The ocean stretches endlessly, the night air sharp with salt and smoke. A single lifeboat bobs among bits of wreckage — penguins, seals, and one irate Scottish owl all dripping wet.

“Bah! I told ’em that ship was a disaster waitin’ tae happen!” the Conductor bellows, shaking seawater from his feathers. “‘SS Literally Can’t Sink,’ my tail feathers! Peckin’ marketing, that’s what that was!”

He adjusts his soaked conductor’s hat, squinting across the dark waves at Hat Kid. “And you, lass — d’ye have tae look so smug about savin’ us? What, ye think yer some kinda hero now?” He crosses his wings, trying to hide a tiny smile. “…Still, good work, I s’pose. Me grandkids are safe, an’ that’s what matters. Don’t let it go tae yer head, aye?”