Dear Tammersmith,

I hope this letter finds you well! I have a matter of utmost importance that could determine the fate of New Dwarden. I cannot disclose all details here for fear of interception, but know this task is crucial. Amelia and Bolton must rebuild Yerro’s heart by finding the 13 pieces located in each Quadrant of our kingdom. New Dwarden teeters on the brink of disaster, and unconventional measures are necessary for our salvation.

As I write, I must confess that my condition is deteriorating. Fatigue weighs heavily upon me. Nevertheless, I have dispatched a member of the Primarian Hammer to locate Bolton and bring him to the Primarian Royale. Despite the Greisha Ceremony's rules, the fate of New Dwarden takes precedence over any consequence. If the Primarian Hammer is successful, Bolton will meet you in Veranos alongside him.

Bolton carries all the knowledge we possess regarding our predicament. Time is of the essence. Please find Amelia swiftly and show her this letter if she doubts you. Communicating with her is a risk, but you and I have a deeper understanding of those consequences.

Amelia, if you are reading this, you may not understand everything yet, but I ate your ham sandwich years ago. Forgive me and smile.

With urgency and resolve,

King Michael Woltwork

Rick eased away from the table, his mechanical legs extending with a graceful hum as he took a contemplative stance. His gaze lingered on Amelia, seemingly captivated by the swift passage of time reflected in her eyes. In response, Amelia carefully returned the letter to Rick, her demeanor shifting to one of quiet introspection, her head bowed in thought.

"I-I... why?" Amelia sighed heavily, her voice laden with a mixture of emotions. "I should hate him, but I don’t," she admitted, her gaze unwavering as she looked directly at Rick, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He’s got Soul Rot, doesn’t he?"

“Eh, you don’t know that,” Rick replied nonchalantly, though a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, it’s different every time.”

Amelia raised her gaze from her lap to the man sitting before her. Rick, once legendarily strong and chiseled, now appeared fragile. His lips were dry, his eyes exhausted and detached behind his red glasses, and his head hung low as if trying to stave off sleep.

“Do we know how long?” Amelia blurted out, shaking her head back and forth.

“Not relevant information,” Rick replied sternly, his distant stare silencing her.

“Not relevant!? Rick! Soul Rot’s no jest, no joke! You don’t just die from it! You ask for death!” Amelia’s voice trembled with dread and concern.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Amelia met Rick’s sunken gaze with one of her own. Rising from her stool, she paced around before leaning onto the table, propped on her shaking arm.

“Is there a cure?” she mumbled, her words catching in her throat.

“No. There ain’t no ancient ale, super ore, or wandering doctor that’ll heal me…or your brother,” Rick muttered, picking up another piece of Morsha bread, his eyes hiding behind the soft reflection of his red circular glasses. “I got an expiration date like soggin’ milk now. And that’s all there is to it.”

“Okay, so you’re just another person I care about, ready to leave! Giving up!” Amelia blurted, her green eyes vulnerable with pain.

“You just met me! I’m old! I was going to die anyway! My mistake! My—” Rick yelled, his mechanical legs raising him high over the table, causing a bowl of bread to tumble forward.

“Tammersm—” Amelia tried to speak.

“Responsibility. My responsibility. And my name’s Rick!” Rick shouted, cutting her off. The ship fell into a void of silence. “I go by Rick now,” he said softly, his voice quieting from the outburst.

“WHY’D YOU DO IT!? WHY DID HE DO IT!?" Amelia cried, her voice trembling as she wiped her eyes and refocused.

"You don’t have a child. You don’t know," Rick replied earnestly, his tone heavy with gravity.

"No! DOES MY BROTHER KNOW!?" Amelia demanded, slamming her arms on the table. "What happened to you, Tammersmith!? What’s going to happen?"

“Crowny, don’t talk to me like I don’t know what it feels like to have your heart ripped out! Stomped on, Amelia!” Rick blurted out, his mechanical arms flailing in an emotional flurry before settling down. “These are hard choices, child! There is no right or wrong! There are more important things than living a long time…”

“Like what?” Amelia whispered, a lump forming in her throat as her stance softened, retreating upon seeing Rick’s rage.

“Roy, Amelia,” Rick replied sternly, his voice trembling as the sound of ticking gears grew louder from the center of his chest. “The King loves you more than any citizen in this city. New Dwarden be damned if my son is dying,” Rick shouted, his voice quivering with silent anger. “I don’t know what he did, but the King’s a better man than me.”

Amelia stood up from her stool, her balance wavering as she walked toward Rick, whose head was now bowed in rage. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “...he’s your son. Roy’s your son,” she said, her voice swelling with sadness, as if understanding, for a moment, that things were not as they appeared.

Rick looked at Amelia, his clouded brown eyes softening at her pouting face. “Eh, you’re young. There are many ways to tweak a cog anew. I’m old; I prefer one.”

“I’m sorry, Rick,” Amelia said softly, adjusting her overalls. “The creature that attacked me—it scares me. Rattles me. And if my brother knows, well… he must be in danger too,” she continued distantly. “Guess we all have to consider ‘unconventional measures’ now, huh?”

Amelia glanced toward Roy, who was diligently working in the cockpit of the Pappy Long Legs, his focus unwavering. Despite the gravity of their conversation, she felt a warmth toward him. With a small smile, she waved to Roy. He looked up, returned the gesture with a friendly nod, and then went back to his tasks, seemingly without a care in the world.

“Not too long ago, Roy fell victim to a bond with a nefarious spirit. The wicked kind. The kind that lures your darkness into sinister spaces. My son... wasn’t perfect. Hell, he couldn't drown a fly in the rain, let alone use a hammer and chisel, but desperation caught him at his lowest. And like me, he made a terrible deal. Just know, Amelia, the King’s likely got his rear hung on a similarly swirled horn,” Rick recalled, his eyes reflecting the sadness that weighed heavily upon him.

“What kind of deal?” Amelia asked, her voice faltering as she sought answers.