“I don’t know what you are…” Amelia muttered, stepping back defensively.

“Then allow me,” Rick interjected, swiftly grabbing the metallic flower and tucking it into Amelia’s front pocket. “He’s the reason you’re alive.”

“He’s a weapon?” Amelia asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

“He’s my… son. Now take a good look,” Rick replied, his tone defensive but resolute.

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

“I have many questions,” Amelia admitted, a hint of disbelief in her voice. “Yerro’s grace… What have you done, Rick?”

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

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

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

“Listen to Roy. For now, the story is that you were some monster’s expensive snack. Locals thought you’d brought this creature to Little Creek, as it allegedly whispered your name—‘Amelia’—while it wreaked havoc. Best lean into the lie and have them assume you were eaten,” Rick advised, his tone serious.

“What kind of creature whispers names? Worse, my name? Local hogwash,” Amelia challenged, her skepticism evident.

“I verified it myself,” Rick replied, pointing to his ears with a metallic finger. “Listen, I ain’t done. The locals would’ve hanged ya if we hadn’t found you collapsed on the ground. They were the bigger danger, disgruntled over their destroyed shops, farms, and whatnot. Worse yet, the creature hadn’t eaten you and ran off, leaving the blame on you. Roy had to give your noggin a tap to prove we were there to ‘arrest you’. He put on a show that was a bit too convincing but also scared off the remaining anger with some well-placed weaponry. Honestly, you were starting to come to, and… we didn’t need that just yet,” Rick explained, his voice tinged with guilt.

“According to Rick, you needed MARBLES,” Roy added innocently.

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

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

“It’s in the past,” Amelia mimicked with an exaggerated southern twang. “Attempted murder can’t just be ‘in the past’. This has to be connected to some royal dogwater.”

“Bullshit,” Roy chimed in from beside Amelia.

“Yes, bullshit!” Amelia agreed, winking at Roy in approval.

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

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

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“I’m supposed to trust this living weapon. I—”

“I already told ya! He ain’t no weapon!” Rick interrupted, his voice rising in anger. He shuffled to Amelia’s side, his metallic limbs springing to life like a spider darting toward its prey, stopping just short of her.

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

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

“Can’t sign a spirit contract without a King or a vessel of Yerro. There are ways to break the rules,” Rick interjected. “One must simply be desperate enough to find it—or have a method find you.”

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

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

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

“CONVERSATION logged,” Roy responded dutifully.

“How’d you know he can do that?” Rick asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Mining automaton parts. I’ve got experience aplenty,” Amelia replied matter-of-factly, inadvertently dissipating some of the tension between her and Rick.

“Anyway, new game. New rules. I know we aren’t hovering our noses over a round table, but ya’ need to listen to what I have to say. So if ya’ keep talkin’, I’ll just keep shoveling bread down the yappin’ hatch,” Rick threatened lightheartedly.

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

The scent of burning oil and fresh bread continued to trigger memories of her late father’s tales. As Amelia chewed, she recalled how her father had mentioned Rick—Tammersmith at the time—as the elusive “Baker’s Wrench,” a uniquely talented member of the esteemed Primarian Hammers. This select group was entrusted with maintaining the Primarian Royale, a monumental structure located between Quadrant One and Two where royalty resided and laws were crafted. Her father emphasized the importance of their duties daily—even if, at the time, Amelia didn’t quite understand their roles.

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

“Quit starin’!” Rick shouted, breaking the heavy silence. “Just eat your bread.”

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

“I remember,” Amelia muttered between bites of bread. “You repair Yerro. Top secret, right?”

“Lil’ Crowny, I’m one of the few Primarian Hammers,” Rick replied solemnly.

“Where’s the rest?” Amelia asked, finishing her bread.

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

“Got a question?” Amelia asked quickly, sensing something deeper. “I haven’t heard a lick of news about any catastrophe. Just the usual pirate and monster attacks. Heinous as they are, where’s this emergency?”

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

“I don’t like that euphemism,” Amelia quipped, raising an eyebrow.

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

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

“Okay. How’s this, Crowny? Monster attacks. We don’t know why. Betrayal among the Quadrant Leaders and maybe even Yerro itself. The King’s holding his cards close, so even I don’t know all the details,” Rick remarked, his voice heavy with concern.

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