The Bird That Shouldn’t Be

The dove tilted its head, one eye drifting in an entirely unrelated direction as it proudly declared, "Eye-eee!"

Duncan squinted at it. "Wait… your name is I.A.?"

The dove nodded enthusiastically, strutting across the desk like a general reviewing troops. "Coo!"

Duncan rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Somehow, this bird was more unsettling than the talking goat head. And that was saying something. The problem wasn't that it could talk—it was the way it talked.

"You… have any idea how you got here?" he asked cautiously. "Or where you came from?"

I.A. paused. Both of its eyes rolled off in different directions like twin compass needles gone haywire. Then it chirped in a delighted tone:"Oops! Page not found. Try refreshing?"

Duncan stared.

There was a long silence. Then he muttered, almost reverently, "What is this unholy creature…"

He tried again. Asked it a few more questions. The bird answered each one with maddening enthusiasm—but rarely with relevance. Their conversation quickly became a pair of parallel monologues, each one politely ignoring the other. Occasionally, something the bird said almost resembled an answer. But never quite.

Eventually, Duncan gave up. He frowned and glanced at the emerald fire flickering at his fingertips, trying not to think about the dove across from him who was now muttering something about discounted vouchers and free shipping.

Still—there was progress.

When he summoned his spiritual fire, I.A.'s wings shimmered, and the compass on its chest flared in kind. The fire responded not just to him, but to the bird. That meant it was still, fundamentally, the same object. The compass. Just… transformed.

The brass casing popped open with a soft click, and the ghostly needle within began to stabilize, aligning with Duncan's intent. Mysterious symbols curled across the face of the dial, pulsing faintly as spiritual energy fed into it.

I.A., for her part, stood still and serene beneath the fire—waiting, patient. Almost like she knew what was happening.

But before the ritual could complete, Duncan waved his fingers, dispersing the flames.

He needed to be sure. He ran through his thoughts quickly, cataloging what he'd learned:

The compass still functioned.The bird seemed to be a medium—a vessel, perhaps.The spiritual link between them was tangible, visible even.He could influence the bird's position using his spiritual fire… but not control its behavior.I.A. had thoughts. Personality. Independence. That made her more like the goat head than any other item aboard the Vanished.

And then there was the knife.

His eyes fell to the obsidian blade resting quietly on the desk.

Crooked like a skeletal finger, its polished black edge gleamed with an unsettling shine. This was the ceremonial blade wielded by the high priest in that subterranean cult chamber. The man in the golden sun-mask, presiding over the sickening ritual… now dead, heart torn out by the very forces he worshipped.

Duncan reached out, picked it up.

It was cold. Heavy. Real.

He summoned a flicker of fire—let it curl around the blade—and felt only emptiness. The weapon's supernatural energy had long since burned out. A conjured tool. Temporary. A relic of borrowed power.

Likely, it had been mass-produced. Not rare. Not anomalous. Just… dangerous.

He looked at I.A. again. "Did you bring this with you?" he asked, holding up the knife. "Was it meant for me?"

The bird stared at him.

No response.

He asked again. Still nothing. Not even a twitch.

It was like she'd been turned off.

Just as he raised a hand to spark another test, I.A. jolted to life—flapping her wings and hopping in place.

"Take up this solar battle axe!" she cried, "Take up this solar battle axe! Take up this—"

"Okay, okay, got it," Duncan interrupted, trying to wave her down. "You don't need to answer every version of the question at once."

He leaned forward. "Can you… carry physical objects when you travel? Is that what this means?"

I.A. blinked.

Then she pecked his finger. "Free shipping on orders over fifty credits!"

Duncan sighed.

He rubbed his temples again. "I'll pretend that meant yes."

Their communication had hit a brick wall. Again.

With a weary grunt, he stood up and glanced toward the door. The Vanished's map room was just beyond it—still filled with the muffled sound of the goat's long-winded monologue.

Poor Alice. She hadn't made a sound in some time. Meanwhile, the goat had apparently reached the seventeenth method for braising seaweed.

Duncan figured it was time to save his one relatively sane crewmember.

Also, he'd been in here a suspiciously long time. The goat might get ideas.

Still… he hesitated.

His eyes shifted back to the bird.

Could he just… leave her here?

No. That wouldn't work.

This dove wasn't going away. She was linked to him now. And trying to keep her hidden would only lead to problems later. Besides, hiding things was bad optics. If she came out later, it would look like deception.

Far better to be direct.

He reached out, scooped up the bird, and set her on his shoulder.

A new crewmember had joined the Vanished.

He wasn't going to explain a thing.

Let the goat and the doll draw their own conclusions.

Captain's orders.

I.A. puffed up her chest, balancing on his shoulder like a war banner. Then she bellowed with the full force of her tiny lungs:

"Premium tea for a premium life—tonight's episode is brought to you by—!"

Duncan didn't even flinch.

He smoothed his coat, adjusted his collar, and strode toward the door like the dignified master of a haunted vessel—flanked by a talking goat head, a sentient doll, and now, a marketing-possessed pigeon.

All he needed was a violin-playing skeleton and he'd have the full set.