Archive of Our Own

In a large, ornate and near-empty manor house in the west of Eisengeist, a young Maxwell Gotch was up considerably past his bedtime, anxiously waiting for his thirteenth birthday to arrive.

This birthday was likely to be the same as many of his previous ones – passing with very little interest or fanfare. Father always said that marking a birthday with anything more than a firm handshake was distasteful. That suited Max just fine – he usually benefited from having as little attention on him as possible. It was safer, that way. His ribs were still sore from where Hatwell had punched him three days ago for winning at cards.

If Max was lucky, he’d get extra bacon and eggs at breakfast, a note from father detailing the current balance of his trust fund, and a handful of gifts from his grandfather and Samwell that he could safely stash away in his suitcase before he went back to his dorm. It was the very end of a long, hot and stifling summer – as Maxwell was the only Gotch brother still attending the junior school, he was now the last one left in the manor. He preferred it that way. If Max was lucky, he’d get to spend tomorrow quietly reading the new LaMontgomery book out in the gardens without anyone bothering him.

If Max was really lucky, nothing would happen when the clock struck midnight, and tomorrow would be the same as any other day.

It had been another unforgivingly hot day, and despite the cool breeze rolling in from his open window and the absence of Wealwell’s late-night banjo practice, Maxwell couldn’t sleep. His eyes were glued to his left wrist, which looked exactly the same as it always had – blank and pasty looking in the faint light of the moon, barely visible in a sky full of smog.

Midnight was close now. Max tried to channel Samwell and be reasonable. The facts as he knew them were simple: if you had a soulmark, it would appear on the inside of your left wrist when you turned thirteen. It was rare – around one in ten people had one, if the latest studies were correct. Sometimes it was a symbol, but usually it was a name. Most people believed that was the name of your soulmate, and that you were destined to meet and live a happy life together. Father would be mad if he had one.

Max sighed. None of his brothers were marked, so surely he wouldn’t be as well. He already stood out in the all the wrong ways, taller and lankier than most of the boys in his class, talking back to his teachers when they said something idiotic, earning Father’s disapproval for well, pretty much everything these days. He didn’t want to be marked. Wishing for a soulmate was silly and childish. It would only cause more trouble than it was worth.

(And if a tiny part of him occasionally wondered what it would be like to know that he had a friend somewhere during all the times he felt terribly alone, nobody needed to know.)

The family grandfather clock began to strike twelve, and Max instinctively screwed his eyes shut, his heart hammering in his chest like it had when he’d jumped out of the big tree in the back garden last year on a dare. The flying sensation had been thrilling – the broken ankle had been less than ideal.

This would be the end of it. He’d open his eyes, see that there was nothing there, and put the whole soulmate business out of his mind entirely.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, and brought himself to look at his wrist.

There was something there.

Max scrambled for the wind-up torch his grandfather had given him, heart pounding and mind racing, his mouth dry. He cranked the handle of the torch until light started to spill from its bulb and, hands shaking, he lifted it up to inspect the name that had appeared on his wrist like a tattoo.

His grandfather had taken him on an outing to a frost fair once, years ago when he was small. The loud noises and crowds of people had been a bit much, but he’d loved the thrill of the rides, and they’d rode the rollercoaster there over and over again until they both felt sick. This felt like being back on the rollercoaster – Max felt horrified, confused, excited and nauseated all at once. The more he stared at the mark, the more dread started to coil in the pit of his stomach.

He couldn’t read it.

It wasn’t just the poor light, or his tired eyes – the name on his wrist was in a language Maxwell had never seen before. He’d never seen anything like it before – the symbols looked like alien writing, a series of short vertical and horizontal lines of varying lengths. Max stared at it with a mounting horror. Father would have disapproved of any mark, but this? He would be kicked out of the family and on to the street if he was found out.

Max scrubbed at his face, determinedly trying not to cry. It was fine, he’d – he’d look in the family library, tomorrow, for books about languages. He could hide the mark with long sleeves, or wear a watch or gloves or something – plenty of people liked to keep their marks private. Nobody had to know he had one, much less one so unusual. Maybe there was even a process to…to get it removed.

That thought made Max feel even more sick. For the first time, he allowed himself to think about the other person who he was connected to. Did Max’s name on their wrist seem just as strange and alien to them? What would it be like when they met? Would they be happy to find out it was him?

His wind-up torch lost its light, and Maxwell curled up tightly on top of his covers, counting in and out like Samwell had taught him, taking deep and measured breaths. Tomorrow. Things would all become clearer tomorrow.

***

But tomorrow came and went, and the next day, and as the weeks and months passed Maxwell still had far more questions than answers about the name written on his wrist.

So far, he had managed to successfully hide the mark with his gloves and failing that, the strap of his wristwatch, which he now rarely took off. Two other boys in his class had gotten their marks over the summer, which caused enough of a stir that Max managed to avoid any unwanted attention. The fervent discussion of soulmates had naturally died down within the first few weeks of the term, and Max switched his focus from hiding to research.

He spent most of his free time sequestered away in a corner of the school library, reading anything he could find on different languages and different kind of soulmarks. His gut told him that his mark was a name rather than a symbol, but there were over 4000 written languages recorded across all of Gath’s 27 continents, and Max had no idea where to begin to find the one his soulmate’s name was written in. It was an impossible puzzle, and Max was quickly running out of ideas on how to solve it.

By the time the winter solstice came that year, Maxwell had all but given up. The Gotch manor was briefly full again for the holidays, and Max was dreading the worst – that Hatwell or Father would find out about the mark. He had been right – it had only caused him trouble so far – but he was adamant that he didn’t want it removed. That would be wrong, and Maxwell wouldn’t hesitate to tell his father that if it came down to it. Not that it would do him any good, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Maxwell had always had trouble making friends. If this was his chance to find someone who really understood him, he didn’t want to run away from it.

It was that thought that spurred him on towards his grandfather’s room. Gathering his courage, he knocked firmly on the door and tried to put on his best brave face.

“Maxwell, my boy!” His grandfather smiled warmly as he opened the door, beckoning for Max to enter the room. “Come in, come in, I’ve got something for you.”

Max followed him into a space that sat empty, gathering dust for most of the year – Cadswitch spent most of his time in his penthouse apartment in Bellenuit. He’d taken Max to an aviation museum there last summer and they’d talked for hours about different sky ships and famous expeditions around Gath that Maxwell had read about. It had been wonderful.

His grandfather was still unpacking. Clothes, toiletries and dozens of bizarre gadgets and trinkets were scattered haphazardly around the room, cluttering up his writing desk. Max watched as Cadswitch rummaged through his travel bags before producing a book with a gothic looking mansion and a serious looking detective on the front cover. He presented it to Max with a flourish, who took it with a poorly restrained eagerness.

“This made for excellent reading on my journey here, a murder mystery with quite a few scandalous twists and turns. I’d love to know your opinion on the ending – I’m afraid I was making such loud noises of surprise that the lady opposite me was quite irate by the time I reached my stop.” Cadswitch laughed heartily as Max turned the book over in his hands. They’d started an unofficial two-person book club over the last few years, ever since his grandfather had gifted him the first Hazardous Happenings novel.

“Thank you.” Max said reverently, grinning at his grandfather. He was almost as tall as Cadswitch now – within a year’s time, maybe two, they’d surely be the same height. It was a strange feeling. He wondered when he’d feel like a proper grown-up, someone who was sure of their place in the world. Max didn’t really feel sure of anything these days.

Cadswitch must have noticed some unease or anxiousness in Max’s expression. He adjusted his multi-pronged moustache thoughtfully, then said “You know, I’ve just had some green tea brewed that I purchased from an excellent fellow I met in the Kabillian Isles. It’s quite rich in flavour, perfect with a dash of honey. Would you care to join me for a cup?”

Max nodded gratefully, and took his usual position on the plush burgundy window seat that overlooked the back garden. His grandfather hummed to himself as he poured the tea into two ornate cups on a little silver tray, and Max tried to soothe the pit of dread and worry that was currently sat in his stomach. He trusted Cadswitch more than anyone else – if anyone could help him figure out his soulmark mystery, it was his grandfather.

“Now we’ll just wait a moment for the tea to cool.” Cadswitch said, coming to sit down next to him. “How’s your schooling going? Any exciting projects, or is it all dreadful exams?”

Max made a face at the mention of exams and shifted slightly in his seat. “I…have been doing a sort of project, I suppose. But not really a school one. Sort of a…personal research project, I guess.”

“Fascinating! What’s caught your interest?”

“Well, I’ve been doing some research about, um, different languages all over Gath. I had no idea there were so many, and there’s lots of different alphabets and everything.”

“My goodness, I had no idea I was speaking with such a distinguished young scholar of linguistics.” Cadswitch said brightly, and Max smiled despite himself. “Is there any particular language that’s caught your eye?”

Max took a deep breath and tried to keep his hands from trembling as he took out a scrap of paper he’d carefully copied the name on to. “Have you ever seen a language that looks like this before?”

Cadswitch paused to put his gold half-moon spectacles on and diligently studied the paper that Max had handed it him. “Absolutely fascinating. I’m afraid I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like this, dear boy.” Seeing Max’s face fall, he hummed thoughtfully. “Are you trying to identify it?”

“Yes. I’ve looked everywhere, or all in the books my school has, anyway. None of the alphabets I’ve seen written down look anything like it.”

“What an exciting mystery. May I keep this?” He gestured to the paper, and Max hesitated for a second before nodding. “You know, I could share it with a few of my academic friends, if you’d like, though they’d probably want to know where you found it.”

Max could feel his face going red as he fidgeted with his sleeves, and Cadswitch busied himself with serving the tea, gently pushing a cup into Max’s hands with a kind smile. “But it’s completely up to you, my boy. This sounds like an invigorating project, albeit a very challenging one – most researchers end up dedicating their lives to a search like this. Don’t be too disheartened if it goes beyond the scope of your school library. Some answers are better found when you are not looking for them.”

Max sat with that for a little bit, quietly sipping his tea. It was true that he’d thought of little else since the mark had appeared on his arm. It had become something of an obsession. The name was meant to be a guide, a reassurance that this special person would come into your life at one point or another, but that meeting wasn’t meant to be forced. Max just had less to go on than soulmates usually did, but he would just have to be patient.

At least he knew that someone was out there that would want to be friends with him. Even if they had a language barrier to overcome – that was a problem for future Maxwell, who would surely have everything figured out by then.

“I guess that makes sense. Thank you for looking – maybe I can let you know about showing other people later?”

“Of course. You know I always enjoy receiving your letters – please keep me in the loop about this research project of yours. And I’d like your review of the book as well.” His grandfather patted him on the shoulder, and Max felt the knot in his stomach loosen slightly. The two of them sat and drank their tea in a shared moment of respite.

With a familiar twinkle in his eye, Cadswitch winked and said “You never know, maybe it’s a language from beyond Gath. If Professor MacLeod is right, the lost continent of Zood is out there just waiting to be discovered.”

Maxwell turned that idea over in his head. Well, there was a last-ditch option if all else failed – if he couldn’t find the language here on Gath, he’d just have to find Zood so he could look there. Or, preferably, he could find someone who could find Zood for him. How hard could that be?

***

Years later and worlds apart, Torse stood on the deck of the Zephyr II, silently appreciating the vibrant colours of the Zoodian sunset as they flew across the desert. His recent associate, Professor Comfrey MacLeod, stood next to him in a rare moment of stillness, the smoke from her crystal pipe shrouding her in a haze.

“Hell of a view, isn’t it?”

Torse hummed. “It is quite beautiful, yes.”

In the years he’d been in Zood, he had come across so many strange, unfamiliar things. Many had confounded him, or worse, seared him with a scathing resentment of Zood’s abundance in sharp contrast to the desolation of his home. Still, he had come to admire many aspects of this world. The vast spectrum of colours in the Zoodian sky was one of his favourites.

Even after a few months of adventuring with this Gathie crew, he still found humans to be very confusing. Their behaviour was often illogical, strange and overly sentimental. He thought of the market he and Sylvio had travelled through this morning and felt his curiosity begin to spark as he turned to Comfrey.

“May I ask you a question?”

Comfrey barked out a laugh, socking him gently enough on his cast iron arm that she wouldn’t seriously injure herself. “You’ve just asked me one, but seeing as you’re the nicest robot I’ve ever met that has knives for hands, I’ll let you ask another.”

A simple yes or no would have sufficed, but Torse had no intention to offend, and therefore did not say that out loud.

“Thank you. Earlier today in Tabira City, there were many vendors selling goods that related to either locating or pleasuring a soulmate. Is this a Zoodian phenomenon, or do the Gathie have this concept as well?”

A series of expressions Torse couldn’t begin to categorise flickered across Comfrey’s face in an instant before she looked away.

“Ah, yeah. We have soulmates in Gath. Some people do, anyway. If you’re blessed, or cursed, depending on how you wanna look at it. Or if you even believe in that kind of thing.”

“Do you? The notion seems…fanciful, to me.”

“I don’t know. It’s a nice idea. Gives some people hope, I think. Makes them feel special.”

Comfrey’s mouth upturned slightly, as if remembering happier times, but it faded as she sighed deeply. Torse thought of the numerous lovers Comfrey had invited onto the ship. Then he thought of Daisuke Bucklesby, a name he’d only heard whispered by other members of the crew in hushed tones, and wondered.

“But it can get…complicated. Messy. Just because someone’s name is on your wrist doesn’t mean you get to be happy forever without putting in the same work as everyone else has to. And even then, things go wrong. Nothing’s set in stone.” Comfrey said, bitterness and regret bleeding into her voice. Her wrists were covered by her leather gloves, but Torse understood this matter to be personal.

“I see.” Torse said, looking back out towards the horizon. He had not personally experienced that kind of heartbreak, but he knew the same pain of learning the hard way that nothing was promised.

Zern was barely visible in the sky, and he felt a lurch of homesickness, muted as it was by his new golden heart. He was Comfrey’s guest on the Zephyr II, and she had been more welcoming to him than most, but still - nothing compared to the camaraderie and companionship of his fellow Aganti Zernai.

He could not bear the thought that he might be the last one left, but he did not dare to hope otherwise. He understood Comfrey’s implication – hope was a dangerous thing.

The two of them stood out on the deck for another minute before Onion rang the dinner bell. Previously lost in thought, Comfrey’s focus sharpened and she grinned up at Torse.

“Thank god, I’m starving. Hey, come find me after dinner if you’ve got any more questions. And if you’re still interested in soulmates, maybe I’ll give you a crash course in Gathie biology.” Comfrey winked in a way Torse interpreted as suggestive, though what she was suggesting he did not particularly care for. He nodded anyway and watched as she disappeared below deck.

Left alone, Torse tried to recognise why the notion of a soulmate had captured his interest. Loneliness, perhaps, or simple curiosity about the seemingly endless complexities of human relationships.

Under the Queen’s reign, Zernian romances were usually straightforward and short-lived. His forgers had certainly cared enough for each other to take great care in building him. Beyond the scant few memories he had of them, Torse had little practical experience of romantic love. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of it.

No matter. Romance was irrelevant to Zern’s plight, and he should not concern himself with such unimportant things while his homeland was still laid to waste. Content to watch the sun disappear as the ship flew across sandy dunes of orange and red - not entirely unlike a Zernian landscape - the automaton stood in solitude for a long time before going back inside.

***

Haunch Saxon was dead, Zood had body-swapping mushrooms, and the Zephyr’s next destination was an ancient temple guarded by a bloodthirsty legion of raptors with human minds. Maxwell Gotch, now twenty-nine and a newly-crowned champion of the Umanzi Fighting Pit, was a little out of his depth.

 Zood. It was still hard to believe this wasn’t all some kind of extremely vivid fever dream. Max felt a great vindication that Cadswitch had been right all along and a bitter grief that his grandfather never got to see it for himself. He would see his grandfather’s reputation restored as soon as they got back to Gath. Of course, that was if they could get back.

That was a problem for later – right now, he was preoccupied with scrambling back to the Zephyr with the Wind Riders, the acrid stench of the Eyeless Hand’s blood and Haunch’s burning apartment still flooding his nostrils. It was now imperative that they leave for Ramansu as soon as possible. Dawderdale greeted them as soon as they rushed into the shipyard. The news about the repairs was good. The news about the crew…well.

“Navigator Norwich has found her soulmate!” Dawderdale said, a note of excitement bleeding into her usual staunchly professional tone. She pointed over to where Norwich stood, laughing happily with a tall, muscular woman with braided hair and a colourful patchwork mechanic’s jumpsuit. Max stopped in his tracks, feeling suddenly like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on his head. He was aware that Dawderdale was still talking, but he didn’t hear another word.

Norwich must have noticed him staring rather gormlessly, because she made her way over with an apologetic smile on her face. “Master Gotch! I’m sorry to be leaving you like this, this was the last thing I expected to happen, but Zood has given me the most incredible gift.”

Maxwell cleared his throat, desperately trying to maintain some of his gentleman’s conduct. He saw Van looking at him strangely and tried not to flush with embarrassment.

“I completely understand – you should follow your heart. You are, of course, both welcome to come with us if you’d like – we are doing something of a hot exit I’m afraid, and you might be at risk of being questioned if you stay here, especially in our crew’s uniform.”

Norwich glanced back over to the woman with a grin. “Don’t worry about me. Anya’s crew are searching for an ancient lucky talisman believed to have been lost in a shipwreck along the coast – we leave in an hour to check it out.”

Max raised his eyebrows and quickly decided he didn’t have time for follow up questions. Instead, he glanced over to where Olethra appeared to be having a very similar conversation with Lieutenant Agarwahl and another man who looked…exactly like Lieutenant Agarwahl. Huh. Zood.

“Very well then. Best of luck and…my congratulations to you both.” He held out his hand and Norwich shook it firmly before returning to her soulmate. Max watched as the woman – Anya – gently brushed Norwich’s hair away from her face, her eyes shining with an expression very similar to sky-eyed. He looked away as they embraced. The lingering adrenaline rush from the fighting pit was fading and he suddenly felt exhausted, absently adjusting the strap of his wristwatch.

Earlier, when they’d found out about the language crystals, he had let himself hope, for a moment – but it only translated spoken language, not written language. The unfamiliar markings that Van had translated to help get them here and the ones he saw above market stalls and on scattered notices bared no resemblance to those on his wrist. He had studied and searched for years, made it all the way to an entirely different world and was still no closer to figuring out his mystery.

Not that it mattered. Maxwell wasn’t much of a romantic these days. He’d kept his mark hidden so successfully he’d almost forgotten it was there.

“Gotch!” barked Van from behind him, startling Max out of his reverie. “You coming or what?”

The rest of the crew were already boarding the ship. Maxwell wasted no more time in following them, making sure not to look back.  

***

Torse had not expected to reawaken after his showdown with the Fehujar debt-collectors. He had not expected to meet the legendary original Wind Riders that had taken to the sky with Comfrey all those years ago, as well as Comfrey’s own flesh and blood, a sky-eyed young woman piloting a truly impressive mech with equal inexperience and enthusiasm. And he certainly had not expected Maxwell Gotch.

As he understood it, he had Maxwell Gotch to thank for his reawakening in the first place. He watched impassively as Maxwell moved about the deck of the Zephyr I, clearly impatient to eat the meal that Daisuke Bucklesby had already spent several hours preparing.

Torse was unsure what exactly made this bean meal ‘special’, and as he could not eat it himself, was not particularly interested in finding out. That being said, he had appreciated Olethra MacLeod’s invitation to sit with them while they ate. Frivolous as this crew appeared to be, they were kind, and Torse was already endeared to them beyond merely owing them his life.

It seemed as though he was endeared to one member of the crew in particular. As if a cog were jammed or a gear was stuck in his mechanisms, he kept returning to the same thoughts of Maxwell. His curious expression as Torse had reanimated, and his face when Torse had mistakenly called him by his grandfather’s name. His confident stride, immaculate grooming and excellent posture. His warrior’s rage and incredible fighting prowess against the Bank of Fehujar. His serious nature in contrast to the other lively and largely whimsical Wind Riders.

Torse tried to parse why he was so drawn to this Gathie man. Perhaps he saw a kindred spirit in Maxwell – they were both fighters after all, and it had been a long time since the Zernian had met such a formidable warrior, let alone a human one. It felt foolish, to desire his companionship so strongly so soon after their first meeting. He had already offended the man by failing to understand the difference between ‘mean’ and ‘rude’. Still, Torse would not let this error deter him.

Torse was an eight-foot tall, cast-iron automaton fitted with several large spikes, blades and retractable knives in his knuckles for the purpose of efficient and lethal combat. He did not, as a rule, experience shyness.

After this so-called special meal, he resolved to speak with Maxwell privately to learn more about his history, his motivations and intentions for the future. An adventurer with his skillset and determination could surely survive Zern, and maybe even want to lead an expedition there. The thought of showing Maxwell his homeworld, even in its current state, caused the steady rhythm of his golden heart to stutter. Perhaps he was overdue some routine maintenance.

For now, Torse was content to watch as the crew prepared the table. Maxwell, now laden with an armful of spoons, looked irritable as Vanellope Chapman and Montgomery LaMontgomery laughed at a joke he did not understand. His eyes met Torse’s visor from across the deck – as Torse inclined his head in a nod, Maxwell’s expression seemed to soften slightly as he nodded back. Interesting. Maybe he had noticed their similarities as well.

They would talk later. For now, Torse was content to observe this Gathie ritual and the Wind Riders who were partaking in it. If his focus stayed on one Wind Rider above any other, it was well hidden by his inscrutable helm.

***

Pretty much as soon as she’d stepped back on to the Zephyr, Van had wasted no time in implementing a rigorous chore rota to keep things running smoothly. Maxwell had thought it was a good idea until he was roped into doing the dishes with Olthera, who took on any task given to her in her stride like she was born to do it.

The atmosphere on board the ship had been a little tense ever since their latest discoveries at the Ectic Research Station, and it was clear that Olthera was trying to keep things light-hearted as she reckoned with yet more evidence of Comfrey’s wrongdoings. Maxwell sympathised with her, he really did – he just wished she hadn’t brought up the topic of soulmates.

“Isn’t it crazy that Norwich met her soulmate basically five minutes after getting to Zood?” Olethra was saying brightly, blowing her long hair out of her face as she doused another plate in soapy water. Max hummed in vague agreement - he had been relegated to drying and was trying not to make it too obvious that this was the first time he’d ever used a dish cloth in his life.

“I’ve never met anyone who’s got a mark – nothing exciting ever happens like that in Pilby.” Olethra said as Van wandered over to them, carrying a precarious tower of crockery.

“Well, I’d offer to show you mine, but that ship has sailed, so to speak.” Van dumped her pile of bowls and plates on the counter and held up her gauntlet with a wry smile, and Max’s eyes widened. Well, there was another thing him and Van had in common.

Olthera gasped, clasping her hands together with a giddy excitement that sent bubbles flying up into the air. “Oh my god, Van, you and Bert?”

“Me and Bert.” Van said in confirmation, looking over fondly to where Bert was serving up an aioli flight to a ravenous Freyja. As much as he usually tried to feign disinterest in soulmates, Max couldn’t help leaning in with Olethra to hear the story.

“It was just after I’d lost my arm, and I’d ended up in the Uplands looking for work. There was this big food market on, and I was absolutely ravenous. There were all these big fancy food stalls with their fancy overpriced foods, yelling over each other for attention. But at the end of the row there was this handsome man with a little food cart and a hand-painted sign saying free samples.”

“Before then, whenever I pictured this ‘Bert’ guy, I thought he’d be a big buff pirate or a bouncer or something. But here was this lovely tiny man with a lovely smile, offering up a bite of anything I wanted to try, and damn if it wasn’t the most delicious food I’d ever had.” Van smiled, lost in a memory.

“We got chatting, he asked me my name eventually, and I’ll never forget the way his eyes lit up when I told him. He showed me his wrist and I must have yammered on like an idiot for about ten minutes about how I’d just lost my arm before he stopped me to ask if he could make me dinner. We were married by the end of the week.”

“Van! That’s such a sweet story.” Olethra said, eyes shining. Max had read dozens of stories like it during his research, of course, but he knew better than to take it as definitive proof that his situation would resolve itself as neatly. That being said, it was nice to have living, breathing, solid proof in front of him that sometimes it did work out.

Van shrugged and got back to storing the bowls and plates in their proper places. “Honestly though, Olethra, I don’t know that it’s all it’s cracked up to be. I hated it, back when I first got my mark. I…I knew we were cursed, the whole family, so I thought it was some kind of cosmic joke to dangle a soulmate in front of me knowing I probably wouldn’t live long enough to meet them. Or I thought I was cursing them as well, I don’t know.”

“Do you still feel like that?” Max asked, blurting out a question before he could stop himself and immediately cringing when Van and Olthera turned to look at him. There was something piercing in Van’s gaze that made him feel like one of Monty’s pinned specimens.

“Sometimes, yeah. I don’t know what I did to deserve Bert, but I know I’m thankful for him every day – I don’t take any of this for granted. Relationships are bloody hard work, even with your soulmate. But I wouldn’t give it up for anything.”

Max let that sink in as he dried off the cup he was holding a little more thoroughly than it probably needed. He was glad Van and Bert were happy, but this was a distraction he didn’t need while so many other things were happening.

“I think it’s so romantic. I wish I had a mark – it would be so exciting to meet your soulmate on a big adventure like this one. Just like the books.” Olethra sighed dreamily, every bit the sky-eyed adventurer she was born to be. “What do you think, Gotch? I bet rich people are really weird about soulmarks.”

“Hmm?” Max stalled, setting the cup down. “Well, yes. It’s rather undesirable. Causes unflattering scandals and makes it harder to be married off. My father probably would have disowned any one of us for having one, or demanded we get it removed. Not befitting of the Gotch family reputation.”

That had started off as something like a sarcastic joke and, as usual, not quite come out right.

Olethra blew a raspberry and gave him a big thumbs down. “That’s so sad. Your dad sucks.”

Max nodded stiffly. Now there was something they agreed on. Van was watching him with an unreadable expression on her face that made him feel nervous. And usually when he was nervous, he couldn’t help but keep talking.

“I think…it’s a good plot for a romance novel. In practice, I don’t think many soulmarked people get to be as happy as Van and Bert are. It’s supposed to make you feel less alone, but I think sometimes it must make the loneliness even worse, not knowing who this mystery person is and when they’re going to show up. Puts a lot of pressure to them to live up to expectations too, I’m guessing. I think it probably just…complicates things.”

There was a terrible moment of silence, which was blessedly broken by Olethra.

“Well that’s horribly depressing!” She said, drying her hands on his shirt sleeve and ignoring his noise of protest. “Remind me to never come to you for romantic advice.”

“Please never come to me for romantic advice.” Max said, both deadpan and entirely sincere.

“Boring!” Olethra said in a sing-song voice, a familiar mischievous glint in her eye. “Ghost Dog gives way better advice than you, anyway. I should ask him what he thinks about soulmates!”

Max shuddered a little at the mention of Ghost Dog and slumped in one of old wooden chairs scattered around the galley as Olethra sauntered away, closing his eyes and trying to will away the headache he felt coming on. He desperately wanted to think about anything else other than soulmates, and briefly wondered whether Torse would be amenable to sparring with him before they reached Oda. Torse was an excellent travel companion who would not ask him any awkward personal questions or complain about his tone issues.

“You alright, Gotch?”

Max startled – he hadn’t realised Van was still there, watching him like a hawk. He immediately drew himself up back to perfect posture and cleared his throat.

“Hmm? Yes, fine. Sorry. My tone was probably…not good, I’m guessing. It’s just, uh-”

“Personal?” Van finished for him wryly, and Max felt himself flush a very unflattering shade of bright red. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself be so obvious.

“How did you-“

“I haven’t seen you take that watch off yet even though you rip your shirt off at any given opportunity, and you’re wearing it on your left wrist even though that’s your dominant hand. That and the way you looked like a kicked puppy when Norwich found her girl.”

Maxwell stared at her, open mouthed, and contemplated diving from the ship to avoid acknowledging how deeply mortifying this conversation was. “Yes. Well, It’s quite private, if you don’t mind-“

“It’s fine if you don’t want to-“ Van stopped, then let out a long exhale, holding her hands up. “Look, I used to hide mine too, back when I still had one. No judgement here, just saying you can talk about it if you want.”

Maxwell put his head in his hands, trying not to fall into total hysteria. He’d deftly avoided this particular subject for over sixteen years – he wasn’t sure he even knew how to talk about it. He’d never said it out loud. He’d almost told his grandfather a handful of times, but he had been too late, in the end.

“Well, like I said, it’s…complicated.”

Van scoffed. “I’m sure it is. Don’t think it’s ever simple, honestly, even if it’s supposed to make things easier.”

“I don’t think it makes things easier. That hasn’t been my experience, anyway. I feel like I was randomly selected for an experiment that I wanted no part in.” He said bitterly, lifting his head. He expected to see pity in Van’s expression, but it was more like understanding, which was somehow better and worse at the same time.

“That’s the thing, Gotch – I’m not so sure it’s random, is all. I think it might be for those of us who need a little extra push towards something – or someone - that’s going to make them happy. I know I needed that push. What d’ya reckon?”

Unbidden, an image of Torse came to mind, a memory of their first proper conversation. A mutual agreement that joy did not come easily to either of them. Having such an unusual mark had not brought him much joy so far, but the curiosity it had sparked had brought him here to Zood in a roundabout way, and Max had to admit the last few days had been exhilarating.

“I’ve…never heard that theory before.” Max said. “I’ll give it some thought, I suppose.”

“Good lad.” Van grinned, clapping him on the shoulder with the grounding, solid weight of her gauntlet. “Look, I won’t tell anyone else, and we don’t have to talk about it ever again. Just, y’know, if you do feel like having a chat about how terribly complicated it all is…you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, Van.” Maxwell said, and sincerely meant it, fighting the sudden urge to do something childish like reach out for a hug. Instead, he turned his focus to drying off the Zephyr’s chef tools with a more rigorous force than strictly necessary. Van nodded and turned away to deal with some other chore before she paused in the doorway to catch his eye.

“Olthera’s right, y’know – it sounds like your dad is a real nasty piece of work. I wouldn’t listen to a thing he says.”

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I.” Max said pointedly, feeling a rush of warmth when Van barked out a laugh.

“Yeah, you are.” She said fondly, grinning as she walked away. Despite himself, Maxwell smiled, feeling a little lighter than he ever had on the ground in Gath.

***

As always, that lightness did not last for very long. Maxwell felt…terrible, to be perfectly honest. The second fallen angel martini had been a grave error on his part, but in his defence it had been a hellish day, a new low in his burgeoning adventuring career. They had killed Mordecestershire and kept the beacons of Katur from going out, but not without a cost.

His head throbbed as he stumbled back to his quarters, sore after losing three rounds of arm wrestling in a row to Van and her new tentacle arm. He’d made his excuses soon after and retired for the night, exhaustion thrumming through his aching muscles. But now, alone with his thoughts for the first time since they’d journeyed into the depths below, the weight of his father’s name scrawled in Mordecestershire’s ledger caught up with him, threatening to crush him.

Max balled his hands into fists, trying to take deep and steady breaths. This latest revelation had reopened an old wound, and he felt a powerful wave of grief for his grandfather that almost knocked him to the ground. The rage would come into full force later, he knew – hopefully it would give him the strength he needed to battle against his father’s unspeakable cruelty and insatiable greed. But tonight, he felt a deep and profound sorrow. His vision blurred and his eyes stung.

It wasn’t just the loss of his grandfather he felt so keenly. He missed Torse. It had been awful coming back to the submersible and seeing him disanimated once more, giving up his beloved golden heart to save the engine and thwart the Eyeless Hand’s sinister ritual. Max had hardly been able to drag his eyes away from his friend’s lifeless body as they rose up back towards the surface.

He knew Torse wasn’t actually dead, of course, but it had still hurt Maxwell beyond reason to see him like that. He felt a wave of nausea and leaned against the wall to steady himself. He needed to do something to snap him out of this spiral. He needed…

He just needed to make sure that Torse was okay, Max reasoned, as he snuck towards where the submersible was being stored. The fallen angel martinis had made him quite unsteady on his feet, but he managed not to trip on any ropes and only knocked over a few supplies as he made his way there, taking a deep breath before he climbed inside.

The light inside from the various consoles and control panels was dim but warm, casting Torse in shadow as Max stepped towards him. He didn’t look so lifeless in this light, but more like he was sleeping – Max didn’t even know if Torse needed to sleep, but it comforted him nonetheless. It was foolish, but he did feel better seeing him here safe on board the ship, knowing that he would be in good hands when Marya repaired him.  

“Hello, my friend.” Max said softly, before he could think better of it. “I must confess, I am quite annoyed with you for so nobly sacrificing yourself back there, but you’ll be glad to know it was not in vain. The beacons remain lit because of you. We won an impossible victory today because of you.”

Not for the first time, Max looked at Torse and was reminded of the fairytales he loved so much as a child, tales of brave knights in shining armour who went on quests to slay dragons and save the world. A stoic clockwork knight rebelling against an evil queen bent on destruction. Maxwell was no storyteller – he’d leave that to Monty – but he found Torse’s story absolutely fascinating, and was determined that it would not end here.

“I wish you were here with me. You would know what to say, in the wake of these revelations about my father. I knew he was cruel, but I never would have imagined…to think, how my grandfather suffered, and I couldn’t, I didn’t…I could have had more time.”

Max clenched his fists again, a familiar rage igniting in his chest. “It’s awful, I can’t bear it. The anger I feel…it burns me from the inside out. I must have justice. I know you would understand. Especially with your iron heart.”

Max looked over to Torse’s leather satchel. It would be so easy to reach inside and wrap his hands around the precious hunk of Zernian iron that would bring his friend back to life. He had no tinkering skills to speak of, but had seen Torse unlatch his chest plate many times – if it was the simple matter of just connecting a few wires…

No. He could not risk damaging Torse further or potentially endangering himself and the crew just because he was lonely. He hesitated for a moment, concerned about impropriety, before he gently placed his gloved hand on one of Torse’s gauntlets.

“I promise we will wake you soon. I am not afraid of who you might be with your other heart. You are my friend, no matter what.” Max said with an unwavering sincerity fuelled by his inebriated state. It was easier to be so honest when he knew no-one else was listening, and it soothed him for a moment before he started to feel foolish.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew he held a great amount of affection for Torse, perhaps more affection than one usually felt for a friend. But it would surely permanently alter their relationship to admit that kind of thing out loud, and Max liked things the way they were. Torse’s friendship was far too precious for him to risk losing. It wasn’t like – Torse probably didn’t even know what a soulmate was.

He patted Torse’s gauntlet once before withdrawing his hand. It was extremely tempting to slump to the floor and sleep here, but he used the last of his willpower to drag himself back out of the submersible towards his quarters.

“Sleep well, Torse.” He whispered before he left. “You will wake again, and we will go to Zern, just like I promised. I will make sure of it.”

Torse couldn’t hear him, of course, but that didn’t matter. Maxwell would tell him again when he woke up.

***

Zernians did not dream. And yet, as Torse felt himself begin to reanimate, he could have sworn he felt sweet words of comfort slipping from his grasp, as if they were whispered gently to him during a deep slumber.

Of course, he should have known better. There was no comfort to be found in the halls of the Amphereon.

Blissfully, it took a few moments for Torse to return to full consciousness – once his visor reignited and his vision was restored, he immediately wished for the blind, mindless ignorance of disanimation once more. The workshop that he had awoken in was truly horrifying, a gallery of mutilated automata that sent flashes of incinerating rage and agonising grief rocketing through his systems.

His iron heart ticked away in his chest, but even as he regained full control of his mind and body, Torse feared he had already proved his original heart was not worthy. He was ashamed of himself for everything he had managed to destroy in the few scant moments the Queen had domineered him. The crew of the Zephyr I had welcomed him with open arms, and this was how he repaid them?

To make matters worse, Olethra MacLeod had befriended three new overly friendly and whimsical automata in his absence, and Torse did not care for any of them. In a distant way, he appreciated Olethra’s attempts to reassure him, but in truth, there was only one person who could help quench the roaring fires of anger and guilt building inside him, and that was-

“Maxwell.”

“Torse! You’re back!” Maxwell said happily, and Torse was overwhelmed with relief. In their rush to pile into the Wind Rider’s hastily constructed mech and return to Zood, Torse only had eyes for Maxwell, placing a protective arm around him as they braced for an emergency landing outside of Zumhara.

As the crew recuperated before heading out to the crystalline city, Torse studied Maxwell in this new dishevelled state. His usually perfectly styled hair was in disarray, and while his trousers were curiously in perfect condition, there was a tear in the shoulder of his burgundy jacket and blood staining his shirt collar. He had a gash on his cheek and some purpling bruises on his hands and arms alongside the usual scabs on his knuckles, but he was otherwise not badly injured and seemed to be in good spirits, only frowning a little as Olethra’s ridiculous toad began to sing again. He was, as always, enduringly beautiful.

Oh dear. Torse craned his neck down to try to examine his iron heart where it sat tucked away in his ribcage, and found it ticking at a rapid pace and generating heat like a coal ember embedded in his chest. He had forgotten the intensity of a feeling like this, become far too accustomed to the way that his golden heart had subdued his emotions. In a stark moment of clarity, he finally recognised his fascination with Maxwell for what it was – an infatuation.

“Torse” Maxwell laid a comforting hand on his back, deftly avoiding his spikes, and Torse’s heart sped up again. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Hmm. My heart is ticking unusually fast. It seems I am still in need of some maintenance.”

Maxwell looked concerned. “I see. Perhaps you could stay here and Sandy can help you while we scope out the situation in Zumhara? I must admit I’d rather not leave the mech unattended here, I’d feel better with you protecting it.”

“Of course. I will protect Mr Big Britches with my life.” Torse growled, pleased to see the pretty pink flush that blossomed on Maxwell’s face at the sentiment.

“Yes, well, that’s – that’s good. Be well, my friend. We will be back soon.” Maxwell said, lightly flustered in a way Torse found extremely endearing. The two of them shook hands again and Maxwell seemed to linger for a moment, like he wanted to say something else, before Van blew her bosun’s whistle and startled him into action.

As Torse watched the Wind Riders head out towards Zumhara, led by the frivolous Zoodian automaton that Olethra had befriended, he felt a wave of an ugly, undignified emotion he knew to be jealousy. He petulantly hoped that Maxwell would not be charmed by this new robot’s overly cheerful affect.

Maxwell clearly cared for him, yes, but surely not in the same way that Torse cared for him. It was an undeniably foolish, pointless thought exercise to imagine the brush of Maxwell’s soft, warm lips against his helm, or his strong heads delicately tracing the intricate clockwork inside Torse’s ribcage. Still, he found himself overheating at the mere idea of it, unlatching his chest to better examine his clockwork core working overtime. This iron heart and its unwavering affection for Maxwell Gotch would be the end of him.

With his iron heart returned to him, every feeling was amplified – his rage, his sorrow, his fear, but his adoration and gratitude as well. As he ran his fingers over Marya’s assertion of his worthiness, and thought of Maxwell diving through the sky to save him, he decided he would not seek a replacement heart again.

One thing was clear – a formidable battle approached that could be the end of them all. It would not be easy task to destroy the Straka and end the Queen’s reign, but it was a battle Torse had been built for, the one he had been fighting his entire life, and he would not shy away from it now.

If both he and Maxwell were lucky enough to survive, he would deal with the consequences of this infatuation afterwards. He would ensure that Maxwell knew how wonderful he was. That way, at least Maxwell would remember him as he inevitably left Torse behind for the next great adventure. Of course, that was the best he could hope for.

***

The Wind Riders had destroyed Straka, saved Ludmila and lost Comfrey almost as soon as they’d found her. Longspot Gotch was dead, and Maxwell’s least favourite brother had been eaten by a T-Rex. It had been quite the day, and despite the deep and profound fatigue that had overtaken his whole body, Max couldn’t bring himself to lay his head down to go to sleep just yet.

The laying down part was going to be somewhat of a problem actually, as the gunshot wound in his back – one last gift from his dearly departed father – flared with an agonising pain only dulled by the excellent painkillers Monty had given him. Van had helped with the burns he’d received from the Calefactory Biangle, but his left side still prickled and chafed up against the many bandages he had been wrapped up in. Max tried to get comfortable in the quarters he’d claimed on the Zephyr II, but he was antsy, irritated and restless.

By the time he’d retired to change his bandages and try to settle down for the night, Max had managed to speak to most of the crew. He’d drank with Monty, offered his sincere condolences to Pappy and Olethra, spoken to Wealwell and Samwell about the future of the family, haltingly introduced himself to Ludmila, hugged Van and Marya when they tried to include him in another friendship ritual. He’d stayed on the deck until he couldn’t physically stand anymore, but the one person he wanted to talk to most still hadn’t made an appearance.

Perhaps Torse had already returned to Zern. Of course, he would be eager to go home, to reunite with his people after all those long years apart. But – it was foolish, maybe, but Maxwell had hoped that he would be able to say goodbye.

There was a strong knock on the door that startled him, and a voice that soothed. “Maxwell.” Torse trilled from the hallway. “Are you there? May I come in?”

“Just a second!” Max said loudly, hastily stepping in front of the mirror to fix his hair and adjust his moustache. There wasn’t much he could do without his pomade and gentleman’s toiletries, but he tried his best to look presentable in his mix of borrowed sleep clothes and bandages. His battered gloves and wristwatch lay abandoned without a second thought on the small bedside cabinet. He took a breath and limped over to open the door, smiling up at his friend.

“Hello, Maxwell.” Torse rumbled.

“Hello, Torse.” Max said fondly, stepping aside to let Torse crouch under the doorframe to enter the room. After a moment’s deliberation, the automaton tentatively sat down on the floor, careful not to damage any of the furnishings around him. Max sat down the edge of his bed opposite him, wincing slightly as he managed to tug briefly on his stitches.

“I am sorry for the late hour. Are your injuries troubling you?” Torse whirred in concern, his visor set on Max intently. “I can get Montgomery, if you-“

“No need, I’m fine, really. Better than fine, all things considered.”

“That is good. I had no doubt you would be recovering well. You have an impressive constitution that rivals a Zernian warrior.”

“Thank you, Torse.” Max said, trying not to flush. “You seem to be in fine working order yourself.”

“I was only in need of some minor repairs. Some of my brethren are more badly damaged – Sandy is assisting them now, so that we may return to Zern shortly after Comfrey’s memorial service.”

“I see.” Max said, reflexively stiffening despite the way his muscles screamed in protest, plastering on an old, worn façade of politeness. “You must be eager to see them again. Please don’t deny yourself on my account.”

Torse hummed, his gears and machinery clicking thoughtfully. “We have a long journey ahead of us. It will take decades, perhaps even centuries to rebuild Zern. In this moment’s brief respite between all we have done and all we have yet to do, I find that what I want most is to be here with you. Is that strange?”

“No. I am very glad to have you here, my friend.” Max replied, his voice thick with emotion as he relaxed again. It had been made clear that they enjoyed each other’s company, of course, but such a sincere admission in anticipation of their inevitable parting tomorrow made his heart ache terribly.

“What will you do now?” Torse asked with interest, and Maxwell cleared his throat.

“Well, I don’t know exactly. Help clean up the mess my father made, I suppose. Several of my brothers are still unaccounted for, and I must return to Gath to deposit my father’s body in the nearest available gutter and help Samwell with the estate. But if all goes to plan, my inheritance should be more than enough to fund a good few more trips across the various biangles.”

“Hmm. Honouring your grandfather’s legacy.” Torse said approvingly.

“Yes, exactly.” Max smiled. “And I haven’t forgotten about my promise to bring adventurers to Zern, you know. We will tell everyone in Zood about the Corrodi, we’ll send aid your way, we’ll help the construction effort as much as we can – you won’t have to rebuild Zern alone, I’ll make sure of it.” Max said, steadfast in his belief that the rest of the crew would be just as dedicated to making sure Zern could thrive again. He was briefly distracted by the sound of Torse’s heart ticking faster and louder, and when Max looked at Torse’s visor again he noticed oil gathering at the corners.

“Torse – are you alright?” He said, gently placing a comforting hand on Torse’s gauntlet. He had thought that Sandy had helped to repair Torse’s heart – was something wrong? Had it been damaged in the fight?

“Maxwell. I apologise.” Torse’s voicebox warbled with static at the edges like an old radio. “May I speak freely?”

“Of course. Always.”

“I am overwhelmed by your noble spirit and your endless generosity. You have given me so much. I have never known such abundance like this before, and I am so very grateful. I owe you  a great debt.”

Max felt his ears going red. “Oh, there’s no need – you’re my friend, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Maxwell. You were the one who awoke me at Ramansu, where I would have otherwise been left to rust. You risked your life and sacrificed so much to save me when the Straka claimed me, even after I betrayed you all. You rang the bell that reunited me with the family I thought I had lost forever, and you fought valiantly by my side to destroy the Corrodi and free my home from nearly a millennia of destruction and tyranny.”

Max sat in stunned silence as Torse continued. “You have brought laughter and light and joy into my life, all things that I previously thought were impossible. You are wonderful. You have given me all these gifts and more so freely, and I am ashamed to have nothing to give you in return.”

“But you’ve given me so much, too. Companionship, loyalty, trust, a worthy sparring partner…all things of great importance to a Revington man, you know.” Max said, smiling wide when he heard Torse make a low sound of amusement. “I care for you a great deal, Torse. I know we must part ways tomorrow, but I will ensure that it will not be for long. We will meet again.”

“I believe that we will, yes. I know you to be a man of great determination and conviction. When you set your heart on something, there is no stopping you.”

“You’ve got that right.” Max said confidently, emboldened by Torse’s words. Slowly, he began to reach up to wipe away Torse’s tears of oil while his machinery hummed fondly, a complex symphony of clockwork that Maxwell hoped to one day know off by heart.

As he reached out, Torse made a stuttered sound of surprise that he had never heard before, his gaze suddenly fixed on Max’s arm.

“Oh, Maxwell, your wrist – you have a soulmark?”

“No!” Maxwell said far too loudly, wincing at the volume as he instinctively snatched his wrist away to hide it from Torse’s view. His heart began to hammer as he felt a flash of embarrassment and awkwardness that he so rarely felt around Torse. How could he have been so careless?

“Ah, I am sorry. It is private, of course, I did not mean to – I did not see it fully. I am sorry.” Torse repeated, his vocal modulator sounding strained. Well, at least they were both embarrassed.

“No, I’m sorry. That was…force of habit.” Max sighed, willing himself to calm down. “I do have a mark. I have kept it hidden for a very long time, pretty much since the day I received it. It is…hmm. A somewhat difficult subject for me.”

“I understand. We do not need to discuss it further if it would make you uncomfortable.” Torse said, looking resolutely down at the hard wooden floor.

Max realised he had forgotten to put his watch back on for the first time in sixteen years. He also realised that after today’s battle, there was no one left in his life that he needed to conceal his mark from. It was undeniably a part of him. Perhaps it was time to stop treating it as something shameful, a problem that needed solving. If it was difficult, perhaps it would become easier when shared with a friend.

“I don’t think I want to hide it anymore. I think…I wouldn’t mind you seeing it. I trust you.”

Torse looked at him intently. “May I? I have previously found this rare aspect of the human condition to be quite fascinating.”

“Well,  you may be interested in my case then.” Max took a steadying breath, and then held out his wrist for Torse to inspect.

“My mark is particularly unusual, one of the many reasons I have been…reluctant to share it. You see, it’s in a language I haven’t been able to identify yet. I had hoped that Zood might have the answer, but I’ve had no luck on that front so far, and barely a moment to think about it, of course, with everything that’s happened. In fact, maybe the Knowletarium would be a good place to start…”

Max’s rambling trailed off as he suddenly became aware of Torse whirring so loudly it was as if he was about to take flight, his visor still fixed on Maxwell’s wrist. Max shifted uncomfortably, once again concerned that something was wrong.

“Torse?”

Torse’s visor snapped to Maxwell, the light glowing so intensely Max almost had to look away, but he held his gaze.

“This is your mark. The name of your soul’s companion.”

“Yes.” Max said, realisation starting to dawn on him. “Can you – you can read it? You know what it says?”

“I do.” Torse said firmly, his gears still grinding with an intensity Max had never heard before. Maxwell’s mouth went dry. Was it possible that – but that couldn’t be – surely that was beyond all the wonders of Zood and Zern, wasn’t it?

“Would you consider doing me quite a big favour and possibly translating it for me?”

“I am…afraid.” Torse said, his voice faltering. “You might be disappointed with the answer.”

“Torse.” Maxwell said, breathless with wonder and affection. There was no world in which he was disappointed. It was quite the opposite.

He could not say that it had not crossed his mind. He’d never felt a connection like this with anyone else. He hoped - but he had written it off as a passing fancy, a foolish desire. Torse had no mark of his own – he had no skin to mark, of course. Maxwell had not dared to hope that it might be possible.

It was a gift he did not feel he deserved. But it seemed it was a gift freely given.

“Torse.” Max said again, as if it was all he could say, slowly leaning in to bring their foreheads together. Torse knocked his iron forehead against Max’s, a small cloud of steam bursting from a valve on his neck as they touched. “That’s what it says, doesn’t it?” He said, barely above a whisper. “It’s your name written in Zernian.”

“Yes.” Torse said, oil slowly trickling down his helm again. It was alright, Max was pretty sure he was crying too.

“It’s you, it’s you, I can’t believe it’s really you.” He murmured feverishly, this time succeeding in gently wiping Torse’s tears away and caressing both sides of his faceplate with open reverence, delicately tracing the vents on his cheeks, delighting in the vibrations under his fingertips.

“I…am surely not what you expected.”

“You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect. Better than I ever could have imagined.” Maxwell said with great conviction, delighting as Torse’s whirs sped up even faster in response. He wanted to kiss him so bad. Still, he forced himself to pull away so he could look at Torse properly. It was important to him that they were on the same page about what this meant, or didn’t have to mean.

“I…don’t know how much you know. But soulmate bonds can be…they don’t have to be romantic. I don’t want you to feel obligated. Just because I…just because of my feelings for you.”

Torse hummed, his hand coming to rest on top of Maxwell’s. “You have awoken much in me I had not known I was capable of. I had not known I could be a soulmate, but I am honoured to be yours. And though I have no mark myself, you have claimed my heart like no other. I would like to choose you as my soulmate, if I may.”

Max was about to open his mouth and speak about all kinds of rules and traditions that in an instant, didn’t matter. Marked or not, they both cared deeply about each other, and that was as solid foundation as any to begin a relationship with.

“Yes. That would work out rather nicely, given the circumstances.”

“Excellent. It is done.” Torse said decisively. “You are, in my opinion, the perfect companion. If it is a romantic relationship you would like to pursue, I would like that very much. Is that what you want?”

Maxwell thought about what Van had said to him, about marked people being ones who needed an extra push towards what would make them happy. For so long, he had only done what other people expected or wanted of him. He stayed on the ground. He maintained the family reputation. He hid his mark like he hid away his rowdiness, buried any desires that were unbecoming or ungentlemanly. And in a matter of weeks, his new friends had shown him how foolish that was, had accepted him anyway, not in spite of his rowdiness but because of it. In all his wildest fantasies of taking to the skies, he had never expected to feel this free.

“Yes. Yes, I am yours.” Maxwell said hoarsely, lightheaded with a happiness he hadn’t known he was allowed to feel. “May I kiss you?”

“Please.” Torse said, his voice nearly taken over by static. That was all the prompting that Max needed, and he surged forward to place a sweet, gentle kiss on Torse’s faceplate, at the corner of his visor and the underside of his jaw. Torse shuddered at the contact, another burst of steam erupting from him as Max peppered his helm with kisses before gently bringing their foreheads together again. They stayed like that for a long while, as if frozen in time, before the reality of the late hour caught up with them.

“I know this doesn’t change our plans.” Max said quietly. “I will think of you every moment we are apart, and I will do everything in my power to get back to Zern as soon as I can.”

“I know. My Maxwell, I will carry you with me everywhere I go.” Torse said, tapping at his iron heart. Max smiled, leaning in to press another kiss to his beloved’s face. He knew he would never hide his mark again, so happy to have his devotion proudly displayed on his wrist, his heart on his sleeve in the truest sense.

“Will you stay here with me for tonight?”

“Of course. This way I can ensure you get sufficient rest. Montgomery has assured me that sleep is essential for humans to recover from injuries like yours.” Torse whirred almost sheepishly as Max raised a eyebrow. “I…asked him how best to care for you.”

That was enough to send Maxwell over the edge and he found himself in tears again, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose as he gently tried to wave away Torse’s concern. “This is fine, I’m totally fine, it’s really normal and healthy to cry, actually, it’s just been a really weird day and I’m really tired and you’re just…infuriatingly thoughtful and lovely and perfect, and I’m so glad I met you.” He said, scrubbing at his face, warmed from head to toe by the soft golden light of Torse’s visor watching him intently.

“I will take care of you. Anything I can do for you, you need only ask.” Torse said firmly.

Max couldn’t ask him to stay, so instead he asked “Would you lay down with me?”

He was not above pouting slightly when Torse whirred in hesitation.

“I will tear holes in the sheets, and I may break the bed.”

“Don’t care. I’ll pay for a new one.” Max stood from the edge of the bed and carefully directed Torse to position himself on his side before turning out the lights and clambering into bed himself. He curled up on his good side and was overwhelmed with relief as Torse carefully placed his arm around him, mindful of his many injuries and how the bedframe creaked but did not collapse under their weight. Max shuffled closer and pressed his cheek to Torse’s ribcage, savouring the warmth that radiated from his chest.

“Are you sure you are comfortable? I was not made with comfort in mind.” Torse rumbled quietly.

“Hush. You’re perfect. This is exactly where I want to be.” Max said, sighing with pleasure as Torse hummed again and began to stroke his hair. Slowly but surely he began to drift off, lulled into a peaceful sleep by the steady rhythm of his soulmate’s clockwork heart.

***

Three months later, Maxwell stood on the deck of the Zephyr II, only slightly nauseous from the abrupt change in gravity as the ship made its descent towards Zern. They had been back in Zood for less than a week and Max had poorly restrained his eagerness to see Torse sooner rather than later, much to the amusement of the other Wind Riders.

Of course, his soulmark was an open secret these days. Everyone important to him had found out about it one way or another, without the need for some big announcement.

Monty had laughed heartily and kindly, offering to write it into the next book. Olethra had gasped and hugged him tightly before teasing him relentlessly for not recognising the Zernian language sooner.

Wealwell had pretended he’d always known about it (or maybe he had, Max couldn’t tell), and Samwell had taken one look at it and insisted that Max start preparing to return to Zood and Zern immediately, which he had greatly appreciated after weeks of endless paperwork and similar drudgery.

Marya had clapped with glee and winked cheekily at him, offering to craft some extra attachments for Torse which made Maxwell blush furiously. He had been most worried about showing it in front of Daisuke given the circumstances, but the gunslinger simply patted him on the back and gave him a firm nod, which meant more to Max than he could put into words.

And Van…Van had smiled widely, sweeping him up into a big bear hug, eyes shining. Asked if Max was happy, and he told her the truth – that he was.

Van was stood beside him now, yelling at the crew to prepare for landing as she wiped sweat off her brow from the sweltering Zernian heat.

“You nervous, Gotch?”

“Nervous?” Max made a face. “No. Why would I be nervous?”

Van rolled her eyes. “Excited, then. I bet Torse is excited to see you.”

“Yes. I hope so.” Maxwell said, absentmindedly running the pad of his thumb across his soulmark, a recent habit he had picked up that he usually found soothing. “I had hoped it wouldn’t be this long. I hope he is…I hope he still wants to see me.”

“Don’t be daft. Course he will.” Van patted him on the shoulder. And in the very off chance he doesn’t, he’ll have me to answer to.” She made a menacing curled up fist with her tentacle arm. Max wasn’t quite used to having someone in his corner like Van seemed to be intent on staying. He cleared his throat and chose to look straight ahead at the rusty red Zernian skyline instead of at the bosun directly.  

“Well. Yes. That won’t be necessary, of course, but. Thank you.”

Van grinned, and Max took a deep, steady breath as they drew nearer to the Zernian encampment that was already starting to resemble a small town. They’d managed to send ahead a short telegram of their expected arrival, but they’d been delayed by a dogfight with some devout and profoundly stupid Eyeless Hand stragglers. Max wasn’t even sure that Torse was still stationed here, yet alone that he would be waiting for him.

Part of their assignment in Zern was to deliver and install some long-range communication equipment that could broadcast and receive messages across all three worlds. The two prototype personal communication devices that Marya and Ludmila had designed sat heavy in his pocket, one waiting to be gifted.

He braced for the landing, pacing nervously as the gangplank thudded down on solid ground. He dutifully helped the crew unload their shipment with one eye on the camp just meters away, hoping to quietly slip away from the group so that he could find -

“Maxwell Gotch.” A very familiar voice boomed loudly from across the shipyard, sharp and clear. Heart suddenly in his throat, Max whipped his head around to see Torse striding powerfully towards him, magnificent and imposing, his spikes gleaming in the harsh Zernian sun. Everyone in the shipyard, human and automaton alike stopped and turned to watch them, but Max only had eyes for Torse, all of his doubts and fears instantly evaporating like smoke.

Once they were close enough, Torse stopped to pull out the chronometer they had left with him from one of the compartments in his hip. He examined it and hummed disapprovingly, turning back to Maxwell.

“You are late.”

Max couldn’t help but smile. “I know. I’m sorry. The traffic getting out of Zumhara was awful.”

“You will have to make it up to me.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Max said, slyly pleased as Torse’s visor brightened into that lovely gold colour, betraying his affection. Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Torse stepped forward with open arms. Max immediately melted into his embrace.

“I missed you.” Maxwell whispered softly.

“I have missed you as well. Very much so. But I had no doubt that you would come back to me as you said you would.” Torse rumbled, his hand moving to lightly trace his own name on Max’s wrist. Maxwell could no longer resist the temptation – he leant upwards to press a kiss to the bottom of his faceplate, delighted by the loud whirs he heard in response.

Somebody – most likely Olethra – wolf whistled from the small crowd that had gathered to watch them, and Max reluctantly pulled himself away, instead grabbing hold of Torse’s hand. He cleared his throat and turned to address his fellow Wind Riders.

“Alright, everyone, listen up. I will be taking shore leave for the next week. Freyja is in charge of all financial business and punching until I get back. Torse and I will be unavailable. Please do not disturb us unless the world is ending. Again.”

This was met by Olethra and Marya cheering and hollering, while Van shouted “That’s my boy!” with an unwavering pride that made Max feel embarrassed and pleased all at once.

Torse inclined his head in a nod. “My friends, it is my honour to welcome you all to Zern, and I hope your visit will be more enjoyable than your previous time here. I will make arrangements for my fellow Aganti Zernai to assist the installation of the communications tower, as I will otherwise be occupied. Maxwell and I will be leaving now.”

With that, Torse began to stride away again, tugging Max along with him. He hastily picked up his pace as the Wind Riders waved him off, savouring the feeling of Torse’s iron hand in his, solid and warm.

“Is this okay?” Max said as they exited the shipyard. “I know you must be busy, if you have things you need to attend to, I can-”

“Maxwell. You have my full attention.” Torse said in a low tone that sent a thrill dancing up Max’s spine. He had a feeling that he was going to greatly enjoy being attended to.

“Right. Yes. That’s…very good. We should go, then. Right now.”

“Yes. There is much I want to show you.”

Max squeezed his hand and grinned up at Torse’s glowing visor, warm, content and above all else, happy. “Lead the way.”