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.

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“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.”