“I—” Amelia tried to respond, but her head drooped closer to the ground, her thoughts scattering like loose gears.

  “And that’s how you’ll sound if I let ya. Questions! Questions! Questions! Let’s try and look at this conundrum one screw at a time,” Rick interjected, his tone both commanding and oddly comforting.

  “Initiating wellness analysis,” Roy’s metallic voice chimed, precise and clinical. “Gender: Female. Heart rate: elevated. Potential concussion detected. Height: approximately 1.88 meters. Weight: approximately 75 kilograms. Confirmed identity: Amelia Woltwork. Status: alive and healthy.”

  Rick smirked, shaking his head. “Roy, you’re about as comforting as a leaky steam valve. Gotta say, your bedside manner’s got a lotta room for improvement.”

  “Add pissed to that,” Amelia grumbled, her voice muffled as her eyes fluttered shut. “You didn’t have to squeeze my nose, you know. Back in the Conkle Mines, pranks like that got you killed—or worse.”

  “Little Crowny, you’re still royalty—not just some Quadrant Seven Yardrat. I had to check if you were awake or even capable of wakin’ up,” Rick replied, irritation creeping into his voice. “Understand this, the jaw we pried you from was one of no return. Ain’t never seen a beast like that.”

  Amelia’s brow furrowed as her thoughts sharpened. “I heard everything you and… whatever that is next to you were saying! You—”

  “No, ya’ didn’t! Because if ya’ did, ya’ wouldn’t have yelled ‘Assault,’ ‘Thief,’ and ‘Mugger’ like you were filing a complaint with the cosmos,” Rick retorted. “Got a kick and ‘arrest me’ sign somewhere in your overalls?”

  “No, but I got a knife if I can’t figure your goals in the next ten seconds!” Amelia snapped, her voice trembling as she struggled to stand. “I don’t know what’s happening or who you are—or if I’m even alive or will live for the next five minutes! All I remember is falling… being eaten… and now my head hurts.”

  “Oi! Girl, listen. Tiptoe now, we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I would’ve gladly thrown you off my airship two seconds ago if I wanted you dead, but now—”

  “Not advised,” Roy interrupted innocently.

  “But now,” Rick continued, brushing off Roy’s interruption, “here’s the mercy: just focus on gettin’ better. I promise I’ll explain everything.”

  Amelia’s glare softened slightly, though her breathing remained uneven. “Where am I?”

  “That’s a better question. Welcome aboard the Pappy Long Legs!” Rick declared proudly, his words cutting through her daze like a sharp blade. “She’s my own design—built to outclass those dull New Dwarden Akiyoma ships. This beauty can fly circles around ’em! Roy here can give you the grand tour—if you’re up for it.”

  Amelia shook her head, wincing as the motion aggravated her headache. “Not necessary.”

  Rick’s expression fell. “Too bad. Roy would’ve loved to show you around.”

  “This is my primary purpose,” Roy chimed in eagerly. “I aim to LEARN and, to quote Rick, ‘have a good time.’ My secondary function is to protect you.”

  “I can handle that myself,” Amelia muttered, her gaze drifting to the intricate machinery surrounding her. “Are… are we still in Quadrant Seven?”

  “Yes, just outside your little mineshaft in Little Creek,” Rick replied. “Been hoverin’ here since your… incident. Which we’ll clarify once you stop reachin’ for that knife.”

  After a tense pause, Amelia sighed and let her knife clatter to the floor. She leaned back against the metallic railing, the faint scent of bread pulling her toward an uneasy calm.

  “Ah yes, the front pocket of your uniform. Them Yardrats still wear overalls? Changin’ as slow as stone weathers, those miners,” Rick chuckled, his tone teasing yet warm.

  Before Amelia could respond, Rick’s voice boomed again, cutting through the air like a crack of a whip. “Roy! Get the girl some bread!” he barked, the command laced with a gruff urgency that left no room for hesitation.

  “Yes, Captain Rick,” Roy responded, moving with mechanical precision.

  Rick knelt beside Amelia, his tone softening. “Calm your mind. Focus on breathin’. We’ve got time to sort this out.”

  “You get eaten, almost killed, then kidnapped! Then tell me to calm down!” Amelia raged, her chest heaving as panic set in. “Until a couple of seconds ago, I couldn’t even see my hands!” Her voice wavered with the onset of tears.

  “The name’s Rick. I’m a damn good baker, an engineer, and now an airship pilot! Not just any airship pilot, but the pilot of the Pappy Long Legs! That combination’s uniquely mine. As for Roy, well… better you see him than hear me try to explain,” Rick said with a wry grin.

  “You might find it surprising, but according to Rick, ‘I am not HUMAN, but uniquely human,’” Roy remarked, his tone almost contemplative. “You’ll see what he means once you’re more awake.”

  “Right you are, man from metal,” Rick chimed in with playful agreement. “Anyway, I used to cook for you and your brothers when you were young Crownies. Things looked a bit different back then—no mustache, fewer metal limbs, and… well… no blasted affliction.” Rick paused, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “As Roy said, you’ll understand once your sight clears up.”

  “I’m sorry… but I don’t know a Rick,” Amelia confessed softly. “Or a Roy. Never did.”

  “Then you damn well know Tammersmith,” Rick replied, his voice carrying a note of certainty.

  Amelia’s eyes flew open as if waking from a deep slumber, the realization hitting her like a lightning bolt. To Rick’s surprise, she leaped up from the ground with a burst of energy, landing in a shaky crouch.

  “You’re… You’re Tammersmith!? From the Primarian Royale! The capital! But… how…?” Amelia stammered in disbelief. “You’re not supposed to be here! You’re not supposed to be talking to me, looking at me, caring for me! You… you’re… changed?” Her emotions swirled in a maelstrom. “What affliction!?”

  “Could ya’ have picked a better word?” Rick teased. “Disabled is one of ’em that goes around.”

  “I… I…” Amelia faltered, at a loss for words. “Wha—what happened?”

  “They call it Soul Rot,” Rick began, his voice heavy with resignation. “A gamble with desperate dice. Makin’ deals with spirits is as foolish as bein’ the canary coaxed to the coal mine. Worse, if you ain’t careful, they’re as unforgiving as the Clinkers clankin’ around the inner quadrants.”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “You’ve lost me,” Amelia muttered, disbelief thick in her voice.

  Rick chuckled darkly, his smile laced with bitterness. “Soul Rot ain’t instant death, despite what most New Dwardian knuckleheads think. Wish it were. It’s slower, crueler.” He paused, running a hand over the jagged edges of his metallic limbs. “Rick—that’s the name I took after this wretched rot left me lookin’ like a melted sack o’ flesh. Ain’t no one gonna believe I’m a Tammersmith now, not with a face like chewed gum left out in the sun. People don’t need to know what used to be…”

  His voice softened as he added, “Since I last saw ya’, it’s gotten to my arms and legs. Already gone, Crowny.”

  Amelia tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at him. “You move with metal limbs?” she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and faint disbelief. “Seems the inner cities have grown away from wooden pegs.”

  Rick barked a short laugh, the sound dry and tinged with irony. “Unless you’ve got more coin than hair, you’re stuck lookin’ like a Quadrant Seven scarecrow,” he replied, motioning to his mismatched parts. “I improvised. Pappy Science.”

  “Pappy Science?” Amelia echoed, her disbelief plain as she glanced toward Rick.

  “Innovation!” Rick declared with a crooked grin, tapping a metallic finger against his temple. “Best seen, not explained.” He gestured toward the horizon. “Now sit back, rub those tired eyes, and take a good gander at what’s ahead. You’ll have to get used to a heap of change soon,” he added, his tone softening. “Your brother, the King, made sure of that. But me? Don’t waste a worry on ol’ Rick—I’ve got Roy to keep me upright.”

  Amelia took a moment to collect herself, the absurdity of her situation weighing heavily on her. Summoning her resolve, she clenched her fists and slowly rose to her feet. Despite the lingering sense of unease, her curiosity won out. Gradually, her surroundings began to sharpen from their blurred state, revealing a massive, jagged circular platform. It was covered in an array of intricate knobs, levers weathered from use, and coiled rails twisting like metal serpents. Around her, consoles of all sizes blinked and hummed, offering a glimpse into the mysteries of the strange vessel she had awakened on.

  “So… airships aren’t too different from waterships, huh?” Amelia remarked, a hint of excitement in her voice. “I-I’ve never been on an airship before!” she added, her eyes lighting up with sudden wonder.

  “You mean a boat?” Rick chuckled. “And yes! Since your time away from the capital, New Dwarden’s perfected the airship—Akiyoma style, but I have to argue and will continue to argue that mine’s a step above. Each of the thirteen quadrants have their own version of what they consider ‘perfect’, and well… from what I can see those airships just don’t explode as much anymore. Oh, and they have bigger cannons,” he boasted, the wind gusting into the cockpit as he stood tall. “See! If ya’ had stabbed me, ya’ wouldn’t have seen any of this!”

  Before Amelia could respond, Rick shoved a piece of his famous Morsha bread into her mouth. The sudden yet familiar crunch was enough to bring her back to years long past, filling her with crunchy, flaky, nostalgia. She devoured the bread eagerly, savoring the memories it evoked and the delicious flavor that danced on her tongue. For a brief moment, she forgot about the danger and strangeness of her situation, lost in the warmth of something warm and familiar.

  “What do you think, Amelia? Just like ya’ remember?” Rick asked with a large grin.

  Amelia raised her eyes to meet his for the first time in what felt like decades. Standing before her was a stout man with four metallic limbs—spider-like, yet fluid and precise. His cartoonishly large mustache sat above a crinkly red nose, and his wide brown eyes peered out from behind round spectacles perched precariously on his face. The scent of machine oil and freshly baked goods clung to his overalls, a curious mix that somehow suited him. Despite the heavy wrinkles lining his face, Amelia wasn’t fazed. To her, Rick was just another person who’d had a hard lot in life—much like the Yardrats she’d worked with in the Conkle Mines.

  “I’m calling you Tammersmith... I don’t like Rick,” Amelia chuckled. “Seems silly to deny yourself a history.”

  “Could say the same to you,” Rick teased. “But respect—”

  “Look,” Amelia sighed, a fresh piece of Morsha bread hanging from her lip, “I’ll call you Rick,” she conceded between bites, “but I don’t like it. You’re no uglier than the Yardrats down at the mines.”

  “And you—start chewin’ with your mouth closed, and you’ll be half as ugly! Plus, ya’ won’t choke,” Rick shot back, accepting her remark with a grin. “My great auntie choked on a piece of Cerulean silk meat after too much mead. Wasn’t a pretty sight.”

  “It’s true! Meat-based organisms have LIMITED storage in their orifices… err… holes,” Roy chimed in from across the platform, his voice echoing awkwardly in the metallic expanse.

  “Ah, yes… something better left unsaid, Roy,” Rick remarked with a sudden frown.

  Amelia couldn’t help but laugh, a grimace crossing her face as the memories continued to flood back. She felt an odd mixture of raw emotion, the bread stirring something deep within her.

  “The Greisha Ceremony… I’m not supposed to make contact with anyone from the capital. I—” Amelia began, her voice growing distant as the words faded. “Silly rule.”

  “Best not dwell on it,” Rick said, his tone cautious. “There are things in this world we can’t even begin to understand.”

  “You sound just like those inner Quadrant elitists,” Amelia muttered, her mouth still full of bread.

  “And you? Who or what d’ya sound like, Crowny?” Rick asked, raising a brow, his tone tinged with curiosity.

  “Does it matter anymore?” Amelia sighed, frustration creeping into her voice. “I was attacked by some monster. Taken aboard this airship. Now I’m sure the capital wants to hang me for breaking some stupid rule I didn’t even know existed—and you’re my polite executioner.”

  “You’re quick to line the axe to your neck, Crowny,” Rick replied, moving closer to her. His metallic limbs clicked and whirred as they navigated the wires and consoles with uncanny precision. “Here’s the secret to good bread,” he added with a chuckle. “It gets you to shut up long enough to listen. So do that, and I promise everything else will become clear.”

  “Gracefully said, Rick,” Amelia quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “So why am I here? How’d I survive?”

  “We’re on a mission ‘ordained by your older brother,’ King Woltwork,” Rick explained, his expression turning grave. “Something unknown tried to bury ya’. It ain’t public knowledge yet, but I believe your brother foresaw this monster comin’ for you—at least to some extent. The ‘why’ isn’t our concern right now. The ‘when’ is the real question. And that monster? It will come back, make no mistake. As for how—”

  Amelia’s steps were slow but deliberate as she approached Rick. Her hand dipped into her boot, retrieving the locket she’d kept hidden there. She opened it, revealing a black-and-white family portrait. Her eyes lingered on the image, a mixture of frustration and sadness etched into her face. She turned the locket toward Rick, her finger pointing accusingly.

  “You’re telling me the same brother who pushed for us to be exiled from the capital—Quadrant Zero—is now looking out for us? The same man who showed no mercy during the Greisha Ceremony?” Amelia’s voice rose, thick with doubt. “The one who sent Bolton to fend for himself?”

  “Games ain’t fair, but your family plays by different rules, Amelia,” Rick replied, his voice softening as he met her gaze. “Invisible strings guide those with power. You’ll figure it out soon enough. Your brother knows about your time in the Conkle Mines. He knows how they’ve been treatin’ ya’.”

  “Like family?” Amelia shot back bitterly.

  “Like family,” Rick agreed, his tone even. He gently guided her hand, urging her to close the locket and return it to her pocket. “But that don’t mean he’s given up on ya’. Not entirely.”

  As their conversation continued, a faint whirring sound drew Amelia’s attention. Roy approached, cradling a mechanical flower crafted from scraps of metal and wire. The automaton extended the flower toward her, its glowing eyes flickering with an almost childlike innocence.

  “When we rescued you. From your death,” Roy began his voice even but tinged with something softer. “I came upon a CHILD. She gave me a flower. She said, ‘peace.’ That I wasn’t to hurt her family if she gave me something precious.”

  Amelia blinked, her brow furrowing as she processed Roy’s words. Her hand instinctively darted toward her knife, her posture tense as she eyed Roy warily. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice cautious.

  Rick stepped forward, his tone light but firm. “It means people will learn to understand Roy,” he said, gesturing toward Amelia. “Now, how ’bout you stop reachin’ for your blade and let him be.”

  For a moment, Amelia hesitated, her fingers brushing the hilt of her knife before she slowly relaxed her grip. Her gaze flicked between Rick and Roy, her suspicion softening into curiosity. Roy’s outstretched hand remained steady, the flower gleaming faintly in the dim light.

  Rick smirked, nodding toward the automaton. “Told ya’ Roy’s got more heart than he lets on. Go on, take the damn flower.”

  Amelia’s hand finally reached out, her movements slow and deliberate. She took the flower from Roy, holding it delicately as if it might crumble under her touch. The edges of her lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile.

  “Guess I’ll add it to the list of things I never thought I’d see,” she muttered, lifting the intricate creation to examine it more closely.