Dead Heartsby Flutter BloomChaptersPrologueChapter 1: New AwakeningChapter 2: Throne RoomChapter 3: UnraveledProloguePrologue: Was it sunrise? Twilight? Vesper? Morning? The stallion cared not for the name of the sun's ascension—he simply galloped on. Nevertheless, he did not blend perfectly into the forest due to his bounteous contrasting dyes that envisioned their own version of twilight. Aspen branches lashed at his legs, as the thorns from multiple plants seemed to have entwined with the hard ground and foliage took its chances to leave deep gashes in his ankles. Enclosed between his molars was a simple satchel. Although he could have strapped it to his back, depressingly he was disallowed by the constraints of time. Nor did he have time to contemplate on a teleportation incantation, to effortlessly remove himself from the dense thicket established in the dismal forest. Fleet of hoof, the stallion stained the dew-moistened grass with red. He glanced behind him—once, twice—before returning his focus to the forefront, fortunately averting a tree excessively willing to chauffeur him into Fate's domain. His tail had always been rather bothersome; the long strands of hair always managed to catch the sun's rays in such a way as if to embrace the gentle radiance and unleash it on the eyes of those who needed it the least. His hooves slipped on the soft dirt and foliage, that caused him to halt himself, if he had not caused his form to stop then he would have collided with a stone wall. The sounds of the forest did beckon him—alas, the young stallion remained ignorant. He was tired, weak and his stomach groaned with growing hunger pangs from fasting since the previous nadir. His chest fell and rose with ragged gasps—a feeble attempt that was far from enough to satisfy his desperate lungs. His throat screamed as if it was engulfed by invisible flames. The stallion’s back ached and yearned for those extra limbs the others in his clan possessed, on the other hand due to his where he was he dared not wish for them as well - wings could have hindered his movement. Closing his eyes, he muttered a curse into the satchel between his teeth. His hooves moved forward, lightly touching on the stone. Bereft of warning, he felt something envelop his form - as his brain tried to gain recognition of the events that had been surrounding him, his thinking only seemed to only lasted but for a few moments as his brain went blank. With his form enveloped he ended up getting rejected but this sensation that made his form to become spat out as if quicker than what a lake chimera would do when eating something bitter, this form of force that had gripped him tightly just to reject him was something he had yet to encounter before now. His body skipped across cold, hard stone as his limbs were pummeled against structures of brick and clay. He became aware of his own limbs breaking and cracking as he continued to skid, control over his limbs mercilessly denied. The precious satchel slipped from his mouth, sliding down the walkway and coming to rest before a young, white filly. She remained stationary, watching, locking her sights onto his graceless, flailing body. With a meek step backwards, the sound of her small hooves seemed to echo through the halls that seemed to only bore the ragged sounds of pain from the mewling stallion. As she did, her small, round, pink eyes found purchase on the satchel. Curious about its contents, she lightly stepped to its resting place, her inquisitive nature assuming control of her decisions. She proceeded not towards the stallion, no; she was more stunned by what had happened to him. Never before had she witnessed anypony become a darting object of such great velocity. Almost at the bag, she stopped. Only pegasi could boast impact-resistant bones; the stallion might be gravely injured! The filly swallowed hard, turned on her back hooves and galloped off to mobilize the guards as well as to inform her parents, leaving the satchel there seeing as to her it held no importance. Weakly, the stallion raised his head; the pound of taunting drums rang in his ears as his vision spun. Despite the crushing effort required, he found the will to stand but his will was overcome by pain and he remained to stay there. His body strained as he crawled toward the precious bag, its retrieval his only priority. Crimson trickled from a corner of his mouth, staining the dirty satchel he had previously carried. His left hind leg dragged along the ground as he tried to pull himself. Closing his eyes tightly, he shed silent red tears from the massive injuries he’d sustained. Upon their re-opening, the hues of the shades of the pattern of twilight, soon dyed red. A small, barely-audible sound came from the back of his throat while he leaned his dead weight against a wall for support. His hooves scrambled for stability as they slid forward from under him. Allowing gravity to take him, he nuzzled his face into his coat, burying his bleeding features and hiding the bag as best he could—desiring its safety, lest something so precious be stolen. Though the forest beckoned, he refused it permission to absorb him once more. A small smile graced his features as he discerned the faint cries of a child, beckoning older stallions and mares to his location. “How humorous—” he coughed slightly, nuzzling the bag as if it were his own foal, “—a small foal wishes—” a small, rough sigh came from him as a deep-throated cough followed, “—to help....” Soon, his smile drifted into a slight frown as he pulled his leg up some, dragging the bag closer to his thin, fragile form. A slight shake of his head soon followed as he forced his tail over his hind leg. Blood slowly seeped through the thin strands, staining the multicolored masterpiece. Once more, the filly’s cry: his location, where he came from, how he appeared in an array of magic. Nuzzling the bag again, he fought to remain conscious, although he knew he would soon succumb to the blackness. Allowing his vision to shift from the bag to the corner of his eyes, he watched the shadows dance on the walls. How he remembered the way they danced for his clan in times long past. As the sound of approaching hooves neared, so did the oncoming blackness that begged to suffocate him. Feeling utterly lost, his throat tightened and his breathing became laboured. Unable to walk or hide his precious bounty. Incapable of magic, his reservoir exhausted, forsaking the forest that practically pleaded for his precious cargo. Able only to wait. He was afraid, though; afraid of them taking his stones away, afraid they would be like the dark ones lurking in the forest—his pursuers. He chanced a final glance to the bag and squinted his eyes shut, awaiting the rapid darkness. Better to die there than witness the newcomers fall upon him and claim his charge. Slowly the abyss engulfed him, dragging him completely under, rendering him comatose. Author's Note Thank you everyone for reading this tale; updates on it maybe slow and the writing is still being glanced over and looked out I do not mind questions if you do have any please ask them and I will try to think of how to answer them in the next chapters or leading on chapters to gain more depth into the story itself. Thank you once more for sticking with me. Chapter 1: New AwakeningChapter 1: How long the stallion remained in unconscious stasis, he could not know; that bitter slumber, within which the endless nightmare of traversing an unending corridor held sway over his mind. What he could know, though, was that muttering voices had broken the grip of his mental plague and forced him awake. Searing, blinking light pierced his fragile vision as his eyes snapped open with sudden awareness. Finally able to comprehend current events, the grip of hooves upon his own limbs commanded his attention, holding him tightly as if strapping him to the bed. His heart pounded against his rib cage, eyes erratic in their analytical efforts. Attempting to take the forms of the ones who held him in, still leaden-struck from its extended inactivity, the stallion's brain failed him. Then— His errant gaze fell upon a familiar sight. A brief perusal of his still-encumbered mind brought forth the memory of his savior. Standing by the chamber’s entrance, she waited for him. Her own eyes widened, pupils contracting upon her first sight of his broken, beaten and scarred form. He conclusively reminisced upon their meeting; the small figure, shaking with fear-rimmed curiosity at the noise, unsure if it threatened her or her sanctuary. He reflected briefly on the idea of flight, not for the first time—at least until grim anxiety gripped him at the thought of his confiscated bag. He felt his heart skip as his understanding of the area around him sluggishly purged in an intonation that was not his, the tone bellowing for the object he lusted after. As his throat tightened, his slowly recovering mind fought to filter out his fears. Maybe he should ask—maybe they weren't hostile? Reaching a decision, unusually against his character, he settled on negotiations with his captors. He had stopped fighting. Hadn't he? He didn’t feel any of his limbs move nor twitch—indeed, his only physical feeling consisted of the resilient rise and fall of his chest, painfully perpetuated by a burning set of lungs. His tail twitched; turning his attention to something less grim his roaming eyes darted over to his captors, his coma liberators. He perceived a young mare, seemingly respectful and blue-eyed. The shade was unfathomable: Aqua? Cerulean? Turquoise? Whichever was true, they sparkled like stars in the night. Swallowing hard he opened his mouth, succeeding only in hacking up dollops of iron-fouled red. Then he felt it—warm fluid dripping down his neck. Once more, he and the filly traded gazes, eliciting uncertain fear from the latter. Could anyone see her? The child? Was it only him? Surely he was going insane. The possibility existed, to be sure—more like to affect him than another. The mare with the aqua eyes reacted swiftly to the blood, cleaning up the sudden deluge that spattered out of his mouth. Once more, he found himself nervous beyond control. Eyes on the ceiling, anxiety consuming his heart, rational thought failed him while he drowned in self-pity. He craved his beloved satchel more than ever. Though in truth, he perceived not the danger those... items could bring to this place. His focus shifted from the ceiling to the small space. Sensing his direct stare, the filly partially hid herself behind the door again. Ever staring, brilliant pale rubies that glistened with innocence—a far cry from those forest lurkers. Those translucent-winged insectoid, mutant hybrids. These poor ponies, ignorant to the dangers that lay in wait outside their peaceful halls. Fraught with danger, he'd journeyed to his destination, bearings unknown. Yet now with that magical burst, here he was. A bristly throb journeyed from his mouth down, unhinging him from his stares and derailing his train of thought. He recoiled from the mare, dodging her hooves, resulting only in rolling against the other one with a rough, firm grip. His eyes soon adjusted to the lighting of the new angle—that’s when he realized the one he had rolled into was a black-shaded male, who now grabbed him forcibly. Emerald green bored into his vision, lightly tinted with a hint of blue. His messy mane boasted a tone of blood orange. A rather odd looking combination—not one he ever wished upon himself. "Morte Fleur, why did King Sol ask us to help him? He doesn't even speak. So far he has only fought us," the colt grumbled, his tone harsh as if scolding a child. The stallion’s heart sank. "We don't know what he is or where he came from." Black and orange clashed as their owner looked down at him. "Hesperus, cease," the blue-eyed mare snapped as she eased off him. "There must be a reason, yes? Our lord orders everything for a reason. He desires our 'guest' be clean and presentable for when he analyzes the package's yield." "We should at least heed his name. Art thou not curious to what intentions lurk in his... mind?" A cough was heard from the unidentified stallion that remained laying down. The stallion simply listened as the mare moved between him and Hesperus. Morte was more interested in the one laying in the bed and not the one she was fighting with on... odd terms. "I better trust this stranger than trust a colt who knows not the contents of a simple package." "You're just like your mother." "Be still!" a voice boomed from the doorway—another stallion, causing Hesperus and Morte Fleur to drop their bickering. The stallion on the bed looked back to the door. He searched for the filly, alas, she had vanished. He felt his mind leaving the safe-haven known as “sanity.” He couldn't deal with at all; could this pony wrapped in shiny gold and shimmering dark metal help him refrain from descent into madness? Hopefully, yes. Morte moved, revealing the color of her coat to the unnamed stallion. It resembled the dark of coal, accented by white strands in stark contrast to her mane of sky blue. Everything about her screamed freedom, or at least the desire for it. Her coat rippled lightly with her consistent breaths. The stallion closed his eyes to ignore her. She held no lingering interest; he was more interested in the mysterious while filly with the pink eyes. Ere long he’d closed his eyes, the grating sound of the metal door snapped up his attention. Another colt stood, eerily menacing. "King Sol summons the stallion," he declared with solid eye contact. A cold chill manipulated his spine at the sight of the fierce, armored one. Patches of murky brown showed through gaps in the plating. A quick glimpse of the armored one's tail gave him an informed guess as to the color of the matching mane, that of fine grains of sand. The eyes were what frightened him most—eyes of the most vicious red. "Fine, take him. Be gentle, though, he's not yet healed. Undue stress and motion shall not aid his recovery in any way." Recognizing the mare’s words as a warning to himself as well as his escorts, the stallion resolved to obey her recommendations. "Take him and begone." Her eyes remained focused on the window, having not moved since the red-eyed pony’s intrusion. The armored one nodded, approaching the already-standing stallion. Fear was his foe and pain his unwilling partner as he rose from his bed. Unbidden popping and creaking greeted his ears and his blazing nerves; hardly surprising, considering his earlier injuries. He probably broke a rib or two, cracked a bone in his leg, chipped his horn perhaps? Once standing, the armored one waited for him to walk. Devoid of speech, the stallion paced tentatively out the door and into the hall, the menacing gold and black suit behind him. Author's Note It's been a long while because of everything including emotional stress, loss of friends, frying of mother boards, and other things that kept me from writing. I am so so sorry here is the newest update. More is coming to you. Chapter 2: Throne RoomChapter 2: Strange... the scenery seems adverse to change, the stallion thought as the armored one continued to escort him down the unreasonably long halls. As their hooves traversed the cobblestoned hall, the armored one looked to the unknown unicorn. It seemed his charge cared little for his appearance; the wild mane cascaded down both sides of his neck, loose hairs strewn wherever they liked. Maybe he was bandaged, maybe not—if so, the stallion felt nothing wrapped around his body anyway. “It would be best to know your identity, ere we present you to the king and queen,” so spoke the armored one. The gentle clop of their hooves continued to be his only answer, silence otherwise dominating the atmosphere. The stallion’s visage confronted the other, judgment pending on his decision—friend or foe? “...Nam Tempus.” Finally the stallion rasped his name, feeling it claw its way out of his tender throat. Apparently satisfied, the armored one returned his focus to their destination, the royal chamber growing ever closer. Silence reigned over the halls once more. Having given his name at least, Tempus grew apprehensive about the imminent royal meeting. With knowledge of his name came potential knowledge of his whereabouts, his origin. What stopped these ponies from spreading it around? Could he trust them to keep it secret? No, clearly not. He had to find the bag and go. He had to keep those precious stones from his clan's clutches at all cost; there was no telling what pain and calamity they'd spread! They were too dangerous to forfeit, especially in this place where fillies roamed freely. A cough pulled his attention back to the armored one, who stood in front of him and beckoned to the open door ahead. The time for judgment was at hoof; had the filly saved him, only to prolong his pain in this cold, icy place? Or would hope of warm assistance yet prevail? He kept his head down upon entry, utilizing his periphery to covertly survey the room. That's when he saw them. Two fillies—not one—sitting in their own places of honor beside the two larger thrones. Clearly, the fillies often played audience to important matters. The younger-looking of the two featured a midnight coat with a two-blue-toned mane. Yet it was the larger filly who drew his attention; a filly of familiar fur, mane and eyes. She sat, patient, watching while the younger spoke and revealed the white one's name. “Celestia. Sister?” the dark filly asked, tilting her head with her eyes blinking and full of unknown innocence. Maybe there was something there that wasn’t innocent; too early in the filly’s development to tell for sure. With time's permission, he may have studied her further. Nevertheless he trotted on, the fear of retribution weighing on his mind. He reached some small steps, the fillies' muttering now his least concern. At the base, he lowered himself into a short bow, noticing only then how long his limbs were in comparison to the others’. A high, feminine giggle sounded, juxtaposed by an audible sigh. Drawn from his internal musings about limb length comparisons, Tempus' eyes met those of a radiant, attractive mare. His previous ignorance of early morn's name now seemed foolish, for he beheld one that seemed to represent sunrise itself. Orange and gold coalesced with white in a glorious display through her mane. The darker, blue tips—not unlike the coat of the younger filly—gleamed with hints of purple, shimmering with what one could mistake for the evening stars themselves. Though no wind breezed through this hallowed chamber, the mare's incredible mane flowed with fluidity all around her. It even caressed her elongated horn—an elegant spiral accented by the same shade of orange. Her equally glorious tail partially covered a curious mark on her flanks, the likes of which he'd seen only on the chieftain and witch doctors of his own clan. Tempus took one second to memorize the pattern: a single, centred star, with spirals sporting other stars emerging from the five points. Slowly, his eyes drifted to the male who had coughed. Unlike the mare—whose body shared the elder filly’s white hue, save for orange patches around her hooves—his full form was decorated like the night sky. His horn was shorter than hers, but tapered to a rather menacing point. Unlike her mane of many hues, his was a solid dark purple that seemed to ripple like water down a stream. Endlessly rippling; did any other part of their bodies ripple like that? It was beyond beautiful—just like the forest which he suddenly longed to return to. “You must be the unicorn Celestia told us about. The one who managed to concern yet frighten her at the same time.” The mare’s wintry voice breezed over Tempus, enveloping him in a feeling of gently falling snow upon his coat. Sweet, soft, light—completely enchanting. His heart hammered within his chest as he swallowed hard, remaining in the bow, captivated. “At ease.” The magnificent stallion now spoke as the mare looked to him. Tempus quickly stiffened. His bones popped as he quickly changed position, almost having his limbs become entangled among themselves. Forcing the pain down, his eyes darted to and from the stallion on the throne to the mare on her matching throne. “Answer Radiant.” Radiant? Was that the mare? Tempus had to assume so— if yes, there two were definitely the King and Queen. Both were graced with stunning beauty. It made sense in a way—gems occurred naturally in the world, it stood to reason that it could produce gems of ponies, too? A cough escaped from Tempus as he glanced over at the two fillies, observing as they took their leave. He quickly returned his eyes to the King and Queen—or who he expected to be the monarchs. He felt the desire to respond rapidly; the stallion’s eyes narrowed, his patience shrinking by the second. “I am, sire.” Tempus felt his throat ignite once again. The words burned, as did standing there trying and failing to stabilize his paranoia. His head started to pound slowly. Thinking seemed to dull the pain, yet the two before him required his attention—attention he was not keen to deny. Just considering the idea was enough to twist and knot his stomach. He had to think of a way to distract himself; maybe looking for a similar mark on the king like Queen ‘Radiant’. As he heard them mutter among themselves, his eyes wandered down to the stallion’s tail near the flank. His eyes caught the mark, a giant star. Of course it was a star, had he expected a plant or something? That would be— “Well, I am pleased to welcome you here to our humble home. I am Queen Radiant. This is my husband, King Sol. I apologize for the circumstances of your entry to our town, also for your rude awakening in the infirmary. No doubt that scared you...” The Queen was speaking; Tempus registered too late, stiffening rigid and hastily averting his gaze from her flank to her face. “Militis Arma, please take this colt to a spare room. Preferably close to the infirmary, lest his injuries bother him further. Although it has been nearly two weeks, I recommend that he remains supervised for any… complications.” As she spoke, she smiled, serving only to tighten the knot in his gut. The armored colt from earlier walked in and bowed next to him. Tempus’ eyes landed on him as he surveyed him—well at least he now knew the armored one’s name. “Yes, Milady,” he responded as he kept his head down, awaiting further orders from the two in charge. Tempus remained quiet. There was no purpose in speaking out of turn, desperately though he desired information regarding his bag. He briefly wondered if they planned to keep him captive, enslaved. But what if they didn’t keep slaves like they did in his clan? Every so often after a battle between clans, the victorious would take any captured warriors for their own. It was that way everywhere, right? “Dismissed.” The king spoke, jerking Tempus out of his reverie. Militis glared at his charge. Slowly the guard tapped his flank, hustling him along. Unwilling to disobey the orders that were given to them, Tempus complied, hoping he could crawl out of the pit he felt he’d dug himself into. Chapter 3: UnraveledChapter 3: Unraveled It wasn’t long until Militis had placed Tempus in the required room the monarch had requested to place him. The chosen room though seemed to be a rather bland one, with only a low bed near the ground ( which had a pathetic excuse for a ‘under’ for a bed ). A nightstand was right the right hoof side near the shoddy bed - which caused the bed to look like the most expensive thing in the room - the color was dull almost a form of black although the reddish tint was clear it was suppose to be a brown but the time of worn got to it making it depressing in appearance. The window on the wall barely let any light in, which also made that a poor excuse for a window - the reddish curtains were pulled over it and they seemed to match the nightstand in the color of dimness. The whole room made Tempus’ mood lessen and knot, which caused his hooves to itch with the impulse of gaining the knowledge of the location of his bag. Then there was the matter of his thoughts that the room seemed to affect. Making them turn into a tangled, incoherent mess. And what a mess it was, a seemingly ugly mess that not even he wished to try to touch. But he did anyway, a loose thought he seemed to be rather plain he tugged at which tightened the ball of tangled thoughts making them tighter in the unclear voices he tried to sort out - clearly he was crazy if he could deem these voices as none belonging to his own but as if the were external and speaking to him from the dark corners of the room. These voices weren't his own though, no - instead they were old voices from when he was a young colt back in the forest. Everypony had those voices they chose to place in their mind to help them think better. Those nagging ones when you know you forgotten something. His was unique though, they were the voices he hates not the ones he preferred because if they were those octaves that soothed him well; he wouldn’t do anything he would just sit there or stand there not being proactive. Which was what he was doing then, just pacing in the room alone as his hooves constantly padded on the ground as his brain raked with nonsense and dulling factors of the tragic events added onto with many outcomes that could lead to his demise. Simply not grand in the simplest terms. But then again he was left to doing something he hated due to his door deemed to be locked. Leaving him to his self-pity and mindless pondering with that knotted ball in his head. Pacing back and forth was getting him no where. Still he continued to do this. He had seemingly placed his mind on autopilot. Whatever it was that was getting to him -showed as conclusion to be rather bothersome. Closing his eyes he forced himself to stop pacing. His legs seizing up, tensing the muscles that made his whole form scream out in slight agony. The queen said two weeks - was he out for two weeks? No, he had just got there the previous eve right? That what it seemed. But he could have gone into a state of sleep that made his body stay unconscious for way more then one simple eve. He had just woken from a slumber and the only thing that truly hurt were the parts of his body he sort of knew he had broken - seeing of the cracking, the tearing noises when he was tossed was obvious that a few ribs were broken and he could have sprained something here or even there among his form. Then again he wasn’t a witch doctor so truthfully— he didn’t know. Although, maybe this small encapture of being stuck in one simple room wasn’t so bad. He had his talents doesn’t he? If only he could concentrate and not focus on the more damper of things of that ball of tangled thoughts. * * * In the throne room laid a pacing Sol and a frowning Radiant. The choices for what to do with the unicon laid to question, as the pondering increased a small muffled cough was heard from the far left end of the room. The stallion froze and glanced up to see the white filly who had stepped into the room with a face of what could be defined of distaste on it. Her hooves now clacked as she walked across the room to form a b-line to the stallion that had earlier been called ‘King’. Radiant tried to give a weary smile to the the younger mare but the smile did not last long and it had creased out into a somewhat worried expression. “He does not seem as threatful.” The filly spoke as she froze in front of the much older stallion, “And he worries me an awful lot.” Glancing down she bowed her head. Sol muttered a few words under his breath before glancing to Radiant whose eyes now seemed to be glossed over with increasing worry and a ting of something else— pity? Perhaps someone could take it that way although the young mare or stallion saw it as such. “Dear, I think he worries everyone. A Unicorn using magic and coming in is not of the norm.” The queen now finally spoke. She couldn’t dwell on things for long, if she did the kingdom could become much worse than some of the standings they are in now. “He even came with a shackle with gems inside of them. Which is more curious in the factor that we don’t know where he come from. Maybe from Riverdale or even from any other land.” She continued to speak as she walked over to the filly. “Celestia, I suggest you go see him and leave your father and I to pondering on what to do with him.” The filly glanced away with a hesitant nod before turning her attention off. Walking back out of the room Radiant looked to Sol. Worry still riding on her features as clear as the day itself. “You should have told her.” Sol spoke now, his features falling into a concerned one. “If you really want him as a scroll keeper or even in the castle and not locked away I think she had every right to know.” This was enough to cause a sigh from Radiant’s lips. He was right and all Celestia had the right to know after since she was the one who found him. Silence bathed over them as the mare remained quiet as she pondered on how to respond to her beloved king. It was a while before she could respond to him. “In every way yes, she does have a right. But I shall not tell her yet. Not until he proves fit for the role. If he does fit the role then she shall know on what to expect.” She finally came to her decision. Sol shook his head as if disagreeing but he did not say a further statement nor sentence that could draw this conversation forth and into an argument. “I am assuming you agree as well?” She spoke again but no response was handed to her from Sol. This seemed unnerving, this whole conversation about what to do with the odd guest that was in the castle at this moment. They couldn’t just ignore him and he needed value in the kingdom if he so chose to stay. “But don’t you find it off?” Sol finally spoke again, “the stallion doesn’t even have a cutie mark and how he carries himself is all odd.” * * * Finally coming to a full stand still with his pacing, Tempus took a seat on the pillow that he had tossed on the floor. Closing his eyes - he hung his head in rather deep thought. His ears perked up at the sound of the door opening, turning his head he spotted the young white mare. Her eyes not moving off of him as she kept her distance safe from him. Honestly, she didn’t know if she could trust him or not. Nor did he know if he could trust her or not. “Guessing a verdict was chosen.” He muttered, but no sound come from her. “What’s going to happen?” “I don’t know.” The mare spoke, still having her safe distance. “Father and Mother haven’t came to the conclusion yet. I can guess that it’s eating thee away. But I cannot tell you what they have agreed upon.” Those words in themselves seemed upsetting for him. “What were those gems in that sackel?” With those words, the question he never wanted to answer seemed to echo inside of his head and caused his eyes to snap open just to look at her. “Those gems do not concern you.” His tone became strict as he stood up now, his legs popping and shook under his weight. It hurt to stand now that he thought of it. “Nor do they concern your kingdom.” His eyes moved from her as he heard her scoff. This was more than he truly could deal with. He was bad with children, even his own. “Have you even heard about the war? My parents think not that I know of it. If those gems could stop it please say so.” She spoke, not in a harsh tone like he so thought she would of but in a gentler one. One that was full of kindness and not at all with biting cold from her words. What war did she even speak of anyway? The confusion shown on his face was clear enough for her to realize that he truly had never heard of it. A sigh left her lips as she closed the door behind her and sat on the floor. “The war has been on going for years. It started when a castle of ice springed forth from nowhere. We heard rumors of it, tales that it reflects the on in control’s emotions. This also got outside attention among the other fractions outside the walls of Canterlot, which you are in now. This attention was the one belonging to the draconequus.” She paused and frowned some as she narrowed her eyebrows. “The draconequus had also heard it had been one of the Alicorns already in control of the ice like crystal in this strange kingdom. Thus causing them to attack the Alicornian Empire. We lost contact with the rest of the cities in the kingdom, with us being so far apart in this time of declared war is making it hard. No one knows if we are losing or winning.” Silence was soon placed upon the room and Tempus remained quiet. Honestly he didn’t know there was these so called Fractions nor did he know there was a war - was his tribe that secluded? Was that the reason why he was chased? All because of a war that didn’t include him? Could the gems really help? Those gems he didn’t know if they could help. “They’re seeds. Not gems.” He finally responded, “They need to be planted in the forest for them to grow. I don’t know if they can help, I took them from a tribal tree from in the forest that was dying by vines.” He sighed out. Her eyes widened, “Seeds?” Glancing back at her he swallowed hard. “Yes, and that is all I can tell to you dear.” She nodded and slowly stood up just to walk out of the room muttering about the gems, or seeds, in the sackel that he loved. “Dear Solaris, what have I done.” He groaned as he hung his head.
ProloguePrologue: Was it sunrise? Twilight? Vesper? Morning? The stallion cared not for the name of the sun's ascension—he simply galloped on. Nevertheless, he did not blend perfectly into the forest due to his bounteous contrasting dyes that envisioned their own version of twilight. Aspen branches lashed at his legs, as the thorns from multiple plants seemed to have entwined with the hard ground and foliage took its chances to leave deep gashes in his ankles. Enclosed between his molars was a simple satchel. Although he could have strapped it to his back, depressingly he was disallowed by the constraints of time. Nor did he have time to contemplate on a teleportation incantation, to effortlessly remove himself from the dense thicket established in the dismal forest. Fleet of hoof, the stallion stained the dew-moistened grass with red. He glanced behind him—once, twice—before returning his focus to the forefront, fortunately averting a tree excessively willing to chauffeur him into Fate's domain. His tail had always been rather bothersome; the long strands of hair always managed to catch the sun's rays in such a way as if to embrace the gentle radiance and unleash it on the eyes of those who needed it the least. His hooves slipped on the soft dirt and foliage, that caused him to halt himself, if he had not caused his form to stop then he would have collided with a stone wall. The sounds of the forest did beckon him—alas, the young stallion remained ignorant. He was tired, weak and his stomach groaned with growing hunger pangs from fasting since the previous nadir. His chest fell and rose with ragged gasps—a feeble attempt that was far from enough to satisfy his desperate lungs. His throat screamed as if it was engulfed by invisible flames. The stallion’s back ached and yearned for those extra limbs the others in his clan possessed, on the other hand due to his where he was he dared not wish for them as well - wings could have hindered his movement. Closing his eyes, he muttered a curse into the satchel between his teeth. His hooves moved forward, lightly touching on the stone. Bereft of warning, he felt something envelop his form - as his brain tried to gain recognition of the events that had been surrounding him, his thinking only seemed to only lasted but for a few moments as his brain went blank. With his form enveloped he ended up getting rejected but this sensation that made his form to become spat out as if quicker than what a lake chimera would do when eating something bitter, this form of force that had gripped him tightly just to reject him was something he had yet to encounter before now. His body skipped across cold, hard stone as his limbs were pummeled against structures of brick and clay. He became aware of his own limbs breaking and cracking as he continued to skid, control over his limbs mercilessly denied. The precious satchel slipped from his mouth, sliding down the walkway and coming to rest before a young, white filly. She remained stationary, watching, locking her sights onto his graceless, flailing body. With a meek step backwards, the sound of her small hooves seemed to echo through the halls that seemed to only bore the ragged sounds of pain from the mewling stallion. As she did, her small, round, pink eyes found purchase on the satchel. Curious about its contents, she lightly stepped to its resting place, her inquisitive nature assuming control of her decisions. She proceeded not towards the stallion, no; she was more stunned by what had happened to him. Never before had she witnessed anypony become a darting object of such great velocity. Almost at the bag, she stopped. Only pegasi could boast impact-resistant bones; the stallion might be gravely injured! The filly swallowed hard, turned on her back hooves and galloped off to mobilize the guards as well as to inform her parents, leaving the satchel there seeing as to her it held no importance. Weakly, the stallion raised his head; the pound of taunting drums rang in his ears as his vision spun. Despite the crushing effort required, he found the will to stand but his will was overcome by pain and he remained to stay there. His body strained as he crawled toward the precious bag, its retrieval his only priority. Crimson trickled from a corner of his mouth, staining the dirty satchel he had previously carried. His left hind leg dragged along the ground as he tried to pull himself. Closing his eyes tightly, he shed silent red tears from the massive injuries he’d sustained. Upon their re-opening, the hues of the shades of the pattern of twilight, soon dyed red. A small, barely-audible sound came from the back of his throat while he leaned his dead weight against a wall for support. His hooves scrambled for stability as they slid forward from under him. Allowing gravity to take him, he nuzzled his face into his coat, burying his bleeding features and hiding the bag as best he could—desiring its safety, lest something so precious be stolen. Though the forest beckoned, he refused it permission to absorb him once more. A small smile graced his features as he discerned the faint cries of a child, beckoning older stallions and mares to his location. “How humorous—” he coughed slightly, nuzzling the bag as if it were his own foal, “—a small foal wishes—” a small, rough sigh came from him as a deep-throated cough followed, “—to help....” Soon, his smile drifted into a slight frown as he pulled his leg up some, dragging the bag closer to his thin, fragile form. A slight shake of his head soon followed as he forced his tail over his hind leg. Blood slowly seeped through the thin strands, staining the multicolored masterpiece. Once more, the filly’s cry: his location, where he came from, how he appeared in an array of magic. Nuzzling the bag again, he fought to remain conscious, although he knew he would soon succumb to the blackness. Allowing his vision to shift from the bag to the corner of his eyes, he watched the shadows dance on the walls. How he remembered the way they danced for his clan in times long past. As the sound of approaching hooves neared, so did the oncoming blackness that begged to suffocate him. Feeling utterly lost, his throat tightened and his breathing became laboured. Unable to walk or hide his precious bounty. Incapable of magic, his reservoir exhausted, forsaking the forest that practically pleaded for his precious cargo. Able only to wait. He was afraid, though; afraid of them taking his stones away, afraid they would be like the dark ones lurking in the forest—his pursuers. He chanced a final glance to the bag and squinted his eyes shut, awaiting the rapid darkness. Better to die there than witness the newcomers fall upon him and claim his charge. Slowly the abyss engulfed him, dragging him completely under, rendering him comatose. Author's Note Thank you everyone for reading this tale; updates on it maybe slow and the writing is still being glanced over and looked out I do not mind questions if you do have any please ask them and I will try to think of how to answer them in the next chapters or leading on chapters to gain more depth into the story itself. Thank you once more for sticking with me.
Chapter 1: New AwakeningChapter 1: How long the stallion remained in unconscious stasis, he could not know; that bitter slumber, within which the endless nightmare of traversing an unending corridor held sway over his mind. What he could know, though, was that muttering voices had broken the grip of his mental plague and forced him awake. Searing, blinking light pierced his fragile vision as his eyes snapped open with sudden awareness. Finally able to comprehend current events, the grip of hooves upon his own limbs commanded his attention, holding him tightly as if strapping him to the bed. His heart pounded against his rib cage, eyes erratic in their analytical efforts. Attempting to take the forms of the ones who held him in, still leaden-struck from its extended inactivity, the stallion's brain failed him. Then— His errant gaze fell upon a familiar sight. A brief perusal of his still-encumbered mind brought forth the memory of his savior. Standing by the chamber’s entrance, she waited for him. Her own eyes widened, pupils contracting upon her first sight of his broken, beaten and scarred form. He conclusively reminisced upon their meeting; the small figure, shaking with fear-rimmed curiosity at the noise, unsure if it threatened her or her sanctuary. He reflected briefly on the idea of flight, not for the first time—at least until grim anxiety gripped him at the thought of his confiscated bag. He felt his heart skip as his understanding of the area around him sluggishly purged in an intonation that was not his, the tone bellowing for the object he lusted after. As his throat tightened, his slowly recovering mind fought to filter out his fears. Maybe he should ask—maybe they weren't hostile? Reaching a decision, unusually against his character, he settled on negotiations with his captors. He had stopped fighting. Hadn't he? He didn’t feel any of his limbs move nor twitch—indeed, his only physical feeling consisted of the resilient rise and fall of his chest, painfully perpetuated by a burning set of lungs. His tail twitched; turning his attention to something less grim his roaming eyes darted over to his captors, his coma liberators. He perceived a young mare, seemingly respectful and blue-eyed. The shade was unfathomable: Aqua? Cerulean? Turquoise? Whichever was true, they sparkled like stars in the night. Swallowing hard he opened his mouth, succeeding only in hacking up dollops of iron-fouled red. Then he felt it—warm fluid dripping down his neck. Once more, he and the filly traded gazes, eliciting uncertain fear from the latter. Could anyone see her? The child? Was it only him? Surely he was going insane. The possibility existed, to be sure—more like to affect him than another. The mare with the aqua eyes reacted swiftly to the blood, cleaning up the sudden deluge that spattered out of his mouth. Once more, he found himself nervous beyond control. Eyes on the ceiling, anxiety consuming his heart, rational thought failed him while he drowned in self-pity. He craved his beloved satchel more than ever. Though in truth, he perceived not the danger those... items could bring to this place. His focus shifted from the ceiling to the small space. Sensing his direct stare, the filly partially hid herself behind the door again. Ever staring, brilliant pale rubies that glistened with innocence—a far cry from those forest lurkers. Those translucent-winged insectoid, mutant hybrids. These poor ponies, ignorant to the dangers that lay in wait outside their peaceful halls. Fraught with danger, he'd journeyed to his destination, bearings unknown. Yet now with that magical burst, here he was. A bristly throb journeyed from his mouth down, unhinging him from his stares and derailing his train of thought. He recoiled from the mare, dodging her hooves, resulting only in rolling against the other one with a rough, firm grip. His eyes soon adjusted to the lighting of the new angle—that’s when he realized the one he had rolled into was a black-shaded male, who now grabbed him forcibly. Emerald green bored into his vision, lightly tinted with a hint of blue. His messy mane boasted a tone of blood orange. A rather odd looking combination—not one he ever wished upon himself. "Morte Fleur, why did King Sol ask us to help him? He doesn't even speak. So far he has only fought us," the colt grumbled, his tone harsh as if scolding a child. The stallion’s heart sank. "We don't know what he is or where he came from." Black and orange clashed as their owner looked down at him. "Hesperus, cease," the blue-eyed mare snapped as she eased off him. "There must be a reason, yes? Our lord orders everything for a reason. He desires our 'guest' be clean and presentable for when he analyzes the package's yield." "We should at least heed his name. Art thou not curious to what intentions lurk in his... mind?" A cough was heard from the unidentified stallion that remained laying down. The stallion simply listened as the mare moved between him and Hesperus. Morte was more interested in the one laying in the bed and not the one she was fighting with on... odd terms. "I better trust this stranger than trust a colt who knows not the contents of a simple package." "You're just like your mother." "Be still!" a voice boomed from the doorway—another stallion, causing Hesperus and Morte Fleur to drop their bickering. The stallion on the bed looked back to the door. He searched for the filly, alas, she had vanished. He felt his mind leaving the safe-haven known as “sanity.” He couldn't deal with at all; could this pony wrapped in shiny gold and shimmering dark metal help him refrain from descent into madness? Hopefully, yes. Morte moved, revealing the color of her coat to the unnamed stallion. It resembled the dark of coal, accented by white strands in stark contrast to her mane of sky blue. Everything about her screamed freedom, or at least the desire for it. Her coat rippled lightly with her consistent breaths. The stallion closed his eyes to ignore her. She held no lingering interest; he was more interested in the mysterious while filly with the pink eyes. Ere long he’d closed his eyes, the grating sound of the metal door snapped up his attention. Another colt stood, eerily menacing. "King Sol summons the stallion," he declared with solid eye contact. A cold chill manipulated his spine at the sight of the fierce, armored one. Patches of murky brown showed through gaps in the plating. A quick glimpse of the armored one's tail gave him an informed guess as to the color of the matching mane, that of fine grains of sand. The eyes were what frightened him most—eyes of the most vicious red. "Fine, take him. Be gentle, though, he's not yet healed. Undue stress and motion shall not aid his recovery in any way." Recognizing the mare’s words as a warning to himself as well as his escorts, the stallion resolved to obey her recommendations. "Take him and begone." Her eyes remained focused on the window, having not moved since the red-eyed pony’s intrusion. The armored one nodded, approaching the already-standing stallion. Fear was his foe and pain his unwilling partner as he rose from his bed. Unbidden popping and creaking greeted his ears and his blazing nerves; hardly surprising, considering his earlier injuries. He probably broke a rib or two, cracked a bone in his leg, chipped his horn perhaps? Once standing, the armored one waited for him to walk. Devoid of speech, the stallion paced tentatively out the door and into the hall, the menacing gold and black suit behind him. Author's Note It's been a long while because of everything including emotional stress, loss of friends, frying of mother boards, and other things that kept me from writing. I am so so sorry here is the newest update. More is coming to you.
Chapter 2: Throne RoomChapter 2: Strange... the scenery seems adverse to change, the stallion thought as the armored one continued to escort him down the unreasonably long halls. As their hooves traversed the cobblestoned hall, the armored one looked to the unknown unicorn. It seemed his charge cared little for his appearance; the wild mane cascaded down both sides of his neck, loose hairs strewn wherever they liked. Maybe he was bandaged, maybe not—if so, the stallion felt nothing wrapped around his body anyway. “It would be best to know your identity, ere we present you to the king and queen,” so spoke the armored one. The gentle clop of their hooves continued to be his only answer, silence otherwise dominating the atmosphere. The stallion’s visage confronted the other, judgment pending on his decision—friend or foe? “...Nam Tempus.” Finally the stallion rasped his name, feeling it claw its way out of his tender throat. Apparently satisfied, the armored one returned his focus to their destination, the royal chamber growing ever closer. Silence reigned over the halls once more. Having given his name at least, Tempus grew apprehensive about the imminent royal meeting. With knowledge of his name came potential knowledge of his whereabouts, his origin. What stopped these ponies from spreading it around? Could he trust them to keep it secret? No, clearly not. He had to find the bag and go. He had to keep those precious stones from his clan's clutches at all cost; there was no telling what pain and calamity they'd spread! They were too dangerous to forfeit, especially in this place where fillies roamed freely. A cough pulled his attention back to the armored one, who stood in front of him and beckoned to the open door ahead. The time for judgment was at hoof; had the filly saved him, only to prolong his pain in this cold, icy place? Or would hope of warm assistance yet prevail? He kept his head down upon entry, utilizing his periphery to covertly survey the room. That's when he saw them. Two fillies—not one—sitting in their own places of honor beside the two larger thrones. Clearly, the fillies often played audience to important matters. The younger-looking of the two featured a midnight coat with a two-blue-toned mane. Yet it was the larger filly who drew his attention; a filly of familiar fur, mane and eyes. She sat, patient, watching while the younger spoke and revealed the white one's name. “Celestia. Sister?” the dark filly asked, tilting her head with her eyes blinking and full of unknown innocence. Maybe there was something there that wasn’t innocent; too early in the filly’s development to tell for sure. With time's permission, he may have studied her further. Nevertheless he trotted on, the fear of retribution weighing on his mind. He reached some small steps, the fillies' muttering now his least concern. At the base, he lowered himself into a short bow, noticing only then how long his limbs were in comparison to the others’. A high, feminine giggle sounded, juxtaposed by an audible sigh. Drawn from his internal musings about limb length comparisons, Tempus' eyes met those of a radiant, attractive mare. His previous ignorance of early morn's name now seemed foolish, for he beheld one that seemed to represent sunrise itself. Orange and gold coalesced with white in a glorious display through her mane. The darker, blue tips—not unlike the coat of the younger filly—gleamed with hints of purple, shimmering with what one could mistake for the evening stars themselves. Though no wind breezed through this hallowed chamber, the mare's incredible mane flowed with fluidity all around her. It even caressed her elongated horn—an elegant spiral accented by the same shade of orange. Her equally glorious tail partially covered a curious mark on her flanks, the likes of which he'd seen only on the chieftain and witch doctors of his own clan. Tempus took one second to memorize the pattern: a single, centred star, with spirals sporting other stars emerging from the five points. Slowly, his eyes drifted to the male who had coughed. Unlike the mare—whose body shared the elder filly’s white hue, save for orange patches around her hooves—his full form was decorated like the night sky. His horn was shorter than hers, but tapered to a rather menacing point. Unlike her mane of many hues, his was a solid dark purple that seemed to ripple like water down a stream. Endlessly rippling; did any other part of their bodies ripple like that? It was beyond beautiful—just like the forest which he suddenly longed to return to. “You must be the unicorn Celestia told us about. The one who managed to concern yet frighten her at the same time.” The mare’s wintry voice breezed over Tempus, enveloping him in a feeling of gently falling snow upon his coat. Sweet, soft, light—completely enchanting. His heart hammered within his chest as he swallowed hard, remaining in the bow, captivated. “At ease.” The magnificent stallion now spoke as the mare looked to him. Tempus quickly stiffened. His bones popped as he quickly changed position, almost having his limbs become entangled among themselves. Forcing the pain down, his eyes darted to and from the stallion on the throne to the mare on her matching throne. “Answer Radiant.” Radiant? Was that the mare? Tempus had to assume so— if yes, there two were definitely the King and Queen. Both were graced with stunning beauty. It made sense in a way—gems occurred naturally in the world, it stood to reason that it could produce gems of ponies, too? A cough escaped from Tempus as he glanced over at the two fillies, observing as they took their leave. He quickly returned his eyes to the King and Queen—or who he expected to be the monarchs. He felt the desire to respond rapidly; the stallion’s eyes narrowed, his patience shrinking by the second. “I am, sire.” Tempus felt his throat ignite once again. The words burned, as did standing there trying and failing to stabilize his paranoia. His head started to pound slowly. Thinking seemed to dull the pain, yet the two before him required his attention—attention he was not keen to deny. Just considering the idea was enough to twist and knot his stomach. He had to think of a way to distract himself; maybe looking for a similar mark on the king like Queen ‘Radiant’. As he heard them mutter among themselves, his eyes wandered down to the stallion’s tail near the flank. His eyes caught the mark, a giant star. Of course it was a star, had he expected a plant or something? That would be— “Well, I am pleased to welcome you here to our humble home. I am Queen Radiant. This is my husband, King Sol. I apologize for the circumstances of your entry to our town, also for your rude awakening in the infirmary. No doubt that scared you...” The Queen was speaking; Tempus registered too late, stiffening rigid and hastily averting his gaze from her flank to her face. “Militis Arma, please take this colt to a spare room. Preferably close to the infirmary, lest his injuries bother him further. Although it has been nearly two weeks, I recommend that he remains supervised for any… complications.” As she spoke, she smiled, serving only to tighten the knot in his gut. The armored colt from earlier walked in and bowed next to him. Tempus’ eyes landed on him as he surveyed him—well at least he now knew the armored one’s name. “Yes, Milady,” he responded as he kept his head down, awaiting further orders from the two in charge. Tempus remained quiet. There was no purpose in speaking out of turn, desperately though he desired information regarding his bag. He briefly wondered if they planned to keep him captive, enslaved. But what if they didn’t keep slaves like they did in his clan? Every so often after a battle between clans, the victorious would take any captured warriors for their own. It was that way everywhere, right? “Dismissed.” The king spoke, jerking Tempus out of his reverie. Militis glared at his charge. Slowly the guard tapped his flank, hustling him along. Unwilling to disobey the orders that were given to them, Tempus complied, hoping he could crawl out of the pit he felt he’d dug himself into.
Chapter 3: UnraveledChapter 3: Unraveled It wasn’t long until Militis had placed Tempus in the required room the monarch had requested to place him. The chosen room though seemed to be a rather bland one, with only a low bed near the ground ( which had a pathetic excuse for a ‘under’ for a bed ). A nightstand was right the right hoof side near the shoddy bed - which caused the bed to look like the most expensive thing in the room - the color was dull almost a form of black although the reddish tint was clear it was suppose to be a brown but the time of worn got to it making it depressing in appearance. The window on the wall barely let any light in, which also made that a poor excuse for a window - the reddish curtains were pulled over it and they seemed to match the nightstand in the color of dimness. The whole room made Tempus’ mood lessen and knot, which caused his hooves to itch with the impulse of gaining the knowledge of the location of his bag. Then there was the matter of his thoughts that the room seemed to affect. Making them turn into a tangled, incoherent mess. And what a mess it was, a seemingly ugly mess that not even he wished to try to touch. But he did anyway, a loose thought he seemed to be rather plain he tugged at which tightened the ball of tangled thoughts making them tighter in the unclear voices he tried to sort out - clearly he was crazy if he could deem these voices as none belonging to his own but as if the were external and speaking to him from the dark corners of the room. These voices weren't his own though, no - instead they were old voices from when he was a young colt back in the forest. Everypony had those voices they chose to place in their mind to help them think better. Those nagging ones when you know you forgotten something. His was unique though, they were the voices he hates not the ones he preferred because if they were those octaves that soothed him well; he wouldn’t do anything he would just sit there or stand there not being proactive. Which was what he was doing then, just pacing in the room alone as his hooves constantly padded on the ground as his brain raked with nonsense and dulling factors of the tragic events added onto with many outcomes that could lead to his demise. Simply not grand in the simplest terms. But then again he was left to doing something he hated due to his door deemed to be locked. Leaving him to his self-pity and mindless pondering with that knotted ball in his head. Pacing back and forth was getting him no where. Still he continued to do this. He had seemingly placed his mind on autopilot. Whatever it was that was getting to him -showed as conclusion to be rather bothersome. Closing his eyes he forced himself to stop pacing. His legs seizing up, tensing the muscles that made his whole form scream out in slight agony. The queen said two weeks - was he out for two weeks? No, he had just got there the previous eve right? That what it seemed. But he could have gone into a state of sleep that made his body stay unconscious for way more then one simple eve. He had just woken from a slumber and the only thing that truly hurt were the parts of his body he sort of knew he had broken - seeing of the cracking, the tearing noises when he was tossed was obvious that a few ribs were broken and he could have sprained something here or even there among his form. Then again he wasn’t a witch doctor so truthfully— he didn’t know. Although, maybe this small encapture of being stuck in one simple room wasn’t so bad. He had his talents doesn’t he? If only he could concentrate and not focus on the more damper of things of that ball of tangled thoughts. * * * In the throne room laid a pacing Sol and a frowning Radiant. The choices for what to do with the unicon laid to question, as the pondering increased a small muffled cough was heard from the far left end of the room. The stallion froze and glanced up to see the white filly who had stepped into the room with a face of what could be defined of distaste on it. Her hooves now clacked as she walked across the room to form a b-line to the stallion that had earlier been called ‘King’. Radiant tried to give a weary smile to the the younger mare but the smile did not last long and it had creased out into a somewhat worried expression. “He does not seem as threatful.” The filly spoke as she froze in front of the much older stallion, “And he worries me an awful lot.” Glancing down she bowed her head. Sol muttered a few words under his breath before glancing to Radiant whose eyes now seemed to be glossed over with increasing worry and a ting of something else— pity? Perhaps someone could take it that way although the young mare or stallion saw it as such. “Dear, I think he worries everyone. A Unicorn using magic and coming in is not of the norm.” The queen now finally spoke. She couldn’t dwell on things for long, if she did the kingdom could become much worse than some of the standings they are in now. “He even came with a shackle with gems inside of them. Which is more curious in the factor that we don’t know where he come from. Maybe from Riverdale or even from any other land.” She continued to speak as she walked over to the filly. “Celestia, I suggest you go see him and leave your father and I to pondering on what to do with him.” The filly glanced away with a hesitant nod before turning her attention off. Walking back out of the room Radiant looked to Sol. Worry still riding on her features as clear as the day itself. “You should have told her.” Sol spoke now, his features falling into a concerned one. “If you really want him as a scroll keeper or even in the castle and not locked away I think she had every right to know.” This was enough to cause a sigh from Radiant’s lips. He was right and all Celestia had the right to know after since she was the one who found him. Silence bathed over them as the mare remained quiet as she pondered on how to respond to her beloved king. It was a while before she could respond to him. “In every way yes, she does have a right. But I shall not tell her yet. Not until he proves fit for the role. If he does fit the role then she shall know on what to expect.” She finally came to her decision. Sol shook his head as if disagreeing but he did not say a further statement nor sentence that could draw this conversation forth and into an argument. “I am assuming you agree as well?” She spoke again but no response was handed to her from Sol. This seemed unnerving, this whole conversation about what to do with the odd guest that was in the castle at this moment. They couldn’t just ignore him and he needed value in the kingdom if he so chose to stay. “But don’t you find it off?” Sol finally spoke again, “the stallion doesn’t even have a cutie mark and how he carries himself is all odd.” * * * Finally coming to a full stand still with his pacing, Tempus took a seat on the pillow that he had tossed on the floor. Closing his eyes - he hung his head in rather deep thought. His ears perked up at the sound of the door opening, turning his head he spotted the young white mare. Her eyes not moving off of him as she kept her distance safe from him. Honestly, she didn’t know if she could trust him or not. Nor did he know if he could trust her or not. “Guessing a verdict was chosen.” He muttered, but no sound come from her. “What’s going to happen?” “I don’t know.” The mare spoke, still having her safe distance. “Father and Mother haven’t came to the conclusion yet. I can guess that it’s eating thee away. But I cannot tell you what they have agreed upon.” Those words in themselves seemed upsetting for him. “What were those gems in that sackel?” With those words, the question he never wanted to answer seemed to echo inside of his head and caused his eyes to snap open just to look at her. “Those gems do not concern you.” His tone became strict as he stood up now, his legs popping and shook under his weight. It hurt to stand now that he thought of it. “Nor do they concern your kingdom.” His eyes moved from her as he heard her scoff. This was more than he truly could deal with. He was bad with children, even his own. “Have you even heard about the war? My parents think not that I know of it. If those gems could stop it please say so.” She spoke, not in a harsh tone like he so thought she would of but in a gentler one. One that was full of kindness and not at all with biting cold from her words. What war did she even speak of anyway? The confusion shown on his face was clear enough for her to realize that he truly had never heard of it. A sigh left her lips as she closed the door behind her and sat on the floor. “The war has been on going for years. It started when a castle of ice springed forth from nowhere. We heard rumors of it, tales that it reflects the on in control’s emotions. This also got outside attention among the other fractions outside the walls of Canterlot, which you are in now. This attention was the one belonging to the draconequus.” She paused and frowned some as she narrowed her eyebrows. “The draconequus had also heard it had been one of the Alicorns already in control of the ice like crystal in this strange kingdom. Thus causing them to attack the Alicornian Empire. We lost contact with the rest of the cities in the kingdom, with us being so far apart in this time of declared war is making it hard. No one knows if we are losing or winning.” Silence was soon placed upon the room and Tempus remained quiet. Honestly he didn’t know there was these so called Fractions nor did he know there was a war - was his tribe that secluded? Was that the reason why he was chased? All because of a war that didn’t include him? Could the gems really help? Those gems he didn’t know if they could help. “They’re seeds. Not gems.” He finally responded, “They need to be planted in the forest for them to grow. I don’t know if they can help, I took them from a tribal tree from in the forest that was dying by vines.” He sighed out. Her eyes widened, “Seeds?” Glancing back at her he swallowed hard. “Yes, and that is all I can tell to you dear.” She nodded and slowly stood up just to walk out of the room muttering about the gems, or seeds, in the sackel that he loved. “Dear Solaris, what have I done.” He groaned as he hung his head.
