Amelia

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Pappy Long Legs felt like it had a mind of its own. Its metal bones groaned and twisted in the still night air, and every breath seemed to resonate through its hull like the pulse of a living thing. After her initial nap aboard, Amelia had pressed her ear against her door, listening as the airship carved its way through the skies. The creaking and shifting of its inner workings sounded like whispering voices, as though the ship was sharing secrets she wasn’t meant to hear.

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

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

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

"Except the Roy—" Rick's voice coughed with metallic reverberation. "Except the Roy with the uhh… the bloomin’ pliers. And I may—will—need that Roy… here and now," he explained, followed by a loud crash over the intercom. "Right now! Oh, and D-dear Amelia!”

“Old man. Do you need help?” Amelia thought, but before she could act, Rick’s voice crackled back to life.

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

“Rick, about the damn ceremony!?” shouted Amelia toward the general direction of Rick’s voice.

“You’re probably wondering how you could see those brother of yer’s without succumbin’ to somethin’ uglier than me? Soul Rot is the word. Oh, and if I can see you? Well, I can’t see you. This isn’t science fiction,” said Rick in a matter-of-fact tone. “Anyway, I don’t know the details, but one of ‘em other Crowny brothers of yours—I’m sure—will fill ya in. He may have found a way through or around it. I suppose consequences be damned.”

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

The abrupt, jarring noise of something breaking snapped Amelia out of her thoughts about the Greisha ceremony, forcing her to focus on the present as Rick’s clattering sounds filled the air. She couldn’t shake the guilt of leaving Rick alone in his makeshift bakery, regretting her reassurances that he was better off working independently while she explored the ship. The image of his reluctant agreement replayed in her mind, though her worry eased as she recalled his agile metallic limbs, moving with the precision of an iron spider. “Perhaps the old man was just tired or distracted?” she mused, letting out a light giggle and shrugging before refocusing on the world unfurling just beyond the railing.

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

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

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

“Rick! I don’t care if you can hear me, but I see them! I can actually see the fruit! And even the monsters that guard them! Woooooo! What an animal!” she cheered, her voice brimming with excitement. “What a dream!” Her words gradually faded, swallowed by the sound of the gale outside the glass dome.

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

The Kalpin Trees were almost everything she had imagined. Though they didn’t quite reach the fabled heights spoken of in tales, their sturdy trunks provided the timber for many of the fortified homes built within the inner Quadrants, capable of withstanding even the fiercest New Dwardian storms.

“Amelia!” called out several overlapping voices, as if suddenly manifesting from thin air.

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

“Amelia Woltwork!” the voices insisted loudly. “Look at your locket-er, pendant! Whatever the hell’s on your neck! Open it!” they urged in unison.

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

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

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

“I got his letter! And where’s my brother? Where’s is he?” Amelia demanded, her voice edged with confusion and growing worry.

“Understood. And not to worry. He’s here. Most of him...” Cameron replied, but the way the words trailed off made Amelia’s stomach twist with unease.

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

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

Before Amelia could process what was happening, the locket began to levitate, tugging at the chain still fastened around her neck. It spun in place, faster and faster, until it hovered just above her hand. A brilliant blue light erupted from it, bathing the room in an otherworldly glow. This was different—before, the locket had only glimmered faintly in the presence of unseen danger or its potential. She had always felt a subtle, uneasy sensation whenever it was near, but this was something else entirely. The light felt calm, almost reassuring, yet she couldn’t shake the fear that the necklace might strangle her in its spinning frenzy if the pivoting piece at its top broke or jammed.

“This isn’t the time for idle chatter!” Another voice broke through, rougher, deeper, and far more urgent. “Let me get in... l-et me...” The voices clashed before the rougher one took control. “Er—Hear me, Crowny! I’m Ehmir, a member of the Primarian Hammer. I’ve got Cameron of the Primarian Arc here, your fool of a brother Bolton, and the mud puddle of a King in a sewer under the Primarian Royale.”

“Put ’em—whatever this is! P-put ’em on the crystal!” Amelia shouted, gnawing at her fingers in a mix of confusion and desperation.

“Er…” Ehmir grumbled, “It’s not that easy, missy.”

“Pass the crystal, no?” Amelia suggested, her frustration intensifying.

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

Amelia sighed, understanding Ehmir’s tone but growing more anxious by the second, especially since she hadn’t heard anything concrete about her brothers. She glanced back at the walls of the Pappy Long Legs, hoping Rick might be listening in, just in case she was imagining this entire bizarre situation.

“Next lesson, Crowny. I knew your brother Bolton would find a foolish way to get here, and so did the King. I just didn’t expect him to show up wedged between a giant lizard and an attached caveman to boot.”

“Caveman?” shouted another voice from the distance, causing Amelia to blink in confusion. “Like, ancient? Because that’s kind of right.”

“Never mind that. In a world of giants, monsters, and spirits, let’s just toss in a caveman for good measure!” Amelia said sarcastically.

“Good idea! Let’s—” Ehmir started to say.

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

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

“Are my brothers okay?” Amelia’s hand instinctively reached toward the locket, as if by some miracle she could touch the King and offer comfort.

“I don’t know, nor am I allowed to say. Please, Amelia, as hard as a nut Ehmir can be, he speaks truth and he cares. You’ll find that to be a rare quality. Please, just listen,” Cameron’s voice pleaded. There was a weight in his words that made Amelia’s heartache.

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

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

“Focus, girly. Now hear me, yah?” Ehmir proposed.

“Yah,” Amelia agreed reluctantly.

“Inside the gem is a fleshy sphere. Keep that close and don’t crush that thing. Only the shell. That shinin’ blue shell of that gem gives out some sort of soundwave—”

“Frequency,” Cameron interjected from just behind Ehmir.

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

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

“Don’t tug a lion’s tail, Dolly. Information is the killer of loose lips. Now listen, Amelia. Your brother yapped about containin’ one’s soul inside of one’s heart, and how that rule doesn’t come out of any storybook,” Ehmir pressed on.

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

“We call it the fleshy circle,” Ehmir interjected.

“Terrible name, really. But yes, the fleshy circle,” Cameron agreed reluctantly.

“Yerro is—” Amelia began, but Cameron cut her off.

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

“Oi, Amelia, I saved yer’ brother! Now, pay me!” Another gruff voice suddenly blurted out, causing Amelia to flinch. “Don’t think he can no’ more. Least for a while.”

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

“More pay, you say?” the gruff voice responded sheepishly. “Well, I’m as sorry as the underside of a dog’s tail.”

“Oh, you’re sorry, are you? Since you’re sorry, what was it—Occilo? Occilo the caveman? I suppose the Primarian Guard won’t kill us then,” Cameron added, her tone dripping with sarcasm as it echoed further away and close again. “’Fraid you’re in this predicament too. Pulled right in,” Cameron mocked, her voice now becoming clearer.

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

“Bolton’s stuck visiting the underside of his eyelids,” Occilo added.

“Occilo!?” Cameron yelled. “Will you please!?”

“The sewer caveman’s right. Young lad’s been roughed up by a Quadrant Leader, but he’s alive and should heal just fine in the coming days. I know Pistol’s going to see to that,” Ehmir commented. “Dolly, our fine King, on the other hand... you’ll hear of him when you arrive in Veranus. I received a directive statin’ ‘divulge information to the former Primarian Hammer named Pistol. He works on a Midnight Train dubbed—” Ehmir continued. “Well, can’t tell ya the rest. You’ll meet him either way.”

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

“Yes. Y-you can’t see me? Right?” Amelia wondered aloud, glancing around as if the shadows themselves could be spying on her.

“No, this isn’t science fiction. Just tell the ol’ bread baker that we are delayed in our exit but will meet at Veranus all the same! He’ll know where—least he should,” Ehmir instructed.

“I will!” Amelia nodded, her focus narrowing in on the conversation. “Anything else? What do I do?”

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

“His soul?” Amelia whispered, the word feeling heavy on her tongue.

“I’ll write a book on it later,” Ehmir’s voice began to fade, leaving Amelia with more questions than answers. “He—”

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

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

Amelia’s fingers twitched around the locket. Crush the blue gem? The thought was both reckless and tempting. The gem’s soft glow seemed to taunt her, daring her to act. Maybe beneath this glowing facade lies the fleshy circle. I can’t deny my curiosity, she thought. But does it hold answers or just more trouble?

She scowled, knowing full well that whatever was inside the “fleshy circle” probably wasn’t anything pleasant. The name alone made her stomach churn.

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

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

The vast wilderness below stretched endlessly, a living tapestry of greens and golds, whisping beneath the airship like the world’s grandest canvas. It was a sight meant to inspire awe, yet Amelia’s mind clung stubbornly to darker memories—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.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

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.

“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 repeated her confusion deepening as she tried to make sense of the strange interaction. "Just being me is the better option."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friend!” the robots echoed, one after another, their voices ringing out in unison. “Yes. FRIEND. Order. Order.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As she scanned the large crowd of Roys, Amelia called out to the smallest one she had been speaking to earlier, distinguishing it by the large golden gear embedded in the side of its temple. "Don’t go! Listen… uh, the walking bucket in the front," she addressed the foremost robot, beads of sweat sliding down her neck as her brows furrowed in deep thought. "I won’t call ya’ Roy anymore. We’re f-friends now, right? Give me a name?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This was a gift. When I was born,” Amelia replied, her voice softening as she gently pushed down her fear. Despite the strangeness of the situation, she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of endearment toward Whisky. “Do you like it?” she asked, but Whisky remained silent, its attention elsewhere.

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

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

“Do you know what family is?" Amelia asked tentatively, hoping for some kind of response. But Whisky didn’t answer. Instead, it seemed to lose interest, its focus drifting as it resumed its peculiar dance, spinning and ticking in an oddly rhythmic pattern.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Between the gentle flicker of the warm lanterns, A strange warmth tugged at her, pulling her toward the owl-shaped door at the end of the hallway. It hadn’t been there before. Was it calling to her? She hesitated, remembering the Roys lurking in the shadows. Too many unknowns. With a sigh, she turned away, deciding it was better to head back, still reeling from the Devil Dog.

As Amelia turned to venture deeper into the ship’s labyrinthine corridors, the boundary between life and machine blurred. Statues and busts of frog-like figures lined the halls, their glassy eyes tracking her every step like silent sentinels. The ship seemed to shift around her with every turn, as though the Pappy Long Legs was alive and reshaping itself in response to her presence. Questions gnawed at her—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 mineshaft… but, thankfully, no monster’s waiting at the end.”

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

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

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

“Can’t turn on the lights there, dear Amelia? Does everything have to look like the ass-crack of a mine to ya?” Rick’s voice cut through the noise, sharp yet familiar.

With a flick of his wrist and a verbal command—"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 Amelia.

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

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

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

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

Rick leaned back, mechanical limbs creaking as he looked off toward the shadows. “Crowny, I don’t trust ya’. Ya smell like Conkle soot, hoard shiny things in your boots, and ya nearly got mauled by my security system—I heard every damn step from down the hall. Infact, the Pappy Long Leg’s kept ya here for whatever reason. Sadistic creation it is.” He let out a dry chuckle but there was something deeper behind it. “Anyway, your brother’s mess? Has me inches away from a Primarian Shock Rifle and a soul contract that’s as good as a noose around my neck. Truth is... you’ve made things real complicated for me.”

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

“Lucky for me, I’m damn near sawdust as it is,” Rick added with a chuckle, though there was no joy in it. “Ain’t much left to ruin at this age. Just a few more creaks, a few more breakdowns.” His mechanical fingers clicked lightly as he adjusted his glasses. “But that’s life, Crowny—falling apart before your very eyes, whether you’re made of flesh or metal.”

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

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

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

“No-no-no. Get up, girl. Your brothers and I can’t hear you from down there,” Rick muttered, hoisting himself higher with his mechanical legs.

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

“Just did,” Rick grinned, as wide as ever. “That creature—”

“The Devil Dog?” Amelia interrupted.

“Yes. That Devil Dog didn’t eat ya, sure. But it’s still out there, hunting. But hey, we’re out here breathin’ too. Roy, your brothers, and me too.” Rick’s voice softened just for a moment. “Family’s the kind of soup that sucks when it boil’s, terrible when cold, but the best thing when -albeit rarely- settles somewhere in the middle.”

“I—I... it’s been so long since I cried,” Amelia stammered.

“Sorry for what? Life ain’t supposed to be a sorry state, girl! Adventure ain’t a choice—it’s what you make of it. Take that fear and throw it right back at whatever beastie ruined ya. Use it to wipe that... that Devil Dog,” Rick said, his tone growing somber.

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

“It’s a mystery. And monsters like that love to keep it that way,” Rick replied, hoisting himself up on his mechanical limbs, spider-like. “But don’t worry. We’ll get you ready ya Yardrat.”

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

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

Rick blinked, his mechanical eye whirring softly as he processed her words. “Wait, you talked through that thing!? That—” He scratched his head, clearly taken aback. “That ain’t exactly the kind of trinket I’d expect to pick up chatter like that. Ain’t no tele that’s for sure. Now what was it you said about the King?”

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

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

“Yerro? Devil Dog?” Rick wondered, his voice tinged with concern. “Think it attacked again? So soon?”

“No… it wasn’t the Devil Dog. It felt different. And… there was a creature, but it was an ally, I think. The whole thing was confusing, like I dropped into the middle of someone else’s conversation.”

“By the Goblet and the Green—what in Yerro’s name is happening back in that Primarian mess? I haven’t heard those names since... since your Greisha Ceremony six years ago. Thought they’d gone quiet, disappeared into their respective nooks and crannies.”

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

Rick’s eye narrowed, gears whirring as he processed her words. “That ‘fleshy circle’? It’s a piece of a soul. Likely yours. Maybe Bolton’s or the Kings? Who can say for sure with those terrifying amalgamations of things beyond our understanding? If you crush that…” he paused, leaning in, “chances are someone will be killed or hurt. Worse, sound’s like Yerro isn’t the friendly colossus we thought it was.”

“A soul?” Amelia blurted, her heart pounding.

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

Rick’s eyes widened. “Whistlin’ Death,” he muttered, his voice low and urgent. “Brace yourself, Crowny. We’ve got company.”

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

Rick turned to her, his face suddenly serious. “Keep your wits about you, Crowny. This isn’t a battle. We’re salvaging a loss.”