The Fading Glow

      “That should do it,” said Tangor. The Mynci's green fur was covered in grime from the toils of tinkering. “Thanks for the help with the orders today, Jacob.”

      Jacob, a fellow Moltaran tinkerer, wiped his own brass gear goggles clean. The Christmas Kacheek had been quick to aid Tangor in his time of need; it was the least he could do for his old teacher. His apprenticeship may have been well over a decade behind him, but the skills Tangor imbued in him had served him well in the years to follow; if Tangor needed help, Jacob was there.

      “Not a problem at all, sir,” Jacob said with a smile. “I'm sure the Commodore will be pleased with the new parts.”

      Tangor laughed. “Oh, I'm sure he will be. Ol' Berkin's been coming here for parts for ages...he has to if he wants to keep on sailin'. Magma does a number on the hull, no matter how reinforced it is.” Once the parts finished cooling, he brought them over to a nearby table for packaging. “And lastly, always remember: though utility reigns over all, an aesthetic sense is the monarch's right hand.” Tangor then tied a simple bow atop the box, smiling.

      Jacob and Tangor both turned to the front door as a knock was heard. Upon opening the door, it wasn't Commodore Berkin standing in the doorway, but rather Jacob's roommate: Stealth, a fittingly stealthy Grundo. Stealth had a strong heat tolerance, so to see him out of breath and drenched in sweat inspired worry in Jacob. The sense of dread only got worse when he saw what he was carrying.

      “There's something wrong with him, Jacob,” Stealth managed to say as he caught his breath. He placed H.O.O.T., Jacob's Albot, in his arms. His eyes seemed dull, and his movements jittery...more robotic than usual.

      “H.O.O.T., what happened?” Jacob asked, eyes cast down toward his friend.

      “H.O.O.T.?” Tangor asked. “Isn't that...”

      “Yes,” Jacob said, “the very same Albot I made as the final assessment of my time at Brightvale University...I'd gotten both my mechanical engineering degree, my tinkering certificate, and a dear friend.” H.O.O.T., which stood for “Hours of Ornithological Tinkering,” had been a part of Jacob's life for over a decade at this point. Ever since he'd become a full-fledged tinkerer, the little Albot had been by his side as both a symbol of his mechanical pursuits, and as a trusted Petpet who always seemed to comfort the Kacheek when needed.

      “Well, the good thing is that we could give the little guy a look,” said Tangor, pulling out a screwdriver. “How about it?”

      “Absolutely. Thanks again, Tangor,” Jacob said as he gently placed H.O.O.T. on the table. The deft Mynci carefully popped open a hatch on the Albot's back. After a moment, he sighed heavily, shut the casing back up, and turned solemnly to Jacob.

      “His moltite core is fading fast. It's...not your fault, Jacob. This sort of thing just happens to these sorts of mechanical petpets...some sort of near microscopic mite infestation that eats away at the moltite. You could replace the moltite, but...well, it wouldn't be your friend anymore.”

      Jacob slumped onto a nearby stool, absolutely devastated. “There has to be something we can do. You're Tangor; you know everything there is to know about mechanical petpet upkeep,” he said. Stealth, still observing from the other end of the room, walked over to Jacob and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. Tangor spoke once more.

      “I'm afraid this is beyond even my expertise,” said Tangor. “Honestly, it's beyond Lampwyck's as well. I figured he might've been of help, given it's a moltite issue, but when we had this issue with other mechanical petpets in the past...well, those were sad days for us all.” Tangor exhaled. “The only thing I can suggest is a long shot, and I mean a long shot,” he said, turning to Jacob.

      “I'll spare no expense. I'll do whatever I need to do,” said Jacob, clinging to his Albot. H.O.O.T. gave off a small, clanking hum in response.

      “The only being in Neopia who could possibly help with something like this is the patron faerie of all craftspets: Delina, the Crafting Faerie. If you could make your way to her domain, perhaps she will bless you with something that can save your Petpet.”

      “Do you know where I might be able to find her?” Jacob asked.

      “Faerieland would probably be your best bet. I hear she's often helping with the reconstruction effort. That being said, what with the Greying situation still not being contained, I'd...well, I'd be careful.”

      “Your concern is appreciated, Tangor, truly,” said Jacob, petting H.O.O.T. between sentences. “Stealth, I'm going to be gone for a while. I trust that you can handle things while I'm gone?” he asked, turning to his friend once more.

      “Absolutely. Good luck out there, and if you get into any trouble, get in touch as soon as possible.”

      Not long after, Jacob had packed for the trip, ascended to the surface, and hopped on the first boat to Faerieland, Albot in paw all the while. The vessel was fairly quaint; it was a weathered, humble passenger ship that could fit perhaps ten pets comfortably. Jacob could ill afford wasting time for a more luxurious ship to arrive, after all. He took great care to cover H.O.O.T.'s body with a layer of cloth while aboard; he'd hate for the salty ocean air to take its briny toll on the poor Albot's mechanics. Jacob had taken this route many times by this point: he was a member of the Seekers, so he often needed to appear in Brightvale for important meetings. However, this trip would soon prove to be different...he failed to recall ever seeing the Tyrannian coast on his previous trips.

      “Excuse me, ma'am,” Jacob asked the ship's captain, an older Pteri, “I thought we were going to Faerieland?”

      “Aye, that was indeed the plan,” she said, her voice peppered with worry, “...until the whirlpools appeared,” she added. “The seas surrounding the Maraquan Circle are impassible in their current state. For the safety of everyone aboard, we're forced to take a detour. We'll be arriving off the coast of Neopia Central...hopefully far enough away that the Greying shouldn't pose too much of a hindrance.”

      Jacob's breathing became a bit more shallow, as much as he had tried to hide it. He nodded and returned to his seat, hoping not to worry the captain. In these times of unease, usually H.O.O.T. would act as a calming, reassuring presence for the Kacheek, helping to keep his emotions in check. It was only in H.O.O.T.'s relative absence now that Jacob had realized just how much he had relied on his mechanical friend. He gently rocked to the rhythm of the waves, closing his eyes as he held his friend close to his chest, hoping for safe passage to their destination.

      “Just...focus on the waves,” Jacob told himself. He blocked out everything but the gentle crashing of the crests against the hull of the boat. “Calm thoughts, calm thoughts.”

           In Jacob's mind, it felt as if minutes had passed already. He continued to hold his Albot companion close to himself, overthinking nearly everything about the mechanical petpet's condition. That was how it seemed, of course, until the foghorn sounded and they arrived at a shore overlooking Neopia Central. It hadn't been mere minutes, but rather a few hours. He gathered his belongings and hurried off the ship, thanking the captain before disappearing into the crowd at the dock.

      “Oh wow,” he said softly to himself as he took in the view of Neopia Central.

      The somber coat of grey paint that washed over the once-bustling metropolis screamed out in an equally melancholic and agonizing optical assault, as if the land was begging for the return of its usual rainbow hue. Its pleas would remain unanswered. Jacob was, of course, Moltaran. Before Year 11, his people had, at best, incredibly limited contact with other Neopian lands. Once the core was stabilized and a connection was re-established with the greater whole of Neopia, however, Jacob made traveling a part of his studies. And in addition to the joys of experiencing other cultures, there was the pain of their losses. When Faerieland fell, many Moltarans offered to help with the relief effort. When the Wraiths were thought to have resurfaced, many took up arms to help their fellow Neopians. And now, there was the Greying. Meridell, Brightvale, Kiko Lake, and now Neopia Central...all have fallen victim to it. Moltara was fortunate, of course, to not have been afflicted with the same curse as of yet, but the pain remained. Seeing it firsthand only made it worsen.

      “I can only hope this, too, gets solved one day,” he added, bringing H.O.O.T. close to his chest once more. The Albot whirred in response.

      Jacob turned toward a small news stand and approached the proprietor, a yellow Gelert. He put down a small handful of Neopoints and asked for an issue of the Times. This issue was supposed to be in full color, but nevertheless, here it was: greyscale. It really couldn't be avoided.

           “Excuse me,” Jacob asked the vendor, “would you happen to know the fastest way to get to Faerieland from here?”

      “Faerieland, huh? Well, there's always the Haunted Woods, but if you want something less perilous, you could always take the train.”

      Jacob blinked. “Excuse me, did you say a train?” he asked.

      “Yeah, it's not exactly the most popular option around here, but business has been picking up lately since the technological boom. Though this line has existed since Year 13. It was just...well, pretty low-key. Head down this path, take the first fork toward the Haunted Woods, but veer toward the coast immediately after. The station should be right there. The conductor's a blue Korbat wearing green, you can't miss her,” he said. “It'll take you around the Haunted Woods and straight into Faerieland.”

      “Thank you so much,” Jacob said as he rushed down the path. “We're gonna get you better, H.O.O.T., mark my words.”

      At the end of the path, just as the Gelert had told him, appeared a wondrous steam-powered locomotive. Jacob hadn't the time to admire the craftsmanship, as much as he'd wished to take it all in. Machines of this exact variety weren't used in Moltara, which instead relied on lava-faring boats and personal transportation like steam jetpacks. Moltara's own geography simply didn't lend itself to having trains, so this was all new to Jacob.

      “Excuse me,” Jacob called out to the conductor, who was about to board the train. “Please don't leave just yet!”

      The Korbat squinted, trying to get a good look at the pet that was quickly approaching. “I take it you're on your way to Faerieland as well?” she called out. “You can slow your roll, sir, no need to rush. The grey isn't spreading THAT fast.”

      Jacob came to a screeching halt right in front of the conductor, struggling to catch his breath. He took a small handful of neopoints out from his pockets, just enough to match the ticket price on the overhead board.

      The Korbat took the neopoints, counted them up, and produced a small paper ticket, handing it over. “See? You can relax now. Now, all I need to do is a routine bag inspection, if that's alright with you.”

      Jacob nodded in response, placing his singular carrying case down in front of the conductor while holding tightly onto H.O.O.T. at the same time.

      “An Albot, noted,” she said. “Tangor's petpets aren't much of a problem, so that's all well and good. Now for the case.” She rummaged through the luggage, taking note of the contents. “Repair tools, that makes sense. Seekers membership card?”

      “It's...up to date,” Jacob added, unsure of whether anything was wrong.

      “Noted. Next, a...Moltato.”

      “Are outside food and drinks not allowed?” Jacob asked, concerned.

      “No, that's fine, I just need to make sure it's not...currently molten.”

      “I, uh, cooled it off before packing it,” Jacob said.

      “Okay, fair enough. Next we have...a set of Ghostkerbombs,” she said, not very amused.

      “I...have a permit for those,” Jacob muttered, producing a permit from his shirt pocket. “The spectral energy they give off doesn't do any harm to machinery like this, and they're encased in an anti-spectral casing for safe storage.” It was times like this that made Jacob curse Professor Lambert's insistence on always being prepared for combat.

      The conductor quickly flipped through the rulebook in an attempt to find the page listing the prohibited Battledome equipment.

      “Here we are,” she said to herself as she began to read. “Okay, yeah, that checks out, too. You're good to go.”

      Jacob quickly took his luggage and H.O.O.T. and found his way onto the train, breathing a sigh of relief when he got to his seat. H.O.O.T. jittered slightly, its inner gear-works slowly clanking and clunking. Jacob felt his goggles fogging up again. He couldn't lose his friend. Not now.

      As the train began to move, the whistle sounded, filling the air with a raucous symphony. Jacob gazed out the window at the crisp autumn leaves falling from the trees onto the ground. The grey had yet to reach them, but the leaves met their end regardless. Still, the train trudged onward.

      “This is your conductor speaking,” said the Korbat's voice from over a speaker system. “Our next stop is at Faerie City in Faerieland. Right now we have clear, sunny skies, and a nice breeze. A beautiful day for a journey by train.”

      In some ways, Jacob was envious of the other pets here, who were likely making the trip to Faerie City for leisure. He quickly threw those thoughts aside; they were awfully presumptuous. Many were likely families fleeing from the greying, after all. And even if they weren't, everyone goes through their own battles. He couldn't let his worry over H.O.O.T. cloud his judgment to that degree. He couldn't lose himself. He closed his eyes and thought back to when he was a struggling Brightvale University student preparing for his final project.

      …

      All of the pieces were cut and smoothed. Every dent had been thoroughly buffed out. Jacob carefully wrapped the copper wiring around the base of the red moltite before inserting it slowly into the innermost chamber, right beside the gearbox.

      “Let's hope this works,” he said to himself quietly.

           The professor had brought in a guest judge to assess the students' projects: Tom Cotterpin, renowned explorer, scholar, and mechanist, and one of the highest ranking members of the Seekers. The blue Lutari adjusted his monocle as he observed each project, one by one. Some students passed with flying colors, while others gave away their failing grades with the stream of tears that soon followed the assessment. Jacob's heart raced. Everything was set up. All he had to do now was prove that he could pull it off. He just had to focus, breathe, and desperately try not to embarrass himself in front of—

      “Jacob? Pleasure to meet you. I am Tom Cotterpin, and I'm here to judge your final project.”

      Jacob froze where he stood. He fiddled with his goggles and cleared his throat.

      “Y-Yes, of course, Mr. Cotterpin.”

      Jacob put his head down as he uncovered his work. On the table before him was the mostly-assembled Albot.

      “I see you've been working alongside Tangor!” Tom Cotterpin stated, writing something down on his clipboard.

      Immediately, Jacob tried to figure out how to take that statement. Was it a good thing? A bad thing? Was his work too close to that of the pet he worked as an apprentice for? Would that be an automatic failure? He fought back the tears welling up in his eyes.

      Cotterpin's gaze softened, taking note of the discomfort on Jacob's face. “Just take it easy, lad. Breathe. You can't be putting the cart before the Whinny, after all,” he said with a smile. “Tangor is a good friend of mine, so if you've worked under him, I'd say your project has given me high hopes.”

      High hopes. Jacob knew Cotterpin was ultimately trying to calm him down, but he wished he had realized that his words added another layer of stress. Regardless, Jacob knew he was right. He had to breathe.

      “Right, sorry. That won't happen again. I was just a bit...overwhelmed, is all, sir,” Jacob managed to say. “I worked as Tangor's apprentice this past semester, and it helped me greatly in creating this.” Jacob took a screwdriver and fastened the bolts holding in the Albot's eyes, and then screwed the head onto the body as Tom Cotterpin observed.

      “Okay, now that it's been fully assembled, feel free to activate it.”

      Jacob knew this was the moment of truth. He quickly flipped open the vent leading to the gearbox and the moltite, flipped a switch on the box, and watched as the moltite lit up in a crimson hue. He quickly shut the vent back up, fastened the lock, and backed up as the Albot began to whir. Finally, its eyes began to light up, illuminated by the internal glow of the red moltite. It then stared directly at Jacob.

      “Hello, my friend,” he said, smiling, though barely being able to hold back his tears. The Albot moved itself across the table toward Jacob, who instinctively lifted it up and held it in his arms.

      “A picture-perfect Albot if I've ever seen one,” said Tom Cotterpin, making another set of notes. “Do you have a name for this project of yours?”

      “It's, well,” Jacob began, “Hours of Ornithological Tinkering,” he added sheepishly. “For short, H.O.O.T., which is what I've been calling the Albot.”

           “I always was partial to a bit of whimsical naming,” Tom said quietly to himself. “Well Jacob, needless to say, you've passed the examination. Your diploma and certificate should be available at graduation, of course. Congratulations,” he said.

     ...

      Jacob didn't remember exactly what happened immediately following that. He remembered the joy. He remembered the tears. He remembered heading back to Moltara shortly after graduation and beginning his tinkering business, barely affording rent at the beginning before he found Stealth to be his roommate. He remembered how much brighter H.O.O.T.'s eyes used to be before today.

      Faerieland was still a good while away. Time was of the essence, and yet Jacob couldn't help but realize the irony that his seat was on the last of the train cars, meaning he'd technically arrive in Faerieland later than anyone else on board. He would only be marginally later, of course, but the world had a funny way of working like that.

      Jacob sighed and looked up at the ceiling, as he was prone to do at times of stress like these. What was unfamiliar, however, was the sight of a searing red dot appearing on said ceiling, melting a hole into the roof, followed by the dot traveling in a quick circle, causing a massive, circular piece of the train car roof to fall to the floor of the center aisle. A green clad figure quickly appeared atop the fallen structure. Her build and her bright green bodysuit gave it away. She was an Usul, and more specifically, one of the most notorious thieves to ever skulk through the Neopia Central Catacombs: Uzarro, master thief and bank robber. Now, she was itching to add “train robber” to her list of accomplishments.

      “Alright everybody,” she said. “Hands up and valuables out where I can see them...”

     To be continued…