Chapter 5: A Colossus Stands Over the Earth

“All unrelated personnel, clear the area at once. Do not interfere with cleanup. Repeat, clear the area, do not interfere with cleanup.” The steam mecha’s warning rang like an iron bell in fog, and Little White Dragon, stunned like a bird in a flash of lightning, jerked back to herself and pattered to Miss Sera’s doorway on short legs.

“Area confirmed clear. Initiating cleanup mode.” The tall steam mecha spoke in a voice cold as hoarfrost, fists planted at its hips like piled stones, the stance locking onto the open ground ahead like a cannon sight.

The sandmen Lilith had frozen to one side, and the sand pouring in through the hole like an endless hourglass, sensed the brass giant as the greater threat, and they crawled toward it like ants swarming a fallen beetle.

The steam mecha didn’t budge, a plume of white steam breathing from each fist like winter breath, hidden gears under brass plates stirring like waking beetles, both fists snapping outward to reveal twin fans like clipped bronze lotus.

Steam jetted from its back like a geyser, and the two great fans screamed up to speed, a gale rolling forward like a river of air and scooping every grain before the mecha. The little sandmen tumbled together like dry leaves, and the wind hurled them down the narrow, dim corridor like a throat spitting dust.

While it blew the sand out, the mecha advanced with slow, anchor-steady steps, reeling in the distance to the ragged hole in the wall like a fisherman drawing line. When the last grain flicked away like a lone snowflake, its iron fists retracted, and it slammed one punch into the breach like a hammer setting a rivet. Vein-like tubing along its arm swelled and pulsed like living muscle. A moment later, it unclenched, and the wall knit smooth again like skin closing over a cut.

“Who’s responsible for this sector?” The steam mecha-man turned, voice flat as a gavel, and he unlatched the mask over his face like a shell, revealing a middle-aged Demon with purple skin and a bristling beard. His eyes swept between Nidhogg, Lilith, and Sera like a lantern beam, and before anyone spoke, he stepped to Sera’s side with boots heavy as anchors.

“M-me.” Sera’s voice trembled like a plucked string; dread rose first like dark water, yet she squared up on thin ice because no one else could. “I’m Sera Dory, responsible for Sector Two, East Gate B. My direct superior is the Aviation Administration, Third Affairs Office, and this is their steamphone.”

“Steamphone?” Little White Dragon breathed in Nidhogg’s ear like a curious breeze.

“Seems it mimics something called a telephone,” Nidhogg rumbled back by Lilith’s ear like distant thunder, “but it runs on steam, so they renamed it steamphone.”

“Alright.” Doubt fluttered through Lilith like a moth, but she let it pass like smoke.

“I understand.” The man took Sera’s card like a leaf caught in a palm and tucked it into his chest pocket like a letter into a lockbox. “I’ll report this incident to the Third Affairs Office. As an assistant to the cleanup, I’ll need you to file a report to them as well.”

“I will.” Sera nodded, relief falling like a small stone; a dreary report was paper rain, nothing compared to facing the Cleanup Corps head-on.

“Don’t be too tense; your work didn’t fail.” His tone softened like a lamp behind frosted glass. “The sandstorm was stronger than forecast, so minor damage fell within expectations. Just report truthfully.”

“But,” he turned his words like a blade changing direction, and his gaze slid to Nidhogg and Lilith like a spotlight, “I noted combat here before I arrived. In fact, when I reached the site, one of you was fighting the inflowing sand. By procedure, Bosaklie residents who engage in sand cleanup must also submit reports, but since you’re outlanders, you’re exempt.”

“So?” Little White Dragon frowned, irritation fizzing first like a hot kettle; a living Demon stood before her, yet he spoke like a clockwork robot, all policy and cold rails, and the words offered no meat, only bones.

“So you’ll follow me to the outlander holding site at Sector Three, West Gate C, and stop troubling Miss Sera.” The steam mecha-man’s reply fell like a stamped form.

“Alright.” Lilith nodded, composure smooth as water. “Uh, how far is Sector Three, West Gate C from here?”

“Half of Bosaklie.” His answer dropped like a guillotine, merciless and straight.

“Seriously, we have to walk that long?” Little White Dragon groaned, clinging to the Black Dragon like a koala to a tree; complaint spilled like a stray cat’s wail at midnight toward the mecha-man. “Did no one think about this when you planned the city?”

“Bosaklie has transport inside, of course,” the mecha-man said, tone steady as a metronome, ignoring Lilith’s grumble like wind ignoring reeds. “But it’s a special period, so all civilian transit is shut down. You’ll have to rely on your feet for a bit. It isn’t that far; Bosaklie isn’t a very large city.”

“Not that large?” Little White Dragon sagged in despair like a wet banner, hanging off the Black Dragon’s shoulders. “I’m pretty sure our idea of ‘large’ sits on two different horizons.” Lilith’s feet throbbed like bruised peaches; when she asked earlier, she learned they were only halfway, and the wind-sanded slog had already stretched like an hourglass that forgot to stop.

Bosaklie might not be a great city for this continent, but it dwarfed Morris like a whale next to a skiff, and it seemed close to Lamter in scale; crossing an entire city on foot wasn’t impossible for Lilith, but it rubbed like grit in a boot.

“Maybe it’s because I patrol often; the route feels short to me,” the mecha-man said, shrugging like a loosening hinge. He glanced at Lilith, curiosity glinting like a coin. “Personal question. You can ignore it if you prefer.”

“What?” Little White Dragon lifted her head, puzzlement tilting like a bird’s curious stare.

“Why did you come to the Eternal City?” His question rolled out like a pebble into still water. “Outlanders aren’t rare here, but most come as invited scholars. It’s been a long time since I saw outlanders who came on their own.”

“We told you.” Lilith’s answer flowed calm as tea. “Bosaklie is a friend’s hometown. We came to see her home and bring her back to it.”

“Is that so? I only see two of you.” The mecha-man, nearly twice Lilith’s height, wobbled his big head like a bronze bell, peering left and right like a searchlight, and he saw no such friend.

“She’s hidden,” Lilith said, voice even as a shaded pond. “It’s dangerous out here, so once it’s safe we’ll call her out. You should see her then. You might even know her, though whether she knows you is hard to say.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”