The air in the Triple Ten Gate was always cool, still, and heavy with the scent of ancient metal and cold stone. Now, it also carried the sharp, clean smell of fresh weld-lines and the warm, nutty aroma of the oil Bianca was using. She was kneeling on the polished rock floor, her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth in absolute concentration. Before her, a Karakuri automaton—a 'Ship-Wright of Yore'—stood docile, one of its brass chest panels removed. Inside, a mesmerizing clockwork of spinning gears and glowing crystal filaments pulsed with a slow, amber light.
Bianca's fingers, stained with grease and moving with a speed that belied their careful precision, danced between a tangled nest of copper wires and her own multi-tool. A pencil was stuck through her messy black bun, threatening to tumble free with every eager movement.
Galit Varuna watched from a few yards away, leaning against a dormant magnetic clamp with his arms crossed. His long neck was held in a relaxed but observant curve, his emerald eyes missing nothing. "What is it you're attempting to accomplish?" he asked, his voice echoing softly in the vast space.
Bianca glanced up, her magnifying goggles making her eyes look comically large. "I, like, want to take some of them with us," she said, as if announcing she wanted to bring along a spare wrench.
Galit's brow furrowed. "For what tactical purpose?"
"Because, like, that thing," Bianca said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder toward the silent, massive form of the Dreadnought Thalassa, "is like a total beast. And I am not, like, going to be able to, like, do everything myself. I'm, like, gonna need, like, help. And these little guys," she patted the automaton's brass shoulder, "know more about this tech than, like, anyone alive. They're, like, walking, welding libraries."
"Makes a certain strategic sense," Galit conceded, nodding slowly. He was about to continue when the entire drydock shuddered.
Unlike the earlier, violent quake. This was a deep, groaning tremor that vibrated up from the very roots of the island and traveled through the stone into their bones. The hundreds of working Karakuri bots paused for a single, synchronized second, their single lenses dimming. Dust and flakes of rust sifted down from the cavern ceiling high above, sparkling in the light of the false-star crystals before vanishing into the gloom below. Bianca froze, her tool held aloft, looking up as if she could see through the miles of rock.
The tremor passed, leaving an eerie silence deeper than before.
"Like, that seems like a really, really bad—" Bianca began.
She was cut off by a ominous, echoing, voice. It emanated from the very walls, the ceiling, the floor—a deep, resonant, and utterly emotionless booming tone that vibrated in their teeth.
"STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY COMPROMISED. SEISMIC EVENT HAS ACCELERATED CORE STRAIN. TOTAL SYSTEM FAILURE IN: TWENTY HOURS."
The words hung in the air, thick and final. Around them, the automatons unpaused and returned to their work with renewed, silent urgency, as if trying to outrun the announcement.
Galit pushed off from the clamp, standing straight. "That sounds like a problem."
Bianca stood up, wiping her hands on her already-stained overalls. "Like, yeah." Her usual bubbly energy was gone, replaced by a flat, sober realization. Both of them turned their heads in unison to look at the Dreadnought Thalassa. The great whale-sized ship was now surrounded by a small army of bots, its hull shining with fresh, silvery seams of alloy. It looked healthier. But far from whole.
"How long have we been here so far?" Galit asked, his mind already calculating vectors and timelines.
Bianca shrugged, her shoulders tense. "Maybe, like… ten hours? Twelve?"
Galit's eyes flicked to the dark tunnel mouth through which Aurélie, Charlie, and Ember had vanished. "And they haven't returned. We have no status report, and we are now operating on a catastrophic deadline."
Bianca let out a sigh that was more of a frustrated groan. Then, with sudden resolve, she marched toward the Thalassa's lowered gangplank, her boots clacking decisively on the stone.
"What are you—?" Galit called after her.
She glanced over her shoulder, her goggles catching the light. "Going to, like, check on their progress and see if I can, like, speed it up! I don't think we have, like, a lot of time to be polite!"
Galit opened his mouth to reply, to suggest a more measured approach, when the brrr-ring-brrring of his Den Den Mushi cut through the drydock's ambient hum. He snatched it from his belt. The snail's face morphed, its features settling into a familiar, stern expression with piercing eyes.
"What is your progress?" Marya's voice was calm, but a thread of tension wire ran beneath it.
Galit's eyes did a quick, subconscious sweep of the incredible, doomed cavern. "We found it. And it's… amazing. A drydock from the Void Century. A ship, too. More advanced than anything I've ever seen."
"And the Thalassa?" Marya asked, cutting to the priority.
"Being repaired. But…" Galit hesitated.
"But?"
"We've run into a localized complication. Half the group decided to… fraternize with the indigenous population. And the facility's central system just announced it will completely fail in twenty hours. That may not be enough time for full-system restoration."
There was a pause on the other end. He could almost hear Marya's analytical mind weighing the variables. "Don't compromise yourselves. We can find another facility if we must. Focus on the most critical systems—engines, navigation, primary hull integrity. Get what you can and be ready to leave?"
Galit nodded, though she couldn't see it. "Understood. How about you? What's your progress?"
Marya sighed, a sound of pure exasperation. "I retrieved the power holder. But…"
A smirk tugged at Galit's lips. He couldn't help it. "But…?"
"The crew was taken. By pirates."
The smirk widened into a full, wry grin. "Let me guess. The furball was kidnapped, so now we have a rescue operation to mount."
Marya's groan through the snail was eloquent and deeply pained. "Yes. I will meet you at the rendezvous point. From there, we divert to Agashima."
Galit's mind was already racing, overlaying charts and current charts. "Affirmative. I'll begin plotting the course."
"Good. See you soon." The line went dead with a soft click.
Galit chuckled, shaking his head. Of course. Nothing was ever simple. His chuckle died as his head snapped up at a new sound.
"HEY! Galit!" Bianca was yelling, waving her arms from the main deck of the Thalassa. Her voice echoed in the cavern. "Like, get up here! I, like, need your help! These stupid bots won't, like, listen to me about prioritizing the engines over the, like, decorative scrollwork on the captain's door!"
The existential dread of the crumbling ancient wonder settled around Galit like the falling dust. They were trapped in a dying, mechanical cathedral, their allies were missing, their other allies were captured, and their engineer was trying to argue aesthetics with clockwork ghosts. He took a deep breath of the oil-and-stone-scented air, and sprinted for the ship. The countdown, silent and relentless, had already begun.
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