Crafteria had many strange doors.

One had a moustache.

Another was made entirely of jelly and only opened if you made it laugh.

But none were quite as peculiar as the door at the edge of Rustlecrank Ridge. A towering slab of brass and oak, rimmed with chattering cogs and ticking clocks. Some ticked backwards. Some chimed on the hour and then apologised. One just screamed “MONDAY!” every twelve minutes, regardless of the day.

Boxy squonked to a halt and stared. “This looks... important.”

Beside him, Gluebert Scrapulous adjusted his robe and sniffed the air. “Aha. Mechanical enchantments. Temporal warding. Chrono-cogs. Smells like burnt toast and... destiny.”

Boxy blinked. “That’s very specific.”

“Indeed,” Gluebert said, tapping the door with his glue stick wand. “This is the entrance to the Clockwork Caverns. Very old. Very mysterious. Very—”

SNNNZZZRRK.

A loud snore interrupted him.

They turned.

Slouched in a battered wooden chair beside the door sat a small wooden man. His thin black hair curled neatly in place, clearly stuck on with a glue dot. Two round black eyes stared blearily at them, unimpressed. No mouth. Just the quiet, slightly twitchy aura of someone who had just about had enough.

Gluebert whispered, “Ah. A guard.”

He approached and bowed dramatically. “Good day, fellow sentient. Might you grant us passage through this most splendiferously cog-encrusted threshold?”

The wooden man stood. Stretched. Then pointed at his face. Then at the space where a mouth should be. Then slowly rolled his eyes in one, giant, theatrical circle.

Boxy stepped forward. “Hi. I’m Boxy. This is Gluebert. You’re...?”

The wooden man reached behind his chair and held up a sign:

PETE.

“Pete!” Boxy said.

Pete gave him a firm thumbs-up.

Gluebert beamed. “Ah, Petey! Wonderful.”

Pete froze. Wrote something rapidly on the back of his sign. Held it up again.

DO NOT CALL ME PETEY.

“Right,” said Gluebert. “Got it, P-Dizzle.”

Pete mimed throwing himself off the chair.

“Just Pete,” Boxy whispered helpfully.

Pete pointed at the mechanical door, then at his chest, then held up a new sign:

IT NEEDS MY VOICE TO OPEN.
I DON’T HAVE A VOICE.
I AM VERY TIRED OF THIS WHOLE SITUATION.

Boxy scratched his head. “So... you’re stuck?”

Pete nodded. Then slumped in his chair like a potato that had given up on being mashed.

Gluebert nodded sagely. “Then the path is clear. We help you find your voice, and you help us get through the door.”

Pete raised one eyebrow. Thought about it. Then held out his wooden hand.

Boxy shook it. “Deal.”

The map in Boxy’s backpack glowed softly. Somewhere inside the door, something clicked. The quest had begun.

Inside the Clockwork Caverns, time itself seemed to wobble. Gears spun silently along the walls. Clocks with no hands blinked curiously from carved niches. Pipes hissed clouds of glittering steam that smelled faintly of crayons and cinnamon.

The trio walked in silence. Boxy squonking. Gluebert humming. Pete quietly holding up signs like:

WHO DESIGNED THIS PLACE?
IT’S LIKE A CLOCK ATE A LIBRARY.

Their first obstacle came quickly. A wide stone gap stretched across the floor. No bridge. No obvious way across. On the far side, another platform spun slowly, as if waiting for them.

“Well that’s a problem,” Boxy muttered.

Pete held up:

I’M NOT JUMPING. LAST TIME I DID, I ENDED UP INSIDE A VENDING MACHINE.

Before anyone could panic, the air shimmered.

A large patch of spotted mushrooms burst from the stone beside them, surrounding a delicate little fairy door nestled in the wall. A glowing rope bridge unfurled itself across the gap, and a tiny bottle of fairy dust hovered beside it like a sleepy firefly.

Boxy stepped back in wonder. “Someone made that... for us.”

Gluebert nodded solemnly. “Magic responds to imagination. Wherever a child builds with heart, Crafteria listens.”

Pete very cautiously tested the rope bridge. Then, halfway across, held up a sign:

IF I FALL, I’M COMING BACK AS A VERY JUDGEMENTAL PENCIL.

They made it across.

PING. A sticker, shaped like a mushroom and fairy door, floated onto the map.

Further in, they arrived at a large copper wall covered in dials. A glowing message was engraved across the centre:

TO RISE THROUGH TIME, BRIGHTEN THE DARK.
NOT WITH WORDS, BUT WITH CREATIVE SPARK.
BUILD ME A CASTLE, CRAFTED BY CARE,
AND WATCH WHAT MAGIC LIVES IN THERE.

Pete looked blankly at the wall. Then held up:

I ONCE MADE A HOUSE OUT OF SPOONS.
IT DIDN’T END WELL.

But again, the air shimmered.

And rising up from the floor came a colourful castle. Painted in rainbow swirls. Dotted with stars, glitter, googly eyes and sequins. It was uneven. Slightly lopsided. Perfect.

Gluebert wiped away a tear. “A thing of beauty.”

The wall behind the castle split open, revealing a lift made of woven gears and starlight. It carried them up.

PING. Another sticker landed.

At the top was chaos.

Gears flew in every direction. Sparks jumped between machines. In the centre stood a massive clockwork face with a speaker in place of a mouth.

A message glowed:

VOICE IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED.
PLEASE SPEAK.

Pete looked at the speaker. Then at Boxy. Then back at the speaker. Then slowly raised a sign:

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.

Boxy put a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “We’re close. I can feel it.”

A loud boom echoed from the far wall.

A hidden panel slid open. And out rolled a giant catapult.

Seated inside it was a mermaid. Her hair was a swirling mess of wool, ribbons, pipe cleaners and pom-poms. Her tail shimmered with glitter. Her eyes twinkled with reckless confidence.

“Ready?” she squeaked.

Before anyone could stop her, the catapult fired.

The mermaid soared through the air like a carnival cannonball and smacked the speaker square on its brass nose.

The machine paused.

VOICE RECOGNISED: 13%.
HAIR QUALITY: EXCELLENT.
ACCESS GRANTED.

The gate opened.

Pete stood very still.

A soft golden glow appeared at the centre of his chest. Not a mouth. Not quite a voice. But something new. A flicker. A possibility.

He tapped it gently.

No sound came.

But Boxy smiled. “We’re getting there.”

Pete nodded and held up one final sign:

I WANT HER HAIR.

Gluebert gasped. “We’ll look into it.”

That night, they camped beneath a ceiling of ticking stars.

Gluebert conjured floating teacups from a gear-powered kettle. Boxy rested beside a softly spinning cog. Pete sat quietly, turning a tiny clock spring over in his hands.

“I wonder,” Boxy said, “if your voice isn’t lost... but waiting.”

Pete blinked. Then held up a small, hand-scrawled sign:

MAYBE I’M JUST QUIETLY JUDGING YOU ALL.

They laughed. Pete didn’t. But he did raise one eyebrow… and that was probably the same thing.

And deep within the caverns, behind the great door they’d passed, a lone cog turned. A light blinked. And a whisper — almost too quiet to notice — echoed across Crafteria:

“He’s found the others.”

The next chapter was already ticking into place.