Moving into the corridor, Mereque and Fishburn proceeded with caution, mindful of any lurking dangers that might surprise them. Both men remained armed and ready, prepared to take action at the slightest indication of trouble.

  Along the way to the pressure lock, they encountered three different groups of crewmen equipped with torch gear similar to Fishburn’s. The teams had been clearing passageways and cabins methodically, their faces grim with focus.

  Right before they reached their destination, a pointed tendril shot toward the Havenite’s head from a pipe on their right. Mereque caught it between his gauntleted hands and pulled hard, snapping it apart with a wet crack. Jelly sprayed across the bulkhead.

  Fishburn nodded thanks—no words needed—and they pressed on.

  They arrived at pressure lock three, where the Zaxvoyan was introduced to an impressive piece of Havenite equipment: pressurized suits of armor known as Heavy Bells.

  Shining like bronzed instruments, the suits stood at least three feet higher than himself, by his estimation. Docked five to a side, ten in total.

  They were more heavy machinery than any diving suit he was familiar with.

  Though, in truth, his knowledge of these naval people—and what they did or did not have—was limited, far outside his experiences. Everything had been a learning experience since his arrival; this was no exception.

  Masterpieces of Havenite engineering, designed not for grace or speed but for raw survival in the crushing, unforgiving depths of their ocean world.

  Each suit stood over ten feet tall, a hulking frame of thick bronze-alloy plating reinforced with internal struts and pressure-sealed joints that could withstand the immense weight of kilometers of water without buckling. The exterior gleamed with a dull, burnished sheen—practical, not ornamental—resistant to corrosion from saltwater and the acidic residues of deep-sea life.

  Broad, articulated limbs ended in massive gauntlets and booted feet fitted with magnetic clamps and weighted stabilizers, allowing the wearer to anchor to hulls or seafloors in turbulent currents. Smoothly curved helmets were domed with a single layered viewport of reinforced crystal, providing wide visibility while shielding against impacts from debris or aggressive marine life.

  Integrated propulsion came from powerful rotors mounted on the backs, complimented by compressed gas canisters for short bursts of maneuverability. Tool mounts on arms and torso held torches, cutters, and repair kits—everything needed to clear blockages, patch breaches under pressure, or fight invasive parasites.

  Storage compartments sealed against water carried extra air, buoyancy bladders, and emergency beacons. No wasted space, no fragility.

  No doubt, they were slow, ponderous giants on land, but in the depths, they became extensions of the wearer’s will—armored fortresses that turned men into titans capable of working where the ocean itself tried to kill them.

  The suits were exquisitely practical. Perfect for the depths.

  Mereque’s impression of these people grew.

  Fishburn motioned him forward.

  The lock waited. The Gull groaned.

  ? ? ?

  Night had turned into early dawn, and the red hues of the breaking day began to creep slowly across the horizon. High above the clouds, the sentient machine now known as RX hovered suspended in the sky, remaining motionless as it held its position by means little understood—silent propulsion that defied explanation.

  Upon the flat surface of its topside, created from transforming itself once more, the terrifying fire-breathing Red Dragon had curled up and seemingly gone to sleep. Eyes closed, only the heavy sounds of his deep breathing could be heard. The beast had entered a peaceful slumber.

  Wrapped in a thick woolen blanket, the Leprechaun’s Daughter stood nearby. Gentle winds caressed her long-curled red hair as she watched him wearily, wondering if he truly wandered the realm of dreams, as the Machine God had explained.

  Hexabulous—that was his name, the Great Red Dragon. An ancient, crimson-scaled drake whose sinuous body was knotted with overdeveloped musculature, giving him an unusually fierce appearance even for a beast already considered fearsome.

  She could not fly, nor swim if she fell. Though some among the Fay possessed such gifts, those abilities were not hers.

  Instead, she placed trust in the assurances of the voice emerging from the steel thing beneath her feet—an artificial being she, as a creature of supernatural realms, could not truly comprehend, yet regarded as divine.

  The dawn lightened. RX hovered silently. The dragon breathed deep.

  Grace pulled the blanket closer. She felt much like a mouse must have fast in the talons of a hawk. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to stop herself from freezing up, and the undercurrent of an instinctual need to flee was undeniably stronger than anything she had ever felt.

  Still, she trusted this Guardian God, despite being terrified of it, terrified of both.

  The machine had a way about it—an unexplainably comforting presence that put her at ease.

  Even though it was to her a disembodied voice echoing from a nearly incomprehensible metallic shape, it expressed itself with perfect human empathy and was more than the cold steel it appeared to be made from.

  This contradiction, confusing as it was at first, offered her a tether of compassion and kindness before the irrefutable intimidation one faced when coming face to face with the other.

  She held onto it tightly.

  When she had stirred from her nap, some hours had passed since leaving the shores of the Blanched Lands.

  Coming awake with a start, it took her a few moments to orient herself to the strange surroundings.

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  She was still safely seated in the passenger cabin the machine had directed her into after first boarding.

  The way the metal creature could reconfigure itself seemingly at will, from her perspective, was miraculous.

  It left her awestruck and feeling small.

  There were those among the Fay who could change their forms, hiding their true appearance by becoming something familiar to others. When encountering humans, they often became members of the opposite sex or made themselves appear more beautiful than their natural state.

  It was said by some that dragons possessed this power.

  Though there was no indication from the one presently keeping company with her that proved this assertion true.

  She was wary to ask such a question of him, lest she ignite his anger.

  Hexabulous was intimidating enough.

  The thought of the beast disguising himself in other forms sent a shiver down her spine.

  Shaking these thoughts from her head, she looked at him cautiously.

  The words the machine spoke after she woke came back to her.

  A surprisingly pleasant conversation that readily illustrated the dichotomy between the duo.

  One a clear terror on two wings. The other an enigma shrouded behind machinery she didn’t understand in the least.

  “Bzzz… Did you rest well, Lady Grace?”

  The voice intruded gently after her eyes fluttered open.

  “Yes, it seems I did, Master RX.”

  She answered after considering a moment.

  “Bzzz… I am glad to hear it, Lady Grace. Your comfort is my utmost priority, considering the difficult situation you find yourself in. I promise you are safe with us. You appear cold; I will adjust the internal temperature. Would you care for a blanket while we wait?”

  The machine inquired, tone filled with concern.

  “Yes, if you don’t mind, Great One. I am chilled and would be most grateful. Where is Master Hexabulous, if I may?”, she replied, asking after the fire-breathing beast.

  A panel on the wall behind her opened revealing several folded linens. Thick and woolen.

  She took the first from the pile. Wrapped herself in it and sighed.

  Grace tried not to smile when she felt they had been preheated, but a small curl touched the corners of her mouth.

  Warmth spread. Comfort.

  “Bzzz… I do not mind your questions in the least, Lady Grace. My friend is presently meditating outside. You can find him up top.”

  As if by magic, the Machine God brought up a video display of the exterior on a wall panel beside her. It focused on the coiled-up creature, who appearing to sleep quite peacefully.

  “Meditating? He sounds like he’s snoring.”

  The Leprechaun’s Daughter remarked skeptically, noting the low rumble she could hear with every exhale he made, even inside the cabin.

  “Bzzz… For Hexabulous, those things are not mutually exclusive. I assure you; he is in a deep trance. He is attempting to commune with Old Father Kraken to determine if he has seen your friend, Mereque, the subject of our search," the voice from the mechanical construct explained.

  Grace had gone outside more out of curiosity than any desire to be near the beast.

  They claimed they needed to help the spaceman, as he was important to the future of their world. But they were unspecific as to the how or why of that.

  Regardless of these two Sky Gods’ motivations, she was certain of her own.

  She wanted to help the man from Leopold Seven. He had a good heart. She sensed it even before they met.

  Her intuition wasn’t always reliable. She knew that. And she often wondered about decisions in her past when she ignored it, or when it had led her down the wrong path. But in this case, she was certain.

  Finding and aiding Mereque was one of the most important things she had to do.

  His reasons for coming here were deeply personal to him—more than a mission, more than reconnecting with his ancestral people. She had seen it during the time he spent with her in the fairylands.

  There, the veil between worlds left him somewhat exposed.

  Like scanning a partially opened book, she had witnessed what was inside him.

  What she saw had moved her.

  His was a life filled with tragic loss, yet his spine remained unbendable as the strongest steel.

  He did what he believed was right.

  Not for one instant had he been enticed by his travel through her realm.

  It was as if his spirit was immune to the supernatural allure that ensnared most of his mortal kind.

  Ventrullis wasn’t unique in that regard.

  She had heard of others from her neighbors. But rare. A handful at most.

  For humans returning from the fairylands, it was a difficult process.

  Many suffered for years, like addicts denied their obsession—drink, drug, or other compulsions.

  Some became mentally unstable.

  Others ended their own lives.

  It was the principal reason mortals feared and hated those from the fairylands.

  “I’ve always hated you, Fay.”

  The Red Dragon spoke unexpectedly, startling her as he opened his eyelids and revealed the huge, penetrating crimson orbs behind them.

  Grace froze.

  “Bzzz… Hexabulous is awake.”

  The machine's voice echoed from hidden speakers somewhere along the outer hull.

  “Yes, Master RX. I can hear him.”

  Grace replied nervously, without a hint of sarcasm. She was gripped by too much reverence for these beings to be anything but honestly straightforward with them.

  “Bzzz… Of course, my apologies, Lady Grace.”

  The disembodied intelligence responded calmly.

  The gigantic beast lifted his head and rose onto his thick muscular legs, stretching himself fully with wings spread out wide.

  As the curls in her long reddish hair unfurled in the rush of sudden wind, the great fire-breathing drake’s shadow fell upon her. The imposing figure would have been enough to make her faint, but for the promises of the machine, which had offered enough comfort for her to at least now not wilt within his presence.

  It was the clearest view she had of the dragon since meeting the two. He had always been somewhat obscured by the constant smoke billowing from nostrils and the corners of his mouth, or by clouds, or by the darkness of the evening at night. But now, in the growing glow of the rising sun, he was fully exposed.

  Red scales glistened in the dawn, shifting from the deepest volcanic hues to bright pastel candlelight colors. His sinuous bulk was surprisingly supple despite the barely contained corded knots of powerful meaty tissue that hid just beneath the surface.

  His snout was horned, short, thick, and curled slightly to point downwards at the end. A long row of spines ran from the crest of his head along the length of his tail, tapering away at either end.

  Huge deadly-looking black claws extended from the end of all four extremities, their composition and hardness reminding her more of the steel that made up RX’s body. The Leprechaun’s Daughter was left with little doubt that this god could rend her limb from limb if it so decided.

  Standing upright on his two back legs, Hexabulous used his front limbs more like human arms, gesturing expressively as he spoke with the wide-eyed fairy.

  “When I was newly hatched—just a few months old—one of your kind inflicted themselves upon me, thinking my den held a treasure horde of valuables. When he learned it did not, he returned later with others to hunt and kill me, intent on selling my carcass—or pieces of it—for profit.”

  “I am sorry,” Grace said with genuine empathy, shocked by this sudden glimpse into the beast’s youth. She was unsure what to make of his unexpected openness. “That must have been traumatic for you.”

  “Hmph. For lesser creatures, I suppose it would be,” the Great Red Dragon replied, dismissing her compassion with a low rumble that carried ancient pride. “It was not as traumatic as it was for him—and those who helped him. In the end, I tore them apart and left their burned remains scattered across the valley as a warning to any others who might entertain the same notion. So do not be sorry for me, girly fay. Pity their souls if you like but understand my animosity. It will not change.”

  He paused; crimson eyes fixed on her.

  “Maybe now you will urinate yourself less often and spare me that stench.”

  Grace realized the drake’s pride was as vast as his size. He would never submit to any form of human emotional comforting, even the most innocuous. He was a creature left alone from birth, forced to master his surroundings before he likely even knew speech. She didn’t argue—his words were true. She had struggled to control her bladder in his presence and had not always succeeded, leaving her red-faced with embarrassment. His nose was sensitive enough to detect it easily.

  She took a deep breath and accepted it. Even afraid, the Sky Gods were trying, in their own ways, to put her at ease.

  “Yes,” she answered honestly. “It’s true. You scare me more than anything I’ve ever laid eyes on, Master Hexabulous.”

  The dragon rumbled—not in anger, but acceptance.

  RX hovered in silence as dawn brightened the sky and the wind whispered around them. Grace stood steady. Fear lingered, but understanding grew. The guardians watched the world turn below.