The screech of the Whistlin' Death tore through the air like knives scraping glass, sending shivers down Amelia’s spine and rattling her bones. It felt as if the ship itself was crying out in agony. She had heard stories of this sound—ships collapsing under pressure, whole structures reduced to splinters—from the bedtime tales Bolton and Michael used to hear from New Dwarden's former king, recounting the Whistlin' Death's relentless assaults on Akiyoma's ports. But now, it was all too real. Explosions echoed through the halls, the notorious whistle vibrating the ground beneath her feet with an intensity that made her wonder if the ship could withstand it.
Before the chaos erupted, there had been a deceptive stillness. The quiet moments before the storm had lulled Amelia into a false sense of security. She glanced toward Rick in confusion, her hand instinctively reaching for a knife in her front pocket—only to find it wasn’t there. Then, without warning, the Pappy Long Legs' embedded lanterns flared a burning red, casting the corridors in an ominous, pulsating glow. It felt as though the ship itself anticipated the Whistlin' Death. Each pulse of red was like a heartbeat, counting down to disaster.
Amelia and Rick clutched their ears, crouching against the vibrating metal walls as the relentless cacophony assaulted them. Every second felt like an eternity as the ship's metal frame trembled violently, threatening to shatter under the weight of the sound.
"Rick?! The stories!? What do we do?!" Amelia screamed, her voice swallowed by the overwhelming noise.
Rick didn’t respond. His mechanical arms braced against the trembling walls, leaving deep impressions in the metal as if sheer force could stop the chaos. His gaze locked onto hers with urgency, and he pointed to the door shaped like an owl at the far end of the hall.
Amelia didn’t need further explanation. She bolted toward the door, but the ship’s violent shaking threw her off balance. She stumbled, catching herself against the wall as the floor vibrated beneath her. When she reached the door, her fingers fumbled for the handle, trembling as sound waves pulsed through her body. She yanked, then pushed—nothing. The vibrations had rendered her almost powerless, the sound now more than just noise—it was a paralyzing force.
Her gaze shot to Rick, panic wide in her eyes. This can’t be it. It can’t end like this. Her thoughts spun under the weight of the collapsing world around her. Rick’s silence gnawed at her distrust—had he planned this? But there was no time for questions.
Rick was close behind, his ears covered by two of his mechanical arms while the others worked feverishly on the door. His metallic fingertips extended, seemingly transforming into a gyrating saw that sliced into the small gap between the wall and the door. He motioned for Amelia to stay low, his face tense as the screeching metal blades carved their way through.
Before Rick could finish, the original Roy—Amelia’s strange, mechanical guide—emerged from behind the door. His metallic fingers beckoned them forward, his spotlight-like eyes cutting through the chaos like a guiding beacon.
“You are not allowed. EXCEPTIONS have been made,” Roy added, his voice innocent, as if he had been merely resting moments before.
They rushed through the doorway, passing through a thin veil of crackling blue light. The buzz of static surrounded Amelia, making her skin prickle, but as she stepped through, the world beyond suddenly quieted. The deafening screech was muffled, reduced to a low rumble. Yet even in this silence, a deep sense of foreboding lingered—it felt like stepping into the rumbling eye of a storm.
“My MISSION is now to ensure your safety, Amelia,” Roy said, his voice eerily devoid of emotion.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Take a real nice breath before speakin’, Crowny,” Rick warned, rushing just behind her.
Amelia nodded weakly, her body moving out of instinct more than understanding. Relief washed over her, but it quickly disappeared as her eyes adjusted to the light.
The room was vast, lit by an unsettling mix of flickering flames and crackling electric arcs that framed a towering mechanical figure suspended in midair. Half of its body was a mangled metallic skeleton, battle-worn and scarred. Deep gashes marred its frame, with exposed wiring sparking sporadically, barely clinging to life. The other half was disturbingly familiar—a white coat with tail ends speckled with black dots, and a frayed bomber jacket draped over its shoulders. A bird-shaped helmet crowned its head, its surface cracked from a violent blow.
Amelia’s heart froze. Glassford. Quadrant Leader Glassford, the Owl of Quadrant 8. She had seen him countless times in newspapers and on television—pristine, calm, in control. But here he was, a twisted, broken shadow of that leader.
The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. He’s a machine! The thought twisted her stomach with shock and disgust. Glassford—the powerful, respected leader—had never been human. He was a construct, a lie hidden in plain sight. How could I have never known?
“A...machine. Rick…” she muttered weakly, her gaze fixed on the mechanical skeleton. “My father’s best friend. A machine.”
Her mind raced, unraveling the longer she stared. This wasn’t just a lifeless machine—it had lived, it had fought, and now, it was dying or dead. The gashes, ruptured cables, and worn-out metal patches told a mysterious, tragic story. Was everything she knew about leadership a lie? If Glassford, the calm and composed, was a convincing human-like machine, what about the other leaders? What about her brothers? Were they even human?
“Amelia!” Rick's voice cut through the fog, but she didn’t respond.
The weight of the realization churned in her stomach. Are the leaders alive? Are they like Roy—many? Or just living batteries? The thoughts gnawed at her, but she forced them aside for now.
“Amelia! Listen, Crowny!” Rick called again, his tone sharper, pulling her back to the present. “If the Whistlin' Death wanted this airship shredded, it’d already be torn to the ground. They’re after the owl! And if they can’t get him, they might just settle for you.”
Her gaze drifted to the thin tubes snaking from Glassford’s ravaged body into the walls, pulsing faintly. His energy was being drained—a Quadrant Leader reduced to a mere fuel source. The weight of the betrayal pressed down on her, but another thought crept in, unsettling her further.
“Rick. Quadrant Leaders don’t get assassinated. Or murdered. They’re the best of the best! This is... impossible,” she muttered, her voice shaky with disbelief. If Glassford could be taken down like this, what did that mean for the others? For the leadership she once thought was untouchable?
“He wasn’t defeated in battle, at least not at first. However, the story must come later. Focus, girl! We don’t have time for this. My security won’t hold them off for long,” Rick snapped, trying to ground her.
“Seems like monsters aren’t content staying in their caves anymore, huh?” she shot back, her voice trembling with anger as her eyes locked onto his, searching for answers he wasn’t giving.
Rick shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darkening. “Thirteen pieces! You remember the letter! The Quadrant Leaders aren’t untouchable anymore. If not apparent, Yerro is no longer protecting them. Least, not like before. I don’t know what’s happening but if we get to Veranos alive, we may just figure it out.”
“So y—” Amelia tried to speak, but Rick cut her off.
“Trust me, Crowny. This is bigger than us, Amelia. There’s a reason your brother can’t yap his mouth over a letter! He’s a Crowny too but he’s well aware of the dangers of loose information! Nevermind that now! Follow the worker Roys into the darkness. It’s your best shot.”
Amelia’s fury flared. “Trust who!?” she yelled, her voice echoing through the massive room. The weight of hidden truths pressed down on her, threatening to crush her
Rick’s patience snapped. “By the blasted Tumbling Greens! You Woltworks wouldn’t trust the stink of shit right in front of you!” His voice cracked under the strain. “I didn’t bring you here to die! Yes, that is Glassford! And yes! I’m not innocent! Didn’t kill the thing but…didn’t help him either, at least not yet! Now hide or pick up a weapon, unless you want to get permanently tangled in this mess as well!”