“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.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“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.