Tink Cogsworth's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

The windmill kept them hidden, but hiding did not fix the problem. Tink still needed a new power source, one strong as the crystal shards but owned by no one. Without it, the friend would be dismantled when the seed dimmed. Tink spread old maps across the workbench and searched for a machine no one would miss. One faded chart marked a wreck in the far hills. A sky-ship, fallen years ago. Ships like that ran on cores. Tink rolled the map tight and went to find someone who remembered. Thornwall's square was silent. An old man swept dust that only blew back. He leaned on a walking stick and watched Tink approach without surprise. This was Aldric Greywind, the village elder, the man who had answered Tink's letter weeks ago with a single line: come if you must, the young ones already left. "The sky-ship," Tink said. "The one that crashed in the hills. Is it real?" "Real," Aldric said. "My grandson climbed it once. Then he climbed out of this village too." He did not soften the words. He pointed his stick past the empty houses. "Half a day north. The hull is split. Nothing lives there now." Tink thanked him and walked. The wreck sat exactly where the old man said. Its broken hull rose like a cracked shell, masts snapped, ropes hanging dead. Tink climbed through the shattered wood and found the engine room. But the core was gone. Only scorched brackets remained, and a hole where something had been torn free. The ship offered nothing. Tink slumped against a rusted beam. The seed was already dimming back home. Then a glow caught their eye, deep in the hold, past the engine. Not machine-light. Warm, orange, alive. Tink crawled toward it and found a shape wedged in the floor. A heart of stone, cracked all over, seams glowing like coals. A fossilized dragon heart. The ship must have carried it as cargo when it fell. Tink touched the surface. Heat pulsed under the stone, slow and steady, like a heartbeat that had waited a thousand years. This was no crystal. It belonged to no tree, no spring, no guardian. Tink pried it loose with a wrench and cradled it in both arms. It was heavy and hot and thrumming with power. Back at the windmill, Tink worked through the night. They cut the friend's chest open and drew the three crystal shards out one by one. The friend's eyes dimmed. Then Tink set the dragon heart in the empty cradle and locked it down. The friend woke with a jolt. Its glow was orange now, not pink. "It's warm," it said, pressing both hands to its chest. "It's mine." Tink held up the three shards, whole and cool in their palm. The debt could be paid. But now Tink had to carry stolen wood back to the frogre who had promised to keep more than a boot.