Amelia

As the Pappy Long Legs ascended 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, she marveled at the breathtaking panorama. 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.

But the horizon always brought echoes.

Her fingers tightened on the railing as memories of the Greisha ceremony surged unbidden—flashes of firelit arenas, spinning platforms, and the judgmental gaze of the thirteen Quadrant Leaders. The images came sharp and vivid, like blades drawn across her mind.

The ceremony had been a masterpiece of clockwork and danger. Platforms turned like a giant puzzle, flames flared with each strike or dodge, and above, the Quadrant Leaders loomed in their thrones, each marked by the animal they represented.

She could only see three from her vantage point. Enton the Boar, Leader of Quadrant Two, bellowed, “Overwhelming force succeeds where the mind fails!” as Bolton’s air nodes launched him across the arena like a human missile.

Glassford the Owl, Leader of Quadrant Eight, perched in eerie silence on his swooping throne. “The night is where wisdom shines,” he murmured, his deep-blue seat pulsing faintly.

And the Badger, Leader of Quadrant One, drew the loudest cheers. His hybridized ladle-weapon clanged against his throne—an ornate cauldron held aloft by metal badgers. “Resourcefulness makes the meal!” he declared, laughing at every clever move.

Above them all sat her father, motionless, his throne silhouetted against the cosmos. His silent judgment weighed heavier than the crowd’s roars, a reminder of what was at stake. Though obscured from her view, the remaining leaders radiated their own weight of power, like their reputation, their presence undeniable.

Amelia’s brothers had fought relentlessly. Bolton, a force of nature, launched himself at her with spinning bo staff arcs. Michael, tactical and sharp, wielded his whip like a thunderclap, forcing her to leap from platform to platform. Her electric gloves crackled with energy, but their limited charge made every use a gamble.

The memory played out as if alive. Bolton misjudged his momentum, slamming into Michael with bone-crushing force. Seizing the moment, Amelia stunned him with her gloves and snatched an air node from his pocket. The crowd roared as she propelled herself forward, headbutting Bolton off the platform.

“A real gearpunk!” the Badger had howled. “Resourceful as every New Dwardian should be!”

But celebration was fleeting. Michael’s whip lashed across her chest, leaving her breathless. Dazed and gasping, she barely registered his clean right hook before it sent her spiraling toward the farthest platform. Stars blurred above as the announcer’s voice cut through the chaos:

“Enough! In the rare fight between triplets, only one can be named a true royal. Only one can be Yerro’s vessel!”

The words reverberated until a sudden thumping sound tore her back to the present. Her breath hitched as the sound grew louder, insistent. It wasn’t coming from outside—it was coming from her locket.

The Gigarock inside pulsed harder than ever before, its rhythm steady and urgent. Amelia’s vision cleared, and she found herself cradling the locket against her chest, instinctively seeking comfort in its weight.

Her reflection shimmered in the Gigarock’s surface as she slowly opened the locket. Inside, the faint glow of the Gigarock pulsed in perfect rhythm with the fleshy heart encased within. Her fingers tightened around its edges, her breath uneven.

“It’s alive…” she whispered, barely recognizing her own voice.

The locket’s secrets stirred memories of the Greisha platforms—her pounding heart, the mix of fear and determination. The Gigarock’s erratic thumping felt connected, its energy syncing with the echoes of her past.

Her unease grew. What was it responding to? Proximity? The airship? Or something else entirely—something waiting ahead?

Before she could untangle her thoughts, a strange voice broke the silence.

“Amelia!” it called, faint at first but growing louder, threaded with urgency that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Amelia!” the voice called again, resonating deeper this time, as if it came not from the locket but from within her very chest. Her fingers tightened around the cool metal, and the hum of the Gigarock inside seemed to amplify, its pulse quickening to match the voice's rhythm.

She whispered to herself, her words almost lost to the wind slipping through the narrow corridor. “Who—or what—are you?” Her voice cracked, a mix of frustration and unease. She had faced strange occurrences since leaving the confines of Quadrant Seven, but this was something else entirely.

“Talking Gigarock? Every Yardrat on Earth is about to lose their minds,” she muttered, trying to steady her nerves. She raised the locket toward the dimming horizon, its golden hues casting a soft glow over her trembling fingers.

The locket’s secrets had always been a heavy burden, but now they felt unbearable. With desperation tinged in her voice, she gave the locket a small shake. “If you’re going to talk, talk clearly!” she hissed, her movements edged with mounting frustration.

The locket’s secrets had always been a heavy burden, but now they felt unbearable. With desperation tinged in her voice, she gave the locket a small shake. “If you’re going to talk, talk clearly!” she hissed, her movements edged with mounting frustration.

Suddenly, the ethereal voice burst forth again, this time with a startling clarity. “Amelia, calm down!” it commanded, a slight tremor of irritation breaking through the calmness.

Amelia nearly dropped the locket. “By the green! You—you’re talking!” she stammered, holding the locket closer as though it might somehow confirm what she was hearing. “I—I don’t even—wait, are you alive? Is this Yerro?”

The voice sighed, its ethereal resonance carrying a strange weight. “What? No!” it snapped, then softened. “I mean… yes. In a way. I’m Cameron. I’m your brother’s—The King’s—Keeper.”

Amelia froze, the title pulling her focus into sharp clarity. “Cameron?” she whispered, the name stirring faint memories. “At Quadrant Zero?”

Her mind raced, conjuring images of the Primarian Royale—the sprawling center of New Dwarden, teeming with ceaseless clockwork and towering constructs. Amidst the grandeur, she remembered a small girl who worked tirelessly atop a massive giant. Cameron, smeared in grease and dust, her dark dress perpetually dirtied by machinery. The girl’s dark eyeshadow gave her the eerie appearance of a living puppet, but her cheerful demeanor was anything but. She had always seemed content, handing oversized tools to the towering giant she accompanied, her movements impossibly nimble.

Amelia had only seen her in passing, their encounters fleeting. The girl’s constant presence on the giant’s shoulder—applying grease, balancing effortlessly as the massive figure moved—had left an impression. The giant itself, two stories tall, dwarfed even the grandest New Dwardian homes. Its muscular frame and dirtied train conductor’s uniform were both a spectacle and a symbol of industry in the Royale. But despite her curiosity, Amelia had never spoken to the girl. There had never been time.

“Is this the same Cameron?” Amelia murmured, her heart racing as the memories settled uneasily. She tightened her grip on the locket, staring at the faintly glowing Gigarock within. “I got his letter! And where’s my brother? Where’s the King?” she demanded, her voice edged with growing worry.

“The letter made its way?” Cameron’s voice mumbled, relieved. “Good! Means you’re with that stiffler Rick. Aand not to worry. The King’s here. Most of him…” The way the words trailed off made Amelia’s stomach twist with unease.

“Most of him?” she echoed, her voice sharpening.

“Yes. But on my honor, he’s alive,” Cameron replied, though her voice wavered as if caught in some strange interference.

Before Amelia could press further, the locket began to hum. The chain tugged at her neck as the pendant levitated, spinning faster and faster. A brilliant blue light erupted from it, bathing the room in an otherworldly glow. Amelia’s breath caught. This wasn’t like the faint glimmers she’d seen before. This light felt alive, calm yet charged with purpose. The necklace spun so fast she feared it might break, but it hovered just above her hand, defying gravity.

“This isn’t the time for idle chatter!” Another voice broke through—rough, deep, and commanding. “Let me in… l-et me...” The voices clashed, and Cameron’s softer tone nearly drowned out as the rougher voice took control. “Hear me, Crowny! I’m Ehmir, a member of the Primarian Hammer. I’ve got Cameron of the Primarian Arc, your fool of a brother Bolton, and the mud puddle of a King holed up in a sewer under the Royale.”

Amelia blinked, trying to process the rush of words. “Put ’em on the crystal!” she shouted, frustration edging into desperation.

“It’s not that easy, missy,” Ehmir grumbled, his voice rough but tinged with grim humor.

“Pass the crystal, no?” she snapped, clenching her fists.

“Listen, royal. Do you know how to grab a floating crystal? Or ring someone with a bloody rock? Likely not. Well, Dolly, you see the predicament. We’re all playing baseball with two sticks and no ball.”

Amelia sighed, glancing at the walls of the Pappy Long Legs. If Rick was listening, she could use his help. “Next lesson, Crowny. Your brother Bolton, bless his thick skull, got here in one piece. We just didn’t expect him to show up wedged between a giant lizard and a caveman.”

“A caveman?” Amelia blurted. “In a sewer?”

“Why not? In a world of giants, monsters, and spirits, let’s add a caveman for fun,” she muttered sarcastically.

Ehmir’s voice was rough, carrying a hint of urgency. “Focus, girly. Your brother’s got a message for you. It’s about that gem around your neck—the Gigarock.”

Before he could continue, Cameron’s soft laughter spilled through the locket, light and teasing. “Listen, Amelia, this is serious! But Ehmir speaks as if drama were a dust storm,” she quipped.

“Cameron!” Ehmir growled, clearly unimpressed. “This isn’t a comedy, Amelia. Pay attention!”

Their voices were interrupted by a loud metallic clang and a muffled curse. “For Yerro’s gears, Bolton! Get your watch under control!” Ehmir barked.

“Amelia,” Cameron chimed in breathlessly between bouts of laughter, “you won’t believe this, but your brother’s pocket watch is… well… flying.”

“It’s not flying, it’s—argh—escaping!” Ehmir snarled, his voice trailing off as more clattering echoed in the background. “Damn thing has a mind of its own!”

Amelia blinked at the locket in disbelief, torn between worry and amusement. “You’re telling me my brother’s watch is alive?” she asked incredulously.

“Not alive, just... overly energetic,” Cameron replied, her tone dancing on the edge of another laugh. “Ehmir’s climbing over furniture trying to catch it.”

“I’m not climbing! I’m strategically maneuvering,” Ehmir shot back, his irritation palpable. “Amelia, focus! Keep the fleshy circle safe, crush the blue shell if you must—but not the core. And for the love of gears, watch your back. Yerro isn’t what you think.”

Another crash echoed through the locket, followed by Ehmir’s grumbling. “This family and their cursed inventions…”

Amelia tried to seize the moment, her voice cutting in quickly. “Wait! What about my brother—the King? Is he—”

Ehmir interrupted before she could finish, his tone sharp and insistent. “Both your brothers are safe for now! Get to Veranus! Cameron may be a goof, but she’s an excellent iron medic.”

“Learned from the best,” Cameron chirped proudly in the background, her voice dripping with playful flattery.

Ehmir ignored her entirely, his tone shifting to a gruff urgency. “The light’s beginning to fade, and I can only assume this means our connection will falter. What the Gigarock can do is still a mystery, but trust me—keep it safe!”

Amelia tightened her grip on the locket, her knuckles white. “But what do I—?”

“No time for more questions, Dolly,” Ehmir cut her off. “Ya, never know who’s listening. You’ll get your answers soon enough. Veranus. Stay sharp.”

The glow from the locket began to dim, casting flickering shadows across the walls of the Pappy Long Legs. “We’ll meet again, Amelia,” Cameron’s voice softened, the light from the Gigarock now a faint shimmer. “And tell Rick… he still owes me for that recipe.”

“Enough, Cameron!” Ehmir barked, though a hint of warmth crept into his tone. “Amelia, stay sharp. Protect the Gigarock. We’ll find you soon.”

The locket dimmed completely, leaving Amelia in silence save for the hum of the airship. She stared down at the locket, its weight feeling heavier than ever in her hand.

Amelia tightened her grip on the locket, its weight grounding her as she turned her gaze to the horizon. The shimmering lights of Veranus flickered faintly in the distance, a deceptive beacon of hope. For all the warmth of the approaching city, a chill coursed through her veins. Something awaited her there, something bigger than herself, her brothers, or the glowing Gigarock thumping steadily in her palm.

“Whatever this fight is,” she whispered, staring down at the locket, “it’s far from over.”

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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—the 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—some 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—creatures resembling oversized lizards with feathered wings—soared 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.

A faint, mechanical whirring reached her ears, barely audible above the breeze. Amelia straightened, her attention shifting to the dimly lit corridor behind her. The sound grew louder, interspersed with clicks and faint echoes, as though the ship itself were exhaling.

“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—figures 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—large, 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—!” 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—Roy—opened 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—like the first Roy she’d encountered—looked 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 muttered, her confusion deepening as she tried to make sense of the strange interaction. "Just being me is the better option."

She crouched again, meeting the little Roy at eye level as it descended to the ground. Something behind its eyes caught her attention—a faint blue glow, eerily reminiscent of the one in her locket. It flickered deep within its hollow head, as though a tiny spark of life was trying to reach out to her. Before she could examine it further, the machine seemed to notice her gaze and quickly concealed the blue light behind its more prominent yellow glow, shielding a secret.

“Little Roy,” Amelia said softly, her voice a mix of curiosity and unease. "What did you mean by ‘life inside’?" Her eyes narrowed, searching for answers in the strange, shifting light behind its gaze.

The little automaton didn’t answer immediately. Instead, the walls of the Pappy Long Legs shuddered with a low, resonant rumble, like the groan of a waking giant. Amelia reached out instinctively, steadying herself against the nearest wall as the ship’s innards seemed to shift around her. Panels slid open and closed in a rhythmic dance, as if the vessel were alive, rearranging itself in response to some unseen command.

“What now...?” she murmured, her heart pounding. The hallway’s dim lighting took on an almost sinister tone, and the faint hum of the airship felt louder, more deliberate, as though the ship was watching her.

“Rick. Owl. Heart. More Hearts. One. Soul,” came Roy’s response, its voice flat and mechanical, yet weighted with meaning. The light in its eyes dimmed further as it spoke, leaving it momentarily inert.

“One soul?” Amelia repeated under her breath, trying to piece together the cryptic words.

Before she could dwell on it, the ship stirred again. Hidden crevices, vents, and darkened corners seemed to come alive as a swarm of other Roys emerged, their metallic forms clicking softly as they entered the dim light. Each carried the same makeshift appearance—jack-o'-lantern-like heads with glowing eyes—but subtle differences set them apart. A faint blue glow flickered intermittently behind their collective yellow stares, as though each harbored a fragment of the same mysterious energy.

Amelia froze, her unease mounting as the Roys formed a silent assembly. Their synchronized movements felt both mechanical and disturbingly deliberate, as if driven by a singular purpose. The weight of their collective gaze settled on her, making the air in the corridor feel heavier.

"Okay… friends? You’re all Roys, right?" Amelia ventured, her voice trembling despite her attempt at humor. "Care to point me back to my quarters? Or maybe the way to a hot tub?"

The Roys didn’t respond with words. Instead, they stood eerily still, their collective presence exuding an oppressive silence. Then, as if triggered by some invisible cue, they spoke in unison, their voices reverberating through the corridor. “Friend. FRIEND. Order. Order.”

Amelia’s heart raced. The word “friend” felt less like an assurance and more like a decree. She tried to maintain her composure, glancing nervously at the owl-adorned door ahead. But before she could act, a smaller Roy stepped forward, its movements sharper and more deliberate than the others. Unlike the rest, its eyes lacked the faint blue glow, instead radiating a stale, lifeless yellow.

This Roy’s presence was unsettling. Its ticking gears were dissonant and irregular, like a clock wound too tightly. It flicked its wrist in a commanding gesture, shooing the other Roys back into the shadows. The swarm retreated obediently, their glowing eyes dimming as they disappeared into vents and crevices, leaving Amelia alone with the unsettling automaton.

“What do you want?” Amelia whispered, her voice cracking. The small Roy didn’t answer. It simply raised an arm and pointed at the owl-adorned door, its movements slow and deliberate, like the tolling of a bell.

Amelia took a cautious step back, her fingers brushing the locket around her neck for reassurance. “Rick!” she called out, her voice echoing in the empty hallway. The small Roy’s unyielding stare made her skin crawl.

The silence broke with a sudden, piercing screech from the small Roy. Its gears clicked and whirred in chaotic rhythm, sending shivers down Amelia’s spine. The noise acted like a signal, and the shadows around her stirred as the other Roys reemerged. Their synchronized movements resumed, forming a protective circle around the smaller automaton.

"Whisky!" Amelia blurted, pointing at the small Roy in an impulsive attempt to assert control. "That’s your name now. You’re Whisky."

The automaton paused, its dissonant ticking momentarily smoothing into a steadier rhythm. “Wh-is-ky?” it repeated, as though testing the name. The other Roys shifted, their collective gaze now fixed on Whisky with what almost felt like deference.

“Yes. You’re Whisky,” Amelia affirmed, forcing a smile. “And I’m Amelia. Not Roy, not Wrenchy. Amelia.”

Whisky tilted its head, the faint blue glow returning to its gaze. “You. Are. Heart. Rock,” it stated cryptically, gesturing toward her locket.

Amelia’s hand tightened around the locket instinctively. “This was a gift,” she said softly. “A piece of my family.” Her voice wavered, but she steadied herself, meeting Whisky’s gaze with determination. “Do you understand family?”

Whisky didn’t answer. Instead, it turned to the other Roys and let out a sharp mechanical chirp. The swarm retreated once more, vanishing into the ship’s dark recesses like phantoms. Whisky lingered for a moment longer, its gaze lingering on Amelia’s locket before it, too, disappeared into the shadows.

Amelia stood alone in the dim corridor, her heart racing. The silence of the Pappy Long Legs returned, but it no longer felt familiar—it was heavy, ominous, and alive with unspoken secrets. She glanced at the owl door, her pulse quickening as she tried to shake off the strange encounter.

“Guilty for naming a robot…” she muttered, her voice laced with nervous humor. “What the hell have I gotten into?”

The hallway remained still, offering no answers. Amelia tightened her grip on the locket and turned toward the faint glimmer of light down the corridor. “One step at a time,” she whispered, her resolve hardening as she moved forward into the unknown.

Between the gentle flicker of the warm lanterns, a strange pull tugged at Amelia, drawing 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, the memory of the Roys lurking in the shadows still fresh. Too many unknowns. With a sigh, she turned away, deciding it was better to head back, her thoughts still reeling from the Devil Dog.

As she ventured 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 shifted around her with every turn, as though the Pappy Long Legs was alive and responding to her presence. Questions gnawed at her—how 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 shaft... but at least there’s no monster waiting at the end.”

Her sense of adventure, once burning brightly, had begun to flicker and dim. The relentless ticking of gears and the hum of machinery filled her senses, each sound a reminder of the Devil Dog—that monstrous entity whose terrifying form still haunted her. A chill ran down her spine as the memory surfaced again, her heart growing heavier 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 her more disoriented. She tried retracing her steps, but 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 her chest, her breath growing shallow. Panic clawed at her, pulling her toward the door as if it were her only escape from the growing madness. The mechanical whir of the ship grew louder, 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 gruff command—"Lights on"—the 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 her.

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 barely audible. Tears stung her eyes, but she fought to keep them from falling. Each breath felt heavier, as though the ship itself pressed 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 beside her, his expression softening. “It’s a conversation, sure,” he said, his tone rough but kind. “We’ve got to learn to trust each other, Crowny. I—”

"I can't, Rick! A former royal can’t just dive into her dark pond and expect to swim back up. 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 cracked, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. “I mean... I won’t. I can’t lose another home. Not again.”

Rick leaned back, his mechanical limbs creaking as he gazed into the shadows. “Crowny, I don’t trust ya’ either. Ya smell like Conkle soot, hoard shiny things in your boots, and ya nearly got mauled by my security system—I heard every damn step from down the hall. In fact, the Pappy Long Legs keeps ya here for some reason. Sadistic machine that it is,” he added with 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. His usually mischievous eyes had softened, lost in thought.

“Lucky for me, I’m damn near sawdust as it is,” Rick added with a wry grin. “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—falling apart right before your eyes, whether you’re made of flesh or metal.”

He pulled up his long coat sleeves, revealing his polished mechanical limbs. Adjusting his circular red glasses, he revealed his eyes—one normal, the other gleaming gold under the lantern light.

“Never seen someone so dead and alive at the same time, huh?” he smirked.

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. “Now, 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.” His voice softened. “Family’s like soup—it sucks when it boils, terrible when it’s cold, but the best thing when it finally settles somewhere in the middle.”

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

Rick nodded, his expression turning grim. “It’s a mystery. And monsters like that love to keep it that way. But don’t worry. We’ll get you ready, Yardrat.