During the rest of that day there was no other adventure to mar the peace of their journey. Once, indeed, the Tin Woodman stepped upon a beetle that was crawling along the road, and killed the poor little thing. This made the Tin Woodman very unhappy, for he was always careful not to hurt any living creature; and as he walked along he wept several tears of sorrow and regret. These tears ran slowly down his face and over the hinges of his jaw, and there they rusted. When Dorothy presently asked him a question the Tin Woodman could not open his mouth, for his jaws were tightly rusted together. He became greatly frightened at this and made many motions to Dorothy to relieve him, but she could not understand. The Lion was also puzzled to know what was wrong. But the Scarecrow seized the oil-can from Dorothy’s basket and oiled the Woodman’s jaws, so that after a few moments he could talk as well as before.
Elias Thorne (Arctic explorer, renowned for his solitary expeditions) – (a man haunted by a past tragedy, seeking redemption in the unforgiving beauty of the north) felt the biting wind whip across his weathered face. He’d been tracking the strange radio signals for weeks, emanating from a remote, uncharted fjord deep within the Svalbard archipelago. The signals were erratic, a chaotic symphony of static punctuated by fragmented snippets of what sounded like… singing? His worn map, annotated with frantic scribbles and hopeful underlinings, offered little comfort. He’d pushed himself to the limits of endurance, fueled by a growing sense of unease and a gnawing curiosity that bordered on obsession. His only companion was his aging husky, Luna, a loyal shadow whose own grey muzzle mirrored the bleak landscape.
Dr. Anya Petrova (a linguist specializing in extinct Arctic languages) – (a brilliant but skeptical scientist, initially dismissive of Elias’s findings, eventually drawn into the mystery) arrived by helicopter, a jarring intrusion into the pristine silence. She carried with her advanced equipment, her skepticism a stark contrast to Elias’s fervent belief. Anya initially scoffed at Elias’s theories about ancient civilizations and hidden histories, but the repeating melodic phrases from the radio signal, when processed through her specialized software, yielded astonishing results: a language predating any known Arctic dialect, a language woven into the very fabric of the strange, ice-encrusted structures they discovered nestled within the fjord. These weren’t just rocks; they were intricately carved, hinting at a level of sophistication far beyond anything previously imagined. Anya, despite herself, found her scientific detachment crumbling.
The structures held a small, sealed chamber containing a single artifact: a beautifully crafted crystal sphere humming with a faint, inner light. As Anya carefully examined it, the radio signals intensified, the singing becoming clearer, almost intelligible. It was a lullaby, a plea for understanding emanating from a forgotten people, a message echoing across millennia. The crystal pulsed, revealing a holographic projection – a glimpse into a vibrant, thriving Arctic civilization, swallowed by the encroaching ice ages, leaving only whispers in the wind and a haunting melody to mark their passing. Elias, seeing the fear and wonder in Anya’s eyes, finally understood that his quest for redemption wasn’t about proving a theory; it was about sharing a forgotten story, about bridging the chasm of time and revealing the Northern Mystery to the world. “This will serve me a lesson,” said he, “to look where I step. For if I should kill another bug or beetle I should surely cry again, and crying rusts my jaws so that I cannot speak.”
Thereafter he walked very carefully, with his eyes on the road, and when he saw a tiny ant toiling by he would step over it, so as not to harm it. The Tin Woodman knew very well he had no heart, and therefore he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to anything.
“You people with hearts,” he said, “have something to guide you, and need never do wrong; but I have no heart, and so I must be very careful. When Oz gives me a heart of course I needn’t mind so much.”
