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—a reminder of what she had left behind. The black-and-white family portrait flashed in her mind—Bolton 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—a 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—Wake 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—a 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—” Rick tried to interject.
“—Until 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—a 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—Woltwork—felt 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—"
“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—her 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—the would-be Crown Princess of New Dwarden—but 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—a 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—you’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—its curled fangs, it’s throbbing muscular body, the overwhelming terror—flashed 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—clouds stretched out as far as she could see, and the world below felt impossibly distant. Her thoughts turned inward again—Bolton, 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—its smoke-blackened mouth, its glowing blue eyes—relentless 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 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—a 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.
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“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—this tattoo—is 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—who 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—at 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—” 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—”
“LOCKET. The locket—as it would appear—carries 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—should 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—with 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—gentle pinches, soft prods, and the distant hum of machinery—all 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—I… 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.”
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“I—” 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—Ignorpa, 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—or worse,” Amelia grumbled under her breath, her eyes closing as she drifted into a daze once more.
“Little Crowny, you’re still royalty—not 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—” 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—” 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—” 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—” 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—freshly baked—and 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—whatever 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—a 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—” 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—and 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—dirty, 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—no 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—what happened?”
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“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—I’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—Akiyoma 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—spider-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—much 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—”
“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—start 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—” 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—and 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—at least to some extent. The ‘why’ isn’t our concern right now. ‘When’ is the real question—and 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—Quadrant Zero—is 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—crafted 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—‘Amelia’—while 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—”
“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—or 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—”
“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—Tammersmith at the time—as 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—even 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—monsters, whatever—the 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—and I quote ‘incident’—we’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—ah, 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—a 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—recollections 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—a 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—" 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—”
“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—and his son—as 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.
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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—” Rick yelled, his mechanical legs raising him high over the table, causing a bowl of bread to tumble forward.
“Tammersm—” 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—it 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.
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"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—most of all—REMEMBER 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—the 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.
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"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—like 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—Bolton 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.