlike the first Roy she¡¯d encountered¡ªlooked almost human, radiating a sense of innocence.


    ¡°Please¡­ Away from Owl¡­ To home,¡± the machine suddenly exclaimed, launching into another joyful dance, its arms spinning wildly. ¡°Orders. Orders. Orders.¡±


    ¡°Away from Owl?¡± Amelia repeated, her suspicion growing as she glanced toward the door beside her.


    ¡°Roy¡­ Life¡­ Inside¡­ We¡­ Roy¡­ Many¡­ Many,¡± the robot explained cryptically. ¡°You¡­ Can¡­ Be¡­ Roy.¡±


    "See, when automatons talk like that...?" Amelia repeated her confusion deepening as she tried to make sense of the strange interaction. "Just being me is the better option."


    She again crouched to meet the little Roy at eye level as it descended to the ground again. There was something behind its eyes that had caught her attention¡ªa small blue glow, similar to the one in her locket, flickering deep within its seemingly hollow head. The light was faint but unmistakable, as though a tiny spark of life was trying to reach out to her. Before she could examine it any further, the machine seemed to notice her staring and swiftly concealed the blue light behind the more prominent yellow glow of its eyes, as if shielding a secret.


    ¡°Little Roy," Amelia said, her voice gentle but probing, "care to explain what you mean by ¡®life inside¡¯?" Her eyes narrowed slightly as she focused on what she thought might be a small, hidden pupil in the form of a tiny blue flame within the machine¡¯s gaze.


    Before the little automaton could respond, the walls of the Pappy Long Legs shuddered, a low rumble resonating through the ship as if it were waking from a long slumber. The tremor rippled through the very bones of the vessel, and Amelia instinctively reached out to steady herself against the wall.


    ¡°What now...?¡± she muttered, her heart quickening. The hallway around her began to shift, panels sliding open and closed as though the ship itself was rearranging its innards. It was as if the Pappy Long Legs was alive, and Amelia was suddenly very aware that she was standing within its belly.


    ¡°Rick. Owl. Heart. More Hearts. One. Soul,¡± came Roy¡¯s flat, almost lifeless response, the light in its eyes dimming as it spoke, leaving it motionless and inert.


    ¡°One soul?¡± Amelia murmured to herself, her voice barely audible as she tried to comprehend the strange words.


    Startled, Amelia staggered backward, her breath catching in her throat. From hidden crevices, grates, vents, and darkened corners, a swarm of robots began to emerge, their metallic forms clinking softly as they entered the dim light. A small glimmer of blue shone its way through the darkness, flickering between the interchanging yellow and blue in their eyes. Each one was slightly different from the next, yet they all shared the same makeshift, jack-o''-lantern-like shape. Despite their varying appearances, there was an unsettling uniformity in the way they moved¡ªpurposeful, deliberate, and with a strange unity that set Amelia¡¯s nerves on edge.


    The machines turned their gaze toward the Roy closest to Amelia, almost as if awaiting orders. With a mixture of awe and unease, Amelia watched as the robots formed a silent assembly, their glowing eyes fixated on her with an intensity that felt almost human. She could feel the weight of their collective gaze, a silent pressure that seemed to pulse in the confined space of the corridor.


    "Okay¡­ friends? You are all Roys, correct?" mumbled Amelia, her voice quivering slightly as she tried to break the oppressive silence. The uncertainty in the air was thick, almost tangible, as if the ship itself was holding its breath.


    ¡°Friend!¡± the robots echoed, one after another, their voices ringing out in unison. ¡°Yes. FRIEND. Order. Order.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s heart pounded in her chest, the word "friend" feeling more like a declaration than a reassurance. "How do I get back to my quarters? Care to show me?" she asked with a playful bow, trying to mask her growing anxiety. Sweat trickled down her neck, pooling at the base of her chin.


    She cautiously turned to face the door adorned with an owl, a symbol of wisdom and watchfulness that offered no comfort in the current situation. But before she could take a step toward it, she was intercepted by yet another Roy. This one was smaller than the rest, but its presence was far more unsettling. Its blank, glowing eyes were fixed on her with a cold, almost malevolent intensity. Unlike the others, this Roy bore no trace of the mysterious blue light behind its eyes¡ªonly a stale, lifeless yellow that radiated an eerie emptiness.


    There was something inherently wrong about this automaton. Its stance was more aggressive, its movements sharper and more deliberate, as if driven by a different, darker purpose. The ticking and tocking of its gears were harsh and disjointed, like a clock that had been wound too tightly and was now on the verge of breaking. The sound was unnerving, each tick echoing like a countdown to some inevitable catastrophe.


    With a sudden, almost contemptuous flick of its wrist, the small Roy shooed the previous Roy away. The motion was harsh yet disturbingly precise, as if this automaton held authority over the others. The other Roys hesitated for a moment, their gears clicking in a collective murmur of unease before they slowly backed off, retreating into the shadows like obedient soldiers deferring to a superior officer.


    Amelia''s heart pounded as she watched the small Roy. There was no longer any hint of camaraderie in the air¡ªonly a growing sense of foreboding. The corridor, once filled with the faint, mechanical hum of the Roys, now seemed to close in around her, the silence punctuated only by the dissonant ticking of the small Roy¡¯s gears.


    It stood there, unblinking, its unyielding gaze locked onto hers. Amelia could feel the tension tightening around her, like the pressure of a storm about to break. The air seemed to grow colder, and the ship¡¯s familiar creaks and groans took on a more sinister tone, as though the very structure of the Pappy Long Legs was watching and waiting.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible as she tried to keep her composure. But the small Roy remained silent, its eyes narrowing slightly as it continued to stare at her, its expression foreboding.


    The oppressive stillness pressed down on her, making it difficult to breathe. Amelia could feel a chill creeping up her spine as the small Roy slowly raised one of its arms, pointing directly at the owl-adorned door. The movement was slow, deliberate, and filled with an ominous weight that made Amelia¡¯s blood run cold.


    ¡°Okay¡­ little guy,¡± Amelia stammered, her voice faltering as she slowly turned back toward the growing crowd of Roys behind her. Panic began to bubble up in her chest. "Rick!" she called into the darkness, her voice tinged with desperation.


    Amelia could hear the tiny automaton suddenly retreating into the thin floor grates that lined the Pappy Long Legs with incredible speed, its presence slipping away like a shadow. She kept her body half-turned, unsure of what was going to happen next. Before she knew it, there were no more Roys around her, her back simply faced the door with the owl on it and her gaze focused on the growing crowd of Roys.


    As she scanned the large crowd of Roys, Amelia called out to the smallest one she had been speaking to earlier, distinguishing it by the large golden gear embedded in the side of its temple. "Don¡¯t go! Listen¡­ uh, the walking bucket in the front," she addressed the foremost robot, beads of sweat sliding down her neck as her brows furrowed in deep thought. "I won¡¯t call ya¡¯ Roy anymore. We¡¯re f-friends now, right? Give me a name?"


    "Name. R-," began the automaton, its mechanical voice faltering as if struggling to form the words. Before it could finish, Amelia interjected, her tone more decisive.


    "Whisky! I promise. You''ll warm up to it. You are now Whisky," she insisted, a touch of resolve in her voice, trying to assert some control over the situation.


    The smallest of the Roys¡ªnow Whisky¡ªstood before her, its once-empty gaze sparking to life. The gears inside it began to tick faster and louder, its curiosity evident in the quickened rhythm. It seemed to consider the name, its mechanical mind processing the new identity with a kind of childlike wonder.


    "If. I¡¯m. Whisky. You. Are. Roy?" inquired Whisky, his voice tinged with a newfound curiosity, as if the simple act of naming had granted him a deeper sense of self.


    "No, I''m still Amelia," replied Amelia, forcing a nervous smile. Despite the tension, she couldn¡¯t help but feel a strange connection to this little machine.


    ¡°I am Wh-is-ky?¡± Whisky repeated, almost as if testing the name on its non-existent tongue. Then, with a sudden burst of pride, it turned to the other Roys lingering in the shadows. ¡°I am Whisky!¡± it declared loudly, its voice echoing through the corridor.


    Amelia, still nervous but now reluctantly amused, watched as Whisky seemed to command respect from the other Roys. They shifted slightly in the darkness, their eyes dimming as if acknowledging Whisky¡¯s newfound status. The little automaton paced back and forth, its gears ticking with excitement, as though it was beginning to understand its role as a leader among the Roys.


    "Look at your hands¡ªthey''re like whisks. That''s why you''re Whisky," Amelia explained, trying to keep the conversation light to ease the growing tension.


    "Your. Hands. Like¡­ Wren-ches. You. Wrenchy?" replied Whisky, tilting its head as it tried to comprehend the comparison.


    "Not at all!" Amelia chuckled awkwardly, though her laughter was laced with unease. "Curious machine, aren¡¯t you?" she observed, studying Whisky closely. The more she looked, the more she noticed the intricacies of its design¡ªhaphazardly assembled from extra sheets of metal, rusted gears, and mismatched tools. It was clear that Whisky, like Roy, was more than just an ordinary automaton. There was something almost¡­ alive about it.


    Once again, Amelia¡¯s eyes were drawn to the dim blue light behind Whisky¡¯s gaze. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, captivating her attention. But before she could examine it further, a tiny metallic claw reached up and grasped the locket around her neck.


    ¡°Roy¡¯s heart. Rock. You¡¯re Heart. Rock,¡± said Whisky, its gaze suddenly becoming eerily human. The automaton held the locket for a moment longer before releasing it, its metallic fingers clicking softly as they withdrew.


    ¡°This was a gift. When I was born,¡± Amelia replied, her voice softening as she gently pushed down her fear. Despite the strangeness of the situation, she couldn¡¯t help but feel a small sense of endearment toward Whisky. ¡°Do you like it?¡± she asked, but Whisky remained silent, its attention elsewhere.


    Whisky turned its gaze up toward Amelia, its square, cracked spotlight-like eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, the yellow light in its eyes was overwhelmed by the blue glow, as if something deep within the machine was trying to communicate.


    ¡°Know anything about monsters that like blue light?¡± Amelia wondered aloud, her fingers idly fiddling with the locket around her neck. She opened the locket, revealing a small, worn picture embedded within. The image depicted a family¡ªfive individuals laughing together, their clothes smeared with food as though they had been caught in the middle of a playful food fight.


    ¡°Do you know what family is?" Amelia asked tentatively, hoping for some kind of response. But Whisky didn¡¯t answer. Instead, it seemed to lose interest, its focus drifting as it resumed its peculiar dance, spinning and ticking in an oddly rhythmic pattern.


    Amelia sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she realized she was no closer to understanding the strange little automaton. "Whisky¡­ let¡¯s just head back. Back to wherever it was, I could get some sleep."


    Whisky paused its dance, turning to confer with the other machines nearby. After a moment, it refocused on Amelia with a determined stare. "You. Know. Where," it stated, its tone firmer now. "We. Are. Too. Inquisitive."


    "Why not show me? Whisky, please," Amelia sighed, the exhaustion creeping into her voice. She gestured for the other robots to disperse with a wave of her hand, but to her dismay, they simply ignored her, their glowing blue pupils fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.


    A strange silence settled over the ship, heavy and foreboding, like the quiet before a storm. Whisky rolled up to Amelia, its rickety gears squeaking as it stopped in front of her. Its squared, cracked spotlight eyes flicked between Amelia and the others, its posture stiffening as if sensing danger.


    Without warning, Whisky began to whirr like an alarm, a cacophony of overlapping screeches that set Amelia¡¯s nerves on edge. The noise was shrill and disorienting, sending shivers down her spine. The sound acted like a signal, and upon hearing it, the rest of the Roys melted back into the shadows, disappearing into the grates, vents, and cracks in the walls, leaving only Whisky standing before her.


    "Owl. Heart. Owl. Soul," announced Whisky, bowing its head to Amelia with a solemnity that felt strangely human. Then, with a final glance, Whisky turned and disappeared into the darkness of the ship, leaving Amelia alone in the dimly lit corridor.


    Amelia watched as Whisky¡¯s small form vanished into the grates, only turning back to wave goodbye before it too was swallowed by the shadows. The hallway was now empty, the ship returning to its usual mechanical hum.


    "Who would have thought I''d walk away from this feeling guilty?" Amelia mused, her confusion deepening as she realized just how strange the encounter had been. The Pappy Long Legs seemed to be hiding more secrets than she could have ever imagined. "Looks like I''m on my own," she murmured to herself, her voice trailing off into the stillness.¡°Shit.¡±


    Between the gentle flicker of the warm lanterns, A strange warmth tugged at her, pulling her toward the owl-shaped door at the end of the hallway. It hadn¡¯t been there before. Was it calling to her? She hesitated, remembering the Roys lurking in the shadows. Too many unknowns. With a sigh, she turned away, deciding it was better to head back, still reeling from the Devil Dog.


    As Amelia turned to venture deeper into the ship¡¯s labyrinthine corridors, the boundary between life and machine blurred. Statues and busts of frog-like figures lined the halls, their glassy eyes tracking her every step like silent sentinels. The ship seemed to shift around her with every turn, as though the Pappy Long Legs was alive and reshaping itself in response to her presence. Questions gnawed at her¡ªhow many sons did Rick have? What was happening to the Roys¡¯ pupils? Were they even machines, or something more, like the real Roy she had encountered upon waking?


    ¡°Whisky could¡¯ve at least stuck around to show me back,¡± Amelia muttered, her voice echoing off the cold, metallic walls. ¡°The belly of this ship roars louder than a minecart down a mineshaft¡­ but, thankfully, no monster¡¯s waiting at the end.¡±


    Her sense of adventure, once burning brightly, had begun to flicker and dim. The relentless ticking of gears and the whir of machinery filled her senses, each sound reminding her of the Devil Dog¡ªthat monstrous entity whose terrifying form lurked in the shadows of her thoughts. As her mind drifted back to the encounter, a chill ran down her spine, her heart growing heavy with unease. The deeper she went into the ship, the more the halls seemed to close in around her, suffocating like the weight of an underground cave.


    The corridors twisted and shifted, sealing up and opening at will. Every turn left Amelia more disoriented. She tried retracing her steps, but the familiar paths were gone, replaced by cold, unyielding metal walls. Am I going in circles? The thought of being trapped in this mechanical labyrinth gnawed at her.


    The lanterns began to dim, their flames shrinking into embers, except for one at the far end of the corridor. Its warm glow flickered above a wooden door, cracked down the middle. A sudden weight settled on Amelia¡¯s chest, her breath growing shallow. Panic clawed at her, pulling her toward the door as if it was her only escape from the growing madness. The mechanical whir of the ship grew louder, deafening, drowning her thoughts in chaos.


    ¡°Can¡¯t turn on the lights there, dear Amelia? Does everything have to look like the ass-crack of a mine to ya?¡± Rick¡¯s voice cut through the noise, sharp yet familiar.


    With a flick of his wrist and a verbal command¡ª"Lights on"¡ªthe lanterns flared to life with a cool blue glow before settling into their usual warmth. The eerie shadows receded, and the corridor took on a fresh metallic sheen, dispelling the darkness that had threatened to consume Amelia.


    As if by some unseen magic, the cacophony of sounds faded, and Amelia realized she had curled up against the cold metal wall, knees tucked to her chest. Disoriented, she blinked, finding Rick standing over her, his expression a mixture of amusement and concern.


    ¡°Am I... losing everything again?¡± Amelia whispered, her voice so soft it barely touched the air. The weight of her words hung between her and the vast sky outside. Tears stung her eyes, but she fought to not let them fall. Not here. Not now. Each breath felt heavier than the last as if the ship¡¯s atmosphere was pressing down on her chest, forcing her to relive the losses she wasn¡¯t ready to face again.


    Rick¡¯s mechanical legs clattered as he settled next to her, his gaze softening. ¡°It¡¯s a conversation, sure,¡± he said, his voice rough but surprisingly gentle. ¡°We¡¯ve got to learn to trust each other, Crowny. I¡ª¡±


    "I can''t, Rick! A former royal can¡¯t just dive into her dark pond she sees. Eventually she¡¯ll just drown. Right?" Amelia¡¯s head sank deeper between her knees, her voice muffled. "How do I know you''re not like the others, trying to take me from my home? Or worse, pushing me into someone else''s throne? What if you''re just another criminal wanting a royal head?" Her voice grew louder, tears spilling down her cheeks. ¡°I mean... I won¡¯t. I can¡¯t lose another home. Not again.¡±


    Rick leaned back, mechanical limbs creaking as he looked off toward the shadows. ¡°Crowny, I don¡¯t trust ya¡¯. Ya smell like Conkle soot, hoard shiny things in your boots, and ya nearly got mauled by my security system¡ªI heard every damn step from down the hall. Infact, the Pappy Long Leg¡¯s kept ya here for whatever reason. Sadistic creation it is.¡± He let out a dry chuckle but there was something deeper behind it. ¡°Anyway, your brother¡¯s mess? Has me inches away from a Primarian Shock Rifle and a soul contract that¡¯s as good as a noose around my neck. Truth is... you¡¯ve made things real complicated for me.¡±


    Amelia blinked, stunned by Rick¡¯s bluntness. She had expected him to cheer her up with a joke, maybe even offer her some fresh Morsha bread. But his words carried something else¡ªfear. His usually mischievous eyes had softened, lost in the distance.


    ¡°Lucky for me, I¡¯m damn near sawdust as it is,¡± Rick added with a chuckle, though there was no joy in it. ¡°Ain¡¯t much left to ruin at this age. Just a few more creaks, a few more breakdowns.¡± His mechanical fingers clicked lightly as he adjusted his glasses. ¡°But that¡¯s life, Crowny¡ªfalling apart before your very eyes, whether you¡¯re made of flesh or metal.¡±


    He pulled up his long coat sleeves, revealing not just flesh, but mechanical limbs¡ªpolished metal grafted where human arms should have been. Adjusting his circular red glasses, he revealed his eyes¡ªone normal, the other gleaming gold under the flickering lantern light.


    ¡°Never seen someone so dead and alive at the same time, huh?¡± he smirked, his mechanical arms folding themselves neatly.


    Amelia tried to respond but found herself speechless, her thoughts spiraling.


    ¡°No-no-no. Get up, girl. Your brothers and I can¡¯t hear you from down there,¡± Rick muttered, hoisting himself higher with his mechanical legs.


    Amelia¡¯s cheeks flushed, a mixture of sadness and understanding washing over her. She stood up, brushing herself off before shooting him a wry smile. ¡°Could you let me finish a sentence?¡±


    ¡°Just did,¡± Rick grinned, as wide as ever. ¡°That creature¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Devil Dog?¡± Amelia interrupted.


    ¡°Yes. That Devil Dog didn¡¯t eat ya, sure. But it¡¯s still out there, hunting. But hey, we¡¯re out here breathin¡¯ too. Roy, your brothers, and me too.¡± Rick¡¯s voice softened just for a moment. ¡°Family¡¯s the kind of soup that sucks when it boil¡¯s, terrible when cold, but the best thing when -albeit rarely- settles somewhere in the middle.¡±


    ¡°I¡ªI... it¡¯s been so long since I cried,¡± Amelia stammered.


    ¡°Sorry for what? Life ain¡¯t supposed to be a sorry state, girl! Adventure ain¡¯t a choice¡ªit¡¯s what you make of it. Take that fear and throw it right back at whatever beastie ruined ya. Use it to wipe that... that Devil Dog,¡± Rick said, his tone growing somber.


    Amelia wiped her tears and nodded, though her voice remained distant. ¡°I barely remember what happened... just teeth, explosions, and darkness.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a mystery. And monsters like that love to keep it that way,¡± Rick replied, hoisting himself up on his mechanical limbs, spider-like. ¡°But don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll get you ready ya Yardrat.¡±


    Amelia shifted uncomfortably, her thoughts drifting back to the surreal conversation through the blue gem. Her fingers instinctively brushed against the pendant around her neck. Finally, she broke the silence.


    ¡°Rick... this pendant,¡± Amelia whispered, her voice trembling as she held up the glowing blue gem. ¡°It¡¯s like it¡¯s alive.¡± She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. ¡°I talked to Ehmir... Cameron. Through this. And they¡ªthey told me about my brothers. They said you¡¯d know where to meet in Veranus. But more importantly¡­they¡¯re alive... I think.¡± Her voice cracked slightly. The gem seemed to pulse in time with her fear as if responding to the weight of her words.


    Rick blinked, his mechanical eye whirring softly as he processed her words. ¡°Wait, you talked through that thing!? That¡ª¡± He scratched his head, clearly taken aback. ¡°That ain¡¯t exactly the kind of trinket I¡¯d expect to pick up chatter like that. Ain¡¯t no tele that¡¯s for sure. Now what was it you said about the King?¡±


    ¡°They said something about the King being¡­ preoccupied, and my brother Bolton being attacked. They said Yerro is not an ally,¡± Amelia¡¯s voice trembled as the words left her. For a moment, the weight of it all hit her. She¡¯d spent so long imagining the worst, preparing herself for the news that they were gone. ¡°But they weren¡¯t. Not entirely.¡±


    Her breath caught in her throat, a mixture of relief and fear swelling inside her chest. They¡¯re alive, she thought, clinging to the hope, but it came with an icy chill. "They¡¯re alive... but for how long?" The question lingered in her mind, twisting her stomach into knots.


    ¡°Yerro? Devil Dog?¡± Rick wondered, his voice tinged with concern. ¡°Think it attacked again? So soon?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ it wasn¡¯t the Devil Dog. It felt different. And¡­ there was a creature, but it was an ally, I think. The whole thing was confusing, like I dropped into the middle of someone else¡¯s conversation.¡±


    ¡°By the Goblet and the Green¡ªwhat in Yerro¡¯s name is happening back in that Primarian mess? I haven¡¯t heard those names since... since your Greisha Ceremony six years ago. Thought they¡¯d gone quiet, disappeared into their respective nooks and crannies.¡±


    ¡°One more thing. The gem¡­¡± Amelia hesitated, replaying Ehmir''s words in her mind. "They said¡­ to crush the outer shell and leave a fleshy circle intact. Otherwise, Yerro would know¡­ everything. Like we¡¯re being tracked."


    Rick¡¯s eye narrowed, gears whirring as he processed her words. ¡°That ¡®fleshy circle¡¯? It¡¯s a piece of a soul. Likely yours. Maybe Bolton¡¯s or the Kings? Who can say for sure with those terrifying amalgamations of things beyond our understanding? If you crush that¡­¡± he paused, leaning in, ¡°chances are someone will be killed or hurt. Worse, sound¡¯s like Yerro isn¡¯t the friendly colossus we thought it was.¡±


    ¡°A soul?¡± Amelia blurted, her heart pounding.


    A low, ominous rumble shuddered through the airship, vibrating beneath Amelia¡¯s feet. She froze. The air thickened around her, like the atmosphere just before a storm, pressing against her lungs. Then came the whistle¡ªsharp, shrill, and piercing the eerie quiet like a blade. It was faint at first, almost imperceptible, but it carried with it a sense of dread that made her stomach twist. The sound grew closer, a warning that something dark was on its way.


    Rick¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Whistlin¡¯ Death,¡± he muttered, his voice low and urgent. ¡°Brace yourself, Crowny. We¡¯ve got company.¡±


    Amelia blinked, her fear mixing with a wild thrill. ¡°Is this my¡­ first airship battle? Like in the Akiyoma stories!?¡±


    Rick turned to her, his face suddenly serious. ¡°Keep your wits about you, Crowny. This isn¡¯t a battle. We¡¯re salvaging a loss.¡±

 Bonus Extra 5: Chapter 4 (All-In-One)

    Bolton


    The first thing Bolton heard was the steady clinking of glass, the scrape of metal on wood, and a low hum that seemed to vibrate deep in his bones. His eyes fluttered open, the dim glow of lanterns casting soft shadows across a rustic ceiling. Where am I?


    His body felt leaden, every movement met with resistance from the dull ache of his bruised ribs¡ªa brutal reminder of the assault beneath the sewers, just below the hull of the Akiyoma Airship. He tried to sit up, but a sharp, searing pain shot through his side, forcing a groan from his lips. Blinking hard, Bolton struggled to make sense of his surroundings.


    This isn¡¯t the sewers.


    The air here was different¡ªwarmer, almost stifling, filled with the sweet tang of puffed smoke, rich mead, and roasted meat. The subtle sway beneath him hinted at something in motion, though he couldn¡¯t quite place it. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light from flickering lanterns that lined the walls. Shadows played across thick wooden beams, giving the place a rustic yet oddly comforting feel. Long, winding nets adorned the walls, barrels stood taller than him, and the room was dressed in riverboat charm as if it had been plucked from a world far removed from the one he knew.


    Vermolly? Panic jolted through him like lightning. ¡°Vermolly!¡± Bolton shot up, but the sudden movement sent a wave of pain crashing through his body, forcing him back down. He winced, groaning. ¡°Vermolly¡­¡± he whispered, feeling the sting of his wounds.


    His heart pounded as he scanned the room, eyes flitting from shadow to shadow. Where is she? But no sign of her. Just the haze of his pain and the steady click of train tracks below.


    Looking down, Bolton noticed the worn bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. He tugged at them, momentarily lost in thought, before realizing his arms were bandaged as well. He lay in a narrow cubby, the bed bolted to the wall, with a small table attached by a sturdy metallic arm just to his left. The soft, rhythmic click of train tracks rumbled from below. A faint sound, but unmistakable.


    I¡¯m on a train? His pulse quickened, a rising sense of dread knotting in his stomach. How did I end up on a train? More importantly¡­ how am I still alive?


    Fragments of memory fluttered back to him¡ªthe fight, the desperate struggle beneath the airship, the crushing blows dealt by the Quadrant Leader. His body had given in to darkness then, hadn¡¯t it? He had felt it close in. But something, or someone, had saved him. Someone with a strange, otherworldly presence... and a foul scent of oil and sewage.


    But who?


    Bolton¡¯s breath quickened, the realization settling like lead in his gut. He wasn¡¯t safe. He was far from the sewers, far from the fight, but that didn¡¯t mean anything. Whoever saved me¡­ they¡¯ll know. They¡¯ll find me.


    A creak from nearby snapped him back to reality. He wasn¡¯t alone.


    Across the cart, a large, round-bellied man with a wild, white beard stormed toward the far end where a bar stood beneath the glow of lanterns. His boots clunked against the wooden floorboards with each step, shaking the glasses hanging behind the bar. The man¡¯s voice boomed, echoing off the walls as though it were meant to shake the very structure of the train.


    ¡°Pistol! This is yer brilliant Midnight Train, and brilliant for certain!¡± The man bellowed with laughter, his voice rumbling through the car like thunder.


    Bolton¡¯s heart thudded in his chest, his mind racing. I can¡¯t be here. They¡¯ll see me, they¡¯ll know. He tried to sit up again, but the sharp pain in his ribs flared, keeping him pinned. His hand instinctively moved to his side, fingers brushing over the rough, makeshift bandages. The memory of the Quadrant Leader¡¯s assault came rushing back in vivid flashes¡ªthe fight, the desperation, and then¡­ nothing. Blackness.


    But someone had saved him.


    Who?


    His head swirled with fragments of thought, fear clawing its way up his spine. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to move, to get out, but his limbs refused to cooperate.


    The gruff voice of a man at the bar cut through the din. It was dry, gravelly¡ªseasoned by years of rough work, full of grit and character.


    ¡°Just boarded and already makin¡¯ noise, Chief Hogswind,¡± the bartender muttered, wiping a glass with a rag that had seen far better days.


    Chief Hogswind. The name hit Bolton like a punch to the gut. He¡¯d heard it before¡ªstories, rumors of a legendary miner turned leader, a rough man who commanded respect in the New Dwardian Kenton Mines of Quadrant 9.


    The steady rumble of the train beneath Bolton reminded him he was far from the sewers. But how far? And why?


    Hogswind¡¯s voice filled the cart again, raucous and full of wild energy. ¡°Oi, every young¡¯un and ol¡¯ beard here¡¯s heard the stories! Tales of an infinite train, filled with monsters, deadly spirits, and royal arseholes from across the world!¡±


    The crowd cheered. Bolton¡¯s heart thudded against his chest, louder than before. They¡¯re all here¡­ and they could find me at any moment.


    Bolton¡¯s pulse quickened even more. Can¡¯t they find me? Can¡¯t they see?


    Hogswind¡¯s voice filled the cart again, raucous and full of wild energy. ¡°Oi, every young¡¯un and ol¡¯ beard here¡¯s heard the stories! Tales of an infinite train, filled with monsters, deadly spirits, and royal arseholes from across the world! But what do we see when we arrive? A fancin¡¯ five-cart train with a tavern, a bath cart rivalin¡¯ the Springs of Veranus, and a whorehouse to boot!¡±


    The patrons erupted in cheers, their soot-covered faces breaking into grins as they raised their drinks high. ¡°Yardrats! We¡¯ve earned this! Workin¡¯ the hardest mines in all the thirteen Quadrants!¡±


    Bolton¡¯s head throbbed. It felt like he was sinking into the fog again, the haze of exhaustion threatening to pull him back under. His eyelids drooped, but he couldn¡¯t afford to slip into unconsciousness¡ªnot again. He forced himself to stay alert, his mind racing through fragments of memories, half-formed plans, and a creeping sense of dread.


    With effort, Bolton tried to focus on the conversation happening at the bar. The bartender¡ªan older man with gray-streaked hair and a face weathered like old leather¡ªglanced in his direction, his eyes narrowing as if sensing something was off.


    Bolton¡¯s pulse quickened. ¡°Damn it. What kind of mess¡­?¡±


    He shifted, trying to move, but his limbs refused to cooperate. His vision blurred, the dim light of the train car mixing with the haze of pain and exhaustion. He couldn¡¯t stay here. He needed to escape¡ªbut how?


    ¡°Pistol!¡± came a voice¡ªa woman¡¯s, firm yet gentle. Bolton¡¯s ears perked up, catching the tone beneath the words. ¡°We¡¯ve got a small, tiny problem we need to talk about after these guys leave.¡±


    Pistol. That must be the bartender¡¯s name. Bolton glanced toward him again, noting the way Pistol¡¯s eyes darted to the woman before narrowing in thought. Something was off.


    Bolton¡¯s pulse quickened further. His skin prickled as if something cold and sharp was creeping up his spine. I need to get off this train. Now.


    The scrape of a rickety wooden stool from the far side of the cart made him freeze. Then, the heavy thud of worn leather boots echoed across the floorboards. A voice followed¡ªa primal shout, deep, gruff, and hoarse, breaking through the low clatter of the train.


    ¡°Pistol!!!¡±


    Pistol barely turned his head, wiping his hands on a dirtied rag. ¡°How¡¯s it I¡¯ve got a shelf of ale behind me, yet I can smell Nicholas Hogswind from here?¡± he thought with a wry smile. ¡°Like the damn mines of old. By the blessed, time passes right through ¡®em.¡±


    He caught sight of the man approaching¡ªa ragged, smoky-white beard above a protruding belly. Chief Hogswind. There was no mistaking that booming voice or the swagger in his step.


    ¡°Pistol!¡± Hogswind shouted again, dragging out the L¡¯s in his name. ¡°This is yer¡¯ brilliant Midnight Train! And brilliant for certain!¡± He laughed, each step shaking the glasses behind the bar. ¡°Oi, how¡¯s one come about getting a job on this train? HOLD ON! Don¡¯t answer! Politics,¡± he whispered with a devious grin. ¡°I hear¡­ that¡¯s how we got in the mines too. POLITICS!¡±


    Pistol smirked as Hogswind¡¯s voice filled the cart. Roaring laughter and chaotic murmurs rippled through the train as soot-covered miners crowded every corner. Dusted hardhats, sooted overalls, and blackened boots lined the booths from end to end, adding to the hearty chorus of cheers greeting Hogswind¡¯s bombastic arrival.


    ¡°We drink to Chief! Chief drinks for us! In our moment of death, we wish for a moment of luck. To drink again, oi, a request for our life. To drink som¡¯ more, lest we return to our wife!¡±


    Hogswind raised his arms, a grin spreading wide across his face as his loud, raspy hum reverberated through the car. With dramatic flair, he belted out his response:


    ¡°I drink for life, I drink for you. Chief Hogswind arrives, insane it¡¯s true. What¡¯s crazier than me is the job that I love. We drink to my death, our moment beloved!¡±


    ¡°Chief Hogswind! Chief Hogswind! Chief Hogswind!¡± The crowd erupted, chanting until Hogswind hushed them with a thunderous ¡°Halt!¡±


    Bolton¡¯s mind raced. I have to move. I can¡¯t stay here. He tried again, struggling to shift his weight, but his body felt sluggish, pinned down by a force he couldn¡¯t fight.


    ¡°Pistol!¡± whispered a soft voice beside him.


    Pistol didn¡¯t respond at first, focused on cleaning his barrel-shaped mugs, paying little mind to the chaos around him. But the footsteps grew closer. The voice called again¡ªsofter, more insistent.


    Finally, Pistol turned, glancing toward the sliding wooden door at his side. Two glowing orange eyes peered from the crack in the door, watching.


    ¡°We have a whorehouse!? Where is it?¡± the voice asked, filled with a mixture of wonder and amusement.


    ¡°No,¡± Pistol responded dryly.


    ¡°That¡¯s rough,¡± came the reply, followed by a chuckle. ¡°Two questions: who¡¯s the injured guy? And who¡¯s this Chief guy? Looks like you, but somehow has a bigger belly.¡±


    ¡°The boy... A powerful favor. Nicholas¡ªor Chief¡ªis an old beard like me,¡± Pistol muttered, turning back to his work. ¡°Now close the door. You¡¯ll spoil the food.¡±


    ¡°Okay. But there¡¯s a tiny problem we need to talk about. After these guys leave,¡± the voice said, a playful note creeping in before fading into the shadows.


    Pistol sighed, continuing his work. He glanced at the sliding door with its intricate circular window, which separated the bar from the dimly lit storage room. Enough provisions to feed a small village sat inside, and tonight, they¡¯d need every last bit of it.


    ¡°Oi! Close the door! Fruit¡¯s gonna rot right outta the baskets!¡± Pistol barked, looking toward the darkened doorway. ¡°Sarah!?¡±


    There was no reply. Frowning, Pistol brushed past the swinging waist-high doors and peered into the storage room. The absence of lit lanterns sent a chill up his spine.


    ¡°Sarah? Where the hell¡¯s that girl?¡±


    Before he could take another step, Sarah appeared, rushing in with her fiery red hair catching the dim light.


    ¡°The Moonfruit creature¡¯s at it again! Turning off the lights and scurrying through the train like it¡¯s a sweet shop!¡± she huffed, snickering as she caught her breath. ¡°I was tryin¡¯ to catch the little bugger.¡±


    ¡°Moonfruit? By the blessed¡­¡± Pistol groaned, shaking his head. ¡°That thing¡¯s still scuttlin¡¯ around? A problem for another hour. Close the door and get Grissm¡¯ ready¡ªwe¡¯ve got orders coming in fast.¡±


    Sarah¡¯s eyes flickered toward the passengers, narrowing as she spotted the rowdy crowd. ¡°Yeah, I see him. Thunder boots and his rock brigade back there, huh? What happened to this train, Pistol? It used to host royalty. Now it¡¯s all miners and muck.¡±


    Pistol¡¯s gaze followed hers. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dismiss it just yet. That boy over there? Royalty. And we may or may not have a New Dwardian Quadrant Leader somewhere in these cars.¡±


    Sarah¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Royalty? A Quadrant Leader!? What happened to predictable clientele?¡±


    Bolton felt the conversation between Sarah and Pistol like sharp, whispering knives, prodding him to his feet. Danger seemed to lurk between every cheer and roar of the crowd, which only grew louder around him.


    Pistol glanced over at Bolton, finally noticing him awake before dropping his voice into an even lighter whisper, his words firm. ¡°Speculation leaves our mouths open in the rain, Sarah. Keep the boy safe and serve the everyday workin'' man¡ªthat¡¯s our job tonight. More important now, considerin'' life back home in Dwarden.¡±


    Sarah sighed, nodding as the reality set in. ¡°As you put it, Whisky Sunday doesn¡¯t run on two hands,¡± she muttered in a raspy mimicry, knowing there wasn¡¯t time for argument.


    As Chief Hogswind¡¯s heavy boots echoed closer, Pistol squinted down the train¡¯s aisle. The lanterns cast a warm, fire-lit glow across the car, bathing the rustic interior in an almost enchanted light. The Whisky Sunday felt alive, its atmosphere thrumming with energy. But something darker loomed on the horizon¡ªPistol could sense it like a drunkard ready to brawl at any moment.


    ¡°Miner Company #32! Settle and beg me an ear!¡± Hogswind¡¯s voice growled.


    Pistol¡¯s heart quickened, the familiar chaos of the night just beginning. He didn¡¯t know then that something far more dangerous than miners or muck was about to breach the safety of his Midnight Train.


    ¡°I just heard¡ªBolton Woltwork is in the train car tonight!¡± Chief Hogswind¡¯s voice boomed, stirring excited murmurs from the crowd. ¡°And look at him now, crawling out of his cubby like we all should be doing in a couple of hours! That¡¯s the spirit, Woltwork. Lead. By. Example.¡±


    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    The train fell into a sudden, heavy silence. Every pair of eyes locked onto Chief Hogswind, his large frame illuminated by the swaying, fiery lamp overhead. Shadows and moonlight brushed across him with each jolt of the train, lending his already imposing figure an almost mythic quality.


    Bolton turned his gaze to Chief Hogswind, watching as the man approached with deliberate, measured steps. A growing unease crept over Bolton as his eyes flicked toward Pistol behind the bar. The man was just as formidable¡ªbarrel-chested, shirtless, his sweat-slicked skin barely contained by his grease-streaked overalls. Pistol¡¯s bald head glistened in the dim light, and his long, scraggly white beard, smoke-stained and tangled, drifted down his chest. He was a mountain of raw muscle, equal in size and presence to Chief Hogswind.


    Standing just beneath Pistol¡¯s chin, Sarah moved fluidly around the bar, working in perfect sync with him. Her bright orange eyes gleamed beneath the oil lamp, occasionally catching the glowing tip of Pistol¡¯s beard. Despite her smaller frame, she had more than proven herself capable, evident in the unconscious figure slumped near the bar, a bruise already forming on his head. Her slender figure and loose-fitting uniform added to her fiery demeanor, a striking contrast to the brute strength around her, yet she held her ground with quiet authority.


    As Chief Hogswind drew closer, Bolton¡¯s gaze drifted over the dimly lit train car. The miners, scattered in booths on both sides, looked different now. The train''s low hum echoed through the metal frame, but it was the miners¡¯ uniforms that caught Bolton¡¯s attention. No longer dressed in the black-and-blue of the past, they now wore denim blue overalls with striped white shirts and flat caps. Though the uniforms had changed, the grime and soot that clung to their boots remained, a constant reminder of their labor in the deepest depths of the earth.


    Bolton¡¯s attention returned to Chief Hogswind, whose black-and-blue overalls were relics of another time, stained and worn from years spent underground. Dirt clung to every crevice, a testament to his past. Before Bolton could sink further into his thoughts, Pistol¡¯s voice shattered the silence.


    ¡°Cut it will ya!?¡± Pistol snapped, his fist tightening in frustration. ¡°Bolton¡¯s about as useful as a one-winged bird. His crown¡¯s on the ground right next to your vacation, my pay, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°And my conductor¡¯s license?¡± Sarah chimed in, her voice light and playful. She flashed a fleeting smile before returning to her work, polishing gourd-shaped glasses and barrel mugs for the rush ahead.


    ¡°I¡¯m in no rush to leave the Yardrat life! It¡¯s truly all I know!¡± Chief Hogswind¡¯s booming voice echoed through the train, shaking the walls. ¡°It¡¯s all we know. See, you escaped the life, Pistol. Bravo! But how many carts does this Midnight Train, this Whisky Sunday, need before you realize it¡¯s just another shaft, another tunnel, yet another cave? You and I¡ªwe¡¯re Yardrats! Born to remain in our tubes, tunnels, and lamp-lit adventures!¡±


    Chief Hogswind¡¯s eyes bore into Pistol¡¯s, his cheeks flushed, his flask leaking liquor with every sway of the train. His brows furrowed, not with anger, but with something darker simmering beneath the surface.


    ¡°Nicholas?¡± Pistol sighed, exasperated. ¡°Life¡¯s a damn series of endless tubes and tunnels either way. You and I both know it¡¯s best to face a bucking horse from its front.¡±


    The Chief paused, his heavy boots squeaking on a metallic sheet spread across the wooded floor as he took a deep breath. A single nod passed between them, a gesture of mutual understanding. Then, slowly, Chief Hogswind continued toward Bolton. Each footfall grew heavier, sending vibrations through the train, until Bolton could feel the pressure mounting in his chest.


    ¡°Whisky Cream, anyone?¡± Sarah¡¯s cheerful voice broke through the tension, holding up a bottle. The brightness of her offer clashed awkwardly with the thickening atmosphere. ¡°Bad time for drink¡­¡± she mumbled, stepping back toward the bar.


    ¡°Right time! Always!¡± Roared Chief Hogswind with a wide disarming smile.


    Bolton¡¯s heart raced as Hogswind¡¯s massive frame towered over him, filling the narrow space. He pressed himself back into the booth, his body aching and stiff. His eyes darted between Hogswind and Pistol, trying to gauge his options. It was hopeless¡ªhe felt trapped, like prey caught between two predators.


    ¡°Best follow me, Prince!¡± Hogswind¡¯s voice thundered, breaking the stillness. ¡°A New Dwardian¡¯s denizen would like a chat! An opportunity rare! I imagine.¡±


    Bolton¡¯s hands instinctively dove into his pockets, his mind racing for a weapon¡ªor anything¡ªto defend himself from the approaching giant. ¡°I was free to roam yesterday! Only thing that¡¯s changed are these bandages,¡± he blurted, desperate to deflect the rising confrontation.


    As Chief Hogswind drew closer, the tension in the train car tightened. The miners exchanged uneasy glances, torn between laughing at Bolton¡¯s boldness or staying silent in fear, waiting for Hogswind¡¯s next move.


    ¡°Grit! A sharp and valuable quality with direction! Dictation! Designation! Delivery! Eh, King?¡± Hogswind¡¯s voice boomed in a sing-song, but Bolton barely registered it. His attention was elsewhere, drawn to his clothes. He suddenly realized that nothing he wore was familiar. In his frantic search for something to defend himself, his fingers closed around the one thing he still recognized¡ªhis pocket watch.


    As he pulled it out, something strange caught his eye. The watch trembled in his hand, pulsing faintly¡ªsomething he hadn¡¯t noticed before. Bolton flipped it open, expecting to see the familiar gem nestled inside with the family photo. But his heart skipped a beat. The gem was gone, shattered into fragments. In its place was a strange, mechanical-fleshy core, softly pulsing. It seemed alive in a way that made Bolton¡¯s stomach twist.


    He stared, transfixed by the soft blue glow. The world around him faded as the watch¡¯s steady rhythm synced with his heartbeat.


    "Why would someone¡­ or something steal the gem and leave this?" he thought.


    The core pulsed again, its wires and veins¡ªa grotesque blend of machine and flesh¡ªalive in a way that defied logic. Bolton had seen many machines in his life, but none like this. He reached out, drawn to the faint hum it emitted. The moment his fingers touched the core, it recoiled, releasing a puff of hot air. A sharp pain lanced through his chest, and he flinched.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Was this core part of him now?¡± The thought flashed through his mind.


    ¡°What¡¯s that in your hand?¡± Chief Hogswind¡¯s voice snapped Bolton from his trance. The Chief¡¯s large hand clamped down on his shoulder, dragging him back to reality. ¡°I¡¯m trying to inspire here, and you¡¯re fiddling with some freak watch?¡± Hogswind¡¯s voice was sharp, cutting through the fog clouding Bolton¡¯s mind.


    Before Bolton could respond, Hogswind leaned in, squinting at the pocket watch. His eyes lingered on the strange, pulsing core for a long moment. Then, with a grunt, he straightened up, turning away. ¡°Ahhhh! Should¡¯ve expected you¡¯d make a deal,¡± he muttered under his breath.


    Bolton¡¯s heart pounded, but defiance flickered in his eyes as he raised his head. ¡°Don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talkin¡¯ about,¡± he muttered, shoving the watch back into his pocket.


    Hogswind chuckled darkly, glancing over his shoulder. ¡°Come now, I don¡¯t care about the watch or whatever deal you and your family made.¡± His voice dropped to a low rumble. ¡°Let¡¯s talk terms for us Yardrats moving forward. That¡¯s far more interestin¡¯.¡±


    As Hogswind spoke, the train remained eerily silent, save for the soft hum of its movement and the flicker of lanterns. Bolton, seeking answers but desperate to escape, followed Hogswind reluctantly toward the bar. He slipped into a seat across from Pistol, his eyes flicking to the miners on either side of Hogswind. Their faces were unreadable, but their eyes locked onto Bolton, waiting for whatever came next.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a lot of faith in that boy, Pistol,¡± Hogswind said, casting a glance at Bolton before turning back to Pistol.


    ¡°Not the boy, Chief. Like I said, just a favor,¡± Pistol replied casually, as if discussing the weather.


    ¡°The Legendary Rock Brawler, ¡®Pistol¡¯ of the Kenton mines, doing a favor?¡± Hogswind barked, disbelief in his voice. ¡°Tell me that doesn¡¯t sound like the beginning of¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡­another complicated adventure,¡± Pistol interrupted with a half-smile, swaying his head in disbelief.


    ¡°Precisely, old friend!¡± Hogswind¡¯s scraggly laughter rang through the car. He took a seat at the bar, settling into Bolton¡¯s right with a wide grin. ¡°Now. Do I drink with this potential¡¯ threat?¡±


    Bolton tensed, his ears catching every word, but he kept his gaze down, pretending not to listen.


    ¡°Threat? Sounds to me like you¡¯re afraid of¡ª¡± Pistol¡¯s voice cut through the chatter as he took a long swig from the barrel mug at his side, ¡°¡ªa mere boy.¡±


    ¡°Mere boy?¡± Hogswind chuckled, his voice low and rough. ¡°Since I met you many ticks ago, I¡¯ve learned not to underestimate what a boy is capable of.¡±


    Bolton¡¯s heart pounded, but he stayed still, straining to hear more.


    Hogswind leaned back in his seat, his eyes flicking to Pistol. ¡°Now, let¡¯s try that legendary drink. Ain¡¯t too often a ¡®mere¡¯ Yardrat gets to ride the Midnight Train.¡±


    Pistol nodded in agreement. He grabbed a mug and filled it with a golden, frothy liquid from one of the many giant barrels mounted on the walls and overhead. The miners gripped their empty mugs tightly, their eyes following the stream of drink as it flowed into Pistol¡¯s hands. When the tap snapped shut, a collective sigh of anticipation swept through the car, the comforting scent of the drink now filling the air.


    Pistol had the train car prepared¡ªmugs and glasses neatly arranged, each fitting perfectly into the train¡¯s compartments, complementing the warm firelight that flickered across the room.


    All eyes were on Chief Hogswind now. The men watched with bated breath, eager to see his reaction as he wrapped his massive hand around the mug. Pistol, too, stood still, his rag forgotten over his shoulder as he leaned slightly forward, waiting. The glow from the fire reflected off the drink, casting an inviting shimmer as Hogswind slowly lifted the mug to his lips. Every miner leaned in, the moment drawn out, thick with anticipation.


    Even Bolton, despite everything, found himself caught in the moment, watching intently as Hogswind prepared to take his first sip of Pistol¡¯s alleged ¡®legendary¡¯ drink.


    ¡°By the damn green, Pistol!¡± Hogswind bellowed after a long gulp, his voice slicing through the air. ¡°You¡¯ve outdone any man, god, or Colossus. This drink is divine!¡±


    Laughter erupted through the train car, quickly followed by a roaring cheer that seemed to shake the very walls.


    ¡°The Yardrats will drink good tonight!¡± Chief Hogswind shouted, rising triumphantly from his seat, his booming voice igniting another wave of celebration.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s been decades, but you know this boy ain¡¯t no threat,¡± Pistol said, chuckling deeply. ¡°I¡¯ve known you to sniff out a spent cigarette in a loo.¡±


    ¡°Why not let the act play out?¡± Hogswind grinned, wiping foam from his mouth as he glanced at Bolton. ¡°Bolton, this is Nicholas Hogswind! Always makes a grand entrance. Exclusively drunk too,¡± Pistol teased, tugging at his beard.


    ¡°Call me Chief,¡± Hogswind said warmly, leaning back into his seat at the bar. ¡°A friend of Pistol¡¯s is a friend of mine. Practically an obligation.¡± He settled in, his posture relaxed but his presence still commanding.


    ¡°The name¡¯s Sarah,¡± sprang a voice to Bolton¡¯s left.


    Bolton turned to see Sarah standing next to him, her fiery orange hair flaring at the tips. As she slipped off her orange gloves, Bolton noticed her freckled face, the spots tightly packed around her nose like scattered embers on her pale skin. She leaned her elbow on the bar, a grimace on her face that even made Pistol uneasy.


    ¡°The old guy in front of us?¡± She nodded toward Pistol. ¡°He¡¯s the sweetheart who made sure you were doing okay,¡± she said with a large smile. Her eyes sparkled in a way that made Bolton momentarily forget his pain, lost in the warmth of her gaze.


    ¡°Delivered to you by¡ª¡±


    ¡°Someone¡­ who really cares for you,¡± Pistol interjected, guarding the secret.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Sarah added, her voice softening as she caught Bolton¡¯s eye again. ¡°If you need anything, just let me know. I know you¡¯ve got questions, but for now, sit tight and enjoy a drink. Sounds like you¡¯ll need it.¡±


    Bolton stole a glance at Sarah, his mind briefly drifting. The soft hues of her loose skirt contrasted with the warm firelight, and her bright eyes flickered with a quiet kindness. For a moment, he found her undeniably charming.


    But now wasn¡¯t the time. He tore his gaze away, refocusing on the looming figure of Chief Hogswind.


    Chief Hogswind downed the last of his drink before leaning in with a broad smile. ¡°Now, what Primarian Royalty¡­¡± he burped, grabbing the top of Bolton¡¯s and forcing him to meet his eyes, ¡°doing on a Midnight Train?¡±


    Bolton heard Sarah recede into the shadows behind him, her boots softly thudding as she tended to the booths. He had no choice but to meet Hogswind¡¯s reddened, weary eyes. The smell of liquor was heavy on his breath.


    ¡°Leave the boy alone. He doesn¡¯t know much. Got banged up from a fight,¡± Pistol interrupted, pouring another drink for Bolton.


    ¡°With whom?¡± Hogswind¡¯s voice turned sharp.


    Pistol glanced at Bolton, eyes narrowing, as if warning him to remain silent. Bolton leaned forward slightly, eager to piece together how he ended up on this train, how much time had passed since the fight.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. He ain¡¯t dead,¡± Pistol said firmly.


    Bolton frowned, struggling to remember. ¡°I... I was fighting... my friend... she was killed. Then¡ª¡±


    ¡°What kind of drink did ya serve me, Pistol?¡± Hogswind cut in, his voice lighter but firm, steering the conversation away as Bolton¡¯s words faltered.


    ¡°Orange Smooth Honey from the Gallup Mountains. A kick of allspice from the Essessel Woods,¡± Pistol explained, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Well, give it to him¡ªand double the potency!¡± Hogswind boomed, his laughter filling the car. ¡°Everyone on this train deserves a drink, huh?¡± he shouted, riling up the passengers once more.


    ¡°Here¡¯s a secret, my royal¡­ eh, understudy!¡± Hogswind¡¯s deep belly laugh shook the air as he smoothly swiped a shot of liquor from Pistol¡¯s hand and passed it to Bolton. ¡°Drink makes things a little easier, but money¡­¡±


    Pistol chimed in, finishing the thought with a knowing grin. ¡°¡ªMoney is always the result of someone¡¯s hard work.¡± He gave a satisfied nod, watching Bolton with a gleam of pride as the young man hesitated, then reluctantly downed the drink.


    Hogswind stood tall, raising his mug high. ¡°On my mark, Yardrats. We drink!¡±


    The miners, their empty mugs clutched in eager hands, leaned forward, eyes flicking between Bolton, Pistol, and their Chief, waiting for the signal.


    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    "Chief! Hogswind! Chief! Hogswind! Chief Hogswind!" The crowd chanted in unison, their voices rising between the booths lining the train. Stomps shook the wooden floorboards beneath them.


    "Oi, Yardrats! Half past the time to scratch your arses! If you wan¡¯t the drinks ya earned then eyes on me!" Chief Hogswind bellowed, his voice booming through the train, shaking the flames of the lanterns above.


    "Sir, MY HEART IS FOR SIR!" one side of the train cheered.


    "Sir, MY ARMS IS FOR SIR!" the other side shouted, even louder, eager to outdo their rivals.


    Hogswind leaned over the bar, scanning the rows of oddly shaped bottles¡ªmeads, exotic juices, liquors¡ªbefore settling his gaze on Bolton, who was still reeling from his first swig of mead.


    "Boys! Some bigwig from Dwarden City, maybe a Quadrant Leader¡ªhell, could even be the King¡ªsaw fit to reward those who keep the pistons pumping and gears churning by letting us ride this Midnight Train! A rare honor!" Chief Hogswind''s voice boomed over the crowd, commanding their attention. "But rarer still, we got royalty among us. This here is Bolton Woltwork, a man who''s likely been through¡ª"


    "You don¡¯t know me," Bolton interrupted, his breath shallow.


    "A man who¡ª"


    "I said, you don¡¯t know me!" Bolton¡¯s sharp retort sliced through the air, plunging the cart into an uneasy silence.


    From the bar, Pistol took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes narrowing on Bolton, intrigued by his next move. He gave a subtle nod to Sarah, who stood tense, her gaze fixed on Chief Hogswind, ready to spring at any moment. Pistol¡¯s attention lingered as Hogswind clamped a heavy hand on Bolton''s shoulder, his glare darkening with unspoken menace.


    "Lay off! He''s clearly been through a lot, you rock ogre!" Sarah shouted at Chief Hogswind, positioning herself behind him after handing out the barrel-shaped mugs to the miners. Her tray wobbled precariously, but her voice remained steady, her eyes locked on him.


    Hogswind didn¡¯t even glance her way, his focus entirely on Bolton, as if her words didn¡¯t register. The train cart fell into a heavy silence, tension thickening in the air.


    ¡°Nicholas, do you remember when we were first conscripted into becoming Yardrats?¡± Pistol asked, wiping one of many glasses, his tone casual but intended to ease the rising tension between Hogswind and Sarah.


    ¡°Ah, yes,¡± Hogswind replied, his eyes distant. ¡°We had just finished kicking some teeth in at Whistetop¡¯s adult section. Four sorry excuses for men and their monster, knocked down into the dirt like human pegs.¡±


    Pistol paused, his gaze falling into a moment of nostalgia. ¡°...Ya¡¯ you remember why?¡±


    ¡°We were rounded up quickly. The Primarian Arc¡¯s just as ruthless with children as with adults,¡± Hogswind said, his voice growing somber. ¡°The rest¡­ well, we know how that went.¡±


    As Pistol¡¯s face shifted from light-hearted to serious, Sarah instinctively moved closer to Bolton, her expression mirroring the grim look that had settled on Pistol. She glanced at Bolton, who seemed lost in thought, watching as his gaze flicked between Pistol and Hogswind, both momentarily caught in their own memories. Seizing the moment, Sarah leaned in toward Bolton, who rested his face on his arms, head propped up.


    ¡°Trust Pistol,¡± she whispered softly. ¡°He¡¯s the conductor of a Midnight Train. These things run on a little more than just steam¡ªthink good will and soul magic.¡±


    ¡°Wha¡ª?¡± Pistol¡¯s confused voice cut through, his eyes darting toward Sarah.


    She gave him a playful glance before turning back to Bolton. ¡°He¡¯s a good guy, and he knows your brother. More importantly, he knows the Quadrant Leader who saved you. And hey¡ª¡± she added with a wink, ¡°you¡¯re still breathing, so that¡¯s something.¡±


    ¡°Who saved me -Sally?¡± Bolton asked, quickly sitting up straight.


    ¡°It¡¯s Sarah.¡± Sarah replied suddenly growing into a frown before springing in her usual happy go lucky self. ¡°Aurous. Smelled like a sewer, but it was Quadrant Leader One¡ªAurous.¡±


    ¡°Who saved me¡­ Sa¡ªSal¡­ Sa¡­?¡± Bolton stammered, struggling to refocus as he sat up straight.


    ¡°It¡¯s Sarah,¡± she corrected, her brief frown melting into her usual cheerful self. ¡°Aurous. Smelled like a sewer, but yeah, it was Quadrant Leader One¡ªAurous.¡±


    ¡°Aurous!¡± Bolton shot up from his seat, the name hitting him like a bolt of lightning.


    Pistol, mid-conversation with Hogswind, caught Sarah¡¯s revelation and shot her a disapproving scowl. Sarah, seeing it, responded with a lighthearted smile before gently tapping Bolton on the shoulder.


    ¡°You¡¯re not invincible,¡± Sarah said softly, guiding Bolton back to his seat, ¡°but you¡¯re very protected.¡±


    Bolton¡¯s body tensed, his muscles itching to spring into action. A part of him wanted to shove Sarah aside, storm down the train¡¯s narrow aisle, and throw himself off at the next stop¡ªanything to escape the growing pressure. His eyes darted toward the counter, his mind calculating how quickly he could hop over it and grab something¡ªanything¡ªto use as a weapon. The weight of his pocket watch pressed against his chest, a reminder of the unknown forces he now faced.


    Then, the name Aurous echoed in his mind. A man of legend in the Primarian Royale, a figure so mysterious and boisterous that his very presence was enough to command respect. Aurous, the creator of Quadrant One, a name whispered with both reverence and fear. Bolton had heard the stories¡ªhow the man¡¯s strength and cunning had shaped an entire Quadrant, his boisterous laugh shaking the halls of the Royale as easily as he moved armies. The idea that Aurous had saved him felt surreal, almost impossible.


    His thoughts drifted back to the bedtime stories Michael used to tell him and Amelia¡ªtales of the thirteen Quadrant Leaders, each represented by a revered animal in their respective domains. There was Enton, the Bear¡ªstrong and immovable. Aurous, the Ape¡ªboisterous and cunning. Glassford, the Owl¡ªsilent and wise. Newton, the Ignorpa¡ªa beast of instinct and speed. Drock, the Toad¡ªsly and adaptable. And Davina, the Cat¡ªgraceful and elusive.


    Before Bolton could recall the rest, the weight of the present dragged him back. The pressure inside him mounted, the sense of impending danger closing in once again.


    But Sarah¡¯s calm expression, paired with the revelation of an old friend who had come to his aid, eased the edge of his panic. Slowly, his heartbeat began to steady. Before he knew it, his legs had given in, and he found himself back in his seat at the bar. He exhaled, his gaze shifting toward Pistol and Chief Hogswind on his right, their conversation pulling him reluctantly back into the moment.


    Pistol cleared his throat, refocusing the conversation with Hogswind and speaking louder, as if signaling Bolton to pay attention. ¡°Anyway, we did the right thing back then. Just got caught in¡­¡±


    ¡°In the fuckin'' middle,¡± Hogswind finished, nodding in agreement.


    Pistol leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. ¡°Yeah, keep things under your breath, but Quadrant Leader Aurous rides with us on the Whisky Sunday¡ªtwo carts ahead, near the front of the train. He expects the boy at a destination, to meet with another. The less we know, the better.¡±


    ¡°The boy¡¯s mind is broken¡­¡± Hogswind began, his voice trailing as if thinking aloud.


    ¡°He saw his best friend murdered in front of him,¡± Pistol said quietly, his voice carrying a weight of understanding.


    Bolton¡¯s shoulders tensed, his fists clenching briefly before loosening. His eyes, hard with disgust, flicked to Pistol, but the anger drained from his expression as he caught Pistol¡¯s steady, knowing gaze. Pistol didn¡¯t speak further, but the way he held Bolton¡¯s stare, with a slight nod, said more than words could.


    ¡°Familiar,¡± Hogswind muttered, noticing the silent exchange between the two.


    ¡°So maybe we take a little more caution when speaking with him,¡± Sarah chimed in, her voice gentle but firm.


    Pistol gave her a soft, knowing smile, his eyes warm as he gestured for her to leave. There was no disapproval in his look¡ªonly affection, as if silently thanking her. Sarah¡¯s face softened in response, and without another word, she slipped away behind the counter, preparing for the next round of service.


    "Are we certain we don¡¯t understand each other, Bolton Woltwork?" Hogswind challenged, locking eyes with him. "You were exiled, weren¡¯t ya? At eighteen?"


    Bolton met Hogswind¡¯s gaze, anger and confusion flickering across his face before he slumped back into his seat.


    "Right!?" Hogswind barked, grabbing Bolton¡¯s stool and spinning it to face him directly.


    "F¡ª" Bolton began, but the words stuck in his throat, the weight of Vermolly heavy on his mind, his eyes welling with unshed tears.


    "Greisha," Hogswind enunciated slowly, each syllable landing like a hammer. "The ceremony at eighteen, right?" He raised his voice, addressing the crowd now. "Challenges set by the Quadrant Leaders: Power, Pride, Practice. Ring any bells?" His voice boomed, the stool creaking beneath him. "The ruler chosen by the final challenge. The rest? Exiled."


    "I don¡¯t need my life explained to me! Why!? For what!? So I can be told to leave again? To wave at the people who were cheering me on minutes ago, only to never see them¡ªor my sister¡ªagain? My brother! To go command a world that might not even need me?" Bolton screamed in a sudden outburst before slumping back down. ¡°Why?¡±


    "Don¡¯t ya?" Hogswind shot back, turning to the miners. "Boys, how many of us got no home?" Cheers erupted. "How many of us come from dirt? How many of us got no families, no wives, no kids?" With each question, the train roared louder. "And at what age did life¡¯s ''complications'' conscript us into becoming Yardrats!?"


    "At eighteen!" the train cart roared back in near unison, the sound shaking the air, with only Pistol, Bolton, and Sarah remaining silent.


    "At eighteen, we¡¯re expected to descend into the bowels of the underground! At eighteen, we become the necessity that keeps the city lit! At eighteen, we give up our lives in the Quadrants to fight monsters, all for a crown that¡¯s worth little more than a train ride and a few drinks. But we¡¯ve sharpened our purpose from a dull spear!" Chief Hogswind¡¯s voice thundered, the crowd erupting in wild cheers.


    Bolton glanced around, his thoughts drifting to Vermolly, the memories of his small workshop tucked inside Mama Alton''s bakery flooding back. He recalled how Vermolly had taught him the intricacies of "machinerium"¡ªthe study of engineering using Gigarock, the precious ore derived from Yerro¡¯s remains. His mind wavered between Chief Hogswind¡¯s expectant gaze and Pistol¡¯s patient, knowing one. Both men were waiting, eager to see his next move.


    The warm, swamp-like atmosphere of the train blurred in Bolton''s vision, his mind slipping back to the Greisha ceremony. The faces of the miners seemed to morph into the crowd that had once watched him at the ceremony. Everything swirled and darkened until he found himself floating in a black void. The voice of the former King¡ªhis father, Hios Woltwork¡ªechoed around him: "We forfeit the right to be like everyone else, just as a parent gives their life so that their child may walk a higher path."


    Suddenly, Bolton snapped back to the present, the roaring of the train and Chief Hogswind¡¯s face inches from his own, practically crouched down in front of him.


    "See, boy? You¡¯re not alone in this. Most of us got nothing to go back to. Exiled! Darkness, tunnels, monsters, drink¡ªrepeat. That''s all we know." Hogswind¡¯s voice softened, but the steel remained. "Far as I see, you¡¯re just another Yardrat in the making."


    The train erupted in cheers again, but Bolton barely heard them.


    "So," Hogswind leaned in closer, voice low but firm, "you got a choice. Grab my mug and drink the mead, or... let life sink you to its bottom and float up only when it¡¯s molded you into a slab of manure."


    "I¡ª" Bolton tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.


    "But know this," Hogswind continued, his voice unwavering, "if you grab that mead, we¡¯re in this fight together."


    Bolton stared at the mug in front of him, its worn wooden surface reflecting the dim light of the train car. Chief Hogswind had placed it firmly in his hands, but Bolton hesitated, his fingers tightening around the handle. The weight of his choices felt heavier than the mug itself. He could walk away, leave this life behind¡ªor embrace what was coming, Yardrat or otherwise. Slowly, he raised the mug, the scent of mead filling his senses. His eyes darted to Pistol, who gave him a small, knowing nod.


    ¡°Best celebrate that we¡¯re alive anyway,¡± Pistol said with a wry smile, ¡°Yardrat or otherwise.¡±


    Bolton¡¯s grip tightened, and with one last, deep breath, he tilted the mug back. The cold liquid hit his throat, and he guzzled it down, the foam spilling over his lips as the cheers of the miners filled the train car.


    ¡°Clearly, we choose to live again!¡± Chief Hogswind cheered, wrapping one massive arm around Bolton, a wide grin on his face as he swigged from his flask. ¡°The monsters fail again! And we¡ªwe drink again!¡± His voice boomed through the train car. He turned to Pistol, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. ¡°So, with your permission, Pistol¡ªare we ready?¡± Hogswind asked, eager for the signal to let the celebration truly begin.


    ¡°What say you, Sarah? Ready for a night on the tracks?¡± asked Pistol.


    ¡°Glasses and mugs are served,¡± she sighed from just behind him. ¡°Guess all we gotta do is open the tap.¡±


    Pistol chuckled, then turned to Bolton. ¡°What say you, Bolton? Our destination is still half a day¡¯s journey. Care to join us?¡±


    Bolton hesitated, his fingers tightening around his mug. His mind wandered back to his father, Hios Woltwork, and the words he had once spoken: A parent¡¯s duty is to smile alongside his children when possible. The memory hit him like a wave, pulling him between the past and the present. His father¡¯s voice seemed to linger, urging him forward, reminding him that even in the darkest of times, there was room for moments of joy.


    He took a deep breath, then raised his mug, his smile spreading. ¡°Open ¡¯em!¡± he shouted, surrendering to the energy of the moment.


    The train cart erupted into a cacophony of voices¡ªcheers, clanking mugs, and the rapid footfalls of miners swarming toward the center of the giant train cart, where the bar waited. Music emerged from the chaos, a mix of humming, banging on tables, and stomping feet, as if the train itself had joined in the celebration. The swaying lamps above cast flickering light over the red carpet that lined the center aisle, illuminating the wild, joyful scene that had sprung to life in an instant.


    Suddenly, one of the miners jumped up, banging his mug on the table, his voice booming above the crowd as he launched into song.


    Coffins With Mead


    Miner 1:


    My mother once told me, It''d be best if she¡¯d left for a bucket of mead (Miners together: Ha!)


    She bit her lip, her lip quivering pissed, and she spat her rum on me! (Miners Togethers: Ha!)


    All Together:


    She was a whore! A stinkin fat boar!


    A pig foul indeed!(Together)


    One hundred adored, a hundred on four,


    for being on her knees! (Together)


    We drink to the whores, we drink out the door,


    We¡¯ll drink a barrel on me (Together)


    Brothers and sisters!


    Fuckers and fisters!


    Prepare our coffins with mead


    Miner 2:


    My mother once told me, love is a bet, my lassie¡¯ but a dream (Miners Together: Ha!)


    She quivered her lip, the cunt royally pissed, and she poured her rum on me (Miners Together: Ha!)


    All Together:


    She was a whore! A stinkin fat boar!


    A pig foul indeed!(Together)


    One hundred adored, a hundred on four,


    for being on her knees! (Together)


    We drink to the whores, we drink out the door,


    We¡¯ll drink a barrel on me (Together)


    Brothers and sisters!


    Fuckers and fisters!


    Prepare our coffins with mead


    Miner 3:


    My mother last told me, life is best, licken those accursed bottles clean (Miners together: Ha!)


    She ran her lips, her breath burnin¡¯s of piss, then she-


    The swaying lamps flickered as the noise and energy filled the train, the miners'' voices rising into a chaotic anthem. Just as the final verse was about to hit its crescendo, a sudden, forceful bang echoed from the far end of the train cart, cutting the song short.


    The doors slammed open, and Enton strode in, his cold blue eyes locking onto Bolton. The celebration froze. Bolton¡¯s breath caught as rage broke through him, before settling into icy fear.


    Enton was an unsettling blend of authority and monstrosity. His sleek, military-style black robe clung to his hulking frame, with precise tailoring that added to his aristocratic demeanor. His paperboy-style cap, perched neatly atop his head, contrasted the terrifying power underneath. Beneath the robe, the rhythmic clanking of pistons could be heard as they jutted out from his spine, powering the grotesque fusion of human and machine. His metallic legs, clicking with each step, were threaded with steely strands that reinforced his towering, mechanical bulk.


    He moved through the crowd like a force of nature, his cold presence sending miners back into their seats. With each heavy step, the ground trembled beneath him.


    Chief Hogswind¡¯s eyes flicked to the opposite end of the train car. His brow furrowed as he muttered, ¡°Aurous¡­¡± the name barely audible over the growing tension.


    Before Enton could reach Bolton, a thunderous crash came from the far end of the cart. The doors burst open, and Aurous charged through. His broad, muscular chest was bare, his body human-like but draped in a simple loincloth. Massive mechanical arms jutted from both sides, adding to his four-limbed form, his shorter legs giving him an ape-like stance.


    Aurous¡¯s entrance cut through the chaos, his confident smile never wavering. He locked eyes with Enton and, with a playful grin, asked, ¡°Who¡¯s your favorite cousin?¡±

 Bonus Extra 6: Coffin Of Mead (Song)

    Coffins With Mead


    Miner 1:


    My mother once told me, It''d be best if she¡¯d left for a bucket of mead (Miners together: Ha!)


    She bit her lip, her lip quivering pissed, and she spat her rum on me! (Miners Togethers: Ha!)


    All Together:


    She was a whore! A stinkin fat boar!


    A pig foul indeed!(Together)


    One hundred adored, a hundred on four,


    for being on her knees! (Together)


    We drink to the whores, we drink out the door,


    We¡¯ll drink a barrel on me (Together)


    Brothers and sisters!


    Fuckers and fisters!


    Prepare our coffins with mead


    Miner 2:


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    My mother once told me, love is a bet, my lassie¡¯ but a dream (Miners Together: Ha!)


    She quivered her lip, the cunt royally pissed, and she poured her rum on me (Miners Together: Ha!)


    All Together:


    She was a whore! A stinkin fat boar!


    A pig foul indeed!(Together)


    One hundred adored, a hundred on four,


    for being on her knees! (Together)


    We drink to the whores, we drink out the door,


    We¡¯ll drink a barrel on me (Together)


    Brothers and sisters!


    Fuckers and fisters!


    Prepare our coffins with mead


    Miner 3:


    My mother last told me, life is best, licken those accursed bottles clean (Miners together: Ha!)


    She ran her lips, her breath burnin¡¯s of piss, then she sickd¡¯ her rum on me (Miners Together: Ha!).


    All Together:


    She was a whore! A stinkin fat boar!


    A pig foul indeed!(Together)


    One hundred adored, a hundred on four,


    for being on her knees! (Together)


    We drink to the whores, we drink out the door,


    We¡¯ll drink a barrel on me (Together)


    Brothers and sisters!


    Fuckers and fisters!


    Prepare our coffins with mead

 Bonus Extra 7: Short Story "Perfect"

    Xx1318xX


    The journey to Luman¡¯s Tower was nightmarish¡ªits looming shadow fell across the landscape like a scar on the earth. From afar, it was grotesque, a jagged black spire that pierced the sky, its surface crawling with unseen horrors. The closer Katelyn and her devout came, the heavier the air became, thick with an otherworldly pressure that made their lungs ache and their skin crawl.


    Yet as they approached the base of the mountain, something shifted.


    The horror faded like a receding storm, leaving behind an intoxicating allure. The Tower¡¯s rough, black stone shimmered, softening into delicate alabaster veins. The jagged edges smoothed into a graceful spire, towering yet elegant. The oppressive dread transformed into an almost irresistible pull¡ªan illusion of divine beauty. It beckoned to them, drawing them closer with every step.


    Katelyn¡¯s heart thrummed in her chest. She could feel it¡ªperfection, waiting for her. The devout behind her trembled with fear, but she was mesmerized by the Tower¡¯s beauty. The allure whispered promises to her: that here, finally, she would erase every flaw, every blemish. She would become more than a goddess. She would be the embodiment of the unattainable.


    At the top of the mountain, a door appeared¡ªits surface was flawless, reflecting her image back at her. For a brief moment, Katelyn hesitated. Was that... a wrinkle near her eye?


    No. Impossible. She was still perfect.


    She pushed the door open.


    Xx1320xX


    Inside, the illusion deepened.


    The air shimmered like a mirage, and Katelyn felt her breath catch in her throat. Luman¡¯s Tower was impossibly vast inside, stretching endlessly in every direction. The walls seemed to pulse, alive with a soft glow, as though the Tower itself was breathing. In the center of the chamber, illuminated by an ethereal light, sat a throne¡ªbeautiful and terrible.


    It was carved from black stone, but vines of glistening obsidian twisted around its arms and legs, writhing like living creatures. On the throne sat a figure¡ªa figure both monstrous and alluring. Its body was a tapestry of contradictions: limbs twisted and unnatural, yet with a sculpted elegance. The vines coiled around its form, merging with its flesh. Its face, however, was flawless¡ªsmooth and perfect, radiating a beauty so overwhelming it sent a shiver through Katelyn''s body.


    The figure smiled¡ªa smile that was as seductive as it was dangerous.


    "Katelyn," it purred, its voice a velvet caress. "You have come."


    Katelyn stood tall, refusing to let the creature''s allure unnerve her. "I have come for my perfection," she declared, her voice firm. "You will give it to me."


    The creature laughed softly, a sound like silk sliding across bare skin. It rose from the throne, its movements sinuous, and began to circle her slowly. The obsidian vines from the throne crept toward her, curling around her ankles, her wrists. Katelyn glanced down, but she didn¡¯t flinch.


    "Perfection?" the creature whispered, its voice wrapping around her like a lover¡¯s embrace. "Do you know what that truly means?"


    Katelyn¡¯s eyes narrowed. "I am a goddess. I define perfection."


    The creature leaned closer, its breath hot against her neck. "Oh, Katelyn... so confident. So beautiful." The vines tightened their grip around her, slithering up her body, brushing against her skin like teasing fingers. "But even you cannot escape time, can you?" Its lips brushed her ear. "What of the wrinkle, Katelyn? The one near your eye?"


    Katelyn stiffened, her heart pounding. "There is no wrinkle," she hissed. "I am flawless. I am perfect."


    "Are you?" the creature whispered, its voice dripping with dark amusement. The vines wrapped tighter, binding her body against the cold stone. "Perhaps... you are only perfect because I allow it. Perhaps... you need me to remain so."


    Katelyn¡¯s defiance surged. She jerked against the vines, but they only tightened, pulling her closer to the throne, closer to the creature. "I need nothing from you," she spat. "I will sit on that throne, and I will be more than perfect. I will become a true goddess."


    The creature¡¯s smile widened, predatory. "Is that what you desire, Katelyn? To sit upon the throne? To surpass even the gods?"


    Katelyn¡¯s breathing quickened as the vines coiled tighter, their cold touch sending a shiver down her spine. Despite the fear gnawing at her, her desire burned hotter. "Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling with both rage and need. "I will have it."


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    The creature''s eyes gleamed with dark pleasure. "Then sit," it whispered, its voice sultry, intoxicating. The vines lifted her, cradling her body as they guided her toward the throne. As she was lowered onto the stone seat, the vines wrapped around her limbs, her waist, her throat, pressing her into the cold embrace of the throne.


    The moment she sat, the power surged into her¡ªa rush of energy so pure, so divine, that she gasped in pleasure. The warmth spread through her body, erasing every flaw, smoothing every imperfection. Her skin glowed with a radiant beauty, her hair gleamed like fire, her body felt weightless, ageless.


    "I am perfect," she whispered, her lips curving into a smile.


    But then... the warmth turned to heat.


    The pleasure turned to pain.


    Xx1322xX


    Katelyn¡¯s smile faltered as the heat became unbearable, burning through her veins. The vines tightened their grip, no longer caressing but suffocating, constricting her body as the black stone of the throne began to meld with her flesh. The creature, no longer standing apart, began to twist and slither, its obsidian vines wrapping around her more tightly, pressing into her, sinking deeper.


    The pleasure she once felt from the throne began to warp into something darker. The vines pierced her skin, binding her soul to the stone as if she were becoming part of the Tower itself. Her limbs twisted in agony, her once-perfect body writhing and contorting as the creature absorbed into her.


    ¡°No!¡± she gasped, struggling in vain. ¡°This wasn¡¯t... what I wanted...¡±


    But the creature¡¯s voice was soft, seductive, and overwhelming in her mind, whispering as its form merged with hers. "We¡¯re perfect together, Katelyn," it purred, its words curling around her thoughts like the vines around her flesh. "You and I... we shall be one. There will be no more imperfections... only us."


    Katelyn¡¯s breath hitched, her mind clouding as the blissful agony became overwhelming. Her skin, once smooth and radiant, now pulsed with heat as it was swallowed by the black stone. She could feel the creature inside her¡ªits essence spreading through her veins, entwining itself with her soul. And in that moment, a bliss so complete, so intoxicating washed over her that her defiance collapsed.


    Her eyes fluttered shut, and her lips parted, whispering... "My skin... it¡¯s not smooth enough..." The words slipped out, unbidden, her mind now fractured. "My breasts... too small... my eyes... too wide..." Her voice grew softer, faster. "My nose... crooked... my thighs... too thick..."


    The creature purred in delight, its voice a hum deep in her core. "Yes, Katelyn. Together we are perfect."


    She gasped as the last of her consciousness slipped away, her body sinking deeper into the stone, the black vines consuming her completely. All she could feel was the perfect, painful bliss as the creature became part of her¡ªits dark perfection coursing through her very soul. Her mind shattered, and with it, the illusion of flawlessness she had so desperately clung to.


    And as her awareness dissolved into the Tower itself, her voice never ceased. It muttered, over and over again, naming her imperfections in rapid, breathless succession: "My hair... dull... my lips... uneven... my skin... my skin..."


    The words echoed through the chamber, never stopping. Katelyn was gone, but her fractured mind remained, endlessly reciting the flaws she had sought to eradicate. Her once-goddess voice, now reduced to a broken mantra of imperfections.


    Xx1324xX


    Outside Luman¡¯s Tower, time moved differently.


    Her followers, all men, knelt in eternal devotion. They had waited, first for days, then for weeks. Now, they waited for years, decades, and centuries. The line stretched far down the mountain, growing longer with each passing year, each man clutching a gift¡ªeach one more expensive, more lavish than the last.


    Golden crowns, jeweled necklaces, rare silks, the finest perfumes from across the realms¡ªall were brought before the Tower, placed at its base as offerings to the goddess they believed still resided within. But she would never emerge.


    Yet the line grew, the gifts more extravagant. The men whispered amongst themselves, desperate to gain her favor, to catch but a glimpse of her divine beauty, even as the truth¡ªif they had ever cared to notice¡ªwas that no gift would ever be enough. No devotion, no wealth, no sacrifice could summon her from the black stone in which she now rested, absorbed and forgotten.


    And still, the Tower beckoned. Its allure remained, unchanged¡ªan illusion of divine beauty so powerful that those who approached were seduced by the promise of perfection. The dreadful weight of the Tower, the creeping horror of its black stone, was masked by the shimmering vision of a flawless temple, drawing more and more into its fold.


    The line of men grew longer, snaking around the mountain like a silent procession, each one hoping to be the one worthy of her grace. But the goddess was gone, consumed by the Tower¡¯s dark embrace, and all that remained was the hollow shell of what once was.


    Inside, Katelyn¡¯s voice whispered still.


    "My thighs... too thick... my skin... too dry... my nose... imperfect..."


    Her endless litany of flaws echoed in the dark chamber, a haunting reminder of the vanity that had destroyed her. And as the years passed, the gifts piled higher and higher, the line of men longer and longer¡ªan endless cycle of devotion to an empty shrine.


    They would wait forever.


    Xx1327xX


    The Tower, now entwined with Katelyn¡¯s essence, pulsed with a seductive energy. The men who came to offer their treasures felt its pull, and each one believed they were special¡ªeach one believed they would be the one to win her favor. But none of them saw the truth. None of them heard the whispers of imperfections that echoed within the stone.


    For what could a goddess of beauty, now lost to her own obsessions, offer them? Only the same hollow pursuit that had consumed her.


    The Tower stood tall, dreadful and eternal, casting its shadow over the mountain and the world beyond. It was beautiful. It was perfect.


    And inside, the woman who had once been Katelyn, the Fire Goddess of Beauty, was now forever entombed in her own vanity. Her mind, fractured beyond repair, would repeat its broken song for all eternity.


    "My skin... not perfect... my breasts... too small..."


    Forever perfect. Forever broken.

 Chapter 5: An Owl And Its Machine (Part 6)

    The screech of the Whistlin'' Death tore through the air like knives scraping glass, sending shivers down Amelia¡¯s spine and rattling her bones. It felt as if the ship itself was crying out in agony. She had heard tales of this sound¡ªships collapsing under pressure, entire structures reduced to splinters¡ªfrom the bedtime stories Bolton and Michael used to hear from New Dwarden''s former king, recounting the Whistlin'' Death''s relentless assaults on Akiyoma''s ports. But now, it was all too real. Explosions echoed through the halls, the notorious whistle vibrating the ground beneath her feet with an intensity that made her wonder if the ship could survive.


    Before the chaos erupted, there had been a deceptive stillness, a quiet that lulled Amelia into a false sense of security. She glanced at Rick in confusion, instinctively reaching for her knife¡ªonly to find it missing. Then, without warning, the Pappy Long Legs'' embedded lanterns flared a burning red, casting an ominous, pulsing glow down the corridor. The ship seemed to anticipate the Whistlin'' Death. Each pulse was like a heartbeat, counting down to disaster.


    Amelia and Rick clutched their ears, crouching against the vibrating metal walls as the relentless cacophony assaulted them. Each second stretched, the metal frame trembling, threatening to shatter under the sound¡¯s pressure.


    "Rick?! The stories?! What do we do?" Amelia screamed, her voice swallowed by the overwhelming noise.


    Rick didn¡¯t respond. His mechanical arms braced against the trembling walls, leaving impressions in the metal as if sheer force alone could halt the chaos. His gaze locked onto hers, urgent, and he pointed to the door shaped like an owl at the far end of the hall.


    Amelia didn¡¯t need further explanation. She bolted toward it, but the ship¡¯s violent shuddering threw her off balance. She stumbled, catching herself against the wall as the floor vibrated. When she reached the door, her fingers fumbled for the handle, trembling as sound waves pulsed through her body. She yanked, then pushed¡ªnothing. The vibrations had rendered her almost powerless, the sound now more than noise¡ªit was a paralyzing force.


    Her gaze shot to Rick, panic wide in her eyes. This can¡¯t be it. It can¡¯t end like this. Her thoughts spun as the world around her seemed to collapse. Rick¡¯s silence gnawed at her distrust¡ªhad he planned this? But there was no time for doubt.


    Rick was close behind, his ears covered by two of his mechanical arms while others worked feverishly on the door. His fingertips extended, transforming into a gyrating saw that sliced into the small gap. He motioned for Amelia to stay low, his face tense as the screeching blades carved their way through.


    Before Rick could finish, the original Roy¡ªAmelia¡¯s strange, mechanical guide¡ªemerged from behind the door. His metallic fingers beckoned them forward, his spotlight eyes cutting through the chaos like a guiding beacon.


    ¡°You are not allowed. Exceptions have been made,¡± Roy added innocently, as if he had been merely resting moments before.


    They rushed through, passing through a thin veil of crackling blue light. The buzz of static surrounded Amelia, prickling her skin, but as she stepped through, the world beyond quieted. The screech was muffled, a low rumble now. Yet even in this silence, a sense of foreboding lingered¡ªit felt like stepping into the rumbling eye of a storm.


    ¡°My mission is now to ensure your safety, Amelia,¡± Roy said, his voice devoid of emotion.


    ¡°Take a real nice breath before speakin¡¯, Crowny,¡± Rick warned, rushing behind her.


    Amelia nodded, her body moving on instinct. Relief washed over her, but as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the feeling disappeared.


    The room was vast, lit by an unsettling mix of flickering flames and crackling electric arcs that framed a towering mechanical figure suspended in midair. Half of its body was a mangled metallic skeleton, battle-worn and scarred. Exposed wiring sparked sporadically, barely clinging to life. The other half was disturbingly familiar¡ªa white coat with tail ends speckled with black dots, a frayed bomber jacket draped over its shoulders. A cracked, bird-shaped helmet crowned its head.


    Amelia¡¯s heart froze. Glassford. Quadrant Leader Glassford, the Owl of Quadrant 8. She had seen him countless times in newspapers and on television¡ªpristine, calm, in control. But here, he was a twisted, broken shadow of that leader.


    The realization hit like a punch. He¡¯s a machine! The thought twisted her stomach with shock. Glassford¡ªthe powerful, respected leader¡ªwas a construct, a lie. How could I have never known?


    ¡°A...machine. Rick¡­¡± she muttered weakly, eyes locked on the metallic skeleton. ¡°My father¡¯s best friend. A machine.¡±


    Her mind raced, unraveling the longer she stared. This wasn¡¯t just a machine¡ªit had lived, fought, and now, it was nearly dead. The gashes, ruptured cables, worn metal patches told a tragic story. Was everything she knew about leadership a lie? If Glassford was this convincing, what about the other leaders? Her brothers? Were they even human?


    ¡°Amelia!¡± Rick¡¯s voice cut through her fog. She didn¡¯t respond.


    The weight of the realization gnawed at her. Are the leaders like Roy¡ªmany? Or living batteries? The thoughts overwhelmed her, but she forced them aside for now.


    ¡°Amelia! Listen, Crowny!¡± Rick called, sharper this time. ¡°If the Whistlin'' Death wanted this ship shredded, it¡¯d already be in pieces. They¡¯re after the owl! And if they can¡¯t get him, they might just settle for you.¡±


    Her gaze shifted to the tubes snaking from Glassford¡¯s ravaged body into the walls, faintly pulsing. His energy was being drained¡ªa Quadrant Leader reduced to fuel. She pressed a hand to her chest, betrayal mingling with a creeping fear.


    ¡°Rick. Quadrant Leaders don¡¯t get assassinated. They¡¯re the best of the best! This is¡­impossible,¡± she muttered, disbelief shaking her voice. If Glassford could be taken down, what did that mean for the others? For everything she believed untouchable?


    Rick¡¯s patience snapped. ¡°By the blasted Tumbling Greens! You Woltworks wouldn¡¯t trust the stink of shit right in front of you!¡± His voice cracked. ¡°Yes, that is Glassford! And yes, I¡¯m not innocent! Didn¡¯t kill him but¡­ didn¡¯t help him either! Now hide or pick up a weapon, unless you want to get permanently tangled in this mess as well!¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Amelia hesitated. Her gut screamed to press him for answers. Could she trust him?


    ¡°I¡¯m not doing a damn thing until you explain¡ª¡±


    ¡°Explain what? The spirit world? You want it written on a popsicle stick?!¡± Rick roared, desperation in his voice. ¡°Crowny! I don¡¯t know how it works. I¡¯m just a father. Believe me or don¡¯t, but more-or-less I found him like this. More than half-dead.¡±


    Amelia looked away, the thundering pistons of the Pappy Long Legs growing louder in her ears. She stumbled, falling to the floor with a heavy thud.


    ¡°Now scurry over here! Please, Amelia. Pick up a weapon from the wall,¡± Rick pleaded softly, voice barely audible beneath the hum of the machinery. His eyes were hidden behind his red sunglasses¡¯ glare. ¡°Don¡¯t do it for me. Do it for Roy. We need to be ready for Extraction Protocol Q8.¡±


    ¡°Extraction Protocol Q8?¡± Amelia¡¯s eyes darted to Rick, who avoided her gaze. ¡°Now, what ominous thing could that be?


    ¡°To put it as simply, it¡¯s a ship inside a ship. Our vehicle outta¡¯ here... should you still want to trust me,¡± Rick snapped, his voice edged with frustration.


    Amelia¡¯s brow furrowed as she glanced toward the platform housing Glassford. The engines circled the base, faintly humming, the platform itself slightly raised from the floor. She noticed a subtle vibration under her feet, like the low growl of something waiting to be unleashed. The glass floor beneath it reflected the dull glow of the containment wires, flickering in sync with the pulsing lights. A containment system? Her mind flashed to her days as a Yardrat, remembering the glass chambers built to hold volatile creatures, each one ready to be studied¡ªor destroyed¡ªat a moment¡¯s notice.


    The idea that something so powerful could be housed here unsettled her. She hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing down on her chest. Her hand instinctively hovered near the locket around her neck, but she quickly lowered it, frowning as if the action had betrayed her uncertainty.


    Her eyes flicked toward the small hand cannons embedded in the wall. For a moment, she remained still, fingers curling into fists as she sat in stunned silence. The idea of trusting Rick lingered at the edge of her thoughts. She could feel the tension in the air¡ªthe weight of what he wasn¡¯t saying. But the vibrations under her feet intensified, a low rumble reminding her that hesitation wasn¡¯t an option.


    She glanced at Rick, who was furiously welding the door shut, his posture tense, shoulders hunched as if holding the weight of the ship¡¯s chaos on his back. The clang of metal against metal echoed through the room. His movements were frantic, sharp, as though fighting against time itself. Meanwhile, Roy tinkered with a small ventilation unit, his mechanical fingers clicking away with precise, playful indifference.


    The platform hummed louder. The engines seemed to come alive, the faint vibration now pulsing through the glass beneath her feet. Amelia shifted uneasily, glancing down as if the ground could fall away at any second.


    ¡°Where¡¯s my knife, Rick? The one that should¡¯ve been in the front pocket of my uniform,¡± Amelia asked, her voice cold but measured.


    ¡°By the Goblet and Green! Grab a hand cannon, girl!¡± Rick shouted, frustration spilling over as debris crashed from the ceiling, cracking one of his lenses.


    Amelia shot him a sour look, her frustration still simmering, but without a word, she knelt to pick up his cracked glasses. Rick kept welding, the sparks casting fleeting shadows across his face, but there was an unspoken tension in the air. Gently, almost reluctantly, she slid the damaged frames back onto his nose. Her fingers brushed against his skin, and for a moment, his mechanical limbs stilled. His frown, once hard and set, softened at the edges. Neither of them spoke, but in that quiet gesture, the argument seemed to fade, leaving behind a fragile truce.


    He grunted, his tone quieter. ¡°Roy¡¯s got your knife,¡± he said, his voice still rough but with a hint of reluctance. His gaze lingered on her briefly, almost as if weighing his next words. ¡°Get it. Help me fight. Live another day.¡±


    With that, he nodded toward Roy, leading her in the direction of the small machine, his previous gruffness easing into something a bit more protective.


    She nodded in agreement, quickly making her way toward Roy, who was standing just a few steps away, manning a console that controlled the pistons galloping in the room.


    ¡°Rick said you have my knife,¡± Amelia stated.


    ¡°This is TRUE,¡± Roy nodded, his spotlight eyes dimming slightly as if puzzled.


    ¡°So hand it over,¡± Amelia demanded.


    ¡°WHY?¡± Roy tilted his head. ¡°Whisky was going to USE it. Whisky requested something of yours.¡±


    ¡°Whisky?¡± Amelia asked, her confusion growing.


    ¡°Yes. The security bot YOU dubbed Whisky. It is currently... dancing in the incinerator,¡± Roy explained matter-of-factly.


    ¡°Really?¡± Amelia blinked, momentarily thrown off before refocusing. ¡°Never mind that, Roy! Give me the knife. Rick¡¯s orders,¡± she insisted, her confusion now mirroring Roy¡¯s.


    Roy turned toward Rick as if to verify her words, while debris continued to rain down from the ceiling.


    ¡°Do it, boy,¡± Rick called from across the room, standing on a small stair leading to another console near Glassford. ¡°And ready Protocol Q8.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡± Roy looked back at Amelia with an unnervingly human gaze before opening a compartment in his shoulder joint and retrieving her large hunting knife. Amelia quickly took it, strapping it to her waist with a loose wire she found among the rubble.


    ¡°Wait. AMELIA,¡± Roy pleaded suddenly.


    Amelia, mid-step, froze and turned halfway, barely acknowledging him, her mind still swirling with uncertainty about Rick, the room, and this entire chaotic mess. ¡°What is it, Roy?¡± she asked, trying to keep her voice steady despite the tension gnawing at her.


    ¡°Your hat. From your Yardrat uniform. I fixed it. It was ripped. I FIXED it,¡± Roy said, his metallic fingers extending a flat cap toward her, the one she had long forgotten in the chaos.


    Amelia blinked, taken aback. Her Yardrat hat¡ªthe simple flat cap she had worn countless times in the mines¡ªsat in Roy''s hands, as pristine as ever. But something was different. Roy had added a patch, a small metallic smiley face, its dull sheen catching the flickering light. It was an odd, almost childlike touch, completely out of place amid the noise and destruction around them.


    ¡°Y-you fixed it?¡± Amelia whispered, reaching out to take the cap, her fingers brushing against Roy¡¯s cold, mechanical ones. The weight of it in her hand felt strangely comforting, a relic of a simpler time before the weight of machines and broken truths had pressed down on her.


    Roy¡¯s spotlight eyes flickered, dimming slightly as if unsure of how to respond. ¡°Yes. You are¡­ Yardrat. Uniform must be whole.¡±


    She stared at the hat, her mind struggling to reconcile the innocence of the gesture with the chaos unfolding around her. For a moment, the cacophony of battle and the screeching of the Whistlin'' Death seemed to fade, replaced by the simple truth of this small act of kindness. Roy, for all his oddities and mechanical nature, had fixed something. And not just anything¡ªhe had fixed something that mattered to her, something tied to her identity, her history.


    "Your eyes... they perspire water far too much," Roy observed, giving Amelia a gentle look.


    ¡°Thank you, Roy,¡± she muttered, her voice softer than she intended. Her fingers traced the small patch¡ªthe metallic smiley face, an innocent addition that now felt like a reminder of the strange, chaotic world she had been thrust into.