Sergeant Pepper stood in his yard and stared at the yellow submarine. Seven years of rain had dulled its hull. Moss crept along the rivets. The portholes were filmed with grime. He was sixty-three now, and he wanted one more flight before the sky stopped waiting. To rebuild it right, he needed the original schematics. He had hidden them somewhere safe. Safe enough that he'd forgotten where. He searched all morning. He dug through crates in the cabin. He pulled drawers from his desk. He shook out old coats. Nothing. He sat on the damp grass and admitted it plainly: he could not remember. Without the blueprint, he'd wire the lift coils wrong and crack the hull open like an egg. Then he saw it. A long brass tube, tucked behind the submarine's rear fin, green with weather. He pried off the cap. Inside, the schematic unrolled in glowing lines and runic notes, still bright after all these years. Relief hit him hard. Then he saw the annotation near the engine bay. The part he needed was a Forestlight Amethyst. And he didn't have one.