Derpy stood in the back of his own mind.

  The place felt like a room built out of pressure. No walls, no ceiling—just the sense of being watched from every angle.

  Celica was there.

  Blight was there.

  Not as two separate books—one merged mind wearing two voices, two shapes, because that was how Derpy could survive listening.

  And behind them—him.

  The other Derpy.

  The one that wore his face like a dare.

  His mouth pulled into something too wide to be friendly.

  “They can’t know,” Blight said quietly. “Not about what you are. You cannot let them see you switching between calamity outputs.”

  Derpy folded his arms. “That might be harder than you think. There’s another calamity user here.”

  Celica’s attention tightened. “The maid.”

  “She isn’t just a maid,” Derpy said. “Her calamity is Eco. It copies attacks. Mimics them. Turns them into hers.”

  Blight’s eyes narrowed. “She told you that?”

  “She did,” Derpy said. “She’s assigned to take care of me. She doesn’t know what’s in my head.”

  Blight’s tone sharpened. “Then switching outputs exposes everything.”

  A presence leaned in.

  Sinister Derpy stepped closer, voice smooth. “Or we burn this place down right now.”

  Derpy didn’t turn. “You don’t get a vote.”

  “Not a vote,” the other Derpy said. “A deal.”

  Derpy’s jaw tightened. “Say it.”

  “Five days.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  The words landed with a strange weight, like a countdown being stamped into his ribs.

  “If this gets too much,” Sinister Derpy continued, “you keep control now. I get control later. You don’t get to stop me when it’s time. I take it.”

  Celica’s voice cut in, warning-hot. “No.”

  Blight didn’t speak, but her presence pressed like a blade laid across the table.

  Derpy stared at the shadow of himself.

  He hated how familiar it felt.

  He hated how easy it would be.

  A hand extended—dark, patient, waiting.

  Derpy hesitated.

  Then he took it.

  The contact was cold.

  Not skin.

  A promise.

  “I’ll be waiting,” Sinister Derpy said, the grin lingering like a stain.

  Derpy opened his eyes.

  Soft light.

  Living wood.

  A room that smelled like clean water and sap.

  Lieam sat across from him in a chair, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around herself. Calm. Watching.

  Derpy shifted his weight and stepped forward.

  Lieam snapped her fingers.

  The air rippled.

  Two figures appeared.

  Ruin Mk.1 and Ruin Mk.2.

  Mk.1 wore a stitched dress in blue, green, and yellow—cleaner than the one in the clearing, seams too neat to feel natural.

  Mk.2 stood heavier in brown, posture built to fight.

  Derpy kept his voice careful. “I just wanted to talk. Could you tell me where I am? I was taken from my friends.”

  Lieam looked at him with open disdain.

  “How dare you speak to me like that—as if we’re equals. I am here to take care of you, not converse.”

  Derpy turned away.

  Mk.1 stepped into his path.

  Derpy blinked once. “Uh—hi.”

  He forced his voice into something plain. “My name’s Michael. What’s yours?”

  Mk.1 stared at him.

  Blank.

  Like the question didn’t fit her programming.

  Derpy circled her slowly.

  Loose threads.

  Bad seams.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” he said gently, “but… may I fix that?”

  No response.

  His bracelets shifted—metal unfolding into needle and thread.

  Derpy knelt and began sewing.

  Mk.1 didn’t move. Confused. Unsure.

  Fifteen minutes passed.

  Lieam approached, stunned. “How did you do that? No one in the kingdom could fix her.”

  Derpy didn’t look up. “Before I was taken, I repaired a doll like her.”

  Mk.1 tilted her head.

  “Failure,” she said flatly. “Riven defect. Ruin Mk.1 defect.”

  Lieam stiffened. “No—”

  “You’re not defective,” Derpy said firmly.

  He kept working. Legs. Feet. Hands.

  Something changed.

  Mk.1 shifted. Properly. Freely.

  She hugged Derpy—quick, sudden—then panicked and swiped at him, unsure how affection worked.

  Derpy laughed softly and patted her head.

  “I know,” he said. “You’re scared of being disposed of. I saw what they did to Riven.”

  Mk.1 went pale.

  She shoved him away.

  Lieam narrowed her eyes. “How do you know about the Stitch series?”

  Derpy clenched his fist. “I saw it. Through an artifact. I saw how they treated her. How she tried to fit in—and how the scientists responded.”

  For a moment, rage flickered.

  “I don’t know why I was taken,” Derpy said.

  But he thought it anyway.

  I could destroy this place.

  Lieam laughed. “You’re amusing. Truly.”

  She stood. “But playtime is over. Testing awaits.”

  Mk.1 and Mk.2 grabbed Derpy’s arms.

  Mk.1’s grip was lighter.

  They led him down sterile halls.

  White coats. Clipboards. Cold eyes.

  A testing chamber waited.

  And the board shifted again.