Dead Moon Risingby Izzy GChaptersProloguePart OnePart TwoPart ThreePrologue“And jus' where are you goin'?” Silent Shadow couldn't help but smile at the teasingly frustrated voice of his fiancée that drifted down the grand staircase to where he stood in the foyer. Her words were slurred slightly, still thick with the slight stupor of sleep. Without even turning, he could see her chocolate brown mane still tousled. Her turquoise eyes would be sparkling sightly in the dim morning light, but unfocused. He sighed softly, closing his eyes. Of course it wouldn't be easy to just leave. Of course she would put up a fuss. In her defense, Silent had promised to not do something like this again. He promised not to try anymore death-defying missions. But duty called. For once, the Grand Master in him couldn't be ignored. He knew Ink wouldn't understand, or maybe she would. She was a high ranking Order member, so he assumed she understood when it was time to take action. But not all missions ended with the slash or stab of a blade. He feared this would be one of those missions. “Well?” Her voice had cleared some, not as fatigued. More demanding. More worried. “Ink..,” he started quietly, “there are things that cannot be ignored or avoided, you know that. I-” Ink Flash shook her head with a soft sigh, coming down the stairs to stand next to him. She nuzzled him gently, her voice soft, “I'm not trying to stop you, Night Wind.” She chuckled, “I do understand. There are contracts offered that cannot be ignored.” She smiled as he looked over at her, his gaze vaguely affectionate, “Just promise me you'll come back. Alright?” He nodded with a soft sigh, kissing her gently, “I promise.” That was a promise he knew he might break. But he had to make it. There was no way, looking into her eyes, that he couldn't. He was her world, her everything. He knew this. He was painfully aware of the fact she looked up to his every move. Painfully aware of the fact that even now, a novice of the clan, she thought of him as her master. In truth, he always would be, but he knew she missed the days of parkour practice and sparring in the basement. Things were simpler. Easier. Almost like breathing. But word had spread of the possible revival of the Bleeding Moons and the two were faced with new contracts almost every day. Most were turned away for mindless cruelty or even just seen as a waste of time. But this one, he had to take. And as much as he hated to do it, he had to leave Ink behind. She wore the crest of a crimson moon, but her specialty was in the killing of the material, the physical. She fought what she could see, what her dagger could touch. This was his specialty. Spirits. Demons. The unknown. “It should only be a few days,” he added, dipping his head to rest his forehead against hers. “Take care of Thunder.” “Like you have to remind me?” She giggled, “I'll hold things down here, don't worry. Just go.” He nodded and turned, going to the door and undoing all of the locks before pausing one more time to look at Ink. Her messy mane. The black and red robes she wore, styled like those of her favored Order but colored like a Bleeding Moons'. The loosely tied sash around her waist. The way her hood sloppily lay at the base of her neck. The intricate metal work on her bracers. Her glistening blue eyes. He couldn't help but smile softly. She made a shooing motion with one of her brilliant red hooves, assuring him with a gentle smile that he could leave. With a soft sigh, Silent nodded and pulled open one of the massive doors before stepping out into the growing light and pushing the door shut behind him with a soft thud. It felt like fate crashing down on him. Part OneIn a shady inn that any other pony would have thought twice about before staying there, Silent sat in his room looking over the dossier for the mission. It seemed like something simple, something that he should have been able to handle in his sleep. But something about it seemed wrong as he continually read over the details, something about it didn't add up quite right. The pieces were askew. No, one was missing altogether- maybe more. A real estate company was interested in a piece of property a few miles out from a smaller town near Canterlot, about the same size as Ponyville. But simpler. It seemed more like Appleloosa from what he could understand. The property used to belong to a stallion who once owned most of the town, a property giant whose business went south when the town's economy took a dive. The stallion fled the town in shame, thinking he was the one who caused the collapse, and left his mansion standing. Silent was amazed to learn the mansion was much bigger than his own that stood in Ponyville. Of course he considered his to be large, but he never considered it to be the biggest. But still, something larger than his two-story, seven-bedroom, five bath sanctuary seemed ridiculous. And that wasn't counting the library, Ink's study, his own, as well as the training area and forge under the mansion. He shook his head. It was no wonder the economy collapsed with mindless spending like that- and in a town where most of the houses around the place had a low property value to begin with. The stallion had only lowered the property value and not only ruined his own business, but others nearby as well. According to the file, the town was now something like a ghost town. A few of the original residents remained and tended to their farms, paid handsomely by the nobles in Canterlot to stay. Even if the property value was next to nothing, the little crops that were produced there still fetched high prices in the markets of Canterlot- even Ponyville. That alone was enough to make them stay, the promise of the profit they got when there was little competition in the area. But that was what didn't make sense to Silent. If the value of these crops was so high, why did the value of the land they were grown on stay low? He wasn't much of an economist, he never had to be, but something about it seemed wrong. And why was he being called into a town this small? He flipped the page and got his answer. The rumor went that the stallion fled to Canterlot and was killed there for his corruption by an unknown killer- or group. He chuckled as he read that. That had the smell of the Order all over it. Any kind of killing over corruption or greed was their hallmark, he had spent enough time with Ink to learn the inner workings of one who belonged to the Assassin Order. He sighed softly as he continued to read. The rumored last words of the stallion, although Silent thought them to be too clichéd to be real, were “This is not the end of me. Only the beginning.” That promise, the townspeople believed, manifested itself in the form of a clothed specter that haunted what remained of the stallion's mansion. Portions had been burned down. Raided. Demolished. Vandalized. All in vain attempts to somehow rid themselves of the specter. The only portion that still stood was the west wing, where the stallion's study and master bedroom had been. And what was even weirder about that, was that the study had gone untouched by anypony. The vault was unopened. Not a book was out of place. If anything had been moved, it was due to the elements that the structure was exposed to. But nopony had dared go near that place even though the vault was unlocked and within easy access on the floor level. Those who had tried came back to the main part of town rambling nonsense and going on about seeing the past, hallucinating about things that happened years ago. Speaking nonsense. Having fits of what could only be described as complete insanity. And this was all thought to be some kind of revenge brought on by the “untimely” death of said stallion. Something about unfinished business. Silent shook his head and set the folder aside with a sigh, reaching for his short sword when he noticed a picture had fluttered out of the stack of papers. It was a small photograph of what seemed to be the figure of an earth pony stallion, completely see-through and just barely visible in the shadows. The eyes, though, of the figure were clear and solid. The longer Silent looked at them, the more a sense of dread started to creep up inside of him. Something was definitely wrong now. For once, he was regretting taking a contract. He shook his head and slipped the picture back into the folder, trying not think anymore of it. He sighed. If the property was haunted as it was claimed to be and ponies had such horrible experiences after going near the place, why was a real estate agency interested in it? Something about it didn't add up and the more he thought about it, the weirder things started to seem to him. Silent tried not to think about it, but the image kept flashing in the corners of his memories. What's more was his thoughts were constantly pulled back to Ink, even when she had nothing to do with any of this. He sighed and shook his head, putting on his tattered black cloak and strapping on his short sword as well as a few smoke bombs and a spare dagger. Silent had planned on waiting until tomorrow to go gather information, but he realized there was no time for that. As he left the room and locked the door behind him, the only thing that was going through his mind was the hauntingly clear image of the figure's eyes. Part TwoBoards creaked in a sort of grotesque symphony as Silent made his way through what remained of the mansion's west wing to the study. Each step brought either a cloud of dust or the wet squishing of a puddle. Cobwebs were everywhere. Faded pictures still barely hung from crooked hooks on the walls. Glass dotted the floor from the occasional picture that had fallen, the frame shattered. Pieces of plaster had chipped away and revealed the rotting insulation beneath. Some rooms were inaccessible, the doorway collapsed after the wood had rotted too much and gave way; while others were burned to the point where the upper floor had collapsed on the lower. Silent tried his best to ignore the parallels his mind was drawing, tried to block the memories of a once magnificent fortress now reduced to corpses and rotting wood. He couldn't tell if it was the memories playing at the back of his mind or the state of the structure, but he found himself starting to slip into a slight depression. Silent tried his best to fight it back, telling himself this was nothing like the home he once had and that everything was going to be okay. He tried to shift his focus back to the image of a drowsy Ink smiling at him in the morning, her robes disheveled and messy. But almost against his will, his thoughts kept being pulled back to the fortress. Crows pecked at the remains. Burned buildings barely stood, creaking with each slight breeze. The ash-ridden soil. The tattered banners that hung from the main gates. The way Snow Star had looked at him as she drew her last breath. “Stop it!” He cried in frustration, freezing where he stood and shaking his head almost desperately in an effort to clear the images. “None of that matters now!” There was a soft laugh, almost inaudible, like somepony had whispered in his ear. He bristled at the sensation, a tingle running up his spine as he drew in a sharp breath. He allowed himself a sweep of the area, but found nothing- A shrouded figure of a pony stood in front of him, a slight smirk spreading across its face. The upper part of its face was obscured by what looked like the hood of a robe made of rags, like the figure had taken scraps of fabric and stitched them together. Silent took a cautious step back and braced himself as the figure's smile grew more pronounced. Such a deliciously ugly past... a disembodied voice almost whispered in his ear, sending the same shivers of dread down his spine. So heartbreakingly beautiful...No wonder she loves you... Stay calm, Silent, he thought, forcing himself to take deep breaths and calm down. Whatever this is can't hurt Ink. She's home. Safe. Even if something happens, she can- I'm not talking about your dear fiancée, the figure took several steps forward and tossed its head to reveal bloodshot eyes. I'm talking about a mare of white that was unsoiled by the bloodshed around her... Silent couldn't help it. His eyes widened slightly and he felt himself go numb for a second as a shock flooded through him. For a moment, the world slowed as he looked at the figure carefully, realizing he could see through it to the wall on the other side. The colors were vague, almost like light pastels. The figure's coat was something like a light brown, but he couldn't tell against the dark green of the faded wallpaper behind it. The details of the dossier flooded through his mind. Suddenly, it all clicked together. It wasn't the actual building that was making his mind slip back to images of the fortress, but this...thing that stood in front of him. He hesitated to call it a true spirit, because he had seen nothing like this. Plus, it lacked the tell tale smell that most spirits had. Something about this one had warped, made it obsessed with this place and unable to leave. It enjoyed tormenting those who dared to tread in its territory. In fact, he dared to even say that the figure that stood before him was not the owner of this once proud mansion at all. Although the details of the dossier would hint at that, he knew enough about the paranormal to know that many spirits who died in sudden ways, such as an assassination, remained at the location of their death and kept reacting it as a way to try and figure out why they had died in the first place. But the figure that stood in front of him had a free will. It thought. It learned. It could have at one time been the spirit of the owner for all he knew, but now it was something entirely different. It had latched on to the unrest associated with this place and used it to make itself stronger. Now it fed off of the mental suffering it caused others who dared come here. As much as Silent hated to admit it, he was prime real estate for psychological anguish. He immediately looked down, closing his eyes and trying to focus on just the feeling of the presence. He could feel his coat start to bristle, the hairs standing on end as it seemed that the figure stepped even closer. There was a slight rustling to its steps, as if the fabric of its tattered robe dragged on the ground but there were no hoofsteps to accompany it. The air was suddenly thick and had an almost haunting chill to it, fitting for the dark shadow that circled him. Although his eyes were gently closed, his ears stood at attention, listening for the slightest rustling of the tattered fabric the specter wore. And so began the waiting game. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. The ground beneath him was humming, vibrating under him as if a gentle quake was making its way through the area. His body was buzzing, the energy of the being flooding through him. His heart raced. He forced himself to take deep breaths and remain calm. Although his posture didn't show it, he was nervous, tense even. He had been standing like this for so long that any measure of time had escaped him. He was trembling slightly, not from fear, but exhaustion. He couldn't let his guard slip. The second Silent let down the barriers around his mind, there was no telling what kind of horrors would be unleashed on him. He had seen many things that would make even his seemingly fearless fiancée weep like a foal, things that still brought tears even to his own eyes. And he couldn't leave, he refused to fail at a contract. So it was a war of attrition, a battle of wills. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Silent had no idea how long he stood there nearly motionless, but he could feel his grip on reality starting to slip. A fog was creeping into his mind, starting to pull him under. He shook his head, focusing on the sound of the circling specter. No. Not good enough. He stumbled. His breathing calmed. His heartbeat slowed. No... was his only thought before he felt like he was falling. Blackness. The rustling was gone. The softly vibrating floor had fallen out from beneath him. The prickles from the being's energy vanished and left him with an uneasy calmness. Falling... Falling... Darkness. Gone. Part ThreeThe clinking of metal on metal met his ears, coupled by the distant shouts of various orders he recognized as the training drills he went through as a colt, and had put Ink through during her apprenticeship. But the bed beneath him was not vaguely scented with Ink's favorite lavender, or even the soft sheets that he remembered. They were rough in texture, but somehow soft in a way that resembled muslin. In fact, the smell that met him was something completely different. It had a vague floral note, almost the powdery smell of wild roses, but had the harder edge of sweat as well. With something of a groan, Silent dared to roll on his back. There was no protesting squeaks of springs. No creaking of the metal bed-frame he, himself, had carefully shaped. Instead there was the soft rustle of cotton and cloth, accompanied by a slight crunch of hay. His brow furrowed and he opened one eye curiously. He couldn't help the semi-muffled gasp that escaped his lips. Around him was a crudely carved four post bed-frame with a thin, pale red canopy. The thin fabric cascaded down the two posts at the foot of the bed. On the wall to his left hung a black banner, adorned with the intricately stitched pattern of a crimson moon. The walls were something like carved stone. The room itself was a large circle, the only entrance a long set of shallow stairs that lead upwards. Biting his lip, he fought back the panic slowly chipping away at the back of his mind and climbed out of bed, his hooves meeting a thin, black rug that had red stitching along the outside edge. His eyes widened in surprise, images of ratty carpets and torn tapestries playing at the back of his mind. A destroyed fortress. Ransacked records hall. Screams. Blood. Had that all been a nightmare? What about the silver mare who he had praised as his fastest learning apprentice? Had she been nothing but a dream too? He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and calming down. Maybe it all had been a dream. Maybe none of it had even happened. In that reality, the fortress had been destroyed- reduced to ashes and skeletons. She had died in his hooves, smiling as she weakly stroked his cheek and attempted to stutter out one more profession of love. Part of him prayed that had been a nightmare, while another part tugged him to a reality where a silver, pegasus mare with brilliant red hooves greeted him each morning with a sleepy smile on her face. But what was her name again...? That world seemed so distant now, like it had only been a dream. He could barely remember the sound of her voice, or even the color of her eyes, but he did remember she had the most stunning smile. It had glittered just like Celestia's dawn, even when she tried to hide it. She had been protective, loving, even to the point that she would put her own life on the line for another's. She had belonged to some mysterious organization of assassin's that he had not heard of until he met her.... The foggy thoughts slipped from his mind as the gentle clopping of hooves on the stone steps reached him. Silent instantly snapped to attention and braced himself, looking at the stairs as if expecting the visitor to be an intruder. His heart pounded nervously as the steps grew closer, but what met him was a slap to the face. A pure white pegasus mare looked at him with concern in her emerald eyes, a lock of black mane hanging loosely in front of them. She smiled at him as he only stared in disbelief. “What's the matter, Silent?” She came over and nuzzled him gently. “You look as though you've seen a ghost.” The same silky coat he remembered, pure white and glistening even in the dim light. The same wind-chime like voice. She cooed quietly, tucking her head under his chin as he finally relaxed. This was real, it had to be. She was right here. Warm. Living. Breathing. The small, nagging voice at the back of his mind finally quieted as a small smile snaked its way across his face and he closed his eyes with a sigh of relief. Surely it had all been a nightmare. Training rookies. Watching the little fillies and colts run through their drills repeatedly, faces annoyed and not understanding why they had to do the same motion for the twentieth time. He chuckled as he watched, running a hoof through his thick mane. He couldn't help but smile softly as a young mare slipped, nearly falling from the ledge instead of clearing it. In a hurry of red hooves, she pulled herself back up and kept going, picking up the pace to keep up with the other trainees. Suddenly the scene shifted. He was standing in what looked like a deserted city, watching that same young mare run almost perfectly through a drill routine. She cleared a ledge, her brilliant red hooves barely disturbing the dust as she pushed off into the air. Her wings immediately unfurled, pushing her up over the city. With a look that puzzled him, she twisted midair and dove towards him, touching ground and rolling to slow herself before coming to stop a few feet in front of him. Her turquoise eyes were filled with an anger that he struggled to understand, partially hidden behind a chocolate brown mane. She snorted and tilted her head down, glaring up at him from beneath thick lashes. He blinked, something like panic running through him. Who was this mare? Why was she so upset? Why-? “Am I good enough yet, Night Wind?” She snapped, her voice cold. “Obviously I'm not,” she gritted her teeth for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes. “No, you went back to her. You promised me you loved me....But you don't even remember my damn name!” Her words gradually crescendoed into an accented scream as she stepped towards him, large droplets of moisture escaping her eyes. She quieted her voice to a whisper so low he had to strain to listen even though it somehow remained accusing, “You called me the best. You said I was amazing. You said I would be a wonderful assassin. You said I would bring forth a new era for the Bleeding Moons...” She looked directly into his eyes through a thick line of tears, her voice breaking, “But just how good am I if you can't even remember who I am, Night?” “Ink Flash!”
Prologue“And jus' where are you goin'?” Silent Shadow couldn't help but smile at the teasingly frustrated voice of his fiancée that drifted down the grand staircase to where he stood in the foyer. Her words were slurred slightly, still thick with the slight stupor of sleep. Without even turning, he could see her chocolate brown mane still tousled. Her turquoise eyes would be sparkling sightly in the dim morning light, but unfocused. He sighed softly, closing his eyes. Of course it wouldn't be easy to just leave. Of course she would put up a fuss. In her defense, Silent had promised to not do something like this again. He promised not to try anymore death-defying missions. But duty called. For once, the Grand Master in him couldn't be ignored. He knew Ink wouldn't understand, or maybe she would. She was a high ranking Order member, so he assumed she understood when it was time to take action. But not all missions ended with the slash or stab of a blade. He feared this would be one of those missions. “Well?” Her voice had cleared some, not as fatigued. More demanding. More worried. “Ink..,” he started quietly, “there are things that cannot be ignored or avoided, you know that. I-” Ink Flash shook her head with a soft sigh, coming down the stairs to stand next to him. She nuzzled him gently, her voice soft, “I'm not trying to stop you, Night Wind.” She chuckled, “I do understand. There are contracts offered that cannot be ignored.” She smiled as he looked over at her, his gaze vaguely affectionate, “Just promise me you'll come back. Alright?” He nodded with a soft sigh, kissing her gently, “I promise.” That was a promise he knew he might break. But he had to make it. There was no way, looking into her eyes, that he couldn't. He was her world, her everything. He knew this. He was painfully aware of the fact she looked up to his every move. Painfully aware of the fact that even now, a novice of the clan, she thought of him as her master. In truth, he always would be, but he knew she missed the days of parkour practice and sparring in the basement. Things were simpler. Easier. Almost like breathing. But word had spread of the possible revival of the Bleeding Moons and the two were faced with new contracts almost every day. Most were turned away for mindless cruelty or even just seen as a waste of time. But this one, he had to take. And as much as he hated to do it, he had to leave Ink behind. She wore the crest of a crimson moon, but her specialty was in the killing of the material, the physical. She fought what she could see, what her dagger could touch. This was his specialty. Spirits. Demons. The unknown. “It should only be a few days,” he added, dipping his head to rest his forehead against hers. “Take care of Thunder.” “Like you have to remind me?” She giggled, “I'll hold things down here, don't worry. Just go.” He nodded and turned, going to the door and undoing all of the locks before pausing one more time to look at Ink. Her messy mane. The black and red robes she wore, styled like those of her favored Order but colored like a Bleeding Moons'. The loosely tied sash around her waist. The way her hood sloppily lay at the base of her neck. The intricate metal work on her bracers. Her glistening blue eyes. He couldn't help but smile softly. She made a shooing motion with one of her brilliant red hooves, assuring him with a gentle smile that he could leave. With a soft sigh, Silent nodded and pulled open one of the massive doors before stepping out into the growing light and pushing the door shut behind him with a soft thud. It felt like fate crashing down on him.
Part OneIn a shady inn that any other pony would have thought twice about before staying there, Silent sat in his room looking over the dossier for the mission. It seemed like something simple, something that he should have been able to handle in his sleep. But something about it seemed wrong as he continually read over the details, something about it didn't add up quite right. The pieces were askew. No, one was missing altogether- maybe more. A real estate company was interested in a piece of property a few miles out from a smaller town near Canterlot, about the same size as Ponyville. But simpler. It seemed more like Appleloosa from what he could understand. The property used to belong to a stallion who once owned most of the town, a property giant whose business went south when the town's economy took a dive. The stallion fled the town in shame, thinking he was the one who caused the collapse, and left his mansion standing. Silent was amazed to learn the mansion was much bigger than his own that stood in Ponyville. Of course he considered his to be large, but he never considered it to be the biggest. But still, something larger than his two-story, seven-bedroom, five bath sanctuary seemed ridiculous. And that wasn't counting the library, Ink's study, his own, as well as the training area and forge under the mansion. He shook his head. It was no wonder the economy collapsed with mindless spending like that- and in a town where most of the houses around the place had a low property value to begin with. The stallion had only lowered the property value and not only ruined his own business, but others nearby as well. According to the file, the town was now something like a ghost town. A few of the original residents remained and tended to their farms, paid handsomely by the nobles in Canterlot to stay. Even if the property value was next to nothing, the little crops that were produced there still fetched high prices in the markets of Canterlot- even Ponyville. That alone was enough to make them stay, the promise of the profit they got when there was little competition in the area. But that was what didn't make sense to Silent. If the value of these crops was so high, why did the value of the land they were grown on stay low? He wasn't much of an economist, he never had to be, but something about it seemed wrong. And why was he being called into a town this small? He flipped the page and got his answer. The rumor went that the stallion fled to Canterlot and was killed there for his corruption by an unknown killer- or group. He chuckled as he read that. That had the smell of the Order all over it. Any kind of killing over corruption or greed was their hallmark, he had spent enough time with Ink to learn the inner workings of one who belonged to the Assassin Order. He sighed softly as he continued to read. The rumored last words of the stallion, although Silent thought them to be too clichéd to be real, were “This is not the end of me. Only the beginning.” That promise, the townspeople believed, manifested itself in the form of a clothed specter that haunted what remained of the stallion's mansion. Portions had been burned down. Raided. Demolished. Vandalized. All in vain attempts to somehow rid themselves of the specter. The only portion that still stood was the west wing, where the stallion's study and master bedroom had been. And what was even weirder about that, was that the study had gone untouched by anypony. The vault was unopened. Not a book was out of place. If anything had been moved, it was due to the elements that the structure was exposed to. But nopony had dared go near that place even though the vault was unlocked and within easy access on the floor level. Those who had tried came back to the main part of town rambling nonsense and going on about seeing the past, hallucinating about things that happened years ago. Speaking nonsense. Having fits of what could only be described as complete insanity. And this was all thought to be some kind of revenge brought on by the “untimely” death of said stallion. Something about unfinished business. Silent shook his head and set the folder aside with a sigh, reaching for his short sword when he noticed a picture had fluttered out of the stack of papers. It was a small photograph of what seemed to be the figure of an earth pony stallion, completely see-through and just barely visible in the shadows. The eyes, though, of the figure were clear and solid. The longer Silent looked at them, the more a sense of dread started to creep up inside of him. Something was definitely wrong now. For once, he was regretting taking a contract. He shook his head and slipped the picture back into the folder, trying not think anymore of it. He sighed. If the property was haunted as it was claimed to be and ponies had such horrible experiences after going near the place, why was a real estate agency interested in it? Something about it didn't add up and the more he thought about it, the weirder things started to seem to him. Silent tried not to think about it, but the image kept flashing in the corners of his memories. What's more was his thoughts were constantly pulled back to Ink, even when she had nothing to do with any of this. He sighed and shook his head, putting on his tattered black cloak and strapping on his short sword as well as a few smoke bombs and a spare dagger. Silent had planned on waiting until tomorrow to go gather information, but he realized there was no time for that. As he left the room and locked the door behind him, the only thing that was going through his mind was the hauntingly clear image of the figure's eyes.
Part TwoBoards creaked in a sort of grotesque symphony as Silent made his way through what remained of the mansion's west wing to the study. Each step brought either a cloud of dust or the wet squishing of a puddle. Cobwebs were everywhere. Faded pictures still barely hung from crooked hooks on the walls. Glass dotted the floor from the occasional picture that had fallen, the frame shattered. Pieces of plaster had chipped away and revealed the rotting insulation beneath. Some rooms were inaccessible, the doorway collapsed after the wood had rotted too much and gave way; while others were burned to the point where the upper floor had collapsed on the lower. Silent tried his best to ignore the parallels his mind was drawing, tried to block the memories of a once magnificent fortress now reduced to corpses and rotting wood. He couldn't tell if it was the memories playing at the back of his mind or the state of the structure, but he found himself starting to slip into a slight depression. Silent tried his best to fight it back, telling himself this was nothing like the home he once had and that everything was going to be okay. He tried to shift his focus back to the image of a drowsy Ink smiling at him in the morning, her robes disheveled and messy. But almost against his will, his thoughts kept being pulled back to the fortress. Crows pecked at the remains. Burned buildings barely stood, creaking with each slight breeze. The ash-ridden soil. The tattered banners that hung from the main gates. The way Snow Star had looked at him as she drew her last breath. “Stop it!” He cried in frustration, freezing where he stood and shaking his head almost desperately in an effort to clear the images. “None of that matters now!” There was a soft laugh, almost inaudible, like somepony had whispered in his ear. He bristled at the sensation, a tingle running up his spine as he drew in a sharp breath. He allowed himself a sweep of the area, but found nothing- A shrouded figure of a pony stood in front of him, a slight smirk spreading across its face. The upper part of its face was obscured by what looked like the hood of a robe made of rags, like the figure had taken scraps of fabric and stitched them together. Silent took a cautious step back and braced himself as the figure's smile grew more pronounced. Such a deliciously ugly past... a disembodied voice almost whispered in his ear, sending the same shivers of dread down his spine. So heartbreakingly beautiful...No wonder she loves you... Stay calm, Silent, he thought, forcing himself to take deep breaths and calm down. Whatever this is can't hurt Ink. She's home. Safe. Even if something happens, she can- I'm not talking about your dear fiancée, the figure took several steps forward and tossed its head to reveal bloodshot eyes. I'm talking about a mare of white that was unsoiled by the bloodshed around her... Silent couldn't help it. His eyes widened slightly and he felt himself go numb for a second as a shock flooded through him. For a moment, the world slowed as he looked at the figure carefully, realizing he could see through it to the wall on the other side. The colors were vague, almost like light pastels. The figure's coat was something like a light brown, but he couldn't tell against the dark green of the faded wallpaper behind it. The details of the dossier flooded through his mind. Suddenly, it all clicked together. It wasn't the actual building that was making his mind slip back to images of the fortress, but this...thing that stood in front of him. He hesitated to call it a true spirit, because he had seen nothing like this. Plus, it lacked the tell tale smell that most spirits had. Something about this one had warped, made it obsessed with this place and unable to leave. It enjoyed tormenting those who dared to tread in its territory. In fact, he dared to even say that the figure that stood before him was not the owner of this once proud mansion at all. Although the details of the dossier would hint at that, he knew enough about the paranormal to know that many spirits who died in sudden ways, such as an assassination, remained at the location of their death and kept reacting it as a way to try and figure out why they had died in the first place. But the figure that stood in front of him had a free will. It thought. It learned. It could have at one time been the spirit of the owner for all he knew, but now it was something entirely different. It had latched on to the unrest associated with this place and used it to make itself stronger. Now it fed off of the mental suffering it caused others who dared come here. As much as Silent hated to admit it, he was prime real estate for psychological anguish. He immediately looked down, closing his eyes and trying to focus on just the feeling of the presence. He could feel his coat start to bristle, the hairs standing on end as it seemed that the figure stepped even closer. There was a slight rustling to its steps, as if the fabric of its tattered robe dragged on the ground but there were no hoofsteps to accompany it. The air was suddenly thick and had an almost haunting chill to it, fitting for the dark shadow that circled him. Although his eyes were gently closed, his ears stood at attention, listening for the slightest rustling of the tattered fabric the specter wore. And so began the waiting game. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. The ground beneath him was humming, vibrating under him as if a gentle quake was making its way through the area. His body was buzzing, the energy of the being flooding through him. His heart raced. He forced himself to take deep breaths and remain calm. Although his posture didn't show it, he was nervous, tense even. He had been standing like this for so long that any measure of time had escaped him. He was trembling slightly, not from fear, but exhaustion. He couldn't let his guard slip. The second Silent let down the barriers around his mind, there was no telling what kind of horrors would be unleashed on him. He had seen many things that would make even his seemingly fearless fiancée weep like a foal, things that still brought tears even to his own eyes. And he couldn't leave, he refused to fail at a contract. So it was a war of attrition, a battle of wills. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Silent had no idea how long he stood there nearly motionless, but he could feel his grip on reality starting to slip. A fog was creeping into his mind, starting to pull him under. He shook his head, focusing on the sound of the circling specter. No. Not good enough. He stumbled. His breathing calmed. His heartbeat slowed. No... was his only thought before he felt like he was falling. Blackness. The rustling was gone. The softly vibrating floor had fallen out from beneath him. The prickles from the being's energy vanished and left him with an uneasy calmness. Falling... Falling... Darkness. Gone.
Part ThreeThe clinking of metal on metal met his ears, coupled by the distant shouts of various orders he recognized as the training drills he went through as a colt, and had put Ink through during her apprenticeship. But the bed beneath him was not vaguely scented with Ink's favorite lavender, or even the soft sheets that he remembered. They were rough in texture, but somehow soft in a way that resembled muslin. In fact, the smell that met him was something completely different. It had a vague floral note, almost the powdery smell of wild roses, but had the harder edge of sweat as well. With something of a groan, Silent dared to roll on his back. There was no protesting squeaks of springs. No creaking of the metal bed-frame he, himself, had carefully shaped. Instead there was the soft rustle of cotton and cloth, accompanied by a slight crunch of hay. His brow furrowed and he opened one eye curiously. He couldn't help the semi-muffled gasp that escaped his lips. Around him was a crudely carved four post bed-frame with a thin, pale red canopy. The thin fabric cascaded down the two posts at the foot of the bed. On the wall to his left hung a black banner, adorned with the intricately stitched pattern of a crimson moon. The walls were something like carved stone. The room itself was a large circle, the only entrance a long set of shallow stairs that lead upwards. Biting his lip, he fought back the panic slowly chipping away at the back of his mind and climbed out of bed, his hooves meeting a thin, black rug that had red stitching along the outside edge. His eyes widened in surprise, images of ratty carpets and torn tapestries playing at the back of his mind. A destroyed fortress. Ransacked records hall. Screams. Blood. Had that all been a nightmare? What about the silver mare who he had praised as his fastest learning apprentice? Had she been nothing but a dream too? He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and calming down. Maybe it all had been a dream. Maybe none of it had even happened. In that reality, the fortress had been destroyed- reduced to ashes and skeletons. She had died in his hooves, smiling as she weakly stroked his cheek and attempted to stutter out one more profession of love. Part of him prayed that had been a nightmare, while another part tugged him to a reality where a silver, pegasus mare with brilliant red hooves greeted him each morning with a sleepy smile on her face. But what was her name again...? That world seemed so distant now, like it had only been a dream. He could barely remember the sound of her voice, or even the color of her eyes, but he did remember she had the most stunning smile. It had glittered just like Celestia's dawn, even when she tried to hide it. She had been protective, loving, even to the point that she would put her own life on the line for another's. She had belonged to some mysterious organization of assassin's that he had not heard of until he met her.... The foggy thoughts slipped from his mind as the gentle clopping of hooves on the stone steps reached him. Silent instantly snapped to attention and braced himself, looking at the stairs as if expecting the visitor to be an intruder. His heart pounded nervously as the steps grew closer, but what met him was a slap to the face. A pure white pegasus mare looked at him with concern in her emerald eyes, a lock of black mane hanging loosely in front of them. She smiled at him as he only stared in disbelief. “What's the matter, Silent?” She came over and nuzzled him gently. “You look as though you've seen a ghost.” The same silky coat he remembered, pure white and glistening even in the dim light. The same wind-chime like voice. She cooed quietly, tucking her head under his chin as he finally relaxed. This was real, it had to be. She was right here. Warm. Living. Breathing. The small, nagging voice at the back of his mind finally quieted as a small smile snaked its way across his face and he closed his eyes with a sigh of relief. Surely it had all been a nightmare. Training rookies. Watching the little fillies and colts run through their drills repeatedly, faces annoyed and not understanding why they had to do the same motion for the twentieth time. He chuckled as he watched, running a hoof through his thick mane. He couldn't help but smile softly as a young mare slipped, nearly falling from the ledge instead of clearing it. In a hurry of red hooves, she pulled herself back up and kept going, picking up the pace to keep up with the other trainees. Suddenly the scene shifted. He was standing in what looked like a deserted city, watching that same young mare run almost perfectly through a drill routine. She cleared a ledge, her brilliant red hooves barely disturbing the dust as she pushed off into the air. Her wings immediately unfurled, pushing her up over the city. With a look that puzzled him, she twisted midair and dove towards him, touching ground and rolling to slow herself before coming to stop a few feet in front of him. Her turquoise eyes were filled with an anger that he struggled to understand, partially hidden behind a chocolate brown mane. She snorted and tilted her head down, glaring up at him from beneath thick lashes. He blinked, something like panic running through him. Who was this mare? Why was she so upset? Why-? “Am I good enough yet, Night Wind?” She snapped, her voice cold. “Obviously I'm not,” she gritted her teeth for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes. “No, you went back to her. You promised me you loved me....But you don't even remember my damn name!” Her words gradually crescendoed into an accented scream as she stepped towards him, large droplets of moisture escaping her eyes. She quieted her voice to a whisper so low he had to strain to listen even though it somehow remained accusing, “You called me the best. You said I was amazing. You said I would be a wonderful assassin. You said I would bring forth a new era for the Bleeding Moons...” She looked directly into his eyes through a thick line of tears, her voice breaking, “But just how good am I if you can't even remember who I am, Night?” “Ink Flash!”
