Dellen knifed through the air after Victoria, crashing into her a brief second later, spinning them both so their feet pointed down and he would hit first.

The ground loomed ahead, coming up fast.

Dellen held out his hands, blood dripping from his fingers and coat. Electrical Aether built within him, and he pushed a magnetic field against the metal beneath the cobblestones.

They slowed, but still hit the ground. His boots hit first, at an angle, and momentum threw him from his feet.

His already injured side screamed in protest as the hard surface slammed against the fresh wound. The world spun, pain radiating out in debilitating waves that darkened his vision around the edges.

Lady Victoria was an extra weight atop him, her knees and elbows focal points of suffering, his bruised and battered flesh protesting fiercely. His iron-clad bones, usually a source of strength, felt like they had tried to split out of his skin.

His body went rigid as a guttural groan escaped his lips, teeth clenched tight to prevent any more outward display of discomfort. His side throbbed with a rhythm of agony that echoed his heartbeat. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

He drew in ragged breaths.

Lady Victoria pulled herself off him, unleashing a fresh wave of pain.

“Still with me, Lord Northcote?” She asked.

“Dellen! Dellen!” Gilgamesh yelled in alarm.

“Never better.” Dellen grated through gritted teeth, eyes refusing to open, “I might need medical attention.”

“Might need medical attention,” Gilgamesh muttered, still sounding worried.

The sound of feet hammering on cobblestones almost made him open his eyes.

Concerned voices burst out. “Lady Lockridge! Are you alright? Lady Lockridge!”

“Stand down, gentlemen.” Lady Lockridge said with some irritation, “You would have been most helpful even ten seconds ago.”

“Yes, your ladyship, sorry, your ladyship, we had strict orders to stand back and remain unobserved.” Said one of their ‘saviors’ sounding abashed.

“Do you have bandages?” Dellen asked.

A minute later, he was still on the ground, but his jacket and shirt had been cut off. Dellen braced himself against the discomfort he knew was coming.

A guard dripped a needle into a jar of amber liquid, presumably an antiseptic, then turned to him, “This is going to sting a bit, sir.”

Dellen’s fingers clenched into fists as the needles pierced his torn skin, the sensation sharp and biting. He could feel the thread pulling through, tugging the raw edges of his wound together. His muscle fibers protested, and his lips released another groan.

Gilgamesh was a supportive if unhearable presence nearby, “Careful with him, you oaf, that’s not a side of ham, take care with that needle.”

The guard worked quickly and efficiently, his movements practiced and sure. Dellen forced his attention away from the pain, focusing on his breathing and the low, calm voice of the guard telling him, “Just a few more, sir.”

The pain was a constant, insistent pressure, a reminder of his recent skirmish. The last stitch was tied off, and the guard gently dabbed at the wound with a soft cloth. Dellen allowed himself to relax. The raw, searing pain was a slightly less searing throb. He gingerly felt along the edges of the wound. “How many stitches?”

“I stopped counting after a hundred.” The guard rumbled.

Dellen tried to sit up. “Careful now. Even though the wound is closed, you’re still injured where she carved the flesh off your side.

“Get a chair and sit him up.” Lady Lockridge said.

“Brace yourself,” a strong voice said.

Hands steadied him at his armpits, waist, and knees before he was lifted and deposited in a chair.

Dellen’s wound flared with pain, and he groaned in protest, but he allowed himself to be deposited in a sturdy chair… That was on the cobblestones in the middle of The Grotto. “Where’d the chair come from?” He asked, feeling confused.

“You just got sewn back together like a broken toy, and your first question is about furniture,” Gilgamesh said, sounding harried.

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“Carry him back to my airship.” Lady Victoria said, she turned to Dellen, “My house guard brought it with them, of course. A pity this all got so out of hand, but thank you for your strenuous efforts to keep me safe.”

Dellen felt at his side and managed a weak smile, “You are welcome, your ladyship.”

His chair was hoisted in the air and carried toward the aforementioned airship. Dellen was carefully maneuvered onto the ship. The main cabin was lined with polished mahogany, punctuated with copper fittings, and accented by plush velvet upholstery. The dim, warm light from wall sconces cast a soothing glow, starkly contrasting with the environment they had just left.

The moment the hatch was secured, the airship hummed to life, the raw power of its engines resonating through the hull. It ascended smoothly, the ground slowly receding from view through the windows as they rose into the evening sky.

Outside, the panorama of the city stretched out beneath them, a sprawling tapestry of glowing windows, flickering street lamps, and moving airships. The city seemed strangely peaceful from this height, the chaos, and intrigue they had just encountered momentarily forgotten.

As the airship took off towards House Lockridge, the flight was smooth and tranquil, a world away from the skirmish with Captain Thatch and her crew. It seemed as though they were gliding through a sea of starlight, with only the soft hum of the engines and the occasional distant clang of city life below.

Still sore from his encounter, Dellen was led into a spacious guest room within the grandiose Lockridge estate. It was decorated tastefully with artwork from renowned painters, and rich drapes covered the large windows overlooking the city. A large, comfortable bed with pristine white linens dominated the room, and an adjacent private washroom was fitted with copper fixtures, an inviting bath, and an array of soothing oils and balms.

A house physician, a middle-aged man with a stern yet kind face, attended to Dellen. His hands were sure and gentle as he cleaned Dellen's wounds and applied a numbing salve. “You may want to look away. Battlefield medicine is all well and good, but I need to make sure the wound is clean; rocks or metal shards left behind in the wound can impair your recovery.”

“They’re going to cut you back open?” Gilgamesh exclaimed in horror.

Dellen just sighed. “Do what needs to be done, please.”

The physician released his stitches, cleaned his wound, replaced his sutures, and bandaged him, all the while engaging him in light conversation to take his mind off the pain.

“This man seems much better trained,” Gilgamesh said with approval.

After the physician left, Dellen found himself alone in the opulent room. Despite the luxury surrounding him, his mind was busy with thoughts of House Northcote and Stefan. He rummaged through a drawer of the intricately carved writing desk in the corner of his room and found stationary bearing the crest of House Lockridge.

He quickly penned a note, explaining his situation as succinctly as possible:

"Stefan,

Unexpected circumstances have led to an extended stay at House Lockridge. I have been involved in a minor altercation and need time to recover. I trust you will manage things effectively in my absence. Do not worry. I am being well cared for here. I will return as soon as possible.

Dellen"

With a wax seal stamped with the Lockridge insignia, Dellen opened his door to look for a servant and found Lady Lockridge. “Lord Northcote! What are you doing out of bed?” She exclaimed in irritation.

“I was sending a note to my steward, Stefan.”

Lady Lockridge rolled her eyes in exasperation, “Eric, please have this letter delivered for Lord Northcote.” She took the letter from Dellen and handed the note to a house servant, instructing him to deliver it to Stefan at House Northcote. She turned her attention back to him and stalked into the room with two attendant footmen.

“Pardon the company, but tongues would wag if I was alone with you in here,” She eyed the fresh bandages wrapped on his side, “As though you were a threat to anyone in your current state. Not to mention your ever-present companion.”

“Lady Victoria, I’m flattered by your thanks, but I am exhausted,” Dellen said, realizing it was true.

“I’m sure you are.” Lady Victoria said, “However, you should still eat. Many people live a lifetime without taking an injury that grave.”

“I feel like I just need a good jolt of Electrical Aether and some copper,” Dellen said, still tired.

“In any case, you have convinced me that your tale, no matter how wild, is likely true. My men collected the debris from the fight with the Nightingale.” She said with a significant look on her face.

Gilgamesh worked it out first, “You have proof.”

“Yes, exactly, we have proof.”

“We can take this to the proper authorities and force them to investigate,” Dellen said with a gasp.

“Not only that, they admitted to their connection to Thaddeus in front of me; I can corroborate your story.”

Dellen felt a wave of relief flow through him. “You think we’ve stopped it?”

“We might know tomorrow.” She gave him a respectful nod, “I’ll leave you to your evening meal.” She clapped her hands and walked out the door.

As Lady Victoria exited the room, the rhythmic click of her shoes against the marble floor was quickly replaced by a soft rustle. The door swung open again to admit a procession of House Lockridge servants, their black and gold uniforms crisp, faces schooled into polite neutrality.

The first servant carried a folded white linen cloth, which he smoothly laid across the small dining table by the window. The next placed a fine china plate and ornate silver cutlery, arranged meticulously. Another set down a crystal goblet, its facets scattering the room’s light into tiny rainbows.

A young woman followed, bearing a large silver platter holding a steaming soup tureen. The smell was enticing, with notes of roasted vegetables and aromatic herbs wafting in the air. The next servant had a plate of fresh bread and a bowl of creamy butter, and another held a decanter of what seemed to be a rich, red wine.

The last servant carried a covered dish. As he lifted the silver cloche, a delicious aroma filled the room, roasted meat with rosemary. The sight of the meal was almost as good as its scent, the meat golden-brown and juicy, surrounded by roasted vegetables glistening with butter.

“You’re supposed to eat all of this on your own?” Gilgamesh said in amazement.

The servants retreated in the same efficient silence, leaving Dellen alone with his meal. “Unless you plan on helping me?” he said.

“Hardly.”

Dellen fell on his food and, in short order, demolished the contents of each dish.

“What do you think the morning will bring?” Gilgamesh asked.

“I don’t know, hopefully, fewer injuries. I’m going to tour my factory again, or at least speak to Julia, if I can walk, and see what Lady Lockridge and I can accomplish.”