Fallout: Equestria- The Last Sentinel

by Adder1

Rating: teen
Tags: Crossover, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Tragedy
Length: 491998

It's hard to kill memories when you remember everything.

Frost Windchill is known to be a storyteller of sorts. Comfortable with telling the occasional sprite tale or legend, a child approaches him one day and asks for a real story.

And so Frost tells one- the story of his life. It's not a typical story, and there's more to it- just as there's more to the descendant of a Lunar Guard. It's a story not just of himself but the heroes he stood beside- big and small, legendary and obscure. But there's something amiss, buried lies between the lines.

After all, it's hard to kill memories when you remember everything.

(Cover done by the amazing Sw1tchbl4de. Check him out here! http://sw1tchbl4de.deviantart.com/

Larger version of cover art can be found here: http://sw1tchbl4de.deviantart.com/#/d4ovlt2)

Published 2011-11-17 22:06:46 UTC
Last updated 2016-06-20 01:42:04 UTC

Chapter One: Not Your Typical Tale

Chapter One: Not Your Typical Tale

Every story has a beginning. That said, I don't quite work that way, folks. I can't start back in Stable Seventy-Two. I can't start back in Manehattan. I can't even start so very long ago in the Far North where I was born. We live in the Wasteland, and this is a story of the Wasteland. Therefore, we'll start in the Wasteland.

Every story also has a certain flair to it. This time, I do quite work that way. I like to tell my stories in my own special way. And, on that note...

Get comfortable. Find someplace where you won't need to move around too much. Make sure you're full on food and water, and make sure you can sit for a spell. Now relax. Focus. Stop seeing with your eyes, but don't close them. Stop smelling with your noses. Stop feeling with your hooves. Just listen to the sound of my voice, and let my words fill in the blanks.

Now let the world around you melt away. Let my words cross through the void and build it for you.

Roll back the clock. Forty years. I think that's how much time's passed...

* * *

Something shiny slid across my vision. Something black, sleek. It held my reflection for a fleeting moment, barely visible on its ebony glaze-

-A green unicorn, a little taller than average, sharpened horn; black, short-cut mane and tail, both a little unkempt; eyes with an amber tint, pupils slit-like; lightly-built, thinly-built, rough beard- a green unicorn sheathed in ancient armor, a little demonic, a little archaic, a little Gothic, colors of cool blue and striking violet, a draconic eye on the breastplate with high-capacity saddlebags slung across his back-

The shiny, black, sleek little thing flicked away.

A blade. Dancing before my eyes.

The bewitched audience was snapped out of their spell to the sound of clicks and clacks. The storyteller twirled out a most peculiar knife consisting of a thin, dark blade about four inches long and a pair of slightly longer counter-rotating handles coming from the base. The blade was barely reflecting its surroundings, the handles carved with ornate patterns with a small peg poking out from the lower handle.

Even more peculiar was how he was holding the knife. A thin arm extended from his right shoulder, ending in a griffin-like hand. It appeared scraggly and poorly made as if created for function rather than form. And it was completely formed of ice. Interestingly, his horn was not lit up the slightest.

The unicorn flicked one of the handles around, which pivoted around on a small screw on the blade base, snagging the blade itself as it spun closed against the second handle, completely concealing the blade. He masterfully danced the knife in his hand before his eyes, weaving it between his fingers as its dual handles cantered open and shut, blade in and blade out. The way the blade and handles fanned about was reminiscent of... a butterfly. He spun it back, holding the blade facing up before twirling it and letting go, the knife spinning rapidly through the air. One could swear that the edge gleamed softly with light, forming a silvery crescent before he caught it, the handles closed around the blade.

Don't worry. For the new faces, I'll explain the ice later. As for this beauty...

I guess I'll explain that later too.

So a blade, dancing before my eyes. Wind was rushing past me as I soared through the air high above the Wasteland on a sky wagon. Sky wagons such as this one were created during the pre-war era, during the Age of Industry. They were powered by a spark battery to arcano-technologically lighten the weight of the wagon and its contents. It was enough to allow a lone pegasus to lift the cart plus a full load through the air singlehoofedly.

Or, in this case, a griffin.

Silas was his name I think. He was, like I said before, a griffin. He wore the standard Wasteland fare for his kind- some old leather barding, a holster for a pair of revolvers. He kept on shooting me looks as I flicked around my knife with my ice arm- odd, bitter looks. I'd been doing it for the past hour or so as he flew me toward my destination. And my target. I knew those looks. I knew what he was thinking.

I stopped playing with my little toy, blade currently exposed. “Does it bother you?” I asked, voice raised over the rush of wind. My voice sounded no different then from how I sound now.

“Yeah, kinda!” the griffin grumbled, eying me warily.

The audience once again broke from their trance from the sudden change in voice. But their eyes met only the storyteller's. There was nopony else talking. The storyteller simply smiled, his normal voice dripping out again like liquid honey. Grave, liquid honey.

Not your typical tale, folks.

He maintained his gaze on me as I made a simply flick of the handle, concealing the blade, pushing the peg across to the other handle to activate the safety latch. I slipped the weapon away into a small pouch on my left foreleg. “Better?”

He continued to eye me.

I reduced my ice arm to mist. Sublimated it, for you scientifically inclined folks. “Better?” I repeated.

“Heh, as 'better' as it can be flying a guy like you around,” Silas huffed, something akin to a light smile turning up his beak.

He paused, watching the crowd. Nopony seemed surprised this time when his voice changed completely.

“What is it about a guy like me,” I asked him over the whipping winds, “that riles up the feathers of a guy like you? I paid the fare you set beforehoof.” Oh wait. He was a griffin. “Or rather, beforehand. Three hundred of these bottle caps you Wastelanders use for currency. You get me from Vealville to the outskirts of the Far North.”

The half-lion, half-eagle snorted, “Hah! 'You Wastelanders' he says. You fresh from a Stable or something?”

Yeah, he totally forgot the question. Or dodged it. One of the two. “Could be,” I answered. “I did pay for fast travel to a rather simple location I could've just trotted to, mm?”

“Yep, fresh from a Stable...” Silas snickered. “I coulda' extorted you for all you know!”

Which was quite true, I realized with a light frown. An unfortunate if not minor inconvenience. Changing the subject, I asked, “So what did you think I was?”

“So many questions... definitely fresh from a Stable,” he murmured, probably guessing I couldn't hear him from the wind. He yelled back, “Thought you were a bounty hunter or something!”

“How'd you guess?” I smirked a little. A bounty hunter. I mean, really?

“You look the type,” the griffin answered. “The armor and everything!”

I looked over myself. Now that he brought it up...

“So, how far off are we?”

“Few more minutes, few more minutes,” he replied, descending as if on cue.

He was putting us back down on the Wastes. Not much to fill in here- cracked, dry landscape with a bleached skeleton here and a random boulder there with foothills to the north. Judging by the softening glow of the clouds above, there were still at least a couple hours of daylight left. Still had plenty of time for what I needed to do.

“Well, here's your stop,” Silas said after we touched down, a light puff of dust heralding our arrival. I dismounted, and he began to undo the harness that bound him to the sky wagon.

“Much obliged for a fast and smooth flight, griffin.” I lifted a hoof to tip an imaginary hat before turning away and walking north. “Take care.”

I had this nagging feeling ever since accepting the air taxi, and a glance back at Silas out of the corner of my confirmed it- he was drawing his revolvers.

I kicked off sideways, already feeling twin shots ping off of my armor. Damn, he was fast on the draw- and accurate too! As I turned around, I saw that he was standing upright on his hind legs so he could use his claws to hold the weapons. Ice crackled over me without so much as a spark from my horn, encasing me in a layer of armor that crunched at first to the next alternated pair of shots. By the time the next pair of bullets flew my way, my ice armor was properly formed and gently sloped with oblique angles; the rounds dug into the hardened ice only just a little before rolling off. Too close and too unprepared to quick-draw a weapon of my own, I rushed him instead. I closed the distance quickly, formed a pair of ice arms, and latched onto their barrels, pulling the revolvers against his trigger talons while I struck a metal-plated hoof against his solar plexus. With the wind knocked out of his chest and toward his trachea, I jabbed at his throat. His grip easily slacked and I pulled away the weapons as he fell, flipping the revolvers around to face him while conjuring up ice shackles to lock him against his own wagon. I left nothing to chance- his wrists, ankles, neck, tail and wings were restrained.

Anticipate, react, disarm and cripple, turn the tables. Reversal. Four simple steps. The whole exchange took less than five seconds. Sloppy, but I got it done.

He was gasping for breath, eyes wide in surprise. “Th... the fuck?”

“I thought you were a bounty hunter or something.” I leveled my gaze at him, keeping the revolvers trained on his head.

“How'd you guess?” Silas grunted, trying to break free of his restraints.

“You look the type,” I answered, a smirk playing across my lips. Sweet, sweet reversal.

“Oh, don't fuck with me, dammit,” he growled, finding no luck against the restraints and slumping in his locked position. “How'd you know?”

Okay, that kind of question just invited a gloat. Well, I wasn't one to disappoint...

“You really must be new at this. Honestly, an air taxi service in the Wasteland? Really, I just went along with it because you just so happened to be heading where I wanted.”

He was silent, but his eyes were glaring daggers at me.

“But last I checked...” I went on, “I'm only worth seven-hundred-fifty caps, two-hundred-fifty dead. While I congratulate you on your judgment to attempt to take me dead over alive, two-fifty caps for all this trouble? You were here for another reason, weren't you? I just happened to cross paths with you along the way.”

“You gloat too much,” Silas growled. Ooh. Called me out on that one.

I shrugged. “The routine grows stale after so many times. A few theatrics freshens the mood.” I flashed him as sly a smile as I could muster. “So again- you were here for another reason, weren't you?”

He was silent.

“Let me guess,” I began, smile fading, “Sewn Britches. Earth pony stallion, average height and musculature. Denim-blue coat, solid black mane and tail. Brown eyes. Cutie-mark is a pair of stitches. All of that is with the most recent available description. Wanted alive at two-thousand caps for twenty-one cases of foalnapping, seventeen of them armed. An alleged slaver.”

The griffin said nothing but his eyes betrayed what his beak did not.

“Funnily enough, I'm after him myself,” I said to him, turning the revolvers up and away for him. “How about this: Last I checked, I'm only worth seven-fifty caps alive, two-fifty dead. Seeing as how you would rather take me dead, I think we can forget about this little incident, particularly since I already gave you three-hundred. Covers my 'dead' bounty with enough left over for compensation.”

He gave me a puzzled look. “Compensation?”

“For the flight,” I answered him. I looked over the revolvers. Double-action .357 Magnum six-shooters. Finely-crafted things. Simple, reliable firepower, and jamming was unheard of for these beauties.

Ice tendrils peeled from my hands, unwound the screws, pulled out bolts, and let the two weapons clatter to the ground in pieces.

“And this,” I added.

Oh boy did he glare at me. If looks could kill...

“Now, since we're both after the same pony,” I smiled down at him, “and since I think I'm now no longer worth the trouble for some measly caps, how about a little contest? A race for this Sewn Britches guy, hm?” Without waiting for a response, I added, “Just one problem. You've already made an attempt to kill me. That's a personal foul. For that, a penalty.”

His death glare turned to a look of shock as his wings iced over, weighing him down as if they were turned into lead blocks. They fell with a light crinkle to the Wasteland floor as I reduced his restraints to mist, gave him a quick “so long” wave with a hoof and galloped off north towards the foothills. The string of colorful names he had for me brought a smile to my face. I snaked large tendrils of ice from my body down my legs, twisting them in a string of helices and moving them in time with my movements to give me a boost of strength and speed- ice muscles. My pace doubled as I took off for the foothills with a little less daytime left than I would've liked.

* * *

Dusk was falling on the Wasteland, creating a true silver lining on the cloud cover above as it began to grow dark. For anypony else, it would've warranted seeking shelter. Nighttime was never a safe time in the Wasteland.

But I am a friend of the night. I can see perfectly fine in the dark. Granted, daylight is a little...stronger to me, but that's beside the point for now.

I ascended the highest hill I could find in the general vicinity and used it as a lookout point. I was looking for a campfire. Anypony who wanted to cook food had to have a source of heat, and last I checked, we're a little short on microwave ovens and toasters in the Wasteland. Of course, anypony would've taken great lengths to conceal his or her campfire in the middle of the Wasteland. Slavers like Sewn Britches still had raiders to worry about- even in a place as desolate as the outskirts of the Far North. Experienced denizens of the Wasteland like ourselves would cover up the fire so that only the smoke could get out, which would be practically invisible in the darkness unless you already knew where to look.

But I am a friend of the night. I can see perfectly fine in the dark.

And so by the time night fell, a thin column of smoke was already rising in the air not too far from where I was already situated- the only one for miles. As the northern cold invigorated me, I moved up for a closer look. I sublimated my ice muscles as I neared and slowed down to a light trot, rolling my hooves along the ground to minimize noise. The smoke came from a large crevice open in only one direction and also to the sky. That told me two things, should Sewn Britches indeed be in there. One, that Sewn Britches eliminated the avenues of entry into his position by setting camp in such a place. Two, that if I came from the open end of the canyon, he have nowhere else to go with the steep walls impossible to scale for an earth pony.

Make it too tough for the enemy to get in, and you won't be able to get out.

Especially since I can cheat.

If you've ever had the luck to see snow, you'd know it's white to varying degrees. If you've ever had the even greater luck to see ice, you'd know it's transparent to varying degrees. By now, you can probably guess I specialize in cryomancy- ice magic, in other words. By altering the thickness of ice to bend light juuuust the right way, one can make oneself almost invisible.

Which is exactly what I did, using cryomancy to sheath myself in ice and alter how it bent light.

Veiled behind an ice “cloak” and rolling my hooves to keep quiet, I stealthily made my way down to the Wasteland floor and into the opening of the crevice. And indeed, there he was. Earth pony stallion, average height and musculature. Denim-blue coat, solid black mane and tail. Brown eyes. Cutie mark was a pair of stitches. That was Sewn Britches alright. And judging from his occasional glances above him and at the crevice entrance, he knew he was hunted.

He was huddled around his fire as he ate what looked like cooked canned food of some sort. The fire itself was hidden from view by a dome of scrap metal with a hole in the top to let the smoke out, bathing the narrow area in a soft, pulsing light. Nearby in his campsite was a covered wagon with a brahmin hooked up to it- a cow with two heads courtesy of radiation from The Great War for folks who don't know. A civilian-model carbine was propped against the wagon within foreleg's reach. There were- I frowned- two chained mares, both with explosive-rigged slave collars ringing their necks, both of them lying down in the dust. I was mildly surprised- not because I hadn't seen those types of measures employed before but because only the better-supplied slavers had access to those. Somepony really wanted slaves enough to warrant use of those collars. That left some questions for Sewn Britches.

I would find out about that later. For now, I had a hunt to draw to a close. There was just one problem- the nearby campfire.

Another tool of the trade.

The storyteller's spell broke once more as he swung out another weapon, this time sprouting ice arms from both shoulders in order to display it. It was a pump-action shotgun, colored black with the stock removed and the barrel lengthened. The feed had been altered to accept crude drum magazines instead of having to be loaded shell by shell. Strangely, the drum's design was so that the ejection port would spit out spent shells back into the drum well. Most peculiar was the fact that a long crowbar was welded to the top of the weapon, the curved end looping downward past where the stock should have been, forming an impromptu replacement while the sharpened end formed an improvised bayonet. A set of crude ironsights were even built on top of the crowbar. An intricate string of silvery, leafy designs were engraved into the sides of the shotgun. The storyteller was concealing the weapon's barrel behind him as if hiding something for later. Overall, the weapon looked cobbled together and jury-rigged in true Wasteland fashion, yet it held a certain beauty, a certain sense of refinement from the personalized touches.

And so I sprouted a pair of ice arms, whipped out my shotgun, dropped my ice cloak, and fired a magically-enhanced two-kilogram slug into the campfire.

Firing a normal solid slug is loud enough. Firing one that weighs two kilograms is even louder. The produced effect was quite what I anticipated. The slug punched right through the scrap metal dome of the campfire and blew it and the firewood away towards the back of the cave, the fire snuffing out in a spray of twisted metal and embers. I pumped the action, ejecting the spent shell back into the drum and chambering a new one. The cave plunged into darkness. The brahmin mooed loudly. One of the young mares shrieked and curled up. Sewn Britches swore colorfully, dropping his food and scrambling for his carbine. All in that order. From the way the shot echoed down the crevice and back out, I was guessing everypony but me had their ears ringing.

Now that I dropped the ice cloak, I reformed it into ice armor and rushed my target. If it weren't for the slaves nearby, I would have been a bit more... theatrical. But with those slave collars, there could be no margin for error. I couldn't afford a slip-up for personal enjoyment. I moved fast, galloping for Sewn Britches as he fumbled to bring his carbine's grip bit up to his muzzle in the darkness.

To give credit where credit is due, he managed to get a shot off at me in spite of the sudden darkness and deafness brought by my thundering shot. Unfortunately- for Sewn Britches, not me- it was a .22 rimfire cartridge. Such a tiny round simply glanced off of the oblique angles of my lightly sloped ice armor. It was hardly enough to stop me as I closed the distance and whipped upward at the carbine with the crowbar “stock” of my shotgun. I hit with enough force to wrench the weapon out of his jaw and tilt his head up, leaving his neck exposed for a blunt jab from my forehoof. Sewn Britches crumpled hard to the ground, sputtering for breath. I quickly shackled his limbs, tail, and neck to the ground. The exchange was over in seconds.

“Pardon.” I tipped an invisible hat to the brahmin, who kept on watching with a bemused expression. They're still cows, folks, even if with two heads. They can still understand us. I looked back down at the prone earth pony, stepping over him so that I was behind his field of view.

“The fuck are you?” Sewn coughed, his words defiant as he struggled uselessly against the shackles. “The fuck you want?”

Hm, I guess I did perhaps look a bit demonic in the darkness.

“Shhh...” I hushed him, nudging his head with the jagged bayonet of my shotgun. He quickly got the message. Keeping my shotgun aimed at him, I sprouted a third arm to sift through his saddlebags. Ammunition, healing potions, a can opener, ah... there it is- the detonator. I removed it from his possession and looked it over. Collars are tricky... in addition to a detonator, they could be set off by moving outside of a certain range, through tampering with the collars themselves, and sometimes all three and more.

I needed answers.

“The... the fuck are you doing?” Sewn Britches growled, breath regained. His tone was rough, grating. “Are you... aw hell no, you actually taking the slaves from me?!” Hm. Well that was one way to look at it without context. I arced an eyebrow at that and held onto the device. With all pending serious matters out of the way, now I could afford a little... theatricality, a little... dramatic flair.

“Oh yes, I'm Eulogy Jones and I'm here to take back stock that's rightfully mine,” I huffed in a fittingly snooty tone. I rolled my eyes and returned to my normal tone of voice. “Nonlethal takedown. Shackles. Put two and two together.” I lightly poked him with the bayonet out of spite.

Oh, and a little comedy, too.

He grunted, “Bounty hunter.”

“Yep. I'm guessing you didn't expect a bulletproof bounty hunter going after your head for what you're worth, hm?” I asked, allowing myself a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Sewn snorted. “I'm wanted alive. Let's get this over with.”

“I know,” I said. “Alive. But first, I have some questions. And you're going to answer them. Cooperate with me, and no further harm will befall you.”

He nickered- actually nickered at that. “I'm wanted alive, dumbass. You touch me, you lose your caps.”

“Oh, well I hadn't thought of that,” I said in a contemplative tone. Back to serious: “You know what? I'll just cut to the chase. I'll ask nicely. How do the collars work?”

“Yeah, fuck you with Luna's forehooves.”

I twitched a little. And then I frowned. Darkly.

“Alive, huh?” I pulled away my shotgun and slung it back. “Alright.”

A few metallic clicks cut his sigh of relief short. A flash of the blade before his eyes and he fell silent. I couldn't see the expression on his face since I stayed behind him, but I could only guess what it looked like.

Just kept the blade there for a bit, tweaking it between my fingers. Around the World, Full Twirl to close, Half Twirl to backhand grip, Backhand Screwdriver, Latch Drop, Y-two-K Rollover, a simple Aerial to close it... and then I flicked it open once more.

“Now that I have your attention,” I spoke, and for his sake, I hope I sounded like Death Himself, “let's talk for a spell.” I paced around him, my hooves striking down with enough force so that I made him feel each footfall around him. All the while, I kept the blade revealed before him. “In the reflection. What do you see?”

He struggled against the neck shackle as if trying to eye me critically. “The fuck are you on about? It's pitch bla-”

“What do you see?!” I bellowed, my echoes carrying back and forth from the walls.

He flinched. Oh, he didn't expect that...

“Answer me!” I roared.

“Oh buck me right now, it's a psychotic bounty hun-”

“Answer. The. Question!”

“Fine, fine,” Sewn grunted, playing along. “I see myself. Happy, bitch?”

“And are you proud of it?” I spat, suddenly quiet again. That got another flinch from him. “This reflection sums up everything you've done, everywhere you've been, everyone you affected, and everyone who affected you. Are you proud of it?!”

“For Sparklesake, colt, you already got me!” Sewn snapped. “Enough with the fucking plays! Just get it over with!”

I sucked the inside of my left cheek in and licked it a bit. And then I... smiled. Keeping the blade before him, I walked around and lied down in front of him, our muzzles only inches apart. I just kept that smile as he just looked at me in confusion. Then, as he saw my more... distinguishing features this close- my armor, perhaps my slit pupils- his eyes widened.

“What the hell are you...?” he asked, suddenly quiet.

'What'. I liked that.

“Do you like games?” I asked, ignoring the question and maintaining my toothy smile.

He froze, silent. His ears perked up as if questioning whether or not he heard that correctly.

“Come on.” I smiled, still lying down so he could see me. “There are no wrong answers.”

“Y-Yes?” He offered weakly.

“Yes?” I raised an eyebrow, shifting to a grin. “That's a question, not an answer.” I stood up and walked back behind him. “But you seem to like questions. I like questions.” I leaned closer to stab each verbal dagger into his ears with a cold whisper. “How... would you like... a game … about... questionssss? … hm?” I whispered just centimeters away from his stiffened-straight ears. “Would you like that?”

No answer.

“Mister Britches, I don't like silence, at least not from other ponies I'm trying to have a conversation with,” I spoke as I stepped behind him to his other ear. “It's impolite, you know. But you seem to like silence. We have here a difference of opinion.” Whispers again, straight to his other ear. “I'm a good pony. I respect differences of opinions. It used to be my job to at one point. But times have changed.”

I stepped away, sighing coldly over him. Cool mist from my mouth and down over him, causing him to flinch.

“Let's play a game.” I grinned. “Yes, let's... play a game about questions. I ask you a simple question. You answer it. If it's an answer I don't like... well...” I laughed darkly, overdoing it just a bit. Had to get the point across. All a part of the act, of course. “Well... paint the picture. I'm sure you still have enough mental capacity for that.”

“I'm wanted alive,” Sewn Britches whispered quietly as I spoke. It was more to comfort himself than to declare to me. “I'm wanted alive. You can't touch me.”

“Yes, you are wanted alive!” I cut him off. “Yes, it's true! But they didn't say anything about a little... injury. You just have to be alive.”

I could just see that single thought he held onto for solace crumble. I loomed back around to savor that shocked expression. “You wouldn't...”

I kept the blade in front of him as I smiled wide. “Oh I totally would. Believe me. You're wanted alive. That's a very, very vague descriptor, wouldn't you agree?” I paced around him, just smiling to myself. “I admire the equine body, you know. It can withstand so much punishment- so much that the Old World had to devise weapons to destroy it. You can remove a few organs, take off a leg.” I looked down knowingly at him. “You'd live through that.”

“You wouldn't,” he said, visibly shaking now. “You wouldn't.”

“I would. Oh, I would.” I drew in a deep breath and stepped behind him again, blade still hovering before him. “Mister Britches, I've seen torture by and large across the Wasteland. But... it's just never quite done...” I made a wrestling motion with my forehooves, even if he couldn't see it. Don't just act the part- play it. “Never quite done... right. You know what the best form of torture is, Mister Britches?”

I received no answer.

I grinned dangerously. “The best torture- I advocate- is the one you never see coming.”

I removed the blade from his view.

For... you know.

Emphasis.

I never heard a grown stallion whine like a dog quite like that- not for a long time.

I tapped his back with a hoof, causing him to flinch; nipped him with my blade, causing him to whimper; traced along his spine with an icy finger, causing him to mutter words under his breath. He shuddered when I melted a bit of ice into water and it just dripped on him! Shuddered! From water! I would add so many wonderfully random things to the mix, all at random times so he couldn't expect what would happen. Gradually, he steeled himself. I was doing no harm. I was just playing with my food. He knew that. He relaxed. Soon he made no response to any of it. He became conditioned like a good dog. He thought he was in no real danger.

Wrong.

I plunged the blade into his barding. It wouldn't hit him in a vital organ. I knew my anatomy. It would just put him in a bit of pain. Or a lot of pain.

For... you know.

Emphasis.

He screamed, heaving against the shackles. Yes, a lot of pain.

“Can you guess how many times I touched you with my blade?” I whispered, pulling it out and wiping the blood on his barding over his grunts and hisses of pain. “Oh, and the game starts now, if you didn't know.”

“S-seven...?” He weakly offered.

“Now, now...” I grinned, “I'm the one asking the questions here. Alright? I'm!”

Stab.

“The one!”

Stab.

“Asking!”

Stab.

“The questions!”

Twist. To keep the wound open.

For... you know.

Emphasis.

“Got it?” I hissed, still keeping out of view but oh so close to him.

“Yes...” he whimpered.

“There we go!” I clopped my hooves together over his broken cries. “It wasn't so hard. But that was the first question. And now it's seven times, by the way. There's the arithmetic. Second question. Can you guess where you feel the most pain? Obvious... places aside for gents like us, of course.”

“... um... uh... the... chest.” He weakly put forth.

“NNNNope.”

I plunged the blade into a forehoof, letting it sink into the handle, leaving it there. He screamed like a foal, a foal I tell you! Then I iced it over. Forehoof. Blade. All of it.

“The place where you feel the most pain, aside from obvious places, is quite unsurprisingly the parts you feel around with the. Your hooves! Hah! Imagine that! There's also the lips...” I looked at him with a sick smile. I knew my anatomy.

He whined again.

“But I still need you to talk.” I smiled, leaning close as he moaned from what was probably the dull, throbbing pain he felt. “Now... here comes the most important questions. Remember what I said about answers I don't like. An answer I don't like, and I start removing that ice. And when I remove that ice, all those pretty little pain receptors are going to let your brain know- Hey! Hey! Hey, stallion! I'm in a lot of fucking pain right now! I'm just letting you know so that, oh, you can realize there's a four-inch blade stuck in your hoof!”

For... you know.

Emphasis.

“Now then...” I said as I circled around. This time, I stood and kept my head above him. He had to look up at me now, and this time, my expression was dead serious to reinforce this position of power over him. “Who are your clients?”

“I-I don't know... I don't know...” he hissed, “a unicorn mare! I don't know her name, it's just her!”

“Just her?” I asked, ice crinkling dangerously along his hoof.

“Yes! Yes! Just her! I don't know what she wants them for! I just do the deliveries!”

“Just... her?” I repeated, the ice pulling away a little. That ear-splitting cry of pain... oh, yes...

“She runs, she runs a brothel! I don't know what she does with foals! I honestly don't-”

“Foals?”

“Y-Yes... I swear-” The rest was lost over his screams as more of the ice receded.

“Interesting. Foals. You sure you don't know what she does with them?”

“I don't! I honest-to-Goddesses don't-”

Oh the screams. Oh the pain.

“You have no right to speak of the Goddesses,” I spoke grimly, maintaining my stern expression. “Let that remain clear. Now. Where... is... this brothel?”

“Manehattan!”

“I see.” I grimaced. “We're nearing the end of the game. Which part of Manehattan?”

“Hoofstead! The northernmost part of the city! Come on, make it fast!”

“Eagerness. I like that. How do the collars work?”

“... wh-what?”

I sighed a long, deep sigh, “And you were doing so good, Mister Britches.”

“Oh... nononononono, please don't-”

I calmly removed the blade and sublimated the ice.

…

Or...was it sublimating the ice and then removing the blade?

The storyteller shrugged.

It doesn't matter. He screamed either way.

His screams died down to whimpers in short order as I stood over him. “Rrrrrr, wh-what the fuck!” he yelped. “I t-told you the truth, you bitch!”

“Yes, but I said I'd recede the ice if I didn't like the answers,” I spoke down to him, no longer reveling in his pain. “I didn't say it was if you lied or not. And I didn't like those answers.”

He just kept on whimpering in pain, his ruined forehoof twitching spasmodically.

“So, how do the collars work?” I asked. “More importantly, how do I get them off?”

“Range detonation,” he blurted out. “Manual detonation. Tampering sets off. P-Please stop now...”

“Now now, how do I get them off?” I calmly reminded him.

“Keys. In the wagon. Next to the collars.”

“Next to the collars,” I parroted. “As in plural. So you have more of them?”

“Yes,” he panted. “Yes.”

“Hm.” I looked at the wagon. “That's interesting.” Eyes back on him. “Well done, Mister Britches. No more knife.” I dabbed the blood away on his barding and swept the blade shut with a fluid windmill motion, stowing it as I headed over to the wagon to search. Hmph... three more collars. Big earner.

“Oh thank Goddesses...” Sewn sighed in relief. Sweat matted down his fur, and he sagged against the dust. “Thank Goddesses...”

I loomed over him from behind. “What did I say about the Goddesses?”

“U-Uh...”

Chink, beep.

“Wh-What was that?” he asked, eyes wide as I moved around him. “What's that on my leg?”

Chink, beep.

“What was that?” Sewn blabbered as I moved to his front. “What the fuck was that?!”

I brought up an ice arm, dangling the last remaining slave collar in front of his eyes. Even in the dark, he could see that. His whimper made it all too evident. I made sure he saw me as I reached around his uninjured foreleg.

Chink, beep.

For... you know.

Emphasis.

A putrid smell filled the air as he wet himself.

“Tampering sets them off, hm?” I asked, undeterred.

“You wouldn't-”

“I would,” I said. “I very much would.” I held up the keyring, twirling it around on a finger. “You hold the keys to the kingdom, Mister Britches. But which one opens the door?”

“Th-That one!” he blurted uselessly, giving no frame of reference, trying to point by nudging forward with his head. And so I picked... not quite 'that one'. “No! No!”

“Is it... this one?” I asked coyly.

“No! Not that one!”

“Maybe... this one?” I flicked to the next in line, inching it for the lock.

“No! No, no, no!”

“How about thiiiiis o-”

“Yes! Yes! That's it!”

“Well.” I... smiled. Ice armor crinkled over me. “I still think we should test out the other ones.”

“Nooooooo!” he cried out, tears streaking down his cheeks.

“Hah!” I giggled. “I'm just fooling!” I inserted the key into the lock of the collar around his foreleg and turned.

Beep-beep, click.

I sublimated the ice and pulled away the slave collar as Sewn Britches slumped back down, drained.

“I guess third time's the charm, isn't it?” I chuckled huskily.

“Yeah... yeah it is...”

“You know we're still playing the game.”

He froze.

“Now... just how far is the range your slaves are allowed to wander before the collar goes off?”

“Twenty meters...”

“Hm.” I looked up at the high walls of the crevice.

Sewn Britches did too.

I looked back down at him.

He looked back at me.

Sewn went wide-eyed again. “You...”

I tossed the detonator to the ground.

Sewn gulped. “You would...”

“Now you're getting it,” I said with a smile as I covered myself in ice armor and grasped the back of his neck with a pair of arms, sublimating the shackles. I made for the walls, forming claws at the end of my hooves to start the climb up.

“Please!” he begged. “Don't do this! I already gave you what you want for Sparklesake! Pleeeease!”

“No you didn't,” I answered calmly. Five meters...

“Stop this!” Sewn pleaded, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I'm not even fighting! See? Come on! I'm not even fighting back!”

I shrugged. “Your loss.” Ten meters...

“Fuck you!” Sewn tried to beat at me with his hindlegs and his lone good foreleg, flailing against me. “Fuck you! Celestia fuck you in the ass! Luna fuck you in the face!”

I paused. At fifteen meters. He stopped fighting.

“You know, Mister Britches, I was just going to let you go right now,” I said with a sigh. “But then you had go bring the Goddesses into this.” I started climbing again.

“Fuck you!” he belted out at the top of his lungs. “Fuck you! Fuck-”

Beepbeepbeepbeep.

Sewn absolutely screamed as his hindlegs blew off with a sharp, twin bang, staining my side red. “Rrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! Motherfuckerrrrrrrrrr!”

I looked back, watching the torn bone, muscle, and flesh drop back to the ground. The denim-blue stallion wailed at the top of his lungs, arching his head back and squinting his tear-spilling eyes tight.

“Oh hush, you,” I huffed. “The heat from the explosion probably cauterized your nerve endings.” I looked at his stumps, watching them continue to sputter out blood to the ground below. “No, no, you're still bleeding. Never mind. Carry on.”

He screamed repeatedly, blabbering obscenities. I rolled my eyes at them and waited patiently as he gritted his teeth against the pain, his teeth snapping as he broke some of them. Eventually- eventually- he wound down to sniffling and hissing. Tears and mucus streamed down his face now.

“P-Please... just s-stop,” he stammered weakly.

“Hmmm?” I leaned my head toward him. “Oh, sorry.” I sublimated the ice armor. “Ice made it heard to hear.” No it didn't. “What was that?”

“Just... s-stop...”

“Whaaaat?” I leaned closer, holding a hoof up to my ear. “Whaaaat?”

“Just let me go, you sick fuck!”

I eyed him for a moment, eyebrow raised. “Very poor choice of words.”

I released him and let him drop back down to the ground beneath. He only had time to scream for a split second before landing with a solid smack and falling forward. I think I might have heard his pelvis crack...

“Rrrrraaaaaaa! Rrrrrrr- fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you!”

Definitely his pelvis. I dropped back down and landed in a crouch to dull the impact, rising up. I waited. Again. Patiently, until after the cursing and screaming broke down.

Sewn sobbed softly. “But I'm wanted alive... I'm gonna die like this...”

“Oh hush, you,” I snorted, picking up the keyring and heading for the two mares. “You've got some healing potions back there to tide you over the journey south. I envy you earth ponies sometimes, though. Both legs gone and you still haven't gone into shock.” I removed their collars quickly, even as one of them tried to shy away. “Shhhh... shhhh, you're alright, you're alright... I'm here to help.”

Sewn sniffled, “Fine... fine... just... just heal me up... you get your Goddessdamned caps...”

Chink, beep. Chink, beep. Chink, beep.

He widened his eyes, craning his neck. His lip quivered as he saw me reattach the mares' collars and the last remaining one to his neck. He looked back at me, expression aghast.

“You won't need those healing potions,” I said, expression grim. “Because you're going very, very south.”

“Wait...”

I held up the detonator and flipped up the protective cover. “Celestia protects.”

“Wait! No! I'm wanted ali-”

“Luna defends.”

The sharp, triple bang rolled between the walls. Dots of red and bits of pink stained my view.

I canted my head to the left and right, cracking my neck as I looked up with a smile.

“Hello again, Silas.”

As expected, the griffin was standing at the entrance to the crevice, wings still laden with ice. His revolvers slackened as he stared at me in shock and surprise. No... no, he was probably staring at the late Mister Britches in shock and surprise.

“You... you...” He gawked, voice tinny.

“I...?” Trying to fish for the rest of the sentence here.

“You killed him?!” the griffin roared.

“Killed him?” I blinked, an icy hand pressing against my chest, wounded. “Me? Well... let's see.”

I placed an icy, metal hoof against Mister Britches' forehoof- the still-bleeding one, by the way- while holding my ear against his side.

“No pulse.” I concluded.

I held my ear against his muzzle, which was torn pulp near the stupefied griffin's foot.

“No breath. No inhale. No exhale.”

I trotted back, looking at Mister Britches' head- or rather, where it used to be.

“... zero brain activity. Well, he's certainly dead.”

I looked at the scraps of metal lying about. “Investigation of the scene of death yields parts of slave collars, likely the cause of said death. Ah! And I hold the detonator!” I held it proudly. “In my hand! Yes! I did, in fact, kill him! Oh, and I do commend your speed at tracking me to this location despite your wings!”

I beamed at the still-stupefied griffin.

For... you kno-

Okay, this running gag is now officially an over-beaten dead horse. Moving on, pardon my language.

“... why?!” Silas boomed. “He was wanted alive you dipshit motherfucker! Alive! Now nobody can get those Goddess-fucking ca-”

I was at his throat so fast he didn't have a chance to raise his revolvers. Nor did he try.

As I held my blade against his gullet, I whispered, “Don't you ever... use the holy name of the Goddesses, the Avatars of the Night and Day, our Princesses Luna and Celestia who gave their lives to save all of Equestria- for which you can thank your existence for- in such a profane manner.”

Silas turned the revolvers toward me- I knew- and fired both. Twice. At my head. The rounds just popped in the air, crunched flat against my helm, before clinking to the ground.

I was the one glaring daggers at him now. “I'm tempted to kill you. And I think you've been standing here long enough to know you don't want that. But, as much as I don't look the part, I'm a stallion of reason. You might have been robbed of perhaps a vital financial resource and you might have helped me get here in the first place, so I'll reconsider. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.” I turned the ice covering his wings to mist. “Your wings will be numb for the next hour, possibly two. Keep massaging them and trying to move them. Nighttime is a dangerous time to be caught without shelter in the Wasteland.” I leaned in close to the side of his head. “Run.”

I removed the blade, flicking it closed before he took off running, staggering from the numbness in his wings. After a short distance, he looked back at me, eyes filled with confusion.

“Why?” he asked.

“Think of it as returning a debt,” I responded. “You used up capital and lost a financial asset for my sake. Now I let you keep something far more valuable for yours- your life. For nopony, no one can place a price on that.”

“I... I meant why did you kill him? All those caps...”

Oh. Or he meant that.

I sighed, “Silas, Silas, Silas.” I spoke louder, “That was truly my objective all along. You've heard what he's done, the crimes he was charged with. And you know he had no regret for it. What's to stop him from doing more? And read the bounty board a little closer next time. He was wanted alive so that those related to his foalnapped kin could exact revenge on him. I think they'll find greater satisfaction when I try to find out what happened to their daughters, sisters, and mothers- possibly bringing them back alive- than if they torture, maim, or otherwise brutalize him without working towards a more suitable goal. Besides... I like to think I did a better job at it.” I nodded back at the corpse. “He was always worth more to me dead. A lot of bounties I take are. It's why I have a small price on my own head. For 'cheating' these ponies of their revenge.”

I noticed he was still standing there.

“Silas, you're running out of time.” I reminded him.

Priorities set in order, the griffin jolted off, lopsidedly trying to flap his wings.

With that taken care of, I turned my attention to the two mares, trotting over to where they were chained and worked down the keyring to set the first one free. She was a unicorn that looked like she was near the end of her fillyhood and was about average height. She had an earthy coat with a mane and tail the color of clouds. The other was a pale yellow one with a blonde mane. She was... passed out? No...

“Dammit,” I whispered as I went to her, felt for a pulse, a breath, anything.

Nothing.

I looked at the other young mare. I let out a cool, misty sigh. “... how long?” I asked her. My voice was a little softer now, though no less grave.

“Three weeks,” she answered at last. Her voice was soft, but it had a certain strength to it. A certain inexplicable strength. She still spoke carefully, wary of me. It was dark for her, yes, but she still saw what I did. “You didn't matter. She died from illness.”

The storyteller smiled a little as the audience realized he could alter his voice to fit a female role as well.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered. “And you. First off, my... apologies for you having to bear witness to what I did here. There are methods to my madness.” The filly nodded lightly, though I doubted she trusted me. I asked, “What's your name? How long have you been in...?”

My gaze dropped down to her left fetlock. I had been trying to undo the shackle there. I couldn't- quite simply because the shackle wasn't there. A PipBuck took its place, the shackle placed up higher to compensate.

I smiled as softly as I could, looking deep into her indigo eyes.

“Welcome to the Wasteland.”

* * *

Footnote: Maximum Level
Quest perk added: Wrath of the Divine- Celestia protects. Luna defends. You receive a +15% damage bonus upon inflicting a crippling hit (one time per enemy) and a +10% bonus to critical hit damage against those who make profane use of the Goddesses. You also gain unique dialogue options with such ponies (provided you haven't already brutally dismembered them).

Unlockable added: Soundtrack- Do you like games?

Commission Art- Frost Windchill by spyroconspirator

Author's Note

And this is the special anniversary reworking of chapter one. Many thanks to the FoE community for inspiring me to do this in the first place. You are all SHO AWESOME! /)^3^(\

Additionally, many thanks to Lazer726 for editing. Lastly, thank you for reading. Please leave a comment- feedback in any shape or form (especially critique!) is very useful to me as a writer and I can use it to improve your reading experience

And check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr! Spoilers there, though, so perhaps read the rest first!

Chapter Two: Rig

Chapter Two: Rig

Well, I see our audience shrunk a little.

A light sigh escaped his muzzle.

Folks, this is the Wasteland. It's an unforgiving place. I had to be just as unforgiving. You can't shield foals from the brutality and vulgarity forever, to say nothing of yourselves. I won't pull any punches with this story. Back then, there were no monsters like Red Eye. But there were monsters of a different breed. There were no heroes back then like the Stable Dweller and Security. But there were heroes, to be sure. Of a different flavor.

And there were sure as hell more raiders, slavers, bandits, scavengers, the like crawling around back then. Dear Luna...

I hope you realize this and look past the violence to take what you can from my story. The Wasteland was never a pretty place with a pretty face, and it certainly isn't one now.

Now then.

Where was I?

* * *

That's right. I was burying the poor, dead mare with the help of the other one. The late mare was named Humming Breeze, as the survivor told me. I used a piece of wood from the wagon as a headstone and marked it as such.

A light sigh.

What a lovely name...

The other one was fresh from the Stable, alright. Her cutie-mark was an open toolbox with a pipe wrench, screwdriver, welding torch and a hammer sticking out with screws, nuts, bolts and nails lying around. She stepped around gingerly like all ponies do after spending most of their lives walking about on nothing but metal floors. She ducked and looked around with each unfamiliar noise of the night. I didn't chide her for this, though.

After all, I've seen it happen before.

We rebuilt the fire, though it was more like I taught her how to build one. Build a pony a fire, and you give warmth for a night. Teach a pony to build a fire, and you give warmth for life.

Besides, I don't like heat.

She stumbled a bit with only my words to guide her, but to her credit, she learned fast. Still didn't get the kid's name yet nor she mine. I still didn't think she trusted me anyways. I wouldn't blame her, given what she saw me do. I just politely addressed her and hoped she wouldn't think of me as someone out to hurt her.

With a fire burning brightly once more, I put the dome back on to obscure it- from a distance, of course, using my ice arms. It had an entry hole the size of a bottle cap and an exit hole I could put my head through, but it still did its job to the two directions it mattered the most in- the lone way out and above us. The covered wagon had an abundance of supplies- canned food, dirty water, stacks of .22 rimfire for the now-broken carbine, standard survival equipment, and a small bounty of medical supplies. I removed a few units of canned yams for the both of us.

“Do you know how to cook over a fire, ma'am?” I asked her, keeping polite.

“No...” she spoke softly but strongly. I detected a hint of fear, though.

I sat down opposite her, quite a bit farther away from the crackling fire than she was. “We're not playing the game here. You don't have to fear me. I'm here to help you, ma'am.”

“That's exactly what he said...” She looked away, pointing a hoof at the late Mister Britches.

I was quiet for a while.

“Let me show you how to cook, alright, ma'am?” I offered. “All I ask is that you watch, eat, drink, and sleep as well as you can. You don't need to trust me. All I ask is that you just listen to me if we suddenly have a life-death situation. Now, first, we can't cook yams just like this. Pressure-”

“Pressure will build up in the can and it'll burst.” The earthy unicorn nodded, meeting eyes with me. “I know.”

“Yes, that's right, ma'am.” I tried to give her my most comforting smile. Not many ponies fresh to the Wasteland from a Stable knew that. “Since we don't have any pots, pans, or the like, we'll have to cook it in the can. We'll have to eat straight from them, too. No dishes here. Now, then.”

I sharpened a finger on my ice hand and slowly worked the lids open, popping them off before holding all four cans over the fire- a long ways away if I must add. I know I could've looked for the can-opener, but I didn't want to keep her waiting.

“... your arms,” she murmured, staring at them.

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Why don't they melt?”

I smiled. “A good cryomancer must learn to maintain his or her ice despite increasing temperature, ma'am.”

She looked at me once more. “Your horn doesn't even glow during this. I didn't even see it glow when you came from nowhere. Not since then.”

I smiled a little brighter. “I'm a very good cryomancer, ma'am. Only the most difficult cryomancy requires that much from me. Now... I can't see the yams from here. You'll need to tell me when the liquid inside the cans begins to bubble, okay?”

“Why don't you look over at them yourself?”

I let out a sigh.“Being a very good cryomancer comes with... a certain cost. Heat sources greater than typical room temperature aren't good for me to be exposed to, ma'am. My ice... sure, I can maintain it no problem. Myself... you get the idea.”

“...I see.” She nodded lightly.

“Do you realize what I'm telling you?” I asked her, grinning. Her blank look at me told me she didn't. “I'm telling you that means if I do anything to bring harm to you, you can always use a hunk of firewood and telekinetically throw it at me, ma'am.”

That got a small smile from her. That's progress.

“You can just catch it with yours, then,” she huffed.

“I can't, ma'am.”

She looked at me in surprise, and a little bit of distrust. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I can't do any kind of magic other than cryomancy, ma'am,” I responded. “Another cost. I couldn't telekinetically lift a bottle cap to save my life. Catch.”

To prove it, I removed a cap from my saddlebags and tossed it to her. She caught it in a hoof.

Good reflexes.

Keeping the cans over the fire, I began to concentrate on the cap, a light blue aura surrounding my horn and the coin. My aura grew brighter and brighter, forming an overglow as I began to strain myself, followed by another. A corner of my mouth twitched, and I saw the cans begin to dip a bit, my ice crackling a little. I stopped, the glow fading and light snuffing from the crevice. Had to keep an eye out for the entrance and the skies after a stunt like that, I thought to myself. Probably should've thought of that in the first place.

“Feel anything at all, ma'am?” I asked.

“Nothing,” the young mare replied in a whisper, astonished, then looked like she was going to toss it back.

“Keep it, ma'am. I'll give you more later. They're used as currency here in the Wasteland.”

I could see there was a bit of confusion in her eyes. I could almost read her mind. Bottle caps? For money? Really?

“Nowhere to put it.” She tossed it back. I formed another ice arm to catch it.

I sighed to myself as I pocketed it again. Right. She was bare.

“The yams are bubbling,” she said.

“Then they're warm enough for you, ma'am,” I spoke, handing three cans to her and keeping one for myself. “War-era canned food's got enough preservative spellwork and additives to them to make them last far longer than how long they've been around. The manufacturers made it that way in case a balefire bomb fell and a family needed to head to a fallout shelter or something. Gotta love their dedication to planning for the worst-case scenario. Too bad it came to that...” I locked eyes with her. “They're safe to eat. Not tasty, but they're safe to eat.”

She dug into the yams hungrily, her horn glowing a soft gray as she levitated the sliced pieces and chomped them down as if they would disappear at any moment. Once the first can was gone, she looked up at me with a look of shame, avoiding my gaze for a moment.

“No worries, ma'am.” I smiled. “You have the right idea in mind. But let me show you how it's done.”

And then I proceeded to wolf down my can of yams, fishing around the bottom of the can for the last bits and drinking the juice even if all of the food burned my heat-sensitive throat a bit. My ice arms crinkled dangerously before sliding off my shoulders and shattering against the ground, my horn sparking a little.

That was definitely one of the stupidest things I could've done, putting myself into a magical burnout like that. My face must've screwed up in the process.

Because she just stared at me and bawled out laughing.

The memory seemed to elicit a light chuckle from the storyteller himself.

Progress.

I licked my lips and said, “You see, ma'am, the name of the game with food in the Wasteland is to eat fast but eat clean. Just... mind that I'm not used to eating food hot.” Again, really should've just set that one can aside. “You're often vulnerable while you're eating, so you want to minimize time spent, but you also don't want to waste anything. Especially the juice.” I motioned a hoof at her still partially full can. “Canned food normally has some sort of water content. Pure water content. Most folks don't realize this, but the preserving spells also worked as radiation wards. All liquid you find in canned food is cl- don't drink!”

She paused as she levitated the can, which almost reached her lips. “But... you said that it was fine!”

“Yes, but mind the can itself, ma'am,” I spoke clearly for her to remember, eyes wide. “The contents are preserved; the can is not. Centuries of rust plus a sharp lid spells 'death by tetanus' if that thing reaches your lips. Just keep the can close enough to let it spill into your mouth.”

The unicorn mare kept the can where it was and tilted it so she could drink up the juice and yam bits remaining in the can. Good girl. I relaxed, one possible disaster averted.

We were quiet for the rest of the meal as she proceeded to quickly- but relatively cleanly- finish up the rest of the yams. She learned fast.

“May I venture a question, ma'am?” I inquired.

“Sure.” She nodded. “You don't need to ask.”

Progress.

“How did the late Mister Britches treat you regarding food and water, ma'am? Did he give you full portions, or did he cut them?”

“One can per meal, and a little water,” she answered, biting her lip lightly. “My PipBuck told me it was a little irradiated.”

“Are you still in the green zone, ma'am?”

“Just barely.” She raised an eyebrow. “How did you guess?”

“Ma'am, I used to be in a Stable myself. Unfortunately, PipBucks don't exactly accept somepony like myself whose body temperature spells death for a normal pony. It wouldn't register me as being alive, so I couldn't use one. Anyway, the radiation shouldn't cause any illness at that level, but notify me if there's anything wrong. If you're still hungry, just let me know, but never continue eating if you're full. Additives are still additives, and vomiting your dinner back up is worse than going hungry in the first place.”

“Alright.” She nodded, standing up and trotting down to sit a little closer, holding a hoof out to me. “Name's Rig, just Rig. And you can stop with the 'ma'am' stuff.”

Progress completed. I had her trust.

“My name is Frost Windchill.” I returned the hoofshake. “Pleased to meet you.”

Rig went through one more can, heating it up as I guided her. I felt more and more like an idiot for not just giving her my heated can in the first place. Finally, she asked, “Which Stable did you come from? And what did you do there?”

“Stable Seventy-Two. Chief of security. Least, I used to be, anyway. We opened up into the Wasteland quite a while ago. And you?”

“Stable Three,” Rig answered. “Engineering and repair.”

“Explains the cutie mark.” I smiled, nodding lightly. “Thirsty?”

“I'm... still a little parched, yes.”

“Well, let's see if my horn'll cooperate...” I grunted, throat and tongue were still scratchy from the yams. I focused and got nothing. Just a fizz. “Aw, bull-frickin'-horseapples.”

“Burnout?” Rig blinked.

“I told you that exposure to warmth isn't good for me,” I grumbled, focusing again. “My strength lies with the absence of heat.” She didn't try anything to knock me unconscious and run away now that I was weak. That was a good sign at least. “Rig, would you kindly put out the fire?”

“And how would I go about doing that?” she asked in turn.

“Just separate the logs or something.” I kept focused. I didn't need my frustration to show. I needed to keep her trust. She pulled up the metal dome and scattered the logs into the dust, embers flying as the fire snuffed out. We were plunged into darkness once more.

It didn't take long before the familiar nocturnal cold of the Far North took hold, and the bare mare was left shivering, crossing her forelegs together.

“Won't be much longer.” I tried to flash her a reassuring smile, even if she couldn't see it. “Keep your forelegs over your chest. Your core body temperature's more important at this point.”

I saw that she obeyed and closed my eyes, letting the cold consume me.

Remember how stupid I was to create an overglow a few minutes ago? Well, I could already hear something skittering just outside the crevice. And I was without magic.

Focus. I focused...

Fizzle.

Spark.

Spark, spark...

… and then came that familiar feeling of a halo of ice forming around my horn, collapsing over it. A soft warmth radiated from it for a second.

I opened my eyes, horn aglow in a soft, blue aura as a shivering Rig watched in awe.

And then I quickly formed an ice arm, yanked out my shotgun, and fired outside. The deafening report of the weapon elicited a shrill chittering from whatever was outside, followed by it scuffling away. I sighed out a chilly mist, lowering the weapon, another disaster averted.

“Now, then.” I smiled. “You know how to start a fire in near-complete darkness now. Can you do it again?”

She was covering her ears. Right, the deafening report of the weapon. I slung back my shotgun and used an ice arm to tap a still-glowing log. I think she got the message.

I pushed her. I knew it was wrong of me, but I wanted to test her faith in me. I guided her, staying far back from the dimly glowing logs as she piled them up once more and tried to ignite the fire. She growled in frustration and annoyance, failing to keep a small spark going as it fizzled out.

“Keep at it...” I said quietly.

“Screw this,” Rig grunted, a gray shimmer working down her horn as a spark ignited the logs. The enchanted wood handled the rest. The walls were bathed in firelight and she beamed in triumph while I formed ice over my body to shield me from the heat, retreating to a safe distance.

“Rig, the cover.” I reminded her.

“What?” She blinked, then realized. “Oh! Shoot, sorry!”

She covered the fire in a jiffy. Yet another disaster averted.

Just to be sure, I lifted out the shotgun once more. Rig got the message by now and covered her ears as I sent another two-kilogram slug out into the darkness. A light hiss rewarded me as something slithered away. Remember, folks- life is expensive. Ammo is cheap. Safety for one night was worth all the ammo I had in that drum.

I breathed easy. “Good job. What was that, by the way?”

“Hm?” Rig looked back at me. “Oh, soldering spell. You know, engineer and repairpony and whatnot.” And yet again I wished I wasn't locked to one spell... “By the way, why didn't you just... you know, scoot a bit further away from the fire instead?”

“... because, Rig, I am not a clever pony.” I facehoofed.

The cloud-maned mare chuckled softly. “Nope.”

“In any case... are you still thirsty?”

The earth-coated mare nodded. “Yeah...”

With that, I produced a small cylinder of ice. Firing up my horn a little, I melted the inside to form a cup of water for her as she scooted back over to me.

“You can do that?” she asked, astonished once more as she took it.

“Again, I'm a very good cryomancer.” I smiled while she drank. “And cryomancy is more or less a form of hydromancy.”

“So you're literally a walking water talisman?” Rig brightened up, eyes sparkling after she finished and I sublimated the cup.

“Yeah, that about sums it up.” I nodded. “I do have a limit, though. It's one of the few spells in my repertoire that warrants firing up my horn over. I can recover from heat-induced burnouts relatively easy enough. Overtaxing my horn... that's a different matter entirely.”

She looked crestfallen and looked away. “Oh... so you can't, say, provide daily drinking water for about four-hundred-thirty-two ponies can you?”

“No, I can't.” I shook my head. But that number was a little too specific. I wanted to find out why. “Rig, why are you out in the Wasteland? Any Stable that wasn't planning on staying closed indefinitely already opened by now.”

She sighed, staring into the fire as she replied, “Stable Three was supposed to stay closed. That's what I was told, anyway. But our Stable's water talisman started malfunctioning a week ago and was starting to break down, so we pushed it and had it create as much water as possible before it downright fragmented. We managed to store an estimated one-hundred-fifty days' worth of pure water left. The Overmare prepped a team to head into the Wasteland with the purpose of recovering a working water talisman. I was assigned along with a security team. We were inoculated for all known diseases, given standard survival gear, and sent on our way. The first night, that... slaver...” She pointed at the late Mister Britches' corpse, “killed them in their sleep before they even knew what was going on. He said he was a trader. And fuck, we bought it... bastard shot me in the leg so I couldn't run... and you know the rest.”

“Your... leg?” I asked, looking for a wound. I saw none.

“He gave me a healing potion after he shackled me and put that explosive collar on me,” Rig quickly explained.

“Of course...” I solemnly nodded in understanding. Slavers wanted their 'products' to be in good condition after all. “Wait... so how long have you been stuck like this?”

“A month,” she answered. Then, as if seeing the reason behind my question, she added, “That leaves about one-hundred-twenty days left before time runs out...”

Something else to add to the list.

“Rig, I apologize for not being able to act as an impromptu water talisman for your Stable.” I rest a hoof on her shoulder. She didn't shrink away, thankfully. “That said, I will help you find a working water talisman.” As her expression brightened up once more, I added, “But priority one is still finding out what happened to the slaves Britches was bringing to Hoofstead.” The unicorn mare frowned a little, eyes losing their glow. “I'm sorry, but as time-sensitive as your mission is, those lives are all the more so. If I don't get there in time, I might lose the trail and those slaves may be transported elsewhere. And the longer they suffer, the lower the chance that I'll bring them back to their loved ones alive. But mark my words, I will do my best to help you and your Stable. Please understand, Rig.”

The earthy-brown adolescent seemed to accept my view and nodded lightly. “I understand, Frost.” She was quiet for a bit, then asked, “Why do it?”

“Do what?” I inquired.

“Any of this,” she answered. “You're what they call a bounty hunter, right? Why help me? Why help slaves? Are you doing it for bits? Er, caps?”

“Not for the caps,” I told her. I looked down at the draconic eye on my breastplate, placing a hoof on it. “I do it for... more personal reasons.”

Rig was quiet for a while, then softly smiled. “Thank you.”

I removed my hoof and bowed lightly to her. “Now rest. We'll need to start travel early if we want to get you to a safe location. The safest I know is Tenpony Tower. It's filled with... a lot of the aristocratic type, but it's st-”

“Ohhh, no you don't.” Rig cut me off. “I'm coming with you.” Before I could open my mouth to form a rebuttal, she continued. “You saved my life and proved you're more than just a decent pony. I'm returning the favor. Besides, you don't know if you might need a professional engineer and repairpony to help you out with things.” I would've objected and told her she'd slow me down, that she was unprepared to handle the Wasteland, yadda yadda yadda, but...something stopped me.

That soft yet inexplicably strong voice, that grin she flashed me... she wouldn't take “no” for an answer and wouldn't stop short of me forcing her to do as I said.

And I'm not that type. Not to ponies like her.

“...very well.” I relented, triumph brightening her face. “But,” I added, my expression stern, “I'm going to lay down some rules. You follow them, you'll stay safe. You break them, and you might never see your Stable again. I have decades of experience out here. You don't.”

“The Wasteland is an unforgiving place, Rig.” I continued. “You've seen that for yourself. Rule number one: do exactly as I say to the best of your ability. If I tell you to take cover and hide, you will seek the nearest piece of cover and hide there until I say otherwise. The closer, the thicker, the better. If we're on the defense, closer matters first. On offense, thicker. If I tell you to run, you will run until the threat is gone, even if you have to leave me behind. I tell you to move, that means you're in my way and you will get out of my sights so I can shoot accurately or you’re in someone else’s sights and you need to get out of them. Are you getting all of this?”

She nodded, saluting. “Sir, yes sir!”

“Don't push it,” I sighed. “Please. Rule number two: if you see anything out of the ordinary that I don't manage to spot on my own, you immediately report it to me in a calm, clear, and inconspicuous manner. You see glint of light out of nowhere, you report it. You see something peeking out of somewhere, you report it even if you think the Wasteland's playing tricks on your eyes. You see even so much as an outhouse lying in the middle of nowhere, you damn straight report it to me. Got it?”

“... what's an outhouse?” Rig asked, blinking in confusion.

“... right.” I forgot she was still fresh from a Stable. “It's a small shack for equines to go to the restroom.”

“Ah, got it.” She nodded in understanding.

“Rule number three: don't touch anything that you don't recognize as something safely touchable. This is dead serious, even if it looks so damn cute and fuzzy you could just hug it. Likely, such an object will more often explode, maul, acidify, immolate, poison, or otherwise injure you than want to be your friend. Clear?”

“Uhhhh, clear...”

“Rule number four: if you need or want something, tell me. I can't stress this enough. You need something to eat? Tell me. You need to use the little filly's room? Tell me. You need a song to keep your mind off of things? By all means, tell me!”

“Wait... really?” She stared.

“Yes, really!” I exclaimed. “I... mean, you can probably receive various radio channels over your PipBuck, but sometimes, nothing beats hearing it in person.”

“You...” Rig paused. I think she was trying to stifle a laugh.

I deadpanned at her. “What, don't think I can sing? I'm serious.”

“N-never mind,” she chuckled lightly, “I got the picture. Go on.”

I grumbled to myself and tapped my chin. “Well, let's see... follow my orders, report anything out of the usual, don't touch any unrecognizable object, tell me if you need anything... other than stuff that's honestly just common sense, that's it. Except some things we'll need to do for you...”

“And those would be...?” She rolled her hoof toward me, fishing for the rest of that phrase.

“We'll need to get you survival gear,” I responded. “I'm talking armor, and I'm talking weapons- never carry just one, by the way! Ideally, a firearm for general situations and a melee weapon. You'll need to learn to protect yourself above all else because your life is your most valuable asset in the Wasteland. That said, we'll need to perfect the ultimate in weaponry.”

“What would that be?” Rig asked.

I grinned. “The pony weapon. Because the mind is the sharpest of all blades, and we must never let it dull.”

“That's a quote for the books.” She smirked. She had no idea, I thought as I smirked in turn. “Where do we start?”

I reached into my saddlebags with an ice arm and handed a book to her, one with a gray cover and the illustration of a pony skull. “With this.”

She took it in her hooves and blinked. “The Wasteland Survival Guide? Really? There's a guide?”

“Made by one of the most experienced Wastelanders I know.” I nodded, arm turning to mist. “It's the best resource for arming yourself with the necessary information to dive headfirst into the hell Equestria has become and live to tell the tale. Now read. Educate yourself for the struggles to come.”

“How much?” she asked me.

“All of it. From cover to cover.”

“What?” She stared. “But I-”

“No excuses!” I cut her off. For the strangest reason, I paused as I felt as if some unicorn was turning in her grave. Very specifically her.

My expression must have betrayed my irk as she inquired, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing important,” I replied, waving a hoof dismissively. “Now, best start reading. Take breaks if you must to digest the information, but read all of it. There's no telling what we might encounter on the way to Hoofstead, so the more you know, the better. Try to...” Hm, how to put it so should would be more inclined to read it? “Think of it as an installation manual for a terminal in a Stable.” That got me a weird look from her, but she nodded. “In the meantime, I'll take watch. You read for now.”

“Well... alright.” She lied down closer to the fire so she could read through the exit hole I put in the dome.

With that, I began spreading out small tendrils of ice into the earth. They would detect vibrations in the area, alerting me to the presence of anything bigger than a radroach moving into the general vicinity of the crevice.

Only a few minutes passed before I heard the young mare's voice calling out, “Frost?”

“Yes?” I asked, still keeping my attention at my post.

My post...

Oh, the memories were coming back... I staved them off for now.

“Who are you?” she asked. “I mean, don't take it the wrong way- I'm grateful that you saved me, and I respect you for wanting to help, but...” She sighed.

“What's wrong, Rig?” I turned to face her. “Be honest.”

Her expression was one of concern. “Your armor... it's just like the ones I saw in the pre-war history textbooks.” I felt my spine tingle, spreading up my neck and creeping along my mane, anticipating the next question. I wasn't let down. “Are you a Lunar Guard?”

“Me?” I looked at her critically before nickering and shaking my head. “No, no. I wish. I'm just the descendant of one that reached Stable Seventy-Two. My armor was passed down from generation to generation ever since. I inherited it when I came of age, like my father, and his father before him and his father before him ad nauseum.” From her expression, I clarified. “And so forth, I mean.”

“Okay, but what about your eyes?” Rig asked me.

“Do you... know anything about genealogy? Sorry, I meant genetics.”

She nodded.“The basics, yeah.”

“It's a recessive gene that was passed down my family, that's all,” I explained. “My father didn't have it, but I'm told my grandfather and great-uncle did. In any case, I am blessed to have both armor and these eyes.”

“Ah... didn't know that.” Rig canted her head to the side. “So, uh... what do you know about the Lunar Guard? There isn't much known about them other than that they were personal bodyguards of Princess Luna.”

“Me?” I huffed. “Me, well, I don't know all that much, really. As far as I'm concerned, they're just that- bodyguardsof the Princess.”

“You're unique like that and you never wanted to find out more about your family's history?” she inquired, doubtful.

“Well, it's not like a Lunar Guard would publicly spill the secrets of his or her organization, right?” I offered.

“Well yeah, I guess...”

“So there you go,” I said with a stout nod. “Not much else to say. Ponykind lost a lot of knowledge to the balefire apocalypse. Some secrets, though... are perhaps best left buried.”

“If you say so...” Rig sighed, delving back into the Guide.

As she resumed reading, I likewise resumed my post. That was for the best. What she needed was to survive long enough to complete her mission and then go back to living in a Stable that was never meant to be opened again in the first place. She needed to focus on just that. Nothing else.

That left me wondering, though. How many other Stables out there received that protocol- to stay shut and never open again? I might never know, but as of now I'm aware of a handful that did, though those never stayed closed for long for whatever reason. Whatever the case was, back then this was another thing I didn't need to worry about, and so I just stopped thinking about it.

I was also left wondering about something else. Rig was the first one who even wished to accompany me in the Wasteland after that... incident so many years ago. More importantly, she trusted me. And I trusted her enough to tell a little bit about myself.

I hadn't a friend by my side for a long time. Well... Rig wasn't quite on those kinds of terms with me yet, I didn't think. Hope suffused through my body, lending me strength as the thought of a small acquaintanceship did me good. I couldn't hope to to get too attached to her, though. After all, once things were all said and done, she would return to the Stable she knew and loved, right?

I looked back at her. I noticed she was taking a break, staring at the fire.

“How far did you get?” I asked her.

“Finished the first section, general information on the Wasteland,” Rig piped up, meeting my eyes. Fast reader. Hope she retained it well. “Yeesh, and I thought radiation was the only thing I had to worry about... taint and enervation sound like nasty stuff.” She let out a sigh. “Celestia's solar mareheat, the Wasteland sucks...”

My ears twitched.

Then she realized just who she was talking to and what had happened not too long ago. “Oh... oh shoot, I'm sorry!” The young mare shuddered, shrinking back as fear darkened her eyes. “I didn't mean it, really!”

I sighed softly, mist settling down before me. Easy, Frost. Easy. Easyyyyy. “The difference between you and Britches and Silas is that I wouldn't mind hurting them. You're different, just... mind your words.” She unwound a little, somewhat relieved. “Though...” I gritted my teeth, “yes, the Wasteland sucks. But it's the world we're left with. We have to make due and make do.”

Rig nodded slowly, meekly returning to her reading.

I let out another sigh, mist flowing from my mouth. No. I didn't have her complete trust yet. “Where'd you learn that kind of language anyways?” I asked, still faced away. “You're only a month fresh from a Stable.”

“Britches,” she replied.

Should've guessed.

I pulled out my shotgun and strode over to the corpse of Sewn Britches. With a string of sickening, wet crunches, I slammed the crowbar stock into the ribcage until it was all but collapsed. The little blood that was left in his body dribbled out from the torn remains of his neck.

I looked back at Rig, who was staring wide-eyed at me with a queasy expression. She looked from the body and back to me. “Message received.”

I nodded stoutly and returned to my place, taking a moment to cycle a latch to remove the spent shells from the crude drum of my shotgun. I stowed them into my saddlebags and manually chambered in the hefty, enchanted slugs into a slot.

After about fifteen minutes of only nocturnal noises and the crackling of the fire, Rig spoke up again, softer this time.“Uh... Frost?”

“Yes, Rig?” I turned to face her once more.

“Your... shotgun, that's what it's called, right?” she asked. I nodded. “What's that on the barrel?”

And so I showed it to her.

The storyteller smiled softly and paused to bring out the weapon once more, whipping it out by the hooked end of the crowbar. This time, the barrel was visible for all to see. In silvery, cursive text were two words followed by a crescent moon. It was the same on the other side.

“Iudicium Luna,” I told her. “Luna's Judgment.”

* * *

Well, folks, it's just about dinnertime. I have my watch soon and you have your chow to get to. We'll continue at nine. Right here.

Stay frosty, folks.

* * *

Footnote: Maximum Level
Quest perk added: Acquaintanceship is... Science(?)- Nopony knows the answer, as the Balefire Armageddon left the Wasteland with few competent mathematicians. Whatever the case is, you gain a +5% bonus to damage against enemies targeted by an ally and a +10% bonus to damage resistance against any non-environmental source of incoming damage when defending an ally.

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Theme of the Stalker, Frost

Character Voice Actor- Karen Gillan as Rig

Soundtrack- Theme of the Survivor, Rig

Author's Note

Reworked version of chapter 2 courtesy of the story’s anniversary. Many thanks to Lazer for the editing. I am very grateful for the FoE community for inspiring me to write this story after over six months of “giving up on writing”. You’re all awesome, you know that?

Lastly, thank you for reading. Please leave some feedback. I greatly appreciate it, and I can use critique to improve my writing craft for a better reading experience for you.

Chapter Three: The Long Walk

Chapter Three: The Long Walk

Well... good to see you've all come back, especially you fellas who skipped out last time. I hope the others have been filling you in on what's happened since.

Good.

And I hope you're aware, I'm not pulling any punches. You'll get every nitty-gritty-shitty detail from me. All the violence. All the profanity. All the blasphemy.

…

Wha...? You weren't gone because of that?

…

Oh, heh, DJ PoN3 was on? Should've known...

A light, husky chuckle.

Well, I'll have to plan for that next time. Can't keep you all from missing out on the exploits of Stable Dweller and Security now can I? I'd say that the heroes of the present are a damn sight more important than the tale of some old fart.

Somepony in the audience commented on how he didn't look all that old at all.

I'm flattered, sir. But anyways, I hope you can all sit a for a spell now.

Because this is where things get interesting, for our young unicorn mare at least. Possibly for me, too.

Now. Melt away.

* * *

She finished reading around... eleven, I'd say. Barely stayed awake all the while, kept nodding off. Fell asleep soon after closing the cover. Poor girl.

She still wasn't used to Wasteland earth, I noted as she kept trying to shift into a more comfortable position in her sleep. She'd have to. Eventually. Thankfully, it wasn't a long way from where we were to Stalliongrad. It'd help a little. But it was a good ways to Manehattan from there...

I kept watch. Honestly, ponies only need three hours of sleep per day on average. Once, I was alerted by some vibration along a tendril, but I think it was just a curious radscorpion or something. It didn't get any closer and soon left the vicinity.

Rig slept deeper than I would've liked, but with what she'd gone through, it would've been wrong to complain. After that burnout, though... I needed my three hours. Kept my tendrils active as I lowered myself to the ground, closed my eyes.

The Wasteland took me up into its womb of blood and darkness.

~ ~ ~

The storyteller's voice was still intact, unchanged. But there was a darker underscore to it, whispering every single word with him. Unrelenting cold seized everything and everypony.

We were killing them. All of them.

“Open the door!” I heard, muffled on the other side but rising over the din of the banging. “Pleeaaaaase! There are families out here! Familieeees!”

But the gear-shaped Stable door stayed shut, never budging. Made to withstand a balefire bomb detonation just outside.

“We've got to let them in!” I exclaimed, eyes wide, panting harshly as I fought for the controls, two security stallions holding me back, my over-exhausted body screaming in protest. “Luna damn your souls, let them in!”

“Frost Windchill,” the Overmare, a pretty little thing spoke. Calm. Level. Collected. Each word crisp and clear. “You're mind isn't right. We all know the trauma you just went through. You aren't thinking straight. We must preserve the integrity of Stable Seventy-Two. We cannot compromise the safety of the many for the safety of the few.”

I was no longer fighting. I was standing attention. Nopony held me back now. I felt calm. Level. Collected.

And so, so empty inside...

“Yes, ma'am,” I said mechanically, gears spinning in my head. “Of course, ma'am.”

“Now resume your post,” the Nightmare, a foul little devil spoke. Dark. Acidic. Sinister. Each word raspy and piercing. “We cannot let any of them enter with surface radiation levels of that magnitude.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said mechanically, her voice reciprocated through me. “Of course, ma'am.”

The Stable door was transparent now. The writhing, rising mass of desperately-banging bodies piled up, eyes wide with fear. Stallions. Mares. Colts. Fillies. Foals. Buffalo. Griffins. Dragons. Zebrassssssss...

Dozens.

Hundreds.

Thousands.

Millions.

The whole world banging at our door. They were all going to die out there.
I wanted to cry out. Wanted to stop the insanity. Wanted to just fall to my knees, plug my ears, try to drown out all those screams, those horrible, horrible screams. I wanted to do something, anything.

But I did nothing. The gears kept clinking in my head.

They all rammed their hooves against the door. All those millions, piling up. The whole world.

But the gear-shaped door stayed shut, never budging.

The safety of the many for the safety of the few. I turned my back to them.

Cold logic.

~ ~ ~

The storyteller's voice was back to normal now. The cold was gone as quickly as it had come.

I ground my eyes open. The nightmares wouldn't leave me. Why would they? Why should they?

I spotted Rig already up, heating a can of yams over the fire, her soft, gray aura surrounding her horn and the food. Shit, how long was I out?

“Rest well?” I asked, rising to my hooves, startling her. She only jumped, though. Her magic didn't implode or anything. Focus. Good sign.

“Yeah...” she groaned, voice sleep-roughened but forcing a smile, scratching her cloud-colored mane. “You?”

I somehow knew she would ask that question, and I dreaded it.

“Well enough,” I answered her. I hoped my voice was even enough to keep from betraying my lie. It was partly true, at least. “What time is it?”

She checked her PipBuck and replied, “Six-eleven. Bright and early.” Bright and early for her, perhaps. But I'd gone and overslept for at least another hour than I wanted.

“Dammit...” I murmured. “Well, at least nothing got us during the ni...”

I paused. The familiar weight of Luna's Judgment was missing from its proper place in the quick-draw pocket of my saddlebags. It was propped up against the wall behind Rig. I felt for the tendrils. All of them were tripped.

And then I saw it. The curled-up corpse of a radscorpion, a big, nasty thing the size of a pony. Mutated to impossible proportions when balefire rolled across the land. A cap-sized hole was in its carapace, its body laid off to the side of the entrance.

I looked back at Rig. She smirked.

“You learn fast,” I remarked, forming an ice arm and snatching a can of yams from the wagon. “And Luna Almighty, when did that happen?”

“About an hour ago,” the mare responded. “And boy does your gun kick like a mule! Almost damn near smacked me back in the head! The hay do you fire that thing so easily?”

An hour ago, and I didn't even notice it in my sleep. How on Equestria did I manage to sleep through an unsuppressed shot from Luna's Judgment, and from a slug no less? I had to get my head in the game. No more of these costly mistakes.

“You get used to it,” I answered, walking around the fire to pick my weapon up with an extended ice arm, stowing it away. “That drum's full of two-kilogram slugs. You have any idea how much powder's behind each of those shells?”

“I can guess!” Rig chuckled, noting what I did. “Why're you walking over here for?”

“I only have so much a range with my ice arms,” I said, seating down near her, though farther from the fire. “Another downside.”

“Yeesh, and I thought that you were some kind of bulletproof demon or something.” She grinned and ate while heating another can the way I showed her. Me? I just ate straight out of one, nice and cold. It's all pre-cooked anyways.

“Not bulletproof either.” I sighed in content as the cold slush eased my still-scratchy throat.

“Seemed damn bulletproof to me.” Rig shrugged, telekinetically lifting up another can. “Up for another?”

“Sure, thank you,” I said, and she tossed it over. I caught it with an ice arm and took a moment to wolf it down. Quick and clean. “As I was saying, I'm not bulletproof. Bullet-resistant seems more appropriate. That was twenty-two rimfire yesterday. One of the tiniest bullets ever mass-produced, used for small-game back in the pre-war era. My ice armor just offers protection from blunt trauma out to intermediate cartridges.”

“Like the five-five-six NETO round?” Rig asked.

“No need to show off that you read The Guide, young mare.” I raised an eyebrow, though I smirked a little to show her I wasn't being too serious. “Nopony's going to praise you for it. Yes, like the five-five-six. Anything like a full-sized rifle cartridge, and I'm just praying for a deflection or I'll have to increase the width of my armor.”

“And why don't you do that, then?”

“Girl, aren't you a barrel of questions today!” I chuckled. “Because when it comes to ice armor, it's a matter of mobility, versatility, and visibility versus protection and durability. I can make my ice armor thick enough to withstand a fifty-caliber Bronco Machine Gun barrage, but I'll be sluggish in every possible manner, I won't be able to use ice arms to hold my weapons, and all that ice will warp light and I won't be able to see. Short of the situation in which there actually is somepony using fifty-BMG, it's usually not worth it.”

“But you could technically become a living shield,” Rig mused.

“Yes.” I nodded. “Where are you going with this?”

“Just something to keep in mind for the future,” she answered. “So you said your thickest ice armor prevented you from making arms. That mean you can only control so much ice?”

“Well...” I paused for a second. This was getting a bit too deep for me. “More like using ice arms becomes infeasible once I'm a giant hunk of ice. I can't see what I'm hitting too well, so I can't hope to hit anything in any case. But anyways, let's talk about today's plan. We're going to head southwest to Stalliongrad. It'll be our checkpoint on the way to Manehattan.”

“Alright.” Rig nodded. “So, we're walking then?”

“We, we certainly won't be taking this wagon,” I told her, motioning to it. “One, because I find it a little cruel to have you travel with this thing again after what you've been through. Two, because-”

“-it makes you stand out like a sore hoof in the middle of the Wasteland.” Rig finished. “Raiders and slavers will take shots at you faster than you can say 'dinner is served'.”

“You learn fast,” I repeated with a smile and a nod. “Even though it's straight from The Guide. Yeah, the only advantage it offers is increased carrying capacity, something slavers need, of course...” I looked at her expression and quickly sputtered out, “Uh... sorry. Now, we'll have to salvage what we can from this. Your barding and saddlebags were confiscated and sold away I assume?”

The young mare nodded, grumbling, “And all my tools...”

“We'll trade for what we can in Stalliongrad, get replacements if possible,” I spoke. “For now, I can carry what we need. I'm used to packing heavy.” I patted my high-capacity saddlebags. “Just make sure everything's organized in there while I start cleaning up.”

A light chime came from her PipBuck and we both glanced at the screen. It read, “New objective- Resupply at Stalliongrad”.

“Is it... normally supposed to do that?” she asked.

“I guess.” I shrugged. “I've seen those things do some pretty neat stuff before. Which reminds me... right, let's see if I remember how to do this.” I fought to dig up a memory buried deep. “Ehhh... alrighty. Deputize. Confirmation, Frost Windchill.”

Rig looked down at her PipBuck as an angry beep sounded off, the screen reading, “Command Failed. Error Code: 313. Superior Is Not Registered With Stable 3.”

“Override,” I spoke. “Confirmation...” I paused, thinking for a bit, “Whisky-Fife-Whiskey-Fife-Lima-Niner-One.”

A light chime sounded, the screen now reading, “Override accepted. Deputized.”

“Whoa...” Rig widened her eyes as the PipBuck's spell matrix kicked in and created a holographic display over her eyes, which resembled a curved grid of sorts from my end. From her end, though, she'd have access to some pretty hefty gadgetry.

“This'll help you out with situational awareness,” I told her. “That's called an Eyes-Forward Sparkle, or E.F.S. You've got a limited radar that will keep track of friendlies and hostiles in the area.” Seeing her open her mouth, I cut her off. “Don't ask me how it tells the difference, because I have absolutely no idea. Hopefully, you should be seeing me as a blue marker or something to show I'm a friendly. Am I right?” Rig nodded. “See? I'm not some 'bulletproof demon' out to kill ya! Moving on, you also have a monitor that'll track your current bodily condition. Namely, this is to show where you've been hit and whatnot in addition to how injured you are when you get hurt.”

“Don't you... mean 'if'?” she asked.

I just stared blankly at her. “Did you forget where you are, Rig?”

“Right, continue.”

“Well, other than more advanced inventory management and an alert system, that's all I know about it for now.” I put a hoof to my chin. “I know it has other hoofy-doofy things, but I think you can figure them out on your own. Now, I'll start getting this place cleaned up. Just try to make some sense of order out of the stuff in the wagon and I'll handle the rest.”

What I didn't tell her was that her deputized PipBuck had a lovely little thing called S.A.T.S. But since she didn't have proper weapons of her own yet (Again, never carry just one!), I decided to hold off on that. Remember, I did say “for now”.

Put the fire out (from a safe distance), picked up our cans, the fire cover, and the enchanted logs. Started looting the barding that remained of the late Mister Britches. Not much on him. He kept most of his things in the wagon. Just a few extra magazines for his carbine (now trashed) and fifty caps. And a packet of cigarettes. All these I kept, though the magazines and cigarettes were just for trading material.

Rig did her job nicely. Everything was neatly piled so I could take what we needed- all the food and medical supplies took first priority. Then came the survival gear. Last came the mildly irradiated water. Then I began to tear down the wagon for its metal.

“Really?” she stared. “You're already packing plenty, Frost.”

“You've seen my weapons,” I told her. “You never know when the scrap metal you save might be useful. Besides, you can always trade for a handful of caps. Every bit counts. Don't expect me to load up on everything forever, though. Once we get you some proper gear, I expect you to do some lifting yourself. Got it?”

She did have a lovely smirk.

Now carrying an extra fifty pounds or so on my back, I gave the brahmin a bit of food before setting her free. She didn't move at all, actually. But she would get hungry sooner or later and go find something to eat on her own.

“Remember the four rules I set down for us,” I spoke as I sublimated the ice tendrils I laid in the ground last night (Pfft... whatever good they did me that night). “The last thing your Stable needs is for you to die too. It's my responsibility to keep you alive, so the easier you make my job, the better.”

“Got it.” Rig nodded.

“Then we're off,” I said as we started out the crevice and worked our way southwest. “With you and this weight, I can't travel like I normally can. Just match my pace, and don't be afraid to tell me if you need a break.”

“Break?” She smirked. “Are you taking me for a softie?”

“I can tell you're still not used to Wasteland soil, Rig. Until you are, we're not taking any chances. The last thing we need is a sore hoof or a cramped muscle slowing you down when a raider party bears down on us.”

“Right...” She sighed.

“You learn fast, Rig.” I tried to encourage her. “Something tells me you adapt fast, too. You'll get used to it in time. You'll have to.”

She nodded, smiling a bit. Then, as if running back through my previous statement, she asked, “'When' a raider party bears down on us?”

“It's the Wasteland, Rig.”

The earth-colored mare chuckled a little as we walked. As we did, I formed an ice arm, flicked out my blade and began twirling and rolling it between my fingers. It was still a little dark outside, but the soft glow from the clouds meant that morning was just around the corner. Believe me when I say that it's one of the few things in this Goddess-forsaken place that has at least some semblance of beauty.

Because otherwise the Wasteland greeted us both with its same dreary atmosphere, its same dreary landscape, and its same dreary desolation. I really hate the Wasteland.

“So... what's that?” she asked me, indicating my blade. “I mean, I know it's a knife, but...”

“It's not in The Guide, I know,” I said as I played with the weapon. “It's called a balisong, also known as a butterfly knife by folks who don't know otherwise. It's the griffin equivalent to our switchblades. It... just requires a bit more finesse, a bit more... refinement than those cheap little knick-knacks. Rather difficult to use with hooves, but that's what hands are for. Or magic.” I whipped up the blade, rolling it around my frozen thumb to close it. “Or both. Now, some might say that balisongs in general are just 'flashy'.”

I closed the safety latch and placed the blade back into its pouch on my left forehoof. I then whipped it out, squeezed the handles to pop the spring latch, and flicked the lower handle up while making a sweeping motion with my hand, moving my thumb out of the way as it swung around and came back down to connect with the other handle, blade now exposed. All in about a half-second.

“Ain't just for show either.” I smirked. “I'd like to see anypony call a balisong 'fancy, not fast'. Made this beauty myself.” I began to play with it again. “Happened to snag a hellhound claw and wore it down until it formed a blade.”

“Jeez, don't those things cut through damn near everything?” She stared.

“Damn. Near. Everything.” I nodded, flicking in the wrong way and causing the blade to slice through my fingers. I reformed them and caught the balisong before it clattered to the ground. “Even had to use a bit of the leftover claw to line the handles so it won't just slice through.”

“And how exactly is it you don't cut yourself like that constantly?” the earth-coated mare asked, noting how I used the blade itself to manipulate the weapon half of the time.

“You see,” I held the balisong open for now, “there's a dull edge of the blade.” I tapped the top-facing edge with a finger, nothing happening. “There's also a sharp edge.” I repeated with the bottom-facing edge, the finger slicing neatly off. “See the handle? The safety latch is on the handle that is on the same side as the sharp edge when it's open.” I tapped at the peg sticking out of the lower handle. “We call this handle the 'bite' handle because it's the handle the sharp edge closes into. The other handle is thus the 'safe' handle. The rest is just hand-eye coordination and muscle memory. Or, uh, magic memory.”

“Huh... got a name for it?” Rig inquired, impressed. “I only ask because of your shotgun.”

“I do, as a matter of fact.” I grinned as I rolled the blade shut then twirled her into a reverse grip. “Midnight Talon. She's certainly earned the title.”

“Sounds like a fitting name,” she remarked. “Anything else you have up your sleeves?”

“One more weapon, yes.” I nodded, taking it out while Midnight Talon continued to go clickety-clack in my other hand.

The storyteller removed yet another weapon from his side with an icy hand. This time, it was a pistol, again colored black with stylistic carvings. Nothing about it seemed out of the ordinary outside of a slightly extended barrel, a sharpened flat-head screwdriver welded under the barrel as an improvised bayonet, and a magazine longer than the weapon itself.

“Semi-automatic double-action pistol,” I told her. “With a few modifications. I call her Night Fang.”

“No patterns?” Rig noted. Back then, there were none on it.

“I don't plan on keeping her for long,” I told her, not knowing that I eventually would. “She just serves the weapon role for the moment I can't effectively handle with only Midnight Talon and Luna's Judgment.”

“What moment is that?”

“The 'oh-shit' moment.” I smiled, eliciting a chuckle for her. “When I need to get out a wall of bullets or spray an area down, this is what I use to do it. Forty-five ACP is cheap and common enough for it.”

“Spraying with a semi-automatic pistol?” The earth-coated unicorn blinked in confusion. “Doesn't that just spit out a bullet for each pull of the trigger?”

“Heh... you'll see what I mean if the chance arises.” I smiled knowingly, stowing Night Fang away.

“By the way, what's your cutie mark?” Rig inquired.“Never got a chance to ask and your armor covers it.”

Dammit.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

“Nothing important.” I dismissed her. “I'll tell you later.”

“Is it really that bad?” She canted her head.

“It's... something don't wish to talk about.” I sighed. “I pray you respect that.”

“Okay, okay.” Rig looked away into the distance.

We walked in silence broken only by the clikety-clack of Midnight Tallon.

Silence was something I had gotten used to since the... incident. Sometimes I'd spent weeks without contact from anypony. But, now that there was someone I was on at least good terms with... silence seemed so foreign to me. Somehow, I'd become a freakin' chatterbox.

“You know... I hope you're looking around every so often.” I cautioned her after about twenty minutes of just walking in silence.

“Oh, right!” Rig shot her head up and began checking around us in regular intervals from then on. “Sorry 'bout that.”

“I'm just trying to help you survive in general.” I sighed. “You can't even trust your E.F.S. to catch everything for you, what with its limited range. Though honestly,” I tapped my chin with another ice arm, “not too many ponies come up to the Far North. From here to the Stalliongrad area, you'll hardly find anypony, not even raiders. Though, of course, that's the reason why slavers use this place so often. Raiders often target them too, so up here they're practically free-roaming.” I looked at her and faceicepalmed. “Sorry, that was downright insensitive.”

“Oh, no worries.” Rig smiled. “That's all steam through the pipes now.”

I had to roll through that phrase a few times to get it.

“Isn't the saying 'water under the bridge'?” I blinked. Then I remembered- Stable pony. Of course.

“Where'd you hear that?” she asked.

“Never mind, never mind.” I shook my head.

More silence. Whenever Rig wasn't looking around us, she was a bit shifty-eyed. Finally, she asked, “Can we... take a break?”

“Sure thing,” I answered, seating myself and scanning the flat horizon. Nothing about the scenery changed. Cracked, dry land. Bleached skeleton here, boulder there. Enough continuity to make a less-experienced traveler to wonder if he'd been walking around in circles.

“I can't imagine how ponies manage to survive out here.” The unicorn beside me sighed, sitting down too. “It's all so... dreary.”

“It's not easy,” I said to her. “And it's certainly not easy to survive the right way, without devolving into a raider or slaver or some other criminal scum. The Wasteland...” I let out a deep exhale, expelling a cool mist. “The Wasteland has a way of turning you into something else. The Wasteland corrupts everything.”

Rig looked at me, asking, “Did it corrupt you?”

I sighed lightly, closing my eyes. “Yes.”

“... do you want to talk ab-

“No.” I exhaled coolly, mist seeping from my mouth. I opened my eyes again. “I don't have to. You've already seen it.”

Rig swallowed hard.

“Rig...” I sighed again, “I'm not going to hurt you the moment you say something the wrong way. I'm no monster to good ponies like you.” I grinned. “I'm just a monster to ponies who aren't.”

“Clearly,” she chuckled dryly. “So, what was your Stable like?”

“Well, that's a question I can answer for you.” I relaxed a little, happy for some conversation without that tension. “The one thing that made Stable Seventy-Two special for me was...” A glint of light caught my eye in the distance. “... fuck.”

I felt the familiar crack of a high-caliber round striking the ground past me and I crumpled to the ground in a heap, Midnight Talon clattering to the Wasteland floor as my ice arm shattered. Rig ducked and cried out, eyes full of panic as the distant crack of the weapon caught up a second later. I knew she was looking at the “wound” as ice crinkled over my forehead.

I couldn't get up and tell her it was okay, that I was completely unharmed, that I was feigning death. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I didn't know how far away our attackers were. I couldn't risk losing the element of surprise against an enemy with that kind of firepower.

I was relying on her for this one. I prayed she wouldn't get herself hurt as she finally seemed to remember what I told her about cover.

Unfortunately, the Wasteland seemed to hate my guts and there was no cover to be found nearby, save for a boulder roughly fifty meters away. She made a mad dash for it, but dust kicked up as another heavy-caliber round struck nearby. She just froze in panic, like a deer caught in a bright light. And then she just fell to the ground and covered her head as hoofsteps neared.

Something prodded me in a place I did not want to be prodded. And then hit me there.

Yep. I knew I was going to kill them before I even knew who they were.

“Yep, he's dead alright,” a cracked, female voice sounded as a hoof stepped over me. “Funny... woulda sworn I missed.” Scrappy, black-colored armor falling apart in different places. That was a raider alright. It would explain the missed shots. As we all know, raiders are known for a lot of things. Accuracy isn't one of them.

I had a good look at the poor excuse for a sniper. The unicorn mare was wearing a torn barding with scraps of metal for armor. A massive scoped anti-materiel rifle, looking worse for wear, was slung on her back. Aaaaand she had a pony ear necklace, of course she had a pony ear necklace. Rig's first encounter with raiders and the bitch had to be wearing that type of stuff.

The other two were earth pony bucks. One had a beat-up assault rifle of some sort. The other, a combat shotgun. Aaaaaand both were wearing bardings made of pony hides. Oh, thank you so much, Wasteland. You have to just go and do that to Rig, don't you, you bastard? She was looking damn queasy right about now, and only four words were said, dammit...

“I call first dibs.” Shotgun pony sneered down at her.

Rig had just recently read The Equestrian Wasteland Survival Guide. Because of that, she knew what raiders did to mares and fillies. Her eyes went wide and her mouth closed up tight.

Did I mention I really hated the Wasteland?

Right about now, I wanted to get up and kill these bastards, but scoped rifle unicorn kept her eye on me.

“Hold up, hold up...” She raised an eyebrow. “Didn't we see this guy somewhere?”

And now the others' eyes were on me. Just my luck.

“Bounty board, uh... seven-hundred-something alive and two-hundred caps dead, I think?” Assault rifle pony scratched his head, voice ragged. “Not worth hauling his dead ass around.”

Hooray for me.

“Well, lookie here!” Shotgun pony was tugging at Rig now, holding her by her forehoof as she tried to squirm away, grinning and bringing her close to his face. “She's from a Stable! Come on, sweetie, where you-”

Thank Luna for the magic words, “from a Stable”. It took all eyes off of me and onto Rig.

Also, thank Luna that Rig decided at that moment to act and threw a mean uppercut with her right hoof that caught shotgun pony in the jaw. I knew I heard something crack as I spurred into action.

The unicorn went down first as I formed ice armor around me, an arm sprouting from my shoulders, snatching up Midnight Talon and flicking it open in an instant. Springing to my hooves before the bitch knew what was going on, I stabbed upward just inward of her left foreleg. The blade easily punched through her light armor and into her lung. I sliced down into her guts, the hellhound blade easily shearing through barding, bone and muscle alike. The remaining raiders' attention shifted from Rig to me as the bitch crumpled toward me, hacking blood. I stood firm, snagging her with my hooves and holding her in front of me as she went into shock. The other two finally brought up their weapons and opened fire.

Right into My Little Meatshield.

Buckshot and bullet tore into the crippled mare, the shots that punched through her pinging against my ice armor. I smiled inwardly as the bitch's eyes widened in surprise, lifeblood spattering against me. Thank Luna that assault rifle wasn't-

Nope, I thought as something punched through and sank into neck. That was a full-sized rifle cartridge in that AR, dammit. Only four seconds had passed, and my meatshield was getting chewed up with each passing millisecond thanks to the combined automatic fire of the combat shotgun and the assault rifle. I needed a quick-draw weapon, stat.

Looks like Rig would get that demonstration after all. She was lying on the ground behind the two, though, still dazed even after slugging that raider.

“Rig!” I yelled to get her attention. Well, at least the bullet didn't seem to hit anywhere important seeing I could still yell. “Move!”

I sprouted an ice arm and whipped Night Fang up as she finally snapped back into reality and scrambled away. No time to suppress it, I opened up on the two raiders, pulling my icy trigger finger in an uneven blur. The bark-like gunshots sometimes overlapped as I practically dumped ten-plus rounds per second into them, Night Fang's slider repeatedly slamming back under the volume of ejected casings. Their barding offered no protection as the big, fat .45 Automatic Colt Pistol rounds bit into them, spraying all over the place and pockmarking the raiders (and the ground around them) easily until their leg bones snapped under the sheer volume of fire I laid down.

Night Fang had a mean bite.

I pulled the trigger a few times too many and it fell slack, slider locked back, magazine empty. I pushed the limp unicorn mare to the ground, forming another ice arm to snag another magazine while I ejected my current one. I slammed the fresh one home before the old one hit the ground, slider moving forward and ready to fire with Midnight Talon ready to cut and plunge.

The unicorn and shotgun pony were dead. AR pony was still breathing, barely. I tilted Night Fang up. No need to use up any more ammunition than I had already wasted. I slipped her away while I stepped over the unicorn's corpse to the survivor. I lifted my hoof, ice muscles sliding over my leg, and then crushed his head underhoof. Muscle tendrils turning to mist, I wiped Midnight Talon on his fur before stowing her back in her pouch.

I gotta say, I have never felt more satisfied killing raiders.

“Hey, Rig, you alright?” I asked, my ice armor still kept up for now as I looked for her.

“Y-Yeah...” She panted, not too far away, trotting slowly closer, shaking, “I'm fine...”

“Come here, let me take a look at you.” I got closer. She didn't appear to have any injuries. She just looked shaken up. “Yeah... you're alright. How do you feel?”

She just stared at me with those big, round, indigo eyes. Right... such a stupid question...

“You... you took a bullet through the head!” she shrieked, almost bursting into tears. “I thought you were dead!”

I tried to smile a little as I told her, “No, I just made it look that way. Ice can warp light, remember? That's how I cloaked myself yesterday. Raiders are piss-poor marksponies. Shot went past me and I just faked a wound. I was never hurt, okay? I'm fine. I'm more concerned about you right now.”

“But... what about...?” She pointed at my neck.

My... neck?

Oh damn. Forgot about that.

Feeling we were out of any imminent danger, I sublimated my ice armor and formed a reflective square so I could see the wound. The bullet was embedded halfway through my neck, just barely skirting my windpipe. Then I looked a little more. Two more holes joined it, one closer to my jaw and another near the base of my neck. Blood was trickling down a little, matting my coat. Cheating death didn't concern me. I barely felt a thing. Why? I should've just fallen down during that firefight.

“I've had worse.” I sighed, thinning my frozen fingers enough to pull the bullets out and flick them away. It was a process that took a few seconds and made Rig shudder from the disgusting, wet, fleshy sounds. She couldn't tear her eyes away. I barely felt it... “Nothing a shot of healing potion won't fix.”

I pulled one out of my saddlebags, a small bottle filled with a purple fluid capped with a stopper. Yanked it off, took a swig and stopped it back up after I used up about a third of the potion. No need to waste what wasn't necessary when it came to medical supplies. I looked back in the mirror and watched as my flesh knit back together before my eyes.

Barely felt a thing...

“Frost?” Rig walked up to me, her head canted to the side, concerned. “You okay?”

A dry laugh escaped my lips, shaking my head, “Rig... you almost got raped by a pair of raiders, and you ask if I'm okay from a few bullets to the neck?”

“It's... I...” Rig stammered, a little scared again, “never... never mind...”

“Well, much appreciated, but I'm quite fine,” I tipped an imaginary hat to her with a hand and began to search shotgun pony for usable loot, still laughing quietly. Rig stood there for a few seconds before she realized what I was doing and (slowly, nervously) did the same to the unicorn mare. She tried to put some distance from the one whose head was now a permanent part of the Wasteland earth. We did this wordlessly.

We were done after a few minutes. I found twenty buckshot shells, a hoofful of caps, and three weapons to sell for a few scraps. The anti-material rifle took time to disassemble into pieces that would fit into my saddlebags, but it would fetch a good price, as would the ammunition.

“So,” I finally spoke. I barely felt a thing, what was going on? “Your first encounter with raiders. What do you think?”

“Let's just get what we need and go.” Rig sighed shakily as she went over to the unicorn mare's corpse. The armored barding began to glow a light gray as she began to undo it. Was she... taking it?

“What are you doing, Rig?” I asked her, getting up.

“I'm just getting some armor.” She dropped the magical aura with a grumble.

“Not from these ponies.” I shook my head. “You'll-”

“What is it now?” Rig looked at me, shoulders slumping. “Dammit, I'm just trying to get myself some decent armor so you don't ha-”

“This isn't about me.” I cut her off. “If we get within distance of-”

“For fuck's sake, Frost!” she exploded as her aura dropped again. “I'm just trying to get some armor so I won't be a Goddess-damned lia-”

“Listen to me!” I roared, teeth bared. Rig cringed and stood still, eyes wide. “You dress in raider armor, and the snipers at Stalliongrad will blow your damn head off your shoulders! Do you know why, Rig? Huh?” My voice was growing hoarse by now. “Do you know why? It's because you'll look like of them! And the only Goddess-damned thing more accurate than incoming enemy fire is friendly fire!” I grasped the stunned unicorn with a freshly-sprouted ice arm, hissing, “And do you know what friendly fire is? Friendly fire sure as hell is! Not! Fucking! Friendly!”

I panted softly, my rage slowly draining. And then I noticed her eyes...

Many ponies in the audience had been jarred from his spell by his outburst. He sounded unlike anything they'd ever heard. The storyteller paused, eyes downcast. Paused for a long time.

… her eyes were as wide as when that raider stood over her, shaking as if she were trying to look anywhere else but at me and failed to do so. Her lips were trembling ever so lightly.

“Oh...” I dropped her, and she sprawled to the ground on her back, scrambling away for a few feet. “Oh, Goddesses... oh, Luna... R-Rig, I...”

I tried to get closer, but she just kicked away. One look at those trembling eyes and those trembling lips, and I knew I couldn't finish that sentence.

“Frost,” she whispered shakily, on the verge of tears. “Let's... just get away from this place... far away...”

* * *

I didn't say anything as we walked. I didn't say anything as she levitated a can of yams out of my saddlebags. I just sliced the lid off for her as she lifted it away, and she ate it cold. I didn't say anything as we set up camp, as she ate again, and as she fell asleep on the cold, Wasteland earth. She didn't either. What was there to say?

I didn't eat, didn't sleep. We were smack-dab in the middle of the Wasteland, and I didn't want a repeat of last night. I watched as Rig tossed fitfully in her sleep, eyes fluttering under her lids. She was having nightmares. I shuddered to think that I was somehow haunting her even in her dreams. I dared not join her in rest. I didn't deserve that luxury.

I just watched the darkness unfold around us. Everything was still but us and the crackling fire.

I wandered away, further into the cold. Somehow, I had the feeling that nothing would touch her while I was gone.

I walked just far enough so that our camp was but a dot in my vision. There is a certain serenity to darkness and coldness. I always found peace in them before. But not tonight. I turned my back to the camp.

The Wasteland greeted me with open arms.

“Why can't I get over it?” I asked. “Why?”

The Wasteland was silent.

“Why does it always just set me off like that? After all these years? Why?”

The Wasteland was silent.

“No... no, that's not it, and you know it.”

The Wasteland was silent.

“Stop fucking with me!” I growled “You know the answer! Don't tell me you don't know!”

The Wasteland was silent.

“Just shut up...” I sighed.

The Wasteland was silent.

“Shut... up,” I growled dangerously.

The Wasteland was silent.

“I said shut up!” I hissed.

The Wasteland was silent.

I roared out my cry to the Wasteland.

The Wasteland roared back.

I stumbled back in a start, eyes wide, panting. Did I... did I sound like that?

Nonono, that wasn't me. It was some... some radigator or something. Yes, a radigator. I didn't sound like that. I certainly didn't sound like that, only a beast, only an animal could sound like that. It was a radigator, because that certainly wasn't me.

“Radigators do not live this far north, Frost.”

“Wh... no... no, don't you come back...”

“Listen to yourself. You are in denial.”

“Goddess-damn it, you're dead!”

“Everypony knows that. Everypony but you.”

“Why don't you just leave me alone?! Why don't you leave me be?!”

“... why do you want me gone, Frost? Do you really want me gone?”

“...I...I...”

“Denial, Frost.”

“What do you want?”

“What do you want?”

“Don't turn it around on me like this... please...”

“What do you want?”

“Don't turn it into a reversal, don't turn it into a reversal!”

“What do you want?”

“Please... just... just stop.”

“What do you want?”

“Stop... please...”

“What do you want?”

“Please...”

“What do you want?”

“... I just... I just want to be able to save a single life... a single life that deserves to be saved. I didn't want to hurt her, and I still don't want to hurt her... but you know what? I'm already starting to corrupt her! How's that for poetry? The Wasteland corrupted me, now I corrupt her! Poetry! Sick poetry! Graaaaaaaah... I'm hurting her...”

“... did you want to hurt me?”

“No! Never in my life, no!”

“... seven times, Frost. Seven times.”

“... but...”

I faced Her.

Again.

After all these years.

I faced Her.

“Seven times, Frost,” She whispered to me, tears streaming from Her eyes. “Not six, seven.”

“... I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry...”

The Wasteland was silent.

But the Wasteland hears everything.

* * *

“Is it a curse?” I asked Her, looking skyward and seeing nothing but gray.

“Some would view it as a blessing,” She whispered.

I just laughed, a sad, dry, dead, husky, old, cold, heartless, hopeless, mirthless laugh.

“Why do you choose to live like this, Frost?” She asked with a gentleness only She could muster. “I question not why you choose to live on, but why live in this way?”

“Because nopony would understand.” I smiled, dry lips cracking.

“Frost, you are living a life of lies. What makes you better than them?”

“Who's 'them'?”

“You know who I am talking about...”

“... because I choose to fight against them,” I answered.

“And how long will it be before you become one of them?” She asked. “Did you not tell me once that you value honesty above almost all else?”

“I...” I met Her eyes. “I have my code of ethics, and I've always lived by them.”

“Always?” She looked so, so sad.

“I...” My heart seemed to skip a beat, then thundered hard in my breast.

She looked upon me so very worriedly. “Frost.”

“No... not always,” I looked away in shame.

“Do you feel regret, Frost?” Her voice was ginger. “Are you shamed?”

“Yes, yes I feel regret!” I faced Her, eyes wide. “Of course I'm shamed!

“...Frost,” She whispered. “Go back to her. You know what you have to do.”

I looked into Her eyes. “But what if I fail?”

She looked into mine. “You will not.”

I closed my eyes and breathed a shaky sigh. “But what about you?”

I opened my eyes and Rig was there, eyes glazed and dark.

“Who are you talking to, Frost?” she whispered.

I looked down at her, mouth ajar. I mustered the courage to speak and replied, “Nopony.”

I could almost hear the Wasteland's laughter.

“To yourself, then?”

A lump formed in my throat and I closed my eyes.

“Let's head back to the camp,” I whispered. “It's too cold and too dark for you out here.”

* * *

“How did you find me?” I asked her as she warmed herself by the covered fire. I was opposite her once more, further away.

“I woke up hearing screams...” Rig dared not meet my eyes. “You were gone, and I ran as fast as I could for you.”

I dared not meet her eyes either. “You knew it was dangerous. Why?”

“Because you're the only decent pony I've met in the Wasteland so far,” she answered.

I inhaled lightly. “How long were you there?”

“Long enough.”

I exhaled a cold, misty breath. “Rig...I...” I bit my lip, “I'm so, so sorry... I just... I was just trying to get through to you with what you were risking. And... then...” I looked up at her. Our eyes locked. Finish it, hers seemed to say. I shuddered and looked down. “And then... when you said it... I... just lost it. You've already been through so much in such a short time. You didn't... you didn't need me to make it any worse. I'm sorry.”

I felt a weight on my shoulder. I looked up to see her hoof there. I met her gaze.

“You meant well... right?” she asked.

I nodded lightly.

“I wasn't thinking straight.” The cloud-maned unicorn sighed. This time, she was the one who couldn't meet my gaze. “I never, ever wanted to be caught in a situation like that again, alone and defenseless. I wanted that armor, even if it was from the pony that almost killed us. I was... I was frustrated, stunned, angry... just...” she growled as she lost her fight for the right word, “just everything but focused!” She panted softly, sighing, “I'm sorry, Frost...”

I didn't know what to say. I hadn't expected her to apologize to me like this, to say anything like this.

But somehow, I found the words.

“It's okay, Rig.” I took her hoof in mine. “We both had good intentions. Things just didn't turn out the way we wanted. We're both alive, and we're both safe... alright?”

Those lovely, indigo eyes met mine once more, a light sparkle to them.

“Well... you were talking about your Stable... right?” She smiled lightly.

I... smiled. Smiled easy. It was as if a great weight was lifted from my heart.

“Yeah. Yeah, I was.”

“I'm still waiting.”

I exhaled a cool sigh, mist flowing out from me as I relaxed and we pulled our hooves away and sat beside one another. “Stable Seventy-Two...” I began.

An ice tendril tripped.

The Wasteland couldn't let me have a moment, could it?

“Hold that thought,” I grumbled, whipping out Night Fang as Rig ducked. I unloaded a pair of quick three-round bursts out in the general vicinity of the vibrations. The vibrations halted and went in the opposite direction. I looked over there to be sure and didn't see anything else.

“Okay, now I know what you mean by spraying with a semi-automatic pistol.” Rig stared.

“And thankfully forty-five ACP's cheap and plentiful.” I nodded, slipping Night Fang away. “Wait... didn't I already say that? Yeah, I did.”

“By the way, where did you even get the idea for ice arms anyways?”

“If you're gonna keep on asking these questions, we'll never get to where I talk about my Stable,” I let out a light chuckle. “Got the idea from griffins. Barring magic, nopony, no equine can manipulate objects with the dexterity of a griffin. So there's that. Now, Stable Seventy-Two!” I paused to feel the tendrils for anything. “... okay, any interruptions this time?”

The Wasteland was silent.

“... good.” I turned back to her. “Now then... Stable Seventy-Two had one thing that made it special to me. We were given a very diverse library chock full of apparently as many books that Stable-Tec could get their hands on that the Ministry of Image didn't get to first.”

Before I could continue, she asked, “The Ministry of Image? As in, the war-era ministry tasked with propaganda and censorship?”

“... yes.” I nodded slowly. “That's the one. Now... where was I? Oh, yes. In spite of this, we had a very wide selection of books of all sorts, though a lot of the material was altered by the Ministry of Image. Certainly enough to keep me occupied off of my watch hours, heh. Because of all these books, we had an education similar to that of Equestria before the megaspells fell. Primary school, junior high school, high school. Then you dig into job training with continued education along the way. Took a while to get ponies ready for work, but when they were ready they sure had more work-related knowledge and just knowledge in general. Not something I expected for a Stable, where I thought it would've been geared to quickly generating as many specialized work ponies as possible.

“But, outside the library, life in Stable Seventy-Two wasn't too outstanding.” I continued with a sigh. “You woke up, washed up, ate, worked your shift, took a break to eat, worked your shift some more, ate again, had leisure time, and slept so that the cycle would begin again day after day after day. Sure, leisure time had its perks. You could socialize in the atrium or living quarters, browse the library (I did this most of the time, as you can guess), maybe use your personal terminal to view various forms of entertainment ranging from video games to recordings of old television shows. You... know what those are, right?”

“Yeah, we had those too.” She nodded.

“Right, then. Well, honestly, that's Stable Seventy-Two for you. As far as I could tell, there was nothing else to note that was particularly outstanding about activities of other ponies there. Well, aside from the Overmare's of course. Finally, done with that.” I sighed. “Well, there you go.”

“Weird...” Rig mused aloud.

“Something the matter?” I asked, prepared to reach for my weapons.

“Yeah, more about the library,” she spoke. “What kind of books did you have there, Frost?”

Oh. Nothing life-threatening. I still had the itch for weaponry, so I pulled out Midnight Talon and began playing with her again.

The storyteller paused as some foal broke in to ask why all his weapons were “female”.

It's something that grew on me as a result of researching other languages, son. Objects are often given male or female “genders”. Now... ah, yes.

“Oh, all sorts,” I replied. “A good chunk of them were educational, mind you. Wilderness survival guides, books for learning other languages, books on equinpology, history, mathematics...” I shuddered a little. “Ugh... calculus. Bad memories. But, there were also many books for leisure. Classics, oh so many classics... tragedies, comedies, religious texts, novels, novellas. Personally, my favorites were The Old Mare and the Sea by Ernest Haymingway and- don't judge me on this- The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brohooves (whatever his last name was supposed to mean).”

“... the what?” She stared.

“Oh, mind you, it was a different sort of zombie described,” I chuckled. “Not the same as feral ghouls described in The Guide. But yes, so many wonderful books. All of them made for a library about as big as the atrium, and it always had some manner of a crowd in there. Unfortunately, there were also so many wonderful and altered books.” I grumbled sarcastically, “Praise be the Ministry of Image...”

“Yeah, that's really weird.” Rig frowned. “We didn't have anything like that in Stable Three.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I inquired, a tad curious. Her Stable didn't have such a library?

“Well... things were different in our Stable.” Rig put a hoof to her chin. “Our library didn't have any of those fancy-schmancy books like yours.”

“Well, what did you have in your Stable's library then?”

“Books like Proper Stable Manners and Etiquette, Troubleshooting for Dummies, Table Manners for the Challenged, Problem Solving: How to Do it Yourself Without Calling a Repairpony and whatnot,” the adolescent filly told me. “Our library was hardly bigger than three living quarters put together, and practically nopony used it. And our education system was different too...”

I snapped Midnight Talon shut. Now she had my attention. “Would you kindly elaborate, Rig?” I asked her.

“Well, it was just like what you expected a Stable should be like.” She furrowed her eyebrows together. “Just primary education, and then we went into specialized training based on what your cutie mark was. If you didn't have one yet or one that wasn't applicable, you'd take an aptitude test of some sort and get placed into apprenticeships until you did. I mean, sure, I learned about multi-variable calculus, but my friends who did different jobs didn't.”

This was... an oddity. For sure. “Tell me- how was Stable Three life for you?”

She thought for a moment, then began. “Well, I guess I should start with-”

My stomach growled. I frowned, and she paused.

“... uh... we'll go with-”

It growled. Again. I shot an angry look down at it as if it had betrayed me.

“... the-”

Another growl, particularly loud this time. I gave her an apologetic look.

“... if 'f' of 'x' is continuous on closed interval a-to-b, differentiable on open interval a-to-b, and 'f' of 'a' is equal to 'f' of 'b' where 'a' is not equal to 'b', then there exists a 'c' in open interval a-to-b such that 'f-prime' of 'c' is zero!” she blurted out.

This time, we both looked down at my gut. No noise this time.

Rig eyed there for a moment longer before continuing. “Okay, so I'll start-”

And then came an even louder rumble. Both of us promptly facehooved.

“... you know what, how about we just talk about it another time?” Rig just shook her head with a light chuckle. “I can already just tell where this is going...”

I could almost hear the Wasteland laughing.

Yeah, laugh it up, you big, empty bastard.

I pulled out (surprise, surprise) three cans of yams. I was starting to wonder if that was all the late Mister Britches was packing by now as I wolfed them down.

“... Stable Three-” Rig began

An ice tendril tripped.

I whipped out Luna's Judgment, Rig covered her ears, and I sent a two-kilogram slug out in the general direction. I was answered with a wet, fleshy splatter. By now, I was looking where the tendril tripped to find a single surviving raider galloping away. Her buddy? His chest cavity was reduced to a bloody pulp that was scattered out behind him for a good few meters.

Rig slowly uncovered her ears, raised an eyebrow, and exclaimed, “I thought you said raiders don't normally go this far north!”

“They don't.” I snorted, pumping out the spent shell back into the drum and stowing her away. “I'm as damn surprised as you are. But then again, I only said they hardly came up north.”

“... um...” She looked around as I resumed eating, “Stable Three-”

“-Later.” I cut her off. I glanced around. Thankfully, nothing popped out or anything.

“Right,” she chuckled lightly.

I continued eating in silence.

And then she asked the big question.

“Frost,” Rig spoke, and I paused in my eating, eying her, “why are you so... touchy about the Goddesses?”

I took a moment to finish up my current can and answered, “Because we all owe it to them for saving all of Equestria. Well... before they died for their sacrifice and we blew ourselves up anyways.” Before she could say anything, I added, “But that's not the complete reason for my outburst earlier.”

“Then... what was?” the earth-coated mare inquired.

“Because I once killed a good friend,” I said simply. Yet with so much depth... “Looked like the enemy.”

Rig's eyes widened in realization. All she could muster was, “Oh...”

“Friendly fire happens more often than anypony would like to admit.” I sighed coolly. “Snipers at Stalliongrad will shoot anything that looks hostile. Dress like a raider, you'll be shot like a raider. And I've never seen the snipers of Stalliongrad miss yet.”

She gulped.

“Rig, answer me this.” I looked at her. “Do you still trust me?”

She hesitated, if only for a moment. “Yes,” she said.

“Rig.” I sighed lightly. “The truth. Please.”

Deep inside, I was kicking myself for being such a Luna-damned hypocrite.

“I... I don't know.” She sighed in turn, looking away.

I set aside my meal and asked, “What can I do for you?”

“I... I know there are things you don't want to talk about, and I respect that.” Rig leveled her gaze at me, expression serious. “But I at least want to know who you were talking to back there, and I want to fight alongside you. I don't want to be defenseless, and I don't want to let you pull all the weight.”

I looked into those eyes for a while, even as I finished off my last can. She maintained her demeanor.

“... somepony long gone,” I answered her, placing the picked-clean cans back into my saddlebags for scrap. “Somepony dear to me I swore to protect. Somepony... somepony I failed to protect.”

“Who?” Rig pressed.

“Who... who She was is... not important,” I answered. I could feel something break a little inside of me. “But anyways... I did say I was going to get you proper armor, saddlebags, and weapons, yes?” I smiled lightly, if a bit forced.

“Well, you've picked out another shotgun, an assault rifle, and a sniper rifle from those raiders.” She pointed out.

“Well, I don't think you'd want to use raider weapons, especially ones as beat up as these.” I nodded back into my saddlebags. “Also, that wasn't a sniper rifle.”

“It's big, it's loud, it fires one bullet at a time, it's got a scope.” She shrugged.

I chuckled, “It's an anti-materiel SASR, or Special Application Scoped Rifle. Sniper rifles have to have a certain degree of accuracy to hold that title. High-caliber weapons like these don't have that degree of accuracy. As such, they're called SASRs.”

“You seem to know your way around weaponry.” She raised an eyebrow.

“It was a hobby I picked up long ago.” I grinned. “Besides, you need to know your weapons out here if you want to survive. Perhaps not down to the point where you can count how many shots the other guy has left in the mag, but a good knowledge is almost mandatory nonetheless. Now, again, we can't have you using raider weaponry. Not because of principle, no. You take what you can get. Neigh, it's because of practice. And, aside from almost giving yourself a concussion with Luna's Judgment, you've got squat. Plus, raiders seldom have good weaponry. I've seen them catch fire at times, and I won't have you shooting with something that could burst into flames from the bullets' propellant. Furthermore, and I'm sorry to say this, but you can't just let panic seize you in the midst of danger. You can't freeze up like that.”

Rig grumbled, looking away.

“But don't worry.” I reassured her. “I still have some old accomplices. You'll be learning from the best I know.”

“Well, that's all fine and dandy, but I want to help now.” She sighed.

“Ni butiya takim ni neterpelivyĭ.” I grinned wide, and she just stared at me in confusion. “Don't be so impatient. They're closer than you think.”

“Where?” Rig seized me by the shoulders.

I gently pushed her away with a chuckle. “Stalliongrad, of course.”

* * *

Footnote: Maximum Level
Bonus feature added!

Frost's S.P.E.C.I.A.L.

Strength: 6
Perception: 10
Endurance: 7
Charisma: 7
Intelligence: 6
Agility: 9
Luck: 1

Author's Note

My thanks go out to KKat, author of Fallout: Equestria, and Somber, author of Fallout: Equestria: Project Horizons. I must also send my gratitude to ErrantIndy for looking this over before I posted it. Thank you for reading, and remember that critique and feedback of any sort is highly appreciated.

Chapter Four: Rodina-mat'

Chapter Four: Rodina-mat'

Folks, it's starting to get late into the night. I personally have no problem with going on, but I know some of you have obligations come morning. So, I ask now- do any of you wish to split? I'm fine with stopping for tonight.

The storyteller glanced about the audience. A few out of the small crowd did the same, looking to see who would leave. Nopony got up and left.

A regular bunch of night-owls, aren't we? Heh...alright. I'll go a bit further tonight.

This is for you, folks. Let's get right back into it.

~ ~ ~

The cold, the all-consuming cold, the dark, sinister echoes. They were back.

To sleep- perchance to dream.

But what dreams may come?

No dreams. Only nightmares.

“There were families out there, Frost.” She looked so, so sad. So, so far away. “Families.”

“What could I have done?” I was so, so tired. So, so empty. “It was the Overmare's orders, wasn't it?”

“Now, now,” Silas grinned, “I'm the one asking the questions here. Alright? I'm!”

Stab. He punched the blade into Her hide. He knew it wouldn't hit a vital organ. He knew his anatomy.

“No!” I cried out, racing for Her.

“The one!” Sewn Britches growled.

Thunder. The sound of thunder rolled between the walls once more. The two-kilogram slug blew Her right foreleg off, sending Her crashing to the ground.

“No!” I cried out, voice cracking as I burst into tears. “No, no, no, no, no!”

“Asking!” the unicorn raider hissed.

Stab. Upward just inward of Her left foreleg. The blade easily punched through Her hide and into Her lung. She sliced down into Her guts, the hellhound blade easily shearing through hide, bone and muscle alike.

“Stop it!” I wailed, almost there as She struggled onto Her knees, one leg short and hacking blood. “Please!”

“The questions!” Rig seethed.

Bark. Her coat offered no protection as the big, fat .45 Automatic Colt Pistol rounds bit into Her, spraying all over the place and pockmarking Her (and the ground around Her) easily until Her leg bones snapped under the sheer volume of fire laid down.

Night Fang had a mean bite.

“I'll do anything!” I screamed desperately, voice hoarse as I collapsed against Her cold, limp form. “Just stop it!”

“Anything?” Silas, Sewn Britches, the raider, Rig whispered darkly.

“Anything!” I sobbed, trying to feel for a pulse, breath, brain activity, anything as I reached into my saddlebags for all the healing potions I could muster.

What I got were gears.

Her limp form stirred, Her face warping with disgusting, wet, fleshy sounds. Into that pretty little evil thing.

“Surrender,” the Nightmare rasped, pierced.

The Wasteland greeted me with open arms.

~ ~ ~

The cold. The echoes. They were gone again. For now.

My eyelids cranked open. The nightmares wouldn't leave me. Why would they? Why should they?

First order of business- the tendrils. I felt for them. None of them had tripped while I was out. That was a good sign at least.

Second order of business- Rig. She was still sleeping, though she didn't appear to be troubled. The cloud-maned mare had a peaceful expression and her eyes fluttered under their lids. She was dreaming good dreams, I hoped.

“See, Frost?” She smiled as She lied down beside me, eyes soft. “You did not fail.”

I inhaled, closed my eyes and exhaled a cool mist as I smiled in turn. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, but I only did what was right.” She leaned against me, nuzzling my cheek lightly.

I was taken completely by surprise by this, mouth ajar. “I... I can still feel you?”

“But of course,” She chuckled softly. “Why so astonished?”

“You've... never had direct contact with me before...” I tilted my head slightly to stare at her.

“Hm...” She pondered, tucking Her head under my neck, “you are right. Wow... all this time, and I never bothered to so much as touch you.”

“I... thought you were... I thought you were a ghost or something...” I still stared.

“And now?” She asked as I slowly reached a hoof up to stroke Her mane. Even though I couldn't feel it because of my armored hooves, I still met resistance. She was... real. Solid. Corporeal.

“Something more,” I whispered. “But how? You're... supposed to be...” She waited politely as that lump was cleared from my throat, “... dead...”

“You tell me,” She chuckled softly.

“... I...” I paused in thought. “I got nothing. You?”

“Something more.” Her tail shifted to meet mine. It was... cool, comfortably cool. And soft.

Just like I remembered.

I glanced at Rig as she stirred lightly. For a moment, I feared what would happen if she woke up and saw us together like this. But, she just shifted onto her side and went on sleeping. I exhaled a breath I didn't even realize I was holding.

“... what do you think of her?” She asked me.

“In what respect?” I looked back at Her.

“Do you have any feelings for her?”

“No,” I told Her. And it was true. “She was meant to stay in a Stable that was never meant to be opened ever again.”

“But do you not think that fate destined for you two to come together for a reason?” She tilted her head up to look at me.

“Perhaps,” I said, meeting those dazzling, soulful eyes. “But even so, I have no feelings for her.”

“Why?”

I stared deep into those lovely eyes. “Because I still have you.”

She smiled gently as I did the same. Our lips met for a few precious seconds. It was not overly passionate but soft and tender as a kiss between lovers should be.

We pulled away and She leaned against me once more, giggling (Oh, such a wonderful giggle...), “The facial hair is new...”

Long minutes passed. She finally sighed. “But I am dead, Frost. We both know that.”

“That changes nothing about my feelings about her,” I spoke honest words.

For a moment, I thought She was going to ask if I was sure. She did not. She knew me better than that.

“What, then, do you think of her?” She asked.

“She's a quick learner for sure,” I responded. “She killed a radscorpion while I overslept and she knows the reasoning behind at least part of what I do.”

“... but?” She sensed.

“But, she panicked and froze up back there.” I sighed. “We can't let that happen again. A moment's hesitation is enough for a situation to go from bad to worse. It's why I hope my... accomplices in Stalliongrad can help her overcome that. Knowledge is power, and it will lend her strength.”

“Why not call them friends?” She asked me.

“... I don't want to get too close to anypony, anyone.” I bit my lip. “Not when the Wasteland has a habit of taking away those close to you.”

“I suppose I should be grateful I am the exception?” She smiled lightly.

“I suppose so.” I grinned, a touch of sadness to it.

“Just call them friends, Frost.” She nudged my chin. “It will do you good.”

“Very well, my love.” I smiled at her.

A light groan from Rig wiped my smile clean as I glanced at her, heart beating in a frenzy as she rose to a sitting position, yawning and rubbing her eyes. I looked back down at Her, but She was already gone. The disappearance of Her comforting touch left me feeling suddenly alone once more, but at least it meant Rig wouldn't see something so... strange of me.

The earth-coated young mare turned her muzzle up in a smirk as she chuckled, voice sleep-roughened once more, “Glad I don't have to shoot something this early in the morning this time.”

“Good morning to you too.” I huffed, smiling lightly.

* * *

A little more history. Before the megaspells fell and long before the Great War, Stalliongrad was a proud, bustling center of industry. The equines and businesses lining the streets were so diverse, you could almost consider Stalliongrad a city-state all to its own if it weren't for the fact it was a part of Equestria under the North-Equestrian Treaty Organization, NETO. During the war, all this heavy industry that once produced powered wagons (autowagons, if you prefer), sky wagons, kitchen appliances and other commodities was rapidly converted to a factory city that built all sorts of war machines.

Armor, firearms, ammunition, spark batteries, machinery components, pins, medals- Stalliongrad made it all. Infamous death machines were born in the cold heat of the Stalliongrad forge- the Avtomat Kalashneighkova series of assault rifles, the T-series of main-battle tanks, the L-200 RAS Manticore assault bike. They even collaborated with Cloudsdale and Hoofington to produce the Vertibuck VTOL transport. That's Vertical Take-Off and Landing for you folks unfamiliar with the term. The factories cranked out all of this day and night thanks to the hard work of the mares and stallions working the factory floors. Mighty impressive, if you ask me.

Wanna know something more impressive?

They often did it under enemy fire.

Zebras knew just how important Stalliongrad was, and as a result, it was always under some form of bombardment. Factory crews often wore full-body ballistic armor as they worked with shatterproof glass and blast shields installed on the roofs.

Wanna know something even more impressive?

They once did it while under enemy control.

Stalliongrad was once occupied by zebra forces for five months, and during those five months, they kept what factories they had left running and sabotaged the ones captured by the zebras. For instance, the Red October tractor factory, refitted to manufacture the infamous T-34/90, was under constant attack by zebra forces just outside for seven days, peppering the building with machine gun fire and mortar strikes. But they never broke past the defenses, and the workers repaired eleven tanks that were immediately deployed to push the enemy attackers back.

The war was brutal for Stalliongrad. Before the zebras occupied the city, they committed numerous allied dragons to bombing runs on the city. The initial strikes devastated the city and its inhabitants, and the invasion all the more so. Thousands were slaughtered in the first days of the occupation.

But because of their massive aerial bombardment, the zebras dug their own graves.

You see, folks, when a bomb detonates, it produces an explosion and a concussive shockwave. If it explodes inside a relatively intact building, those shockwaves are going to bounce around off the walls, ceilings and other surfaces, which often results in massive damage. However, if it explodes in a partially destroyed structure, all those shockwaves are likely just going to rebound straight out, causing minimal damage. A single missing wall can mean the difference between a collapsed factory and a serviceable one. In the end, this is what saved Stalliongrad.

Because those ponies, griffins, and buffalo wanted their city back. They knew their city, and they could use the vertical nature of the ruined skyscrapers for sniper nests and recon positions, the sprawling maze in the sewers for secret transport, and so much more to their advantage.

Ever witness house-to-house, building-to-building urban warfare? Let me tell you- it's brutal, and it's bloody. With most of their factories self-sabotaged, ammunition and weaponry were in short supply. Soldiers often went into battle in pairs. One equine- assault rifle and ammunition. The second- just ammunition. If the first one fell, the second took the rifle and kept shooting. Often, they didn't even have enough of those to go around. Clubs, bricks, rebar, kitchen knives- if it could kill the zebras, they would use it.

And so in a war of attrition that wore down the zebras who were severely unprepared for the harsh northern winter, the equines of Stalliongrad won their city back. So many thousands of Stalliongrad citizens lost their lives, but they never completely lost their city.

Stalliongrad never fully recovered from the zebra occupation. Ruins lingered and many were forced to live in the factories in which they continued to work since so many homes were destroyed. The factories were their lifeblood, and so long as Stalliongrad never lost them, so long as the hammer struck and the sparks flew, they would live on.

At least until the day a pair of balefire bombs landed just outside the city.

Luna only knows how they both managed to miss a direct hit. The radiation killed everyone, but the severe destruction wreaked previously once again saved the city from complete annihilation. The city was repopulated slowly, first by a good-sized band of ghouls looking for a place to stay, then by the inhabitants of the nearby Stable, number Forty-Seven. A large band of raiders once took the city, but you know how that went.

Stalliongrad's a good place, one of the few havens in this Goddess-forsaken Wasteland for anypony hardy and resourceful enough to withstand the dangers of the northerly roads leading to it. As much as a ruined, rubble-strewn place it is now, Stalliongrad never truly died.

Because the factories, the lifeblood of all the equines who called and continue to call Stalliongrad home, still live on even today.

And they certainly lived forty years ago when Rig and I approached the city outskirts just before noon.

“Wow...” Rig widened her eyes in awe of the urban sprawl that laid before us. Beyond the defensive walls we neared, cracked roads and the gutted husks of so many towering office buildings and crumbled homes lined the horizon, stretching as far as they eye could see. “This place is massive!”

“Quite the sight, isn't it?” I sighed with a smile. “Trust me, though, it's not the city but the people that make me proud to call this place home.”

“Home?” The young mare turned to me. “You live here?”

“At times, yes.” I nodded. “I know a lot of good people here, Rig. And you'll get to know them too. They're a nice, friendly bunch once they realize you're no raider or anything.”

“Halt!” a male, magically-amplified voice called from seemingly nowhere. “Identify yourselves and state your business or we will shoot!”

“And cue that,” I smiled, stopping and holding a frozen hand in front of Rig. She was scanning the walls, trying to find out where the voice came from. I already knew we were being targeted by at least six of the best snipers I've ever known and at least one mortar crew. “I'll handle this, alright?”

“Well... okay...” She eyed me.

I cleared my throat, ice binding to my vocal chords to amplify my own voice as I replied, “Nee streelyai'! Eto ya, Frost Windchill! Ya myeht drook!” Don't shoot, I said. It's me, Frost Windchill. I have accomplice.My command over the language was by no means perfect, but it was serviceable at the very least.

“Frost?” The voice changed in tone, no longer challenging. I could imagine him signaling the snipers and mortar crew (crews?) to hold their fire. In a friendly tone now, the spotter yelled, “Ah! Zahodi!”

Yeah, that was an over-simplified way to say, “Come”. At least they knew who they were talking to and how relatively poor he was at Russyin. It is by no means an easy language to learn.

But it was certainly enough to cause Rig to stare at me, jaw dropped.

“What?” I chuckled. “I had language books and a lot of free time. Now come along.”

Yet another partial truth.

I lead her to the imposing outer wall, where the crude, iron gates creaked open. By now, Rig craned her neck to see the multiple machine gun and sniper nests lining the surface. We were approached by a pale, white unicorn stallion with a silvery beard and mustache, eyes dark and focused yet friendly. He was garbed in tattered winter wear, and a pilotka topped his head. A scoped bolt-action rifle was strung across his back, an iconic Mosin-Nagant 91-30. He held up a hoof in greeting, and I returned the gesture. I glanced from Rig to the stallion repeatedly. She got the message and held up her hoof in turn.

“Dobró požálovat' vStalliongrad, Frost.” He smiled, voice rough and old, and we met hooves. Welcome to Stalliongrad, Frost.

“Spasiba.” I smiled. Thank you. My expression turned apologetic as I added, “Sorry, but may we drop the Russyin for Equestrian? She doesn't know the language.”

“Ah, yes, yes.” He nodded, still smiling. “Besides, your Russyin still make us think twice every time you speak.”

Dammit. “Thank you.”

“Now then, what bring you back to Stalliongrad, friend?” he asked, leading us into the city as the gates creaked shut behind us. “It been long time since you here. And who she?” He nodded towards the young mare at my side.

“We are here to resupply and meet some... friends,” I told him, remembering Her words. “And this is Rig. She is my...”

I paused, at a loss for words for a few seconds. Rig piped up and completed, “Friend.”

I smiled a little, though a hint of worry gnawed at my gut all the same.

“Just Rig?” The stallion raised an eyebrow.

“Just Rig.” She nodded.

“I am Zasili Vatsaev.” Our escort tipped his hat, revealing his bald head.

“Best sniper in all the Wasteland,” I added with a smile.

“Oh come now, do not fill your friend's head with such, ehh... flattery,” he chuckled huskily.

“Zasili, you have a repeated MOA of zero during training runs,” I chuckled myself. “Zero. If that isn't worthy of being the best sniper in all the Wasteland, I don't know what is.”

“MOA?” Rig asked.

“Minute of angle,” Zasili explained. “We use it to rate sniper rifle's accuracy. Anything greater than MOA of one no longer true sniper rifle. In our case, we also use MOA to rate snipers themselves, too.”

“And with a MOA of zero,” I added, “that pretty much means that Zasili can put repeated shots down the same bullet hole, exactly down the same bullet hole. Every. Single. Time. The only time he'll ever miss is on the warning shot.”

“Welcome back, Frost!” An earth pony mare, just old enough to use the machine gun she was stationed at, waved at me as we passed.

“Thank you, Zinovia!” I greeted in turn, waving a hoof. “It's good to be back!”

“How many ponies do you know here?” Rig asked me. “And how did she know to speak Equestrian?”

“Word travels fast in Stalliongrad,” Zasili answered. “All people should know you two are in city by now.”

“Why does everypony keep on saying 'people' instead of 'ponies'?” Rig inquired.

“Because Stalliongrad is a haven for all sorts of equines,” I answered her. “We have ponies, griffins, buffalo, a couple mules, and even a zebra.”

“A zebra?!” Rig gaped.

“One who prove loyalty to us time and time again,” Zasili quickly spoke in defense, voice stern. “He is good person, and where I might be good shot, he is quickest shot. Fine sharpshooter he is. MOA of one-point-five, so not true sniper he is. But at one-hundred-fifty meter with a scoped semi-automatic, who complain?”

“And one of my accomplices whom you'll be meeting,” I added to a still very-much-surprised Rig.

“This where I go back now, Frost and friend Rig.” Zasili stopped. “I must get back to post. Enjoy your stay here, both you. Welcome to the City of Blood and Iron, friend Rig.”

“Alright, take care of yourself, Zasili.” I nodded.

“Da, and you too.” He nodded in turn, turning tail and heading back for the walls.

As Rig and I headed down the streets, we would meet the occasional passersby or a group huddled around a fire on the sidewalk. All of them would greet us as heartily as they could, though at times I had to (roughly) translate for Rig as some of them still clung to their ancestral Russyin.

“So, where are we headed?” she asked me. By now, we had gotten quite deep into the city and were meeting more friendly faces.

“To a store first.” I tapped my saddlebags with an ice arm. “It'll be where we get you a good firearms instructor, too. Now, be quiet and let me do the talking, at least in the beginning. We must be very respectful to the owner.”

Rig's expression brightened up upon hearing this, and after a few more minutes of walking (and greeting a few passing griffins, Rig staring in awe), we reached a large, partially-ruined building that was once an old warehouse. The windows were boarded up, bricks were missing in places, and the old sign had been torn down, replaced with a simple plaque that read... okay, I couldn't read it. But I'm told it translates to “Hammer and Horns”.

I knocked on the door a few times. A deep, old voice with a thick accent beckoned (in very good Equestrian I might add), “Come in, come in!”

We entered Hammer and Horns and were met with a simple, gray room with a lone counter. A single door laid behind it, another on the right side of the room. The store's owner was seated behind the counter.

Of course, Rig gawked at him. You folks would've too.

Because behind the counter was a buffalo ghoul. Large, imposing, hide burned away by balefire and flesh browned and decayed, he wore a headdress of contrastingly colorful feathers. One of his horns had broken off, but his dark eyes were still full of old fire.

“Ya'at eeh, Shih-chai' Thunderhooves.” I bowed in respect. Greetings, Elder Thunderhooves (Unfortunately, the language book I used neglected to specifically cover “chief”). Rig quickly did the same after a second's recovery from shock.

“Ya'at eeh, sih-kiss'.” He bowed in turn. Greetings, friend. We resumed our normal stance and he continued, “Do not worry, Frost. We will speak Equestrian. I know of your friend and her... inconvenient lack of language. No need for formalities.”

“Thank you.” I cowed me head in gratitude. “Rig, I introduce you to Chief Thunderhooves.” I motioned to the ghoul, who nodded lightly, trying to wear a welcoming expression. Judging by her queasiness, it didn't have the desired effect. “Chief Thunderhooves, in turn, I introduce you to Rig.” I whispered to her, “Say you're honored.”

“Huh?” She blinked. “Oh! Uh, I'm honored to meet you, Chief Thunderhooves.”

“And an honor to meet you the same, Rig,” Thunderhooves replied. “Just Rig, hm? And Frost, I said there was no need for formalities. We can all speak easy now.”

“My apologies,” I spoke quickly, patting Rig on the back to let her know it was okay to speak freely.

“Now, judging by your saddlebags, I say you come here for business, yes?” the buffalo chief asked.

“Business, yes, but not strictly business,” I answered him. “My friend is new to the Wasteland. She needs proper armor, saddlebags, and weapons. And training.”

“Mm.” He bobbed his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, I can see by her Pip-Buck.” Each syllable of that was clearly defined. “Training you say?” He looked at her.

Rig looked right back.

And then he quickly dipped under the counter and popped back out with a sawn-off, double-barreled shotgun in his mouth.

“Gah!” She jumped in surprise, flinching before backing away.

Thunderhooves spat the shotgun back behind the counter and nodded. “Yes... she will certainly need training.”

“Wha... what the hay?” Rig stared at both of us in bewilderment.

“A lot of training.” Thunderhooves rubbed his chin. “I was testing your reaction, little one. But business first, yes?”

“Yes.” I nodded, popping open my saddlebags while Rig slowly came back to my side. “And I'll be using all of this to cover the cost of training and for whatever she purchases.”

“And so it shall be done,” the old buffalo chief said, hooves back on the ground. “However, for a good friend, I will give you a high discount.”

“Oh, no no no, I cannot accept this.” I smiled lightly, holding a hoof up. “I cannot.”

“Oh, but I insist.” He pulled his cracked lips back in a smile of his own. “You are a good friend, Frost.”

“Honestly, Chief Thunderhooves, I respect your charity, but I cannot accept this gift.” I shook my head. By now, Rig was staring between the two of us.

“Frost, I sincerely implore you to accept.” He beamed.

“And I implore you to withdraw it.” I beamed back. “You have a business to run. I know your discount rates for 'good friends'. You'll ruin yourself.”

“Frost, please accept this gift of mine.” He leaned a bit closer.

I paused, then nodded. “Very well, Chief Thunderhooves. I thank you kindly. Your gratitude knows no bounds.”

“I am honored.” He bobbed his head a little in a light bow to me. “Now then, what do you have?” I began to pull out my wares for him, multiple ice arms sprouting from my shoulders as various goods spread across his counter. His eyes lit up especially at the sight of the cigarettes, and more so when I reassembled the anti-materiel rifle for him. “Where on Equestria did you find an Ironshod M-Twenty-Eight?”

“Took it from a raider, surprisingly,” I answered. “I'm guessing you can get this refurbished nicely for the boys on the walls.”

“Yes, indeed.” He nodded. “Not too long ago, we had a raider-operated LAV make a run for the city walls. They literally had to get Zasili from a third of the way on the other side to take out the driver, if I recall correctly.”

“Then hopefully it'll do them good.” I nodded, now laying out the scrap metal and empty cans for him.

“Iron,” he mused aloud, taking a piece of the late Mister Britches' wagon in his hooves. “Hm... has some bubbles in the structure... quality not too good. We can smelt it at least.”

“And that's it for this time.” I finished, relieved to feel about fifty-plus pounds lighter.

“Then let us get right to it.” Thunderhooves headed through a door in the back. “Xamuros! Xamuros, where are you?”

After the chief was gone, Rig asked, “What was that all about?”

“Oh, the discount?” I blinked at her. Right. She wouldn't have known. “Well, you see, in buffalo society, their economic policy is based off a logic of redistribution rather than a logic of continual investment like in capitalism. Buffalo give away their wealth in order to gain power and prestige in turn. In order for a chief to maintain his ascribed status, he must give away much wealth. Of course, he gets much back, often more, in the same sense that capitalist loans must be repaid as a debt aside from the fact that the buffalo have no concept of interest. And when it comes to gifts from the chief himself, the receiver must reject the gift three times before accepting it. To continue to reject after that shames the chief greatly, for it is then assumed that he has not given enough. It also means that you are challenging the chief's power and prestige. And, believe me, you don't want to do that.”

“Wow.” Rig canted her head. “And you learned all this from those books?”

“Yes.” I nodded. It was... another partial truth. “Fascinating, isn't it?”

“Well... it's ...different,” she chuckled lightly. “... what are you doing?”

At this time, my ice arms were unclasping plates of armor running along the back of my neck.

“I'm removing my helm,” I said simply, continuing to do so.

“Why?” The cloud-maned unicorn eyed me.

“It's... complicated,” I responded, lifting my helm off and running an icy hand through my slightly spiky, ebony mane. The cool air soothed it as I used an ice arm to keep my helm tucked against my side. “... what?”

“You look... nice without your helmet,” she remarked with a light smile.

“Thank you.” I nodded lightly. What else could I have said? Whatever? I looked back at the doorway as Thunderhooves and... my other friend returned. “Hallo weer, Xamuros.”

Rig turned to gape again as Xamuros strode in behind the buffalo ghoul. He was a male zebra a tad taller than I was and of similar build, dressed in light winter garb. His mane was done in a short Mohawk, and his determined eyes spoke volumes of his confidence. A glyphmark of something that vaguely looked like a scope's crosshair and more like a tribal insignia was on his flanks.

“Hallo weer, Frost,” he greeted in turn, his tone that of a natural Equestrian. He noticed that I had removed my helm and smiled lightly, closing his eyes. “Didn't the Chief tell you that there was no need for formalities?”

“Yes, but I have to admit that Zebrikaans is one of the languages I'm most familiar with,” I chuckled. “And... consider this,” I tapped my helm, “a... an apology for last time. So. How have you been?”

“The usual.” He opened his eyes, waving a hoof dismissively. His eyes spoke volumes of his gratitude, however. “Running the store with the Chief, patrolling the walls, having friendly competitions with Zasili. It's the same deal with those, too. I get more shots out, but he always hits... ah, dead center. We always tie in score. Now, how have you been?”

I noted his careful avoidance of the word, “bull's-eye.”

“Almost the usual,” I answered, and we both smirked like old pals. “Bounty hunting mostly.”

“All dead?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. I didn't need to answer. “Some things just never change.” He looked at Rig. “She's new.”

“That's the 'almost' part.” I nodded.

He nodded in understanding. “Your name is Just Rig, right?”

“Mm-hm.” She nodded.

“Well, Just Rig, why do you come to me for training?”

Wait a second. I ran through what he'd just recently said. I promptly facehoofed.

“Nonono, my name is Rig.” The young mare corrected. “Just Rig, only Rig. That's it.”

“Oh.” The zebra shot a questioning glance at Thunderhooves, who shrugged lightly in apology.

“She's new to the Wasteland, and I've promised to help her and her Stable obtain a new water talisman,” I explained. “Theirs malfunctioned and fragmented about a month ago.”

“Mm, apologies,” Thunderhooves frowned. “We have yet to acquire another one.”

“Wait, you have a water talisman?” Rig popped up her forehooves onto the counter. “A working one?”

“Only one for this city, Rig,” he answered. “And I am afraid we cannot go without it. As new as you are to the Wasteland, I am sure you have experienced just what happens when there is no pure water for anyone.”

“Oh... I understand.” Rig sighed, crestfallen again as she let her hooves back down to the floor.

“Now then,” Xamuros piped up. “I'm told you wanted her to be trained, yes?” He paused. “And Frost, it's alright. You can put the helm back on.”

I smiled a little, bowing lightly before slipping the familiar helm back onto my head, ice arms clasping the plates as I corrected, “She wants it, not me.”

“A good sign.” He looked over her, as if gauging the young mare. “Determination. Tell me, Rig, why do you seek training?”

Rig leveled those lovely, indigo eyes with his, voice strong yet soft as she replied, “I want to be able to pull my own weight. I was caught twice in a situation where I was helpless, and I don't want to be in one ever again.”

Xamuros put a hoof to his chin, not taking his eyes off of her for a second.

And then he used his muzzle to whip out a sleek revolver from under his winter garb in the blink of an eye.

Rig just flinched.

“She's a fast learner,” the zebra spoke around his weapon before depositing it back in its hidden holster, looking back at me.

“You have no idea.” I grinned.

“And, I see she has a PipBuck,” he remarked. “I assume you deputized her already?”

“Yes, but I haven't told her about S.A.T.S. Yet.” I nodded.

“S.A.T.S.?” Rig canted her head to the side. “What's that?”

I glanced at Xamuros as he did the same to me. “You know more about it than I do,” he said.

“Alright.” I turned back to Rig. “S.A.T.S. stands for Stable-Tec Arcane Targeting Spell. It's a feature of a deputized PipBuck that allows you to momentarily pause time and target specific parts of any enemy. It'll then work in synchronization with your current weapon or even weapons to grant you a pretty good degree of accuracy for your shots. Mind you, disciplined and steady aim will always be more effective than S.A.T.S., which cannot guarantee greater than a ninety-five percent hit chance at best. That said, it does have its uses. Legs, torso, head, even the weapon of any adversary you fire upon can be targeted. You can even target different parts on multiple targets, provided you have enough juice in that thing. S.A.T.S. can only be used so much before it needs to recharge, however, and certain weapons drain its charge faster than others. That said, it's an impressive and extremely useful tool to have nonetheless. Xamuros can help you learn how to use it.”

“And so we'll start our training, now.” The zebra turned to her, vaulting over the counter expertly. “We'll head to the firing range in the back.”

“Won't we need weapons first?” Rig raised an eyebrow. “I mean, no offense, but this store's kinda... bare.”

“It is a rule of the Wasteland, little one,” Thunderhooves chuckled, then bucked a single hindleg against the wall behind him. It quickly rotated around on a horizontal pivot to reveal quite the impressive array of pistols, assault rifles, sniper rifles, carbines, grenade launchers (with grenades), machine guns and gem-powered weapons. And then another wall did the same. And another. “Never let anyone know what kind of heat you are packing. You never know if they might be the enemy.”

Yet again, her jaw dropped.

“And there's all this and more at the range,” Xamuros laughed. “ This might take a good long time to find out what she likes, Frost. You may as well step out for a bit, say hi to everyone. You might just run into Sly again.”

“Or, knowing him, he'll run into me.” I smiled, tapping Rig's jaw shut. “Alright, Rig, I want you to pay close attention to whatever Xamuros tells you. You never know if it will save your life, even as insignificant as it may seem. Because it certainly won't be as insignificant as it may seem. It might even sound downright stupid. But, if it's stupid, and it works...”

“... it isn't stupid.” Xamuros finished with a grin. “See you soon, Frost. Maybe we can meet at the Rusty Steed for a drink afterward.”

“Well, you know me- I've never been an alcoholic, never plan to be,” I chuckled.

“Still, it'll be nice to get together and catch up.” He shrugged. “Well, whatever you do, I'll see you later. Alright, Rig, stop staring and come with me...”

“It's been good to see you again, Chief Thunderhooves.” I tipped an invisible hat to the buffalo ghoul. “See you soon.”

“Likewise, Frost.” He nodded. “Take care of yourself.”

With that, I turned around...

...and a dark-blue blur tackled me to the floor.

“Buddy!” Sly exclaimed happily, voice gritty but happy as he hugged me tight. “How've you been? How's hunting been going?”

“Called it,” I glanced up at Xamuros, who just broke out laughing while Thunderhooves sighed and Rig just stared.

“Sly, you're crushing me again,” I grunted as he squeezed rather tight.

“Oh, shit, sorry bro!” He released me and we both got back to our hooves.

“Right, then.” I sighed with a smile. “Rig, meet Slyther Shattermaw, our local Regulator.” Looking at her blank expression, I added, “From The Guide? Vigilantes? Good people?” Upon seeing remembrance flash across her face, followed by understanding, I continued, “Sly, meet Rig.”

“Hey, nice to meet ya.” He smiled warmly. “Rig? Just Rig?” The giant of a stallion extended a hoof to her. He had a dark-blue coat covered up with a worn duster (A long time ago, I wondered how they even had his size available). His muzzle and hooves (which were partly obscured by the powerhooves he was wearing) were of a distinct red coloration, setting them apart from the rest of his body. His eyes were blue and cordial, and his mane was hidden behind a pilotka.

Did I mention he was a giant of a stallion?

“Nice to... meet you... too...” The earth-coated unicorn stared up at him as they shook hooves. “Yeah, just Rig. Uh... Frost?”

“Yeah?” I smirked.

“Honest to Goddesses, you have the strangest bunch of friends in the world.”

“Well, glad to have you join the club,” I snickered. “Anyways, Sly, I've been doing fine. Bounty hunting the 'wrong' way as usual. How about you? How have you been? How's work been going?”

“Good, and it's been a little slow, honestly.” The giant stallion shrugged. “There's the occasional thief or something, but otherwise, I just help maintain the walls nowadays. Challenging work, but it lets me use these!” With that, he lifted his forehooves and slammed his powerhooves together, generating a shockwave that made every bone in my body rattle and made Thunderhooves grumble as the weapons on the walls shuddered a little, clinking out of place.

“Yeah... that's good to... hear?” I cleared my throat while the old buffalo went to realign the jostled weaponry. “Listen, I have something to ask of you.”

“What can I do for ya, buddy?” Sly grinned.

“My friend's fresh out of the Stable and new in the Wasteland,” I explained. “I'm having Xamuros train her in firearms, but would you please kindly train her in hoof-to-hoof combat, melee, and explosives?”

“Hah, you kidding?” he laughed. “With how little work's available, I'd be happy to do that for ya!”

“Wait... Slyther...?” Thunderhooves wheeled around, eyes wide. “With explosives? In my firing range?!”

“Uh, well...” I stammered.

“Are you trying to cause a disaster, Frost?!” he exclaimed.

“... do I really want to know?” Rig glanced from one of us to the next.

“Trust me, the less you know, the better,” Xamuros patted her on the back.

“Well... I did just give you an Ironshod M-Twenty-Eight.” I shrugged at Thunderhooves.

“Yes.” He sighed, looking away. “Yes you did.” He then wheeled on Slyther, causing even the giant to lean back a little. “Now listen, you. You are not going to destroy anything that is not meant to be destroyed! If it is not in the firing range, you cannot blow it up, smash it down or otherwise! Because if you do, I will turn you into pulp on the pavement! Got it?”

“... gotcha,” he whispered.

“Good.” The imposing chief snorted, going back to realigning his wares. “Xamuros, get started on the training.”

“Yes, Chief.” The zebra nodded. “Alright, Rig, let's get right to it.”

With that, he led the young mare through the door in the side leading to the back, where the firing range was located. The young mare waved me good-bye as I did the same. Sly trotted right along after them. After a few seconds, he backtrotted back to me and smirked. “So, she your marefriend?”

“No,” I replied flatly. I was dead serious, and I hoped he saw that.

“... right then.” He trotted back. After a few seconds, he backtrotted back to me and asked, “Wanna catch up at the Rusty Steed for dinner? Drinks are on me!”

“You know I'm not an alcoholic.” I sighed. “Never will be. But I'll think on joining you. Xamuros'll be there too, after all.”

“Alrighty, sounds good.” He nodded, trotting right back along into the firing range.

It was then that Chief Thunderhooves leaned in close to me, poking my breastplate, “Only because of the Ironshod.”

“Don't worry, I'll pay right out of my pocket if anything bad happens.” I reassured him as he leaned back.

“Very well.” He snorted, crossing his hooves.

The pop of a pistol shot went off as a bullet whizzed through the door and embedded itself against Chief Thunderhooves' counter, causing both of us to blink in surprise.

“Son of a cuss, Rig!” Xamuros exclaimed from the other side of the door. “You weren't supposed to switch targets mid-S.A.T.S.! The cuss were you aiming for anyway?!”

“Omigosh, I'm so sorry!” I heard her squeak. “I didn't mean to! Oh, Goddess, I think I aimed at Chief Thunderhooves!”

“Chief! Hey, Chief! You alright?”

“I am quite alright!” the buffalo yelled back. “It only hit the counter!”

“Okay, glad to hear you're fine!” the zebra yelled, muffled talking resuming soon after. I could only imagine what he was telling Rig.

“On... second thought,” Chief Thunderhooves glanced back at me, “I am a bit more worried about the little one now.”

“Just as long as they work out the kinks with S.A.T.S., I think it'll turn out alright.” I sighed. “Just... stay behind the counter for now, alright?”

“That sounds like a plan.” He nodded, a bemused expression on his face. “Well, in any case, it sounds like they will be in there for a while. How about you go take a walk around, maybe visit your apartment? Slyther found something you might like and put it there for you.”

“Really?” I asked. I silently hoped it wouldn't involve any high-explosives.

“Yes, really. And it's apparently not high-explosive.”

“Is that so?” I rubbed my chin, turning to leave. “I'll check it out then. See you soon, Chief Thunderhooves. Take care of yourself. Oh, and have Sly send letters to client... uh... two-oh-two through two-forty-six on the bounty board that all of their bounties are dead. They can use the life-force seal spell to check if need be.”

“Will do, friend.” He nodded, taking out the Ironshod Firearms M28 and starting to pry it apart as I left. “Farewell!”

I closed the door behind me on the way out, sighing lightly to myself. I was alone again, if not for a good few hours. I headed down the streets for the heart of Stalliongrad, hollowed office buildings reaching for the skies around me. It's been so long since I've been away, but yet so little has changed...

I tried to stem away the thoughts by bringing out Midnight Tallon out to play again. Her familiar clickety-clack soothed my spirit as I continued on towards the center of the city. Twirl into reverse grip. Close with a Viper. Flick up to pinch between my thumb and index finger. Y2K Rollover. Aerial to close. Reverse Twirl into another thumb pinch. Zen Rollover. Backhand Twirl to open. Reposition and Quick Close, Quick Draw. Rotate, then Latch Drop. A little bit of fanning, Viper open, Viper closed. Now faster.

I threw some more techniques into the mix, greeting passersby as I went along. But a familiar sight made me tear my focus away from Midnight Talon.

Silas.

He was in an alleyway, and as I passed by, time seemed to slow to a standstill. Midnight Talon was still slowly pivoting around a finger. He glanced at me in the same moment I did the same to him out of the corner of my draconic eye. Next to him in the alley was a large figure, hidden by a flowing black cloak, a cowl covering his (her?) face. This... person was clearly equine from the way the cowl formed from the cloak, a good-sized hump on his (her?) back. The only feature I could discern of this equine were the-

Eyes.

Those eyes caught my attention the most for that split-second glance. White. Without irises, pupils. Just white, featureless. Empty. Unblinking.

And yet I could feel them piercing straight into my soul. It was an unsettling thought.

I did not like that.

Not.

One.

Bit.

I forced that feeling out as time resumed a normal pace and I continued along, Midnight Talon clacking and staying open for a second as I used its faint reflection to glance back. The cloaked, hooded equine canted his (her?) head to the side, Silas snapping his talons to get his (her?) attention again. He was whispering something. I perked my ears up to listen.

“-was him,” I could hear Silas say. “That's the bastard........ hey, what's eatin' you? Speak up!”

“Silas.” A sharp whisper, not enough to distinguish the gender of this cloaked equine.

“What?” the griffin angrily whispered back.

“He's eavesdropping.”

Fuck.

I wheeled around, time slowing once more. Another ice arm formed on my shoulders, tugging out Luna's Judgment by the hooked end of the crowbar stock, using my momentum to twirl it out. As it reached the height of its second spin, I released the crowbar and let the trigger guard slide into my palm as I brought the weapon to bear, a third arm sprouting to attach to the pump. Time wound back up to speed as I was now turned around, Luna's Judgment at the ready on one side and Midnight Talon gleaming darkly on the other.

No more than a house's length away from me were both of them. Silas had his twin .357 Magnum revolvers drawn, both trained on me. The other one... whoever this equine was, simply strode out from the alley to his side. Every footstep resulted in solid crunch underneath, cloak and cowl concealing form and function.

Those empty eyes stared into me once more. That piercing feeling rose in the back of my head.

I forced that feeling out.

The cloaked figure reared his (her?) head back a bit, as if in mild surprise.

“Well?” I glared at them, a fourth arm bringing Night Fang out into play. “Do you plan to capitalize on this?”

“Oh, fuck you!” Silas growled, snapping his revolvers up, ready to fire.

I was going to open up with Night Fang. Even if I let him live before, he wasn't going to return the favor. I almost pulled the trigger back when the cloaked figure trained his (her?) gaze on the griffin. His hands twitched, and his expression flashed from one of rage to one of surprise. He met that blank gaze, and then looked back at his hands. Gradually, slowly, he lowered the revolvers, eyes closing and rage melting.

I glanced from the obscured equine to Silas and stowed my weapons away as well, slipping Midnight Talon into her pouch on my left foreleg.

It was then that I noticed just how many others were around us, weapons all drawn toward the pair.

“You will not fire upon Frost Windchill.” A tan earth pony stallion leveled his twin DP-28 machine guns toward the pair from the apartment building window above us, mounted onto him via a battle saddle, a contraption controlled by bits, levers, and kick-sensitive regions that allowed non-magical operation of heavy weaponry. Earth pony ingenuity, folks. Apparently, the others- earth ponies, unicorns, even another griffin- had the same thing in mind, their weapons still kept trained on them.

For once, my luck turned out good for me. It seemed the citizens of Stalliongrad remember every debt.

Silas grumbled lightly as his revolvers slid back into their holsters.

“Forgive him,” the cloaked figure spoke, holding out a clawed hand, skin formed of scaly rings. So this one was a female and another griffin, her voice soft, calm, collected. Each word flowed, oozing to the next like vocal honey.

I hated that kind of voice.

“He is... very brash.” She continued. “Very... hot-headed. We mean no harm. Just stow your weapons and be on your way. We will cause no further disruption.”

The hell was she thinking? It wasn't as if they would all be dissuaded by so much as a-

Luna strike me down now if I wasn't seeing things right. Were they actually listening to her?

Oh dear Goddesses, they were listening to her. Already they had holstered their weapons or folded up their battle saddles, moving along their separate ways.

The tall, female griffin looked back at Silas and nodded back toward the alleyway. He scowled, muttering a string of curses and blasphemies under his breath. If it weren't for the other one, I would have already been at his throat. Again.

I felt her empty gaze upon me once more and I battered the anticipated penetrating feeling away again. It was... just so unsettling.

She tilted her head to the side. “How quaint...” she whispered.

“Who are you?” I asked, voice firm and expression stern. “State your business with me.”

“You may call me... Azrael,” she answered in that hateful voice. “And at the moment, I have no business with you.” She held out her hand once more. “Apologies.”

And with that, this Azrael griffin turned away and followed after Silas, ground crunching beneath her with each step.

No, my luck didn't spare me after all.

A griffin who had a bone to pick with me talking to another griffin was a bad sign. It seemed the Wasteland just decided to send me a big, cloaked female griffin. With a silver tongue. And that voice.

Named after the Angel of fuckin' Death.

Laugh it up, you big, empty bastard.

* * *

It was good to be back in my old apartment on the seventh floor again. It was wide, spacious. Glassless windows offered a view of the northern part of the city, light streaming in unfiltered. The simplest commodities filled the room. A work bench for my weapons along with various maintenance tools. A small twin-sized mattress with a lone, yellowed pillow on it. The bathroom was there, shower, toilet, sink and everything, but since the plumbing didn't work in any of these homes, I had turned it into an impromptu closet. Anything I wanted to keep but didn't want weighing me down was in there. Books, weapon parts, memorabilia, relics of the past and other things you folks wouldn't care for.

An envelope was stuck in the bathroom doorway signed “From Chief Thunderhooves” in neat, blocky letters. Huh. He said that Sly left something for me, but he didn't mention anything from himself... I formed a pair of ice arms, removing the pinned envelope and removing its contents.

My Goddesses, I thought to myself, mouth slightly ajar and eyes widening. Where did he find this?

The photograph was tarnished from age, colors dulled. In it were three individuals all in NETO military uniform and armor, posed together in front of a beaten Humvee. On the far left was a pegasus, his light machine gun and rocket launcher proudly displayed on his battle saddle as he hovered above the rest with a cocky smirk. Beside him was an earth pony mare with a battle saddle piled with communications equipment, her helmet modified with all sorts of gizmos. A single, odd-looking gem-powered rifle was clasped to her side, and her smile was rather... eccentric (downright creepy even). At the right was a tall unicorn stallion. Though he stood attention, bullpup-style assault rifle rifle slung across his back, he allowed-

The storyteller paused, looking quite irritated as a younger pony asked what “bullpup-style” was.

Ugh... a bullpup-style weapon features a firing assembly that is located behind the trigger. You get a distinct design where the magazine often located a good distance behind the trigger guard. This design allows for a full-size barrel in a weapon of carbine length. Now, no more interruptions. This is a very special moment for me.

So... though he stood attention, he allowed himself a sincere, modest smile. The remaining right third of the picture was missing, torn away. I knew why.

In the upper-left corner, in almost perfectly-preserved writing, fancy but conservative, were the words “The Dead Boys”. Underneath, in a scrawny scribble, “plus one girl”.

I had to lean against the wall to take it all in, the memories so long ago. A falling object, a puff of blood. A horrible, ear-piercing, electrical whine followed by an explosion. Splinters, fragments of metal.

An ornate medal, streaked with gold and violet, depictions of Celestia and Luna, necks bent to form a crest.

My breath was shaky as I slowly slid down against the wall, plates of armor scraping against it as I fell to the floor. My frozen hands were trembling, and it was only then that I noticed the smaller, complete photograph behind it.

I thought that my tears had dried up long ago. I thought I had no more tears to shed. I thought the Wasteland took them all away from me.

But as I cherished that second photograph of a time so long gone, the tears flowed freely once more. Some of them froze as they streaked down my muzzle. I shifted my hands out of the way as they plopped to the floor. I couldn't let them touch such a beautiful thing.

Because that photograph was of Her. And me. Together. Happy. Together.

I couldn't leave these here. I knew that as I stifled back the sobs, tucked back the tears. I rose to my feet and slid those photographs down my neck and behind my breastplate. Few things, even in the Wasteland, could even hope to penetrate Lunar Guard armor. They would be safe there, there with my beating heart.

“Feel your heart and it's glowing... I'm welcome home... sweet home...”

I couldn't help but let those beautiful lyrics slip out. I bit back the tears. I owed Chief Thunderhooves so, so much. I needed to see him again before I left.

I opened my eyes and started to get up to my feet.

Then I saw it. A small, low wooden bench, painted with just enough black paint to color it, the smooth grain still showing. A large, grooved dial was on its side.

In a second, I knew what Slyther Shattermaw found for me. But I had to be sure, I had to see it with my own eyes as I stepped around the corner to see what laid beyond the bench. A full-sized grand piano, sleek, black. Beautifully crafted, the top carefully propped open.

I couldn't help but let a soft gasp escape my lips as I flew to it. I rubbed my cheek against the keyboard cover. Wood. Real, honest-to-Goddess, carved wood. I had no idea how it had been preserved so well.

Or, as I suddenly realized, thinking of Xamuros, restored so well. I was going to the Rusty Steed later after all...

I couldn't bear the wait any longer. I opened the keyboard cover, propping it up and revealing the ivory and ebony keys beneath. Against the underside of the cover, in neat, golden leaf under an elaborate family seal: “Steineigh & Sons”.

I had to play it. I absolutely had to play it. I seated myself on the bench and tenderly pressed down a note, middle C.

Oh my Goddesses that clear, crisp tone. I looked upon this thing of beauty, expression endearing. I had to play a song, just one song. But... but it had been so long! What were those notes? What was that beginning chord for the left hoof? It was so simple, only two notes! Why couldn't I remember in such a time like this? Why?

I could hear the Wasteland's laughter.

“Damn you...” I whispered. “Damn you...”

“What is wrong, Frost?” I heard Her voice.

I looked up at Her. She was standing behind me, a concerned expression creasing Her brow.

“I... I can't remember the song,” I hissed at myself. “What is probably Beethoofen's most momentous creation, and I can't remember it!” I hung my head in shame. “Damn you, you big, empty bastard... I want to create again! I want to create again, but create beauty!”

“... may I sit?” She asked, voice a whisper.

I looked back at Her, eyes wide. I slowly nodded, scooting to the side so She could seat herself beside me.

“Go ahead,” She whispered, a light, encouraging smile playing across Her muzzle.

“But... I...” I stammered.

“Go ahead,” She repeated patiently, quietly.

I inhaled deeply, slowly letting the breath out as I extended my icy hands out to the wooden keys, marveling how the grain still showed through the paint. I could feel it... Luna Almighty, I could feel it... My hindhooves reached for the pedals. Her forehooves hovered over my hands, resting lightly on them.

I looked up at Her. “Together,” She whispered so quietly yet so powerfully.

“Together.” I nodded lightly, turning back to the keys.

I began to play.

And it all began to come back to me.

I began to create again, and create beauty.

Together.

With Her.

Now, folks... a song. That song. Listen closely, and listen hard. Let it stay with you as you depart for the night, depart into the Dreamlands. It's early morning. Hope you all rest well.

And don't any of you dare interrupt.

Good night, everypony. Luna bless your souls for taking the time to listen. I'll be back here later tonight.

Now... just listen...

* * *

Footnote: Maximum Level
Unlockable added: Soundtrack- Theme of the Northern Bastion, Stalliongrad

Character Voice Actor- Angelina Jolie as Azrael

Soundtrack- Sonata Quasi una Fantasia; C-Sharp Minor (also known as “Moonlight Sonata”) by Beethoofen
First Movement
Second Movement
Third Movement

Author's Note

My thanks go out to Kkat and Somber for their awesome stories (and Mimezinga too). Thank you for reading, and as always, feedback is appreciated.

Chapter Six: Not What I Expected

Chapter Six: Not What I Expected

The storyteller had stopped just in time, letting those who wanted to listen to DJ-P0N3's broadcast take their leave for their radio sets. He waited patiently, answering questions politely now that he wasn't in the middle of telling his story. This continued for the better part of the hour before the audience filed back into their places.

Yes, it's big. Yes, it's important. But it will also be explained later. I told you I couldn't start from my birth with this one. This is a story of the Wasteland, in the Wasteland. It will start in the Wasteland, it will end in the Wasteland. Just have patience and bear in mind this is important for me too. Everything will become clear in the end. All I ask is that you just hold your judgments until the end.

The old unicorn in Lunar Guard armor smiled lightly as the audience returned to their proper places.

So, what's going on this time with Stable Dweller and Security?

…

Interesting... well, good on them. They're both doing a fine job clearing up the mess our world has become.

A filly asked him why he wasn't out there doing the same. He saved a young mare from a slaver, aided the retaking of Stalliongrad and helped defend it from the Dead Boys. Why wasn't he out there doing more?

His expression grew stern, and he leaned in a little toward the filly.

Kid, there's reasons. Number one, I've made a promise to tell this tale, and it's not because of the kid who asked me yesterday. Number two, I've done... many things I'm not proud of in the past. I've also made a promise to make them known. Number three, do you think I've just stopped trying to make a difference for the forty years between my story and now? I've just lost some... oh, I'll get to it in the story eventually...

Look, kid. I do what I can. But I'm not a knight in shining armor coming to save the Wasteland, no matter how much I look the part. I'm no hero. In fact, for some of the things I've done, you could damn well blame me for a lot of things here.

Just... hear me out. Save your judgments against who I am and what I've done until after I'm finished. Then I'll get out of Junction R-7 and be out of your hair, alright?

The filly said in a tinny voice how that wasn't what she meant...

I know. But things could change by the time my story's through.

I'm not who you think I am. What I wear and what I've told you so far should be evidence enough.

Now then. Last I remember, you folks are here for a story. Let's get right to it...

Shall we?

* * *

Azrael Razorwing. So that's why the Dead Boys were in that factory. They weren't after something. They were literally after someone.

And fuck me now, that “someone”, that cloaked gargantuan of a female griffin looming over me was Silas' sister. I tried to keep a straight face, an even tone, and say the right things the right way. She was the one with a Kord 6P50 under her cloak after all.

“Well... I guess I can say that clears up a lot of things.” I blinked.

Oh wow, Frost. The right words the right way. Nice job.

“Indeed.” The hooded griffin stared down at me with those empty eyes. She didn't blink once.

“Well... are you going to do it?” I asked her, ready to make a move. As much as I probably deserved to die, I had a Stable mare and possibly a good few slaves I had obligations to. I had to keep those obligations.

“Do what?” Azrael asked. She sounded... amused?

“Well kill me of course,” I huffed. “You know what I've done.”

“Yes... I know what you've done.” She leaned to the side a bit, floor creaking under the shift in weight. “You cheated my younger brother of his prey, you humiliated him, and you also caused the deaths of seventy-three people today in Stalliongrad. You also killed Langson. Father didn't want him killed.”

“So, are you going to get right to it?” I tensed, ready to whip out Midnight Talon. No, screw that. I was ready to whip out all of my weapons. In fact, I'd better get started-

“No.”

“... heh?” I stared at her. I unwittingly let Midnight Talon clatter to the floor as I whipped her out.

“Say what?” Silas looked just as stunned as I was as I bashfully looked down, snatched my blade up, and stowed her away.

“I'm not going to kill you,” Azrael spoke calmly. “Rather, I should be thanking you.”

“... heh?” I stared wider.

“So... thank you.” The giant griffin nodded lightly at me.

“... heh?” I gawked. Again, nice job with the right words in the right way, Frost.

The odd sensation of somepony turning in her (Yes, very specifically “her”) grave made me shudder once more.

“... you're not used to this... are you?” She canted her head slightly to the side. She certainly seemed amused. “First off, in one-upping my little brother, you took the wind out of him. Put him in his... place, if you will.”

“Sis!” Silas exclaimed, looking rather... pout-y.

…

Oh, come on, folks. Gimme a break. I can't find the right words all the time for details.

“Like I said before, he is very brash, very hot-headed,” Azrael continued speaking as if the interruption never took place. “We were getting desperate with getting all the caps we needed to keep Langson quiet, and so he decided to take up bounty hunting, going on about how he was going to be, quote, 'the best bounty hunter ever,' end-quote. And that he would save us from our troubles single-handed. Ridiculous, really. So overblown. I think the desperation just got to his head. I'm glad you taught him a lesson.”

“Sis, you know I'm standing here, right?” Silas really pouted this time.

“Yes, I'm well aware.” Azrael turned her gaze on him for a second before turning back to me. “Now then. Second, even if you caused the deaths of so many Stalliongrad citizens, it's basely our fault for being here in the first place, riding on the hope that Silas would actually bring in the caps to help us bribe Langson. I suppose... we were as much fools as he was in the end.”

The male griffin grumbled something under his breath. I didn't even manage to catch it, dazed as I was by the realization that I didn't have to fight for my life again tonight.

This was... not what I expected.

“Yes, I realize it's overkill on you, Silas,” she exhaled lightly. “And lastly, I honestly wanted Langson dead myself. Of course, you'll have to answer to our father.”

I heard the door in the kitchen slam open as a third griffin stormed in, clothed in light combat armor and of average stature for an adult griffin. A pair of lever-action rifles crossed over his back. And he looked pissed.

“And cue that.” Azrael stepped out of the way, motioning for Silas to do the same.

The senior Razorwing growled in a gruff tone, “Alright, I want to know exactly why our door is unlocked after what just hap-” It was then that he finally noticed me. “... who the hell is this, and what is he doing in our household?” Before anyone could respond, he added, “And what the hell is he wearing?” Again, before anyone could respond, he added, “And Azrael, mind your manners. Take off your hood when you're indoors. You're in our household, young lady.”

“Yes, father.” She bowed her head apologetically. And then she raised a claw up, a black-scaled claw up to peel back her hood.

The first thing that struck me was that her head feathers were a midnight black. It was a coloration I'd never seen before on a griffin. Normally, they'd range from all sorts of dark colors but always have a white-feathered head. Silas and the senior Razorwing, for example, were dark brown with white heads.

The second thing that struck me was her eyes. Now that I could see them in up close and in a well-lit room, I noticed they weren't actually blank, white, empty... things. She had irises, she had pupils. But they were a both light-gray color, almost blending together.

The third thing that struck me was that she hadn't blinked during all this time. Not since I'd first seen her in that alleyway just outside.

I realized it, and I almost couldn't believe it. If I was a lesser pony, I would have reeled from it.

Azrael was blind.

As I was too stunned in the revelation to speak, Azrael spoke instead. “To answer you, father,” she said, “this is Frost Windchill. He came to our household for answers behind the attack on Stalliongrad, and yes, he picked our lock to do so. Lastly, from what I've gleaned, he's wearing Lunar Guard armor.”

Azrael was blind.

So how the hell did she know that?

“What exactly does that mean?” the senior Razorwing asked.

“It means, apparently, that he wears the armor of the Canterlot Palace Guard,” the ebony griffin replied. “More specifically, the Royal Guard that served as bodyguards to the Goddesses when they were alive. Still more specifically, the Lunar Guard, bodyguards who specifically served Princess Luna.”

“Then how the hell did you get that?” he asked me, leering and tapping my breastplate.

Well, time to lie again.

“It was passed down to me from-” I bellowed unexpectedly, breath expelling powerfully from my lips, causing all of us to jump in surprise, the griffins covering their ears. Azrael especially cantered back heavily on the floor.

I looked down at my breastplate to find the gem smack-dab in the middle of it glowing an angry blue, the draconic eye shining bright.

Oh of course he had to tap there of all places.

I pat at the gem, causing it to deactivate as the Razorwings slowly unblocked their ears and eyed me. I cleared my throat and spoke, “My apologies. For future reference, I... really suggest you don't tap that. It's a gem enchanted to allow the speaker to use CAPS.” Their expressions were blank. “The Canterlot Augmented Pony Speech spell?” Still blank. “The traditional Canterlot voice?”

“The what?” Silas blinked.

“Oh... never mind. Now, then. My armor was passed down to me from my father, who inherited from his own father. This goes back several generations to my ancestor, a Lunar Guard who managed to reach a Stable safely.”

The senior Razorwing turned to Azrael and asked, “Well? Is he telling the truth?”

“I don't know,” she answered calmly, shaking her head.

“... what do you mean you don't know?” He leered at her.

“That I honestly don't know,” she responded, still calm as ever.

Silas looked baffled himself for a moment before raising an eyebrow at me and asking, “Are you a ghoul or something?”

“Hm?” I raised an eyebrow at him. I was about to make a snide remark about whether or not I looked like one. But then I remembered I was treading in a griffin household and decided to play safe. Right words, right way, Frost. “No, I'm not a ghoul, Silas.”

Wow. That was easier than I thought.

“He isn't a ghoul.” Azrael shook her head. “I've gleaned that much. But again... I don't know if he's telling the truth. He seems to be trustworthy enough from what I've gleaned from other people, however.”

“Whatever the case is, let's rewind a little.” The senior Razorwing sat down on the couch and crossed his forelegs. “So, instead of politely knocking like any other decent equine, hell any decent pony would, you picked the lock to our door and barged in?”

“And killed Langson.” Silas added. He pointed a claw at the bathroom.

The senior Razorwing widened his eyes and dashed to the doorway, peering inside. He snaked his head back out, glaring daggers. I promptly had all three Razorwings' eyes on me. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you forcibly removed from our household.”

Think fast, Frost. Right words, right way.

“I'm here for answers behind the attack on Stalliongrad,” I spoke, keeping my tone level and calm. Ugh, I was hating myself for talking like that. Now be firm. “And before you say that I have no authority, I think that as the one who helped these people reclaim the city from raiders years ago, I have the right to ask and the right to know just exactly why we had a hostile force with that level of that firepower and committing all those lives attack our city, our home tonight.” Alright, good. Now press them. Be assertive. “I know my methods are questionable at best and intrusive at worst, but I must know what all those people died for.” Add some aggression, play off guilt. “Because I certainly hope they didn't die for some stupid, insignificant reason.”

Now that's the way to do it, Frost. But it was still a risky gambit, and I was readying myself to go for my weapons yet again.

But a relenting sigh escaped the senior griffin, and he told me, “Alright. I suppose you deserve some answers. Let's just all maintain some semblance of decency and civility here.” A glance at Silas, and the younger griffin quickly got the message. “Let's all have a seat shall we?”

I felt the tension hanging in the air ease up a little as the Razorwings moved to take their seats, namely on the sofas. Azrael practically took one up for herself, and I was left to sit directly next to the father.

“Now then,” I let out an easy sigh as I called upon my knowledge of griffin formal greetings, “I suppose we'll have the formal introductions. My name is Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill, but I wish to be called Frost. I hail from Stable Seventy-Two of the Far North. I take the role of the local bounty hunter.”

The Razorwings simultaneously cocked a set of feathered eyebrows at me for a split second. They were a family alright.

“My name is Garador Razorwing,” the father spoke. “I hail from Seaddle of the Westerns. I currently take no role.”

To say that one has no role in griffin culture is a source of great shame, especially if it comes from the father or mother. The fact that he was willing to tell me this meant that he vested some trust in me at least.

“My name...” Azrael paused to glance at her father. I have no idea why she did this if she was in fact blind, but he gave a curt nod at her. “My name is Azrael Razorwing. I hail from Seaddle of the Westerns, like my father. I take no role.” She motioned to her brother. “This is Silas Razorwing. He hails from Seaddle of the Westerns, like my father and myself. He takes the role of bounty hunter.”

Interesting. If a child was not yet considered to have risen to adulthood, the eldest sibling was to give the formal introduction for him or her. The fact that she designated him as the only one with a role in the family was something I also found peculiar.

“I'm surprised you know the proper griffin formal greeting.” Garador regarded me with an even stare and a level head as we went to less formal matters. Body language was everything when it came to first impressions for griffins. Equinpologists must take great care when addressing griffins as such. That he didn't look down on me nor bow his head down meant that he saw me as an equal, and so I did the same to him. “How is it you know?”

“At our Stable, we had the luxury of possessing a very diverse library,” I explained to him. “It is through the combination of plenty of free time and curiosity that I learned much of what I know. It's come to help me in many unexpected ways since.”

Garador nodded lightly and asked, “So what is it you already know? You've certainly had the time to meet Langson, the bastard.”

“All I know is that you came to Stalliongrad and you bribed him with large sums of caps to keep your location secret from the Dead Boys,” I answered him. “I must also add that I apologize for killing him, as I did so with full knowledge that you wanted him alive. I...” I suddenly found myself at a loss of words. I tried to think of why I wanted to kill him. Justice? Anger? Blood-lust? My memory went a little fuzzy as I tried to recall, and the Razorwings were waiting for an answer. They trusted me enough to vest with me some potentially damaging knowledge of their family. I had to vest my own trust in them. “Honestly, I don't know why I killed him. When I heard that he was the one who betrayed your location to the Dead Boys and caused all this just over caps, I just wanted him dead. I wanted him to suffer. There's no other way I can explain. I must also apologize for cheating and humiliating your son from obtaining the bounty for the caps necessary to keep Langson quiet. It... makes me responsible for what happened tonight as well.”

Garador knew this matter of trust. “You're sure you don't have any griffin blood flowing through your veins?” He smiled lightly, if only for a moment. “Frost, honest-to-Goddess, the only reason I wanted the son of a bitch alive was so I could kill him myself after this mess was over.” Oh. Not what I expected. Well... that made things a little easier on me. “So. How did you kill him? You wanted him to suffer if I recall.”

“Just dislocated his arm and sent an ice spike through his wing before the real magic began.” I smiled. Good Goddess, I was smiling about this? “Oh, I should probably mention I am a cryomancer, and I am only a cryomancer. I can perform no other magic, but I like to think I perform it rather adeptly. Now then.” I leaned closer, still smiling. Why was I still smiling? “You see... when people know that their death is imminent, it brings out their true nature. It shows who they really are inside. Langson proved to be an idiotic buffoon and a desperate coward. I stabbed into his gut. The way he was lying and the way I did it, it wasn't going to be lethal. But... I made him think it was, that his stomach enzymes would acidify his insides for a slow, painful death. I gave him the alternative of drowning himself to death, and he took it. Heh, he sure took it.”

“You made him kill himself?” Garador eyed me.

“I sure did.” I smiled. Goddessdammit, why was I smiling? “I wanted him to stoke as deep in the flames of hell as he could get.”

He crossed his arms and nodded lightly. “Impressive. I think I can let it slide then. Now then, I'm talking too much. You were the one who wanted to ask the questions. Ask.”

I nodded. “Mister Razorwing, who are these 'Dead Boys'? What do they want with your family?”

“The Dead Boys...” Garador began, frowning and exhaling sharply with contempt, “are a paramilitary organization. A mercenary organization in layman's terms. I don't doubt your knowledge of our kind, Frost, but I must remind you that we griffins are an honor-bound race if not often a greedy one. The Dead Boys take that to the next level. They do anything for caps, whether it be the cleansing of a wholly innocent village, taking the head of a good man or woman, or bringing hell to what's left of Equestria. They would shoot up a defenseless mare if it meant a job. If doing good brought in more income, then they would've done that. I think you and I both know that heinous acts and atrocities are what rake in the most caps in the end.”

He breathed out a deep sigh, then glanced at Azrael. The giant griffin lifted her cloak up and out of the way.

My Goddess. She was wearing that skeletal body armor, the armor of the Dead Boys. And, I also noted, she was indeed of completely black coloration. Her feathers, even the scales on her arms and legs were black as can be.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I quickly closed it. I couldn't make judgments just yet. After all... with what I've done...

“We had the misfortune of joining the Dead Boys,” Azrael spoke, frowning. “We were poor, we were defenseless, and the unfortunate, inconvenient truth of the world is that life isn't fair and life isn't free. It's only all the more true in the Equestrian Wasteland. We needed the caps, and we needed support from a flock. It was why we joined the Dead Boys.”

“It ended up being more than we bargained for,” Garador continued as Azrael let her cloak fall back into place. “We had the means to protect ourselves now, but it was all behind an organization that did nothing but hurt Equestria more. We had the money, but it was all dirty, blood money. I liked to think that the Razorwings were better than that. Now... here's the part where we answer your question about what they want with us. Silas, go ahead. Tell him. Please.”

Garador had a grim expression, as did the others. That didn't bode well.

“The Dead Boys don't like it when members of the flock fly the coop,” Silas explained. “Once a Dead Boy, always a Dead Boy. Birth to earth, womb to tomb. That's the bullshit they spew out anyways. They didn't take kindly to members leaving, so we had to do it in secret. Some bastard snitched on us, and one of their leaders with her personal henchmen cornered us. We were told to stand down and remain or they'd kill us. We knew we couldn't stay. They already found out that we'd tried to leave, and they would watch us closely from then on to make sure we didn't try again. It was do or die.” He paused, exhaling sharply and looking away. “Or do and die. We went against them. And mom died because of it.”

Oh. Oh dear...

A tense silence clung to the air. I was relieved when it was broken.

“But not before I killed said leader,” Azrael spoke, a hint of sorrow and anger echoing behind her voice. I don't know why, but in contrast to her normal, too-calm tone... I found it oddly comforting. Perhaps that she showed more emotion than I expected of her so far. I don't know why. “We managed to get away, and we've been trying to find a safe place to hide ever since. The Dead Boys are not a beast but a hydra. I cut off one head, but there were many more left to assume control. And so the Dead Boys started hunting us down for revenge. When we heard about Stalliongrad, we couldn't resist and flew here. We were followed.”

“By Langson.” I put the pieces together now.

“Yes.” The gargantuan breathed out a sigh. “He was easily manipulated, thankfully. We made a deal. We would cough up two-thousand caps every month, and he would keep his beak shut. You know the rest.”

I took it all in and leaned back, still making sure to keep my head level with them.

“We lost almost everything we had to those bastards,” Garador finally spoke again, voice laced with fury. “We lost our dignity, our honor... and my wife. But make no mistake, Frost- we're not them. We're disavowed Dead Boys, all of us. We fought for this city just as hard as anyone else did. Except for Langson of course. Hope the bastard roasts good in hell.”

There was one last question, and I couldn't keep it in any longer. “Did you see the Memorial?” I asked.

“No, but I know of it,” Azrael spoke. “I'm guessing you wish to know if there's any correlation between the Dead Boys who fought for this city during the Great War and the Dead Boys who tried to take it tonight.”

I nodded. “They don't deserve that name. They're an insult to the people who gave their lives to save the city so long ago.”

“There is no correlation,” she told me. “It's merely a coincidence.”

“Well it's a sick, twisted coincidence if you ask me.” I sighed. “Well, what do you all plan to do now?”

“Leave,” Garador spoke. “As soon as possible. Frost, we're not fools. Well... maybe we're fools for thinking that Silas could help us hold out here a little longer, but not fools of that kind. The Dead Boys already know that we're here. Even if we did wipe out the attack party, the fact they didn't return would've alerted the higher-ups anyways. Staying here just means that they'll attack Stalliongrad again and again until we're dead.”

“And then likely kill everyone and ransack the place,” Silas added bitterly.

“Where will you go?” I asked.

“Everywhere and anywhere we haven't already been,” Garador replied. “No place is safe, only safer. I guess we'll start with the Manehattan area since it's close. Maybe Tenpony Tower. The Wasteland's full of nothingness anyways. We'll find somewhere. Now, does that answer all your questions?”

“Yes.” I exhaled a cool mist, getting up. “Though, I must say that I really don't recommend Tenpony Tower. The place is full of stuck-up, bloated, aristocratic egos. Unless you like being around that type, I suggest you look elsewhere. Thank you for your time, all of you. And for not killing me, I guess.”

“And thank you for killing the bastard in a satisfactory way.” He nodded lightly at me, rising as well. “I've got to get going myself. Snowbourne's gonna have my ass on a trophy plaque if I don't tell him what this was all about. And I'll keep your words on Tenpony Tower in mind. Farewell.”

Garador left in a jiffy, and I was on my way out as well.

“Wait,” Azrael spoke, causing me to pause and meet her gaze. “It was a pleasure to fight alongside you, even if for only a few minutes. I must thank you for causing that Heavy to turn around and give me an opening.”

“You're... welcome,” I said. What else could I have said? And so I bid a quick farewell and left, taking off for the Hammer and Horns.

The meeting with the Razorwings...

Not what I expected. I suppose it all worked out in the end.

But I still felt so, so guilty.

* * *

The Hammer and Horns was certainly a lot more crowded than I remembered. Chief Thunderhooves was now performing maintenance for the weapons that had got beaten-up during the firefight of the century. Needless to say, there was a pretty huge line, and I decided to just take the back door through the storeroom to get inside. It was known enough that he had to be repaid in kind for his generosity in cleaning out during the hour before, and he was often paid more than what was necessary. Large stacks of caps were tucked behind the counter with every satisfied customer.

Like I said, folks, buffalo often receive much more in return for what they give. All in due time.

“Glad to see the store held up, Chief Thunderhooves.” I smiled at him, approaching the counter.

“You and I both, Frost,” he replied with a light smile of his own, currently fiddling with a battle rifle for the griffin at the front of the queue. “My inventory is getting filled out quite nicely again with all these battle saddles and weaponry scavenged off of the dead.”

“Win-win as always. Do you happen to know where Rig is by the way?”

“Oh, your friend?” He paused in his work. “She is in the back with Xamuros and Sly.” He then leaned toward me. “I would like to think you owe me. She expended all my hydrazine.”

“... all of it?” I stared.

“All of it,” he responded, dead serious.

“She had fun out there, didn't she?” I couldn't help but chuckle.

“None of the Dead Boys broke through, so I am a happy buffalo.” He shrugged, continuing his work.

“Well, I'll happily pay good caps for all the flechettes, two-kilo slugs, and forty-five ACP you still have along with a dozen units of seven-six-two SR for Rig.” I slid a large bag of caps across the counter. I didn't care if it was far more than what I needed to pay to cover the cost. You know my reasoning. “Something tells me we're going to go a while without a resupply. This will also likely be the last time we meet for a while again, so... again, thank you for all that you've done for me and for Rig. Hágoónee', Shih-chai' Thunderhooves.”

“Lá'aa, hágoónee'.” He nodded, taking the bag and sliding a good batch of ammo boxes over to me. “Now go and spend time with your friends already. And good Lorn, Higgs! How on Equestria did you wear the rifling down so much?”

I bowed lightly and took my leave for the firing range where, as expected, my friends were. I'm not one for long good-byes.

“-was scared out of my wits, yeah, but that didn't stop me from sending my pickaxe into his face!” Rig was beaming as she noticed my entrance. “Frost!”

“Hey.” I smiled. “I'm guessing you're telling them what happened while I was gone?”

“Yeah, you bet!” the still smoky-faced mare exclaimed.

I huffed softly in amusement, turning to the other two. “So, how are things going?”

“Well, I'm gonna have to wait til tomorrow to snatch all these claws.” Sly frowned, opening up his saddlebags to show they were already chock-full of them. “Sometimes, I really hate Regulator policy.”

“Checked in on Zasili while you were out,” Xamuros told me. “He took a few pieces of shrapnel to the side, but he'll be alright. So, did you find Silas? Find out anything?”

And so I told them. About the Razorwings, about Langson, about the bounty hunt. I told them what was necessary, leaving out the more private details of the Razorwings.

“Wait...” Rig looked crestfallen. “That means that...”

“It means that I am also to blame for the attack, yes.” I nodded. “In killing Sewn Britches and saving you, I partly caused this attack to happen earlier. Perhaps I just plain caused it. After all, the Razorwings were riding on the hope that Silas would get the bounty. If they managed one more payment, maybe they could have realized they had to leave the city after seeing what a bind they were in. And if they left, then all those good people wouldn't have died tonight.”

“Oh come on, how could you have known?” Rig tossed her hooves up.

“I don't know if I could have.” I sighed. “That doesn't excuse my part in it.”

I couldn't help but wince. I tried to kill it all away, but I remembered everything.

I couldn't show it. I couldn't say it. I kept silent.

“But you saved me!” the earth-coated unicorn exclaimed. “Come on, at least take something out of it!”

“One good life saved for seventy-three good lives lost.” I slanted my lips. “Wasteland math for you.” I fixed my gaze on her. “I don't regret saving you, and I know that in saving and helping you, I can save hundreds. But it still happened.”

“We don't always see the evil we do.” Xamuros nodded lightly, sharing a momentary glance with me. I knew what he was thinking. He knew what I was thinking. Was it really just a few years ago...?

“Hey, can't we just lighten the mood up here?” Sly pat me on the back. Which activated the pneumatic ram on his powerhoof and sent me stumbling to the ground. “Shit, sorry!”

“... Rig?” I looked up at her.

“Yes, Frost?” She looked down at me.

“By now you should be able to realize that the Wasteland hates me.” I sighed, getting up. “A lot.” It had good reason to.

“It's kinda obvious,” the cloud-maned mare chuckled a little uneasily.

“Well, again, sorry tonight didn't turn out like we wanted,” I apologized as I dusted myself off, craning my head back. No dents in my armor, thankfully.

“Well, it's still 'tonight', right?” Sly grinned. “Last I checked, we can still have tonight turn out the way we wanted. Our food might be cold by now, but hell we've got the night ahead of us Mister Three-Hours-Of-Sleep.”

I smiled. A little.

* * *

I was glad we were able to salvage a good night after what had happened. Surprisingly, that was the mindset of a lot of other citizens of Stalliongrad. The Rusty Steed was just as crowded as before as when it was when we got back.

I won't bore you folks with the details this time. We chatted, ate, drank. Of course, Rig and I settled for ice cold water instead of liquor. She just told what happened at the Hammer and Horns while I was gone.

Now, after everything was said and done and we bid our farewells- Oh what is it now?

One of the colts in the audience asked, “Can we hear what happened to Rig while you were gone?”

Murmurs of agreement, namely from the children rang out. The storyteller looked from one end of the audience to the next and chuckled softly.

Alright, alright... you're sure making me work for my eidetic memory. That's photographic memory, people, you can put your hooves and claws down.

Okay... let's see, how did it go?

Ah, yes.

“So, back at the Hammer and Horns you were talking to Xamuros and Sly about what you did before I entered.” I brought up as we finished up our half-eaten meals. “What happened while I was away, hm?”

“Yeah, you never got a chance to finish up your story.” My zebra friend smiled. “Come on, let's hear it again.”

Rig smiled and set down the frozen cup of water I made for her. She began, “Well, after Frost left, we were in a bit of a bind. The thing with flamethrowers is that even though they're fiery and awesome and cool and awesome and amazing and awesome and... uh, awesome, they kinda attract attention. The result? Pretty much every Dead Boy that caught sight of me kept their distance and started prioritizing me. Me! The pony with only a few minutes' worth of combat experience!” She paused, tapping her chin. “Granted, I did kill a few griffins, but good Goddess, why me? … uh, Frost? I should've asked a long time ago, but it's okay for me to say things like that, right?”

“Again, it's fine so long as you don't escalate to anything... obscene,” I answered. “Well go on.”

“Okay, alright.” The young mare continued. “So, now I couldn't really use the Mark Twelve. I fell back on Luna's Fortitude, and hoooooo-ey' did it-”

“She.” I corrected her.

“... er, 'she' take them down!” Rig grinned. “Well... when I was using S.A.T.S. at least. When I didn't, they just kept moving too fast for me to hit them, and all that incoming fire forced me into cover behind the sandbags. Thankfully, with all of the Dead Boys occupied with trying to take me down, that freed up the others. They were armed with machine guns, so they had no problems firing off enough bullets to hit at least something. While I was reloading, I noticed how the one next to me was aiming where he expected the griffins to fly toward instead of firing directly at them. I tried doing that, and I had much better luck hitting my targets.”

“Heh, you learn fast.” I chuckled, then frowned at Xamuros. “Wait, you mean to tell me you didn't teach her how to lead her shots?”

“Right... slipped my mind.” Xamuros scratched the back of his head. “Kinda forgot about it with targets. You know, since the ones we have that actually move aren't really far away from the counters?”

“What's this about leading my shots?” Rig asked.

“Well, you see, bullets don't hit their targets instantaneously like magical-energy weapons do,” the zebra explained. “For distant targets, you'll have to do what's called 'leading your shots'. You realize that your bullets take time to travel to whatever you're hitting and fire where you anticipate your target is heading so that your bullets and your target meet that place at the same time. That's what you learned to do in that case.”

“Oh, well that's good.” She smiled. “Now that the fire was split between the five of us on that rooftop again and I was the only one with a suppressed weapon, one of them made a point of me getting to a nearby rooftop and firing from there while the Dead Boys were occupied with them. I did just that. Between S.A.T.S. and this whole 'leading my shots' stuff, I was able to take down about six griffins before they wised up to me.

“One of them climbed up from below and popped up at me. It scared the wits out of me, but I slipped into S.A.T.S. and took a bit to catch my breath and plan my next moves. I noticed that the temporal spell lasts indefinitely so long as you don't use up any of its energy to place shots, so even with the surprise, it didn't stop me from taking time to calm down and plan out my move. The bayonet on Luna's Fortitude didn't look like it would cut it that time, but it didn't stop me from teleporting my pickaxe out and spiking it into his face. I saw a couple coming up using my radar, and I brought up the good old Mark-Twelve to light 'em up.

“Aaaaaand, then I ran out of fuel. I thought up a lot of things in the second that followed. First, aw man! I'm out of hydrazine? Then, oh shit. Chief's gonna be pissed. Lastly, I'd drawn attention to myself. Again. And I didn't have any sandbags nearby.

“So I did what I thought was the best plan of action. I jumped off the building.”

“You jumped,” I repeated. “You jumped off the building.”

“Yep.” Rig nodded.

“Uh... how tall was that building again?” Sly inquired.

“About... three books?” Rig shrugged.

“... what?” The three of us stared.

“Books?” Rig blinked at us. “You know, stories? That's what you people refer to floors as. Weird unit of measurement if you ask me. I mean, I think that's a lot taller than a book, or at least any book I've seen!”

“It's a... complicated thing,” I explained. “For now, just bear in mind that referring to a story in context with a building or construct of some sort is equivalent to describing the floor number or count.”

“Oh, gotcha.” Rig nodded. “So yeah, three stories or floors or whatever.”

“Three stories sounds a bit more reasonable and all, but three stories up is still three stories up,” Sly spoke. “You hurt yourself on the landing?”

“Nah, not really,” she chuckled. “I'm a tough mare. Well, not a mare yet... oh, never mind. Point is, I jumped down into the alley, landed without hurting myself, and waited for the gunners on the rooftop to get their attention again and for things to calm down before going back up. By the time I got back up there, two of the gunners were down and I had to take their place.” She took a moment to breathe out a sigh. “Most stressful moment of my life, I tell you. I couldn't handle it with just Luna's Fortitude, no matter how good it... er, she is.

“Look,” she continued, leaning back a little, “I'm an engineer and repairpony. I solve practical problems. I see I'm not putting enough fire out and I see two sets of unused machine guns lying next to me. So I improvised a solution. I teleported the mechanisms holding the MGs onto their battle saddles away and used telekinesis to fire all of them in simultaneously with Luna's Fortitude.”

“You can do that?” I asked, rather surprised myself.

“Well, yeah!” Rig nodded, smiling a little. She scratched at her mane, made difficult by her welding helmet. Doing so actually caused it to flip down, eliciting a grumble from her as she flipped it back up. “I mean, I'm an engineer and repairpony. I've gotta juggle multiple things with telekinesis at once, maybe even teleport multiple things at once. Wielding three guns at the same time was something new to me, especially trying to aim all of them at different targets. But I made it work well enough until Stalliongrad's own griffins pushed the Dead Boys back. I damn near shot at them too, but before I pulled the triggers, I saw that the griffin I was aiming at was using a pair of revolvers. It reminded me of that griffin you were talking to that night when you saved me, Frost, so I hesitated.

“Well, until he shot at me.” Rig added.

“He... he what?” I stared. Silas shot at her? Oh the next time I saw him, he was going to be in a whole world of-

“Actually, behind me,” she replied. “There was a Dead Boy I didn't even notice sneaking behind me with a powerfist, and the guy plugged him up real good. Frost, I wish you could've told me that the radar had so many problems with it! Like, it doesn't tell you elevation, distance, or even what's behind you!”

I had to take it in for a bit. Silas saved her?

Great. I felt bad now.

“So yeah, other than securing the area after that, nothing else happened,” Rig said, finishing. “What do you think?”

Sly spoke up first. “You taken?”

The ensuing reactions were appropriate and predictable. I facehoofed, Xamuros spat out his drink in a spray, Rig stared, and Sly screwed up his face at having his food sprayed over.

“Cuss, Sly!” Xamuros finally facehoofed. “Really?”

“Sly,” I spoke, eyes half-closed, “you realize she's a month shy of eighteen, right?”

“And she's awesome already at such a young age!” Sly shrugged. “Though, okay, now that I think about it, it's kinda pushing it.”

“Yeah... kinda is...” Rig leaned away from the giant, raising the patch of skin where her eyebrow would have been. “So, uh... what did ya think of the story?”

I crossed my forelegs and regarded her, happy for the change in subject. “Well, it was certainly not what I expected. You're definitely learning fast, and you did a reasonably good job of putting what you learned to practice. Again, I'd say you're definitely set for traveling with me. If you could handle this hellish night with hundreds of mercs bearing down on the area, I think you can handle the occasional raider nest just fine. As for your storytelling ability...” I chuckled lightly, smiling, “you're a bit too objective. Put a little more detail, a little more of your own thoughts. It does the work of telling us what went down, but it told us little else. Spice it up a little.”

“What?” Xamuros laughed. “Frost, I thought this was a performance review, not a story critique!”

“Heh, you think you can do better or something, Frost?” Rig nickered.

Folks, the little pony in my head was rolling on the floor laughing at this moment. I couldn't help but feel a smile tug my lips upwards as I replied, “Perhaps in the future. After all, I did promise I would eventually tell you about how we took Stalliongrad back from the raiders.”

“Then I'll be dying to hear it.” The earth-coated unicorn smirked.

“Trust me, he tells stories like no one else I've ever met.” Sly beamed before guzzling down the rest of his mug. “Between his voice and his personal style, there ain't a better storyteller in the Wasteland.”

… hey, he said it folks. I'm not putting words in his mouth. Besides, I'm not the boastful type.

“Well, it's getting a little late,” I spoke, getting up. “Rig and I have to get up early to start for the Manehattan area tomorrow. It's a long walk. Sly, it's been great to see you again. I'm glad that at least we had some time to catch up. Now hound up all those claws for Regulator HQ, alright?”

“Hah, will do, buddy!” the giant laughed heartily, patting me on the back.

I tensed, expecting yet another shockwave-inducing impact.

It never came.

Everyone at the table blinked in confusion, myself included as I straightened out again and Sly pulled back his powerhoof. He regarded it with a puzzled expression, holding it up to his face to inspect it.

And then it set off, sending him sprawling backward and tumbling to the floor. I just stared, incredibly surprised and terribly worried. Rig was holding both of her hooves to her mouth, eyes wide.

Xamuros... just looked at the collapsed giant for a few seconds before turning back to the table and sipping at his drink.

A large, powerhoof-equipped hoof shot into the air. “I'm okay!” Sly yelped. He took a moment to get back up and smiled. “So yeah, uh, take care!”

I nodded to him, then spoke to Xamuros, “Wees goed en sorg, my vriend. Ek is bly ons is nou op beter terme.” Be well and take care, my friend. I'm glad we're on better terms now.

“Dieselfde an jou,” he replied, and we both shared a light bow to one another. The same to you. “I think that was the first time I caught a mistake from you, Frost.”

“Dammit.” I frowned. “Zebrikaans is supposed to be my best foreign language. Well, other than Esmaneol. But that's an easy language.”

“I got the meaning well enough,” the zebra chuckled, extending a hoof out toward me. I locked elbows with him and we brought each other strongly into the other's shoulders. A proper Caesarian-era hoofshake, folks. “Safe travels for you both, Frost Windchill and Rig.”

“Luna be with you both,” I said to them, starting off. “Come on, Rig. Let's head to my home.”

“Your home?” she asked. “We're staying there for the night?”

“Well, we certainly won't be sleeping on the streets.” I huffed lightly. “Come on. Let's get out of this noisy place and let me show you.”

* * *

“Well... it's kind of... simple,” Rig remarked as she stood in the doorway, a bit miffed by the fact that I just slept on an old mattress.

“I'm not one for decorations or extra amenities,” I told her. “I only have what's necessary. I spend most of my time away anyways. I mainly just use this place to sleep when I'm in the area and for storage.” I nodded to the bathroom where I stored all my things. “But anyways, that's not the shining point of my place anymore. Come along.”

And with that, I guided her past the corner to the main room, where that... that beautiful, lovely thing sat. I was happy it had been untouched by the battle.

“Wow...” Rig stared in awe of the Steineigh. “So that's a piano...”

“A truly marvelous invention,” I nodded, standing beside it and nuzzling the wood, the honest-to-Goddess real wood of the lid. “I owe it to Sly and Xamuros for this...”

“And you know how to play?” the young mare inquired.

“But of course!” I laughed. “Why else would they have gone through the trouble of painstakingly repairing the components, tuning the strings, and restoring the woodwork?”

“Can you play right now?” Rig asked.

“Hmph, is this a serenade now?” I joked. “Absolutely. I had time to practice while you were training with Xamuros and Sly. Take a seat. I think tonight calls for a good one.”

“Uh... take a seat where?” The cloud-maned girl swept her hoof across the room, indicating the lack of anything resembling a seat.

“Um... anywhere?” I smiled apologetically to her, sliding onto the bench and sprouting my ice arms to lift both lids, properly setting the peg in place for the larger one that exposed the strings.

And I began to play. Dumka, it was called. It's a... Slavic form of music. This one in particular was by Tchaikhoofsky. A simple title for such a... powerful song. And a damn difficult one, too. Heh, I still can't play it perfectly, and I still can't play it without working up a sweat. Yes, folks. Once you hit the eighth page, it gets really hard. Really, really hard.

So, if you would thus kindly show as much respect as Rig did that day. I ask now that you all close your eyes... and just listen. Paint a picture behind those eyelids.

With that, the storyteller stood up and strode over to the upright piano in the corner of the room to play once more. He slid into place on the bench, ice arms sprouting from his shoulders and hindlegs reaching down to the pedals. He played a few random notes to get a feel for the keys again and went silent.

And then a light whisper, so very faint. But it was audible to everyone in the room from the sheer silence.

This is for you, my love...

The first, broken chord cried out, flowing into a ballad of sadness and struggle, a struggle unknown. For a better life, for a better future. Each note resonated with magnitude, with depth. Each note sang out to the equine heart, echoing in hopelessness.

And then a frenzied cry of despair, calling to the night, flowing in time with that ballad of struggle. It flowed into something new, but something so equally despairing. The heavy-handed bass portion rang with an impact that sent shivers through bone. It went higher and higher and higher and higher, fluttering faster and faster, and lighter and lighter...

Happiness. Jovial, honest happiness. The transition was so quick, so sudden. What happened to the sadness, the struggle, the hopelessness, the despair? There was no more evidence of it in the quick spring of a rhythm. And then it came back, just as suddenly, as if fighting for control. But it lasted only for a few moments before the uplifting, heart-soaring felicity sprung back, batting the darkness away.

It grew soft, tender, easy, relaxing. And then it grew and grew and grew to a blazing-fast virtuoso, an unbelievable display of speed and dexterity as the notes whizzed by, oh those hearty notes whizzed by. It was followed my more heavy-handed notes, continuing the soul-lifting spree.

Fragility. Delicate, careful fragility. Another sudden transition. What happened to the happiness that itself had come from nowhere out of the sadness? It was peculiar, shocking even. But that fragility grew stronger as it continued, traveling lower and lower, thrumming deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper, and slower and slower, and growing louder and louder.

Then came a mind-blowing, insane, ludicrous sprint across the keyboard, blazing upwards... and then blazing downward, upward, downward. Upward, heavy-handed, thrumming deeply as it ended. It was followed by another reverberating spiral upwards, slow at first and picking up speed.

Happiness, it was back, overwhelming everything else. Every impact of the keys sent bones jarring, hooves and claws trembling. And then as soon as it came... trouble. A gnawing trouble that boomed over everything else going upward, then going upward again. And then it went downward, staying just as pervasive, and then it went downward again. It culminated in a powerful cry out, emotions mingling and melding into something that could only be described as as an outcry, slowly dying downwards. It then beat upward, resisting pitifully before settling back down.

Happiness returned again, overpowering as it beat triumphantly through everything. It resonated heavily. It was almost overbearing, it was so- the sadness.

The sadness.

It came back. It sneaked in, thieving hope. The transition was so smooth in contrast to the others, and yet it had done it so loudly, so boldly. It was more surprising than any of the previous, sudden transitions. It died down, taming itself.

And then that broken chord again, made whole. And yet so, so empty. The ballad of sadness, the ballad of the unknown struggle. It was empty, hollow. It had worn itself out and was decaying away. There was no beauty, no emotion. Only a crumbling husk. It held up until the very end, on the verge of collapse.

It all came down quietly.

But yet it carried a weight far greater than anything the piece had ever shown.

The storyteller let out a sharp, sudden exhale, slumping against the piano, ice arms falling off and shattering against the floor as he panted and gasped for breath, sweat matting his coat. Several members of the audience called out for someone to get the doctor while Roanoke, the griffin by the jukebox, rushed to the storyteller's side as he pushed himself up from the piano, staggering off of the bench to the floor.

I'm fine.

He held out a hoof to stop the griffin, who wavered and hesitated for a few seconds before withdrawing.

I'm fine. Just... don't clap, not yet! Just... just let me cool off.

The storyteller breathed out deeply, seating himself still and holding his hooves out with eyes closed in focus. His horn fizzled and sparked a few times.

Come on... come on, this next part's important. Come on. Come on!

His horn shot out a few more dying sparks.

Please.

His horn shot out a flurry of sparks before it flared up, a halo of ice forming and collapsing inward around it. The storyteller let out a deep breath, cool mist expelling from his mouth. He then curved his lips into a grin.

Thank you.

Hooves rattled against the floor and claws rapped together as the audience clopped out for him.

Wait, I-

Oh...

Never mind.

Thank you kindly, folks. Thank you kindly.

The clopping died down and the storyteller continued with his tale.

Yeah... Dumka takes a lot out of me.

Which isn't surprising that what happened today was exactly what happened that night forty years ago.

“Frost!” Rig cried out, running to my side and helping me up off the floor. “What happened?”

“Difficult song, really difficult song,” I panted out. “I can't help but work up a sweat whenever I play it. It's why I've never been able to master it. And... this tends to be the result.”

“Well Sparkle Almighty, why did you even decide to play it, then?!”

“Because I wanted to,” I answered. “Now... quiet down and let me get rid of this burnout.”

I focused, sparks and fizzles bursting from my horn before I got it to flare up. The refreshing coolness returned and I stood up, shaking the fatigue away.

“That was... amazing...”

“Thanks, Rig,” I smiled. “I-”

Wait a second. That wasn't Rig.

“Frost, that wasn't me,” she told me.

“Yeah, I know,” I growled, wheeling toward the door, forming new ice arms.

Azrael was there, standing in the doorway. Not what I expected.

“Forgive me for intruding,” she said as she peeled back her hood.

“Oh, it's just you,” I sighed. How the hell did she get up here without me noticing? Her footsteps were loud enough to wake the dead! … and... so is Dumka. Right. Of course. “Dammit, I really need to get a proper lock on that door!”

“F-Frost?” Rig stared wide-eyed at the griffin. “Who is this?”

“Oh, this is Azrael Razorwing,” I responded. “The griffin I was telling you about earlier.”

“He's huge...” Rig said in a tinny voice, definitely intimidated.

“She.” I corrected, facehoofing softly.

“She's huge...”

“I'll take that as a... compliment?” Azrael raised a feathered eyebrow, barely visible due to her color. “But anyways... that song was amazing. Where did you learn to play like that?”

Remembering that Azrael wasn't an enemy, Rig added, “Yeah, that was beautiful, Frost. How did you learn that?”

“Rig, how is it that you trust her so easily when it took you so long to trust me?” I stared at her.

“Well, uh... because I honestly didn't expect to see another good pony out in the Wasteland,” she smiled guiltily.

I kept on staring.

“Okay, it's that and because you spoke of her as being an okay person, alright?”

“... very well,” I nodded, a little more satisfied. But it was time to lie again. “I happened upon a pub with a pianist during my travels. I had the caps, he had the knowledge. We imparted one to the other, and things went on from there.” I frowned. “But enough about me. Why are you here, Azrael?”

“Again... forgive me for intruding into your household.” The gargantuan bowed lightly. A sign of apology in this case. “I didn't intend to, but I neglected to realize you had no lock.”

“I gotta get a lock on that thing,” I grumbled. “You are forgiven. Now again, why are you here, Azrael?”

“First, what is your friend's relationship to you?” she asked. “Your name is Rig, yes?”

“Yep, just Rig,” the young mare nodded, “but... Frost and I aren't really together...”

“That's not quite what I meant,” Azrael shook her head. “This is important. I wish to know if one of you is in charge or both of you are. That's what I meant by relationship.”

The two of us shared a glance. We both knew the answer, and her nod toward me affirmed that. “I am the one in charge,” I told her.

“I... wish to make a proposal to you,” the black-feathered griffin spoke. She was picking her words carefully. “Will you hear me out?”

“That depends.” I crossed my forelegs. “Am I going to like what I hear or not?”

“It could go either way, but... it is more likely that you won't.”

Oh, luck. You never seem to fail me. At least she was being honest.

“Well,” I sighed out a cool mist, “let's hear it.”

“To put simply,” Azrael spoke, “I wish to join you two.”

At that same exact moment, my ice arms fell off and shattered against the floor while Rig's welding helmet flipped down of its own volition. She grunted in annoyance and used magic to flip it back up.

“Okay, I'm going to ask now.” I inhaled, exhaled. “Why?”

“Three reasons,” the giant griffin answered. “One, the Dead Boys are primarily after me. I'm the one who killed one of their leaders, so I will be the one hunted down the hardest. They won't go for my brother and father nearly as much as me. Two... forget about two.” She continued before I had a chance to ask. “And three, you're headed to Manehattan, yes? It's a long walk there. I understand that you can't hold up a pony and fly at the same time, Frost. With me, I can carry Rig for you so we can all fly. It will drastically cut travel time, particularly important when you're running on a schedule.”

What. The. Hell.

“Azrael, you better start picking your words a little more carefully right about now.” I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know about that?” And then I remembered a certain key fact- Azrael was blind. “And moreover, how the hell did you get up here?” I added.

Azrael went silent. Even though she kept her expression firm, I could tell she was doubting whether or not to tell me.

Press her, the little pony in my head told me. She will give in.

Time to call upon good old equinpology.

“Azrael, what separates you?” I asked her.

The female griffin widened her eyes a little, both eyebrows raised. Rig was looking at me with a questioning expression in lieu of her eyebrows being singed off. “What's up with that?” the young mare inquired.

“When griffins make a civil attempt to form a friendship, that is the first thing asked with no exceptions,” I explained to her. “The reason is that griffins have no easy way to distinguish one's calling in life. They don't have cutie-marks or glyphmarks like ponies and zebras respectively possess. So they ask what separates oneself from the others.”

“Your knowledge of griffinkind continues to surprise me, Frost,” Azrael canted her head to the side ever so slightly. She was regarding me. She then leveled out her head. Equality. “Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill and Rig, the information I plan to trust you with is to remain secret as best you can. Do you understand?”

“'Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill'?” Rig stared at me. “Why didn't you tell me your full name?”

I sighed. “Rig, I-”

“It's bucking awesome!”

Oh. Not what I expected. Damn, I'm saying that a lot, aren't I?

“Rig, I prefer just Frost,” I told her. “My full name, even my first name is... just a bit too snobby. Too aristocratic. It's not who I am. I hope you respect that.”

“Ah... well, okay.” The young nodded a little.

“Alright, Azrael.” I turned to face the griffin, keeping my tone as reassuring as possible. Right words, right way. “I understand, and I intend to keep it a secret. If anything, I'm good at that.”

“And if Frost will do his best, then so will I.” Rig flashed her that lovely smirk. “I'm good at keeping secrets, too.”

As if a magical cha-ching sounded off, she exhaled and spoke, “Many things separate me from the others. My coloration, my size. My... disability.” She sighed again, clacking her beak in distaste. “I'm blind. There's no denying that. But I am gifted. I have the ability to see not through my own eyes but through the eyes and thoughts of others.

“I'm a telepath.”

I couldn't help but gawk. While I was wondering how on Equestria this was possible, it did make sense. That piercing feeling when we met, how she knew where the Dead Boy Heavy was coming from and how to deal with him, how she knew details neither Rig nor I explained to her, and even how she managed to find her way around on her own. It was because she could glean it all from our minds. It even explained the dialogue between the Razorwings.

“How?” Rig finally broke the silence.

“I don't know the exact reason,” Azrael answered. “Perhaps if there was an exceptional psychologist, doctor, neurologist, or anyone of the sort left in the Wasteland, I could know the answer for sure. But since there isn't one as far as I know, I only suspect that it has something to do with my mother. She was, after all, a unicorn.” Rig's mouth fell ajar, eyes wide open. Me? Well... I was less surprised. It made some sense. It was the first in a long time that I've heard of such an inter-species relationship, but it was definitely not the only one I've heard of. She continued, “My mother also had a black coat. It would... explain my peculiar feather coloration. It is, on the other hand, a little more questionable to trace my size through my ancestry. All I can tell for certain is that there is no other griffin I've met with the ability to perform magic of this sort.

“This brings me back to 'two',” the griffin went on. “I find both of you very peculiar. You see, I can glean practically anything from any living things within a mile radius, even all at once. I can 'read' what they see, hear, feel, smell, taste. I can read their thoughts, their intentions. I can even read their memories if I concentrate. Likewise, I can also interact with their minds. I won't go into detail on that. I speak too much already.”

Goddess above us all...

To glean all of that from anyone and possibly everyone within a mile and more importantly interpret, make judgments, and react based on that information immediately made her incredibly, unfathomably intelligent.

And then she could look into the past of anyone within that mile radius.

I suddenly felt very... very afraid of her.

“Wait, so what's so peculiar about us, then?” Rig asked.

“I am twenty-one years old,” Azrael said. “In all my years, I have always been able to read any normal living thing. You two... you two are different. I can't fully read either of you. I had to glean what I know of your situation and the location of your household from your friends Xamuros and Slyther.” She fixed her gaze on Rig. “I can read what you sense and what you currently think and intend, but I can't look into your past.” She now fixed her gaze on me. “And you... I can't read you at all. I can feel your presence. I know you are there and that you exist, Frost, but I can glean nothing else from you.”

And I knew exactly why. I found my fears laid to rest.

“Okay, so in all these years, you've found two ponies you can't fully 'read',” Rig regarded her carefully. “So what's the big deal? It's a big Wasteland.”

“There are only two things I've confirmed as of yet that I can't fully read,” the black-feathered griffin replied. “I can't read ghouls. I can sense their presence but everything else is tainted if I try to glean it. I suspect it has something to do with the necromantic forces that affected the poor souls. I also can't read machines because they quite simply don't have a mind or consciousness or subconsciousness for me to glean from. Even if such machines are advanced enough to have such things, I cannot read them because then it is not a mind, consciousness, or subconsciousness as I know them.”

She suddenly canted her head at Rig, who stiffened a little.

“... Rig?” I called to her. “What's wrong?”

Azrael seemed intent as well, but then she canted her head to the side for a moment and resumed the neutral body language.

“She's wondering what's the case with you.” The griffin looked at me.

Oh. Not what I expected. Then again, all of this explained Silas' peculiar question earlier.

“I'm not a ghoul, and I'm certainly not a machine,” I said. That much was true. Now came the lie. “I'm just in a different category, I suppose.”

“Seems so.” Azrael bobbed her head slowly in agreement. “You're neither a ghoul nor a machine. I can still sense your presence, but everything else is just plain... blocked. Not tainted, but obscured and shielded. But now you know my reasons for wishing to join you. To protect my family, to satisfy my personal curiosity, and to help you as well. Now, will you accept my proposal?”

I canted my head, regarding her carefully on my own. “What did your father and brother have to say to this?” I asked her.

“It took a bit of convincing, but my... talent- I suppose you could call it that- allowed them to see my view on it in the end. They have already spoken to Militia Chief Snowbourne and are making preparations to leave.” Azrael sighed, her tone softening. “Look, I know this is a lot to ask of the two of you. By joining with you, that makes my problems with the Dead Boys yours. I'm hunted. That means you will be caught in the crossfire. At the same time, I think I offer far more firepower to the both of you, an extra hand, and a way to speed up travel. If it's not enough, my family is willing to offer additional incentives.”

I thought about it. Here was an extremely powerful potential ally and a griffin who I've seen do at least some good for the city of Stalliongrad by fighting to defend it, and the same went for her family. Here also was a griffin who chose not to fight me but to understand me. There aren't enough of those people in the Wasteland. And then here was a griffin who was willing to risk quite possibly never seeing her father and brother ever again to better insure their safety, something that she could also quite possibly never fully ensure.

The Dead Boys would be chasing after us. Honestly, that part was the least of concern to myself. I had a bone to pick with them on the basis of their policy as an organization and their attack on Stalliongrad. Oh, and their name. I was more concerned about how that would affect Rig. She was inexperienced still, and that meant vulnerability against such a well-equipped, better-trained foe. But then she had me... and Azrael.

The incentives... I knew my ability. I knew I could sweet-talk my way into getting those incentives. But I'm not that type of pony. I'm not an extortionist, at least not for a good cause and certainly not for a family who had already lost and given up so much.

Finally the matter of trust. I didn't know Azrael completely, but she showed me enough. She vested enough trust in me to reveal at least part of who she was and what she's done as well as her secret, unique ability. That mattered.

I made my decision. It was all too easy.

I glanced at Rig.

She did have a lovely smirk.

“Here's the question,” I finally spoke. And then I smiled. “Who gets the bed?”

I formed an ice arm to my right, palm open. Azrael curved her beak up into a thankful smile and raised her right foreleg to her side in turn. We swung them inward and clasped hands tightly.

I nodded. “Welcome.”

She nodded in turn. “I am welcomed.”

* * *

Footnote: Maximum Level
Companion perk added: Extrasensory- With Azrael in your party, you have the ability to detect and identify non-ghoul and non-machine entities within a mile radius. You can also determine their disposition. However, the party now has a Vilified status with the Dead Boys and any informants or allies.
Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Dumka by Tchaikhoofsky

Author's Note

I wish to thank Kkat, Somber, Mimezinga, and all of the authors of the Fallout: Equestria Side Stories Compliation document group, linked here. I also wish to extend my gratitude to Kookamater and SonicBoom for pre-reading this chapter. It might have taken longer than I would’ve liked, but I still nevertheless appreciate it. Lastly, I thank you as the reader. Cheers.

Chapter Seven: Azrael

Chapter Seven: Azrael

So yes. There was Rig, a Stable Three unicorn engineer and repairpony still not used to Wasteland soil, a young mare with only an intense hour's worth of combat experience. Armed with a heavily modified version of the weapon that once carried me through hell and back, a saddlebag full of tools and explosives, a Spetsnaz throwing shovel, and a pickaxe.

There was Azrael Razorwing, a disavowed Dead Boy griffin. Blind, yet able to see far more than either of us. She was proven in battle yet of questionable background and still testing the waters with our trust. Armed with a Kord 6P50, those deadly talons, and whatever other tricks she had underneath that cloak. Hell, her mind could be considered the most deadly weapon in her arsenal.

Then there was me. Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill, a unicorn in Lunar Guard armor. A cryomancer and solely a cryomancer, king in his trade but an invalid in others. Unquestionable battlefield experience, but a liar unknown all the same. Armed with a heavy-handed judge, a lightning-fast fang, and the fastest hands of all unicorns with a blade of death to match.

So that's us.

Okay, granted, no other unicorn I've ever met could form a hand. That technically makes me the slowest hands of all unicorns too.

A light chuckle escaped the storyteller's dry lips.

Heh, from the looks of how crowded this place is getting with you folks, we're gonna need to move to a bigger place. But enough about that. You all came for more of the story.

So let's continue.

Melt away.

* * *

Rig got the bed, of course. I couldn't let her sleep anywhere else, and Azrael knew she was way too big for that mattress. So the two of us slept on the floor. Neither of us seemed to mind as it was easily more comfortable than Wasteland soil. And at least we could all sleep easy tonight. We were at home in the City of Blood and Iron. Let keeping watch be someone else's problem for once.

~ ~ ~

That all-too-familiar, all-too-consuming cold seethed back to seize everything and everyone.

But I couldn't sleep easy.

“Why'd you do it?”

“Why did you kill us?”

“Why?”

“Why?!”

Whispers. Dark, accusatory, acidic, piercing whispers.

I was alone in the dark.

But I am a friend of the night. I can see perfectly fine in the dark.

Except this dark. This murky, muddy, muddled dark.

“Why me?”

“Why my kids?”

“Why my love?”

“Why my friend?”

“Why all of us?”

“Why?”

I could feel the gears spinning in my head as my mouth cranked open. Jaw unmoving, an emotionless, monotonous voice blared, “This program was not designed for casual conversation. Please desist and proceed on your way.” My mouth cranked closed.

“You monster!”

“You're not a pony!”

“Say it! You're not even equine! Say it!”

I could feel the gears spinning in my head as my mouth cranked open. Jaw unmoving, an emotionless, monotonous voice blared, “This program was not designed for casual conversation. Please desist and proceed on your way.” My mouth cranked closed.

And then I struggled to break free, the gears grinding to a halt.

“No!” I growled. “I'm fucking equine! I'm a pony! I'm a unicorn! My name is Frost Windchill of the Far North! And! I! Exist!”

The darkness shed away in an instant as if a light clicked on. Right before my eyes... was Her. She looked so, so sad.

“You're wrong.” She sniffled softly.

~ ~ ~

The cold left suddenly once more, but the return of warmth was uneasy.

I just couldn't get a good night's sleep could I? I ground my eyes open. Damn nightmares. So damn creepy.

Waking up to Azrael training her empty, unblinking gaze on me was just as damn creepy.

“Were you having nightmares?” she whispered. Her voice was... soft. I liked that.

“Was it obvious?” I whispered back in reply.

“Twitching, frenetic breath rate. I'd say it was obvious, yes.”

“Yeah, I was having nightmares,” I sighed softly. I glanced over at Rig. She was sleeping, snoring lightly. The poor girl was tuckered out.

“How close are you two?” Azrael asked quietly.

“Friends.” I turned back to her. “And I intend to keep it at that. I'm a little old for her in any case.”

“How old are you both anyways?” She tilted her head slightly.

“Fifty-two,” I answered, keeping my voice as even as I could. It was easy when whispering. “Rig's just shy of eighteen.”

“More than just a 'little' old.” Azrael cracked a light smile. “Last I gleaned, you don't look all that ancient, though.”

“I'm flattered.” I cracked a light smile of my own.

Azrael was silent for a while, our smiles fading away. I looked out the glassless window into the bleakness of the outside, only the clouds greeting me. Those damned, persistent clouds. At least it had the soft, subtle glow of the coming morn. Again, it was one of the few semblances of natural beauty left in the Wasteland, folks.

“I wish I could take them away for you.”

“Hm?” I turned back to the griffin.

“The nightmares,” she whispered, clarifying. “I wish I could take them away for you. Sleep, I feel, should be a time of solace in such an unforgiving world. One of the ways in which I can interact with others' minds is by altering dreams. Unfortunately, I can't do that for you as I can't directly interact with your subconsciousness. I'm just blocked from it, even as you sleep.”

I paused for a while, thinning my lips. I told her, “Well, it's something I'll have to deal with.”

Azrael nodded lightly, a touch solemnly. “Do they come often?”

I could've lied. But I knew that all it took was another chance wake-up like this, and she'd have reason to doubt whatever I say or do. I needed her to vest at least some trust in me.

“Every time I sleep,” I told her the truth. Rather than feeling relieved, it only made me feel worse. “It never fails.”

Azrael sighed deeply, softly, “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“I'm not,” I replied. Oh damn me, I let that slip out.

“Why?” She tilted her head.

Well, so much for that. Better just tell her at least some parts of the truth.

“I've done many things in the past that I regret,” I whispered. “If my punishment is to suffer every time I close my eyes and drift away into the Dreamlands, then I got off with just a slap on the wrist.” I chose to use the griffin version of the saying for clarity.

“What sort of things?” Azrael asked.

I chose my words carefully, pausing for a while. “The sort of things I believe that you've done in the past with the Dead Boys.”

The giant, ebony griffin's expression grew somber as she asked, “Innocents killed?”

“Far too many,” I answered. “I don't want to talk about it. Just know that at times I feel like I don't deserve to wear this armor, that I'm just tainting it. But I can't help but hold onto it.”

“I don't blame you.” Azrael shifted a little. “Frost, I'm sure the regret weighs heavily down on you.” Oh you have no idea. “Have you ever... considered... ending it all?”

“You mean commit suicide out of grief?” I asked, frowning. “Don't sugarcoat it.”

“Yes, I mean commit suicide out of grief,” she sighed.

“Only once or twice,” I told her truthfully. “But I've never actually tried.”

“Though once is always too many, that's... quite the relief,” Azrael whispered softer than normal.

“How so?” I inquired.

“Recall for a moment that I am a telepath.” The griffin straightened out a little. It then occurred to me that she might be cramped in such a tight space, but I let her continue. “Also recall, for a moment, that I can glean sensations and thoughts from any living thing within a mile radius. Everyone and everything I've killed has always been within that mile radius, often very close. I know what happens when you die. It's just one way how I earned my name, my title as the Angel of Death.”

I widened my eyes for a moment. I hadn't thought of that. “What does... death feel like?”

Azrael tilted her head, clacking her beak lightly in deep thought. “There truly are no words to describe it. Even through all the most eloquent, well-versed speakers I've gleaned, there simply are no words for what one feels in death.” She trained her gaze on me again. “But trust me, you'll want to pack as much living as possible into the time you have left on this world.”

I bit my lip. “Noted.” Then I asked, “Azrael, are you... cramped in here?”

“Like you wouldn't believe.” She flattened her beak.

“Agh, dammit,” I sighed. “My apologies.”

“I did technically barge into your household as you did ours.” She shrugged. “And you thought I was going to kill you. I was under the assumption that this was punishment. Are you telling me it was an accident?”

“Yes.” I smiled apologetically. “Look, I might know a lot about griffin culture, but that doesn't mean I always practice it.”

“Fair enough.” Azrael huffed lightly in amusement.

And now I had questions of my own. Start simple, Frost. Then go deeper.

“I've got to ask you, if you don't mind,” I whispered, “but what do you... consider yourself to be species-wise? After all, you have a unicorn mother and a griffin father.” I took special care to allocate them in such a position. Griffins primarily practiced matrilineal rules of descent, but last names were always received from the father. It's not quite like the bilateral descent system that ponies follow, so it's still something to take care to bring up correctly.

She noticed. “Again, your knowledge of our ways continues to surprise me. I consider myself to be more griffin than anything else. Same with Silas, though he has no such unique traits as I do. For all intents and purposes, consider both me and him as griffins with unicorn blood flowing through our veins.”

“I see,” I chuckled. I couldn't help but smile as a certain fact about me resurfaced through my memories.

“... my, I didn't realize that you had such sharp teeth, Frost,” Azrael remarked.

I huffed, idly licking at the white spines. “It's something that I inherited from my Lunar Guard ancestor. The same goes for my eyes.” Wait a second. She was blind, and the only one she could fully read was asleep. “Hold on, how'd you notice?”

“Because of her,” Azrael spoke- not whispered- and pointed at my bed. I turned to see Rig stretching, eyes open.

“Did I hear someone laugh or something?” the earth-coated mare yawned.

Oh, maybe not asleep. Whoops. “That's... my mistake,” I smiled apologetically at her.

“Yes, such sharp teeth,” Azrael giggled softly, a giggle that seemed like she tried to stifle. That was... rather uncharacteristic of her, considering her name. Then again, we really only just met.

“Yeah, you really do.” Rig squinted to see. “Huh, never noticed. So, everyponnnnn- er, everyone sleep alright?”

“Well enough,” I spoke, at least truthfully by my standards.

“Quite well barring the tight quarters,” Azrael replied. “How about you?”

“I could go for a cup of hot coffee right about now,” Rig grumbled. “A bit of cream, a bit of sugar. But... this is the Wasteland. I know, Frost.”

“You learn fast,” I grinned. “I do have a good substitute, though.”

“Really?” She fixed on me. “What?”

“Well, you asked for it.” I smiled wide and toothily as I formed a large block of ice before me, my horn flaring up with a soft blue before a torrent of water gushed out at her, striking her square in the face. She shrieked in surprise and from the shock of the ice-cold water spraying at her. Azrael let out another stifled giggled and I felt a husky laugh escape my own lips.

“Frost!” Rig babbled over the stream. “Cut it out!”

“Fine, fine.” I ceased the flow, my flaring horn winking out as I sublimated the ice block. “Consider that payback for the flamethrower. Besides, you needed the wash.”

“Huh?” The shivering young mare blinked, wiping a hoof over her face and noting that I had washed off the soot.

“See?” I grinned. “Now hold still and let me handle the water...”

“You two are very peculiar, do you know that?” Azrael regarded us with a light smile of her own as I froze and then sublimated the water still clinging on her.

“Well look who's talking!” Rig smirked that lovely smirk of hers, though it was a bit ruined by her chattering teeth. “You big... blind... griffin... pony... person!”

The griffin looked down and smiled wider, craning her head back up. “Guilty as charged.”

“Well, I suppose now's a good time to eat as ever,” I grunted, sprouting ice arms and fishing into my saddlebags for some... vegetable soup? Well, that was a pleasant surprise. Better than more canned yams. I began handing the others a couple of cans after slicing the lids off, fishing out a pair for myself. “If you want more, just ask. I just hope you don't mind it cold. Can't exactly build a fire in here. Azrael, you can move around if it makes you a bit more comfortable.”

“Thank you.” The griffin nodded, footsteps crunching against the floor as she set herself down near the slightly more open area around the piano, now by my side. As Rig smiled at the new choice in cuisine and dug in happily, Azrael inquired, “Frost, I beg your pardon, but do you have any sort of... meat?”

Rig promptly dropped her empty can, those indigo eyes wide open. “M-Meat?” she whimpered, aghast.

“Think about it for a moment.” Azrael turned to her. “Lions eat meat. Birds-of-prey eat meat. Griffins are half-lion and half-bird-of-prey. You can draw the conclusions from there. Granted, I'm part-unicorn, but that doesn't quite change much.”

“What... what kind of meat?” Rig shivered, and I doubted it was from the cold.

The ebony griffin contorted her face in disgust, “Well certainly not pony meat like you're thinking right now! Who do you take me for? Nightmare Moon?”

I choked a bit on my vegetable soup, gagging and sputtering a little before forcing it down.

As I panted for breath, both sets of eyes were on me and Rig asked, “Jeez, Frost, you okay?”

“Choking-” I paused to cough a few more times, setting the can down. “Choking does not classify as 'okay'!” I wheezed a few more times. “Sorry, that... that last bit kind of hit home for me.”

“Lunar Guard descendant.” Azrael smiled apologetically. “Right. My apologies.”

“In any case, we don't pack any meat,” I told her. “We didn't plan to have a carnivorous addition to our group.”

“Well, I suppose I'm omnivorous now,” she sighed, grasping her can. “At least for the time being.”

“I was planning on us heading to Benson's general store on the way out,” I spoke. “We can pack up there.”

“Thank you, but you've already opened up the cans for me so I may as well show proper gratitude and eat.” Azrael nodded and smiled lightly in thanks before grimacing and lifting the can to her beak. She was definitely not happy about it sliding down her throat, and she gasped a little after finishing, slamming the can down.

“We're really sorry about this...” Rig winced.

“It's fine.” The giant cleared her throat. “Besides, if ponies can handle eating meat, then griffins can handle eating vegetables.”

Rig went aghast once more. “Ponies eat meat?!”

“Sadly, this is the Wasteland, Rig,” I sighed, cool mist expelling from my mouth as she looked at me. “We don't always get the luxury of a guaranteed vegetable, fruit, nut, or baked good meal. There's plenty of dangerous creatures in the Wasteland, and so we must do what we must to survive. If that means eating mildly irradiated meat that belongs to the denizens of the Wastes, then it must be done. I've had to do so myself a few times. Granted, I'm more adapted to it than most ponies out here, but... sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Well... okay...” Rig gulped.

“And yes, it might mean having to eat meat yourself if things come down to that,” Azrael spoke up. “My digestive tract probably isn't going to like me for this, but may I have a little more? I have quite the... appetite, as you can imagine.”

“Sure, of course.” I nodded, sliding over a couple more cans, to which she opened up herself using her own talons. “Azrael, if you don't mind me asking, what else can you eat?”

“As long as it isn't pasture food, I can stomach it,” she answered. “Even vegetables are pushing it a little. So, nuts, sweets, baked goods, pastries, anything else is on the menu. I'm a bit partial to sweets myself.”

“The Angel of Death has a sweet tooth?” Rig chuckled. “Imagine that!”

“I'm still equine, aren't I?” Azrael smiled.

Okay, that one hit home a bit for me. I tried not to show it. I'd have to say things the right way to get the answer to this specific question. My voice was calm with a slight pleading undertone as I said, “Azrael, I've been meaning to ask you something. If you knew that Langson followed you here and you have a mile-wide radius of telepathic detection, how come you didn't just have your family slip away without noticing?”

“Because air traffic in and out of Stalliongrad is so infrequent,” she replied. “If a group of griffins were to leave even under the cover of darkness, someone would see. Leaving by ground would only raise more questions. News spreads quickly in Stalliongrad. You know this. Langson would be on our trail again in no time, and this time there would be no chance for bribery. Speaking of which, he's one of the few Dead Boys who apparently knew of my abilities and thus knew how to keep out of my area of detection. All business we did with him was through letters and packages. All transactions were in a different part of the city, and it was always through a middlegriffin. Crafty bastard. So aside from doing what we could to get the caps to make each month's payment, my father and I would spend time trying to track him down. Stalliongrad is an expansive city, however, and we couldn't actually nail him down until last night. My father and Silas took him down while I drew the attention as best I could. You know the rest.”

“Well... that satisfies my question.” I crossed my forelegs.

“So... your name is Azrael, and that's pretty much the um... something or the other Angel of Death, right?” Rig asked.

“The equine Angel of Death, yes,” the griffin replied, turning to her. “There have been various depictions of Azrael ranging from a skeletal alicorn to... well, an all-black griffin. You can guess how I got my name.”

The young mare canted her head a little. “Well, I don’t know about the griffin version, but, if you're the Angel of Death, how come you don't have a-”

Azrael quickly reached behind her cloak and pulled out a meter-long rod with a gem-embedded grip and handle. Squeezing the handle in, the ends extended outward, tripling the length of the weapon as a curved spike jutted out from near the top. A green spark traveled down the length of the spike as an eldritch, green flame burst into life to form a sickle.

“Twilight Sparkle, you do have a scythe!” Rig jumped backwards in surprise.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” I likewise startled, scampering away from the flame in panic. But then I realized that the flame wasn't hot. No heat radiated from it. But as we both drew closer again, I immediately recognized it. That unmistakable ghastly green, that rainbow sheen of the edges, the cold- not warmth- that seeped out.

Balefire.

Eyes wide in shock, no words could form from the sheer dread seizing me. I was still silent, eyes open wide, mouth agape.

<====ooo*~ aa23*OOO*5rgwb (]]-*ooo====>

Flying, I was flying, flying fast. I was trying to reach them in time, trying to get them out of there when that hideous, billowing burst of green erupted before me, curving upwards into that horrifying-

“Frost?”

-mushroom shape. I paused for a moment in shock, what little hope remaining in me crushed-

“Frost, what's wrong?”

-into oblivion as I hovered there, speechless. And then the blast wave caught up to me, flattening me and flinging me back. I was falling, wings burning away. I was burning now, and falling, falling fast. The eerie coolness suddenly transformed into searing heat. I only just started to cry out in pain as the ground rushed up to meet me. The last thing I saw was that new sun rising in the distance, glowing with a dark, sinister power underneath the clouds.

“Frost!”

{Goddesses, I've tried...Am I lost in your eyes?}

<====ooo*luna*OOO*204cZ{....*ooo====>

Rig shook my shoulders, startling me out of my stupor as I gasped, the world rushing back to me.

“Dammit, Frost, what's wrong?!” she cried out, shaking me wildly.

“I-I'm fine!” I pushed her away, panting as I grew aware of the world around me again. It was a blatant, obvious lie. “I'm fine...”

“That's rather doubtful,” Azrael, still at my side, spoke with her eyes bearing on me. Her weapon was contracted once more but still in her grip.

“Would you expect anything less from anypony- hell anyone who laid eyes on a weapon that harnesses the power that destroyed our world?” I exhaled coolly, mist settling down. They looked less doubtful now at least, but I couldn't help from feeling something boil up from within me. My tone was assertive and dead serious now as I asked, “Azrael, where in the world did you get such a weapon?”

The griffin exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. The effect was like sheathing her head in blackness. “From the Dead Boys.”

I had probably tread on some uncomfortable memories there. Now I felt bad.

“Sorry...” I relaxed now, the fury taken from me. “But... I have to ask. How did the Dead Boys obtain the resources to construct such a MEW?”

“MEW?” Rig inquired. “As in, magical-energy weapon? I thought The Guide only referred to them as firearms, though!”

“Firearms are a part of the category, yes, but so are any other gem-powered tools of death,” Azrael spoke. “Energy lances for example. Look, Frost, I don't know the details. All I know is that they gave this to me and I couldn't glean anything particularly important. All I know is that they have weapons similar to this, though few in number.”

“May... may I see it?” I asked as politely as I could.

Azrael regarded me again for a few moments before nodding and handing it over.

I formed ice arms to take the weapon, looking it over. I squeezed the handle to grip tightly, causing the weapon to extend and the fiery blade to form. I did not fear it this time. The heat was nonexistent until one made contact with it, and I had no such intention.

“How... quaint...” I whispered.

“What do you mean?” the griffin inquired.

“The substitution of a solid, metal blade for one formed of a simple containment rod for the balefire blade gives it far more equal weight distribution in comparison with a normal scythe,” I began to speak. “The grip itself is embedded with amethyst, which has weight-reducing properties if I recall correctly. I also see fire rubies, which enhances the weight-to-force ratio of an object in motion.” I moved to the tip, where a slew of small gems surrounded the rod where the blade extended. “Yes... this is spellfire alright. The darksteel focus is too perfect; it gives it all away. Hm... opal and diamond with emerald, inlaid. Not the same matrix that I know for a balefire gem reactor. Rig, are you picking up any radiation on your PipBuck?”

“Nope, not at all.” She shook her head. “Isn't balefire supposed to be extremely radioactive, though?”

“Yes... yes it is.” I nodded, looking back at that gem matrix. “This isn't balefire like I first thought, isn't it?”

“And now he's a weapon, gem, and spellfire expert too.” Azrael crossed her arms, huffing in surprise. “Books again?”

“I've met one expert on gems and another on spellfire,” I told her, handing her weapon back. “Too much free time and curiosity led to many questions answered and much information gained. And I've always found myself to be a bit of a weapon junkie.”

“Fair enough.” The griffin grasped the grip, notching the handle in a very peculiar manner to relax it to its original position. The blade extinguished, containment rod retracting as the extended staff retracted to its original compact size. “This is a ghostfire scythe. Ghostfire is similar to balefire, yes, but there are notable differences. First, it's not radioactive. Second, it can't be extinguished by anything but time. It will burn for a set thirty seconds, even underwater. Third, it only burns whatever object it comes in contact with and only within a set area. Setting fire to a raider in a house won't burn the whole structure down. Now... what's this about Luna's Fortitude? That would be your weapon, right Rig?”

“Uh... yeah.” Rig blinked. “How'd you... oh, I was thinking about it, wasn't I? Jeez, these random subject changes aren't easy to get used to, you know.”

“I can't help it sometimes.” Azrael shrugged. “Especially in your case, where you're the only one I can remotely read out of the two of you. Now, may I see your weapon?”

“Sure, I guess.” The young mare teleported it out, looking at it so that the griffin could do the same.

“Hm... an AKMB with a BS-03 suppressed grenade launcher.” Azrael inspected it through the unicorn's eyes. “EPOTech holographic sight, modified magazines, bayonet, and suppressor. Impressive. Oh, may I see the barrel?” Rig levitated her weapon closer to her eyes. “In labors and dangers... how fitting for a weapon called Luna's Fortitude.”

“Indeed,” I nodded. “She served me well in the past. It was only after only finding more specialized weapons that I no longer used her and instead left her in her home city.”

“Oh, so she was yours?” The griffin smiled a little. “Well, don't just sit there! Show me your other weapons!”

“Oh dear Lorn, not another gun nut!” Rig laughed.

“You won't survive long out here without forging an attachment to your weapons.” Azrael crossed her forelegs. “Frost and I just take it one step further it seems. Now come on, show me! And Rig, would you kindly keep your eyes on him?”

“Well, you ask, you receive,” I said as I whipped out my blade and began to play with it. “But we best get going. We'll be stopping first by Benson's for additional supplies and some meat for you too, Azrael. We'll walk and talk.”

“Excellent.” Azrael sighed in relief as we all got up and made for the door, her joints crackling as she shook herself a bit. “And a balisong. Tell me more.”

“This is Midnight Talon,” I told her. “The blade is formed out of a hellhound claw, 'weehawk' shape. It's the shape I'm most comfortable with. Four-point-five-inch blade, five-point-five-inch handle. I made the carvings myself, and I also inlaid the bite handle with the remains of said hellhound claw to keep it from slicing through. The handles are made from a single billet of titanium I was able to acquire, milled down for the blade cavities. The blade is attached by screws rather than pins. Again, made from the hellhound claw to prevent from stripping due to the blade's material.”

“Interesting.” The griffin huffed. “And yet, how on Equestria did you wear down the claw in the first place?”

“With another hellhound claw of course,” I chuckled, still playing with Midnight Talon.

“Of course.” She rolled her eyes. That was a tad weird to see considering her blindness. “Your skill with the balisong is impressive. Granted, I have yet to see even a griffin still using the weapon, but it is impressive nonetheless. But why use it? Why not form a solid blade instead of such an elaborate weapon?”

“Five reasons,” I replied, still letting her dance between my fingers as Rig and I made way for Azrael to get through the doorway. “One, very few know what a balisong is. No one ever expects one for that reason, to say nothing of its ease of concealment. Two, it more often scares the hell out of anyone who might want to potentially start something with me than not. Three, it keeps my dexterity with my ice hands in-practice, something I need because I can't really feel with them too well. They're not a part of my body after all. Four, and quite possibly the most important,” I took a moment to hold the blade open, “it is the strongest folding lock design due to the construction. Once the knife is open and in your grip, there is no way that blade is going to fold due to the tension of your grip against the counter-rotating handles. The handles would have to snap, and good luck snapping a handle made from hellhound claw-lined titanium. There's simply no way for it to fail on you, at least not compared to the spring and lock-based mechanisms of the switchblade or folding knife. The balisong, when constructed the right way, is very much a functional knife. And five, it's just too plain fun. Uh, hold on for a moment.”

I closed the door behind us and used my blade to pry out the broken lock. It simply fell free with no resistance and rolled along the floor awkwardly, all three of us watching as it popped down the stairs.

“And nopony ever stole anything from you?” Rig stared after the still-rolling lock.

“I guess I have my reputation to thank.” I shrugged, forming a new one made of ice. “And remember, no 'one'.” I nodded in satisfaction of my new lock. No keyhole needed, so lockpicker threat- zero. Granted, all it took was some strongman and someone could just knock the door in, but... whatever. We needed to get going.

“That aside, I see your reasoning now,” Azrael spoke. “Now, what else do you have?”

“Next up...” I paused to close Midnight Talon with a backhand aerial, slide over the spring latch, and pouched her away, whipping out my shotgun as we descended to the ground floor, “is Luna's Judgment. The decals... are a personal touch. She is a Remhayngton Eighty-Seven Special. I removed the stock and front sight in lieu of welding a crowbar onto it. It serves not only as a replacement for said removed stock, but it also acts as a bayonet and still serves the multiple functions one would ordinarily use a crowbar for. I modified the feed to bypass the underbarrel tubular magazine and accept drums instead. Swapped out the barrel itself for a heavier, vent-rib barrel to accept two-kilogram slugs in addition to the standard fare of flechettes. Oh, and I also have buckshot shells of course. Triple-aught, gas-expanding buckshot.”

“Excuse me for a second,” Azrael interrupted. “Did I hear that right? Two-kilogram slugs?”

“Yes, you heard right.” I nodded. On that note, I decided to load a fresh drum of them in, swapping out the flechette shells. “Two-kilogram slugs in twenty-shell drums for forty-kilo drums of hard-hitting firepower. Let me just say that anything that gets hit by one of them most certainly dies unless said target's in the possession of incredibly dent-resistant armor. There's a reason I had the barrel swapped. Even improved the rifling for increased accuracy.”

“Isn't that a bit overkill though?” the griffin asked as we stepped outside, heading for the market district, pulling her cowl up once more.

“Right, and this is coming from...?” I raised an eyebrow at her.

Azrael raised a claw for a moment to tap at her lower beak. “Point taken. And good Lorn, triple-aught buckshot? And it's gas-expanding?”

“Unless I'm using flechettes, I expect whatever I'm shooting at to be dead if I hit,” I said simply. “Killing raiders in such a manner also helps to, ah, send a message. As in 'you're going to look like that paste that's left of your friend there if you keep doing what you're doing.'”

“Noted.” Azrael nodded. “Now, anything else you have?”

“Of course.” I nodded, stowing Luna's Judgment away and drawing out my side arm. “This is Night Fang. She's the simplest weapon of mine, but she's a Colt M-Eleven-Nine-Oh-One. Probably the only notably durable weapon that company ever made. Well... alright, it was designed by one Pecan Mocha Brownie, also behind the namesake of the fifty Browning Machine Gun cartridge, but Colt acquired rights to it. Made to survive the Great War, and hell if it didn't survive that and the spellfire apocalypse. Loosened up the slide a bit to sustain the speeds at which I can fire her, and I also use forty-five-round double-stack extended magazines for longer time spent spitting out forty-five ACP when I need to. Heh... forty-five forty-fives. Anyways, I also widened the mag well as such. That was a bitch, let me tell you. When I use Night Fang, I don't use her for a weapon of precision. I use her for 'oh-shit' moments where I need to get the lead out fast and all over the place. Oh, and I also tacked on a screwdriver bayonet. I like to keep a melee implement of some sort on all of my weapons if possible.”

“Waste of a perfectly good flat-head if you ask me,” Rig grumbled.

“You have yours now, so why are you complaining?” I grinned.

“I'm the engineer-repairpony here!” She threw her forelegs wide for a moment. “I mean, at least your crowbar's still usable! The only thing you'd be able to use that screwdriver for anymore is lockpicking with how much that's worn down!”

Azrael and I promptly stared at her. “For lockpicking?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Sure, to apply torque when you use a bobby pin or something else to fiddle with the tumblers. Trust me, I've had to do some pretty unconventional stuff in my line of work.” The young mare nodded proudly. This also had the unintended effect of causing her welding helmet to flip down over her face, and she knocked it back up with an annoyed grumble. “That's it! I'm tightening the screws on you!”

As she teleported her tools out, levitated her helmet off, and set to work, I said, “So that's my weaponry. Night Fang's the newest addition to my family. I actually don't intend to keep her, hence the lack of carvings. She's just a placeholder until I can get a real bullet hose.”

“Yes, you're a gun nut, alright,” Azrael chuckled softly.

“I prefer 'gun enthusiast' myself,” I smirked, “though I know a thing or two about other weapons as well.”

“Regardless, you know your way around firearms.” She waved a claw dismissively. “Perhaps, then, you could tell me a little more about my own. Now, you've already become quite acquainted with my ghostfire scythe.” She whipped it out again, extending it and igniting the blade. She held the weapon, walking on three legs before collapsing it and stowing her away. “I call her Valkyrie, my weapon of choice for close-quarters combat. After all, she serves two functions- slashing and burning.”

“Valkyrie...” I mused aloud. “It means 'chooser of the slain' in old Horse. A fitting name.”

Azrael nodded in agreement. “And this...” She took a moment to pull back her cloak to reveal her Kord 6P50, “is Harbinger.”

“Holy shit that's a big fucking gun.” Rig stared, words coming out without a pause.

“Indeed.” Azrael let out one of those stifled giggles again. “Wait, you're relatively new from your Stable, yes? How do you know such language?”

“My slaver captor,” Rig answered with a sigh.

“Oh.” The griffin lingered for a bit before coming along. No doubt she was taking a look at what Rig had on her mind. “My apologies.”

“It's okay, I'm kinda over that now.” The earthy unicorn shrugged. “No biggie.”

“Well, alright...” Azrael let out a polite cough. “Continuing, Harbinger is a Kord 6P50, and yes, it really is a big fucking gun. It fires ten-bottlecap twelve-point-seven NSVT cartridge at seven-hundred-fifty rounds-per-minute. It costs one-thousand-five-hundred caps to fire for twelve seconds.”

“Hold up,” I interrupted her. “That fires not the twelve-point-seven NSV round but the twelve-point-seven NSVT? Tungsten core and whatnot?”

“Why yes, it does,” the griffin replied. “And they're tracer rounds. The standard Stalliongrad green. You couldn't exactly see them earlier given the close quarters we were engaging in, but it helps to know where my shots are going since I can only see them through the eyes of others.”

The little gun junkie pony in my head was having a fangasm right now. “The real NSVT?” I was smiling from one ear to another now. “As in the NSVT cartridge that has over three-thousand Jewels' worth of muzzle energy over the original fifty BMG round?”

“Yes, that NSVT,” Azrael responded. I couldn't tell for sure with her hood on, but I had a hunch she was beaming.

“Something tells me you two are gonna get along niiiiice and swell.” Rig just shook her head with a smile.

“That's good, then.” The cloaked griffin swung Harbinger down close to me so I could get a better look.

“Wow...” I just plain marveled at the weapon. Oh how different things were now that I realized that she wasn't an enemy. “It's in such pristine condition! How?”

“I was getting to that.” Azrael halted, as did Rig. Huh. Weird. I just kept looking at the Kord-

-and walked straight into the front door of Benson's crumbly general store like an idiot.

“Of course.” I sighed, backpedaling a bit. I popped open my saddlebags and sprouted an ice arm to hand a bag of caps to Rig. “Uh... do you mind buying stuff for us? You can wake up Benson if he's still asleep. I think I want to-”

“Have more gun porn to clop to?” Rig snickered as she levitated the caps away and entered the store before I had a chance to form a rebuttal.

“That's not-” I started, but she was already inside. “Dammit.” Azrael gave a polite cough. “Oh, sorry. Uh, continue.”

“With pleasure.” She nodded. “Now, can you disassemble my weapon by any chance, or can you at least fully expose the chamber?”

“I'm afraid not,” I answered, shaking my head. “I know about the weapon, but I don't know enough to actually take it apart.”

“Understandable. I'll handle it, then. Just... forgive me if it takes some time. I don't exactly have other eyes to work off of.” And with that, she began to pry apart her Kord. She first unloaded the drum-fed ammunition belt and worked to remove the components necessary to fully expose the chamber to me. Given the hallmark overall simplicity of Stalliongrad-manufactured weapons, no tools were required. It was nevertheless still impressive for the blind griffin to do so, and soon she revealed the chamber itself, which was lined with quite an array of sparkling gems.

“Interesting...” I mused aloud as I took a look inside. “You have a gem-powered spell matrix in here.”

“Two, actually,” Azrael corrected. “First is the lightning sapphire array you see going into the barrel. I'm not sure exactly how the gem matrix works, but it essentially electrifies my bullets.” Oh. That explained the Heavy's spell matrix crash last night. “Granted, they're usually strong enough to pulverize whatever I shoot at, but bear in mind my vulnerability to machines. Even high-caliber rounds don't always have the stopping power to put them down, which is particularly true when I can't exactly aim at what I can't 'see'. If I can't aim at the more important parts, I can at least add a little more electrical punch to them.”

“How do you deal with machines and whatnot anyway?” I inquired.

“I spray in the general direction of the mechanical sounds and/or wherever I'm getting shot from,” she replied. “Again, machines aren't fun for me to deal with. Now, I believe the second gem matrix toward the rear of the chamber is what you'll find more interesting.”

“Diamond... quartz...” I ran off as I took a look. “Inlaid with gold. I don't recognize this kind of matrix.”

“Neither did I until I first tried to reload,” Azrael spoke, starting to piece the chamber back together. “It's a temporal spell matrix, one that affects the weapon as a whole. Every time I initiate the reload cycle on the battle saddle, it temporally rewinds the weapon to its original condition, ammunition included, in ten seconds flat.”

Holy bucking shit. Not only did Harbinger have a shock matrix in it, but it also had a gem-powered spell matrix that could wind back time itself for the weapon? How the...? Oh this needed some answering.

I narrowed my eyes a little. “Now-”

The griffin cut me off. “Before you ask, I have no idea how the Dead Boys were able to get their hands on such a weapon. Nobody I gleaned seemed to know. All that I do know is that the Dead Boys are in possession of some pretty high-tech weaponry.”

“And they'll be on our asses for the duration of your time with us.” I sighed, closing my eyes. So, a mercenary organization with war-era weaponry, power armor adapted for griffins, and gem-powered spell matrices far beyond my level of understanding was going to be after us. Wonderful.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Azrael asked me.

“No,” I told her, opening my eyes again. “I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it. No turning back. After all, that's not the griffin way now is it?”

Azrael took a good look at me and nodded in approval. A few moments later, Rig exited the store with a full set of saddlebags and- I frowned- an empty cap bag.

“Jeez, Benson's a grouch in the morning,” Rig grumbled. “Sorry, kinda used up all the caps you gave me.”

“I noticed.” I took the empty sack and stowed it away. “Were you able to get enough food?”

“I hope so,” the young unicorn mare answered, teleporting and levitating out... not enough food.

“No, you didn't.” I shook my head, sighing as I began to distribute all our supplies between the three of us. “Well, on the bright side, at least we have some carnivorous fare for you now, Azrael.”

“Thanks, but... I think your bartering skills are in need of some work based off what I'm gleaning from Benson, Rig,” the griffin spoke, taking a good portion of the meat and stowing it under her cloak.

“Oh come on!” Rig threw out her forehooves as she levitated cans away into her saddlebags. “It was my first ever market transaction! I mean I tried to pull what I saw Xamuros did when I got my armor and tools and saddlebags and stuff, but gimme a break!”

“And so we're down to around five-hundred caps or so,” I said, jingling what I had left as we made for the city walls. “Next time, I won't make that mistake. I’ll just handle the bartering myself. Best hope we don't need to make any big exchanges out there. Oh, well. There are plenty of raider nests along the way.”

“Wait, we'll be flying, right?” Rig asked.

“Yes, but raiders are the best source for the food and caps we're a little short on,” I replied. “And they've always got lots of goods on them to sell for a cap or forty-two.”

“Unfortunately,” Azrael added, “raider encounters are going to be rather common for us. After all, I planned on us flying low.”

“Any particular reason?” I inquired. “Why not stay high and out of sight? You know, since anyone but griffins would think to look up, aaaaaand I just answered my own question.”

“Indeed you did,” the griffin huffed. “The Dead Boys will be scouring around for us, namely me, and they'll keep their eyes skyward. At least in my opinion, it's better to stay low. It'll decrease our chances of being spotted by them if we stick lower to the terrain, and it's more preferable to fight lowly raider scum as opposed to better-trained and better-equipped mercenaries. Also, do recall that my telepathy has a radius of one mile, and this radius is spherical, not circular. The higher we are in the air, the less I can detect on the ground. To add, I also think it'll be a bit easier on Rig. Since she's never been higher than a few stories off of solid ground.”

“Uh... well how low are we talking?” I asked.

“Around twenty feet should suffice,” Azrael responded. “Why?”

“I'm not too keen on flying less too low due to some... unfortunate mishaps when trying to learn to fly,” I admitted. “That should be relatively safe for me, though.” Both of them opened their mouths to ask. “I don't want to talk about it.” Both of them closed their mouths.

The southwestern section of the walls were in bad shape. Ripper shells had turned them into Swiss cheese the night before, and portions had simply collapsed. Dozens of ponies and griffins were working to piece them back up, using nearby sheet metal as a quick-fix in lieu of stronger materials that would take time to produce or get hold of. The citizens of Stalliongrad were an industrious people. The walls were liable to be in a serviceable condition within the week, I estimated.

I heard a rather tinny noise, causing me to perk up my ears to get a fix on it.

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiit!” an all-too-familiar voice shouted, growing louder by the moment.

Aw, fuck.

Sly tackled into me, sending the two of us bowling over before he ended up on top of me.

“... I'm waiting,” I stated simply, mildly irritated. “Also, this kind of stuff is getting a bit old now.”

“Hey buddy, almost forgot I had some stuff to give you before you go!” The giant was grinning happily, blissfully ignoring my comment. At least he got off and allowed me to snap to my feet. “I managed to get some off of the last trade caravan, and I know how much you like 'em, so... here you go!”

He then proceeded to dump a few cans. Hm, they were all-

“Canned biscuits?!” I exclaimed, jaw dropping. I then promptly brought more forehooves up to my cheeks with an endearing expression, letting out a light, happy squee, the previous few seconds forgotten for the moment. “Oh sweet Luna, canned biscuits!”

…

What? That's really how I reacted, folks!

Ahem, so Sly beamed proudly. “Of course! Go ahead, they're all yours!”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh, most wonderful of-” I began to cheer. And then I caught sight of Rig and Azrael. Both of them were staring at me with an expression similar to a lot of you right now. “What?”

“Biscuits,” Azrael said simply. “Really?”

“Yes, really!” I exclaimed. “Do you have any idea how much I love biscuits?! And do you have any idea how rare they are in the Wasteland now?!”

“Well... alright...” She eyed me strangely. She was probably judging me right now.

And so I began to put those cans of fluffy joy away as Sly asked Rig, “Uh, what's she doing with you two?”

“Long story, don't ask,” the unicorn answered.

“Ooookay then.” Sly blinked. “Well, I guess you're going now, right?”

“Yeah,” I answered, nodding. “Again, thanks much for the biscuits. I'll see you soon.”

“Alright, buddy!” Sly grinned. “Kick some ass out there, you hear?”

Okay, that wasn't exactly the way I'd put it.

“... will do?” I blinked.

“That's the spirit!” Sly exclaimed before zipping back for the walls. “See ya, buddy!”

“Your friend is very...” Azrael paused, trying to find the right word.

“Eccentric?” I suggested.

“Quite.” She nodded as we headed for the walls again. “And I thought I was supposed to be the telepath here.”

I huffed lightly in response, waving a few working ponies a good-bye as they let us through the torn shards of the city gates.

“You're going to be carrying her, right?” I asked, turning to Azrael.

“That's correct,” she replied. “Carrying Rig will be no problem.”

“So... this flying thing...” The young mare skittishly kicked at the ground as we passed through the walls. “It's not too bad... right?”

“It's scary the first time, trust me,” I told her. “After a while, it gets better, even exhilarating. Don't worry. Azrael will be carrying you, so don't be afraid to shut your eyes.”

“Do I look like a foal?” Rig stared at me. “Sure, I'm probably gonna be scared shitless, but puh-lease! I'm almost a mare!”

I shrugged lightly. “Do what you must then.”

So this was it. It was time to go back into the desolate, monotonous, dreadful Wasteland and leave behind the place I've come to call home. I exhaled sharply and sprouted my smooth, bent, blade-like sextet of wings once more. The ice crinkled lightly as I tested to make sure they were the right dimensions.

Meanwhile, Azrael's cloak whipped open and she spread wide a massive pair of jet-black wings, dust kicking up as she flapped them lightly, joints crackling. We're talking a bit over six meters for a wingspan here, folks, and that's a conservative estimate. And those massive, jet-black wings were covered in blades. All black, almost blending into her feathering if not for that telltale sheen. A set of wingblades on the leading edge of her wings extended a good half-meter or so past where the tip ended.

Well, now I knew why they were called the “Razorwings”.

“Wow,” both Rig and I stated simply as we stared at her.

The ebony griffin sighed lightly, shifting around and cracking several of her joints. This included her knuckles, wrists, the ankles on her hindlegs, her back, her neck, and even her sternum and clavicles. Rig looked disgusted. I was rather intrigued.

“Ah... so good to be in the open once more,” Azrael sighed in content. “Well, I'm ready when you two are.”

“You're not going to be able to cut me up with those as you fly... right?” Rig continued to stare.

“Of course not,” she replied. “It's why I'm carrying you instead of letting you ride on my back. “Now, on your go, Frost.”

I gave my saddlebags a final inspection to make sure they were closed up tightly before nodding and beating my wings down, lifting off and soaring away. With a mighty beat and gust of her own, Azrael took off and clutched Rig in her claws. We sped off, flying low over the Wastes, bearing southwest towards Manehattan.

Oh, and Rig was blabbering and shrieking obscenities for around five minutes after taking to the air. What did you expect, folks?

* * *

Footnote: Rig (really) joined your party! Azrael joined your party!
Frost- Maximum Level

Rig- Level Up! Level 4 Reached!
Trait#$@%^%#%STMP: ERROR; TRAITS MASKED
Origin: Stable Pony- Born and raised in a Stable, you know very little about the Wasteland relatively speaking. Your work-related skills still come in handy in the Wastes, though! You gain +15 to Repair, Science, and Lockpick skills. However, you have a -10 penalty to Survival and all combat-related skills (Guns, Explosives, etc.).
Quest perk added: Crash Course- Knowledge is power, and you learned and trained under the best of Frost’s former companions. You gain +10 to all combat-related skills (Guns, Explosives, etc.), your aim is noticeably steadier, and your reload times are reduced depending on your weapon.

Azrael- Maximum Level
Origin: Disavowed Dead Boy- You are a former member of The Dead Boys, a notorious griffin mercenary organization. Some people recognize you, and this can both work for and against you. Regardless, you will attract attention every time you are detected by a non-animal, non-machine in a location. Be warned, The Dead Boys can use this to track you down! Leave no trace!

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Theme of the Slayer

Commission Art- Azrael by Julep

Bonus feature added!

Azrael's S.P.E.C.I.A.L.

Strength: 10
Perception: 10
Endurance: 8
Charisma: 4
Intelligence: 10
Agility: 5
Luck: 3

Author's Note

A special thanks to Kookamater and especially ErrantIndy for looking over this for me. Thank you so much. I must also thank Kkat, Somber, Mimezinga, and all of the wonderful ponies of the FoE Sidestory Compilation Doc. You are all incredible ponies.

Chapter Eight: Where the Heart is

Chapter Eight: Where the Heart is

Listen, folks. Being a “hero”... it's not what it's all cracked up to be. You folks might've already guessed. The Wasteland doesn't like heroes. It throws every Goddessdamn dirty trick it can to derail them off the path of morality. Gratitude is a commodity in the Wasteland, a commodity far too scarce. More often than not, it's a two-headed, two-faced, two-way, fickle, backstabbing mirage. You help someone out, and for all your trouble you get held at gunpoint by the very person you worked so hard to aid, get stripped of all your belongings, and then get sent on your way. I've seen it happen all too often. And then the heroes just get sick and tired of it and just stop. They just hit a brick wall and don’t know where to go from there. Death, suicide maybe. Or worse, becoming what they once fought to destroy.

After all, when you take, and you take, and you take... it isn't long before somebody feels somebody's been taking too much.

Heroes die hard in the Wasteland. Decent equines come by the dozen. Good equines are one in a million, and back then was no different.

There are exceptions of course. Rig. Azrael. The good people of Stalliongrad. Even the Razorwings if you want to go that far.

But, again, being a “hero” isn't what it's all cracked up to be. The Wasteland makes damn sure of that. Nobody's perfect. Neither are heroes.

I ask you folks now- am I perfect?

More importantly, am I a hero?

* * *

A moment of rest, a break to eat lunch. Few things exhilarate and scare me at the same time like flying does, especially flying so low to the ground. Again, I'm no natural flier. I've no natural wings. I can't really feel them, and so I can't feel get an exact idea of how far they are from other objects. If I have to bank hard, I have to be damn sure I don't clip myself on something solid. I also have to be careful not to subconsciously sublimate or coalesce additional ice. The wrong amount at the wrong time...

I'm kinda beating around the bush now, aren't I? Fact is, I'm no natural flier, especially so low to the ground. I was glad we touched down for lunch. Not too much to speak of about the surroundings. More dirt. More dust. Some lightly rolling hills- that was a nice change of pace.

Oh, and this was Rig's reaction to flying.

“That was so awesome!” the young mare shouted, her indigo eyes sparkling with glee. “I mean sure, those first few minutes were terrifying, but how fast we were able to cover ground, the air against my face-”

Azrael paused from tearing through her helping of radigator meat to correct her. “The wind.” She then murmured, “Stable ponies.” That made me crack a thin smile.

“The wind against my face,” Rig continued, not missing a beat, too occupied to mind the carnivore beside her, “the ground zipping by, the... um... wind against my face-”

“Your descriptions still need work,” I chuckled, popping open a can of the fluffy, butter joy (biscuits!) and tearing in.

Okay, perhaps not too fluffy. More like solid and partially frozen. Fine by me. They were biscuits and they were still good. Being crunchy was a bit of a somewhat pleasant surprise.

“I don't care, it was still so awesome!” The unicorn squealed with glee. Note to self: when she liked something, she got very, very passionate about it.

“I must admit,” Azrael spoke,” this was not the reaction I was expecting.”

“Azrael, I've known- gah, no!” I cried out suddenly as I stupidly talked with my mouthful of biscuits, causing crumbs to tumble from down to the Wasteland soil. I frantically scooped them up and carefully gobbled up every morsel.

The two of them promptly stared at me as I did so. Note to self: I was being a big, fat hypocrite.

I cleared my throat. “As I was... saying... I've known the gal for three days now, Azrael. I've had a lot of those moments.” I shuddered at the thought of the M12 flamethrower.

“You say that as if it's a bad thing.” Rig huffed, tucking away her empty can to sell later. Good girl.

“You take the good with the bad.” I shrugged, looking down. One biscuit left. I was shifting my gaze from one to the other. “Uh... either of you want one?”

“Nope.” The young mare shook her head quickly.

“Pass,” Azrael said simply, tearing another piece of radigator meat off with her beak.

Last one in the can, and so I enjoyed it nice and slowly. Crunchy, buttery goodness, I tell you.

“Okay, ready to go when you two are,” I grunted, getting up and sprouting my wings out again as I cracked my neck.

“Wait.” Azrael spoke, causing both of us to glance at her. “New contacts just entered my radius.”

“Uh, 'contacts'?” the young mare asked, confused.

“Spotted or otherwise detected individuals,” I told her before turning back to Azrael. “Dead Boys?” glanced skywards. Only the clouds greeted me, the soft glow indicating it was still morning.

“No, but more of them are entering,” she replied, getting up now with the soil crunching under her weight. “Four ponies being chased down by raiders. I'm counting seven. They're east-southeast of our current position and cutting westward across the edge of my radius.”

“A shame,” I spoke simply, closing my eyes. “Well, are you two ready to go yet?”

“I'm ready,” the griffin answered calmly.

“Hell yeah I am!” Rig grinned, Luna's Fortitude materializing beside her in a gray aura as she flipped down her welding helmet. “Time to go save us some ponies!”

“That's not what I meant.”

The cloud-maned unicorn popped up her helmet. “Come again?”

Azrael likewise eyed me. It was somewhat unsettling due to her blind, lifeless eyes.

“We maintain our heading,” I replied, clarifying. “We're continuing toward Hoofstead.”

“What?” Rig stared. “What? What... what?! You're kidding, right?”

“Time is of the essence for these slaves,” I said, turning to the southwest in preparation for takeoff. “Unfortunate as it is, we can't stop for such a matter, especially a matter that is practically out of our way. By the time we get there, the situation will likely have been resolved in any case.” I turned to face the girl. “We maintain our heading.”

She gawked at me as if I'd slapped her in the face.

“As you wish,” Azrael spoke.

“What?!” Rig wheeled to her now. “You're with him too?!”

“My family had to act similarly when fleeing from the Dead Boys,” the griffin replied. “It is, as Frost said, unfortunate. However, it is necessary when time is critical.” She glanced at me for a moment and I nodded lightly in thanks.

Rig looked from me to her and back. “You two... seriously? After all you've done? Unbelievable!”

“Come, Rig, let's go.” Azrael reached a claw out for the young mare.

She gazed up at the griffin for a few seconds before sighing in resignation, stowing Luna’s Fortitude away. “Fine.” She walked closer so that Azrael could pick her-

-and then she broke off fast, sprinting to the southeast.

“Rig!” the griffin shouted in surprise, slowly trying to catch up with her.

It bothered me that I anticipated something like that. It still does.

Rig only made it only a few meters before jarring to a halt as a spear embedded itself in the ground in front of her. Formed of ice.

My five remaining wings had thinned to thin, sharpened javelins, the arms connecting them to my back primed and ready to throw.

Rig was so astonished that she didn't even resist as Azrael picked her up in one claw and slowly strode back to me with her in tow. “Frost...?” she whispered out, eyes open wide.

“I'm sorry, Rig,” I spoke softly, wings reforming now. “But it's for your own good, too. We cannot get sidetracked and put all of us, namely you, at greater risk. Rule number one. You made that promise.” I turned away, facing southwest once more. “When you're ready, Azrael.”

“I'm ready,” the griffin responded.

We took off accordingly, Azrael at my side with Rig clutched under her as we coasted low over the Wasteland. The young mare just hung there limply, still shocked.

“If it's of any remote comfort,” the ebony telepath spoke, “and I know it probably won't be, they're already dead. We wouldn't have made it there in time to stop them.”

Rig lowered her head and let out a sigh almost lost to the wind as it rushed by us and closed her eyes.

I could almost hear the big, empty bastard laughing.

* * *

Three days passed with no hostile contact. Rig wasn't up for conversation after the incident. I couldn't blame her, but I couldn't feel sorry for her at the same time. She'd have to learn. Meanwhile, Azrael was obedient and silent, speaking only when spoken to, only growing more talkative when we settled down for the night. I couldn't help but shrug the feeling she was judging me though. But whatever the case was, we flew, we ate, we did our business as need be, and we slept.

I had nightmares of course. It never failed. The nightmares wouldn't leave me. Why would they? Why should they?

In the interest of time since dinner's getting near and so is my watch, I'm going to leave those out. I hope you're happy, folks, because this is still gonna be a long one.

We were nearing the Great Mid-Equestrian Divide, the hilly terrain quickly growing more and more mountainous. We decided to stick to the lowlands, partly for stealth and mostly for Rig. It was growing a little warmer now, but it was still well within my comfort zone. I couldn't help but still feel tense, however. I knew that as the mountains rose around us, we'd pass by a place important not just to me but to all of us.

I breathed out a shuddering sigh as we swept around the base. It was a long mountain chain, but it was also a narrow one. We would be passing through very quickly.

Azrael noticed. “Something the matter?”

I hadn't expected for anyone to question into the matter nor, in such a case, for that “anyone” to be Azrael. But, I told her, “We're getting close.”

“To Manehattan?”

“No.” I flattened my lips as we burst into a low valley. “To Canterlot.”

High above us built on a cliffside of the tallest mount in the Divide was a magnificent, magical city. From where we were, we couldn't distinguish much of it, but a castle with all of its battlements and spires rose skyward, looming over the rest of the city. Great multitudes of water cascaded down into the valley below.

But it wasn't magnificent, wasn't magical. No more. The structures were cracked, crumbled, and raw from age. The trickling flow of the waterfalls were rushing torrents of muddled water.

And a ghastly, swirling miasma of horrifying pink hung in the air around the city.

The storyteller shuddered.

And then somepony raised a hand.

What is it?

The mare asked what the deal was with Canterlot.

The storyteller glared at her for a few seconds, but his expression grew soft and somber. He closed his eyes as cold breath seethed from his mouth.

Canterlot is... was the capital of Equestria. It was known for many things. The high majority of upper-class citizens, mostly unicorns, that dwelt in the city- and practically all snobs, phonies, and hypocrites. Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, the best unicorn magic academy in all the land. The shopping, the plays and shows... and Canterlot Castle. That was the place where the Grand Galloping Gala, the “biggest” party of the year, took place. It was a very prestigious event.

And it was also where Princess Luna and Princess Celestia, along with their Royal Guards and attendants, lived.

Another shaky breath rasped out of the storyteller's mouth as he opened his eyes.

The zebras knew they were slowly losing the Great War. It came to a point where most of their army was mechanized. They simply couldn't continue to fight abroad while the Zebrica Wilds continued to lay siege to them. And so, during the last day of the Great War, the zebras launched an all-out attack on Canterlot. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna cast a spellshield over the entire city to defend it from the hail of zebra missiles. But even before all of this, the zebras had already infiltrated the city. With them, they brought a megaspell that produced a horrible biochemical weapon.

They knew it as the Littlehorn agent.

We know it as the Pink Cloud.

The Pink Cloud destroys living things on the subatomic level, causing normal ponies to just break apart and meld with whatever objects they were currently in contact with. The effects were... were truly horrifying beyond all words.

The storyteller shifted, eyes glazing over, no longer looking at the audience or anyone. He gulped hard.

Ponies slowly melted into the concrete pavement. Into walls. Into the very autowagons they were driving. Into the buildings, into benches. And, as some of them tried to cling onto their loved ones, into each other...

He was panting now, nervous twitches rocking his frame.

The princesses were forced to keep the shield up. The Pink Cloud megaspell was the ultimate doomsday device, able to spread the gas over all of Equestria. The princesses knew this and contained the Pink Cloud using the very shield they cast to save the city.

He locked eyes with the audience now, voice cracked.

You can't begin to comprehend, to fathom just how powerful, just how deadly the Pink Cloud was. It didn't even matter if you held your breath or were even in a hazard suit. It'd kill you, it would break you down all the same. It had to be so powerful, it had to be so deadly.

Because ultimately, the zebras wanted Princess Luna and Princess Celestia to die.

He was deadly quiet now. Every word boomed with the weight of all his years.

And it worked. The zebras killed them.

The Goddesses sacrificed Themselves to save all of Equestria. They kept that shield up to save everypony and everyone. The Pink Cloud never spread from Canterlot.

His lips drew back in a snarl, voice seething with rage.

But stupid, stupid fuckheads we were, we went and threw it all away! We fucking destroyed our world for what they did to save it! Damn it! Damn us all!

The storyteller suddenly began storming out of the building, seething bitterly.

I'm sorry. I need some air, give me time, just give me some, some time...

The unicorn shoved the door open, tearing it off of his hinges. He growled in his misdirected emotion and slipped away, leaving behind a confused audience. Whispers spread throughout the crowd as the minutes ticked by.

Dinner came and went, and the members of the audience went and came with it. It wasn't until an hour after that the armored, green-coated unicorn stood in the doorway once more.

I... apologize, folks. It's a... touchy subject for me.

The storyteller tapped his old armor.

It's... a family thing, I guess. Right?

Roanoke, the griffin by the jukebox, went to speak with him, but the storyteller cut him off with the wave of his hoof.

No. I'm going to tell it. They came for a story, and I'll be damned if I don't deliver.

Without waiting for an answer, the storyteller brushed him aside and took his place once more before the audience, his words once more flowing out like liquid honey.

Where was I...? Oh... right...

We were just passing around the mount, laying our eyes on that forsaken place. It still gives me the chills even now, just thinking about it. And when they're my chills, you know we're talking big ones.

We passed by in silence. I couldn't tear my eyes off of that tainted city. I know I should have been scanning around for threats, but... I just couldn't.

Canterlot...

The City of Hopes and Dreams...

“There,” Rig finally spoke, my ears twitching to her words. I looked back to see her pointing down at the ruins of Zebratown, near the base of the largest waterfall flowing down from Canterlot. The Pink Cloud hung there too, if not as densely. Before the Great War, it was once a settlement made up almost completely of zebras that were refugees from the war that cast them from their home. Too hated and mistrusted by ponykind, they left other cities to create one all to their own. It didn't stop ponies from keeping watch on them, though.

Getting off topic. I digress...

“There,” Rig finally spoke, my ears twitching to her words. I looked back to see her pointing down at the Zebratown ruins. “That's where Stable Three is.”

“In Zebratown?” I asked, unable to contain my horror and surprise. “In the Cloud?”

“No no, don’t worry, it’s safe,” she said. “They were able to hermetically seal off the forward area of the Stable to prevent the Pink Cloud from leaking in. We had a back route in the base of the mountain nearby, more around the side. That’s how the security team and me were able to get out.”

“Oh...” That made much more sense, and that meant it would be safe from the Pink Cloud. That over with, we fell into a terse silence once more.

“We can talk, you know.” Rig broke it once again. “I think I'm pretty much over it now.”

Her tone suggested otherwise.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I know better now,” the earth-coated mare spoke. “We wouldn't have made it in time anyways.”

I turned back to look at her as we glided past the rest of the Divide. “You didn't answer the question.”

Rig sighed and looked away. I glanced at Azrael. Her expression was hard and unreadable.

The young mare looked back up at me and said, “No.”

At least she was truthful. I spoke as gently as I could over the wind as we soared on. “Listen. All this takes getting used to. And you do get used to it. The Wasteland is cold and unforgiving. Try as we might to win some, inevitably we lose some. Remember, Rig, the Wasteland will never win as long as it doesn't claim you, through death or otherwise.”

She nodded plaintively, but her eyes weren't as dull anymore. She learned fast, that girl. I hoped she would eventually get over it.

* * *

Manehattan, the City of Legends and Lights. It lived up to that title, or at least it used to. The balefire bomb turned the downtown area- once the heart of the city- into nothing more than a giant crater still crackling with radiation. Everything else was crumbled, scorched, and husked. The Manehattan ruins were and still are rife with danger. Raider nests just keep popping up, slaver holes keep getting dug in, and yet ponies still try to stake out their life in the massive urban sprawl of the city that dwarfed even Stalliongrad.

Forty years ago, the place was about the same as today. Different faces and different places but the same situation. Raiders. Slavers. Normal folk. All of them were trying to eke out their lives in what remained of the City of Legends and Lights.

The only difference was that there were a whole lot more raiders and slavers, and gunfire echoed constantly.

It had been about a week of near non-stop flying and zero contact. We were gradually getting back to our usual level of talkativeness at least. As we neared the northern outskirts of the city, we touched down and scouted out the fringes of the city, made much easier due to Azrael.

In a manner of speaking, “easier,” I think, doesn't quite say much.

“Raiders,” the griffin reported. “They're everywhere.”

“Of course they're everywhere.” I huffed. “This is Manehattan. Could you be a little more specific?”

The three of us had touched down and trotted closer to the city, now taking position behind a low hill that shielded us from view. Rig had limped the whole way. Still not used to Wasteland earth, that gal. She was staying quiet, letting the more experienced Wastelanders do the planning.

“Not by much,” Azrael replied, seemingly unfazed by my curtness. “The northern outskirts are crowded out. Little else to say.”

“Any route we can take for a bypass?” I asked. Personally, I'd love nothing more than to rip apart the lot of them, and I was sure Rig could easily hold her own given she survived against a well-equipped mercenary company a week ago. But we were on a schedule, and the clock was ticking. And our objective was so tantalizingly close...

“No, not unless you wish to waste more time trying to find a section of the city perimeter that's less infested.”

“Not even a chance for a bypass?” I asked, my muzzle tugging into a frown.

“Not even a chance,” Azrael spoke. “There is, however, one remotely easier way to get in.”

I sighed, “Something tells me I'm not going to like this, but what is it?”

“The path of least resistance,” she answered.

“What kind of resistance are we talking?” I inquired.

“A good dozen raiders. So far. That might change as we get closer and I can glean more in my radius, but that's the best I've got. We can try to sneak our way in, but sooner or later one of them will catch us.”

“Well, we certainly can't fly in there.” I scowled. “Entering will be easy, but once we touch down, all eyes will be on us. Path of least resistance it is. That means, however, that we'll need stealth.” I glanced at the two of them. “Can either of you do stealth?”

Rig nodded. “Sure, I think I can do that. I have Luna's Fortitude after all.”

“Not that kind of stealth. I'm talking the kind where you're trying to get through without firing a single shot.”

“... oh.” The unicorn mare blinked. “Well... I can try.”

Azrael merely stared blankly at me. “Do I occur to you as the epitome of stealth?” She took one, heavy, crunching step toward me for emphasis. “Stealth and I aren't fond friends.”

“You said you could glean the senses off of anyone in your radius, right?” I turned to her. “Then that's how you'll be keeping out of sight, out of scent, out of hearing, and out of mind.”

“As you wish,” Azrael said simply. She seemed very skeptical about that.

“And Rig, we'll need to be a stealthy as possible, so keep magic to a minimum,” I said to the earth-coated mare. “Magical auras tend to catch attention. Also, you should have some sort of objective marker on your E.F.S. and under the 'Data' tab on your PipBuck. I don't know for sure, but I think it should show up on your radar, too. Keep us heading in the right direction, okay?”

“You got it!” She did have a... okay, it wasn't quite as surely or lovely as before, but it was a smirk nonetheless.

“Play our cards right, and we won't even have to fire a single shot.” I glanced over the two of them. Azrael looked doubtful. “We'll do what we can. Watch where you step, and keep noise to a minimum. Time's a-wasting. Let's get going. Azrael, lead the way. I'll take the rear. Rig, stay between us.”

“Understood,” the giant acknowledged and began heading off, cloak sweeping behind her as she made a break for the city. Rig knocked down her welder's helmet and started off behind her as I followed up behind. Ice crinkled over me as I cloaked myself once more, keeping my eyes, ears, and nose open. Rig glanced back questioningly, but I whispered, “Don't worry, I'm here. Just keep going.”

“Your creativity with ice continues to impress me,” Azrael spoke.

My lips curved into a small, unseen smile. “Well, I've had a long time to come up with these ideas.”

Azrael led us behind a charred trailer, and we stacked up behind her. It was our last piece of visual cover, now that the first ruined houses were a stone's-throw away. We were very close. The stench of decay would have been overbearing to my sensitive nose if it weren't for my acclimation to such a thing. Rig was stirring uncomfortably, likely from that foul odor. The ebony griffin turned back to us and held up three claws before motioning toward the city, and quickly too. She then curled her claw into a fist. The message was clear.

One claw.

Two claws.

Three claws.

We took off, Azrael's footsteps sounding loudly as we all made a break for it. Rig was running a tad lopsidedly but easily kept pace with the griffin as I took up the rear. Only then did I realize just how close we were going to cut it. From within the gutted, skeletal remains of a pair of two-story houses was a raider nest right in front of us. Wood planks spanned between the two of them, and a pair of earth pony raiders wearing barding that looked nothing more than a mishmash of spikes, leather, and tire treads were loafing about above, just now looking away. I also saw where Azrael was taking us. There was a trench dug under the foundation of one of the homes- a trench that would take us out of sight, but we needed to move fast.

Rig stumbled, whimpering, gaze turned upwards. At first, I thought it was from either the sight of the raiders so damn close to us or having to run so quickly over the harsh terrain, but then I saw them.

The bodies.

Ever seen a raider nest, folks? If you haven't already seen one as you get close, you'll have smelled it. Hanging off massive hooks, dangling off of rusted chains were bodies. Pony bodies. All of them were mutilated with sadistic glee, rent apart in a sick sort of artistic manner. Heads were split open, their insides exposed. Ribcages were pried apart, guts hooked up and splayed. Limbs were missing, eyes were gouged, intestines were trailing. And that's not mentioning the other obscene ways they were mounted. Couples locked in sick, lewd positions; innards and limbs torn off, put where they don't belong... the sickest kind of art.

Rig couldn't take her eyes off of the mutilated corpses, and she downright pulled to a stop. I cursed under my breath and snatched her up in the hook of my foreleg, hefting her up and pulling her along as I galloped as fast as I could on three legs, joining Azrael in the trench.

The young mare only just began to let out a light cry as I formed an ice hand and tucked it under her helmet, over her mouth, stifling her. She was shuddering, whimpering. I could see her eyes wide and shifting behind that dark lens.

“Shhhh...” I hushed her. “Shhhh...”

“Hey, you hear something?” one of the raiders above us chattered in a smug, snide tone.

“What, you mean somepony's sneakin' around here?” the other replied, rougher, more menacing. “Come out and play, you lil' fuckers...”

Azrael was waving urgently with her claw, lumbering into an alcove nearby. Still hushing Rig, I pulled her along, my back to the wall as we slipped out of sight. Rig was panting frantically into my palm as the sound of four hooves landing on the earth sounded off. They were coming, and if we were discovered already... we could have dozens of raiders bearing down on us at once.

“Show yourself, motherfucker!” one of them bellowed.

“Come out! You scared, bitch?”

Raiders. Seems like they just can't resist cursing in every other if not just plain every sentence.

The hoofsteps were getting louder as I sprouted another ice arm and whipped out Midnight Talon, popping the safety and latch dropping her open in preparation. The hoofsteps didn't stop getting louder, and Rig was panicking. I was pulling my palm harder over her to quiet her. Dammit, he was going to check the alcove! Think fast, Frost, think fast!

My mind raced for a way out as I realized the space we were in was just narrow enough to allow Azrael to slip in. An idea hatched, and I placed a hoof against the corner where the alcove began, ice spreading out to form a wall from one end to the other. I hastily changed the thickness to bend light, hoping I had enough time as the raider rounded the corner.

Rig fell dead quiet, eyes wide, not daring to breathe as the dirty, blood-spattered earth pony rounded the corner looked straight at us, his visage a little blurry from the ice in front of us but no less imposing. If he could still see us, our cover was blown.

“Huh?” The raider turned back outside and growled. “What the fuck, Chives! There ain't nopony here! And who the hell filled up the ditch?”

Oh thank goodness...

“What?” the other shouted from above. “You shittin' me?”

“Place is empty, shit-for-brains! Next time you say you hear something, you better fuckin' mean it!” He started out now, leaving us behind. He grumbled, murmuring, “By Celestia's cunt, what a dumbf-”

And suddenly he was dead. The top half of his head was lopped off, brain sliced clean, eyeballs dangling free. He stumbled and twitched unsteadily before slumping against the wall. It happened so fast, I didn't even realize that I sublimated the ice screen and brought Midnight Talon across his head. Nor did I realize that I brought Rig with me.

Ohhhhh damn, I thought as I heard more hoofsteps above. I really shouldn't have done that.

“Move!” I whispered to them, releasing Rig. “Go, now!”

Azrael lumbered away while Rig followed, shocked but steady, at least for now. I tailed them, backpedaling for a bit to see if the other raider would follow.

“Jigsaw, you stayin' down there or somethin'?” he shouted down. “Well fiiiine by me! Lazy bastard...”

Raiders. They were known for a lot of things, but accuracy wasn't one of them. Neither was common sense. Nor just plain sense for that matter.

Pausing to wipe my blade on the corpse and stow her away, I turned tail now. I followed along until we reached the end of the trench, a good twenty meters away with another small alcove that we ducked into.

“Forgive me for my insubordination, but what were you thinking?” Azrael whispered angrily. “We had it.”

“It's... a bit of a pet peeve,” I admitted, still cloaked. “I don't take kindly to blasphemies against the Goddesses.”

Azrael stared long and hard at me. Again, very unsettling from a blind griffin.

“Okay, more than a pet peeve,” I furthermore admitted. “Look, I'll just warn you now. Please don't try to insult, blaspheme, or otherwise slander the Goddesses.”

“Noted,” the griffin sighed, closing her eyes and pinching her brow, clacking her beak in distaste. “But if you're the one who wants us to stay hidden as long as possible, you can't be doing that now can you?”

I merely nodded wordlessly at her.

“Wh... what was that?!” Rig yelped but yelped quietly in a tinny, squeaky voice, panting and shuddering.

“A raider nest,” I told her, “just like any other raider nest.”

“You mean they're all like that?!” she hissed, eyes wide behind that lens.

“They're all like that, and I haven't seen a single exception to date,” I answered her. “And they're going to be everywhere here.”

“Wha-bu-guh-” she blabbered. “But why do they do that?!”

“Because they can,” I replied. “You have to realize that raiders aren't sane. They lack reason and will kill anything that isn't one of them. Or, if they don't, they'll use them for their own selfish purposes. They even mutilate their own dead in the same manner; that's how far their insanity goes.”

Rig had to lift up her helmet and place a hoof against her forehead to take it all in. “And they're going to be everywhere here...”

“Everywhere,” I repeated.

“Oh Goddess,” Rig moaned, covering her face with both hooves and bending over. “I don't think I can do this...”

I sighed softly. So long ago, so very, very long ago... had I really been in her same place?

I looked at her now as she started to break down under the weight of the horror. Yes, I had really been in her same place. I uncloaked myself and laid a hoof on her back. “Rig, look at me. Look at me.”

The cloud-maned unicorn slowly did so, tearing her hooves away.

“You're going to see a lot of ugliness in the Wasteland,” I told her, voice firm. “That's just how it is. You proved that you're strong enough to journey with me as I try to help you and your Stable out. You proved that to me back in Stalliongrad. And you just bore witness to that without losing your lunch. Don't let me down now, Rig.”

The girl, not quite yet a mare, inhaled and exhaled deeply before nodding, biting her lip as the strength returned to those indigo eyes.

“Or have I been proven wrong?” I smirked, just a little, my tone a little snide. “Do we have to drop you off at Tenpony Tower and leave you with all the stuck-up aristocrats?”

She did have a lovely smirk.

“Oh hell no!” Rig exclaimed, quietly though. Her confidence was returning.

Nice job, Frost. Right words the right way.

“Then stay strong.” I smiled at her. “Remember, we'll be with you all the way.” I turned to Azrael and nodded. She nodded slowly back, though I did see a hint of something glint in those empty eyes. What was it?

Whatever it was, I had no time to think as she began lumbering heavily ahead once more, Rig flipping down her welder's helmet and staggering along. Ice crinkled over me once more as I cloaked and followed.

* * *

The next hour or so consisted of careful evasion, well-timed sprinting, and tense sneaking. Rig gradually desensitized herself to the mutilation around us as we passed around the nests, navigating down those twisted streets, alleyways and trenches. I couldn't take in the surroundings completely. I paid attention only to what was necessary, what mattered.

Raider positions. Which direction were they facing? Were they occupied doing something? Could they hear us, see us? Were they actively patrolling or merely lounging about?

Obstacles. Was there debris in our path? Was there a raider nest in our path? Was there some other form of obstruction in our path? How could we circumvent them stealthily and continue on our way? Were there traps? Landmines, tripwires, even the odd bear trap? Thankfully, none of those seemed to be around.

Visual cover. How many degrees of visual exposure did we have? Where were they in relation to our group? Were there raiders occupying those uncovered degrees of visual exposure? Was there anything to block that exposure? How long it would block that exposure? How far? Was there neutral, inaccessible territory we could move along to minimize possible degrees of visual exposure?

Auditory cover. Were there patches of relatively softer earth we could use to quiet our movement? Was Azrael making too much noise over the concrete and tarmac? Were the raiders doing something that would generate a noise that could cover our advance? Were the ambient echoes of gunshots enough to cover our advance? Were there objects lying around that could generate unwanted noise with a misplaced step?

To the last one, yes. Very much yes. For that reason and as our (my) luck would have it, we couldn't stay hidden forever.

“I told you we couldn't stay hidden forever!” Azrael hissed as she slammed into the door of the nearest house. A normal griffin would've knocked it off of its hinges. She just plain reduced it to splinters. We quickly dove inside for cover as raiders opened up all around us, rushed cries and reports ringing out to draw attention to our position.

“I know, dammit!” I growled as my ice cloak thickened into armor and I appeared before them once more, arms sprouting to whip out Luna's Judgment. “You don't need to remind me!” I checked the band around my current drum. Gray. Two-kilogram slugs. That would do for this situation, but I needed it to be a bit quieter. Ice pooled from the barrel, widening a few inches and growing longer to form a very, very large suppressor.

“Shit, just... shit!” Rig growled, ducking down as the wood around us began to splinter from the bullets raining against the facade of the scorched home we used as shelter. “I'm sorry! I didn't see the glass!”

“Sorry won't fix it!” I yelled. It was harsh, but it was true. Time slowed down as I aimed at the doorway where I saw a hoof just start to peek in. I focused, waiting for the raider mare's head to come into view. I pulled the trigger, and I could see the end of the suppressor form a minute blossom of light for a moment before that two-kilogram slug popped her head like a balloon, my shotgun's CHKFT drawn out eerily.

Time winded back up to speed as Azrael swept up her cloak to reveal Harbinger, a deafening roar sounding out as she shot upward through the ceiling. Chunks of plaster rained down as those gigantic rounds tore the place up. Seconds later, she ceased fire and reported, “Building clear!” Well, so much for using a suppressor if she was going to use that. I sublimated it appropriately.

That telepathy was going come very much in handy though.

Now that I had a moment to breathe with (semi)solid cover in between us and the raiders, my training began to come back. Priorities organized themselves.

What is the situation? We were in a- I paused to glance up the stairwell- two-story building. Medium, typical size for a Manehattan household. I didn't have the time to take in the all the details. Hard, dirty flooring. Cracked, fleur-de-lis design of wallpaper. Sparse, mostly-burnt furniture. Windows almost completely boarded up, at least on the ground floor. Kitchen through one doorway, a closet nearby, small restroom opposite me. A couple hanging bodies.

Is this cover defensible? Yes. Barely.

What is the state of the hostile force? I didn't know entirely.

Find out.

Form a plan.

Enact that plan.

“Azrael, sitrep!” I shouted, keeping my aim focused on the doorway.

“What?!” the cloaked griffin yelled back over the clamor, firing through the walls at the raiders on the other side. Yes,that was going to be very convenient, even though it was causing our own cover to fall apart. Those NSVT rounds began to put very big holes in the wall.

“Sitrep, dammit!” I yelled back.

“In plain Equestrian!” she growled. “Cut the jargon!”

Oh, right. They didn't know about that kind of stuff. Dammit.

“Situation report! How many are there, and where are they in relation to us?”

“Hold on!” She kept up the fire for a little longer, then began heading for the kitchen, barely making it through even when ducking her head due to her size. “Grenade, doorway!”

Moments later, a metal apple bounced through the door. Rig leaped away, scrambling for the nearby restroom and hitting the deck. Being in the open with the nearest piece of solid cover too far for comfort, instinct took over and I lunged for the grenade, sweeping a hoof up hard to kick it away as far as possible. No sooner did my hoof finish swinging in its arc than I dove sideways out of the line of shrapnel.

Good news, raiders never cooked their grenades. It's a fact that I've never seen disproved to this day.

Bad news, Murphy's Law of Modern Combat. Five-second fuses always burn three seconds. I kicked about two seconds after the pin was pulled.

The pop of the grenade was followed by the sharp crunch of my ice armor failing. I was still mid-dive and was sent into a slight turn by the impact against my hindlegs. Feeling nothing amiss, I took aim at the doorway, predicting that whoever threw the grenade would shortly make a rush for the entrance. I wasn't disappointed. A pair of unicorn raiders, one armed with a nailboard and the other equipped with a sub-machine gun. Luna's Judgment still in my grip, I aimed down the sight and blew apart the latter's neck, his head spinning in the air for a moment before landing on the floor with a wet squish. The former rushed at his first available target- me. My ice armor was still mostly intact, and the nailboard actually bounced back a little from the impact, the raider widening her eyes in surprise. Since she was a bit too far for me to bludgeon or stab with Luna's Judgment, I held out a hoof toward her, the moisture in the air depositing on her and slowly freezing her up. Her surprised expression was likewise frozen with her within five seconds. I scrambled to my feet.

My hindlegs didn't respond at all and I slumped back to the floor. Dammit, that wasn't good...

I turned to look and bit my lip at what I saw. Deep, red lines had sliced into my legs from the shrapnel that punched through. Some of the fragments of the grenade's casing were likely still stuck inside; I couldn't slug down a healing potion as they would be sealed up inside and cause internal damage. The very muscle tissue was torn in multiple places.

And even with all this, I barely felt a thing. To be more accurate, I didn't feel a-

No, Frost. Don't. Go. There. We needed to get out of this hellhole. My injuries could wait. If they wouldn't...

Well, then I'd force them to. Icy tendrils snaked down my hindlegs, forcing them to move in lieu of my own muscles. I got up to my feet. Shake it off and do what needs to be done.

“Status report!” I yelled, reforming the ice around my hindlegs and thickening my armor slightly in anticipation of more of such grenades. “Everyone alright?”

“Accounted for!” Azrael called out, sweeping out of the kitchen with her Kord sputtering out through the walls.

“I'm fine!” Rig shouted as she came back around, finally teleporting out Luna's Fortitude and levitating it beside her. Her eyes locked with my hindlegs “Oh, sweet Sparkle, Frost...”

“It can wait, now where's that situation report?” I shouted over the clamor, keeping my aim fixed on the doorway.

“Nearby raiders are alerted to our presence!” the griffin answered. “Th-”

“Can you tell us something we don't know?” Rig cut in. “Frost, the hell are you still standing? Your legs are all-”

“I know, now stay quiet and let her finish!” I growled.

“The raiders currently engaged with us haven't informed others yet, but the longer we prolong this, the higher the risk they will!” Azrael continued, Harbinger continuing to litter the floor with those huge, spent casings. “If we eliminate the raiders in our way, we can push through!”

“How many are out there?” I asked.

“Thirty-four and dropping slowly!” the ebony griffin replied. “I've pushed them back with my fire, we've got an opening!” Harbinger suddenly stopped roaring. “Reloading!” An orange shimmer ran across her weapon, fresh bullets winding out from the feed and back into the drum as the weapon's time-line went into rewind. “Dammit, they're pushing forward!”

Situation understood. Surrounded by hostile force.

Form a plan. Cannot stay in deathtrap unless hostile elimination is imminent. Hostile elimination is not imminent. Push through and seize position of advantage. Eliminate those who follow. Move on.

Enact that plan.

“Acknowledged!” I nodded. “Rig, with me! We're going to get the hell out of here as soon as Azrael's ready! I'm taking point! Stay a bit behind me but stay on the move! We push through no matter what!”

“Got it!” she acknowledged, her voice reverberating oddly behind her helmet.

A few more seconds ticked past, and I spent them swapping out my drum of slugs for one with a red band- my triple-aught gas-expanding buckshot. I needed something a bit more friendly for close quarters.

“Loaded, ready!” Azrael finally called out.

“Hold until my signal!” I ordered. “I'm making another opening!” And so I rushed out first, time slowing as I scanned what was before me. We were in a small city square of sorts. A ruined fountain laid-

<====ooo*w[243>erA(*OOO*,,,w112e34>>.><*ooo====>

The storyteller’s voice warped, echoing in a manner that sent chills through the audience. In several places, his voice suddenly shifted, becoming unnervingly distant and crackled, as if on low volume from a radio set.

I remember it had this fountain, this beautiful, pure, white marble fountain. Fish and dolphins branched off from the main pillar, water spouting out from their mouths into the rippling pool below. Rarely do you see any working fountains like that. The only one you can find nowadays- the only one I've found so far at least- is at Tenpenny.

<====ooo*a{g8p9qyev}ngels*OOO*m,.243!`\,/ef4*ooo====>

Holy... what the hell was that? No time to think, just keep focus, keep time nice and slow...

A trio of melee raiders were rushing at me past a dying unicorn mare slumped against the fountain's edge. Her eyes were wide with shock, a 12.7 NSVT round having torn off her right foreleg. A particularly large earth pony stallion brimming with spikes was shouting orders to the raiders behind him, eyes bloodshot and lips tucked back in a snarl just to stay imposing and maintain authority over his underlings.

Time still crawling along, I glanced over the rest of the scenery. My vision blurred as my eyes and head turned faster than my brain could process the information. It was only for a moment in this drawn-out moment, and I took in the rest of the square. Raiders had taken position on the two relatively intact buildings remaining, spraying at us with assault rifles and sub-machine guns that were doing little more than pockmarking the facade of the house we sought cover in. I could actually see the projectiles moving ever so slowly as they scattered all over the place. And so, my ice arms shifting slow as molasses, I took aim at my first target, vision blurring as I snapped back toward him- the large earth pony stallion, presumably the ringleader of this group.

I still had one heavy slug in the chamber.

Luna's Judgment kicked, reporting with that eerily drawn-out, incredibly loud clap of thunder. The barrel blossomed with light and fire, heralding the huge lump of metal exiting the barrel.

Time snapped back up to speed, and the next seconds blew past. The ringleader's head exploded into an eyeball-strewn, fine, red mist. He fell in such a manner that he pinned down on his weapon's trigger, cutting down a raider spraying the house. The raiders in the distance continued to pepper the house to little effect. The three in front rushed at me in spite of the futility. I swung the hooked end of my mounted crowbar up to smash in the temple of the one closest to me. As she fell, I reared Luna's Judgment skywards, bringing the hooked end down onto the next, catching him in the cheek and battering him aside. Bringing my weapon back, I thrust forward into the last one- a unicorn- as she tried to stab her knife into my side. Her weapon snapped. The jagged end of mine shoved into her mouth. Not quite what I planned, but as soon as I felt the blade punch out through the back, I tore away, her head flopping to the ground with it.

I pumped the action. And then I tapped the eye-shaped gem on my breastplate, causing it to glow an angry blue while I let ice crinkle down my throat. I reared back my head, inhaling deeply before throwing my head forward and letting out the most horrible, most guttural, most inequine roar I could muster. The Wasteland itself seemed to roar with me as air expelled from my mouth with the force of my bellow, made overwhelmingly loud with the power of the vocal augmentation spell and my own cryomancy.

It was at this moment that I'd like to think the raiders that remained were scared shitless. A fair amount of expletives filled the air as I kept moving in the direction we were originally headed. I deactivated the gem, sublimated the ice in my throat, turned back to the house, and yelled, “Move!”

Rig was out first, glancing at the raider I downed but hadn't killed yet. She brought her right hoof down hard on his head as he tried to get up. I could hear his skull fragmenting over her hoofsteps as she caught up with me. Azrael followed up next, firing into the distant houses with Harbinger. The brighter raiders kept their heads down. The duller ones would be dearly missing those limbs and organs. It didn't matter in the end. If a barrage of NSVT could make short work of a wall of cinder-blocks, those age-worn walls wouldn't stand up any better.

We made a break down those twisted streets. I ran as fast as I could without leaving Rig or Azrael behind. Though Azrael silenced a good number of their guns and my own form of intimidation made the raiders think twice about engaging us, the ones ahead of us were starting to pepper us. Gone was all sense of stealth or subtlety, and as such, we caught the attention of raider nests in our way as we ran by. Caught out in the open, we were forced to press on, weaving behind the occasional burned-out autowagon or pile of debris as bullets whizzed past us. A lot of rounds were pinging and rolling off of my ice armor. I swapped out Luna's Judgment for Night Fang, the M11901 barking as I sprayed at the raiders before us. Between the high-capacity magazines, plentiful ammo, and lightning-fast reloads, I kept up a near-continuous spray of .45 ACP. Azrael likewise kept up the fire, Harbinger roaring and keeping the raiders pinned.

And then Rig stood still and started shooting, Luna's Fortitude clicking and hissing with single shots as a raider in a window snapped her head back, blood painting the wall behind her. Azrael nearly trampled her, barely skittering out of the way.

“Dammit, Rig, keep moving!” I yelled, only to see her line up another string of shots that sent another of those bastards sprawling back. I stopped now and barreled toward her, tugging on her shoulder. She seemed to be stuck in some sort of trance. “Rig!”

She snapped out of it and growled, “Fuck! Sorry!”

“What the hell was that all about?” I demanded, keeping up the fire and taking point as we took off again. “And don't follow me so close! I don't want a bullet pinging off my armor into either of you!”

That last bit... an ugly memory was starting to form in my head, but I quickly put it back into its place. Not now.

“I was gonna ask you!” Rig shouted, firing off more hammer-taps from the modified AKMB. “I just triggered S.A.T.S. and I stopped moving!

“Then don't trigger it again until we don't have to move!” I growled. What was it with all these issues with the PipBuck popping up at the worst times? “Azrael, do we have any unoccupied buildings we can garrison?”

“Up ahead, ruined two-story building on our right!” the griffin yelled, laying down fire ahead of us. I glanced up ahead. When she said “ruined,” she meant it. The windows were blown out, most of the rooms were crumbled down, and the roof had collapsed partially. Very little of the second story remained. It was little more than concrete and rebar.

“Are you kidding me?!” Rig exclaimed. “That's where we're gonna make our stand?!”

“It's solid concrete, and it's defensible!” I shouted back, running past the doorway and ushering the others in. “I'm not complaining! Get inside, upstairs! Seize the height advantage!” Rig darted in, scrambling up the stairs just down what was left of the hallway. Azrael tried to squeeze through the doorway but found it too low for her. She fired a pair of rounds into the obstruction overhead, blowing out enough of it so she could enter. We both watched as the chunks of concrete fell. “... still not complaining!”

Azrael gave a light cock of her head before heading up as well. I fell back toward the stairwell, taking a moment to hose down a raider that dared to follow. I iced over the stairway as I went up, forming it into a steep slide. If any of them tried to follow after us, they wouldn't be able to close in. By the time I reached the sparse second floor, Rig and Azrael were already laying down fire on the raiders below and around the area. Luna's Judgment was out once more, and my unnaturally formed arms allowed me to pump the action unnaturally fast, spitting out around three triple-aught buckshot shells per second.

I'm already anticipating the question, folks. What's the difference between my shells and normal ones? Well, standard twelve-gauge shells are usually double-aught buckshot. Mine? Triple-aught gas-expanding buckshot. Not only are my pellets bigger than normal and consequently heavier, but upon impact with a solid target, they fill up with air and burst. Often, they'll do that after penetrating flesh. Think about it. Big, fat, heavy pellets that burst after punching inside. Only downside is that there's only six pellets per shell.

Like I said, folks, unless I pretty much miss or I'm up against an incredibly resilient foe, I expect whatever I shoot at to be very, very dead. Pretty much every raider I hit was mangled to some extent.

We were a little awkward in our first firefight together to be honest. There were several times that we were caught with two or even all three of us reloading at the same time. The only things that kept raiders from getting more shots in on us were the quick reloads offered by Rig's triple magazines and my speed-loading ability. Thanks to my ability to form multiple arms, I could lock in a fresh drum in a little over two seconds. We were also firing upon the same areas, sometimes the same enemies instead of suppressing different areas. This awkwardness lent to the idea that perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to bring them all along after all...

Only a few more minutes passed before the raiders started backing off, retreating. No, not regrouping- raiders aren't smart enough for that. Between our combined if not unorganized firepower, the raiders thought it was better to live to kill, rape, and desecrate another time rather than die trying to do the same to us. Azrael eased off on Harbinger, giving our ears a rest as she reloaded one last time. I continued to cut down the raiders as they ran off, not stopping until they were out of my cone of fire or dead. They were a blight upon what was left of our Equestria. They were to be wiped out like the pests they were. Rig seemed to have the same thing in mind. Luna's Fortitude clicked and hissed until they were truly all gone or dead. I took one look down the stairwell to see an earth pony mare struggle to ascend against the icy slope. Another report from Luna's Judgment, and her head was a mushy paste.

“All clear,” I reported, pulling back the straight-pull bolt on my drums to release my spent shells, starting to load fresh ones individually through one-way ports.

“Note to self,” Rig paused to flip up her welder's helmet and spit on the corpse of a raider just below, “S.A.T.S. roots you in place while you use it. Everypony...” She took one look at Azrael. “Right, sorry. Everyone okay?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Accounted for,” Azrael stated simply, shuffling her cloak back over her Kord machine gun.

The young unicorn mare sighed, facehoofing, “Ugh, okay, lemme try that again. Anyone hurt? I know I'm okay.”

“I'll be fine,” the griffin spoke, raising a claw to pick a few bullets out from- damn, she took a lot of hits. Her cloak was torn with bullet holes, and I was fairly certain not all of them were stopped by her Dead Boys armor. Many of her feathers and bits of fur were lightly stained red.

“Here,” I said, rummaging around my high-capacity saddlebags with an ice arm, fishing out a healing potion for her, “take this.”

Azrael merely raised a near-invisible eyebrow as she continued to pick bullets out. “I would think that you would need it more than I do.”

Huh? Oh right, my hindlegs. I looked back at-at- aaaahaaaa... yeah that wasn't good. Upon the griffin bringing it up, Rig looked there as well. Her eyes went wide and her hooves flew to her mouth.

My hindlegs had been torn up. They were practically just shredded-up flesh and muscle, and there were several places where the bone was exposed. Inside my ice armor, blood had pooled up, staining the ice a murky red.

I... I barely felt a thing. Just a light... pressure.

“Oh... oh dear Goddess...” Rig whispered. I think that if it wasn't for all the mutilated bodies we passed by on the way here, she would have fared worse. Now she just looked shocked, aghast.

Azrael's expression was... a bit harder to read. “Was that from the grenade?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “We couldn't wait to pick out the shrapnel. We had to get out of there.”

“And so you forced yourself to keep moving with your ice muscles?” She asked, her tone raised a bit. I merely nodded in reply. “You... how? You should have been crippled from the pain. You should have stayed down after that grenade went off. What did you do? Are you using combat drugs? Med-X?”

“No, nothing of the sort,” I answered. “I just don't feel it that much at all.” Goddess, it felt so horrible to say it so offhandedly...

“Hey!” Rig exclaimed, getting both our attention. “Maaaaybe we should, I don't know... fix it instead of talking about it?!”

We both looked at her for a few moments. “Right,” we said at the same time.

I sighed and handed her the healing potion, lying down and sublimating the ice around my hindlegs. I didn't do the same to the rest of my ice armor since we were still in a hostile area and we could still be attacked. I wanted to prepare for such a contingency.

I began the tedious process of pulling out the casing shards, applying pressure where necessary to stem the bleeding. Again, I barely felt a thing as I used my ice arms to carefully pull them out one-by-one. After a few minutes, I was able to pick most of them out while Rig tried to keep her focus elsewhere, obviously unnerved as I had to shift around a bit to get at all the shrapnel. Azrael maintained her empty gaze toward the wall. It was with some irritation that I realized I couldn't quite get all of the fragments out. Some of the pieces were too small for me to effectively remove. One such piece was also wedged into one of the places where my bone was exposed, sticking right out of a small crack. To think that even with my enhanced vision and all those years of cryomancy, I couldn't perform such a task of that level of precision even if I thinned my fingers to the size of pins. This was one of those times I wish I could perform more than just one kind of magic. No doubt that telekinesis would've been handy for such a situation.

Oh well. Time to improvise. I was going to have to pop a restoration potion for this anyways.

Unable to pull them out with sufficient precision, I decided to just pull off pieces of flesh, taking the microshrapnel with them. It was dirty work, and the tips of my tiny fingers were reddening. Soon, I only had the lone piece stuck in my femur. I didn't want to even think about trying to chip off bone. I racked my brain for some sort of idea, glaring at the stubborn scrap. Then it came. I pooled a thin stream of mist into the crack, ice forming around the annoying thing. Connecting my finger to the easily-accessible chunk of ice, I pulled it free.

It then occurred to me that I could have done all of that since the beginning and grumbled lightly, mentally cursing myself for my overly straightforward manner of handling the problem previously. That wasn't me, dammit. I was supposed to be more creative than that.

You've changed, the Wasteland seemed to speak to me. The old Frost is long gone. The big, empty bastard speaks at last. I ignored him. I dug into my saddlebags and pulled out one of my few super restoration potions, broke the seal and slugged it down. I watched as it worked its magic, the cracks in my bones disappearing and my flesh and muscle knitting back together. Blood bubbled back into being as arteries and veins reformed. Even my fur sprouted back up from the skin. Earth pony ingenuity folks. I slowly rose to my feet, testing my hindlegs. They held just fine.

“Alright, let's move,” I spoke at last. “Rig, we've got a heading, right?”

“Yeah, we just gotta keep heading that way,” the young mare answered, waving a hoof toward the direction we were fleeing in.

I gave a stout nod, reducing the ice coating the stairway to mist and starting down, using a hoof to kick the raider corpse at the bottom aside. “Loot only the bodies in the vicinity. I don't want to draw too much attention to us again. Once we're done, we keep moving. Let's not have another firefight.”

Scavenging was made easier by Rig's telekinesis, the earth-coated mare simply levitating the desirable goods from their torn saddlebags. Azrael simply tore off the saddlebags themselves, drawing back her cloak to- oh my. And I thought my saddlebags were big. Hers could have easily fit twice as much as I could. She practically dropped entire bags into hers.

Rig... she looked worried though. Kid kept on shooting me odd glances. I simply kept on staring at her, and eventually our gazes met. She sighed, getting the message. “You okay, Frost? I mean really?”

I offered the most reassuring smile I could. “Well I'm still in once piece aren't I?”

“Back on our way to Stalliongrad, you took three bullets to the neck and didn't even notice!” She continued to eye me with that worried expression. “Now you nearly got your hindlegs torn off, and you still didn't feel a thing! What are you, Frost?”

I eyed her back, my expression hard and smile fading. “Well I'm still a pony aren't I?”

Rig was quiet for a long time. I half expected her to respond in negative if she was going to respond at all, but she said, “Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I still can't help but find it... creepy, you know?”

I smiled lightly. That wasn't the response I was expecting... but it was the response I was hoping for.

“Trust me, Rig,” I told her, “it's creepier for me.”

* * *

As we neared Hoofstead, Azrael reported dropping raider numbers, and so we found it suitable to scavenge relatively-intact houses for loot. We skipped those that didn't fit the bill or ones that already appeared looted. For those we actually looted ourselves, we kept a strict five-minute time limit. We were on a schedule after all. Still, it felt... odd to walk through the homes of long-dead Manehattans. There was practically no trace of them. Maybe there was a skeleton or two, but the few terminals we found were destroyed or rendered inoperable due to lack of power. Books were scorched beyond legibility, and aside from telltale business wear, there was little to discern among the faceless dead I just thought about all these ponies. To really think that all of them died without leaving a surviving trace of their pasts. Who they were, what they did. Maybe it was because of my attachment to history, but I wanted to-

No. Don't think about it. Push it away. Kill the thoughts. Focus on what needed to be done. Check under the bed. Check the cabinets and dressers. Check behind the cabinets, dressers, paintings. Check the fridge. Check the bathrooms and kitchen for medical boxes. We didn't find much, even in the safes we found that I picked open. We scrounged up some caps and pre-war bits (I was glad that Rig recognized them), and maybe we'd find some healing potions or canned food to add to our dwindled supply. All the while, there was this... this nagging feeling in the back of my head, this nagging feeling that something was wrong.

And so we finally approached Hoofstead, and I realized something. I think we all did.

My thoughts?

Fuck.

Just... fuck.

Hoofstead was directly on the northwestern face of Manehattan. We could have just flown around the outskirts and bypassed that load of crap all along, and the only reasons we didn't were because of Rig's PipBuck and that the raiders didn't know about that when Azrael gleaned them! Curse my rotten luck! Curse my rotten thinking!

“I hate Mondays.” That was Rig's response to the matter as we scouted out the place from the comfort- relatively speaking- of the slanted house we took cover in. It was at the top of a small hill, so it provided a decent lookout over Hoofstead.

“It's a Monday?” Azrael raised a feathered, near-invisible eyebrow at her.

“According to my PipBuck, yeah,” the cloud-maned mare answered. She then glared at the device on her foreleg. “The same PipBuck that just showed us the most direct route to Hoofstead instead of the safest!” She growled, “Dumb 'Buck!”

“We're still here, aren't we?” Azrael spoke up. “And we're still all in one piece, aren't we?”

Rig grumbled, “Well, yeah, but-”

“Those were rhetorical questions,” the griffin sighed.

“... oh.”

“In any case,” I said as I coalesced lenses of ice in front of my eyes, altering their thickness and convexity to turn them into impromptu binoculars, “let's see what to make of this settlement...”

“Whoa.” Rig just stared. “Is there anything you can't do with ice?”

“You'd be surprised,” I told her. “You'd be surprised as much as it seems.”

“Can I have a set?” Rig asked.

“You can,” I responded, keeping them on. I merely glanced at her. She bore a slightly puzzled expression.

Azrael merely shifted her expression to a glum one. “I'm not amused.”

Rig, finally getting it, facehoofed.

I cracked a thin smile. “I have to get my humor somewhere. And it does change in taste.” She maintained that glum expression. “Look, I've been in the Wasteland for a very long time. I have to mix it up to keep things fresh sometimes. Even if it ends up in a bad sense of humor.”

“Fine, fine,” the cloud-maned mare sighed. “Now, may I have a pair?”

I nodded, coalescing mist into another pair and letting Rig levitate it in front of her eyes. She scowled. “Wow. These are weak. Can't even see anything!”

“Oh, sorry,” I apologized, adjusting the convexity further. “My eyesight is much more keen than most ponies, as you might imagine. Just say when.”

“Ummmmmm, good!” Rig stopped me. “Good.” I nodded, going back to looking over this ‘Hoofstead’.

Now I could see why there weren't many raiders nearby. A fence made up of scrap, sheet metal, wooden boards, and barbed wire formed a perimeter around the medium-sized settlement. Hoofstead itself was made up of a small collection of intact houses lined up along a long cul-de-sac. And they had guards. Well-equipped guards. I watched the northern perimeter as a covered wagon was allowed into the settlement. Creating another lens to zoom in, I noted the type of cargo.

Pony cargo.

“They appear to deal with slavers,” Azrael spoke, confirming my thoughts. “They're not slavers themselves, but they deal with them.”

“For how many institutions?” I asked. “Just the brothel we came here for? Or...?”

“Just the brothel it seems,” the giant responded. “The ponies here merely seem to turn a blind eye to it because it draws the most business to Hoofstead.”

Yes. That telepathy was coming very much in handy. Time to abuse it.

“So, where is this brothel?” I inquired. “How many slaves? How many bouncers? Goddess forbid, are there customers in there? Who runs the place?”

“Building toward the end of the cul-de-sac,” she replied. “Caved-in roof. Twenty-one slaves, plus four more incoming.” Twenty-one. The same number of foalnapping cases Sewn Britches was known for. I hope that meant that they were all just in that one place. “Eight bouncers. Nine... others in there. Run by a blue unicorn mare named...” She slumped a little.

“... what?” I fished for the rest of that.

“Snake Charmer.” Azrael promptly tucked her hood lower over her face, turning away. Why was she doing...?

Oh.

Oh.

Of course I had to think of the innuendo behind that, curse my brain. Of course we both had to think of the innuendo behind that.

Rig watched as we both acted a little squeamish. “What?”

We both took a moment to stare at her, eyebrows raised.

“What?” Rig threw her forelegs out. “I seriously don't get what the fuss is all about!”

“Of course the Stable Pony.” Azrael clacked her beak in mild irritation. “Of course.”

And so we explained.

Rig stared incredulously at the two of us, eyes wide. “What?! Who names their kid that?!” Azrael opened her beak to answer, and the young mare quickly cut in. “On second thought, please don't answer that! I really don't want to know!”

“... well then.” The griffin coughed politely. “So, do you see the building?”

I nodded, trying to take my mind off of that. “Got my eyes on it.” The house was a bit larger than the other ones. Seemed fitting enough for such a “business”. Moreover, the wagon was headed straight there.

“That... mare resides in a room on the second floor on the left wing,” Azrael added. “And be warned, all staff have detonators.”

Now for the fun part. “Any frequenters?”

“Why do you ask?” Azrael turned to me, as did Rig.

I smiled lightly. “You'll see. Now, any frequenters?”

“A few. There's one of the town guards, currently near the fence closest to us, leaning against the house right before us. There's also a-”

“Eyes on him,” I interrupted her as I looked him over. Unicorn stallion, average height and above-average musculature. Looked like a... golden yellow coat with a brown mane and tail, both a little unkempt. Brown eyes. Light duster with a Bitalian M91 Carcano bolt-action rifle slung across his back. And his cutie mark was covered by said duster. Simple enough. “Got his name and any basic personal details by any chance?”

“Yes...” Azrael eyed me warily. “His name is Gilded Glaze. Thirty-two years old. Cutie-mark is a chocolate pre-war bit with the foil peeled partway off. Smoker. Mother and father live on the fifth house, opposite side. I hope that's enough.”

“Frost,” Rig spoke up, likewise eying me warily, “where are you going with this?”

I replied with a show-don't-tell. I formed a full-body mirror away from the window so it wouldn't catch the light and give away our position, icing myself over. I began to alter the thickness and shape, warping my appearance as Rig and Azrael watched on. Slide the “head” down a bit. Shorter, shorter... too short, little taller. There. Now, let's get that golden yellow. Mmmmm... almost... there, perfect. Now the mane, now the tail, now the easy duster. Oh, let's not forget the eyes. Draconic eyes are a bit of a dead giveaway aren't they? Good thing they weren't too different in shade, because my vision was already lightly blurred. Now for the rifle, fix the duster a bit, shorten the tail...

When all was said and done, I was the spitting image of Gilded Glaze, complete with the Carcano.

“Now, I'll admit that the rifle isn't a perfect copy,” I spoke, voice unchanged for now. “but I know the general design well enough so that it'll pass outside of a close inspection.”

“WWWWWow.” Rig simply stared. “You can do that?”

“You saw me cloak, and you saw how I concealed us in that alcove,” I replied. “It works on the same principle.”

“But how did you get shorter?” Rig reached up to tap my head, still meeting resistance there. “Oh.”

“I'm still the same size as you can tell,” I told her. “I merely have ice where it needs to be to hide what should show up... and also show what should. By the way, is my 'mouth' moving as it should when I talk?”

“Indeed it is,” Azrael cocked her head lightly. “Impressive. It must have taken quite a bit of practice to be able to do that correctly.”

Oh she had no idea.

“Gotta ask- why don't you just cloak yourself period and get in there?” Rig asked. “And what's your plan, anyways?”

“Because doors opening and objects moving of their own accord might fool raiders, but they won't fool normal ponies,” I answered. “Now, I'm going to ask that you both don't follow me in for now.” Rig opened her mouth to protest, but I immediately cut her off. “Rule number one.” She closed her mouth and sighed. “I can't exactly... disguise others, at least not easily or with properly moving mouths. In the case of you, Azrael,” I turned to her, “it's a matter of not being seen. If the Dead Boys come here looking for you by chance, we don't want to give them any leads. It's best if I handle this alone.”

Azrael nodded simply. “Understood.”

“Fine.” Rig crossed her forelegs and sat back.

“As for my plan, it's honestly very simple.” I said, walking around a bit to get a feel for the ice and how I should shift accordingly to better fit my disguised stature and anatomy. “Get in, shut down the operation in as subtle manner as I can manage, free the slaves there, inquire about any transfers, and then get out and escort the slaves to the Manehattan outskirts. That part should be simple enough.”

“Really?” Rig raised an eyebrow. Imagine that, they've already started growing back! “Are you just gonna waltz out of there, slaves in tow?”

“Last I checked, most houses tend to have backyards,” I responded. “I have a hellhound blade. Making a hole isn't hard. Now, that said, I try my best to plan for contingencies. Knowing my luck, we'll probably have one. Azrael, keep posted on what the townsfolk are thinking. You'll know if something's wrong. Intervene or assist as you see fit, but try the back and please try to be quiet about it.”

“Understood,” the griffin spoke, but with a slightly lighter tone. That didn't bode well, and I wasn't disappointed. Wait for it. “Frost, may I speak freely?”

There it was.

“You don't need to ask,” I told her. “Again, I may know griffin culture but that doesn't mean I always practice it.”

“Very well.” She nodded, continuing in that softer tone. “You understand that these ponies most likely rely on slavery to keep thriving, right? I'm not saying that I endorse the practice, but it means that they won't take kindly to having their livelihood run out the back door. Furthermore, what's stopping them from continuing to import slaves even after we're finished here? Are you quite sure you can accomplish such?”

“Sure enough,” I answered. “I have a certain way with words, as you know.” Azrael cocked her head before nodding lightly in agreement. “And, if that doesn't work, there are other methods of coercion.”

“You're not going to torture them into doing it, are you?” Rig asked, leery-eyed.

“I don't plan to,” I smiled, “but that doesn't mean it's not out of question nor that I'm above doing it.” Both of them eyed me now. “Again, I'd like to be a bit more subtle about it here. I don't plan on doing it. But time is of the essence right now.” I pointed a disguised hoof at a house not too far from where we were. “That's our rally point after all this is said and done. It's almost practically behind the brothel and outside of Hoofstead's perimeter. It'll also be close enough for you to do what you have to do if apples hit the racquet. I'm going now. Keep each other safe. See you soon.”

We nodded at each other, and Rig flipped her helmet back down as we parted ways. I dropped from the window, landing in a crouch on the street below and silently sprinting toward the fence.

* * *

I was alone once more. Again, I'd somehow become a freaking chatterbox after meeting Rig, but now... alone. It felt so strangely familiar, so strangely right.

Gilded Glaze was right where he was earlier as I cleared the fence easily with the help of my ice muscles, landing in a crouch to dampen the noise. He didn't move one bit at all, though I could better see him now. I could certainly see what Azrael meant by him being a smoker. Several spent butts littered the ground around him. Noting that, I formed one in between my “lips”, even lightly sublimating the tip to give it the appearance of smoke.

Now there was just one thing missing.

I sneaked up on the golden stallion from behind and tapped him on the back.

“Ugh, seriously?” he grumbled in a rough, scratchy voice. For some reason, I expected for him to sound like that. “I'm on my break. Go bother someone else, would ya?” Wow. Dense. I tapped him again. “Alright, what the hay do you-” With that, he turned around and promptly did a double-take as he looked into what was essentially himself. I took a moment to savor the look on his face. Perhaps a moment too long. “What the fu-” BAM! My hoof silenced him with a strike to the throat, striking him with the flat bottom rather than the edge for a non-lethal take-down, his cigarette flying from his mouth to the ground. Before he could even cling to his throat for breath, I slammed my other hoof into his forehead. The impact jostled his brain around enough to knock him unconscious. I promptly began to drag him out of the way, depositing him in a conveniently located dumpster. For good measure, I slid a small spike of ice into the base of his neck to make sure he didn't come to sooner than expected. I knew my anatomy.

“Gilded?” A mare called out. “Gilded, was that you?”

Yeah, I definitely took a moment too long savoring that expression. I quickly took the stallion's place at against the wall, an idea hatching in my mind as ice crinkled down my throat and I began to hop up and down, clutching at my right forehoof, hissing in pain.

A blue-furred earth pony mare wearing a similar duster and a helmet rounded the corner, goggles and an assault rifle dangling around her neck. She regarded me with a puzzled expression and asked, “The hell was that crap?”

“Fuckin'-” I stammered, my voice mimicking the stallion's... not quite perfectly, but close enough. I would get that down as soon I stopped hopping, caressing my hoof. “Fuckin' hell!” Don't fill her in instantly, let her draw in the blanks on her own if she can...

“What, did you really step on one of those?” she asked, facehoofing. “For fuck's sake, watch where you throw your smokes!”

“Well soooooorry for steppin' on one by accident!” I grumbled, tenderly setting my “injured” hoof down, wincing. I had the feeling that Gilded Glaze would be the sarcastic type. “Sheesh, get no sympathy...”

“Still not getting any sympathy from me,” the mare huffed. “Look, you're halfway through your break. You wanna fuck a girl, get to the whorehouse already.” She turned tail and started leaving. “What an idiot...”

As she headed away, I smiled inwardly at myself. Oh, yes, I was a clever little devil. Taking a moment to adjust the ice in my gullet, I started off...

And then I saw Her. Her! Here of all places! She was waving me over with a hurried hoof into the alleyway I hid Gilded. Breaking away for a moment, I ducked in with Her.

“What is it?” I asked, voice still masked. “And how did you recognize me?”

“It wasn't hard,” She sighed. “ Listen Frost, before you go out there... please be careful.”

“Is there something I should be aware of?” I questioned.

“You mean...” She paused, looking away. She thinned her lips, exhaling softly. “Frost, you're going to see things that will be... unsettling to you. I can feel it. I know it.”

“How so?”

“You mean you don’t recognize...?” She started to ask, Her gaze meeting mine once more. Those eyes... those eyes in which I could see everything... were focused on me once more. “Keep yourself steady. You trained for far more than this. Don't prove me otherwise. Don't prove them otherwise.” She pointed in the direction where Rig and Azrael were holed up. The words hit home a bit, and I winced. “Don't let it get to you,” She whispered. “Good luck. Now go.”

“Thank you,” I whispered back, parting with her. As I neared the streets, I glanced back. She was already gone.

And yet I heard Her sorrowfully whisper, “I just hope you realize you cannot hold onto the lies...”

I was starting to doubt my sanity a little after that. Voice plus no source equals you're probably crazy. But the piano... and I could feel her...

No, still probably just crazy. That was it, yes. Crazy. After all, the Wasteland already corrupted me, right? Just... a tactile hallucination? Was that even possible? Given that this was the Wasteland and its corruption, it wasn't out of the question...

The storyteller sighed softly, closing his eyes.

Forgive me, love... I didn't listen. I would hold onto the lies a little longer...

Those amber eyes flashed open once more, and his enchanting voice dripped out once more.

I rounded the corner, puffing from my “cigarette” and heading toward the brothel. Hoofstead seemed remarkably clean. The ponies who lived here certainly cleaned up the streets very well. Some of the houses had been converted to businesses, touting names such as “The Brass Lamppost,” “Mort's,” and “Northside Supply”. Those who I passed by on the long street to the brothel didn't pay me more than a passing glance. If I hadn't known this was a town running off of the slave trade, I could have found it a nice place. Too bad that it did run off of slave trade. Hm, those businesses looked good enough to sustain themselves, which could work to my advantage. The brothel was probably just the attention-getter.

Something caught my eye. It was a Prench-style lamppost in front of the restaurant bearing its name, its original black paint torn away and the brass surface underneath was spotted and tarnished. I only paid it a passing glance, nothing mo-

<====ooo*life*OOO*de<!>ath[)333335*ooo===>

Children playing around the lamppost. Laughter, oh that innocent, sweet laughter, and that layer of fresh, powdery snow so thin yet so magnificent. A couple of them were engaged in a snowball fight, pelting each other with gleeful giggles. One of the colts, a unicorn, was snowboarding right on by. Jarring to a halt from the thin snow, he tried to keep going, surrounding his board in a magical aura. It slipped from under him, causing him to land flat on his back. The laughter, that sweet laughter intensified. After a moment of eyeball-swirling dizziness, he smiled and joined in.

<====ooo*f{p..3}all*OOO*5g3dme?..28*ooo====>

What was that? I looked over the lamppost as I walked by. Nothing seemed off about it, and there were several more lining the streets in more extensive states of disrepair. I shrugged the feeling off. I had a job to do.

I looked to the opposite side of the street now. I passed by the northern checkpoint of the town, which consisted of little more than a few guards and an opening in the fence. It was a wide road that cut through the neighborhood, leading deeper into the city-

<====ooo*290f2@3jvJ^&#$JN2o4f*OOO*guard3>*ooo====>

Covered wagons. Miles upon miles of covered wagons crawled along the road, stretching as far to the northeast as the eye could see. Those who pulled the wagons looked tired and weary, oh so tired and weary as they slogged through the packed snow that went past their knees, trying to move through the tracks of those ahead of them. Ponies of all ages filled the wagons, huddled together. All of them were dressed for a heavy winter. They looked just as tired, just as weary. Snow continued to drift down, the howling winds buffeting them all. Those covers didn't offer the slightest protection from the chill.

But all of those ponies who had traveled so far and lost so much each had one thing in common. A spark of hope glinted in those strange eyes, slanted like the zebras. For as they headed on deeper into the City of Lights and Legends, they knew they survived the Great Exodus. After centuries of isolation in the Far North, they journeyed south. They saw the land before them and it was good.

<====ooo*34<?>>>qfg824*OOO*what'sleft[undone]*ooo====>

Dear Lorn, what was that? Memories come unbidden... memories of the past. These were the things that She warned me about, I thought. Or, er, that my brain was trying to warn me about. But why here? Why Hoofstead? My normally picture-perfect memory was wrought with holes.

This did not bode well.

I reached the brothel. It was a big house indeed, just short of a mansion by Manehattan standards. The tall, strong columns that withstood the Great War still held up the archway in front of the main doors. The building must have suffused with the power and prestige of the former occupants. But now it was just another relic of the past. It was falling apart, the paint scorched off with portions of the house itself blackened by the balefire that rolled across the city. The front yard was now nothing but hard, rough dirt. The driveway, once formed of neatly-set stone tiles, was cracked raw. I felt a sense of nostalgia, a sense of longing for the past as I headed for the up the walkway for the door.

I almost anticipated it. Almost.

<====ooo**OOO*vf[f]allen20*ooo====>

“Do you see this, Frostbane? This is going to be our new home.”

I looked to the speaker whose words had a distinctly foreign tone. He was an earth pony stallion, his fur a distinguished white. His mane and tail, both a wholesome blue and speckled with gray, were neatly trimmed. He was limping a bit as we walked to the entrance. He wore a simple, blue coat over himself, and he smiled proudly at the {decrepit old house}. Barely exposed on his flank was his cutie-mark, a chunk of coal cracked open to reveal a glittering diamond underneath.

“” he spoke, “(but) I'm sure you'll love it here. [We went through many things in the Stable.] I think we deserve it.”

“Are you sure, Father?” I asked him. My voice... it was so much softer, so much younger. “I'm sorry, I think it's nice, but... I feel a little bad about the others. Why don't they get to live in big houses like us?”

“We worked hard to get here,” Father answered, turning to me, those strong, brown eyes fixed on me. “We earned this place. Don't you forget it. And one day, it will be yours.” He nodded behind him. “Just like this.”

I looked back at the cart he was pulling along. Among many things in it, one thing stood out to me.

A set of ancient armor.

“Now go help your mother,” he told me. “I don't want to spend more than a day to get everything inside.”

<===ooo*@43(lies).9-+*OOO*23,,,`~9f2apfh*ooo===>

My house. Now I knew why it seemed so sorrowfully nostalgic, why I was having all these memories bubble to the surface. I can't believe I didn't realize it sooner.

This was my house.

And it was now a brothel.

Somepony. Somepony was going to pay.

I didn't bother knocking. I just barged in and took in the surroundings.

<===ooo*589sl[sl]eep6969*OOO*nowinthefire*ooo====>

I arrived in a small, bright foyer, my hooves clacking on the glossy, dimly reflective marble flooring. Doors leading to the rest of the first floor were in front and to the side of me. A pair of curved staircases led to the second floor. Before me, between the staircases and illuminated by a sparkling chandelier above was a tiled design consisting of a white-coated, pink-haired alicorn and another with dark-blue fur and a mane of a lighter shade. They chased the tail of the other in a circle, a sun and moon circling around in between them.

<===ooo*,,...,....~1`*OOO*@Ag324$)*ooo====>

The lighting was working, somehow, but it was alluringly, suggestively, lewdly dimmed down low. It was disgusting to me, disgusting as the sounds that filtered through the halls. The tiled design was hidden under a moth-eaten, dirty rug. The chandelier was nowhere to be found. I didn't know what drove me crazier, the lighting or such that a beautiful image was hidden. Then again, the chandelier likely must have fallen down on it... and the place was turned into a slave brothel. I'd rather not have even the ruined image show in such a defiled place.

It was then that I noticed the bouncer.

“Ah Sparkle, why desn't anypony eveh knock?” the earth pony stallion grumbled at me. He was surprisingly well-dressed, wearing a dress shirt and a leather jacket over it. His cutie-mark was a pair of brass hooves. “Eh? Glaze?”

“Yeah, yeah, shut your whiny trap,” I spat at him. I found it easy to get into character with my rising fury. “You know what I'm here for.”

“Jeez, yeh really want some cunt, do yeh?” he huffed. “And for yeh information, dat was complainin'. Boss's upstairs as always. And for Sparkle's sake, no lights in 'ere!”

All too easy, I thought as I flicked my “cigarette” behind me outside, making sure it cleared the bouncer's vision before I sublimated it.

I kept on my way, heading up the right stairway. The lewd noises continued to fill my ears, whimpering trickling in between them as I passed the closed doors. They grew stronger as I continued to walk down, stronger like the frenzied beating of my heart. I was going to make that bitch pay for this indignity. I passed another bouncer, leaning against the wall with an indifferent expression. Indifferent, apathetic to all the sin pooling around him. He was going to pay too. I hid my rage, continuing down-

Oh... dear... Goddess. I knew where I was headed. This was already my house, damn them! They'd better not have done it!

I turned a corner into another hallway, this one lined with windows on one side. Light filtered softly from the outside through the shutters. Light... light in such a foul, dark place.

I approached the end of the hallway, where there was a single door with a single bouncer. Scrawled above the doorway were the words “Mistress's Office”. I shut my eyes and flattened my lips.

That bitch made her office in my old room.

“Hey,” I said simply to the unicorn stallion guarding the outside. I didn't want to betray my anger. “You gonna keep me waiting?”

“Hey, Glaze,” he greeted, grinning. “Hold up, lemme let her know you're comin'.” I didn't even have to try. He just opened the doorway and slipped in.

Time wound down. I saw her past the guard’s shoulder. She was at my desk near the window past the bouncer, past the doorway. Her fur was a cerulean hue, almost hidden behind her curly, white dress. Her mane was prim and proper and a soft brown. I didn't get to see anything else, but I focused all my hatred toward her.

And then the door shut closed, allowing my rage to flare up through me.

“Frost!” came a whisper. I glanced to the side to find Her with me once more. “Calm yourself!”

“Why didn't you just tell me?” I growled lowly, whispering back. “You knew about it!”

“Would you have believed me?” She whispered, those eyes full of everything reflecting my rage, stepping around to face me directly. “You still don't even fully believe in me!”

“You could have-” I froze, words loss. I could feel Her, I could touch Her... but... no, She knew I was doubtful. She was just in my head. “You could have at least told me!”

“You wouldn't have believed it!” She whispered harshly. “Don't lie, Frost! I know when you lie!”

Of course She did.

I contorted my lips, trying to find the words, my heart thundering in my breast as my fury continued to feed me fire.

“Control yourself, Frost!” She whispered, still furious at me but pleading nonetheless. “You promised subtlety, and the rest of the town are good ponies! There's always an alternative to violence!”

“Coming from you?” I snarled softly.

She was the wordless one now. Her eyes were wide in shock, mouth agape.

“This was my home,” I told Her, straightening up. “What they've done here has disgraced not only me but my family. I know what I must do. And so do you. Why am I even explaining? You know! Because you're just me, huh? Right?”

“But... wh-”

… the door was still closed. We've been talking for more than long enough. I turned my head a little, and there was that telltale blur as my vision tried to catch up...

I cut Her off. “The door hasn't opened up yet.” I was rationalizing now. Making sense of it all. “I'm in a focused state, then. Time's merely slowed down for me, and not even 'ghost' or 'something more' can do something like this with me. I'm not even talking, are I? I can't move that fast on my own. This isn't real. You aren't real.”

Her tears were glinting from the soft light. “No, you don't-”

“I do understand.” I said, countering Her, already knowing what She was going to say. Because we both ran on the same track of thought. “Goodbye, love. Now let me handle this.”

“Frost...”

Time snapped back up to speed. She was gone. Just like I expected Her to be.

Imagine that.

The door opened again and the unicorn bouncer exited, standing aside and nodding me in. I slipped past him, taking note of his position as the door closed.

My room... my old, spacious room. The sliding doors for the walk-in closet to my left were gone, taken away. It was replaced with clothes- stupid, fancy clothes on salvaged racks that didn't even fit in. They couldn't even be called clothes, most of them were pieces of fabric that were designed to accentuate the feminine curve. My displays were gone. My photos were gone. The dresser was still there off to the side of the side of the closet, the wood crummy with age. The bed, my queen-sized bed that I remembered being so guilty to have all to myself, yes, that was still there too. The bathroom was still mostly intact, which I noted with a glance to the right. And so was my desk, sitting next to a large window. The polished oak desk was still there, but the shelves that hung above it were emptied of my collection that used to sit there. And the wall... empty.

Shake it off, shook it off. Right now I couldn't, didn't care that the mural was gone. Besides, I was more concerned with the mare sitting at the desk.

And now I could see her eyes. I was wrong about Azrael. These eyes were truly empty. Black. Vile. I couldn't fully read them. I couldn't see what was hidden behind them. The little voids seemed to swallow all up.

“Well, welcooome back, Glaze,” the bitch greeted me in a sultry tone. Forget the Overmare, the Nightmare, whatever. Forget Azrael. I hated, I despised, I abhorred that voice. “What'll it be, hon, the usual? Ruby and Raisin again?”

“No,” I spoke, letting the ice in my throat turn to mist that spewed from my mouth. I savored that look of confusion on her face. “I'll be having you.”

I sprouted an ice arm and latched onto her neck, her eyes bulging as I lifted her off the floor with ease, watching as she clutched at her neck, gasping for breath. I dropped my disguise, letting the ice slowly sublimate away. I bore my eyes into hers, those little windows into hell. I sprouted another arm, thinning my hand and extending it into a javelin.

Three.

Two.

One.

The door slammed open, the unicorn bouncer levitating a pair of brass hooves. Clever, using them like that instead of simply putting them on. He didn't even get to utter a syllable before I sent the spear through his chest, the end expanding into a circle to catch him instead of piercing all the way through. He was whipped back, pinned to the floor, his brass hooves dropping immediately as his magical field imploded. He writhed where he was stuck, grabbing at the spear and letting out a pathetic, pained, “G-Gah!”

The lewd noises, the whimpering silenced. Sweet, sweet serenity. It allowed me to hear the hoofsteps of the other bouncers over the cries of pain. I merely grinned and slammed the door closed, covering it with a layer of ice thick enough to prevent forced entry.

I heard a sharp crack and felt a dull impact against the back of my helm. It came again. Of course. I almost forgot she was a unicorn. I promptly sheathed myself in light ice armor just in case as I glared at her. She was telekinetically holding up a small revolver, shivering as she realized that she was doing absolutely nothing to me and was continuing to choke. I raised a hoof and struck her horn hard.

The aura surrounding the pistol burst, the weapon clattering to the floor as she cried out on pain. I didn't break her horn, no, but she wouldn't be using it for a while. I threw her to the floor, letting her gasp for breath.

“Do you know where you are?” I seethed, a cold, dark whisper tracing my every word. “Do you know where you tread?” I kicked her with enough force to flip her over onto her back. “You're trespassing.” I promptly shackled her in that position, allowing her to take me in. “You're trespassing in my home!”

“Who... the hell... are you?” She scowled at me.

“I am Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill of the Far North,” I said as I loomed over her. “And I'm impressed. You're not even scared of me, are you?”

She didn't answer. Of course she didn't.

“You turned my home into a brothel,” I spoke, my voice rising and falling. I was giddy, trembling in rage. I had to fight it down a little to contain it, I didn't want to just tear her apart like some animal. I wanted to make her suffer. “Do you know that? You turned my home into a brothel full of slaves. Do you know that?” She didn't answer. “Do you know that?!”

“Now I do, yeah,” she answered too calmly.

She couldn't be that calm. I was... I was terrifying like this, even if theatrical. There had to be a catch.

“Are you just here for the house?” she asked. My mind was racing already, trying to think. Why was she so calm? Was she prepared? How?

“The house?” I growled. “That just came up. No, I'm here to shut down your little operation.”

The... hell? Why did I tell her that? I was supposed to be the one making her talk, not the other way around! The bitch was grinning now. I wanted to strike out, cut her up, wipe that smile off. Why wasn't I?

“This isn't the first time, you know.” Snake Charmer, that bitch, continued to grin. Hell, she even kept the same sultry tone! “This isn't the first time some Goody Little Two-Shoes tried this before. Look at yourself, all dressed up in that armor. You think you're some kind of superhero?”

She's had this before. She had a plan. I must have missed something. What did I miss? What did I miss?!

“Oh, look, now you're the one scared,” she snickered, catching the look on my face. She yelled, “You have 'em out, boys?”

“We have 'em, boss!” a muffled reply came from behind the door. That wasn't good. “You in there! Open the fuckin' door or every slave's gonna get wasted!”

Aw, hell, not this again.

“Don't keep him waiting.” Snake Charmer grinned wide, those hellholes taunting me.

“I'm countin' to five!” the bouncer shouted. “One!”

Wait, it might be a bluff. This could be nothing but a simple bluff!

“Two!”

But... I didn't know that, did I? I couldn't see what was on the other side.

“Three!”

Snake Charmer mouthed with the shout, grinning up at me.

Damn it... damn it all! Damn it that she caught me with my pants down!

“Four!”

I reluctantly sublimated the ice blocking the door. No sooner that I did, it flew open.

“Good boy,” Snake Charmer giggled.

Outside were all eight of the bouncers. The one I pinned to the floor was panting for breath, a little unsteady on his feet. An empty super restoration potion bottle was lying on the floor. All of them had pistols in their mouths or floating beside them.

And they all had detonators out.

Good Goddess... I'd forgotten about them. I'd forgotten about them. My rage ebbed away, replaced with a rush of shock.

“Let her go,” the unicorn I pinned ordered, straightening up now.

I couldn't freeze them all unnoticed, not that many. I sublimated her shackles. I watched as she rose to her feet, dusting herself off and pulling out another detonator.

“Lose the ice and get down,” Snake Charmer commanded. I looked from one of those detonators to the next. I couldn't be that fast... I wasn't that good. Even if I tried to take them down, all it took was a press of a single button...

I reduced my arms and armor to mist, lowering myself to the floor.

The bitch, that Goddessdamn bitch circled around to face me. “Get his saddlebags.”

One of the bouncers came up to me, grunting as he removed my belongings. I only had Midnight Talon left, and not even a hellhound blade could get me out of this mess.

“Twilight Sparkle- dis shit's heavy!” the stallion grunted in effort as he hefted them away, setting them aside and out of my reach.

“You know, I have to hoof it to you,” Snake Charmer sighed, “I wasn't expecting the disguise. Pretty smart. Too bad it wasn't enough. Slam Dunk, if you will.”

“Here, boss,” one of them answered her, handing her a shotgun. She took it from him, taking it in her mouth and swiveling the barrel not an inch from my eye.

So. This was how it was going to end. Because of my blind rage, stupidity, and forgetfulness.

I'm sorry, my love...

“Now let's see you survive this,” Snake Charmer muttered around the grip.

I don't know if you folks noticed, but I'm still here telling the story. That means I didn't die. Sorry to disappoint.

Because with a gray flash of light, that shotgun was gone. As were the detonators, disappearing one by one.

Rig rounded the corner as the last of the group wheeled around to find out what was happening. Her Spetsnaz shovel was out, and she swung it with expert control, batting two of them aside and delaying long enough for her to wink the remaining detonators away. A couple of the unicorns cursed and turned to fire upon both me and her, but I was already moving fast. I snatched up Snake Charmer in my hooves, sprouting an ice arm to whip out Midnight Talon. I popped her open in a flash- no style, no tricks. She was at the bitch's neck in an instant, ice armor sheathing over me.

“Drop your weapons!” I roared before they managed to fire a single shot. “Drop them!”

“No!” one of them growled as he managed to bash Rig on the horn and snatch her up, his floating pistol pressed against the back of her head while she growled in frustration from having her magic momentarily disabled. “You drop yours!”

I focused and ground time to a halt. More time for me to think.

Horseapples. The rest had their pistols trained on me. They certainly looked like they cared more for their own lives than their employer's. And even though I could survive the shots... if I tried anything, Rig wouldn't.

Hm... five of them were aimed at me, only the one holding the young mare. Azrael was nowhere to be found. This... this would be tricky. It would be very, very risky, and I didn't have the right tool for the job...

But who dares wins.

My focus strained and time snapped back, and I had to act fast.

Hammer grip. Flick latch. In place. Blade locked. Bring back. Whip forward. Follow through.

Midnight Talon flew fast through the air, the tip catching the light to produce a sweeping, spinning glint.

Flew fast. Flew straight. Skimmed by, barely skirting, Rig's head.

The hellhound blade cleanly punched through the pistol, tearing it into pieces before it went on and embedded itself into the far wall.

Rig twisted herself free of the unicorn's grip before the others realized what happened, mindlessly turning around and taking aim at her. But she was already safely around the corner even with her uneven sprint. A few of them, undisciplined fighters as they were, ran after her.

I heard some very heavy, very familiar thudding, followed by the guards backing up into the wall, eyes shrunk to pinpricks. I swear I saw a lump of brown drop to the floor from between the hindlegs of one of them.

“You said you were going for the subtle route, Frost,” Azrael spoke as she rounded the corner, Valkyrie casting a horrid, green glow as the ghostfire scythe burned bright. Rig came round with her, rubbing at her horn. “I don't think this was quite what I was expecting.”

* * *

The rest was simple enough. I thanked the two of them quietly, still a little in shock for so stupidly falling into such a situation. I was so disappointed in myself, but I had to get over it. We did what we needed to do... after retrieving Midnight Talon, sliding my saddlebags back on, and making damn sure I had thoroughly frozen the detonators, of course. I had Azrael look over Snake Charmer and the bouncers- because you don't want to try anything with a giant, black, cloaked griffin telepath looming over you- while I did away with the slave collars on the ponies. Rig and I took supplies and weaponry from the other parts of my home, making sure they were adequately clothed and equipped before sending them through the backyard and out through a hole in the fence. Their reactions were... mixed. Some of them thanked Rig and me gratuitously. Others merely grabbed the weapons and equipment we offered, got dressed, got armed, and left without a word. Others still snapped at me, angry for how long it took us to save them. I apologized as best I could. It was all I could do before they stamped off.

“So...” Rig spoke up as we worked, “do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” I replied flatly.

She knew better than to pursue the conversation. I wondered how much Azrael told her at the same time, however. But that could wait. Those ponies desecrated my home, but I disgraced it in my own near-failure. I... I just wanted to leave it all behind. Wipe the slate clean.

After everything was said and done, I walked back upstairs to where Azrael was still watching over the bouncers... and that bitch.

“I'm guessing the last ones who tried didn't have outside support,” I said simply to her.

She snorted in response.

“I'll be the first to admit I made mistakes.” I glanced at Azrael. She merely cocked her head for a moment. I continued. “So now it's time to set the record straight.” I tapped her on the chest, my tone darkening as I looked into those blackest of eyes. “You've seen what I can do, and I can do a whole lot more just as easily.” I leaned in close to her. “I want to make you suffer. I want you to writhe in the pain you've caused me and the families and friends of the poor mares you prostituted.”

“And we brought business to Hoofstead doing it,” Snake Charmer spat.

“And it will live without it,” I spat back. “Azrael, did she send any of the slaves she received elsewhere?”

“No,” the jet-black giant answered. “I already checked.”

I nodded lightly before turning back to the bitch. “You won't be engaging in slave business any longer.” I glanced at the bouncers. “That goes to the rest of you and the town. You will talk to the one in charge of this town and ensure that he or she agrees. If I come back and see more of the same, I won't hesitate to resort to less... subtle options. Again, I'd really like to make you suffer. But I made a promise.” I stepped back. “Get going. Rig, Azrael, I'll meet up shortly.”

Rig nodded warily, and the two headed on out. I watched as the ponies that once ran this place filed out as well, exiting shortly. The hoofsteps and footsteps eventually disappeared. I briefly considered exploring the halls of my old home, but I didn’t want to see what they did to it. I didn’t deserve to in any case.

I sighed, expelling cool mist. “You can come out now.”

“So you know how it works.”

I glanced at Her out of the corner of my eye. She was behind me, facing away. She looked so, so sad. Just like before.

“I connected the dots, put two and two together.” My tone was... empty, for lack of a better word. “Yes. I know how it works.”

She exhaled slowly. “What did you call me for? I'm not real anyways. I'm long dead and I'm all in your mind. Right?”

“To talk,” I replied. “Why do you continue to show up like this?”

She snorted, “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“Let's...” I sighed. “Let's not go down that route again...”

“Well what do you want me to say?” She shrugged. “I know for a fact you won't believe me.” I didn't reply for a long time. I wanted to talk to Her, but this wasn't going like I planned. She broke the silence. “Frost, you didn't really mean those things you said to me the morning before we reached Stalliongrad, did you? Why? I helped the situation between you and Rig, even if it was merely a push in the right direction. I helped you remember your piano songs, even. We touched, we were close, we... we kissed! So why are you suddenly going back to the way things were before?”

“Well I'm the crazy one.” I smiled. “You tell me.”

That got a small huff and a thin smile from Her. Progress, in the vaguest sense. “But crazy ponies don't think they're crazy.”

“So they say.” I shrugged. “Look, I honestly don't know what to believe in now. All I know is what I know.”

She sighed lightly, “Fair enough.”

“But neither of us are feeling any better off.” I pointed out.

“Is there still an 'us'?” She tentatively turned her head to face me.

“I hope so.” I looked down and away from Her. “Even if you're just in my head, I hope so. I'm sorry, I'm just... it's been a rough day. I know that's a terrible excuse for anything, but-”

“Do you want to talk later?” She asked, hope tugging at the edges of her tone. She was looking at me now, I noted.

“Yeah,” I replied softly, my head bobbing lightly. “Yeah, that would be nice. I still have things to do. We can talk later, yeah.”

“Just keep this in mind, Frost.” Her whisper was loud against my ears, and I could feel Her just inches from me. “Am I just a ghost, a hallucination? Or am I something more? And in the end, even if you are crazy, does it matter?”

I didn't have to look to know She was gone. Her words still hung in my mind, rang in my ears. It was time to go, time to leave this all behind.

But one thing first.

I reached under the bed with an ice arm, feeling around. Flooring, more flooring... something solid. Eagerness mounting, I pulled the rotten wooden container from under my bed and lifted the lid.

Yeah... she was there after all these years, and she didn't even crumble to my touch. I clicked her open, tracing my icy fingers along her smooth, titanium handles, cleaning them a little. Even if I couldn’t feel her, the sight of her... it was comforting.

Satisfied, I stowed her back in her pouch and wrapped it around my other foreleg across from Midnight Talon and looked at the rest of the contents. I reached my hand toward them... then hesitated. I slid the wooden container back under the bed.

For some things... it was best to just let it die.

“Love, are you still there?”

“Always, Frost. Are we going to have the talk?”

“Not yet.”

“Then what?”

“I need to ask permission from you.”

“You don't need to ask.”

* * *

“They're on their way now,” Rig reported as I made my way up to the small, one-story house that was our rally point. I could see the slaves splitting off from one another as they headed off, sticking together in groups of no smaller than three but no larger than five. I nodded lightly, watching them for a few seconds before turning back to Hoofstead.

“We can't watch over them,” I said a touch sadly. It wasn't a question.

“Between a cryomancer in Lunar Guard armor, a Stable Pony, and myself,” Azrael spoke plainly, “no.”

“Goddesses be with them,” Rig whispered.

“The Goddesses won't help us, kid,” I sighed. “Not for what we did to them. We'll only be sorry for what we've done when we're pleading and bleeding.” I felt Rig elbow me lightly. I looked down.

She did have a lovely smirk. “Hey,” she huffed. “Cheer up.”

I slowly smirked back. Damn it, that lovely smirk was infectious.

“That's it, that's the spirit.” The earth-coated unicorn beamed, sighing happily. “Well, I guess that makes us even now, huh, Frost?”

“Hm?” I raised an eyebrow.

“You saved me from slavers,” Rig continued to beam, “and now I saved you from slavers.”

“You still got caught there,” I chuckled, pointing out.

“Only because of you,” she snickered, likewise pointing out. “So, even?”

I sighed, smiling. “Yeah. Even.”

“By the way,” Rig spoke up, smiling, “that was pretty damn awesome what you pulled with Midnight Talon, throwing it... sorry, her like that.”

“Oh.” I reached a hoof to scratch the back of my head. Unfortunately, I only found the plume-like fin of my helmet there. “Right. That.”

“What's up?” The young mare eyed me.

“I... actually haven't thrown a knife in years.” I smiled uneasily.

“So wait, you could have missed?!” Rig stared. “Or you could have hit me?!”

“Well it worked, didn't it?” I shrugged helplessly. That seemed to satisfy her enough. We were all quiet as we waited, and I looked over the town of Hoostead, eyes glazed.

“Frost, thank you for doing this. Really.” I looked back at her, at those bright, indigo eyes. “It means a lot to me. I hate the idea of those ponies having to go through what I did and worse.”

“Well... don't thank me yet.” I frowned. “There's still one loose end.” I looked back over the town, coalescing more lenses as I watched that blue unicorn mare saunter out of what I thought was the house of the pony in charge at Hoofstead.

“So now it's time to set the record straight.”

“Azrael, is she really planning to stop dealing in slaves?” I asked, still keeping my gaze fixed on her. She was passing through the center of town. “Furthermore, is the town even planning to stop?”

“I don't think you need telepathy to know the answer,” the griffin replied. “I'm sure you already guessed.”

I sighed, expecting as much. My heart was slowly beating faster...

I kept my eyes on Snake Charmer as I asked, “Azrael, do you know why I kill most of my bounties, even the ones wanted alive?”

“Because, as I've gleaned, they're worth more to you dead,” she stated.

“But have you found out why?” I inquired.

Azrael didn't reply.

“Rig, do you recall why I killed Sewn Britches?” I asked the young mare.

“Because the ponies who set the bounty were gonna do what you did anyways without doing anything like trying to find and free the slaves he took, right?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “What else?”

“Well... uh...”

“I like to think I'm somewhat of a prominent artist of communication and interaction,” I told them. “To kill another living being, to murder another equine in cold blood namely... it is a very intimate act. Moreover, it can usually be a form of rhetoric. And what, then, is the point of rhetoric?”

I gazed hard at Snake Charmer and those bouncers. We were quite far away from one another.

I tapped her on the chest...

… tapped her on the chest...

… tapped her on the chest...

Neither Rig nor Azrael spoke up. How polite.

“To send a message.”

My horn glowed a light, icy blue.

I watched as Snake Charmer lurched and stumbled to the ground, faintly picking up her cries of pure agony with my sensitive hearing. She looked around frantically, panicking as her body twitched spasmodically. I formed another lens, zooming in close as I watched small bulges crawl around underneath her coat, pushing out at her dress as the ponies around her watched in confusion, not quite knowing what was going on. She really got under my skin, after all. It was only fair I did the same to her.

Blood leaked out from her mouth, dribbled from her nose and ears, oozed from around her eyes. Red stretch marks tugged at her fur.

“Frost...” Azrael whispered, tone and volume rising. “Frost, what are you doing? What are you doing to her?”

“I don't think you need telepathy to know the answer,” I replied. “I'm sure you already guessed. I suggest you stop trying to glean from the bitch. It's not going to be pretty from here.”

The griffin shuddered as she obeyed.

The ponies down there were backing away now, murmurs of intrigue turning to gasps of horror as her skin began to tear apart. From between the cracks, ice seeped slowly, pushing outwards. And then it burst out, spikes punching out from her hooves, her guts, her head. A particularly large spike out along her spine, anchoring against the cracked tarmac and hefting the body up, forelegs propped up sideways. Her intestines dangled out, her eyes little more that burst bags of jelly that hung from their sockets. And yet I kept her alive, kept her suffering for just a little longer. She stopped twitching.

I left her there, strung up like a scarecrow. Both Rig and Azrael stared at me as I started off, my horn's glow fading as I formed an arm to whip out Midnight Talon. I sprouted another arm to whip out my old friend, Silver Skean, fanning and twirling the blade in time with her sister. The two balisongs mirrored one another as I sang a light tune...

“Gods ain't gonna help you, son,
you'll be sorry for what you've done.
Them gods gonna hurt you son
when you play with a loaded gun,
when you play with a loaded gun...”

Hoofstead never dealt with slavers again for the years it lasted until the raiders reclaimed the town.

* * *

Footnote: Footnote: Frost-Maximum Level

Rig- Level Up!- Level 5

Azrael- Maximum Level

Unlockable Added: Soundtrack- My House

Author's Note

My thanks to Kkat, Somber, Mimezinga, and all the wonderful ponies of the FoE Sidestory Doc. Thank you as well for reading. Good feedback is always appreciated.

Chapter Nine: Faith and Forte

Chapter Nine: Faith and Forte

Getting late again, folks. What's it gonna be? Stay up for more or get some shut-eye?

…

Don't tell me you're all gonna become three-hour sleepers like me.

The storyteller chuckled lightly.

Fine, fine. We'll go on, but don't say I didn't warn you all.

Now then, I'm sure all you ponies and griffins have heard of a special somepony, and I'm even surer you follow said somepony's broadcasts. DJ PoN3. Am I right? Of course I'm right, it's way, way too obvious.

Riddle me this- how old does the fellow sound?

He paused, glancing about the room as some ventured a guess.

Heh, well, guess what? You're all right. And you're all wrong.

Folks, the story I'm telling you is from forty years ago. And- believe me, I'm telling the truth here- there was a DJ PoN3 back then too.

Hold your horses, folks, hold your horses. I know what you're thinking. Bullshit, right? Well, the DJ back then wasn't the same as the DJ now. I don't personally know the current one or the last one, but I can say that I've come to know quite a few of them. When one gets too old or just disappears, another one takes the helm. I know a lot of ghouls, folks. DJ PoN3's been around a long, long time.

So why am I telling you this now?

Heh, well, this is a story I'm telling, right?

* * *

The clouds were glowing a subtle orange as sundown neared. Rig and Azrael had followed along while I continued to sing to myself. We were clear of the Manehattan ruins by now, the crumbling buildings and twisted streets left behind us, traded for the lightly hilly, dusty, dreary domain of the big, empty bastard once more. I wanted to finish this one before we took off once again.

“... they ain't gonna catch you when you fall.
You'll be pleading while you're bleeding

Gods ain't gonna help you, son,
you'll be sorry for what you've done.
Them gods gonna hurt you, son,
you'll be sorry for what you done.
You'll be sorry for...what... you... done...”

I looked back and stopped, still mirroring my play with Midnight Talon and Silver Skean. Both Rig and Azrael were eying me, drawing to a halt with me. They glanced at one another for a moment.

I bowed, closing both balisongs and stowing them away. “Thank you.”

“That was... kinda...” Rig tried to find the right word.

“Morbid?” Azrael suggested.

“Yeah, morbid.” The young mare nodded, sitting down and crossing her forelegs. A few seconds passed before she looked at the griffin with a puzzled expression. “What does 'morbid' mean?”

“Of an unhealthy interest with disturbing and unpleasant subjects,” the giant replied without missing a beat.

“Well, that seems to fit the bill, yeah.”

I huffed. It at least took their minds off of what I just did. “Well, not all songs can be as soothing as 'Hush Now, Quiet Now.'”

“So where to now?” Rig asked. “We're going to try to get that water talisman now, right?”

“Yes, that's right.” I nodded. “For that, we're going to be heading to Vealville. It's a about a day's flight east from here.”

“Can't say I've heard of the place,” Azrael remarked. “Are you sure there will be a water talisman there?”

“Probably not,” I responded, “but I have a good informant there. If there's a water talisman to be found, he'll know where it is. We have about a hundred days remaining. We should be fine.”

“Sounds good enough to me!” Rig smirked that lovely smirk of hers.

“Well,” I paused to crack my neck and sprout my ice wings, “ready to take off when you are. Just follow my lead.”

Azrael swept her cloak up with her massive wings snapping open, pulling Rig close and nodding to me. “Ready.”

A few seconds later and airborne once more, I raised my voice a little to ask, “So Rig, how's your magic?”

The earth-coated mare's horn glowed a light gray and her helmet flipped down and then up again. “Working!”

I nodded. “Good.”

“By the way, Frost,” the cloud-maned mare tilted her head a little, “I've never heard of those gods you mentioned in the song. Xicis, Horvahd, Alda... who are they?”

“They're not our gods, no.” I smiled. “They're the griffins'.”

“Huh?” She blinked.

“Indeed they are,” Azrael spoke up. “Where did you learn such a song? It's not one I'm familiar with.”

“It's an old one, and I learned from a griffin just as old,” I answered. “Truth be told, griffin culture is nearly dead. Ever since the war ended, every griffin left on Equestrian or Zebrican territory just started losing touch. Aldornan's practically a dead language.”

“Um, hello?” Rig waved her foreleg to catch my attention. “Huh?”

“Oh, the griffin gods,” I chuckled at the young mare. “Azrael, do you know them?”

“I do,” the cloaked griffin replied.

“Would you please explain for Rig? I think you're better qualified than I am.”

“One moment.” Azrael's expression was something I couldn't quite read. “The clouds. They're darkening far ahead.”

I was so focused on looking for threats and minding the terrain that I'd hardly noticed them. I didn't usually worry too much about the rainfall. Never had a problem with it. With Azrael, now I noticed the ominous clouds ahead. “Mm. I see them. Time to find shelter then.”

“Yeah... the Guide said that it doesn't rain often but it rains hard in the Wasteland,” Rig said as she looked out in wonder at the dark mass far ahead.

“An understatement if anything,” Azrael spoke. “I can't tell if it's coming towards or away from us, though.”

“Hey Rig, check under the 'Data' section of your PipBuck,” I told her. “Should be a 'Radio' setting there.”

“Mm-hm, mm-hm, I know, I know.” The young mare nodded as she fiddled with the device. “Alrighty, I've got one station. Um, Equestria News Radio? There's actually a radio station that's running out here?”

“Surprising, I know. Well don't just look at me! Go ahead, crank up the volume and tune in!”

Rig did so, and we were greeted with a deep, charismatic voice. Not gravely, mind you, but smooth and sure.

“-all you in the Capital Wasteland! This is DJ PoN3!” An energetic neigh sounded off over the speakers. “It's time for the quill feather... no? Then here's the weather...”

The storyteller paused, smiling.

What do you think, folks? Sound authentic enough?

Well anyways, upon hearing that, Rig merely raised her eyebrow and glanced at me.

“The DJ's an eccentric one.” I smiled, speaking quickly before he started up again. “Good fellow, though.”

“To all my people out there in the Manehattan area, buckle down, sit tight, and hoooold onto your radio sets, 'cause we've got an important weather announcement. Wuzzat? Something other than cloudy with a chance of dismemberment? Yeah, that's right, we've got a storm coming in! Doesn't look like one that'll last more than a day or so, but according to a buck in Alhambronco, it's rainin' cats, dogs, and hellhounds! It's bearing straight for the Manehattan area, so patch up your roofs and get undercover if you're in the area, because it's gonna be a flood!

“And now for the news...” DJ PoN3 went on as we all exchanged looks. We'd need to find some form of overhead cover for sure. “You know folks, I really hate how slowly we get news from outside of inner Equestria. Because it was just today that I learned that Stalliongrad was attacked over a week-and-a-half ago. Yeah, that bastion of hope in the north? Attacked! Now, I only have one source so far so I can't completely confirm this, but it looks like some griffin mercs called 'The Dead Boys' were behind the attack. Been hearing stories from the Westerns about these fellows, all unconfirmed...” some grumbling was audible, “but they're not griffins you want to be involved with. They're the bad kind of mercs, to lay it simple. So what they hay is a Westerns-based merc company doing all the way near the Far North? Details are sketchy, but I'm told they were after a group of griffins that left their flock. You know what? More power to those deserters! Good on them if they left! In any case, heavy casualties were sustained in Stalliongrad, but they routed the Dead Boys. Nice job out there, citizens of Stalliongrad! But honestly, seems like these Dead Boys are expanding. Keep your eyes peeled and your guns handy, folks.

“In other news, hah-haaa, oh boy this is good, folks! No doubt some of you folks've been listenin' in on ENR for years now. Well here's a shout-out to you now, because we've got a blast from the past pummeling the present! I'm talking about the Sentinel, folks, and boy does he know how to make an entrance... twice!”

I paused in my searching. Um... what now?

“For all you folks out of the loop, the Sentinel is the Wasteland's resident cryomancer clad in armor of the Lunar Guard,” the DJ continued, causing Rig to widen her eyes, beaming and pointing her hoof at her PipBuck with glee, mouthing giddy phrases all over me being on the radio. “Years ago, he single-hoofedly took out scores of raider tribes and bandit hunting parties in the Far North. Nopony and nobody knows just how long he's been around, but his crowning achievement? Aiding the retaking of Stalliongrad, folks. You can thank that northerly bastion's existence to him!” Okay. That was a little overblown. Way overblown. But, folks, this is DJ PoN3 we're talking. He's an eccentric fellow. “Now look, I'm not saying the stallion's some knight in shining armor, don't kid me with that, folks. I'll be the first to admit his methods are... questionable, but he gets the job done.” Alright, that was better. A little.

“So why the hay am I telling this to all of you?” The radio continued to dole out verbal honey. “Because he's gone dark for a few years now, not really doing anything notable. I actually thought the fellow faded into obscurity just like all heroes eventually do, but no no no, folks! The Sentinel's back! I've got confirmations of him causing a ruckus in the Manehattan ruins, namely shuttin' down a slave-based brothel in the northwestern town of Hoofstead.” Rig stared at her radio in confusion. “Now, what he did to the owner of the establishment isn't exactly something I can talk about on the radio. Hey, hey, I know there ain't no more MoI censors or anything, but I gotta keep it friendly for the kids, am I right? If you're really inclined to see what happened, well, you can always head out to Hoofstead. It ain't pretty though, I'll tell you that. Back to the point, Sentinel freed a grand total of twenty-five slaves, and they're even decently-clothed and armed! And if that ain't enough, get this- this is also an unconfirmed report from the north, but it looks like Sentinel aided in defending Stalliongrad during the Dead Boy attack I mentioned earlier! Welcome back to the Good Fight, Sentinel! It's great to have you back! So listen, folks, you happen to see somepony in what looks like the most outlandish, nightmarish armor you've ever seen- trust me, you'll know it when you see it- do us all a favor: for the love of all that is holy, do not insult Celestia and especially Luna to his face! I mean it!” I admit, that was probably a good something to tell everyone...

“Hoo, look at me dronin' on!” the DJ chuckled. “Here's some music... The Rolling Scones, a special treat for you folks to harken back to the days of the Equestrian counterculture while you're stuck in the rain. Thanks for listening, chiiiiiiildren!”

And that familiar tune dribbled on out. Ah... the way that new-wave (… back then) electric guitar came trickling in, joined by the bass and a hint of piano... just swept me away. I couldn't help but smile from the nostalgia...

“Oooooh, a storm is threat'nin'
mahhhh very life today!
If Ah don't get some shelter,
ooh yeah, Ah'm gonna fade away!

Waaaaar, children-
it's just a shot away,
it's just a shot away!
Waaaaar, children-
it's just a shot away,
it's just a shot away!”

In the middle of the guitar, Rig cut the radio and I glanced at her. She stared right at me with an incredulous expression. “You're famous?”

“Apparently, kinda, sorta,” I replied, offering little more than a light shrug. I sighed a little as I continued my search for overhead cover for the storm we knew was coming. I had a particular fondness for that song. But I guess now I was gonna get chewed out.

“Why didn't you tell us?” Rig laughed.

Huh, not the reaction I was expecting. “I'm not one to revel in publicity. I might not be subtle all the time, but I'm-”

“-radio-shy,” Azrael interjected.

“-radio-shy.” I nodded.

…

Hang on a second.

I shot a glare at the two. Rig just burst into even more laughter and I could see the griffin curve her beak in a smile, letting out that stifled giggle of hers.

“Okay, I walked right into that one.” I rolled my eyes. “Any sight of a good cave?”

“Still looking,” Rig said, looking around as we swept low over the hills. “Gotta ask, though, how did DJ PoN3 know about what happened so quickly?”

“Can't say,” I answered. “Trade secret, I guess.”

“Well whatever it is, it works,” the earth-coated unicorn chuckled.

“Cave, two o'-clock,” Azrael reported. I scanned in that direction, catching it about fifty meters from our position.

“We'll hole up there while the storm passes by, then,” I said, starting to veer toward it, the griffin carrying Rig and banking to match my approach. “With luck, it'll be big enough and dry enough in there.”

* * *

But not empty enough.

“Why... can't... I... get... a break... today?!” I growled between each pump of Luna's Judgment.

Remember what I said about wanting whatever I shoot to die with a clean hit unless I'm using flechette shells?

Yao guai are unfortunate exceptions to this.

The storyteller frowned as several hooves and hands went up.

Yes?

One of the ponies asked what yao guai are. The rest of the hooves and hands went down.

Bears.

The pony relaxed and said that wasn't so bad.

Three meter tall, mutant bears.

That pony didn't look as relaxed anymore.

Normally, yao guai are solitary creatures. They're viciously territorial and won't hesitate killing another of their kind unless if it's mating season.

Now think hard for a second and remember that my luck is piss-poor. Now put two and two together. Guess as to what time of the year it was.

Spring, a filly said.

Damn straight.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shiiiiiit!” Rig cursed, noticing how my triple-aught gas-expanding buckshot shells were just pissing the male off and waking the female, both of whom were a good twenty meters away or so. She teleported out Luna's Fortitude and her throwing shovel, whipping it at the one I was firing at and catching it in the head, obviously thanks to S.A.T.S. The damn spade actually embedded itself in the bone and it was still getting to its feet as we both fired at it. Not even Judgment and Fortitude could bring the male down, and now the female let out a horrible bellow.

“Hold your fire, I'll handle this!” Azrael exclaimed, swooped overhead as we ceased firing. Rivaling the ursine himself in size, the gargantuan of a griffin stood her ground as the beast charged at us.

“Azrael...” I eyed her warily, still keeping my shotgun up, ratcheting out the chambered buckshot shell and swapping out for slugs.

That bear was getting closer with the female following as well, the very ground shaking with their footfalls.

“Azrael,” I repeated, glancing at her, my hands tightening around my weapon. Rig shakily lowered her helmet and contracted her magical grip on Luna's Fortitude.

The pair of yao guai reached top speed in a heartbeat, two monstrous mounds of multi-ton muscle bearing down on us at thirty miles-per-hour.

“Azrael!” I shouted, aiming down the three-pronged sight as they were within ten meters of us. Rig was starting to back away.

“Hold your ground!” the griffin ordered, Rig freezing in place. She kept facing the two beasts.

I was prepared to dodge out of the way and take Rig with me before they thundered down to a halt, practically face-to-face with Azrael. They snorted hot fog out of their nostrils, their eerily reflective eyes glimmering in the slight darkness of the cave. But they didn't attack. They didn't try to maul any of us with their claws or teeth. They just stood there, snorting. Azrael didn't take her eyes off of them for an instant. To my surprise, she placed her hand on Rig's shovel. The male actually lowered his head a little.

“Azrael?” I glanced at her, lowering my weapon.

Rig did the same, lifting a hoof to flip up her helmet. “What's going on?”

“They're just scared.” She answered, her voice soft, pleasant. “The female is with cub.” She turned to me. “I'm quite grateful that none of your shots pierced the hide, or this might be a little more difficult.” With that, she pulled the stuck shovel free, causing the yao guai to let out a pained bellow. Both Rig and I tensed, but we eased off after Azrael made no move. The giant placed a hand on his cheek, saying nothing. He gradually drew back to snorting, his left eye squinting as blood from the gash trickled down into it. The griffin drew her hand away and held it out to me. “Restoration potion.”

“What?” I stared at her. The hand widened. She turning back to face me.

Her eyes... they were soft as her voice, the light shades of gray exhibiting an emotion I read at last.

Sorrow.

“Please.” It was almost a whisper.

I stared deep into those eyes... and I nodded slowly. I slung back Luna's Judgment and handed her the bright-green bottle.

She lowered her gaze, cowing her head and taking it. “Thank you.”

Azrael lifted her head back up and turned back to the injured yao guai, who opened his mouth for her as she broke the seal and poured the contents into his mouth. The wound sealed closed in a matter of seconds, and after pulling the empty bottle away, she pat him on the head where it used to be. The two beasts withdrew back deeper into the cave.

“Wow... what happened there?” Rig asked, winking Luna's Fortitude away.

“Well,” Azrael turned around, stowing away the spent potion bottle, her eyes unreadable once more, “I'm a telepath, aren't I?” Rig opened her mouth to speak. “It was another rhetorical question.” She closed her mouth.

“So you aren't just able to glean thoughts and sensations but mentally communicate as well?” I inquired, my ice arms dissipating.

“Among other things, yes,” the ebony griffin replied. I was about to inquire further, but she spoke before I could. “The yao guai will let us remain so long as we don't threaten them. It would be preferable if we stay near the mouth of the cave.”

I got the message.

“Alright.” I nodded. “Hunker down and get comfortable. Hope that the rainwater doesn't reach us.” The others nodded and began to unpack, but I merely watched the griffin. “Azrael.” She paused, looking up at me. “You're the one with the most firepower of the three of us, the most strength. Why didn't you just kill them when you had the chance?”

“Because they were merely frightened,” she answered me, continuing to unpack. “We intruded upon their home, and the female was with cub. They were going to defend themselves. Was that not clear?”

“It's clear,” I nodded, “but they're otherwise hostile to nearly all other living things, equines included. Who isn't to say they won't kill Wastelanders after we leave them be?”

Azrael paused once more. “You know of ghouls, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And that they're doomed to degenerate into ferals and kill any living thing for food, correct?”

“Correct.”

“So why didn't you just kill Chief Thunderhooves when you had the chance?”

I was appalled at even the idea of it. I firmly replied, “Because I've known him as a dear friend for a very long time.”

“Will that keep you from killing him when the time comes?”

I checked myself. “No,” I admitted, closing my eyes. “No it won't. But I'd still feel horrible about it.”

“Why?”

I sighed out cool mist, opening my eyes halfway. “Because he didn't deserve what happened to him. He doesn't deserve to be conscripted to an inevitable fate such as that because of the Great War. He used to be a proud buffalo, and now he's trapped in an unfamiliar, hostile land in an unfamiliar, hostile body where everyone he knew has died before him. And yet he keeps on fighting to survive.”

“Are they any different?” Azrael motioned to the yao guai. They seemed intent on us, as if listening.

I had no words to reply with.

“Socrates was a wise griffin,” she spoke calmly, sighing. “They're us, Frost. They're just like us. They're just trying to survive in a mutated world in a mutated body. And sometimes I like to think they're better than us. None of these animals raid, pillage, enslave, rape, or destroy to the extent that we do. Do they have the capacity? Certainly. Do they use it? Certainly not. And just because they can't think of it. Who isn't to say they understand the theory of relativity, how to operate a spark-powered vehicle, how to derive and integrate mathematically, what have you? It's only because of the language barrier, their lack of proper appendages, and the fact that we aren't willing to speak to them.”

I looked back at the yao guai. I was wrong. They were listening.

“My deepest regret is that I am more griffin than unicorn, a carnivore,” Azrael exhaled softly. “I try to only feast off of those already dead, but at times that choice isn't always available. A cruel irony isn't it? Now, Frost, remember this- animals are just trying to survive, and they're doing it in a nobler fashion than us. Bear in mind that the reasons for which the Wasteland exists were, and are, purely equine ones. We must shoulder the burden of our forefathers and carry on, hoping that we don't snap under the strain.” She motioned again to the yao guai. “And pray... pray that they don't decide to hate us for it too.”

* * *

The rain began after nightfall. It started as a light drizzle that silently wet the Wasteland earth. In my nocturnal sight, I watched as the ground grew rich and dark once more. Then the clouds began to weep for us, their tears sounding in a chorus of pattering against the soil. Finally, they bled for us. The wicked Wasteland perverted the chorus of the clouds, turning it into a steady, droning roar. The earth was overburdened and reduced to a slimy muck. The rain was no longer purifying. It just forced everything deeper into the mud.

I hated the big, empty bastard.

Rig was fascinated by the rainfall even though she couldn't see it. She was turned away from the covered fire we started, listening on as the Wasteland deluge droned on. She was utterly enraptured by it, watching out into the void as we cooked and ate.

I hoped the big, empty bastard wasn't getting to her too.

The yao guai were drawn in by the smell of food. Azrael offered the little meat she had to them, to which they accepted without evident complaint or evident gratitude. It was a bit disturbing when the male went up and sniffed me.

“You smell like a dragon to them,” Azrael spoke, smiling. “Can't imagine why.”

“Genetics,” I answered plainly as I played with both of my blades. Silver Skean's titanium form caught the dim light in a dazzling way. “Simple as that.”

The griffin nodded lightly, her expression still unreadable. “They wish to know if they can linger around the fire. The warmth brings comfort to them.”

“Why are you asking me?” I inquired.

“You're still in charge, aren't you?”

I cracked a thin smile, turning to the beasts. “They can understand what we're saying, can't they?”

“Of course.” the griffin answered.

I regarded the two of them. Their eyes were... lovely, in a way. They were mirrored to catch the faintest light. I could see myself in them.

I nodded my head toward the fire. “Sit a spell, we don't bite. And apologies for what happened earlier.”

As the beasts set down beside Azrael, she lightly chuckled, “They forgive you for the fight. And for that remark. Just this once.”

I smiled wider. “Noted.”

“So, your second blade,” the griffin spoke up. “Where did you get it?”

“Oh, Silver Skean?” I huffed, starting to whip the blades around independently of one another. “She was my first balisong, and a well-constructed one at that. Bought it off of a griffin who didn't need it. I left her behind when I left my home, something I very much regretted doing.” I whipped Midnight Talon into a backhand aerial and Silver Skean into a normal one to close them both. “It's a... touching reunion.”

“Forgive me, but what exactly is a 'skean'?”

“A type of double-edged blade invented by the ponies of the Emerald Isles,” I answered. “Before you ask, I understand it's not an actual skean, but neither is Midnight Talon an actual talon.”

“I see.” She paused for a while. “So. Your home. Do you want to-”

“No, I don't wish to talk about it.” I cut her off. “I hope you understand.”

The giant regarded me for a few moments before nodding stoutly.

“Azrael?” Rig spoke up suddenly, causing all of us (including the yao guai), to look at her.

“Yes, Rig?” The cloaked griffin shifted a little.

“Can you tell me about your gods?” she asked, turning away from the outside and facing us. “Or, uh, about your religion in general?”

“Certainly,” Azrael answered, nodding. She turned to me. “Are you going to judge my storytelling ability?”

I shrugged with a knowing smile, stowing the sister blades away. The female yao guai let out a rumble that sounded vaguely like chuckling.

Azrael curved her beak into a grin.

As did the storyteller.

“A proper story has to start somewhere,” she began to tell her tale. “This one isn't so simple. There simply is no origin story for our world. We just simply know it to be there. Our religion, after all, is rooted not on reality nor that which lies beyond it. Our religion is to appeal to the gods, those who represent the myriad facets of equinity. Our gods are the embodiments of how we view the world. They are our code, our solace, our power.

“Alda. The Goddess of the Beginning and the End. We are all born from The Lonely Mother, and in the end we all return to her. She is the namesake of the griffin motherland, Aldorna, and the one from whom all the other gods were born from. She is forever alone yet always with us.

“Niiviin. The Icon of Reflection and Duality. We find meaning by looking into ourselves just as much as looking into others. The Formless One has no face, no being, no gender. It gave everything a dual nature, and for that, it is both loved and scorned for showing both the best and the worst in all of us.

“Javahl. The God of Vitality and Atrophy. The Callow Elder teaches that life is meaningless if we make nothing of it. We must forsake the blissful ignorance of our childhood and mature to handle the responsibilities we must one day uphold if are to avoid sharing the same fate as he.

“Zurodin. The God of Purpose and Folly. Intentions both good and bad mean nothing on their own. We can go through the motions, but the point is lost. We must back them with our hearts and minds to hope to make them reality as The Heedless Hero shows.

“Iaida. The Goddess of Bravery and Cowardice. The stories of The Null Champion shows that it is natural to fear. But in labors and dangers, in foregoing pain and pleasure we must have the fortitude, the willpower to push through.

“Yagmarth. The God of Oath and Abandon. Life is rife with choices and is in and of itself a choice. 'Life takes resolve,' The Weathered Glory teaches. 'Outcome is secondary.' Our choices define who we are. We cannot walk the same path, no matter how hard it is to leave one another behind.

“Akrama. The Goddess of Verity and Deceit. The truth hurts at times, but it can also set us free. Lies share this duality. At their best, lies can offer hope, can make each day bearable enough to keep living. At their worst, they come to cut back. The Veiled Seer knows this.

“Horvahd. The God of Pride and Burden. We fly with the freedom of our good will. We bear the weight of our own guilt. Each of us is the sum of our individual virtue and vice. Like The Shackled Judge, we must choose whether we wear our badge with honor or with shame.

“Xicis. The Goddess of Piety and Anathema. Her love only hurts her all the more. Her hatred burns her all the same. The Stark Widow is an empty soul. We cannot question what we love, lest we become fraught with doubt. We cannot continue to hate what we scorn, lest we lose sight of ourselves forever. Faith and forgiveness, she teaches. Faith and forgiveness so we don't follow her into the void.

“Ezraal. The Icon of Existence. Torn asunder in its attempt to resist Niiviin, what was one god became two- Lazare and Azrael. They are forever linked yet only in a passing glance. The Angel of Life gives the soul a form. The Angel of Death takes it away. Together the two serve as vassals to Alda, creating life and bringing death so that life maybe created again.

“Our religion is simple. We appeal to the gods to whom we find need in, hoping to draw upon their strength. The lover prays to Xicis for her devotion, the liar to Akrama for her to shield secrets. The soldier vests trust in Iaida for her courage, the sinner to Horvahd for his strength. We seek them in times of need, hoping that we may attain their power and endure. But above all else, Alda takes precedence. We owe her our lives, and we must all return that debt to her. It is why we griffins value honor to the pledge above all else.

“There are certain rules, certain taboos. Once our time comes to join The Lonely Mother, we cannot resist. We must be willing to let Azrael perform her duty and take the hand of Alda, so that we may join her for a fleeting moment. We cannot give The Formless One any shape, for that destroys its significance. We cannot forbid worship, even to the condemned. After all, the gods represent the best and the worst in all of us. The lowest have just as much a right to pray as the highest.

“Our religion is nearly gone. Ever since griffinkind made contact with ponykind, our religion slowly died away. After all, it was certainly far easier to follow a religion where the Goddesses live alongside you as opposed to a religion purely of faith. But in the end, we griffins all find faith, especially in these times where the Goddesses are long dead.

“So that's that.” Azrael finished up, looking directly at me.

“That was... impressive, how you explained to her,” I spoke. “It was short and definitely simplified what with leaving the Outer Circle of gods out, but it served its purpose and had a surprising amount of depth and style to it for its length.”

“Thank you,” the griffin said simply.

“Thank you.” Rig beamed. “That was... pretty heavy stuff at times, but it was pretty interesting and, uh, informative? Really, thanks.”

“That leaves one question, though,” I said, leaning closer to her. “Why are you then named after the Angel of Death? As far as I know, it's not exactly custom for griffins- anyone really- to name their children after their deities.”

“For that, I suppose it's time for a bit more explaining.” Azrael sighed. “The answer is simple- The Dead Boys are a religious organization.”

I deadpanned at her. “Oh you've got to be kidding me. You're kidding. You're kidding, right?”

“Let me clarify.” She cleared her throat. “A religious extremist organization rife without morals. After all, the gods represent the best and the worst in all of us. So do the Dead Boys.”

“... alright, that's a little better.”

“The Dead Boys assigned their leaders the names of the gods.” Azrael sighed as my eyes widened in realization. “I'm anticipating the question. Yes, Frost, that means... I used to be one of their leaders, jointly with Lazare. My... uniqueness made me fit the role.” The griffin looked down and away. “I am... not proud of it.”

“... I see.” I said simply, quietly. There was an awkward pause. The male yao guai snorted.

Azrael blinked, tilting her head. “You aren't quite as furious as I'd imagined you both to be.”

“We've all done things in the past that we're not proud of, Azrael. Like Horvahd, we all have our burdens and shackles.” I sighed long and hard. “My opinion of you hasn't changed. You're trying to change.”

Like me.

“What Frost said.” Rig smiled. “Plus, you're trying to make up for it, right?”

Azrael nodded slowly. “Yes, I do try to atone for-”

“That was a rhetorical question.” Rig interrupted.

She did have a lovely smirk.

The ebony griffin regarded the two of us for a moment before giving a stout nod in thanks.

“That leaves some questions, though,” I spoke as Azrael went level-headed again. “I won't ask about what you did. It's...” I paused. Memories I cut away cut back. “It's your choice whether you wish to discuss or not. First, what is your real name?”

“I forsook it when I took my position,” the giant answered. “It's a badge I must wear with shame, my repentance to the real Horvahd.”

I nodded lightly, slowly. “Then will respect your wishes. Given that The Dead Boys emulate the Inner Circle of gods, would it be safe to assume there are nine leaders remaining?”

“Less than that, actually,” Azrael responded. “Though yes, when I abandoned and I killed Lazare, I killed Ezraal in that sense. Back to the point, The Dead Boys knew there were some boundaries they just couldn't push. No griffin would dare take the name of The Lonely Mother nor give form to The Formless One. Griffins would sooner kill them than join them for that extent of blasphemy.”

“Why not for the amount of blasphemy already committed?” I asked.

“... you'll know it if we chance to meet one.” she replied ominously. “I was worshiped as Azrael for the reason that I knew what death felt like. The other leaders... they're worshiped for reasons such as that. They are as close to living, breathing gods as can be offered.”

“So seven of them left, then.”

She nodded. “Yes. Javahl, Zurodin, Iaida, Yagmarth, Akrama, Horvahd, and Xicis all remain.”

“Lovely.” I sighed out cool breath. “Seven godlike leaders to kill when all this is said and done.”

“Is that what you're planning?” The griffin regarded me.

“It's what I've been planning since you've explained what The Dead Boys are and what they do,” I casually replied. “Know anything about them by any chance?”

“Little more than rumors,” Azrael answered. “I've only personally been able to glean from Lazare, and very little about the others. Since Lazare and I were so new to the organization, I suppose they wanted to keep to themselves for the time being. That said and if the circumstances allow, I would like to join you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “'Circumstances'?”

“If there's anyone who is with us at the time who I can glean. With just you, I'm completely blind.”

“Ah.” I slanted my mouth. “Right.” I suddenly began snickering to myself, gradually increasing in volume to a chuckle. Everyone stared at me, yao guai included.

“Um... what's so funny?” Rig leaned away slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry... sorry,” I sputtered, checking myself and calming down enough to respond. “Just... look at me! I'm serious, just look at me!”

A green unicorn in Lunar Guard armor. Out to kill gods.

Alright, you big, empty bastard. Sometimes, only sometimes, your humor is tolerable.

* * *

A few hours passed. I agreed to take watch for most of the night, followed by Azrael and then Rig. The kid convinced me to let her start taking watches as well. That earth-coated girl from Stable Three, not quiet a mare yet. But yet... she was growing up so fast. Something in those indigo eyes just made me relent.

The steady, mechanical drone of the rainfall went on unabated. It was broken only by the soft, snore-like growls of the yao gaui. One of them was awake at all times, I noted. Often times, it was the male. Even with Azrael around and the agreement known, being around them still made me uncomfortable, especially since I was easily within striking distance. But one of them always remained awake, and so did I. I sighed lightly before getting up and silently creeping for the outside.

Time for the talk.

Rain simply didn't bother me because I never let it reach me. My horn flared up with a subtle, ice-blue glow as I exited the cave and into the torrential downpour, the rainwater vaporizing before it even came close to touching me. Ice is just solid water, folks. Cryomancy is just a form of hydromancy. I sprouted my wings and used them to fly up to the roof of the cave, settling down there so I could both immerse myself in solitude while at the same time watching over the cave and the area around it. The rain somehow managed to make the Wasteland even drearier in addition to forcing me to rely on sight and smell since my ice tendrils were useless in the face of the steady downpour. Truly, truly such a sad world we live in if it was bleeding so many tears for us.

“With all the talk about religion, I hope you're not thinking about converting.”

She was at my side once more. A casual glance to the side confirmed that. She was wearing a thin, sad smile. We were both staring ahead, avoiding eye contact.

“In the joking mood again, I see,” I cracked a thin, sad smile of my own, expanding my little rain shield for her. “Just like old times.” I sighed softly, my smile fading.

“Do you think back to those days often?” She asked softly.

“I try not to,” I answered.

I didn't need to turn my head to know She was looking at me now. “Do you, though?”

My gaze turned downward as I closed my eyes. “Yes. Especially with you around.” I sighed again. “Do you?”

“I can't help it,” She answered with a sigh to match mine. “I just can't help it. Sometimes I wonder what things would've been like if...”

“If I'd done what would have been logical?” I asked, turning to face Her, eyes open once more. “If I'd stopped you?”

“Yes...” She nodded, turning away from my gaze. “Frost, do you still blame yourself?”

“For my mistake?” I snorted. “Of course.”

She clicked her tongue and said, “Love, if anyone has to be at fault, it's me for what I did.”

“But the one who permits an atrocity has as much blood on his or her hooves as the one who commits it,” I said before I realized what left my lips.

“Well... I guess it's quite the atrocity, isn't it?” She sighed, biting Her lip. As She turned further away, I could see Her hurt expression.

“You did it because it seemed right to do so at the time.” I tried to comfort Her, getting up and walking closer. “You were expected to do it. What I've done...” I paused, stopping where I was.

<====ooo*scr(2274)eaming*OOO*stopitallplease!*ooo====>

Screams. Shredding. Running. Futile. I was faster. I was stronger.

Shouts. Shots. Pain. Useless. I could withstand. I could push forth.

Shrieks. Scrambling. Away from me. Guilt. I tried to console. I tried to reason.

Snap. Silence. Hooves swinging above the doorway.

Back. Forth. Back. Forth.

<====ooo*bodiesbodiesbodies*OOO*bodiesbodiesbodies*ooo====>

Memories, memories that I tried to kill away cut at me. I hissed, letting the cold of the dreary downpour consume me. I found solace, clarity in it. I calmed myself. I killed those memories away.

She was hugging me tightly. I felt her soft coat against mine, and I fell against her, burying my muzzle against her neck. I reveled in the slight yet comforting warmth-

My eyes shot open.

“Wh-what the-” I pulled away to Her shock, Her own eyes wide. “How... how can I...?” My mind raced, digging back into my memories as I looked at my hooves...

“Frost...?” She whispered worriedly over the rainfall.

“Love,” I looked up at her, “how can I feel you? I-I m-I can barely feel anything! I-I mean, I've been shot in the neck, nearly got my hindlegs torn off, and that's just what's happened recently! But... but I can feel you perfectly! What, I mean... just... what's wrong with me?!” Ice crackled along my left hoof, forming a blade as I slashed at my right foreleg, not feeling a thing as I cut a deep gash. “I can't feel it at all! Why can't I feel?! Huh? Huh?!”

“Frost!”

I stopped, panting hard as I looked up at her. She was gritting her teeth, holding Her legs inward, breaths rasping.

Her right foreleg was torn.

“Oh...” I grew cold, so cold. “Oh dear Luna...” So, so cold... “I-I...”

Clarity. The cold brought clarity. I quickly fished out a healing potion, cracked the seal, and slugged it down as fast as I could, watching as the blood and flesh began bubbling and knitting back. I looked up, watching the same happen to Her.

“Dear Luna...” I gasped in realization. “You... you...”

“I've been taking it away from you all this time,” She panted softly, recovering. “Yes. All of it.”

“But... why?” I whispered.

She laughed. It was so familiar, yet... so ghastly, dying as She spoke, “Oh, love... you wouldn't believe me if I told you...”

“Is that going to be your alibi from now on?” I looked away. “You're... you're okay, right? Dammit, I should've asked that first... stupid, stupid me!”

“Well, dealing with pain is just mind over matter, isn't it?” She shook Her head sadly. “And I'm just all in your mind. Right?”

I was the one hugging Her tightly now. I half-expected to launch myself over the side of the cave to the slimy mud below, but I met resistance. Soft, comfortably warm resistance. Slowly, steadily, She wrapped Her hooves around me as well.

“I've thought about what you said me,” I sighed, still holding onto Her.

“About what?” She whispered.

“About whether you were a ghost or something more,” I answered. “About whether or not you were just in my mind. Whether or not it mattered.”

“... what have you thought?” She asked lightly, tentatively.

“I don't know what you are,” I answered. “I can't answer that for sure.”

“I... I see...” I felt Her slump a little.

I held Her tighter. “But I know who you are. I know what you mean to me. And I don't care what you are because of it.”

We pulled away from one another lightly, gingerly. She was smiling tenderly at me, tears trickling from Her eyes. I smiled back at Her, smiled with loss and longing. We leaned in slowly so that out foreheads met and gently brushed against one another.

“No kiss?” She asked as we looked closely into the eyes of the other. I could see everything in them... everything.

“No,” I answered back, nuzzling gently. “Not yet. Things still aren't... still aren't ironed out between us yet. Maybe another time.”

“So there's still an 'us' then?” Her smile grew.

“I'd like to think so, yes.” I nodded. I pulled away slowly. “Are you going to be okay?”

She nodded, still smiling. “Yes. I'll be just fine.”

“But will you continue to feel... all the pain I feel?” I asked, worried. I was genuinely worried.

“No, no, I won't, I won't,” She smiled encouragingly.

I just kept looking at her with that worried look.

“... yes,” She relented, sighing as her smile faded. “I'll feel almost everything.”

“'Almost'?”

“I hope it won't come to that.” She looked up at me. Her demeanor, Her eyes just made me drop the subject.

I nodded slowly. We stared out into the big, empty, dreariness before us.

“I hope that I'm doing the right thing.” I exhaled gently.

“How so?” She asked.

I slumped a little. “I save Rig, I snap at her. I kill Sewn Britches out of morality, seventy-three good people die. I try to save slaves, I almost downright fucked up.” I huffed. “So ironic. After our first firefight together, I thought that Rig and Azrael would just get in the way. It's why I tried to do it myself, so there could be no margin for error. Instead, they're the ones who end up saving my ass. I didn't save those slaves. They did.”

She was silent for a good few seconds.

“You know, Frost, it's perfectly fine to be omnist,” She finally spoke.

“What do you mean?” I turned to Her as She did the same.

She smiled. “Perhaps you can learn a thing or two from The Weathered Glory.”

I blinked a few times before smiling. I was about to respond when Her eyes widened. She placed a hoof against my lips.

She held Her other hoof against Her lips. “Shh...” She pointed down. I looked there, following Her hoof. Oh. Oh! Azrael! Her watch was going to start soon!

I looked back up as She smiled at me once more, Her hoof moving to caress my cheek. I closed my eyes and surrendered to Her touch. It left suddenly, and I opened my eyes to find Her gone once more.

I smiled lightly to myself before descending to the muddy floor as quietly as I could, slipping inside, my horn's glow extinguishing as I left the rain behind.

“I don't know what time it is,” Azrael whispered, already awake, “but I hope you aren't late. What were you doing out there?”

“I just needed time to reflect,” I answered. “I have a lot of things bottled up inside of me as you can imagine.”

She nodded. “I hope you found faith in Niiviin. Now do yourself a favor and rest well. Alright?”

I nodded back to her, settling down. I didn't need her to bring up just how taxing the day had been for me, and I didn't want to talk about any of this. At the same time, I didn't feel tired. No, not at all.

But I still drifted off nonetheless.

~ ~ ~

The all-consuming cold was back, as gripping as ever.

Hundreds of formless shapes. Hundreds of lumpen, misshapen blobs shuffling around me. Their eyes were blank but screamed with bloody murder. All of their cries, their shrieks- it was overwhelming.

I fought back the one that approached me first, weaving around and battering the next aside. I slipped around the third, danced around the forth, weaving and battering them away with my hooves.

But there were too many. They came upon me like a flood, never ending, never letting up. I was swallowed up, hooves and hands tugging at me in all directions. I roared against their cries as I tried to fight them off, thrashing wildly against the now vaguely equine shapes.

I saw Her. She was above me, reaching Her hoof down for me as I struggled against the writhing masses, all the bodies.

I reached out for Her.

But I was tugged downwards, dragged screaming as the outreached hooves and hands eclipsed Her. The blackness blocked out everything, blocked out all sound, transforming into a dark ichor that swallowed me up.

I was drowning in the abyss, struggling for breath. My lungs burned, and that burn broke me.

I kept falling, falling faster, drowning, drowning deeper...

Hello, Azrael.

I'm ready.

~ ~ ~

My eyes cracked open slowly, weakly. I found it kind of funny and kind of sad at the same time. The dreams in which I was dying were the best I've ever had anymore.

* * *

Vealville... how to describe it? Honestly, calling it a “cesspool of sin” means little in the Wasteland. I guess you could call it a “cesspool of permissible sin.” If anything, Vealville's a smaller version of New Neighgas, New Pegas, Neigh Vegas, or whatever the hell they call that place nowadays. It might only consist of a few rows of relatively undamaged houses, but I'm telling you the only relatively clean establishment in that town was the general store. And even that made most of its money from all manner of chems- Buck, Stampede, Dash, Mint-als, Fixer, what have you. The rest of Vealville? Well, there was a brothel. Granted, it didn't run off of slaves (which was one of two reasons why I didn't tear the place down), but the place had a notable reputation for having a few prostitutes “advertise” on the streets.

…

Strutting their stuff, people. Come on, don't give me that look.

There was also a pre-war casino. I have absolutely no idea how that place was still running, but it had slot machines, it had poker tables, it had roulette tables, and the ponies who ran the place managed to get the whole system to run off of caps. Even had a bar there. I only knew the place to be a casino. Never went to the place. I knew my luck, and I knew not to push it.

Lastly, there was the nightclub. I'll admit it, I loved that place. No, not for the bar, not for the mares (The hell do you take me for, people?), not for the crowd. The music, folks, the music! I may not look the type, but electronic music is one of my favorites. Can't help but drift to the nearest radio when DJ PoN3 puts on The Mixers. Thank the Goddesses, thank Security for finding them!

But I didn't just go to Vealville's nightclub for music. No, folks, I went there for my informant. As the day gave way to night and the glittering lights of Vealville glowed in the distance, I was wondering what Rig and Azrael would think of him when we met.

Unfortunately, we had complications.

“Hold up, drop!” Azrael suddenly called out as we neared the town.

“What?” Rig shot her a look as I angled my wings up for a decelerating descent. “What is it?”

“The Dead Boys,” she answered, dropping her as she touched down with me. “They're in town.”

“Dammit,” I sighed. “How many?”

“A small brigade, about thirty,” she said as we neared a craggy outcrop. We ducked down low as I began to scan the area, forming ice lenses before my eyes and Rig's as we laid flat on our bellies. Among the crowds of ponies in various degrees of inebriation, there were definitely several dozen griffins. They weren't armored in anything that remotely screamed “Dead Boy” however. In fact, griffins were common in Vealville.

“Yeesh... what's with all the... um, mares doing... that... stuff?” Rig asked. “Oh don't tell me there's another brothel here!”

“Yes, but it's not based off of the slave trade,” I told her.

“Huwah?” She stared at me, lifting the lenses. “Why are they doing that then?”

“Because it's easy caps,” I answered, sighing. “Everyone gets the itch sooner or later, and I can't force them to change. It wasn't illegal back when Equestria still existed, and it's certainly not illegal now. Their life. They decide how to lead it. I don't have a problem as long as it doesn't tread on others. Now, slavery? That, I've got a problem with. Now Azrael, I'm not seeing any Dead Boys. Where are they?”

“All over,” the griffin answered.

My lips tugged into a frown. “Let me guess. Plainclothes?”

Azrael nodded. “Plainclothes.”

“Plainclothes?” Rig asked.

I nodded. “Plainclothes.”

“No, I mean, what do you mean by 'plainclothes'?” the young mare asked.

Both Azrael and I looked at her in realization, blinking. “Oh.”

“It's a term used to describe militants or authority figures dressed in civilian wear, hence the term itself- plainclothes,” the griffin replied.

“Oh, well that makes sense.” Rig nodded in understanding. “So, what's the plan?”

“Unchanged save we can't bring Azrael along.” I scowled. This didn't bode well.

“There's another problem now that I'm gleaning them,” the cloaked hybrid spoke. “The Dead Boys have a Hunter unit dispatched in the area.”

“Something tells me I'm not going to like what I'm about to hear, but what's a Hunter unit?” I inquired.

“Well, you've met the Heavy,” Azrael answered. “Hunters are similarly specialized and equipped for priority elimination operations. They're equipped with power armor like the Heavies, but these appear to be a special, lighter brand with a limited stealth field generator.”

“So they can turn invisible,” I surmised, frown growing.

“They can turn invisible,” she nodded. “To a point. Movement weakens the stealth field and causes them to give off a unique silhouette unless if standing still. They're also equipped with weaponry that suits their operations. I'm guessing suppressed precision weaponry.”

“Wonderful,” I growled. “So where are they now? Rooftops?”

“Here's the problem- they're not in town,” Azrael replied. “They're around the area outside of my detection range. I'm not sure whether this is intentional or not, but to err on the side of caution, let's assume that my telepathic abilities are better known now.”

I looked out to Vealville once more. “Well, looks like we can still get to my informant without much trouble if we, namely you, lay low. Can you handle that?”

“I'm very much capable of that, yes.” The ebony avian nodded.

“Then Rig, you're with me,” I said, turning to her. “Just stay by my side and don't wander off. It's a crowded place down there and we could be easily separated.”

“You got it!” Rig flashed that lovely smirk.

“Um... actually...” Azreal started, slumping a little.

Ohhhh, this didn't bode well at all.

“What's the problem?” Rig asked.

“It's... something I'm not proud of, but...” Azrael clacked her beak, “look, Frost, can you just leave Rig here with me?”

“What's the problem?” I asked this time, voice firm.

“It's not important, just-”

“If it's causing a change of plans, then it's important,” I interrupted, voice raised now. The right words, the right way. “Now. What's the problem?”

Azrael's beak flattened and she clacked it once, voice surprisingly soft. “I...”

“Yes?”

“I'm...”

“Yeeees?”

“I'm...” She proceeded to mumble something.

“Yessssss?”

“I'm monophobic.”

“You're shitting me.” Rig stared.

“Does this look like I'm shitting you?” Azrael hissed, turning to her, pointing a finger at her face.

Rig winced. “No...”

“Actually,” I spoke, relaxing, “I don't find it all that surprising.”

“Oh?” Azrael turned to me, eyebrow raised.

“You need someone relatively close to you to see your immediate surroundings, right? Any phobia is supposed to be an irrational fear, but that seems rather rational to me. In populated areas, you can get by no problem, but out here in the wilderness, not so much. Am I right?”

Azrael flattened her beak. “Pretty much.”

“Well what happens if you're left alone?” Rig asked.

“I get panic attacks,” she turned away.

… okay, maybe not so rational.

“You're shitting me.” Rig stared. When Azrael glared at her, the young mare scooted back a little. “On second thought, maybe you're not. Sorry.”

“Again, it's something I'm not proud of,” the griffin grumbled, burying her face in the stony earth we were lying upon.

“But it's understandable,” I spoke up. “Look, I'll leave Rig with you-”

“Thank you!” Azrael shot her head up, now with a relieved expression. “... sorry.”

“I hate doing this kind of stuff,” Rig grumbled, plopping down and crossing her forelegs.

“Somehow, I'm starting to feel the same way,” I sighed, brushing a bit of hair out of my eye. “Something tells me I'm going to regret this, but I'm going in solo now. I'll be back shortly. Do whatever you want, but lay low and stay out of...” I paused. “Rig, what are you doing?”

The young mare froze. She was in the middle procuring a pack of cigarettes, Minthols to be more accurate, one of them already pulled out and nearing her mouth. “Um... trying this smoking thing out? Saw ponies and griffins at Stalliongrad doing it, and seeing them do it here too got me curious.”

And now it was my turn. “You're shitting me.”

“Nope,” Rig said as she winked the pack away, popping the cigarette in her mouth and lighting it with her soldering spell before I could warn her. After a quick drag, she blinked and slowly pulled the thing out of her mouth, exhaling the toxic fumes out she did so. She made the most peculiar expression in which she squinted one eye closed while the other one went wide open. “... seriously? I don't see all the fuss about it!”

I stared at her. “Rig, were you ever taught what went into those things?”

“Well it wasn't like we had 'em in our Stable or anything,” she replied, rapidly shaking her head, her expression normalizing. “No idea.”

“Well there's tar, all sorts of toxins, carciner... carcino...” I struggled for the word. It's been a long time since I've had to use it.

“Carcinogens, pest control chemicals, ammonia, arsenic, hydrogen cyanide, carbon monoxide, and hundreds of other potentially damaging compounds,” Azrael spoke in an even, calm tone. “And nicotine, of course. That would be the drug in it.”

“Thank you, Azrael. So honestly, it's not worth it. They'll kill you in the long run.”

“So... it'll cause cancer.” Rig blinked.

“Cancers linked to the respiratory system and mouth area, yes,” Azrael replied, nodding.

“But other than that and the toxic stuff, anything wrong with it?”

“Bad odor, bad breath.” I shrugged. “Can't think of anything else. It's the other consequences I'm worried about.”

“... anything good about smoking?” the earth-coated unicorn asked.

Azrael grumbled, “Well, the nicotine can bring a sense of euphoria and calm the nerves, but I'm not so sure that outweighs the downsides.”

Rig looked from the cigarette to us and back before popping it back in her mouth.

I facehoofed. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey- my life, I decide how to lead it,” she said.

And even with the cigarette sticking out of her mouth, she still had a lovely smirk.

“What, but, I meant...” I growled in defeat. “Azrael, don't you have any input on this? You're the one gleaning off of her!”

She shrugged. “Beggars can't be choosers. If I can sense through her, I'm not complaining.”

“I'll... just be going now...” I grumbled. “Don't do anything stupid...”

And with that, I whipped myself over the outcrop with ice muscles stretching over my legs. Landing in a crouch to dampen the ten-meter fall, I took off for Vealville in a sprint.

“Are you with me, love?” I asked after speeding along for several seconds.

“Always,” She answered. I could not see Her, but I knew She was there.

“Am I going to regret this?”

“Oh, so now I'm going to be your second opinion?”

“Well...” I stammered, “I just wanted to-”

“Relax, Frost,” She sighed. “I jest. Unfortunately, my Eighth Orb of Premonition is telling me 'most likely.' I'm getting that feeling again.”

“Wonderful,” I grumbled. I then ran through that last bit again. “... what? Really? Magic eight ball?”

“I have to cling to some things, don't I?” She chuckled.

“Well,” I huffed, thinking of Silver Skean as I drew an ice cloak over myself, “can't blame you. Alright, let's do this.”

“Yes. Let's.”

The storyteller paused as a hand shot up.

Yes?

The griffin mentioned how it's been a while since the storyteller brought up a lie.

Indeed it has.

The griffin then asked if he has, in fact, been lying.

The storyteller smiled.

I'm not holding hooves or hands anymore. You tell me.

* * *

Nightfall over Vealville couldn't really be called that, given it was one of the few places in the Wastes that actually have a power grid running. The folks discovered a derelict power station nearby and somehow got it back online, dragging lines from there to the town. I don't know how they kept it running, but I wasn't one to question it. What works, works. In either case, it wasn't doing my night vision any good as I sneaked onto the open roadway, slipped past the residential tents, and got into the heart of Vealville.

For the size of the town, it was definitely a bustling place like I said before. Ponies and griffins of all walks of life came here to drown their sorrows and indulge themselves on wild night after wild night. People staggered and stumbled drunken or drugged all over the place, loud conversation mingled with shouting and laughter, and mares in the, ah, advertising profession sauntered down the road adorned in eyeliner, makeup, and dressed in the most scandalous clothing available that only served to accentuate the feminine curve. Folks, we equines don't normally wear clothes. We do so to make an impression.

It was this specific type of impression that I averted my eyes from.

“Why cloak yourself anyways, Frost?” She asked as I checked alleyways for occupants.

“Because I don't want to risk the slight chance that one of the Dead Boys might recognize me,” I answered in a slightly raised whisper. Chem dealer in this one, no good. Ponies pressed against the- no, not this one either! This one... well, it had a sleeping hobo there. It would suffice.

“Ah, right.” She bopped herself on the head with her hoof. “Of course. Well, there are far too many prying eyes around here. I'll be going again. Stay safe, love.”

“And you too,” I said in turn. She was already gone.

I shifted my ice's thickness into something I was already very familiar with. A red-coated, white-haired unicorn with a bear trap for a cutie-mark. No need to change height or build, and I only needed to blur my vision a little for a hazel pair of eyes. That would suffice, yes. No, no wait, maybe go for a female form this time. I did not want to get harassed by prostitutes on the way.

It was then that I noticed the white-bearded, gray-coated hobo pony wasn't quite sleeping as I thought. He stared at me in bewilderment as I most likely seemingly appeared out of thin air to him.

“You didn't see anything,” I leered at him. Good, my voice seemed feminine enough.

Hobo pony seemed to get the message and shook his head quickly. I proceeded onwards as he murmured something about going crazy and heading to Iron City or something or the other for a change in scenery. I don't know, I wasn't paying too much attention to him. I was just trying to head toward the nightclub, trying to avoid contact with the ponies and griffins moving about the streets lest my icy touch give me away.

I really hate crowds, by the way. Especially when trying to sneak by unnoticed.

No, no, you folks are okay, I'm just saying in general. Sheesh, don't give me those looks!

Anyway, I was continuing toward a large building across the street on the eastern side of town, keeping my “eyes” relaxed and oblivious while my actual ones darted about, taking my surroundings in for griffins. One. Four. Nine. Nine out of thirty that I could see at most. If they were plainclothes, they were doing a great job with the part. A particular trio were seated at an outdoor table outside of the casino, laughing like old chaps as they drank away. I couldn't tell if they were the type at all.

A drunken slob of an earth pony was wandering a little too close for comfort. I slipped around and put another pony in between us, causing them to collide instead of me. Hearing rough growls behind me, I kept along my way. Unfortunately, maybe assuming a female disguise wasn't such a good idea, as I kept getting cat-calls and wolf-whistles as I kept on. Funnily enough, I aimed at making myself as unattractive as possible without drawing attention. But as they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I'm guessing quite a few of the folks had beer goggles.

Drunken slob pony was persistent, too.

“Heyyy, miss,” he slurred as he neared me once more, “I ghink yer mighta drupped sum-”

I didn't give him the chance to get close to me. I glanced back and bucked out with a single leg right into his face. It was sufficient enough to knock him unconscious. There were no further calls or whistles as I approached the nightclub, the set of glass panels and doors glowing with a dazzling array of colors as muffled music droned through the walls, a pair of bouncers blocking the way. They let me in without so much as a glance, seeing as I wasn't looking too suspicious or inebriated.

The nightclub was as enormous as its exterior suggested. It was made from an old department store, the aisles and shelves still in place. That was all that remained to suggest of the building's former existence, as everything else was lost in a blast of light beams, pulsing strobe lights, and swinging chemical glowsticks. Combined with the high-quality floor-standing speakers and subwoofers, the blasting beats of music and sparkling spectrum of lights overwhelmed the senses. I had no idea how they managed to scrounge such equipment in good condition, but I honestly didn't care. The thump of the bass jarred my bones and the pace of my heart matched the beat. I felt powerful, invigorated by the music, and I shuddered as I did what I could to contain myself. Ponies and griffins alike were all over the place, shuffling and swinging to the beats on the open floor. Some crowded the bar off to the side of the building while couples were doing... whatever couples did in between the shelves.

Yeah, “cesspool of permissible sin” seems to be a fitting moniker.

I was focused on but one equine, one pony in all of this, though- the DJ manning a set of turntables that boxed him in. He was an older-looking unicorn with a friendly blue coat and and a fiery orange mane with black streaks that seemed to spike up on its own accord. A snazzy pair of blood-red polarized sunglasses sheathed his eyes, and he wore a classy leather jacket. His cutie-mark? A vaguely heart-shaped musical record set aflame. Even though his muzzle was beginning to white with age and streaks of gray settled in with the black of his mane, he was pumped, folks! He was bobbing his head to the tune, and a smirk adorned his muzzle as if saying, “Yeah, I'm old as hell and still doing this kind of stuff. You jelly?”

… don't ask, folks. Just don't ask.

I shimmied past the crowds, making my way for the turntables and the old coot. “Hello there, DJ DuBB,” I spoke over the music in my disguised voice.

“Wehehell, hello dere, young miss,” he greeted me, his hoarseness unable to mask his jovial, smooth tone that had a hint of an Espinian accent to it. “What can I do for ya? Request? Tips? Oder business?”

I grinned, my vision sharpening for a moment, letting my draconic eyes shine through the ice before I masked them once more. “Otra negocios.”

The blue-coated stallion lifted a hoof to lower his glasses, revealing a pair of sharp, fiery eyes as his smirk grew wider. “Heheheh, entiendote, entiendote.” Knocking his glasses back into place, he nodded to the side in the direction of the bar, making a whirling motion with his hoof. He swung himself over the bar as another stallion did the same, taking his place. He paused to clap hooves together in the exchange before nodding toward the back. “El lugar regular, ¿sabes? Sabes.”

I followed him to the storeroom in the back as he waved a dismissive hoof at another guard, who stood aside to let us in. The “storeroom” was the DJ's makeshift living quarters. It had a mattress off to the side, a refrigerator, a dresser... and one hell of a terminal attached to a maneframe. The room was appropriately soundproofed, the music reduced to a dull thump. No more overwhelming music. No more crazy lights. I could relax now, breathing out a sigh of relief.

“Y Centinela volve,” he laughed, grinning wide as he turned around, a black aura surrounding his glasses lifted up. “So, ya find Sewn Britches?”

I nodded, sublimating my disguise, speaking easy once more. “Yes, in the same general area you said he'd be, Beat Blaze.”

“Was dere ever any doubt?” He flashed his classic, smug smirk.

“Never.” I found myself smirking back. Goddessdamn it, why were smirks so infectious? “Still have to wonder how you and PoN3 get all that information.”

“Heheheh, ya know de answer to dat already, amigo,” Beat Blaze laughed heartily. “Trade secret, both for me and for her.”

“Oh, so the newest one's female now.”

“Yeah, but she's been damn stubborn trying tuh find a new helper.” He shook his head. “We PoN3s stick together until de end, boy, and I keep tellin' her 'Find a 'ssistant, girl! Ya gonna get too old like me or get shot up sooner or later!' But nah, she just keeps mindin' her own business. Gotta say, not bad choice in music, dough. She's been pumpin' lotsa wartime tunes through de air.” His smile faded, expression turning more serious. “So! Enough 'bout dat, how 'bout what's been goin' on with ya, huh? De hell's up with dese Dead Boys comin' round and rufflin' up Stalliongrad, eh?”

“Don't know where DJ PoN3 got her source, but it was spot-on,” I answered. “They're well-trained and well-equipped, and they've got enough tech to make the Steel Rangers look like caveponies. Seems like we've got some here too.”

“Eh, here?” The fire-maned stallion just stared. “Ya mean in Vealville? Mierda, ya jokin'!”

“Plainclothes,” I sighed, expelling cool mist. “At least thirty here. They're damn convincing too. I couldn't pick them out.”

“Diosas mios, not even ya? Dayum, makes me wonder why de hell dey're spreadin' here from the Westerns, den!”

“That's one of the two things I wanted to ask you.”

“¿Y primero?” Beat Blaze raised an eyebrow.

“I'm currently helping an engineer track down a water talisman for her Stable,” I answered. “I was hoping you'd know where I could find one, maybe two.”

“Water talisman, eh?” He went to his terminal, keys blackening as he typed away and sifted through information. He made it clear previously that I wasn't going to sneak peeks over his shoulder, as a magical filter of some sort distorted the screen if viewed from the incorrect angle or distance. “Ey, how come ya don't just check out ya own Stable? Setenta y dos, aight?”

“No,” I answered firmly. “I am not going back there if I don't have to.”

“Eh?” Beat Blaze turned around with a questioning expression. “Why dat?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Well, aight den, but dat don't make ya job any easier dis way.” He shook his head, going back to the terminal screen. “Mmmmm... Eh, amigo, I got some good news and some bad news.”

“Alright, let's hear the bad news first,” I sighed.

“De bad news is dat dere ain't any sign of a water talisman dat's just lyin' unclaimed in de Capital Wastes,” Beat Blaze spoke, turning to me. “De good news is dat's only 'cuz of our range, and by 'our' I mean mine and PoN3's. And with dat comes more good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first.”

“Ay, man, can't ya be a little optimistic for Sparkle-sake?” He shook his head. “Whateveh, de bad news is dat de reason behind our range loss is 'cuz some puta severed our connection with our source. Good news is dat we've been workin' at it and tanks to some good peeps, we're gonna get full broadcast range up soon.”

“How soon?” I asked.

“Tonight if we lucky, tomorrow if not,” Beat Blaze replied. “Until den, I got nothin' outside your Stable. Now, with de Dead boys, same mierda. We've got jack dirt on dem until our connection's back up.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about them at the moment at least?”

“Well, lessee here...” He went back to the terminal console, typing away again. Oh how useful telekinesis is... “Hot damn, PoN3's hunch was right. Dey are expandin'!”

“What's the situation?” I inquired.

“We've got Dead Boys spotted all over de Capital Wastes,” the fire-maned stallion responded. “Manehattan, Pareese, Burrlin, and Fillydelphia, especially Fillydelphia. Seems de only place dey ain't touchin' is Hoofington, but who de hell goes dere? I've only got a hunch, but it seems dey're relocatin' here from de Westerns.”

I frowned. “That doesn't bode well. What kind of numbers are we talking?”

“Hundreds, boy!” Beat Blaze exclaimed, turning away from the terminal and leaning against the keyboard just the right way to shut it off. “Maybe over a thousand!”

Yeah, if possibly over a thousand Dead Boys came over for just revenge, something didn't add up. The Dead Boys were here for something. Something to add to the list for sure.

“So I guess this is it until you get the connection back up?” I sighed.

“Yeah, dat's pretty much all I got for ya.” He stiffened a little, his right ear perking up. “Ey, Frost, Sentinel, boy.”

“Yes?” I raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Uhhhh, I might just be goin' loco here, but some voice inside my head callin' itself Azrael's sayin' we've been compromised or somethin', whoever 'we' is. Also somethin' about a Hunter Unit inbound. Ya know anythin' 'bout dat?”

I deadpanned at him.

“Fuck.”

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level

Rig- Level 5

Azrael- Maximum Level
Companion perk added: Inequine Empathy- As long as Azrael remains in your party, you will not be attacked by any type of animal. They might even be inclined to fight at your side if your party falls under attack! This perk takes the place of the Animal Friend perk.

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Scones
Soundtrack- Theme of the Specter, Her
Soundtrack- Theme of the Spiniard, Beat Blaze

Author's Note

My thanks to Kkat, Somber, Mimezinga, and all the ponies of the Sidestory Compilation Document group. Thank you for reading, and feedback is always appreciated.

Chapter Ten: The Sound, The Fury

Chapter Ten: The Sound, The Fury

The storyteller cracked a thin smile and chuckled softly.

You folks are starting to look a little drowsy right about now. I warned you all, didn't I? Well, I have some good news- this part's gonna wake you right up.

I do hope, though, that it doesn't wake everyone up...

Ahem, now then.

Melt away.

* * *

“Fuck,” I cursed. “Just... fuck!”

“Okay, I'm guessin' I'm not goin' loco, den.” Beat Blaze stared. “What's goin' on?”

“You're not going crazy- I just have a telepathic friend,” I spoke, my mind racing for a plan. “Azrael, you can see and hear me through Beat Blaze, right?”

“She's sayin' yeah, yeah,” the stallion answered, nodding.

“Can you and Rig evade?” I asked, my heart picking up the pace.

“Ay yi yi, why am I bein' de medium here, huh?” he grumbled. “No, she says dere ain't a chance. Dey'll have to hold a position somewhere.”

Fuck.

Just... fuck.

I sighed, “Beat Blaze, you're probably going to hate me for this...”

“Ya wanna make dis place de said position,” he surmised, pointing a hoof downwards.

“I'm sorry, but the fact of the matter is I don't know the layout of the rest of the buildings in Vealville as well as this one,” I pleaded. Right words, right way. “I've got promises to keep to both of them, Beat Blaze. But if you want us to leave and fight it out in the Waste-”

He slugged me. He actually slugged me! Granted, I saw it coming and raised a hoof to block, but he slugged me!

“Ay, jeez!” The friendly-blue unicorn winced, waving his hoof. “Dat didn't quite come out like I planned...” He stared at me. “Can ya start a bit back and lemme hit ya?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

“For theatrics' sake! ¿Sale vale?”

“Sale vale,” I sighed, unable to help from smiling. Who was I to deny a little theatrics? “But if you want us to leave and fight it out in the Waste-”

And he slugged me. Right in the face. Suffice to say, I didn't feel it at all. I gave him the pleasure of looking as if I did, though.

“De hell do ya tink I am, boy?” Beat Blaze snorted. He then flashed his classic, smug smirk and flipped down his blood-red glasses. “Ya tink I'm gonna turn my back on ya now? Hell yeah, we're usin' dis place to fight back! Believe it!”

I couldn't help myself and just shook my head, chuckling, “Way, way too theatrical, Beat Blaze.”

“Ya friend tinks de same,” he grumbled. “Guess I'm too old for dis kinda stuff. Damn ya, boy! Damn ya for agin' gracefully!”

“And you haven't?” I grinned.

“Well not as gracefully as ya!” He poked me with a hoof. “Now let's get rollin'.”

I nodded stoutly to him, resuming my female disguise once more- just in case.

We emerged from the storeroom back into the thumping tunes and lancing lights of the dance floor, squinting my sensitive eyes as I found myself struggling to contain myself once more. Beat Blaze nodded at his replacement at the turntables and they cycled out again. The two shared a quick conversation that I couldn't hope to catch over the music. Beat Blaze levitated a microphone out from behind the counter while the other headed back to the bar, signaling to the other personnel. The music cut out suddenly, and the industrial lights overhead went on. The swaying, swinging ponies and griffins started winding down in confusion, looking around and throwing up a small fuss.

“Hey, hey, DJ DuBB here, sorry for de interruption,” Beat Blaze spoke over the mic. “We're having some, eh, technical difficulties. Real sorry, folks, but I'm gonna have to ask ya all to leave.”

I facehoofed. Yep, that's the creed of all the PoN3's, folks- bringing you the truth, no matter how bad it hurts.

Unfortunately, that also means that they can't lie for shit.

Booing and general slander rang out from the crowd. The poor, old coot ducked as a boot flew his way, and then he did so again for another.

“Bullspit!” an angry shout rose over the din of disappointment. “What kind of technical difficulties, huh?”

It was then that Azrael battered her way backwards through the glass doors, Harbinger roaring as she retreated into the old warehouse. Rig was right beside her (Still smoking!) with Luna's Fortitude out, supporting her with hammer-taps. One of the plainclothes griffins, armed with a machete, charged at Rig only for her to teleport the blade away and and lodge her bayonet in his throat.

“Dat kinda technical difficulties, boy!” Beat Blaze exclaimed as many of the clubbers backed away from the imposing giant. He and many of the other nightclub personnel ducked down low. Several clubbers were raising weapons at the two.

“No, don't shoot, don't shoot!” I shouted. “They're on our side!”

“Watch it!” Azrael shouted, rearing around. “The griffins!”

I shared the others' confusion at this before I remembered- there were a looooot of griffins in here.

“Which ones? Which ones?!”

“All of them!” the giant exclaimed. My eyes locked on one right as he whipped out a pistol, time slowing to a crawl. Too many ponies around and too close for Luna's Judgment and her devastating firepower.

But thankfully, Night Fang could still be accurate when needed and quick on the draw. I pulled her out with a hastily formed ice arm, pulled her up, took aim, and fired. The fat .45 flew slowly through the air before time snapped back to speed. The round caught him in the shoulder, causing his shot to go wild into a shelf instead.

Realizing they were compromised, the other griffins similarly drew their weapons and made for the doors. Rig and I tried to take accurate shots when we could, but the now-panicked crowd and the fact that the Dead Boys were retreating rather than fighting only allowed the two of us to take another three down. Thankfully, the few clubbers that actually decided to bring weapons cut down another two. Azrael was helpless the entire time and tried to fly back towards the turntables as the griffins took potshots at her. A good number of shots scored against her. She landed at my side bloodied, but she landed strong.

“Dammit!” I snarled, reshaping my disguise into sloped armor, thickening it up for medium calibers. “Are you alright?”

“I'll live!” Azrael shouted over the chaos as she slugged down a healing potion and reloaded Harbinger.

“Rig, this way!” I yelled to the young mare as she tried to shove through the crowd to no avail. I tapped the gem on my breastplate, causing it to glow an angry blue. “Be still!”

Suffice to say, it had the desired effect of getting everypony to stop moving, allowing Rig to slip past to my side with Azrael, who was again covering her ears. Satisfied, I tapped the gem again to deactivate it. However, that left me with another problem...

“Wow!” Rig brightened up upon seeing all the musical equipment. “That's a huuuge speaker! Frost, look at the size of this thing! It's easily, like, eight times bigger than the ones we had back in Stable Three! Hey, what is that?” She trotted up to a deactivated light display. “What is that?” She looked at a strobe light now. “What is that?” She was not pointing at the turntables. The records got her attention though. “Ooh, that thing has numbers on it...”

Beat Blaze leaned over the counter with a raised eyebrow and his sunglasses lowered. Rig smiled sheepishly and backed away. “She dat Stable engie ya talked about?” he asked me.

“It's too easy to tell isn't it?” I sighed.

With the crowd quiet and my friends (I... could consider Azrael a friend, right?) at my side, Beat Blaze rose up. “Yo folks, ya heard of de Dead Boys? Well dey're pickin' a fight with de Sentinel and his pals! Yeah, dat's right, de Sentinel! Ya pay any attention to PoN3? Dis is dat guy he was talkin' about yesterday! But more importantly, dey're gonna pick a fight here on our turf! Now tell me, folks, ya like dis club?”

“Yeah!” a few members of the crowd echoed shouted, particularly the ones who fought back.

“Ya like dis music?”

“Yeah!” more of them yelled in reply.

“Ya like dis DJ?” he pumped his hooves at himself.

“Yeah!!!” the ponies exclaimed in unison.

“Den put ya money where ya mouth is, de caps where ya canter is, de bits where your buck is- fight for it all, folks!” Beat Blaze yelled, slamming his hooves on the counter. “Show dese Dead Boys ya don't mess with Vealville!”

Cheering broke through the crowd, but a good bunch of the ponies looked at each other. And then they started running for the doors. Seeing that they had less support than expected, the cheer started dying out and the initially supportive few among them started bolting as well. Rig stared in disbelief, her cigarette spilling a bit of ash onto the floor. Azrael closed her eyes and looked down. I just facehoofed.

“Bastards!” Beat Blaze shouted after them. “What, good music ain't good enough for ya to fight for? Dammit, my speech skills musta be gettin' rusty...”

“Life tends to win out on overall value and importance,” the giant griffin sighed before turning to the DJ and cowing her head lightly. “Azrael Razorwing.”

“So... ya dat voice in my head?” He stared. “Den... dat means...”

“She's a telepath, yes,” I finished for him, nodding. “Before you ask, we don't know how. She doesn't know how. Just know she's Azrael, telepathic griffin.”

“And Rig!” the young mare piped in with that lovely smirk of hers. “Just Rig!”

“Beat Blaze,” my informant introduced himself. “Folks here call me DJ DuBB.” He shouted out the door. “Yeah, de same folks who just bailed deir asses on me for what I gave 'em! Burros...”

“We're still here, DJ!” the earth pony barmare yelled. I glanced around. There were a good ten or so left out of the employees.

“Ya all armed?”

They responded by pulling out their weapons. The barmare? She hefted on a battle saddle equipped with a Minigun that she somehow managed to hide under the counter!

“Sweet Twilight...” I muttered, staring. “Is that a real Minigun? As in, the real M-One-Thirty-Four-D Gatling Minigun? Not the cheap knockoff Rackingwell CZ series that fires much slower and uses five-mil ammo?”

“Three-thousand rounds-per-minute?” the mare sneered. “Seven-six-two NETO ammo belt that takes up the entire counter storage space? Hay yeah!”

“Dear Goddess...” I shook my head. “There won't be any seven-six-two left in Vealville after tonight...”

“Still wondering how she found dat ting,” Beat Blaze chuckled. His horn flared black as he levitated out a compact weapon of sorts. It had the familiar grip of a pistol, but the gun itself was box-shaped and almost toy-like in appearance. It was a magical energy pistol, not too common a sight in the Wasteland even then.

“Still wondering how you found that,” I spoke in turn, raising an eyebrow. “I'm honestly surprised it isn't falling apart on you.”

“Ya kiddin' me?” the fire-maned old-timer laughed. “Dis is an AEP7, boy! Most durable model in de series!”

“Good Goddesses, everyone is a gun nut!” Rig exclaimed, facehoofing. “Why is everyone a gun nut?”

“I hate to ruin the conversation,” Azrael spoke up, “but the plainclothes have all pulled out of the area. Fully armed and armored Dead Boys have entered my radius. A small platoon and two Heavies are one mile away and closing fast. No sign of the Hunter unit yet, but they're still inbound as far as I could glean.”

“No idea what dat means, but it probably ain't good.” Beat Blaze frowned.

“It isn't,” I told him as I stowed Night Fang and whipped out Luna's Judgment, swapping for flechettes as I raised my voice. “Take defensive positions, everyone. Expect explosive and high-powered weaponry, expect them to blow through walls, and expect cloaked griffins!” My eyes darted around, watching as the nightclub personnel started taking cover, flipping over tables. I turned to my friends. “Rig, you're the only one here with a suppressed weapon. Find a place to hunker down and keep out of sight as much as possible.”

“You got it!” Rig nodded, flicking her cigarette away and knocking down her welder's helmet as she scrambled for the rows of shelves.

“Azrael, keep us updated as best you can. You're on area suppression duty with the barmare.”

“Understood,” she acknowledged. “Dead Boys at three-quarters of a mile and closing.”

“I have a name, you know!” said barmare exclaimed. “Come on, you've been here enough times! It's-”

“Grapevine, I know I know!” I turned to the DJ. “Trying to get things done quickly! Beat Blaze-”

“Really?” He looked unimpressed. “Me too?”

I smirked. “Play my mix.”

The friendly-blue stallion blinked a few times in confusion.

“Do you seriously expect me to fight here of all places without getting pumped?” I smirked wider.

Beat Blaze gave that classic, smug smirk back to me. “Take it from the top?”

I nodded. “Take it from the top. Yellow Line.”

“Hooooooo boy, shit's gonna get reeeeeal, chiiiiiildren!” Beat Blaze laughed as a black-wrapped record flew out from behind the counter.

“Really, Frost?” Azrael eyed me.

“Just watch and listen,” I chuckled softly. “Just watch and listen.”

The DJ put the record safely into place and set the needle down. Three. Two. One. And...

That heavy bass blasted from the speakers, and the overheads went out as the dance lights kicked on. I bobbed my head in time with the beat as the lights flashed around me once more, closing my eyes. No restraining myself this time- I felt the beat rumble through every fiber of my being, my heart quickening its pace to match it. Ohhhhh, yes... ohhhhhhh hell yes!

“Really, Frost?!” Azrael shouted over the overwhelming beat, cringing as the cymbals trickled in.

“Twilight Sparkle, you actually like this kind of music?!” Rig cried out from somewhere I couldn't see her.

My eyes snapped open, a my vision sharpening as I laughed, “Ohhhh, no I don't.” I jerked my head in the direction where I heard Rig, my body rippling with the waves of sound. “I love it!”

“I don't think I'll ever fully know just who you are, Frost!” Azrael shook her head, doing her best to block out the music (Why? Why would she do that? Why? Just, just why? Why?). “Dead Boys a quarter-mile and closing!”

Folks, there's a saying out there. “Music soothes the savage beast,” if I'm not mistaken.

Well, in my case, it can unleash it too.

My mouth contorted into a wild, sharp smile as I drew in breath, rearing up on my hindlegs. I let out that inequine roar and slammed back down in time with that first series of guitar riffs. The music invigorated me, made me powerful, made me ready to take on an Ursa Major! When that synth came in, I didn't even need to hear Azrael's shout, barely rising over the din (It was me now- I was the star of the show! The dance floor's all mine! It's all me!). I was already breaking for right side of the building as a good chunk of the wall blew open (Smart smart smart, they created an entry point behind a shelf to use it as initial cover, music music music!). I noted but otherwise paid no attention to similar events occurring on the left side. The gunfire around me was drowned out as I tore for the fresh hole in the wall, the smoke still hanging in the air. The hazy outline of the hostiles pouring through guided Luna's Judgment as she claimed her first life of the day. Flechettes punched into the neck of the first griffin that raced through. I raced past him as he fell to the floor clutching his neck, breaking for the second one. Ignoring the slew of bullets that pinged and rolled off of my ice armor, I sent another slurry of metal darts at him. He staggered back, clutching his side with his assault rifle shots (Ooh, he had a Heller & Coach G3, no time to discern which variant, untz untz untz!) going wild. Not dead, not yet. I lunged at him with Luna's Judgment, bashing him in the chest with the hooked end to topple him overs, then once again on the head (Oh that solid crack in time with the beat, oh that beat, yes that beat!). The last-

Oh Goddess a Heavy (No no, don't need to worry! I can take on an Ursa Major like this, I can take him! I'm high on music! Ohhhh, slowing time would help so much but no! No! No no no! Music, I wanted that music! Don't slow down, don't lose that beat, don't lost that beat!)! I broke sideways, ice muscle tendrils snapping down my legs as I cantered faster than he could turn to fire with the Ripper autocannon (I don't like you, no- your shots are blocking out the music! My music!). I leveled Luna's Judgment at his head and fired. No dice. Fired again. Nope. Fired a third time. No, not even the charm. Apparently their helmets were better-armored than their rears. He was starting to catch on as he realized he couldn't track me with the Ripper and instead lunged toward me with the intention of turning me to pulp with his power armor-assisted claw swipes and punches (Dumbass dumbass dumbass, challenging me- me- in close combat!). I shimmied around each strike, swaying my body to that lovely beat, bashing him repeatedly on the head with my crowbar. It wasn't enough to really hurt him (Are you kidding me?), but it was enough to buy me time to sprout a third arm and flash out my wicked, gleaming blade-

Oh, hey, no wait a second. Gleaming? Ribbed handles? Whoops, wrong one. That was Silver Skean.

I swiveled to the side and ducked down to dodge the Heavy's pitiful, sluggish attempts to get at me, buying me the split second I needed to slide my blade away and whip out Midnight Talon (There we go! Revel in the music, but don't let it mess your tempo!) with a Viper. I dodged inside of the Heavy's next punch and closed the distance, punching the blade through the temple and withdrawing cleanly. The armored griffin collapsed to the floor with an almighty crash. Another Dead Boy grappled me from behind (Damn it, Frost, get in the game! Don't let the tempo mess with your... tem...po... dammit! Think fast, act fast!). Big mistake. You never, ever try that on anypony trained like me (Lucky, Frost, you got lucky this time)! Never! Especially not me! I steadied my stance and swung and swayed in time with the music, jerking suddenly to throw off his grip and send him off-balance. I cut down with Midnight Talon, slicing his arm clean off. He was just beginning to scream (No, not over my music, damn you!) before I spun around, using my momentum and his weakness to send him tumbling to the floor. I stamped my hooves down on his head and it popped like an overripe tomato over me (Oh right. I still had ice muscles! [Wow, four Dead Boys and one Heavy down already! Hah, you're an animal, Frost, you're an animal! Wait... I'm thinking while thinking? Whoop, crap, sorry!]). Now as a snazzy beat filled my ears, I directed myself back to the rest of the building, rushing back into the fray. Azrael's Harbinger barely broke over music (Tolerable, it's tolerable...) as she approached the left side, suppressing the Dead Boys trying to swarm in there. Her Stalliongrad-green tracer rounds cut through the air like the neon beams that flashed from the center light display. Beat Blaze was taking cover behind the turntables, firing his energy pistol in time with the flashing beams of light (Smart smart smart, and it goes perfectly with the display like Azrael!). Grapevine spat out a stream of bullets with that M134D, indistinguishable from one another in a droning buzz as she drove back the ones trying to get in through the main entrance. By the way, do you know what a real Minigun sounds like when firing? It sounds like a fart (Yes, that's right- a fart. A fart of death! Aaaaaahahahahaaaa!)! I couldn't see nor hear any hint of Rig over the music- probably a good thing. That left the ones streaming through the entrance past the occasional pauses in Grapevine's Minigun fire for me (Maybe Rig or Beat Blaze? Nah, it's all me!). I roared out something about watching fire to the others and that I was going in. I don't know, something like that. There was a light spring to my sprint as I made way for the griffins hiding behind the shelves. Unable to push through with the Minigun pinning them down, I only needed to sweep and clear. Rushed past the first set. One griffin, female. Fired into her at point-blank, causing her to snap back and slump down to the floor, leaving a messy stain behind, weakly raising a claw to block my next strike (Did she really think that would save her? Huh?). I savagely beat down on her body with the crowbar, trading the hooked end with the blade as I bludgeoned and stabbed the lifeblood out of her again and again and again until the only twitches she made were from the force of my blows. Okay, move on. Second set. Three of them, all anticipating me this time- the first one had his carbine raised at my head (Oh, but he had his arm out- big mistake, big mistake!). Midnight Talon sliced off the carbine griffin (It was a- nah, forget it. No time to take in the details! Ooh, hey the music wound down a little.) as Luna's Judgment took down the next (I'm so awesome, multitasking like that!). The third dropped low, causing my next shot to miss (Bastard!) as I slashed back to decapitate the armless guy. I couldn't pump the action fast enough before he fired his own shotgun at me (Oh hey, he had a shotgun! Finally, there's someone else! Lever-action too!). Huh, wait, did something just crack? I didn't have the time to think about that and proceeded to fire off a quick pair of shots at him (Again, double-tapping a shotgun? Impossible? Not with me! Because I'm awesome like that!). He wasn't fast enough to dodge those.

The scratch of vinyl filled my ears (Probably the ears of everyone else too. Hey wait, I didn't ask for a change in music! No wait, that's just a part of the song. Moving on!) and ruined my tempo. It was also then that I noticed where that crack had come from. The last Dead Boy bastard was using slugs, and it had penetrated through my ice armor. Luckily, my breastplate took the impact of the otherwise lethal shot. Again, folks, few things in the Wasteland could hope to pierce through Lunar Guard armor.

Whoa. Did I just blow through all of that? Heh, sorry folks... was letting the memory of the music get to me. I'll proceed. Slower.

…

Ah, who the hell am I kidding? I was hyped and high on music back then! I couldn't slow down!

As the music transitioned into something appropriately rockier, I reformed my ice armor and made for the third set of shelves. They were ready for me this time (Ohhhh, smart smart smart! But not smart enough!). They were already backing away and the higher-caliber bullets were chipping at my armor now instead of glancing off (Nooo, don't want a repeat of last time, and can't let Her get hurt! You're an animal, Frost, but you're a clever animal, yes yes yes, the most dangerous kind!). I snarled and backed off, weaving back behind the last row I cleared. The memory of the griffins' positions still fresh in my mind, I leaped up clear over the top shelf (Hee! I still had ice muscles!) and came down hard on the griffin on the other side, landing forcefully to break his spine. The griffin beside me cursed something I could barely pick out and backed off, firing his handcannon at me (You fucker! You did that just as the riffs came back in! You! Will! Die!). Ignoring the crunch of my ice and the clang of the huge rounds against my Lunar Guard armor, I trained Luna's Judgment on him and rapidly fired a string of shots to silence him- far more than necessary (Because I'm an animal, fucker! And you messed up my music!). The first tore up his arm, causing him to drop his weapon. The second shred into his chest armor. The third, fourth, and fifth buried into his head with enough force to snap his neck and cause his head to lean back at an unnatural angle (Hee! Look at that! Look at how silly that looked! Look look look! Ahhh, and just as those “Oh ye-ye-yeahs” started kicking in...) as he fell to reveal the griffin far behind him, armed with a light machine gun (Oh, so you're the one who made me retreat last time! Well not now, fucker!). I kept up my overkill-level spray of flechette shells, roaring as we traded bark-like shots that mixed with the music and the crack of my ice armor. It ultimately held up better than the griffin's, who eventually staggered to the floor with blood leaking out of a great many holes in his form. That left the ones behind me-

What the fuck! They ran?! They retreated?! Cowards! I leaped over the shelf again-

They were waiting for me this time, big rounds tearing, tearing into my underside (Oh shit, my belly's not armored! Should I be worried? And they weren't retreating! They were regrouping!) as I landed hard on, on nothing (They backed out of the way! Worried, should be worried? No, no, no! They're firing over my music!). I growled as I opened up down one side and rapidly formed and flung an ice javelin down the other (Master of music and multitasking! No one gets away this time!). Luna's Judgment fired and fired and fired and clicked and clicked-

Wait.

Fuck!

I hissed and howled as I rushed the trio of LMG-armed griffins down the line, trying to draw away from me (Not fast enough, bitches!). Sliding the latch closed on Midnight Talon (Oh hey, I still had her out!), I popped her up into a hammer grip and threw her out, the dazzling flash of lights catching on her dimly reflective form before she caught the lead griffin in the head (Who's awesome? I am!). The hellhound claw-lined blade easily punched through the faceplate and the Dead Boy fell as I barreled toward the one on the right. I smashed my crowbar (Reload? Are you cuh-razy? I don't need to reload right now! And the guitar-heavy part came back on! I was gonna rock right with it!) into the side of his head past the faceplate, bringing it back against its momentum to bash at the other side. As he fell, I wasted no time on the third and last of the trio, who was now swinging at me with a power fist. I jerked out of the way, bringing my elbow down on her (Huh, another female! Why do they call themselves the Dead Boys, I wonder?) arm as it passed by, looking down and sublimating the ice on my helm as I did so. The effect? Her neck was yanked straight down- into the sharp, metal fin of my helm. The flashing rainbow of lights of the nightclub were muted behind a shower of red as the nearly-headless griffin bled out on me. I shoved her off, reformed my ice armor, and turned back toward the griffins on the other side. They looked absolutely pale beneath their feathers (Oh come on, I wasn't that scary was I?) and they, they-

Oh come on! It's no fun if you run away! They were running now (Why were they running? They were hardened mercs! I could understand raiders, but- gah! Focus!). One of them had been pinned to the floor by the javelin I threw earlier, the pegged wing preventing him from fleeing with the others. The others barely skirted past the row of shelves before another fart (of death!) sounded off and they were chewed up into black and red chunks of flesh by Grapevine. The pinned griffin looked from the gnarled remains of his comrades and back with me, and I could see the fear in his eyes past the faceplate. As I reloaded Luna's Judgment and pulled out Midnight Talon from the head of the fallen Dead Boy, I liked to think that the others were given a much more merciful death. He was still trying to scramble away, and he'd been firing tiny SMG rounds into me the whole time, even having time to reload as I took a few steps toward him with a toothy grin. The pinned griffin actually threw his empty weapon at me (He missed, by the way.), and he pulled out a-

Grenade! No, you fucker, you won't deny me of my satisfaction! I roared and pounced on him, string and synth mixing with his screams as I sliced off his arm with Midnight Talon, snatching both the dismembered limb and the grenade up and throwing them over the shelves as far away from me and toward the entrance as possible. I knocked off his faceplate and yanked his head backward as it detonated far away, wanting to see his face for all of this (His expression! Hah! I loved it! His eyes were tiny little pinpricks, and phlegm and tears mixed as he screamed and squawked over his missing arm! I loved it! Think of how funny it looked, seeing his upside-down expression with those upside-down tears and those upside-down boogers! Isn't it funny?!).

“Hold still!” I seethed, my vision sharpening over the curtain of blood, my balisong snapping rolling between my fingers with its handles still latched together. “It'll only hurt a lot!”

I howled with laughter and he howled in agony as my blade bit into his cheek, carving slowly, artfully around. His free wing beat uselessly against me as he tried to shake me off (Around and around Midnight Talon went, around and around she went!). His struggle ended only a few seconds through, and I pulled his face free, complete with his beak. I looked between the bloody thing I held in my icy hand and the faceplate I knocked off, satisfied with the similarity.

The song ended, and I was shocked out of my reverie, left gasping for breath as I finally started reforming my ice armor. I was jarred out of my fatigue as I remembered something- oh shit, all those rounds that punched through my ice. Not even my armor underneath could have blocked all of them, and I took this small breather to check myself.

Not a scratch on me. That was... unnerving. I definitely took hits to my belly, but no, not a scratch. I felt an uncomfortable ache on my right flank, however, strange as that was...

Oh music! Hello a... again? Um, this was unnaturally perky. It still energized me and sent me swaying lightly and thumping a hoof to the catchy beat. I knew this one. Light drums with a hint of vocals...

…

Are you kidding me?! We No Speak Eqüestriano?! Okay, I'll admit, it's a fun tune, but fitting for this? Hell no! And it couldn't do much to block out the sounds of the gunfire and shouts as a whole either! Aw, what a mood-killer! This needed correction! I cantered around the rows of shelves and made for the turntables (Huh, what happened to all the bodies? Pfft, oh well. Music more important!). Beat Blaze was firing angry red beams of energy from his energy pistol, and he ducked down behind the counter as I vaulted over beside him.

“What the hay's up with the music?”

“What's de situation?”

I blinked at him, and I think he blinked back at me behind those blood-red glasses.

“Oh, right, situation!” I spoke quickly. “Uhhh, I think killed half of them? Now, can we change the music? To, you know, something more appropriate?”

He stared at me for a while. “I tink it's for de best!” he yelled over the cacophony of battle. “Ya look like ya need to cool off!”

“I'm a cryomancer!” I couldn't help but laugh. “You think I need to cool off?”

“Ya know what I mean!” He paused to pop up and fire a few more shots before ducking back down. “What, ya ain't gonna ask what's happened with de rest of us?” “

“Sorry, it's the music!” I apologized, breathing out slowly, my heart still hammering as I unlatched Midnight Talon, closed her up with an aerial, latched again, and pouched her away. Sublimating the unnecessary third arm, I asked, “So what's the situation?”

“Two of my folks are down, boy!” he answered, flipping out the side panel of his energy pistol to swap in a fresh spark pack. “Twilight Sparkle, Sentinel, was dat an autocannon I heard back dere?”

“It was,” I answered, taking a moment to make sure I was topped up on ammo. It was then that I realized how quickly I was running out of flechettes. Needed to be a little bit less crazy and a little more conservative. “Took care of it, though.”

“Not before it took out two of my folks down, boy!” he growled, nodding up. I got the message and we both popped up, scanning around and taking shots. Wait... he managed to kill two of them as he was trying to get at me? No, Frost, think about that later. We both took aim to the right and fired. Now that I was close enough, I could hear the strange, high-pitched, and completely out-of-place sounds the energy pistol made as it fired. My shot caught a griffin in the chest, knocking him back for a follow-up shot that brained him. Beat Blaze's caught one as he ducked down, punching a smoldering hold through his head. His second barely clipped another in the wing and caused his entire form to glow a bright red before disintegrating into a pile of ash.

Hey, I said he was an old coot. I didn't say he was a senile cripple.

“Having second thoughts?” I asked as we ducked back down to reload.

“Boy, I know I still owe ya, but hell if my folks don't feel the same way!” The fire-maned unicorn yelled back. “Glowstick and Woofer Wobble beat it already, no sé what happened to 'em! And dat's not countin' Stool Steward!”

“So were down to five?” I asked.

“Yeah, dammit!” Beat Blaze nodded up again, and we both popped up once more, firing a couple of shots. Not caring too much for the music at the moment, I felt a wash of cool focus sharpening my aim as time drew to that familiar crawl. I was able to nail three of them to my friend's lone kill. Time snapped back and we ducked back down. “Showoff!”

“Incoming!” I perked my ears up with Rig's sudden shout as she clambered over the left turntables and scrambled to us. “Jeez, Frost, remind me to turn on the radio next time we're in a fight! You're insane!”

“Was that a compliment?” I blinked.

“Sure, let's go with that!” the armored mare replied voice oddly echoing behind that welder's helmet, levitating up Luna's Fortitude and quickly reloading thanks to the triple magazine. “Managed to get a few myself, though!”

“So... why are you over here?”

“Shit, forgot!” she cursed, popping over the counter. “Heavy incoming!”

Both Beat Blaze and I rose to see a Heavy lumbering around the front set of shelves, firing into a string of tables near the bar area where two of the nightclub workers were taking cover. They didn't stand a chance- they and their pitiful barricade were blown to bloody pieces. It turned towards us, Ripper swiveling towards the turntables.

Beat Blaze and I took aim and fired.

“Not the turntables, bitch!”
“Not de turntables, puta!”

Of course our fire was ineffective. So of course Rig decided to fire a grenade at the Heavy. With a muffled crack, the mounted BS-03 sent a HE grenade right into the juggernaut's face, the explosion actually setting fire to some of the nearby tables and sending debris flying and clanging everywhere. I actually ducked down beneath the counter, not expecting her to use such a weapon here.

“Did we get him?” Rig asked.

“Ya hit de guy in de face!” Beat Blaze exclaimed, laughing. “Of course, ya got him!”

“Please warn us,” I grumbled as I got back up, “namely me, before you do that again.”

The young mare winced. “Sorry...”

“Ease up, Sentinel, boy!” Beat Blaze smacked me on the shoulder. “She just saved de music!”

I sighed, then raised an eyebrow. “Has anypony noticed we haven't been shot yet?”

“That's partly due to the threat being neutralized.” I jumped in surprise, and soon the ebony griffin behind us found Luna's Judgment, an energy pistol, and Luna's Fortitude aimed at her (in that order). After seeing who it was, we all sighed in relief and pulled our weapons away. She certainly looked like she'd had her fair share of work tonight, her cloak spattered in red and Harbinger's barrel smoking before she kicked in the reload cycle.

“Don't... don't do that!” I scowled. “How do you keep sneaking up on me like that?”

Azrael simply pointed at the turntables. Oh, right. We were in a nightclub. By the way, I was really trying to restrain myself as the track switched to Naked Soul.

“So, we all clear?” Grapevine shouted from the bar. Judging from the casings littering the floor around her, she really had used up all the 7.62 NETO in Vealville!

“Looks like it,” Rig sighed in relief.

“Strange...” Azrael murmured. “The plainclothes sent out a signal for the Hunter unit. Where are-”

A sudden, shimmering distortion among the neon beams beside Azrael caught my attention, and I let the sudden rush of adrenaline it brought flow freely, time slowing down for me once more. That shimmer looked vaguely- scratch that- very equine in shape. And what looked like an arm was raised and looked primed to strike.

As if on cue, I thought to myself.

I reacted as if on autopilot. No hesitation. I sent a spray of flechettes toward the center-of-mass of the shimmer. Just as I expected, my instincts taking over like that.

What I didn't expect was a similar shimmer fluttering in the edge of my peripheral vision.

My focus snapped and everything whipped back up to speed- just in time for me to turn away. My ice armor crunched and something slammed hard into my helm, knocking me down to the floor. I only caught a glimpse of the thing I fired at as it warped into view, but that glimpse sufficed for my photographic memory to take a snapshot. A griffin, but... off. No wings. Powerful, digitigrade hindlegs that allowed it to stand up by their strength alone. A long, segmented tail with a wicked sickle-shaped blade. A beak with myriad holes drilled into it, as if for a speaker.

Eyes.

That was what made my frenzied heart skip a beat. The eyes were all wrong. They were perfectly round. There were no whites, no pupils, no colored irises. They were a single tone of yellow with an outer disk of a darker shade. Like a floodlight, I thought.

No, I realized. Like a photoreceptor.

A mechanical photoreceptor.

And then the rest of the features made sense. There were no feathers or fur. Just armor. Armor plating, smooth armor plating with narrow seams. Two arms, ending in fingers cruder than my own. One was equipped with a meter-long triple claw gauntlet. The other, a weapon of some sort with an ammunition belt snaking tightly along the arm to the back. A weapon with a set of three, long, thin barrels.

And then it warped back into nothingness and the others ducked to the floor as I fell with a clatter and a growl. The sound of shearing metal filled my ears as I shouted, “Hunters!”

“Where?!” Azrael shouted, all of us whipping to our feet.

I looked around, the shimmers lost to the bars of light. “Blaze, kill the lights and music!”

“On it, on it!” he shouted, horn glowing darkly as he brought the dance lights and speakers offline and the main lights online, the area bathed once more in a sterile white. My ears were ringing after such abuse and everything was suddenly eerily silent.

“Frost, what are you talking about?” Azrael hissed as we scanned the building for any sign of hostiles. “What was that?”

My eyes locked onto Grapevine, or what was left of her. Her body was slumped against the counter. Her head had been sliced cleanly off and was leaking blood that took on a ghastly hue in the powerful overhead lights.

“Frost!” Azrael called out again.

“They're machines!” I snarled. “They're machines, dammit! The Hunters are fucking machines!”

I saw something new in those eyes for the second time. An emotion that soon spread from her to me.

Fear.

“They know,” she whispered.

“Or they could have gotten lucky,” I spoke, hoping that was the case. “Rig, see anything on the E.F.S.?”

“Nothing!” Rig croaked. She was starting to get scared too. “Twilight Sparkle, Azrael, they've got heavy weaponry, they've got power armor, and now they've got machines that can go invisible to the naked eye and E.F.S.? What else do the Dead Boys have, huh?”

“What makes you think I know everything about them?” the griffin snapped at her.

“Because you used to-”

“Keep it down, eyes and ears open,” I whispered sharply. “Save it for later. Now, if you even think you see a shimmer or hear something else, you shoot! Stick close!” We appropriately backed up together. Rig flipped up her welder's helmet.

“Lightshow, Crank, aquí, ¡ahora!” Beat Blaze shouted, but shouted quietly. The two nightclub bouncers, still crouched under a makeshift barricade of tables, hurriedly made their way over to the turntables.

And then they dropped dead, heads riddled with holes.

Ho...ly... shit. Those Hunters had silenced weaponry!

Folks, I'm a gun enthusiast. I'm not talking suppressed weaponry here! I'm talking damn straight silenced! I only heard the sound of casings clanking to the floor in all of that! We all fired in their general directions, but we hit nothing!

I have to admit- I was more scared at that moment than I had been in a very, very long time. Beat Blaze was muttering curses under his breath, his glasses had slipped down just enough for me to see his eyes. They were pained.

“Fuck them,” he murmured. “Fuck dose Dead Boys...”

Screw it. As dependable as Luna's Judgment was, it wasn't as spray-friendly as Night Fang. I was just starting to pull her out when the horrendous screech of metal grinding on metal filled our ears. Steeling my nerves, I finished reloading and immediately fired at the source.

Nothing.

“Storeroom,” Beat Blaze whispered. “Head to the storeroom.”

“We'll get shot up!” Rig hissed.

“But den dey can only come at us through de door,” he reasoned.

Dammit, he was right. And who dares wins.

“How are your mags?” I whispered.

“Pues...”
“Um...”
“Partially emptied.”

“Reload, one at a time,” I spoke clearly and carefully. “All applicable weapons. Rig, you're up first- make sure you have a full triple mag. Then me, then you,” I turned to Beat Blaze, “then you.” Azrael. “Go!”

The earth-coated mare started teleporting out magazines, checking if they were completely full while the rest of us kept watch. It was a tense few seconds that seemed to drag on forever as my eyes and ears darted all over. Come on, Rig, come on!

“Loaded!” she whispered.

Now it was my turn, slotting a fresh drum into Luna's Judgment while simultaneously changing mags on Night Fang. Thank the Goddesses I learned how to use multiple ice arms without straining myself! Night Fang was at the ready as I checked the load on my shotgun. Only six shells. Cursing, I started slotting in single flechette shells from my saddlebags in pairs to speed up the process. One, two... three, four... five, six... seven... seven. Seven. I only had a grand total of thirteen flechette shells left in this drum and the other was partially emptied as well. Fuck!

“Loaded,” I uttered.

“Recargando,” Beat Blaze murmured, taking his turn as the rest of us kept watch. Why weren't they attacking? Were they toying with us? The fire-maned unicorn nodded to Azrael. “¡Vése usted, ahora!”

She was already reloading, and now for those tense ten, flat seconds.

One.

Eyes on the bar. Nothing moving.

Two.

Eyes forward, near the cash registers and first string of shelves. Nothing.

Three.

Eyes to the right. Nothing I could see.

Four.

Destroyed barricade. A rolling glass bottle, painfully loud in the silence.

Five.

Sprayed toward it, saturating the general area with .45 ACP. Nothing!

Six.

Speed-loaded a fresh mag in, eyes darting everywhere.

Seven.

Those inequine eyes staring at me, a barely shimmering head peeking around a shelf like a ghost. My heart skipped a beat.

Eight.

I fired wildly with Night Fang, trying to expose the machine. It ducked back, a single bullet out of the spray meeting its mark.

Nine.

Rig teleported out a grenade and sent it sailing, leaving the pin behind. I wish she'd cooked it...

Ten.

A light clang of metal, that grenade came sailing back for us! Now I really wish she'd cooked it!

“Grenade!” I shouted, all of us save Rig scrambling away. I snatched a glance back at the mare as her horn flared gray again. The metallic apple winked out and reappeared on the far end of the store, continuing on its path and exploding harmlessly.

Choice words. It did enough harm by splitting us up.

“Storeroom, go, go go!” I yelled, feeling bullets clang off of my ice armor as I dropped into a low gallop. I was about to thank the Goddesses for it when-

<====ooo*bla[43f19d]me*OOO*23jfg0$#2cv*ooo====>

-I saw a bullet streak for my eyes, glancing and rolling off of my sloped armor past me. I was ignoring it, raising my weapon before I heard a fleshy impact behind me.

<====ooo*(!)vv2431effwnnF*OOO*ifv16*ooo====>

No, I thought as I heard something clatter to the ground. No no no. Not again. I snapped my gaze behind me.

Again.

No... not again...

Beat Blaze was standing erect, standing still, his energy pistol dropped. The left lens of his glasses was shattered. The eye behind it was a black hole, blood slowly looking out. He wobbled unsteadily before collapsing to the floor.

“No!” I roared, screeching to a halt. “Blaze!”

“Frost, stop!” Azrael yelled. “Keep going, he's already gone!”

And then a screech of a different sort, a horrendous, grating screech. I snapped my head back to find the shadowy form of a Hunter sprinting for me, swiping its claw gauntlet. I tried to focus, tried to slow down time long enough for me to react, but the rush of unbidden memories brought with it a torrent of emotions that broke my concentration. I could only turn my head away as the claw connected cleanly, cracking through my ice but catching against my armor underneath. The force still bowled me over and sent me crashing to the floor. I roared and sprayed up at the machine with Night Fang, only succeeding in creating a series of small dents in its flickering form as it dashed away to hide. I formed another arm, priming an ice javelin and getting to my feet before another Hunter dropped down on me hard, knocking the wind from me and sending me back down before I could draw a bead. The second Hunter fled like its counterpart, but judging from the pained, grinding screech that coincided with the roar of Harbinger, Azrael nailed it.

I slowly pushed myself up to my feet, looking at the sparking form of the neutralized Hunter and to the body of Beat Blaze. Even as I let the coolness of my reforming ice armor give me clarity, I couldn't help but get washed up in the tide of emotions...

<====ooo*h[347]ate*OOO*4nGu15H*ooo====>

He was a young stallion. His coat was a shade of blue that could only be described as amiable, his mane standing up like a charring fire that matched the one behind his eyes. Dressed in only torn-up barding, his horn glowed dark, still aiming his rifle at me.

“Easy... easy...” I cautioned him. “Look, if I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it sooner. I'm here to help.”

Right words, right way. He lowered his weapon and sighed in relief, motioning behind him-

*||*||*

“No me gusta esta gente,” he muttered. We were seated in the middle of that classy restaurant amidst all the empty, hollow, superficial ponies. I felt guilty eating here, and I think he felt the same way. “No me gusta como la estación de radiodifusión tuvo que estar aquí de todos lugares.”

“Igualmente,” I sighed in reply, shifting slightly in my seat. Our words were drawing odd looks from those seated at the tables around us, “pero lo es un precio pequeño pagar para La Buena Guerra. ¿Sale vale?”

Beat Blaze let out a soft sigh, smiling. “Sale vale. Alright, I think we can cut la linga. Let's get dis done before-”

*||*||*

“Ahhh, Sentinel, boy!” Beat Blaze laughed as we clasped hooves and we smiled like old chumps. Old... he really did look older. So much older... but that fire still burned bright behind those eyes as he lowered those glasses. “¿Otra negocios?”

“As usual,” I answered, and away we went to the storeroom, the thumping tunes and blaring beats following us as he waved a replacement to the turntables.

“So,” he turned around, magically closing the door behind us, “what is it dis time, eh?”

“Hunting again,” I answered. “I've got a hard target. Sewn Britches. Heard of him?”

“Again with de hunting, boy...” He shook his head sadly. “Yeah, we've been through dis talk already, ya know? Ya know. Ya don't wanna hear it again, I know dat look. Hey, I never heard of him, never seen him.” He nodded back at the maneframe behind him. “But I know where to start lookin'.”

I nodded plaintively, unable to help but glance away as he went to the terminal...

<====ooo*1#4214sFwdiv{inity}eunder*OOO*beneaththegreen*ooo====>

Sorrow boiled away, leaving only rage behind as I let out another horrible roar. I was going to wipe out those fucking Dead Boys, and I was going to fucking enjoy it! And I was going to start with that last Hunter. I didn't care if it was a machine and that I couldn't revel in its pain. It didn't care if it didn't even have a life for me to take! But if I could stomp the hell out of its plating, then by Goddesses I would do it and I would enjoy it!

That shadowy bastard crept around the side of the bar with a greasy creak. My ice javelin nearly took its head off, and it raced fast out of the way as Rig and Azrael sent a grenade and shock rounds after it. Fuck, I hated how fast those things were! Its stealth field deteriorated as it ran, but it was already behind the shelves, out of sight, and out of our line of fire. Azrael fired blindly (I paused to think how cruelly fitting that was) for a few more seconds, but it seemed she hit nothing.

“Frost...” I could hear Azrael start speaking.

“Get. To. The storeroom.” My voice was a bit shaky.

“Frost, we-”

“Get to the storeroom!” I snarled at her.

Rig was wide-eyed, looking at me and still panting softly. Azrael stood her ground but slowly nodded. The griffin tapped Rig once on the shoulder to get her attention, and they cautiously but quickly made their way to the back. Once they were safely inside, I turned to more pressing matters- that last Hunter.

“Frost.” She was at my side once more. “Please, calm yourself.”

“Love, this isn't a good time,” I spoke as calmly as I could.

“No, it is the best time,” She spoke, firmer now, scathing even. “Remember the last time things got personal? Remember the last time you let your anger consume you? It's only been little over a day, love!”

“But he was my friend!” I growled, all sense of subtlety lost. I lurched Night Fang up as a bottle crashed to the ground. I hosed the area down, teeth gritted. Nothing. “Dammit!”

“I know,” She said, keeping firm. “But think rationally for a moment. The Hunters kill intelligently. They aren't mindless machinations. They're creative.”

A record scratched on the turntable, and I raised Night Fang to fire again only to find Her hoof pressing down on the weapon. I scowled at Her for a moment only to realize I had almost destroyed my friend's most cherished possession.

I also realized that I was hearing a distant casing hitting the ground.

My eyes shot wide-open and my rage slowly ebbed away. Cold clarity took its place. All that time they've just been shooting the objects to confuse us...

“That Hunter's smart,” She breathed easy and smiled now that I relaxed. “You- we need to outsmart it.”

I slowly turned my lips up into a light smile. for a moment before nodding, eyes forward. She was at my side now as we headed down the aisles... past his body... and toward the opposite end of the store.

A Dash inhaler clattered to the floor. I perked my ears up, as did She. A distant ping rose above the eerie silence off toward the cash registers. She pointed that way, and I nodded in agreement.

And I still had ice muscles.

I leaped high into the air, sailing toward the cash registers and landing with an impact sufficient enough to shatter the tiled flooring underneath my hooves. I glanced toward the right, where we both heard the sound.

“Any ideas?” She asked.

“Always,” I answered.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled sharply, a cloud of chilling mist bursting from my body. It settled around the area, coating everything in a thin layer of moisture. And sure enough, it settled around a crouched, vaguely griffin-like shape slowly making its way toward me.

Poor bastard never saw it coming.

The mist deposited on the machine as it tried to flee, icing it down into place as it struggled to get away. I winced as it let out that ear-splitting screech while I kept it tugged down with ice tendrils formed out of the floor, binding its limbs. It trained its unnatural gaze upon me as I neared.

She gasped, “Wait! Mind the-”

Gah!

“-aah, tail!”

The Hunter had lashed out with its whip-like tail, the sickle at the end striking me in the face with enough force to punch through the ice and slice me. I promptly formed an ice tendril from the mist that snaked around the appendage and pulled it down.

“Sorry,” She apologized meekly, hissing from the gash on her cheek that mirrored my own.

“Tails... always gotta mind the tails,” I murmured. Slugging down a healing potion to mend our wound (I idly wondered how the hell it had been the only one I'd consumed tonight), I reloaded Night Fang and pointed Luna's Judgment at the thing's head.

…

No, I only had so many flechette shells left. Save them for another encounter. I slung my weapons away and brought out Midnight Talon.

“Can I enjoy this?” I asked Her. “Please?”

“Oh, I don't see the harm...” She murmured. “Go ahead.”

I sighed, smiling as I raised the blade up, popping her open with a helix (Love that move).

And the Hunter beeped.

Hm?

It beeped again. Again. Againagainagain-

Oh shit!

I kicked backwards, clearing the area as fast as possible as the Hunter exploded! It freaking exploded! Not a big explosion, thankfully, but I was really glad I had my ice muscles still on!

Landing in a floor-shattering crunch once more, I shouted, “Are you alright?!”

“I'm fine, don't worry,” She spoke calmly, walking through the smoke. “See?”

I sighed in relief, grumbling as She trotted to my side, “Pardon my Prench, but Lady Luck's a griffin. And she's been giving me the finger. Again, and again, and again.”

“You're pardoned.” She smiled lightly. “Well, that's that. All of them, right?”

The storeroom door swung open and slammed closed in a flash, causing us both to snap our heads to it.

“Oh hell no!” I growled, making a break for it as shouts and gunfire sounded off.

I was almost to the door when Azrael burst through it, knocking it off of its (supposedly reinforced!) hinges and barreling past me.

“Run!” the griffin shouted, and though I was a bit shocked by Her sudden disappearance once more, I turned back to see what was the matter. I saw Rig lying dazed on the floor... and a third Hunter pressed against the maneframe, beeping rapidly!

“Rig, move!” I yelled, diving away from the doorway and scrambling as far as I could.

She hustled to her feet, cursing “Shit, shit, shi-!”

The explosion was much more enormous than the first Hunter's, fueled by the maneframe. I shielded my face as the blast wave sent me sprawling and rolling across the floor in a daze. My ears were ringing as I pushed myself up and checked myself. I was still in once piece and my ice armor hadn't been compromised. But sweet Twilight the room's walls had been blown open! Dust choked the lights overhead, leaving every thing in tones of sepia.

“Rig!” I yelled. “Azrael!”

“I'm,” the griffin paused to cough several times as she approached me, covered in silt and debris with her cloak riddled with holes, “I'm alright!”

“Rig?” I turned in the direction of the settling smoke cloud, seeing the hazy outline of... a crumpled, equine form.

Oh no, please no.

I raced for her along with Azrael as she flopped onto her back with a pained groan. She was alive, please let her be okay, please let her be...

She was missing a leg.

She was missing a leg!

She was missing her Goddessdamn right foreleg!

“No...” I sat down hard, gripping the sides of my head. “No no no no!” I bolted up, finding it amidst the broken plaster and glass. I snatched it up in a fresh ice arm and rushed to her as she squinted and gritted her teeth. The dust that hung in the air made her indigo eyes look so, so dull. “Rig, stay with me, talk to me! Talk to me!” I slapped her cheek lightly with my hoof. “Talk to me!”

“F-Frost...?” she sputtered, starting to look down.

“No, no, no no, don't look, don't look,” I told her. I needed to keep her from going into shock, needed to keep her talking. “Keep talking to me, Rig. Just keep talking to me.” I dug into my saddlebags, searching for a super restoration potion. If we administered one quick enough and reattached the limb, we could save it. Come on... ammo, food, healing potions...

Nothing. I only had basic healing potions.

“Frost...” Rig looked at me with a sad, dejected look.

“Dammit, just keep talking to me!” I panted, heart hammering away, turning away up to the griffin. “Azrael, we need a super restoration potion now!”

“I don't have any,” she spoke calmly (Why?!). “We don't need any right now.”

“Idiot!” I snarled at her. “Of course we need one right now!” I turned back to Rig for a moment. “Come on, keep talking to me!” I snapped back to the griffin. “Fuck if we don't need one! Run to the general store and get one!”

“Frost,” Azrael repeated slowly, deliberately, “we don't need any right now.”

I was mystified, stupefied by her insistence. I was about to retort again when-

“Frost,” Rig spoke softly, her hoof tapping at my shoulder. “It's okay.” I looked back down at her. She looked shamed. Why? “It's... okay.”

I looked at the stump where her leg tore away and to the limb I clutched in my hand. An overwhelming, dreadful cold seized me and I dropped it, scrambling away, my panting and heartbeat erratic.

From her leg and the stump was no blood. No bone.

Just gears.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level

Rig- Level up! Level 6 Reached!
TRAIT REVEALED: Advanced Cyber- You are more machine than equine, yet neither twisted nor evil (unless you're just that type of pony). You have a 35% bonus to damage resistance (up to a maximum of 85%), damage threshold, and poison resistance in areas replaced with cybernetics. Your robotic limbs also grant you a +1 to Strength and a +10 bonus to Unarmed. However, you are more susceptible to EMP and shock weaponry and have a 75% chance of becoming nearly immobilized by such weapons. You also have a -1 penalty to Charisma and a -10 penalty to Barter and Speech skills. You also take 30% more damage in areas still organic due to their increased sensitivity.

Azrael- Maximum Level

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Yellow Line
Soundtrack- We No Speak Eqüestriano by Yolandalusian Be Cool and Buttercup
Soundtrack- Naked Soul
Soundtrack- Hunter Unit

Author's Note

My thanks go to Kkat, Somber, Mimezinga, and all the wonderful ponies of the FoE Sidestory Proto Doc and forums. A special thank you to ErrantIndy for looking over this for me. I promise you a little something later on. Lastly, thank you for reading. Critique is always appreciated.

Chapter Eleven: The Secrets That You Keep

Chapter Eleven: The Secrets That You Keep

So. Awake now? Heh... thought you'd all be after a big action segment like that. It's getting late, though, folks. There's no denying that. Good thing this next part's a little less intense. Otherwise...

The storyteller chuckled huskily.

… well, you'd be sleeping like I do. And let me tell you, the first time pulling a three-hour is not fun.

But let's get straight to it, shall we?

Melt away.

* * *

Gears.

Those Goddess-awful gears. Rig... was full of them, wasn't she (I hoped Rig was still a “she”)? The memory of the nightmares came surging back in a torrent, joining the swirling vortex of mingling emotions I felt within that hour alone.

I only just noticed the young mare was trying to talk to me when she tapped my leg again. “Frost... are you okay?” She was sitting up now, an empty healing potion bottle slipping back into her saddlebags and the light gashes on her right leg and face from the explosion sealing up.

And then a flashback to Rig's first encounter with raiders opened another tributary to those roaring waters in my mind.

I hated reversals.

I nodded weakly. It was all I could muster as she wrapped her separated leg in her gray aura and brought it to her... her stump. She carefully micromanaged the wires and rods, her horn flaring slightly brighter as she used her soldering spell to reconnect the limb.

I finally found the words. They came out rough and raw. “Rig. What. Are. You?”

She paused in her work, looking up with a sad glaze over her gaze. “I'm still a pony, aren't I?”

I hated reversals.

“Forgive me for interrupting during an unpleasant time,” Azrael spoke softly, “but I suggest we leave town. Now. We can discuss things later.”

I turned to her, my mind reeling mind slowly pulling back into calm, cool focus. Slowly. “But... but what about...?” I slowly turned my head toward Beat Blaze. The blood flowing from his eye was black as ichor in the dust-choked light. Rig was standing over him and- “No!” I snarled at her, my rage surging back. She was starting to look up at me as I ran up to her and shoved her aside roughly. She skid a good several meters or so before colliding with what was left of the back wall.

“Frost!” she yelped. “What the hay?!”

“You will not loot his body!” I roared at her.

Azrael merely kept her unsettling gaze upon me while Rig slowly turned away and slumped a little, nodding. She shakily got to her feet and only looked back at me for a moment before averting her gaze, grunting in pain.

It was then that I realized I still had my ice muscles on. I hadn't bothered to sublimate them as I...

My rage evaporated in an instant. “Oh dear Goddess... Rig...” I quickly reduced all my ice to mist.

And then pain. So much agonizing pain. Pain like-

<====ooo|||

No! Don't go back there! The pain. It staggered me, made me wince. It was everywhere, focused on my legs and belly. Raw, burning pain.

But it was nothing, nothing compared to before, before...

<=|||

Stop. Thinking about that. You've had worse, Frost. Deal with it. There are more pressing matters.

“Rig,” I sputtered, biting back the searing heat, the only kind I could manage, “I-I'm...”

“Frost, we've been there before,” she sighed, limping even more so than usual toward Azrael. “I get it. I'm okay, mostly just metal stuff there anyways...” My terrible feeling only worsened as I looked at her. Though her leg was reconnected, it was far from working condition and was locked in place. The armor of her reinforced engineering suit was still sheared off, and her skin and coat, or... whatever it was that looked like her skin and coat... hadn't healed. The wires, pistons, and... gears... were left exposed around where it connected to her shoulder.

Azrael regained our attention, repeating, “We can discuss things later. We need to leave immediately.”

Rig slowly nodded to her.

I sighed, “Just let me...” I paused, closing my eyes. “Just let me at least deal with his body. Please.”

Azrael shifted slightly. “Of course.” Those words came out jaded, yet I detected a hint of understanding behind her tone. “Do it fast. The Dead Boys are likely to have been alerted to our presence in the area and we must vacate it. That, and the townspeople-”

“Are pissed.”

The three of us shifted to see a large group of ponies and a few griffins. They glowered at us, and the sepia tone of the dust only made them look eerily featureless, like emissaries of the big, empty bastard himself. It unsettled me greatly.

“Get the fuck out of town,” the one closest to us growled. “Now.”

“Just... just let me...” I moved toward Beat Blaze, moved weakly.

“We'll handle it,” another featureless pony hissed. “Get. Out.”

I opened my mouth to protest. I knew I could find the right words, the right way. A large, heavy hand on my shoulder silenced me before I even began. I looked up to Azrael, looking down at me with those nearly empty eyes.

I found myself powerless and the words ceased to flow.

I turned back to the masses and nodded, relenting.

* * *

It was agonizing, but I dealt with it. The pain. The pain was agonizing, the pain I dealt with. That's what I meant. Minimize it, focus on the center. Compartmentalize the feeling, let it throb into dullness. Tuck it away.

We fled Vealville, heading north, north. Yes, north. We were taking shelter in a cave- empty this time, empty this time. Nothing to fight. Just a cave. Smooth rock. No, no, cracked rock. Uneven rock.

I just, I just felt drained. No music. No dazzling lights. No adrenaline. I was crashing. My body, my mind just seemed to sag, threatening to tug me down to sleep.

“Frost?”

Rig's voice. Was Rig a she or an it? Just a pony she said... right? She, then?

“Frost?”

Louder this time.

My eyes. Open wide, eyes. Focus.

We fled north from Vealville and took shelter in a cave. The stone was uneven, unfriendly. Spires of rock jutted from the mouth of the cave as if they were the teeth of some giant beast waiting to swallow us up. It was still dark outside- probably only the first few hours of the new day. One of them had started a fire, probably Rig. I was seated further away from it. My gaze traveled to meet theirs. Rig was still working at her leg. It was moving now, but it moved in erratic jerks that were such a far cry from the natural fluidity of a normal limb.

And so my gaze met hers. She flinched and looked away.

“When were you planning to tell us?” I asked. My voice was flat, hard, without feeling, without warmth. I hadn't the energy to change it. “Were you even planning to tell us at all?”

“No,” Rig sighed, closing her eyes. “I wasn't. But the moment Azrael started talking about how the only things she couldn't read were machines and ghouls, I just thought one thought and...” She sighed again, dropping the aura surrounding her horn and letting her head fall into her good hoof, rubbing eyelids.

I turned to the griffin. “So you knew all this time,” I said, not asked.

She made no comment.

“Were you even planning to tell me either?” I asked, not said. Tired. Sagging.

“No,” Azrael answered, her voice even, calm, soft, collected, hateful. “Given how she mentally pleaded me not to inform anyone else after I discovered it, I decided to keep my beak closed on the matter. Her reasons are valid. I didn't see it as necessary for you to know it in any case. From your reaction, I was clearly mistaken.”

Back to Rig. “Why?”

She looked back up at me for a second before resuming work on her leg. She pumped her hoof back and forth, and it moved smoothly this time. She slammed it down on the earth with a grunt, sending out a crack as the stone crunched slightly. The young mare flexed her leg experimentally and turned back to me.

“It's complicated.” The alibi never to be used. It never worked.

“Oh?” I huffed.

“Look, it's a long story, okay?” Rig sighed, rubbing her eyelids once more. Yet another alibi that never worked.

“Are you tired?” I asked. My voice made for a very, very rude, challenging tone. That worked at least.

“No.” She pulled her leg away and looked out toward the mouth of the cave.

“Well, I'm tired as hell,” I spoke plainly, “but I'm perfectly capable of staying up right now. I'm all for long stories. Bring it on.”

Rig sighed yet again in a what was going to be a night of sighs. “I'll have to start with Stable Three.”

When she didn't continue, I cocked an eyebrow for a moment. “And?”

Rig huffed and pulled her lips up into a light smirk.

It wasn't lovely.

“I was just trying to see if you were hungry,” she spoke.

Oh wow, that. Azrael raised a near-invisible eyebrow for a moment before the other raised as well. She was regarding me now.

“Appears not,” I said simply.

“Are you going to judge me again for my storytelling ability?” Rig smirked wider.

And there was that lovely smirk, at least a semblance of it.

“Probably.”

And now that smirk was gone as she began, “The first thing you have to know about Stable Three and the first thing that they- by they, I mean every one in the Stable-” I noted her word choice there but let her continue, “drilled into your head the moment you could read was that it was a Stable of equality. What I mean is that Stable Three wasn't just for ponies.

“It was for zebras too.

“Stable Three is, after all, the Zebratown Stable. And since the moment you were born, you were taught that we were all equals, at least, uh, except the Overseers.”

Overseers. I raised my eyebrows at that.

She caught that. “I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it. Like I said, equality. That's what Stable Three is founded on. They don't just spout it out, they mean it. All public utilities and events are shared alike between ponies and zebras and stallions and mares. Sports, competitions, public areas, workspaces, the public restrooms even. That brings me to the Overseers. There's two Overmares and two Overstallions- pony stallion, pony mare, zebra stallion, zebra mare. For the sake of breaking stalemates on agreements, there's also a fifth Overseer, this one a zony. The gender didn't matter, but it has to be a zony. And yeah, that does mean that Stable Three encourages pony-zebra couples.

“At Stable Three, ponies, zebras, and zonies did everything together. We ate together, played together, learned together- oh, learning Equestrian and Zebrikaans are both taught, by the way. I knew what you were saying to Xamuros because of that. Oh, uh, right. Back to... yeah. We also especially worked together. Because of the diversity of the Stable occupants, Stable-Tec thought that we should have a work setting just as diverse. That came in the form of R-n'-D, research and development. The science teams did some pretty wacko things in the research labs. I don't know all of the details, but hey, I saw some pretty wacko stuff. Ponies and zebras trying to combine their technologies, for instance. There were even teams trying to find a way to negate the effects of the Pink Cloud. A lot of hassle whenever we needed to help them get samples...”

“Wait, what?” I stared at her. “Samples?”

“Yeah... about that,” Rig sighed again. “Remember when I told you Stable Three was meant to stay closed indefinitely? It was... something that I was told to lie about if anyone asked about our Stable. See... even though the security team and me were the first to set foot outside, Stable Three never remained closed for long. Zebra engineers and scientists collaborated with ponies to create robots fitted with instruments to take samples and readings and whatnot. They even did experiments. Like with trying to see if they could nullify the Pink Cloud for instance. Oh, we had a really diverse robotics department in the Stable by the way. Really, really diverse.”

“Did the science teams ever develop this nullifying agent?” I asked.

“Well... yeah, but from what I heard, it only delayed the effects,” she answered. “You could maybe hop in with the null pulse shield for maaaaaaybe three seconds without anything happening. After that, you'd start melting. Real slowly, yeah, but you'd melt.”

“I see. Forgive me, but how did you manage to get all the materials for all of this research and development? And were there any other notable projects?”

“Zebra-pony arcanotech.” She smiled. “Zebras first because they contributed the most. Creation tech. It's a special thing the science teams invented and perfected. The way it works is... ohhh, it's probably too complicated for you to understand...”

“It is,” Azrael spoke at last. “Just think about it Rig, I'll try to explain it as best I can.” A pause. “Alright, creation technology works through a wearable device called a creation gauntlet. It's formed of a miniature spark reactor and an arcanotech manifold. Through an interface similar to that of a PipBuck, one can reconstitute atmospheric molecules into different ones and piece them together. Quite simply, you could create objects literally from thin air.”

I started feeling less tired all of a sudden. That was impressive.

“Yeah, that's a really dumbed down version of it, but that's how we fixed the materials problem,” Rig said, nodding. “Of course, thin air is a luxury in a sealed environment. We had to redesign the outlying portions of the Stable with air intakes in order to make sure we had enough. Every so often, we'd need to take in air and purify it, and it was a potentially dangerous process because of the danger of Pink Cloud getting into the system. Every one was instructed to seal themselves in secure areas during these events. They generally happened around... once a month, I guess.

“Now, other projects? Well, I've heard bits and pieces. Mainly it was dealing with the Pink Cloud and the radiation we detected in the dying world around us. Sorry, but that wasn't my department. But that was Stable Three for you, and honestly it sounds nothing like what you described for your Stable, Frost.”

“No,” I spoke, agreeing, “it's not. Now how does this tie in with you and your unwillingness to talk about your... yourself? And for that matter, are you...?”

“A pony?” Rig sighed again. “Yeah... I'm a pony. A cyber, but a pony.

“Now, uh... about my life in Stable Three. I was one of the more popular kids in my class. I was the first to get my mark, and I was smart yet sociable. Well... if I do say so myself.” She chuckled a little. “I went to all the parties, trotted around in my little clique, played with all the cool kids in the atrium... you know, foal stuff. I really miss those days...”

“But eventually, I had to grow up and take up a trade. My trade turned out to be tinkering with things.” She glanced at the open toolbox that adorned her flank, smiling now. “No wonder I became an engineer and repairpony, and I loved it. Karia was an awesome mentor, and a zebra one too. She was a bit spaced-out at times, but she was fun to be around. I learned a lot from her. I had to learn work-related magic from this cranky stallion that just had a pissy attitude all the time, though. I guess it was his name, Crankshaft, or something like that which made him mad all the time. The guy was real, real tough on me. Hated learning from him, but I saw the results. I could lift heavier objects with my telekinesis- often multiple objects simultaneously. And teleportation was actually pretty fun to learn too. Crankshaft was pretty pissy at me for not being able to teleport myself or even any living thing, but since I learned how to teleport multiple objects real quick one after the other, that sure shut him up. At least until he taught me the soldering spell. Ugh, that was tough...

“Me and Karia worked in maintenance mostly, other times doing on-call stuff like accidental lockouts and whatnot. Hmph, and believe me, you get some pretty weird calls in a Stable as diverse as Stable Three. Okay, some random pony locking him or herself out of his or her apartment wasn't too bad, but having to learn to hack a terminal because some science guy forgot his password? I tried to tell the science guy to call a technician or something, but they were the technicians. I mean, what the hay! That... was how I learned my way around computers, though. But yeah, just a few other odd jobs here: plasma sludge clogging a ventilation shaft, using an arc welder to provide energy for a chemical reaction, and- get this- PipHat. Um... yeah. I don't get it either. Point is- never a boring week. The work was hard, but the hours were good. I still partied with my the cool kids, now cool adults. I still hung out with my cliques, the good stuff.

“So... how did all this happen?” Rig gestured at herself, mainly at her mechanical leg, with a sigh. “Well... we had a reactor problem. You'd think that with all the research labs running around the clock there'd be a huge toll on our spark reactors, and you'd be right. Me and Karia were just supposed to work with another team to see what was the matter with that reactor. We were running the diagnostics, trying to find the problem, troubleshooting, and doing all the other usual stuff. When we finally got to work, well...”

The earth-coated unicorn sighed throwing her forelegs up helplessly, weakly, “I... I don't know what happened. Karia said she was having some trouble on her end and said she could fix it. She said she was sure. Then... it just exploded.” She shook her head. “The reactor just exploded. Thank the Goddess for the fail-safes that dulled it down, but it still wiped out the research lab directly above us and Karia and the other engineering team. I didn't even know there was an explosion. Everything just went black all of a sudden.”

Rig just shook her head again. “When I came to, I was scared shitless, waking up to see an operating lamp shining down on me with zebras and ponies in scrubs looming over me. Then I realized something was wrong. I just felt... off. I couldn't feel much from most of my body and my eyes didn't feel right. And then I looked.”

The young mare bit her lip, closing her eyes, lids and lips trembling. “Fuck, j-just... just fuck, dammit! Do you know how much is actually left of me?” She traced around her forehead along with her horn. Her hoof went down the left side of her muzzle, down to her neck, down to her left foreleg. “That's it.” Her eyes flashed open, burning with rage. “That's it! That and my fucking spine! When they asked if I wanted to see the picture of before, hell no I didn't want to see the picture! I didn't want to see what I looked like, just parts and piece of a head, a leg, and a backbone! Do you know what I looked like after the operation?”

Rig fiddled with her PipBuck until it showed a picture file of...

Oh dear Goddess....

It was a picture of her face. The skullcap region along with her horn was folded inward neatly were it joined with a smooth, metal... face. Her eyes were just lenses that more resembled the apertures of a camera rather actual ones. The right side of her face a bit past the eyes was tucked in under the metal just like her forehead, going down to her neck and further to her right foreleg. Everything else was just metal. I shuddered, the image conjuring a deep-seated fear within me.

Rig threw up her forelegs helplessly again, letting them fall limply back down. “That's what I am underneath all this fake stuff! I have no fucking pulse, Frost! I don't have to breathe, I don't have to blink, I don't even have to piss or take a fucking dump! Just eat, they said! The replacement digestive tract was perfectly efficient for all food, they said! I've just been pretending to do so all this time with you, Frost! Just... I don't even have my mare parts anymore! I don't even have my cutie-mark!”

I swallowed hard. Cutie-marks speak volumes of who we are as ponies. They were representations of our life's calling. To have it taken away...

“I was off for a month for therapy, and all the while they said all that crap about everything going back to normal,” Rig just laughed heartlessly. “Normal? Normal?! Did that look normal to you, Frost? Normal to be walking around a Stable? I looked more like a fucking monster from a sci-fi movie than a pony! How do you think my friends took me, huh? Do you think I could hang out with the cool stallions and mares? Parties? Hang out with my cliques? No, hell no! Nopony, nobody took my side! Everyone just, just backed away and just stared! I hated that! They'd try to look away, but then they'd just stare! Because I was that fucking monster from a sci-fi movie, because I was a freak of nature, n-not even nature!”

That young mare, the poor young mare slumped down, rage ebbing away. “My therapists and counselors tried to help. What could they do? I was the first cyber ever in our Stable and even though the science teams created this synthetic skin and hair, somehow made it able to grow back if torn, people still stared.” She sniffed, or rather just inhaled sharper than usual. “I tried to act normal, but everyone still knew. Even if they tried to warm up to me, nothing was the same. Everything didn't just go back to normal. Not even my parents treated me the same way. I was so alone...”

Rig was quiet for a while, sighing softly. “The reactor explosion turned out to have more implications to it than first thought. A portion of the reactor punched straight into life support and cracked the water talisman. Now, the backups were used already for research experiments, and as luck would have it, the lab above the reactor when it exploded had our only two talisman experts in it. We were fucked, and we finally needed to set foot out of the Stable to get a new one after we pushed it to create as much water as possible before it fragmented. The Overseers called for a security and engineering team to exit the Stable in search for a replacement, more if possible. We've been keeping tabs on the world outside. We knew the hell it's become, we knew the dangers, or at least we thought we knew. But you can bet that I was the first one to volunteer for the team. I was the only one to volunteer for the team. What did I have to lose? Really?”

Rig looked up to me with those indigo eyes, lovely yet hollow. “So we set out in search for the nearest Stable with orders not to give away the location to our own, not to say that it regularly opens. You know the rest. Sewn Britches tricked us, yadda, yadda, yadda.” She sighed yet again. “Frost... I'm not sure you realize this, but-

“Three raiders approaching the mouth of the cave,” Azrael interrupted.

“Oh, for fuck's sake!”

The cyber teleported out her Spetsnaz shovel and threw it out at the entrance while simultaneously winking out her KP-22 machine pistol. I snapped my head towards the cave entrance just in time to see a raider catch the thrown weapon in the face, the spade splitting her head open. I rose, sprouting an ice arm to whip out Night Fang while Azrael crunched to her feet.

Rig yelled, “I want my emotional moment, and, by golly, I'm gonna have one, dammit!”

If anything, throwing shovels to the head from ten meters away tend to either amaze or scare the crap out of anyone watching. Between Rig's KP-22 and my lightning-fast trigger finger, the raider behind her was torn up and the third one wisely fled.

“Finally get to use this thing...” Rig murmured, changing mags and stowing her weapon away as I did the same. We all settled back down to our original positions. “Look, Frost... coming out here to the Wastes made me realize that because of this... fake stuff... I can be normal again, or at least be normal enough to be recognizable. Outside of the mare I was chained with while I was with Sewn Britches, you two are the first good people I've met since the accident. You don't associate yourselves with the 'cool' crowd or have your own cliques. You're not empty and hollow like those pricks back home in Stable Three. You're genuine.” Oh. Well that stung. “You're... you're real, and you've both been amazingly nice to me. I mean, I was taught that the world outside was full of hate and misunderstanding, yet no more than a few days since we met, I came to meet a zebra that could've just been another person at home in Stable Three for crying out loud! Frost... you, Azrael, Thunderhooves, Xamuros, and Sly are the first friends I've made since I lost my original body. And, really, you're the first true friends I've ever made, maybe aside from Karia. I just hope what I am doesn't change how you view me, because I can't go back. I... I just can't go back to Stable Three. I just can't. I'll get them their water talisman to finish the job but... what is there for me when that's done? Safety, maybe? I'd rather be out here, where at least there's a chance for people to give a damn about who I am rather than what I am.

“There.” She looked up at me. “That's why. Satisfied?”

I answered by standing up and walking closer to the fire, ice crinkling over me as I sat down beside her. “More than. It makes sense now. Your unsteady limp because of your last remaining leg, your mean right uppercut...” I was happy to see that got a light smile from her, “and how you answered me after I nearly got my hindlegs blown off. And your response to Azrael when she came up to my place.” I laid a hoof on her shoulder. “Rig. You're still a pony. You're not a monster, not just on what you are alone. Real monsters are the ones that come from within, not from without.”

She looked at me, her PipBuck still displaying the image of what laid beneath the earthy coat. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do.” I nodded.

“And you already know my stance on it,” Azrael finally spoke up.

Rig looked between the both of us and shuddered. “Aw, dammit, you two! I'm so happy I could just cry!” She sighed, starting to tilt to the side. “Boohoo... yeah, none of that happening. No tear ducts and all that load of crap. Goddess, I'm so tired right now... but really... thanks.”

“Well... it's been a long day and night,” I said, pulling my hoof away from her. “Get some rest, both of you. I'll take first watch. I need to spread out ice tendrils anyway.”

“But I...” she paused to yawn, starting to slump a little more, “didn't even get a critique...”

“You don't need one,” I whispered as she drifted off. “You don't need one.”

* * *

I was dead tired. I wanted to rest, but I couldn't. I couldn't let myself. Not yet. There was one matter still left to deal with. Once Azrael was asleep, I slipped outside once more and took to the roof of the cave.

She was waiting for me.

“I could get used to nightly talks like this.” She smiled a touch sadly.

I reciprocated Her smile and sat down beside her. “Yeah... me too...”

She was regarding me. I could feel it. “Something troubles you.”

I clicked my tongue and sighed, “It... happened again, didn't it?”

“What do you mean, love?” She asked.

“The bodies.” I bit my lip. “The... the fucking bodies...”

“Frost?”

“I didn't take the time to think about it during the fight, but I noticed. I remember. Everything. Luna Almighty, what happened? It was... just like... just... just like back...”

She remained silent as I turned to face Her. She just looked... sad, so, so sad.

“It was exactly like before,” I breathed out, placing a hoof against my temple and drawing back over my helm. “I almost get killed, the bodies disappear, and I get better. But I'm in so much pain.” I put a hoof to my forehead and dragged it back over my helmet once more. “What did I do, Goddess, what did I do?”

She chose her words carefully. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

And it worried me.

“Frost.” She laid a hoof on my shoulder. “I... know this is a bad time, but I ask that you reconsider keeping those lies up more than ever.”

I remained silent.

“Rig proved it .You can't hide secrets and lies forever. Sooner or later, you'll have to let it all out. Best sooner.”

“You know I can't do that,” I breathed out. “Rig, Rig is a different case. She only thought she was a monster. I, I am a monster.”

“Does that make me one, too?” She asked. The lack of fear behind her voice unsettled me.

“I... I can't answer that,” I sighed. Fear was all too evident behind mine.

“Even all those lives weighing down on both of us?”

“Even so. I spilled innocent blood.”

“And I didn't? If I could fess up, I would.”

I remained silent.

She leaned in close. “She already doubts you, Frost. You already slipped up, even if just a little.”

“Who?” I rose my voice. “How?”

“It should be obvious.”

I bit my lip. “Azrael. It's Azrael, isn't it?”

“Of course.” She canted Her head slightly. “You didn't think that she wouldn't glean from Beat Blaze, did you? Come now, the fact that he knew who you were- that all those ponies at the bar knew you you were- all of that was warrant enough for her to glean their memories.”

“It slipped my mind,” I sighed. I may have eidetic memory, but that doesn't mean I can recall everything on a cap. “Has she voiced this to Rig? And why hasn't she challenged me about it?”

“No, and because she's giving you the benefit of the doubt, as you do to her,” She answered. “You slipped up, Frost. But again, only just a little. She only knows about what Beat Blaze knew of you.”

“So she knows about Ditzy Doo?”

“Only what Beat Blaze knew. Again, Frost, you only slipped up just a little. She only knows just how long you've known him. And that's grounds for suspicion.”

“Forty years?” I looked at her.

“And how old did you claim to be when telling her your age?”

“Fifty... two...” My eyes widened in realization. “Oh damn.”

I sat down and brought a hoof over my forehead, dragging it back over my helm as I let out a chilling sigh. “Better sooner... right?”

She nodded. “Better sooner.”

I turned away, quiet as my tired mind tried to think of a way out of this.

Only one came to mind.

I was about to sprout an ice arm, but then I relented. No, I thought. I couldn't do that. Not to her. She was... a better person than I. I couldn't do it. Not to her.

“After we deliver the water talismans to Stable Three,” I sighed. “After. But no sooner.”

“I'm going to hold you to that,” She spoke.

“I know, love. I know.”

She drew a foreleg around me and brought me into a tender embrace. I returned it, reveling in Her soft coolness. She bent down, kissing me lightly on the cheek.

“Seems I can still feel,” I sighed. “Just not pain. Except this kind.”

“Is it... bearable?” She asked.

I chuckled. I had to. “Come now, you know nothing can compare to The Transfusion. Besides.” I looked up into Her eyes, so full of everything. “I want to feel it, just to know that I'm truly alive.”

“I see...”

“Love, must you endure all the pain I go through?” I asked.

She exhaled softly. “It is my own form of penance since there is no one to neither see nor hear me but you.”

“Then let me take the burden too. Please.”

She smiled lightly. “I'm glad to know you still take at least some of my words to heart.”

“How so?” I reciprocated Her smile.

“You're an omnist now. You're finding faith in Horvahd.”

“The Shackled Judge,” I huffed in good humor. “I suppose so, yes.”

She nuzzled Her nose against mine and whispered, “You should rest. It's been a taxing evening for you.”

“Alright.” I nodded. “Alright.”

“Sleep now, fresh Frost on the ground.”

I kissed Her on the brow, tenderly. “Sleep well, my little Nightingale.”

I drew away from Her, knowing that I wouldn't have an easy sleep as I slipped away back down into the cave.

Rig was waiting. “You're late.”

She had a lovely smirk. Yes, even with the cigarette in her mouth.

~ ~ ~

The familiar, horrible cold came back to seize everything.

I knew it was happening again. I was floating, floating in a sea of white that stretched in every direction around me, stretching in an endless, blank void. I was in limbo, floating, just floating.

And then they joined me- four of them, dark shapes with a vague forms of griffins. Their eyes were completely blank, white like the void around me. Black streaks marred their forms. One had an narrow, inch-long tear in its forehead. The next's head was misshapen, the sides slathered in the black ooze. The third had a gash that went round its neck, the dark ichor slithering down slowly.

The last was missing its face. A black hole, an empty void took its place.

They stood over, towered over, glowered down at me. They made no move. Their expressions did not change.

They didn't have to.

I tried to escape from them. I couldn't move, couldn't find the strength.

The eyes, those horrible, empty eyes bore down on me, through me. Their gaze ate away at me.

And then I realized they were getting closer, getting steadily closer without moving. I ordered, commanded, pleaded my body to move, scream, look away, do something as they fell inwards.

I did no such thing, and we became one.

~ ~ ~

My eyes creaked open to find it still dark. The others were already up, cooking and eating. Azrael merely glanced at me with those eyes...

I flinched. The nightmare was still fresh in my mind.

And the pain was gone.

“Hey,” Rig called out to me, levitating a (surprise, surprise) can of yams over to me. Her leg had sealed back up, though the plates of armor were still missing. “Sleep alright?”

“'Alright' is... interesting for me,” I answered, shearing the lid open and hungrily chowing down.

“Sleep enough though?”

I licked the juice from my lips and the bits from my teeth, nodding. “Enough.”

“Good, because we're going back to Vealville.”

That warranted a perk of the ears. “What for?”

“We're going to make sure Beat Blaze gets a proper sendoff. And I'm going to take a crack at that intact Hunter.”

* * *

“I hate trying to be stealthy,” Azrael said simply as we approached the outskirts of Vealville once more.

“Would you rather be by yourself while we did our thing?” Rig leered at her.

“... no,” she sighed.

“On the bright side, anyone who spots us is liable to be drunk, drugged, or both.” I cracked my neck. “Same plan as Manehattan. Azrael, take point. I'll take the rear. Rig, in between us.”

“You got it,” the young mare acknowledged, flipping down her welding helmet.

Ice slithered over my form as I cloaked myself. We made haste before the light of dawn gave away our position. The most harrowing part of the trip was sneaking past the residential tents set up around the town. Twice Rig knocked against an empty can, Turbo canister, or some other bit of trash strewn about and the three of us grew tense for a few, long seconds before realizing no one was stirring to the noise. The haze once blotting my mind had lifted in the few hours of sleep I managed to scrounge. Everything was crystal clear- watch for debris, mind the angles of exposure, and be cautious of the type of surface we traveled on.

We sneaked into the nightclub through one of the holes in the walls courtesy of the Dead Boys last night. The thin layer of dust and debris that settled over everything contrasted greatly with the sterilizing, overwhelming glare of the industrial lights overhead. As expected, no one had bothered to do anything with the bodies- not the griffins, not the employees, and... not Beat Blaze. I let out a soft exhale of mist that was lost in the sublimation of my cloak.

“Just... let me handle his body,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Do what you must.”

Rig nodded lightly, motioning to the downed Hunter near the turntables for Azrael to follow and teleporting out her tools while I walked over to the body of my dear friend.

It was then that I had no idea what to do with his body. I didn't know where he wanted to be buried. I didn't know if he wanted to be buried. I just stood over him, just settling with closing his eyes. I was just... clueless, lost even with my clear mind. I let out an exasperated sigh. What an idiot, I thought to myself. I couldn't even decide what to do for him. I had no idea how much time passed before I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see Azrael looming over me. At first, I thought she was going to ask me, ask what I was trying to hide.

Instead, she whispered, “May I be of assistance?” She pointed a claw at his body.

I turned away back toward it and nodded slowly. The griffin strode over to his body and sat down before it, drawing out her ghostfire scythe and extending it. Valkyrie's flaming blade burst to life, and she looked at me one last time as if to be sure. I nodded again.

Azrael shifted his body, righting him and removing his glasses, setting them in his pocket, fumbling a little. I realized Rig was still fiddling with the Hunter and that the griffin was doing this blindly. She finished moving him. He looked... serene now. He was lying as if sleeping. It was as if any moment his chest would rise and fall and I would soon hear that light snore of his. But I knew it would never come again. Azrael lowered Valkyrie slowly, the flame barely nicking his breast and setting him alight with an eldritch, green glow. The flames consumed him quickly. No heat radiated from it as the giant shifted back to my side. She reached a hand into the top of her skeletal breastplate to remove a star-shaped pendant. It was a double star, one side a blank white, the other a glittering rainbow sheen- the first, origin; the second, destiny.

The Star of Alda, The Lonely Mother, The Goddess of the Beginning and the End.

“May he, Beat Blaze, son of Blue and Yonder Blaze, find peace as he travels through the dusklands to the everafter,” she whispered, clutching the Star tightly and sheathing her blade. “May he find deliverance from this hollow world and be welcomed into the embrace of the Goddesses. Amen.”

“Amen,” I whispered as the flames died. Left behind was a cool mound of ash black as the night sky. “Thank you, Azrael.”

“It is the least I can do,” she said simply.

“Hey, uh, I'm done here...” Rig tentatively spoke up. “We should probably get clear before sunrise. Or... whatever you call it here in the Wasteland.”

“Of course,” I said, nodding slowly. “Of course.”

* * *

“So, what did you find out?” I asked as we finally got clear of the tents.

“The Dead Boys are in possession of unbelievable technology,” Rig answered, flipping her helmet up. “I'll spare the details, but that Hunter was more technologically advanced that anything I've ever seen. There's nothing like it- not from the war, not from Stable Three. I mean, you saw how smart those things were, and you saw they had motion-sensitive stealth fields and silenced weaponry! I'm no robotics expert, but I know enough through... firsthand experience. The Hunters reek of zebra tech, but I don't see a hint of any runes. Just gem-powered spell matrices.”

“So nothing useful beyond what we already know,” I surmised.

The young mare put a hoof to her chin. “Azrael's shock rounds downright fried the electronics inside that one. If we were able to get an intact specimen- oh, wow, look at me, talking like an egghead. Er, if we were able to get an intact Hunter, I could better study it.”

“But there's the problem that they self-destruct,” Azrael spoke up.

“Right...”

“Speaking of which, the events of last night irk me in more ways than one,” she continued speaking. “The third Hunter broke in after us, but upon seeing Beat Blaze's maneframe, it immediately targeted it and set itself for self-destruct. It was clearly more important than killing me. After gleaning Beat Blaze, it was no surprise.” She turned to me now. I tensed, readying myself for the question. “Frost, what do you know of the S.P.P., namely of their towers?”

Oh. Not the question I was anticipating.

“Eh, what?” Rig blinked.

“Single Pegasus Project,” I explained. “Or, if you ask the pegasi, the Sustainable Pegasi Project. It's a system of weather control spires built by the Ministry of Awesome.” Rig just stared at me from that. “I think that's how the Enclave maintain the cloud cover. They're in every major location in Equestria other than Stalliongrad and outer territories.” No response. “You know, those towers?” I pointed.

Rig turned to notice the very, very obvious spire clad in white, reaching to the heavens, the top disappearing through the blanket of clouds from its place in the center of the Manehattan ruins.

“Oh wow, how did I miss that?” She facehoofed. “Wait, errr... Ministry of Awesome? What's that? And... what's with the name?”

“You know about the Ministries, don't you?” I asked. “You at least knew about the Ministry of Image.”

“Uh... basic, basic stuff...” Rig scratched the back of her head, causing her helmet to flip down. With an annoyed grunt, she flipped it back up. “Refresh my memory?”

“Do you at least know about the Elements of Harmony and their Bearers?” I inquired.

“Yeah, I know about them at least.” She nodded. “Um... there was Honesty, Kindness, Laughter, Generosity, Loyalty, and Magic, right?”

“That's correct. When Princess Celestia abdicated the throne following the massacre at Littlehorn-”

“Littlehorn?” Rig blinked.

I facehoofed. “I'm not going to get through this explanation if you're going to interrupt...”

The storyteller leered at the audience.

That means you too, folks. Hands and hooves down.

“Right, sorry.” She smiled apologetically.

“Well, Princess Luna took over the Equestrian government in Princess Celestia's stead after the abdication,” I explained. “She recruited the Bearers of the Elements as Her advisors, giving them their own governmental organizations to implement their advice. Those became the Ministries.

“Infodump time. Applejack, Bearer of the Element of Honesty, founded the Ministry of Wartime Technology. It dealt specifically with the methods and means to combat the zebra threat, though it later supplemented private businesses after Equestria's economy began to stagnate from the spending on the war.

“Fluttershy, Bearer of the Element of Kindness, founded the Ministry of Peace. Imagine it as a diverse group of medical professionals. They set up hospitals on and off the battlefield, and... well, they were actually instructed to help everyone. Not just ponies. Even zebras were taken into their care.

“Pinkie Pie, Bearer of the Element of Laughter, founded the Ministry of Morale. I know MoM meant well, what with all of its parties to keep troop and civilian morale up during the war, but it also had a darker side. It acted as a secret police that could act outside of the legal jurisdiction of the normal law enforcement. I'm not a fan of that Ministry.

“Rarity, Bearer of the Element of Generosity, founded the Ministry of Image. This one dealt with censorship and alteration of media. Also not a fan. You don't hear or see hints of MoI alone. That's because it's everywhere. All the posters, all the books, all the newspapers, all the billboards. They're all the faces of the many-faced MoI.

“Rainbow Dash, Bearer of the Element of Loyalty, founded the... Ministry of Awesome.”

Rig stared at me. “Really?”

“Rainbow Dash is Rainbow Dash,” I sighed. “Don't ask. MAw dealt with... not much. Most of it was designated with special operations, but as with all special operations, very few knew about them. They also created the S.P.P. I think that was the only notable thing they did outside of the operations.

“Lastly, Twilight Sparkle, Bearer of the Element of Magic, founded the Ministry of Arcane Sciences. MAS... how to put it? It dealt with research into the arcane sciences for a way to win the war. Earth pony and unicorn engineers with MAS worked with other organizations to fabricate numerous inventions and combat spells. Take your PipBuck for example.

“So that's that. The Ministries were supposed to simply act as governmental bodies all to their own, implementing what the Ministry Mares believed would be the best course of action to win the Great War.”

Rig looked around. “They fucked up didn't they?”

I exhaled light mist. “An old friend told me this one. 'The portal to hell is opened with the incantation of good intentions.' Try as we might, we don't always see the evil we do, even though our hearts are in the right place.” I sighed again

I plugged those memories bubbling up back into their places.

“So... the S.P.P. towers are weather regulators?” Rig asked.

“Yes, that's basically it.” I nodded.

Azrael canted her head. “Oh, you mean that Beat Blaze never... ah... forget it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Forget it,” Azrael repeated. “That sort of information was clearly meant to be privy to a select few. I'm not sure you were meant to be among those select few.”

“And yet you are?”

“My telepathy must make me wary of what to disclose to others, Frost,” the griffin spoke. “I'm sure you can let that rest.”

“... of course.” I nodded slowly.

“So what's the plan of action now?” Rig asked. “With Beat Blaze gone, how are we gonna track down a water talisman?”

“Mm, yes, just how will we go about doing that?” Azrael turned to me.

Well, I knew it was coming. Just my luck.

I inhaled deeply and told them.

“We're going to the Far North.”

“Could you be more specific?” asked Rig. “It's a big place, you know.”

I bit my lip, closing my eyes.

“Stable Seventy-Two.”

* * *

“-was the The Foo Fliers with “The Pretender,” folks. Now for the cashews... no? Then how about some news?”

We were bound northeast, flying low over the ground once more. We'd been at it for the past several hours, and it was now partway into the afternoon. The bleak dust and dirt of the Wasteland grew more mountainous as we neared the Great Mid-Equestrian Divide once more, as if the land itself was trying to reach up and tug us back to earth. Our destination was Alhambronco, a small trading town where we would restock our scant supplies.

Among other things.

“Ugh... who am I kidding, children?” DJ PoN3 sighed over the radio, causing it to hiss with static. “We've got some pretty bad news. Vealville was hit hard last night by The Dead Boys. Details are coming in slowly, but it looks like the Sentinel was involved and the local nightclub was trashed with nearly all its employees KIA as they joined up with the cryomancer to defend the place. They were all good ponies- the DJ especially. I'm hoping to have more info on the happenings soon, but let's have a tribute to the late DJ DuBB.”

My eyes widened and I motioned down to Azrael. “Whoa whoa whoa, hold up. Full blast on that thing, Rig. We're landing, getting close anyways.”

“Well... alright.” Azrael raised an eyebrow as we touched down in a few seconds. Rig was equally mystified as she cranked up the volume.

“This is for your favorite, old coot. Peace.”

And then the radio sang out with a shaky, powerful, waving, feminine voice, a thrumming bass sending shivers down my spine as we continued on our way by foot.

“O Lorn...(O-O-O-O-Lorn-O-Lorn-O-Lorn)”

My Goddess, how that voice echoed and rang out. My heart pounded away again as Rig and Azrael blinked in confusion.

“O Lorn...” I sang in time with the radio, my voice matching that lovely tone in all its echoing smoothness.

“Ohhh boy, oh well I told you...
Well I told you, but I thought you'd know...”

I grinned as I leaned over Rig, a wide, toothy grin playing across my lips (but I, but I...).

“There ain't no heaven,
O Lorn, there ain't no heaven...”

I grinned at Azrael now as she regarded me in curiosity, that beat starting to trickle in (heaven...).

“There ain't no heaven
on the county rooooad.”

And then that beat, oh that lovely beat, kicked in. I found myself bobbing my head and cantering one way and the other to it. I could just tell that Rig and Azrael were glancing at each other in amusement and question.

“Don't talk about it ('bout it)...
Boooy oh boy, don't talk about it ('bout it)...
Don't talk about it!
If you do, I'll cry...(I'll cry)
Don't come around me,
O Lorn, don't come around me...
Don't come around me!
If you do, I'll die (die...die)...”

And then that beat, louder, heavier as I sang out with a light crash of cymbals.

“O Lorn! (O Lorn!) There ain't no heaven!
O Lorn! (O Lorn!) There ain't no heaven!”

Subtler now, subtler now. I turned around, trotting backwards with a swagger to my brow as I sneered at the pair.

“Down at the station... stood my dear old mother...
Oh well she keep on, keep on screamin' and a-cryiiiin'...
'O Lorn I wonderrrr... what my son has doooone... (done...done)'”

Beat's back, more intense than ever, and I suddenly found Rig joining in with the chorus.

“O Lorn! (O Lorn!) There ain't no heaven!
O Lorn! (O Lorn!) There ain't no heaven!
O Lorn! (O Lorn!)”

Subtle again, Rig about to add on the verse when I turned back around, a light skip to my step as I sang.

“Ah did you bring meee, bring me any silver... (silver, silver)
Ah did you bring meee, bring me any gold... (any gold, any gold)
Oh did you see meee, workin' down South Fillydelphia... (-delphia, -delphia)
Oh just to see meee... work on the county roooad...(roooad)”

Screaming guitar cut in. Rig looked ready to join in, and I merely waved a hoof at her with an all-knowing smirk. Wait for it, wait for it...

“(O-O-O!) O Lorn! (O Lorn!) There ain't no heaven!”

“(There ain't no heaven!)”Azrael suddenly joined in. Goddess Almighty! She had a lovely singing voice! We were all smiling brightly, bobbing our heads to the tune. We were happy. I was happy!

“O Lorn! (Oooo Lorn!) There ain't no heaven!
O Lorn! (Oooo Lorn!) There ain't no heaven! (O Lorn, o Lorn!)
O Lorn! (Oooo Lorn!) There ain't no heaven! (O Lorn! There ain't no heaven!)

Their jovial expressions wiped clean. Rig's grew shocked, Azrael's stern.

“O Lorn! (Oooo Lorn!)” I continued to sing as the music suddenly cut out and I turned around.

“There ain't no heav...en...”

Down in the valley, lying over the ridge a bit over two miles away, Alhambronco was burning.

* * *

“Raiders,” I sighed, looking through my ice lenses. The joy and power the music brought came crashing, crushing down. There were great fires burning many of the buildings, corpses both of townsponies and a few raiders bloodying the dusty streets. Judging from how the surviving raiders trotted around whooping wildly on the streets without retribution, I couldn't see how any of the townsponies could have survived.

Or, at least, without getting taken captive.

“As always,” Azrael sighed. “Well, shall we?”

“Hell yeah,” Rig grunted as she winked out Luna's Fortitude, chambering the first round of the fresh magazine with an iconic chucheck. “Now it's raider killing time!”

“Hold on,” I turned to her. Right words, right way. I assumed an authoritative tone. “I'm going in first. Alone. Now, before you object,” Right time, spoken just as she started opening her mouth, “I want to get in there first and determine if there are any survivors before we go in guns- and grenade launchers- blazing.” I only needed to eye Rig for a moment before she smiled uneasily and relented. One down. One left. “And you can't go down because the raiders will spot you long before you reach the mile radius of your telepathy. Raiders might be inaccurate and senseless, but they're neither blind nor deaf.” Finish it off. “And you know our luck, and you know your 'subtlety.'”

Azrael merely nodded in agreement. She seemed wary, however.

“Ohhhhh, fine,” Rig grumbled, sitting down and winking out another cigarette and lighting it with her soldering spell.

“Why do you insist on doing that?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Not like it's gonna kill me if I have artificial lungs. You know, I still don't get the fuss about it.”

“I don't like this, Frost,” Azrael spoke as she seated herself beside the cyber. “Things never end well whenever you go in alone.”

“And look at how well things went when we went in together on the way to Hoofstead,” I rebutted.

The griffin clacked her beak in distaste. “Point taken. So what will the signal be?”

I slung out Luna's Judgment and swapped in two-kilogram slugs. Wait, something felt off. I looked at- holy shit!

Well... at least the shotgun part of it was still intact. From the way the crowbar bent, I'd have to get a replacement for that soon, which- if the Wasteland and my luck continued to hate me- would take six months.

“The signal will be the only gunshots you'd be able to distinctly hear from two miles away,” I told her.

I could see an amused smile there on her beak. “Noted.”

“Right, then.” I began to turn away, beginning the descent down to the valley floor.

As I began to head off, I could hear Rig ask, “Hey Azrael, if griffins are half-bird-of-prey and half-lion, doesn't that make them avian-leonine instead of equine?”

“There's an answer to that,” she replied. “Magic.”

“Oh come on, really?”

“There are just some things that can't be explained, Rig. The technical issues of species is one of them. It's much easier to refer to everyone as equines. So, magic.”

I couldn't help but roll my eyes as I skid down lower, ice drawing over me in a cloak as muscle tendrils slunk down my legs, boosting my speed.

“Three... two... one...” I counted down.

“Am I really that easy to predict?” She asked, keeping pace with me in my high-speed gallop. “Please don't answer that. So what are you planning, Frost?”

“I'm going to see if there are any survivors before we start wrecking the place up. Really.”

“Then... be careful,” She whispered. “Please?”

I nodded. “I will. Don't worry about that.”

* * *

Ever wonder why you've never heard of Alhambronco? It's because it was wiped off the map by these raiders. It used to be a nice neighborhood, a pleasant trading town. The population was made up of mostly ponies, but there were a few mules around. In fact, the main attraction of the town was a statue of a mule mare in formal military attire, a saber drawn in her mouth- “La Mula.” A shame I never looked into the historical importance of it; although the fire that ravaged the town spared the monument, the plaque became melted and unreadable. And now I was there, trying to find survivors- one in particular- before it all came burning down. The general store still looked intact and was yet to be touched by the flames. That would be my first target.

As expected, there were snipers keeping a lazy post. I made a mental note of their location to free up Rig and Azrael for when they inevitably made their approach. Creeping past them was the easy part- they were all whooping and doing what raiders did in the streets. Now that I neared the burning buildings, things were going to get a lot more interesting. I produced an ice arm to pull out Night Fang, forming a makeshift suppressor of ice over the barrel.

Recall that I hate fire- heat in general really. In order to prepare for it, I was going to need a lot of ice armor to keep my cool, literally speaking. I shimmered back into being in an alleyway just out of sight, my cloak thickening into something that more resembled the Stalliongrad full-body ballistic armor suits. It was bulky, it was clumsy, and the amount of ice blurred my vision to the point that I was rather nearsighted. It had to do. I had to make do.

I also admit it also causes raiders to make the funniest expressions upon sight of me. I really should have guessed one would sneak up behind me like that. With a string of quiet clicks from Night Fang, the dirty unicorn stallion was Swiss cheese. I couldn't help but chuckle at the cruel irony that his cutie-mark was a pony plugged with bullet holes. Ohhh, if this was any indication of how fun this would be, this was going to be a great day. At least until... well alright, best not think about that just yet. I took his bolt-action carbine, the model unrecognizable from the extent of damage to the weapon. I pulled back the bolt, pressing down on the exposed bullet. Fully loaded, five rounds. That would be more than enough. It wasn't what I had in mind, but it would have to do.

Crouching and moving slowly to avoid making too much noise, I sneaked through the alleyways for the back door to the store. The path took me uncomfortably close to a burning house, mist bleeding off of my ice armor as I strained to keep it up and keep my magic alive.

I hated alleys. They've always hated me.

Surprise, surprise, another raider. Oh boy! The way she slacked her jaw upon spotting me looked just incredibly ridiculous...

… riiiiight before I blew it off with a quick burst of .45 ACP.

I love killing raiders and slavers, folks. I really do. Feral ghouls are too animal in their ways, and putting them down is always no fun given they used to be good people like you and... well, you. Animals are no fun because their reactions are too hard to gauge. Now, raiders and slavers, on the other hand... well, you can really enjoy it, or at least I can. I loved how easily they gave into pain, their expressions, their cries, their pleas. So many lovely, lovely sounds.

Sounds such as the gurgling the jaw-less mare crumpling to the ground, grasping at her bloody throat as she suffocated. The roaring blazes made her pathetic gagging and flopping inaudible to all but me as I closed the distance. Oh, those eyes, those eyes wide with fear, tears dribbling down them! So wonderful, so pitiful!

I sprouted another pair of ice arms, the hands reshaping into long, jagged claws as I loomed slowly closer so she could see her doom coming. That sputtering grew more frenzied as she tried to crawl away. A simple pounce, and I was on top of her, my claws plunging into her midsection. Wasn't it just funny how she flopped around, her head banging wildly on the Wasteland earth, tears streaking down her cheek from the knowledge that she was going to die a violent, painful death? I granted her just that, pulling my claws away in opposite directions. The cracking and snapping of her spine was music to my ears as I pried her apart, splitting her in half. Blood and viscera dirtied the burning earth, and now that there was no more fun to be had with this victim, I proceeded on my way with little more than a puff of red mist as I sublimated the bloody claw arms.

A lone unicorn stallion leaned against the back door to the two-story general store, dressed in barding stitched together from wagon parts and scrap metal. Unfortunately, I couldn't get much closer without alerting him. That was a bit of a problem. Good thing I was a clever little devil.

I formed a small ball of ice I threw it past him as I ran, stowing Night Fang away. The distraction served its purpose. He craned his head after the snowball in confusion, oblivious to my thudding footsteps. Just as he started turning back to me and crying out, I slammed a hoof into his face. A few bloody teeth fell away with him as he staggered away from the force of the blow, setting him up for a grapple from behind. A hoof over his muzzle muffled his shouts as I brandished Midnight Talon, popping her open quickly and lopping off his horn before he could bring the beaten sub-machine gun at his side to bear. As he screamed into my hoof, I looped my arm back around to punch the wicked blade into his back, through his guts, and out the other side. Then came the sputtering, the grunting, the gasping, all those lovely sounds that I reveled in. The raider stallion flailed his arms, trying and failing to dislodge me before going for the blade sticking out of his guts, trying to push it out. He sliced his own hooves off in doing so, much to my delight. His eyes were wide with shock, and bloody spittle ran down my icy hoof as his frenzied, mumbles picked up in volume. I couldn't help but smile as my arm, lodged in his midsection, sprouted out smaller extensions that fanned and swirled around. He trembled spasmodically in my grip while I scrambled up his insides. He let out a final gurgle and finally fell limp.

Ahhh... it was fun while it lasted. I retracted the extensions and pulled my bloody arm out before shoving the corpse to the side, picking out the sub-machine gun and checking the mag. Thirteen rounds. That would do nicely. I made sure there was a round in the chamber before flicking on the safety... which detached afterward, rendering the weapon useless. I tossed it away. Just my luck. So much for that. Searching the body for another weapon and finding none, I scowled and puffed the blood covering my blade to mist before pouching her away and turning my attention to the back door. I gave myself a three-down, Night Fang back out in my grip. I reloaded her in a split-second.

Three. I gripped the pistol tighter, checked the seal of the suppressor.

Two. I steadied my breath.

One. I bashed the door open, time slowing to a crawl as I took in the room around me.

I was in the storeroom, just behind the counter. A raider looting the cash register was already starting to turn around, slow as molasses. Two more were down on the floor, playing some kind of card game; they too were starting to look up. Moving sideways immediately upon entering, I fired as accurately as I could at the raiders while trying to avoid hitting brittle objects that would no doubt create a loud noise when shattered. Sadly, I couldn't enjoy taking all of them down when I was being this careful. The one seated on the floor facing me was greeted with a .45 ACP round right between the eyes while his card buddy was riddled with four of the fat rounds. I swiveled to fire down into the forelegs of the mare at the register, causing them to buckle under the volume of bullets. Losing balance, she started to fall and I rushed up to meet her as time whipped back up to speed, Night Fang’s frozen suppressor sublimating and allowing me to plunge Night Fang's screwdriver bayonet up into her jaw. I let gravity handle the rest as it punched into the brain case.

I knew my anatomy.

Withdrawing the “blade” cleanly, I surveyed the rest of the room, sweeping Night Fang wherever my eyes went. Seeing it was clear and none of the raiders outside had yet barged in, I swapped out for a fresh mag and took in the smaller details.

The room was quite simply trashed. Merchandise was strewn about the room. The shelves, once lined with cans and boxes of food that once stood attention and ready for order, were now pulled off into a mess all over the room. Four more bodies littered the floor in addition to the raiders'; in fact, the two playing cards were doing so on a “table” that consisted of a splayed torso of a pony stallion. No survivors, but not the one I was looking for in particular either. I checked the bodies for weapons. Hm, a rusted IF-42 automatic rifle... that would do much better. I checked the load of the side-mounted magazine- a full twenty rounds. Perfect. Time to check upstairs.

Hm... no wait. Wait a second. Though my entrance certainly generated a lot of noise, I still needed to be sure. I tapped an ice-laden hoof down on the floor a few times, as if knocking. Someone stirred up there- a warrant for caution, but it could be from the very one I was looking for. I moved upstairs quickly, Night Fang brought to bear.

Upstairs was a simple bedroom with two mattresses and a set of dressers. Lying down on one of them was a middle-aged donkey mare, her gray fur caked in blood. Similar spatters of red matted her auburn hair, streaked with aged gray. One of her legs was bent the wrong way, and the familiar yet horrid stench that clung to the air made it all too obvious what the raiders had been doing to her. If she was dead, then...

No, I had to be sure.

“Miranda?” I whispered.

Her limp form twitched. No, she wasn't dead. Not yet.

A bloodshot, brown eye cracked open, followed by the other. “Frost...?” she croaked weakly. The other eye followed and a hoarse sigh of relief fluttered from her lips. “Oh thank Goddesses, it's you...”

I nodded slowly, silently. Now came the moment I was dreading.

“It's been ages...” Miranda went on. “You look... just the same...” She shook her head. “What am I saying? Frost, you have to go make sure Wendy's alright! She's... Frost?”

<====ooo*241DD3DDTbm@32$*OOO*fallofp(ain)onykind*ooo====>

“Can... can I just stay here for a while?” I rasped, slumping down against the wall, letting Luna's Fortitude fall. “It's been ages since I've seen another friendly face. A friendly sane face.”

“Sure, hon,” Miranda smiled at me from behind the counter. “I know this town isn't much, and it's not always welcome of outsiders.” She put a hoof to her chin. “Well... especially if they're wearing armor as outlandish as yours. But make yourself comfy. Can I get you something to eat... uh...”

“Frost,” I replied, still weary. “Call me Frost.”

“Well it sure is a fitting name.” The donkey raised an eyebrow at my ice armor, which I sublimated on that note. “Can I get you something to eat, Frost? You look like shit, no offense.”

“... do you have any biscuits by any chance?”

“Um... no, but we've got canned yams, overstocked and guaranteed delicious!” Miranda flashed an enthusiastic smile. It quickly faded. “Yeah, it's the most common crap out there, I know, I know. Who am I trying to kid around here?” She tapped her hooves together. “Sorry, but are those okay? Please? I'm seriously getting desperate here with them. Every time someone comes to trade, it's always yams out, other shit in. I've got to have at least fifty cans back there...”

“This really is a general store...” I smiled lightly, sitting down hard. “An honest-to-Goddess general store...” I laughed heartily, something I hadn't done in ages as I approached the counter. “I'll take as many as I can cram into my saddlebags.”

“Yes!” The donkey mare pumped a hoof. “YYYYes! Finally! Someone who I can sell them off to!” She blinked a few times and pulled herself back together. “I... mean someone who I can sell them off to at a discount price, seeing as how they're... in such high demand...”

The transition was quick, and I ended up buying nearly half of her yams at cap a pop.

Things fell into a stark silence shortly after. I merely stood in front of the counter, unsure what to do at such a late hour. She was probably itching to head back to bed herself, yet neither of us looked the least bit tired.

“Frost, I gotta ask,” Miranda spoke at last, shattering the silence. “How exactly is it you're wearing that fancy armor? Lunar Guard armor, right?”

I sighed. Of course someone else was going to recognize it. “It's a long story.”

She glanced up at the clock (My Goddess, there was a working clock!). Three in the morning. “I'm wide awake and I've got the time.”

I frowned. “Well... it started with my father, Diamond Dust...”

<====ooo*45h35245h35*OOO*aNR35003227$(!)*ooo====>

“Frost...? Wh-What...?”

The IF-42 was back out, aimed at the prone donkey mare. An icy suppressor was formed over the barrel.

“I'm sorry, Miranda,” I whispered, my voice as grim and dry as the flames creeping closer and closer.“I have a telepath with me. I hope you understand.”

“Wait...” Her eyes widened. She rose up, a hoof held up protectively. “Wait!”

The IF-42 sputtered, punching right through her limb and into her head. Even after she fell limp, I held down the trigger for two more extended bursts, riddling her with holes. Wasted casings littered the floor. Just like a raider. I felt no joy in doing it. I felt no ease, no relief. I felt nothing. After all, you just think about what you kill, not who you kill. I was no exception.

That left one question: who was this “Wendy”?

Something creaked behind me, and I wheeled around, the clunky rifle swiveling toward the dresser.

A filly. A little filly mule was poking out from her hiding place, her eyes wide with fear and brimming with tears.

Brown eyes.

“Wendy?” I asked grimly, drily. I advanced toward her, blocking her off.

She choked up and shivered. I didn't need her to answer. I didn't expect her to. She knew what I was going to do.

No witnesses.

The IF-42 sputtered once more. The filly dropped out of the dresser to the floor with a solid thud, her lifeblood leaking out of the great many holes in her petite form. I left no remorse. I left no regret.

Now it was time to leave no trace.

I turned to head back downstairs and finish the job. I had only just reached the first steps when something yanked me from behind, making me turn back.

She was gripping me by the shoulder, Her hoof reared back. Time slowed down and in that moment, I took it all in. Her eyes, full of everything, clouded with the brimming tears that cascaded down Her cheeks. Her quivering lips, tugged back into a pained roar.

Her hoof, reared back to strike.

The ice shielding my face crunched inward with the impact and I was sent bowling down the stairs. The world became a blur of brown and red before fading to black.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level

Rig- Level up! Level 7 reached!

Azrael- Maximum Level

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Theme of the Outcast, Rig
Soundtrack- No Heaven by DJ Champony

Author's Note

My gratitude goes to Kkat, Somber, Mimezinga, and everypony else on the FoE Sidestory Proto Document and the FoE Resource forums. A special thank you to ErrantIndy for editing once more. You’re sho awesome! /)^3^(\ And lastly, thank you for reading. In-depth feedback is always appreciated.

Chapter Twelve: Dead Heat

Chapter Twelve: Dead Heat

The storyteller glared at the audience, rising to his feet. His eyes were glazed over with regret yet burned with determination.

Do it.

Do it, damn you all. Slander me. Beat me. Hurt me. Damn you all, hurt me! Show me your rage! Show me your indignation!

Come on, hit me. Hit me. Hit me! I got off too easy for what I did. Hell, what am I talking about? That was one of my lesser crimes, damn you!

What? Are you afraid? Are you afraid that I'll strike back? Well, I won't! Come on, I want to face judgment for what I've done! Are you telling me none of you give a shit that I killed an innocent woman and her daughter as one of the lesser crimes I've committed? Hm? Or, is it the issue of trust now? You don't trust that I won't strike back? Hm? Well I've been honest with what I've told you so far, haven't I?

Haven't I?

…

Stares. Trembling. Sweating. I see a bit of hate behind the stares of some of you at least. That's it.

Anypony? Anyone?

The storyteller sighed out a soft mist.

So that's it, then.

The storyteller merely turned and walked out the door.

* * *

He did not return come morning. There was not a hint of the unicorn in Lunar Guard armor in Junction R-7. Instead, the first child who entered the hall found Roanoke and an older griffin conversing with one another in hushed tones. Roanoke took one look at the child and smirked. His voice had an inexplicable edge to it. He spoke in a hushed tone, and yet it was incredibly intimate, unbelievably loud.

Tell them to come back in the evening after the DJ's broadcast. It's not over. Not yet.

* * *

Hey everyone. Frost won't be coming back for a bit. He has, uh... things to take care of. Things to set straight. I don't think he wants anyone to know the specifics just yet. I don't blame him.

The name's Roanoke. If you don't know me, I run afternoon shifts on the north side. Uh... whatever, you probably don't care about that stuff. Sorry about waiting until after the broadcast to start up tonight. This one is going to be a very, very important segment. It's not going to be as important as the next, but... well, I think the point got across. Let's get into this.

I, ah, also wanted to listen to the deeds of the Stable Dweller and Security myself. Sorry.

The griffin leaned back against the wall, back in his place near the jukebox.

I gotta hand it to you ponies and griffins who actually came back. I think... about a quarter of you. Just tell your friends and family that Frost did ask that you hold your judgments of him until the end of the story. Anyone remember him saying that? Anyone?

...

Well, so much for that.

Now, I'll admit I'm not good at telling stories. I've got the vocabulary, but I just can't put the “right words, right way” as Frost puts it. He sure gave me one hell of a critique...

Oh, right. Story time. Again, I'm... not too good at telling stories.

He shrugged.

Don't have to be.

Now, just slip away and let me handle things. Don't try to resist. This is going to be my first time doing this with so many people, so... make it easy for me will you?

He glanced at a particular griffin out of the crowd, the two sharing an all-knowing smirk as he raised a pair of claws to his forehead.

The name's Roanoke. Maybe you can all tell me my last name.

A light, buzzing feeling worked its way into the back of the mind...

Join me.

||

|--------|

<-------->

<========>

<====ooO Ooo====>

The voice of the storyteller, the voice of the unicorn dribbled in with the buzz. It was as if he was face-to-face with everyone yet again. It was an interesting sensation, hearing the storyteller’s words without him actually being there.

My blackout lasted only a short few seconds. As I regained consciousness, I realized five things.

One- She was still there. I had expected that.

Two- She was angry. Again, I had expected that.

Three- She could hurt me. A lot. I did not expect that.

Four- I was in a hell of a lot of pain again. That old familiar sting. That didn't bode well.

Five- I was in a lot of trouble.

“Why, Frost?” She cried, descending to me. I had fallen to the floor below, grunting as I got to my feet. My vision was cracked from the blow, filled with spiderwebs.

“You know why,” I hissed, wincing from the burning pain as I reformed the ice. Even in my self-imposed nearsightedness, I could see Her with perfect clarity.

“You lied to me!” She screamed, tears flying from Her cheeks as She lashed out to strike me again. I took the hit, my expression stern as I shrugged it off, moving with the strike as it rolled along my armor, dissipating the full impact into something more manageable. In my mind, it was still as if She hit me.

“I did no such thing,” I spoke calmly, taking another heavy blow. Goddesses, oh Goddesses... I was using that hateful tone... “I told you I was seeing if there were any survivors.”

She reared back Her hoof to strike once more. It never came. She reigned it back in, gritting Her teeth and squinting Her eyes shut. She wiped the tears away. Her irregular breath was the only evidence that She had been crying at all. She opened her eyes and glowered at me. Her voice was steady, yet it manifested the rage of hundreds. “I can't believe you kissed me with that mouth last night. That same mouth you used to disguise your intention.” She snorted softly, shaking Her head. “Why? Tell me- why?”

“Because I lied to her so many years ago,” I answered, calmly, despicably. “The stories wouldn't have added up.”

“And so you killed her and her daughter because you didn't want Azrael to have any more reason to suspect you?” She challenged me, Her tone rising. Those hundreds grew to thousands. “You could have simply led them out of the area, away from Azrael! You didn't have to kill them! Why do you insist to keep the secrets and lies alive anyway? You already promised to tell later! Or was that a lie too?”

“Rig would have seen us moving, and it would have taken too long,” I rebutted. “They would have grown suspicious. Killing her was the only option. As unfortunate as her daughter's death was, she was collateral.”

“You... you... answer the second question!” She commanded, advancing toward me again, rising to full height.

“I won't tell anyone else,” I growled, my calmness breaking. “I can't. I refuse to!”

“Why?” She roared. Millions now.

“Because that's how I deal with it!” I roared back. “That's how I continue to go on every day! I can't ever turn ba-”

She didn’t pull back this time- She slugged me hard in the face, hard enough to crack my ice armor yet again. As I reeled from the impact, She scathed, “So you don’t let them continue to go on? All for you? Huh? Is it? Is this is all because you're afraid of punishment?” She slammed Her hoof down in rage. The floorboards splintered from the impact, the whole world behind Her. “You... you! You... aghhh! Words can't even begin to describe how I feel about you! What, did you plan to kill the rest of the survivors as well?”

“No, only Miranda!” I snarled, my cracked vision warping for a moment as I repaired my armor. “She was the only one who knew!”

We both snapped our heads to the front entrance as the door was kicked open.

A crazy-eyed unicorn stallion howled, “There you are, you fucker! I'm gonna skin you al-”

Never, ever do that. You never, ever, ever, ever, ever try to smack-talk an enemy with a clear line of sight of you. He and the two raiders behind him were felled in a quick, quiet burst from Night Fang.

As the last body slumped to the floor, I turned to find Her glaring at me. She pointed a direct hoof at me.“We... will... talk later,” She hissed. “I don't want any more bullshit.” I shuddered. She never... ever spoke like this before. “Go. Save the rest of them. If you make any move whatsoever to kill them, I won't hesitate to strike you down. Do not fail me.”

I blinked, and She was gone.

I shook my head, rubbing my forehead. Too many Goddessdamn emotional roller coasters in too little time. This was going to be a sucky week. If I could get through this.

That didn't mean I couldn’t still try to cover my tracks, though. I removed the IF-42 and bolt-action rifle, placing them next to their “respective” bodies as if they'd fallen when the raiders had died. Making sure I sublimated the suppressor thoroughly on the battle rifle, I took out Night Fang, checked the mag, and proceeded out the back door. Good thing that raiders had thick heads regarding paying attention to bloodcurdling screams of their own.

Did I ever mention how much alleyways sucked? Of course I have. They really do suck. Because three raiders were headed my way, weapons at the ready. At the time, I actually didn't know how many there were until after I had killed them due to the visual restrictions of heavy ice armor. Thank goodness for spray-friendly Night Fang, and thank goodness for raiders having an allergy to heavy armor.

The storyteller audibly sighed.

I don't think I should even bother with the details of killing the raider bastards. Shooty shoot, they die. After what just happened, I just... couldn't enjoy killing them. Sure, I got a kick out of every time I took out the legs and proceeded to curb-stomp the bastards as they tried to squirm away. Sure, I reveled in their cries and expressions after I managed to shoot some of the stallions' family jewels off...

Okay, I think you get the idea. I got a smile or a little laugh each of those times, but I never truly enjoyed it. I just tried not to think about Miranda or Wendy every time I got close enough to see the bullet-ridden corpse.

The benefit of having such thick armor was that absolutely none of them could punch through if they managed to spot me. All I had to do was just turn in the direction of wherever the bullets were hitting and spray. I spent the majority of the time searching for other survivors rather than killing raiders.

It was only after busting down the door of the two closest intact homes that I realized just how futile my search was. The blazing fires claimed over half of the buildings in a town all too small to begin with- even the town hall was slowly caving in. I only found the mangled remains of the ponies, donkeys, and mules left, raiders already trying to string them up on chains in spite of the flames crawling ever closer. I mowed them down with extreme prejudice.

The only other building that could have housed survivors was burning down. It was an establishment simply known as The Motel by the former townspeople of Alhambronco; it was mainly reserved for travelers willing to brave the harsh terrain to reach the safety of Stalliongrad. The statue of La Mula stood before it. The fires and great, billowing plume of smoke made it seem like she was leveling that mighty saber down toward me, her regal stance suddenly an imposing one.

My search for survivors ended in failure. I found none in the buildings left standing. Crap, She was going to hate me...

One thing left to do- mop up. Swapping out Night Fang for Luna's Judgment, I took aim at a pony-shaped blob, drew a bead as best I could, and fired.

I never liked magical energy weapons. There's just something about using such a volatile device that made me worry it would just explode in my hands. Little did I think that such a thing could happen with any weapon. Then again, it's not surprising for something that fires two-kilogram slugs and whose crowbar I used to go to town on Heavies last night. Luna's Judgment downright exploded in my icy hands after I pulled the trigger and let the slug fly.

I was more startled than anything else. I was so sure of the Remhayngton Eighty-Seven Special, so sure of its durability and reliability, so sure that it would never fail me just like how it never failed me after all these years.

Another sigh.

But everything has its limit I suppose. With the roar of thunder fading from my ears, I couldn't help but feel yet another pang in my heart in a day of pangs as I looked at the fragments, my icy arm still clutching the remains of the grip and trigger assembly.

Then I realized something.

I was fucking moping. Over nothing more than a hunk of metal. After killing one of the first friends I ever made in the Wasteland. And the daughter I never knew she had. Now I really felt ashamed. But I couldn't linger; I couldn't dwell on it. I killed the memories, cut them away, and moved on. Rig and Azrael would be here soon, and it was my job to ensure a safe landing.

The flames were starting to die by now, save for the pyre that The Motel had become. Thinning my armor enough to see clearly, I started hunting down the snipers. The deaths, the flames, Her rage- they had taken away all pleasure in killing them now. I felt nothing when I chased one down and caved in her skull with my ice muscle-snared hooves. My heart was no longer in it as I pounced the next with enough force to crush him to death. I didn't draw any of it out. I just wanted to get it over with.

You know, I really should have seen it coming. Alhambronco was burning. How did they start the fires? Somehow, it came as a surprise when a raider popped around a corner with a battle saddle equipped with a flamethrower. I reacted on instinct upon seeing the bastard coming, time slowing down as I sprayed at him, kicking backwards. One of the rounds must have punched through something important because one moment he was there, and the next bloody chunks and a ball of fire. The heat did its job, catching me unaware with my thinner armor. I growled in irritation as my ice cracked away, and the full force of the burning world hit me, sapping my strength. Night Fang clattered to the earth before me, and I was forced to take it up in my mouth to fire, covering my retreat as I made my way back to the general store, the only intact structure remaining.

Damn this fire! Damn this heat! The flames had yet to come anywhere close enough to touch me, but every fiber of my being tore at me in agony without my cryomancy! Damn it all!

And damn that raider who got a lucky shot at my right foreleg!

There was no pain to it, no more than I was already suffering. What did I expect? The bullet did, however, slice through my muscles and send me staggering to the ground. Now trying to limp on three legs back to the general store, I attempted to lay down fire on the advancing raiders. I had only once before been forced into firing it the earth pony way, and it was not a fun experience. The impact of the recoil against my head was something I was... uncomfortable with, to say the least. Then there was the taste of the grip and trigger and the fact that I just couldn't work the trigger as fast as my ice arms could. The inaccurate, “oh-shit” moment lead hose that Night Fang was supposed to be was now a deliberately aimed weapon.

A deliberately aimed weapon whose trigger fell slack.

Bullets clanged off of my breastplate and armor as I tried to limp away. Another surprisingly well-aimed shot took out my left hindleg, sending me to the ground. Without ice muscles or just plain cryomancy in general, I was a sitting duck. The bastards had stopped shooting at me now, instead galloping toward me with their crazy eyes showing just what they intended to do.

No. It wasn't going to end this way. Reaching my good foreleg toward the eye-shaped gem on my breastplate, I prepared to utter the incantation...

<====ooo*afGH3wEjj9*OOO*contr[aband]ol*ooo====>

But instead, I kept going. No. No! I was losing control, helpless as I raced for the security team, their bullets streaking slowly by as I skirted around them to-

<====ooo*999999999999999*OOO*666666666666666*ooo====>

No... no, I couldn't do that. Not with Rig and Azrael coming. The risk was too great. As the closest raider at the head of the group about ten meters away brandished a machete, I idly wondered how good my CQC skill would be with two crippled legs. Good thing I decided to tack a screwdriver bayonet on Night Fang.

I was just starting to force myself to my feet, my lips pulled back into a snarl when I noticed one of the raiders in the back of the fivesome was looking up, a shadow passing over head. A fat 40 millimeter grenade slammed into the ground behind them, the shrapnel pulping the two closest to the blast and sending the three others sprawling with deep gashes and cuts. I staggered back to the ground, having turned away just in time to let my armor take the brunt of the shards that flew out at me. My sensitive hearing was reduced to a dull ringing.

The three surviving raiders staggered up to their feet, groaning and shaking their heads before looking around to see where that had come from. One looked up just in time to see Rig land beside him and slam her pickaxe through his spine.

“Surprise, bitches!” she yelled, voice oddly reverberating through her helmet.

The remaining pair weakly raised their weapons toward her. Then Azrael come down, landing hard on the one closest to me. The impact was enough to shake the earth and pulverize the mare. The last one was just starting to stagger away when the massive griffins swept her wing round, knocking the raider aside. Her myriad wingblades gleamed darkly in the fiery glow that basked the town as the bloodied stallion bounced along the ground in pieces.

Azrael leveled her head at me. “I told you nothing good ever came from you going in alone.”

I spat out Night Fang and grumbled, “Yeah, yeah, you were right. Now help me get a pair of healing potions so I can get back on my feet.”

“On it!” Rig complied, slotting another grenade into Luna's Fortitude while winking out a bottle, cracking the seal, and levitating it to me. Instead of chugging it down, I dumped the contents onto my crippled legs. The healing magic was concentrated in them instead, and they quickly stitched back up, allowing me to whip back up to my feet.

I nodded at her in thanks, then flatly reported, “There were no survivors. Clear to engage. Just try not to destroy the general store.”

As I was starting to reload Night Fang- very, very difficult with only hooves, mind you- Rig flipped up her welding helmet to glare at me and teleport the pistol away. “Ohhhh, no you don't. You've got no magic, you're still injured, and there's still fire everywhere. You get into the store and stay safe. We'll handle it.”

I just glared at her. “Never stopped me before.”

My tone was convincing enough. “Orrrr... you can just do... whatever you do when you have no magic, are injured, and there's fire everywhere,” she feebly muttered, teleporting Night Fang back out and levitating it so that I could bite the grip and finish reloading.

Azrael coughed politely, “If you two are finished, I'd like to start hunting the remaining raiders down.”

“Definitely up for that!” Rig smirked that lovely smirk before flipping her helmet back down. “And for Pete's sake, save some raiders for us while you're at it!”

“There should be some left,” I grunted around Night Fang's grip. “Call it payment for that grenade. I didn't ask for danger close.”

“What now?”

“I'll explain later...”

I was starting to head off when Azrael grasped me firmly on the shoulder. “We. Will not. Go separate ways. I mean it.”

“... alright, fine,” I grumbled.

“Just follow my lead,” the ebony griffin grunted as she assumed an interesting battle stance. She pushed off of the ground onto her hindlegs, her wings snapping outwards. The longer wingblades on the leading edges acted another pair of legs to stabilize her as she strode forth. She swung out Valkyrie to her side, the eldritch blade sparking and igniting in its horrible green and rainbow sheen. At nearly two stories in height, the way the glow of the fires danced around her, cloak billowing to expose her skeletal armor and blank eyes, it was hard to see how anyone could mistake her for anything but the Angel of Death. “Terrifying presence” doesn't begin to describe how she looked just then.

And she could move fast! Several raiders emerged from the alleyways to see what the commotion was all about and were stunned motionless by the sight of the towering griffin. Her wings “strode” in time with her earth-shaking footfalls while she dashed for them. Valkyrie's ghostfire blade generated a strange buzzing tone, growing in volume as it picked up speed and culminating in an otherworldly drone as she slashed mercilessly at the raiders. Until then, I only saw what ghostfire did to the dead. Now I saw what they did to the living. The wicked blade passed right through the raiders, lighting them up instantly. The fires let out a ghastly whine that melded with the screams of the raiders as they flailed and rolled about in a futile attempt to smother the flames. Flesh and muscle separated from bone before their bodies crumpled to ash, still burning.

Rig and I just stared in awe and horror.

Azrael turned back to us. “Well? Are you coming?”

I shared a quick glance with the cybermare and followed after the behemoth as she cut a swath of destruction into the raiders we encountered. She swung Valkyrie around with a strange grace, demonstrating a level of dexterity and beauty I thought would be impossible for someone so loud and clunky on her feet. Those out of her reach were felled by Luna's Fortitude or my own Night Fang. In cases where Rig didn't notice the enemy, Azrael would snap a wing toward the raider and sent a single blade at him or her with deadly accuracy. Given that she could only see through the eyes of others, it was a wonder how she could be that accurate. Soon, the raiders started to flee the ruins of Alhambronco. We granted them no mercy. As they scrambled away, Azrael collapsed Valkyrie and brought Harbinger into play. She roared in time with the quiet hiss of Luna’s Fortitude and Night Fang’s bark. The lucky ones were blown into pieces by 12.7 NSVT, killed almost instantly by shock. Those less fortunate were left to bleed out into the world of dust and fire.

By the time the hunt was finished and the few lucky raiders had disappeared over the low hills and toward the mountains, the fires were just starting to die. The angry red glow of the world deadened to gray, ashes fluttering gently around us. Alhambronco had been wiped off of the map just like that. Only the general store, the town hall, the husks of a few homes, and the plaque-less La Mula survived. I had no idea why raiders suddenly decided to hit the town or why it was worth traversing the mountains to do so. But then again, raiders didn't have any logic behind their activities, did they?

We made our way back to the general store, Azrael having to duck under the doorway and stoop over from cramped space. I just couldn't concentrate hard enough to get rid of my magical burnout. I just couldn't. Looking over the place, I was filled with bitter memories. The old jukebox in the corner where I heard my first DJ PoN3 broadcast was now forever silenced. The once meticulously organized shelves, arranged in boredom and all too much spare time, were in disarray. Bodies littered the floor. There was no more Miranda. That cheery donkey jenny was no longer there.

Because I killed her to keep my secrets buried, her and the daughter I never knew she had. I just felt so bitter, so... empty.

“So... no survivors?” Rig asked, flipping her helmet up.

I shook my head with a hollow sigh.

“Well, uh, on the bright side, we won't have to pay for the stuff, then,” Rig tried to smile cheerily at me as she moved behind the counter to check the storeroom.

That heavy weight on my heart grew, dragging it down to the pit of my gut. I drew in a shaky breath and let it out, blowing out nothing but ashes.

“Did you know the owner?” Azrael asked.

I looked at her. The griffin's eyes were blank and hard yet gentle and compassionate. “Yes. She was one of the... first friends I made in the Wasteland.”

“I'm sorry, Frost.”

“Yeah.” I closed my eyes. “So am I.” Was I? Really? Why was it now that I started feeling remorse for what I had done? Was it just because I knew that punishment was coming?

“Hey, Frost!” Rig leaned out of the storeroom, levitating a crate. “Found a whole bunch of flechette shells for you!”

I closed my eyes and dumped the shredded remains of my shotgun's grip and trigger assembly from my saddlebags.

“... oh...” she muttered before shifting the crate out of sight, shying away.

“You're going to need a suitable ranged weapon,” Azrael said.

I bit my lip. “I know.”

“I know it isn't much, but this seems to be an option.” Azrael lifted something off the ground and handed it to me. “It merely requires a proper repair job.”

It was the beaten IF-42.

“No!” I barked, sending it flying from her hand with a swing of my hoof.

I felt as if both of them froze at that moment, watching me as my chest heaved, heart thundering in my chest. I lowered my head. “Just... I can't use it. I can't use a weapon that was used to kill... kill good people.”

“'People'?” Azrael inquired softly.

“Donkeys and mules lived here too,” I hissed. “I can't use it. I just can't use it.” My shuddering tone and posture somehow, somehow managed to make it all the more convincing. I took in a deep breath before saying, “Take what you need. Then we're leaving.”

“Frost?” Rig peeked out of the storeroom, trotting to me with worry etched all over her face. “You okay?”

I closed my eyes. “I just want to get away from this place. I just... just want to leave it all behind.”

Rig flattened her lips and nodded slowly, heading to the back once more. Azrael merely nodded and started looting the bodies. I headed upstairs, my body still burning with that all-consuming agony. Maybe, just maybe I could concentrate up there. I needed my magic back. I needed the refreshing cold, that comforting cold.

Their bodies were gone.

Miranda. Wendy. Their bodies were gone. No clothes. Not even any hair. No trace save the spent casings that lingered over the floor and the spatters of blood. A cold washed over me indeed, but a cold horrible, a cold dreadful.

“I'm sorry,” She whispered into my ear.

“What happened?” I whispered back. “What happened to their bodies?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

And the She was gone.

I swallowed hard.

“Come back,” I whispered. “I want to talk. Now. Just... now.”

“Are you so eager to get it over with?” She sighed. I turned to face Her. She no longer looked angry. That puzzled me the most. Was that sorrow I saw in Her? Shame? I just knew that She looked worn and tired, drained from rage.

“Are you going to punish me?” I asked.

She closed Her eyes. “I already have.”

I gulped. “What do you mean?”

“You'll find out,” She sighed. “Perhaps... it was too much, though.”

“What do you mean?” I repeated.

“I was just so furious!” She raised Her hoof to slam it down on the floorboards but held Herself, controlled Herself. She set it down gently. “But it was too much. I shouldn't have done that. I was just so furious that you killed them just to protect your secrets! You didn't even tell her the truth those years ago! You lied to her just like the others! Why kill her?”

“Because what I told her and what I told Beat Blaze wouldn't have added up,” I replied, sighing drily. “I already told you that. Look, I know I shouldn't have done it, love. I'm... I'm so-”

She held up a hoof, and I stopped. “You're not sorry, Frost. If you knew that you shouldn't have done it,” She finally opened her eyes, voice scathing, “then you wouldn't have done it.”

I closed my mouth, no words left to say.

She shook Her head sadly. “While you were fighting, I asked myself- what have you become?” She shook Her head again. “Then I realized the answer, and I realized who caused it. And then I asked myself- have I not done the same?” She huffed softly.

I said nothing. What was there to say to that?

“There are ties that bind, Frost. There are also lies that bind.” The sadness was gone now as She whispered, “Can I really blame you for following in my footsteps? I can't. I can't take back what I've done, and neither can you. I'm going to leave it at that. I shouldn't punish you for something I've done, but I already have.” She shook Her head sadly.

I spoke at last, whispering, “This talk... it still sounds like I got off with just a slap on the fetlock.”

“Maybe,” She nodded, “but so did I.”

“By dying?”

She smiled, actually smiled. I knew in my cold heart that it was meant to comfort, but the all-knowing smile made my gut wrench instead. “Something like that.” The smile disappeared. Now she just looked so, so sad. “Please, Frost. No more lies. No more killing just to keep others in the dark. Don't follow my footsteps. If you're truly sorry, then give me reason to have faith in you because I'm... I'm so tired, so tired of all these relapses. You just keep on relapsing time after time. You make strides forward and then take a step backward.” She shook Her head again, hanging it low. “So please, Frost. Give me something to believe in.”

I blinked, and She was gone.

* * *

“Find anything up there?” Azrael inquired, hearing me as I came back down. As Rig likewise turned to see me, the griffin tilted her head, regarding me. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

My lip twitched from the validity of the statement. “Something like that. I found where... she kept her caps. We're up to around four-thousand now.” I scowled. “Goddess, it feels so wrong taking all of this without paying...”

“The owner is dead, Frost,” the ebony giant said as she sat down and crossed her forelegs. “It's the unfortunate truth.”

“Well, uh, we're a little more topped up on food and ammunition,” Rig spoke up, smiling uneasily at me. “Also found some weapons, so if you want to rearm yourself...”

I grimaced and let deep exhale. My throat was scratchy and dry. “Well... let's see what she has.” I winced. “... had.” Be strong, Frost. Force yourself through this. Push the hurt away. It's all in the façade.

“Um... how about this auto shotgun?” Rig levitated a-

“IF-Twelve,” Azrael spoke up. “Twelve-gauge, fully-automatic, three-hundred rounds-per-minute.”

“Oh come on!” Rig pouted. “All he needs to know is that it's an auto shotgun, gun nut!”

“Too many feed issues,” I shook my head. “I appreciate the sentiment of picking a shotgun first, but... no.”

“Well... okay, then...” The earth-coated unicorn lifted up a pistol now. “Nine-millimeter pistol?”

“Flock Nineteen,” Azrael corrected, Rig shooting another glare at her.

“Already have Night Fang. I need a true primary weapon. On that note, did you find any ACP?”

She answered by teleporting out a case of ammunition, to which I hesitantly accepted. As I started reloading my magazines, she teleported a compact assault rifle out. “Bullpup Assault Rifle?”

“That's a PDW-R. Won't last on me. Five-five-six NETO sucks like a bucket of ticks.”

“Battle rifle?”

“M-One Galant. Can't speed-load, or at least not easily. It's an option, though.”

“Grenade laun-”

“No.”

“Aw come on! Wanters can't be pickers, Frost!”

“It's 'beggars can't be choosers.' Go through the entire selection, then we'll talk.”

“Haysian Assault Rifle?”

“Type Fifty-Six. Cheap Haysian knock-off of the AK series. No.”

“Isorreli Assault Rifle?”

“Galil. Isorreli knock-off of the AK series. But... maybe.”

“Three-fifty-seven revolver?”

“Blacksmith & Westward Model 64.” I shook my head.

“DMR?”

“IF-55.” I shook my head. Hey, wait a second...

“Fifty-seven auto pistol?”

“Hold up, hold up.” I trotted over to the counter.

“Really, the pistol?” She stared at me.

“What?” I blinked. “No! No, not the FN Fifty-seveN! The last one, the IF-Fifty-Five!”

“Well, uh... okay...” Rig blinked as she levitated the weapon into my hooves. Yes... the old familiar weight...

“Interesting,” Azrael huffed. “The DMR?”

“Yes,” I nodded, looking it over, “the DMR.”

“DMR?” Rig asked.

“DMR.” I nodded again.

“No, I mean, what's a DMR?” The cloud-maned mare blinked.

“Oh, that,” I chuckled softly. “Designated Marksman Rifle.”

“So why pick this one, if I may ask?” Azrael inquired.

<====ooo*AWEg2h8f*OOO*5h0(k32374u*ooo====>

I looked over the weapon hoofed over to me, taking it up in my icy hands. It had a bullpup design and was perhaps three-quarters of a meter long, maybe a bit over. Also, it quite frankly looked like a block than a gun. The barrel was ridiculously short for a rifle and was lined with equipment rails. I noted how the magazine was actually inserted all the way into the weapon, locked in place by a heavy, sliding plate for easy reloading by hoof. Pushing the plate forward would eject the magazine; if it still had bullets left, there was a catch to allow the user to snatch it off instead of letting it clatter to the ground. Slam a fresh mag in and slide the plate forward, you'd be topped up and doing so would also chamber the first round. The scope had a simple, adjustable eyepiece with a dust hood over the front. It also had a mechanism that allowed the scope to flip off to the side of the weapon, presumably for CQB. The backup ironsights, which consisted of a “W”-shaped post with Day-Glo green luminescent dots for the user to line up correctly, seemed usable enough in such a situation.

I lowered the weapon into my hooves, just to get a feel for it. It was pretty bulky, pretty hefty for a bullpup weapon. It was an Ironshod Firearms, alright- the IF-55 “Spikeshot.” It definitely lived up to the company philosophy. Heavy, durable, no-nonsense. Or... maybe it was “AAAAppleloooooooosa.”

“Now here's your ammo,” the quartermaster grunted, sliding across three magazines. “Sixteen rounds per, THV-LR. Can also accept both seven-six-twos, NETO and SR. Just mind that THV-LR can't be suppressed, though that's not much since you're not getting a suppressor.” Sixteen. That's a pretty healthy capacity, but-

“THV?” I asked.

“Tres Haute Vitesse,” he answered.

“I-I'm sorry, what?” I blinked.

He leaned across the counter and looked me in the eye. “You're that equinpologist buck, right? You mean to tell me you know whatever the hell those buffalo and zebras speak but you don't know Prench? It's 'very high speed,' and the round's designated for 'Long Range.' Now scram and get onto the range. Next in line!”

<====ooo*A0g2;dpf;3*OOO*<~~~)0I1JdifNw*ooo====>

I grinned, feeling it in my hooves. Bulky? Check. Heavy? Check. No-nonsense? Check. Durable? That remained to be seen, but let's leave it as “check.”

“Let's just say I've had prior experience,” I answered back, looking up at her. “... Azrael?”

The griffin's eyes narrowed, and she clacked her beak. “There's a survivor.”

“What?” I widened my eyes.

“Really?” Rig brightened up. “Where is he? Or she?”

“It's... tough to get a fix...” Azrael narrowed her eyes further in concentration.

That certainly wasn’t usual for the griffin. “Why?” I inquired.

“He's a ghoul.”

* * *

“How far?” I asked, the IF-55 slung across my back.

“Appears to be in that building over there,” Azrael replied as we followed after her.

The “building over there” turned out to be the town hall, still burning, barely standing. I only call it a “town hall” in the vaguest sense. It was actually Alhambronco's pre-war bank, the only other large building in town other than The Motel. Given the lack of capacity (or necessity) for such in these times and that The Motel was already used for travelers, the building made a fitting gathering place for voting. Rarely did we ever have such direct democracies even before the Great War. The building was flat-roofed, rectangular, plain, but very large. It was also burned halfway down, and smoke was still billowing out from it. That was one lucky bastard of a ghoul to have survived the blaze- hell, to still be surviving the blaze that continued to ravage the building!

“How the hell didn't you notice before?” Rig asked. The cloud-maned unicorn agreed to share her THV ammunition with me, forking over most of it given how rarely she used her KP-12. Even though it would rapidly lose velocity at longer ranges, it would have to do for now until I could find a reloading bench to convert it to LR. I didn't mind that the ammunition was so rare- it was just something to hold me over until we found something better.

Of course, there still was the matter of being without magic. This was going to suck until we got away from this town. In the back of my mind, I knew we should have waited until I had regained my strength and cryomancy, but I couldn't wait. If this was a chance for atonement, even a little, I would take it while I still had it.

“Ghouls are tough for me, alright?” Azrael scowled. “Leave it at that.”

“Well what about you, Frost?” Rig yelled.

“Oh come on, how could I know that anyone could still be alive in that place!” I growled. “It's halfway burned down!” I galloped ahead, trying the door and gave it a good shove, howling in pain when I discovered it was still burning to the touch. Even through my armor, it still hurt a lot.

“Ahem,” Rig coughed politely as I clutched my shoulder. I stared at her for a second before remembering- cybermare. I stood back as she swung around to deliver a heavy buck with both of her hindlegs. The door buckled, falling inwards but was still propped up by something unseen behind it. She kicked out again and the door flew inwards clear off its hinges.

I couldn't help but shudder at the sight of what was blocking the door. Two charred corpses flopped to the floor now that they were no longer resting against to the door. Their flesh was blackened and browned by the licking flames that still lingered. Clothes and coat had been burned away, and I couldn't even distinguish what species they were from the extent of the damage.

Do you know what scares me most about fire? If you're completely swallowed up in flames, the eyes go first. The eyes go first. The corpses only had black holes staring back out. The way they had died, it looked like they were clutching over them, trying to block the flames out before their forelegs slumped away in death. It was a horrible, horrible sight.

“Twilight Sparkle...” Rig murmured as we shimmied over them.

And then we saw the other bodies. These weren't the only ones- there were at least a dozen more who had sought refuge in their place of unity. Some tried to barge out another door and were caught under fallen debris. The entire building was burnt or burning. Many of the pillars holding up the place had crumbled down with a scant few left intact. Thank the Goddesses that the floor was tile instead of wood, but I still had to squint, my eyes stinging and watering under the heat. Damn the searing heat, the searing pain!

“Where is the survivor, Azrael?” I growled, the agonizing heat sapping my strength. Rig jumped as more of the ceiling collapsed ahead. “Are you sure he's in here?”

“Positive,” she answered, pointing. “Coming from... there.”

The safe room. Of course. The flames couldn't penetrate through a steel-bound room. Of course, air probably couldn't either. Ghouls still needed that, and I was wondering just how much was left in there. I galloped over to the door, minding the flames, looking for a lock to pry open. Then I remembered- I had no magic. Then I realized that there was no lock. Instead, a the screen of a terminal right next ot the door glowed softly over the flames. Stable-Tec, folks. When they build something, they build it to last. You'd be surprised just how many of those things survived the spellfire apocalypse.

“Come on, no password, no password...” I pleaded as I switched it on. I snarled as I found it was, in fact, locked by one. “Dammit!” I pounded on the door. “Hey! Can you hear me in there? Can you open the door from the inside?”

There came a reply, but it was muffled by the thick steel. There was someone inside! But if the door wasn't opening...

“Fuck!” I cursed, trying the terminal again in the vain hope that it would somehow just allow me to open the door. “Bull... fricking... horseshit!” I had to make amends for her, for Miranda and Wendy. I had to atone. I had to atone. If not for me, then for Her.

“Frost!” Rig shouted, shaking me by the shoulder and jarring my attention from the screen. I looked into those indigo eyes, artificial yet bright and wholesome. “Frost, I got this!”

I panted softly, looking at her for a second longer before nodding and moving out of the way. “Hurry.”

The cybermare's horn flared up as tinkered with her PipBuck and then the terminal, whose display immediately changed to some sort of system boot screen or something. It displayed all these lines of code that made no sense to me, though I spotted phrases like “BIOS” and “DEBUG.” The screen then changed to a slew of lines of code that made even less sense to me, filled with various symbols. I spied some words out of the mess, but it didn't make it any less confusing for me. Rig began sifting through the jargon, and I noted that she stopped at sections with a set of closed brackets or parentheses with gibberish in between. Selecting them would delete one of the words. I might not be brain-dead- though I was more creative than intelligent- but I just couldn't make any sense of it.

More of the ceiling collapsed near the service counter, the crash jarring my attention for a moment. “Hurry!” I repeated, louder.

“I'm trying, I'm trying!” the earth-coated unicorn snapped, scowling as she started flicking through the words. I now perceived the words to be possibilities for the password, and the PipBuck program allowed her to find the right one through the process of elimination through getting rid of duds and pure trial-and-error. It was a guessing game, where an incorrect answer would still yield clues as to how many letters were entered correctly “Got it!” she exclaimed as she finally hit the right one- MARKETS. Rig quickly punched it into the terminal, her gray aura dancing across the keys. Other than a simple greeting for the user, it had a single prompt.

Disengage lock.

Rig entered the command and there was an audible snap and click as the lock cycled. I immediately rushed to the door as it pushed inward slightly and slid out of the way. Inside was a slew of safe deposit boxes that ran from the floor to the ceiling in a space large enough to fit ten fully grown ponies. Inside was also a large figure dressed in a patchy, time-eaten cloak of a faded green, a figure that immediately gasped at the inrush of air. The figure was indeed a ghoul, one that looked old even for one supposedly immortal. Even the rot-brown skin left behind looked tarnished somehow.

The figure was also a griffin ghoul, only a head shorter than Azrael.

“Gods above, get me out of here!” he hacked, coughing out black ichor as he hobbled to his feet, flapping his scraggly, featherless wings to get up and out of the safe room. “Go, go, go! Run now, talk later!”

One of the pillars gave away, bringing a whole section of the flaming ceiling down with it. Rig raised a hoof and exclaimed, “I'm cool with that!”

“Then move, you idiots!” the grizzled ghoul squawked hoarsely. “Mooooove!” We made a break for the entrance, Azrael grunting as a light fixture crashed down on her. She shrugged the impact off as if it were nothing, merely rolling forward to smother the flames before bolting out with the rest of us.

Rig and the hobbling ghoul were the first to get through, and I was about to follow when I heard a crackling from above. I had no magic, but I still had my adrenaline rush. Time slowed as one of the rafters tumbled down toward me. I couldn't force myself to push forward, but I could sidestep far enough to avoid it. Scattered embers stung at me as time snapped back up to speed and I rushed forward with Azrael.

“Get clear!” Rig yelped, still running. “Get cleeeaaar!”

I didn't dare look back; I knew the whole building was coming down. I only gave Azrael a glance to see if she was still beside me before surging forward as a horrible, metallic groan filled the air. The bank came crumbling down behind us shortly after, a choking plume of dust and ash rushing past us. I shut my eyes tight and held my breath. I was already overheated; I did not need embers in my lungs and especially not in my eyes! The coughing of the others still filled my ears, and I could still feel the heat as I wandered blindly away. From the heavy, thudding footsteps, Azrael was by my side.

She nudged against me and sputtered, “This way.” I could only follow in her footsteps to get away from the choking dust. I heard the others moving with us, and my lungs started to burn from the distance and the recent exertion. Just how far did we need to go? Tension spread from my throat to my chest. I needed to breathe!

Finally: “We’re clear.”

I opened my eyes and breathed deep, sputtering out phlegm. Looking back at the town hall, a little over half of the building had collapsed. The other half wouldn't be far behind. Sighing, I turned back to the the others. “Everyone alright?”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” Rig answered, slipping off her welding helmet and tussling with her dirtied mane.

“Accounted for,” Azrael replied.

I stared blankly at her.

“I'm fine,” she added at last.

I looked at the griffin ghoul.

“Oh yeah, sure, now it's my turn,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, just dandy. Didn't quite run out of air there, at least not long enough to suffer brain damage. I think. Maybe. Hm, two squared is four, four squared is sixteen, sixteen squared is two... hundred-fifty... six. Yeah, let's not get higher than that. Okay, good enough for me, no brain damage.” He crossed his forelegs and nodded, smacking his beak in the way ponies would with their lips. “Yep.” The “p” came out with a soft pucker.

Is it bad that I already decided I didn't like this guy? His voice was scratchy like all ghouls, but it came with a certain tone that could only be described as slick and sinister like old grease.

“Good.” I maintained eye contact with him, keeping an even posture. “Now. What's your name?”

“I am Grimm Asher,” the griffin answered, getting to his feet and shifting his wings. Grimm... Asher? Oh there was no way. That was impossible... “You know, Grimm Asher? The first griffin in space? The whole reason why Equestria tried to run a space program in the middle of a goddamn war? … anyone?”

Grimm Asher... no, that was impossible. That was impossible. “Who are you?” I asked him. “Really.”

Hm... his cloak had a rather large bulge in it, much like Azrael. She and I shared a moment's glance. We seemed to be of like mind.

“Oh come on, why is it always the same thing?!” he pouted, stamping around indignantly. “Really, I am Grimm Asher! Argh, for fuck's sa-”

It was at that moment that Azrael brandished Valkyrie at him and I whipped up to my hindlegs, brandishing the IF-55 and leveling it at this “Grimm” fellow with my forelegs. Rig jumped in surprise before uneasily winking out Luna's Fortitude and doing the same, slipping her welding helmet back on.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The ghoul recoiled, taking a few steps back.

“Are you with The Dead Boys?” Azrael challenged him.

“Well, uh,” the ghoul stammered, “you see, there's a fuuuuunny story about that...”

Our weapons tensed.

“Are you with The Dead Boys?” she demanded.

“I was, I was!” he squawked back. “I'm not anymore! Now put your weapons away!”

“Clarify,” the giant griffin ordered. “Then we'll consider it.”

“Well what do you think, Soraya? Do you think you were the only one to disagree with what The Dead Boys stood for? Huh?!”

Azrael, or rather Soraya, visibly balked and backed up a little, eyes wide.

I looked between the two of them, still training the IF-55 on him. Dammit, it had been ages since I was last forced into having to stand up like some zebra gunner. My hindlegs were already starting to burn, if only a little. “Do you know him?” I asked.

“No,” she shook her head, “I've never-”

The griffin ghoul cut her off. “She doesn't know me, no. I do, however, know... her.”

“How?” Azrael growled.

“I was with The Dead Boys.” He puckered his beak, looking away. “You savvy? Look, for Pete's sake, you're not the only griffin on the run. I flew the coop, now I'm paying the price. Damn bastards hired freaking raiders to burn down the whole town to get to me... fucking locked me in the safe room.”

“How?” I asked, still keeping my DMR up.

“They chased me with flamethrowers?” He eyed me, sweeping his arms wide, indicating the destruction around us. “Isn't it obvious?”

“How did they lock you in the safe room?”

He paused. “Well not all raiders are brain dead, you know!”

Too long of a pause. Broken eye contact earlier. Lower jaw tightened. I kept my aim steady.

He noticed and slowly began to smirk. “Heh, told 'em they shoulda saved Akrama for this.”

Everything happened too fast after that. He shifted his head to the side with a sickeningly loud crack just before I fired, causing my shot to whiz past him. At the same time, Azrael swung out with Valkyrie as he spun away, catching his cloak as he kicked Luna's Fortitude out of Rig's telekinetic field. The ghostfire flared up around him as he backed off in his spin, whipping his garment off into the air before the fire claimed him, revealing...

Oh holy fucking shit.

In a split second, my memory took a snapshot of him. He was skidding away on all fours now, with what laid under his cloak now open for all to see. He was dressed in what could only be described as an armored version of a griffin cosmonaut suit, rubbery and matte black. The Aldornan flag was emblazoned on his shoulder- the claws of two griffins clasped together in unity, clutching a lace with the Star of Alda dangling between them. Even stranger than this were the meter-long spikes that jutted from his back, stacked in rows of two down his spine. They were partly transparent, revealing a murky fluid capped inside each of them.

And I paled as I laid my eyes on the most horrifying sight yet.

He had a flamethrower. The tank was cradled between the spikes with the hose and nozzle snaking over his right shoulder down to his forearm so that it had hidden by his cloak's sleeve. The pilot light was already lit, the fire demonically mirrored in his milky eyes, his beak curved up in a hideous sneer. The ghostfire-lit tatters of his cloak rained down on him as the first row of spikes let out a puff of air and pressed down into his back with a hiss. The liquid trickled down as the ghoul let out a slowly growing growl, opening his mouth and twitching spasmodically before throwing back his head.

“Aaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahaaaaaaa!” That high-pitched, maniacal, howling laughter lanced through the air as he unleashed a jet of billowing flames toward us.

I scrambled away, collapsing back down to all four as the heat seared my back. I ducked into an alley, my heart thudding... and then falling as I heard Rig let out a cry of pain. I felt a sickness rise up within me. I hadn't cared about Rig, I hadn't cared about Azrael- I had only cared about putting as much distance from me and that ghoul as possible.

“Rig!” I yelled back out, shutting my eyes tight as the rush of flame continued to blaze by, feeling sick. The jet ceased and I heard something hobbling toward me. I forced open my eyes and readied for close, suicidal combat and a horrible, horrible death... but instead I found Rig stumbling over to me. She was gritting her teeth, the left side of her face engulfed in flames. She swore as she used her hoof to smother the flames, turning to me. Most of the synthetic flesh and a bit of her mane was burned away, leaving a smoky ring around what laid beneath- her aperture-like photoreceptor and a good portion of the sub-dermal armor that made up her skull. I could only widen my eyes in horror as I stood there, panting.

She offered a tentative smile. “It's... not as painful as it looks.”

I nevertheless stared in horror. “Good to know.” Another jet of flame rushed past the main road, jarring me. “Come on, we've got to get away from him!”

“I'm down with that!” Rig yelped and flipped down the welding helmet, winking out... the IF-55. “You left this!”

“Just teleport it onto my back!” I told her as I made for the road on the other end of the alley, the familiar weight of the DMR resting on my back once more. “Oh Goddessdamn it!” The ghoul landed down at the other end, cutting us off. Alleyways have always, always sucked.

“Burn!” he rasped as he leveled the flamethrower at us. Rig managed to fire first (Thank the Goddess for S.A.T.S.!), some of the rounds catching him in the head and bursting his left eye. He stumbled to the side, flailing his wings and forelegs. “Rah!”

“Backbackbackbackbaaaaack!” Rig yelped, scrambling the other way. She didn't need to tell me twice! Now we were running away from the ghoul, rounding the corner as another blast of flame tore past us. The gray world around made the flame seem almost golden in contrast.

“Azrael!” I yelled as we made a break for the other end of Alhambronco.

“With you!” the giant griffin shouted back, swooping down from the air and landing beside us in a trot, speeding to catch up.

“We're getting out of here!” I barked. “We can't fight him like this!”

“And he'll chase us down!” Azrael yelled back. “You have no ice! You can't fly! We have to fight him!” I swore, realizing she was correct. She added, “Frost, we can't stick together like this! He'll get us all at once with that flamethrower!”

“And you see what happens when we split up?!” Rig rebutted. “You're the one who pointed it out!

“Do you have any better ideas?” Azrael snapped.

“Azrael's right!” I hissed. “I've got no ice and Azrael can't glean him! We split!”

“Rrrrrr, fuck!” the cyber growled. We broke off, and I made a break for the town square. I did not like the idea of being out in the open, but it was better than being in an alleyway where he could ambush me and catch me with a narrow avenue of escape with a weapon such as that.

“YYYYYYYeeeeessss!” I heard him cry. “That's it! Come out!” I looked back to see him soar upwards, rolling and jerking through the air as Azrael fired up at him with Harbinger, the ghoul somehow able to dodge the bullets effortlessly. “There you are!”

He swooped down, lacing the air with fire. I could only watch as Azrael took flight, and the pair swerved through the air in a desperate chase, trying to get the bead on the other. He was fast, extremely fast. She couldn't evade him for much longer even if she was more maneuverable than he was. Knowing I was probably going to regret this, I kicked up into an upright position, bringing the IF-55 to bear and taking aim, letting the adrenaline flood me. Time slowed- I could still pull that off even without cryomancy, thank Goddess- and I placed the crosshair on his head, aiming upward to compensate for bullet drop and to lead him. I fired, watching as the round burst from the barrel with a loud, drawn-out CHAFK. The THV round broke the sound barrier almost three times over at first but quickly began to decelerate due to the shape. Please hit him, please hit him... yes! I may not have hit him in the head as intended, but it smacked into his wing and caused him to look... directly at me just after swallowing up Azrael in flames. Fuck! Goddess fucking damn it!

… I'm sorry, I can't believe that actually crossed my mind back then...

Did I mention he was fast? Well holy fuck, he was fast! He veered off for me as the ebony griffin dropped from the sky, and I could only brace as he plowed into me, sending me rolling along the rough earth. My armor absorbed most of the impact, thankfully, but I was a bit more sluggish whipping to my hindlegs and taking aim again. He continued to go past me, skidding along with lit fuel dripping from the nozzle.

Oh what the fuck, his eye had grown back!

“Who are you?!” he hissed. “My fight is with Azrael and Azrael only! Or Soraya! Whichever you prefer!”

“Who the hell are you?!” I challenged him back. Had to buy time, had to buy time. He seemed talkative enough at the moment.

“Me?”The ghoul's eyes glowed eerily as he threw back his head. “Aaaaaaaahahahahahahahaaaaa! Me?! You mean, you haven't already guessed?! Well, let me give you a hint!” With that, he rose up on his hindlegs and sang:

“If you're feeling like I feel,
then run you life like it's a dance floor!”

He paused, flashing me a vile, vile sneer.

“And if you need a little heat in your face,
that's what I'm here for!”

He waved his flamethrower nozzle dangerously close to his face... and blew. I stumbled away, ducking around the statue of La Mula as a jet of flame spewed out where I was moments before.

“If you're chilling in the dark
and you're looking through a telescope!”

I watched as he made a ring with his left claw and peered through it, grinning childishly. “Woooooo!”

“You will see me sipping
on the soul of a new hope!
Woo! Woo!”

Wait. That childish grin, on a grizzled, old ghoul. Old... and young in one. My Goddess.

“Javahl...” I whispered.

He was positively beaming now, leveling that flamethrower at me. “So burn it down!” Another rush of golden fire burst around the statue, and I howled in agony as the heat seared every fiber of my being. I had to get away. I sprinted for the other side. “Burn it down!” No good! The flames sprayed past me now and I ground to a halt, eyes burning from the brightness. I fell back against the statue, trapped. “Burn it down!” He was getting louder; he was getting closer, and I was pinned. “Burn it down!” I shrunk as close to the middle as I could, gritting my teeth and growling in pain. “Burn it down- burn it down, baby, burn it burn it do-”

I tensed, prepared to be engulfed, but the flames never came. Looking back, I found him clutching the nozzle, the world a dead gray once more.

“Whaaaaaaaat?!” He scowled, flicking the gauge. “Not enough pressure?! Well fuck you too! If you can't last after burning a whole town with raider help, you're useless to me!”

My ears perked up at that, and I could feel a smile creep along my muzzle as I took aim and pulled the trigger as fast as I could. His head snapped back as I planted one right in his temple, the rest of the rounds scattering and hitting all over the place. Yeah, I really wasn't accurate with this, dammit. The first shot counted at least. I was only just starting to reload, when Javahl lurched back up, howling as another of the spike pairs lowered into his back, the fluid level dropping.

Then it hit me. How didn't I see it sooner? Those were liters upon liters of combat drug cocktails he was pumping into himself! His head wound was already closing as he snarled from the injection, boosting for me. I could only dive back to the ground, bucking upward into him as he sailed overhead. He only grunted in passing, clattering on all fours and skidding by as if nothing had happened.

“That's right!” he squawked at me, tightening the nozzle. “I am Javahl, The Callow Elder, God of Vitality and Atrophy! Now who are you?!” He looked down at the pump with a cracked smile. “Oh hey. Pressure's back. Stupid, silly flamey...” He looked back at me, my smile vanishing. “Too bad! You die now! You can at least tell me your name as you burn!”

“Ah what's it to ya?” Rig called out, causing us both to look at the burned-out house she was hiding in. Yet again, I leaped back as she fired a grenade at him, striking the ground in front of him and sending him stumbling. His flamethrower nozzle and hose teleported away in a gray flash to leave behind the tank, now leaking fuel all over him. “Yeah, that's right, motherfucker!”

“Incompetent whoooooore!” Javahl bellowed. Thankfully, the guy was talkative enough. I took aim and fired as deliberately as I could, trying to score enough headshots to really kill him this time. He moved too fast, and I missed as he rushed toward Rig.

“Uh-oh,” the young mare said simply before running away. Javahl dashed blindly along... and was knocked to the side as the ground exploded from beside him.

“Bitch!” he yelped. “Watch the mines, Grimm, watch the- rah!”

The griffin ghoul was send skidding a meter or so when a grenade detonated in front of him, shattering several of the injector spikes. The spikes!

“Rig!” I yelled. “The spikes! Aim for the spikes!”

I took the opportunity to plant several rounds into him from behind, trying to hit the injectors as he started to push himself up. Luna can legitimately damn him! How much could this guy take with all those combat drugs?! I wasn’t doing a thing to the injectors, even with the THV rounds!

Javahl whipped up to his feet, looking between the two of us, ignorant of the bullets punching into him. “Which one, which one... no, go for Azrael, yes, go for Azrael! Where are you? You can't be dead, not yet...”

“Right here!”

Javahl flipped to the side as Azrael cut down from above with Valkyrie, evading the flaming scythe. The giant was still smoking from the flames, though I couldn't tell just how bad it was due to her coloration. Her cloak was more or less burned away, but she was still alive and kicking. Javahl stuck his tongue out at her as he ducked and dodged and weaved around her swings.

“Missed me, missed me,” he taunted. “Now you gotta kiss me!”

And what the fuck?! He kissed her! Right then and there, he locked beaks with Azrael! I think we were all stunned with the act, and I could only sympathize with her as her eyes squinted in disgust. She bashed him away with a knee to the gut, slashing at him with Valkyrie. He only cackled in delight as he pulled away as she gagged and coughed.

“That's it!” Azrael spat, snarling. “You're dead!”

Javahl paused, looking down at himself. “Well yeah. I mean, duh, just look at me! I'm a ghoul for goodness sake-”Azrael pulled Valkyrie apart, breaking the weapon in half. And Twilight Sparkle, the second half sprouted another ghostfire blade! “Oh, what the fuck, you've got two of them?! Rah!”

The two clashed, Javahl barely evading as Azrael swung fluidly with strike after strike, swapping for kicks and lashing out with her wingblades on occasion. It was a divine thing to watch- it was as if she was dancing rather than fighting, the twin Valkyrie scythes droning in that unequestrianly manner. And yet Javahl was just spinning around her, blowing raspberries and puckering his lips at her in a drug-addled craze. And neither Rig nor I could do anything with the pair so close and so fast.

“Azrael, you've got to back off!” I yelled, trying to draw a bead. The giant cried out as he caught her in the gut, sending her staggering. “Azrael!”

“Damn... you!” she growled, angrily and reluctantly kicking out of the way.

“Damn you!” Javahl countered, sneaking a leg behind her and tripping her up, causing her to fall flat on her back. He pounced at her, but she delivered a crushing kick to his chest, causing him to fly back onto the ground rolling just enough for me to pepper him with shots before he staggered back up. “Fuck you fuck you fuck you in the ass! Don't you know that's not doing anything to me you little pr-”

And it was then that Rig got the bright idea of launching an incendiary grenade at him. Javahl squawked as it detonated behind him, catching him on fire. It quickly caught the rest of the fuel in his tank, and it exploded, shattering several spikes on his back and spreading the flames around him, save over his head.

Unfortunately, he still didn't die.

“Ooh...” Javahl sneered, activating something on his shoulder and causing a space helmet to form around his head, shaded black and emblazoned with The Dead Boy rebel yell skull. “I can make this work...” And with that, his last surviving set of injectors plunged into him as we opened fire. Right about now, I wished I had the ability to go back in time and buck whoever invented Turbo, because he was just moving faster than we could aim now. He just kept on dodging our shots while he lashed out at us.

And he was on fucking fire while lashing out at us no less!

“Thank you very much, Rig!” Azrael scowled as she did her best to evade Javahl. I tried to take shots when I could, but I was quickly burning through all the ammunition that Rig gave me. I was doing jack shit to him without my cryomancy.

“Son of a bitch, how was I supposed to know his suit was flame-retardant?!” Rig shrieked as the berserk ghoul suddenly went for her, the unicorn mare crying out in pain as he drove a fiery fist into her side, sending her flying into a wall- through a wall.

“Flame-retardant...” I muttered. Wait. Then... then maybe... “Grimm!”

“Mm, heh?” He blinked (at least I thought I could see him blink through the flames), holding his curled claw back as he was about to strike Rig again, who was clutching her side and grunting in pain. “Wait. What. Did. You. Call. Me?!”

“You... you really are Grimm Asher, aren't you?” I kept the DMR steady, even as he was calming down. “You really are the first griffin cosmonaut, aren't you?” He stepped away from Rig now, heading for me with an slow, determined stride. The way he burned made him look like the devil alive. “They said you died on re-entry, that there was an oxygen tank malfunction and your pod burst into flames... but you survived because of your suit...”

Javahl... Grimm stood before me, regarding me. “Yessss... that's right! HHHow do you know this? I've never told anypony, anyone... about... that... save the others...”

“Let's just say I've read up on the subject,” I told him. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Azrael was getting in position, Harbinger glowing orange as she reloaded. Ten seconds. I needed to keep him busy for ten seconds.

“Read?” Grimm hissed. “Hah! Where? I doubt anyone made a biography of me! Maybe newspaper articles!” He leered at me. “I'll ask again- who are you? You wear the armor of the Lunar Guard, you know of me, and yet you don't look like a ghoul...”

“My name is Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill, but I wish to be called Frost,” I answered in the formal griffin introduction. “I hail from the Far North. I take the role of bounty hunter.”

Behind the veil of flame, beyond the imprinted skull, beyond the tinted acrylic, I could see his eyes widen. “Tell your friends not to aim at me. This is between you and me now.”

I glanced at Rig and Azrael from where they are. He knew me, and now I realized I might just know him too. I would be so easy, so easy to just let him get torn up by 40mm and NSVT. He knew the truth, the real truth.

But then... I remembered Her. I remembered Her words.

I sighed, lowering back to all fours and slinging the IF-55 back. “Stand down!” I barked.

Rig and Azrael exchanged glances before the latter yelled, “Why should we?”

“Because he hasn't tried to kill me yet, and I think he realizes I've had no magic for the past several minutes!” I shouted in reply.

“Yeah, I do now,” Grimm nodded slowly, swaying lightly as he started to come down from his chem-induced high, “so, ah... I'd disarm myself, but it's a little...” He gestured to the flames engulfing almost all of his body, “... hard. Shall we be civil?”

I glanced at the two again. This time, they slowly lowered their weapons.

“You trusted me?” the ghoul asked.

“You're no Akrama,” I huffed. “Your lying sucks.”

“Rrrr... yes, it does,” he grumbled. “So... are you really...?”

“I am Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill of the Far North,” I repeated. “I am.”

Grimm grumbled lightly, patting at his right foreleg, trying to smother the flames enough or at least try to shake off the petroleum jelly off of his claw. Finding he couldn't, he used his left claw (which was only flaming around the wrist) to reach into a small pouch on his waist.

He pulled out a balisong with crimson, skeletonized handles, opening it with a full twirl. The blade had a thick, drop point tanto shape. He fanned it into an orbit around his claw before swiping it into a horizontal aerial, catching it and rolling the handles over his index finger into an open position. “Prove it.”

My Goddess, I knew that balisong. I didn't just know who he was. I knew him.

I looked back up at him and reached into my saddlebags with my right hoof, pulling out Silver Skean and opening her up with the only flashy technique I could pull off effectively without hands- the suicide drop. They call it that for a reason- it's not easy, especially with hooves. Reverse grip, snap it up into the air by the junction, catch as it comes down.

“Heh... you've been practicing...” He smirked, closing the blade with an aerial. “Too bad I can't see what else you can do.” He leaned in close. “Turnstile Model 42. Weehawk blade. Yes. It's you. I'd remember any non-griffin customer.”

My heart was pounding. What was he going to do? Was he going to ask how I lived? Was he going to force me into a situation where Rig and Azrael learned everything? I was actually holding in the temptation to kill him (how, I had no idea) then and there, but I held it in. Perhaps if he was still hostile, maybe... but not like this.

“So...” I murmured, quickly closing the blade with a simple flick of the fetlock. “What happens now?”

“Now?” He chuckled, tossing back his head. “Aaaaaahahahahahahahaaaa! Ahhhh, now? I wish I could hug you, buuuuut that'd be a terrible idea as I'm sure you can imagine.”

I forced a smile. Bad image. Baaaad image. “Indeed.”

Grimm huffed. “Jeez, what happened to you? You used to be a lot more talkative! … and... less... slit-eyed-ey.”

“Oh really now?”

I snapped my head back to find Azrael looming over me, reconnecting her scythes and collapsing them. Now that she was this close, I could see that practically all of her feathers were frizzled from the fire. She didn't look too badly burned, thankfully, and thank Goddess her eyes were still fine. Her cloak had burned away, leaving Harbinger exposed in all its imposing glory.

“Dammit!” I growled. “How can you be so sneaky sometimes?” The giant merely shrugged. I then heard some light, uneven footsteps... “Rig, don't try it. You just can't.”

“Aw,” she pouted, flipping up her helmet. Yeesh... again with the creepy photoreceptor. “Well, uh... you mean you're not fighting us?”

“Mmmmm...” Grimm paused to tap his chin, then huffed. “Nah.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” Azrael spoke. I noted how she didn't put Valkyrie away just yet. “About as difficult to believe as how you two know one another.”

“Really?” he huffed. “If you haven't noticed, I'm kinda all out of drugs. I'm also on fire. Being on fire is bad, if you didn't know. I'm at a bit of a disadvantage now.”

“So I can kill you right now and there's no problem?” Azrael loomed closer, Valkyrie extending once more with a horrible crackle and hiss.

“Uhhhhh... I guess...” Grimm backed up a little. “Come on, we said we'd be civil!”

“Azrael, drop it... at least for now,” I spoke slowly.

The giant turned to me. “He. Set me. On fire. And then he kissed me. I really, really want him dead.”

“You still owe me for letting you in,” I reminded her.

She exhaled and clacked her beak in distaste. “Yes.” She collapsed the scythe and lowered herself down. “Yes, I do.”

“Thank you,” I sighed in relief.

“Now, uh...” Rig finally spoke up, “you two know each other?”

“Only in passing,” I spoke. “I, ah... bought Silver Skean off of him when he was a vendor a long time ago.”

“Silver Skean?” the ghoul eyed me (I think).

“That's what I call her, yes.”

He blinked. “But... that's not a skean.”

“I know.”

“But that's still not a skean.”

“I know,” I repeated with a light grumble.

“So why call that a skean?”

“Because I wanted her name to be an alliteration, alright?” I snapped.

“But it's not a literal alliteration! Aaaaaahahahahahahahaaaaa, hoo! Hoo! Hoo...” Grimm raised a finger to wipe a tear away, but he grumbled as his helmet got in the way. “Sorry, I just wanted to pull that off.”

“Fascinating.” Azrael stared blankly. “So, you met each other when he was a vendor. How long ago was this?”

“About twenty-” I started.

“Before the Great War,” Grimm answered, sitting down and crossing his forelegs.

I blanched as all eyes were on me, suddenly feeling very, very cold.

“You know, Frost,” Azrael bore her eyes down on me, “'a long time ago' just doesn't quite seem to cut it in this case.”

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Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level

Rig- Level up! Level 8 reached!

Azrael- Maximum Level

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Theme of The Callow Elder, Javahl

Commission Art- Javahl by Sw1tchbl4de

Author's Note

My thanks go to Kkat, Somber, Mimezinga, and everyone (we have griffins now) in the FoE community. I am especially grateful for ErrantIndy and YetAnotherPony for looking this chapter over. Lastly, thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is always appreciated!

Also, be sure to check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr! I keep on forgetting about it...

http://askfrostwindchill.tumblr.com/

Chapter Thirteen: Frost

Chapter Thirteen: Frost

Oh come on, people. I'm sure some of you already guessed. It really wasn't that hard. He left a lot of hints.

Now, how're we doing for time...? Two minutes. The wonders of telepathy...

Well, your time is valuable, and so is mine. Let's not get to wasting it. I'll just let this go on until nine or so...

Join me.

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“I-I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you right.” Rig shook her head. “You said you sold that knife thing-”

“Balisong,” Grimm corrected.

“-balisong to him?”

He nodded, still sitting with his forelegs crossed. “YYYYYYep.”

“And... this was before the Great War?”

“YYYYYYep.”

“The Great War that was over one-hundred-fifty years ago?”

“YYYYYYep.”

Rig stared at me. “Uh, Frost?” She shook her head wildly before exclaiming. “What?!”

“What what?” Grimm, still flaming, raised an patch of skin where I think his eyebrow used to be.

“What?” She looked at him now.

“Yeah, what what?” He nodded, looking down at her.

“Um... what?” The cybermare stared at him incredulously.

“Rah...” The ghoul facepalmed. Ah, helmetpalmed. “What do you mean by 'what?'”

“I mean... what the hay, Frost!” She turned back to me now. “You're that old?”

It occurred to me just how easily I could have lied my way out of it. But...

“There are ties that bind, Frost. There are also lies that bind.”

“Give me something to believe in.”

“Wait, he never told you?” Grimm squawked. “Really? I mean, I'm surprised myself that he's still alive, but he never told you he's that old?”

“I had my suspicions,” Azrael spoke, seating herself as well. “So. Explain, Frost.”

I sighed softly, a weight upon my heart and a gnawing at my gut. The spotlight was on me now. I never felt stage fright before, but I imagined it felt like something akin to what I was feeling now. It was like I was plummeting straight down into an unseen abyss. Yet I was still standing upright, standing firm. It made me sick.

Well... here goes.

“I'm not just fifty-two years old, Azrael,” I told them. “I'm two-hundred-seventeen.”

“What else have you lied to us about?” she inquired further. She was unshakably calm, and somehow that scared me more than if she had been outraged. Rig just stayed quiet, eying me. Her photoreceptor bore into me. The world grew hazy. Vertigo knocked on my door.

“Quite a few things,” I spoke, trying to maintain as even a tone as I could. It wasn't easy.

“Such as?”

The dropping, the dizziness, the weight- it was unbearable. Find a way out. Escape. Evade. Dodge. Avoid. “Look, I... I have my reasons for lying to you.”

“And everyone else,” Azrael added. “I'm quite aware, Frost. Otherwise, you wouldn't have lied in the first place. Answer the question.”

“Quite a few things,” I answered bitterly. My heart was fluttering worryingly in my breast. “I-”

“Ooh, confession time!” Grimm squealed, shaking his fists in front of him giddily. “I want in on this!”

I glared hoof-and-a-half swords at him. My voice simmered with the force of the heat on me. “You're not making this any easier.”

“I know!” he giggled. “Now go on.”

I maintained my glare, drew in my breath. “No.”

“Um... what?” The ghoul blinked.

“What what?” Rig snorted.

“Don't start with me,” he growled. “I'm on fire.”

“Must you really do this now of all times?” Azrael snapped. “You're making it harder for me to resist killing you.”

“Well hey, I can't help it.” Grimm shrugged simply, holding his claws up defensively. “They call me Javahl for a reason.”

“Why not, Frost?” Rig asked me. “That bad?”

I bit my lip, the flesh so dry and cracked from the heat that my razor-sharp teeth made them bleed. I licked at the blood, focusing on the coppery taste as the memories started surging back. I fought them down, beat them back, made them submit to my will.

“Frost?” she called out to me again.

“Rig,” Azrael spoke. “He's wearing Lunar Guard armor.”

“I don't see how that has to do with...” Rig paused, her eye and photoreceptor widening. “Oh...”

I breathed deeply, my jaw quivering. I was the master of my own mind. It would do as I commanded it. I swallowed hard. Weight, so much weight on my heart. Turning, so much turning in my guts.

“Yeah,” I said simply. “It's that bad, Rig.” The cyber looked away. She was having mixed feelings about me, I could see it. “I don't wish to talk about it.”

“And denied,” Grimm laughed. “How do the robopony and giant black griffin... pony... thing reply?” Azrael glared at him, reaching for Valkyrie. “Hey, don't mind me. I'm just making commentary. “Plus,” He jerked his head in my direction, “he has on you on a leash like a good, little-”

“Grimm,” I spoke, voice deadly low.

“Mm-hm?”

“I have you on a leash, too. You're still alive only because I will it. Don't test me.”

“Oooh... touchy.” He dipped his head, grinning devilishly behind his helmet. “Oh, and I'm still on fire. You don't test me.”

“That reminds me,” Rig spoke up, her horn flaring brightly. A bright, gray flash went off and the griffin ghoul widened his eyes as his cosmonaut suit teleported away, leaving him bare. His claws grasped at his not-flaming chest in disbelief.

She did have a lovely smirk.

And he did have an uneasy smile.

“... how come you didn’t do that before?” I blinked at her. At the very least, it was a distraction.

“Because it’s a lot, lot harder to teleport moving object,” Rig answered. “Especially big ones. Trust me.”

“So is this a matter of resolution?” Azrael finally asked. Looks like she hadn't forgotten the matter at hoof after all...

“Few would hope to understand,” I exhaled. This was going to be another day of sighs. I could just tell.

“Frost, I've come to understand thousands upon thousands of living things in the time I've been alive,” the ebony griffin spoke, maintaining her calm. “Try me.”

“You haven't come to understand somepony from before the Great War,” I rebutted firmly.

“So you really are that old...” Rig whispered.

“Well you're rather slow on the uptake, aren't you?” Grimm snickered. I stared blankly at him. “Hey, is it too much to ask to enjoy a little humor at the expense of others?”

Azrael eyed me. “Are you going to tell either of us eventually?”

I sighed dryly, closing my eyes. I remembered my promise. I opened my mouth to-

I could break it. Everything was still salvageable. They only knew my true age and the possibility that came with my armor. Nobody else had to know. Nobody else could know. I closed my mouth. Then I-

Then I remembered Her, how She looked so, so sad. Those eyes full of everything were sullen and hopeless.

“Give me something to believe in.”

My heart pounded as I opened my mouth once more. “Yes.”

“When?” Azrael inquired without missing a beat.

I kept my eyes closed. “After this. After we get the water talismans for Stable Three.”

“May I at least ask a few things...?” Rig asked.

I opened my eyes to look at her. One eye- brilliant, indigo. The other- a glaring aperture ringed by smooth metal. Flattening my lips, I answered, “You may,” She started to open her mouth, “but I may not answer them.”

“Ouch, burned,” Grimm chuckled.

“Are you a Lunar Guard?” Rig inquired, ignoring him.

Our eyes remained locked. “No.”

The earth-coated unicorn's eye narrowed in confusion. Her photoreceptor even contracted in mimicry.

“Were you a Lunar Guard?” she questioned further.

I rolled my jaw around tensely. “Yes.”

“The plot thickens...” Grimm whispered, waving his claws. “Ooooo...”

“So you knew Princess Luna?” Rig asked. “Personally?”

My jaw tightened as I felt my gut drop lower. “Y...” I paused, sighing. “Yes.”

“And Princess Celestia?”

“Yes.” Easier.

Rig regarded me for a few seconds. “What were they like?”

“I don't want to talk about it,” I spoke quickly, firmly, almost in a growl. My mouth felt dry. Then, I relented. “Just... not yet. Not yet.” The weight on my heart grew heavier.

“So your... eyes, your teeth... they weren't biologically inherited, were they?”

“No.” Easier again. For now.

“Are they natural?”

And there it was. “No.” Before she could move on, I held up a hoof to stop her. Then, I pressed it against the eye-shaped gem on my breastplate. “In moon’s shadow.” The deep-blue iris slowly drained of color, shifting to a duller tone as I let my hoof fall. I knew what they would see. My coat would lengthen and turn an ashen gray before their eyes. Tufts of fur would pop up on my ears as they tapered over ever so slightly. My amber eyes would only gleam brighter. I knew this because every sense grew all the more acute. My ears twitched with the slightest noise. My vision grew sharper, the dull world brighter. My nostrils burned, overloaded by the dead heat around us. The lingering, smoky taste in my mouth intensified. I felt the dull, throbbing warmth of the smoldering earth around me through my horseshoes. Lastly, I felt powerful- so, so powerful. “And yes.”

“Dude,” Grimm pointed, “that's creepy.”

“I... gotta say I'm with you on this one,” Rig agreed, staring. “Um... yeah, that's all I got, I think...”

“How did you and Grimm meet?” Azrael inquired suddenly.

And there I was, thinking it was over. “I was in Aldorna before the Great War,” I told her, my eyes and voice hardening “Back then, I was an... an equinpologist researching the effects of the Age of Industry on the sociocultural level. I happened to see a griffin child playing with a balisong while I was there. Intrigued, I asked my guide what it was and decided to purchase one for myself.” My gaze fell to Grimm. “I'm sure you can figure out the rest.”

“You... were in our homeland before the megaspells fell?” Azrael widened her eyes, rising from her seated position.

“Yes. Before it was ravaged by the Great Schism even...”

She cocked an eyebrow. “The Great-”

I cut her off. “I don't. Want. To talk about it. Just... later. Later.” The giant seated herself once more. “Will that be all?”

“Oh, wait!” Rig exclaimed. “I remembered one! Right, uh, what's your cutie-mark?”

I exhaled slowly. “I... really... really don't wish to talk about it.”

“Are you sure it’s that much of a big-” I cut her off with an intense glare. “Ugh... well that's all I got,” she sighed.

“Uh, hello!” Grimm waved. “What happens to me now?”

“That's a very good question,” I said, training my intense gaze on him. “Do you know how far you are from me?”

“Uh, well, let's see...” He looked down.

He never saw it coming. I closed the distance in the blink of an eye, my hoof flatly striking him in the chest with a solid crack. As he started to stagger back, I propelled myself up onto my hindlegs and kicked at his own, aiming for the knee. Another solid crack. Advancing as he began falling forward, I cuffed him in the chest once more, this time with a wet squelch. I knocked him clear off his hindlegs and flat onto his back.

“Not far enough,” I finished.

“Aah!” Grimm whooped. “Aaaahahahahahahahaaa! Wow! That actually hurts! Aaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahaaa!”

“Yeah, um, Frost?” Rig stared. “What the hell did you do that for?!”

“Is there a problem?” I glanced down at her, still on my hindlegs. Yes... standing like this was much easier now.

“Well...” She hesitated, eying the hysterical ghoul.

“I see nothing wrong with this,” Azrael said with a shrug.

“Hooo!” Grimm writhed. “Hooo! Now... hahaha... what did you do that for, ol' buddy ol' pal?”

“Ol' buddies ol' pals we may be,” I responded, looming over him, “but you burned down a good town, and you killed many innocent people.”

“So did Soraya over there!” the ghoul squawked. “Wah! Waaaahahahahahahahaha! And, and, and 'innocent?' Haaaahahaha! I'd tell you not to make me laugh, but you- you already did! Haaaaahhhh!” I crushed his other hindleg, the age-brittled bone snapping easily. “Wooo! Woohoohoohoohoohoooooo! 'We're all victims,' they say! But you know what we say, huh?” His voice grew hoarse as he shrieked. “We're all villains, Frostie! We're all villains, mmmmeeeeeeeeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeeeeeeee!” Grimm licked and smacked his beak. “Besides, I didn't kill everyone here! Ohhhhohoho!”

“Your raiders did,” I growled, slamming down on his gut as he squirmed beneath me.

His eyes bulged, and he sputtered black ichor as he snickered, “Does... heheheh... does... oh, this is good, this is good, hahahah... does that make you a raider too?!”

I blanched. How did he know? How did he know?!

“Move,” Azrael snapped, shoving me aside. Valkyrie sparked to life, and she swept the blade across him.

“Aaaaaaaahahahahahahahaaaaa!” he cackled as the green flames consumed him. “Priceless! Just pricless! Aaaaaaahahahahahahahaaaaaa! Aaaaaaaahahahahahahahaaaaa!” He continued to laugh that horrible, vile, whooping laugh until the ghostfire claimed him, leaving a blackened corpse behind.

* * *

Night fell shortly after. We were in a cave again, not that I minded. We couldn't stay in the Alhambronco ruins. If Grimm... if Javahl didn't return, The Dead Boys would know to trace us there.

We ate in silence. Azrael scarfed down a pack of Cram, a box of Sugar Apple Bombs, and a Fancy Colt Snack Cake- that was what it took to get the taste of ghoul tongue out, apparently. Despite what happened earlier, she still showed a most peculiar level of glee and delight in wolfing down the sweets. Rig had canned cream of broccoli. I had biscuits; I couldn't enjoy their taste. At the very least, Rig still met my glance. I think she found some solace in that I didn't shrink away at the sight of what laid beneath her earthy coat. I wanted to, though.

I still didn't have my magic back. There wasn't as much heat in the air, but I just couldn't concentrate. I just felt drained, drained like the night before.

“I'll take first watch,” I said, breaking the silence only for a moment. In an instant, it was back and I walked out without another word.

I had excellent vision already without disengaging the enchantment. Now, the night turned to day. Without ice tendrils, I would need my enhanced senses to properly keep watch.

I could already hear Her soft breath. “You told them. Why?”

I glanced at Her. “Because of you,” I whispered in reply. With my hearing, I very well may have been talking. “And because I'm sorry.”

“Is it only because they found out about you in the end anyways?” She asked.

I winced, the words stinging. “It's because I felt nothing when I killed Miranda, and I felt nothing when I killed her daughter. And it scares me.” I glanced down at the dull blue eye on my breastplate, sighing softly. “I've... changed, haven't I?” I raised my hooves. I could count every individual strand of long, ash-gray fur if I wanted to. “More than I thought...” I pried my breastplate away enough to remove the two photographs I hid inside, piecing the split one together. Such a long time has passed since they were taken. The first, I still had some semblance of myself. But the second... even beside Her, I couldn't make the connection between my two selves. “Far more than I thought.” I looked up at her, into those eyes full of everything. “Yet here you are, just the same as when we met.”

“Not like after, though,” She sighed, placing a hoof on my shoulder. “I... don't think I can forgive you, given that I can't exactly blame you for what you did. But... I can at least say you're starting to redeem yourself for what you've done in my eyes.” I perked my ears upon hearing that. “Starting to. Barely. Don't get your hopes up.”

I nodded slowly, murmuring, “Father... always told me that the truth sets you free. I guess it's about time to put it to the test.”

My ears twitched from the sound of footsteps. She couldn't sneak up on me this time. I swept up the photographs in my hoof and tucked them safely behind my breastplate once more. Azrael joined me shortly after.

We were silent, seated side-by-side. After minute, I whispered, “You came out here for a reason.”

The griffin regarded me for a moment, then asked, “Are you still Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill? Or is that even your real name?”

“I am him as much as you are Soraya Razorwing,” I replied. A pause. “Do you wish to...?”

Sensing where I was headed, she answered, “Azrael. Not Soraya. You know my reasons.”

“I see.” Too bad. Soraya was a lovely name...

“It wasn't worth it, was it?” she asked, facing me.

“Lying all this time?” I sighed.

“No.” She shook her head lightly. “Killing Miranda and Wendy.”

My heart seized, was tugged downward with that sudden weight. I could only stammer pathetically, “H-How did...”

“All it takes is a hint of suspicion for investigation to follow,” Azrael spoke, her tone even. “I learned from The Dead Boys that conscience can overrule contract. I flew closer with Rig after you left.”

I bit my lip. “What do you plan to do?”

“Nothing different,” the giant responded. I widened my eyes in surprise. “I haven't informed Rig, and I have no intention to. I'll leave it to you to decide if you wish and when to inform her.”

I could only ask, “Why?”

“Because I believe in second chances no matter how far one has fallen, Frost. So do my father and Silas, and so did... my mother. I intend to atone for my sins, and you and Rig are the ones setting me on that path. It is only fair that I extend that luxury to you.” She paused. “Understand, Frost, that both Rig and I are vesting a great deal of trust in you. Don't squander it.” Another pause. “And I do hope that the reason behind the lies is a good one to justify- no, to come close to justifying what you've done.”

“... I believe they might,” I spoke, “but... in the grand scheme of things, they do not.”

“'They?'”

“I have more reasons than you can fathom, Azrael,” I said all too easily, “and they continue to haunt me.”

“The nightmares,” she stated, not asked.

“Yes.” I nodded. “Yes.”

Azrael regarded me for a few seconds. “There's a reason I can't read you, isn't there?”

“It's because I don't want you to. After everything is said and done, you can read me all you want. Just bear in mind that you won't like what you find.”

The hybrid gave a stout nod. “I wish to ask some more questions.”

Well, she was forward with it, wasn't she? “I'm not going to stop you,” I replied. “Just know I may not answer.”

“... I would say that's fair enough, but given the circumstances, I rescind that. Nevertheless, is this what you really look like?”

“Somehow, I knew you'd ask the harder question,” I huffed. “Yes and no. Yes because this is what I look like after... well, this is what I look like now, and it's also what I'd look like if you completely removed my armor. No because I... used to have green fur like you knew me before this. Give me normal teeth and normal, dark-blue eyes on top of that, and that's what I... that’s my original form.”

“'Original form,'” Azrael murmured. “You said that your appearance is both natural and unnatural. Clarify.”

I sighed before replying, “I... suppose I can do that. There is something that separates us- the Lunar Guard- from the Solar Guard and even the lower Night Guard. Their uniform appearance is the result of armor enchantment. Ours is the result of... bio-magical augmentation.”

“Clarify further.”

“You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?” I sighed. “Very well. After intense training, Lunar Guard recruits still able to make the cut and still have the determination to guard Her Majesty of the Moon must endure the Transfusion. You see, the blood flowing through my veins is not my own.”

“Clarify. Further.”

My gaze hardened. “It's dragon blood, magically activated to augment our bodies. The process is... the most painful thing one can experience. But that is why the Lunar Guard is a force never to be reckoned with.”

“That seems a bit presumptuous,” the ebony griffin remarked.

“I'm not the best example at the moment, I'll admit. I'm long out of my prime. Turn back the clock, and you'll see why.”

Azrael raised a nearly-invisible eyebrow for a moment. “Very well then. So is that the reason behind your age, then?”

“Unlikely,” I huffed. “The Transfusion does result in a longer lifespan, but not this long, no. Maybe fifty years longer. Maybe. But not this long, especially since...” I trailed off with a bitter sigh. “Let's not go there. I don't know how I'm still alive. It's a question I try not to think about.”

“... very well. Now, your armor. I understand that it possesses a gem-powered spell matrix of sorts, as it can alter your voice and visage. Explain.”

“I... I can do that, yes.” I nodded slowly. “First, what do you know about starmetal?”

“Only what your zebra friend Xamuros knows,” she replied. “It is an otherwordly metal with properties not fully understood. It was used by Nightmare Moon in the form of a suit of armor that was only completely destroyed after two uses of the Elements of Harmony. The zebras are terrified of its power.”

“That much is true,” She said.

I gaped in shock, looking from Her to Azrael.

“What is it, Frost?” the griffin asked, bringing Harbinger to bear. “Hunters?”

I looked from one to the other. “Wait... you mean you can't see Her?”

“See who?” she glanced at me.

I stared at Her for a few seconds. “Can you detect anyone else here? More specifically right beside me?”

“No,” Azrael replied, relaxing, “only animals around us.”

“I...” I looked at Her. She smiled sadly. “I see.”

“You're seeing your love, aren't you?” the hybrid inquired.

“... I am. How...?”

“I'm blind, Frost, not deaf. I heard you talking to Her before, and so did Rig before you arrived in Stalliongrad.”

“Ah...”

“You were going somewhere with the mention of starmetal?”

“Oh, yes,” I stammered, glancing at Her one last time. At least Azrael knew better than to delve further into that matter. “This,” I tapped my breastplate, “is not the original Lunar Guard armor. The original was about a dozen times heavier and far more cumbersome, to the point that fins and tail sheaths were incorporated into the pegasus variant to aid with steering in flight. The Transfusion was... actually necessary for even earth ponies to use the armor, to say nothing of a unicorn such as myself.

“What I wear is actually the second iteration, introduced shortly after... Princess Luna's return. It offers much more coverage... and is made completely out of starsteel. Not just starmetal, no- refined starsteel. We never found out exactly what could punch through it, but most apparent is its dramatically increased strength-to-weight ratio. Unfortunately, the forgers never could form enough to cover the belly or neck on the base model... we didn't have a limitless supply of starmetal after all.

“Now... to... to answer your question, the armor has a gem-powered spell matrix built into the breastplate. It was the first of its kind, and it served as the template for subsequent pony, zebra, and griffin arcanotechnology for power armor. Within this gem,” I indicated the draconic eye on my breast, “are three enchantments. The first is the Canterlot Augmented Pony Speech spell. That should be... self-explanatory since you witnessed it firsthand. The second is the transmorgrative spell. After all... Princess Luna sometimes missed how her loyal guards originally... appeared. The enchantment could never work on the eyes or teeth, however. For the reason, the gem's iris was enchanted so that when the spell was activated, it would change to match the original eye color. The third...

I shuddered, gulping and tightening my jaw. My tone grew flat and hard. “The third is something I hope I never have to use again.”

“What is it?” Azrael questioned.

I shared a glance with Her for a moment. We averted our gazes quickly.

“A megaspell.”

Azrael widened her eyes and slumped her shoulders.

“Like I said, I hope I never have to use it again.”

“A-Again?” she stared.

“I don't wish to talk about it,” I spoke, almost growled. “But the least I can tell you is that it's not a balefire bomb like you're thinking.”

“I... I see.” Azrael nodded slowly. “No further questions. I... do think I'll share this with Rig though.”

“Do as you wish,” I told her. “I will wake her shortly for watch. You rest. That's an order.”

“... understood.” And then she left.

As soon as she was out of earshot: “You were there the whole time, weren't you?”

“I was testing to see if she could detect me,” She answered, eyes downcast. “She can't, clearly.”

I sighed, placing my hoof on Her shoulder. I could still feel Her. “Remember, I said you're still real to me, no matter what.”

“Especially when I hit you, hm?”

I winced. “Yes...” I pulled my hoof away and started back into the cave.

“What are you planning?” She asked.

“You'll see,” I responded. Azrael was already asleep. I had to admit, even with her massive Kord 6P50 exposed, she looked... nice without her cloak and cowl. Rig was still snoozing along, her photoreceptor clinched shut. The synthetic coat was only starting to grow back.

I tapped her on her good foreleg, causing her eye to shoot open and her lens to cycle apart, the red dot widening to focus. “My watch?” she asked in a whisper.

I bobbed my head in confirmation and nodded outside. “Come with me,” I beckoned quietly.

The cloud-maned mare followed after me in that slight limp of hers. “Azrael told me,” she sighed. “Or... whatever the telepathic equivalent of the word is.” She seemed at a loss of how to reply to all of that. She just shook her head and asked, “So, uh... why did you want me?”

My heart went into a frenzy, jaw working in circles. I was about to do this. The feeling along made me want to turn away and just leave it all behind, but... I made a promise to Her. Not one step back.

“I... haven't been truthful to you. Now it's... now it's time to set things straight.” I swallowed hard. “Grimm was right... Grimm was right. Before you two came in, I killed a donkey jenny named Miranda. Her daughter saw me do it... I had to kill her too.” Her eye was already starting to slant, and she began to gape her mouth. I spoke quickly, trying to justify myself in a panic. “I met her many years ago, and I lied about myself to her, alright? What I told Azrael would differ too much from what she learned from Beat Blaze and what she would have learned from Miranda! You both would have suspected if I had simply lead them away, or you would have spotted me! Even then, there was no guarantee she wouldn't just enter Azrael's radius! I...” I was such a coward. Such a coward, trying to do that. Rig was biting her lip now, shutting her eyes tight. “I... so I killed them. I'm... I'm so sorry, Rig.”

She tore her eye open and punched me hard in the face, looking as if she could burst into tears at any moment- but couldn't. I took it, but I barely felt it. I was back in Miranda's store now, heading down the stairs. I was back there, where She pulled me around and beat me down. But as Rig struck me again and again, I barely felt it. Wetness flowed down my nose- that much I felt. I took it again and again and again. I made no effort to stop her. I took it all without so much as a cry. I took it because I knew that in the end, I deserved more. I took it because I knew I could endure.

It went on for five minutes, five minutes that seemed to stretch into oblivion. Finally, she pulled back. Her bitter expression hurt far more than the sum of all her blows.

“How much of that did you feel?” she finally asked.

I found I couldn't reply. As I felt my face, it was because my jaw was broken in several places along with my nose. Rig scowled and levitated a super restoration potion to... toward... me...

<====ooo*cityofbloodandiron*OOO*bloodanddarkness*ooo====>

“Hy drink dit nie, meneer!”

“Dan maak hy drink dit!”

I felt my shattered jaw stretch open, my eyes tearing up from the agony as all those bottles flowed down. My insides warped, my flesh crept, and my bones lurched back together while I writhed in agony. Finally, it was over. The potions were all gone. I was whole again.

But yet my heart thudded as I knew what would come next as it had come so many times.

“One another time, pony,” the second voice hissed in broken Equestrian, spitting out the last word. “How works the necklace?” His ripper was only inches away from my face, covered in viscera.

My viscera.

I spat, no, I only managed to cough in his face.

He wiped the bloody saliva away, expression hardening. “Haal meer, Doboro. Hy sal dit nodig.”

“Ja, meneer...”

The ripper started up again with an angry buzz. “Now your belly, pony!”

I tensed in anticipation, knowing I'd never be prepared enough.

I wasn't disappointed.

<====ooo*darkestd[oom]ays*OOO*bl1g47MM3effpnd*ooo====>

I don't know how long I stared at that bottle. I shakily took it and drank it down as fast as I could, throwing the bottle away as far as I could with a soft whimper. I held my face together in what I hoped would be the right way. Flesh crept, bones lurched, and I was whole again.

“So how much did you feel?” Rig repeated, seething.

I whispered grimly, “Not much.”

She collapsed, gritting her teeth. “Fuck, neither did I...” She just laid there and exhaled sharply.

I sat down beside her. “I'll understand if you want me to leave. Just take Azrael with you.”

“Well, I don't!” the earth-coated cyber growled. “I need you to get me to your Stable, dammit!” She growled again. “Great. I practically caved in the face of the buck who saved me. And he's the one still helping me. Now I feel like a bitch.”

“I deserved it,” I pointed out with a sigh. “Probably more.”

“Yeah,” she grumbled. “Yeah, but dammit, I just did it! I didn't think, I just did it! Fuck... I'm turning into a fucking robot...”

That resonated deep within me, my heart clenching up again. “No, Rig. You're not. You're not.” The last came out firmly.

“Oh yeah?” She glared at me. “I killed that first griffin back in Stalliongrad without thinking! I killed all those raiders in Manehattan and Alhambronco without thinking! All those Dead Boys! Now I just beat the shit out of you without thinking! If that's not being a fucking machine, I don't know what-”

I hugged her. I didn't know what else to do- I hugged her. I was half expecting her to shrug me off, maybe even punch me again. She made no such move to resist. She just shut her eye tight, shuddering as if wanting to cry.

“I've been down that path, Rig,” I whispered to her. “I'm still living with the consequences. You still have a good soul, a bright mind, and a warm heart.” I spoke the last without thinking, and she winced. “J-Just... hold onto those. I didn't. Now look what I've become.”

Rig finally pushed away, glancing at me one last time. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” I told her.

“Don't be like that,” she seethed. “Don't fucking be like that.”

I sighed softly, “Then I'm sorry, too.”

“Tell it to them. They’re the ones who need it more.”

“I will be,” I sighed again. “I know I will be.”

“Now go the fuck to sleep, foal killer,” Rig grumbled.

I nodded before heading back. “In moon’s light.” My senses dulled, and my strength ebbed away. I looked back down at my forelegs as I strode away. Green again. Back again.

Azrael was awake like I expected her to be. She only gave me a look I couldn't read. Did she approve? Did she scorn me? She drifted off before I could ascertain. I walked past her to the very back of the cave and slid down.

Father knew best after all. I didn't feel free, though. Neigh, not free. But I felt and odd peace, an odd serenity as I lied there waiting for sleep to claim me. I was waiting for the big, empty bastard- the Wasteland- to take me up into its womb of blood and darkness.

I felt a pair of forelegs wrap around me from behind, my eyes flashing open in surprise as I found Her holding me tight.

“You're getting there,” She whispered. “You're getting there.”

“I still got off with a slap on the fetlock,” I sighed softly. Day of sighs indeed.

“So did I.”

“Love...” I waited.

“You can call me that, yes.”

I smiled, just a little. It was gone fast. “Love, did you... take the pain?”

“Not that time, no,” She answered. “I knew you wanted to feel it.”

“So much for that,” I sighed.

“Love,” She whispered.

“You should try to cool your burnout. You'll need your magic.”

“Already tried,” I huffed. “I just can't focus.”

“Turn around.” I did, and so I looked deep into those soulful, doleful, wholesome eyes full of everything. “Now try again.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated. It was a losing battle between Miranda's desperate plea, Wendy's fearful gaze, Grimm's dying howl of mad laughter, Rig's fury, Her lips pressed against mine-

W-Wait. Oh... my...

No, She didn't add a hint of tongue. No, it didn't get any deeper than the lips. We never did it that way. But I'll be damned if a halo of ice didn't form right then and there around my horn and collapse. Coolness flowed through me as I opened my eyes in astonishment while She pulled away. I experimentally formed an ice arm, flexing the fingers.

I looked back at Her. “That's... one way to do it.”

“And quite a way, isn't it?” She smiled only for a moment. “Just don’t think it’ll be a regular occurrence. You know what to expect after you close your eyes. Good night, Frost.”

I hugged Her tightly, nodding. “Good night, my little Nightingale.”

And then She was gone.

~ ~ ~

I was in the void once more. One shadow floated over me, lined with multiple black, bleeding streaks. Her- for I knew the shadow to be her- eyes were blank and pleading. A second shadow, smaller and lined with the same streaks, floated beside her. Her eyes were wide and fearful. Their manes and tails flowed freely, waving as if caught in an eternal, ethereal breeze.

“I'm sorry, Miranda...” I whispered to them, knowing I would never truly atone. “I'm sorry, Wendy... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry...”

~ ~ ~

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<====ooO Ooo====>

Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level
Quest perk added: Damned in Blood- Your atrocities are many, but now you’ve crossed the line. Your Karma level can never rise above Neutral.

Rig- Level Up! Level 9 Reached!

Azrael- Maximum Level

Unlockable added: Soundtrack- Theme of the Shamed, Frost

Author's Note

My thanks to Kkat, Somber, Mimezinga, and all others who blessed us all with the gem of a writer’s playground. I am especially grateful for YetAnotherPony (I wish you well. May things look up for you soon.) and ErrantIndy (Thank you so much for doing this on such a short notice.). Lastly, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it even if it is a little shorter than normal. Good feedback is always appreciated.

And don’t forget to check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr!

Chapter Fourteen: Murphy Can Go to Hell

Chapter Fourteen: Murphy Can Go to Hell

~ | ~ | ~

And wouldn't you know it? It looks like we're back to a full audience. Well, I'm not here to keep you waiting.

Join me.

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<====ooO Ooo====>

Click-clack, clickety-clak went Midnight Talon and Silver Skean. I just couldn't help it. I felt the itch ever since my magic returned, and I needed it scratched- particularly after yesterday. Yesterday was... trying for me, to say the least.

“Frost,” Rig snapped from across the fire. “Seriously, make water for us already.”

My horn flared up an icy blue and I hastily formed a pair of cylinders, melting the insides to form cups of cool water for her and Azrael. In seconds, I went right back to playing with the balisongs as I condensed a bit of moisture to sip up for myself. I was doing some experimenting this time, performing techniques independently rather than mirroring the blades. I was sloppy at first, and I actually dropped one or both of them a few times. I just had to take it slowly, work myself up.

Rig facehoofed as I continued. “Frost. Really. Stop it.”

Midnight Talon snapped shut. Silver Skean unfortunately clattered to the cave floor, earning yet another scuff mark. “... I'm sorry,” I apologized, stowing them away and sublimating my ice arms.

“Let's just get things over with,” Azrael spoke with a slight edge to her tone, “then we can deal with the emotional baggage.” Rig and I shared a moment's glance, nodding in uneasy agreement. “So. What's the plan now?”

“We head to Stable Seventy-Two now, right?” Rig looked, almost leered at me.

I opened my mouth... and then frowned. “We might have a problem. We don't have any RadAway or Rad-X, do we?”

“I have some,” Azrael responded. “It's all I managed to scrounge from Alhambronco.”

“Show me.”

And so she did, opening up her saddlebags. “Will this be enough?”

“The Rad-X is fine, but...” I shook my head. “RadAway's not even close.”

“Let me guess,” Rig grumbled. “The Far North has pockets of heavy radiation.”

“To be more precise, it's one huge pocket of heavy radiation.” I flattened my lips. “Radioactive snow and ice abound. I have no problem with radiation. You two, on the other hand...”

“And now you're immune to radiation?” Rig huffed.

“Don't ask how- I don't know myself,” I sighed. This was going to be a long day. I could tell already, this was going to be a long, long day. “I just know that I am, or I'd be dead several times over.”

“How deep into the Far North is your Stable?” Azrael inquired.

“About a half-day's flight,” I replied. “We'll need at least ten doses of RadAway. For both of you. And that's a conservative estimate.”

“That bad?” the griffin huffed.

“It's alicorn heaven, to put it simply. And all it took was a single airburst balefire bomb...”

“Hold on a sec.” Rig stared. Her photoreceptor was still exposed, though the metal plate that formed her face was now mostly covered back up. “'Alicorn?' As in... Princess Celestia and Princess Luna?”

“Yes, what do you mean?” Azrael questioned.

“You mean to tell me that you haven't heard of them?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Only rumors, rumors that alicorns do exist,” the griffin replied. She glanced at Rig. “And I meant new alicorns.”

I frowned. “Well, they're not just rumors.”

They both stared at me.

“Say what?”
“Beg pardon?”

“I have no idea how, but alicorns do indeed roam the Wasteland,” I explained. “They're not hostile, thankfully. They usually just invite you to join this... 'Unity.' Something about evolution, converting unicorns into alicorns because they thrive in the Wastes. And they do- radiation heals them instead of harming them. I don't know about taint or enervation, though.”

“Only unicorns?” Azrael raised an eyebrow

“Only unicorns are invited to join this 'Unity' of theirs. Nopony else and nobody else can join, not even ghouls.”

“So I take it you've encountered them before?” Azrael inquired. I merely nodded in response. “What's your stance on them?”

“I...” I sighed. “I don't know. They downright epitomize blasphemy of the Goddesses, but...” Another sigh. “Just don't ask me about them. I try not to think about them. I'm just glad they're not hostile.”

Remember, folks, this was forty years ago. Things are... different now. But back to the story...

“We'll work it out when the time comes,” Rig spoke up. “Now, what's the Far North like? You came from there, right?”

“And I was born there,” I replied, nodding. “It's much like you'd expect given the name. Snow, rocks, ice. Nowadays, just throw in some magical radiation.”

“That's it?” Azrael raised a near-invisible eyebrow, skeptical.

“That's it,” I answered. “The only things we might encounter up there are alicorns and feral ghouls. Flying should allow us to get by most of them without trouble, and snowstorms won't be an issue with me around. That leaves the radiation as the sole problem.”

“So where are we gonna get the RadAway, then?” asked Rig.

“Well, I was hoping that there would be more... here...” I wanted to avoid saying her name. “We'll have to find another town and hope that they have some.”

Rig gave me a half-lidded stare, photoreceptor partly closed. “That's a terrible plan.”

“Do you have anything better to suggest?” I challenged her, voice firm. Right words, right way.

“We could go to Stalliongrad,” she answered. “I mean, you said snow's radioactive, right? They should have tons of RadAway.”

“Which they won't give away,” I rebutted. “Trust me- getting the RadAway in the first place in sufficient amounts is hard enough for the people there. They won't be willing to part with it if they're already struggling to get enough to last them.”

Rig crossed her forelegs with a huff. “Fine...”

“Where are we going to try first?” Azrael inquired. “Vealville probably hates us, and the same can be said of Hoofstead. Tenpony Tower perhaps?”

“As much as I hate that place...” I grumbled, leaning back, “fine, it's an option. It'll be on our itinerary. Look, I've been in the Wasteland for a while, I'm sure you can imagine. I know the land well. There's a town nearby, due a few kilometers southeast of the Great Mid-Equestrian Divide. Or, at least, there should be.”

“Why do I get the idea I'm not going to like where this is going?” Rig sighed.

“It's been thirty years since I was last there. I'm not sure if it's still around. And, if it is, I have no idea what state the town is in.”

“What's the name of this town?” Azrael questioned.

“Cutthroat.”

The griffin blinked. “No comment.”

Rig facehoofed. “Yeah, I don't like where this is going.”

With that, I laid the plan out. “We'll touch down on the outskirts, check to see if the town's still standing. If it is, we'll only stick around long enough to shop and get out. I don't want to stick around that place, but we're hurting for RadAway and,” I opened up my saddlebags to check, “I have only two mags left of THV. Now, if there's nothing else to be said or done, let's get moving.”

* * *

Well, Cutthroat was still standing, at least. The town was situated in what was left of a section of suburban housing and businesses. Of the scarce few buildings that survived the spellfire apocalypse and made up the town, several of the buildings had collapsed since I last stopped by. What was left looked like an inn, a restaurant of sorts, and a couple of houses encircled by a thin wall of scrap and barbed wire. Rubble and debris littered the cracked streets strewn with rubbish. And it was tiny. All of Cutthroat could have easily fit inside the department store at Vealville.

“I'm not seeing any griffins,” I reported. Yet again, we were scouting the town out from afar, lingering near gently rolling hills of dust and dirt. “Picking any up, Azrael?”

“None,” Azrael responded. “But we may have some problems. Three to be exact.”

My eyes locked onto a trio of earth ponies starting out from the restaurant, my vision blurring for a moment as I focused my ice lenses. They were clad in gunmetal-gray power armor that covered every inch of their bodies, including their tails. Respirator units formed from their muzzles, and a single headlight hung over their dark eye holes. Heavy battle saddles sat on their backs.

“Wonderful.” I frowned. “Town's intact, but we've got three Steel Rangers.”

“Yes.” Azrael nodded. “They're on a supply run for the local chapter it seems.”

“Day keeps on getting better and better doesn't it?” Rig sighed.

“Azrael, is there a store still standing at all here, and does it have RadAway?” I asked. “We shouldn't go down there if we don't have to.”

“Hm.” That was not a good Hm from her. “I've got good news and bad news.”

“Alright, let's hear the bad news first,” I grumbled.

“It coincides with the good news actually,” she spoke. I didn't like where this was going. The last notable time this happened, a flamethrower was involved. “The good news is that there is a store. It's in the restaurant. It's actually a bar, to be exact. The bad news is that the shopkeeper and bartender is a ghoul.”

Rig frowned. “So you can't tell if there's RadAway.”

“No, I can't. We'll have to see for ourselves.”

“Well... the Steel Rangers won't be a problem, right?” Rig asked. “I just have to keep my helmet down.”

I tapped my chin, sublimating my ice lenses. “It'll probably be easier if I just head in by myself to handle-” They both glared at me. “... or not.” I pointed at Rig. “But you've got a PipBuck.”

“I got it, I got it,” she huffed. “No biggie.” Her horn flared up, and the device winked away a few seconds later. “See?” She flipped her welding helmet down over her face. “They won't suspect a thing!”

“Fair enough,” I grunted, standing up. Ice crinkled over me, reshaping as I assumed my standard female disguise. After a few minutes of adjusting and taking a look in a reflective square, I asked, “How do I look?” My voice was suitably softer and lighter.

“Pretty hot,” Rig remarked. That earned a stare from both myself and Azrael. “Er, I meant good enough!”

“... right then. Let's go. And let this be a warning- watch your saddlebags.”

Well, nopony stopped us at the gate on the way in. Rather, there was nopony to stop us. Not a single town guard was around to patrol the area. We were getting a few stares from the ponies lingering on the streets, mostly directed to the midnight-black giant at my side.

“Mind your left,” Azrael spoke calmly to Rig. The mare wheeled to find an earth pony walking toward her from behind, now quickly veering away not that she caught sight of him. Then her KP-12 started lifting away on her other side, wrapped in a yellow glow. She looked around just enough to catch it in her peripheral vision and teleported it away into her own gray field. A unicorn on the other side of the street walked back into an alleyway nonchalantly.

“Bastards...” Rig grumbled. “Town should be called Cutpurse.”

“Again, watch your saddlebags,” I repeated.

But now we had a different problem- the Steel Rangers were also heading straight for us.

“Shit, why're they coming at us?” Rig whispered.

“Dammit, because I'm wearing Dead Boys armor.” Azrael scowled. “Not good. I should have gleaned further. The local chapter knows of the technology they possess.”

“Just let me handle the talking,” I shot at them. “Stay quiet. I can handle this.”

“Halt!” The lead Ranger commanded, drawing us to a stop as we met. His voice was slightly distorted and muffled by the helmet. “Identify yourselves, savages.”

Oh, of course. Those type of Steel Rangers. Let's see... the lead Ranger who addressed us was armed with a pair of IF-36H light machine guns. The second was equipped with a XM-32 AGL grenade machine gun and a Rackingwell CZ-42 minigun. The third had a boxy magical energy rifle (I couldn't identify the model) and a M220 FLASH (I gulped) multi-tube rocket launcher. Confrontation would be ... less than ideal.

I motioned to my friends. “I'm Ginger Snap, that's Rig, and that's Soraya. We're just passing through.”

“Hm. You, griffin- are you with The Dead Boys?”

“No, she's-” I started.

“I didn't ask you, savage. Last I checked, the griffin has a beak to speak with. Now,” He turned to face Azrael, “are you with The Dead Boys, griffin?”

“I speak for her,” I said firmly. “She is not-”

“Shut your mouth, or I'll blow it off!” the Ranger snapped. “Last time- are you with The Dead Boys, griffin?”

“No,” Azrael replied flatly.

“Really now?” He challenged her, maintaining his stance despite his almost comically puny size in comparison. “You wear the armor, and it's tailor-made for some... thing... of your size.” Yep. That type.

“I am disavowed,” she spoke, keeping calm.

“Well, whatever the case is,” the Ranger huffed, “you're coming with us.”

“Under whose authority?” I asked, voice level.

“Mine.” He turned to me. “Don't get your panties in a knot. We're just taking it in for questioning.”

“And you would be?”

“Paladin Chocolate Pudding.”

I managed to keep a straight face, and Azrael was able to do the same. Rig, however, let out an involuntary snort of laughter.

“Think that's funny, savage?” he growled, leaning forward and kicking up her welding helmet before any of us realized what he was doing.

Nobody moved for a full five seconds. I tensed.

“Well well well, what do we have here?” the Ranger to his left, a mare, chuckled. “Looks like we've got a cyberpony, sir.”

“And what a find it is...” Chocolate Pudding nickered, turning back to me. “Well, it looks like we're detaining both of your friends, savage.”

“I'm afraid you'll be doing no such thing.” I glared at him.

“You have no say in the matter,” the paladin huffed. With a single nod of the head, three sets of battle saddles were primed and ready and the Rangers shifted to the side to surround us. Rig gritted her teeth, her indigo eye glancing between them while Azrael remained impassive and immobile. “We have the authority to use lethal force if you do not comply, and we are not afraid to use it.” As if to make a point, all three of them took aim at us.

“See, there's a problem with that,” I spoke, sublimating the ice in my throat all the while so that my voice warped back to its normal, grave tone. The paladin's head tilted in confusion. I pressed my hoof to my hidden breastplate. “In moon's shadow.” As my senses sharpened and my fur darkened, I sublimated my disguise to give the appearance of “growing” out my armor. I fought to maintain a stern expression- I wanted to smirk very, very much as they drew back in surprise.

“Twilight fucking Sparkle...” the third Ranger stallion murmured.

“I report to a higher authority,” I finished. I glanced at Rig and Azrael and nodded. I sprouted an ice arm and popped Midnight Talon open in a helix technique, Rig teleported Luna's Fortitude out beside her in her gray aura, and Azrael drew up on her hindlegs. Her wingblades shrieked as they punched into the cracked road, and Valkyrie sparked open to bathe us in its eldritch, green glow. I should remind you that the scythe itself is considerably taller than a pony is long. I noticed that a pony intent on pickpocketing from Rig promptly stiffened up and started backing away, eyes shrunk to tiny pinpricks. “Now, then. I suggest you leave.”

The two lower-ranked Steel Rangers started backing away, but one look from Paladin Chocolate Pudding and they straightened out. To his credit, he at least tried not to look terrified by us. Turning back to me, he scoffed, “Are you threatening a Steel Ranger with a fancy kni-”

I cut him off by lashing out with a snarl. The chamber of his right LMG fell apart. He flinched and shut up right quick. He was showing weakness. Push in. Infiltrate and exploit.

“Yes, I am threatening you with a fancy knife,” I growled, twirling my balisong around dangerously, using Hoofdinis and Vipers to keep them guessing when I would flash the blade out. “One with a blade fashioned from a hellhound claw. Ask your Elder if he's heard about a certain 'Sentinel.' He may remember a unicorn who got very angry when a Steel Ranger patrol group tried to detain him for his armor. One last time.” The blade flashed open with a Zen Rollover. “I suggest you leave.”

“I will not stand for this,” Paladin Pudding growled.

I glanced at his legs long enough for him to notice. With a Half Twirl, Midnight Talon was in a backhand grip. “That can be arranged.”

“Salsa, Pop, prepare-”

He turned around to find his follow Rangers running away.

He looked back at us before galloping after them. “I'll see you two reprimanded for this!”

We held our ground for the next few seconds as they fled. After they were out of earshot, Rig and I promptly burst into laughter while she winked her AKMB away and Azrael put away her ghostfire scythe, settling back down onto all fours.

“Hah, that was so awesome!” Rig whooped.

“I'll admit that went well given the circumstances,” Azrael said stoically.

“Hoo... hoo...” Rig calmed down, giving me a playful punch on the back. “That was so bad... ass...” Her laughter died quickly and her expression grew serious again. My jovial expression vanished with it. Yikes. Everypony staring at us didn't make matters any better. Rig punched me again, hard enough to make me wobble a little. “But this doesn't change anything, foal killer.”

Well... that stung. “Uh... right.” I coughed, the mood quickly ruined. “To the bar, then?”

Rig was already heading there. She reached a hoof up to swing her welding helmet back down, but she hesitated. “Oh, what's the use...?” she grumbled as she continued on her way inside, teleporting out a cigarette into her mouth with a gray flash and lighting the tip. Azrael and I shared a momentary glance. Her expression was as blank as ever. I sighed and headed after her, the hybrid falling in step,

I smelled and heard the interior of the bar before I saw it. Alcohol, Dash fumes, cigarette smoke (not just from Rig) the raw smell of gunpowder, casual conversation, giant guffaws, chiding chuckles, loud laughter, snide snorting- all of it rushed out the moment Rig opened the door. Wincing from the sudden assault on my nostrils, I nevertheless pressed onward and inward. I needed to get used to this. I needed to.

The inside of this general store-restaurant-bar mishmash was much as I had expected. The interior consisted of a large, central bar area with an elliptical counter in which rows of shelves displayed the store's wares and the bar's liquor. While Miranda's wares stood attention like soldiers fresh from training camp, the bottles and jugs on the racks were haphazardly strewn about with no sense of order and mingled with the various food, ammunition, and medical supplies. The lighting was... off. It didn't feel right. It was dim- after all, there was no power- and specks of dust fluttered gently downward where the light streamed in from the boarded-up windows. The lighting just felt irritating to me, so wrong. It gave everything in the building a certain graininess, a certain grittiness. This was further reinforced by the almost completely wooden nature of the building's interior. Once polished, the deep brown surfacing was cracked raw with age. Spots and stains were everywhere- whether a given spot was from booze or blood I couldn't tell for sure. A particularly large shaft of light shone through the ceiling from where the section containing the restrooms caved in, the rubble forming an oddly comforting level of contrast in light and shadow. The old jukebox was spared from the destruction, but just barely- a large chunk of the overhanging ventilation had fallen only centimeters away.

Ponies of all walks of life populated the bar stools and the booths that formed another ellipse around the edges of the restaurant. Ponies bare, ponies armored, ponies in pre-war springtime wear, ponies that looked only a stone's throw away from a raider- I found it hard to focus on just one. My ears twitched, trying to pick up every piece of conversation- boasting over bounties, complaining over caps, groaning over gambling, chattering over chems. I could pick up everything with my ears. They twitched in a frenzy to all the conversation to the point that they vibrated constantly. My brain was trying to make sense of every single snippet I was taking it. All that information was coming in at once, the voices melting together into a steadily growing roar- the roar of the Wasteland, the roar of the big, empty bastard-

Take it easy, Frost. Settle down, take it easy. Compartmentalize. Divide. Focus only on what's necessary. Protect the Princess through any...

... means.

Best... forget that... last... part...

“Frost,” Azrael called to me.

I glanced at her. I had been standing still and blocking her way into the bar the whole time. I steeled myself and pushed forth into the cacophony. I muted what I didn't need and focused on what I did. I maintained my blank, hard expression. It's all in the façade.

Rig moved ahead and settled into an empty stool at the island bar. I settled down next to her. Azrael finally managed to slip inside with a horrendous scraping sound as her wingblades caught on the door's frame. It was at that point that everypony quieted down, first to a light hush and then to dead silence as all eyes fell on us. Yep. A unicorn mare with a cybernetic eye showing, a dracopony stallion in nightmarish armor, and a gigantic, ebony griffin who had to stoop her head in order to stand inside.

The bartender moved from around the other side of the messy stack of wares to get a look at the newcomers that hushed the entire room. He was indeed a ghoul pony, dressed in beaten, ratty trader wear that was partially stitched together. It had started falling apart at the seams, as if the wearer just gave up on keeping it in one piece. It seemed oddly fitting for the ghoul.

He looked at the three of us with his milky eyes, one-by-one. He grimaced and threw out his forelegs incredulously. “Is this some kinda joke?” he rasped.

Laughter- snorts, chuckles, snickers, yuk-yuks, guffaws- filled the room. I just regarded him with a blank, half-lidded stare. Azrael palmed her face. Rig just stared in confusion.

She said as much. “I don't get it.”

“A Lunar Guard, a cyberpony, and a giant griffin walk into a bar...” I murmured.

She promptly facehoofed. The act resulted in smashing her cigarette, and she replaced it with a grumble.

“So, what can I get for yehs?” the ghoul asked, leaning onto the counter. “Drinks? Hell, I think I might actually be a bit tipsy, lookin' at yehs.”

“No,” I answered, shaking my head. “We're looking for some supplies.”

“Boring,” he grunted. “Well, what can I-”

“Hey!” one of the bar-goers seated at the end called out. “Isn't that the one griffin with the bounty?”

The room fell quiet and all everypony stared right at us in almost comical unison. No... no wait, they were looking past us. Rig and I turned around back toward the door. There it was- a wanted poster featuring a hasty sketch of Azrael with a positively puny pony beside it for size comparison. Wanted for betrayal. Dead or alive- dead 2,000, alive 10,000.

And right next to it? Me, wanted for violation of bounty protocol. Dead or alive, dead 250, alive 500. All too conveniently, the sketch's shading made my change in appearance negligible.

Rig deadpanned. “Oh you've so got to be shitting me right now.”

I turned back to the crowd. I picked up a lot of sounds- namely clicking and the rubbing of metal against leather. I brandished Midnight Talon with a cherry picker and Night Fang in a flourish. Azrael tensed. Rig wisely levitated Luna's Fortitude out.

Alright, Frost. Right words, right way. “Folks, do you really want to pick a fight with us?” I growled, glancing at Azrael, namely the Kord 6P50 on her back. Ice armor shimmered over my form in a series of cracks.

A shot pinged off of my armor, and the room went to chaos.

“Oh Goddess-fucking-dammit!” Rig growled, vaulting behind the counter with me, both of us firing blindly to cover ourselves. Midnight Talon was at her throat in an instant, and she glared at me. “Frost! Really?!”

“Sorry!” I yelled in reply, turning away, ears tucked back from the clatter of gunfire. I poked up to hose down the opposite side of the bar with Night Fang to cover us. “Azrael, get clear of-”

I was cut off with a great whoosh of wind and a great crash followed by more light streaming into the building from the entryway. I looked back to see a gigantic hole where the door used to be and several sliced-up ponies. The coppery scent of blood filled my nostrils, making my slit-like pupils narrow as my vision focused. “What?” the giant snapped.

“Never mind, never mind!” I yelled back as Harbinger started opening up. Everything seemed to move just a little slower to me, myself a little faster. I inched back to deal with an earth pony with a sledgehammer who clambered into the bar to avoid the hail of gunfire. I lashed out with my blade, taking off his muzzle and the weapon with it. The coppery scent of blood filled my nostrils as I finished the gurgling bastard by lopping off the top half of his head.

“Too many, too close!” Rig growled, spraying with Luna's Fortitude. She fired almost silently amidst the boisterous gunfire and shouts before ducking back from the inevitable return fire. A throwing knife pinged off of her armored welding helmet, and she cringed as she started swapping out for a fresh triple mag.

“I... have to... agree!” I grunted, pulverizing a group of ponies pinned down by Azrael's ruthless barrage of 12.7 NSVT. I ducked down as bullets started rattling against my armor, taking a moment to speed-load a new magazine. Wait, Rig was reloading. I was reloading. Azrael wasn't firing anymore, probably reloading.

Horseapples.

An earth pony armed with a shotgun popped out from the other side of the counter and fired point-blank at my face before I could chamber the first round. The force of the buckshot at such close proximity cracked the ice and sent me staggering back into Rig, knocking her over and causing her magical fields to implode violently. The fresh magazine she was changing for flew across the room... and smacked into the jukebox.

“We... have got... to better coordinate ourselves!” I growled as I mentally berated myself for my slow reaction and hosed down the shotgun pony. I was surprised to hear the warped winding-up of the jukebox.

I was less-than-enthusiastic about the song that flipped on, though. A cheery, old beat as if from a beaten radio flowed in, quickly snapping back to our time and being joined in by drums and a cello. And...

“Sun is shinin' in the sky!
There ain't a cloud in sight!
It's stop rainin'; ev'rybody's in a play!
An' don'tchu know-
it's a beauutiful new day, hey-yey!”

“Oh come on!” I pouted as I got off of Rig, repairing the cracks in my armor. “Mister Blue Sky? Seriously?” I sprayed out at a group of ponies to keep their heads down as I vaulted over the counter and rushed them. “Worst... battle music... ever!” (Runnin' down the avenue [pant, pant, pant, pant],)

“Not now, Frost!” Rig grunted, teleporting her magazine back and slamming it home (see how the sun shines brightly in the city,).

“Little help!” Azrael yelled from outside. A group of ponies made it to the doorway while we were occupied and were popping off shots (on the streets where once was piity!).

“Oh, fuck off!” the earth-coated unicorn growled and sprayed them down with extreme prejudice. She turned back and ducked to avoid a spray of gunfire that splintered the counter she was just propped over. “Frost, keep 'em busy, dammit!” (Mister Blue Sky's livin' here today, hey-yey!)

“I'm on it, I'm on it!” I yelled back (Mister Blue Sky, please tell us why). I slashed out with Midnight Talon at the nearest would-be hunter, a unicorn mare in combat armor. To her credit, she raised her combat knife to block in time, but my blade easily sliced clean through it- and her face. Emptying a bullet into her to make sure she stayed down (uselessly, now that Azrael started firing from outside again and punched out her spine in a spray of shattered vertebrae), I spun to give a hard buck into the stallion beside her (you had to hiiide away for sooo long [sooo long]! Where did we go wrong?). He fired wildly with his .44 Magnum revolver, but I heard a shatter and a fleshy rip as a lucky shot punched through my armor (Mister Blue Sky, please tell us why you had to hiiide away for sooo long [sooo long]!). I felt no pain as I rounded on him, but I fell short in my lunge and fell to my knees. I swore as Night Fang barked and cut him down, pockmarking him with great, many holes (Where did we go wrong?).

“Cover me!” I yelled, pulling myself under a booth table to inspect the damage. I took only a quick glance- not one but two Magnum rounds had punched through and tore up my hindleg. I downed a healing potion and waited for the wound to knit together (Hey, you with the pretty face!). A unicorn had other ideas as a Type 001 sub-machine gun poked down at me. This time, I reacted fast enough to knock the barrel aside and pushed back up over while the SMG spat into the wall. The unicorn, in the open with no cover, widened his eyes as I simply stabbed up into his gut with my balisong and yanked back (Welcome to the poonyy race!). His intestines spilled like a piñata gone wrong. “I said cover me!” I growled at Rig as the stallion swayed before slumping into his own viscera. I was already back on my feet and moving onto the next group.

“Well sorry for being too occupied to save the foal killer!” she snapped, viciously plunging her AKMB's spike bayonet into an earth pony mare's throat and ripping it out (A celebration- Mister Blue Sky's up there waitin', and today is the day we've waited for, ah-ah!). She then rounded toward me. “Duck!” I did so as she fired into the Wastelander behind me as I simultaneously delivered a buck to his bullet-riddled face and continued to focus on the one before me. “There, happy?” (Mister Blue Sky, please tell us why you had to hiiide away for sooo long [sooo long]! Where did we go wrong?)

“No, I had him!” I retorted, kicking my adversary's foreleg out to cause him to fall forward to the floor and stabbing into the brain case with Midnight Talon (Hey there, Mister Blue! We're so pleased to be with you!).

“Well better late than never, huh?” Rig huffed, then balked as her cigarette got shot out of her mouth. She glared at the mare who struggled to cycle the jammed bolt action on her hunting rifle. “That...” The cyber teleported her throwing shovel out and caught her in the face, “was my last one!” (Look around, see what you do! Ev'rypony smiles at you!)

“Hold your fire!” Azrael called from outside, starting to head back in. The right side of her neck was bloodied and she was favoring her left foreleg- she was clutching her other bloody hand. “They're done.” (Hey there, Mister Blue! We're so pleased to be with you!)

I scanned the room, moving about slowly but menacingly. The few ponies left were cowering or had simply hid under the tables the entire fight. I advanced toward one, and he tensed, backing up further. (Look around, see what you do! Ev'rypoony smiles at you!). They were, in fact, done. Glancing about the rest of the room, the restaurant somehow managed to look even more trashed-up than before. Tables were overturned, wood was splintered from bullet holes big and small, and the central shelves were a mess from their shattered contents. That's, of course, ignoring the twenty-five new bodies littering the floor and the jagged hole that remained of the doorway (Mister Blue Sky!).

“You alright, Azrael?” I asked her as she downed a pair of healing potions in quick succession, her wounds starting to stitch up.

“I'll live,” she replied, stoic as ever. She flexed her mending claw experimentally before punching at the floor. She splayed out her talons and settled back down with a nod of approval (Miiiiister Bluuuuuue Skyyyyyyy!).

“Rig?” I turned to the cyber.

“Fine, fine,” the cloud-maned mare huffed, then added icily, “Shouldn't you be more concerned with yourself?”

“My... self?” Oh, dammit. I started checking for bullet wounds. Uh... yikes. My ice armor was cracked in multiple places- reddened by my spilled blood, in fact (Miiisterr Bluuue Skyyyyy-yyyyy!). My previously injured hindleg had torn up again while in the process of mending and ripped open again. I cracked the seal on another healing potion and slugged it down appropriately. Rig just shook her head.

Meanwhile, the bartender ghoul slowly rose up from behind the other side of the counter, where he hid the entire time. He looked around the restaurant, raising his forehooves to his head in incredulity. His milky-white eyes locked with mine and Azrael's. (Mister Blue, you did it right,)

I saw his muzzle dip down toward his foreleg, and adrenaline rushed to my head. Time slowed to a crawl and I brought up Night Fang, taking aim at his TMP machine pistol as he brought it up. As my finger tensed around the trigger, I was surprised to find the weapon shot out of his muzzle. My reflexes wound down and I looked to see Rig advance on the ghoul with Luna's Fortitude, backing him up against the shelves of merchandise as Azrael and I advanced toward him (but soon comes Mister Night creepin' over! Now his hand is on your shoulder!).

“Celestia's flaming tits!” he babbled. I sprang on him in an instant, Midnight Talon hovering over his eye. “Holy fuck! Holy fuck! What do you want?!” (Never mind, I'll remember you this-)

“We just-” I paused. “We just- oh for the love of-” I turned around and emptied a burst into the jukebox (I-I-I-I'll rememrmbrrr yrrrrr jshhhhhhhh... wrrrrrrrrrrrrr...).

I blinked and eased up a little, my response coming out a little more innocently that I intended. “We just want some RadAway...”

* * *

As chance would have it, he had RadAway. Twenty packets, in fact.

As my luck would have it, exactly thirteen of them had punctured during the wild shots during the firefight. Thirteen.

“My bad,” Azrael apologized.

“Ugh...” I facehoofed. “We'll take all of it, all healing supplies, and all seven-six-two. THV would be nice, if you have any.”

The ghoul deadpanned at us. “Ten-thousand caps.”

I deadpanned right back. We only had maybe two-thousand with us right now, though that barred the trading goods we were packing. “You sure don't look new to this bartering business.”

He smacked his rotten lips and swept his hoof around to indicate the destroyed restaurant around him. By now, everypony else had (wisely) left. “For damages.” He leaned across the counter. “And for keeping my lips sealed if anypony asks about you two.”

I raised an eyebrow. Two can play at that game. “Damages, hm? Suppose I do pay that astronomical fee. What are you going to do with it?”

“Beg yeh pardon?” The patch of skin when his eyebrow used to be raised to mirror mine.

“What are you going to do with all those caps?” I repeated. “Not like they have any repairponies anywhere close around here. Not like they have any wood anywhere close around here for that matter. Just patch it up with scrap and sheet metal. You've got plenty of it lying around.” He opened his mouth to rebut. “And you don't have to leave town for it.”

The ghoul pony frowned. “Six-thousand. No lower.”

“Just to stay tight-lipped?” I swapped eyebrows.

“With a total ten-five-hundred bounty on your heads, that's a helluva fuckin' deal,” he nickered. “Now pay up.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Azrael spoke, “but bearing in mind that there are already nineteen ponies here who witnessed my presence, I frankly see it pointless to pay you to cover it up.” She loomed closer. “Even if you were planning to stay quiet.”

“Well, I still want my caps,” the ghoul growled.

I shrugged. “You asked.”

And then we proceeded to dump out what we managed to scavenge from the Manehattan and Alhambronco raiders, the Dead Boys at Vealville, and the, uh... things we didn't need from Miranda's store...

I alone gave him a FN F200, a Calicolt AR, a Phantom M4, a pair of tire irons, a Carcano rifle, three combat knives, a R91, a Spitzer 977, several piles of scrap metal, and a bottle of whiskey. By the time we were all done, we couldn't even see him behind the counter.

“And you can have all of what’s on the bodies,” I finished.

The ghoul bartender peeked out from around the counter, took one look at the pile, and then looked back at me. “The hell are yeh?”

“Me?” I smiled. “I'm the Sentinel, that's a Stable cyberpony, and that's the Angel of Death. How's that for a bar joke?”

* * *

A few minutes later, we were on our way out of the town. We were attracting a lot of stares.

Azrael spoke up first, “Well, on the bright side- don't even think about it.” An earth pony colt reaching up into her saddlebags froze before slinking away. “He's still thinking about it. Well, on the bright side, we've got some RadAway, a carton of cigarettes, and more ammunition. Especially for your IF-55, Frost.”

“Even if it's only five mags' worth,” I sighed, eying Rig as she teleported out another cigarette, hesitated, and slipped it back into the packet. “Can we talk, Rig?”

“What is there to talk about?” the cyber grunted, limping along.

“Please?”

She hesitated, sighed, and spat, “What?”

“If we're going to work together, we're going to have to work as a team,” I told her. “We can't let our... personal disputes... get between us in a life-death situation like that.”

“Coming from the buck who went in solo to kill a mother and daughter,” the cyber snorted.

“Rig...”

She wheeled on me. “What, you expect me to forgive you just like that? I said I was sorry for beating the shit out of you last night. That doesn't mean I forgive you, not even close.”

“Rig,” Azrael called.

“What?” she snapped.

“I've killed hundreds of innocents,” the avian spoke as if boasting about it. “That includes women and children. I pulverized them or let them burn.” Her tone grew stern, acidic. “You knew this from the onset, both of you. You knew this from the moment I asked to join you two. Did that change how you viewed me?”

Rig stiffened, mouth taut as she looked away.

“And what of you?” Azrael questioned. “You've got blood on your hooves. You killed griffins that night back in Stalliongrad, and without remorse. Did it occur to you that they might have been parents, children, brothers, sisters? What about the raiders in the Manehattan suburbs? Vealville? Alhambronco Here? Now to be fair, they were all trying to kill us. But that doesn't change the fact that you still killed without a second thought like anyone else out here.”

“Azrael,” I sighed cool mist. “That's enough.” I looked back at Rig. She was averting her gaze, her eyes shifting back and forth as if contemplating one thing and another.

“I merely wish to offer perspective on the matter,” the griffin said, turning to me.

“But you forgot your context,” I spoke firmly to her. “You went too far.”

The giant regarded me for a few seconds and relaxed. “Forgive me.”

I turned back to Rig, watching her just stare at the ground. “Let's take a break here. Let's just gather our thoughts and plan our next move.”

* * *

I could hear him, the big, empty bastard. I could hear the Wasteland's laughter. The Wasteland is everywhere, everything- and it corrupts everything, everywhere. Looking at Rig as we stopped and ate in the land of blood and dust, I could feel the Wasteland poking holes in her defenses and infiltrating her.

We ate quickly and in quiet. After the ear-numbing firefight just a little over an hour ago, the silence was deafening. It left my ears ringing as if in the aftermath of a nearby explosion (I thought back just a few days ago, on the way to Hoofstead, and the grenade; I quickly snuffed that flash of memory out). I was happy for any noise, even if it be something as vile as the whisper of the Wasteland's wicked wind.

I couldn't take it. I had to activate the transmorgrification charm. I reached a hoof up... and hesitated. No. I had to take it. I had to. I can deal with it. I can endure. I just... had to do something. I settled with sprouting a pair of scraggly arms and undoing the clasps on my neck. I removed my helm, ran a hoof through my spiky, unkempt mane, and let out a misty sigh.

That earned a glance from the other two- a sign of life, at the very least. Rig glanced at me for a moment. Her “eye” was starting to grow back. I thought the photoreceptor alone to be unsettling; seeing the white and part of her iris reform clashed with it and gave it an even more disturbing look. She finally gave in and winked out a cigarette, lit the tip, took a deep drag.

“I'm starting to see why people like this...” she muttered around it. Exhaling the fumes through her nostrils (which sent mine twitching in irritation), she turned to me. “Sorry.”

I looked up at her in question.

“You're both right,” Rig sighed and ruffled up her mane. “As usual. Just...” she sighed again, “I guess I expected too much. You come in and save me, help me, train me...” Another sigh. We were a big group of sighs now. “You just seemed so amazing to me. Your were always just trying to help. I mean, you were bounty hunting before you met me. Then you just dropped what you were doing and do all this even if there's no reward in the end. I guess... I guess I just built you up on this... this pedestal, I guess. You said you were corrupted- hell, I saw how you acted around Silas and the bastard Sewn Britches.” She shook her head and lifted up her PipBuck. “Only a few weeks ago.” She let her foreleg fall. “Not even a month. Damn.” She looked at me again with that unsettling natural-unnatural gaze. “Just... sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” I said, closing my eyes and exhaling deeply. “I... violated our trust. I couldn't face the fire. I... I don't know if I still can.” I paused for a moment to open my eyes and stare out into the bleakness. “You know... when I was torturing Langson, I hated him because he thought three-thousand pieces of machine-pressed metal were worth more than all those lives. I hated him because I made that mistake so long ago. I hated him because of how similar we were. And... look at me now, doomed myself by repeating the past.” I snorted. “I killed to keep my secrets buried. Not even material things- secrets. I bet the bastard is laughing at me in hell.” I clicked my tongue and shook my head. “I'm such a hypocrite. And the funny thing? I hate hypocrites. I guess that makes me the king of hypocrites.” Another shake of my head and a long pause. “I'm rambling theatrically, aren't I?”

“Yes,” they both answered.

“Agh,” I growled, pressing a hoof to my face and letting it slide off. “I'm sorry. I really am. But... I know that it can't ever be enough.”

The cloud-maned mare looked at me for a long time, letting her cigarette slowly crumple into ash. Finally, she said, “I can't forgive you. Not completely, at least. I'll try to forget, though. I'll try to focus on the good. I'll try” She took another deep drag and looked back at Cutthroat. Suddenly, she started chuckling.

“Rig?” I canted my head, eying her.

“Ahhhhh... sorry, sorry.” She eased off. “Just thought- every single city or town we've been to? Always gets trashed by the time we leave.”

“A keen observation,” Azrael huffed. I caught the ghost of a sarcastic smile on her beak.

And suddenly, I found myself chuckling too. Now I was the one being eyed, though the light smiles were a nice change of pace. “What's so funny?” Rig asked. I kept laughing, perhaps a touch crazily. “Frost! Seriously!”

“Hah... heh... well,” I smirked at her, “now I don't mind stopping by Tenpony Tower next.”

The young mare snorted, “Is it really that bad?”

“Imagine everypony inside- specifically everypony- like one of those Steel Rangers, just without the armor and a bit more glitz,” I answered. “Yeah, it's really that bad, save maybe a couple ponies. DJ PoN3 and maybe an assistant. If Beat Blaze's advice got through that is...” I cringed a little upon remembering him.

“D'oh!” Rig facehoofed. “Why do I keep on forgetting to turn it on?” She fiddled with her PipBuck, and soon, the familiar, deep voice of the DJ came over the air, beating back the laughter of the Wastes.

“-activity in the Trottingham area. For those who're there, keep your eyes peeled. In other news, a pilgrim bound for Stalliongrad informed me that Alhambronco, the one-stop-shop town in the Great Mid-Equestrian Divide, was burned to the ground. No survivors. Now folks, I have no idea who did this or what motivation they had, sorry to say. I mean, that town was so isolationist it puts Caledonia to shame sometimes. If anypony, anyone out there has any more dirt on the dust- children, let ol' PoN3 know, alright? That town was the link for anypony who ain't a griffin to get to Stalliongrad. With that town dead, traffic between the Capital Wasteland and the Far North is gonna trickle to a halt.”

The three of us shared a momentary glance.

“More trouble on the horizon, folks. Remember The Dead Boys, those griffins I told you 'bout earlier? For whatever reason, they are, in fact, relocating from the Westerns. Reports are coming in that their leaders are arriving in the Capital Wastes. I've got next to nothing on these bastards, but for the time being, treat 'em as raiders. Don't deal with them- just don't. Vealville's already gone dark, with eyewitness reports detailing some sort of, and I quote, 'chain-armed freak show.' To those in the area, steer clear of Vealville. Assume it to be destroyed.”

I flattened my lips, and we shared another glance.

“Sorry for all the depressing news, children, but you know how it is. I'm here to bring you the news, no matter how bad it hurts. Let's cheer you up with a little bit o' something wicked this way comes, hm?”

No way. Absolutely no way.

Yes way! That familiar oldies guitar intro trickled in, and I found myself slowly cracking a smile as I started singing out (much to Rig's and Azrael's astonishment).

“I was walkin' down the street when out the corner of mah eye,
I saw a pretty little thing approachin' meeeee!
She said, 'I've never seen a buck who looks so all alone-
ah could you use a little company-hyyyy?'”

Their surprise faded and I was greeted in turn with smiles as we rose up to our feet and started off.

“'If you pay the right price, your evening will be nice,
or you can go n' send me on mah wayyyyy!'
I said, 'You're such a sweet young thing- why'd you do this to yourself?'
She looked at me, and this is what she said:

“'Ohh, there ain't no rest for the wicked!
Moooney don't grow on treeeees!
I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed-
there ain't nothin' in this world for free!
Oh no I can't slow down, I can't hold back-
though you know... I wish... I cou-ould...
Oh no there ain't no rest for the wicked
until we close our eyes for goooood!'”

By now, we were all bobbing our heads to the tune, Rig cranking the volume up.

“Not even fifteen minutes later, I'm still walkin' down the street,
when I saw the shadow of a stallion creep outta siiiiight!
And then he swept up from behind, he put a gun up to mah head,
he made it clear he wasn't lookin' for a fi-iiight!
He said, 'Gimme all you got! I want your money not your life,
but you try to make a move, I won't think twiiiice!'
I told him, 'You can have my cash,
but first you know I've gotta ask
what made you want to live this kind o' li-yiiife?'”

And together:

“He said, 'There ain't no rest for the wicked!
Moooney don't grow on treeees! (Wow, did Azrael have a lovely voice!)
I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed-
there ain't nothin' in this world for free!
Oh no I can't slow down, I can't hold back-
though you know... I wish... I cou-ould...
Oh no there ain't no rest for the wicked
Until we close our eyes for gooood!' Huh!”

And then the instrumental interlude dropped in, and I trotted with a spring to my step as I looked from Rig to Azrael, smiles wide on our faces. I cantered back and forth between them, urging them to join in. The earth-coated unicorn skipped awkwardly on her feet, while Azrael lumbered heavily with her earth-shaking footfalls. It didn't matter- we were having the time of our lives.

“Well now a couple hours passed, and I was sitting in mah house-
the day was winding down and comin' to an eeeeend!
So I turned to the TV, and flipped it over to the news,
and what I saw I almost couldn't comprehe-eeeend!
I saw a preacher buck in cuffs, taking money from the church!
He stuffed his bank account with righteous golden biiiiits!
But even still I can't say much because I know we're all the same-
oh yes, we all seek out to satisfy those hii-iiiits!”

And together again!

“Ya know there ain't no rest for the wicked!
Moooney don't grow on treeeeees!
We got bills to pay, we got mouths to feed-
there ain't nothin' in this world for freeheeeee!”

I slipped my helm back on, tucking my horn through the hole, clasping the plates on.

“Oh no we can't slow down, we can't hold back-
though you know... we wish... we cou-ould...
Oh no there ain't no rest for the wicked”

I grinned slyly, lowering my gaze.

“until we close our eyes for goood!”

* * *

On the way to Tenpony Tower, we took the long way around the Manehattan ruins to avoid the raiders. Now that we went beyond the suburbs and the northern reaches of the ruins, Manehattan's endless, seamless urban tapestry unfolded before us. Crumbled neighborhoods and businesses meshed with one another, remnants of a world long gone. Skyscrapers- pinnacles of the Age of Industry- filled the skyline, rickety husks whose metal creaks and groans carried along the dead wind. A single, stark monolith- the Manehattan S.P.P. tower- dominated all of them, reaching far into the clouds. The thin line of the Four Stars monorail system that once scuttled citygoers from all across the urban expanse threaded almost invisibly across the horizon. I couldn't help but avert my eyes in memory of the name that graced that specific rail line. My gaze instead fell to the pockets of ghastly, green balefire that continued to burn after all these years. Those fires seemed to suck up all color in the world, leaving everything in dull shades of gray. My gaze drifted downward to the earth, memories of so long ago trickling back.

A small hill, once green and graced with a patch of wildflowers... bright... cheery...

Now it was a mound of dust and dirt, the flowers a withered black. Amidst them was a small patch, a small circle where the Wasteland earth showed through, scorched a little blacker than the rest of the ground surrounding it.

“I should have died.” I pointed downward with a hoof, unable to help myself. “Right there.”

Rig and Azrael turned to me as I spoke. “What do you mean?” the earth-coated mare asked. It was then that I realized what I had just said.

“Just...” I sighed, “forget I said anything.” The world fell silent once more, save for the echoes of gunfire in the distance. My gaze turned back, turned northward to Hoofstead. I looked back at them. They were still turned toward me awaiting an answer.

“Frost,” Azrael spoke, “if you want us to trust you, you've got to start giving us reason to.”

I frowned and reluctantly told them, “There's a reason I didn't explore my home... alright? There's just some things I didn't want to see.” Another sigh. “Before I headed for the Far North and Stable Seventy-Two, I tried to return home to save...” I closed my eyes and snorted. “Who they were isn't important. I failed to reach the city in time and was caught at the edge of the balefire detonation radius.” My eyes flashed back open and I glared at them. “I should have died. I didn't. I stupidly brought it up without realizing, got it?”

Silence for a few seconds.

“Were they your family?” Rig asked.

“Who... they were... isn't important!” I growled at her. It was an inequine growl. It startled all of us, and I shuddered. “S... I'm sorry. I choose to keep some memories buried for a reason.” Still another sigh. “Sometimes I can't help but remember.”

The rest of our flight went on wordlessly.

But I could hear the Wasteland's laughter.

* * *

Tenpony Tower, the Manehattan hub of the Ministry of Arcane Sciences. It was a monolith of ivory and ebony. One side was almost pristine- most of the numerous fractured windows and Gothic-style masonry were relatively intact. The other side was a blackened slate of balefire-scorched stonework, warped and bubbled glass, and a patchwork of scrap metal that kept the tower from listing. It rose several dozen stories into the sky narrowing in increments, and it was topped by a radio antenna with multiple transmission dishes. Beneath this was a penthouse floor ringed with a patio balcony. The... Celestia Line of the Four Stars transit system stopped here under a terminal arch.

We touched down on the terminal platform before the cobblestone courtyard that ringed the base of the tower. The walls surrounding the building were once ordained with beautiful paintings of legendary unicorns- Manehattan was the City of Lights and Legends, after all. Now they were all but scorched by the sickly spellfire that destroyed Manehattan, the gem housings that once warded off deterioration picked clean. Only one remained in relatively pristine condition- that depicting a lavender mare with a deep purple mane and tail laced with a single line of pink amidst streaks of aged gray. A flank-blanket bearing the number “10” was plastered to her side, and the background was filled with autumn colors. Twilight Sparkle, Ministry Mare of Arcane Science and Bearer of the Element of Magic. The caption bearing those lofty titles was still legible.

“Heh... The Running of the Leaves...” I murmured. “She never won.”

“Did you know her?” Azrael inquired.

“Not personally,” I answered. “The only time we actually met was...” I trailed off. That memory was too close. I pushed it down, pushed it back.

“Later?” Rig asked.

I nodded lightly. “Later...”

We approached the high steel gates of Tenpony Tower. The guards that garrisoned the structure were listing, as if bored beyond belief of their menial labor. Incompetent whelps.

“Name and business,” a combat armored unicorn at the station drawled, leaning his head against his hoof as he inspected the other. He was seated behind a booth made of reinforced glass, his voice crackling through an intercom. He didn't even bother making eye contact.

“Frost Windchill,” I answered, my tone firm and stern, “Rig, and Azrael Razorwing. We're here to resupply and come bearing information regarding Alhambronco for DJ PoN3.”

The guardpony finally looked up at us and gaped. “Holy shit!” He beamed ecstatically. “You're the Sentinel!” He flapped his forehooves in excitement. “Guys! Guys! It's the Sentinel!” The previously slacking sentries perked up and murmured, looking down at us. Hm. I wasn't expecting a... fancolt... but it would nevertheless make it easier to get into Tenpony Tower. “Wait... that's a Dead Boys griffin! The hell you doing with one?” And then we suddenly found all of them aiming their respective weapons at us. Safeties flicked off and charging handles were ratcheted back.

Of course. Things were never that easy, were they?

“She's a disav-” I started.

“Holy buck, that's a 'she'?!” one of the guards blabbered. Azrael visibly frowned and her eyes went half-lidded.

“She,” I repeated firmly, eying the guards to see if any of them would interrupt, “is a disavowed Dead Boys griffin. She is no longer with them.”

“But-” the unicorn at the window stammered. I leveled my hard, draconic gaze at him. Sometimes, the art of rhetoric involves knowing when words just aren't necessary. He flinched and looked back. “Uh, Chief? What do we do?”

An orange-furred earth pony with much cleaner armor strode up behind the unicorn. He lacked a battle saddle; instead, a revolver was sticking out of a holster on his chest- easily in mouth's reach. His eyes were a cold blue.

“Hello, Chief Bright Star,” I greeted. “It's been a while.”

The greeting wasn't reciprocated. “Last I remember, Frost,” he huffed, voice gruff, “you were green.”

Right. I pressed a hoof to my breast. “In moon's light.” My senses dulled and my strength left me in seconds. The unicorn guardpony gaped once more while Bright Star merely cocked an eyebrow. I sprouted a pair ice arms, and out came not one but both of my balisongs. Midnight Talon and Silver Skean clickety-clacked, mirroring one another. I couldn't afford trying to be (too) flashy by performing techniques independently. I also didn't want to accidentally send one of them flying at a guardpony should I mess up...

“H-How... his horn's not even lighting up!” the unicorn guardpony exclaimed, baffled.

“Yeah, it's you, alright,” the chief of security huffed. “You can stop putting on the show.”

I closed both blades with a windmill motion and pocketed them. “Now that that's settled, would you kindly let us in?”

Bright Star hesitated. “Look, Frost, you might pass inside because everypony knows you because of the DJ, but your friends? Uh-uh.”

“What's wrong with us, huh?” Rig asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Number one, you've got a giant griffin with you with a fucking...” The orange earth pony stared. “Twilight Sparkle, is that a Kord 6P50? Twelve-point-seven NSV and all that jazz?”

“NSVT,” Azrael corrected.

“Well, I'll be damned...” he chuckled. “That's one bad motherfucker.”

“Is everyone a gun nut?” Rig grumbled. “I mean, seriously!”

Chief Bright Star coughed, “Anyway, your friend's a giant griffin with a fucking Kord on her back. That's gonna scare the living betwilight out of everypony inside. Also, your friend's a robopony-”

“Not a robopony,” Rig cut him off sternly.

“Whatever the case is,” he growled, “you've got that eye. Look, point of the matter is, Frost- you're good to go. Rest of you? Nope, no can do.”

I sighed cool mist, “Chief, just let them in. They won't misbehave, and the ponies inside could use a little rustling, wouldn't you say?”

Sometimes, not even right words the right way can work, folks. That's the unfortunate reality. “Sorry, it's policy, Frost. Besides, you can handle all the supplies and talking yourself, right?”

“No,” Rig and Azrael spoke firmly, simultaneously.

Chief Bright Star raised his eyebrow again. “Well looks like nopony's getting into Tenpony then.”

“One moment,” I said, ushering my friends back toward the Four Stars terminal until we were out of earshot. “You seriously don't trust me to go inside alone?”

“No,” they both spoke firmly, simultaneously.

Well, that stung. “Do you want to scour the Wastes and hope that we can find RadAway there instead?”

“Unfortunately, we might have to do it,” Azrael spoke.

“I'm sorry?” I turned to her.

“When they recognized me, they recalled griffins that entered Tenpony Tower. When I delved further into the shopkeepers, I found that they bought all RadAway and Rad-X available for sale in the entire building.”

I deadpanned at her. “You're kidding.”

“You're kidding, right?” Rig asked, crestfallen.

“I wish I was,” Azrael closed her eyes. “Moreover, I have reason to suspect that those griffins were plainclothes Dead Boys.”

“Are you sure?” I questioned.

She hesitated. “I can't be sure. Frost, I just have this gut feeling. No other griffin organization would need to purchase such things to my knowledge. Perhaps Talon Company, but that organization has been languishing as of late. They're losing business to The Dead Boys. Just trust me on this one.”

“But why would they want RadAway or Rad-X?” Rig asked. “Well, other than to enter an irradiated area, of course.”

“I don't know,” Azrael replied, shaking her head. “It doesn't bode well, however.”

“Something to investigate when all this is said and done,” I murmured. “But now the problem is- no RadAway. We're going to have to scavenge, that's for sure. I still wish to inform DJ PoN3 of Alhambronco, however, and I still want to restock at least on healing supplies and food.”

“Well, you're not going in alone,” Rig huffed. “I'm definitely not going to let you.”

“I think I can convince Bright Star to let you in,” I sighed coolly, then turned to Azrael. “You, on the other hand...”

“I'll be fine waiting outside,” she stated. “There's ponies around. I'll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Rig asked.

“Positive,” the griffin responded. Rig and I looked at one another before I started off, the cyber limping along after me. “Just... get a cloak, if you can.” We both paused, looking back at her before nodding and moving on. “A big one, maybe two small ones sewn together.” We paused again to listen before moving on. “Preferably black.”

We both stopped, and Rig nickered impatiently, “Anything else?”

Azrael shuffled on her feet a little. “Sweets would be nice.” Rig and I shared a glance before heading back off to the guard gate.

“Well?” Bright Star huffed.

I smacked Rig's welding helmet down, eliciting a surprised cry out from her. “Will this do?”

He shook his head. “Looks too out-of-place. Still like to be able to see her face. Ponies get freaked out a little when you can't see the face. Don't know what's hiding.” Rig knocked up her helmet and glared at me.

“That was your plan?” Rig leered at me.

“Plan A,” I answered. “Chief, by any chance do you have any sunglasses?”

“Heh, you're really intent on getting her inside, aren't you?” Bright Star grunted. “Yeah, I know where this is going. That'll work. We've got some.”

“So we're in?” Rig asked.

“You're in.” He nodded. “Just one thing. You'll have to disarm.” Rig opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “You can keep your weapons. We just want your ammo. All of it. That includes whatever's in the chamber.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “I guess that's fine.”

“And whatever blades and bludgeons you have.”

I frowned. “That's not fine.”

“Too bad.” Bright Star sat down and crossed his forelegs. “It's policy. You want in, you want shades, you follow it to the dot. You'll get it all back once you leave.”

I glanced at Rig, who shrugged. “Fine.”

The checkpoint opened up, and the unicorn from before flared up his horn and waved it over us. Visible through our armor and saddlebags were every magazine, bullet, and grenade. He began the process of disarming me. Seven magazines from the IF-55 and ten for Night Fang- plus the rounds in the chamber. Then out came Midnight Talon and Silver Skean.

Then came Rig's turn. The unicorn stallion balked and let out a whistle. “You all probably want to get comfortable,” he called out. “This is gonna take a while.”

By the time her grenade count passed ten, every guardpony was staring at her. By the time it exceeded twenty, Chief Bright Star mouthed, “What the buck...?”

And then came the mines. And bullets.

“Frost,” Bright Star eyed me, “where the hell do you make your friends?”

* * *

Shortly after, Rig and I were trotting down a mezzanine of high-class (bearing the Wasteland in mind, of course) shops. Everything was brightly lit by the glittering overhead chandeliers. We were attracting a lot of stares, most of them directed to me. I wasn't sure if they were recognizing me for my appearance as described by DJ PoN3 or staring at me for my appearance period. The ponies passing us by and chattering about in the shops and cafes were covered with makeup, had their manes and tails neatly groomed, and either wore no clothing at all or elegant pre-war suits and dresses. Only the occasional security guard wore armor, and even then they were prim and proper. I didn't need my enhanced senses to smell the superficiality in the air.

“I can see why you don't like this place...” Rig murmured. Her eyes were hidden behind a new pair of shades, her welding helmet stowed in her saddlebags. Another cigarette was lit in her mouth. “Everypony here reminds me about my so-called 'friends' back in Stable Three...”

I nodded to her. “It gets worse. Trust me.”

“Heh... Azrael's already cluing me in to that,” Rig sighed. “She says the general store is-”

“Up ahead, on the right, three stores down,” I finished. “I know. I've been here before.”

“Is that how you knew Chief Bright Star, then?”

“Yes. I just never intended to ever set foot in this place again for reasons all too obvious.”

By now, we stopped in the general store, owned by a violet unicorn with a wavy, pink mane. The prices would have sounded tantamount to robbery if we were in the Wasteland. Haggling with him (Yes. That was a male I was describing.) definitely put my bartering skills to the test. In the end, we were still down to only a little over six-hundred caps for just five healing potions, one super restoration potion, and a new cloak for our griffin-pony friend. And five cans of food.

“Azrael said she was glad you specifically told her father and brother not to head to this place,” Rig nickered. “She was trying to help you out with bartering there, but that guy was so stuck up he was in the clouds.”

“That's one way to put it,” I nickered in turn. “Wait, how...? Telepath. Right.”

Rig nodded as I led her to the elevator and started the long trip up. “So... meeting the DJ now?”

“Yeah, or at least an assistant.” No need to give it away. “Believe me when I say they’re probably the only decent souls in the entire building.”

“Judging from the broadcasts, I wouldn't be surprised,” she huffed, spewing out smoke. “Hey, Frost?”

“Yes, Rig?” I turned to her.

The earth-coated mare sighed, levitating her shades off. “You... You did good. Owing up like that to me and Azrael after that. You know... that you did what you did. Even if it wasn't under the best of... situations. Circumstances. Whatever, Azrael...”

I snorted. “I only followed your example. You were found out, and then you confessed. And I only did what I promised Her.”

“Your love?” she asked.

“Yes.” I nodded slowly. “Yes. Rig... Azrael, I know you're listening too... you both know by now I'm not a good pony. That's not just for what I did back in Alhambronco. That's what makes me different from you. Rig, you only lied because others might judge you based on your appearance. I lied because others might judge me based on what I've done. No matter what good I do now, I know that I'll never live it off.”

“How bad is it?” Rig asked. “I mean... I get that you think the Royal Sisters are dead, but-”

“Rig,” I cut her off. “I... know they are dead. I know. There's no denying it.”

“How?” she asked.

“I just know, alright?” I scowled, closing my eyes. “I just know!”

“Well, how bad is it, then?” she sighed. I opened my eyes and looked at her, into those almost perfect indigo eyes. “Look, you say that we won't understand, but if you're going to play that game, we can't trust you anyways. You're making us assume that you've committed unspeakable atrocities. We can't follow you around in any case if that's what's up with you. So what do you have to lose beyond that?”

I looked at her for a long time as the elevator continued climbing the floors at its lax, leisurely pace. “Is that Azrael talking?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “So what?”

“Well it looks like you've beaten me at my own game.” I closed my eyes and sighed once more. “Once we're out. I'll let you glean me all you want once we're out.”

* * *

The elevator doors parted to reveal a rich foyer of lightly blemished marble. A fountain dominated the area, where a brass alicorn reared up with wings spread. The stance was powerful yet elegant. Water cascaded from a talisman embedded on the necklace into the rippling pool below. Rig gasped and stepped forward, but she immediately locked eyes with the pony before us and drew to a halt. I was already looking this pony over. She was a slender, red-coated unicorn with a frizzled, silvery mane. Her eyes were a lively green and were currently open in surprise. Her cutie-mark was a jukebox.

“Whoa!” she exclaimed, jumping at the sight of us. Then she beamed brightly. “Hah, well isn't that mighty convenient? Great to finally meet you in person, Sentinel! Was about to head down to find you myself when word reached me that you were here at Tenpony Tower with information on Alhambronco!”

I raised an eyebrow. “We haven't met yet.”

“Oh, where are my manners?” she facehoofed. “Sorry, got caught up in the moment. I'm Treble Clef, DJ's assist-.” The elevator doors closed between us. I hit the button to get them open again and found her smiling apologetically. “Sorry again, lemme get outta your way...” As she stood aside to let us enter the foyer, she coughed, “So anyways, I'm Treble Clef, DJ's assistant.” Oh. Sure. Definitely the assistant.

“Frost Windchill,” I introduced myself in turn. “Pleased to meet you. This is Rig, my...”

I paused, at a loss for words for a few seconds. She piped up and completed, “Friend.” She chanced a small smile. “Sorta. I guess.”

“Well, nice to meet you both!” Treble nodded. She blinked at Rig. “Whoa. What's wrong with your eye there?” I glanced back at her.

Oh, dammit, she forgot to replace her shades.

“Uh... I...” she sighed. “I'm a cyberpony, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” the red-coated mare shrugged and went on without missing a beat. “Hey, listen, Frost, may I speak to you in private? Sorry to be a bother.”

“Hey, wait,” Rig spoke up. “You're... not put off by that?”

“Put off by what?” Treble blinked, leading us to a double doorway with a plaque reading Twilight Sparkle Athenaeum, our hooves echoing their clacks on the marble floor. I noted that above us and accessible via gently curving staircases on both sides was another set of double doors. This one had a plaque reading M.A.S. Emergency Broadcast Station (Authorized Unicorns Only). I let the ghost of a smile form on my lips from the nostalgia. “You being a cyberpony?” She broke out into a laugh. “Come on, the DJ has ghoul informants, too. Granted, it's annoying because then he has to send me to go outside to talk to them because of the picky ponies downstairs, but cyberponies aren't too out of the question in all honesty.” Rig breathed a soft sigh of relief, smiling lightly. Treble looked back at us, stopping. “Again, sorry to be a bother, but may I speak to you in private, Frost?”

I sighed, “See, there's a ca-”

“No,” Rig said quickly.

“I know, I know!” I grumbled at her. “Miss Clef-”

“Oh, you can just call me Treble,” the red-coated mare chuckled. “No need for formalities when it's already cranked up to eleven at Tenpony Tower.”

“Ah, Treble, then,” I corrected myself, “we would rather stick together if that's no problem.”

“You're together then?” She raised an eyebrow, turning around at us.

“Heh?” I deadpanned.

“What?” Rig balked.

“Oh, no no no, of course not! There's... quite an age gap, and-”
“With him? Hell no! Hell... no! I mean, he still has hallucinations of-”

We both stopped talking as Treble just kept her eyebrow raised and looked from me to her and back.

I cleared my through and simply said, “No.”

“Uh... huh...” Treble just stared at the two of us. “I... suppose I can get that to work, then.” She led us onward once more. “So, what have you been up to, Sentinel? It's been a while since we heard anything about you.”

“Bounty hunting the 'wrong' way,” I answered, “and getting a bounty of my own head for doing so.”

“The 'wrong' way?” She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Deciding whether or not I want the mark alive or not. Some- many, actually- are worth more to me... dead. This slaver for instance. Wanted alive. Killed him.” I paused, memories of the resulting battle for Stalliongrad flashing past my mind's eye. “He was only wanted alive for the relatives of the enslaved to exact revenge on in any case.”

“So that's it, hm? Well, better than devolving into a raider, I guess. But seriously, it's been ages since we last heard of you- ten years, I think. You've really just been doing it all this time?”

“All this time, yes,” I answered.

“How old are you now?” she questioned. “You don't even look all that old.”

I glanced at Rig and we shared a slight smile. “There's an interesting story to all of that,” the young mare answered her.

“I can guess,” Treble huffed.

No, you couldn't.

She led us onward to the lower doors that led to the Athenaeum, which opened seemingly of their own volition. It was a massive library with enormous shelves stacked with rows upon rows of neatly-organized books separated by author, title, and subject. I remembered the first time I entered this place- I was completely taken by surprise by the number of intact tomes that far exceeded even Stable Seventy-Two's collection. There were bookshelves towering high and reaching from wall to wall (save for small reading nooks). The pillars supporting the room even had shelves that wrapped around them. In the center of the room was a desk propped up not by legs but was actually a short-stacked bookshelf in and of itself. Three vaulted windows allowed the cloud-filtered sunlight to trickle in, now dwindling from the day's approaching end. Above one of the bookshelves was a sprawling, panoramic painting of a desolate valley of dust and dirt.

“Holy hay...” Rig whispered, jaw hung and eyes wide in awe.

“Quite the collection, huh?” Treble smiled. “These are all the volumes, novels, tomes, and manuals from the pre-war era up until the spellfire apocalypse, all in their original, unaltered, uncensored forms. I can't imagine anypony reading even a portion of one of the bookshelves in a single lifetime.” She gestured to a pair of sofas facing one another with a small coffee table (made up of small bookshelves in the same vein as the desk nearby) in between. “But business, business. Let's get to business.” She seated herself.

Meanwhile, Rig and I shared a glance.

“What?” Treble blinked.

“We're kinda dirty...” the earth-coated mare smiled uneasily.

“So?” she laughed. “We can clean it up lickety-split! Now let's get to business!”

Rig turned back to me, and I merely shrugged. We took a seat beside one another, opposite the silver-maned “assistant.”

“Alright, what do you have, Sentinel?” Treble inquired, her horn firing up in a mellow yellow as a notepad floated out beside her. A pen joined it with a string of eager clicks. See, I'd much rather have telekinesis in that case. “What happened in Alhambronco?”

I breathed out a chilly sigh, eyes downcast. I felt Rig rest her hoof on my shoulder and looked down at her. Her indigo gaze told me all I needed to know.

“Raiders under the command of a Dead Boys leader by the name of Javahl burned the town to the ground,” I told her. “There were... there were no survivors.”

Treble nodded slowly, the pen scribbling away. “I see.” Her eyes were glazed over like a pony who's seen too much and seen it happen time and time again- melancholy but muted. “And you're sure- absolutely sure- they were with The Dead Boys?”

Rig nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Javahl was on-site,” I added, “and we killed him.”

“Were the raiders equipped by The Dead Boys?” Treble questioned.

“For the most part, they appeared to possess the usual selection and quality of weaponry,” I answered. “They had flamethrowers, however. It is inconclusive as to whether or not they were already in possession or were provided for.”

“And any motive?” Treble inquired, putting a hoof over her mouth in thought as her pen continued to take down notes.

I looked at Rig, and she looked at me. “I don't recall one,” she whispered.

“He never said,” I murmured in turn.

“And that's all she wrote,” Treble said, tucking away her stationery. She placed both hooves against her chin for a moment before sitting back up straight. “Now, there's a reason I wanted to talk to you in private, Frost. Given that you trust your friend Rig here, though, I can let it slide. But,” the red-coated mare held up a hoof in warning, “do not let word of this get out. I've only let a few other ponies know about this. Your friend outside is fine, but otherwise, you better zip your lips, lock 'em, throw away the key, bury said key-”

“Okay, we get it, we get it,” Rig cut her off. “We'll keep quiet about it.”

“I'm good at keeping secrets,” I said in turn.

“Then you're about to learn the DJ's trade secrets,” Treble clapped her hooves together once. “You saw the M.A.S.E.B.S., right? This place isn't only a broadcast station- it's also capable of surveillance. Several decades ago, one of the DJs or his assistants hacked into the S.P.P towers you see everywhere and gained access to observation cameras about a third of the way up. Those are the DJ's eyes in addition to our volunteer reporters and correspondents. We can see everything in Equestria and its territories from the station. It's how we stay up-to-date. You following me so far?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Rig replied. I merely nodded in affirmation.

“Well, around three years ago, we lost connection to the tower over the Almarinian Sea to the west,” the silver-maned mare continued. “Connection just went out, just like that.” She snapped her hoof against her other fetlock for emphasis. “At first, DJ and I just thought it was the Enclave. After all, that was when they were waging the Resource War against Aldorna.”

“Hang on a sec,” Rig cut in. “Resource War? The pegasi fought with the griffins three years ago?”

I nodded. “From my understanding, raw materials are hard to come by when you live in the clouds. Once the mountains were stripped bare, they sought to wrest what they needed from other territories. Aldorna was the first and only so far. So is that why we knew so little of the outcome, Treble?”

“Yeah, tower connection just shut off toward the beginning of the conflict,” she answered. “But moving on, there was nothing we could do about it. But just like that,” another hoof-fetlock snap, “we lost our eyes on all major NETO territories, including East Aldorna, Caledonia, and Neighpon. We don't get reporters from there, so with the Almarinian Sea tower down, we couldn't get any dirt on those.

“Now, fast-forward six months. We lost connection to the Seaddle tower. Again, it's hard to get reporters from over there because of the Great Mid-Equestrian Divide and the Big Rock Candy Mountain Range. So, again, the DJ and I just assumed the Enclave were making their return to Equestrian soil. Well, we didn't get jack about some return of the 'great and powerful Grand Pegasi Enclave' or anything like that, and a few griffins that came from over there made no mention of the Enclave. DJ and I just assumed it was a fluke, then. After all, who knows if the S.P.P. towers could last this long? Sure, Stable-Tec products can for sure, but the fact of the matter is that now we lost more monitoring power. Everything from the Westerns to the Moojave to the Big Rock Candy MT went to static. Eventually, we got used to it. No other tower connections failed since. You both still following? Good. Because we're fast-forwarding to the present.”

“You lost another connection?” Rig asked.

“Whoa-hoh, Nelly,” Treble laughed, grimacing and holding her forehead, “yeah, we sure did- connection to the Burrlin tower. That was three-and-a-half months ago. With that, we lost everything in the Far North, and most importantly, Stalliongrad.”

“So that's why news from Stalliongrad was so slow...” Rig mused aloud.

“You got it.” Treble pointed to her. “There's more. Two days later, we lost connection to the Trottingham tower, and with it, our eyes on the Great Mid-Equestrian Divide including Alhambronco. The notion of component failure was becoming real, real dubious at this point.”

“Are you suspecting sabotage?” I inquired.

“Damn straight, Sentinel,” the red-coated unicorn mare huffed. “Damn straight. While we sent some mercs to discover the root of the cause, I asked an old friend to look into the issue. You might have known him. Beat Blaze.”

I felt... suddenly a little colder. “Yes. I knew him very well.”

“He was in Vealville and was helping you out with your hunting, if I recall,” Treble continued. “Have you ever wondered what that maneframe he used was? No? It was an intermediate hub from the M.A.S.E.B.S. to the Trottingham tower. Beat Blaze was trying to deal with the connection issue that whole time since. But before all that, do you know what we learned about just a few weeks ago?”

“What is it?” Rig asked.

“We learned about The Dead Boys,” she responded. “We learned about their attack on Stalliongrad. What's more, we learned they're a big power in the Westerns, now headed to the Capital Wasteland. And guess where they stopped first on the way here?”

“Burrlin,” I surmised.

“Right on the dot.” Treble nodded. “Apparently within hours of us losing connection with the tower there.”

“Same thing for the Trottingham tower?” my cyber companion inquired.

“Same thing for the Trottingham tower. You know, Beat Blaze was very close to bringing the connection to it back online. It was only a few hours from being reestablished before it went kapuut.” A pause. “I heard he passed away. I'm sorry, Frost.”

“Nothing to be done about it,” I sighed a cool mist. Nevertheless, my mind did a play-by-play of every single moment of that night- the flashing lights, the blasting tunes, blood and death everywhere, the deadly buzz of Grapevine's minigun, the Hunters...

The Hunters.

I widened my eyes in realization just as I became aware Rig was calling out my name.

“Frost,” she said, tugging at my foreleg. “You alright?”

I turned back to Treble, “I can corroborate with your suspicion. The night of the Dead Boys' attack on Vealville was when the repair attempt failed, right?”

“Yeah, that's right,” the silver-maned mare responded.

“Three Hunters attacked us that night,” I spoke, then noticed her puzzled expression. “Ah, advanced machines equipped with silenced- really silenced- weaponry and stealth fields. They were mainly after my friend-”

“The disavowed Dead Boy griffin,” Treble surmised.

“Right,” I nodded, “but while going after her, the last one instead self-destructed to destroy the maneframe. The Dead Boys really are trying to shut down the uplinks. And they've been here too.”

“What?!” Treble exclaimed. “Been, as in past tense?!”

“As plainclothes, and it appears that they only appeared to have bought off your entire stock of RadAway and Rad-X that's been put up for sale.”

“Weird, though...” Rig murmured. “If they wanted to just ruin your surveillance ability, they would've just destroyed the tower outright, right? But even if, Azrael said she only had a gut feeling they were Dead Boys plainclothes...”

“Still is grounds for concern, though,” she said, crossing her forelegs. “At least it answers one question. All the better, because they just knocked out our connection to Fillydelphia. That's where they appear to be relocating, if I'm not mistaken. Now, the big question of the day- why? It's obvious now that The Dead Boys don't want to be monitored specifically by me and DJ PoN3, but to what end? That's what I want to find out, and I already asked several other Wasteland heroes that stopped by to try to dig up some dirt, namely in the Fillydelphia area. Sentinel, will you help us out? Please?”

I exhaled softly, “Soon. I'm currently in the process of trying to locate at least one water talisman for my friend here. Her Stable lost its water talisman, and it needs a replacement within... three months' time, right?”

Rig fiddled with her PipBuck. “Yeah, a little over that.”

“I'd love to ask the DJ to help,” Treble spoke, “but the last time that search ran, all water talismans either turned up fragmented, belonging to existing settlements, or under Steel Ranger control. I think the chapter near Arbu has a pair, but...”

“I don't want to deal with Steel Rangers,” I grumbled.

“Nobody does.” She shook her head.

“Treble, we're trying to access Frost's Stable in the Far North,” Rig spoke up. “We know for sure that there's at least one functioning water talisman there, but we need at least thirteen more packets of RadAway to get there safely. I know that all the stuff here has been bought up already, but can you help us out?”

“Oh, just RadAway?” Treble smiled. “Well, I can arrange that no problem! Just...” She tapped her hooves together, “there's some good news and some bad news.”

Oh, luck. You never fail me.

“What's the bad news?” both Rig and I asked near-simultaneously. This caused us to eye one another in surprise.

“The bad news is that, first, we don't have any available for sale,” the red-coated unicorn replied. “We also won't be able to get a resupply for at least three to five days.”

“But... you're getting a resupply, right?” Rig brightened up.

“That would be the good news, yeah.” Treble nodded with a smile. “We're gonna get more, guaranteed. Scavengers and traders never pass up on Tenpony first because of the good caps, and there's dozens of hospitals in the Manehattan ruins. I guarantee we'll get more than enough, and I'll make absolute sure to get at least thirteen set aside just for you. If there's anypony here that the richies will listen to, it's DJ PoN3.”

Rig cheered and, to my surprise, jumped over to Treble and hugged her. “Oh, I could just kiss you!” She blinked. “Can I kiss you?”

“Uh... sure?” Treble answered awkwardly. Rig pecked her on the cheek in an instant.

“Rig...” I eyed her.

“Eh... heheheheheh...” Rig laughed and smiled uneasily as she released the still wide-eyed mare and slunk away. “Sorry... I'm going to go hide in a corner now.”

As Rig headed off, I turned back to Treble. “So-”

“Let us never speak of this again,” she spoke quickly.

* * *

“No comment.” Those were Azrael's first words as we exited the security checkpoint with our ammunition back.

“What?” Rig blinked. “But-”

“No. Comment.”

“Okay, okay... jeez...” the cloud-maned mare, grumbled.

“I trust you understand what transpired?” I asked her.

“Yes, now would you kindly give me the cloak?”

I sighed and smiled, producing an ice arm to draw the fabric out from my saddlebags. She snatched it out of my hands and drew it over herself with a contented sigh.

“So...” I began.

“No comment.”

I chuckled. Of course.

“Well, Frost?” Rig trotted up to me. “What's the plan for the next three days?”

“Likely set up camp here,” I answered, leading us to the Four Stars terminal. “We want to be around when Tenpony Tower restocks.”

“And?” Rig deadpanned.

I sighed coolly, “And... tell you my... story...”

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level

Rig- Level Up! Level 10 Reached!

Azrael- Maximum Level

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Mister Blue Sky by Arcane Lights Orchestra

Soundtrack- Ain't No Rest for the Wicked by Caged Elephant

Concept Art- Frost Windchill by Adder1

Commission Art- Stand Off by MisterMech

Author's Note

My thanks go to the usual group of amazing authors for the epic collection tales under Kkat’s Fallout: Equestria. My gratitude goes out especially to ErrantIndy, QuackmanBrony, and Broadestpeak for pre-reading this chapter for me. Special thanks too for MisterMech for the commission art depicting the showdown scene in this chapter. Lastly, thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is always encouraged!

And check out the Ask Frost Winchill tumblr!

Chapter Fifteen: Introspection

Chapter Fifteen: Introspection

Night fell quickly, the darkness peeled back as the guardponies at the Tenpony Tower security checkpoint switched on their lampposts. We were close enough to them in the Four Stars terminal to bathe in their artificial glow. Dinner, a meal scarcely discernible from breakfast or lunch in manner or substance, went by quietly.

“Getting tired of yams yet?” I nickered, trying inject some humor. Rig rolled her eyes, or at least she had the decency to. Azrael remained statuesque as ever. The soft light made her look almost ghostly due to her coloration and cloak. I sighed out a chilly mist. “Right. Let's get this over with, shall we?”

Rig nodded. By now, she looked normal once more. No trace of what laid beneath the coat remained. “Yeah. Let's.”

“Very well. Azrael, before we start, what am I supposed to feel when you glean my memories?”

“A slight buzzing sensation, my father told me,” the griffin replied. “Do note, however, that since you're the first pre-war equine I'll have the opportunity to delve into, this may take a bit longer than usual.”

“No problem,” Rig said with a shrug, popping another cigarette between her lips and lighting it with her soldering spell.

“Perhaps I should have stated this earlier, but that means I cannot detect or glean anything else during that time frame.”

“... heh?” Rig and I stared at her.

“It's a... shortcoming of my telepathy. I must focus on a single subject for the duration of sifting through memories.”

“And you never bothered mentioning this why?” I inquired.

“Because it usually isn't a problem. I tend to avoid using it during combat is all. Outside of that, it usually isn’t an issue. Here and now, however, I just wish to inform you of that. Be vigilant while I glean you.”

“Noted,” I acknowledged. With that, I relaxed my mental defenses as if unraveling a tightly-knit ball of yarn from around my mind.

Azrael visibly winced.

“You alright?” I asked.

“Your senses are... very sharp,” she remarked. “Not unlike that of an animal... interesting.”

I chanced a small smile. “Hmph, well I'm not even in my dracopony form.”

“Hm. Frost, I still can't read your memories.”

“Well, I'm not quite done yet,” I said, continuing to unwrap the mental shield. “You're only reading surface thoughts. Soon, though. Just... remember that you won't like what you find.”

And then I felt that same buzzing sensation droning, invading the back of my mind. There was nothing to stop it this time. As it persisted, I merely looked out beyond into the darkness of the Manehattan ruins as Rig waited patiently.

“You know, this isn't bad so far,” Azrael commented. “Granted, I'm not sure I like who you are as a child.”

“How far in are you?” I asked.

“Eighteen years.”

“Then the first shouldn't be too far away,” I spoke grimly.

The ebony giant raised a near-invisible eyebrow at me. Then her eyes widened. The buzzing silenced. My heart quickened, hammering away in my breast. I felt the pair of photographs there with it.

“F-Frost... y-you were in love with-” Azrael stammered uncharacteristically.

“Yes.” I cut her off.

“But... then-”

“Glean further,” I said lowly, icily. Rig glanced between the two of us.

“B-”

I let out an unsettling growl. “Glean. Further.”

Azrael was at a loss for a few seconds. Then the buzzing resumed.

“Frost, what was that all about?” Rig questioned.

“First landmine,” I answered flatly.

“What is it?”

“You don't tread on landmines, Rig,” I cautioned her, “physical ones or psychological ones.”

“Well, you killed an innocent mother and child.” The earth-coated unicorn crossed her forelegs. “I'm treading on it.”

“Rig... please...” I warned.

“Fine,” she snorted. “Azrael?”

Oh no...

“It's... best if I remain silent on the matter for now,” the griffin said tentatively.

“Are you serious?” Rig nickered. “I thought we agreed there wouldn't be any more of these secrets!”

I tensed, heart racing. Here it comes...

“I will...” Azrael exhaled deeply. “I will reserve judgment until after I am finished.”

Rig let out a sigh. “Fine.”

I likewise breathed out a sigh- out of relief. Thank you, Azrael...

Oooookay, that was unex... okay, that was to be expected from a telepath. Still very, very creepy though.

“Well... where are you now?” I asked.

“Your enlistment,” the hybrid responded.

“Second one isn't far off then.” I tensed, shuddering.

“'Second?'” Rig eyed me. “Hmph, did you cheat on your first or some-”

Azrael clutched at her head and screamed. Before I could say or do anything, memories and thoughts rushed back unbidden. The world dropped away, fading into white...

Darkness coming...

Cry cold breath hunger pain anguish light bright night cities lights legends laugh hurt book power words triangle talk revenge henchpony underling lie vanity regret lust weak weak want more want no hate library book danger risk chance try success joy joy joy heat cold ice mark name school new heat pain hate scorn day change change change cast out no want cold night lonely music music solace club music dance love love love talk date court kiss love bed false no want no want no no not proper prove forget love love love forget trust piety divinity learn love teach happy joy future gas gas gas war war war join pendant dead boys blood iron blood death pain pain pain pain pain pain friend faith pain pain faith pain faith pain escape pain pain mirror scars pain hate pain vengeance pain apathy pain kill pain howl pain rip pain tear pain gnash pain cut pain scars scars scars suit armor no pain no feeling destroy rage kill kill kill kill friend no no no kill friend no no no help please pain need help take take medal take take want need must have no pain do not want pain cannot stand pain take take take scars forget cannot forget pain help nightmare help sooth help no pain relief happy joy joy joy scars scars scars want join train pain push push push force train become train pain push fight protect serve shadow operation covert no trace night master no love what no no no why do more push push push why push try try try want just want just want love just want love just want love just want love bomb try cloud no no no love no no love no flee mother father please no hurry hurry push harder harder faster try fail bomb burn rise north under safe pendant try fail no try fail no try fail no no no not safe operation what no traitor traitor traitor all traitors traitors traitors monster-

f

a

l

l

exile

exile

exile

exile

rebirth.

~*O==>oOoSHADOWSo<<[3#4*]

Darkness fading...

Endless white stretched before my eyes, dulling gradually until I was looking at cracked... something. Rough, worn. I was pressed against it from gravity. It was floor tiling. I was still in the Four Stars terminal. Shadows flickered before me, the cracked floor brightening, darkening, brightening, darkening.

With a grunt, I pushed back to my feet. I gasped as I was blasted by a stinging wave of heat and realized what was going on. Fire leaped from the penthouse floor of Tenpony Tower, smoke billowing up blacker than the clouds. Bodies laid strewn about me. I recognized one of them as the unicorn who waved Rig and me through the checkpoint. A hoof-sized hole had blown through his side.

Wait. Rig. Rig! Where was Rig? Where was Azrael? What about Treble? I looked about, spinning around dumbly.

“Rig!” I shouted.

The Wasteland was silent.

“Azrael!”

The Wasteland was silent.

“Treble?”

The Wasteland was silent.

“Anypony?” I yelled louder, desperately, panting. “Anyone?”

The Wasteland was silent.

I slumped to the ground. I was alone. I was all alone save for the distant, ever-present gunfire and shouts of the Manehattan ruins, alone save for the dead around me.

And among the dead were griffins. Against my eagerness to flee from the overwhelming heat, I approached one of the bodies. It had a faceplate depicting a skull letting out a rebel yell and had skeletal armor.

“Dammit, I didn't mean it!” I cried out hoarsely, shouting to the flames above. “I didn't meant it! It was only a joke! I didn't want this place to be destroyed! I didn't mean it!”

The Wasteland was silent.

“Oh fuck you too!” I roared out my cry.

The Wasteland roared back.

I stumbled back, panting harder. The heat was starting to sear at me now. I needed to retreat, needed to recollect, needed to... needed to gather myself.

No, ourselves.

“Love!” I shouted. “Nightingale!”

“With you!” I heard Her call. I whipped my head to the side to find Her there for me, looking just as worse for wear, just as baffled as I was.

“Oh thank goodness...” I sighed out in relief. My breath was dry. “Where are Rig and Azrael? What happened here?”

“I don't know!” She answered. “Something went wrong when she delved further!”

“What went wrong?”

“I don't know, I don't know!” She repeated firmly. “Frost, we have to get out of here! You can't stay here like this!”

“But... if they come looking for...” I protested. A horrendous metal groan filled the air, causing both of us to look back at Tenpony Tower. The broadcast antenna was listing dangerously. “Rrrgh, dammit! Alright, let's go!”

We took off, heading for the Manehattan streets as the ear-splitting groan increased in volume behind us. It paused for a second, two, three, four- and then came a crash that caused the earth to tremble. I didn't stop, She didn't stop- we kept on running.

Then came more trembles, far more powerful than they should be for such an impact. I chanced a look back to find that a great fissure was splitting the earth from the point where the antenna crashed, racing impossibly for us as the age-weakened terminal grounds gave away.

“Oh f-” I cursed my luck, cursed The Dead Boys. “Right, bear right!”

She widened Her eyes and took off with me as we tried to avoid the yawning maw behind us. I tried to concentrate, tried to cool my burnout, but the fires were still burning too hot, too close behind us. Feeling the ground behind me start to give, I kicked off with all the strength I could muster... but I fell, fell into the abyss, hearing Her cry out my name.

* * *

I was jolted back into consciousness, eyes snapping open in a start into blackness. My eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness around me and found Her gazing worriedly down on me. I was lying on my back, my head bent up uncomfortably from the fin-like plume of my helm.

“How long was I out?” I asked. “Ugh, I mean- are you alright? Should probably have asked that first...”

“I'm quite alright,” She answered softly. “You needn't worry about me.” She pulled away, looking about. “You were out for less than a minute.”

I nodded slowly, taking in the area around me. It looked like we were in the sewers. Viscous, black muck choked up the canal that ran through the middle, flanked by walkways on both sides; we were on one of them. Pipes of all sizes ran past us, nearly obscuring the smooth concrete wall behind them. I looked up to find the great tear in the earth far above us. We had fallen a long way.

I let out a whistle. “Thank you for starsteel armor.” I'd be needing ice muscles to get back out that way, though. For that, I'd still need to clear my burnout. I closed my eyes and focused.

Spark. Fizzle. Fizzle. Crackle.

Crackle? That wasn't a good sound.

Spark.

Spark.

Spark.

Crackle.

Oh that was so not good.

“Dammit!” I hissed, slamming a hoof into the ground. “We'll need to find another way out.” A pause. She had been quiet for a while. “... are you alright?”

“Love...” She whispered, “I think I might have found out where Rig and Azrael went.”

I turned around to see her staring at the wall I had originally been facing away from. My blood ran cold.

Before us was a gear-shaped Stable entryway gaping wide-open. The lights inside were dead.

* * *

12 read the yellow-painted numbers on the monstrous door off to the side of the entryway after passing through with Her. I swallowed hard. Why did I get the feeling that this wasn't going to end well?

We strode up the small set of steps just beyond the entrance. My armored horseshoes rolled silently over the metal as Her footsteps. The blinking lights of the softly chirping electronic equipment and consoles were the only sources of light in the entryway, white against black. I stopped before the open door leading into the Stable atrium, black as can be. It was like standing before the Gates of Hell.

I tapped the gem on my breastplate, the angry-blue glow lightly illuminating the area around me. “Rig! Azrael! Are you here?”

No answer. No buzzing in the back of my head.

I tapped the gem to deactivate it. “Come on, let's leave,” I said, turning around. “They're not here.” I started back, then bristled and froze mid-step as She planted a hoof on my shoulder.

“No,” She said. “We're going inside.”

I paled. “B-But-”

“It is not up for debate,” She spoke firmly. “A Stable with a possible water talisman would be the first place they would go. And they could be in trouble.” Her tone softened. “This isn't Stable Seventy-Two, Frost. Easy.”

I gulped. “Under... stood. Understood.” Steeling myself, I turned around and strode forth into the heart of darkness.

The Stable Twelve atrium was a wide room with a high ceiling, plunged in darkness. A portion of it was marked off from the rest as a designated sporting area, in clear view of the balconies that flanked the upper areas, linked by catwalks. Markings for hoofball had been painted on the floor, markings worn by age. Heavy, upward-sliding doors leading to the rest of the Stable rest in the four corners of the room. They were all open. It was a world of metal, metal, only metal- and darkness. Only two things broke the monotony- the cameras and the giant, circular, glass window of the Overmare's office. No light streamed from it, but yet it still dominated the atrium like a massive eye watching over everything else. Just looking at it gave me the chills. I turned away from that horrible portal and the dark shape looming just behi-

I snapped my head back up to the window, my heart skipping a beat. There was nothing there, only smooth glass.

“Love...” I turned slowly to Her, speaking quietly, “did you...?”

She was looking at the window as well, slowly facing me. “Get your weapon out.”

I nodded quickly, biting down on Night Fang and holding her out as we proceeded across the atrium. I was moving in a low, silent crouch while She moved noiselessly across the floor like a ghost. I cast furtive glances to the Overmare's window with chills creeping down my spine. I checked the sign above the doorway we approached- Mainten. The rest of the sign had cracked off. The green backlight had long stopped working, just like every other light in the Stable.

Oh, you big, empty bastard. You and your sense of irony. But if Rig and Azrael were in fact here, they would be in Maintenance.

The loudspeakers pinged out a whine, causing me to swing Night Fang back toward the Overmare's office. It was still empty. But only the console there could control the speakers. I slowly turned to Her again as She faced me. Her troubled expression mirrored my own. We pressed on.

The maintenance wing consisted of a network of tunnels leading to the systems that kept the lifeblood of the Stable flowing. These systems were now long dead, the lifeblood coagulated, the pipes choked up. Overhead panels had fallen free, exposing the torn guts of the Stable- frayed wires, cracked circuitry, displaced piping. We were still bathed in blackness. Everything about Stable Twelve screamed death to me- even the air was unmoving, stale, heavy.

The first body lied just beyond the entrance.

It was another Dead Boys griffin, a female. Her faceplate was gone, beak and eyes were wide-open. She was slumped against the wall in a pool of her own blood, a great hole blasted into her breast. The coppery smell still hung in the air. She had no weapon on her person. Surprisingly, I saw a pair of dog tags hanging from around her neck. I read her name.

Maya Sharpclaw.

The loudspeakers pinged again, causing us to glance about. Okay, there it was again. Nothing new. Nothing-

My heart skipped a beat as a cracked, croaked female voice drawled out- slow, sorrowful.

“Woke... up this mor...ning,
radio moa...ning.
Thoughts... run in cir...cles
and set... the... day...”

I looked back at Her, recognition etched across our faces. My pulse quickened.

Azrael.

We moved along together. I swept Night Fang across the tunnel.

The speaker whined before cutting out, causing me to cringe.

Wait, that shape in the Overmare's office- was that her? There was no hint of Rig. Did that mean she was alone? Is this one of the panic attacks she was talking about? But I was here, I was well within her radius! What went wrong? What went wrong?

“Frost, we should go to her,” She called out to me.

“I know, I know!” I raced along, searching for some sort of signboard. There had to be one somewhere here as I galloped through the maintenance tunnels. “Come on, come on...” We met a T-junction with one, and I sprinted past to the left, ignoring the griffin body slumped there.

The speakers whined again.

“I'm... all... burnt... up,
no... resurrec...tion...
lying here... slinging ashes at... the... sun...”

Stairs, stairs leading up and out of the maintenance tunnels. Clambered up them, skipped steps, heart racing. Doors open, waiting for me. Another griffin body slumped against the wall just before the Overmare's office.

“Can't find... what I once knew...”

“Take me...” the Stable seemed to whisper snidely down on me. I spun around, eyes wide as I looked the room frantically. Nothing. No one else was here. There was only the crescent-shaped desk and a string of terminals displaying nothing but meaningless letters, numbers, and symbols. My gaze fell to another griffin body slumped against the wall.

“Can't find... what I once knew...”

“Take me...”

I snapped my head to find the Nightmare seated at the desk with her muzzle to the speak-

Night Fang sputtered into the body of another dead griffin, the head rolling limply on the shoulders from the bullets. The echoes ran eerily through the Stable like a horrible exhale of old, cold breath, refusing to silence completely until after several seconds.

Nothing. Nopony, nobody here. Just the body. Just the griffin body. Not the Overmare, Nightmare.

I hated Stables.

“L-Lrv...?” I murmured around Night Fang's grip, eyes wide, heart racing.

“With you,” She whispered to me from my side. “Always.”

I looked into those eyes full of everything, trying to find comfort in them. The darkness perverted them, tainted them. I shook my head, turning my attention back to the terminals. I pushed the body there out of the way, tapping my hooves at the keys to try to elicit some sort of response. Nothing. CTRL, ALT, DEL. Nothing. ESC. Nothing. F1, F2, F3, F4, F5, F6, F7, F8, F9, F10. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I growled, bashing the keyboard in frustration.

The screens flickered and changed to a string of arrows. I furrowed my brow in confusion, following them down to the empty space at my side.

Odd...

I jumped, heart skipped a beat. The... wh- there was a body there! Where did-

I turned around to the Overmare's desk. The body was still seated there, limp, lifeless.

“I'm... worried my... wires... are... crossed again...”

I glanced at Her for an explanation. I received none. They couldn't be here. They couldn't be here. Besides, no water talisman... right? Otherwise, Treble would have said something. They couldn't be here. What were we thinking? I started for the door, passing through. The body was still there as before.

“So... worried I've... lost... my connec...tion...”

I glanced back to make sure- She was gone. She was gone.

My breath quickened, chest heaved, heart throbbed, lungs burned, eyes bulged, teeth clenched. I spat out Night Fang, scrambling back into the office. Only the body. “Love!” I shouted. The Stable screamed the echo back at me, sending my mind reeling.

Hurried back out. Only the body. “Nightingale!” I cried. The walls wailed back down at me.

I raced back down, down into the maintenance tunnels. “Anyone!” The tunnels trembled around me.

The shadows warped around me, drawing my gaze back to the lone body at the T-junction, just below the signboards. I shook my head, trying to calm my nerves, making haste for the atrium.

I felt the oddest sensation. The fur on my back crawled, trying to stand on end as if something was watching me. The loudspeakers pinged, whined. I wheeled around teeth clenching around- nothing. Night Fang was gone. What did I do with her? Didn't I have her all this... body.

There was a body there, right there, at the end of the corridor. Another was opposite it. Did I miss them the first time? No, I came through here twice, I would have noticed them, I...

... looked back at the T-junction signboard. No body.

Cold seeped through my shoulders, slunk down my spine, made me rigid. The loudspeaker let out a tinny, static-scrambled hush. No. No.

They weren't here. They couldn't be here. I shouldn't be here.

I scrambled back toward the atrium. I only made a few gallops when a hiss from the speakers made me halt. I looked back.

The body was only a few meters behind me.

Another was slumped on the opposite wall.

My vision began to haze, the static hush growing to a steady drone. The world began to shudder ever so slightly as I fled away, panting.

A deathly cold touch against the back of my right hindleg made me stop dead in my tracks.

“A des...perate need... for... more dis...trac...tion...”

The body was right behind me, brushing against my leg, my hindhooves trodden in the pool of blood. I gulped and paled as I looked around. There were bodies, bodies all around. Static drone to static moan.

I looked back at the closest one, at the dog tags, telling myself this was a nightmare, this was a nightmare, this was a nightmare, this was a nightmare, just wake up, just wake up, this was all a nightmare, everything will be alright when you wake up.

“Won't... you... take me back... to... o...blivion...?”

Maya Sharpclaw.

I scrambled back, mouth working, babbling words that made no sense. I turned away- and ran right into Maya Sharpclaw. Of her face, only a massive, gaping blackness greeted me.

The faceless thing let out a bloodcurdling wail and drained all warmth from my body, replacing it with an unyielding, dreadful cold. I couldn't tear myself away- I was rooted there, trembling in shock as the wails mounted. Only my shrunken eyes darted around, seeing nothing but bodies, bodies, faceless bodies! My ears rang as the wails mounted. The closest body lurched up and tackled me onto the floor, pinning me on my back.

This was a nightmare! This was a nightmare! This was a nightmare! Just wake up! Just wake up!

More of the bodies pounced onto me, drowning me under the wails, clutching and threatening to pull me apart.

This was a nightmare! This was just all a fucking nightmare! Wake up! Just wake up! Wake up and everything will be alright! Just! Wake! Up!

The one on top of me leaned closer- closer dammit! That empty blackness loomed closer to me! I wanted to move, wanted to spring out, beat them back! Why the fuck couldn't I move! Move, stupid body, move! Those fucking screams are making your fucking ears bleed and made everything fucking spin! Move! MOVE!

This was not a nightmare! It hurt! IT HURT! They were tearing me into pieces! Bloody seams opened up on my legs! I could feel them! And Goddess, oh Goddess, the screams!

They were bursting my ears!
And I could only stare in shock!
And when I stared in shock, I never got off the ground!
I wanted to take my ears off, but I couldn't! It's my eternal curse!
I wanted to take my ears off, but I couldn't! It's my curse! It's MY FUCKING CURSE!
I WANT TO TAKE THE EARS OFF!
PLEAAAAASE! TAKE THE EARS OFF! PLEAAAAAASE!

The body leaned closer and the black hole swallowed me up.

* * *

The world bled back through the black. Ceiling. The ceiling of the maintenance tunnels, panels fallen, wired guts exposed. My heart thundered away in my chest, and I panted hard. My heart pumped, my breath came in, out. I was alive. Wetness matted the fur around my ears, but I was alive. Alive.

Alive as I could be in this world of metal, only metal- and darkness.

The bodies were gone. They were all gone. Goddess, I don't know what I would do if I saw another of those... those bodies. I let out a shuddering sigh. Waking up... would be wonderful right now, so wonderful. This was a dream, right? This was still a dream, right? You can black out and regain consciousness in dreams, right?

What are you trying to tell me, brain? Other than that I'm crazy?

I started to hoist myself up, still panting hard. Why was I even bothering anymore? I would eventually just... wake up, right? Right? Just... lie down. Wait. Wait it out.

Just like so many years ago.

“Love...?” My ears twitched painfully. That was Her voice.

“Nightin...gale?” I called out weakly, barely audible at all.

“Frost...? Are you there...?” Her voice was coming from...

“Oh Goddess,” I groaned. Her voice was coming from the Overmare's office. I didn't want to go back there, didn't want to see the bodies, didn't want to, didn't want to, didn't want to.

“Please...” She whispered.

I bit my lip and exhaled sharply. “I'm coming. I'm coming. I'm going to regret this, but I'm coming.”

I walked, and I walked, and I walked, and I walked. All the while, I could hear the fucking big, empty bastard laughing. Why was I even bothering? I found myself asking that again. I just needed to wait and wake up. That's it. But this was Her. This was... for Her, I decided. For what I've done. And so I walked. Slowly, steadily I trudged on.

There was a body at the T-junction. A pony body, a bright yellow colt with a black mane dressed in a Stable jumpsuit. His head was bent sickly back, torn almost all the way off his neck. Blood, there was so... much... blood.

And he was a pegasus.

I swallowed hard and backed away. No, I could do this. I could do this. She was waiting. I steeled myself and pushed on. Don't look at it. Don't look at it. Don't look at it.

“Frost...”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I know. I know. I'm coming.”

Up. Back up the stairs, into the second hub, up the last flight. Bodies. Right there, at the door. Three of them. Three ponies. Three pony bodies in security armor. Three pegasi. The one in the middle had his helmet caved in. The contents of his head had oozed out through the visor in a sickening mush. The second- a mare, for I knew, just knew her to be a mare- had a massive hole I knew I could put my entire foreleg through in the barrel of her chest. She was slumped down against the wall in a pool of blood and pus. The third had tried to run. His wings had been ripped off and were lying discarded further up near the door, spattered in blood. The killer had then raked at his backside. His spine and the back of his ribs were exposed, the torn flesh, muscle, and ligaments littered around him. His intestines were pulled out behind him like unraveled yarn. I could see his face through the visor. His eyes were wide, mouth locked in an eternal scream. The visor was cracked where he had tried to smash his own head against the floor, trying to make the end come quicker. Bullet casings from their weapons littered the floor around them, their pistols flung away.

I stared for a good long time at the bodies, feeling colder than ever. I shuddered and trudged past them, tried to skirt past the blood. I couldn't.

And finally, I was back in the Overmare's office. She was there. Not Her. No, not Her.

Not Her.

A brilliant white pegasus mare with an ebony mane, ebony eyes.

“Hello, Mister Windchill,” the Overmare greeted. Every word was crisp and clear. “I knew you'd be back. How may I help you this time?”

@#$%$#^&@#$%#$%*#$&%*#@$%&#@$*^&@#$*%@#$%^*%$(#%#$%^

Screams. Didn't stop. Blood.

$%^#$%^#^&&@*@*@#$%#@$%#$%@!^@&**^&(^()$$[<#$>/?

The Overmare was dead. She was limp against the security terminals, smashed against them, her head turned to a pasty pulp. The screens were all dead, broken, sparking, flashing. I backed away. No. No. No way. This wasn't it. This wasn't it. Out. Needed to get out. Rig wasn't here. Azrael wasn't here. She wasn't here. Out, get out. I turned away...

A hideous, angry, unholy whine sounded as I started back. The body darkened, black, shadowy tendrils curling all over its writhing form as it crumbled into nothingness. I paused, staring at where the Overmare used to be. No trace of it remained. Not even the blood. Out. Get out. I raced for the door-

-and stopped dead in my tracks as I came face to face with the specter of the Nightmare. Her form was black, ghostly, semi-transparent- save for her eyes, blank, white, featureless, horrible. There were no other facial features- no mouth, no nostrils, only the vague shape of the ears and those ghastly eyes. The entire front of her body was scarred with dark marks, and the whole of her head was an unrelenting, murky black. Her mane and tail were long, wavy, flowing as if caught in an ethereal breeze. She stared malevolently at me, unblinking. I froze there, pale, eyes wide, breathless. I dared not blink, dared not breathe, dared not move.

She had no such reservation, reaching a hoof toward me as a horrible rumbling filled the air around me. That was the last straw- I scrambled away from her touch, backpedaled to the opposite wall as she slowly approached. I whipped past her. Out. Out. Had to get out. I galloped for the door, rushed past the bodies of the security team. The rumbling came again as the numbers plastered to their bulletproof padding flickered.

12.

72.

12.

72.

Oh Goddess. Oh Goddess, oh Goddess, oh Goddess!

I trudged on, breath frenzied, the world blurring into a haze around me. Down. Back down toward Maintenance. I looked back to find the Nightmare lumbering toward me with those horrible blank eyes, eyes full of nothing. The floor dropped out from beneath me, and I tumbled, fell, clanged, slammed down the stairs and met metal, only metal- and darkness.

* * *

Please wake up. Please wake up. Please just wake up. Please just let me wake up! Please!

I let out a howl of anguish as I woke to find myself in the blackness of the tunnels again- black infinity behind me, black infinity before me.

“What do you want?!” I screamed, scrambling to my feet and shouting down the hall. “What the fuck do you want?!”

The Wasteland screamed back.

“Fuck you!” I raged, trembling, voice hoarse. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

The Wasteland raged back.

“Fuck you, what do you want?!” I cried, falling upon my knees. “Huh?! You wanna end it?! Then end it! End it!”

The Wasteland cried back.

I sputtered, heaved, cried out my rage in a losing battle against the big, empty bastard.

“Just let me go...” I babbled, locked with a stare with the floor, yet another battle I was bound to lose. “Just let me wake up... Luna damn you, Celestia damn you, just let me wake up...”

A hoof set down in front of me, just within my field of vision, followed by another. I gulp, shaking with shuddering breaths as I looked up. Her. It was Her. She looked down at me with those eyes full of everything, those eyes so, so sad. Something inside me gave and I broke into sobs, my gaze falling back to the harsh, cold floor. She drew me into Her embrace and held me as I emptied myself out into the void, lost myself again. I just sobbed into her breast, sobbed in great, whooping, pathetic sobs.

...

I pulled myself together eventually. My voice was still hoarse, breath still uneven, shaky. I looked back up to Her. I croaked out, “Why did you leave me?”

“I never have,” She whispered back. She looked so, so sad.

“B-But... you were gone...” I sniffed. So pathetic.

“Well,” She sighed, “it's all a dream, isn't it?”

I dropped my head back down, squinting my eyes tight. “Luna, oh Luna, please, I just want it to end... I just want to wake up...”

“You can,” She said. I looked back up to Her, my eyes red, puffy, bloodshot. “But we have to do something first.”

I gulped. “What is it?”

She stepped aside to reveal the black infinity before me. Barring the path ahead was a single figure- colossal, imposing, shadowy, bipedal griffin. She was garbed in a tattered, black cloak that did nothing to hide what laid beneath- bones. No flesh, no blood- just bone. Her massive, skeletal wings were snapped open. Her head had no eyes, and her teeth were twisted into an eternal, eerie smile. Clutched in her hand was a massive scythe.

“Sad... so sad...” said the Angel of Death, “so sad, this hollow world...”

“Azrael...?” I whispered.

She nodded slowly. “You have seen much, haven't you?” She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Death is tragic, yes, but life is miserable, no?” She looked back up at me. “Now is your turn to face your regrets. Now is the time to face your sorrow. Now you face the fallen. The living may not hear them. Their voices may fall upon deaf ears, but make no mistake...

“The dead are not silent.”

Azrael stood aside, sweeping her scythe to point toward the end of the tunnel. “Now walk.”

I looked up Her, eyes wide, mouth ajar, panting softly.

“You have to do it, Frost,” She whispered. “You have to.”

I glanced away, unsure.

“I'll be with you all the way.” She reached Her hoof toward me. “Do you trust me, Frost?”

I looked back up at Her. “The last time I followed you to the end, I...” I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.

“I know, love, but the last time I followed you, you killed a mother and daughter.” Her eyes, full of everything, pleaded with me. “Please... just give me another chance just as I gave you.”

I opened my eyes, nodding slowly. I took Her hoof, and She pulled me into a close embrace. “Alright. Let's do it.”

She nodded and pulled away, standing by my side. And so I walked, and She walked with me. Azrael watched as we passed before drawing her scythe up behind us, as if barring passage through a gate. I paused, looking back at the Angel of Death as she simply faded to black. I looked back at Her, She looked back at me. I turned forward and set out with a single step.

The ghostly shape of a zebra taking cover behind a crumbled brick wall appeared to my side, suited in the armor of the Zebrican Legionnaires. He stood up on his hindlegs, balancing his rifle on his forelegs to fire. A high-pitched gunshot went off and he was sent sprawling onto his back, a hole punched into his neck. He flailed, gagged, choked on his own blood for a few seconds- horrible, horrible sounds. Then he stilled and faded from view.

I knew what this walk was all about. That was my first kill, the first time I ever spilled the blood of another.

“Not one step back,” I whispered, my heart beginning to pound.

“Not one step back,” She whispered in turn.

This was going to be a long walk.

I strode forth with her. One. Two. Left. Right.

A Legionnaire captain, motioning to troops unseen, speaking orders I could not hear. Another high-pitched crack went off. A metal crunching sound preceded the splinter of bone and the splatter of brain. He fell to the ground as She and I walked by, killed instantly.

One. Two. Left. Right.

Two zebras, scrambling for cover. Crack. The rear zebra stumbled, a fresh hole in the barrel of his chest. He let out a barely audible cry of pain as he rolled onto his back, eyes squinted shut, clutching his wound. The lead zebra looked back, eyes wide. He already had a healing potion gripped his mouth. Crack. The downed zebra fell still, blood dribbling out of the fresh hole in his head. The survivor slumped, shuddering, the healing potion falling uselessly to the ground. Crack. The shot went wide, kicking up the dust around him, reminded him who had just killed his friend. He wheeled around at me, tears streaming down his cheeks as he removed a double syringe with a frighteningly long needle and injected the contents into his flank. He barreled toward me as frantic crack after frantic crack sounded off. Puffs of blood shot from his chest, legs, his jaw. He didn't falter, didn't stumble in the least. He rushed forward, forward, forward into nothingness...

One. Two. Left. Right.

Crack. Crack. A Legionnaire stumbled back from the shots that punched into his chest. The wall behind him was plastered freshly red as he slumped down.

One. Two. Left. Right.

Crack. Crack. A zebra gunner was caught once in the shoulder, once in the jaw. The bone tore free, shards puncturing his exposed esophagus. He gurgled slowly to death.

One. Two. Left. Right. Death. One. Two. Left. Right. Death. On and on it went, on and on it went. A machine gun team- on was cut down, then the next as he scrambled to take his place. A drug-charged Legionnaire. A young sniper, no older than eighteen. So many more, so much more. Back then, so very long ago, I barely had the time to take it all in. I was dozen of meters away, peering through a scope. Now...

Now I was up close. I could see their faces, their eyes. Some of them were wide, shaky, fearful of what awaited them beyond the veil. Others were blank, deathly, resigned to their fate. Anger. Worry. Regret. Indifference. Horror. Anguish. I watched my shots splinter skulls, fragment leg bones, pulp organs. I rarely thought about how much devastation a single bullet could wreak.

But I'd long grown desensitized to all of it. I did not shudder, I did not shout, I did not stumble. I only felt a great weight upon my heart, growing heavier and heavier with each passing soul.

“I... I never thought...” She trailed off, watching a Legionnaire stumble to the ground beside a wagon, crying out for help as he bled out. Again. And again. And again. Weaker. And weaker. And weaker. To silence. She shuddered as a zebra in unequestrianly armor consisting of muscle-like seams between rounded plates thrashed as he slowly froze over. Then his head shattered into a thousand shards.

“That's why I never told you,” I sighed, feeling so, so empty watching a zebra snap his head back as a hole opened up between his eyes. “You already saw enough when I returned.” I paused for a few seconds, watching a zebra sweep his weapon as if trying to nail a fast-moving target. He fell to his knees then keeled over as three rapid cracks rang out. One leg, then an elbow, then his muzzle. “I think it's going to get much worse now.”

The next zebra looked at something in a mix of surprise and horror and was bowled over as if someone tackled into him. He cried out for help, for someone, anyone to help as he tried to push his invisible assailant off. Then his eyes burst, and he howled in agony. He gave no resistance as his head was smashed repeatedly, turning left, right, left, right. Snaps, cracks, squishes sounded off until his head was a misshapen mass.

She shuddered. “What was that?”

I bit my lip, shivering from the memory of the pain. “When I got free.”

One. Two. Left. Right.

A trio of zebra Legionnaires huddling around a garbage fire sprawled as a much more rapid clatter of gunfire filled the air. The first fell, pockmarked with great many holes as the can tumbled over, spraying the dying flames and embers out in a shower of sparks. The second reached for his carbine before he was crushed to the ground. His head moved up for only a moment for a split-second cry before it was smashed down into the ground, turned to paste. The third fired erratically, crying out, cursing out, backing away on his hindlegs. Three holes opened up in his torso, drawing out into great tears as he was pulled open, his mouth curving into a horrified “o.” He was knocked onto his back and set upon, torn into pieces. There was blood everywhere.

One. Two. Left. Right.

A zebra sleeping against a desk. His ears twitched and his eyes slowly opened. Not fast enough. A thin line of red opened up on his neck and his head pulled free. His eyes still looked like he was about to flutter awake at any moment.

One. Two. Left. Right.

A pair of Legionnaires rushing, searching, shouting rapid orders around them as they approached a door. It was blown off its hinges and smashed into the one on the left, sandwiching him bloodily against the far wall. The second stumbled to the side, looking back at his comrade for a split second before turning back. His head was smashed down to the floor, skull splintered into a thousand pieces inside a mass of wet pulp.

One. Two. Left. Right.

Four zebras firing upon an unseen, fast-moving target. The first was crushed to the ground, killed fast, killed messily. The next's head snapped to the side at an odd angle as something slammed into its side. A rapid clatter later, the third fell, riddled with bloody holes. The final zebra was running now. Not fast enough. A quick, guttural clatter later, and his hindleg was torn up with rounds. He fell to the ground, crying in pain, crying for help. He was flipped over onto his back, eyes wide. His screams grew louder, more frenzied; eyes bulged wider as his chest visibly began to push inward. He thrashed and flailed as his ribs cracked one by one, chest pushed inward at a slow, methodical pace. Then came a series of wet squelches as his organs were finally, slowly squished. He shuddered, squirmed for a little longer, screams dulled, words drowned the bloody froth leaking out. Then nothing.

One. Two. Left. Right. On and on it went, on and on it went. Death became increasingly violent. The last kill of a group was always twisted, cruel, drawn-out. It was torture. It was atrocity. Intestines were slowly uncoiled and pulled out as it extruding a rolled-up garden hose. Rib cages were pried open. Limbs were torn free. One of them was forced to suck himself before his head was shoved roughly, shattered against the unforgiving floor. Dismemberment. Disembowelment. Flaying. Humiliation. Quartering. Gouging. Castration. And so much more.

And along I walked down this endless hall, never shuddering, never shouting, never stumbling.

The same... could not be said for the mare at my side.

“You... you...” She stammered, “you did... all that...?”

I could only nod in response.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Her voice was tinny, shaky. “I... I...”

“Three,” I said evenly as a Legionnaire let out his dying sputter after having muscle group after muscle group plucked off of his bones.

“Wh-What?” She shuddered.

“Two.” A zebra with a rocket rifle focused elsewhere was pulled back, his upper and jaw pushed in opposite directions.

“Frost, what are you-”

“One.”

This time, I paused as She did the same. A zebra in light combat armor wielding a Remhayngton 87 Special rounded a corner, then promptly paled. He was toppled over and set upon instantly, letting out horrible, shrill cries as he was torn into pieces.

The zebra had red stripes.

My gaze went downcast as I stood there for a few tense seconds. My heart threatened to drop away, plummet to earth. “That's why.”

“That was...” She whispered, “that was a Proditor...” I could feel Her eyes upon me, waiting for an answer. “He was an ally...”

I let out a sigh that did nothing to relieve me in the least amidst the stale, heavy air weighing down around me.

“Friendly fire isn't.”

I could hear the Wasteland roaring in laughter as I pushed forth.

The deaths were quick and clean after that. A zebra- notably in civilian wear- fell dead, the back of his head partially bent inward. One. Two. Left. Right. A zebra in security wear slumped down, neck snapped. Ice javelin through the head. Decapitation. Neck snap. Quick, quiet, clean, efficient deaths.

It gave us time to talk.

“If you have something to say, then say it,” I whispered.

“What is there to say?” She turned to me, our gazes meeting. Sometimes, a look says it all. And Hers was regretful- so, so regretful.

“I didn't become who I am just because of what the Overmare did,” I said in a tone so, so empty. “I started to change long before that. Monsters don't just happen. So. Now can you see- just a little- why I didn't want to go back? Why I lied? Why I rejected you for so long?”

“... yes,” She whispered, turning away. “Love...?”

“What is it?”

“This walk... it's not just for you, is it?”

I snorted wryly, “I wouldn't know. It's a nightmare after all, right?”

She watched as the quick, quiet, clean, efficient deaths started to include ponies, most notably aristocrats and ponies wearing a mix of leather and brass. “For you and me both.”

Hundreds. My death count was in the hundreds by now. And as I watched a final pair of unsuspecting ponies fall with single holes in the back of their heads, I knew what would be next. I stood rooted in place, heart pounding harder and harder, faster and faster. I looked at Her.

“Are you with me, love?” I asked softly.

She looked back at me with those eyes full of everything, now in a gaze so hollow, so empty. “Always.”

I took a deep breath, clenched my jaw, steeled myself.

We stepped forth.

Nothing.

I shared a glance with Her, and we ventured a few more steps.

Nothing.

I strode forth, casting furtive glances about us. Nothing. No visions of those I killed. No screams. Nothing. Somehow that only did more to unsettle me. And then the end came in sight. The end of the tunnel laid before us, as did the open door to the atrium.

And a body. This one wasn't a griffin, wasn't Maya Sharpclaw.

It was that of a pegasus mare, fur a silky black, mane and tail a deep blue, dressed in Stable barding, Stable 72. She was dangling from the ceiling under an exposed panel, dangling from a noose made of a thick steel cable. Her limp form swiveled slowly.

Back.

Forth.

Back.

Forth.

I felt a pang of guilt, my heart threatening to tear free from my breast from the great weight coiled around it thick as the cable. I flattened my lips and stood there for a long time, looking at that mare- looking at how her eyelids looked as if relaxed after exertion, looking at the slight downward curve of her tiny, open mouth; looking at her cutie-mark, a pegasus' silhouette against the night sky; looking at how her ears and wings, those beautiful wings hung limply. It was the type of expression one had way back when, falling asleep on a long bus ride home. I remembered how the color of her eyes- violet, a deep, deep violet.

And I remembered her name.

I looked away, tucked my ears down, and closed my eyes, crying no tears but feeling the same old sting, the same old hurt deep in my breast. I didn't need to see what happened after those last two ponies. I only needed to see, to be reminded how it all ended.

“Love...” She whispered to me. “We should go.”

“I know,” I whispered, creaking my eyes open. “I know.”

I turned toward the doorway to the atrium, starting off. Our footsteps echoed against the cold metal floor panels.

Wait. Footsteps. We didn't make footsteps.

I glanced back down the tunnel.

The specter strode slowly for me out of the darkness, her horrible, hollow, blank, empty eyes standing out starkly- whiteness against the blackness, like spotlights, malevolent spotlights. A chill ran down my spine, an invisible vice clutching at and strangled the gasp that struggled to rise from my throat. She stretched out from the abyss, and as she approached close enough so that I could see the ethereal flow of her mane and tail, I saw that she wasn't alone.

Six more of the specters crawled, prowled out of the shadows, white beads expanding into more of those spotlights of nothingness. The dark ghosts took the sides of the first, their seamless manes and tails flowing in an equally unequestrianly manner. All of them had black streaks and blotches on their forms- scars, like scars.

“Frost...” She beckoned. “It's time to go.”

I turned back, watching as She started off. I looked back at the specters one last time and followed after Her into the atrium. More of the shades poured out from the walls, hovered down from above. Several grew to dozens grew to hundreds- hundreds, flowing from maintenance, from the apartments, from everywhere. There were males with their shorter manes and larger build, still flowing ghostly and glaring maliciously. There were colts, fillies shuffling at the feet of their parents.

And as I turned back to the Overmare's office, to the eye that dominated this hollow world of metal, only metal- and darkness- there she was. The Nightmare, a murky, equine shape against the white static of the screens behind her. She stood there, glowering down upon me with that dreadful gaze, the only still specter amidst the sea of wraiths looming closer and closer to me.

And I could hear it- the Wasteland hissing around me, now humming, now moaning, now roaring.

I galloped for the Stable entryway, the white-eyed specters turning, shifting to trail after me. I passed through the corridor back to the antechamber, filled with the subtle glow of the electronic equipment. The yellow-painted number on the door now read 72. I paid it no more than a moment's attention.

Because beyond the portal was a tunnel caked in thick layers of ice, lit only by the wall lamp outside. And in that tunnel was the specter of a tall mare. One couldn't tell whether she was an earth pony, a unicorn, or a pegasus.

Because she was all of them.

She glared at me with a righteous, divine fury behind those eyes, and I stopped dead in my tracks with a shudder. I stood before her now, and so I could discern that she wasn't glaring at me- she was glaring behind me. I turned back to see the hundreds of specters, all halted. A few of them dared to move forth, but they went no further than the gear-shaped entry, glowering at me with those spotlights of nothingness.

I looked back up at the alicorn before me, and she did the same, her gaze softening as our eyes met. Now hers was full of somber, worried, hurt. I averted my gaze, feeling a coldness stir within me. She reached a hoof to my chin, turning me up so our eyes met once more. She gave a short nod and withdrew her hoof, standing aside. Past her, beyond this tunnel of metal and ice, light and dark was a yawning opening into infinite whiteness. I turned back to her. She was still looking back to me with those somber, worried, hurt eyes.

“Go.”

I bowed my head to her and turned to face the whiteness. My eyes were hard, glazed, but they were resolute. I strode forth. All the while, I could feel those hundreds of eyes- and hers- on me. But I did not falter- not one step back, no looking back.

I could hear the roar, the rush of wind growing around me as I stepped into the light.

And I could see the silhouette of a unicorn mare and an enormous, hooded griffin standing side-by-side, waiting for me.

~ ~ ~

I opened my eyes to the ceiling of the Four Stars terminal, curled clouds showing from the cracks. It was daytime. I was lying on my back, mercifully without my helm.

I turned to my side, spotting Rig and Azrael huddled around the campfire far away enough so that I didn't feel the heat. They both turned toward me upon hearing me stir. The young mare breathed out a sigh of relief, a ghost of a smile creasing across her muzzle. I didn't expect that.

I also didn't expect the green-coated, red-eyed alicorn seated across from them.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level

Rig- Level 10

Azrael- Maximum Level

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Bodies

Soundtrack- The Angel of Death, Azrael

Soundtrack- Shadow of Death

Commission Art- Waking Up by Sw1tchbl4de (The Last Sentinel Cover Art)

Author's Note

My thanks to Kkat, Somber, Mimezinga, and everyone else in the FoE Proto Doc and Resource Forums community. I especially express gratitude to QuackmanBrony, Broadestpeak, and Dust Nox for their aid in pre-reading this installment as well as Sw1tchbl4de again for his wonderful art. I hope you enjoyed it. As always, commentary and critique of any sort is appreciated.

Chapter Seventeen: The Face of Death

Chapter Seventeen: The Face of Death

Darkness. I was surrounded in darkness, absolute darkness. It was hot and stuffy, but I could feel roughened, worn wood all around me in this cramped space and drying wetness under my eyes. My tinny, fragile, uneven breath was barely audible over the commotion coming from... somewhere else. I could hear flames crackling and raiders cackling. Yes, definitely raiders. I knew them all too well. I swallowed hard and pushed out with my thin, tiny forehoof. I met resistance no more than a few centimeters in front of my face- a door. I cracked it open to take in my surroundings.

The world was bright, unnaturally bright for the Wasteland. The small room before me was bathed in shades of red, yellow, and orange- especially orange- and it was in disarray. Worn books and toys were scattered haphazardly across the floor, and on the mattress...

Oh no.

No, no, no.

On the mattress was a donkey jenny- bruised, bloody, beaten. Gray fur, auburn mane streaked with lines of aged gray. One of her legs was bent the wrong way. Her eyes were closed, but the barrel of her chest rose and fell with light, uneven breath.

No. No, please. I don't want to see this. I don't want to hear this.

A quick string of quieted cracks filtered from downstairs, followed by the thuds of bodies against the floorboards.

No. Please no! I'm sorry! I said I was sorry! I'm really, truly sorry! Don't let me see this, don't let me hear this, don't let me see this, don't let me-

There he was. There he was. His features were obscured by the thick ice armor encasing his body. The colors beneath were all warped by the bending of the light. I couldn't see his face. I couldn't see his eyes.

I stifled my breath, shaking all over, eyes wide with fear- because I recognized one thing. It was the IF-42 in his scraggly, icy hands.

“Miranda?” he whispered.

Her limp form twitched and she cracked open her brown, bloodshot eyes one after the other. “Frost...? Oh thank Goddesses, it's you...”

The frozen figure nodded slowly, silently. My body relaxed, breath slowed.

Don't relax! Don't rest! Close the door and stay hidden! Stay quiet! Don't let him see you! Don't let him hear you!

“It's been ages...” the middle-age donkey went on. “You look... just the same...” She shook her head. “What am I saying? Frost, you have to go make sure Wendy's alright! She's... Frost?”

My eyes widened and my breath cut out again. He pointed the gun at her, an icy suppressor formed over the barrel.

“Frost...? Wh-What...?”

Don't watch! Close the door! Don't watch!

“I'm sorry, Miranda,” he whispered, his voice as grim and dry as the flames creeping closer and closer. “I have a telepath with me. I hope you understand.”

“Wait...” Her eyes widened. She rose up, a hoof held up protectively, pleadingly. “Wait!”

The gun sputtered once, and the bullet tore through her leg and into her head. I felt myself jump and let out a stifled gasp as she fell limp to the mattress. And then he pulled the trigger twice more in extended bursts, riddling her with more bloody holes. The way the ice warped his features, I could almost swear he was smiling.

No! I wasn't! I wasn't! I really wasn't!

I made no noise, made no movement. I just watched in horror and shock, tears welling in my eyes.

Shhhhh, shhhh... don't cry out, don't cry out, shhhhhhhhh, shhhhhhhhh...

I opened my mouth to speak out something, anything. But I leaned too far and the door creaked open.

He turned around almost immediately, the gun pointed at me now.

No!

“Wendy?” he asked grimly, drily. He advanced toward me, blocking me off. I was trapped. There was no escape.

Run! Run! Do something! Get out of there!

I only choked up and shivered, watching with wide, tear-brimmed eyes as he lifted the rifle and pulled the trigger.

Darkness. I was surrounded in darkness, absolute darkness.

~ ~ ~

I ground my eyes open. The nightmares wouldn't leave me. Why would they? Why should they? I closed my eyes and exhaled softly. I could see her daughter's hopeless, helpless expression against the blackness.

“Frost?” Rig whispered. “You awake?”

Eyes open again. Early morning. We were in a burnt-out home in the southern suburbs of Manehattan after spending the day trying to make our way out of the city and avoiding alicorns. So far, we haven't had any luck- not surprising given our track record. Little more than a collapsed wooden frame and blackened carpet, the building still had a pair of mattresses lying around thankfully. Strange... you can somehow always find beds and mattresses in surprisingly good condition throughout the Wasteland...

“Yeah,” I whispered back, rising from my resting place quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping griffin hybrid beside me.

Rig was sitting on a mound of rubble in the middle of the house where the roof collapsed, her lips sealed around... a screwdriver. Okay. I settled down beside her, and she quietly asked, “Nightmare again?”

“The usual, yeah,” I sighed mistily.

“What was it this time?”

It took a while for me to reply, unsure how she would take it. But... I shouldn't ever have to lie to her again. No. Not again. “I was... Wendy.”

Rig eyed me for a moment before nodding slowly.

“So what's with the screwdriver?” I finally asked.

“Out of cigarettes,” she huffed with a ghost of a grin. I eyed her warily. “Oh don't look at me like that. I'm not addicted.”

“You're the one sucking on a screwdriver.” I pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

“No really, I can't get addicted to anything,” Rig said. “I'm eighty, eighty-five percent artificial. That includes my liver and a portion of my brain. Guess that's one bonus of this.”

“That and being eighty, eighty-five percent impervious to arcsurge plasma.” I added with a small smile.

“Don't remind me.” The cloud-maned mare shuddered. “So creepy.”

I kept up my smile for a moment longer before dropping it. “Go ahead and get some sleep. I'll take over from here until dawn. And please try to lay off the cigarettes. Your body might not crave them, but your mind will.”

Rig nodded and headed over to the empty mattress. I watched her go and settle down, spitting the screwdriver back into her bags. We looked at one another for a good few seconds past that.

“Rig,” I whispered, “you don't even feel anything from smoking cigarettes, do you?”

The earth-coated unicorn sighed softly, “No.”

We feel silent after that. My expression fell impassive, but I couldn't help but feel my heart aching for that young mare.

Rig rolled over and turned away from me, falling asleep.

And I slipped off the rubble pile silently, heading outside and parting a walkway past my ice tendrils. After I made it a couple houses away, I settled down and waited.

“You know,” She spoke, seated beside me, “a year ago you would have shut me out. I'm... glad that you seek these conversations now.”

I only nodded, not turning to face Her. I pulled out my new Saiga shotgun and looked it over instead. Hm. It was a Saiga 12S, a twelve-gauge shotgun in a similar construction to the venerable AK series of assault rifles. The eight-shell magazines were a bit of a letdown as was the very standard barrel. It wouldn't be handling any of my magically-enhanced two-kilogram slugs. On the flip side, it was lighter than Luna's Judgment, had a tactical folding stock, was built for a griffin (meaning I would have an easier time using it), and it had a shark brake fitted over the muzzle. The last seemed to be an afterthought, however. It wouldn't do much as a good against an armored target. And as far as I knew, all Dead Boys were armored targets.

“Why did you start?” She asked.

I paused in my inspection and looked at Her. “Because that night after I blew up at Rig was when I learned just how much I hurt you. You made me realize how much damage I caused by shunning you for all those years.”

“But you still had your doubts even after that,” She said. “And we both know I'm dead.”

“We've been over this before, love.” I gave her a gentle smile as I stowed the Saiga and brought Her close. My enhanced touch was a blessing at that moment. She was just as soft and delicate as I remembered, but I could feel that repressed, hidden strength as She embraced me in turn. Her warmth was comforting without being too overbearing for me, and she smelled... fresh, crisp, clean. “I don't care if all this is my own insanity.” I looked up into those eyes, those eyes full of everything. “You're right here, right now- and you're alive to me.” I tilted up and kissed Her softly, eyes closed to savor it- sweet, light, tender, respectful.

She pulled away with a tinny smile. “Shouldn't you be keeping watch?”

“We've done this how many times and just now you bring it up?” I let out a quieted, husky chuckle. I straightened out, keeping close to Her. My smile was gone now. “Love... about earlier today. Really, don't blame yourself for what happened during the War. It wasn't your fault. You were forced into it.”

“And yet you can assume the blame in my stead?” She sighed.

“Love, I had so many- so many chances to end it. But I didn't. And in doing so, I failed both of my oaths as a Lunar Guard.”

“And I didn't fail mine?” She turned to me.

My turn to sigh now. “But love...”

“What is it?” Her eyes met mine.

“I... I can't let you blame yourself. Not after what you've been through. Not after what happened and how it all ended.”

She was quiet for a long time. If it weren't for the softness of Her slight form against mine and Her pure scent, I would have thought She was gone. Then: “Love?”

“Yes?” I whispered.

“Can we just... agree to disagree?”

My muzzle tugged up a little in nostalgic smile. “Or disagree to agree?”

Hers did too. “You can't help but remember can't you?”

“I guess it's hard to kill memories when you remember everything.”

“Then may we talk of something else?” She inquired.

I nodded. “We're alone aren't we?”

She leaned against me, and I rest my head against the crook of Her neck, drawn there almost magnetically. “Are you worried about Stalliongrad?”

“No, I'm-” I caught myself, flattening my lips. “A little. The city's been through a lot. Zebra bombardment and occupation, two indirect balefire bombs, raider occupation, and now the Dead Boys for a second time. The last attack took out almost a tenth of the population in a few short hours. They've been at it for nearly three days now, and it'll take at least a week to get there- maybe five days if we can get airborne today. And if The Dead Boys are packing this kind of weaponry...” I looked back at the Saiga, “then I'm not sure they can hold out.” I sighed coolly, “Maybe more than a little worried.”

“And you still believe we can help?” She asked.

“I can hope. Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst.” I looked up at Her. “Expect something in between. I just hope we arrive to help and not to avenge.”

She nodded lightly. “I'll be with you all the way, love.”

I smiled a little. “Even if you say that, how come you almost always only show up when I'm alone?”

She smiled in turn and nestled closer. “Because it would be rather impolite of me to let you talk to yourself with others present. That would be rather inconsiderate of me.”

“Oh, so you're the 'polite, considerate' kind of crazy,” I chuckled quietly, huskily. “Is there such a kind?”

She raised an eyebrow and gave me that sly smirk. I didn't see that expression often, but it was the one that made me fall in love with Her. “You do realize you're asking your crazy about this, yes?”

“Looks like there is one now,” I chuckled once more. “Ah... if only it could always be like this...”

An ice tendril tripped.

“Of course not, right?” I grimaced. “Hang on for a minute.”

I learned a few things that minute.

One- the Saiga 12S kicks hard. Like a proper AK-style shotgun.

Two- it is very, very tempting to pull the trigger as fast as possible due to the semi-automatic nature of the weapon. Not a good thing when coupled with the aforementioned recoil.

Three- it is very, very satisfying to pincushion would-be slavers with the shark brake.

* * *

I tapped Rig and Azrael to rouse them awake. Surprisingly, the ebony giant let out a lazy groan before getting up.

“Crack of dawn- wake-up time,” I announced, nodding to the sky above. Thin streams of sunlight filtered through the clouds to the east, bringing a glimmer of life and color to a world devoid of both. One of the few beautiful things in the Wasteland, I tell you.

“Dammit,” Azrael grumbled, scratching the back of her head and shifting her cloak back into position, “I'm getting lazy, not having to keep watch like this.”

“You?” Rig snickered. “Carrying a freaking machine gun you can't even fire on your back? Lazy?”

“And a ghostfire scythe and a set of wingblades.” The griffiness added. “And scavenged gear.”

“I rest my case,” the earth-coated unicorn nickered. “Frost, throw us some breakfast?”

I sprouted a pair of ice arms, tossing her a can and handing one to Azrael. “Need a fire?”

“Nah, cold's just fine,” she answered with a shake of her head with Azrael similarly responding. “Oh, hey! Eggplant!” She used her Spetsnaz throwing shovel to punch under the lid and pry it off.

Heh... she was a Wastelander now.

...

Mm... she was a Wastelander now...

“Frost, we okay for music?” Rig asked after polishing her food and teleporting out a can of... yams. She shrugged and worked the lid off.

I twitched my ears and sniffed experimentally, trying to pick up any raider or slaver scents. Nothing outstandingly dirty, nothing... unclean. “Go ahead.” Her PipBuck whirred and clicked as she flicked through the modules with a smile. Then I watched as she paused, her smile fading. “Rig?” I called to her, setting my can of oats aside. “What's wrong?” Azrael paused in her meal as well.

She looked back up at me. “It's my birthday.”

We were all quiet for several seconds.

“Uh, shoot.” I blinked. “It totally slipped my mind how soon that was.”

“Me too.” Rig sat back with an expression of disbelief. “Wow... it's been that long. I've been out there that long.” She shook her head rapidly. “Hey, wait, don't you have photographic memory?”

“Doesn't mean I can recall anything on a bit.” I shot back, still bewildered. “Damn, I had nothing planned for this.”

“Well,” Azrael coughed, “I anticipated this, me being telepathic. Or, at least, previously being telepathic.” The griffin hybrid fumbled around in her saddlebags and set down a Fancy Colt Snack Cake. “I know it's not the same as back in your Stable, but I hope it's at least some-”

She was cut off as Rig hugged around her foreleg. “Not like there'd be much of a celebration back there anyway. Thanks, Azrael.” The cloaked giant smiled and nodded. Meanwhile, I was thinking to myself...

“Well, I guess I'll have something later,” I said, “but for now, happy birthday, Rig.”

And then, to my surprise, she hugged me as well. I huffed and cracked a thin smile before hugging back. It was a brief one, though. “Yeesh, you're freaking cold, Frost,” she remarked as she pulled away.

“Did you expect any less from me?” I inquired, arcing an eyebrow.

“Nah, guess not,” the... mare chuckled. Can't call her a young mare anymore, I guess. “So what do you mean by later?”

“Since I'm letting Azrael glean me as soon as we're in the clear and since we're heading back to Stalliongrad,” I answered, “I think you all deserve a story- mine.”

“Really?” Rig canted her head. “That's... actually something I'd like to hear. But why later?”

“One, I'd like some time to prepare. Two, I'm hoping for a bigger audience. It's a pretty important story after all, and my friends in Stalliongrad deserve to know it- Xamuros especially. Three, I have various... memorabilia in my closet back home I'd like to use. Four, well, it'll give us all a reason to try to keep each other alive, right? Now, are you gonna eat your cake or what?”

She had a lovely smirk. “Then don't you die on me!” She teleported the snack cake straight out of its wrapper and pondered over it for a few seconds. The cloud-maned mare grinned and levitated a splinter of wood out, poking it into the cake and lighting it with her soldering spell. “There we go!”

“So.” I grinned broadly. “Azrael, I've always like the griffin birthdays over the pony ones. They don't have any special song or anything. Shall we?”

Azrael smiled to that. “Sure.”

“Griffin birthday?” Rig blinked. “What's special with those?”

“You're about to find out,” I replied. “Whenever you're ready.”

And together we sang:

“Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday, dear Ri-ig!
Happy Birthday to you!”

It might have been short and sappy, but hell- Azrael had an amazing singing voice for such a short and sappy song.

“Now make a wish,” I said with a smile.

Rig was beaming so happily right then. She opened her mouth to blow, but then she hesitated and slanted her lips in thought. To see her put that effort into an idle hope... it struck me as childlike. To see something like that in a world of blood and dust lifted my spirits. And then she blew... and blew. And blew.

The candle remained lit. It was then that I recalled she had no lungs with which to expel breath.

Rig flattened her lips with a resigned, glum expression. My spirits, soaring high, came crashing down back down. She let out a deep, heavy, depressed, airless sigh.

The candle snuffed out, leaving a trail of wispy smoke. Rig widened her eyes, stunned.

“Frost!” she laughed, hugging me suddenly. “You didn't have to do that!”

“Do what?” Azrael inquired, oblivious.

“'Do what'?” Rig parroted. “He blew the candle out for me!”

“Actually...” I began.

“Given the situation, I suppose that is rather generous of you.” Azrael nodded. “A bit unexpected, but this is you we're talking about.”

“Actually,” I coughed, “that wasn't me. You would have noticed.” I blew out a chilly breath as an example.

Rig released me and looked back at the cake then back to me. “Wait, then...” She looked back, mystified as I was. “Take it in stride, I guess?”

Both Azrael and I nodded in reply. Heh... sometimes the Wasteland grants small favors. You take what you can get.

And so Rig took a bite out of the snack cake and tuned into Equestria News Radio.

“-storm coming in on Fillydelphia from the south,” the DJ's smooth, jovial tone bled out through the speakers. “So batten down the hatches and gather 'round a fire, children. Stay warm n' dry, you hear? You already got enough to worry about with The Dead Boys and the Steel Rangers duking it out over there.

“Now a survival tip from your good ol' DJ-Pon3! Be sure to pack a Geyser counter- a radiation detector in other words. Raiders? Slavers? Steel Rangers? Dead Boys? Those are the threats you can see- most of the time, anyway. Radiation? Now that's a silent killer and one you can't solve by shooting it in the head. So get a counter, keep your ears open for those clicks, and pack plenty of RadAway and Rad-X just in case. You can find radiation in places like-”

As if on cue, Rig's PipBuck clicked a few times. Swallowing the last of her snack cake, she shot. “Hey, what gives?”

“Well... remember what I said about canned foods being free of radiation as a general rule of hoof?” I smiled uneasily.

“Yeah?” What about it- ohhhh...” She looked at the wrapper at her hooves. “It's not that much, right?”

“Not at all,” Azrael said. “You know me. Meat and sweets. They tend to have trace amounts of magical radiation, yes, but it's fine so long as you take RadAway every so often.”

“Well, alrighty then..”

“-And now for some music! Ahem, I know it ain't my usual flavor, but I still think it's a classic. Here's some Sweetie Bell to keep you looking forward. Dawn awaits, children. Dawn awaits.”

A smooth, soft, gentle voice drawled out over the airwaves:

“I want to calm the storm, but the war is in your eyes.
How can I shield you from the horror and the lies?
When all that once held meaning is shattered, ruined, bleeding
And the whispers in the darkness tell me we won’t survive?”

“All things will end in time, this coming storm won’t linger
Why should we live as if there’s nothing more?
So hold me ‘neath the thunderclouds, my heart held in your hooves,
Our love will keep the monsters from our door.”

“For I know tomorrow will be a better day.
Yes, I believe tomorrow can be a better day…”

Now doesn't that bring back some memories?

Azrael rest a hand on my shoulder and shook. Hm, wait. How did- oh. Oh finally, oh yes. “I can see again,” she almost gasped.

I nodded and turned to Rig. “We're moving. Na Rodina-mat'.”

* * *

“So alicorns only suppress your telepathy as long as they're in your radius?” I inquired.

“It seems so,” Azrael replied.

We were soaring low over the Wasteland now, circling around the Manehattan ruins. We gave the place- and its alicorns- plenty of space as we flew as fast as my wings could carry. I can fly, yes, but I am far from the fastest, fanciest, or highest. It's only because of my biomagical augmentations that I can fly at all. Without help, I can't get any faster than around sixty-five kilometers-per-hour or get higher than a little under twenty meters above the ground.

“You still owe me, by the way,” Azrael spoke up.

“Hm?” I looked sideways to her.

“I never got the chance to finish gleaning from you.”

“You sure you want to try it in midair though?” I raised an eyebrow at her.

“As long as I have someone to warn me of danger or if I drift of course, I should be fine.” The griffiness assured me.

“Woo!” Rig cheered from her grasp. “I'm not useless like this!”

I kept my eyes on her. “I'm going to let you read me. Go ahead, but only if you're sure.” I unraveled the shield barring my mind, and that strange buzz worked its way in as soon as I was done. Now all I had to do was wait.

The next hour or so went by in silence outside from the few cases where Rig tapped the giant's foreleg or called out her name to correct her course. My focus was directed elsewhere- our surroundings and to the northeast. As the towering, monolithic husks of the Manehattan skyscrapers dwindled away, color started trickling back to the world. Not much- the Enclave's cloud cover still stifled the light of day. But there was a little. It was a start. It was a start.

But I was still focused on what was around us and on our goal- Stalliongrad. Zasili, Chief Thunderhooves, Xamuros, Sly- I hoped they were alright. It was the least I could do short of sending more support their way. And what non-flier could get to Stalliongrad in time? Or even offer to help? It was the public mindset in the Capital Wastes that Stalliongrad saves people, not the other way around. Not a fair way to think, but when has life ever been that way?

“I'm done,” Azrael stated at last.

“And?” I turned to her. Fire away.

“I don't agree with many of the things you did or why you did them,” she spoke, “but for the sake of you, Rig... I could sympathize with why he chose to lie and kill.” The earth-coated mare looked up at her, opening her mouth to speak. Azrael answered her automatically, “They were... sufficient reasons. Not good reasons, but they were sufficient ones. And now I understand your motivations, Frost. So... there's that.” I could tell she was holding back her say on the matter, and if she truly saw everything... then I couldn't blame her.

The unicorn cyber looked back at me. “I'm still holding you to that story, you hear?”

“I don't expect any less from you,” I huffed.

“Well, back to being useless!” Rig cheered sarcastically.

I eyed her for a moment then looked at a specific part of Azrael. “Maybe not.” The earth-coated mare looked at me in question. “Think you can set up our resident Angel of Death with a new firing bit?”

Rig facehoofed. “Ugh, how come I didn't think of that? Have tools,” She flipped her welding helmet down and teleported out her wide array of implements, “will repair!”

“Actually, it's 'will tra-'”

“Shut up, Frost,” she grumbled as she put her soldering spell to work. “I'm having a moment.”

* * *

Rig was awesome. There was no denying it. She stripped down pieces of the weapons we looted from the Dead Boys and jury-rigged (pun... okay, it was intended) an improvised firing bit for Harbinger. Azrael successfully test-fired it when we touched down to eat.

“You kept all of the weapons?” I stared at her.

Rig merely shrugged. “Why not?”

“Isn't carrying all that a little heavy?”

“Frost, I'm mostly hydraulics underneath- that includes three of my legs,” she responded, flipping up her helmet to look at me and pausing in the maintenance of her own weapons. “You and Azrael aren't the only ones who can do the heavy lifting. Hey, you think Luna's Fortitude can accept the drums from the suppressed machine gun?”

“You mean the AGK-T9?” I motioned at it. “And they're belt boxes.”

“It was a yes-or-no question, gun nut,” she chided.

“Yeah, I don't see why not,” I let out a husky chuckle. “Going to make it more back-heavy though. Jeez, Rig, I can hardly recognize my baby anymore. A suppressor, a BS-Oh-Three, a holosight, a reworked firing chamber, and now belt boxes? Sure, the AKMB was never a pretty weapon to look at, but do you even need that spike bayonet?”

She slipped it off and grimaced. “Probably not.” She then flipped her helmet back down and proceeded to sharpen her pickaxe and throwing shovel using it. That got me thinking...

“Rig, you plan on using the reflector sight from the AUG?” I nodded to the weapon.

She flipped her helmet back up and looked over at it. “No, not really.”

“Were you paying any attention to Chief Thunderhooves while he worked?”

She had a lovely smirk.

And I smirked right back.

Rig might have become my second-favorite person in the world that day.

* * *

I took first watch that evening, seated on a hilltop overlooking our camp. And I knew just who to expect. No, not Her. Don't get ahead of yourself.

“You know it should be me taking first watch,” Azrael spoke, approaching me as I was carefully etching the last set of carvings into Night Fang with sharpened, sliver-like ice fingers. I've used her more than enough now. She was a keeper. “I have my telepathy back. Go get some rest. I'll take over.”

“Then you know what I'm thinking,” I said back to her, not looking up from my work.

“That I'm here to discuss what I saw when gleaning you?” the giant griffiness huffed. “Am I really that transparent?”

“I only predicted.” Now I looked up at her, setting Night Fang aside. “I'm listening.”

Azrael inhaled and exhaled deeply. “I can neither sympathize with you nor antagonize you for what you've done. I pitied you in some instances- such as with what happened to you in Stalliongrad- and abhorred you in others- such as with what happened during your time with the Shadow Guard.” She hesitated.

“But?” I fished for the rest.

“But I thank you for allowing me to understand not only what you are but who you are,” she continued. “As I stated before, I can at least sympathize with the reasons you had for lying to others before and killing Miranda and Wendy. Perhaps the latter is a stretch, but I am not you.”

“And you are not me,” I finished.

“I do think that you should learn to let some things go, Frost,” the hybrid told me. “I agree with... your love. You shouldn't shoulder the blame nor should you hold yourself accountable for what was the mistake of millions. Even Princess Luna can't be blamed- few realize that leaders are at the mercy of their followers just as much as the other way around.”

I didn't reply to that. What could I have said?

Azrael's voice echoed in my head.

I let out a chilly sigh and leaned back.

“You were worried before that no one would understand what you've gone through,” she spoke. “You don't need to anymore. I still plan to follow you once the situation with Rig's Stable is resolved.” She rest a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Remember my offer? Back when you first accepted me?”

I turned to her, eyes widening. “About the dreams?”

The gray-eyed griffin nodded in affirmation. “Go rest, Frost. I'll handle second watch.”

“... thank you, Azrael.”

“Thank me later if it works,” she huffed, closing her eyes.

I nodded stoutly before heading back down to camp. Rig was fast asleep, surrounded by bits and pieces of the Saiga 12S and the remains of Luna's Judgment. I cracked a thin smile and settled down on the cool earth away from the covered fire.

Hoping for the best, preparing for the worst, and expecting something in between, I closed my eyes.

~ ~ ~

I was... myself. Green fur, duller senses, weaker, slower. Swaying, swinging to...

Oh my.

Powerful, deep, bone-shaking beats rattled at my eardrums as I danced to the tune, my legs and neck ringed with colorful, glowing bands. I was thumping alone amongst a crowd of partygoers in... in...

Oh my Goddess I knew where this was. I was at Ponyville's Blaring Beats! A glance over the swinging forelegs confirmed it- a white unicorn mare with stylish purple shades and an electric-blue mane worked the turntables expertly. Strobe lights flashed, light beams sparkled, and the synth kicked in.

Oh my Goddess yes, that music!

I felt absolutely energized by the electro, rocking it hard amongst the sea of ponies. My gaze then fell to the bar, a sleek black with a subtle backlight from below, where couples drank, chatted, and kissed with bliss... except for one. My eyes fell on...

She was a unicorn mare with a coat black as midnight and a mane and tail silvery as the stars, neatly and shortly cut in a manner I could only describe as: cute. She looked oddly alone, head nodding lightly to the beat, watching over the crowd with a tinny smile, watching with those soft, blue eyes.

Our eyes locked- only for a moment.

Those eyes, those eyes full of everything.

I don't know why I did what I did that night. But... those eyes...

Nothing else mattered- only Her. The rest of the crowd seemed to fade into a blur and the music to a dull slurry as I made my way to the bar and sat down beside Her. She finally looked at me and smiled politely.

“Hi there,” I felt myself say over the music.

“Hello,” She said back. Baby steps, I remembered... baby steps.

“Frost Windchill,” I introduced myself, extending a hoof. I remember thinking- oh no, why did I do that? This is stupid. I'm being stupid. This whole-

She met my hoof, eyebrows raising for a moment from my cold touch. Just a moment. “Nightingale.”

“Lovely name,” I remarked. I remember thinking- I'm so done for already. “You look a little lonely by yourself. Have anyone to dance?”

“Mm?” She canted Her head in brief confusion. “Oh! No no no, I'm just here to enjoy the music! Yes, just the music!”

“Just the music?” I eyed Her.

“Well, it's... my first time here, actually...” She smiled uneasily. “You know, at a nightclub.”

“Well, you can't enjoy the music without a little dancing.” The moment of truth.

She flashed me a sly smirk and raised an eyebrow. I fell head-over-shoulders over that expression. “Is that an offer?”

I bent in a theatrical bow, sweeping a hoof aside. “Only if madam wishes.”

She smiled wide. “Madam wishes.”

And I took Her hoof in mine, leading Her back to the dance floor...

~ ~ ~

I woke up, blinking rapidly. And then I realized just exactly what I dreamed of...

Tears welled up in my eyes, breath coming out in shuddering gasps as the memories came surging back. My heart both fluttered and sank. I longed for those days of goodness, yet I was bitter of what I had done since. I... later. I'll talk about it later.

For now, I turned to the watchful Angel of Death and whispered, “Thank you... thank you...”

Azrael looked down to me from the hilltop, her eyes glinting with that somber softness. She only offered a nod before turning away.

* * *

Four nights later, Rig approached me just before she headed off to bed. “You have a bit of a knack for naming your weapons,” the indigo-eyed mare said. “Have anything in mind for her?” She nodded to the shotgun on my back.

I looked over the Saiga 12S- my Saiga 12S. Bits and pieces of Luna's Judgment were fused to her. Drum mags, a heavier barrel tipped with the shark brake muzzle, a reflector sight sitting on the rail, and the surviving hooked end of the crowbar replacing the stock- all courtesy of Rig. I thought on it for a few seconds. Luna's Judgment? Again? No, not that. Hodgepodge? Uh, no. It certainly fit, but it didn't hold any meaning to me. That, and it just didn't “click.” Rebirth? Hm... close. Not quite close enough, though.

Heh... now didn't this bring back some memories?

I looked back at Rig and smiled. “I'll think on it. But for now, I think I'll call her...Mumei.”

“Mumei?”

“The Neighponese word for the unknown, the obscured, and the nameless.”

* * *

Stalliongrad. Home at last. We dropped to the Wasteland earth early and approached by foot until the gray cityscape was in our sights. The looming ruins ahead looked weary from all that they've withstood, but there was a silent strength to it all.

The first thing that hit us were the columns of smoke billowing into the clouds.

“Shit, I'm not seeing anyone on the walls,” Rig cursed, peering through the lenses I coalesced for her.

“Neither am I,” I said, grimacing. Movement caught my attention. “Wait. East side, east side.”

“I'm looking,” she complied. “Yeah, I- ooh.”

I saw him too. A griffin with a skeletal faceplate... and an Accuracy International AW Mk. IX sniper rifle.

“Down!” I ushered, dropping to the ground. Rig and Azrael followed swiftly.

“That was definitely a Dead Boys griffin,” the griffiness murmured.

“Did he see us?” Rig asked.

“Yeah, I think he saw us.” I looked through the lenses again. “Yeah, he definitely saw us. Still looking right at us.”

“Can he land a hit from here?” the cloud-maned mare asked, concerned.

“That's an Arctic Warfare sniper rifle,” I told her, sublimating the lenses. “If it were Zasili, we'd already be dead.”

“So probably?” Rig flipped her welding helmet down.

“Probably,” I responded. “You know what I'm hearing though?”

“No gunshots or explosions,” Azrael spoke. “There's no fighting going on.”

“Oh shit, that's not a good sign...” Rig said worriedly.

“Actually, I was talking about the footsteps.” I corrected, drawing Mumei.

As if on cue, a trio of mechanical Hunters materialized around us with a string of electrical thrums. We jumped to our feet and backed towards one another, weapons raised.

“A little earlier next time, Frost?” Rig shot at me.

“If they wanted us dead, we'd already be,” I retorted. “No harm to it.”

“So not the time for theatrics, Frost! So not the time!”

“Frost and friends!” came a magically-amplified shout from the walls. I knew that voice- Zasili! “Come to, uh, west-side gate! The, uh, robots will not- repeat, will not hurt you! They are escort! Please put weapons down and come! We are under, uh, ceasefire!”

“Not even going to try to kill me, huh?” Azrael muttered.

“Well, we aren't shot full of holes yet, but that's a good thing,” Rig nickered.

Indeed we weren't, and the Hunters weren't pointing their weapons at us. They hadn't this whole time. “This doesn't bode well,” I told them, “but if there's a ceasefire, I'd rather not end it just yet. We're complying.”

I stowed Mumei as Rig reluctantly winked Luna's Fortitude away. Azrael shuffled her cloak back over Harbinger obediently. The Hunters took position around us- one on either side and one at the rear- and escorted us to the besieged City of Blood and Iron.

* * *

As we reached the city walls, we took in the destruction around us. Stalliongrad's fortifications had been absolutely decimated. The sniper nests, machine gun positions, and mortar pits had been taken out with surgical precision. Neat, wide holes and craters were opened up where they used to be, the bending and warping of the metal indicative of the Ripper-class autocannons mounted on the Dead Boy Heavies. I spotted a few ponies at modified stations on the remains of the barricades, many of them wrapped in bloody, magical bandages. I saw a few of them looking toward me in apprehension. The guards never dropped watch duty. Not even under enemy occupation.

The gates ahead let out a wretched squeal as they were drawn up. A bearded, white unicorn stallion in a thick coat ducked under them in turn as soon as he could to meet me. “Frost!” Zasili shouted as he noticeably limped under the portcullises. He skidded to a halt before us, the Hunters thrumming into nothingness once more. “What happen to you?”

I sighed out a chilly mist. Well. This was going to be happening a lot today. “I'll make this quick. Let's walk and talk, walk and talk.” As we started trotting off, I explained, “Basically, I'm two-hundred-seventeen years old, I was here during the Battle for Stalliongrad during The Great War, and I'm really, really sorry for lying to you about all that.”

Zasili stared at me for several seconds as we trotted through the gateways. “Chyort... uh... okay?”

“Apology accepted, now what happened here?” I spoke quickly.

“My Equestrian not good,” Zasili spoke quickly, waving me along. “Come, to Hammer and Horns.”

“Azrael, a little help?” I asked as we broke into a gallop.

“Working on it,” the griffiness responded. “Getting a little lost in translation right now. Uh... alright. The Dead Boys approached the city in broad daylight, claiming they did not wish the city harm and only wanted to perform their operations in the two craters just outside city limits. When asked what these operations entail, The Dead Boys stated that it involved 'scavenging'.”

“Scavenging,” I looked back at her, “at balefire blast sites?”

“Am I the only one who gets the idea that's phony?” Rig asked as she sprinted lopsidedly beside us.

“Nope.”
“No.”
“Njet.”

“That's comforting.” The earth-coated mare grimaced. “Oh... shit.” We made it past the city gates into the city of Stalliongrad itself. The town was even more in shambles than before. New bullet holes and craters lined the streets and buildings, walls were cracked or crumbled- sometimes entirely. The people that gave us friendly greetings our last visit just looked at us with tired, worn eyes. Their coats and clothes were matted down with caked blood. Bandages were wrapped around the majority of them to varying degrees. Most of them were rushing- at times limping- toward another part of the city. The few that weren't were huddled together on the street, eyes glazed over miserably. The air reeked of fire, powder, and decay. “Jeez... this place is a mess...”

“The suspicion was also what unfortunately started this whole mess,” Azrael spoke. Many of the people we passed didn't recognize me at first, but eventually they started murmuring to one another and pointing. “Stalliongrad refused to let The Dead Boys anywhere near the city and threatened to open fire if they did not leave immediately, and The Dead Boys refused to back down. Stalliongrad's snipers opened up and the fighting went down from there. It should be noted that The Dead Boys repeatedly pushed for nonviolence, however.”

“Are you serious?” I asked her, dubious.

“I'm gleaning from other people around us. Their experiences corroborate with it.”

I looked at Zasili, who sighed, “Yes, we start fight. Casualties are still coming from, uh, how you say? Time to time? Last heard was hundred-forty-two.”

My heart sank. “A hundred-forty...” I repeated in disbelief. That was almost a quarter of the population remaining after the first attack... “Goddesses...”

“We lost a third of militia, Frost,” the stark unicorn said grimly, bitterly. His words, already strained slow as a second language, were riveted with remorse. “I am sorry, friend.”

“What about the others?” I asked. “Chief Snowbourne? Chief Thunderhooves? Sly? Xamuros?”

“Last, uh, three are safe,” Zasili answered. “Snowbourne is dead. Was killed by the, uh, unseeable robots in first hour of fight. The Dead Boys... they offer ceasefire every thirty minute. Was not until next day we say yes to them. We have been helping wounded and, uh, putting fires and repairing since.”

Azrael added, “The terms of the ceasefire were that neither side attack one another. Stalliongrad would not attempt to contact for outside assistance, and The Dead Boys would be allowed to perform their operations at the blast sites. In return The Dead Boys would donate medical supplies and withdraw once operations were complete.”

“That doesn't sound like The Dead Boys at all,” I muttered. “Have you been able to glean any since we got back in the area?”

“Haven't gotten close enough,” the avian replied. “And bad news- they brought one of their leaders. I don't know who, but there's one definitely here.”

“Dammit...” I growled. “Another Grimm.”

“More bad news,” Zasili spoke. “Your coming here maybe make them think we, uh... break ceasefire.”

“But they haven't shot us up yet, or anyone,” Rig brought up. “Or at least, nothing we've heard of yet. I hope they aren't just using silenced weapons...”

“Suppressed,” Azrael, Zasili, and I corrected.

“Not the time!”

The Hammer and Hooves was still standing, thank the Goddesses. But there was a gaping hole where the front wall was, and I could already see collapsed shelves inside. Chief Thunderhooves was at the counter, repairing one of many firearms stacked neatly beside him.

The buffalo ghoul, thankfully appearing unharmed aside from a hoof-sized hole in his feathery headdress, looked up at me and hoarsely, roughly shouted, “Frost? Is that you?”

“Ya'at eeh, Shih-chai' Thunderhooves,” I greeted with as polite a quick bow as I could muster. “Are you-”

“Frooooooooo- wah!” A speeding, blue blur suddenly veered away from me and landed sprawled on the pavement, causing us all to turn our heads. Sly rose to his power-hooved feet, shaking his head rapidly. “Jeez! What the hell happened to you?!”

“Son of a cuss, Sly, don't just do th-” a zebra in light winter wear came out of the firing range a moment later, staring at me with wide eyes. And then Xamuros pointed and exclaimed, “I cussing knew it! You are a Lunar Guard! I cussing knew it!”

“A what now?” The giant, blue earth pony stallion gawked, bewildered. “What's a Lunar Guard?”

Chief Thunderhooves just let out a weary, old sigh.

I flattened my lips and let out a sigh just as weary, old. I quickly explained, “Long story short, I'm two-hundred-seventeen years old with no idea how I've lived this long, I knew how to help reclaim the city because I fought here during the Battle for Stalliongrad during The Great War, I'm actually a unicorn dracopony, which means I'm a Lunar Guard, and I'm really, really sorry for lying to you about it!”

We were all quiet for a long time. Awkward stares and blinking about, even from the other people nearby.

“Well, that explains a lot,” Sly stated simply.

“Vy kogda-nibudʹ pochuvstvuyu griva Luna?” one of the bystanders asked. I glared at him, and I would have punched him hard in the face if it weren't for the thump on the head he received from the mare next to him. “Ow! Ya prosto khotel by znatʹ!” And thumped again. “Ow! Izvinite, izvinite!”

Rig looked curiously at me. “Uh, what'd he-?”

“Don't ask,” everyone promptly cut her off.

“Okay, okay!” Rig held up her forehooves defensively.

“But really?” Xamuros eyed me. “That explains a lot. Also tells what kind of a pony you are.”

“I'm really, really sorry, Xamuros,” I apologized, my rage ebbing away. “If we live through this, I'll make it up to you. You too, Sly and Zasili.”

“Well,” Chief Thunderhooves settled back down. “I didn't expect you to do this so soon.”

“You know my luck by now, chief.”

“That I do.” He nodded. “And I'm glad to have you back- same for you, Rig, and... Azrael?”

“You guess correctly,” my hybrid friend confirmed.

“Wait, you knew about this?” Sly blinked at the ghoul buffalo.

“We met once before the War.” Chief Thunderhooves nodded. “He was researching for a book of his, and he interviewed members of my chiefdom and myself. But this is a matter for a different date. Now we have the problem of the ceasefire. I don't know if The Dead Boys are planning anything now that you three are here.”

“Yeah,” Sly huffed, “I thought Azrael was hu-”

“Don't jinx it!” Xamuros pointed a threatening hoof at him. “Don't you dare jinx it!”

“Oh come on!” the giant stallion exclaimed, throwing up his forehooves. “Ugh, zebras and their superstition!”

“Hey, hey, now that was uncalled for!”

“Enough!” Chief Thunderhooves roared, stamping a forehoof into the floor with enough force to send a light tremor and dislodge many of the queued weapons from the counter. He grumbled as he started putting them back in place. “Enough. We cannot bicker now. We have to plan and act. We only have two-thirds of our militia remaining, most of them wounded. The others can fight, but we'll be hard-pressed if The Dead Boys decide to attack again. Frost, you know the city better than anyone else here. Even if this causes a breakdown of the ceasefire, you're the one who can lead us to victory.”

“I know,” I sighed a chilly mist. “I know. But give me time to think. Shots haven't fired yet- that's a good sign.”

“Moreover because I don't intend to break the ceasefire.”

We all wheeled around, drawing our signature weapons- Mumei, Luna's Fortitude, Harbinger, dual M220 FLASH multi-tube rocket launchers, a DSA-58 OSW battle carbine, and a Stoeger double-barreled shotgun. The bystanders similarly drew their own weapons on Hunter unit- yeah, they definitely came in squads of three- that thrummed into appearance behind us.

“Weapons down, please, weapons down,” a calm, male voice filtered from the middle Hunter's speaker. “If shots are fired, I can't guarantee that some of my troopers will start the battle again. The same can be said of yours. Weapons... down. Please.” We all glanced at once another and slowly lowered our weapons. “Thank you. As stated, I don't intend to break the ceasefire. You didn't call for outside support- support just came on its own. You still stuck to the terms, and I try to be a griffin of my word. The ceasefire is still in effect.”

I think all of us breathed out a sigh of relief at that moment. Then I asked, “And what of Azrael?”

“I said I try to be a griffin of my word,” the response came. “I can't guarantee that my troopers won't take shots at her, but I'm not after her head.”

The griffiness and I shared a momentary, suspicious glance. “So you're the leader of The Dead Boys here. How can we trust you on that?”

“To be fair, you can't,” he answered with surprising frankness, “but I've kept my word to the people of Stalliongrad thus far and I've tried to be as fair and civil as possible. You'll have to take my word for it.”

“So who exactly are you?” I asked. “And what are you doing at the megaspell blast sites?”

The Hunter was quiet for a few seconds before broadcasting, “Do you wish to meet in person?”

I glanced at my friends, each looking as wary as I was. “There's a catch to this, isn't there?”

“The only catch is that we meet alone. Both of us. There's an established demilitarized zone spanning down the center of the city. Your friends can accompany you to this point but no further. I advise against bringing Azrael, however. You're lucky that my troopers have been obedient so far in not firing upon her yet, and I suggest not pushing that luck. We'll meet at a building in the zone of your choice. You can come armed. Because I know I'll be. Fair?”

“You have Hunters and weapons that can shoot through cover and armor.” I pointed out.

“You have cryomancy, a telepath, and snipers that can land shots in the same bullet hole.” Likewise.

Zasili only shrugged.

I maintained my gaze at the mechanical, wingless griffin. “Fair.”

“Then I'll be waiting.”

The Hunters thrummed into nothingness.

* * *

“Are you sure about this, Frost?” Rig asked.

We were overlooking this so-called “DMZ”. It was comprised of Main Street and the city square. The city hall, once a mighty iron building forged in the cold forge of Stalliongrad and molded by its own people, was now a creaky, rusty husk now that the wards protecting it from deterioration expired. Listing in the middle of the square was the once-proud “Worker's Pride,” a statue depicting an earth pony, a donkey, a mule, a griffin, a buffalo, and even a diamond dog clashing raised tools over an anvil as if to a toast. They each wore a weary yet satisfied smile as if after witnessing the fruits of a hard day's labor. I remember how the locals once told me a zebra used to be there until an overzealous mob tore it down. The hindhooves were all that remained, and the police would occasionally chase away other would-be defilers that tried to take those too. The sands of time are still wearing it down now, but cracked and battered, The Rabotnika Velikolepie continues to inspire awe and reverence- and pride in an honest day's work.

And then there was The Memorial. Built following the Battle of Stalliongrad, it commemorated the valiance, fortitude, and sacrifice of those who fought, bled, and died for the City of Blood and Iron in its darkest hour. More ponies died in that battle than in any other in the twenty years of The Great War- over 338,000, more than a third of the pony casualties in the entire conflict. The Memorial was...

...

I... later. Later. I'll talk about it later.

But today, all that's left of The Memorial is only rubble. It was destroyed when we tried to take the city back from the raiders years ago. That's a story for another time.

Because every time I look upon those ruins, two howls ring in my ears- one a powerful surge of fire and iron, the other the baleful yet melancholic cry of the Coyote.

“Frost?” Rig shook my on the shoulders. “You okay? And you sure about this?”

I blinked rapidly, the old world gone in an instant. I was back to here and now. “Just... reminiscing.” I looked down at her. She was on my left with Xamuros. To my right were Zasili and Sly. “And no, I'm not sure about this.”

“Then why go along with this?” Sly asked.

“Because it's our best shot in learning more about The Dead Boys and what they're doing here without interrupting the ceasefire,” I answered. “Don't stand out in the open, now.” I sprouted a pair of ice arms and opened up my saddlebags. “Rig, would you please take the RadAway and put it all somewhere safe? If a battle breaks out, I don't want to lose it all.” Rig started teleporting and levitating the packets out of our saddlebags while Zasili, Sly, and Xamuros stared.

Sly whistled and plainly remarked, “That's a lot of RadAway.”

“You can have the extras once we're done with what we need to do,” I told him. “Call it a 'thank you' for the biscuits.”

“Well... we'll be waiting,” Xamuros said, nodding to Zasili. “Patrulya Alʹyansa. Poĭdem.”

“Da,” the bearded unicorn stallion complied with a nod, levitating his Mosin-Nagant out and making way for a listing skyscraper. The zebra looked at me and gave a stout nod before heading off with him. Sly tailed right after, giving me a pumped hoof for good luck which I returned.

I gave one last look at my friends before starting off into the DMZ.

“Hey, Frost!” I turned to face Rig. Those indigo eyes were shining bright. “Watch yourself, you hear?”

I regarded her for a few seconds before nodding and starting off.

And so I walked, eyes glancing about for any sign of that leader. My ears flicked this way and that, straining to pick up from the silence. And so I walked, walked down an avenue of memories. It was the fourth time I set foot on this hallowed ground. The first was with the empowering, smog-spewing roar of the Manticore assault bike. The second was with the fanfare of brass and woodwind. The third was with the rapid clatter of friends old and new alike. The fourth...

The fourth... clinking. Metal upon metal. I tuned my ears left and right like a pair of radar dishes. The clinking was punctuated with heavy footsteps, not quite as thundering as Azrael's. I saw him shortly after, a figure in the distance. The griffin was wearing a cloak of grim gray, the fabric sheared into tatters at the ends. The sleeves were short-cut yet were wide enough so that they dragged along the ground as we approached one another. And then I could see what was making all that eerie clinking- chains. Chains wrapped round and around his form, constricting the otherwise flowing raiment to his body. Chains wrapped around his forelegs, forelegs seemingly made up of these clinking chains. And they were. As we neared, I saw that his chain-forelegs relaxed before he stepped forward, showing gaps between the numerous links. There was no flesh, no bone, no muscle- only chains ending in disk-shaped palms with dagger-like digits. That appeared to be the only artificial part of him. Once we were within a house's length from one another, I saw a normal griffin face behind the cowl. He was perhaps a little past thirty years of age. We stood little more than five paces from one another, locking eyes. His lacked the sharpness I knew in griffins, worn and distant. But he was still the enemy.

Here goes. Right words, right way. I kept my tone civil and level and greeted, “My name is Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill, but I wish to be called Frost. I hail from the Far North. I take the role of vigilante.”

The griffin momentarily widened his eyes before likewise speaking in a calm, weighted tone, “My name is Malcom Ironclaw. I hail from Avalon of Aldorna. I... take the role of Horvahd, The Shackled Judge, God of Pride and Burden, and a leader of The Dead Boys.” Yep. All too easy to tell with how he looked. He lifted up a chain-foreleg and swept it aside. “Your choice of building.” I glanced to the side and nodded to a partially collapsed building, starting off. He followed along, walking at my side. We were silent the whole way.

Turns out, the collapsed building was all that remained of The Roost, a small coffee shop just off of the city square. It used to be a mellow, dainty little establishment. It was almost completely destroyed in the first wave of attacks on Stalliongrad during The Great War. The centuries since haven't been kind to the place. The oak sign had all but rotted away, and the top of the doorway had fallen inward to reveal the dusty, musty interior. There were just a few tables and stilted chairs about, most of them knocked over or broken. The counter had a panoramic shelf that once displayed fresh pastries and delectable foods, now an altar to bits of shattered glass.

I nodded to one of the more or less intact tables and picked the fallen chair up, holding off on using my ice arms for it. Don't show him what you're capable of just yet.

The leg snapped off in my hoof. “... is sitting on the ground acceptable?”

“It is,” Horvahd answered, and we sat across from one another with a table conveniently broken so that it was our level. “So tell me- how did you know the griffin formal greeting? Azrael?”

“No, not quite,” I answered. “I was actually in Aldorna for equinpological research.” He arced a feathered eyebrow. “Before The Great War.” Both eyebrows now.

“You don't look like a ghoul.” The chained griffin pointed out.

“That's because I'm not a ghoul,” I answered.

“That makes you easily over one-hundred-sixty years old.” He pointed a dagger-like claw at me. “Is it because of your... unique attributes?”

Well, at least he didn't try to be insulting of my appearance. “No.”

Horvahd regarded me for a few seconds. “Do you ever find yourself questioning how you've been able to live this long?”

“Yes,” I replied. “More often now.”

He nodded stoutly, keeping his head level. “Tell me- why did you agree to meet me in person like this?”

“Because I wanted to know who was running the show, so to speak,” I responded. “That, and I want to know what The Dead Boys are doing here and in the Capital Wastes.”

“But why in person?” he repeated. “That's what I'm asking.”

I chanced a thin smile. “Because it's the griffin way.” He mirrored my smile with his own. That's right. Keep civil for now. “Now what about you, Horvahd?”

“Malcom,” he corrected. “Just... call me Malcom. And truthfully, it's because I'd rather talk alone if you wanted to know more about The Dead Boys, and- I admit- I wanted to meet the Sentinel in person. Yes, we do keep track of the airwaves.”

“Then call me Frost,” I told him. He nodded. Now to add just a bit of edge. Imply irritation. “Now, I came here for answers, but you've been asking a lot of the questions right now.”

The smile disappeared. “Of course. Ask what you must.”

Now ease off. Don't press. Keep calm. “What are The Dead Boys doing in the craters outside Stalliongrad?”

He answered, “Scavenging.” Just a hint of hesitation.

“Scavenging,” I parroted. Keep level, keep level. “In a highly radioactive megaspell blast site.”

“It's the truth,” Malcom said firmly. “We're scavenging.”

“For what, then?” I inquired, words coming out slower, stronger.

The chained avian-leonine leaned back a little before asking, “Are you sure you wish to know? You won't sleep any easier at night.”

I gave him a look. “Try me.”

Malcom inhaled deeply. “The Dead Boys are scavenging for trace materials and alchemical reagents left behind from the balefire bombs that struck outside the city over a century-and-a-half ago. Darksteel, valestone, draconium, fyrite- anything and everything. That's what they're doing here.”

I deadpanned at him for a good few seconds. “You're trying to obtain megaspell capability.”

“It seems so.” He nodded as if it was another sad fact of the world.

“To what end?” I couldn't help but let my tone slip, let it rise.

“I don't know, not for certain.” He answered with the shake of his head. I just glared at him as if I could bore holes into his head with my gaze alone. Malcom let out a sigh. “I think The Dead Boys want to make sure that nothing else ever threatens the griffin people as with what happened during The Great War and The Resource War. By any means necessary. I think they want to wipe out the Enclave.”

“And so you're going to send up balefire bombs into the sky? Do you have any idea what that will do? One, just one ICBM bound for Stalliongrad that probably could have wiped it out diverted off course and detonated midair over the Far North, and now it's a death zone because of all the radiation! It's less snowing and more dumping pure magical fallout on you!”

“By any means necessary, Frost,” Malcom repeated almost sadly, eyes downcast. “By any means necessary. And that's just what they'll do, I feel.”

As much as I wanted to kill him right now, my rage ebbed away suddenly in light of an observation I almost completely missed. “You're using 'they' instead of 'we'.”

“I am.” He nodded.

“Why?”

The chained griffin sighed, “Just because I'm a leader of The Dead Boys doesn't mean I agree with their views. I chose to speak to you alone because I don't want any of them to hear this. It's why I've been so forthcoming, if you haven't noticed. It's why I've done nothing to bring you harm.” He leaned forward against the broken table, his elbows propped against it with his hands clasped together. He tapped the tips of his dagger-like claws together.

I eyed those chains for a while. “You're the one who wiped out Vealville.”

“I am.” He nodded, a hint of remorse to his voice.

“So how can you say you don't agree with The Dead Boys if you continue to enact their will?” I challenged- civilly, calmly mind you.

“Because they fired upon us first just like with Stalliongrad.” He glared back at me, pulling his chain-forelegs back down. “Even if I don't agree with them, they are my people- and I will not stand idle and watch. I acted in self-defense.”

“Don't you think the same could have been said of Vealville?”

“It's why I gave them the option of a ceasefire,” Malcom spoke firmly. “Do you have any idea how few people actually accept that? Thank Alda for Stalliongrad- its people did!” He sighed bitterly. “Frost, you have to believe me when I say I didn't want any of that. I didn't want to just wipe Vealville and its people off the map, and I don't want to do the same to Stalliongrad. I just wanted to confirm the destruction of the S.P.P. uplink in Vealville, and I just want to do what we must in the craters and be done with it. That's it. You don't want a fight. I don't want a fight. And damn us all, if there is a fight and we lose it, The Dead Boys are going to keep coming at Stalliongrad until it's leveled.” He rest his forelegs on the table again, lowering his gaze. It oddly looked almost as if he was praying. “I already have enough on my mind. I don't need any more deaths to add to it all. Just make it easier for all of us.”

I eyed him for a while. Don't know how long. I didn't pick up any outstanding change in tone or hesitation. What he said was sounding very, very familiar. It struck a chord with me, in a way. I dropped all sense of animosity- he wasn't my enemy- and asked, “Why, then, don't you agree with The Dead Boys?”

He snorted, “It's a long story. You didn't come here for it. You just came to find out what we're doing here.”

“Well how much longer are operations going to take?” I inquired.

“There's two craters,” Malcom mused aloud. “Many of the materials are remarkably well-preserved. Maybe it's because of the cold. Whatever the case is, we probably have another week, maybe two.”

“Then we've both got time to kill, don't we?”

He clacked his beak once. “You sure? Most people don't give a damn for history anymore.”

“Well just look at me,” I retorted calmly. “I'm not 'most people'. And I used to be a historian.”

“You?” He looked up at me. “A historian? In that armor and... whatever it is you are?”

“Well,” I huffed, “the worst monsters come from the most civilized of people.”

His eyes wavered. He was looking from one chain link to the next. “Now isn't that the truth...” He pulled his forelegs back down to the floor and leveled out his head. “You asked for it. Have you ever heard of the Aldorna-Enclave Resource War? Well, other than the brief mention I made of it earlier?”

I nodded. “I have. Nobody knows the outcome of it, though.”

“You're about to find out. I did, after all, say I was from Aldorna, didn't I? I wasn't lying.” He drew a deep breath. “I'm told that before the birth of Equestria, the pegasi were a militaristic people. Am I right?”

“All too right,” I answered.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” Malcom began. “And the Enclave are right back where they started, come full circle. Take away the Raptor-class cloudships, the tech, the weaponry, and give them some old armor and spears and you've got the pre-Equestria pegasi.” He let out a sigh. “Apparently, you can only do so much in the clouds, even with cloud seeding technology providing them just enough food. Only a few mountaintops poke out above the clouds, and they were stripped bare of all resources by the Enclave so I'm told. Now a proper militaristic state needs resources. You probably know this all too well.” And I did. “Raiding Equestria itself would put a bad taste in their mouths, and Zebrica and whatever the hell they called the changeling nation are too blasted to kingdom come. So that left Aldorna.

“I still remember how it all went down. They struck fast and hard- shock and awe. We only had maybe a rust-bucket, dustbin, refurbished machine gun on one of us at best. They poured fire on us from the sky. We couldn't do anything. They'd scouted out the entire continent for major population centers- we know this for fact. We saw the dossiers, the reports. We griffins weren't unified. We had no chain of command, no infrastructure, no sense of order or leadership. We were all easy pickings. By the end of the month, the Enclave killed almost all of those who'd resisted and fought back. Herded up the rest into concentration camps. Like cattle, now that I think about it. Like cattle.

“And you know what? They enslaved us and made us mine the resources they needed.” Malcom shook his head with a huff. “Why pay for labor when you can force us for free? Just give us enough crap to eat, enough dirty water to drink, and enough rest to keep form keeling over only just half the time, right? Children too weak? Have scientists that've needed live test subjects since the day we blew ourselves to shit? There you go! Experiment on them! Doesn't matter if they die, you have thousands more!”

Malcom let out a shaky breath as he rest his forelegs back on the table, balancing his chin against the sides of his claws. He looked back up at me and spoke with a despaired tone that still makes my heart pang to this day, “We lost so much to the Enclave. So much. My son was only three weeks old. I remember just how happy Tanya and I were to have him. We were safe and secure in Avalon. Plenty of food, plenty of water, a roof over our heads. As we were herded up behind the electric fences, they took him away from us. They didn't have any use for something that young, they said. Something. I reached out for him, crying for them not to do it. I couldn't even say 'don't kill him'. I wasn't allowing myself to think that they would. But they did. Didn't even waste ammo on him. Just used those fucked up scorpion tails on their armor and tore him to shreds. Right in front of us. They wanted us to watch.” He let out a shaky sigh and cast his gaze down. “His name was Thanatos. There's just... that's just all wrong, that. All of that. And Tanya? She died of exhaustion in the mines. It was a slow death. I watched her waste away until I could count every single one her ribs through her fur. And I watched as she grew nauseous, delirious. I watched her fall beside me, panting, motionless. She never got back up. I still can't believe that it didn't even register to me. I was too exhausted to comprehend it until later.” His eyes were back on me now- weary, distant, lost. “So believe me when I say that losing my forelegs to a little too much blasting powder was nothing compared to what we lost- each of us.

“I don't know how I was lucky enough to live. Maybe I'm just unlucky don't even realize it. Stavros was one of the griffins that avoided capture. He and the other griffins with him found a cache of war-era of weapons and supplies. Many of them were designs that never reached full-scale production before the end of The Great War. And, as you can imagine...” He gripped his fists tighter together, “cybernetics was one of them. Argus was one of the other prisoners at our camp. He and Stavros coordinated a takeover of the concentration camp. I'll be damned, it worked. They saved who they could, let us rest. Did it all just in time to save me. It was our salvation, even if for only a day before we had to flee before Enclave troops retaliated.

“There were only maybe four-hundred of us still left. Argus took it upon himself to lead us to fight back against the Enclave. But we were going against such impossible odds. Even fighting guerrilla warfare, we often lost more than the enemy. We were losing hope.”

Malcom paused for a few seconds, fingering at his chains. “Have you ever seen that look in someone, someone without a shred of hope? Ever seen that... absolute emptiness in their eyes, the way they wouldn't even blink as they just stared off into the distance? How nothing seemed to get their attention at all? How you only got a reaction out of them if you punched them, and even then they just looked at you for a few seconds before staring off again? I'm sure you've seen it. Maybe you've even felt it yourself. The lethargy, the... lack of will to do anything. Just... shrugging everyone away, just wanting to lie down and rest, maybe just let go and fall asleep forever. I'm sure you've felt it.

“We needed hope, Frost. We needed it to get us back on our feet and fight to survive. But how do you do that? You look to something or someone bigger than yourself. You look to an idea or someone or something that embodies that idea. You vest faith in them and live for them. And what greater source of hope is there than religion? I think there's a saying, probably from the War. There are no atheists in foxholes. Maybe it was easier for you ponies- you had your goddess princesses. You could physically see them, talk to them, even reach out and touch them. In the end, that's what Fara thought of. She was our priestess. She said we needed to bring our gods, our pantheon down to earth.

“Fara was the first to adopt the moniker. She became Xicis, The Stark Widow and our Goddess of Piety and Anathema. When we first saw her like that, we didn't know what to think. I think a part of me felt revolted that she would try to pose as a goddess, but then I thought- isn't that what we pray for? The power of the gods? And she fit the role so perfectly with her manner of dress and action, the way she moved. It struck a chord within our hearts seeing her in battle, unable to be touched, showing the love of a goddess to her sisters and brothers and the divine wrath against our enemies. I think she even unsettled the Enclave the first time she fought. It was so otherworldly to them, so unsettling, so mystical. We eight became them- eight because there was no suitable fit for Azrael at the time and we wouldn't dare go so far as to embody Niiviin or Alda. There was Fara, Argus, Stavros, Anaiya, Grimm, Serris, Rasha... and myself. We became the leaders of our ragtag group, ordinary people turned into paragons of the virtues embodied by our respective deity.

“We still needed a name to call ourselves, though. We needed a calling card, something for the Enclave to fear. A nameless terror can only go so far.” He motioned to me with a claw. “Assigning it a name gives it staying power and meaning.” He curled that claw into a fist. “You think of a hellhound, and you immediately think of an intelligent creature able to burrow through solid rock faster than a powered wagon can drive and with claws that can cut through even the thickest of armor. We wanted that staying power, that ability to strike fear into the hearts of the Enclave like they did to us. Argus and Grimm, now Yagmarth and Javahl, thought of it first. They both lived before and through The Great War. They knew all the factions and old names that would possibly have some level of meaning to the pegasi. They settled on The Dead Boys- yes, the ones that served to protect this very city in its darkest days.” So it wasn't a coincidence. “It was a fitting name, I think. We wanted the Enclave to fear us, and we all fear the unknown. We fear what we don't understand. And death... is the great unknown, now dealt en masse to the pegasi by the hands of otherworldly deities. It also told of who we are as an organization- troops serving under gods, ready to follow them to the death.

“We pushed the Enclave back, freeing our sisters and brothers as we went. We reunified the griffin people under a single cause- crushing the enemy that dared strike us down and seek to take everything from us. And we succeeded. It took a little over a year, but we wiped out all trace of the Enclave on Aldornan soil. I still remember the euphoria of that moment, the Enclave Raptors flying back east, limping on torn storm clouds. I remember the surge of pride as our anti-aircraft missiles shot one of them down as it tried to retreat. We watched it disintegrate in midair, watched it burn. We gave the survivors no quarter, as they'd shown none to us. We never forgot what the Enclave did to Aldorna. We didn't want them to forget either.

“Our work was far from over, though. Aldorna was in ruins, and there were still unfathomable numbers of raiders, slavers, bandits, gangs, the like. There was a surge of nationalism among The Dead Boys, and we wouldn't dare take the fight to the Enclave just yet while our country was still in shambles. We restored order, yes, but this is the part that I think you've been waiting for.

“Argus... Yagmarth is undoubtedly our leader now. Say what you want, think what you want about the seven left of us all being leaders- Argus is the true leader of The Dead Boys. He saw firsthand what we accomplished, but I think he saw wrong how we accomplished it in the first place. He believed that we only banded together out of fear, not necessity.”

Malcom paused, tapping his claws together. “Fear is our basest emotion, Frost. You can argue otherwise, but you know it's true. I know it's true. Fear is what drives us- it's our motivation. We feared starving, so we ate. We feared not having anything to eat, so we learned to hunt and cultivate. We feared our own beak and claw not being enough, so we fashioned weapons and tools. We feared others using their weapons to take from us, so we banded together. We feared infighting, so we established rule of law, society, civilization. Fear is what drives us- it's our motivation. Fear is primal, inexplicable yet natural. And yet it can drive us to do seemingly unnatural things, fearing the power of gods we have no proof existed for instance. Fear has that power. And so The Dead Boys believe that by instilling fear, we can bring back society and rule of law back to the Wasteland. As such, they showed and continue to show no quarter to criminals.”

“I notice you're switching back to 'they',” I said, pointing out. “And there's a lot of hypocrisy in that logic.”

“Well soldiers are essentially legal murderers,” Malcom huffed. “The Dead Boys employ that logic when it comes to themselves. They either absorb others into their ranks, try to create a sense of militaristic law and order, or they terrorize until, and I quote, 'a good and civilized society is formed', end-quote. That's how they reunified Aldorna, and yes, I did take part in it.”

The cloaked griffin brought his arms off of the table with a string of metallic squeaks and clinks. “Each of these chains represents a life that I claimed since I started fighting back the Enclave. They were trophies to me back then. Every kill made me more powerful. But... there came to a point partway through our efforts to stamp out the raiders, slavers, and other criminals in Aldorna that it started to become too much.” He tugged idly at one of the chains circling his torso. “Pride became burden. The Wasteland has a cruel sense of humor.” I had to agree... “I can't fly like this. Haven't been able to for a long time. I miss the freedom. I miss that rush of feeling the air whip past and the ground falling away. I still have my wings, just...” His cloak shifted as two large bulges shuffled underneath. “Anyway, we decided to take the fight to the Enclave then. We knew that the S.P.P. towers had monitoring capability, and we knew the Enclave could use them. We used advance troopers to take out uplinks- couldn't take out the towers themselves- before setting sail for Equestria on the few warships still operable. Now that I look back, I guess it's kind of funny how we expected there to be a battle waiting for us the moment we landed in Seaddle. What we found was a slum where nobody knew anything about the Enclave or had so much as seen the sun behind the cloud cover. And it was a place ripe for us to establish a base of operations, and so we did just that. You can figure out the rest.

“Now back to your question. You asked why I don't share the same views as The Dead Boys. It's because I believe that you can't use fear as the means to spur people into doing what you want, at least not like this. Sure, it'll work most of the time, but it'll make you enemies, not friends. Fear has immense power, yes. It sparks wars, brings people together. But you don't know what people under its effects do, that whole notion of fight or flight. Do you know what happened to Aldorna? Sure, we reunified it, but only through killing our own until only the pure were left or the tainted joined our ranks.

“Make no mistake, Frost- most of us are veterans of the Aldorna-Enclave Resource War. We fought and bled in the name of saving our people. But things have changed. Now Yagmarth... Argus... I can't even tell who he is anymore. We're in enemy territory now.” He nodded upward through the open ceiling to the clouds above. “He feels vulnerable like this and wants to secure the power necessary to cover up any such vulnerability. And he wants to achieve that power through any means. He's reduced us to extremist terrorists that will take whatever job pays the best. And I'm sure you know what kind of job pays the best. It's not what we stood for. But some things, I guess, do change. Because we're looking for megaspell components right now.” He pinched a chain and tugged at it, letting it jingle with the others. “We don't need anymore enemies. I don't at least. I've already got enough on my mind. I don't need to add anymore to it all. But I've already said that. I'm just tired, Frost. I'm tired of killing, tired of adding links. I just want to do what's necessary and be done with it.”

The weary griffin leaned back, letting out a heavy sigh. “I can't tell you how good it feels to be able to just say all that. It feels good just letting... letting it all out.” He cracked a thin smile.

I gave him a brief nod. “Malcom, are you still adding chains?” I finally asked.

“Yes,” he answered plainly. “For every kill.”

“Why? You don't need to cause yourself anymore pain, so why?”

He huffed at that. Actually huffed. “Call it penance for taking things a step too far.” He then gave me a stern gaze. “But Frost, I'm serious when I ask that you don't start a fight here. Either Stalliongrad gets wiped out, or you win and then Yagmarth gets pissed and then comes and levels the entire city personally. I don't want any of those. So please, just make it easy for all of us.”

I didn't reply verbally. Instead, I sprouted an ice arm to my right, palm open. Malcom smiled, a twinkle to those old eyes as he mirrored the gesture. We clasped hands, though I did hear my ice cracking. Glad we were at least on... civil terms, if anything.

“Curious,” Malcom remarked, eying my arm as it sublimated.

“Now, one matter left to discuss,” I said, leaning back in my seat. “What's your contractor's stake in all of this?”

“What do you know about our contractor?” he asked back.

“Only that you have a new one. And that he found Niiviin for you.”

“Frost, please trust me on this.” He leaned closer. “That's practically much as I know of him.”

I deadpanned at him. “You're actually serious, aren't you?”

“Dead serious. Only Yagmarth knows. And when Yagmarth goes to you and tells you to search for megaspell components, you don't question him. What I do know is that he's been good for us. He's the one who gave us Hunters and arcsurge plasma weaponry. I don't know where he gets it or why he's so willing to give it to us. And it scares me sometimes.”

“Don't you consider that just a bit... off?” I questioned.

“Just take my word- you don't cross the griffin now known as the God of Oath and Abandon,” Malcom said, punctuating the end of his sentence by clacking a dagger-like claw on the tabletop. He sliced into it slightly. But I wasn't paying attention to that.

I was paying attention to the gunshots.

Gunshots that were rapidly growing in number and volume.

“Malcom...” I uttered, turning away.

“Oh Alda no...” We rose and rushed outside. Sure enough, Dead Boys griffins were flying overhead over the DMZ, bound for the other side of the city. “What the hell is going on?!” he roared. He looked back at me, eyes full of fear. He dug into his cloak and pulled out a headset, sliding it on. “Control, this is Horvahd! Sitrep!” A pause. I saw anger flash across his face, expression darkening.

“Malcom... what's going on?” I asked, voice rising.

“What?! What?! The fool! Cease all fire operations and recall all troops to our side of the city! Hail him back, then hail Stalliongrad and tell them it was a mistake!” A pause. “Don't you dare question me, soldier! Do it!”

“Malcom, the fuck is going on?!”

He turned to me, starting to head off as I tailed him. “Another leader is here and ordered the troops to open fire! Damn it! Damn it all!”

“What?! Who?!”

There was an earth-shaking impact behind us, and I wheeled around... to find a large griffin male in an Aldornan cosmonaut suit, chem injection pods fully restocked.

And a flamethrower hissing maliciously.

“Did ya miss me?” Javahl sneered behind the helmet.

I tried to react in time, tried to bring my ice armor up as I leaped away. I was fast.

Javahl was faster.

I felt my focus break as the wall of gold-orange surrounded me, the heat sapping my strength and leaving me gasping. The ice I managed to form and slowly thicken quickly fell off in great chunks as the jellied petroleum splattered over me and into my open mouth. The searing flames erupted all over and burned me inside and out. This was pain that not even She could shield me from.

...

Do you know what scares me most about fire? If you're completely swallowed up in flames, the eyes go first.

The eyes go first.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Condition Unavailable

Rig- Condition Unavailable

Azrael- Condition Unavailable

Unlockables added: To the Death, Theme of The Dead Boys

Commission Art- Pantheon, by MisterMech

Theme of The Shackled Judge, Horvahd (special thanks to Broadestpeak)

Author's Note

Whew, finally broke the 200,000 word barrier. About time, huh? My thanks to the FoE community, especially Kkat for creating a universe so strangely enticing and enticingly strange. My gratitude extends to Broadestpeak for editing and to you for reading. Please leave a comment- feedback makes my day. Really.

Please check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr as well!

Lastly, my parents are... cutting into my computer time and writing time significantly this summer. I’m sorry, but progress will be much slower due to restricted time unless things improve. Until then, I hope you bear with me. Thank you.

Chapter Eighteen: Back from the Brink

Chapter Eighteen: Back from the Brink

Blackness, I was surrounded by blackness. I was floating in a void- no sense of direction, no feeling except a horrible sense of vertigo. The world was spinning, yet it was constant- constant blackness. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn't. I could barely feel any part of myself. It was only enough to feel... uncomfortable, uncomfortable like when you anticipate someone or something is about to hit you but the blow never comes. Always on edge, unnecessarily.

My first thought- is this death?

“Very close.” I heard Her whisper.

Love... are... does this mean that we're...

“No, not yet, not yet.” She let out a deep, shuddering sigh. “Frost... please forgive me...”

What are you doing...?

“Forgive me...”

There was an unholy, wretched, disgusting squelch, and infinite blackness turned to infinite whiteness.

And then blackness, I was surrounded by blackness.

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My eyes were closed- still black, but I could feel at least. But I felt... awful. You know that feeling of having a heavy pit inside your stomach? I was feeling that for sure, and it felt like my skin was crawling with something. But I was alive. I was... alive. I felt my heart beat softly in my breast, and I felt a regular pant of cool breath against the inside of my mouth. Something was constricting it, made it hard to escape. Some kind of... cloth. I felt that kind of cloth everywhere... not good. I was still in dracopony form- I knew that much. My ears perked up to conversation muffled by the same kind of material. I didn't hear any gunshots- good news at least. My sense of smell was going haywire. Some scents trickled in. They were much duller, yes, but I could still make them out. Sterile- that was Rig. Heavy- that was Azrael. Hard to describe her scent- it just came to me as... heavy. Metal and rust- Malcom was nearby. Oddly, that brought me the most comfort. But mostly I smelled something... burnt. That didn't bode well. I didn't try to move- not just yet. I was lying on my back. That much I could tell.

Not good.

“Easy now.” Azrael's voice came from my side, slightly muffled.

“A-Azrael,” I rasped hoarsely, roughly, scratchily. I sounded... almost like a ghoul.

Yeah. Definitely not good.

“Frost?” Rig's voice now from beside wherever Azrael was. “Twilight Sparkle am I glad to see you're okay! Well... figuratively speaking... you're talking at least.”

“Relatively speaking,” Azrael corrected. “Now give him some space.”

“What... What's going...” I weakly sputtered.

“The ceasefire is in effect again,” the griffiness said. “We're safe. We're all safe. You, however... you're safe, yes, but...”

I let out another restrained sigh. “How bad is it?

“You're about to find out. Slowly, now- try to open your eyes.”

“At least... tell me if it's worse than Stalliongrad.”

“I don't know if I can answer that.”

Alright, well, here we go. This is going to suck, I can just tell.

I cracked my eyelids open. They had an added weight to them, and I halted after just a crack for my eyes to adjust to the light. Even choked by the clouds, it was enough to send the sliver I could see into pure white. Spots danced before my eyes as I unconsciously glanced around. The whiteness began to peel back, and I fully opened my eyes.

I saw a massive, black, scaly claw covering my vision, trying to block out the light so my eyes could adjust. It slowly pulled back to reveal Azrael and Rig, both stooped over me with worried expressions. The griffiness appeared unharmed, but Rig was pockmarked with several holes- even one in the cheek. Thankfully, they all appeared to be where her machinery was, though her cybernetic nature was now visible to all. I quickly took in my surroundings. I was in my apartment room, my home. I was lying on my mattress, head propped up on a musty pillow.

“Hey, uh... how do you feel, Frost?” Rig asked with a smile. I knew it was forced. The fact I could see the small pistons curving up her jaw didn't help that notion.

“I feel like my coat's trying to crawl off,” I replied. My voice and breath were muffled lightly by the bandages covering my muzzle. I felt them tug up as I offered as sincere and comforting a smile I could muster.

Looking down at my snout and the rest of my body, I realized I was covered head-to-hoof in magical bandages.

Wait. Bandages. I was covered head-to-hoof in bandages. I wasn't wearing my armor. It made sense. They had to remove it in order to plaster these... well, plasters on me. Last I remembered, I was set... on...

Fire...

No.

“No...” I muttered aloud, eyes widening as I looked frantically about, ignoring the flashes of pain erupting through my body as I craned my head around. “No! Where are they? Where are they?!”

“Frost!” Rig shouted, pressing me back to the bed, more pain flaring up where we made contact. “Frost, calm down! Calm down! What's wrong?!”

“The photographs, where are they?!”

“Don't push so hard!” Azrael hissed, the unicorn mare jumping and backing away. “But yes, calm down, Frost. Don't worry. The fire didn't reach too far under your armor. The pictures are safe. I made sure myself.” She motioned to the side of my mattress.

And there they were, lying face-down beside my armor and saddlebags. Only the latter appeared to be heavily burned. I was less concerned about my weapons and more relieved that those photos were safe. My heart still pumped wildly, but I was winding down now. All was well. All was well. Wait... how did she remove my arm- memories, right. She’s seen my memories. All was well. “Has... has anyone else seen them?” I asked weakly.

“No,” she answered. “I didn't let them.”

I lied there panting for several seconds. “Thank you, Azrael.” I let myself calm down before testing my magic. An icy-blue glow drifted into the upper portion of my vision as my horn flared to life, an ice arm sprouting from my shoulder. I still had my magic... but I was definitely weaker right now- far weaker. I actually needed to fire up my horn for something as insignificant as that. I sublimated it quickly and asked, “What happened? What's the situation?”

“Javahl, Grimm... whatever- the fucking ghoul with the flamethrower apparently didn't die,” Rig grumbled. “He arrived in Stalliongrad while you were out with Malcom and started the fight all over again. Then he set you on fire.” She let out a sigh.” Well, afterward, Malcom wrestled hold of him and slapped some sense into him, I guess. Sparkle, don't know how he did it, but he did it. Fighting stopped after a few minutes. Twelve more killed on our side, don't know how many more injured.”

“How long was I out?” I inquired.

“Only about three hours,” she responded. “It's still the afternoon.” She fiddled with her PipBuck. “Fourteen-forty-seven. Yeah, still the afternoon.”

“Are we allowed in yet?” I heard Malcom ask on the other side of the door. “Forgive me for being impatient, but I wish to speak with him as soon as possible.” Rig looked back at me with a questioning expression.

“Come in.” I beckoned.

The door fell inward with a clatter, revealing the chained griffin behind, reaching out too late to grab it. He pulled back his hand with a frown. “Sorry.”

“It was bound to happen eventually,” I sighed scratchily, mist barely filtering through the bandages. “Come in, come in.”

Malcom nodded and headed into my room with his head bowed. Rig and Azrael made way, backing toward the larger end of the room with the Steineigh piano. And right behind him was Javahl, still armored and carrying the flamethrower. His space helmet was noticeably absent.

I didn't just glare daggers at him. I glared zweihänders at him.

He offered what I think might have been an attempt at a sincere smile. Instead, it came out sickly and slyly as he drew in a deep breath through his teeth. “HHiiii...”

“Go fuck yourself,” I said flatly.

“Whoa, hey, hey, jeez...” Javahl held up his hands defensively, his face etched in exaggerated bewilderment. “Let's be friends here, right? No need for hatin', no need for hatin'...”

“You set me on fire, employed raiders to pillage, rape, murder, and burn down Alhambronco; and caused my friends and myself considerable hardship.” I paused. “Did I mention you set me on fire?”

“Pfft.” He swat the air with a lazy hand. “It's all in the past.”

“It was literally three hours ago,” I growled.

“About three hours,” Rig corrected.

“Not helping my cause, Rig!” I grumbled at her.

“Sorry...”

“Well hey!” Javahl shrugged, pursing his beak. “In my defense, you shot me a lot, crushed several of my internal organs including my spleeeeeeen- sorry, always wanted to say that- oh, and you set me on fire. Twice, by the way. Luckily, ghostfire is surprisingly friendly to ghouls! I mean, we're already necrotized by balefire, you know! Uh, I meant luckily for me. Not luckily for you. You also killed quite a few of my worshiping underli- I mean friends. You broke your little truce with me, too. Oh, and I only burned you. Once. Horvahd here was nice and put you out with his own cloak.” He shrugged. “I didn't get that luxury.”

“Actually, you burned me too,” Rig spoke up.

“And me,” Azrael added. “And then you kissed me. I still haven't forgiven you for that.”

“Okay, okay, I forget, jeez,” Javahl said glumly, crossing his forelegs. “I'm two-hundred-thirty-one. Cut me some slack if my memory falters. But yeah, as far as I'm concerned, this makes us even.”

“Grimm,” Malcom uttered.

Javahl let out an exasperated sigh and slumped. “Okay, okay, fine. I'm sorry, okay? I just want you to know that-” He hobbled over to me and took my hoof in his hand, patting it with the other, “- that there are no hard feelings anymore.” The patting was a little painful.

I continued glaring at him, narrowing my eyes.

“Yeesh, boy, I said I was sorry,” Javahl grumbled, backing away. “What else do you want from me? I'm The God of Vitality and Atrophy! You should be grateful I'm here apologizing at all! But eh...”

I only gave him a muffled grunt. I turned to Malcom. “Did you need something of me?”

“I only wanted to check on how you were doing,” the chained griffin sighed. He nodded to Azrael. “We... had a chance to talk while you were out.”

“And how'd that go?”

“Surprisingly well,” Azrael offered simply. “Both of us are still alive, aren't we?”

“Agreed.” Malcom nodded. “But... there's another matter. It involves you.” I arced an eyebrow. “You should have died from those injuries, Frost. Do you have any idea how you're still alive?”

“That's something I've been asking myself for a long time, Malcom,” I huffed. “I don't have an answer to that.”

“Well I do,” he answered, expression hardening. Mine did as well, though more or less obscured behind the layer of bandages. Seeing that I made no response, he told me, “You ate the two of my griffins that I ordered to render medical.”

I deadpanned at him in disbelief. I ate two griffins while unconscious? Impossible, but... Malcom wasn't the kind of griffin to lie about such a thing.

“You... what?!” Rig stared at me, mouth agape. “Azrael, did you know about this?!”

The ebony griffiness let out a sigh. “Yes, I did. However, I don't think it can be classified as cannibalism. He didn't literally devour their flesh.”

“Oh...” Rig blinked, still a bit disgusted. “Well, I... guess that's not as bad.”

“Nah, he just sprouted these black tentacle things that coiled around their bodies, ripped out some ghostie images of them, then dissolved their bodies, weapons and armor included!” Javahl grinned. “You know, not as bad! Right?”

Both Rig and I stared at him in disbelief. “The fuck...?” the unicorn mare muttered.

“Well, I thought it was pretty cool.” The griffin ghoul shrugged.

“Hold on, hold on.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You're saying after you burned me, Malcom put me out-”

“Yeah.” Javahl nodded.

“Then he called two troopers to provide medical,” I continued.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“And then I sprouted black tentacles...”

“Yeah!” He nodded energetically.

“And they ripped out afterimages of the griffins and then dissolved every trace of them.” I finished.

“Yeah!” Javahl nodded enthusiastically, grunting as his neck cracked.

“And so I got better from that?” I deadpanned at him.

“Uh-huh!” The griffin cosmonaut crossed his arms and nodded proudly. “I still thought it was pretty cool!”

“Based off of what Malcom described,” Azrael spoke at last, “it appeared that you broke their bodies down and absorbed them into yourself. Your injuries were noticeably healed in the process. Perhaps not enough for you to recover completely,” She motioned at my bandages, “but enough to save your life.”

Wha...? But... the... wh... what?

“Okay, I... really, really hope I'm not the only one unsettled by all of this.” I shuddered, lying back in bed with a heavy, exasperated sigh.

“Nope!” Rig exclaimed, still wide-eyed.
“I think not,” Azrael said.
“You aren't,” Malcom muttered.
“Yep, you are!” Javahl beamed. “... uh, crap. You heard nothing.”

I let out another muffled sigh, quiet for a few seconds. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“Only wanted to offer a formal apology to Stalliongrad for the firefight there,” Malcom answered, taking a moment to glare at Javahl. “And, since I noticed you have a thing for balisongs...” He carefully removed a pouch from under his cloak using his dagger-like fingers and set it down by my side, “... I offer this as an apology to you as well.”

I raised an eyebrow- or rather squinted an eye due to the bandages- and flared up my horn, sprouting a pair of ice arms to pick up the pouch and remove its contents. Inside was a balisong with dark-gray handles that seemed to be made from reclaimed metal, slightly curved. “Malcom, I can't take this.”

He huffed, “I don't have much use for it anymore.” He held up a hand and splayed his claws. “I'd probably break it anyway. Besides, I already have enough reminders on me...” He idly tugged at a chain before looking up at me. “Just keep it.” I looked it over and squeezed the handles to pop the latch. I pulled off a Basic Horizontal to reveal a semi-serrated, gently curved blade with a hooked end. While open, the balisong's blade slightly curved in the opposite manner of the handles. The curved-hilt design allowed for stronger strikes and more torque when using the hooked end as a tool, and the blade had a wider variety of applications due to its semi-serrated nature. Stylish yet practical. It struck me as fitting for the chained griffin.

Half Twirl to a reverse grip. Screwdriver to close it. Flip to basic grip, then Cherrypicker. The balisong squeaked and clacked loudly all the while. Javahl pursed his beak and nodded, impressed. I pulled an Aerial to catch it clo- no, I just caught it by the blade again. Could use some WD-40 on the tang screws. I looked up at Malcom and walked the blade closed. “Thank you.”

He nodded and looked at Javahl. Javahl looked back at him. “What?” The ghoul blinked. Malcom only narrowed his eyes. “Oh you seriously can't expect me to... you expect me to, don't you?” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Okaaaaay, fiiiiiine.” He removed a crimson, skeletonized balisong, pulling a Hell Around the Bend to whip the drop-point tanto blade out, popped it into the air, and caught it by pinching the sides of the blade. He tossed it up into air, letting it spin closed, caught it, and handed it to me. I set Malcom's blade down and reached out to take it, but the ghoul pulled it away. Then he offered it again. “You better take care of her.”

“I will,” I said, accepting the blade.

“You. Better. To be honest, at least it's you I'm giving my baby to, but eh. I'm out. And no, I won't kill anyone... yeesh...” Javahl stood up with a grunt and hobbled out, grumbling to himself all the while.

“Well, I think that covers it,” Malcom sighed, starting away as I set the blade down. “Frost, are you really sure you don't know what happened?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I have no idea how or why it happened.”

“Well, you better find out,” he said. “Don't need to know a thing about magic to know that's necromancy. I’ll try to keep things quiet on my end. Though honestly,” he let out a dry chuckle, “it’ll deter us from attacking if word gets out.” He let out a sigh. “Frost, make no mistake. You're an enemy of The Dead Boys by now. You killed a lot of us.”

“So what does that make us?” I asked.

He drew in a deep breath. “Not quite enemies. Not quite allies. I don't want to fight you- or anyone, really. But I'm still a Dead Boys griffin. I can't help you.” Then he cracked a thin smile. “But I don't have to stop you. Do what you must. Farewell.” He gave me a quick bow before departing.

We were all quiet for a long time. Several times I opened my mouth to say something, but I quickly closed afterward. What could I say to all that? I survived by unconsciously killing and absorbing two griffins! How do answer to that? My mind was racing for something to say, yet I came up with nothing at all.

I didn't have to.

“Frost... why did you do it?” Rig finally asked.

Finally, something I could reply to, even if she did have an edge to her tone. “I didn't even know I did it, Rig. I can't perform any other magic other than cryomancy- I tried!”

“But you still did it!” she exclaimed. “It's freaking necromancy, Frost! Magic! Creepy-ass, dark magic but still magic! Last I heard, you can't pull magic off without concentrating!”

“He was unconscious and near death, Rig,” Azrael said in that calm tone of hers. “That I know for sure. He has no reason to lie to us anymore- remember that.” Luna bless that griffiness. “I have feeling he's just as confused and torn up inside as we are. Let him rest. He almost died today.”

Rig let out a breathless sigh. “Yeah... yeah.” She looked back at me. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” I said. Wait a minute... “You just have a feeling, Azrael?”

The ebony giant looked toward me with those blank, gray eyes. “I can't read you.”

“What? My mental shield is down, though.”

“I still can't read you.” Azrael shook her head. “And given what I saw before applying those bandages... I'm not surprised.” She gave me a look that implied that nobody else saw.

I sighed sharply, mistily. “... do you mind if I want to be alone for a bit?”

Rig looked up at Azrael for a moment, worry creasing her brow. Indigo eyes back on me, she asked, “For how long?”

“Just... just give me five, maybe ten minutes,” I answered scratchily. “Please. You can stay right outside. I just... want to be alone for a bit.”

“Well, what are we gonna do about the whole necromancy thing? What're we gonna tell everyone else?”

I looked from her to Azrael and cast my gaze downward. “Let's... keep it quiet for now.”

The earthy unicorn groaned and sat down on her haunches, raising a hoof to her face. “Oh hell no...”

“Rig...”

“Hell no, Frost!” she shouted. “I thought you were done with lying!”

“I'm not lying about it!” I growled in a manner so animal it surprised all of us. I looked away and continued, “I'm not lying about it this time. Just... I'm not going to speak on the issue until I... we learn more about it.” I turned back to face her. “I don't like all this either. But look- I just walked around Stalliongrad in dracopony form. Now I'm covered in bandages and can perform necromancy- without having any idea how I did, mind you. Stalliongrad's people are bloodied and weary. The Dead Boys are still right on our doorstep. How well do you think they'll react to that?”

“Dammit...” Rig sighed, defeated. “Fine, but I still don't like the idea...”

“I'm sorry.” I offered lamely.

“Whatever, just... do what you gotta do.” The cloud-maned mare headed back outside, Azrael following behind her with thudding footsteps. She let the giant pass through the doorway before levitating the door back into place. I could hear her working on fixing it up. Well, if it took her mind off of it...

I waited there for Her to show up. The seconds trickled by. I lied there, my body just feeling all wrong. I waited. And waited.

By the time two minutes trickled by, I softly called out, “Love...?”

No answer.

I swallowed hard and flattened my lip. I couldn't wait any longer. I fired up my horn and formed a reflective square of ice. Yes, I was indeed bandaged all over, but what caught me were my eyes. They were still slanted like those of a zebra and the pupils were still slitted, but they now had a milky color similar... no, exactly like those of a ghoul. That was... worrisome. Taking a deep breath, I sprouted a pair of ice arms and unraveled the bandages around my face, gazing into my reflection all the while. As the rolls came off, the patches that showed through had no hide to speak of- there was only mottled, browned hide. I definitely looked like a ghoul now. If Azrael's inability to read me at all was any indication, I could very well be a ghoul now.

But what bothered me most were the thin, black tendrils that laced through my skin like isolated, haphazard stitches.

I just looked into my reflection for a long time. I remember that I sighed four times over a period of a few minutes before trying to reach my hoof up and touch one of them. My foreleg didn't even budge. I felt my muscles tax, but I couldn't do more than look around with my head and talk. Instead, I reached out toward one with an icy finger.

“Don't touch them,” She whispered.

I sublimated all the ice in an instant, looking over to Her. She was seated beside me, looking out the glassless window into the desolate Stalliongrad skyline. Something seemed... off about her. “Love... are you alright?” I asked quietly, hoarsely.

“I'm alive, and so are you,” She answered, still turned away. “I guess that's what matters.”

“Love,” I called again softly. “Look at me.”

She hunched over, tensing.

“Look at me,” I repeated in a rough whisper.

She did this time, biting Her lip. She was squinting Her eyes- I knew She was trying very, very hard not to cry right now. “I'm sorry...”

“Shhhh...” I tried to hush her. Instead it came out as a dry hiss. I winced. “Love, it's alright. It's alright.”

“No, no it isn't!” She gritted Her teeth. “Just...” She lost the fight for words and stooped over further, clenching Her eyes shut.

“What is it?” I asked. “I want to help.”

She let out dry, mirthless chuckle. When She opened Her eyes again, they were glassy but clear. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“Love...”

“No, Frost,” She sighed. “I meant it. You wouldn't believe me. Not as is.”

I let out a sigh of my own. “Love...” I hesitated. If She didn't want to talk about it, then it could wait. I could wait a long time. “Will you be okay?”

She took a few seconds to reply. “I should be. Yes.”

“But will you be?”

She looked at me mournfully. “I don't know. I honestly never have with all that's happened.”

“Come over here?” I asked. “Please?”

She smiled softly before lying down beside me. I tilted over and gave Her a soft nuzzle. Pain flared up through my snout, but I fought it back down. I had worse. I had worse, I kept telling myself. I had worse. She needed it. She nuzzled back gently, restraining Herself as if knowing of my pain.

“Like you said,” I rasped, “we're still there- together. That's what counts.”

She nodded slowly for a few seconds. “You should put the bandages back on, love.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Yeah.” I sprouted my ice arms once more and started tucking the bandages back in place. “Can you at least tell me what those... things are?”

“They're... holding you together right now,” She told me reluctantly, looking away. “Don't touch them. They'll help you heal later...”

I regarded her for a few seconds. “How do you know this much while I don't?”

“Maybe I'm just guessing,” She huffed with a wan smile as I finished rolling the bandages back up. She gently caressed my cheek after I finished. “After all... I'm your crazy, right?” She sighed. “Rest well, Frost. Don't push yourself.”

I nodded slowly and turned away. “See you again soon, Nightingale.”

I already knew She was gone.

I glanced at the face-down photographs of an age long gone, picking them up in my ice fingers and looking them over. “It's time, love. For you and me both.” I slipped them into my saddlebags and called, “Rig! Azrael!”

The pair reentered shortly after, the door swinging in- and not falling. “Good as new!” Rig smiled proudly. “Well, relatively speaking, anyway...” She looked at me, smile fading. “So... you alright?”

“I will be, yes,” I replied. “Look, I know this might be a bit much after all that's been going on lately, but, I'm going to need to ask a favor of both of you?”

“What is it?” Azrael inquired.

“The Dead Boys are going to be here for another week, maybe two,” I said. “And... with how I am, I might be out of commission for that time, maybe longer. The people of Stalliongrad are weary, too. They need their rest. They need something to take their mind off of things. I think we do too.”

“What are you getting at?” Rig questioned.

I spoke, “Azrael, I want you to tell everyone to meet at the Stalliongrad Community College, namely the Social Sciences Lecture Hall. And I mean everyone. As for you, Rig,” I turned to her, “I want you to bring all the boxes in my bathroom. My saddlebags too. Azrael can help with that. She'll probably need to carry me in any case. And my armor. It's about time everyone got to share in your belated birthday present.”

She had a lovely smirk.

||

|--------|

<-------->

<========>

<====ooO Ooo====>

The audience members reeled or looked around in confusion as Roanoke pulled away from them. Soon, all eyes were on him for an answer. He only needed to look at the entryway.

The Sentinel was back- and in dracopony form.

Thank you, Roanoke. But I think it's time I took over again.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level
Condition- Critical; necrotic regeneration underway. -4 penalty to Strength, Perception, Endurance, and Agility. -50% penalty to natural DT and DR. All legs and torso are crippled.

Rig- Level Up! Level 12 Reached

Azrael- Maximum Level

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Alive

Inspiration- Malcom's Balisong

Soundtrack- Return of the Storyteller

Author's Note

My thanks to the FoE community for the wonderful thing it is today. Discussion, idle chat, semantics, RPing... you guys and gals (and dicebots... graah) are the best (worst). Thank you as well to Broadestpeak for pre-reading this for me. Feedback is greatly appreciated as always, especially on this one. This... ugh, I’m not happy with, to be honest. There’s just so many content concerns that I just felt... graah. Well, nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed it. Because we’re winding up for the flashback.

And be sure to check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr!

And yes, a lot of this was written stealthily. I'm Solid Adder, yo!

Interlude: Ghosts of the Past

Interlude: Ghosts of the Past

“There is an expression in the Wasteland: “Ghosts of the Past.” It refers to those relics of the Old World, from before we turned it to ash and dust- reminders of an age long gone both within and without. There are people who cling to these fragments of the bygone era. Some of them live on so obsessed with the past they can't see the present- even less the future- for what it is. Others... others try to kill it all away. But it’s hard to kill memories when you remember everything.”

Ghosts of the Past DLC detected

Level cap raised to 30

[OK]

The storyteller took his place before the audience once more, Roanoke drifting away to lean against the jukebox. He took over, speaking in his smooth, grave tone...

It was late afternoon by the time everyone gathered in the Social Sciences Lecture Hall. There weren't enough seats intact. A good number of them sat down on the stairs or on the balconies above- some even on the main floor. Rig and Azrael were among them. I spotted Sly and Chief Thunderhooves off to the side of the upstairs doorway. Xamuros and Zasili were in one of the aisles. Murmurs in Equestrian, Russyin, and Bise filled the air. I was seated before the blackboard with the boxes from my bathroom, my saddlebags, and my armor beside me. Rig managed to find a working wheelchair; I was very grateful for that. I looked to my side at the terminal unit. The intercom system was still likely serviceable- it not, Rig could repair it. But I didn't want to use it. Never did. Call it self-righteousness if you want, but I feel that electronics muddle the equine voice.

I worked at the bandages until I could at least speak freely, my muzzle no longer constrained by the bandages. My horn flared brightly as I condensed the moisture in the air to drink. I coughed a few times afterward. “Is everyone here, Azrael?” My voice was still rough. The giant merely nodded in reply. I let cool ice snake down my throat and held it there. “Alright, everyone! Settle down!” Yeah. There we go. I sounded... normal. Close enough, at least.

The hall gradually grew quiet. Those still chattering quickly silenced after the murmuring din dropped.

I sighed out a cool, chilly mist. “Funny how things don't always go according to plan. Keeping my secrets buried? That was one of those plans. I guess... I guess I sort of knew that, eventually, I'd slip up somehow. If I don't wear the armor, I look like something otherworldly- most of you saw me earlier. If I do, I still look like something otherworldly. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. I just never thought I'd mess up quite like this.” I drew in a deep breath, cooled by the ice. It gave me strength. “I made a promise to a couple of you, and to my... significant other. I made a plan to tell you both once we were finished with getting a water talisman for Rig's Stable. But now? I'm stuck like this and we've got a week or two to kill. I...I suppose it's time. I can't escape. I can't run away. So much for the plan, I guess.

“The first thing I wish to say is that I am, or... at least was a Lunar Guard.” I paused as looks and low whispers scattered throughout the room. “I may have wasted away in Stable Seventy-Two, I may have gone out-of-practice... but I was once protector of Princess Luna. I'm not a descendant- I am. Which means that, yes, I date from before The Great War. Now, we're going to be stuck here for a few days, and if my story is to be told... I want it to be told my way. It's been a while since I've told a story to any of you, but in my opinion there's no better way than to hear it in person. The written word can only carry so much weight after all, and letting Azrael simply transfer the memory to all of you would be- can't sugarcoat it- boring. Furthermore, I ask that all of you withhold your judgments until after I finish. Please. Will you grant me this request?”

No objections rang out, though I saw looks shot about- Xamuros was regarding me for sure. I looked at Rig, her indigo eyes shining bright.

“This is for you too, Rig.” My lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “Then first, a little about myself- a little... context. Way back when, before the bombs, before the War, I was a historian and a sociocultural equinpologist. I studied the past, and I studied the similarities and differences between equines- variation in society and culture across time and space.

“So, why am I telling you this?” I paused, glancing between the two of them. “Because historians and equinpologists regard and hold dear one value, one virtue above all else- honesty. You cannot teach history or equinpology with lies. Truth, above all else, must be observed and upheld. Distort history or equinpology, and you disgrace our heritage. You disgrace where we come from and what we've been through to get where we are today.” I cast my eyes down, a touch shamefully. “And admittedly... I have committed that felony.”

I looked back up at them. “So, why am I telling you this? Because all that I say is the truth. Granted, some details are based off of my view on things, but for the most part, it's truth. Even as incredible or improbable as things might seem, they're all true.

“Because I'm going to tell a story, and this story is mine.”

The storyteller smiled.

Starting to sound familiar, folks?

“You all know the Wasteland. Not a tree for miles. Flat, barren landscape filled only with the husks of the Old World. Always in shadows, even during the day because of the Luna-damned Pegasi Enclave and their cloud cover.” I paused to let out a sharp, indignant exhale of mist. “Sorry. My feelings are... a little strong on the matter.

“Ahem, moving on. So yes. Barren. Dark. Infested with Luna knows how many raiders, slavers, bandits, thieves, murderers, and all manner of mutated beasts. Then, there's radiation, Taint, enervation- the land itself is against you.” I nodded at the window to my left, at the cracked, twisted streets outside.

“Welcome to the Wasteland.

“It wasn't always like this. I...I remember back to a time when the land was lush and green, when the air was fresh. The land was pure, and cities rose up across the land, small hamlets dotting the earth as respites from urban sprawl. I remember back when the land was bountiful, when the sun and moon still shone in the sky.” I paused, placing a hoof to my breast. “Blessed be Luna and Celestia. Celestia protects. Luna defends.” I let my hoof fall. “And I remember back to a time when everyone- not just ponies- was united under the Six Virtues of Friendship- honesty, kindness, generosity, laughter- and it is a virtue!- loyalty, magic. Those were the Elements of Harmony, the building blocks that held us together.”

I remembered smiling, caught in nostalgia.

“The fire of friendship lives in our hearts.
As long as it burns, we cannot drift apart.

“Though quarrels arise, their numbers are few.
Laughter and singing will see us throuuugh (will see us through).

“We are a circle of pooony friends-
a circle of friends we'll be to the very eeeeeeeeeeeend.”

I teared up a little as I sang the Equestrian National Anthem alone. It brought back so many memories, memories that started flooding back to me. I let out a shuddering sigh as my expression grew grim, and I bit my lip. “And I remember... when we threw it away. And I remember when we threw it all away.” I shook my head, eyes downcast and glazed over. “Industry is a good thing,” I said, looking back up, taking a deep breath. “It provides us with the means to move forward and improve the standards of living for everyone- not just everypony. But... perhaps we took one step too far.” I let out a misty sigh. “Neigh, we took one step too far. With industry, we learned how to wrest energy from the land without the use of magic through the use of mediums such as coal and oil.

“Coal and oil we didn't have in our lands... but the zebras had in theirs.

“They needed gems to power their weaponry to hold back the Wilds. Gems they didn't have in their lands... but we ponies had in ours.

“So we traded. And we both prospered. We made great strides in technology. One step too far now became another. And another.

“And another...” I whispered. I was sure even the people on the balconies could hear me.

“Over time, we less traded amongst one another and... simply... just... took. We took. We took what we needed to power our advancing societies. But when you take, and you take... and you take... it isn't long before somebody feels somebody's been taking too much.” I let out another sigh. My voice hushed to a dark, horrible whisper.

“The honesty that held us together crumbled. It was replaced with deception. Cheating truth to take more than we needed because we needed.

“The kindness of our agreement faded away. It was replaced with cruelty. To simply swindle, steal, or rob what we wanted.

“The generosity of our charity from one equine to another eroded. It was replaced with greed. For what we had was never enough.

“The laughter once shared by friends was long gone. It was replaced with hurt. Because now we were stepping forward too far, and we were aching inside.

“The loyalty that once held together the treaty of trade was no longer doctrine. It was replaced with betrayal. If you won't help us, you can expect a stab in the back.

“The magic of our land was no more. It was replaced with the machine. For we thought and worked too much, and for we felt and cared too little.

“Friendship crumbled. Enmity remained in the shards. And enmity breeds. It breeds hatred, anger, paranoia, fear, apathy, insolence.

“And... it breeds... war.

“Equestria was unfamiliar with war, that very powerful word with that very powerful meaning. In the beginning, it was childish. We didn't even want to use firearms at first. We never sought to kill one another. It was... it was almost laughable. Almost. Remember, no more laughter. Then it grew violent and bloody. After all, the zebras knew the art of war all too well. We stopped taking steps forward. We galloped, galloped to new heights on the piles of the dead.”

I let out yet another sigh. “Many things can change in the decades of war. You can change the reason for fighting, the tactics, the propaganda. You can change the weaponry, the methods, the means. But the more things change, the more they stay the same. And...

“War, war never changes.

“It never has. It never will.” My voice grew in strength and fury. “It always destroys, destroys equinity, creation, life, ingenuity. War is this... this empty void that swallows everything up and still hungers for more.”

I shook my head, voice diminishing to normal volume. “And so nothing, nothing changed when we galloped forward to megaspells and balefire bombs.”

“The details...” I paused. “The details, I decide, are not trivial and pointless- I'm going to speak of them myself. The reasons, of course, were purely equine ones. We purged our land, and it was born anew. Baptism by spellfire.

“Welcome to the Wasteland.

“Some lucky thousands were spared. The more fortunate holed themselves in subterranean Stables and new generations sprung forth.” Rig gave a stout nod. “The less fortunate were changed forever by the balefire, necrotized by the foul magic. We know now them as ghouls, both lucid and feral.” Chief Thunderhooves held a soft, somber look in those milky eyes.

“When the Stables opened up, ponykind emerged into a land as harsh and unforgiving then as it is now. Some tried to bring back civilization, creating small havens that grew into great prominence. Others devolved into things... less equine... and took from these small havens.

“Enmity, enmity never changes.”

I couldn't help but crack a thin smile. “I still got it. I still got it.

“Now, you might be wondering just why I’m bothering with this. I could just tell you what you’d need to know, and that’d be that. But... what would that accomplish? You already know how my story ends. But as it’s said, it’s not the destination that matters...

“... it’s the journey to it.”

“I am Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill of the Far North, son of Diamond Ki Dust and Natural Chouju Cure.

“It's time for a proper story. Roll... back... the clock.”

* * *

-Ghosts of the Past-
You are about to delve into the past of Lunar Guard Paladin Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill. His story will take you back over two-hundred years. You cannot take your companions with you, and your attributes, skills, perks, and traits will be reset. Would you like to continue?

[Yes]

No

Rig has left the party!

[OK]

You lost Rig's Outreach Program perk!

[OK]

Azrael has left the party!

[OK]

You lost Azrael's Extrasensory and Inequine Empathy perks!

[OK]

???? has left the party!

[OK]

You lost ????’s She’s Embrace perk!

[OK]

Your level, attributes, skills, perks, and traits have been reset!

[OK]

<====ooO Ooo====>

Footnote: Undefined

Unlockable added: Soundtrack- Reflections

Author's Note

Well. Here we are. The Last Sentinel is headed toward the "middle" portion of its story- pending changes to the storyline. With over 100 followers, 10,000 views, 200,000 words, it's officially bigger than my first completed story, Star Fox: Contact. And definitely much better. Seven years ago this month, I started working on that, and looking how far I've come... well, it's surprising sometimes.

Many thanks to the FoE community, my pre-readers, and the, well, readers! You! Feedback is always appreciated! Now things are gonna pick up...

Secretly of course.

Also, check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr!

And special thanks to Julep for the art!

Reflection One: Exodus

Reflection One: Exodus

“...for he said, I have been a stranger in a strange land.”

Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria... no, too unoriginal.

Long, long ago- no, still not quite right.

Hmph. May as well just jump into it.

The land where I was born bears many names- Haysia, Urawl, Horway, Losyke, Skyzha, Ultima Thule. Equestrians simply knew and know it as the Far North. It is a vast, cold, hard, unforgiving land of snow, ice, and rock.

But, like the Wasteland, it wasn't always that way. Thousands upon thousands of years ago, it was a lush land of fertile, verdant green. We know this because of what history teaches us.

The storyteller drew in a deep breath, his words heavy with weight and power.

All ponies came from the Far North. It is our birthplace, our cradle. The Far North is the source of our heritage, our history, our origins, our ancestry, our people- everything that defines ponykind.

History teaches us that earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi lived in an uneasy alliance. Simply put, earth ponies grew crops, unicorns controlled the cycle of the day and night, and pegasi controlled the weather. Bear in mind this was not friendship in any shape or form. Rather than feeling obligated to work for the good of all ponies, each pony race- and this is a term that I use with some reservation- worked only because they felt entitled to that which the others offered. It was not a sustainable or friendly relationship.

When an unusually harsh winter resulted in a severe food shortage, the three pony races came together to come to an agreement, to devise solutions. Hmph, instead they did nothing more than fling accusations from one to another. Earth ponies became the greedy hoarders of the food, unicorns became the wicked sorcerers that induced the strange weather phenomenon, and pegasi were the vile perpetrators that allowed this winter to persist. It's no surprise that the summit ended in a shattered alliance. As the winter grew steadily worse and the bells of death began to toll, the three leaders of the pony races journeyed southward, separately, in search of a more hospitable land.

What they found was a region rich in fertile land, with gems aplenty, with endless skies. Each leader, seeking their own individual glory, hurried to stake their claim to this wonderful new land. Imagine their surprise when they discovered they did so almost simultaneously and right next to one another! They bickered with one another once more, and to their surprise, the unnatural winter that plagued the Far North drew up around them once more. Lost in their own arguments- to the point of using sticks to mark off their own “territory” and squabbling over useless rocks- the leaders were frozen solid by the actual cause of the wild weather- wendigos, wintry equine spirits that feed off of enmity. It was actually the leaders' escorts that came together in a bond of friendship that warded the wendigos away, the first bond of friendship formed between the three pony races. With the land saved and a true unity formed, earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi claimed the new land under one flag, under one people, under one new nation- The Covenant of Equestria.

Heh, that was... a rather simplified history of the founding of Equestria. It's the version most ponies are familiar with, thanks to the Hearth's Warming Eve Pageant. I'm sure you're familiar with it, Rig. The actual history is much more complicated, but for the sake of brevity, it will suffice.

That's not our focus in this story, however. With the repulsion of the wendigos, the Far North's climate became far more habitable. Perhaps it was not as fertile, rich, or mild as Equestria, but recall that the Far North was still the original homeland for all of ponykind. The land held a certain connection to them, one of blood and birth. In the end, that connection was strong enough to make many of them stay. It is estimated that over a third of the ponies found their bond to their homeland stronger than even the tantalizing call of the brave new world. The remaining two-thirds embarked on what became known as the Great Migration, where the three pony races journeyed south as one to this new promised land. For the Northerners who stayed, the winters may have remained harsh enough to warrant year-round preparations and stockpiling of food, but it was what they were used to. All equines are creatures of habit, and so long as the wintry North yielded a living for the sturdy ponies that remained behind, the Northerners were content to live as they have for eons- by tradition.

Time rolled on, as it does, and the years flowed past. Years turned to decades, to centuries, to millennia. The Northerners prospered as much as they could, surviving and growing in the cold, arctic wind. Along came and went the formal recognition of Princess Luna and Princess Celestia as the biumvirate rulers of the renamed Principality of Equestria and keepers of the moon and sun. Along came and went the War of the Heavens, the Lunar Exile, and the Equestria-Zebrica Trade Agreement. Equestria grew and prospered, as did the Far North. Even as Northerners continued to trickle down to Equestria, drawn by its prosperity- even as the population of Equestria far exceeded that of the Far North, tradition continued to be upheld. That said, even tradition changes. The unicorns, freed from moving the moon and sun, bent their efforts to improving the lot of the Far North, preparing for the rough winter that descended every year. From these spellcasters came many famous magicians, one group in particular...

It wasn't until just before the return of Princess Luna from her thousand-year exile- perhaps twenty years before it- that Northerners saw trouble on the horizon. With the rapidly increasing industrialization of the equine nations- The Principality of Equestria, The Griffin Republic of Aldorna, The Holy Zebrican Empire, and their territories- came increasing concern about equinogenic pollution and the more controversial global warming. Basically, the notion was that chemical compounds produced by industries around the world were released into the environment and caused problems in the ecosystem, one of which involves the warming of the atmosphere. Looking back, it's almost... kind of funny how things turned out. Nopony thought it was possible. Nopony thought about the possibility of feedback loops, not of that severity. Everypony thought that it would only get warmer and warmer. I heard stories about it. Nopony thought it could happen.

Nopony thought that the ice would spread.

Weather became increasingly uncontrollable for the Northerner pegasi- and fast. Average annual temperature plummeted, and blizzards of unprecedented ferocity rapidly turned the Far North into a frozen hell. Permafrost crept south from the arctic circle, ruining and preventing planting of the Northerners’ critical food supply. The ponies of the Far North sought economic and material aid from Equestria and even Aldorna and Zebrica for the first time in history. Even with the massive aid effort, even with the greater output provided by agricultural technology, it proved to be insufficient for survival through the deadly winter season. When the death toll dwarfed the ancient records, when ponies were dying faster than even before the Great Migration, the Northerners decided it was time to leave their ancestral homeland behind.

With the bare minimum of preparation and planning, millions upon millions of ponies suddenly took whatever worldly possessions and provisions they could pack onto their backs, into their bags, into their wagons and simply left. The three pony races journeyed south as one to this new promised land- not as hopeful emigrants, but as fleeing refugees.

The storyteller's tone became more somber.

It was an evacuation of unfathomable proportions in which seven out of ten ponies perished in the journey, even with Equestria declaring a state of emergency and Princess Celestia herself personally rendering aid. Imagine the steadily encroaching fear as neighbors flee around you, the trauma of leaving almost everything that holds meaning to you behind- fleeing cold death through snow and ice, always hungry, always in pain. The Northerners didn't even have enough food to last them the winter staying at home. Do you think they had anywhere close to sustain them for the whole journey down? A whole way of life, entire cultures were uprooted and destroyed in the blink of an eye.

The storyteller fell quiet, lips flattened in reminiscence, eyes glazing over. He turned back to the audience, not speaking for almost a minute. His tone was hollow.

Do you know just how many ponies died to the Great War, before the balefire bombs fell? Casualty figures fell in the range of just under one million- only for ponies. The zebras lost around four million and the griffins easily exceeded seven-million during the Aldornan Civil War. Sometimes, all you have to do is look back in time to put the present- and the future- in perspective.

This tragic event would later go down in history as the Great Exodus. Over twenty million ponies lost their lives in the months that followed. Over eight million went missing, never accounted for. Only the spellfire apocalypse claimed more lives. The Urawlis were all but wiped out, as were the Losians, Skyzians, the Ag’ai, and the Korum. Ponies, cultures, histories- so many ponies and so many fountains of knowledge were all lost to the deadly winter.

It was during this trying time... that I was born.

The storyteller sighed, a plume of his frosty breath rolling out from his muzzle, smiling softly and speaking in a nostalgic tone.

My people have a unique tradition when it comes to names. Names mean everything to us. What is in a name? A rose by any other name, and all that. The answer- identity. More than anything, identity- and magic. A name is the single item that belongs wholly and completely to a person- and no one else. The name sets the individual apart from the herd, makes him or her unique among all others. That undeniable identity gives us power beyond words. That is why ponies of our culture receive two.

The first, received at childbirth, is in our language. It is meant to be symbolic or to be a wish of good fortune. My father's was “Ki,” or “tree.” It was his parents' hopes that he would be as strong, firm, and steady as the Doubtless Fir. My mother's was “Chouju,” or “longevity.” She was born with an extremely rare condition known as progeria, in which she aged approximately three times as quickly as the normal pony. It was her parents' wishes that she would still live a long, fruitful life in spite of it.

The second name was to be given after one earned his or her cutie-mark. Just as the cutie-mark, it was to be representative of one's calling in life. Father, Diamond Dust, had the cutie-mark of a lump of coal cracked open to reveal the glittery gem beneath the black. He was always good at finding the best in others. It just took a little push, a little pressure. Mother, Natural Cure, was an herbalist. Her cutie-mark was that of a broc flower and xander root set on a medical cross. Remedies were scarce in the Far North, and creating them from the local flora was a dying art- even more so with how much cultural knowledge died with those lost during the Great Exodus. That she could seek out and use the herbal remedies made her an important figure in village life, father told me.

To my knowledge, I was the only foal born during the Great Exodus to survive- and barely. I was lucky enough to have survived my untimely birth and doubly lucky to have survived the harsh trek south. My parents saw great significance in this. Now, even though I have eidetic- photographic memory... well, I can't quite remember that far back.

My father told me that... heh... my father told me that I stopped crying very quickly after I was born. They were worried that I had already succumbed to the cold. But no... I was merely sleeping. Heh... I slept a lot during the journey, apparently. And when I was awake, I found I could see my own breath because of how cold it was. After finding out what caused it, I kept on making these quick exhales- hoh! Hoh! And then I would just... just burst into giggles, doing it over and over again. Funny how things work back then. Such childish joy amidst the most trying time yet...

And so that is the story behind my middle name, my very first name. I was given my people's name for our homeland- Hokkaido. It was now a forbidden winter wasteland we could never call home again. And so I was named so that I may serve as a reminder to all ponies of the Far North, so that we never forget where we came from...

The storyteller set down his first memento- a yellowed, age-eaten newspaper with the headline “TRAGEDY IN THE NORTH; MILLIONS DEAD”. Below was the picture of a wailing pegasus mare, head bent toward the heavens in a despaired cry, clutching the limp, emaciated, frozen form of what could only be her daughter.

... and so that we never forget what we endured.

* * *

Footnote: Hokkaido- Level 1
Origin: Survivor of the Exodus- You were not only born in the Far North, but you also survived the Great Exodus to the south. You have much greater resistance to cold temperatures and also gain better discounts and unique dialogue options out of sympathy. Note: this only applies when you are recognized as a Northerner.

Trait: Veteris Vestigia- You have eidetic memory and remember everything you experience whether you like it or not. Memorization comes easy, but application of muscle memory is a different story. You gain one perk per level and books and magazines offer larger (and permanent!) bonuses. You also gain unique dialogue options. However, all skill points allocated to combat skills, Sneak, and Lockpick count as 1/3 of their value. You cannot take the Comprehension or Educated perks.
Trait: One-Trick Horn- (Unicorn Only) You can only cast one type of spell, but you're really, really good at it. You gain 100% extra magical endurance but are locked to one spell tree.

Tagged Skills: Barter, Sneak, Speech

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Once Upon a Time...

Soundtrack- The Northerners

Bonus feature added!

Hokkaido's S.P.E.C.I.A.L.

Strength: 4
Perception: 4
Endurance: 4
Charisma: 10
Intelligence: 6
Agility: 5
Luck: 7

Author's Note

And now we start something, something new. Hope you're all ready to dive in. Anyway, a big thanks to the FoE community on this one. I must especially thank Broadestpeak and definitely Wirepony for their pre-read of this installment. You're all awesome. Lastly, thank you for reading. Please leave feedback- I always appreciate it.

Reflection Two: Zoleks

Reflection Two: Zoleks

“Ah didn't want tuh spend muh life at a muddy ol' apple farm. Ah wanted to live the sophistuhcated life, like muh Aunt n' Uncle Orange! So Ah set out to try muh luck in a big city- Manehattan! The most cosmopolitan city in all o' Equestria!”

In the wake of the Great Exodus, millions of Northerners flocked to the closest Equestrian cities- Stalliongrad and Burrlin, for instance. As much as they wanted to, those two cities alone couldn't handle the sudden, unprecedented influx of refugees. That didn't stop them from trying, though. Earth ponies- very specifically earth ponies- set up camp for tens of thousands. But there were millions of Northerners, and at the time, Stalliongrad and Burrlin simply couldn't care for everypony.

But one more was all it took. It was by far the largest Equestrian city at the time, famous for its larger-than-life buildings, its larger-than-life monuments, and its larger-than-life people.

Manehattan, City of Lights and Legends.

The storyteller let out a soft sigh.

Look... this world, this Wasteland... all this takes some getting used to. And you do get used to it. But even if I did leave Manehattan behind with my childhood, there's three things I'll always miss. And I miss them even more now that I've been back there. It's... one of the reasons why I choose to forget.

He paused for a few more seconds, eyes downcast. He glanced up, locking eyes with the audience before beginning again in a content, nostalgic tone.

One- the nightlife. Princess Luna lost her way before ponykind harnessed non-magical electricity and used it to bring light to the darkness. Manehattan was famous for its nightlife. We are all diurnal creatures by nature, and in Manehattan, they combined the majesty of night with the light and life of ponykind. After sundown, citygoers were graced with a dazzling array of colorful lights- hanging from streamers that ran from post to post across the city streets, sparkling along the buildings, glimmering in shimmering waters of Manehattan Harbor, from the great torch of the Statue of Friendship. Manehattan never slept. There was always someone somewhere, partying in the nocturnal splendor.

Two- the people. Manehattan was by far the most cosmopolitan city at the time, rivaling- and some would say surpassing- Stalliongrad in that respect. Manehattan's sprawling structures couldn't contain the mounting population. So they build denser, they built higher. You couldn't be afraid of heights, living in Manehattan. High-rise apartments were a part of life, especially for the middle and working class. With how dense, how compacted the Manehattaners were together, you had to be comfortable with bumping into others. For the most part, people were friendly- they had to be. You couldn't go goggle-eyed or cringe at the sight of a zebra, a donkey, a mule, a griffin, or even a buffalo. Sometimes even diamond dogs lived in Manehattan. Variety is the spice of life, and Manehattan... heh, well, Manehattan was one spicy city. Looking back... my Goddess, how far we've fallen. Nowadays, the stranger is met with caution, with paranoia. Back then, it was with a smile or a nod.

Three...

He lets out a sigh, eyes twinkling in remembrance.

I miss the songs. I love music. But no matter what, no strings, skins, or reeds can compare to the majesty of the equine voice. And Manehattaners? Manehattaners sure knew how to carry a tune. Take a moment- imagine what it was like, coming back home from a day of work or school to a night of party and play. You definitely had to get used to sleeping easy with noise about. Manehattaners had a well-earned reputation for rambunctiousness. Sure, there's the southern quarter of town where gentrification and demand turned it into an enclave for the upper crust, but don't get me wrong- night was where all the action was. And yeah, that kind of action too. Singing, dancing... and yeah, sexing.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. The scope's a little wide for now. Let's narrow it down, let's... focus on my family.

Like many other Northerners that made it to the City of Lights and Legends, my family's first home was a communal tent inside a refugee camp outside city limits. Imagine your average one-story home. Now cram about twenty-five, thirty ponies in there. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't comfortable, and it was noisy as hell. But for a time, it was our place to rest and recuperate from the tragedy that befell our people.

We were lucky- very lucky- not only to have survived but that my parents had this almost picture-perfect skill set needed to make ends meet. Don't get me wrong- Equestria had an amazing, an absolutely phenomenal welfare program. It just wasn't designed to handle the twelve-million-plus weak, weary, hungry, sick, traumatized ponies that all but dropped down on the system's doormat. A lot of philequinpists donated or volunteered to the cause, but you just can't fathom, just can't even hope to be able to help get everypony back on his or her hooves. You just can't. I mean, sure! The world back then was unbelievably better than the one we have now, but there are some problems you just can't work around no matter how hard you try. You can't solve world hunger. You can't solve poverty, disease, what have you. You can't stop the rain. You put a roof over everyone's heads and hope it doesn't leak. It's the sad fact of life, even as good as things were back then.

But again, we were very lucky that my parents had this almost picture-perfect skill set needed to make ends meet. Father, Diamond Dust... he was an earth pony stallion, his fur a distinguished white. His mane and tail were a wholesome blue- that's the best I can describe it. It was just this shade that just came across as “wholesome”. I told you he could find the best in everyone. We all needed somepony to pour our heart out into, someone to just... talk to. Ponies need that- people need that. Maybe that's what I'm getting from all this by telling this story. Father was a consultant, a confidant, and a counselor. He became an open ear behind closed doors. He gave advice both friendly and familial, emotional and entrepreneurial, physical and psychological. I don't know how he did it, but mark my words... (The storyteller repeatedly pointed a hoof out in short, quick jabs.)... he could find the best in anyone. Sometimes it just took a little pressure. Now that's power beyond what money can buy, and he was charging a reasonable rate at that.

Mother, Natural Cure... she was also an earth pony. She had this verdant green coat and a simple, short-cut mane and tail the color of fine lotus powder. She likewise had her hooves full. In the camps where you had so many ponies packed together after such a trying time, disease ran rampant. The Manehattan doctors learned she had knowledge of natural remedies and hired her as a consultant and field doctor to supplement their medicinal and medical knowledge and supplies. She might have been held back- maybe even crippled- by her progeria, but she somehow always managed to make house calls to her patients just as they did in Hokkaido. When she told me this story, I asked her- why did she even do all that? Why push herself like that? Her response? I still remember, in that almost stereotypically worn, wise tone: “There is no rest for the weary. I can rest when I am dead, and I do not plan on dying for a while.” Amazing mare. Just... (He sighs.) Just an amazing mare, my mother.

We all helped one another out like that. The Northerners stuck together and helped pull one another up onto their feet. Even if there was a language barrier, we all did our part in helping one another through this. And by “we”, I mean “they”. Me? I was still a newborn foal, trying to make sense of this noisy world around me.

Things improved fast after that initial hump. The grieving for lost loved ones was over. It was time to look ahead. You know the northern quarter of Manehattan? That wasn't there before The Great Exodus. The northern quarter literally sprung up from the ground, the foundations laid down by Northerners and Equestrians as one. From refugee camp to low-cost housing surrounded by a growing community in three years flat? You can bet that happened. It's one of those moments where I feel a sense of pride in my country. That's the kind of nationalism I think anyone can approve of.

So. Father became a paid consultant, confidant, and counselor. Mother owned her own clinic founded off of the herbal remedies she swore and stood by. We had a comfortable- after what we'd been through at least- apartment, two bedrooms.

Now... where does that leave me?

Well, we’ve covered my parents, who they were, where they came from, what they did. They're both amazing people despite their disabilities- father's polio-stricken hindleg and mother's progeria. They're real heroes in my eyes. Have any of you come across a storybook? Something about a hero or heroine? They always tend to start from humble beginnings. They start small and grow into someone larger than life.

Welllll... I'm not exactly a hero. Sorry to disappoint.

* * *

I slugged the buck- this orange fellow with a messy, blue mane- in the face. But I wasn't very strong, and my hoof just skinned his cheek. The bigger kid slugged me in breast, knocking the wind out of me before bowling me over onto my back. He just pinned me there by placing a single hoof on the barrel of my chest. I tried to yank it off violently and cause him to lose balance- something like that. I wasn't nearly strong enough. I think I just massaged his muscles at best. I hated concrete, but it and I were familiar friends. Like good, familiar friends, we were united yet again. Just the concrete and me- this scrawny, green unicorn colt with a ruffled, black mane and tail and deep-blue eyes that were slanted exotically like all Northerners.

We were on school grounds, just outside the cafeteria. Foals were foals, and a crowd of them gathered around us on the concrete. “Fight, fight, fight, fight, fight!” some of them chanted- hey, what can you do? Foals.

And so Superintendent Vanilla Drop came in and broke up the fight... again. The unicorn mare just used her telekinesis to hold us up out of reach of one another in midair like a mother cat would pick up her kitten. I remember thinking: No fair... magic...

* * *

Look, you could call me a lot of things back when I was a colt. Feisty, belligerent, scrappy, hotheaded, temperamental, crude, ill-mannered, annoying- all that fits, I won't lie. I've already done enough of that. But this is indeed another case of the cruelty of children between children. It's actually something I've seen less of in the Wasteland to be honest, what with everyone fighting to survive. Normally, it's among adults. I find it kind of funny and sad at the same time...

That whole incident? That was when I was seven years old. Believe it or not, I didn't get bullied around too much when I started school. Sure, there were a couple cases, but when the superintendent and her counselors made it clear just who I was and what I'd been though, well, they left little Hokkaido alone for the most part. Before all that, I was calm. I was a... little withdrawn, maybe, but I could still socialize with the other kids just fine.

Of course, that was the first year only. That was... kindergarten.

Unicorns went through a different kind of program at that age. It was called magic kindergarten. Damned mages and their descriptive terminology, huh? (The storyteller chuckles softly.) Anyway, magic kindergarten is sort of a prelude to magical studies in elementary school. They teach you the basics- really only how to concentrate and fire up your horn and the telekinesis spell.

Lorn Almighty, you all know me somehow, someway. You ever see or hear of me using anything other than cryomancy? Heh, well, of course none of you have. That's because I can't. I literally can't perform any other kind of magic- and I didn't know about cryomancy back then. So sure, it might have been pretty impressive to form an overglow without prior tutoring when I was trying to lift a wad of tissue paper, but that wasn't exactly tested material!

(As if proudly, he declares with a bewildered smile,) I flunked magic kindergarten. Think of hearing that about a unicorn way back then. Try to- Try to wrap your head around that. I flunked... magic kindergarten. I was one of the few if not downright the first unicorn to fail magic kindergarten! At that point, being a Northerner doesn't even matter to the others. I tried to make up excuses- that both my parents were earth ponies, that I was a “late bloomer”. Late bloomer? If I could form an overglow, I just plain sucked at magic. Without magic... I mean, what use was a unicorn? I was just a weaker earth pony with this pointy thing coming out of my head. I became the laughingstock of Rubinelle Elementary School. You could even argue from the teacher's standpoint that I made Rubinelle a laughingstock too.

And that... is when the whole bullying nonsense began.

Let it rest now that I know my hubris. Again, I'm not going to lie with this, and lying to myself counts toward this to. I don't take injuries to my pride too well, even if I've learned to reel it in somewhat and even if it's my own doing. It's what made me try to become someone else after leaving Stable Seventy-Two. It didn't help that I was named after my people's homeland in the Far North. Back then, that was what those kids were insulting, at least how I saw things.

So you could imagine that when I started to get teased about that whole “flunking magic kindergarten thing”, I changed. That was when I started becoming feisty, belligerent, scrappy, hotheaded, temperamental, crude, ill-mannered, annoying, the works. One thing became another after that. Being weak, scrawny, lanky, whatever. I was “Hothead” Hokkaido, that's what they called me. Any insult could tick me off. I'm serious. I wouldn't stand to have anyone just walk over me like that. Unfortunately, I took that phrase a bit too literally. All those fights ended up with me on the ground with cuts and bruises and a pink slip to the student center. The worst part? I was stuck at Rubinelle. Who the hell wants a pugilistic magical kindergarten flunk transferring to their school? And sure, the superintendent and counselor tried to have “talks” with the kids that bullied me around, but let's be honest for a second- do you really think they stopped?

If you said yes, just get out right now.

A young filly, head hung low, got up and started for the exit with a dejected sigh.

Wait, are you serious?

She nodded bashfully.

Oh I was just fooling, kid. Come on, sarcasm. Take a seat. I'm not gonna ask anyone to leave.

The filly smiled and settled back down.

Okay... right, the bullies. Well, I couldn't back down from a fight given how I saw myself, as the symbol of hope for my people. Yes, yes, I know. Even back then, I had this sense of self-righteousness. Come on. I was a foal named Hokkaido. Foals take pride in what they can. Call it bragging rights, but I call it a will to feel importance. Kids strive for that. People strive for that. It's why there's bullies out there, big and small. And it's why I fought back against every little insult that I saw as an effort to tear me- and what I represented- down. So yeah, I got beat up a lot as a kid. I never won- no fights, and definitely not in the grand scheme of things. My combative nature just turned other ponies away from me, too. Nobody wants to be friends with the foal who keeps picking fights. Nobody wants to be caught in the crossfire. So I just kept getting my ass handed to me, and I kept getting my ass handed to me alone. At least until I was eight years old.

Because that's when I made a proper friend.

* * *

Sunny Days, that big, orange buck with the cutie-mark of the dirty bits? Yeah, he just wouldn't leave me alone. A lot of them were like that. What's more was that eventually they started coming in groups. It was morning recess on the playground, and I was just minding my own business on the monkey bars when I saw Sunny and his entourage approach me.

The big buck just sneered at me. “Hey, Hothead! What, you trying to put some muscle on those skinny legs?” And they just laughed. Kids and their ‘humor’, am I right?

Well I for one didn't find it the least bit funny and dropped down to the blacktop, a scowl riddling my muzzle. “Yeah, so I can break yours,” I huffed in reply, in that light, smooth tone.

“Ooh, scary.” Sunny mocked, causing more outbursts of laughter from his little posse. “Look, Hothead, you already know what I'm here for. Just gimme your lunch money and I'll leave you alone.”

(The story teller huffed and smiled wanly.)Always the lunch money. You know, the real funny thing was that my parents eventually made me switch to prepaid lunch tickets. I never carried any money on me, at least until I was a little older. They were just trying to get a reaction out of me.

And they did. “Up your butt, Days,” I growled.

“Oh, ho ho ho!” he howled with laughter. “Look who's acting all big and grown-up now, guys!”

And for the third time, that laughter came out directed at me. I couldn't stand it anymore. I just plain rushed him and bucked him in the barrel of the chest. Of course I didn't do much to a guy as tough as him. In fact, he actually let me hammer away at him for a good several seconds. Guy was just putting on a show for everyone to see that I clearly caused all the fighting. At that age, the “he started it” excuse still works wonders. Come to think of it, it still works when you're all grown-up.

Then he hit back- hard. I crumpled to the blacktop as other foals began to crowd around us just like they always did. I shakily got back up on my feet and charged for him again. He just barred me with a foreleg and shoved me back down. Again, he set that heavy hoof down on the barrel of my chest and just pinned me. It was a waiting game now, a waiting game I couldn't win. I tried to tug at that foreleg, punch it off, kick at his hindlegs. Didn't work. I was going to lose the battle and the war yet again.

(The storyteller broke into a great, big smile.) And then out of nowhere, this zebra colt only a bit bigger than I was bum-rushed him and bam! He just took out his right legs from under him and gave him a double-buck to the side, sending him sprawling away. I just gaped and widened my eyes in shock, watching Sunny end up in a groaning heap.

“Hey!” the zebra called, his voice the first friendly one I'd heard in months. My eyes jerked form Sunny’s crumpled form to the zebra colt. I'll never forget that slumping Mohawk and that sloppy grin. Most of all, I'll never forget those sincere, brown eyes. He was holding a hoof out to me. “I not doing all the fight! You get up?”

My surprised gape turned into a hopeful grin as we locked fetlocks and he pulled me up.

He was fast. Maybe not the fastest I've ever seen, but he knew how to fight, and he could outpace and outfight the others as I picked off the scraps he left behind. He barely even got hit- he just blocked, parried, or dodged. And when he did get hit, he made sure it wasn't to anywhere that would hinder him. Usually, it was on the sturdy muscle and bone of his chest. I later learned it was the Manticore style of zebra martial arts. Blocks meet the opponent's attack. Every buck or punch was made from a coiled-up stance. If you couldn't avoid a hit, meet it. Knock the opponent off-balance. Go for the legs, then knock them down. Finish them while they're on the ground. Well, okay, maybe not finish them at our age, but I remember thinking to myself: Manticore style was the shit!

Yeah, we both got in trouble. Yeah, we both got scolded by our parents. But yeah, he and I really hit it off as friends after that day when our parents decided to meet for dinner and apologize to one another about their colt dragging the other into this mess. I thought it was going to end up in a mutual scolding after our little scrap, but it ended up in a family friendship instead. In a way, we could relate to his family. They were members of the Denipulo, one of the seven tribes of the seven hills that founded the Zebrican capital of Roam. They came here from Zebrica while it was facing economic depression, seeking a better life with more economic stability. With how little purchasing power the Zebrican cronus had, selling their entire home and most of their possessions only got them to Equestria, leaving them nearly destitute on arrival. They only recently obtained citizenship status, and their Equestrian- like my parents'- was rudimentary at best. In a sense, they were refugees of a different sort- but still refugees just like us. Imagine my surprise when we found out we lived in the same neighborhood. His family lived only a block-and-a-half down from our apartment. We had dinner together in one of the many city parks almost every weekend.

* * *

When it comes to friendship, it's give and take. If all you do is give, you feel taken advantage of. If all you do is take, the other party is bound to feel the same way. Zoleks wasn't the brightest student, and though he had some zebra friends himself, they mostly knew Equestrian or Zwahili. Zoleks' family spoke a different dialect, Zebrikaans. It was the unofficial “commercial” language of the Holy Zebrican Empire. Meanwhile, I kept getting picked on and getting into fights. So I helped him out with his schoolwork and Equestrian in my spare time, and he stuck by my side. After seeing what he did to Sunny Days and his boys, nobody wanted to pick on me with Zoleks as my unofficial bodyguard.

Heh, Zoleks and I did everything together- just... everything. We played together, ate together, had sleepovers together, did homework together. When we were signing up for classes the next year, we even made sure to get the same ones. And yeah, we got in trouble together, too. Getting into fights wasn't the only thing I did as a foal- I also... ah, had a habit of getting into places I shouldn't be. Okay, won't mince words. I broke into things. I didn't pick locks or anything. Usually it was just an open window or an unattended object. Yeah, I stole things- bits included. Yeah, I sold stuff I could to others who'd keep it quiet. After a bit of instruction, Zoleks caught on himself.

Look, like I said, welfare couldn't fully support us. Even with both my parents working now, most of our income went towards rent and food. I knew it was wrong to steal like that, wronger still that sometimes I stole from other Northerners who left some shiny thing unattended. But who hires a foal for work? Zoleks' folks weren't any better off than we were, either. They were scraping in bottom-of-the-bin, minimum-wage jobs working overtime. Like I said, I knew it was wrong, but I wanted to help my folks and Zoleks' however I could.

Naturally, we couldn't keep this all a secret forever. We both got caught, we were both punished, and we gave stuff back- not all of it, mind you. Our parents never found out just how many dirty bits we made from it. Still, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride when I saved up enough of those bits to buy Zoleks a brand new bike. Heh, if there was anything Zoleks loved, it was bikes. I'll admit it was freaky when I learned about it and freakier still watching him learn how to ride, sitting down in that odd way.

But seeing him happy like that after making it down the sidewalk without crashing? Now that was something I genuinely felt proud of. Especially when he got his glyphmark from it. Was a symbol resembling a wheel with bent spokes. Heh, not too surprising really. I remember that day fondly- not just because Zoleks earned his glyphmark but because of what happened before he did.

Imagine... a shockwave. An enormous shockwave that glowed with all the colors of the rainbow.

The storyteller took a minute to form a carefully-shaped prism of ice and held it up to the soft light, splicing its color.

Just like that. It was rumored, only later confirmed, that a little filly who later became Ministry Mare Rainbow Dash performed a Sonic Rainboom, sending its powerful shockwave all across Equestria. It was strong enough to cause a small temblor all the way over in Manehattan- and right as Zoleks was trying to ride his bike. He only cried out and wobbled a little. He didn't fall. I don't think he even realized how far he went without looking, so entranced he was by the Sonic Rainboom.

He smiled with the memory.

Of course... stealing wasn't the only thing we got in trouble for, of course. We're all creatures of habit; I'm no exception. Some ponies still picked on me, and yeah, I got into fights still. Not often, but kids just don't quit sometimes. Sunny Days? Nope, not him either. Didn't come nearly as often as before, but it still happened.

Not getting my cutie-mark even after elementary school didn't help either.

I'm sure everypony knows the feeling of being a quote-unquote “blank-flank”. Nopony likes it. Hell, nobody who can get a butt tattoo does either. It's even worse for me because I'm a Hokkaidan. Remember, we get our true names once we get our cutie-marks. As far as I knew, I was the oldest mumei, or “unknown, obscured, nameless”. Being practically the only mumei around sucked. So you could probably imagine my frustration and embarrassment at not only my failure to pass magic kindergarten but also my failure to discover what truly made me unique among all others. Zoleks got his glyphmark, yeah, but me? I just couldn't get it. I definitely tried to. Did all these crazy, often stupid things. And if the fact that I tried knife-juggling is any indication, I got hurt. A lot. Never seriously, luckily. Come to think of it, I think was a lot luckier way back then...

* * *

Anyway, after that little fiasco, father decided to have me settle down for a talk. It was like every other “talk” we had, seated beside one another on my bed. We really didn't have much furniture. We just couldn't afford it, and thinking about it as a kid when I saw other people with something as simple as a dinner table, it sucked. It really sucked living from paycheck to paycheck. Maybe my parents felt it more than I did, working their asses off just to keep afloat, there's no denying that I felt embarrassed and even a tad ashamed by that.

“Hokkaido...” he began- he always used my name like that when he was upset, at least when we were in private. Usually, it was “son”. That didn't bode well.

“Dad, I can explain,” I interrupted in protest. He never lost his patience when I did that. He could always wait for the other party to have their say. “I was just trying to get my cutie-mark...” He let out this heavy, old sigh- just... that's how I remember it. I looked at him that moment and realized just how worn he was getting. He was getting bags under his eyes from late shifts and from worry stealing his sleep. His mane, that wholesome blue mane... it was starting to become speckled with gray. He was silently thankful that my mother lasted this long into their marriage, I think, but... he was getting on in the years- quicker now, I think. That sigh made me realize this, and I just stopped talking right there. It sort of shocked me. After I didn't continue speaking for several seconds, he looked at me as if for an invitation to speak. It was this pleading look that made me feel even sorrier for him.

“Hokkaido,” he began anew, each Equestrian word coming out syllable by syllable, “if you are trying to get your cutie-mark, you should try to find what you are good at.” Oh, well no kidding. If it wasn't my father speaking to me, I would have rolled my eyes at that. But it was my father, my old father. “After you do, focus on those. For me, I knew that I was a good listener. So, I listened. But then I learned I could see through listening what was good in ponies, uh, in people I mean. And after listening to someone talking through his heart, what is next step? You give advice. That was how I got my mark. So find what you are good at. Maybe somepony else already good at it. Keep trying, keep finding. Keep pushing yourself.”

“It just takes a little pressure,” I finished.

He gave me this tiny smile- just this tiny, fragile smile. It stretched his muzzle enough for me to see the hint of aged whiteness on it, not the usual shade of his coat. I don't know how I was good enough to see that, but... maybe it was luck. I don't know. “Yes. A little pressure. But Hokkaido...” He placed his hoof on mine, “try not to do things that can kill you just yet. Please.”

* * *

And that was that. No scolding like I expected. Well, at least until my mother got home and learned about it. Then I got an earful. But... his words definitely made me think about what I was good at. I knew I was better than anyone at my school for getting into fights, but if I was going to get a hooffight cutie-mark, I would have gotten one already. So I spent a little time thinking about what I was good at, going back in time, thinking back, sifting through memory.

Then it hit me.

* * *

“Ow...” I mumbled.

“Why do you keep on hitting your head against the wall like that?” Zoleks eyed me. “It's not even funny anymore. The baker's been giving us these weird looks.” Heh... he had sure come a long way with his Equestrian. We were both twelve now, enjoying our summer off from middle school. We were just chilling in one of the city's many squares. I remember it had this fountain, this beautiful, pure, white marble fountain. Fish and dolphins branched off from the main pillar, water spouting out from their mouths into the rippling pool below. Rarely do you see any working fountains like that. The only one you can find nowadays- the only one I've found so far at least- is at Tenpony. Zoleks told me these fountains were nothing compared to the ones in Tail Aviv, his family's first stop in Equestria. It was the City of Water and Wonder for a reason, he told me.

“Maybe I'll just remember something that'll help me get my cutie-mark,” I grumbled. “Wait a second...”

Remember. That was it. Ever since I was going into elementary, I learned I had this unbelievable ability to remember things. I just couldn't forget no matter what. That was the reason my grades in school were high enough to offset my bad behavior- most of the time at least. I remembered every arbitrary scrap of information I set my eyes on or strained my ears on- even taste, touch, and smell were forever branded in memory. Nowadays, I still remember everything. I've lived for well over two centuries by now, so I've got a lot to sift through, but give me some time to think or give me some sort of trigger, and I'll remember it.

“Wait, did you actually think of something?” Zoleks asked with a grin, jarring me out of my revelation. “What is it? Does it involve biking?”

I grinned right back at him. “We're hitting the library.”

(The storyteller laughed.) Even now, I still find it hilarious how he just deflated to that. At least he still biked me there on his back.

Oh, at this point, Xamuros gave me an odd look. As did several others. “Oh, come on, don't give me that look now,” I told them. “Better than walking there. Now get your mind out of the gutter.” Back to the story...

* * *

Looking back at it, I was wondering how I even thought about that. I mean... what I did was so impractical. I just went to the library and started reading all the things. I just tried to memorize as many things as I could and... hoped I would get a memorization cutie-mark or something. I... I just don't know what I was thinking. What would a memorization cutie-mark even look like? Maybe a checklist? I don't know, but I memorized so many useless details. Centipedes, scientific name Geophilomorpha, belongs to phylum Arthropoda, subphylum, Myriapoda, class Chilopoda. The world record for bouncing a ball into the air without letting it hit the ground was 462 bounces by a determined earth pony stallion named Waddle Wiggle. Garfield from the comic strip of the same name was depicted eating lasagna seventeen times in the Survival of the Fattest comic strip collection. There were approximately 300,000 craters with a minimum 1-kilometer diameter on the surface of the moon. Honestly, when was I ever going to use that sort of information? But there I was, going back to the library day after day to read up on a random book. At least my parents were happy with the premise.

However, I did happen upon a book that I found more interesting than most of those useless facts- the comic collections were nice, though. It was a book that changed me for the rest of my life. Its concepts and lessons still stick with me to this day. I actually liked it so much that I bought it from the library. It's one of the few purchases I made as a young foal that I think was money well spent.

The storyteller procured a second memento. It was a slender volume, its edge liberally speckled with bookmark tabs. At the moment, he kept the cover facing away from the audience.

You know, I wonder how I hadn't discovered my way with words earlier. It's a funny thing, really. If only I found it out sooner or maybe that other book. Hm... but what can you do? You take what you can get. And this?

He curved his muzzle in a sly grin and flipped it around. Depicted was a tower, notably one of the spires of Canterlot Castle. Above the tower, the title proclaimed Lying, Parliamentary Style in faded violet and gold.

Well. I got a lot from this book. I love this book. I really do. You see, lying takes more than just saying what the other person wants to hear. You have to say it right. Can't be too quick or too slow, can't have too much or too little fluctuation. You have to maintain eye contact, try not to twitch. You can't seize up. You have to hit that sweet spot. At the same time, you have to learn to lie to yourself and believe in the lie. You have to be able to hold a smile even when rage is bubbling away inside. You have to be able to show depression or shock when you're really jumping for joy. It's all... about... the façade. Of course, lying wasn't the only thing taught in this book, oh no. Plenty of other neat tidbits... baiting, reverse psychology, and many other neat little toys.

Here's the thing about memorization- you can know everything there is to know, but it doesn't mean squat unless you can apply that knowledge. All that crap about centipede nomenclature, world records, comic character tidbits, lunar craters, what have you? It's just that- crap. Useless, stinky stuff you just want to flush away. Memorization means nothing without application. But this? (The storyteller waves the book slightly.) This I could apply. (He set it down.)

* * *

Zoleks kept sticking by me, even into Lazurian middle school. You know who also kept sticking with me? Sunny Days. Like I said, we're all creatures of habit. Kids like us are no exception. I still had my reputation as “Hothead” Hokkaido, and don't you even think for a moment that anyone forgot I was still a twelve-year-old blank-flank-flunk.

“Crap, him again?” Zoleks sighed as we headed away from the bike racks toward our first class. Sunny and his posse were heading straight for us. “Well, you know I'm here to take 'em out, no sweat.”

“Let 'em come,” I said calmly, inhaling deeply. My voice was starting to get its smoothness, its graveness. I could do this. Confidence was my forte. Maybe “Hothead” fit me after all. “And Zoleks?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't do anything. No hits. You can block or dodge, but no hitting.”

“Say what?”

“No hitting,” I repeated. “You're not going to help me. Got it?”

Zoleks grumbled softly but nodded in compliance. “You got it, boss.”

I stood firm, upright. No slouching. Chest out, head level. And... smile...

“Jeez, Hokkaido, how many names are you gonna make for yourself?” Sunny asked with a sneer as he drew closer across the concrete. “Flunk, hothead, blank-flank, and now a coltcuddler? C'mon, you're making it easy for us!”

Zoleks snarled and started forward. I blocked him with a leg. Ho-ly fuck did those names sting, especially that last one! But I just drew in a deep breath and reeled my seething rage in. And then I pulled the hook back on its lips into a smile. “Easy.” I cautioned my friend. He scowled as that whole display only brought howls of laughter from Sunny and his group.

“Heh, explains why Hothead's always on top,” one of them cackled. “He's like a doggie! An obedient, little doggie! Of course he's the submissive one!”

I watched as Zoleks merely steeled himself, frowning as he exhaled a deep breath. Then I asked, still holding my smile, “So, fellas, what can I do for you?”

Some of them were a bit perplexed by my bright mood, looking around over their shoulders as if expecting this to be a distraction. Sunny just huffed, “You know already. Come on, buck. Lunch money. Hoof it over. Both of you. Then you can go right on free.”

“Really?” I asked, still smiling but raising an eyebrow.

“Mm-hm, really. You have my word that I'll leave you be-”

“No,” I interrupted, “I mean you're really doing this?” I looked around, namely at Zoleks and a couple other foals that were starting to stop and watch. Like I said, I acquired a bit of a reputation. “Really? Do you know who I am?”

Now the other kids looked outright confused. After all, I normally would have started swinging punches and trading bucks by now. “Yeah, you're fuckin' Hothead Hok-”

“I'm a Northerner,” I said, cutting him off again. “Maybe you've heard of them since there are so many of us? Hm? We fled the Far North to escape the deadly winter, and over twenty-million of us died in the journey. Those of us who survived lost almost everything we had. We're barely scraping by from paycheck to paycheck, and you're trying to steal lunch money from one?” My smile flickered away. “What are you, stupid?”

A couple “Ooh...”s rang out from the small crowd that gathered, and some of Sunny's entourage winced from that. The big, orange buck himself stammered in utter shock that I had resorted to words with some semblance of logic rather than my hooves, “Well...”

(The storyteller was smirking now.) “Oh!” I suddenly smiled, eyes widening and lighting up as I laughed. “Oh, are you really that desperate? I'm so sorry, I didn't know that you, nonono, that your family was so dirt-poor so as to tell you to steal from a Northerner!”

“What?!” Sunny exclaimed incredulously, twitching like a nervous wreck.

See, the thing is, everyone has plans- everyone likes things to go according to plan. When things don't go according to plan, we panic. We panic, especially if things have been going all according to plan for years. And when you panic after all that, you make the shittiest mistakes.

So I told him, “My Goddess I'm so sorry! You must be scraping at the bottom of dumpsters for scraps to eat, you poor thing!” And yeah, I made it sound as exaggerated as I could. Not kidding you. “Here.” I hoofed out a few bits, still smiling. “Take it. Just take it. Buy yourself a nice, delicious bread-bowl of clam chow-”

Sunny slugged me hard in the face, the golden bits flying away forgotten. Hello again, concrete, ol' buddy ol' pal. I've missed you so mu- okay, no. No I didn't miss you. But we we were reunited once again with Sunny pinning me down, hooking me left, right, left, right- again and again and again. As my view jerked back and forth between the blows, I could barely make out anything. But I saw the tears Sunny was blinking back, and I could still hear. I could hear the choked-back sobs, but that's all. Nobody was chanting for us to fight. Maybe there were some winced-out “Ooh...” s or hushed curses. But none of them did anything else. Thank Goddess, Zoleks. You didn't do a thing either. Followed my order to the dot.

Finally, Sunny just gripped me in place, punching me repeatedly with the same forehoof. “Fuck you!” he cried. “Fuck you, you Northerner piece of shit! Fuck all of you!” And then I smiled. I smiled because I knew I had won. In a war of the words, the first to resort to physical violence loses. “Fuck you! Fuck you, the hell you smiling for?! Fuck you!” He paused there, hoof held back, panting heavily.

“Good morning...” I sputtered, “Miss Superintendent...”

A maroon aura surrounded Sunny as he was yanked roughly back, the superintendent mare stepping in and barking out orders. Probably for them to stay away and stay put, yelling for another counselor to come in. I don't know for sure. My head was swimming and the sound started fading out. I know for certain Zoleks called out my name before the darkness closed in. I was still smiling.

* * *

A couple days later, Zoleks and I were on our way home. I had two black eyes- my left was so badly swollen I wouldn't be see out of it until the swelling went down. Luckily, no broken bones, no missing teeth, and my horn was fine. I felt worn and my head was throbbing, but I was flying high. I'd finally won. I was the victim, the innocent victim who didn't even throw a single punch, the innocent victim beaten to unconsciousness. I got in no trouble at all, and it was Days' parents apologizing to mine this time around. I was flying high, and not even the downpour could get me down.

“You sure you're up for riding on my back?” Zoleks asked as he tugged his bike along through the wet lawn of our school's track. “You slipped off and let go on the way to school. I don't want you falling under a cart, boss.”

“Nah, nah, we're good.” I flashed him a smile, working at the zipper to my jacket. It wasn't a proper raincoat, but it still kept me from getting too soaked. “'Sides, I know you have trouble with earth science. We're gonna need as much time as we can get for me to help you study. Who knows? I might be up for learning some Zebrikaans if you're up for it, Zoleks.”

The chill zebra smiled and pat me on the back. “Thanks, Hokkaido.” Eyes forward again. “Hey, you seeing that?”

“Where? Kinda half-blind here.”

“Sorry. Over near the front gate.”

I looked over there and squinted. To my surprise, there was that big, orange buck with the messy, blue mane. Sunny Days, now getting insults thrown at him from a group of foals.

“Bastard got what he deserved, ya think?” Zoleks huffed.

“Poor bastard, though,” I sighed. I'd lived long enough to know what it was like to be on the receiving end. “Hey!” I whistled sharply as we neared. “Let him be.”

“You kidding me?” one of the mares scoffed. “He beat the daylights out of you! He isn't even supposed to be here!”

“Hey look, folks.” I breathed in deep and... smiled. “I appreciate all this, really. But if the colt who got his daylights beat out by the guy you're mobbing is telling you to let the guy be, let the guy be. Capicé?”

Gradually, the small crowd disbanded with no more than a few murmurs and nods of understanding and maybe a few encouraging elbows. I approached Sunny Days. The big buck was sitting on his haunches in the muck, legs curled up, no raincoat, eyes downcast. “What do you want?” he asked in a forlorn, dejected tone.

I was still smiling. “Well, now you know how much it hurt for me all those years, huh?”

“Dammit, Hokkaido!” he hissed at me. “I got expelled from the district and I'm due in juvie! Didn't you check the mail for the court order? Now no fucking school wants me, I'm on fucking probation, and my parents hate me! You got what you wanted! You going to gloat in my face now? Huh?!” He broke into sobs, tears mixing with the rain. “I'm sorry, okay?” he whimpered. “I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I didn't want any of this to happen... I... miss my friends, I miss helping my brother out at school... I'm sorry, I just... just...”

I flattened my lips. I wasn't flying high anymore. I let out a sigh. “Just got a little hotheaded?”

Sunny glanced up at me for a moment. Then he cast his eyes back down and nodded quickly, jerkily.

You know, winning these battles wasn’t the only thing I learned from Lying. It also taught me to look for opportunities in the aftermath... and I was looking at an opportunity. This was something completely different than what I’d done before. Before, I was still on the attack. Now... now I was trying for reconciliation.

“Sunny,” I said a little more curtly than called for, “look at me.” He only turned away. “Look at me. Come on, Sunny.” He hesitantly, slowly turned up to meet my gaze. I remember... those eyes- beaten, dull green eyes. “I'm sorry too. I didn't mean any of that, alright?”

He gave me this blank look and spat, “Bullshit! The way you did that, you probably rehearsed it!” I winced. Yeah, I did. It was true. He looked away and tucked in tighter. “Just leave me alone.”

Fuck, that didn’t work. Just try again. Try again. Try again and... smile. Just... smile (and the storyteller did so with a pushing motion).

I knelt down to his level. Gently now and no longer smiling, I said, “I was desperate, Sunny. I wanted to get back to you, and yeah, I rehearsed it. But please,” I laid my hoof on his, causing him to make eye contact at last, “believe me when I say I truly didn't want any of this either. I didn’t want you to get into this mess.” Sunny still looked reluctant to acknowledge me. He was glancing away every few seconds.

I needed to seal the deal. And in order to do that... now it was time for the part that I didn’t want to say, the part I didn’t want to admit. But I kept an even, apologetic tone and said, “I was wrong. I should have gone about it some other way. What I did was cruel, and I regret it. I’m sorry, Sunny.” Now his gaze softened, now he kept his eyes on me... and I knew I had him. “Now look, we're both beaten in... some shape or form. Let's move on.” I held out my hoof toward him, offering him as soft and sincere a smile I could manage. “Shall we?”

Ponies... people with nothing to lose and everything to gain will grasp at the first shred of hope they see. It's a fact. And it didn't let me down as Sunny and I locked fetlocks and I helped pull him out of the mud. “You... I really take back what I said about you, Hokkaido...” the big, orange buck said softly. Gone was that brazen tone. “You're not bad.”

I looked to Zoleks and asked, “Hey, it's alright if I stay late helping you out, isn't it? Maybe we can push the Zebrikaans to the weekend or something. We're probably gonna be walking.”

The zebra canted his head in confusion. I nodded toward Sunny to clue him in and he widened his eyes in understanding. “Sure, sure thing, boss. Definitely.”

I turned back to the big earth pony and asked, “Hey, Sunny, where do you live?”

“Uh, I live on Cherry and Oak,” he answered. “It's this apartment not too far from here, like... five blocks?” He pointed.

“Wanna walk and talk?” I offered with that sincere smile. “Maybe I can have a chat with your parents, too? Are they home?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah, well, my mom is, sure. Yeah, yeah, let's walk. Yeah!”

First shred of hope they see, folks.

I nodded, smiling bright as I unzipped my jacket and offered it to him. Investment in an opportunity. “Here, put this on.”

“What?” He stared at me in surprise.

“Eh... rain'll probably do me some good.” I shrugged. “Feels nice. You've been sitting in the mud for a while. Get warm. I’ll be fine”

“You sure?”

I pointed at my face. “Does this look unsure to you?” I asked jokingly. He winced. “... don't answer that. Here, just put it on.”

“Thanks...” he mumbled, slipping on the coat. It didn't cover him that much at all, but it kept him from getting more soaked than he already was. “Really, Hokkaido... thanks. I didn't expect any of this after... what happened and... all these years.”

“It's no problem, really.” I smiled sincerely.

* * *

I love Lying. I really do. Didn't I say that? Of course I did. I talked it over with Miss Days, told her that her son just slipped up. I was pretty rough on him that day, after all. I just smiled, spoke with confidence, added a sprinkle of lies to build the buck up, and sold the deal. Same thing with the district officials. Zoleks was still friends with the local Equestrian Learners tutor at Lazurian, and he was still friends with the principal, and he was still friends with a couple district officials. It's like dominoes. Tip one over in your favor, you get the rest to tip. You just have to get the first tipping. Imagine the looks we got in the hallway when I had not only Zoleks at my side, but also Sunny Days back in school, charges dropped, on my left.

“Sunny!” I heard in the hallway. I looked up to see a smallish earth pony buck galloping over toward Sunny, a bright smile on his face.

“Blustery!” He galloped as well, meeting halfway in a hug.

“‘Bigger’ brother, huh?” I huffed, grinning.

Sunny smiled sheepishly, hugging the comparatively tiny Blustery Days closer. “Bigger in age... he’s in eighth grade.”

“Heh, I getcha, I getcha,” I chuckled. “Hey, I'm Hokkaido.” I extended a hoof to him, and he shook. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Yeah, same.” He nodded. “Thanks for... uh... all that.”

“No problem, no problem.” I smiled.

“Hate to be a buzzkill, boss, but first period's starting up pretty soon,” Zoleks said, nodding at a clock.

“Hold up, we'll have time,” I said, turning back to Sunny and Blustery. I was seeing another opportunity in the aftermath again... “Say, Sunny, Blustery- do you happen to have any friends around? I'd really like to get to know them.”

I don't know if you any of you know a thing or two about pre-war Manehattan, but that right there? Opportunity was knocking, and I answered the door. That, my friends, was the start of the biggest gang in the history of the City of Lights and Legends.

The storyteller smiled wide and toothily as he started flipping through the pages. He had plenty of annotations in the margins. After a good few seconds, he looked back up at the audience.

I love this book. I really do.

* * *

Footnote: Zoleks joined the party!

Hokkaido- Level Up! Level 2 Reached!
Perk added: Scoundrel (Rank One)- Take the Scoundrel perk, and you can use your wily charms to influence people- each rank raises your Speech and Barter skills by 5 points.
Skills note: Speech- 50

Zoleks- Level Up! Level 2 Reached!
Origins: Zebrican Immigrant- You grew up in the Holy Zebrican Empire but set sail for Equestria hoping for a brighter future. You gain +10 to Unarmed, tier 1 in a martial art style of your choice, and +10 to Speech with other zebras. However, you take a -15 penalty to Barter and Speech when dealing with non-zebras.
Companion perk added: You Got It, Boss- Other people close to or below your age are less willing to pick fights both physical and verbal with you as long as Zoleks is nearby. You also gain access to unique dialogue options to threaten certain people.

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- City of Lights and Legends ( Alternate )

Soundtrack- Theme of the Comeback Colt, Hokkaido

Soundtrack- Theme of the Rider, Zoleks

Bonus feature added!
Zoleks' S.P.E.C.I.A.L.:

Strength: 7
Perception: 6
Endurance: 6
Charisma: 5
Intelligence: 4
Agility: 7
Luck: 5

Author's Note

Many thanks to the FoE community and especially my pre-readers for this installment, Wirepony and Broadestpeak. You’re all awesome! Additionally, thank you for reading. If it’s not too much trouble, I would really appreciate some feedback. Thank you again. Until next time.

Reflection Three: Lights and Legends

Reflection Three: Lights and Legends

“Lust for power does not grow from strength- it grows from weakness.”

You know, I talked a bit about the City of Lights and Legends before, but I never really delved into it. Well, let's fix that little problem, shall we?

Like I said before, I saw opportunities in getting to know Sunny and Blustery. They had connections, and those connections had connections in turn. So on, so forth. See, (the storyteller leaned back, smiling) I never felt this... power before. I knew the power wealth could bring. I just needed to look out the window of our apartment. I knew the power that physical strength could bring. But this... the power of words, the power to manipulate... this was something completely new to me. The traditional view is that power is something attributable to a person, something that a person can possess in varying amounts. Equinpologists, I later found out, add another layer of meaning to that. They say that power is anything that exerts an energy that can be used to achieve an end.

Let me give an example. Back when we still had powered wagons driving around, there was a speed limit that varied depending on the location and terrain. It was in place to prevent automotive collisions, which often seriously injured or killed the parties involved. That said, not everyone heeded this speed limit- I myself am guilty, as charged, of violating it multiple times. So, in some parts, signs would be put up, reading (the storyteller waved his hoof as if marking words on such a sign) “speed limit enforced by radar”. Now here's the thing- you don't know whether or not there actually is a radar transmitter out there measuring your speed. (He smiled.) But you don't want to risk it should there actually be one. So people would abide by the speed limit in that zone. For all you knew, some random guy only had the sign hung up with no radar. But that just sign being there- the exertion of some form of energy- is causing wagon drivers to slow down- the achieved end.

Now, I just started realizing that I had power of my own, exerted through words to achieve an end- to beat Sunny at his own game, to bring him to my side, to win over his parents and the district officials barring him, and to gather a circle of supporters. After being so weak, so helpless for so long... this power felt good. And I wanted more. Manehattan was the City of Lights and Legends, and I wanted to be one of those legends. I had the name, I had the anonymity, and I had the power.

You know something else that Manehattan was known for? I didn't touch up on it on my big three for a reason, and you might have already guessed it since I only just said it not too long ago- the gangs.

“I'm gonna lay down some ground rules,” I began. Our group took up an a whole lunch table at the cafeteria now. Zoleks, as usual, was seated on my right. “We need to keep off the radar as much as possible, and even if we do get noticed, I want us to get noticed the right way. That means no fighting, no trouble. Easy, right?” I looked up and down the table. “Riiiight?” Nods and murmurs of affirmation went left and right. “Good. Now, we- note we- are a pretty small ring right now. We're gonna expand gently. No growth spurts. That's bad for everyone. Just invite your friends for now- friends you can trust. Assembly hall, this weekend. We repeat, shifting gears to bigger venues if needed.”

“Well why are we doing this again?” Sunny asked, seated to my left. “I mean, gangs are cool, but...”

I waited for a few seconds. “Go on,” I beckoned calmly.

“Isn't all this a bit much for kids our age?” Murmurs of agreement filtered through the group as shrugs and nods went left and right.

Best fix that. “Look at this way, Sunny. You, me, Zoleks, Bowler, Drift, Wicker- we're seventh graders. We're twelve, thirteen. Blustery, Hammer, Little, Jay, Carry, Song- eighth. They're thirteen, fourteen. In seven more months, we're heading to eighth grade and they're headed to high school. Might not be so bad for Nimble, Pick, Slick, or Ramp, but think about it for a second. At that point, we might start splitting into different schools, maybe even different districts. Manehattan's a big city after all, right? A lot of us are here because of the cheap housing- I know I am. I'm a Northerner. We already know each other right now as friends, but the moment we move on and split up in high school...” I just shrugged and grimaced for a moment, “we're in unfamiliar territory with fewer friends than we'd like, knocked back down to the bottom rung of the ladder.

“Admit it- how many of you plan to get into gangs for some reason or the other, whether it be safety in numbers and reputation, financial support, and/or fame?” A lot of reluctant hooves went up. Good. That meant they were willing to trust me with that sort of material. “Well there you go. You're probably going to join a gang that already has-” Zoleks tapped me on the shoulder. “Adult. Chit-chat a bit.” So we started talking amongst ourselves. Me? I went for Sunny. “The Giants really bombed last night. I mean, I only read the newspapers, but Ramp Up was able to watch at his friend's house. Did you get a chance to chat?”

“Uh, no, not really.” Sunny shrugged, going with it while the vest-wearing stallion slowly strode on by. “I mean, I know they had a rough start to their season. How bad was it?”

“The Baltimare Buckers were up by twenty-one after the first quarter,” I said incredulously. “Can you believe that? Twenty-one! How the hell do you screw up that badly?”

The big, orange buck took a bite out of his sandwich and shrugged, shaking his head. Swallowing, he huffed, “I don't know, buck. Coach musta been pissed.”

“You bet.” I watched the counselor slip past and out of earshot. Was a noisy place in the cafeteria after all. “Okay, okay, we're good. We're good.” Everyone fell quiet, ears and eyes on me again aside from the watchful Zoleks. “Look, so the majority of you are already looking at joining a gang that already has one or more of those. But let's be realistic for a second. Reputation? More like notoriety. Not sure you want that. Financial support? Well guess what's the first thing a gang's gonna ask after commitment and whatever gimmicks they have? They're gonna ask for your shiny bits. Fame? Okay, I'll entertain that. You'll get fame. You'll also probably get a lot of 'fame'- sorry, infamy from the MPD and rival gangs.” I turned my hooves up and shook my head just a little, giving a look that said 'Come on, really?'

“So... you want us...” Blustery Days asked with a cocked eyebrow, “to go with you on this gang of yours, and you want it started now?”

“This gang of ours,” I corrected. He gave me a dubious look. I just... smiled. “This thing we're planning to start is something big. I can't do it by myself. Blustery, you know a ton of kids at Lazurian. Sunny, you're way better at money matters than I am- by the way, we should really meet and chat about that sometime. I'd like to know how you do it. Slick? You head to the YMEA center after school. That means you can get connections with the counselors there. Little, your mom's in the PTA. So see, we all have the ability to do something like this.” Let the smile slip now. “I might have come up with the idea, but what it boils down to is that none of us can do it alone. Alone, we're just kids. But together?” Smile, smile, smile. “Together, we can do this.

“So! We start now, we can lay down a good foundation. It's like the city itself- we need to build our infrastructure. We expand our influence, keep in contact as we split to different schools and different districts. We rise up from there. That's why the ground rules are so important. We start fights, we start trouble and the MPD is gonna beat our plots down before we can even get off of the ground. The city doesn't want another gang stirring up trouble. So we're not going to stir up trouble. We keep a low profile, maybe do some things to slap a good image on us. Volunteer work, whatever gets us on people's good sides. After that, we can start raking in the bits.”

“How, drugs?” Song Spinner scoffed. She was this gorgeous pegasus mare with the silky, black coat and deep-blue mane... and a nice plot. Hey. Come on. I was twelve. Cut me some slack.

“Song, we don't even have money to even try that right now,” I told her. With a smile. “We can't afford doing that- either monetarily or legally. Remember, if we start trouble, we invite trouble.”

“So what's the plan then, huh?” she asked, crossing her forelegs.

I smiled. Wider, that is. “Believe it or not, I found myself thinking the same thing.” I nodded to my zebra companion. “Zoleks here actually came up with the idea. Folks... what is Manehattan?”

“The City of Lights and Legends,” Pick Pack, this shorter, dusty pegasus colt huffed.

“Yeah, and we want to become legends.” I nodded. “But what comes before that?”

“Lights?” Sunny leaned against the table. “What about it?”

I chuckled heartily, “Folks, what else is Manehattan known for?”

“The nightlife, of course,” Song said.

“Of course.” I nodded to her. Then I waited.

It clicked to her. “Are you talking nightclubs?”

“I'm talking nightclubs.” I was absolutely beaming right now, and I could see my smile reflected back at me as it dawned on them. “Think about it- they're legal, they're plentiful, and they see a lot of business. A lot of repeat business. We can't hit the hardcore ones just yet, but there are some 'juvie-joints' that allow our age group. I'll look into them. We work our way in, we climb to the top.

“This is all pretty ambitious.” Hammer, this thick, stocky fellow breathed out a heavy exhale. “Nobody's ever done anything like this before.”

“Well.” I smirked. “You gotta think big in a city of giants, and Manehattan is the City of Lights and Legends.” I saw them all smirk in turn amongst one another and I saw the nods from one kid to the other. “So. Any takers?” I heard only affirmations ringing out those next few seconds. Zoleks and I shared a look and a grin before I turned back to them. “Start talking to your friends. Saturday in the assembly hall at three in the afternoon. Let's get this thing started.” And with that, we started heading out for the field, splitting off into our own groups.

“You know, we both came up with that idea together,” Zoleks chuckled and elbowed me playfully.

I stumbled a little and elbowed him back just as playfully. He didn't budge at all. “Yeah, but I can't keep them thinking that you're the brainless bodyguard, am I right?”

“Heh... thanks, Hokkaido.”

“No problem.” I caught sight of Sunny and he me. I waved him over.

He took a moment to say good-bye to Blustery and was back at my side. “Sup?”

“Mind if we walk and talk again after school?” I asked him. “I want to dive into talking about your way with money matters.”

He looked hesitant. “Well... I don't know. I mean, algebra's killing me right now...”

“How about this- Zoleks is getting killed by algebra, too. Let's meet at Dunwall Park. Bring your books, paper, pencil, and your calculator. I'll help you both out, then we can chat on the way back. Alright?” Now to seal the deal- use their interests against them. “I'll even pay you.”

Sunny definitely seemed to mull that over. “How much?”

“How does five bits sound?” I offered.

“Ten,” he countered.

“Eight,” I rebutted.

He stood firm. “Ten.”

I grinned. “Heh, alright, alright. Ten. You gotta show me how you did that, by the way.”

He grinned. “Don't worry, I will.”

Always an opportunity in the aftermath, folks. Always an opportunity.

* * *

Remember what I said about Manehattan? Manehattan never sleeps. It's all about the nightlife. I had a great deal of freedom and independence as a young stallion. After all, by that point, I was not only keeping my grades up but I was also staying out of trouble for a change of pace. My parents were very, very happy about that as you could imagine. They were used to my adventurous nature in any case. I often went out to spend time with my new circle of friends, whether it be to help them with schoolwork or for them to help me in turn. Now that I was so well-behaved all of a sudden, I found my curfew lifted. I could enjoy Manehattan's nocturnal splendor all I wanted. I just had to wake up in time for school on weekdays.

Sunny gave me some great bartering advice. Test the waters. Know when to press, know when to ease up. Be firm. Know when to yield. Know when not to yield. To my surprise, he learned most of this from a book I could have easily rented or bought from the library. That was another lesson- look for other options first. Still...

The storyteller procures a plain looking book- another memento. This one had the picture of a sunny, smiling stallion in a dusty cap that perfectly matched his equally dusty coat. It was titled Tales of a Detrot Derby Vendor.

... it was a good read.

I was no stranger to juvie-joints, these nightclubs catered to a younger audience. Zoleks and I frequented them all the time. You get soda and juice instead of alcohol, and there's no wild stuff. Lyrics, if any, are kid-appropriate or have the bare minimum of innuendo. So Zoleks and I were welcomed as familiar faces by the door bouncer into The Lazy Dog.

Upon entering, we traded the moonlit, sparkling venue of the Manehattan streets for a veritable sea of ponies swinging and pumping to the music, bodies turned black and painted in a dazzling array of colors by the strobe lights and beam talismans. The musical movement wasn't limited to the dance floor either- griffins and pegasi took to the air with energetic flair. At the head was a silver pegasus with a black-white mane, a pair of headphones slipped over her ears as she worked the turntables. I visited eleven juvie-jams all over the northern quarter of Manehattan, but those spinsters? They got nothing on DJ H0UND of The Lazy Dog. Her mixes were always pushing that bar of sensuality- hell, the current track was titled “Everypony's Bangin'”. We were all young mares and stallions, feeling those hormones for the first time. We were exploring- just a little- and that was why the place was so popular. Bouncers were always around in case somebody got a little too wild.

“Love this mix!” I laughed as I entered, heart racing to beat in time with each thump of those mighty subwoofers.

“You and me both, boss!” Zoleks yelled over the crowd.

“Hey, I'm gonna have a little chat with the owner! You go on and have fun, alright?”

Zoleks eyes followed a pair of mares- one zebra and one pegasus- that sauntered on by. I'll admit, my eyes were following them too. We turned back and smirked at one another. “You sure you don't want to join in?”

“Hah! Maybe later! You go on ahead!” I started off, grinning back at him.

“Well alright, more for me!” the zebra whooped as he trotted after them.

I kept that grin on my muzzle as I made way for the bar, sliding onto an unoccupied stool. I bobbed my head to the beat as the bass dropped. My, my, my... there were a lot of fine-looking mares around. All those swinging flanks... oh hey, come on now. I was twelve. Cut me some slack.

Shaking my head, I returned to the task at hand. Fun and flanks- er, games... could wait until after this. I nodded to one of the bartenders. The cream-colored earth pony mare approached me and huffed, “Oh, hey, Hokkaido! What can I get for you?”

“Nothing to drink at the moment, Thyme!” I responded over the music. “Been a long day?”

“And a long night!” She paused to scoot out of the way of another bartender. “You know how it is here! Always busy as hell!”

“LLLanguage!” a younger unicorn filly complained.

Thyme breathed out a sigh lost to the music. “You get what I mean! So what're you here for, then? Sightseeing?”

“Just want to talk with your manager is all!” I said.

“The manager? There a problem or something?”

“No, not at all!” I answered. “I just wish to talk business with her!”

“Business?” She shot me a dubious expression.

“I'm serious here, Thyme! Would you kindly?”

She sighed, “Alright, alright! Be right back!”

Thyme turned tail- and what a nice tail- and headed toward the back, slipping out of sight. Once she was gone, I started forming my arguments, looking up and down the bar. Yeah, the bartenders definitely had their hooves full, alright. Heh, I already saw Zoleks down at the far end trying to chat it up with the two mares from earlier. A loud cough caught my attention, and I drew my gaze up to a petite griffiness wearing a prim vest. It was the first time I met the manager in person. Time to make an impression. Smile wide, smile with pride.

“Thyme tells me you're here to talk business?” she asked.

“That I am, ma'am!” I affirmed, reaching out a hoof. “Hokkaido!”

“Vani Windfall!” the avian-leonine introduced herself. I already knew her name, though. Sunny always said it helped to know exactly who you were dealing with. “So business? Really, kid? You're kinda, well, a kid!”

“I assure you that I am very much serious, Miss Windfall!” I told her, maintaining that smile.

“Alright, kid, if you say so!” Vani huffed, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “Mind if we talk somewhere quiet and private?”

“Not at all, Miss Windfall! Lead the way!”

Vani led me to her office, tucked away in the back with enough soundproofing to reduce the roaring music to a dull thump. I wasn't educated enough to know my furniture or furnishing, but from the plush, comfy chairs- one of which she motioned for me to take a seat in- and the smooth, wooden desk, she was enjoying The Lazy Dog's popularity. Which meant she was raking in a lot of bits...

Before she had a chance to begin, I started, “You have a very nice office here, Miss Windfall. Nice seats, a nice desk. Now, I'm no real estate agent by any means, but you got a very cozy looking place.”

The lithe griffiness let out a soft sigh as she sat down. “It is nice, isn't it?” She set down her palm on the desk and rubbed a little. “This? Imported all the way from Aldorna.”

“A lot of workgriffinship must have gone into it,” I remarked.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Earth ponies are damn good craftspeople, but sometimes they're just not the same as a good griffin working her or his tailfeathers off.” She leaned back. “I really don't get to spend a lot of time in here anymore. Normally, I spend it helping out there.”

“The Lazy Dog is a very popular juvie-joint.” I nodded in agreement.

“Sure is, isn't it?” Vani smiled wanly. It vanished in an instant. “But look, you're here to talk business, right? I mean, that is what this is all about, right? This better not be a prank, kid.”

“I assure you that I'm very much serious about this, Miss Windfall,” I told her.

“Really?” she huffed. “What are you? Thirteen, fourteen?”

“Twelve.” I was still smiling.

“Well that's not helping your case at all, is it?” Vani crossed her forelegs. “So what's this all about, then?”

“Some of my friends and I are looking for work,” I said. “I was hoping that we would be able to find some here at your fine establishment.”

“Work?” She eyed me.

“Yes, Miss Windfall.” I nodded.

“They as young as you are?” the griffiness questioned.

“Yes, between eleven and fourteen, Miss Windfall,” I answered.

“You're a Northerner, right? Jeez, that desperate for cash?” Vani sighed. “You all Northerners?”

“Not all of us, but there are some,” I said.

“Yeesh.” The avian-leonine frowned. “Sorry, kid, but I can't hire you or your buddies. Maybe the fourteen-year-olds, but even that's pushing it. Wait till you're all at least sixteen, okay?”

“Is there a problem?” I asked her.

“Yeah, regulations. Sorry, kid, but law's law. Unlike Fillydelphia or Stalliongrad, we can't hire kids like you.”

“But you could use the help, am I right?” I tilted my head down to look at her with a pleading expression.

Vani let out a sigh, “Definitely. I mean, don't get me wrong- I'm proud of my girls and boys. They work their tails off keeping this place running with a full house every night.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” I nodded in agreement. “Thyme's not getting a whole lot of respect for it, and come on!” I held out my hooves toward her with an incredulous expression. “You! You're out there working, too!”

“Yep,” she said simply.

“So why not hire us?” I asked. “Think about it. You'll have more employees to help about, and as a bonus, they're closer to the same age as your patrons. Your employees are good, but let me ask this- other than the DJ, do they get any respect?”

“Not as much as I'd like,” Vani answered.

“It's because deep inside, we're all rebels. Why are all these kids out late at night partying amongst themselves? Because they're rebels. They don't particularly like authority figures, namely adults. Puts them at odds. Hire younger people to help, and you'll find your employees a lot happier and your customers more at ease.”

“But law's still the law,” the griffiness tapped a claw against the desk. “I can't hire you kids. Come back when you're sixteen. Then we'll talk.”

Dammit. She wasn't convinced. “Come on now.” Smile... just keep smiling. Getting a bit annoying, but keep smiling... “Do the cops really check in all that often?”

“Nope, but I'm not going to risk losing my club because I made the shit decision to listen to some kid and some twit snitches about it,” Vani huffed.

“Perhaps we could sign waivers?” I suggested.

“Can't even do that. Law's law. Listen, kid, come back to me when you're older, alright? Until then, I'm not hiring any of you.” I opened my mouth to retort, but then she cut me off. “You really gonna keep going at this?”

“Yeah,” I replied casually.

“Well, you're persistent.” She leaned back. “I'll give you that. Tell you what. Convince the cops that it's okay for me to do that, then we'll talk. Fair enough?”

Know when to yield. Know when to yield, even if you don't like it. Something is better than nothing. “Fair enough.” I nodded. “But I'm holding you to that.”

“My, my.” Vani smirked. “You're a little businesspony, aren't you, kid? Don't worry. We griffins stick to the contract.”

Hm. That was useful information. “Noted. Well, I suppose I'll be seeing myself out then, Miss Windfall. Thank you for your time.”

“Hold on, kid.” She grinned. “We haven't drawn up a contract yet.” She started typing away on her terminal. It wasn't Stable-Tec. It was a Belle model, I think. The company didn't come around until during The Great War.

Shit, I missed that. Gotta pay attention to those things. “You could've just let me walk out, Miss Windfall.”

“I know,” Vani said with a nod as she typed away, “but I want that extra help and respect, and you and your friends want work.” She turned the monitor toward me. “Does it satisfy?”

I looked it over. Sunny explicitly stated to read every last line of a contract. Photographic memory definitely helped. Let's see... declare that... will hire Hokkaido and his friends... number unspecified... to work for The Lazy Dog should they reach sixteen years of age... or convince MPD... rate of ten bits per hour. “Two things, Miss Windfall. Sorry to be a bother, but how many are you willing to hire? And eighteen bits on the hour.” She arced an eyebrow. “You need us.”

“Fourteen.” The griffiness crossed her forelegs.

“Eighteen.”

She smirked. “Little businesspony indeed. Eighteen it is. And to your question, that depends. How many of you are there?”

“Including myself, there are fifteen of us at the moment,” I answered.

“At the moment?” She arced an eyebrow.

Whoa, let that one slip out! Uh, shoot. Keep it cool. Just... smile. Don't change tone. Just answer. “Give or take. I'm sure you know how it goes, Miss Windfall.”

Vani nodded, typing a few edits in. “Eighteen bits per hour. Fair?”

I nodded. “Fair.”

And so she printed out the contract, we signed, and we shook on it. The moment we left her office for the world of song and dance and she headed back to work, I dropped my smile and headed back to the bar. I came into the club that night feeling I could convince anyone to do what I want. After that, I left the office with the knowledge that sometimes words couldn't win everything. That later turned out to be a very important lesson to me. Zoleks' smile, however, brought mine back. You know what they say, folks. Smile, and the world smiles with you. Cry, and you cry alone.

“So, how'd it go?” I asked the zebra, settling into a seat beside him.

“Ehhh, the pegasus wasn't so interested, but the zebra?” He grinned wider. “Heh... I got her number.”

“Sounds like I might be seeing less of you pretty soon!” I chuckled.

“Don't worry about it, boss! I'll always be there when you need me!” Zoleks pumped a hoof for emphasis. “So what about you? How'd things go?”

“Slight hitch in the plan!” I answered. “We'll talk later! For now...” I watched as a lovely flank waltzed on by. “Heh, let's hit the dance floor, Zoleks!”

* * *

Nope. Not a chance. Who was I kidding, anyway? Who'd want to date the twelve-year-old blank-flank-flunk? Nopony, that's who. Not even a zebra. I guess I didn't expect it anyway. But let's get to more important matters.

That weekend, I met up with the other kids interested in this little start-up we had going here. I came in expecting only a few takers. I set the bar high with what I was doing. I wasn't expecting a huge turn-in. What I found was a pleasantly large audience. No, it wasn't huge, mind you, but it was a bit more than I was expecting. I spotted quite a few Northerners out of them. Slanted eyes give it all away. Then there was the fact that there weren't just ponies coming in- there were zebras and griffins too. I personally greeted every single one of them, introduced myself, took down names. Eidetic memory is a wonderful thing in this case. You know why? Because the sweetest sound in any language is the sound of one's own name. Remember, there's a power to the name. It's a two-way street though. Others can use that power as well, and I had the full intention of using all that power. After all that, I got on-stage and I explained to them what we were trying to accomplish and how we were planning to do it. I told them about the juvie-joints, namely The Lazy Dog.

And then I discussed the unfortunate hitch in the plan.

“Sixteen or older, or we convince the cops to let her hire younger,” I told them, pacing back and forth on the stage, pausing at the end. There was a lot of bitching and moaning from that. I held up my forehooves for a moment. “Hold up, hold up! Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill!” As they started quieting down, I repeated, “Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill. We're starting something big out of all this. Of course there's gonna be some bumps along the road. But we pave our way straight through them. Now, I must ask- any of you sixteen or up?” No responses. “Do any of you have any friends or family sixteen or up? No, not parents or the like. I'm talking siblings, maybe cousins.” A couple nods and some murmuring. “Alright, that's a start? See? Meet me after this. I want to talk to each of you personally about this. Now then. Here's the more important question- anyone have connections with the MPD?" I saw a few hands pop up- only hands. Griffins. Interesting. I grinned. “I definitely want to talk to all of you after this. Which is right now. Thanks for coming, everyone!” I was immediately greeted with the sound of everyone getting out of their seats. “But don't think you should all head out right now! Make friends with one another! Ask around! Get to know one another! Trust me on this one- it'll come in hoofy! Or handy! Take your pick!”

I looked around to see those ponies, zebras, and griffins from before head toward me. I waved them over, heading backstage. “For peace and quiet,” I told them. “Thank you for taking the time out of your schedule to allow me to speak with all of you. I very much appreciate it. Now... let's get down to business...”

* * *

“Thank you for taking the time out of your schedule to allow me to speak with you, commissioner,” I said with a smile. Just... smile. I was seated in a cluttered office across from a burly male griffin in a barebones uniform. I was alone. Zoleks was waiting outside. I didn't have to be the most perceptive fellow to notice the bags under his eyes and the way he slumped in his seat. His office had a shuttered view of the cubicles beyond on one side and the city outside on the other. “I mean, look at all this paperwork!” I motioned to the desk between us. I could hardly tell it was a desk- so little of it showed up under the stacks of white and black.

“Yeah, I know...” he murmured wearily. “Just backed up on work.” He breathed out a heavy sigh. “Now... remind me again exactly what you came here to talk about?”

I opened my mouth and paused for a moment before talking- dramatic, yes, but it helps to get the point across. “Commissioner, you understand who I am?”

“A Northerner?” the griffin replied. I hate how people often reply with that uncertainty. It's honestly a pet peeve of mine. But don't let it show, Hokkaido. Keep a straight face.

“Yes.” I nodded, softening my smile a little to something a little more somber. All in the façade. “Commissioner, I'm sure you can, ah, appreciate how low and how young people will work for when they're desperate. Yes?”

“Yes. I can.” He nodded, letting out a sigh as he glanced away. Commissioner Farrow started small, his son told me. I knew he was thinking of himself at this moment. It's easy to get people to agree with you when you have similar histories or interests.

“I have quite a few friends, commissioner,” I said softly, letting the smile disappear. “A lot of us are Northerners or are just as poor.” Keep the language simple. Look the part. Sound the part. “And I know my family's not the only one living from paycheck to paycheck. I understand you're really, really, really busy, but could you find it in your heart to help us all out after what we've gone through?”

Farrow let out another sigh, leaning back, slumping back. “Twenty million dead, eight million missing. You've gone through a lot, yeah.” He locked eyes with me. “What is it you want?”

“I just want to be able to help my family,” I told him, dropping my voice to scarcely above a whisper and lowering my muzzle so that I was able to look up at him with a pleading expression. “A lot of us want to. But we can't.” No, I didn't state it outright. Just dance around it. Let him come to the conclusion himself.

“Hm. Too young, huh?” He looked down at me with softened eyes. And there it is.

“Only by a few years!” I whined, throwing up my hooves. I let them fall and looked away. All in the façade. “I... I just wanted to know if you could somehow... I don't know, commissioner. I tried to get part-time work at a lot of places- only part-time! I mean it!” Eyes back on him, take a defensive stance. All in the façade.

“Don't worry, I'm on your side, kid,” he sighed.

I smiled on the inside. I had him. “I really just want to be able to work and help my mom and dad, sir. Same with a lot of kids. Now... we'd move to Fillydelphia or Stalliongrad if we could, but... we don't have the money...”

Farrow regarded me for a few seconds. “How old are you, son?”

“Twelve...” I said meekly.

He inhaled deeply and let it out through his beak. “I'll see what I can push up to the mayor. Twelve sounds like a reasonable cut-off.”

“Really?” I brightened up. “Do you mean it?”

“I mean it, son. Can you meet me maybe... next Sunday at two P.M.? I think I'll have some time to talk then.”

The storyteller held up Lying and Tales.

I love these books. I really do.

* * *

“Alright, settle down and listen up, folks!” I called out, on-stage again in the assembly hall just a few weeks later. I waited for a few seconds as it quieted down. “Now, any of you heard of Prop Four?” I looked around, holding up a copy of today's newspaper. There were a few hooves and hands in the air. “It's a proposition going straight to Mayor Drysdale sponsored by Commissioner Farrow. As you may have noticed, Manehattan has some very, very strict laws regarding child labor. Kids our age can't even deliver newspapers. Not only does that sound a bit excessive, but it's also keeping us from getting off the ground.

“Prop Four is going to change all that,” I continued, setting down the newspaper and making slow paces back and forth. I maintained eye contact with at least some portion of the crowd however. “It's going to lower the legal working age in Manehattan from sixteen to twelve. Waivers signed both by the minor and his or her parent or guardian will be required for anyone from twelve to sixteen. Bars, adult nightclubs, police work, and other similarly age-restricted occupations are still off-limits. Seeing as none of us are in high school just yet, it's our best bet to getting work and piling on the bits. If you're going to take anything from this, take this- it's our ticket into the nightclubs, or at least the juvie-joints.

“So here's what we're all going to do.” I paused center-stage, glancing from one end of the audience to the next. “When we go home, sometime this week- doesn't have to be today- we talk to our parents,” I corrected myself respectfully, “or guardians. Ask if they've heard of Prop Four. Say we're all willing to work part-time to support the family and tell them it would be in everyone's interest to pass that measure. Granted, it's probably not going to come out in those exact words, but that's okay. Just get it done sometime this week. Let's not do it all at once- that could draw some suspicion. In the meantime, I have some requests for some of you..."

I started turning to specific members of the audience. Best way to get people to work for you? Make them feel important. “Sunny, let's meet up sometime. I want to start talking to some of the other juvie-joints around town and get them on same boat. I barely managed to convince the owner of The Lazy Dog, and I could use your expertise.” The big, orange buck smiled proudly and nodded enthusiastically. “Riverrun, your mother is on the city council if I recall correctly. We get her support, things will be a lot smoother for us. I would really like to have a chat after this. Song, I love that idea of yours with the free concert in the park to raise awareness. Let's talk about setting a date, alright?” This went on for several minutes. I worked my way down my mental list of connections. Who knew who, what? Who did this, that? How could he or she benefit this cause, my cause. Finally: “Any questions?”

Number Cruncher, a black unicorn who I recognized as a fellow Hokkaidan, raised his hoof. I nodded to him. “So what're we gonna call this gang of ours anyway?” Others started murmuring as if thinking the same thing.

I only smiled wider. “I actually had an idea for that.” I glanced about. Pause for dramatic effect...

“The Mumei.”

Number Cruncher pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, nodding left and right as I saw the rest of the crowd mull it over. I cleared my throat. “If there are any other suggestions, I'm all ears. Otherwise, let's get started.”

There were none.

And so here we were the Mumei- the unknown, the obscure, the nameless. We were working behind the scenes, striving for what all mumei such as myself strive for.

To make a name for ourselves.

* * *

I loved this new power I held. I felt it each time I spoke before the slowly growing Mumei, the gang which I knew I was the owner of even if I never did tell anyone that. I felt it each time I walked into a juvie-joint with Sunny at my side to reel in a new taker for potential employees. I felt it each time I read the newspapers or happened to stop by a richer friend's home and watch the television, catching coverage or debate over Prop Four. Prop Four, Prop Four, Prop Four- my favorite combination of two words those precious few months. Even if Commissioner Farrow sponsored it, I knew, the Mumei knew, and maybe even some of the business owners knew that it was my plan being hotly debated, argued over. It brought a smile to my lips seeing Northerners, zebras, and griffins advocate it and the aristocrats and school faculty berate it. It was something I created, something I had a deliberate hoof in, something that was undeniably mine. And it was everywhere I looked- in print, on screen, in the air. Whether Manehattaners knew it or not, I held power over them already. The lower and middle class and business owners supported me, and the rich and the schools feared me- even if they didn't realize it. I commanded both their fear and their respect. I was twelve years old, and I loved having this new power.

(The storyteller leaned closer with the right side of his face turned toward the crowd, grinning wide.) I know this is a Wasteland where none of this matters in the least, where we have to fight for our next meal and fight for our lives. But think on it a moment. Think on all that. I hope I'm scaring you with how I saw things back then, even if just a little. I, for one, know that looking back, I'm appalled. I know I might be smiling right now, but don't let it fool you. I'm straight-up horrified. I'm serious. I'm really serious. You ever hear that saying about power? Now give all that power to an impoverished twelve-year-old who's been kicked around like a piece of trash and who just realized he is really, really good with words. (That wide grin disappeared, that one eye facing toward the crowd wavering shakily.) I'm straight-up horrified.

The storyteller picked up Lying and Tales, looking over them with flattened lips and wide eyes. He looked back at the audience.

Sometimes I hate these books.

He tossed them back down.

I really do.

The storyteller breathed out a deep, chilly sigh as he leaned back with his eyes locked onto the ceiling.

Just give me a bit. (Another sigh.) Just give me a bit.

He looked back toward the audience.

Remember how Azrael said she really didn't like who I was as a kid? (As he said this, he nodded to a very particular member of the audience- an older griffin. Roanoke likewise glanced in that direction.) I think that's an understatement.

* * *

Alright, okay. We're going on with this. I promised myself, I promised Her, I promised Rig. We're going on with this. No, Roanoke, we're going on with this. Just... just give me a bit.

Alright. Okay. Okay.

He took a deep breath. And...

All this started in November of that year, mid-November. Voting took place in the spring of the following year. We had plenty of time, as you could imagine, to consolidate support for Proposition Four. By the time I hit thirteen- I was born in the winter, you recall- I could start going places where I couldn't before. Northerners, immigrants, the lower and middle classes, business owners... (The storyteller made a casual sweeping motion with his hoof and leaned closer.) They'd be idiots not to support the bill. Do you know who that left? That left schools, and that left the Manehattan elite. Those were the ones who garnered the support to put the age restrictions in the first place, and they were the ones that would be dead-set on making what I saw as my birthright, what I saw as undeniably mine... fail.

I was a cocky colt, you understand. I was still riding high on how far I'd risen from blank-flank-flunk coltcuddler hothead. School faculty? Aristocrats? Those were the minority. They made up one, two percent of Manehattan. In a game of numbers, they couldn't possibly compete with the bottom ninety-eight, ninety-nine, right?

(The storyteller looked from one end of the audience to the other.) Right?

Murmurs, most in affirmative, fluttered softly through the air in a low din.

Heh, thought as much.

Then you'd be just as surprised as I was back then when I learned they could.

“Are you... seriously... fucking kidding me?!” I tore the newspaper away, sending the scraps of paper to the floor. Zoleks, Sunny, Blustery, Song, Hammer- all of us quote-unquote 'ringleaders' were gathered in one of the city's many parks, seated at the benches. And I was pissed. “Fifty-one percent against? Against?!”

“Hey, Hokkaido...” Zoleks pat my back in consolation. “Let's chill and try to think about this for a second...”

“Two months!” I shot back at him, eyes ablaze. “Two months until voting week, and this happens?” I grabbed the newspaper header that I just seconds ago sent flying away in a fit of illogical rage. The others refused to lock eyes with me, glancing nervously away. “How does that even work? They make up one, maybe two percent of the population! How does that even work?!”

Blustery cleared his throat. “Uh, Hokkaido...”

“Okay, how does that work?” I looked at the earth pony buck. “Tell me. How does that work?”

“Well, this is out of registered voters,” Blustery said carefully. “You have to remember that anyone under eighteen can't vote. You also have to remember that only registered Equestrian citizens can vote.” I felt the color drain from my face in realization, mouth agape. “That means that a good number of our supporters can't actually vote, period. Practically all Northerners are full citizens by now, but what about immigrants from other countries? It's enough to make a difference.”

“B-But that still doesn't explain everything,” I stammered, still at a loss. I might be creative, I might be a bit smarter than average, but I wasn't brilliant by any means.

The others were more at ease now that I had dropped to a more civil tone. Song, that lovely pegasus mare, spoke up, “Hokkaido, who gets the most media coverage?”

I looked at Sunny and remembered what he and Tales taught me. “The people who can pay for it.” I took that all in as everyone else looked at me in worry and perhaps a bit of anxiousness. Then it clicked and I facehoofed hard. “I'm an idiot...”

“Sorry to say, Hokkaido, but she's right,” Sunny sighed, patting me on the back. He along with Zoleks managed to perk me up a little and made me let my hoof fall. “When it comes to media and advertising, it's down to the business owners who support us and the aristocrats who don't, and in the end, it's the elite that win this battle. Sure, there are a shit-ton of businesses that want Prop Four to pass, but there are also a shit-ton who get most of their revenue from the aristocrats.”

“And that combined with the slight deficit of registered voters... fuck,” I hissed, leaning back in my seat.

“Well, look on the bright side,” Zoleks said. “It's only two percent that they're winning by. It's still close, even if we were winning up until now.”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Yeah, you're right. Okay, okay... think... think...” I breathed out a sigh. “Schools don't want Prop Four to pass because they think it'll reduce students' time spent on homework, and aristocrats just don't want poorer kids working for them out of... some... misplaced sense of privilege or cleanliness or role model...ness. I don't know, their arguments are just plain shit.” I looked at Blustery. “We need those swing voters.”

Blustery nodded right back at me. “I can get Pick to help with this. He knows this guy who knows this guy who's in civil services. We'll try to squeeze out as many registered voters for this as we can.”

“Or at least those who we know will support Prop Four,” I added.

“Yup.”

“The Manehattan elite likes our free park concerts if anything,” Song offered, “so maybe I can get them to support us. I don't know. It's a long shot, but every little bit helps, especially since we're talking two percent here.”

“Business is something I understand,” Sunny spoke up. “I can take some of my boys and talk around with some of the iffy businesspeople.”

I thought for a bit. What else could I do...?

“Boss?” Zoleks poked me in the shoulder. “Boss.”

“Hm?” I looked at him.

He grinned. “You're smiling that way again.”

And indeed I was, and slyly. “Well, I've always wanted to give the section on demoralizing a try.” I looked back at our little group of ringleaders. “We can still do this.” They all nodded and grinned back at me. “We will do this. We still have two months. Let's get to work.”

* * *

Demoralizing opponents is another concept Lying taught me. You see, when stacked against insurmountable odds, people tend to cave. It's the same way with war. You don't need to be Sun Zoo to realize that it's not about completely wiping out your opponent. Often, you don't want to do that. It's about throwing punches and kicks at one another until one side decides it's had enough and backs down. Morale plays a key role in this sort of battle. If you feel you can't win, you won't try to win. That's the type of game I was playing with the aristocrats and school board members who were pumping bits into tearing Prop Four a new one.

It took Blustery, somepony fascinated by political science and somepony who would eventually become a city council member, to make me realize that this wasn't purely a game of numbers I was playing, or at least numbers of voters. There's money involved. There's interest groups involved- the Mumei were one of them.

What I did to the aristocrats when I talked to was strip all that away. I couldn't talk to them directly. Those stuck-up bastards wouldn't even so much as let me stain their doormats with my dirt-poor filth, or so they saw.

(The storyteller leaned forward, looking from one end of the audience to the other.) Do you know what happens when you take away the face? Nobody knows who you are, and that unsettles people. The imagination takes over from there. We fear the unknown. And fear muddles the imagination. Some of you maybe have had the luxury of talking on a two-way radio. You often know the person on the other side. You link a voice to a name or a face that you know.

What happens when you take all of that away? When you look for lies or deception, either you have the facts, or you have a face to look after. You look for an awkward glance, a twitch of the mouth or brow, a tug of the cheek maybe.

What happens when you take all of that away?

* * *

“Hello?” a dainty, female voice asked on the other side of the telephone.

“Evening,” I greeted in turn. “Is this Missus Orchard I'm speaking to?” By this time, I was glad that my voice had deepened considerably- enough to make some people think I'm much older than I really was. And over the phone? That's what counted.

“Yes, it is. To whom do I owe the pleasure of speaking to?”

“Someone interested in your level of political clout.”

“Yes, but may I know your na-... really now? How so?”

“I understand you fervently oppose Proposition Four.”

“Yes, quite correct. Would you like to donate to our cause?”

“No.”

I hung up.

* * *

“Hello?”

“Evening. Is this Missus Orchard I'm speaking to?”

“Yes... are you the same, rude... pony... person... thing from last night?”

“'Thing'. I like that.”

“Well if you don't wish to pledge a donation to our cause, I don't see why we should be having this conversation.”

“You're still on the line, aren't you?”

“...”

“You're still on the line. Aren't you?”

“...”

“Don't take me for an imbecile, Missus Orchard. I know you're still listening if there's no ending tone.”

“I'm not interested in this conversation anymore.”

“Yet you're still here.”

“... what is it you're calling me for?”

“Do you like money, Missus Orchard?”

“Why... yes. I'm sure everypony likes money.”

“And yet I understand you're top contributor to the opposition of Proposition Four.”

“... how did you know that?”

“Political disclosure. It pays to have friends in high places. Now, if you like money so much, why do you throw it away?”

“Throw it away? Whatever do you mean?”

“Have you checked the polls?”

“Why yes, the support and opposition for Prop Four are neck-and-neck at fifty percent. I certainly don't think I'm throwing away my money.”

“You're sure? It was only two weeks ago that you managed to secure fifty-one percent against Proposition Four. The measure was placed on the ballot over three months ago. It had the majority up until that point.”

“What are you getting at?”

“That you can't hope to win. You've lost over three million bits personally so far. There's still two months ahead. Think you'd like to lose some more?”

“I'm fairly certain we can make a comeback, whoever you are.”

“Really? You're an aristocrat?”

“Of course. If you don't even know that, then I don't even see why I should be-”

“You're still talking to me. And aristocrats make up one percent of the population of Manehattan. You can't hold back the other ninety-nine. It's inevitable. You've already lost your lead.”

“What... but... we can still win! We just need more-”

“Do you honestly think throwing money at the problem will make it go away? You haven't even so much as spoken at a gala concerning the opposition.”

“But I'm not the only one. We will win.”

“And if you do? Have you seen how many people want Proposition Four to pass? You've seen the parades downtown, I'm sure. Or maybe you've heard of them at least.

“Yes. Where are you going with this?”

“What do you think will happen should- let's entertain your ill-conceived notion for a second- Proposition Four fail to pass? They're going to look for someone to blame.”

“What? You can't honestly suggest that they'll riot!”

“Those who worked under the robber-barons of The Gilded Age would say otherwise.”

“Well... the... the police will stop them!”

“Who's sponsoring Proposition Four?

“Hm? Why it's Police Commission...er... Farrow...”

“And Councilmare Fletcher.”

“...”

“Do you know how to tell if someone's still on the line?”

“Wh-What...?”

I hung up and let the ending tone ring.

* * *

I sat down on my bed, munching away at my breakfast cereal- no milk- while simultaneously getting ready for school. Mother was seated right next to me, reading the newspaper.

“'Aristocrat Verbally Lashes Police',” she read aloud with an elderly, lighthearted chuckle, each syllable coming out deliberately. “'Grape Orchard, Esquire flings wild accusations at the MPD.' Now what would have possessed the mare to do that? That's not going to help her image.”

“Huh.” I looked over her shoulder at the article. “No idea.”

Again. Horrified.

* * *

Two months later, I stepped into The Lazy Dog at two in the morning- right after closing time. The place was lit with a dim backlight. No more strobes, no more beam talismans. Not even any music. DJ H0UND herself was packing up and getting ready to head home while the scattered employees began cleaning the club up.

“Well if it isn't the little businesspony!” Vani grinned wide as she approached me. “Nice little landslide victory you got for yourself, kid.”

“Miss Windfall, I'm quite sure that it was Commissioner Farrow and Councilmare Fletcher who sponsored that measure,” I said with a smile.

“Oh come on now, kid,” the griffiness huffed and stood before me. “You come in asking for work for you and your friends, I tell you you'll either have to wait until you're older or get the police on board for this, and then out of nowhere the commissioner sponsors a bill like that? You and I both know who was really pulling the strings.”

I smiled wider. I loved that power. “Guilty as charged.”

“Heh, well you know you only needed to secure it for you and your pals, right?” Vani asked.

I leaned forward a little. “Miss Windfall, you have to think big in a city of giants. I aim high and shoot high. Even if I miss, I'll land among the stars.”

“Not a bad saying to work by. Speaking of which, you came here to work.” She motioned toward her office. “Let's get that contract and the new forms signed. You and all your friends ready to get started tonight? I need the place cleaned up.”

“That depends.”

“On?”

I stamped a hoof down. The doors burst open, letting in a crowd of fifty ponies, griffins, and zebras that all took up position behind and beside me. Zoleks was to my right again, and I shared a grin with him.

I smirked as Vani wore a dumbfounded expression. “You have enough mops?”

* * *

Footnote: Hokkaido- Level Up! Level 3 Reached!
Perk added: Scoundrel (Rank Two)- Take the Scoundrel perk, and you can use your wily charms to influence people- each rank raises your Speech and Barter skills by 5 points.
Skills note: Barter- 50

Zoleks- Level Up! Level 3 Reached!

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Everypony's Bangin' by DJ H0UND

Soundtrack- Power

Author's Note

My thanks to the FoE community and especially my pre-reader for this chapter, Broadestpeak. And thank you for reading. If it’s not too much trouble, I would very much appreciate it if offer some form of feedback. Again, thank you.

And be sure to check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr!

Reflection Four: Rise and Fall

Reflection Four: Rise and Fall

“The bigger they are...”

The storyteller let out a sigh and smiled.

It couldn't have been a more perfect time to start working. There were two months left in the school year, and after that was summer break. We could focus on working full time then, and with that, we could really rake in the bits. Eighteen bits on the hour... heh, now that was a steal. I tell you, even if you were just doing janitorial work- some of which I did, by the way- it was the best job in the whole City of Lights and Legends. Think about it for a moment- great food and drink, awesome music, great pay, and lots of hot mares to sneak peeks at. Even if you were on toilet toil- that's what Vani called it- it was more than worth it.

Seventy-five/twenty-five, I told them. Keep seventy-five percent of the money you earn. The rest goes to the Mumei's central fund. We all worked hard to get there. It would be a sin not to let them reap what they sowed, particularly since our earnings were already taxed. At the same time, we needed to set some money aside. After all, who knows what else the Mumei would need in the future? If living in near-poverty taught me anything, it was the necessity to have something in reserve just in case. And as I learned, we would be having a use for that money later on. Helping fellow members out, refurbishing equipment and furniture at our businesses... paying (He coughed) people off...

Still, I practically became the breadwinner of the family overnight. That seventy-five still left me with a good thirteen-and-a-half bits on the hour, and combined with my parents' income, we were suddenly finding ourselves with a lot more money than... ever. We could have all the things the other families had at long last. Of course we're in the Wasteland now, but think about it for a second. When you found homes here in Junction R-7, how often could you have a dining table and could say it was yours? That's what I'm talking about. For somepony who's never had any other furniture in his apartment other than beds, getting something that simple was a blessing, let alone a television set!

That wasn't the only thing, either. We could eat better, too. We didn't have to eat cheap freezer food anymore- or at least not all the time. We could finally enjoy eating out at restaurants other than the fast food eateries and mom-n'-pop shops. Pretty soon, we didn't even need the food stamps or soup kitchens. We were self-sufficient, all thanks to me. Gave me a sense of pride, and I loved that.

I'm not the only one that benefited from all of this either. Everyone else did too- Zoleks, Sunny, Blustery, Song, Hammer, Pick, and the whole lot of us. The Mumei had it good, and better yet, word started getting around (The storyteller smirked). Back then when we got the jobs at The Lazy Dog, we we had fifty-two members. By the time the new year rolled in, the Mumei were two-hundred-eighty-nine strong. Given we had almost increased our numbers sixfold, I was a very, very happy buck. Still, there were forty-two other gangs in Manehattan other than us. We were still a new fish in a very big ocean. We still had room to grow- a lot of room.

But remember- I was still in middle school at that time. When things hit high school... heh, that was when things really picked up.

* * *

Verdana High School was the closest high school in our neighborhood and one that I decided to attend solely on the basis that most of the Mumei were headed there. Verdana was more of an inner-city school, and because of it, it more or less resembled a fortress. Remember- there were forty-two gangs in the City of Lights and Legends, and protests of any sort could run wild in addition. The school buildings were built to withstand a riot- to say nothing of forced entry. With the high, chain-link fence surrounding the perimeter, the blackened one-way windows and the factory-gray finish, Verdana was less green than the name implied. It was less a school and more a prison compound.

Which, given the high prevalence of young gang members, was a fitting description. White Hooves, Cruds, Trinitario, Born Two Kill- that's with the number by the way- and even the South Bucklyn Boys from the other end of town. B-Two-K had the largest gang presence at Verdana. They didn't have a lot, but it was enough so that they were more or less regarded as “owning the school”.

I wanted to change that.

Fourteen-year-old me stepped off of the school bus for the first day of school, taking in the drab, bland, dull grayness of Verdana High. I was less than impressed, and as I headed off from the drop zone to the courtyard to meet up with the group, I was greeted with a familiar sight- a group of older kids headed toward me with smug grins plastered onto their faces. Truth be told, it was more like they were headed toward all of us- as in all of us who just stepped off of the bus- but that wasn't how I saw things back then.

There were seven of them, and at the head was a black-coated pegasus stallion with a well-groomed, brown mane wearing an admittedly snazzy vest. His cutie-mark was that of a cloud sheared right down the middle. He looked out over the new approaching students and proclaimed, “Well lookie here! Fresh meat!” He paused to let out a derisive snort. “Now listen up, kiddos!”

He looked around. I looked around. I think I was one of the few one's still actually paying any attention. He then roughly shoved one of the passing ponies to the ground and pinned the poor buck with his foreleg. Now where have I seen that...? In any case, it sure got everyone's attention- particularly mine. That stunt he pulled aroused some pretty deep-seated fury in me, but I had to reel it in and pull the hook up against the lips to... smile. And I did just that.

“Hey, I said 'listen up, kiddos'!” the big buck on campus repeated. “There we go. Now, all you fresh meat are gonna go to an assembly pretty soon. You're gonna meet all the school faculty, and they're gonna all tell you what they do and how not to piss 'em off, and blah blah blah they own the place. Well, that's all bullshit, 'cause I own the place.” Ouch. He wasn't going to make friends with the few bison I saw around anytime soon. “I make the rules. It's your job to obey them. My word is law, and you follow it or we're gonna have problems, got it?”

Bullies. You just can't go anywhere without running into them. This guy was full of it, I could just tell.

But it was time to take him down a notch.

I just cast a glance around and... smiled. I walked up to the posse and greeted, “Well hello there. Sorry to be a bother, but could I trouble you for your name?”

“Split Skies, and remember it,” the pegasus huffed.

“And a pleasure to meet you, Split Skies,” I said with a nod, concealing the sarcasm behind the smile. “Seeing as you own the school, why don't you just let the poor gentlecolt be on his way,” I indicated to the poor buck on the ground, “and why don't we... walk and talk a while before the assembly? I'd really like to know more about the place, and you're the stallion for the job it seems.”

Split Skies just deadpanned at me. “I don't do favors, kiddo. You do something for me, and then we talk.” He leaned forward toward me, a bit of spittle splashing onto my muzzle. The poor buck he was standing on whimpered from the shift in weight.

Wrong answer.

“Let's just say we'll both benefit from this, Split Skies,” I said calmly, still smiling as I ignored the spittle. All in the façade. “So what do you say?”

“I say I don't do favors, kiddo,” he answered indignantly, “and I say I don't follow orders from some nopony like you. Look at you! You're still a blank-flank!” He let out a derisive laugh and brushed me aside roughly.

I stumbled, but I regained my footing quickly. Just... smile. “Split Skies... do you know who you're talking to?”

“Why should I care, runt?” he snorted with a glare. “You looking for trouble?” As if on cue, the six other ponies took up his sides, likewise glaring at me.

I looked to my left and right casually and nodded toward Split. Zoleks was at my side first, followed by Sunny and Blustery. Split and his crew chuckled softly at first. “Look,” one of them snickered, “blank-flank's got some friends!”

And then came Bowler Hat, Drift By, Wicker Smoke, Hard Gamble, Color Splash, Xienna, Zuboron, Calvin, Taim, Sierra... my smile only grew wider as I watched Split's disappear. Soon, there were thirty-seven of us before him and his less confident group.

“Holy shit, blank-flank's got a lot of friends...” that same one balked.

“Again,” I asked, “do you know who you're talking to?”

Split Skies didn't reply. He was too busy gawking at the metric fuck-ton of people that suddenly took my side.

I went on nonetheless. “Now, I didn't come here looking for trouble.” My smile disappeared. “You, however, did. So let's try this again. No more implying.” I nodded down to the poor buck on the ground. “Get off of him.”

Split Skies dumbly looked down at the buck. The buck dumbly looked back up at him.

“Are you still looking for trouble?” My turn to snort derisively.

Split Skies backed off now with a scowl and glare as he scurried away, backing up toward me.

“That's better.” And now I... smiled. “Now let's walk and talk.”

“Yeah, fuck that,” the pegasus huffed, storming off. “And fuck you.” His entourage shortly followed after, a few of them casting glances back at us.

“Well, that didn't work out quite as planned,” Zoleks said with a slight frown.

“Worked out better than you think,” I said with a grin, looking at the unfortunate buck. He was a maroon unicorn a bit on the small side. “What's your name?”

“Cherry Oak...” he muttered. “Thanks.”

“No problem. How about we meet for lunch, huh? You'll know where we are. You'll see us.”

“Well, uh, sure! Sure! See you then?”

I nodded. “See you then.” As Cherry headed off, I turned back to my own entourage, namely Blustery. “Nice job.”

“No prob, Hokkaido.” He grinned. “Me and Sunny are gonna head off, if that's alright.”

I nodded in agreement. “I think we should all head our separate ways. Remember, though,” I leaned closer to them and smiled wide, “spread the word.”

* * *

Remember that the Mumei had some kids a little older than the others. I used that to my advantage to learn who were the big players in the high schools and planned accordingly. In Verdana's case, I wanted to send a clear message that there was a new player in town- me. So I had Blustery, who already attended a year ahead, report to me about the situation. I already knew about Split Skies before I even set foot on school grounds. And I knew I had to knock him off of his throne before I could usurp it. That stunt I pulled? Theatrical? Yes. Ballsy? Definitely. But tell me- were there a helluva lot of kids around watching? You bet. And that word got around. I'd struck a serious blow to Split Skies' so-called “ownership” of Verdana High.

But like Lying said, there's always an opportunity in the aftermath. All I had to do was wait for it to come knocking.

* * *

And it came knocking in just a few short weeks. Lucky me.

I was working the early shift at The Lazy Dog, taking my place behind the bar counter serving drinks and light fare. Again, I was pretty much only a weaker earth pony with a rather pronounced bump on his forehead. If I couldn't work my magic so to speak, I could still perform menial labor at the very least. My eidetic memory especially came in handy when mixing juices and smoothies together given the juvie-joint's variety of house specialties. My position also had an added bonus of having a commanding view of the entire dance floor. Though I'll admit I used it on more than one...

...

Okay, more than a few hundred occasions to get some nice peeks, it also allowed me to keep tabs on who frequented the place and who stuck around.

...

Alright, seriously, folks- stop giving me that look! I was a blank-flank-flunk with hardly a chance for a date! Cut young-me some slack for fantasizing a little! But anyway, it was just another night working at the bar, watching the faces (the storyteller sighed) and flanks when a certain pegasus hovered down to to me.

“You?!” Split Skies exclaimed with an incredulous expression. I hadn't even noticed him, but I just reacted with a raised eyebrow. All in the façade. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Well isn't this a pleasant surprise?” My chuckle was all but lost over the thumping tunes. I just... smiled. “I work here, kiddo!” I loved watching his expression screw up as I pulled that reversal on him. “You could call me a bar pit boss of sorts! It's what I do! Now, what can I get for you?”

The black buck sat down hard on his stool. “So lemme get this straight! You have like fifty guys with you, and you run the bar at this place?”

Actually, it was only thirty-six, now thirty-seven with Cherry Oak with the Mumei. Buuuuut, I didn't want him to think any less of me. So I just said, “Yep!” With a smile, of course.

Split Skies regarded me for a few seconds before grunting, “Fine, you know what? Let's walk and talk sometime before school starts! You know where I hang out!”

I shook my head. “How about this- weekend's almost here, so let's meet for lunch! My place, my treat! We'll talk more later! And you know where I hang out!” I reinforced that point by pointing from him to me.

For... you know.

Emphasis.

“Now, how about something to drink?” I asked with a smile.

* * *

I'm told that back in Hokkaido- my people's homeland, not me- businesses went by a different naming system. They adopted a generic name and slapped on their address number to the end. For example, in the northern quarter of Manehattan, there was supermarket on three-fifty-second Al Norte Street. It was given the unremarkable name of “Market Three-Fifty-Two”. Hokkaidans couldn't agree on the original purpose for the system- such was the extent of the knowledge lost to the Great Exodus. Some proclaimed it was a form of homage to the practicality characterized by the Northerners, who worked by tradition as they had for millennia before the Great Exodus. Others argued it was just that- tradition. Still others simply said it made identifying the location of a specific business easier. That's the version I like to think is true.

You know what my favorite food is? Well, I mean... other than biscuits, of course (the storyteller let out a husky chuckle). Believe it or not, ramen. Given the Hokkaidans were of Neighponese ancestry- you can trace back the immigration- ramen was one of our specialties.

Plenty of hooves and hands shot up from the audience.

You're... all wondering what ramen is, aren't you?

Plenty of hooves and hands went down.

I thought as much. Look, just imagine a bowl of soup filled with wheat noodles. Similar to pasta, yes, but in some sort of broth, usually barley-based. Back then, we didn't use meat-based broths for reasons you may suspect. Like I just said, my family finally had the luxury of being able to eat out at nice restaurants. One of them was Ramenhausu Seventy-Nine. I just loved that place. At Nana rei kara kyu, they took customization and cranked it up to eleven. You could have all sorts of toppings in them- bamboo, scallions, ginger, sesame seeds. Sure, that wasn't special at all compared to the other ramen houses. But throw in the fact that you could tell them how firm you wanted your noodles, how strong you wanted your soup base, and even how oily you wanted the broth to be... mm-mm-mm, was that place the best!

Ramenhausu Seventy-Nine had a classy yet relaxed atmosphere to it. The carpeting and furniture looked like they were on the cheaper side, but there was plenty of Prench-style artwork decorating the walls. Remember, this is a ramen house. Sure, it gave it a slightly more... sophisticated atmosphere I guess, but it also seemed out-of-place. Maybe you could go so far as to say it was outright ridiculous what with the scenes of Prench chefs milling about their kitchens. That, and the classical and often romantic music playing. But the food was good and the service was none too shabby. In the end, that's what matters the most. It was on the expensive side to be sure, but Northerners are... were a proud people. They weren't going to make you pay that much if it wasn't quality food.

Split Skies was having trouble enjoying it properly, however.

“How do you work these things?” the well-groomed pegasus grumbled as he fumbled over how to use his chopsticks.

“Heh, honestly, I wouldn't know,” I chuckled. “I don't really know too many Northerner pegasi, and I haven't had the chance to eat with them.”

“Well, you're a Northerner, aren't you?” he asked. “Er... Haysian... Hokkaidan... whatever.”

“Hokkaidan,” I told him. I was a little irritated by that, but no, don't let it show. It's all in the façade. Just... smile. “And honestly, I don't use them.”

“Then how the hell do you eat this?”

I answered by lifting the bowl to my lips, blowing softly, and drinking it up- noodles, condiments, everything. I just bit off the noddles after my mouth was full.

Split Skies just stared at me. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” I nodded. “Pegasi have their wings, earth ponies have their hooves. I don't know how they can do it. They just do it. Unicorns, well, have their magic. I seem to be the exception.” I pat my horn for... you know. Emphasis. “No magic.”

“You're kidding,” he huffed, managing to eat somewhat successfully.

“Not in the least. I can light up the place a little, but that's about it.”

“So how the hell does a kid like you get fifty guys and gals like that and land a job at The Lazy Dog?” Split Skies narrowed an eye suspiciously at me.

“I just work my magic through other ways,” I said, smiling wider. “Now, if you don't mind, it would be nice to talk more about Verdana High.”

“You know you're talking to a B-Two-K member, right?”

“Uh-huh.” I slurped more of my ramen.

“So what kind of game are you playing, kiddo?” Split Skies asked.

“Me?” I smiled sincerely, kept my tone nice and smooth. “I'm unknown, obscure, nameless. I'm just trying to make a name for myself.”

“Well you made a pretty big statement a few weeks ago,” he huffed. “I'm pretty damn pissed at you still.”

“Yet here we are, eating at the same table,” I said, pausing to slurp more of that delicious ramen. Strong soup base- just the way I asked for it, just the way I liked it. “You want something from me too, don't you?”

“I want to know what the hell you're planning,” Split Skies said.

“And I just told you,” I leaned closer toward him. “Look, I've been very kind to you. I came to you with an offer, not a demand. I've been civil, I've taken you out to lunch. I've been very kind to you. You...” I let my smile drop, “not so much to me. What I'm asking of you is something very, very simple. I just want to know more about Verdana High- everything that you know about it. All the connections, all the names and faces. All the...” I took a moment to set a bit sideways on the table and let it spin to rest, “money matters.” I lowered my head to look at him with a pleading yet implicating expression. “There's more where that came from. You get one for every new, useful tidbit you tell me about Verdana High. Be fair with me, and I'll be fair with you.”

The black pegasus nickered, “I know lot of things about Verdana High.”

“Then you're going to walk away from this a rich buck.” I smiled again. “So what do you say... kiddo?”

He smiled back. I had him.

That day I ended up paying for his dinner as well. We were there until closing time. It didn't matter to me that I lost a full weeks' pay.

Because I got exactly what I wanted. And he didn't learn a thing about the Mumei.

* * *

“Alright, that's it for this week,” I said with a clap of my hooves, raising my voice over the inevitable din as the Mumei got up from their seats. “Thank you all for coming! Stick around and chat a while if you want! Make friends! Time is money! And trust me- it'll be worth your time!” I turned to face my guest speaker, a griffin. “Thank you kindly for speaking here today, Kori. Nice job with the turn-in from Gombos High.”

“No prob,” he said with a stout nod. I offered my hoof and he swung his claw to gently grasp and shake. “Talk later?”

“Talk later,” I said, returning the nod. I just stood back and watched as the members- my members- went about into their little mini-cliques, chatting amongst themselves. Lazurian Middle School's assembly hall was packed to the brim now. Some of them had to sit down on the floor or in the aisles.

Zoleks ascended onto the stage and stood to my right. “Lotta people.”

“You're telling me,” I chuckled. “We're gonna need a bigger venue. I'm hoping for Manehattan Harbor High's auditorium. Hoping. If not, we'll have to settle with Gombos High.”

My zebra companion nodded. “Yeah, uh, look. I actually came for something else too.”

“Hm?” I turned to him. “What's up, Zoleks?”

“I've been thinking about something,” he said. “Gasp! Zoleks is thinking! It's a sign of Nightmare Moon's return! Oh sweet Celestia!”

That got a chuckle from me. “Heh, alright alright. Come on now, what is it?”

“Well, see, I noticed that Split Skies had this look to him,” Zoleks said. “You know, with the vest. I asked to see if the 'kingpins' of the other high schools have anything similar, and yeah, they do. Some kind of vest, jacket, shades, bangles, even something like a hairstyle. Hey, you think I would look good in a pompadour?”

I blinked awkwardly at him. He blinked awkwardly at me.

The zebra sighed, “Right, bad idea. So! What I guess I'm trying to say is that since you're the kingpin here, you should get a look for yourself too.”

“Well hey now,” I huffed softly, “I'm not the leader here. We're a 'group of ringleaders', quote-unquote.”

“Oh come on, you're totally our leader,” Zoleks huffed right back. “Don't deny it, Hokkaido.”

Well... I couldn't deny it. I definitely saw myself as the leader of the Mumei. But I still tried to. “I'm denying it right now. I'm not the leader. I just helped get it started, and so did you and the others.”

“You know you're the leader, buck, you know it.” He grinned at me.

“Zoleks, I can keep this up all day. You know who's gonna win in the end.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know...” he sighed, then shot me a smirk, “boss.”

I balked at him, amazed. “Did you seriously just pull that off?”

“Mm-hm,” Zoleks chuckled, grinning wide.

“Unbelievable,” I remarked, completely at a loss. “Just... unbelievable. You seriously just pulled that off.”

“Yeah, Nightmare Moon's totally gonna return,” Zoleks snickered. “Like... ten years, or something. But look, point is that you should think about getting a look for yourself. Recognition, boss.”

“I'm iffy on that, Zoleks,” I sighed. “We're the Mumei. Anonymity is our friend. We shouldn't go all out for recognition.”

“But aren't we looking to make a name for ourselves anyway?” Zoleks elbowed me playfully.

“... shit, you're on roll today, Zoleks.” I pursed my lips and nodded in approval. “You been sneaking peeks at my copy of Lying, Parliamentary Style?”

“Maybe, maaaaaybe.” He looked away innocently and kicked the floor. “But yeah, you're the creative type. Got any ideas, boss?”

“Hm.” I looked out over the mingling Mumei. “I might...”

* * *

“So, what happens to be the problem here, ma'am?” I asked, taking a moment to adjust my new, mahogany fedora. It's a shame I don't have it anymore. I really liked that hat. It had quality stitching, it was nice and comfortable... but... it was probably burned to a crisp along with most of what I had in Ponyville. Honestly, a lot of the books and articles I have are things I kept and annotated again from Stable Seventy-Two.

Back to the story, I was standing in the doorway of the principal's office at Verdana High with Zoleks at my side. The older, cream-colored mare looked up from her desk. “You're the student council president?”

“President-to-be,” I answered with a polite note, smiling, “seeing as no one else is running for the position, Missus Gallopglee.” Heh, I made sure of that...

“Fair enough.” She then looked at Zoleks. “Why's he here?”

“He's a friend,” I said.

Principal Gallopglee turned to my zebra companion. “Are you involved in this matter in any way?”

“No, Missus,” he replied with a shake of the head.

“Would you please give us some privacy, then?” she asked.

Zoleks looked to me, and I merely gave him a nod. He headed back out, closing the door behind him.

“Take a seat,” Gallopglee said, motioning to the chair before her. Taking a moment to remove my hat and hold it to my breast as I did so, she formed a steeple with her forehooves and asked, “Do you know anything about the situation?”

“I've heard rumors,” I responded. “Otherwise, no.”

“Another bout of gang violence,” she sighed. “This time it was between the Born-Two-Kill and the White Hooves. One of the Whites was confronting and threatening a B-2-K in the boys' restroom in the D building. According to the said White Hoof, a second B-2K entered the restroom and repeatedly bludgeoned him with his water canteen. Nearly left him blind.” I nodded politely, changing my expression to one of seriousness and letting my smile disappear. Act seriously if you want to be taken seriously. “Now, we've already got punishment in mind for them, but...”

“There's a catch, isn't there?” I asked.

Gallopglee nodded. “There may or may not have been a knife involved. Not some plastic knife from the cafeteria- I'm talking a real one, a switchblade. According to the White Hoof, he was pinned down to the floor and threatened to be cut up if he tried to do something like that again. The thing is, we don't have any evidence. We got search warrants on their lockers, their backpacks, and their homes, but nothing turned up- no switchblade as described at least. That's where you come in. If anypony... anyone, sorry, is going to get them to fess up, it's you. I've heard about your contributions to the Peer Assistance Leadership club on campus. But remember, this isn't a mediation I'm asking for. I'm looking for a way to prove or disprove the White Hoof. Evidence, a confession... just a way.”

I nodded. “Understood, ma'am. One question, though- why not go straight to the police with this?”

“Because we've already got enough bad publicity from the gangs quote-unquote 'running the place',” she responded. “The less people that know about this, the better. Getting the police to search for the switchblade's already causing enough of a ruckus. Verdana High doesn't need anymore. So I want you to handle it.”

“I'm honored, ma'am,” I said politely. No smile. Remain serious. “I'll see what I can do. Another question... where are these B-Two-K members right now?”

“They're in detention together,” Gallopglee told me. “B building.”

“May I get them separated?” I asked in a light, quirky tone- anything to sound witty, intelligent. “I want to speak with each one separately, preferably out of sight and earshot of the other.”

“I can have them separated them into different classrooms. They're vacant right now.”

“Far enough to be isolated by ear and eye is all I ask, Miss Gallopglee,” I said with a light bow. Now I smiled.

“Then I'll have it handled. They'll be in the B building still. I'll just have a faculty member notify you where. That is all.”

I bowed again. “Thank you, Miss Gallopglee.” As I left, I smiled wider to myself. I could just hear opportunity knocking...

* * *

“Split Skies?” I huffed as I closed the door behind me. “What a surprise.”

The black pegasus, seated at the teacher's desk with his hindlegs resting on the surface, promptly leveled out and leered at me. “Hokkaido? The hell you doing here?”

“Just here to get answers, Split Skies,” I responded as I pulled a seat over to sit beside him- not across from him, beside him. I wasn't going to let him deny me the head of the table “That's all.”

“Answers? What, are you working with them now?” He pointed a hoof dangerously at me. “Kiddo, don't you dare forget that I helped you out.”

“Time's have changed,” I said. “And I owe nothing to you.” And then I... smiled. I dropped to a whisper. “Don't worry. I'm on your side. They're probably listening against the door.”

He smiled back now. It disappeared quickly as he asked, “So what do you want?”

“I want you to tell me everything that happened,” I spoke, removing my hat and setting it down on the desk. “Truthfully.”

Split Skies leaned back and said, “I just saw Cherry Oak being tailed into the restroom, so I thought there was trouble-”

I frowned. “Forgive me for interrupting me, but would you kindly repeat the name of your fellow member?”

“Cherry Oak. Why?”

“For administrative purposes,” I said, making a pair of quotations with my forehooves and rolling my eyes. I... smiled. “Please. Continue.”

That seemed to put him at ease as the black pegasus went on. “I just followed him, heard him threaten my boy, and beat him down with my water canteen. Then I pulled Cherry out of there. That's it.”

“That's it?” I inquired.

“That's it.” Split Skies leaned closer. “Now look, I know you've been hearing all this stuff about me pulling out a switchblade on him. I don't have one, never owned one. It's all bullshit, you got it?”

His tone had raised a little.

“I got it.” I gave him a hoof up before getting to my feet and making for the door. Oh, let's not forget the hat. I picked that up on my way out. “Now, if you excuse me, I've got to get going.”

“What? That all?”

I opened the door and stood there for a moment. There was indeed a faculty member standing outside and listening in. I turned back to face Split Skies. “For now.”

I marched out and let the door close behind me, not even batting the counselor an eye. I kept frowning as I glanced at Zoleks, standing by patiently. “Trouble,” I said simply.

“Can you handle it?” he asked.

“I should be able to, but we might have problems with... internal affairs.”

I proceeded to the other classroom and found the maroon unicorn seated in one of the students' desks. His eyes locked with mine and he immediately blanched. “H-Hokkaido, I, uh, didn't expect you here...” Cherry stammered.

“Funny thing is- neither did I.” I sat down backwards in the desk in front of his to face him. I whispered, “Why are you with the B-Two-K, Cherry? And whisper.”

“Look, I was scared shitless by Split Skies, alright?” he said back in a hushed voice, still scared. “I didn't want to be up against him! So I just joined the B-Two-K and yours, so...”

“Did you tell them anything?” I asked quietly.

“Hokkaido, look, I'm really, really sorry about-”

“Cherry,” I called softly.

“-this! I didn't mean for any of this shit to happen!”

“Cherry,” I repeated, a little louder. And then I... smiled. I removed and set down my hat. “I'm here to help. I'm on your side, alright?”

He seemed to be put at ease- just a little. “Alright. Alright.”

“Did you tell them anything?” I inquired softly, still smiling.

“No, they don't know anything,” he replied. And gulped. “I mean it.”

“Please, did you tell them anything?” I repeated, lowering my head to look up at him with a pleading expression.

“I really didn't,” he whispered a little too quickly. “Really. I didn't. Really.”

So much for being on their sides.

“Okay. I trust you.” I leaned back. “No more whispering.” Louder now, I asked, “To begin, what happened in the D building restroom? Tell me everything- and truthfully.”

“Well... okay,” Cherry sighed. “This White Hoof guy tailed me into the restroom, just threatening to buck my teeth in. Then Split Skies comes in and just bashes him with his water canteen. Then he pulled me out of there. That's really it.”

“Why was the White Hoof threatening you?” I questioned.

“I-I just owed him money, alright?” he said in defense.

“For what?” I asked nicely... and with a smile. “You can trust me. I'm on your side. Remember that.”

“I was... snooping around on White Hoof turf this one time, alright?” Cherry said with a cringe. “He caught me and I said I'd paid him if he kept quiet about it. Well... I... might have missed a few payments...”

“Alright, I see. Now then,” Carefully now, Hokkaido... “did Split Skies ever draw a switchblade on the White Hoof and threaten him?”

Cherry looked back up at me. “Huh? No! No, he doesn't even own one! I don't know where you heard something like that!”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure!” the maroon unicorn exclaimed in defiance. “I'm one-hundred percent sure!”

I eyed him for a few seconds. I was still smiling as I put my hat back on. “I'll be back in a bit. I think I'm going to have a chat with Split Skies.”

I lingered only for a moment to watch him gulp as I left. I let the door close behind me and looked at the counselor waiting for me.

“They're both lying,” I said to him.

“Well, we can't work off of that,” he said with a shrug. “We'll need a confession or something.”

“Have a recorder ready?” I asked.

He procured one.

“Then get it ready next time I enter,” I told him. And then just stood there.

“Uh... aren't you gonna talk with Split Skies?” the counselor asked, raising an eyebrow.

I smiled at him and shook my head quietly. “This is where the magic happens,” I whispered. I just shifted my balance between my left and right legs as I waited for a few more minutes. And then I opened the door and stepped back inside. And I dropped my smile.

Cherry looked back up at me as I reentered. “Uh, what happens now?”

I remained silent, as I adjusted my had and seated in front of him as before. My expression was dead-serious now.

“Hokkaido?”

I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “Split Skies confessed.” I flattened my lips, making sure to look as disappointed as possible.

“Wh-What?” Cherry stared in disbelief.

“He confessed,” I repeated, maintaining my tone and expression as I let out another sigh. I flicked softly at the air with my forehoof and gave a light shrug. “It wasn't hard.” I leaned closer and drew in a breath between my teeth. “So what game are you playing, Cherry?”

“Uh, fuck...” he stammered, blanching again. “H-He said he wouldn't say that!”

“You know, Cherry, you're making it very difficult to stay on your side. Answer the question. You've already lost.”

“J-J-Just... I didn't want to get in trouble okay? W-With Split Skies or anyone? We just hid the knife on-campus so we couldn't get into any deep shit, okay?”

“Well. You're in deep shit, aren't you?” I stood up and headed for the door.

“Hokkaido? Hokkaido!” He sprung up. “Hey, you're gonna help me out of this, right? We're both Mumei, right? We stick together, help one another out!”

I just opened up the door and let it close.

“Hokkaido!” he yelled past the door.

I smiled at the counselor. “You got all that, right?”

He nodded. “Uh, what was that last bit about?”

“It's a Hokkaidan thing. I still don't have my cutie-mark, remember?” And before he could question any further, I strode on back toward Split Skies' classroom. “Start recording.”

Split Skies smiled at me the moment I entered. And then he frowned as he saw I didn't return it. “What's up, kiddo?”

I sat down beside him once more, working my lip as if in decision. Then I locked eyes and told him, “Cherry Oak confessed.”

The black pegasus deadpanned at me. Then he roared, “He what?!”

“He confessed,” I repeated matter-of-factly. “Said you had a switchblade, that you both hid it on-campus. He confessed.”

“That sack of shit,” Split Skies remarked in disbelief. “I'm gonna fucking buck him to the mo-”

“You're not doing anything,” I interrupted. “Now... where's the switchblade?”

“Fuck, I'm not telling you anything!” he growled. “You set this up, didn't you?”

“Well let me ask this,” I glared at him now, “you want to be charged with obstruction of justice? Or do you want an easier way out?”

“Unbe-fucking-lievable!” Split Skies curled his lips into a snarl. “You lying sack of shit! You never were on my side! You did set this up!”

“Well you two are the ones who decided to make things ugly,” I said innocently and shrugged. “That's not my fault. I'm just trying to do the right thing here.”

“Bullshit! I helped you, you help me back! That's doing the right thing!”

“I paid you so you could tell me more about the school. As far as I'm concerned, we're already even. Now back to the matter at hoof, I don't think you want that extra obstruction-of-justice charge. Because, by the way, you're already of legal age. So you want those extra years in prison or what?”

If looks could kill, that pegasus would've already killed me twice over. “The fucking J building. On top of one of the light fixtures in the hallway. Now fuck off.”

“Thank you for your time, Split Skies,” I said with a smile. I stood up and made for the door.

I was almost there when Split Skies tackled into me. He slugged me only a few times until Zoleks sent him rolling along the floor into the desks with a swipe of his foreleg.

“You alright, boss?” he asked as he helped pull me up to my feet.

I watched as the counselor rushed past and pulled Split Skies into a rough grip. The pegasus scowled at me. I just... smiled. “I'm quite alright, Zoleks. I think our work here is done.”

As we headed back out, I heard Cherry Oak cry out, “Hokkaido! Wait! I thought you said you were on my side!”

I looked over my shoulder at the maroon unicorn as another counselor dragged him back off as well. “Last I checked, Cherry, you weren't allowed to get into trouble. That's the first rule, and you broke it. Good bye, Cherry Oak.”

I continued on my way with Zoleks at my side. I was smiling for real now. Because with Split Skies out of the picture, ownership of Verdana High fell to only one other person.

Me.

* * *

Three-thousand. By the end of the school year, the Mumei swelled to over three-thousand members in eight school districts from the northern and western quarters of Manehattan working at one-hundred-nineteen different businesses. The Mumei was starting to become something big now, and I loved it. I loved how successful my plan was turning out to be, I loved the power it gave me. And we continued to swell in number and influence. By the time I turned eighteen and finished high school, we were pushing the eight-thousand mark with twelve school districts and all but the southern quarter of the City of Lights and Legends, working three-hundred-eighty four businesses.

And, to my luck- why was I so much luckier back then anyway?- it was about to get even better.

It was another night at The Lazy Dog- hot music, hot mares. I was on break and taking it all in on the dance floor. I was always a good dancer, if I do say so myself, and that kind of music always got my heart racing. I don't know why, but I find myself extremely influenced by music- soothed by it, unleashed by it... and everything in between. Music just... moves me- figuratively and literally.

And “Moondrop” sure got me moving...

“Hey!” someone called. “Lil' businesspony!”

Vani. Definitely Vani. I wound down from my music-induced high and smiled brightly at the griffiness, waving me over from the sidelines. “Well hello, Miss Windfall!” I shimmied through the crowd over to her. “What can I do for you?”

The beat dropped and whatever she said was lost to the mighty subwoofers. I pointed to my ear. It looked like she tried to shout louder, but I only pointed again with my smile turning apologetic. She just swatted the air in surrender and jerked a thumb toward her office. I nodded in understanding and followed her there. My ears were still a little numb from the auditory abuse even, and they rung slightly in the relative silence of her soundproofed office.

“Now... what can I do for you, Miss Windfall?” I asked with a smile, a genuine one.

She took her place behind her desk with a tired sigh and motioned across from herself. “Take a seat.”

“Something the matter, Miss Windfall?” I inquired, my smile slipping a little.

“Huh?” The lithe griffiness shot me a look and paused in her typing at her terminal. “No, no. You're fine, kid, don't you worry.” More typing, followed by a huff and smirk. “Heh... guess I can't call you a kid anymore, huh? Sorry I missed your birthday.”

“Oh, it's no problem, Miss Windfall,” I said with a dismissive wave of the hoof, smile coming back. “Don't worry about it.”

“Well at least it'll give me a chance to discuss your belated birthday present,” Vani said with an exaggerated tap of the Enter key. She turned to face me. “Kid... eh... Hokkaido. You know what you've done for The Lazy Dog since you got work here?”

“I'm not entirely aware of the exact figure, but I'm sure business has improved, Miss Windfall,” I answered. “Am I mistaken?”

“Nope. Revenue took a pretty steep hit that first month, I'll admit, but I hired all those friends of yours after all. Since then, though, profits have been pushing up and up. The Lazy Dog's getting pretty crowded, wouldn't you say?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “More than usual, yes.”

“And all 'cause of you and that ballsy stunt you pulled with the minor labor law.” Vani grinned. “I guess I should stop beating around the bush and cut to the chase.” She leaned forward onto her desk, clacking her talons together. “I'm retiring.”

She let those words settle in. My smile disappeared. “Miss Windfall?”

“Yeah, I'm retiring. Have more than enough bits to live comfortably. I dunno, maybe it's just I want to get away from the music.” She laughed, “Don't get me wrong- I love the music! Hell, otherwise I wouldn't be here speaking to you! Just... I think I'm gonna give my ears a rest, settle down, maybe find a husband... but what I'm trying to get at is...” Vani pulled out a set of keys from her drawer and tossed them over to my side of the desk with a jingle, “she's all yours. Happy belated birthday.”

I stared the keyring in disbelief, looking from it back to her. “Miss... Miss Windfall?”

“Don't act so surprised, Hokkaido,” the griffiness huffed. “I'll bet you saw this coming from miles away.”

“Actually...”

She shook her head and chuckled,“Whatever. You know my reasoning. You worked your tail hard to make this happen, and that stunt raked in more bits and more customers since. The Lazy Dog's all yours. You're a real businesspony now, Hokkaido. Just gotta get the paperwork filled out.”

I nodded. “Alright...” Then I smiled wider and nodded energetically. “Alright! Well, I certainly wish you well, Miss Windfall!”

“Thanks. You too, Hokkaido. Maybe I'll stop in every once in a while. You know, just to check in on things. I'm sure you'll do fine. And something tells me you'll put those extra bits to work. I know your type. You're planning something big, aren't you?” She turned her terminal's screen to face me.

“Well, Miss Windfall,” I said as I leaned forward to look over the terms and conditions, “you gotta think big in a city of giants.” I paused. “By the way, you want to keep the desk, right?”

* * *

Life was good. Life was real good, I felt. After graduating from high school with honors- eidetic memory definitely helped there- I found myself with much more free time doing what I loved.

Amassing more power, amassing more influence.

I didn't care about getting any further in my education. I already owned one of the most popular juvie-joints in Manehattan. How much extra income was I going to get from a college degree? I was bringing in thousands per month, and my family was finally starting to save up for a house. Imagine that- a house we could call our own! I didn't care about getting my cutie-mark either. I was already the head honcho of the biggest gang to walk the streets of the City of Lights and Legends. We were nearing twelve-thousand members and had five-hundred-thirty-nine businesses under our belts- juvie-joints, full-out nightclubs, restaurants, shops. We owned half of them. And here I was, sitting on top of it all.

That got me three flavors of attention. The first was, in my opinion, the best thing I could ask for. Attention from the ladies (The storyteller said it in a smooth, smug tone. Then he rolled his eyes and sighed out a chilly breath.) I don't know what I was thinking. I was eighteen, horny, and I had a lot of power at my hooftips. You know... funnily enough, I... okay. Okay. (He raised his forehooves in preemptive defense.) Get this- I'm still a virgin.

...

Really, no surprise? I mean... at least there was some murmuring in Stalliongrad.

The storyteller sighed.

Right then. Bit of a moodkiller. Well, as much as I wanted, I couldn't get any (he coughed) bedroom action. Sure, I got some cuddling, some snuggling, and yes, plenty of flank-fondling. But it never really went further than that. Looking back... I suppose it was my shallow intentions. Because I really was a shallow, if not very motivated, and manipulative fuck back then. Still...

* * *

“Well hey there, babe... how're you doing?” I flashed a grin, tucking back my hat.

Song Spinner, the pegasus mare musician grinned back at me, the brilliant beams of color from The Lazy Dog's talismans catching her quite nicely. That silky, black coat of hers soaked up all that color- she was simply dazzling the way the light caught her. No, dazzling- period. “Fine, fine, yourself?”

“Well you certainly are fine...” I chuckled, brushing a hoof over her back toward that nice flank, bearing the cutie-mark of a pegasus' silhouette against the night sky. “Shall we get a drink?”

“Only if we stick to the non-alcoholic,” she snickered.

“Babe, babe, you judge me too harshly,” I said with a wide smile. “This is The Lazy Dog. No liquor to be found here. Come on, let's ring some up.”

I led her toward the bar and I bristled as Song draped a wing over me. My goodness feathers are amazing...

* * *

The second flavor was attention from the police. This was less... desirable. With forty-two gangs in Manehattan, you could probably imagine the police shitting themselves when the biggest gang the city's ever seen suddenly came in from out of nowhere. Again, I made sure we didn't catch much attention. But like I said before, you can't stop the rain. You put a roof over your head and hope it doesn't leak. So whatever attention we did get, it was the good kind. As far as the MPD was concerned, we were just a labor union. A massive labor union on the scales of which nobody ever saw before, but we didn't cause any trouble. We were on their good side. For those that needed a bit more convincing, I used some clever words and maybe a pretty bit or fifty to get them to see the light. I had plenty of money now that I owned The Lazy Dog.

Speaking of extra money...

* * *

“How much longer will I have to keep walking around like this?” Zoleks asked, blindfolded.

“Just a bit longer, my friend,” I answered, leading him along down the sidewalk outside his apartment. “Just a bit longer. What, you don't trust me?”

“No, no, not that! Wait, I mean yeah, I trust you. It's just, well, blindfold. Duh.”

“Okay good.” I nodded. “Because I'd never, ever, ever do anything to violate your tru- punch to the face!” I brushed my hoof against his cheek in a mock punch, and he reflexively pulled away. “Ahhhh, I'm just fooling. Really? You'd think I'd do that?”

Zoleks grumbled, “No, it's just, well, reflex. Duh.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure, Zoleks. Sure. Now, go ahead and take it off.”

My zebra companion removed the blindfold... and was treated to the sight of a brand new Hardly-Mason motorcycle. “Hohhhhhhhhhhh!” he belted out, jumping straight to his hindlegs and covering his mouth with his forehooves like an excited colt. Which, in retrospect, he was. “Hohhhhhhhh my Goddess! Sweet Celestia!” He pulled me in for a tight hug. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!”

“Zoleks... little tight here...” I wheezed.

He blinked a few times before setting me down. “Sorry, but thank you! Thank so much! Holy shit, buck, I don't know how to thank you enough!”

“Heh... no thanks... necessary, buddy,” I said with a smile, readjusting my hat.

“But... I don't have my permit.” He scratched the back of his head.

“Well, you'll need to learn how to ride before you can get one.” I grinned wider. “Riiiiight?”

“Oh hell fucking yes!” Zoleks cheered, climbing on. “You're the best, boss! You're the best!”

I smiled at him and glanced back to see his parents conversing with one another. I could pick up a few words from what Zoleks taught me, but I still didn't quite have Zebrikaans down. “What're they saying?”

Zoleks chuckled, “They're joking that now I'll never be at home again.”

“Well, you got a marefriend, right?” I smirked.

“And now I got two,” he sighed pleasantly, caressing his new Hardly-Mason gently. “Uh, don't tell Namira I said that.”

Heh... Zoleks and his bikes...

* * *

The third flavor of attention the Mumei received was... troublesome. It was attention from other gangs. Good intentions and sprucing up doesn't do any good with people in illicit trades and businesses. I didn't want any trouble with them, but even as big as the Mumei were, I didn't put it above them to want trouble with us. Moreover, I couldn't work with them. Police? The everyday person? Even if I was a magicless, blank-flank unicorn, I could whip up my words and bring them on my side. Not so with gangs. When it comes to gangs, it's a dog-eat-dog world. You show a sign of weakness, they'll exploit it.

We had plenty of dealings with them, whether they knew it or not. After all, the Mumei had a hand or hoof in hundreds of businesses in the city of Manehattan. I just hoped they wouldn't be stupid enough to pick a fight with us. The way I saw things, even if they might cause some trouble every so often, they didn't want trouble. The Mumei are the unknown, the obscure, and the nameless. Even if I knew exactly how numerous and widespread we were, few outsiders did. I hoped they would assume- rightly so- that we were far larger than any other gang out there and would do well to avoid picking a fight with us.

Unfortunately, that backfired because one particular gang of misfits thought opposite- that we were nothing.

* * *

Terminals sucked. If there was one thing I had to dislike about running The Lazy Dog, it was that I needed to use a terminal. It was practically a necessity for running a business. Learning how to use it wasn't the problem. It was pretty straightforward. Now, using it was a different story.

The storyteller sprouted a pair of ice arms from his shoulders.

These? Didn't have 'em back then. I only had my hooves.

He sublimated the arms and held up his forehooves to make a point, shrugging.

Again, I'm no earth pony. I came to really respect them for the surprising level of dexterity with which they could use their hooves, their mouths, and even their tails. Because I didn't have any of that. It shouldn't come as a surprise that I was a very, very slow typist.

The backspace key especially became my best friend.

Working in the office of The Lazy Dog for putting in all the necessary information, sending out e-mails, and slugging through paperwork was the absolute worst part of the workday- or worknight. However you saw it. But it had to be done at some point. I usually just got it out of the way as early as possible so I could just get out of the office and enjoy the dance and song.

Unfortunately, that wouldn't be happening tonight.

I didn't need to be very perceptive to hear the door opening. When the music blared in that loudly all of a sudden, I can just tell someone's coming. I looked up to see Zoleks, greeting him with a smile. I dropped it as soon as I realized he wasn't returning one, and that wasn't his usual serious face either.

“We got trouble, boss,” he said. “Two Cruds want to speak with you.”

“With me?” I stood up and walked over to him. “I never publicly stated I was in charge.”

“Yeah, well, I think it's pretty much accepted by now that you're the leader,” Zoleks huffed. “So, what do we do?”

“Is Sunny outside?” I inquired.

“Yeah, why?”

“Bring him in,” I told him. “The Cruds, they checked past the door alright?”

Zoleks nodded. “They did, yeah.”

“Then let them come. Go ahead.” I moved to take my seat again. Sunny Days came in shortly and I asked him, “Did Zoleks inform you about the situation?”

The big, orange buck let out a deep breath. “Yeah.”

I eyed him for a second. “What's got you so worked up?”

“Well... they're Cruds, you know? Tough sons of bitches.”

“But tiny compared to the Mumei,” I said, moving to reassure him. With a... smile. “They're unarmed if they managed to get in through the front door. It'll be fine.”

Zoleks popped open the door and shouted over the music, “They want to see you alone!”

“That's nice!” I remarked. “Bring them in!”

“Should I go, then?” Sunny asked, shooting me a glance.

“No,” I answered with a grin and a shake of the head. “Now go ahead and stand over by the far wall, alright?”

Sunny gave me a quick nod before doing as I asked. Shortly after, Zoleks reentered with the two Cruds, both stallions. The first was a unicorn wearing a bandana and undershirt; he had the cutie-mark of a washing machine. The other was an earth pony with a flashy golden necklace and a hoodie. His cutie-mark was a punching bag. Well, that was comforting. Still, I just... smiled. I motioned for Zoleks to stand at the far wall beside Sunny.

The unicorn glared at Zoleks. “I thought I told you we were gonna speak alone, stripes.” He noticed Sunny, then turned to me at my desk. I just... smiled. “The fuck is this shit?”

“My turf, my rules,” I answered plainly. “Now, who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“Look, kid, I ain't taking shit from you.” The unicorn pointed a dangerous hoof at me. “We talk alone.”

I leaned forward tilting my head down to adopt a pleading expression. “Honestly, folks, wouldn't you agree that if this was happening at your place, we would have the same situation, hm?”

The unicorn huffed, “Yeah. So what?”

“So there.” I swept a hoof across to indicate the building around us. “My turf,” I rest that hoof on my breast, “my rules. Provided you didn't come here looking for trouble, that shouldn't be a problem. And if you don't like that, then we no longer have a reason to speak. If you do have a problem with that, you can take it up with the thirty-eight bouncers here.” I leaned back, still smiling. “Now, who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

The Cruds both shared a glance. “Suds,” the unicorn grunted.

“Dirtnap,” the earth pony likewise grunted. Again. Comforting.

“Well met, Suds and Dirtnap,” I said with a nod. I paused for a few seconds. Not going to ask for my name? Okay then. “So what did you fine gentlestallions wish to discuss with me?”

“So you're Hokkaido, then?” Suds asked.

Oh. So they already knew. “That I am.”

“Well we're more than a little pissed at you right now,” the unicorn nickered. “We caught one of your boys snooping around in our territory.”

I was unfazed. “And?”

“And what?”

“Pending worker or police-only areas, arrest, incarceration, or a restraining order, I think it's legal to go wherever one pleases in Equestria,” I said, still smiling. “Wouldn't you agree?”

“Yeah, well, your friend was snooping around in one of our warehouses.” Dirtnap scowled.

“Was it illegal for him to be in there?” I inquired.

“It was illegal when he was trying to steal our stuff,” Suds growled.

Ooh. Now there was a problem. I was quiet for a few moments, but I maintained my smile. “What is his name, and where is he now?”

* * *

Pick Pack was shoved roughly to the ground with a soft grunt. He was badly bruised and his left eye was swollen shut. We were in the back alley behind The Lazy Dog. I was flanked by Zoleks, Sunny, Hammer Toss, and Song Spinner while Suds and Dirtnap were across from us along with two more Cruds in the powered wagon they dragged Pick in.

“Caught your friend trying to steal our hash last night,” Suds spat as Pinprick slowly got back up and limped over to us. “You have an answer for me now, buck?”

I held up a hoof as Pick passed to bar his progress. Still smiling, I whispered deadly low into his ear, “My office. Wait for me. We're going to have a talk. After this.” He gulped as I lowered my hoof, limping his way back in. I turned back to the Cruds. “You beat up one of my boys.”

Suds huffed and smirked, “Yeah, we sure fuckin' did-”

“You. Beat up. One of my boys.” I let my smile slowly slip away to a frown. “Do I look like a bitch?”

“Well you're acting like o-”

“Well you're fucking me like one,” I tilted my head down so that my fedora darkened my features- a trick I learned thanks to Zoleks. Suds and a few other Cruds screwed up their expressions- some of them started chuckling a little. I hated that. And I'd show them. “Yes, you are. Yes, you are. You know, I'm not surprised your gangs never got much mileage. First impression of tonight is that you're a ragtag group of numbskull brutes with a penchant for illegal activity. And this is coming from a Northerner, so you should bet your asses that's saying something.”

“You wanna start something, colt?” Dirtnap grunted, stepping forward with his muzzle tilted up. “You better be damn sure you can finish it!”

“Oh, me?” I wore an abashed expression, placing a hoof on my injured breast. “Me? I didn't want to start something.” Then I pointed at him. “But you... yes you... already came here wanting to start something.” I strode left and right, scowling. “We're nice guys and gals. We run the nightclubs now- all but six in the City of Lights and Legends. You can bet your sorry ass we've serviced your groupies on more than one occasion. Hell, more than a hundred, a thousand! But you beat up one of my boys for trespassing and attempting to steal. And then you still have the fucking gall to come straight to me and dump him at my feet alllll high and mighty. I thought flaunting how big your dick was ended in middle school.”

“Excuse me, punk?” Suds strode forward, tilting his head toward me. “Excuse me? You gonna talk shit like that to the Cruds and expect to get away with it?” The other Cruds in the back were getting off the wagon and walking up to take Suds's and Dirtnap's sides.

“Well try this on for size,” I snorted, tilting my own muzzle up. “You already started something. You so sure you can finish it?”

“With runts like you?” Suds nickered. “It'll be like taking candy from a baby- nah, exactly like it.”

“Yeah, we're young. I'm eighteen. But you know what mumei means? It means unknown, obscure, nameless. It describes people, like me, who try to make a name for ourselves. Well we're the Mumei.” I motioned to Hammer.

The buck reached to his shoulder and clicked his radio thrice. A group of armed policeponies and griffins flooded down the alley from behind the Cruds, shouting for them to get on their knees with their forehooves on their heads. I savored their expressions of surprise as they shoved down and cuffed one by one and... smiled. I watched that smile reflected back at me from Zoleks, Sunny, Hammer, and Song as I walked up to one of the officers and tipped my hat to her. I hoofed her a nice bag of clinking bits, and she nodded back with a smirk.

I looked down at Suds and Dirtnap, “And we've taken a lot of names.”

* * *

“I'm very, very displeased right now, Pick Pack,” I said with a... smile. I set my hat down as I walked around my desk to sit across from him. “Do you know why?”

The injured buck looked a little better now that he was bandaged up and was holding an ice pack over his eye. He refused to look at me with his other one. We were alone.

I sighed and leaned against my desk, dropping my smile- only for a moment, only for a moment. “I'm disappointed that you, one of the ponies that's been with this from the start, jeopardized the safety of the Mumei with that little stunt.” I paused. “Are you an addict?”

He glanced at me with that eye and quickly looked away. “No...” he said shakily.

“Don't lie to me, Pick.” I was still smiling, but I was speaking dangerously now. “You don't want to make me any more displeased than I already am. Are you an addict?”

Another glance. Longer this time. “Yes.”

I nodded. “Alright. Alright. So tell me something. You own Tawny's Burgers, and you are one of the founders of the biggest gang in Manehattan. You have more than enough financial support to,” I coughed, “get your fix the old-fashioned way.” I paused to let all of that sink in. Then I leaned further toward him. “So why in Celestia's name would do that?”

“Look... I spent a little too much money in some places and got into some bad habits, okay?” Pick sighed. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No,” I told him flatly, letting my smile disappear. I threw a sack of bits down on his end of the table. “Should be more than enough in there to clean yourself up. Sell your restaurant to someone else, get detoxed, and get out. You're no longer with the Mumei.”

Pick just stared wide-eyed at me.

“You're lucky I'm not getting you beat up over this. The Cruds didn't start this mess. You did. I just made them believe it. Now take your bits and get out. You better hope I never find you at our meetings again. You know what will happen.”

Pick nodded dully and picked himself up. He limped past the door as Sunny came back inside in his place. “You wanted to see me after, Hokkaido?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Take Pick Pack off the payroll. And if you ever see his face again at our meetings, you tell me.”

Sunny exhaled softly, “I don't know about this, Hokkaido, he was a good friend...”

“Well, he just got us into a whole shitstorm of trouble,” I said to him. “All of us. And now we have to deal with it. Things are looking to pick up real soon. I'm going to get more... talks with the MPD. And you...”

“What about me?” He looked a little worried.

I... smiled. “Let's talk about acquiring some heavy ordnance...”

* * *

When you think about gang wars in the Wasteland, the first thing you might think up of is... guns. And bullets. Lots of guns and bullets. When you think about gang wars in pre-war Equestria, the first thing you might think up of is...

If you said guns and bullets- lots of guns and bullets, well...

* * *

“Zoleks!” I cried out, rushing to the fallen zebra. “Sweet Celestia! Zoleks, come on, talk to me!”

It should have been a nice, warm summer day. It should have been a nice stroll from the parking lot to The Lazy Dog. It should have been a lot of things. It shouldn't have been this.

“Ugh... whuh... what happened...?” he blubbered, clutching at his chest. He was spattered with red, red that ran down off of him to the asphalt in rivulets. Red and bits of brown.

“You were caught in the chest,” I said to him, trying to clear it up.

“I don't think I'm getting back up...” Zoleks mumbled.

“Getting back...” I socked him in the shoulder. “Oh quit foaling around! It's just a pie!”

“But it's cherry...” he moaned. “I hate cherry...”

“Well you sure had a fine time popping your marefriend's!” I growled, trying to pull him up. “Get up and grab yours! They're still here!”

* * *

Yep. That's right. I see some eyeballs popping out. Pick them up from your feet and put them back in your noggins. So the pupils face forward. Yes, both of them. Uh, sorry, Gawd. You know what I mean.

The one-eyed griffin in the audience merely waved a claw.

But yeah. When you think about gang wars in pre-war Equestria, the first thing you might think up of should be... pie. Yes, the baked good. There was cherry pie, blueberry pie, lemon meringue pie, pecan pie- that one hurts a lot, by the way- apple pie, huckleberry pie, olallieberry pie... just pies. Not guns and bullets, lots of guns and bullets. Pies.

Things were... different back then. Back then you didn't have to worry about dying- at least not as much in today's world. Almost nopony, almost nobody wanted to kill one another. War... that was something Equestrians hadn't experienced in over a millennium. Beating one another up was about as far as most were willing to go. Gangs were no different. Looking back, it's... very much laughable, I know. Also very wasteful, especially in today's standards. All those pies could have fed...

The storyteller threw up his forehooves for a moment.

But yes. We fought using... pies. As projectile weapons. Better than getting shot. Or stabbed. Or... set on fire. But back then, it sucked a lot to get pelted. The worst ones were the drive-pies, these... ugh... these ones where someone would drive past in a powered wagon while flinging pies at their targets. It would get everywhere, sometimes- usually now that I think about it- on people other than the target.

Still... it wasn't sanctioned by the MPD and was illegal on the premise of disturbing the peace. Well, and technically causing injury as well. But that was how gang wars went down in Manehattan- and in Equestria in general at the time. With projectile pie pelting.

And then there were the showdowns... and I'm serious here. Really. I am. Picture this- it's the dark of the night, and the Mumei and the Cruds agreed to a face-off at a construction site. Hundreds of them march there side-by-side, pie in hoof and hand, rolling carts of more of the baked goods behind them. Then both start flinging and charging, sometimes exchanging bucks and punches and getting down and dirty up close. Then the police come and we all bolt away. Maybe the Mumei had it easier since I arranged good relations with the MPD. But you could imagine that the construction workers were not happy about the state of their work site come morning.

It's... yeah, it's laughable. Yeah, it's silly. There was honestly even a time when pie-control laws were proposed, but that caught a lot of flak from almost everyone considering how popular they were as food. People just found it too much to take that they were limited to a single pie per day or had to pass a “pie offenders” background check. It was... just ridiculous. And don't get me started on the Pie Prohibition Era the one time that one of the laws managed to pass twenty years before all that... just... ugh. Definitely not my favorite lesson in history.

A member of the audience raised a hoof.

Yes?

Said audience member asked what a pie was.

Get out.

* * *

War under all guises does not exist in a vacuum. It's a form of rhetoric. There's a rhetor, a medium, and an audience- the rhetorical triangle linked by context. War is a method, a means to an end. As we started to amass allies in this... admittedly ridiculous pie-fueled gang war, I further sought to establish my gang- myself- as the owner of the City of Lights and Legends. I already had my hoof in the MPD and on the city council. Every battle we fought and won might not have increased our territory- such was the extent of control the Mumei had over the city- but it made our rivals lose it. The more we pushed them out, the more ownership we exerted and declared to those gangsters. And on the battlegrounds of Manehattan, I had numbers and resources on my side. Who was going to stop me?

See, that's the kind of thinking that screwed me over. Even with my eidetic memory, I failed to recall just how many people I stepped on to get to where I was. I got angry at a lot of my fellow members, such as Pick Pack. Every time we managed to lose a fight, it was someone else's fault. Not mine. While most of the time, it was that someone else's fault, the way I handled it, well...

* * *

“Unacceptable,” I said simply. No smiling this time. In my office. Alone. With Bubblepop in front of me.

She sighed, “Look, Hokkaido, we didn't-”

“Unacceptable,” I interrupted, scowling. “You had the ammunition, you had the numbers, you had the know-how. So how the hell did you not expect them to catch you from behind?”

“Well, maybe I got a bit cocky but-”

I deadpanned at her. “Are you a stallion?”

“What?” She stared wide-eyed at me. “No!”

“Then don't feed me that shit about getting cocky,” I said lowly. “Get your head in the game, and get out.”

* * *

... let's just say I didn't make very many friends during those days. In fact, I started making enemies. A lot of enemies. A whole lot of enemies. In fact, I surrounded myself with Zoleks and Sunny anytime I was out of our apartment. My parents never asked any questions. I got top marks in my school years and I was bringing in most of the income now that I was out. I just... smiled and acted politely around them. Between the medicine we could afford now and the brews that Zoleks' parents made, my mother was looking much better than she had in years despite her progeria. Father and mother were happy with that and decided to leave me be.

I was foalish. So, so foalish- if not in my lust for power, then in my lack of realization of how many enemies I was making. Hothead Hokkaido was coming back out, and with how powerful I had become, that made a lot of people afraid- both in rival gangs... and in my own. Malcom was right. Fear... motivates us. And it sure motivated quite a few of my henchponies and underlings.

There's a quote by Sun Zoo. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer”. I never realized just how close I was keeping my enemies.

* * *

“You want to make me trust you again?” I asked Bubblepop, looking up from my desk. “Then start paying attention.” I turned my terminal's monitor toward her and pointed at a small section of a map of the northern quarter of Manehattan. “That's a Crud warehouse right there. I want it gone. I don't care how you slice the pie. I want it gone.” I leaned back in my seat. “Make it happen. Zoleks, see her out.”

Song Spinner opened the door, allowing a fresh blast of music to enter as Zoleks headed a hastily exiting Bubblepop back out and bumped past the pegasus mare.

“Jeez... what happened?” she asked.

I slumped in my seat. “Gave her something to do. Something I hope she doesn't screw up like last time.”

“Sounds like you've had a rough night,” Song remarked with an empathetic click of her tongue.

“No kidding,” I sighed, leaning back further.

“You could use something to cheer you up.” She then grinned with a half-lidded expression. “Or someone.”

I arced an eyebrow to that, but as I watched her wander closer toward me with that expression and a light sway to her hips, I got the message. I smiled wide. “Zoleks, you mind giving us some... privacy?”

“Sure thing, boss,” he said with a nod, heading out.

I opened my forelegs for her. She snuggled up on top of me, and I took it all in. That pleasant tinge of sweat she worked up on the dance floor that I barely picked up, her silky coat, her soft feathers, her generous flank...

“Mmmmm... welllll, now,” I chuckled, my tone coming out smooth and slick, “is somepony coming around?”

“Mmmm, I could very well be...” She bit her lip with those half-lidded eyes, completing the image. I felt heat rush to my cheeks- all the more so as she inched up closer against me.

“Heh, careful, babe...” I said with a wide, carnal grin.

“Don't worry, I'll be gentle,” she giggled seductively.

The door opened again with a blare of deep bass. “Whoa, hey now!” I chuckled, not caring whoever it was. “Zoleks, you mind?”

Song Spinner nodded to the newcomer. “He won't be, though.”

I blinked and opened my mouth in question before I felt a hard impact to the side of my head and the world went dark.

* * *

The world was still dark when I came to. I felt a dull throb on the side of my head, and I was achy and sore everywhere else. Likely as a result of the odd position I was in. It was pitch-black, it was stuffy, it had this weird plastic... film everywhere. But mostly, it was smelly beyond belief. It smelled Goddess-awful wherever I was. I could hear sounds- muffled sounds. I could hear the clamor of horns from powered wagons, the clip-clop of hooves on the pavement, and the muddled, ambient conversation of Manehattan. That little tidbit didn't provide the least bit of solace to me.

I let out a gag and groan from the horrid stench. I tried to breathe through my mouth and found that I couldn't. Something had forced my mouth open and stopped it up. My heart fell as I realized in horror that I was gagged. That thought alone made my nostrils flare as I hyperventilated in panic. My spittle slathered around whatever it was that was gagging my muzzle and ran down my cheek. And as I panicked, I tried to flail around. I couldn't. I was pinned by a great, hard, misshapen, lumpy, filmy, plastic weight. And that invited even more panic.

I couldn't move.

I was trapped.

Alone.

And gagged.

Where nobody could hear me.

In the dark.

You have to understand that I was not accustomed to the dark. Manehattan was the City of Lights and Legends. Even after sundown, I never truly knew darkness. There was always some light, somewhere, somehow.

This...This was complete darkness. It was something completely foreign, completely unknown to me. And it scared me. I tried to make enough noise so that someone, anyone could come find me and save me. And it felt sick. I had been in almost complete control of things since I was twelve years old. To be stripped of all that, rendered helpless and alone in this filthy darkness... it was horrifying.

The storyteller shuddered.

Sorry, sorry... just... give me a minute. Just. Just... a minute. Give me a minute.

He took several deep breaths in quick succession, each time expelling a frosty mist. At the last, he exhaled sharply through his nostrils with a hiss of steam.

Sorry... it's... just... my memory isn't just what I see and hear. It's... sensational as well. Taste, touch, smell... I remember it all. Being like that, it... it doesn't bring back good feelings.

Another deep breath.

I don't know how long I panicked for. I just... kept finding things to panic about. How long had I been out? How long had I been up? Where's Zoleks? Why didn't he stop this? Was he the one who knocked me out? Who else was in this other than Song Spinner? How didn't I see this coming? Where am I? What am I lying in? Why was it so smelly? What was it so stuffy? But most of all- will I get out?

That one conjured the deepest fears in me. I tried to find something to cling to. If I could lie so well to others, why not to myself? I could lie to myself, couldn't I? This was only temporary, I told myself- tried to tell myself with the gag around my mouth. This was only temporary. They were going to come back. Maybe they'd be a little pissed- okay, maybe very pissed, but they were going to come back. They weren't going to let me die- nopony, no one would do that to me. Nobody. My parents would come looking for me, maybe Zoleks... uhhhh, my parents would come looking for me. Yes. Commissioner Farrow would come looking for me. Principal Gallopglee would come looking for me. Superintendent Vanilla Drop would come looking for me- somebody would come looking for me! Dammit, they better! They better! I can barely breathe, I can't move, I'm cramped all over, my eyes sting but I can't rub them, I... I...

I just kept lying to myself. Just... kept... lying to myself. It brought me enough of something to grasp onto to pull myself up a little. I found enough common sense to light up my horn and try to figure out where I was.

I could barely see the ice-blue glow of my horn in my vision. I just saw a massive black film that blotted out all else, matted with wrinkles. I realized with a start- it was a trash bag. I was surrounded by trash bags. They threw me into a dumpster.

I couldn't lie to myself, no matter how hard I tried. With that came another bout of panic. I tried to flail around again, but my weak body was all but cramped up. Not only couldn't I move even if I tried, but I wouldn't move. I was trapped in the dark amidst ponies, zebras, donkeys, mules, griffins, buffalo, and diamond dogs all going about their business. There were my people- they belonged to me. Me! And none of them would come to save me.

A horrible dread seized me as my stomach growled. And as I slobbered against the gag and felt the wetness trickle around my lip and cheek, I realized I was thirsty. How long had I been out? How long had I been up? Where's Zoleks? Why didn't he stop this? Was he the one who knocked me out? Who else was in this other than Song Spinner? How didn't I see this coming? Where am I? What am I lying in? Why was it so smelly? What was it so stuffy? But most of all- will I get out?

I tried to lie to myself again. This was only temporary. They were going to come back. Maybe they'd be a little pissed- okay, maybe very pissed, but they were going to come back. They weren't going to let me die- nopony, no one would do that to me.

A horrible dread seized me as my stomach growled. And as I slobbered against the gag and felt the wetness trickle around my lip and cheek, I realized I was thirsty. How long had I been out? How long had I been up? Where's Zoleks? Why didn't he stop this? Was he the one who knocked me out? Who else was in this other than Song Spinner? How didn't I see this coming? Where am I? What am I lying in? Why was it so smelly? What was it so stuffy? But most of all- will I get out?

I tried to lie to myself again. This was only temporary. They were going to come back. Maybe they'd be a little pissed- okay, maybe very pissed, but they were going to come back. They weren't going to let me die- nopony, no one would do that to me.

...

...

...

My stomach growled. Louder. And I was no longer salivating. My tongue felt lumpen, dry against the hard, wet gag.

...

...

...

They were going to let me die.

I was going to die.

Alone.

In the dark.

I screamed.

* * *

Death was something I never thought about. Nopony, nobody thought about it- especially at my age. The only threat of death was in some rundown town in the boondocks, maybe like Ponyville with the Everfree Forest nearby. But dying... dying at the hooves of another pony- not only dying, but languishing away... I remember that as that thought crossed my mind, a wet warmth trickled from my crotch and down my navel.

I was going to die. I was going... to die.

I tried to flail out, scream, tried to do anything that would get attention. I was no more successful than the last twelve times. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Now sixteen.

Then I began to pity myself.

Why me? Why did it have to be me? Why me, of all ponies, of all people? I was on top of the world, flying high! I built an empire, became something from nothing! Why me? Why me?

Then I tried to flail out, scream, tried to do anything that would get attention. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.

Then I began to pity myself. Again.

Why me? Why me, why me, why me?

Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three.

Why me?

Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

Why me?

Twenty-six.

Why me? Why not somebody else? Why not Split Skies?

Twenty-seven. Twenty eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one.

Cherry Oak, that bastard. Pick Pack, that fuck. Song Spinner, that bitch. Why not them? Why me?

My stomach growled again, growled enough to hurt. I tried to curl up inward to make it feel better. My body wouldn't let me.

My mouth, my lip, my cheek was dry. It hurt to move my tongue.

I was going to die.

No more trying to be saved. No more pity. Now I just... tried to make it come faster. I'd accepted it by now. I was going to die. Nobody was looking for me. How could they when I heard them milling about outside? I was trapped, unable to move, and unable to perform any stupid magic that could save my life. I couldn't save myself. How could I expect anyone to do it for me?

So... I tried to make it come faster. I tried to force myself to stop breathing. I couldn't. Breathing isn't completely voluntary. There comes a point where the mind just takes over. It's why you try to make that last breath as you drown. Your body wants to breathe as much as your mind doesn't. I tried to shift around to asphyxiate against the plastic. My body wouldn't cooperate. I couldn't move. I could barely blink as is. I was so weak I couldn't even make it come any faster. I was going to die a slow, painful death. And I couldn't do anything about it.

And eventually, I accepted that too. I stopped feeling. I stopped hearing, letting the world outside fade away. I felt... oddly at peace. Lying there in the dark, in the stink, in the filth... I didn't have to focus on anything. I just let my mind wander. I started thinking. A lot. Was all of what I did worth it in the end? Did I really ever love Song Spinner? Was I truly honoring my name in building that empire by stepping on the backs of others? And did I deserve to die for that?

And what had I done? In creating the Mumei, what had I done? I manipulated, baited, tricked, recruited, lied, betrayed, flattered, crushed, slandered... was that who I really wanted to be remembered as? The stallion with the tongue of fire and silver? The stallion who built the biggest gang the City of Lights and Legends has ever seen and turned it loose on its people?

What have I done? That was the biggest question I kept asking myself. What have I done?

Eventually I just let my mind numb. No longer feeling, now I stopped thinking at all. I began to black out every so often. I don't know why I came back, drifting in and out of unconsciousness. Maybe it was lack of sleep. I couldn't tell whether I was awake or asleep anymore. The blackness was all the same. I tried making friends with it, actually. I gave it a name. Blackie. You know, like someone would name their dog. Blackie. It was there all the time, never leaving me. My best friend. Screw concrete. I never missed him. Darkness... darkness was always there for me.

I already stopped feeling. I already stopped hearing. Eventually, I stopped seeing and thinking. I was ready to waste away, just waiting. Only when I think back to that horrible, dark time for me did I even remember there being shouting just outside, growing louder and louder and accompanied by the impact of hoof against flesh, then followed by a jostling movement and a great groan. I didn't even remember the plastic shifting against me and finally being tossed off as Zoleks looked down at me, panting, wide-eyed, color drained. I didn't even remember that he turned back to a bloodied Sunny Days and slugged him once more straight in the face before hauling me out, pulling the gag off, yelling for me to say something, hauling me on his back, climbing onto his Hardly-Mason, and zooming straight for the nearest hospital while simultaneously breaking every speed limit sign along the way. Radar enforcement sign or not.

* * *

“Are you there... Zoleks...?” I whispered, keeping my eyes closed. Opening them hurt. Everything was too bright, too colorful. Especially back then. Everything was so much brighter and more colorful back then. The bed I was lying down on felt so much more heavenly, so much softer than Song Spinner. The beep of the electrocardiogram was so much better, so much more regular than the oblivious milling about of Manehattaners. An IV needle was hooked into my foreleg. The pain was oddly comforting. I could feel. I could feel. I was alive.

And it smelled nice. So very nice...

“Yeah, boss,” he whispered back.

“Please... don't call me that...”

“Sorry, b... Hokkaido.”

“How long... was I... was I in there?”

“About... three days, almost four.”

“Just shy...”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Just...Just shy of four. Number of days we can live... without food... water. Lucky... I'm lucky, aren't I?”

I think he might have nodded meekly. I didn't know. I just heard him sigh. “I'm sorry, Hokkaido. I didn't know. I-”

“Stop...”

He gulped and stopped.

“I told you... to go. I remember... I remember. Thank you for... saving me.”

“Well, it's... what friends are for,” he sighed. The zebra then growled bitterly. “Song Spinner... Sunny Days... fuck them.”

“Was there anyone else...?”

“Y...Yeah. A lot of them. Bubblepop, Hammer Toss... Pick Pack...”

The regular beeping of the electrocardiogram hastened for a split second. “Pick Pack?”

“Yeah. He's... He's been running The Lazy Dog since you, uh...” He sighed, “I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner, Hokkaido. I asked everyone I could find... Pick Pack, he was behind all this. He threw me off so many times... I'm such an idiot sometimes...”

“Enough of that, Zoleks...”

The zebra clicked his tongue. “Sorry...”

“Zoleks... you have enough gas to drive to... The Lazy Dog with both of us?”

“What?” He was no longer whispering now. “No, no, buck, you can't be serious right now! You almost died!”

“I want to... pay him... a visit.”

“You sure as hell ain't right now!” Zoleks exclaimed.

“How long... have I been here?”

“Maybe six hours?”

“Too long. I want to see the look on his face... before he sees it in the news... which I think will be in the news... I think... I don't know.”

“Well you ain't leaving!” Zoleks growled. “You can't make me!”

“... you know I can.”

Zoleks let out a sigh. “Yeah. I know you can.”

“But I won't.”

He didn't respond to that for a few seconds. “Come again?”

“I won't. I can't... I...” My turn to sigh. “I just can't do that again. Not to you...” We were silent for a bit. Then I asked, “Did... my parents come?”

“Within the first half-hour.”

“Did they say anything...?”

“To me, uh... well, they asked what happened, and...”

“You told them. About the Mumei. Everything.”

“Yeah...” Zoleks sighed.

“... they were angry.”

“Yeah...”

I only sighed. “I'll... deal... I'll talk with them... later.”

“So... what now?” Zoleks asked.

I tried to pull my lips into a smile. They cracked and bled a little. The coppery taste was... thrilling after having that gag in my mouth.

“May I have a phone...? Please?”

* * *

“Hellllllo, you're ringing up The Lazy Dog! What can I do for you?”

“Hello, Pick.”

“... hey, uh... hey there, uh... Hokkaido?”

“Yes.”

“...”

“So you run the show now.”

“...”

“Am I mistaken?”

“...”

“I've done this before. You're still there. Answer me.”

“Y-Ye...Yeah.”

“Yeah. I'm mistaken.”

“N-No! No! I call all the shots now.”

“You don't inspire. Any. Confidence. In me.”

“Well it's true. And I got your gang to back me up. So you're still around. Big whoop. What are you gonna go, huh? Huh? What are you gonna do, come and get me?”

“I get out in one week. I'm going to give you ten days. For every day that you don't disband the Mumei. I will make you regret. Trying to kill me. And taking everything from me. And if you think. That just because you have the gang backing you up. Means that I can't do any of that. I will show you. With great prejudice. Just how wrong you are. After all. It was never a game of numbers.”

Gulp. “W-Wait, killing you?”

“I was trapped in a dumpster. For three days.”

“You mean you couldn’t get... ohhhhh, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, I totally didn’t mean for that, buck-”

“Yet I didn’t see you. Or anyone. Come to check if I was alright. So cut the crap.”

“Hokkaido, buck, you know I wasn’t meaning to-

“Pick. Do you know. How I was able to tell. You were still on?”

“Huh? Wh-What?”

I hung up and let the ending tone ring.

* * *

I was going to die, I thought to myself so many times back then, back there. And in a sense, I was right. The old Hokkaido died in that dumpster. What came out...

The storyteller procured another memento. It was a cracked canvas, completely blank.

Not all mementos have to be something from way back when. Sometimes they just have to remind me of what I went through. And this?

He flipped it over. The back was stained with a black, tar-like substance.

I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.

* * *

Footnote: Hokkaido- Level Up! Level 4 Reached!
Perk added: All Night Long- Manehattan never sleeps. Why should you? You consider your END 2 points and your Survival 4 points higher to resist exhaustion or sleep deprivation.
Skills note: Survival- 25

Zoleks- Level Up! Level 4 Reached!

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- The New Player in Town

Soundtrack- Moondrop by DJ H0UND

Soundtrack- Gang Wars... Only Sweeter

Soundtrack- Alone in the Dark

Author's Note

Many thanks to the FoE community for their contributions, collaborations, and communication. It’s nice to hop onto the IRC every day to chat with you all. Props to Lazer726 for pre-reading this for me. You’re awesome. Lastly, thank you all kindly for taking the time to read and listen. Please leave some feedback. I would greatly appreciate it.

And don’t forget to check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr!

Reflection Five: Burning Bridges

Reflection Five: Burning Bridges

“Stretch out your hoof toward the sky so that darkness will spread... darkness that can be felt.”

My name was given to me to remind all Northerners where we came from and- more importantly- what we endured. I was meant to be a living symbol of hope. What I did with the Mumei and what happened afterward dashed all that. I was stripped of my ownership of the most popular juvie-joint in Manehattan and stripped of my position of power. My own people betrayed me and left me to die. I was, for lack of a better term, dishonored.

I can appreciate the Razorwings and their decision to leave The Dead Boys. I built an empire on the backs of others. I cheated, misled, and intimidated in order to achieve that dream. And I worked so hard for it. But being in that dumpster, almost dying... made me realize I crossed the line. Everything was empty, unclean. All that wealth I made... dirty, all of it. I came out of that experience a new stallion.

But before I could do anything else, I couldn't let what I created run rampant. The Mumei was a wild beast. It could be tamed- I was the tamer- but it had since changed masters. Perhaps it was... with a sense of bitterness and fury that I did what did. Maybe it was the notion of making sure that if I couldn't have the Mumei, nobody could.

Mostly, it was because the Mumei was my legacy. It would be what people remembered me by. And as the symbol of hope and memory for those of the Far North, I couldn't allow the Mumei to have that notoriety.

They say it's far easier to destroy than to create. And I can safely say that it's all too true and all too easy.

* * *

“Ten days?” Zoleks asked, astonished.

“Ten days,” I answered hoarsely with a nod. My neck was still sore and achy.

“Uh, you do know that you're stuck here for at least a week, right?”

“Well. I do now.” I tried to muster a chuckle, but it just came out as a string of weak breaths.

“So how are you going to do it, Hokkaido?”

“What time is it?”

“Three P.M.”

“Plenty of time. To think, that is.” I exhaled softly through my nostrils. “Zoleks, do you know anyone who's still on my side?”

“Well... there's me.” He paused. “I'm not inspiring any confidence, are I?”

“More than you think.” I smiled thinly. “But is there anyone? Anyone else? In the Mumei, I mean.”

“I... I honestly have no idea,” Zoleks sighed. “I don't know who I can trust in there.”

“Makes things a bit more difficult. At least I won't feel sorry destroying it.”

“You sure you know what you're doing?” he asked.

“I have some... ideas.”

“That creative, huh?” he huffed.

“That's me. Now... are my parents still here?”

“Yeah.”

I exhaled through my nostrils. “Please send them in. It's later.”

I heard the light clip-clop of hooves as he left, followed by the opening and shutting of the door. In the meantime, I tried to open my eyes- slowly at first... slowly. The room was swimming with colors, dazing me as afterimage after afterimage burned into my pupils. I groaned softly, and the regular beeping of the electrocardiogram sped up a little- nothing worrisome enough to cause any attention, though. I gritted my teeth and pulled back my lips, groaning softly from the burning at the back of my eyes. Eventually, they stopped tingling and I was able to breathe a little easier as I glanced about the room without any problem. It was the average hospital suite with the average cheery wallpaper with the average cheery nightstand and lamp and the average television set. Very average. But it was the first thing I'd seen since... I blacked out with Zoleks carrying me here. And nothing three days before that. Never have I been more grateful to be in the hospital.

And then I looked at the IV needle stuck in my foreleg, leading up to a pack of... stuff. Now that I looked at the needle itself, I realized something. It fucking hurt! At least it wasn't a sharp pain or anything- it was just a dull one. Not even any throbbing. But looking at it just made it hurt more, and I muttered to myself in pain as I looked away.

The door opened again, and I turned to see father and mother enter the room. They hung on the side of the bed beside one another. Both of them looked so much older- mother especially. So much older... We were all quiet, avoiding one another's glances. My heart was beating a little quicker now.

Finally I looked straight at them and waited until they stopped looking about. “I'm deeply sorry. For all of this. I should have known better. I kept all of this from both of you. And I flat-out lied at times.” I let out a soft sigh. “I have no excuse.”

“If you are sorry, then you would not have done it,” mother snapped. Then her tone softened, “But you are alive. We are grateful for that.”

Father nodded solemnly. “Yes. We are... most grateful you are alive. But do not confuse, Hokkaido. We are very, very disappointed in you.”

I swallowed hard. I might have been more or less independent at that age, but I still felt that blow straight to my heart. It was when father didn't say anything that he was angry. For him to make abundantly clear... I only nodded shallowly, quickly with my ears tucked back.

“You will continue to live under our roof, but we are no longer responsible for you,” father continued. “Do as you must. It matters not to us anymore.”

I turned my gaze downward and nodded.

The distinguished white stallion sighed softly, “Just... no more trouble, Hokkaido.”

I looked him in the eye. No more lies... no more. I felt a greater weight upon my heart as I whispered, “I can't guarantee that.”

Father just closed his eyes and limped his way out with mother following behind him. “At least he was truthful...” she said. I don't know whether it was to spite me or comfort him.

I'm not sure if you can fully grasp the situation. I was permitted to live in the same household, but they denied all further responsibility for me. To cast a child from his or her own home was not the Northerner way. Still... I don't know how many of you know the meaning behind this, but they essentially disowned me. And it was all my fault. That memory will forever stay with me. And the funny thing? I would lie later. A lot. You know that already. It wasn't lying that was the problem- it was getting caught lying and then being forced to tell the truth. They say that telling the truth sets you free, but does it really? I never... ever wanted to be in that situation again.

Zoleks came in and sat down beside my bed. He was reading my expression. “Bad?”

I nodded, staring off past him. “Bad.”

He nodded in turn, resting a hoof on my shoulder. “You know I'll always be here for you. I'll stick around until you're out. My parents don't mind. 'Sides, I wouldn't put it above Pick to send someone to finish the job.”

I shook my head. “He wouldn't do that. Too high profile. It would make him more enemies. Definitely get him sent straight to prison.”

“Hokkaido,” Zoleks called, deadpanning.

“Yes?”

“You're thinking about what you would do in his position.”

“Dammit,” I sighed, leaning back against the pillow. “You're right.” I looked at him. “Since when did you get so sharp?”

He shrugged. “Always have been. Duh.”

“Heh... hey listen. Do you mind. If I borrow your phone again. Please?”

“What did you have in mind?” Zoleks inquired. “Police? Getting a lawyer?”

“No,” I answered with a shake of my head. “There's no evidence. No trail. The legal system wouldn't be with me on this. Not yet at least. The Mumei has money. Money is power. Power that can be sold. And let's not forget that power corrupts. Pick can and will find better lawyers. That is a battle I am not willing to fight. Nor a battle I will win.”

“So what then?”

“I'm going to see who's still on my side.”

* * *

I was on the news that night. It wasn't the kind of publicity I wanted, but it was the kind I needed. I was the most serious case of gang violence in the history of Manehattan- possibly Equestria- and that cast a shadow of doubt and mistrust over the public outlook of Mumei. It had already been stained by me, bringing it down to the level of the other gangs by waging war with the Cruds. It didn't help Pick Pack that he publicly announced himself as the leader of the Mumei right after he tried to oust me. Now that hatred and skepticism could be focused onto a single target- him. And I didn't even have to lift a hoof to do that.

I might not have liked that the nurses and orderlies had to keep the press out of my suite, but that was the best news I'd heard in a long time.

But nevertheless, I made a promise to Pick. It was a promise I wanted to uphold.

* * *

Day one.

“Seriously? You replaced all of our drinks and dispensers? With ketchup? Seriously?”

“Me? You know where I am, right?”

“In the fucking... hospital.”

“And you know who I am, right?”

“An annoying prick. Cost us a good night of revenue.”

“And a blank-flank-flunk. That should tell you something.”

“And a cocky son of a bitch.”

“Look who's talking.”

“Hey-”

“My point stands. I'm in the hospital. I'll be here for a whole week at least. I'm nowhere near your nightclubs. And I have no magic.”

“You got someone else to do it.”

“I'm no longer with the Mumei. You saw to that. Had to be... someone from the inside. Right?”

“Who?”

“You'll have to find out. And Pick?”

“What?”

“I'm not usually one for old punchlines, but this is too good to pass up.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

I hung up and let the ending tone ring.

* * *

“Thank you very much, Zoleks.” I bowed as much as I could in my position. “It's comforting to know you still have... some ties to zebras around here.”

“Heh... no problem, boss.” He smiled, elbowing me lightly.

“Told you not to call me that anymore.”

“Oh. Duh. Sorry.”

“It's fine. Just a shame that nobody else can perform alchemy like zebras can...”

* * *

Day two.

“Unbelievable. Frogs. You actually released frogs into the nightclubs. You're a real annoying prick, you know that?”

“I'm still stuck in the hospital. How could I have done it?”

“You know what I mean, Hokkaido. You got someone to do it. Now talk. Or else.”

“You're trying to threaten me over the phone. Do you realize how stupid you are?”

“You-”

“And do you realize how bad this is making you look? I almost wasted away, and I'm still in the hospital.”

“Fuck, that doesn't matter. You're trying to tear me down through someone else. Right now, you're only being an annoying prick. So talk. Who is it?”

“If this is how you treat your superior- former or not- then I can't imagine how you treat your followers. Tell me, Pick- did you really think you could try to take me out and take over the Mumei all of a sudden and expect everyone to love you and do as you say?”

“...”

“Do you know for sure who's really yours? Or mine?”

“...”

“Does it scare you, Pick? Knowing just how alone you really are?”

“That's it. You tell me now, or I go after your parents.”

“And so you go from threatening a cripple in a hospital to threatening to go after his parents. You'd only shorten your own lifespan pulling that kind of a stunt. You already pushed the boundaries by trying to kill me. Do you want to see where the breaking point lies?”

“How about we see where yours is?”

“Do I need to repeat myself? You left me in a dumpster to waste away. Given I've managed to live through that and that I'm still speaking in a civilized manner, I think I can safely say mine is much, much further than yours. So you see, you're in no position to test me. You'll only make it worse for yourself. I, however, am in such a position. Consider that before you even think about going after my parents. Because you can't win.”

I hung up and let that ending tone ring.

* * *

“Frogs,” Zoleks stated.

“Toads, actually.” I paused to eat my biscuit. It was nice to eat nice, warm, solid food again.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Just a toad or seven at a club or juvie-joint hopping about, and it scares the bejeezus out of everyone. Imagine that.”

“But... where did you get all those frogs... uh, toads then?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. Just called Carl Dandelion and he said he knew an animal caretaker in Ponyville who could help. She probably doesn't know what we're using them for, but...”

“But... why toads?” Zoleks scratched his head.

“Why turn the drinks into ketchup?” I countered. “Because nobody sees it coming.”

“You know, we might have to take you to a psych eval. You might have had some oxygen deprivation there...”

“Hey, it's not like I have any evident brain damageageageageageageageageageage-”

“Hokkaido!” Zoleks laughed outright. “Stop that!”

It was good to laugh with him again, even if it made my lungs burn.

* * *

Day three.

“Fuck you.”

He hung up that time.

* * *

“What was it that time?” Zoleks inquired.

I took a bite out of my buttery biscuit. Mm-mm-mm, biscuits! “Ticks.”

He arced an eyebrow. “Ticks?”

I nodded. “Ticks.”

“Ticks. Glad I'm on your side.”

* * *

Day four.

“Goats. Really, Hokkaido? Goats? Wild animals?”

“I'm as mystified as you are, Pick.”

“Oh buck your flank to Kansass, you prick. I'm fucking serious now. I'm done playing games.”

“You want serious? Fine then. I'm done playing too. You're almost halfway through, Pick. Best cut it and run now before something really bad happens.”

“Well what's it gonna be? Sheep? Cows? Fucking moose?”

“None of that. Pick, I'm giving you the opportunity to save face. You disband the Mumei, nothing more will happen to you, the gang members, or the patrons. You get to keep your money, and you get to live comfortably. You've seen what I can do these past six years. You know what I can accomplish. So just make it easier for yourself. Quit while you're ahead.”

“You've just been an annoying prick-”

“Which you've called me for the fourth time.”

“-so far. Face it- you can't do shit to us but cost us a bit of money. The Mumei is mine. I worked hard for it, and I played it for keeps.”

“Just one problem, Pick. I worked harder.”

I hung up and let the ending tone ring.

* * *

“Thanks for the biscuits, Miss Manner,” I said with a smile to the nurse. “If it's not too much trouble, would you please get some for my friend as well? Just put it on my tab.”

“Sure thing!” The soft-blue mare smiled in turn and headed back out. Smile, and the world smiles with you. This time, there was no superficiality to it either.

“Hey Zoleks?”

“Yeah, Hokkaido?” He turned to me.

“I'm going to need a good alchemist. A very good one.”

* * *

Day five.

“What... the fuck did you do?!”

“You know, I'm very, very pleased you call me like this everyday. It's good to know somepony cares. Not even my parents do this for me. My parents who, by the way, you were threatening earlier.”

“Shove it up your ass, Hokkaido! What. Did. You. Do?!”

“Me? Well... I didn't do anything. I'm still stuck in this suite. The sky-blue wallpaper gets a little... boring after a while.”

“Enough of the damn lies, Hokkaido!”

“Really, I didn't do anything. Frankly, I'm surprised you're calling me at all.”

“Bullshit!”

“Hey, now. Don't get mad at me. What's the problem? Tell me.”

“The problem is that you poisoned the fucking drinks! Now all but thirty-two of the nightclubs were shut down by Public Health!”

“Thirty-two?”

“All but fucking thirty-two!”

“Hm. That's... wow. That's horrible. Any... I'm appalled to ask this, but how serious is it?”

“Just made them sick, but you still got us shut down, you bitch!”

“That's comforting at least. Nothing too serious. Also, that and last time I recalled, we owned all but six clubs in Manehattan. That could be a bit of a problem, too.”

“Drop the act, you prick, or I'll sic the law on you!”

“Do you have any evidence?”

“Heh... these calls.”

“These calls?”

“Yep! Been wiretapped the whooooole time!”

“Really now? Commissioner Farrow, please get on the line.”

Click.

“Farrow here.”

“Helllllllo, Commissioner Farrow! So, do we have enough to bust this Hokkaido kid or what?”

“Don't think so.”

Click.

“Wh... What?”

“Ooh. Bummer.”

“What?!”

“You know, Pick, you really ought to make certain who's really on your side. I didn't have anything- anything at all- to do with this little problem of yours. Now... my gang that you quote-unquote got to back you up and your so-called 'allies' on the other hoof...”

“...”

“Again, you really ought to make certain who's really on your side.”

I hung up and let the ending tone ring.

* * *

“You know, maybe you're fine, Hokkaido,” Zoleks huffed. “That sounded pretty damn close to the old you.”

“Of course,” I said, looking at him and smiling thinly. “That's the Hokkaido he's most afraid of.” I looked down at my platter and back up. “Biscuit?”

* * *

Day six.

* * *

“Huh.” Zoleks blinked, munching on a biscuit. “Dinnertime and still no call yet. What happened?”

I shrugged. “No idea.”

“You sure?”

I only smiled.

He smiled right back, knowingly.

* * *

Day seven.

“Today's been quiet. What are you scheming?”

“Nothing. By the way, I heard that a few neighborhoods were the recipients of some misplaced itching powder on the news. I didn't hear anything from you yesterday, so... are you alright?”

“Yeah. Now.”

“That's good to hear. So what's up?”

“I want to know what the hell you're doing.”

“Absolutely nothing. I am getting out tomorrow, though. And finally. A shame that the storm decided to move in today. Manehattan's long overdue and it's a pretty big one... think we might have some hail?”

“For your sake, I hope we do. Hope you catch some to the face, you annoying prick.”

“And I hope you're ready to face me.”

He hung up that time.

“Awwwww, bad sport.”

* * *

“Time to test my hooves...” I grunted as I slipped out of bed with Nurse Bedside Manner helping me along. “Alright... steady so far. Hopefully I still remember how to walk.”

“You'd be in for a bit longer if you didn't,” she chuckled.

“Might really have to get a psych eval then,” Zoleks joked.

“Oh stow it,” I huffed as I made my first firm steps, giving my legs a shake in turn. “Okay then!” I trotted in place for a few seconds. “Looks like I'm good to go. Thanks again, Miss Manner. Take care, alright?”

“You too, Hokkaido,” she said with a nod and smile. Zoleks and I were off.

“Oh, and here's your hat again,” the zebra said as he pulled out my trusty fedora.

I smiled and gratefully put it back on. “Ahhhh, thank you very much. Been missing it.”

“So what's the plan?” Zoleks inquired as he mounted his Hardly-Mason.

“Plan?” I smiled wider, getting behind him. Sure brought back good memories. “There is no plan.”

* * *

Day eight.

“Hello?”

“Hokkaido, you fuck, now you've done it!”

“'Scuse me, buck?”

“Stow it! Over half the gang is on fucking strike and yelling for my head! What did you do?”

“Buck, this is Zoleks.”

“... what?”

“I'm Zoleks.”

“... oh. Uh... this is, uh... awkward.”

“Yo, Pick?”

“Yeah?”

“Heeeeere's the punchline!”

He hung up and let the ending tone ring.

* * *

Zoleks put his phone away and looked at me.

I looked at him.

We burst into laughter.

“Hoooo... hoooo...” Zoleks eventually wound down. “What an idiot...”

* * *

Day nine.

* * *

Zoleks and I were having dinner at Ramenhausu 79, slurping our noodles together. Thunder boomed overhead as the relentless downpour drained the color of the world outside into a murky gray. The classical music started cutting out and the lights began flickering until everything went completely dark and silent.

At least until the murmuring began as the various patrons almost simultaneously turned their heads upward and made a remark about something or the other regarding the power.

“Buck, another blackout,” Zoleks likewise remarked.

I nodded. “Yeah, they've been rolling across Manehattan all day. Try not to think about it. We can eat without light or music.”

He looked at me. “You don't seem all that disturbed by it.”

“I was in a dumpster for three days. Darkness doesn't really bother me anymore.”

Zoleks visibly winced.

I sighed, “Sorry...”

“Nah, nah, I'm sorry.”

“Can we just both say we're sorry?” I smiled softly, not knowing if he could see.

“Heh... yeah, sure, sure.” The zebra slowly went back to eating. “Well, some weather manager in Cloudsdale screwed up and we were overdue for rain. Shoulda expected this. Duh.”

“Makes me wonder if Pick's been trying to call me since,” I huffed, pausing to slurp more ramen. “Cell towers have been in and out.”

“Wouldn't put it above him.” Zoleks shrugged.

“Heh. You know what? I think I'll pay him a visit tomorrow. See what happens.”

There was more murmuring and heads turned upward as the power came back on. We were bathed again in the light and the same old music track clicked back on.

“Would you look at that...” Zoleks muttered.

* * *

Fall was in full swing, and the night air was crisp and cool. Manehattan's Running of the Leaves had just taken place, and with it, the streets were still covered in freshly fallen orange, brown, and red. If Manehattan needed a third “L” for its title, it could've easily been “Leaves”. Manehattaner's liked to leave the leaves be until wintertime. They added a lovely splash of color to the already bright and glitzy city. It's hard to imagine nowadays how to capture the beauty of it all. All trees I've seen, save for those in the Everfree Forest, are long dead, turned to charcoal by balefire. And with no sun shining above our heads, everything's drained dull. I know my job as a storyteller is to paint a picture for you, but sometimes words do no justice. Everything back then was... just brighter, prettier.

But... I'm getting ahead of myself.

Day ten.

The Lazy Dog. Been just under two weeks since I last set foot in her. Whatever “poison” Zoleks' friend set up at the nightclubs was either found to be mostly harmless or long-gone by the Public Health Department... or Pick paid them off. I wouldn't put it above him. I wouldn't have put it above myself if I were in his situation. But whatever the case was, Zoleks and I shuffled slowly down the line for the front entrance, where Hammer Toss was acting bouncer for the front door. Once we were in sight, the buck visibly tensed and called something into his radio.

“Should we bail?” Zoleks asked quietly into my ear.

I shook my head. “Only if there's trouble. And since Pick knows for a fact I still have Commissioner Farrow on my side, I doubt he'd start any.”

When we reached the front of the line, Hammer grunted, “What do you want?”

“Good to see you again, too, Hammer,” I said with a... smile. He took one look at that and flinched. That was my dangerous smile, and he knew it. “I just wish to speak with the new manager.”

“He's not available,” he countered, tightening his jaw.

“That's nice.” I moved past him.

He blocked me with a hoof. “He's not available,” he repeated.

“And? Are you going to try and stop me?” I glanced at my zebra companion. He merely cracked his neck. Loudly.

Hammer lowered his hoof. “Uh... in you go then.”

I smiled. “I'm glad we can see eye-to-eye.”

I strode back into The Lazy Dog with its veritable sea of people on the dance floor and in the air. The pumping tunes made my heartbeat race and my bones quake. But now wasn't the time for ogling at mares. I strode for the office at an even, determined pace with Zoleks at my right.

“Hey, Hokkaido!” he shouted over the music. “You notice something?”

“What in particular?” I shouted back in question.

“Only two bartenders!”

I looked over there. Huh. I missed it completely. Imagine that. There were only two bartenders. Normally, there would have been at least seven. Imagine that. Looked like things weren't going so well with my good buddy Pick.

I also noticed that the bouncer normally lurking around the office entrance- namely Sunny Days- was absent...

Zoleks and I shared a glance before I strode forward and tried the door. It was locked. Unimpressed, I merely motioned to the door and stood back. The zebra buck shuffled his forelegs, loosening them up. Then he rose and brought a hoof down on the door like a wildcat would swat down. The door bent inward, hanging on a hinge. Zoleks quickly corrected that by shoving the door open and aside. Again, Manticore style was the shit.

We both walked through and were greeted with...

Pick Pack... Song Spinner... at the desk... together... moving...

Well, not anymore now that we crashed in. They just both tumbled to the floor and scrambled off from one another. Song quickly scrambled back up, her wings fumbling back down while Pick blearily staggered up with her. His eyes were a deep-red, and there were several, cigarette-sized rolls lying around...

“Hey!” I called. “This is a juvie-joint, you know!”

“Heh-heyyyyy, Hokey-dokey, how're you doing?” Pick giggled.

I opened my mouth to shout back in reply over the music.

“I'm going dooooooooood!” he laughed heartily. “Heh, heh, heh, hurr, I mean doing gooooooooooood!”

I looked over at Song Spinner expectantly. “Really? You're with him now? Really?”

Song glanced away, expression screwed up. “Better than you!”

I merely arced an eyebrow. “Really now? Is this a size-queen issue?”

“Hah, even he knows it!” Pick guffawed.

Song grumbled and flustered her wing. “So why the buck are you here?”

“Just here to see how things are going!” I answered. “To be truthful, I'm not exactly impressed!”

“Well I am!” Pick chuckled, waltzing closer. He did not smell good. “I figured it out, Hokkaido! I figured it alllll out! You were getting all your supporters together to try and overthrow me, huh? Huh? Well I got 'em all!”

“Is that so?” I looked at him with a slight grimace.

“Yep!” Pick beamed triumphantly. “And you had a whole... fucking... lot of them.”

“Hm. Yes I did! Nice job!” I motioned to the paper rolls. “So! Hash?”

“Yep! Rewarding myself! I mean, job well done! Over seven-thousand of your fuckers... heh, had them alllllllll kicked out! Kept on saying no, kept on denying, but nope! I knew they were yours! You were pretty smart, heh! Preeeeeetty smart! But I kicked them all out, had them removed from the payrolls and everything! All those strikers? Bam, gone! People who didn't like that? Bam, gone! And now? Now I can have my cake!” He tugged Song Spinner closer. “And eat it too! If you get what I mean!” He waggled his eyebrows. Or... tried to. He just sort of raised and lowered both of them repeatedly.

“That's nice!” I turned to Song Spinner. “Well, hope you enjoy him! If you say he's better than me, well, I'll have to take your word for it!” I turned to my friend and nodded toward the exit. “Come on, Zoleks! We're leaving!”

“What?” Song shot me a look. “Just like that? The hell you come here for?”

“Just wanted to check on how everything's doing is all!” I answered with a... smile. She knew that smile, I saw it on her face.

“Bullshit!” Song scoffed.

“Song, Song, babe!” Pick laughed. “Come on, let's leave the annoying prick be! He knows he's lost!”

“Indeed I have,” I murmured quietly to myself, striding on out with Zoleks at my side as Song protested against the advancing stallion.

We strode back out into the cool crisp air of Manehattan. I breathed in deeply and smiled wide. “Well, Zoleks, thank you for your help. I appreciate your loyalty.”

“Hey, it's what friends are for.” He elbowed me gently. “Jeez, seven-thousand? Isn't that about half of the Mumei wiped out?”

“Heh, like he took out every first-born son in the gang,” I said with a nod. “Maybe even a second or third.”

* * *

“Thanks for the ride, Zoleks,” I said, smiling softly at him as he dropped me off at my family's high-rise apartment building.

“No problem, Hokkaido.” He smiled in turn, leaning back on his purring Hardly-Mason. “So, uh, what happens now?”

“Now?” I sighed, smiling vanishing. “Now I need think about where I want to head in life. I know for a fact I don't want to be the kingpin of some gang.”

Zoleks nodded softly. “So, uh, is this good-bye?”

“Good-bye?” I chuckled. “Hay no! I'll probably want to be spending some time by myself, but don't you worry- we'll be keeping in touch. You have my number, and I have yours. We can still chat, have lunch or dinner together maybe.”

Zoleks grinned. “Sounds good to me. I think I should spend more time with Namira anyways.” He paused. “Really? Seven-thousand? You had that many?”

I huffed. “I don't know. I doubt it.”

“So that was all a lie?”

“Yep.”

“So... you just made him do that out of paranoia?”

“Yep,” I chuckled. “Didn't even have to do anything the last few days. Just worked out by itself.”

“You really haven't changed, have you?” Zoleks nickered.

“I think I have. Maybe. Only time will tell. I think this will be the last time I’ll ever have to pull something that convoluted, at least for a long time.”

“Hope so, buck,” he snorted.

“So...” My grin disappeared.

“So...” His did too.

I looked at him. Right in those eyes- those sincere, brown eyes. “... take care of yourself, Zoleks.”

“Take care of yourself, Hokkaido.”

We shared a nod, and he rode off with a roar of thunder.

* * *

My eyes fluttered awake as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the apartment window. The sunrise... it's one the many things I miss about Old Equestria. Imagine a brilliant orange glinting on the horizon, growing fuller, brighter. Imagine it breathing light and life into the city, watching all those late-night signs and bulbs flicker off and the people of Manehattan beginning to stir and start their days. It was something truly beautiful.

Especially back then. For me, it was time- time to wake up and smell the sunshine.

It was a new day, a new me.

It was time to start afresh.

* * *

This segment's memento is... nothing. The Mumei died out after that day. And I wanted it dead- completely. It's... something called damnatio memoriae- condemnation of memory-in Echin, the old tongue long lost to the sands of time. The only memory left of the Mumei in the end was the kind that resides only in the mind.

The storyteller tapped his forehead.

I obliterated as many traces of the Mumei as I could in the days to come. I severed ties, broke alliances, bid farewells, ended friendships, burned bridges. Vani helped me settle ownership of The Lazy Dog in court, but I sold it off to the DJ, Silva Hound. I didn't want anything to do with it anymore.

But one life ends, another begins. One door closes, another opens.

After all, there's always an opportunity in the aftermath.

* * *

Footnote: Hokkaido- Level Up! Level 5 Reached!
Perk added: Scoundrel (Rank Three)- Take the Scoundrel perk, and you can use your wily charms to influence people- each rank raises your Speech and Barter skills by 5 points.
Quest perk added: Dream Crusher- The grand plan six years in the making is all but ashes and dust- and you were the one to deal the final blow. You have a knack for killing the dream- including those of your enemies. All enemies have their chance to hit critically reduced by 50%.
Skills note: Barter- 75, Speech- 75

Zoleks has left the party!

[OK]

You lost Zoleks' You Got It, Boss perk!

[OK]

Unlockable added: Soundtrack- Burning Bridges

Soundtrack- Starting Fresh

Author's Note

Thanks to the FoE community. You’re all amazing, creative souls. Additionally, thank you, Lazer726 for pre-reading this for me. Don’t deny it- you’re amazing. Lastly, thank you for reading. Please leave some feedback. I would greatly appreciate it.

And check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr!

Reflection Six: Calling

Reflection Six: Calling

“For the longest time, I couldn't figure out why I didn't have mine.”

You don't get to be my age without learning a thing or two about what's what. But the most important lessons come early in life.

Find out what you're good at. Branch out from there.

Knowledge is power, but knowledge without application is fruitless.

It's all in the façade.

Words can't win every battle.

Smile, and the world smiles with you. Cry, and you cry alone.

There's always an opportunity in the aftermath.

You gotta think big in a city of giants.

Know when to yield. Know when not to yield.

Words can't win every battle.

It's never a game of numbers. Consider every factor.

You're not trying to annihilate your enemy. You're only trying to find their breaking point.

Plan ahead.

Nothing lasts forever, even in paradise.

Have a backup plan.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

Power corrupts. And wealth is power that can be sold.

There are always alternative solutions.

And lastly, think before you act. Do you really want to do this? Are you willing to live with the consequences?

These aren't the only lessons I learned, but there were the most important ones. Admittedly, I didn't always pay attention to them. I didn't always follow them. I still slip up nowadays. But I know when and where I failed. I spent the following month trying to correct those failures. I obliterated all trace of the gang I created. Soon, the only things left was the occasional word-of-mouth, the off-chance murmur. Nothing more. I could finally breathe easier, even if my parents still didn't accept me. We still talked, to be sure, but we never did anything together like the good old days. We ate our meals separately, and they would often excuse themselves to their bedroom when I was around. But I think- or at least like to think- that they acknowledged that I cleaned up my mess.

But there was no denying that lone fact, that blatantly obvious thing about me.

I was still a mumei.

* * *

I loved the cold. You had to get used to it as a Manehattaner. The nightlife was where it was at in the City of Lights and Legends. You had to learn how to get around without a coat, especially when you were once so poor you could barely afford one. Those days in the aftermath, I just strolled around. It was the little things, those days. I never really got to explore Manehattan during my childhood. Either I didn't have the luxury, or I was building my empire. Now? I could take it all in and enjoy what I missed.

It was cold the day I decided to take a stroll about the park, wandering aimlessly to wherever I fancied. I could always find my way back, after all. I found a bench and settled down on it, looking about and watching the cool breeze kick up the fallen leaves. I watched the people of Manehattan walk on by- ponies, zebras, donkeys, mules, griffins, bison, even a lone diamond dog. I even managed to spot a couple celebrities taking a leisurely stroll- you couldn't get around the City of Lights and Legends without happening upon one of those legends. Back then- in Manehattan at least- we gave them some space. We got used to seeing them around, and while we gave them an appreciative nod and smile, we often let them be without crowding around them and asking for an autograph. Manehattan was where the popular could enjoy a little privacy. I was the former head honcho of the Mumei myself. I spotted a few familiar faces, but I was left alone aside from some glares and glances.

Alone... for someone who surrounded himself with thousands upon thousands of supporters and enemies alike, it felt alien to me to be by myself again like all those years ago. It made me feel a lot older. Most of all, it made me feel even more anonymous. I chuckled to myself as I thought about that. I felt more like a mumei then than ever before.

And that reminded me about something.

“Hokkaido,” my father's voice echoed in my head, each Equestrian word coming out syllable by syllable, “if you are trying to get your cutie-mark, you should try to find what you are good at. After you do, focus on those. For me, I knew that I was a good listener. So, I listened. But then I learned I could see through listening what was good in ponies, uh, in people I mean. And after listening to someone talking through his heart, what is next step? You give advice. That was how I got my mark. So find what you are good at. Maybe somepony else already good at it. Keep trying, keep finding. Keep pushing yourself.”

“It just takes a little pressure,” I whispered to myself, looking down at my green, featureless flank.

I got up from the bench, inhaling that fresh, crisp air and adjusting my trusty fedora. It was time to head for the local library.

* * *

Eidetic memory helps when reflecting on where I failed and where I could succeed. Words weren't anything special enough to me to earn my mark, and I felt I was damn good with words. That told me something- that there was something out there that I was even better at. I just didn't realize it. Until now.

Remember who I was before all that? I sure did. Blank-flank-flunk. I failed magic kindergarten. I could only light up my horn- that's it. Couldn't even lift a wad of tissue paper. But I remembered something about those days that I thought could have been the answer to all that, the key to my new life.

I could form an overglow without prior tutoring.

The next place I would look into- I decided- would be magic. And how did I do that? What I always did back then when I needed to learn something.

I did my research.

1101 Unicorn Mages You Never Learned About taught me a great deal about the possibilities. There were many, many notable unicorns that specialized in only one kind of magic- frankly because that was all they could perform. And they were undeniably masters of their field. Telekinesis. Teleportation. Phasing. Hypnosis. Telepathy. Psychokinetic amplification. Illusions. Purification. Amniomorphism. Transmorgrification. I barked up all these wrong trees from October of that year into November. I searched- searched for that specific kind of magic. Eventually, my studies took me to one group of magicians in particular, one very powerful group.

The Mancers.

Remember when I told you that after Princess Luna and Princess Celestia took over controlling the cycle of the night and day, the unicorns of the Far North were freed from their duty to pursue other magical interests? The Mancers were some of those unicorns. They were a select group of unicorn magicians that developed elemental magic. I see some nodding around the crowd. Yeah, you can all see where this is going. The Mancers were the ones who gave ponykind the ability to harness the power of the natural world. There was pyromancy, hydromancy, electromancy, terramancy, anemomancy, spectramancy, and umbramancy- and some elemental “trees” had more specialized branches. For instance, terramancers could accelerate the growth of plant life and manipulate metal in addition to bending the earth to their will. Umbramancers could manifest shadows into physical objects along with obscuring vision. Hydromancy...

Well, I'm sure you can connect the dots.

This elemental magic was very, very tantalizing to me. I don't know why- there was just something that clicked to me about it. Unlike most forms of magic, the elemental magic championed by the Mancers had their own interesting blend of rules. For one, Mancers needed to possess an elemental affinity in order to get anywhere beyond entry-level spells. You were born with this attachment; there was no other way to get it. Either you had it, or you didn't. Additionally, there are seemingly no species-based limitations on this unique brand of magic. You didn't have to be a unicorn to perform elemental magic- you didn't even have to be a pony. Everyone has magic in their blood. It just usually expresses itself in different forms. I happened to get the chance to witness a certain mule molly use terramancy myself.

Unfortunately, elemental magic also had its risks. People with the necessary elemental affinity who dedicated themselves to their magic eventually formed something known as an elemental union. As this union strengthened, the Mancer would find him or herself taxed less and less by his or her respective elemental magic. The cost, however, could be enormous- and it could be both physiological and psychological. Pyromancers found their core temperatures rising higher than the normal equines and were forced to seclude themselves to warmer climates. Hydromancers could grow gills to breathe underwater but rapidly dehydrated themselves on land. Electromancers needed to drain electrical or magical energy in addition to taking in food and water in order to subsist. Terramancers found themselves feeling that they needed to stay on solid ground. They wouldn't even dare to just go up a flight of stairs. Or worse, they felt the need to live underground. Anemomancers were the opposite- they didn't want anything to do with the ground. It drove some of them to attempt to fly. It often ended in their death- no laughing matter. It was why anemomancy was strongly recommended for pegasi and griffins only. Spectramancers thrived in direct light and grew lethargic- sometimes insane without it. The umbramancers were the opposite in that regard.

Reading over that, I couldn't help but swallow hard. Small wonder that the Mancers eventually died off. The risk outweighed the return to most of them. Developing an elemental union would completely change one's life- and may very well end it. It was dangerous magic, to be sure. Few kinds of magic had so much lethal potential as those of the Mancers. But told myself I wanted to find my calling in life. If I had an elemental union, so be it. If I couldn't perform any of this magic at all, then no harm done. No need to face the risks. Just find another tree of magic and move on. Still, the fact that every copy of the Mancers' works had a warning from the Magical Utility, Safety, Training, Education, and Regulation board, or M.U.S.T.E.R., didn't make it any less concerning.

Surprisingly, I tried spectramancy first. I just thought- hey, if I can make a whole lot of light with my stupid horn, maybe spectramancy is my thing. I could live with being in the light all the time, too. I mean... I lived in Manehattan, City of Lights and Legends! It couldn't be that bad, could it? Spectramancy sounded pretty cool back then, too. Bending light, creating sustainable illusions, making hard light... yeah, pretty cool.

It didn't work. Of course not. You know that already.

Then I tried umbramancy. I figured I was comfortable enough in the dark now. I wouldn't mind living in some secluded area or the like. Nope. Didn't work.

Electromancy could've worked, I thought. If I needed to depend on draining electricity to live, I was certainly in the best place for it. Again, City of Lights and Legends. Manehattan wasn't going to run out of electricity anytime soon. Alas, I couldn't even produce a spark.

Anemo- no. Just no.

Hydromancy. Ugh... I decided to give it a go. If it worked, I guess I had my magic. There was Manehattan Harbor to splash into if I became a seapony or something, I suppose. So I gave it a go.

* * *

Early evening. I was lying down in bed at my family's apartment as I read the copy of the Hydronomicon I borrowed from the library. It was thick, the pages were an aged yellow, and the text on the deep-blue, hardcover flaps was faded. I breathed out a heavy sigh as I opened to the first page and glossed over the warning. “Be warned that performing the following magic with an elemental affinity may result in forming an elemental union, which can result in numerous unwanted physiological and psychological changes. Proceed at your own risk.” At this point, the sane pony would have shut the book, turned it back into the library, and went on his or her merry way. I might not have come out of that dumpster a sane pony after all.

“Basic entry-level spell number one. Draw water out of a goblet without using telekinesis.” I arced an eyebrow at that. Well, simple enough. I headed to the kitchen/dining area and picked out a plastic cup that I took from a restaurant with a kid's meal purchase years ago. The printing of a tabby cat snoozing and basking in the sun was long faded. It wasn't exactly a goblet, but it was free. I took a moment to fill it to the brim from our water cooler and trotted back into my room, setting it down on my nightstand. I lied back down in bed and glanced at the book.

“Make a connection between your magic and the water. Imagine reaching out and grasping it as if with a hoof just as with trying to grasp something with telekinesis.” Alright then. I took a deep breath and fired up my horn with a soft, blue glow. The water in the cup was suffused with a similar aura. No surprise there.

“Now, instead of lifting with your imaginary hoof as with telekinesis, imagine channeling the water upward, commanding it to flow up against gravity.” There it was. The moment of truth. If this didn't work, I was doing pyromancy next.

I inhaled and exhaled deeply, eyes closing as I focused. Upward. Let the water flow upward. Let it rise, fly, fly higher...

Over the dulled music and honking outside and the sparkling of my own magic, I heard a light bubbling- just barely. My heart raced for a few seconds and I opened my eyes in astonishment. There was a soft sloshing as the water in the cup settled back down, the surface rippling softly. My lips stretched into a smile and my breath quickened with exhilaration as I lit up my aura and stretched it to the water. I didn't dare close my eyes this time. I wanted to see it for myself. I only beamed brighter and wider as I watched the water slowly coil upward against gravity, collected into a rippling, quivering ball. I found myself laughing and bouncing on my squeaky bed.

“Yeeeeeeeeeees!” I cheered in amazement, cheered in success, cheered with all my heart.

And then the ball of water exploded and showered the entire room with droplets of water. It was as if a water balloon exploded right in front of me, leaving me- and the bed, and the walls, and the floor, and the nightstand, and my hat- slightly damp. I blinked dumbly, taking a moment to register what happened.

I started flipping through the pages. There had to be something about cleaning up the water somewhere...

* * *

I had my magic at last, at long last! I wasn't quite sure if I was willing to become a seapony, but I finally had my magic! Take that, magic kindergarten! Hah!

I was happy, so unbelievably happy that I had finally found my magic. It was enough to only slightly disappoint me that my flanks were still bare. Nevertheless, this was the magic I was solely able to perform; I was going to invest all my effort into mastering it. And if that still didn't earn my mark... well, then, that would be a downer to be sure, but I at least had my magic!

From there I went down the various applications of hydromancy, working my way down the basics.

* * *

I was seated on my bed, making the cupful of water flow up and around me as I smiled in wonder. That feeling of flying high was back, and it was breathtaking. I weaved that liquid coil around me, twisting it, extruding it, condensing it back into a ball. I cleaved it, brought it back together, separated it into dozens and then hundreds of droplets. And then I coalesced some back into a rippling ball and brought it to my lips experimentally. I took a sip and slowly drank up that floating sphere. It was tough at first, having to carefully relinquish control of the glowing water at just the right speed. Too slow and I was just sipping up moistened air. Too fast and I was spilling it down onto the mattress. Eventually, I got it just right and couldn't help but let out a delighted giggle. Yes, a giggle. Me.

When I calmed down, I noticed the rest of the water I was suspending was missing. And that the carpet looked a little wetter. Seemed like I forgot something...

I rolled my eyes up, gave myself a light bop on the head for my inattentiveness. I inhaled deeply and focused to strain the water from the fabric, working my jaw around as it rose drop by drop. I found myself giggling like a schoolfilly again as I succeeded, the bed squeaking a bit as I bounced giddily.

I didn't even notice that the sun was creeping its way back up over the horizon until its rays started fluttering into my eyes.

* * *

I exited the library, tucking my trusty fedora back down and slipping the Hydronomicon back into my saddlebags along with the receipt. It was mine now. I found my magic at last, and I was damned willing to invest in it. With no job and no classes, I could fully devote myself to delving into the art of hydromancy. And I knew the best place to practice to my heart's content.

Manehattan Harbor was a collection of shipping docks where ships bound for and from Zebrica made off with their various imports and exports. Seafaring vessels of all sorts milled about the bay, ranging from personal sailboats and schooners to hulking cargo ships. One end of Manehattan Harbor was lined with stacks of shipping containers and the powerful cranes that hauled them on and off decks and onto and off of transport wagons. The other end was for the Manehattaners themselves. At that end was a collection of piers and docks where ships idled, bobbing gently in time with the Berrillion Sea. It was a popular place to have a stroll or even just sit down and watch the waves wash into the harbor. Those waves made a beautiful sound as they rolled toward shore, broken only by the squawk of seabirds and the bellow of the foghorn. And then there was that wonderful offshore breeze, carrying the scent of freshness and brine. Just standing out on the wooden planks and basking it all was enough to put the most troubled mind at ease.

Standing there before the mighty sea, I didn't feel like a giant in a city of legends. I felt so, so small against the vast, boundless expanse of endless blue that spread out before me. It was a... very humbling feeling. I closed my eyes and raised my head, taking all of those wonderful sensations in. Then I set down the Hydronomicon, placing a hoof down on the pages as the gentle breeze fluttered through them. I flared up my horn, trailed up stream of water up to circle around me, and curved it into itself in a loop of infinity. A mother and a little unicorn colt passed by, the kid's eyes widening and his mouth gaping in awe as he tugged on his mother's foreleg.

“Mom!” he cried out excitedly. “Can we watch? Please? Pleeeeease? It looks so cool!”

I chuckled softly to myself, feeling a smile creeping across my muzzle as the mother huffed softly with a soft twinkle to her eyes, nodding.

“Hey mister!” The little colt waved. “What's your name? How're you doing that?”

“Hokkaido,” I answered, tipping my fedora toward him in greeting. I loved that hat. “And I'm practicing hydromancy.”

He tilted his head in confusion.

“Water magic.”

Tilt was gone now.

“Cool!” he exclaimed.

“Heh, you have no idea...” I chuckled again, still smiling.

As I went down the pages and the techniques started to strain my horn, the mother and child eventually went on their way. Several other passersby stopped to watch, asking the usual questions of who I was, what I was doing, how I was doing it. One of them actually took a picture, to my surprise. I just worked my way through the pages...

* * *

November left with the leaves, and December settled in with a layer of fresh sleet. It's the little things, I have to say again. In the years before where I was too little or too busy to notice, I scarcely took the time to appreciate how beautiful Manehattan was during wintertime. The gently falling snow caught the city lights just so, creating a dazzling display of color as it descended. And when layered on the ground, it reflected each light in a subtle fashion.

The storyteller flattened his lips, eyes downcast as he spoke. His eyes glassed over slightly, tears pooling.

It was so beautiful... just... so beautiful.

He sniffed softly, sublimating the tears as they formed. He took a deep breath and continued.

Even when the sea and sky grayed, I still returned to Manehattan Harbor to practice. I grew more daring, more adventurous until... I finished everything that hydromancy had to offer. It actually took me by surprise. Sure, the intermediate and advanced techniques, such as desalinization and condensing moisture in the air, took a lot out of me, often forcing me to create an overglow or two. There were times where I needed to wait until the next day to get a variation of the spell just right. But I was finished. I glanced at my side to make sure... no. Still no mark. I was perhaps a bit disappointed by all that, and I picked up the book to head back home early.

It was then that I noticed that I wasn't quite finished with the book.

* * *

Cryomancy- ice magic. It was one of those specific branches, another layer of complexity within an already incredible spellwork- an art form within an art form. The classifications for them existed only in that the hydromancers felt that they needed that distinction as different states of water.

Still... if hydromancy was my sole magic, it was all worth a shot. What most intrigued me was that cryomancy was a relatively unexplored field of elemental magic.

* * *

Home again, lying in bed.

“Reach out with your magic to a goblet of water.” I lifted up and set down my plastic 'goblet'. “Imagine exhaling a cool breath- it may help to do this yourself as you attempt this. Relax and calm yourself. Try to duplicate that same feeling in your magic.”

My soft-blue aura enveloped the water and I focused. I inhaled deep through my nostrils and exhaled through my mouth. Be calm, be tranquil. I idly thought of the endless expanse of the Berrillion Sea, and I felt a slight coolness suffuse through me. Slowly, crystals began to form on the surface along the edges of the cup, working its way inward. It was a beautiful, fascinating thing to watch. It was like a pond freezing over in fast-forward. And it felt... easy. It was as if I was a natural. I used the edge of my hoof to poke a hole in the ice just to refreeze it just for the fun of it.

Freezing the rest of the cupful proved to be just as easy, as did melting it back into water. I repeated that a few times to build magic memory- think muscle memory but for your horn- going faster, faster. I moved onto coalescing additional ice onto the cupful, pulling moisture straight out of the air to do so. I built it up, melted it down, learned to spread out a sheet of ice. Interestingly, though I still needed to fire up my horn to perform cryomancy, the water only shared my aura when it was in a liquid state and direction under my control.

The storyteller demonstrated by forming a pair of ice arms, pulling out a familiar shotgun- Luna's Judgment. He smirked and reduced it all to water. The weapon he showed to them days ago when he first started was merely a sculpture. The water rose from the floor and flowed around him, sharing the same soft-blue sparkle that his horn was dimly glowing. His horn snuffed out as he turned the flowing loop to vapor.

After practicing these basic spells for the better part of an hour, I turned the page to the intermediate section.

There was none.

I raised an eyebrow and checked for any sign of missing pages or defacement. There was no such atrocity evident. The Hydronomicon merely moved onto atmidomancy.

I deadpanned in astonishment and turned back those few pages. “That's it?” I asked aloud, a touch disappointed.

* * *

Hm, now that I think about it, maybe it was a little more than “relatively” unexplored. For something that came to me so naturally, I found that a touch insulting. The Mancers were perhaps two-thousand to three-thousand years before my time. There were hundreds of pages on hydromancy and at least a few dozen on atmidomancy. Why so little for cryomancy?

I presented this question to Shinespark Whitney, a spectacled unicorn mare with a cheery, orange coat and a crimson mane, when I invited her to lunch at Ramenhausu 79. She was a Northerner professor and magus at the Manehattan Magical Institute- and the head of the Ancient Arcane Sciences department. Though somewhat perplexed by my lack of a cutie-mark as most people were- ponies especially- she gradually loosened up after I began a discussion about the Mancers. Then came the question.

“Oh, it's actually a pretty good reason, if not a simple one,” the slant-eyed mare answered. “Recall that we- more specifically the people of the Far North- spent the majority of the year preparing for the harsh winter ahead. Up until the Age of Industry where food production skyrocketed, Northerners lived a subsistence lifestyle. Almost every effort- paid or not- ultimately went to producing enough resources to survive the winter.”

“Sorry to be a bother,” I spoke up, “but I'm afraid I don't quite understand where this is going, professor.”

“Think of it this way, Hokkaido- the Northerners despised the cold of winter and thrived in the spring and summer. What kind of magic would they instantly scorn?”

The realization dawned on me, and I leaned back in understanding. “Cryomancy.”

“Exactly.” Shinespark nodded, punctuating with a pointed hoof at me. “It's why the Pyronomicon and Spectranomicon are so much more well-developed compared to the other Mancer codices. We ponies are diurnal creatures that thrive on warmth. Phryggia, the Mancer credited with- or rather shunned for- creating cryomancy was denounced for her discovery and study of the magic by the Northerners. The Mancers were quick to outlaw cryomancy completely within their order thereafter.”

I grimaced at that. “Sounds harsh.”

“It was. It was purely through luck that we discovered records of Phryggia at all and even luckier that we were able to use them to find her written works. Now, why do you ask about this? I'm curious.”

I replied by firing up my horn and looping my tea into the air, freezing it.

“Dear Goddess...” Shinespark gasped, eyes brightening. “You're a hydromancer! And with an elemental affinity! Goodness, a modern-day Mancer!”

“To be honest, I don't know if I deserve a title as lofty as that,” I chuckled with a wan smile.

“Well you can perform elemental magic above the basic level, can't you? Then you're a Mancer. A modern-day Mancer! Amazing!”

“Here's the thing, Professor Whitney,” I said, “this is the only magic I can perform at all.”

“A one-trick pony, hm?” She tapped a hoof against her chin. “I assume you're quite the adept, then?”

I was tempted to boast, but I really didn't want to go back there. I merely melted my tea and settled it back down in my cup. “Only because I learned from the work of adepts. Professor, I desperately wish to delve deeper into cryomancy. It comes so naturally to me, even more so than the hydromancy it's grounded in. Truth be told, I also believe it might earn me my cutie-mark. If there's anything you can tell me...”

Shinespark pondered for a few seconds. “I can't really tell you much more than what's available in the Hydronomicon.” I slumped a little to that. “But!” I perked back up, hopeful. “But I can point you in the right direction. Mancers often studied their element of choice from a scientific standpoint in addition to a magical one. You can visit the Institute's library for our records on Phryggia and her research. It's open to the public after all. I don't know how much insight it will give you, but I also encourage you to blaze your own trail with research of your own.”

I smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Professor Whitney. I appreciate it.” The waiter came by and set down our bowls. I gave him a polite nod and turned back to Shinespark. “Enjoy.”

* * *

That week saw me researching extensively at MMI. The library, though not as jaw-droppingly expansive as Twilight Sparkle's Athenaeum at Tenpony Tower, was the largest one I'd seen yet. Phryggia's research only served to reinforce what I already knew through basic chemistry in high school. It was the university's research in that field that aided me the most.

I spent hours poring over academic journals just looking up information on water and especially ice. There were several times when Shinespark sneaked up on me- it was all too easy without Zoleks at my side- just to check on how I was holding up. “How's my little Mancer doing?” she would ask me. She made me feel welcome there just by taking a few minutes to check on my progress and maybe watch me condense and then freeze moisture from the air as if flexing my fetlock, which- in all honesty- it had become just as easy for me to do. The overall difference in atmosphere between MMI and Verdana further reinforced that welcoming feeling. It was much more open, much friendlier, and so much... cleaner. If this was what higher education was like, I wouldn't mind it. I just had to get past the odd looks I was getting for being a blank-flank.

The first breakthrough came toward the end of the week when I happened upon a student-written article on the formation and structure of snowflakes.

Almost all of the hooves and hands shot up from the audience.

... you're all wondering what a snowflake is, aren't you?

And down they went.

I really should have seen that coming. But really, I talk about all of this, and you don't ask any questions up until now? Roanoke, I blame you for not helping out.

The griffin at the jukebox shrugged. The storyteller sighed and cast a cloud of mist into the air. From it fell dozens of frozen flakes.

No two are alike. Each and every one of them is unique. What the research article did was not only confirm that but also explain why that is. You see, as a snowflake forms, temperature changes of the minutest difference affect how the ice bends as it changes shape. The spokes and branches of each snowflake are the product of these very minute, very rapid temperature changes.

That definitely got me thinking...

* * *

I looked up, staring into space after reading that article, lost in thought. My mind tried to wrap around that concept, and I slowly turned my gaze up toward the water swirling beside my head, freezing and melting, freezing and melting. I stopped it right there- melted- and rubbed my chin in thought. I began freezing the ball of water, trying to recreate the concept I just read about. To compensate for the more pronounced temperature changes, I slowed the freezing process. It was like freezing my first cup again. This time, I was working slight feelings of exhaling warmer and cooler breath with my magic while I held my own. When I was ready, I released my hold on the water's shape and watched.

The slowly forming ice stretched out, expanding slowly- splitting, branching into something I couldn't quite comprehend. It was like watching a panel of glass fracture into a web of cracks made solid. After the water completely froze over, what I had floating before me looked like a three-dimensional Zebrican glyph. I definitely didn't intend for it to come out quite like that.

I still smiled nonetheless.

I couldn't help but check to my right, looking at my flank. I sighed a little. Still blank...

“I think my little Mancer's had a breakthrough!” Shinespark remarked from behind me.

I jumped in surprise, my magical field imploding and causing the glyph-thing to fall and shatter on the table. “Professor! Why do you keep doing that?!”

“Come on, I gotta have fun after spending all day talking,” she chuckled. “So, what should I call you, then?”

“Just call me Hokkaido, ma'am,” I sighed, sublimating the ice.

“You sure? Last I checked, Hokkaidans, get a second name when they get their cutie-marks.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “I don't have a cutie-mark.”

Shinespark just gave me a smug look.

“...what?”

She kept giving me that look.

I blinked. Twice. No way. No way no way no way.

I looked down at my left fla- yes way!

“Hahaaaaaa!” I cheered, throwing my hooves into the air.

I immediately had all eyes on me. Shinespark was blinking awkwardly.

I smiled apologetically and settled back down. “Right. Library.”

* * *

The storyteller's next memento was the last to fall from the mist above his head to his outstretched hoof. He dissipated the cloud and took a moment to reshape the snowflake before presenting it to the crowd.

That's the story about how I earned my cutie-mark. Magic is what magic does, but even so it still adheres to certain rules. My cutie-mark was a snowflake- so unique and one-of-a-kind that it only showed up on my left flank. Because no two snowflakes are exactly alike.

That was the happiest day in my life. Even if I was disowned by my parents, they still smiled and greeted me back with open forelegs. And they gave me that sweetest sound in any language.

My name is Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill. Pleased to meet you.

<====ooO Ooo====>

Footnote: Hokkaido

H o k a d

k i o

H o k a d

H k o a d

Pcozl

Frost

Frost- Level Up! Level 6 Reached!
Perk added: First in Class (Rank One)- Hitting the book pays off. You gain +5 to Medicine and Science for each rank of this perk.
Quest perk added: Mumei No More- Finally... you have a new name for yourself. Your cutie-mark also improves your cryomantic spells by 20%. That's 20% cooler!

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Learning to Love Life

Soundtrack- My Magic

Soundtrack- Practicing at the Harbor

Soundtrack- My Mark, My Name

Soundtrack- A New Name, a New Stallion

Author's Note

Many thanks to the wonderful community that sprung up around FoE. I'm especially grateful for Lazer 726 for his editing. You are awesome- don't deny it. Lastly, thank you for reading. Please leave some feedback. I would greatly appreciate it, and I can use it to improve your reading experience.

Until next time.

Intermission One

Intermission One

Well, folks, I'm back in the saddle. I apologize if my sudden departure upset any of you, and I apologize for misleading everyone. By now, I hope you have a deeper understanding of who I am (he gestured at himself) and what I've done (now his armor).

Because, I'm sorry to say, killing Miranda and Wendy in cold blood was the least of my atrocities.

If anyone wants me to leave, speak now. Roanoke can always continue the story for me. He's heard it before. Honestly, though, if you wanted to throw me out, you could have told me before I spent the last few hours telling more of my tale.

So. Anyone?

The storyteller glanced about the room. No objections. He smiled softly.

Thank you, all of you. I... I appreciate it.

I suppose we'll be getting back to the old schedule since I'm getting one more shot. I'll began at nightfall as usual, taking breaks for dinner and DJ Pon3's nightly roundup. Then I'll go on for a while, probably until two-thirty A.M. or when you folks look ready to drop.

Let me be frank- it looks like it's getting close to that time. Don't worry too much about it. I was winding down forty years ago in Stalliongrad all the same. Let's wrap it up, shall we?

* * *

“My name is Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill.” I finished. “Pleased to meet you.” I glanced about the crowd. “That's it for today. We'll continue tomorrow. Just remember to withhold all judgment until the end of the story. And be here. I'll start when everyone's present. Thank you.”

Murmurs filtered through the crowd as they rose, heading for the exits. I was able to catch some tidbits- of amazement, of spite, of pity, of everything in between. But most of all, I heard bits and pieces about the Old Equestria, mainly directed toward the few pre-war ghouls we had at Stalliongrad, some toward me. I answered as best I could. Most of the time, I politely told them to wait a little longer for me to get further into the story. Finally, when only Rig, Azrael, Xamuros, Zasili, and Chief Thunderhooves remained, I sublimated the ice in my throat and let out a rough sigh as I re-wrapped the bandages around my muzzle with my scrawny ice arms.

“Wow... that was amazing, Frost!” Rig beamed.

“Who told you he was an awesome storyteller?” Sly chuckled, standing proud. “That's right- me!”

Xamuros rolled his eyes before locking with mine. “Yeah, definitely still got it in you. Even if you were a grade-A cusshole as a colt.”

“Why do you keep on swearing like that?” Rig asked.

“It's just how I was raised, okay?” the zebra retorted.

“How were you raised?”

Xamuros sat down and crossed his forelegs. “No comment.”

“Careful now, Xamuros.” Chief Thunderhooves smiled. “We might make you tell your story.”

He just grunted in response.

“Or I could get Azrael to read your mind,” Rig chuckled.

The giant griffiness grunted in response.

“So... buddy,” Sly said to me, adjusting his hat, “you've been kinda quiet. You gonna be alright?”

I glanced down at the bandages and looked back up at him with my milky eyes. “I can hope,” I replied, voice scratchy without the ice.

The big, blue buck winced.

I fired up my weakened horn to sprout a pair of ice arms, rolling my wheelchair to the blown-out window looking over the city streets. The night was crisp and cool, just... like so many years ago...

“Frost?” Rig called, coming up to me with her slight limp. Her bullet holes were closing up now.

I looked at the earth-coated unicorn, into those bright, indigo eyes. “I'm... fine. Just... just reminiscing. Have people been treating you alright?”

“Well... yeah, mostly. I mean... better than in Stable Three...” She didn't meet my eyes.

I kept looking at her for a bit longer. “You should go get some rest. All of you.”

“What of you?” Chief Thunderhooves inquired.

I looked over my shoulder at the buffalo ghoul. “I'd like to be by myself for the night.

“You are sure, Frost?” Zasili asked slowly.

“Da, I'm sure.” I looked back outside. “Rest well, everyone.”

I heard the clip-clop of hooves as the others headed out. Rig rest a hoof on my shoulder, and I offered her a smile as best I could with the bandages covering me. She left as well, eventually.

I didn't hear any lumbering.

“You wished to speak with me, Azrael?” I asked without turning around.

“I don't trust Xamuros,” she said. Straightforward, no mincemeating.

“Do you trust me?” I asked.

“Enough.”

Comforting. “Then trust Xamuros. You know I've fought with him, and I'm sure the other people of Stalliongrad have high opinions of him.”

“Indeed, but I can't help but feel that way. I can't read him.”

“Really now? So even you can't.”

“So far I've only been unable to read four types of things- machines including cybers, ghouls, alicorns, and people like you with proper mental training.”

“Zebras are seemingly telepathy-proof. There's that.”

“... really?”

“Really,” I chuckled scratchily. “You didn't just skim over my memories, did you?”

“In... some places,” she sighed. “Two-hundred-seventeen years is a lot of material.”

“Am I covering it well enough so far?”

“Well enough, I suppose.” She paused. “Frost, since I can't read you like this...”

“You can't do anything about the nightmares.” I surmised.

“Yes,” Azrael said. “I'm sorry.”

“Get some rest, Azrael,” I told her. “I can deal with it.”

The griffin hybrid remained for a few more seconds. Then I heard her lumber away. A pause. “Tell Her I said hello.” More lumbering. Then silence at last.

But not for long.

“Hello to you too, Azrael,” She said. I turned toward Her as She walked toward and settled down beside me. “How do you feel?”

“Bitter, more than anything else,” I answered, eyes downcast. “I can deal with the pain, but... just... just talking about those days only makes me miss them even more. It hurts... so much... to think about what we lost.” I let out a sigh, mist escaping the wraps around my muzzle.

She rest Her head against my shoulder. Her weight was comforting. And yet those glassy eyes made Her look so, so sad. “I miss them too,” She whispered, breath shuddering.

I had no doubt that She did. I leaned my head against Hers. She needed that comforting feeling as much as I did. We sat there together for a long time, silent. We watched over the dark, crumbling cityscape. I couldn't help but turn back the clock, part the clouds, piece the rubble back together, watch the dead walk the streets again. Echoes of friendly chattering and hearty laughter trickled to my ears, mingling with the scent of smelting metal and sweat.

“You never told me any of that,” She spoke up, jarring me back to the present. “About the Mumei, I mean.”

“I didn't want it to be remembered,” I rasped. “Damnatio memoriae.”

“But leader of the largest gang ever in Manehattan?” She managed to sound surprised even in Her whisper. “Frankly, I should have heard something about them- or at least of you.”

“Then I succeeded in wiping out all trace of it,” I said. “And honestly, my heyday likely passed by the time you returned, ah... to the mainland.”

She snorted softly, “Is that what you call it?”

“Well, yes...”

She nuzzled me gently. “I'm glad you care again.”

I smiled at that, even if only momentarily. My expression fell somber once more. “So... now do you understand, love?” I felt Her shift to look at me. “I was able to accomplish all of that by the time I was eighteen years old. Can you see just how easy it would have been for me to end the War? But I didn't. I failed to act, and for that I failed my oaths as a Lunar Guard.”

She let out a sigh. “Even so... can you imagine things being any different? Whether it be declaring an armistice or surrendering to the zebras, do you think the world could have ever been the same after what we all devolved into?”

“No,” I answered with a sigh of my own, “but it would be better than the Wasteland.”

“Love... you know you can't change the past...” She said gently.

“I know,” I whispered bitterly, “I know.” I inhaled deeply. “But I can't help but wish I could.” I looked at Her. “They're... going to find out about you tomorrow. Are you nervous?”

“Why ask me?” She huffed. “You're the storyteller.”

“Well are you?”

“Are you?”

“... yes.”

“Myself as well...” She settled closer. “You should rest, Frost.”

I nodded slowly. “You should too.”

“And I will.” She nestled up against me as I widened my eyes in surprise. “This time, with you.”

“Are... you sure?” I asked.

“Quite,” She whispered, tucking Her head under my chin.

I smiled softly and leaned against Her, closing my eyes. “Love you always...”

“And you as well.”

~ ~ ~

I was floating in the blank void again. Two black, griffin-like shapes loomed over me, their blank, unblinking eyes glaring down malevolently at me.

Suddenly, I realized what happened to all those bodies.

I watched, horrified, as we became one.

~ ~ ~

When I woke up, I felt... better. I felt... cleaner. I felt like some of my strength returned, felt less brittle. Not completely, no- but better. Curious, I fired up my horn and sprouted ice arms to undo the bandages around my head while forming a reflective square. Doing so felt...easier. My skin was still mottled like those of a ghoul's.

But the black tendrils were gone.

I gulped. “How about that...” I murmured, tone smoother.

* * *

Now isn't that something to end on? That's all for tonight, folks. Luna be with you in the Dreamlands.

You know where to be tonight.

<====ooO Ooo====>

Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level

Rig- DLC bonus XP acquired! Level Up! Level 15 reached!

Azrael- Maximum Level

Unlockable added: Soundtrack- Reflections (Looking Back Version)

Author's Note

A little quickie before the next segment of “Ghost of the Past”. Thanks to the usuals including Lazer726 for the swift pre-read. You’re bucking awesome. And thank you for reading this tidbit. Next one should be coming shortly.

As usual, please check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr!

Reflection Seven: Final Flourish

Reflection Seven: Final Flourish

“Come back soon! Please...”

Happy. I was undeniably, extremely, incredibly happy. Over the course of a month-and-a-half, I had discovered my magic, forwarded an ancient arcane art, and earned my cutie-mark and my second name. I improved upon my discoveries in cryomancy, learning how to shape and reshape my ice through subtle changes in temperature. I even developed shortcuts to cut out the liquid state of water entirely- sublimation and deposition. This went on into the middle of winter, running through Hearth's Warming.

It was after that day that I received the best present ever.

“So, Frostbane Windchill, huh?” Shinespark grinned.

My snowflake quivered in midair as I reshaped it. “Must you keep doing that, professor?”

“Not much more,” she grumbled. “Hardly getting a reaction out of you now. So, nice name.”

“I personally like 'Frost' a little better,” I chuckled. “'Frostbane' seems a bit too high and mighty. But what can I do for you, Professor Shinespark?”

“Walk and talk, Frost?”

Sweetest sound in any language, folks. How could I say no?

Shinespark and I walked around campus amidst the gently falling snow. I directed the flurries away from her as we went. “Thank you.” She nodded to me. “So, Frost, put any thoughts toward higher education?”

“A little,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Frost, your studies in cryomancy are very, very interesting to mages like me. I've got quite a few colleagues at Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns in Canterlot who would be very interested in meeting you. And I would be more than happy to put in a letter of recommendation. So, what do you say?”

I gawked at her, dumbfounded.

“Go ahead and let it out,” she chuckled. “We're not in the library anymore.”

“Yes!” I shouted, prancing about her. “Yes! Absolutely yes! Hahaaaa! Yeeeees!” I bounced for the last time. “Ah, too much?”

Shinespark just burst into laughter.

* * *

I was going to Canterlot- not just that, but I was going to attend the best, most prestigious school of magic in Equestria at the university level! Can you believe my excitement? I was giddy with it! I couldn't wait! I couldn't wait! I was an Undecided/Undeclared major, but I couldn't wait!

Sadly, I had to wait. The school didn't accept new students until the fall quarter. It was still unfortunately winter. The good news, however, was that Shinespark's letter of recommendation featuring the promise of my cryomancy would earn me a full scholarship to the school provided I pass an examination held by a panel of mages. That was scheduled for near the beginning of summer, when I would be heading there.

There... was another matter, though...

* * *

It was a big house indeed, just short of a mansion by Manehattan standards. Tall, strong columns held up the archway in front of the main doors. It was a grand building, painted in a brilliant white. It even had a driveway leading to a garage, even though we didn't have a powered wagon. I stared at it in wonder and awe.

“Do you see this, Frostbane?” Father said as we strode toward it. “This is going to be our new home.”

“Are you sure, Father?” I asked him, at least a little happy that he was even addressing me. “I'm sorry, I think it's nice, but...”

“We worked hard to get here,” Father said, fixing his eyes on me. “We earned this place. Don't you forget it. And one day, it will be yours.” He nodded behind himself. “Just like this.”

I looked back at the cart he was pulling along. Among many things in it, one thing stood out to me- a set of ancient armor, one of the few keepsakes he brought with him during The Great Exodus. Made from tempered steel and layers of tiny ceramic place, it certainly had a Neighpponese feel to it. I felt honored that he would still consider passing it along to me... and now I feel so dishonorable for leaving it behind...

“Now go help your mother,” he told me. “I don't want to spend more than a day to get everything inside.”

* * *

It was a marvelous home. There were just so many rooms, filled with so many wonders we could now afford thanks to the money I brought in as owner of The Lazy Dog. When my parents were out at work, I was either racing around the rooms and playing around like a little kid or working on my cryomancy. I really liked the place. Had these lovely double staircases in the foyer. I just... loved skipping stairs when I had to go up and down them. What's the use of taking just one at a time, right? We also had this beautiful floor tiling that depicted Princess Luna and Princess Celestia chasing each other's tails in a circle with the moon and sun spiraling between them. Balance, perfect balance.

My feelings about our new home were... mixed. My parents deserved it. I knew that much. They worked hard to support us since our first days in the City of Lights and Legends, from the refugee camps to right before I left for Canterlot. I worked hard myself- harder, maybe- but my intentions were far more selfish. It was a strange feeling, reveling in a reward I felt I didn't deserve. Sometimes I just wandered about the rooms, taking it all in. Other days I wanted to stay away, wandering about the city. It didn't help knowing that we bought it using the bits I pulled in. They were earned honestly enough, but to know personally what I indirectly did to obtain that wealth... that money was tainted to me. That mansion was tainted.

Nevertheless, I had a demonstration to prepare for, and you might recognize how I prepared for it.

* * *

“It was very nice to catch up with you, Miss Windfall,” I said with a smile. “I'll have to remember this cafe.”

“It's good, ain't it?” Vani nodded. “Give me a call when you're visiting from Canterlot. We can always meet up again.”

“Sounds good. Now, if it's not too much trouble, would you please show me your foreleg, maybe move it around a little?”

“My foreleg?” She blinked. “You mean arm?”

“Yes. I just wish to learn some basic anatomy is all.”

“Anatomy?” Vani arced an eyebrow. “What for?”

“Trying to see if I can duplicate griffin forel- arms with my cryomancy.”

“Really now? Think you can do that?”

“It’s worth a shot, Miss Windfall,” I said.

“Well alright then.” She shrugged and stretched her arm out toward me, flexing the fingers and curling them into a fist. Then she wriggled her wrist around a bit. “This enough, kid?”

“Yes, and thank you, Miss Windfall.” I nodded. The check arrived, and the griffiness reached for it first.

“My choice, my treat,” Vani said.

I placed my hoof on the other side. “But I still need to repay you for helping me out in court two months ago. Fair's fair.”

Vani sighed and shook her head, smirking. “My little businesspony.”

“Not anymore, Miss Windfall.” I took the check.

* * *

At home and seated at my desk, I hung up my hat and fired up my horn. There was a coolness suffusing through my shoulders as two short bars of ice sprouted from them. I extended them slowly parallel to the floor until they were about half a meter long. Then came the fingers. Thumb, index, ring, pinky. I sifted through my memories of watching griffins, recalling the anatomy of their arms. They didn't have to be perfect, no, but I wanted the proportions to be as close as possible. That didn't take much longer than a minute or two.

Now came the hard part.

I tightened my expression with exertion as I gradually shifted the ice to bend the arms forward at the “elbows”. Okay... okay... good. Now back. Forth. Back. Forth. I repeated that for several minutes to map out that magical memory.

It went downhill from there. I applied that same concept of bending to the fingers simultaneously. Then came rotating the arms themselves- easy enough- and coalescing them in a desired pose, such as outstretched to accept something, instead of forming and then repositioning. It came to me almost naturally after a few days.

Unfortunately, there was a certain glaring issue.

* * *

“See, I have to will every single movement,” I explained, seated across from Shinespark during her office hours.

“Every single movement?” she asked.

“Every single movement.” I nodded, sprouting a pair of arms to demonstrate as I spoke. “I literally have to think about doing all the steps in an otherwise simple action. For example, picking up a pencil like a griffin. I have to swivel the entire arm to the pencil, twist the hand, and then open the thumb, index, and ring finger. Then I have to move the arm forward while straightening at the elbow to reach out. Next, I close the aforementioned fingers. Okay, ring finger more so... put the thumb there, and pinch with the index. And finally, I pull the arm back while bending at the elbow.” Then I plucked the pencil away from my fingers using my hoof and set it back in its original place. “Meanwhile, that took no conscious thought whatsoever.

“Using these arms and hands is a clumsy, slow, and rigid process. And that's just picking up a pencil! Don't even get me started on writing and especially on performing two separate, independent tasks with my arms!” I sighed. “I guess what I'm trying to ask you is: Is there any way I can make these movements more fluid and seamless? Just like that?” I snapped my fingers, or at least I tried to. I made a few more attempts with no success. I just let out a defeated grumble.

“Well, my best educated guess would be to just do as you do with other magic and even normal actions.” Shinespark shrugged. “Don't think about doing it. Just do it.”

“But how?” I asked.

“I can't really give you an easy answer, Frost. I'm sorry to say. I'm just thinking it'll be similar to telekinesis, where the concept is to magick an object by using an imaginary hoof.”

“That's the thing, professor!” I exclaimed, gesturing wildly as I spoke. “I'm using an imaginary hoof to create and move a physical arm which in turn manipulates an object! There's an additional level of complexity that I can't seem to simplify no matter what! And it's really, really, really frustrating me!” I clutched my head and settled my chin down on the desk lamely. “Sorry, just had to vent...”

“Mmm, I don't think it's a problem,” she chuckled.

I blinked. She was giving me that smug look again.

“You're giving me that smug look again, professor.”

“Mm-hm.”

I suddenly became aware of something cold against both sides of my head- more accurately, clutching it. “I was gesturing wildly using both my forelegs and my ice arms, wasn't I?”

“Mmm-hmmmm.”

“Huh.” I blinked dumbly, picking myself up. “Just do it, and...” My arms shifted around, fingers flexing before I plucked the pencil out of its cup without so much as a conscious thought. I looked back at Shinespark and pointed. “You're brilliant.”

“Mm-hm.”

“May I hug you?”

“Mm-hm.”

And thus, hugs were administered with both natural forelegs and magical ice arms. As I did so, I might have hugged too tightly. My ice arms crackled and fell to the floor in pieces. We both pulled away and blinked dumbly at the fragments.

“I suppose that brings me to the second glaring issue,” I said lamely.

* * *

I was reminded of something that I shouldn't need to be reminded of.

Ice is brittle.

Very brittle- so brittle that unless I thickened up my arms and fingers, I couldn't pick up anything over a kilogram in weight. While my suddenly more dextrous arms and hands made menial tasks such as writing, typing, and using small tools much easier, the strength- rather, the weakness of my ice was becoming much more apparent.

How I overcame this was, again, through research.

Careful, folks. This is going to get a little scientific. Further studying at the Manehattan Magical Institute explained why ice is so weak. Due to the atomic structure of water, it tends to space out and align itself in two-dimensional layers as it freezes. This reduced density explains why ice floats on water. Now, I wanted to make my ice harder, stronger, tougher. Naturally, I studied up on one of the hardest, strongest, toughest materials in the world.

Diamonds are... very interesting in terms of structure. They're completely composed of carbon arranged in a tetrahedral shape. Think of a triangular pyramid where each endpoint is the start of another such pyramid, and so forth. That kind of organization produces a shape that has no natural seams to break those chemical bonds. It's why diamonds have so many applications in the fields of industrial engineering and design. You can only cut a diamond with another diamond- or one of the few stronger materials.

Let me sum up my findings for you. Carbon can form four chemical bonds, allowing for that tetrahedral shape. The oxygen in water can only form three, two of which are taken up by the two hydrogen atoms. Hence, “H-two-O”. This deficiency of a single bond was my obstacle. Unfortunately, I couldn't change that. Chemistry's chemistry. Magic still adheres to some rules after all. I couldn't change the subatomic structure.

But I could change the organizational structure.

The tetrahedral shape was my goal. It didn't matter whether I could achieve that goal on the small scale or the large scale. That epiphany came to me as spring approached. I could duplicate that structure by forcing the bonds between the water molecules into that shape rather than the bonds within the molecules.

The results were astounding. My ice had dramatically improved strength and structural integrity. I could lift objects several dozen kilograms in weight, and it would take a strong buck to crack my arms. A sledgehammer was needed to shatter them in a single blow. From that, you can tell my ice isn't nearly as strong as diamond. It was more that strong enough for my purposes, however, and there was another advantage...

* * *

“Ah, here we are,” I said with a smile as our ramen arrived.

“Gotta admit this food's starting to grow on me,” Shinespark chuckled, levitating her spoon and chopsticks. “Enjoy.”

“Enjoy,” I said in turn, producing a pair of arms to pick up my own. We ate for a few seconds; I had to keep adding ice to my arms to keep them properly formed over the hot soup.

“Hey, Frost?” the red-maned unicorn spoke up.

“Mm?” I looked up after swallowing my mouthful. “Yes, Profesor Shinespark?”

“Is that supposed to be happening?” She pointed at my arms.

I looked at them. They were slowly thickening up before my eyes. I blinked in confusion and stopped trying to sustain my ice arms. They promptly stopped growing. Then I held my hands over the broth, watching them. No steam, no dripping. Nothing.

“Huh... increased heat capacity,” I murmured. “How about that?”

* * *

That extra resistance to higher temperatures became a boon in the coming months. Winter waved good-bye and spring sprung up. The warmth reinvigorated the City of Lights and Legends. The people were up later, longer, and louder now. It was the lively Manehattan I knew, the Manehattan I grew up in, the city that never sleeps. For me, it was a bittersweet time. I had all but honed my ice arms to the skill with which I use them today, and the time to travel up to Canterlot was fast approaching.

I was going to miss Manehattan. As a hotheaded blank-flank-flunk, as a comeback colt rising to the top, as a cutthroat puppet master controlling three-quarters of the city, as a fallen avenger obliterating all trace, and as a new stallion answering his calling in life, I'd learned many valuable lessons growing up there. I spent the last two weeks walking around those familiar places- the quiet parks, the glistening waters of Manehattan Harbor, the homey cafes, the pumping juvie-joints and nightclubs, the libraries and the Institute where I gained so much life changing knowledge...

The storyteller displayed another memento. It was a postcard with a picture of the nocturnal Manehattan cityscape. In bright, bold-face print, the card proclaimed, “City of Lights and Legends”.

You've got to admire earth ponies for their worksponyship. Laminated cardboard isn't supposed to last this long. Yet... here it is- and without any protective wards. I respect The Earth Pony Way, folks.

He looked over the postcard, eyes twinkling in remembrance.

This was the kind of view you could get at the Statue's torch. Statue of Friendship, Pony of Friendship- both names work. The green giant still stands today as Friendship City. You could see it all from up there. All the quarters, all the places, all the landmarks. The Institute, the Lights and Legends Building, the World Trade Center... you could see everything from up there. Only was it when the suburbs blossomed into more urban sprawl when the view wasn't enough. That was after I left, though. Long after.

That one last time, I stayed up there the whole day. Just packed my meals and just looked out over the city. Thinking back, it was like time-lapse photography. The people and traffic crammed about the city even as the sun went down and the stars came out. Then bam! The lights came on, and so did the music. I still remember the one song that some others started singing into, up there in the Statue...

“I see trees of green,
red roses too.
I see them bloom
for me and you.
And I think to myself
what a wonderful woooorld...”

He sighed softly, mistily. He swayed to a beat audible only to him, eyes closed. He snapped out of his trance only after a minute or so.

Sorry. Like I said, music moves me. That song especially... it triggers a lot of memories. And there is nothing more beautiful in music- in my opinion- than the majesty of the equine voice.

I'll never forget that day. You could just watch the light and life breathe into Manehattan after dark. And the harbor's waters never stopped sparkling- from the sun by day, from the lights by night. I was going to miss it all.

But most of all, I was going to miss the people. I didn't have many true fiends in the City of Lights and Legends, and it ailed me knowing I would soon be leaving them all behind. For now, it was time to bid them all farewell.

* * *

I approached her as she turned to lock up The Lazy Dog. Two-o'clock closing time, right on schedule.

“Hello there, DJ,” I greeted.

“Sorry, kid,” the gray pegasus with the white-black mane sighed, slipping away the keys as she turned around, “joint's clo...” She squinted her eyes to get a better look. “Hokkaido?”

“Well, it's Frost now,” I smiled, stepping forward. It was a little nippy, yes, but I didn't feel the need to wear a coat. I just didn't feel cold at all. I did wear my trusty fedora as usual, however. “How are you doing, Silva?”

“Good, good,” she chuckled. “Whew... buck, you have any idea how hard it is to run this joint and be the DJ?”

I winced. “Not too fun.”

“Ehh, still fun, just not the running part of it.” She nodded to me. “How 'bout you? Been a while.”

“Earned my magic, earned my mark, earned my name,” I replied, pooling water from the air and then freezing it into the shape of a record. I offered it to her, and she nodded in thanks as she looked it over for a few seconds before tucking it away in her bags. “I'm going to Canterlot to attend Celestia's School. I'm a year late, but, ah, anyway, I just wanted to say goodbye before I left.”

“Aww, ain't that cute,” Silva chuckled, drawing me into a quick, friendly hug. “Wish you luck, champ.”

“Thanks.” I smiled, pulling away. “Wish you luck with The Lazy Dog. You're still the best spinster in town. Keep those woofers barking, DJ H0UND.”

“And stay chill, Frost.” She smirked.

* * *

“I'm glad you found that special someone, Miss Windfall,” I said with a smile, seated across from the griffiness at an outside table. “Or would it be Missus...?”

“Still Windfall,” Vani replied. “Griffins have a female-oriented society.”

“I see. I wish you both well all the same.”

“Good luck to you too, Frost. The gods walk with you.” Vani glanced down as the check arrived. I glanced down as well.

We both looked up at one another.

“I got thi-” I began.

“Nope.” Vani snatched it out of reach.

“Come now, at least-”

“Nope.”

“But-”

“Nope.”

I sighed, “Fine...”

Vani started pulling the bits out.

“At least let me pay half-”

“Nope.”

“Okay, you win, you win,” I chuckled.

The griffiness joined me. “I don't know, kid, I'm the one paying!”

* * *

“Hi, professor!” I exclaimed suddenly, bolting into her office doorway.

“Hi, Frost,” Shinespark greeted me calmly with a smile, setting down her quill.

I deflated a little. “Really? You're weren't surprised? Not even a teeny bit?”

“Frost,” She leaned forward, “if you're gonna sneak up on me, try to remember I can see your hat through the window slit.”

I glanced up at that. My trusty fedora! It failed me! “Well, horseapples. I was hoping to get you back for those twenty-six times...”

“You counted?” the cheery-orange mane snickered. “Well don't I feel special?”

“Eidetic memory helps.” I shrugged.

“Oh, so that's it?” Shinespark scoffed, standing up and heading around the desk over to me. “Going pretty soon, huh?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Entrance exams start right after the Summer Sun Celebration. I'm heading out in four days.”

“Yes, that's right, isn't it?” she sighed. “Heard it's happening in Ponyville this year. Good on them. Place could use some more publicity. It's a nice place.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” I said with a nod. “Professor, I... I just want to thank you for everything. If it weren't for your advice and help, I don't think I'd ever become so good at cryomancy or earn my cutie-mark. If there's anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask.”

“Well...” She put on a thoughtful smile, “I hear Manehattan Magical Institute's a wonderful place to conduct summer research for whatever major you pursue. And... maybe the Hydronomicon's cryomancy section could use an extension.”

I couldn't help but smile. Dancing around the desire, letting the other person get the idea. Straight out of Lying. “I'll be sure to keep all that in mind.” I opened my forelegs and... hesitated. I offered a hoof instead. “Take care, Professor Shinespark.”

“You too, Frost.” We shook firmly. “Oh come here, you!” We both fell into chuckles as we hugged.

“Goodbye, professor.”

“Farewell, Frost.”

* * *

We met at the fountain square. Three P.M., just like old times- plus one more.

“Hey, Zoleks!” I laughed in joy as we tugged one another into a Roaman hoofshake. We met shoulders and hugged like all old buds did. “Happy summer solstice!” After we pulled away, I gestured to the mare beside him. “Namira, I presume?”

“A pleasure to meet you, Frost.” She bowed her head respectfully.

'Likewise,” I said and bowed in turn.

“So... leaving tomorrow, huh?” Zoleks asked.

“Yeah, just... you know, wanted to get together like old times.”

“Except we've both gotten our marks now.” He pointed out.

“Heh... yeah...” I glanced back at the snowflake. I couldn't tell for sure, but I think he was doing the same thing, looking at his wheel with bent spokes at the same time. “So... how's the bike shop?”

“Huh?” Zoleks blinked. “Oh, great! Great thanks to Namira!” He smirked and draped a foreleg around his marefriend.

“I got him in touch with a stallion named Wild Wheels in Ponyville.” She nodded proudly. “It's brought in good business.”

“Glad to hear it. Oh, sorry! Let's get over to the cafe now. It's a bit of a walk from here. Vani showed it to me a while back.”

“One second, one second.” Zoleks held up a hoof before grasping something in his bags with his mouth and offering it to me. It was a copy of today's newspaper. The front page displayed Princess Celestia and... and...

Another alicorn! This one was a petite, fragile-looking one with a crescent moon and stars against a black splotch for a cutie-mark. Her mane and tail were short and neatly-groomed; they looked natural compared to the tall, white, regal one beside her with the flowing, multicolored hair and the sun cutie-mark. Her eyes... a gentle, tender shade of blue. She smiled up appreciatively at Princess Celestia, a wreath of flowers hanging around her neck.

The headline- “Nightmare Moon Returns; Vanquished By Six New Bearers Of The Elements Of Harmony! Princess Luna Back And Here To Stay!”

“... are you serious?” I gawked, my hat slipping down as I stared perhaps a little too long.

“Caaaalled it,” Zoleks chuckled.

* * *

I stepped quietly into my parents' bedroom after dinner, where they were both seated at the sofa, bathed softly in the shifting lights of their own television set. For all my rhetorical prowess, I found myself at a loss for words. They were both turning toward me now, and I looked away, unable to meet their gazes.

“I'm...” I started shakily. I closed my mouth and bit my lip. “I just wanted to, ah... I just want to say goodbye before I leave tomorrow. For Canterlot.” The only sound I could hear was the beating of my own heart and the eleven-o'clock news segment. I looked down lower. “... right then. Good night.” I started to back out of the doorway.

“Son.”

My mother's words froze me faster than ice. They... she hadn't called me that in a long time. Mother looked up to my father as if in askance.

He nodded and spoke, “Frostbane... know that you will always be our Hokkaido and our son.” Then, firmly: “Be good.”

I bit my lip tighter. Quietly, I said, “Thank you. Good night.”

I backed out and shut the door.

* * *

“First boarding call for coach for platform twelve, bound for Ponyville, connecting to Canterlot," the conductor called over the intercom. “Your attention, please. First boarding call for coach for platform twelve, service to Ponyville, connecting to Canterlot.”

I looked up from my seat at the bench of the train platform. I looked at Zoleks, sporting his new leather jacket. He was the only one to accompany me to the station, and he stayed with me to the end.

“Well,” I bit my lip, “I guess this is it.”

“Yeah...” he said with a nod. “Guess it is.”

I looked at him for a long time, lost in memory...

Him holding out his hoof to me, fighting side-by-side, getting in trouble together, walking down the hall with him at my side...

Buying him his first bike, watching him get his glyphmark- no training wheels needed...

Deflating after I told him I was headed to the library, him following my order to the dot as Sunny slugged me again and again...

Being my watchful guardian, sticking by my side, giving me that advice about setting myself apart form the others, taking the hits for me in that silly gang war...

The storyteller's lip quivered.

Throwing away the trash bags weighing down on me, slugging Sunny one more time, pulling me up on his back, breaking every... every Goddessdamned speed limit...

His tone began to falter.

Always... always being there for me...

He choked up.

Always, even if he didn't have to be.

The old unicorn broke down, stooping over into sobs.

“Hey, buddy...” he said to me (he could not bring himself to copy his voice), “you okay?”

He came back up, tears streaming down his face in glassy rivulets.

I hugged him hard as I could. “I'm gonna miss you, Zoleks!” I cried out. “I'm gonna miss you so much!”

He stopped down for another few seconds.

I still do...

He clenched his eyes shut.

I still do...

His eyes flashed open as he roared.

If... if I c... if I can fault the Elements of Harmony for just one- just one thing, it’s for only choosing ponies! Because Zoleks was damn well the Element of Loyalty! Don't you let anypony, anyone... tell! You! Any! Different!

He wept bitterly.

I'm the Sentinel, folks. I'm the Sentinel.

I still miss him...

I still miss him...

* * *

It took a long time for him to calm down. Stone face, eyes downcast, lips flat.

He looked up.

Click-clackety-clack, click-clackety-clack went the train as it rolled down the tracks. I watched the city with the larger-than-life buildings, the larger-than-life monuments, and the larger-than-life people slip away past the window until only the greens, yellows, and browns of the countryside rolled on by. I breathed in a confident, new breath, steeled myself, and returned to my book.

The storyteller set down yet another memento. It was a small, portly tome well-nourished with tabs and annotations. No picture, just the title- How to Win Friends and Influence People.

Special occasion calls for a special double-feature of memories. Now... this book... I love. It has a lot of the same lessons as Lying, Parliamentary Style by “Prince” Blueblood. Smile. Get the other person to think it's his or her idea. A lot of the same concepts. But unlike that Bluedud, Dale Carnegie didn't advocate his lessons as a bag of tricks- he even says so in the book itself. Rather, it was a new way to look at life. Don't criticize. Be genuinely interested in other people and their own interests. Many others along those lines.

I left a piece of myself behind in Manehattan. I don't know what it was or what to call it. But just as Lying and How to Win Friends were two sides of the same coin, I was still the same old comeback colt. I was just... redefining myself. I hoped, dreamed that I would find something else to replace that inexplicable thing I lost. And I would.

After all, what was Canterlot again?

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 7 Reached!

Perk added: Ice Elemental Union (Rank One)- Your bond with the cold grows deeper. You are now 15% more resistant to colder temperatures and cryomantic spells are 5% more efficient. However, your body's core temperature is 10% lower and you are 20% weaker to sources of heat and incur a -50% penalty to fire resistance. These bonuses and penalties stack for each rank of this perk.

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Hoofstrong

Soundtrack- Goodbye, My Friend

Soundtrack- Farewell to the Past, Forward Toward a Brighter Future

Author's Note

My thanks to the usual suspects, including Lazer726 for editing. You, yes you! Start finishing up your rewrite so I can give you a signal boost! Speaking of signal boost, I highly suggest you check out Fallout Equestria: The Ditzy Doo Chronicles. I think it’s a wonderfully-written story, and it deserves far more attention than it’s getting.

So thank you for reading! Things may slow down a bit since this is the last chapter I was able to complete before college started up again. Please leave some feedback- I always appreciate it. Check out the story above, and maybe even check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr. Until next time.

Reflection Eight: Hopes and Dreams

Reflection Eight: Hopes and Dreams

“... the most brilliant, most grand, most magnificent of all cities- a place called... Canterlot!”

I'm actually going to commit a travesty here. I'm going to try to describe that place in words.

Incredible. Majestic. Unbelievable. Beautiful. All those words and more described it, but most of all- breathtaking. Hanging off of the tallest peak in the Mid-Equestrian Divide, the city looked less like a metropolis along the likes of Stalliongrad or Manehattan and more like white porcelain pottery in livable form. Or, maybe, a fountain with the dazzling waterfalls trickling to the valley below. It looked fragile and delicate poised so dangerously like that. Shiny, white walls with a mighty gate surrounded a city dominated by a shiny, white castle with its high, skinny- and yes, shiny, white- towers and spires. Royal tints of violet and gold completed the image straight out of a sprite tale... or a dream. Heh, fancy that. The one and only...

Canterlot, City of Hopes and Dreams.

Canterlot was actually quite small for a city- the capital city of Equestria no less. Don't get me wrong, though. Canterlot was a city, alright. It just wasn't anywhere near the scale of what I'd come to expect from nineteen years of living in Manehattan. But within those walls were innumerable wonders- fountains, gardens, museums, statues, monuments. Again, it's the little things that added up to the big picture. Some days it was a bubbling brook that fed one of the roaring waterfalls cascading down the mountain. Another time, it was a maze of hedges leading to little hidey-holes. Now I'm going to commit another travesty here. I'm going to slander Canterlot. Even with all these little surprises, there was one fact you couldn't avoid.

There were no “people”. Just ponies.

It was a stark contrast to Manehattan, where you'd find all sorts of equines and even diamond dogs walking the city streets. Not so in Canterlot. I rarely saw any other equine being except ponies. The only time someone else would be in Canterlot was when a dignitary or ambassador was in town. The styles and fashions, the fashions and features might have provided some variety, but it was just enough. Just enough.

That brings me to my second point. A lot of the ponies in Canterlot were a bunch of pricks. By the way, this is coming from “an annoying prick”. The Canterlot elite, mostly comprised of unicorns, owned the city. Remember, Canterlot was a walled city. Space was limited. Rich, hardhearted ponies living in a place like the City of Hopes and Dreams meant gentrification cranked up to eleven. The rich out-bought the real estate from the lower and middle classes and drove up the prices to a pretty premium, forcing the less wealthy into the “less desirable” places in town- sometimes clear out of the city in some cases. Perhaps it's no big surprise that Canterlot had a seedy underbelly behind all that glamour. The poor had to cope somehow. Even with the multiple welfare services and programs available under Princess Celestia's government, it still seemed there was a hefty price tag to living your hopes and dreams. I was just glad that room and board would be covered- provided I met or exceeded expectations at the examination.

That was still a day away, though. In the meantime...

* * *

I deadpanned at the hotel clerk. “Four-hundred bits,” I parroted him. “For one night.”

“Before tax, yes,” the well-dressed, well-groomed unicorn said in a haughty tone without missing a beat, nose turned up in 'noble' derision. “Will that be coin or charge?”

I looked around at the smooth, wooden furnishing and the polished tiling. “And this is the cheapest place in town?”

“Least expensive, sir,” he corrected with a snort. “One-hundred-fifty bits-per-day lesser than our closest competitor.”

Suddenly, my glee at living here didn't feel quite as justified.

I couldn't believe I was about to do it after so long, but I just... smiled. “Not a bad deal then, hm?”

“Quite.” The clerk smiled back proudly.

“Now tell me- is there something else available here for a...” I caught myself, “less expensive fare?”

“Mm, I'm afraid not, sir.” He shook his head, having the gall to look disappointed.

“Are you quite sure?” I inquired further. “I'd settle for more common quarters, even a supply closet if-”

“'Common quarters'?!” he gasped, looking queasy. “'Supply closet'?!” Dear Lorn, his mustache twitched! “By Celestia, it's true what they say about you Northerners! You really are a bunch of miserable, bottom-feeding no-hopers!”

Okay, smile's gone. I already hated this place.

“Yeah, I'm leaving,” I nickered and turned tail, using my teeth to toss my suitcase onto my back.

“Good riddance!” the clerk jeered. “You would be unsightly in an establishment such as-”

I slammed the door behind me. I didn't care that what I did was impolite and that I was breaking so many rules from How to Make Friends. It felt so right cutting him off.

“Note to self,” I muttered as I strolled about the open-air marketplace, “remember to obtain detailed information about these sort of things ahead of time.”

The Canterlot Bazaar was essentially the city square, filled to the brim with stands selling overpriced foods, boutiques selling overpriced clothing, and stores selling overpriced goods and services. Vendors hawked their wares, their faces ranging from reserved, delightful, pleasant smiles to stern, reserved stares. Most were trying to outshout one another in the fierce competition for customers.

“Seaweed fresh from Manehattan Harbor! So fresh it's practically wriggling! Can't have a Neighpponese meal without-”

“Spices! Get your spices! If we don't have it, you can order it from our-”

“-ever seen such a rich, full-bodied wine such as this? Give it a go and have but a taste, young gentlecolt-”

“-dairy products, lowest price here in Canterlot-”

“What?! Don't listen to the buffoon! My dairy product selection is the lowest priced in-”

The noise greatly reminded me of markets back home in Manehattan. What didn't greatly remind me were the outrageous prices. Eight bits-per-kilo for apples! You could get them for just four in Manehattan! At least I could haggle here and got a bushel at six, but that was still much more than I planned to pay for a meal here. Even if I wasn't paying for a place to stay, I had to make it last.

It didn't help that I was saving up my cryomancy for the exam tomorrow. I wanted to keep it a surprise. At the very least, I could use some of my magic to keep myself hydrated.

I settled down at a bridge sitting above a sparkling stream. The sun was starting to set, and for a moment, I wondered how Princess Luna would handle the night after her return. Then again, last night came and went without a hitch. I decided not to dwell upon it and instead set out to look for a place to sleep.

* * *

The night was... so strange to me. There was no music, no light save for the soft glow of the streetlamp, and nopony was apparently outside save for me. Everypony else had gone to bed early- early for a Manehattaner like myself. The night felt... bare, lifeless. The only sounds came from the occasional nocturnal bird or muffled conversation and laughter from inside homes. It felt completely alien to me. It seemed so perverted to me that I found myself feeling incredibly homesick. But I had to accept it and push forth. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I was going to take it. I'd weathered worse. So Canterlot fell short of my expectations. So what? I was going to make the best of it.

I recognized something in the barren darkness as I searched for a place to stay. Just that- darkness. It was unlike the hot, stuffy, suffocating darkness of the dumpster. It was... cool, calm, empty. I couldn't help but find a certain peace, a certain serenity in that.

I finally settled with and settled down in a side alley, breathing out a sigh as I picked out an apple to eat. Hm, it didn't actually taste all that bad. At least some of the bits went to quality. I leaned sideways to get comfortable as I ate.

The mare I unexpectedly leaned against let out a gasp, and we both jumped in surprise. How did I miss that? We were backed away from one another, eying the other fearfully for a split second. She was a short, scrawny mare dressed in rags. A ruffling at her side made it clear to me she was a pegasus. I couldn't make much else out in the dark.

“Wait... you're not a policepony,” she remarked in a whisper.

“No... no I'm not,” I whispered in turn.

“Sorry about the scare, just... didn't expect anypony to sit on me!” she chuckled softly.

I smiled apologetically, though I doubted she could see it. “Uh, sorry about that. I was just looking for somewhere to sleep.”

“Oh! Well, go on ahead! More than enough room for the both of us.”

“You're sure? I don't want to invade your privacy, ma'am.”

“Don't worry, it's fine.” She settled back down and I think she might have shot me a weird look. Tough to tell in the darkness. “Are you new here or something? You don't sound like you're from around here.”

“Just got here, yeah,” I answered with a nod, backing up to give her some space and lying down. “No luck finding a quick place to stay.”

“Found the 'least expensive' place in town?” Her whisper dribbled with sarcasm.

“Unfortunately.”

The pegasus mare sighed, “Jeez, and you'd rather sleep out on the streets... that bad, huh? Don't worry about it. Sleeping like this is the real 'least expensive' place in town.”

“So you're sure you're alright with this?” I asked again.

“Yep. Don't know where you're from, but folks like us help one another out. Jeez, not even any clothes but a hat? You're gonna catch a cold!”

“I doubt that,” I chuckled knowingly, then offered a hoof. “Frost Windchill. Pleased to meet you.”

She reached over and shook. “Hummingbird.”

* * *

Sunrise was... magical. There's no better way to describe it. Canterlot's location and walls were in just the perfect position to capture the beauty of it all. Light would slowly sweep across the city street by street as if a great curtain was slowly drawn back. Experiencing that for the first time, I could forgive the snobbery yesterday. I could feel the sun's soft warmth wash over me, invigorating me inch by inch as it blossomed into the sky.

I shared the apples which I saved up with Hummingbird, who I could now see fully in the fresh daylight. She had a verdant coat of green, her mane and tail just a shade darker. Her name was certainly fitting of her appearance. She was indeed dressed in a worn set of ragged clothing, namely consisting of layers of more casual wear underneath a black hooded sweatshirt.

“Thanks for the breakfast,” she said between mouthfuls. Her voice was very quiet and a little on the higher side. Her tone just seemed... frail, even if she did speak at a normal pace. “So, new to Canterlot, huh? Whatcha think?”

I looked out, watching the people of the City of Hopes and Dreams start off on their morning routines. I noted that there was nopony walking down the neatly-laid cobblestone streets in working clothes- or at least anything resembling it. They all wore a mix of suits, hats, dresses, boots, and horseshoes. There were not a single set of overalls, smocks, or even a naked pony among them. It looked like they were all taking leisurely walks for the most part aside from the few business owners opening up shop and stand. I was surprised to see a powered wagon slowly ride past us. It wasn't anything like the big, pill-on-wheels Volkswagens that you'd normally see in Manehattan or even as husks littering the city ruins in the Wasteland. It was tiny, flimsy- hell, it actually looked like what you'd imagine a powered wagon to be from just the words to go by. It was a horse-drawn carriage sans horse. The driver would just sit on his or her haunches with the hindhooves working the pedals and forehooves operating the stick-shift and steering wheel. Really, a barebones powered wagon.

“... different,” I finally replied, taking another bite.

“Come on, I know you've got stronger feelings than that,” Hummingbird chuckled.

I looked back at her, arcing an eyebrow. “Expensive, full of superficial, discriminatory 'nobleponies' with bloated egos, and amazing in that there's nothing for the less fortunate to stay for a single night.” She lightly nodded with each item down the list. “But... I'll have to admit that the city itself is beautiful so far. The... architecture, the gardens, the...” I took in a deep breath through my nostrils, “the air is so fresh and pure. I like the city. Just not the people. Rather, the ponies.”

“Pretty much it.” The green mare nodded. She then coughed a few times into her hoof.

“You alright?” I asked.

“Oh, just... always found it easy to get sick.” She waved the hoof she sputtered into dismissively. “Weak constitution, something like that.”

I blinked at her.

She eyed me. “What, didn't expect a hobo like me to use big words?”

“No, just...” I was already taking too long to make something up, and she was still giving me that deadpan look. I let out a sigh and answered, “Yes. Sorry. I mean, I... I was dirt-poor before and I could still use words like that. Sorry.”

She sighed and softened her expression. “It's fine. Northerner, huh? Eyes make it easy. Look, I wasn't like this since I was born, okay? But I don't want to talk about it. You know anything about Canterlot at all?”

I nodded, grateful for the forgiveness and change in subject.

“Okay, what?”

I froze mid-nod. “... well, that it has a magnificent mountaintop view, clean air, a rich history-”

“You got all that from a tourism brochure didn't you?” There was that deadpan look again.

“... yes,” I admitted, fidgeting.

“See, there's your problem,” Hummingbird snickered, sniffled, then coughed again into her hoof. “So you got squat.”

“Yes.” I grimaced. “Ah... would you kindly tell me about the city?”

“Mm-hm, I'd be glad to,” she said with a nod. “I mean, you did pretty much give your lunch to me. Okay, Canterlot has a defined shape and organization to it unlike other cities, which are pretty much amorphous blobs of urban spra- don't give me that look.”

I protested, “I'm not-”

She just chuckled and sniffled, “I know you're not. I'm just pulling your leg. Okay, so Canterlot has a defined shape and organization to it unlike other cities, namely because of the city walls. They limit the city's growth, and city ordinances-” She leered at me for a moment, then broke a smile. “City ordinances prevent buildings from getting too tall. Can't have skyscrapers blocking the view of the castle, right? It's all about the money here, which means the rich own the city. It sucks, and Princess Celestia has been doing her best to help everypony else here, but... she doesn't want to be a dictator. She can't force change, sadly. There's still some good here, even if it's mainly just the Fancy Pants Home for Orphaned Foals. Thank the Lorn there's at least some decent rich ponies here! Makes me wonder if anything's gonna change now that Princess Luna's back...

“Oh, anyway, so it's a circle, the perimeter of which is formed by the city walls.” She paused to sniffle sharply. “From there, Canterlot is divided into rings. The outer ring is pretty much where the, uh, 'less expensive' ponies are.” She used her wings to make air-quotes, which was... pretty cute. “The real estate's still pricey there, but the inner ring... that's where the richest of the rich live. If you thought the ponies were snobby here,” she coughed, “well, it's nothing compared to the inner ring. That's where a lot of the famous buildings and monuments are, too. Mirror Walk, the Smithsoneighan Museum- Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, too. Are you following me so far?”

My ears perked up at the mention of Princess Celestia's School. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Okay. Last up within those two rings is Canterlot Castle. I'm sure you know enough about the place. Keep, gardens, whatnot. It's stuff we were all fed as kids. You know, City of Hopes and Dreams with a castle and royalty to top it off like icing on the ca-” She broke into a coughing fit and wiped her used hoof on her rag, “cake.” She let out a sigh.

“You don't sound too happy about it,” I said, offering her another apple.

Hummingbird took it and shrugged her wings as she bit down. “Don't want to talk about it. Don't need to say much though. I mean look at me. Not exactly the spitting image of 'Hopes and Dreams'. A-Anyway, I'm tired of talking. You go. Where you're from, what you're here for.” She let out a wheeze that made me cringe. Jeez...

“Well... me?” I chuckled softly more for my sake than hers, trying to brighten up the mood. “I'm from Manehattan, City of Lights and Legends. After Stalliongrad and Burrlin, it was the best place for Northerners to settle down in after all.”

The green-furred mare nodded. “Makes sense,” she said in a weaker tone. “You're second generation then?”

“First, actually,” I answered. She widened her eyes at that. “I know, I'm pretty young to look that way, yeah. It's because I was born during The Great Exodus.”

Now she was the one giving me the worried look. It made me feel all sick and wrong on the inside. She deserved the pity, not some well-off guy like me who built up an empire in six years and tore it down in ten days.

“Oh come on, don't give me that look now,” I said to her in a jovial counter. She cracked a thin smile at that, reflected by one of my own. “That's better, that's better. Yeah, I was born during the Exodus- and survived it. I can't tell you how lucky I am for that. My dad contracted polio shortly after we reached the Equestrian heartland, and my mom has progeria.” I took a disguised breather to see- yeah, she understood me. She totally understood me. Why did I even bother? “I must've been... insanely lucky. But anyway, I'm a Manehattaner. I love that city, no doubt about it. I... learned a lot of valuable lessons there. Ever been to the City of Lights and Legends?”

She blinked, then shook her head in reply.

“I've...” I sighed. “I've lived there my entire life, you understand. This is my first time ever being outside city limits, and... it's... well...” I let out a wan chuckle. “You know, I'm already terribly homesick. Because there's three things I'll always remember about the city, and those three things I'll miss the most...

“One- the nightlife...”

* * *

“So, you're here for the exams at Princess Celestia's school?” Hummingbird asked weakly. “Good for you.” Her soft smile told me she wasn't being spiteful. “Ready? I hear they make you hatch dragons or something.”

“Heh, I don't think I'll be doing any of that,” I chuckled huskily.

She raised an eyebrow. “Then... how do you plan on getting i-” The pegasus coughed into her hoof. “-in?”

“Not egg-hatching magic, that's for sure,” I huffed. “Can't do it anyway.”

“Aaaaaand you're so sure you can get in?”

“Let's just say I practice a... different sort of magic than what most people are used to seeing.”

“People?” She cutely tilted her head in question.

“Manehattaner, remember?”

“Ah, right.” Hummingbird nodded. “Well, what kind of magic, then?”

“Are you thirsty?” I inquired.

“Well... yeah. Why?”

“Here's a hint,” I said with a smile, firing up my horn and condensing moisture straight out of the air for her.

Hummingbird widened her eyes. “Wow, that's-” She broke into another coughing fit, and I quickly offered the sphere of rippling water to her. She sucked it up gratefully and nodded to me. “Thanks. Wow, never seen anything like that. What is it?”

“Elemental magic,” I replied. “In this case, hydromancy. Now, you may already guess from my name, but what element do you think I specialize in?”

“Ice, of course,” she said with a face...wing. Okay, that was pretty cute... “So that's what you've got planned for the exam?”

“Interesting applications of it, yes. I'll show you more after.” I smirked. “Want to keep it a secret until then, you know?”

“After?” The headtilt. The headtilt again!

“Well... you're going to be here, right?” I asked. She gave me a funny look. “Right, dirty alleyway. So... where will you be?”

“You actually want to see me again?” Hummingbird asked.

“Well yes...”

She smiled and sniffled up her runny nose. “Really?”

“You did let me sleep here, and you did tell me more about Canterlot,” I said with a smile of my own. “You've been much friendlier to me than anyone else in the city so far. So... friends?”

She nodded and kept smiling. “Yeah. I'd... I'd like that. I'll definitely be here af-” The green mare broke into a quick coughing fit. “I'll be here.”

I nodded appreciatively. “I'm going to head over there now. See you soon, okay?”

“Okay...” Hummingbird said quietly, hoarsely. “Rooting for you...”

I flashed her a smirk and tucked my trusty fedora down lower before heading back on my way, heart soaring with... hope.

Hm... maybe the name did have some merit to it after all...

* * *

I was waiting outside the examination hall, leaning forward in one of the many chairs propped against the wall. The room itself was thankfully spacious enough and was filled with unique pieces of artwork- an impressionistic painting here, a Roaman sculpture there- to break the monotony. The entryway consisted of a series of glass doors that provided an unhindered view into the sunny school courtyard. The ceiling was high and had multiple skylights. It was as if the designers anticipated the feeling of the walls closing in under nervousness and did as much as possible to accommodate and ease the hopeful new arrivals.

Looking at the other occupants of the waiting area- all unicorns of different faces from different places- they were a diverse group, wearing clothing I didn't even see in Manehattan. Most were wearing the seamless, smooth, elegant wear common to Canterlot. One was a mare wearing a flowing robe of ebony with a wrap of cloth that formed a hood around her head, leaving only her face exposed. There was also a harsh-looking stallion wearing something that looked like a glamourized work smock. It had the sharp, harsh angles and polish of a suit, yet it had the tough denim finish of workers' wear. There were a few who- like myself- were wearing practically nothing, as was the norm. Some of them glanced at me critically upon looking at me, believing me to be a blank-flank until I “happened” to present my left side to them.

We were all in the same general age group, but we were all trying to release tension in our own unique ways. Canterlot ponies maintained a dignified pose and lightly dabbed at their brows with a hoofkerchief every so often, doing their best to maintain the appearance of calm. It's all in the façade, all in the presentation, the image. Others were fidgeting with their hooves or practicing their magic, performing simple exercises such tossing something up and repeatedly catching it just in time with their telekinesis. One was sketching something in a notebook.

Me? I was just reading How to Win Friends. I couldn't help but feel a tad nervous myself, admittedly. Even with months of preparation and performing a form of magic not seen for well over a millennium, its practical applications were far more limited than something like, say, telekinesis. My ice arms had and still have a very short reach and strength compared to that. They inherit all of the downsides- no tactile sensation and difficulty in manipulating something out of view- and few of the strengths. Now, ice arms do have one particular advantage, but that'll come into play... later. In the meantime, I was trying to convince myself that I was putting on a show- practicality be damned.

One by one, ponies were called into the exam hall by a prim, cream-colored unicorn mare and new arrivals took their place in the chairs. Some would wish him or her good luck and then proceed waiting nervously. I tried to make friendly conversation with another Manehattaner who also happened to be testing into the school, but he was so absorbed in using his telekinesis to manipulate a wad of putty that we had little chitchat. Regardless, all small talk in the room hushed as soon as someone left the hall. All eyes went on him or her as if to gauge their expression for the result. There was a surprising variety in their responses. Some exited with a reserved smile and a sigh of relief. Others whooped and bounced around ecstatically, cheering joyfully. The unlucky ones left stone-faced or with bitter expressions- a particular stallion left with reddened eyes and gritted teeth, storming out without so much as a word. It was the extreme cases that influenced everyone else.

Smile, and the world smiles with you. Cry, and you cry alone. But that doesn't mean your cries fall upon deaf ears.

The door opened, letting out the robed mare who now beamed positively. The cream-colored mare peeked out behind her, reading down a clipboard. “Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill,” she called. I closed my book and slipped it back into my suitcase, standing and nodding to her. She smiled politely and used her magic to keep the door open for me as I headed in.

The examination room itself was actually a small lecture hall. The blue-white checkerboard floor tiling was neatly polished, and rows of orange folding seats rose from the floor. There was a podium to the side and the room had great, purple-tinted windows flanked by royal blue-gold banners. A large whiteboard was nestled between them. There was a panel of four well-groomed but casually-dressed unicorns- two stallions and two mares- that were seated at a table. The second mare was wearing a pair of spectacles with a string of golden beads looping under the legs. One of the stallions had a shining monocle over one eye while the other had a slight beard. The smiles they offered were weary from the hours of gauging each applicant but polite.

As I took center-stage, the more distinguished mare greeted, “Hello, Mister Windchill. How are you faring today?”

“Doing quite alright, ma'am,” I replied, taking a polite bow and removing my hat, placing it against my breast. “And yourselves?”

They all offered monosyllabic responses- good, fine, good. The monocled stallion squinted an eye at a set of papers. “So you're from Manehattan?” He looked up from the paper at me. “How is Canterlot treating you?”

Somehow I got the idea that being forthcoming wasn't such a good idea here... “Well, it's a lovely city, sir,” I replied. That was true, at least.

“Well,” he chuckled softly, looking back down, “I hope the cost isn't turning you off. Yes, yes, even we realize just how expensive it is here.

The bespectacled mare also looked at a copy of what I assumed was a brief description of me. “I suppose we'll cut to the chase. Now, from my understanding, you are limited in your magic, yes?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I replied with a stout nod.

“One of those interesting aberrations,” she remarked. I maintained my expression. Easy, easy... “Interesting.” She looked up. “Oh, do forgive me for my wording. It's merely a term we use in arcanobiology.” She coughed. “Well, your planned examination has been nixed as a result. So what exactly is it that you can do?”

“Heh... well,” I smiled, setting my suitcase and fedora down. “Have you ever heard of the Mancers?”

“Yes, yes,” the doormare replied with a nod. “My colleague at MMI informed me that you were- and I quote- 'a modern-day Mancer'. Now, I'm just guessing from the name, but you are a... cryomancer, yes?”

“That's what I was named for and the reason for my cutie-mark, yes,” I chuckled. I could see the realization dawn on their faces. “Cryomancy is merely a branch within the tree of hydromancy. So first, a question: are any of you thirsty?”

“I suppose I might be a little parched...” the bearded stallion muttered. And that was all the answer I needed.

I fired up my horn and formed a trio of cylinders at their tables with a string of crackles. Taxing my magic a little more, I melted the insides to form cups of ice-cold water for them. The judges looked the cups over, pursing their lips as if looking them over with a critical eye. The stallion was the first to take a sip. He nodded to the others with a light smile and they drank together.

“Hm... interesting,” the bespectacled mare murmured as they began to jot down on their clipboards. “Is there anything else you can do?”

And now to put on a show...

“Perhaps...” I intoned, firing up my horn with its soft-blue glow and rubbing my chin... with an icy hand. I blinked in feigned surprise and recoiled from the hand. My hand “recoiled” as well. Out of the corner of my vision, I could see the judges watch intently.

I looked at it warily and contorted it as if it were doing the same. I sprouted a second ice arm and poked myself on the back. I glanced back at it and turned away dumbly. Then I turned sharply to stare at it in mock surprise, then the other arm, and then the other.

I heard stifled chuckling and giggling from the judges. Good...

I sat on my haunches and poked at my left arm with my free forehoof. The hand pulled back a little and poked me back on the snout. I wriggled my nose, going cross-eyed for a moment. More giggling came from the judges.

I angrily poked the left hand back, and it counter-poked me in turn- back and forth, back and forth, picking up speed all the while. I adopted an annoyed expression as I kept up the exchange. Meanwhile, my right arm “looked” at my held hat as if eying a prize. It flexed its fingers in anticipation before snatching it away. I paused in my brief poking contest and looked up at my barren head in surprise before staring at the right hand. It was wearing my trusty fedora proudly. The left hand seized the moment and reached around to poke my snout. I snapped back to glare at it. The judges were trying very hard to contain themselves now.

I glanced back at my hat-wearing hand as it bobbed away as if sauntering about with its new prize, and I snatched my trusty fedora back. The hand paused and felt above itself as if to probe for its suddenly missing trophy. It then looked back at me and I snidely stuck my tongue at it. The left hand then plucked it off from behind me. I wheeled around and snatched it back. Then the right hand swiped it away from me once again. It soon devolved to the hands tossing the hat over me just out of reach as I frantically chased around trying to retrieve my beloved fedora. This time, the laughter coming from the judges was unrestrained.

Finally my hat fell to the floor, and my hands and I looked at it and then between one another. I pursed my lips and offered a hoof to one of them and shook. Then the other. And then the hands shook with one another than then back with me then left then right then- I finally held up a hoof to stop them. At last, my icy hands picked up my fallen fedora, dusted it off, and neatly set it back down atop my head, tilted upward from my horn. I smiled proudly at the judges as they stomped their hooves in applause. I bowed, sweeping my hat across.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile. “You're too kind.”

“Most impressive, Mister Windchill,” the bespectacled mare coughed politely as the trio returned to their stately, dignified postures. “I understand that as somepony limited in magic, this is how you've managed to manipulate objects in the same vein as telekinesis, yes?”

“That would be correct, ma'am,” I replied, holding my hat to my breast once more- this time using my ice arms.

“And so it is a more physical manipulation rather than an arcane one, yes, yes...” the doormare mused aloud. “I've never seen anything like it. How do you do it?”

“Well, that would be because cryomancy was never fully developed as an area of magic,” I said. “Using these arms involves just a bit of melting and refreezing at just the right moments.”

“Hm, remarkable...” the bearded stallion muttered with a nod. “Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I notice that your ice isn't melting. How is this so?”

“Through research at MMI, I was able to alter the covalent bond network between the individual water molecules,” I explained. “I arranged them into a tetrahedral shape. similar to the carbon network in diamonds. Now, my ice is nowhere near as strong as diamond, but it is remarkably more durable with a higher strength-to-weight ratio and a higher heat capacity to boot. That last one is why it doesn't melt at these temperatures.”

“Very, very creative,” the doormare praised. “Hm, I do think that you've worked hard to obtain your magic- just as hard as or perhaps harder than most admitted students. I understand you are applying at the university level, Mister Windchill. What major do you pursue?”

“I, ah, have none,” I answered. “I am undecided/undeclared, sir.”

She frowned for a moment, glancing down the table to the other mare and the two stallions. They shared looks and merely raised both eyebrows. As one, they faced me and smiled easy.

“Well, I do hope you find one soon, Mister Windchill,” the bearded stallion said. “The first quarter starts in a month-and-a-half.”

I smiled wide. Was there ever any doubt?

* * *

I proceeded down the boarding rooms, counting the numbers aloud before finding my own- number five-sixteen. I plucked the key from its envelope and entered. It was remarkably spacious- large enough to fit the entirety of my family's old high-rise apartment room into. The carpet felt soft beneath my hooves and was a shade of muted beige. A four-poster bed dominated the room, taking up nearly a third of it. Cupboards and cabinets were off to the side beside a polished desk with an abundance of drawers. There was a large window with velvety curtains to the side, offering a view of Castle Canterlot and Mirror Walk.

I just let my suitcase slide off as I sat down on my haunches in astonishment. It was all so... so grand, so posh... and... and it was all just for me. No roommates. Princess Celestia's school was very tough to get into after all. I lived in a mansion back in Manehattan, and not even my room was as luxurious as this! And it was all just for me! Me!

I felt a pang in my heart and slumped a little.

All... just for me... and I felt guilty about it. I was living there with expenses fully paid for by my scholarship while the poor took to the streets. And Hummingbird... for some reason, I felt most guilty about leaving her out there. I let out a soft sigh.

I looked back up with a determined expression, setting my suitcase aside and tucking my fedora back down. I shut the door behind me and galloped for the outer ring of Canterlot.

* * *

“Oh!” the scrawny, green pegasus mare gasped as she saw me return to her alley. “You're back! No suitcase... uh... so you passed?”

“Yeah, I passed,” I answered, biting my lip. Okay. Right words, right way. “Hummingbird, I have a dormitory room all to myself. Having grown up in poverty, owning something that spacious and luxurious all to myself feels sinful. Now, having... seen the conditions in which you live through daily, I wish to offer sharing my dormitory room with you for the duration that I stay there.”

“Wait... really?” Hummingbird stared incredulously at me.

“Yes, really,” I said firmly, confidently. “I will not enjoy the best this city has to offer while somepony like you wastes away in the streets.”

She chuckled softly and closed her eyes. “You really don't know anything about Canterlot do you...? You'd really do all that for a mare you just met?”

“Absolutely.”

“What about the others in the streets of Canterlot, hm?” she asked softly. “I'm not the only one out here like this. Are you going to help them too?”

“Well...”

“Why just me, Frost?” she asked.

“Come now, you've said it yourself,” I said, stressing my words. “You have a weak constitution. You shouldn't be out here like this. Foals have the Fancy Pants Home as you said.” I glanced away. “Other adults can bear it- better at least. You...”

Hummingbird let out a sigh. “Frost, look me in the eye.”

And so I did. I... honestly never paid too much attention to eyes back then, but now...

The storyteller let out a drawn-out sigh, tilting his eyes up, lost in memory.

Her eyes were a lovely red with a splash of violet. They were fierce, powerful eyes. They had this... this determination to them, this unspoken strength. And yet they looked fragile, just like the rest of her- so brittle I could shatter them with a breath.

“Now answer me again,” she spoke softly, clearing her throat to make sure her next words came out clear. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because I truly believe you deserve better than this,” I answered her. “I can't enjoy myself knowing that you are wasting away out here. And it's what a friend would do.”

“And you're sure you're not looking for me to be more than a friend?” Hummingbird asked.

I sighed and closed my eyes.

“Keep them open. Eyes on me, Frost.”

Eyes open, on hers. “I don't know. I've had... a bad experience with my first 'marefriend'. I'd rather be offering this to you as a friend. I truly care for your well-being. And... consider it a 'thank you' for giving me a proper welcome to Canterlot and a place to sleep. You're the first truly friendly pony I've met here.”

“And such a wonderful place it was,” she nickered, closing her eyes this time. “My dad was a Cloudsdale policepony. He said you could tell a lot about ponies through their eyes.” She reopened hers. “You seem trustworthy enough at least. You think this through at all? You know this could probably get you in trouble.”

“If we get caught,” I waggled a hoof. “I've gotten myself into worse.” I offered a smile. “Trust me- I've done sneakier things. Just leave it to me.”

“Not inspiring any confidence with that,” she chuckled, smiling softly in turn before coughing into her wing. “But alright. I'll take you up on your offer.”

I smiled wider. “Okay... thank you.”

“Thank you,” Hummingbird said firmly, then winced and coughed a bit more. She offered a hoof, then looked at it with a grimace. “No, I coughed into that...” Then she offered a wing. “No...”

I merely reached my hoof over to hers and shook. I realized it was a bit... sticky. I looked it over and found... yep, mucus.

Hummingbird just giggled softly. This... cute little giggle.

I'll always remember her for that.

* * *

Night fell across Canterlot just as the day rose, drawn across the city just as a mother would draw a blanket over a child. The streets were quiet and empty once more save for the occasional policepony. They were far and few in between, however, and the lack of prying eyes certainly made things easier...

We were seated in an alleyway across from the school campus together, lying down and eating a batch of apples as if we were having nothing more than a usual dinner together. The policemare that passed by was none the wiser and just told us to relocate to the outer ring when we were done.

After she headed off on her round and went out of earshot, I turned to Hummingbird and stood. “Get ready to move. Keep close. Roll your hooves or fly low- anything to minimize noise.”

The scrawny pegasus mare rose with me as I crept over to the corner of the alleyway, leaning out to watch the policemare as she proceeded down the street. “Get ready,” I cautioned.

I heard her blowing out her nose and clearing her throat. The policemare was still moving along. Was she going to turn the corner? Come on, are you? Are you?

“Get ready...”

No, she kept going. Couldn't wait much longer. Give it one more street. One more street...

“Go.”

No time to waste, I broke into a low gallop as soon as the policemare was far enough away. I couldn't hear Hummingbird, but a quick look back confirmed she was gliding low as she could right behind me. The moment we entered the campus, we stayed away from the lampposts when we could, bolting from shadow to shadow. Canterlot was completely different by night. By day, Princess Celestia's school looked like the rest of the City of Hopes and Dreams- gilded buildings that looked almost like fancy porcelain pottery over a spacious campus dotted with multicultural gardens, statues, fountains, and gazebos. By night, everything took a drastically different tone. The gleaming, brilliant buildings now felt cold, distant, sterile with a hazy outline to them. It was as if the pottery was cooling in the air.

“Stop,” I whispered harshly and hopped over a barrier of hedges surrounding a statue. “In here, come on.”

Hummingbird dove in with me and I motioned for her to stay low. “What, did you see somepony?” she whispered.

“Just to be safe,” I answered back quietly.

I don't know how long we waited, but it was longer than I anticipated. A pair of policepony pegasi soared overhead, and I stooped down lower, tucking my hat down lower as I watched them out of the corner of my eye. Hopefully we blended in... we were both green after all.

And... they were heading off.

“Okay... go,” I ushered her, hopping back out. She took off, shadowing me with a sniffle.

And... they were circling back.

“Horseapples,” I hissed, skidding to a halt. “Bush, bush!”

Hummingbird darted back before I could- I wasn't quite as nimble on my hooves. I scrambled back and ducked low with her, heart racing and breath rapid. I looked back up at the pegasi, watching them double back for a second pass of the school campus. It didn't look like they saw us, luckily...

The green mare beside me let out a string of stifled coughs, keeping her mouth closed and squinting trying to muffle it with a hoof. But in the silence of the Canterlonian night, it was unbearably loud.

The pegasi were descending- and straight for us!

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Hummingbird squeaked with a cringe.

Come on, Frost, think fast. Think fast! Put that imagination to work! I looked at Hummingbird with those pleading, brilliant eyes...

Oh buck me, I was gutterminding. Oh well- roll with it!

“Don't hate me for this,” I whispered quickly.

And with that, I rolled over on top of her. She cried out in surprise, eyes widening in fright as she struggled against me.

“Not real, not real!” I whispered sharply, quickly. Hummingbird stopped struggling in realization. Phew... any longer and I think she would have bucked me off.

“Hey, you two there!” one of the pegasi, a mare, called out. “Up and out, come on now!”

I froze along with Hummingbird and whispered, “Roll with it.” I picked myself up and adopted a wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression as I hopped out, panting softly as she followed. The two uniformed pegasi- one mare and one stallion landed and shot us grim looks.

“The hay you doing here?” the stallion asked. “Names. I want them. Now.”

“Frost,” I said, breath taken away.

“Hummingbird,” my friend sputtered.

“Okay, now what're you two doing here at Princess Celestia's school?” he questioned further. “Moreover, what're you two doing here at-”

“Uh... Crisp...” the mare interjected quietly.

“-this time of night? Huh?”

“Crisp!”

“Hm? What?”

The mare looked from him to us and back. We were panting, possibly a little sweaty, and we looked quite flustered. My hat was tilted oddly, and Hummingbird was blushing lightly with her layered clothing disheveled.

The policebuck widened his eyes and shuffled his wings a little. “Oh. You two were...”

I bit my lip and nodded sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. Don't just look the part- play it.

“Really?” The mare looked... more icked out than somepony of her apparent age should be. “Here?”

“Well, ah...” I flustered. Thinkthinkthink!

“Spur of the moment!” Hummingbird blurted out.

“Spur of the moment!” I parroted, nodding enthusiastically. We were so flustered that I think it only helped to convince them.

“Really.” The mare deadpanned at us. “Here, of all places.”

“Well, yeah...” Hummingbird murmured.

“How old are you two anyway?” the stallion asked, also eying us strangely.

“Nineteen,” I answered.

“Twenty-eight,” she replied quietly.

Oh. Oh wow.

“Again. Here, of all places.” The mare looked a bit embarrassed in spite of herself.

“Yeah.” I gulped. “Why?”

Both of them pointed behind us. Hummingbird and I looked at one another and slowly turned around simultaneously.

The storyteller grimaced and covered his face.

It was a statue of Princess Celestia, smiling downward in a soft, almost motherly fashion.

Ughhhhh, buck me. Buck me so hard. I downright blanched, feeling a pit form in my gut. I didn't even see how Hummingbird reacted, but I heard her let out a meek squeak.

“Spur of the moment, huh?” the policemare huffed.

We both wheeled around.

“I am so sorry, officer! I had no-”
“Oh dear Goddess! Sorry, sorry, sorry-”
“-idea! Really, I mean it! I'm new -”
“-I'm so, sooooo so so sorry about this, officers! I really-”
“-here! I just got here from Manehattan yesterday! We were-”
“-had no clue! Please please please don't-”

“Alright, that's enough!” Crisp shouted us into silence. He sighed, rubbing his face. “Cookie, can we actually even arrest them for this?”

“Nope,” she shook her head. “It's not against the law or anything, even if it's a bit... yeah. Plus, it's an open campus, even after hours.”

I blinked. It was?

“Alright, fine,” the policebuck huffed. “Look, just get a room or something. It's nighttime, but come on- in front of her? Really?”

“Yes, officers,” I replied, squeamish. “Sorry, officers.”

And with that, they took off. Cookie muttered, “I swear, the crazies we get sometimes...”

* * *

I closed the door behind us with an easy sigh. That was... not what I expected. “Well... we made it.”

“Yep,” Hummingbird sighed.

And then she thumped me on the head.

“Ow!” I clutched at my hat.

“That's for not asking about that sooner.”

Thump!

“Agh!”

“That's for pretending to make love to me.”

Thump!

“Aah!”

“And that's for pretending to make love to me in front of a statue of Princess Celestia.”

I groaned, clutching my head. “Okay. Okay, that was my bad.”

“Oh shush, you,” Hummingbird nickered. “I'm probably weaker than you.”

And then she hugged me.

“And that's for being nice to me,” she sighed, using a wing to wipe her nose as she sniffled and looked over the room. “Wow... now I feel bad about living here.”

“Imagine how I felt looking into this room the first time,” I grumbled, throwing my hat off onto the coat rack.

“I know,” she murmured as she pulled back her hood and let down her long, unkempt mane. “Ohhh, it's nice and warm in here... whoa, you even get your own bathroom? Are you sure this is a dorm room?”

“I am, unfortunately. Well... here you go, Hummingbird.” I motioned to her. “All yours. Well, ours. You get the idea.”

“Heh... thanks...” she sniffled, scratching at her mane. “Hey, uh, mind if I wash up? It's kinda been, well, over a year since I've had an actual shower...”

I swept a hoof over to the door. “Well go right on ahead.”

“Thanks,” she said with a smile, slipping inside. I started heading over to my suitcase as she poked back out. “No peeking.” Then she darted back in. I sighed to myself. Really? A quick smothering and she's on my case like that? Er... okay, actually, now that I think about it, I couldn't quite blame her. Still, ponies don't normally wear clothes anyway...

As the sound of running water and a squeal of delight came from the other side of the door, I started to unpack my things with a pair of ice arms. I didn't have much, just some basic school supplies, How to Win Friends, some personal toiletries, and my coat.

The storyteller presented his next memento.

And my phone.

I bit my lip and picked it up, dialing a number I knew by memory... and by heart.

* * *

“Heyyyy, Frost! How ya doing, bud?”

“Hey, Zoleks. I'm doing alright. Missing Manehattan already. How about you?”

“Went to a Giants game just the other day. Duuuude, the Coltsborough Clippers got trashed by them!”

“Heh, glad to hear, Zoleks. Glad to hear.”

“So tell me what's going on, Frost? Don't gimme the 'doing alright' spiel. How's Canterlot?”

“Hoo, where to start...? It's so much different here. It's all the rich-type ponies, mainly. Haven't seen a single zebra or buffalo or griffin or anything. It's... much more expensive than I thought it'd be. You know the southern quarter of Manehattan? Think that, then crank it up to eleven.”

“Hah! That bad, huh?”

“Yeah, that bad. With the bits I brought with me, I couldn't afford a night in the 'least expensive' places there without putting a serious strain on my finances.”

“Well, aren't there banks up there?”

“...”

“Frost? Call ain't dropped. I know because you taught me.”

“Yeah, just... ugh, I'm an idiot. I completely forgot about that.”

“Yeesh, and you're the one who set up The Mumei?”

“Zoleks... please don't mention that again.”

“Uh... oh, right. Sorry, Frost.”

“It's okay. But... yeah, I can't believe I forgot about that.”

“Frost? Forgetting? Impossibru!”

“Hey, I might have eidetic memory, but I can't remember everything on a bit. Still have to think for some things, but I always remember. Well, at least it didn't completely go to waste. I made a friend sleeping out in the streets.”

“Really? Tell me 'bout him.”

“Her, actually.”

“Her? Hah, got yourself a new marefriend, eh, buddy?”

“It's not like that, Zoleks. We're just friends. I'd... rather not go through the same phase as before.”

“Oh... right. Song Spinner. Bitch.”

“Yeah, so just friends.”

“Well tell me 'bout her, then.”

“Well... she's been living on the streets of Canterlot for a long time. She told me everything about the city, but...” Static sigh. “She's real sickly, too. Really feel bad for her. She doesn't belong on the streets. Now... good news was that I managed to get into Princess Celestia's School no problem.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“But... the dorm rooms are just... massive and luxurious beyond anything I've ever seen. And get this- they're all just for single students. No roommates.”

“Mmmmm, I can see where this going. You snuck her in, didn't you?”

“Actually, it's snea... yeah, I did. It was... a bit embarrassing how it all ended up, yeah, but I did.”

“Heh... good to hear, Frost.” Muffled creaking in the background. “So, you just... why'd ya do it? Just curious, that's all.”

“Because I felt really bad for her. Like I said, she really doesn't deserve being on the streets like that.”

“Mm-hm. Hey, Frost... I think I believe you now.”

“Huh?”

“You said you came out that dumpster a new stallion. After seeing you use your old tricks to tear... well, you-know-what down, I didn't really believe you. I mean, that stuff you pulled was downright evil. Er, diabolical? Whatever. It just... was what I saw from you those last six years. Same with when you were learning your ice magic stuff. Those meals with Vani and Shinespark? They were never friendly chats. You just ate and paid for 'em to get what you needed Now, though... I think I'm starting to believe you. Hokkaido wouldn't have done it from the bottom of his heart.”

“...”

“So... props to you, buck. I think you really are starting to change.”

“Heh... thanks.”

“At least, I hope so.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“I'm just joking, Frost. Hey, so when're you gonna head back to Manehattan?”

“I don't know. Haven't checked the school calendar yet, but I don't think I get off until winter.”

“Duuuude, really? Awww, that sucks, buck... you're gonna miss the Running of the Leaves!”

“Yeah... I know. All the trees up here are evergreens.” Static sigh. “I'm really gonna miss Manehattan for a lot of things.”

“Sorry, buck...”

“Hell... already miss you.”

“Pfft, me? How'd this turn into me? Hey, I know you're changing, buck! No need to get all sappy, hah! People might still think you're a coltcuddler!”

“Oh thanks, Zoleks. Really had to go and remind me about all that, huh? Look, I think I gotta go now. It was... nice to talk to you again, my friend.”

“Same here, pal. Same here. You take care, okay? I know you'll do good.”

“Same to you. Say hi to Namira and your parents for me when you get the chance, okay?”

“Sure thing, Frost. Night!”

“Good night.”

Ending tone rang.

“Good night...”

* * *

I snapped the phone closed with a sigh, lips flattened.

“Close friend of yours, huh?”

I jumped, flustering as my magical field imploded and my ice arms fell to the floor with a solid double-thud. I wheeled around to find Hummingbird in just a sweater. Now that I could see her flank- I didn't let my eyes linger there mind you- I could see her cutie-mark. It was a large flash of light, like from a camera or something. She looked better- not completely well, but she looked less pale than before. Her mane, tail, and coat were a bit frizzled from drying by towel.

“... you know, for somepony so sick, you can be awful quiet,” I remarked as I eased up and sighed, sliding the arms back up to my shoulders and putting the dropped phone away.

“Have to thank you for the shower,” she said with a smile. “Cleared the sinuses, that's why. Ooh, ice arms. That's pretty cool, pun totally intended.”

I shook my head and started putting away the rest of my stuff. “How long have you been there?”

“Just a few minutes. Pretty much heard it all, though.”

I just nodded silently in response as I drew the curtains together.

“Least I got to know that you really did mean it when you said you were doing it to help me out,” Hummingbird said, kicking at the carpet with a hoof. “So... thanks.”

I just nodded again.

“... really close friend, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Really close.”

The green mare was quiet for a few seconds. “You want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. “Skeletons in the closet. I don't want to talk any more than that.”

“Alright, okay,” she said quietly. Then she trotted over and gave me another quick hug. “Thanks again, Frost.”

I shook my head and forced a slight smile. “It's nothing.” I motioned to the four-poster bed. “All yours.”

“Ohhhh no you don't,” she nickered. “We're sharing.”

“Sharing?” I stared at her in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“Yep.” She stood up proudly. Which, given her stature in physique, made it look comedic instead. I couldn't help but chuckle. “Oh hush, you. We're sharing. We did it in the alley last night. I figure that's no different. Plus, just look at it! Big enough for the both of us!”

“You sure?” I asked.

“You didn't try any funny business last time, and that phone call I overheard only backs me up there, so I have no problem with it.” She pointed a hoof at me. “Do you?”

“I... suppose not.”

“Good.” And with that, she launched herself into the air and flopped into one side of the bed, wriggling under the covers. “Just try not to hog it all, okay?”

I looked down and chuckled softly. “Alright, alright. If you're okay with it.”

I climbed into bed, turning myself away from the mare.

“Lights, Frost,” she said in reminder.

I simply formed a snowball and pelted the switch, plunging the room into darkness.

“Oh. Nice. You really gotta show me more of that, by the way.”

“Yeah. Later.”

“Yeah, later. Night, Frost. Thanks again.”

“Good night, Hummingbird.”

The darkness... between the curtains and the barren Canterlot nightscape, it was truly dark. I found myself thinking back to the dumpster, to that hot, stuffy, sticky darkness. This was... much better. Cleaner, purer... better.

I hoped I did come out of that a changed stallion. I really hoped I did.

But again, folks, what was Canterlot again?

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 8 Reached!
Perk added: Extra S.P.E.C.I.A.L.- Intense training? What's that? In any case, you gain an extra point to allocate to your attributes.
Attribute selected: Perception

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- City of Hopes and Dreams

Soundtrack- Putting On a Show

Soundtrack- Theme of the Delicate Rose, Hummingbird

Author's Note

And new chapter up as additional celebration for TLS’ inception anniversary. I’m extremely grateful to have become wrapped in the FoE community since then. Thank you, all of you. My thanks to Lazer726 for the eager pre-read and to you for, well, reading. Please leave feedback of some sort. I would greatly appreciate it, and critique especially can help me improve your reading experience.

Oh, and check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr!

Reflection Nine: Hummingbird

Reflection Nine: Hummingbird

“Magic is what magic does.”

I woke up the next day with a yawn, blinking rapidly as I looked at the clock. 5:49 AM. Wonderful. First quarter wasn't even for another month-and-a-half and I was already waking up early on my own. I blamed the Manehattan lifestyle. There was nothing to do at night in Canterlot, I believed. Just sleep. And so I let out a grumble and turned around under the covers and snuggled back up against Hummingbird.

...

Against...

Okay, my brain was working again! I widened my eyes and my head recoiled back as I realized I was somehow very, very, very close to the pegasus mare. She was snoozing contently, her clogged-up nose causing her to make this... this squeaky sound every time she exhaled. When did I get-

I looked over my shoulder. I was crowded over on my own side of the bed.

Okay, when did she get that close?! She was the one making the fuss about staying on my side of the bed, not me!

... aaand brain was properly working again. First order of business- separate self from Hummingbird before she noticed.

Then she wrapped her forelegs around me and nestled closer against me with another soft squeak.

Horseapples. I was her pillow now apparently.

I know what you're thinking- the hell are you complaining for? You've got a mare cuddling against you! Wrong. I had a mare who was suspicious of me offering my dorm room to her and that was only supposed to be a friend cuddling against me- very, very, very close. In other words: awkwardness, ho!

Okay okay okay, alright alright alright... I reached around and slowly tried to pry her forehooves off and disentangle myself from her. Now- slowly, slowly- I started lifting the foreleg she had on top off me, moving it toward... um, buck. I had no idea where to put it. Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh. I decided to place it down against her side and gradually lifted away from her...

Hummingbird opened her eyes.

She blinked.

I blinked.

She looked down.

I looked down.

We both looked back up at one another.

“This isn't what it looks like!” we both blurted out.

She blinked.

I blinked.

“How about we actually let go of one another?” she suggested meekly.

A few flustered seconds later, I pulled away from her and we both rolled over to our own sides of the bed, turned away from the other. “So...” I muttered.

“Let us never speak of this again,” Hummingbird said quickly.

“Okay!”

* * *

I slipped out of the dorm casually with my hat slipped on, glancing up and down the hallway. I waited a few seconds. No sign of life. I knocked the door twice.

“Awesome, let's go,” Hummingbird whispered as she opened the door and shuffled her wings so her hoodie would settle in place. We quickly, quietly made our way out.

That morning saw us trotting together to the open-air marketplace as the stands started opening up. The morning air was cool, crisp, and fresh. Again I reveled in the beauty of the first rays of the rising sun rolling across Canterlot and peeling back the darkness. All was quiet save for the few ponies starting their day and the larks heralding the new dawn.

“Now since you're pretty much paying for me out of your own pocket, I may as well at least have the decency to help you save a bit or two,” the green mare said as we trotted down the lines of stands. She sounded a little better than yesterday. “First thing you need to know and something that everypony immediately finds out here in Canterlot- unless you came into this city with millions of bits, you gotta be frugal. Now, I know you're not some clueless buck. You already told me you grew up poor and you've already been here long enough to know that, so I'll get to just the specifics of the city. What does that mean? You'll be taking advantage of as many deals as you can get your hooves on- like right here.” She motioned around us. “The marketplace usually has early-bird specials. One stand started them a ways back, then it was dominoes from there. Competition does that to prices. Still...” she sighed, “I can't afford those things, even. Those apples you gave me yesterday? First market food I've had in years.”

I winced. “Well... how have you been eating then?”

“Not much, that's what,” Hummingbird answered. “Don't have an address, so no food stamps. Have to rely on the soup kitchens here.”

“They actually have soup kitchens here?” I stared. “In Canterlot?”

“Yeah, I know,” she chuckled softly. “That was my reaction to learning about that, too. Look, Frost, there are a ton of snobby nobleponies here, but, well, there are some good ones. A hooffull of them run soup kitchens and some of the others actually donate to these kitchens. It's usually just the same thing, this barley broth with vegetables in it, but there's always enough. Thank Celestia that she makes sure of that...”

I tucked my ears back at that. I grew up in poverty, yes, but my parents' talents at least allowed us to have three square meals every day...

“Come on, don't look at me like that,” the green-furred pegasus chided me. “You've already given me enough of a pity party when you let me share your dorm. Don't need any more of that.”

“Still feel bad about that,” I muttered.

“Well don't,” she huffed, smacking me in the back of the head with a wing. It caused my hat to topple off my head, and I tripped a little to avoid trampling my trusty friend. “Pfft, whoops. Sorry.”

“It's fine, it's fine,” I grumbled, replacing it on my head with an ice arm.

“AAAnyway, that's where we're gonna head for breakfast. Hope you don't mind soup.”

“No, but I could easily afford to get a full breakfast.”

“You sure?” She eyed me. “This is Canterlot, you know. I mean, even with the early-bird specials, it's still pretty pricey.”

“No worries- I can afford it,” I said with a confident smile.

“Wasn't it just yesterday you said you couldn't even afford a night's stay at the cheapest place in town?” Hummingbird inquired.

“Well, that was before I remembered they still have banks for me to withdraw from here,” I replied sheepishly.

“... really?”

“Look, I'm not a clever pony, okay?” I covered my face with a sprouted ice arm.

“Clever enough for that,” she said with a grin, poking said arm with her wing. “Whoa, real cold... so, anyway, how much do you have available? I mean, you gotta last through the school year.”

“Forty-eight-thousand-six-hundred-ninety-two bits and eighty-six cents,” I answered. Go eidetic memory.

Hummingbird stared wide-eyed at me. “Wait, what?!”

“Yeah... I probably should've mentioned I'm stinkin'-filthy-rich, right?”

* * *

Le Créme Café was the name of the dainty little establishment we settled down for breakfast. It consisted of a bakery filled with sweet smells that wafted through the crisp morning air. Perhaps it was more for the benefit of the sparse other patrons at this hour than ours that we sat outside.

“Mmmmmm, this is so good!” Hummingbird moaned softly after another bite of her chocolate croissant. That was... the eighth time she said that. She was slowly savoring each mouthful, taking tiny nibbles after her first bite.

“Heh, yeah...” I smiled softly, trying to remain polite. “You do know you have two more, right?”

“Ahhhh, I'm in heaven...” she squealed, going back to that typewriter-fashion nibbling.

I chuckled softly in spite of myself. She was just too cute like this.

* * *

“You know, if you're stinkin'-filthy-rich, Frost, then you're probably the nicest stinkin'-filthy-rich pony that I know, up there with Fancy Pants,” Hummingbird said as she trotted aimlessly along with me through the streets of Canterlot. She had a happy bounce to each step now.

“Well, wasn't always like that,” I said, feebly scratching the back of my head.

“Do tell,” she spoke, urging me on.

“I'd rather not,” I said with a sigh.

“That bad?” the scrawny mare asked.

I nodded. “That bad. You overheard the phone conversation last night, right?”

“Yeah.” She quickly added, “By accident, of course.”

I snorted, “Sure. Well... let's just say I stepped on a lot of people and hurt some very close friends and family with what I did when I was younger. I only recently set the record straight, and I couldn't fully repair my relationship with my parents. I don't want to go into specifics. Just know that I wasn't always like how I am now.”

“Redeemer type, huh?” Hummingbird smiled softly. “That's fine. I won't pry.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I took a look around. Now that the sun was high, more ponies were milling about the streets. Many of them were lavishly-clothed unicorns with their noses turned high in that 'noble derision'. Even Hokkaido wouldn't have liked any of this. “So Hummingbird, what do you normally do most days?”

She cleared her throat and snorted up a nostril before replying, “Just lie in that alleyway you found me in, really. Not much else since I'm usually sick, so I just try to sleep it off. I try to get up and do a little flying and walking around, though. There are some really nice places in Canterlot, and plus, I have to get some exercise.”

“Such as?” I asked.

She smiled. “Well lemme show you.”

Hummingbird held her head up high as she led me down the cobblestone streets, looking almost proud as we passed by familiar houses. We trotted on by the alleyway we first met each other in, making our way further out down the outer ring. After reaching an intersection and heading for the edge of Canterlot only a short trot away, we reached a small balcony that blistered out of the city walls. It was covered in smooth grass with a Doubtless Fir tree growing from the center, surrounded by a patch of dandelions. It all felt soft and moist beneath my hooves. The balcony offered a breathtaking view of the valley floor below. We could see the Royal River weaving serpentine down the foothills to the distant towns below. It was so lush, so green, so wide, so open. Outside of the walls, I could hear the whisper of the high-altitude winds, muffled by the enchantments in place (I later learned that there were also additional enchantments in place to prevent people from falling from the balcony).

“Wow...” was all I could muster.

“You should see this place at sunset,” Hummingbird said softly. “It's absolutely beautiful.”

I smiled at her. “Well, I don't see why we can't sit around and wait.”

She smiled right back.

We spent the next few hours in that special place of hers. She asked me more about Manehattan, about my abilities. I told her what I could- namely skipping over the Mumei. I tried to paint a picture with her using my words. I tried to explain to her just how absolutely dynamic the city was. You couldn't get bored there. Every day you'd see a new face- pony, zebra, griffin, buffalo, donkey, mule, diamond dog- just walking around the city. I described the various landmarks and monuments- the Pony of Friendship, the Lights and Legends Building, Manehattan Harbor, Central Park. And then my abilities- how I discovered my magic, how I delved forward, how I earned my cutie-mark. I gave her a show, displaying the many things I could do with hydromancy and the precious few cryomancy spells I could perform- ones I developed myself.

“Well, I talked a lot about myself,” I said, finishing up. “Any longer, and I think my throat will get as sore as yours.”

Hummingbird nickered at that. “Alright, alright. I guess I can talk a bit about myself. What did you want to know?”

“For starters, what does your cutie-mark mean?” I inquired.

“Oh, that,” she sighed, wrinkling her nose. “Inspiration.”

“Inspiration?” I parroted.

“Just... inspiration,” she said simply, scratching the back of her head. “You know, new ideas.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Oh, hey, check it out!” The green pegasus pointed.

I arced an eyebrow at that. I'd have to play along for now and find out lat- no, no. Bad Frost. That's Hokkaido thinking there. If she doesn't want to talk about it, don't push it. I looked anyway and was treated to the wondrous sight of the sun setting on the horizon. The rest of the city was darkening already- we were the last ones treated to the dying rays that streamed through the valley. It was as if the sunlight was funneled up the valley, running against gravity to rush up to us.

“Wow...” I whispered in awe.

“You're gonna be saying that a lot here,” Hummingbird chuckled, looking out with me. “I bet you have a certain question on your mind- she's a pegasus, so why doesn't she fly somewhere cheaper and with better welfare? The answer: this.” She nodded forward to the majestic scene before us. “It's experiences like this that make me want to stay. It gives me something to keep hoping for the next day.” She chuckled softly. “I'm not a practical pony.”

I smiled at her and turned back to the setting sun. I couldn't blame her.

* * *

“Ahhhh... delicious...” Hummingbird sighed in content as we left the restaurant, licking a bit of marinara sauce from her snout. Night had fallen across Canterlot, and ponies were already starting to head back inside.

“You realize that's the ninth time you've said that since dinner?” I chuckled.

“You were counting?” she giggled back.

“Inadvertently. So... back home, then?”

“Sounds good to me,” the scrawny mare answered with a nod.

I looked about us as we walked, feeling that odd tension from the silence and emptiness- that sense of wrongness. As we went on, the ponies soon disappeared almost entirely. The few ones we spotted were the poor, sleeping in the alleyways or on the way to a soup kitchen. “Not much happens here at night, is there?”

“Hm? Not among the Canterlot elite, no. Nighttime for them is time spent at home with the family. No, the only nightlife you'll see around here is with the less fortunate and the occasional policepony.”

“Why is that?”

“Well just take a look around. You're not in Manehattan anymore, Frost. There's no nightclubs here because the rich pretty much got a city-wide ordinance banning them. No parties, nothing like that.”

“Really?” I gawked at her. “Banned?”

Hummingbird nodded. “Yep, banned.”

“That's absolutely unbelievable...” I remarked.

“Well, remember that ponies here don't share your same mode of thought. Loud noise at night is a disturbance to the peace for them.”

“Well nightclubs aren't that loud!” I protested. “Well, with decent soundproofing anyway.”

“And what about the drunkards that leave them afterward?” Hummingbird asked.

I blinked. “Oh. Right. Hadn't thought about that.”

“Hey, think about it this way- every city, every town in Equestria has its own things that make it special by day and by night. Manehattan's the City of Lights and Legends, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Ever seen those, then?” she asked with a grin, nodding upward. I blinked dumbly and slowly turned my gaze upward.

What my eyes beheld was a sight I will never forget- quite literally. How had I missed this before? I was in Canterlot for three days now, and I've looked up there multiple times already. Manehattan's lights drowned out something special to the night sky. It was the stars. Without all that artificial light, the stars shined brightly in the blackness of the night sky like a tapestry of gems, a sea of diamonds. Some of them pulsed, waxing and waning as if they were a distant candlelight, looking almost alive. I'd seen pictures of them in books both at the library and at school, but the sheer scope of that sparkling expanse made me reel. I stopped right there, sitting down hard with my head turned up to the sky. That same humbling feeling of being dwarfed by the Berrillion Sea at Manehattan Harbor came back in full force, this time magnified to impossible degrees. I was left speechless.

“Manehattan's nocturnal beauty comes in its people,” Hummingbird whispered, as if to keep from breaking the spell the stars had me under. “Canterlot's comes from its more natural wonders.”

* * *

I blinked awake again and glanced at the alarm clock. Six-fifty-six. Really? Ugh, I really needed to start readjusting... I just settled back down and snuggled back up against Hummingbird, closing my eyes.

...

My eyes shot wide open. Again?! Really?! I must have unwittingly jostled around a bit in surprise because Hummingbird groaned awake. She looked from my forelegs wrapped around her chest to me.

And... cue scrambling away from one another, blushing madly.

“Ugh... we've got to stop doing this...” she muttered.

* * *

Next morning.

“Again?! Maybe... put a pillow between us?”

* * *

Morning after that.

“No words. Just... no words.”

* * *

And the one after that.

“I give up.”

* * *

A few weeks later, I was in our dorm lying prone on the bed. I flipped through the catalog, comparing them to a sheet of paper. The bed shifted slightly, and I looked to my side at Hummingbird. She looked much healthier now. She wasn't quite as thin anymore, and I rarely heard her sniff her nose. I offered her a smile before turning back to the papers.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Whatcha up to?”

“Looking over the course catalog and my gen-ed requirements,” I answered, scratching my head. “I'm trying to find out what classes to take this quarter. I'm thinking Astronomy One-Oh-One, but that's it so far.”

“Astronomy, huh?” She scooted closer to look at the catalog with me. “So what, you're gonna become an astronomer? Astrophysicist?”

“Maybe an astronomer,” I chuckled. “I can't see myself being a number cruncher.”

“So seeing stars for the first time inspired that much, huh?” she giggled. “Think you'd like that lifestyle?”

“Only one way to find out, and it'll take out some of the science requirements in any case.”

“Alright, alright. Any other ideas?”

“Well, Writing Thirty-Nine-A is mandatory... I have to complete it by the end of sophomore year anyway,” I murmured to myself. “Astronomy handles science for a quarter... maybe I should do some Quantitative and Qualitative Reasoning. Ugh... math.”

Hummingbird arced an eyebrow. “What's wrong with math?”

“I can do it, sure, but it's just tedious,” I nickered.

“Well how about philosophy?”

“Hm?” I looked at her.

“Here.” She pointed with a pinion feather, and I looked at... feather. Wow. It looked so soft, so tingly, so... so tantalizing. I really liked feathers... nonono, not the time for that. I looked at where she pointed. “Huh...”

The green mare pulled her wing away. “What about that? It's not math, and it'll help wrap up category five of your gen-ed.”

“That's... actually a good idea.” I nodded, looking at her. “How'd you figure that?”

“You know, Northerner stuff. You guys kinda come across as the proverb-spewing type.”

I snorted.

“Don't believe me?” she snorted back.

“You can't judge a book by its cover,” I huffed, looking back at the catalog for a few seconds before glancing at her. “What do you think about His... why are you looking at me like that?”

She had a lovely smirk, declaring in a sing-song manner, “You just said a proooooverrrrrrrb!”

“I... uh, it's just a saying!” I protested.

“Which is a synonym of 'proverb',” she said decisively, pointing a wing at me and nodding victoriously.

I grumbled to myself, glancing at her again as she looked over the Social Sciences section of the catalog. Wow... she looked nice... slender... she was looking very pretty. She was looking very... nice.

She was also looking at me. “Eyes on the book, Frost.”

“Ah, right, right,” I flustered, feeling heat on my cheeks as I returned my attention to the course catalog. Yes... Equestrian History 101 sounded good...

* * *

Everypony was crammed into the Sunbeam Events Center, this massive building within Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. It was all excited chattering from student to student, ponies from all around Equestria- from Califoalnia all the way to the Equestrian protectorate of Neighpon, from Stalliongrad to Tail Aviv- and of every age. The school wasn't limited to just the university level, after all. There was a low uproar as we all talked excitedly from one another- we were all about to see Princess Celestia herself! For many of us, it was the first time we would ever see her in person. I was one of them, and I found my heart racing. I lamented that Hummingbird would be unable to witness such a momentous event.

The storyteller drew in a deep breath as if in anticipation.

You've seen depictions of her, possibly. Posters, postcards, calendars... I'd be surprised if you didn't know what she looked like. But when you think about alicorns, most often those... abominations come to mind. No, she was nothing like that. No.

The room fell silent as she entered. It was almost instantaneous- so powerful was her presence. Tall, carrying herself with regal grace yet with muted dignity, her coat was the purest white and her mane and tail rippled as if suspended in water, gently rolling with the colors of the aurora borealis. Her size and stature- standing up at full height with her massive wings spread wide- gave her an inspiring, dominant grandeur. Yet at the same time, the softness of her eyes, the gentleness of her easy, friendly smile... I couldn't help but feel at ease in her presence despite the power it implied. I felt as if I could approach her at any time and just pour my heart out to her- my past and problems, my hopes and dreams- and she would hear me out, listen attentively, console me, and offer advice. She inspired awe, and yet she seemed... motherly. Even without words, I knew I was in the presence of a true goddess alive.

She closed her eyes and drew in a soft breath and descended the stairs. Her footfalls echoed like the ringing of wind-chimes, and yet her golden, jewel-embedded regalia made nary a sound against her body as she slipped past our row even as it should have jingled against her body. She took center-stage and smiled warmly at us all. Everypony seemed to hold their breath, awaiting her words. When she finally gave them, they were not like whispers of the wind nor a royal decree. Neigh, they were like word spoken between friends, from one pony to another- hearty, friendly, easy.

“Good afternoon, everypony. I hope you are thus far enjoying what the Canterlot has to offer- even if it is a tad expensive.” She paused to let out a soft giggle, then let her smile fade. Her tone became somber but still remained soft- like words from a mother to a child. “Now, even as I stand before you- all of you, know it is not for you to honor me. No, it is but for me to honor you. Many of you have toiled considerably, perfecting your mind and magic just in order to pass the entrance exam. Some of you have sacrificed much in order to be here today. You have had your moments of frustration and your moments of triumph- thousands of them in preparation for just a single test. Some of you may have jumped with joy and rapture as you found a close friend joining you here. Some of you may have given tearful farewells to those who could not follow.” She looked from one end of the audience to the next as she spoke. It felt as though she lingered on each and every one of us. For the brief moment her eyes locked with mine, it was as if she was speaking from her heart to mine alone.

She inhaled softly and continued, “You have invested so much, hoping, dreaming that your chance to shine may be realized and sacrificed so much. Those of you who leave your families behind have sacrificed so much more.” Her eyes closed for a few seconds, then opened, twinkling. “But know this- you did it. You succeeded. You are all shining bright as the sun because as you sit here, you know that you are now attending the most prestigious school of magic in Equestria. It is here that you will follow your heart, sharpen your mind, and cleanse your spirit. Your entrance exam was but one hurdle in the sprint to the finish, perhaps, but you have the momentum building under your hooves. Keep working hard, my little ponies. Keep on hoping, keep on dreaming.

“Because you are now in the City of Hopes and Dreams- your hopes and dreams.

She bowed her own head to all of us, sweeping her wings down. “Welcome to my school for gifted unicorns. I wish only the best for all of you.”

* * *

“Frost!” Hummingbird smiled brightly as she spotted me while I trotted down the steps to the events center. “How did it go?” She paused before me. “Are... are you crying?”

“Yes I am...” I whispered in a hushed voice, wiping the tears away with a sniff and smile. “Yes I am.”

* * *

Lecture halls at Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns were much smaller than the ones at Manehattan Magical Institute, large enough only for maybe 200 students. I didn't even have to really push past the students heading on their way out to get inside. I sat down in the front row, setting my hat down on the lip of the legrest and easing back. With a few minutes still remaining before class began, I chatted it up with a yellow, teal-maned unicorn mare from Mountreal. Her name was Crystal Ball, I believe. She was not a Divination major as her name might have implied but rather Political Science. Okay then.

The idle conversation blended into a dull roar that barely hushed as the professor entered the hall. His coat was a smooth mahogany, his hair a distinguished white. He had a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache, and a pair of spectacles topped his snout. His cutie-mark was a series of planets on their orbital rings. It was fitting for an astronomy professor. The hushed chattering drew cut out completely as he took his place behind the podium. We hushed- no, not out of respect but surprise.

Because he was an earth pony.

“You're the professor?!” a mare in the upper rows exclaimed, voicing the question on all our minds perhaps in a more indignant fashion than most of us- or at least I- would have.

“Why yes I am,” he replied in an easy, smooth voice that resonated with years of experience. “There isn't a problem, is there?”

“Well... no...” the same mare replied meekly.

“You're not a unicorn!” a stallion somewhere decried. All eyes on the room fell on him. He was a blue-coated one with a red mane. He blinked and looked around as he suddenly became the center of attention.

“And?” Our professor offered simply, still smiling.

“This... this is Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns!”

He nodded in agreement. “That it is. It is indeed a school for gifted unicorns, such as yourself. But answer me this: where in that prestigious title does it say that the instructors had to be unicorns?”

“Well...” he stammered. All eyes were still on him, and he was clearly sweating as he looked around uncomfortably as if to get someone to back him up.

“Really? I mean it. This is an astronomy course, and astronomers such as myself don't necessarily have to be unicorns, correct?”

“Uh...”

The professor waited a few more seconds. “I'll get back to you on that. Hello, class.” And now all eyes were back on him. “I am Professor Freemane, and I will be your instructor for the next ten weeks. Your class syllabus went online two weeks ago, and I expect you've all read it already, so let's get into more pressing issues. Number one: what is an earth pony doing at a school for gifted unicorns? I'll tell you exactly what I told the kindly gentlecolt earlier. Astronomers don't necessarily have to be unicorns, do they? They don't even have to be ponies for that matter. Princess Celestia does not invite professionals of prospective fields of study to teach at her school because of their race- she invites them because of their expertise.” He motioned to the unicorn stallion from earlier. “So, fine gentlecolt, do you have an answer for me?”

All eyes on him again. He just sunk into his seat.

Professor Freemane merely rose both eyebrows and glanced downward for a moment. “Well, if there are no more questions or concerns, let's delve right in, shall we? Starting off with: why study astronomy...?”

I liked this professor.

* * *

“So, how was class?” Hummingbird asked as we sat down in her special place a the balcony for dinner, bringing a set of sandwiches we made ourselves along for a picnic under the stars.

“Astronomy and philosophy- good,” I answered. “Physics and writing... meh.”

“What's up with them?” she asked as we dug in.

“Just not a fan of the professors,” I responded. “It's just like back in grade school. When the teachers are good, the class is good. When they're bad... well...”

“It's just your first day, Frost,” she pat me on the back with a wing, causing me to shiver a little from the sensation. “Things might get different a week or three in. Give them some time before you make your call on 'em, alright?”

“Alright, alright.” I nodded.

“Besides, if they're still not clicking to you, you can always drop and swap by the end of week three, right?” the green pegasus asked.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said with another nod.

We fell quiet, finishing our meal in silence. Finally, I leaned back and rested on the soft grass, looking up into the black beyond with its innumerable stars. I heard Hummingbird chuckle softly and lie down beside me, gaze turned upward. I looked at her. I felt... happy that I could do all this for her. It felt good knowing I was helping her. But then I remembered something about her- rather, nothing about her.

“Hummingbird?” I called quietly.

“Yeah?” She still looked up into the night sky.

“I've talked a lot about myself. How'd you end up like... well, how you were before I met you?”

She let out a sigh before turning to face me, and I locked my eyes with hers- a lovely, determined red with a splash of violet. “You really want to know?”

“Yes, I do.”

She kept looking at me for a little longer before turning her gaze skyward once more. “Yeah... you do want to know.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out through her nose.

“I guess I should start with how I got my cutie-mark.” She began. “I got it my during the first year of middle school. I was a bit of a late bloomer, yeah, but nowhere near as late as you.” She chuckled softly. “We had this sort of club, program, whatever. It was called MUN- Model United Nations. In a nutshell, participants emulate the actual United Nations by being assigned to specific committees or assemblies as a country or territory, researching its stance on the topics to be discussed, and coming up with resolutions in a mock debate. It definitely opened me up back then and made me realize just how complex of an international community Equestria participates in, and it also made me realize just how different countries' and territories' positions on certain matters are.

“Anyway, I was assigned as a delegate of Almarinia in the WTO committee- the World Trade Organization. You know Almarinia, right? It's the gigantic island protectorate under Equestria in the ocean to the west named after it, between us and the griffins? Anyway, one of the topics was on how best to approach Equestria's increasing dependence on Zebrican coal and petroleum and Zebrica's increasing dependence on Equestrian gems in turn. Now... Almarinia is an intellectual superpower and has its own coal and precious mineral reserves, but it has no official policy on this topic since its technologies are so unique. Steam power, by the way, is pretty cool.

“I had this epiphany while in debate- completely on the fly. Why not make a hybrid system? Almarinia already has multiple apparatuses in its Clockworks that can accept either coal products or gems, so why not bring that over to Equestria and Zebrica- hay, the world over? Not only would it reduce dependence on foreign energy sources between the two nations while still leaving room for the trade treaty from centuries ago, but it would also standardize powered devices traded internationally.

“I didn't notice my cutie-mark until after debate,” she said with a reminiscent smile. “A flash of inspiration. My special talent?” She tapped her forehead. “Coming up with ideas. How cool is that?

“Gonna skip ahead for you. I decided to get into business for a career. I figured, you know, maybe I could get my ideas across. I went to the Fillydelphia- you know, City of Smoke and Steam- to attend the Hayvard School of Business and earned my MBA there. Graduated early. So yeah, I've pretty much been where you are and done all that- maybe more, depending on what major you declare.

“Now, uh... see, getting into HSB was expensive.” She scratched the back of her neck, looking away. “Yeah... very expensive. I had to get some student loans, and... yeah, they had some pretty high interest rates. I had to land a job the moment I graduated. And... well, I didn't.” She let out a sigh. “See... I have good ideas, maybe, but they're not always practical. See... Equestria's still recovering from the Zebrican recession from around twenty years ago, believe it or not. Our economies are so intrinsically dependent on one another that if one of us tanks, so does the other. So... two years ago, nopony was willing to be adventurous or risky when it came to business, like with my proposal with standardizing hybrid technology. Converting to that technology across the board would be very, very expensive without draining the treasuries of every single nation, and right now, that's just not feasible. Businesses, like ponies, are creatures of habit. They like stability, especially in times of hardship. I have good ideas- please believe me in that. I just came at the wrong time.

“From there, it's not hard to see where things went,” she said with a weak shrug. “I couldn't land my ideas and I couldn't give the right expertise, even when I came here to Canterlot where all the richest entrepreneurs are. I couldn't really do much manual labor with my, well, weak constitution and all that. So... well, couldn't stay afloat. I went into debt and I couldn't dig myself out. You know the rest.”

Hummingbird breathed out a wheezy sigh. “Wow... most talking I've done in years.”

“Wow, that's... wow,” I said lamely.

“Well at least you didn't say you felt sorry for me,” the green mare snorted. “Got enough of that from you already.”

“Maybe you could try again?” I offered. “Economy's gotten better since then. Maybe there are more open ears?”

“Hmph, if you honestly think that any entrepreneur here- hay, in Equestria- would listen to an impoverished mare under a mountain of debt like me, then you're even less practical than I am,” Hummingbird huffed.

“There has to be something-”

“Frost, Frost,” she interrupted with a sigh, scowling. “Look, you're a nice guy. You're giving me a place to stay, food to eat, and somepony to talk to. I think that's good enough. Now can we talk about something else? Please?”

My heart fell at that. I really wanted to help her- really, genuinely wanted to help her more than just what I was doing. But... I relented. “Alright. Alright.” I looked back up the night sky, sharply exhaling the crisp, cool air. Something else, something else... I smiled a little and turned to her. “Hummingbird, what is it like to fly?”

She looked at me and smiled back.

* * *

“You sure this is such a great idea, Frost?”

“Nope.”

It was a few days later at high noon. We were standing on the roof of the dorm hall, just before the edge... three stories above the ground. A couple other students stopped by and watched, pointing upward at me. I shifted a little, feeling a little dizziness and the odd sensation in the pit of my gut that was the fear of falling. Not heights, no not heights- falling. I looked over my shoulders at the icy wings spread out from my sides. I used Hummingbird's own set as a reference, but they still looked so uncomfortably small.

“Then why are we doing this again?” she asked.

“Because what better is there a way to test it?” I gave her a grin even as I felt unsure on the inside.

“Well, in a wind tunnel for one,” the green pegasus answered.

“But we don't have any of those here,” I rebutted.

“Ugh...” She facehoofed. “Have you thought about what to do if this doesn't work out so well? Like, say, if you end up falling like a brick?”

I pointed down. “Bushes.”

“Well...”

“Look, I'm never gonna find out if this is gonna work if I don't try,” I said to her, then faced forward. “So here goes nothing.” I spread the wings just as I remember watching her mid-flight and leaped off.

And then I fell like a brick to the bushes below with a surprised yelp.

* * *

“Ow.” I winced again for the thirteenth time as Hummingbird dabbed at another cut with cheap hoof sanitizer before applying a bandage to it. “Ow.” Fourteenth.

“Oh buck up, will you?” She crossed her forelegs. “It was your idea and you knew exactly what you were getting into. You're lucky you didn't break anything.”

“I know... just expected bushes to be a bit softer,” I grumbled.

* * *

“By now, you should notice the similarities and differences between Classic griffin philosophy- remember, Socrates, Aristotle, Xenophanes, and the like- and Hellenistic philosophers of the A.D. era,” Professor Sprite, a diminutive unicorn mare that preferred to pace about the floor- likely because she had to stand on her hindlegs to show above the podium. I listened intently, absorbing each piece of information with my eyes and ears. Thank the Goddesses for eidetic memory. “Like I said previously, the Hellenistic philosophers do borrow certain aspects from the griffins, though we see new schools of thought such as...” She clicked to the next slide, “cynicism. I'm sure you've heard of it by now, and it's actually pretty close to the original interpretation. Can anypony give me a definition?” She looked around and pointed at the other end of the room about halfway up the rows.

“A belief that everypony's working toward his or her own selfish goals without consideration for anypony else?”

“Everyone and anyone,” Professor Sprite corrected. “You have the right idea though. A cynic believes that all equine beings work for their own selfish goals and either disbelieves in or minimizes selfless acts...”

* * *

The alarm woke me up at seven in the morning. I blinked my eyes rapidly to clear the feeling, sprouting an ice arm to shut it off. I heard Hummingbird grumble as she... shifted against me. I looked back down to- yep. She was snuggled up against me again. I... didn't really mind, though.

“Time for you to head to class again?” she asked, rough still a little sleep-roughened.

“Uh... yeah...” I said with a light blush.

“Aw, and I was starting to like using you as a pillow,” she chuckled, releasing me. “Unintentionally of course.”

“Of course,” I coughed, sliding out of bed and heading for the restroom. “Unintentionally...”

* * *

“Bigger, multiple wings?” Hummingbird eyed me as we were back on the rooftop again. There was a bit more of a crowd, some of them snickering a little and others delivering light jabs to silence them. “Really? You think that'll work?”

“It'll work better than last time,” I said, flapping them experimentally. “I think I'll try to see if gliding will work, rather than flat-out flying.”

“Well, that's an improvement at least,” she sighed. “Aaaaand what about the bushes? Namely if you miss and hit the lawn instead.”

“That's what this is for,” I answered with a confident smile, holding our bed's pillows close with a pair of ice arms.

“... you think a pair of pillows will break a three-story fall?”

“Yeah.” I blinked. “Why, you don't think so?”

“Well, I don't want you to get hurt...” she murmured. “Uh... I mean, I don't want you to hurt yourself like last time. I mean, stupidly. Again.”

“Alrighty then...” I blinked some more. “Well.” I turned forward. “Here... we... go.”

I pushed off... and I actually glided!

... just enough to clear the bushes and land on the comparatively harder ground.

“Frost!” Hummingbird cried out from overhead.

“I'm okay!” I shouted back.

* * *

Staggered feathers. Nope. No feathers, smooth wing. Better, barely. But nope. Single, large wings. Nope. Finally, I pushed myself too hard and my ice wings fell away from my shoulders as I landed on the ground.

“Okay, wings aren't working out,” I sighed as I stood up from the grass, shaking myself off and picking up the stained pillows. I winced and tried to form a pair of ice arms, but I only got a dull throb from my horn in response. Magical burnout. Dammit. Hummingbird landed beside me and I watched some of the members of the small crowd exchange bits with grins and grimaces.

“Yeah, maybe not,” she said, patting me on the back. “Look, you gave it your best shot. It's not too bad.”

“Well of course it wouldn't work,” one of the unicorn mares in the crowd who picked up a satchel of bits chuckled. “Pegasi can fly because of their wings and their magic, doofus! What do you think you are? An alicorn?”

I grunted at the mare and was about to say something, but Hummingbird snapped, “Hey, at least he was trying out what could have been an amazing idea! Can you make wings for yourself and try to fly?”

“There are wing spells that also grant pegasi magic,” the unicorn mare snorted. “In fact, I'm wondering why blank-flank over there doesn't just do that.” Murmurs started circulating through the small crowd in surprise.

“Because,” I stepped in, moving around Hummingbird to display that I did, in fact, have a cutie-mark, “hydromancy is the only magic that I can perform. Nothing else.” I was about to reprimand the mare as I felt I so deserved, but... then I remembered. I'm not Hokkaido. Relax. How to Win Friends, Frost. You read it. Practice it. I smiled softly. “That's it. Sorry about it, but show's over, folks. Best be going along now.”

“Whoa, cryomancy?” one of the stallions in the crowd asked as he stepped forward. “Root words... so... ice magic?”

“Of course, dumbflank,” another nickered. “Do you not see his ice... things in class? I don't even know what those are.”

A different mare belted out, “Arms, of course! What, never see a griffin before?” She approached me and asked, “So how does it work?”

“Yeah, what else can you do?”

“Yeah, what else? I wanna see!”

“Hey, back up a little! I want to see too!”

“Now now, folks, I've unfortunately got a case of magical burnout...” I flustered a little, offering an apologetic smile to Hummingbird as I suddenly found myself the center of attention. She just shrugged, looking a bit amused herself.

* * *

Midterm in physics. The lecture hall was quiet save for the scribbling of pencils, the hiss of stressed sighs, and the hoofsteps of the professor and teacher assistants. I looked over the question before me. A ball rolls off of a horizontal table of height 0.4 meters at a speed of 3.2 meters-per-second. Use 9.8 meters-per-second-squared as the acceleration of gravity. How long does it take for the ball to hit the ground and how far away from the table is that point?

Okay, velocity equals acceleration multiplied by time in seconds...

* * *

“That's your costume?” I arced an eyebrow at Hummingbird. “Yourself?”

“A hobo, silly,” she said with a roll of the eyes, giving me a light boop to the nose. She just looked like herself. Her mane and tail were perhaps a bit messier and she was a little dirty and haggard-looking again. “Yeah, I know it's not impressive or all that imaginative, but hey, it's all I got for Nightmare Night.”

“Well, at least you look convincing enough.”

She smacked my flank with her tail, causing me to jump. “Okay, then, wise-guy, what's your costume?”

I grinned. “I'm glad you asked.”

* * *

“Huh, lots of participants this year,” I overheard from one of the unicorn mares attending the costume party in the student center, both dressed in near-identical pinstripe suits with clown-like makeup on. “Wonder how Luna feels about all this after she just got back.”

“Princess Luna,” her friend snapped. “She's still our leader. Still, yeah, you do make a good point. Haven't seen her at all except in the news...” She watched as I passed by, “pa...pers? Twinkle, did a snowpony just walk by us?”

“Yep... totally Frost, right?” Being the only cryomancer on-campus- rather, in all of Equestria as I knew it- certainly lent to everypony catching onto my name by now. The whole 'trying to fly' thing probably helped my recognition.

“Totally.”

Yes, that's right, folks. You few pre-war ghouls out there should- oh yeah, you're laughing right now. You're totally laughing right now. Yes, that's right, folks- Frosty, the Snowpony.

I got tenth place. Points for overall effect but zip for originality. Hummingbird was laughing it up when I told her that.

* * *

“Urrrrrrgh!” I grunted, trying to haul the new desktop terminal through the door to our dorm. They were pretty damn heavy back then, folks! I was pushing against it with all my might- I still didn't have my magic back. Hummingbird was staying out of the way and keeping quiet in the meantime. “Come on, come on!”

Finally, I pushed it through the portal and shut the door behind us, cycling the lock and collapsed panting to the floor. I groaned and rubbed my sore horn.

“Wow,” Hummingbird giggled. “You really gotta work out more.”

“Hey...” I pointed a hoof at her. “These things weigh a ton...”

The green mare just snorted and pushed the box- albeit slowly- over to the desk as I just stared, dumbfounded. “And now?”

“... shut up,” I grumbled. “I got it for you so you'll be less bored when you're in here...”

“Yeah, I know” she said with a smile, leaning onto the box. “And I appreciate it. Besides, I can only move it around because I've been eating well enough.” She flexed like a stallion on Muscle Beach back in Manehattan. “Check out these cannons!”

“Or maybe it's all pudge,” I snickered.

“Hey!” she pouted. “Okay, maybe...” Then she turned around and wiggled her rear. “Besides, you like that pudge.”

I swear I must have turned scarlet at that. “Ah, um...”

“Just teasing you,” Hummingbird laughed, turning back around. “Now come on. Let's get this set up.”

“Well it worked...” I muttered under my breath as I looked for something sharp to split the tape.

* * *

“What?!” one of the stallions nearby exclaimed as he checked out his compact terminal while we were waiting for lecture. “Somepony actually managed to get a hundred on the midterm?!”

“Ugh, great,” the mare beside him sighed, scowling. “That's gonna screw the curve for the rest of us.”

I blinked at them and nonchalantly made sure that my score return was fully concealed in my suitcase's pocket.

Go eidetic memory?

* * *

I pushed through the door with a tired exhale, tossing up my hat onto the coat rack and shutting the door behind me. Hummingbird looked over at me from her seat in front of our terminal, pulling the earblooms out. The sight of her trotting over to me with a smile on her face brought out one of my own as we met in a friendly hug.

“Hey, Frost,” she greeted, pulling away. “How was class?”

“Just fine, just fine,” I answered with a shrug, setting down the food I got for her from the student center on the bed. “Long day, bit tiring without magic, but... hey, what can you do? What have you been up to?”

“Just catching up on new stuff still,” the green-furred, green-maned pegasus showed me over to the desktop. She was on EweTube, listening to a music video apparently. “Yep, music. Missed a lot of new stuff since, well, not having anything to play music on. You gotta give Canterlot orchestras credit when you can listen to them, but that's all I've been able to listen in on here.”

My eyes widened as I spotted the title. “'Catgroove'? You're listening to that?”

“What, got a problem with it?” Hummingbird raised an eyebrow at me.

“Are you kidding me?” I laughed heartily. “That came out in Manehattan while I was still into the clubbing business! Pull the 'blooms out and crank that thing up!”

“Wha...?” she stared, not fully comprehending what I said. I took over and pulled the earbloom jack out, swiped the volume dial as far up as it could go, rewound the video, and clicked play- that much I could pull off with just hooves and mouth.

Ohhhhh, yes, that lively beat started to trickle in. And there came the oldies trumpets.... ohhhh, yes. All fatigue from the long day of class was forgotten- I swung and crossed my legs about, twisting around to the building beat. Stamping and clicking my hooves, I shimmied back over to the coat rack and plucked my hat off, tweaking it and tossing it around in time with the tune.

Hummingbird just watched with a smile and chuckle. “Oh, duh! You're from Manehattan!”

“Born and raised, 'Bird!” I laughed again. “Well don't just stand there! Get those hooves shaking! Hurry, it's gonna fade out!”

My energy must have been absolutely contagious because she joined in, perhaps a bit nervously. She watched in confusion as I paused, a single electric tone sounding out with the drums and trumpets fading. And then I slowly jerked back in motion to the rising music.

“Now lemme show you how a Manehattaner grooves,” I said quickly to fit it all in right before- yeah, there came those trumpets again with that funky beat! I cantered about freely now, tucking my fedora down, jinking and jiving on my hooves and just letting the music move me. The last thing on my mind was what the poor guy downstairs must have been hearing as I just lost myself to the electroswing.

Hummingbird laughed that lovely laugh and tried to join in. My infectious energy breathed new life into her. Sure, she had four left feet, but she was positively radiating now. Even as she swung about in a clumsy manner, she was having the time of her life like this. I couldn't lie to myself then- she looked absolutely beautiful the way she moved- the way her wings whipped her mane and tail, the way her hair fell around her eyes, and the swing of her flank... my hat fell off to the side somewhere as I forgot to look up to catch it as it fell. I just couldn't keep my eyes off of her. We danced and we danced, having a blast. I let my body take over, even as we moved closer to one another, even as I felt her body against mine, even as I felt those amazing feathers.

And when I finally noticed all of that, feeling the song wind down to the finish, I found myself holding her close. Both of us were panting softly, sweat dampening our coats, muzzles only inches apart, eyes half-lidded. It just felt so... so right to be like this. I looked into her eyes- those determined, violet-splashed pools of red- and she looked into mine. Her eyes grew larger, larger, larger, larger.

Or maybe we were getting closer.

Our lips met, kissing one another strongly and passionately. She didn't resist- neither did I. How could we? It just felt so... so right to be like this.

Was there ever any doubt, folks?

The storyteller closed his eyes and breathed out a soft sigh.

Here's your memento, folks. Roanoke, put it on. Perov Stellar. Do it.

The young griffin grinned right back and flicked a tap on the jukebox. A smile played across the storyteller's lips, and he rose as that lively beat started to trickle in.

Come on, folks. Up on your feet. Lemme show you how a Manehattaner grooves.

* * *

After a few long minutes of letting the audience catch their breath, the storyteller continued his tale.

I looked back and forth between the terminal screen and my own ice arms as I reshaped them ever so slightly. I was soooo glad that my magic was back. These ice arms were definitely a blessing, giving how much easier it made terminal use.

I felt a pair of forelegs wrap around my chest, followed by a familiar weight pressing against me from behind, taking care to avoid my ice arms.

“Hey,” Hummingbird said with a smile, nuzzling my cheek.

I nuzzled her right back. “Hey...”

She smirked and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “You know, I thought the terminal was more for me to use when I got bored.”

“It is, but I gotta use it to study, too,” I chuckled huskily.

“Study, huh?” The green mare looked at the screen. “Last I checked, you didn't have to study griffin muscle diagrams.”

“I'm studying for my own magic. I figure I can create shapes with my ice. That led to my ice arms and the wings. That might have failed, but how about ice muscles? Worth a shot, I figure. Gotta be some way for me to move heavier objects.”

“Muscles, huh?” She shifted lightly against me. “Think you can do that?”

“Only one way to find out,” I answered. “Can't use wind tunnels for this idea.”

* * *

“Heyyyy, Frost! Glad you're calling, buck! How're you doing? Not just the 'I'm good' stuff either- I want to hear it all.”

“Heh... I'm doing just fine, Zoleks. I'm still not completely used to Canterlot, but it's getting easier thanks to, well, banks.”

“Hah! Still can't believe you forgot that, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead. Laugh. Anyway, uh... so it seems Hummingbird and I are together now.”

“Seems? Come here, you- I'll show you just how much we 'seem' together now...”

“H-Hey, can I just talk to him for... mmm... mmmmmmmm... wow.”

“Well?”

“So...” Cough. “We're together now, Zoleks.”

“Called it. So totally called it. Get a room, you two.”

“We're in our room.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just joking around, buck.”

“I still don't know how you call all these things. How do you do it?”

“I really don't know, Frost. I just do!”

“Quick- predict something that absolutely can never happen!”

“Uh, giant... bug things will invade Equestria?”

“Okay, good. If that happens, I'm eating my hat.”

* * *

“Well at least we know one thing,” Hummingbird huffed. “If you get something wrong, you can't hurt yourself.”

We were in the school's recreation center. Open to the city itself, ponies of all kinds gathered there to rock-climb, lift weights, jog around the track, swim, rappel, play sports, practice martial arts and zebra meditation techniques- generally work the body and relax the mind. We were at the weight-lifting room, at the benches. Suspended above me was a set of weights that were definitely above my normal ice arms' lifting capacity.

Hummingbird put a hoof to her chin. “I think.”

“Well, I've got the rack up there and you here to spot me, right?” I asked her.

“Me?” she nickered. “Skinny ol' me?”

“Not so skinny anymore,” I said with a smirk.

“And you like it that way,” she snorted, punching me lightly in the shoulder.

“Ow...” I mumbled, rubbing that shoulder. “Well. Here we go.”

I sprouted a pair of ice arms and grasped the weight bar, pushing up a little. 'Nope,' I mouthed to myself. I fired up an overglow around my horn and licked my lips as I layered on additional ice over my arms, molding them until they looked close to actual muscles for griffin arms. To my surprise, the weight already started pushing up before I properly formed them.

“Whoa!” I blinked as the half-muscled ice arms pushed the weight a couple inches into the air. “Unexpected...”

“Works out, then?” Hummingbird asked.

“Yeah. Still unexpected. How'd this happen...?”

She took a good look at my arms, scratching her head. “Maybe it's just based off of amount and not the shape?” She offered. “Here, forget shaping it like muscle. Just thicken it up.”

I nodded and let the weight bar back down into place on the rack. I sublimated the extra ice and pushed as is. Nope. Wouldn't budge. My horn brightened up and I wrapped additional ice around my arms, this time just plain thickening the arms themselves instead of shaping it into muscle. And just as expected, up went the weight bar.

“Huh... imagine that,” I huffed and grinned.

* * *

I pored over the textbook while lying in bed, scratching my head a few times. Numbers, names, dates, events... maybe history wasn't my thing. It just seemed so flat and toneless. Just a regurgitation of facts, correlations, causes, and effects. Even just reading through it drained all energy from me. History textbooks sucked. No other way to go about it. They just... sucked. There was just no life to them. At this point, I was nodding off to the point that I didn't notice Hummingbird slipping away from the terminal and heading over to me.

My eyes shot widen open and I stiffened as I felt her wing brush along my back. I curled up almost catlike to follow her primary as she traced up toward my neck. I felt her soft warmth press against my side and her wing tuck down across my shoulders. I couldn't help but let out a pleasant sigh.

“Definitely a wing buck,” Hummingbird snickered. “Here, lemme read for you.”

I smiled softly and leaned against her, closing my eyes but keeping my ears open to take in the sound of her voice, the sound of an angel...

* * *

“And that concludes Astronomy One-Oh-One,” Professor Freemane said, clasping his hooves together and smiling almost proudly as he looked from one end of the lecture hall to the other. “Remember, your final exam is on December third at eight-o'clock A.M. Set your alarms and don't be late. If you have questions, I'll still hold office hours at noon today at Social Sciences Tower Two-Twenty-B. That's 'B' as in 'buck', alright? Good luck studying, everyone.”

I breathed out a soft sigh and slipped my trusty fedora back on as I headed back out.

“Hey, Frost, right?” A unicorn stallion approached before I even managed to take a step for the stairs leading toward the doors.

“That would be me, yes,” I answered with a friendly nod and smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Just curious. Kinda noticed that, well, you haven't really been taking notes at all. Have a tape recorder or something?”

“Just my eyes and ears,” I replied with an all-knowing smile, heading away and leaving him looking even more confused than before.

* * *

“Heheyyyyy, Frost! Wassup?”

“Hey, buddy. Doing great. My last final is in two days.”

“And then you're off, right? You're off after that, right?”

“Heh, yeah. I'm off after that, Zoleks. And you know what that means.”

“Just tell me what time and terminal, and I'll be there to see you right off of the train, buck!”

“Hahaah, that's exactly what I wanted to hear, Zoleks! It'll be great to see you again.”

“Same here, buck. Same here. So how's it up there in Canterlot right now? It snowing yet?”

“Yeah, it's been snowing since mid-November. I gotta admit, the city looks beautiful with a fresh layer of snow. Made some extra bits on the side on my off-days clearing the snow out of people's...” Cough. “Sorry, ponies' driveways and doorsteps.”

“Really missing the variety of Manehattan, huh?”

“Hoo, like you wouldn't believe, Zoleks.”

“Plan on taking Hummingbird with ya?”

“Of course. Well, I plan on asking her anyway.”

“Is that so? Well, I'd love to come see Manehattan with you, Frost. 'Course, that's only if it's not too much trouble.”

“Don't worry, Hummingbird. It's no trouble at all. Might have to convince my parents, but I'm sure they'll be okay with it.”

“Yeah, and you could always crash over at my place if you want. Still have that guest bedroom for ya, you know.”

“Thanks, Zoleks. You're... Goddess, you're the best friend I could ask for. Uh, Goddesses, I mean.”

“Heh, don't mention it, Frost. So! How've you and Hummingbird been doing?”

“Just fine, Zoleks... just fine...” Ruffling.

“So... have you done it yet?”

“Zoleks! She's right here!” Light, beautiful giggling. “And no, jeez.”

Hearty chuckling. “Yeah, I know, I know. Just joking, buck. Oh, speaking of your parents, buck, I can't believe I forgot to tell you about this!”

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Nah, nah, buck. You know how this is actually the twentieth anniversary of the Great Exodus coming up, right?”

“It... yeah, it is. That's right...”

“Well, the Northerners all around Equestria are planning to hold a celebration for it on the fifteenth. It's going on in Burrlin, Stalliongrad, Fillydelphia, Westmanester- all those big cities. Here too! I mean, hay, I think the City of Lights and Legends has the largest population of Northerners. Gonna try to make it a holiday or something.”

“A celebration? For the worst tragedy for ponykind since the Eternal Night?”

“Well... maybe not a 'celebration'. More like a vigil, maybe. Yeah, that sounds like a better word for it. Anyway, I just thought you might be interested since you're a Hokkaidan and all.”

Silence for a bit.

“Hey, Frost? You there?”

“You okay, Frost?”

“Yeah, yeah, just... I'm not sure how my parents would take it.”

“I'm sure they'd be alright with it. I really think you should go, Frost. Hay, I'd like to go with you if you do.”

“I wouldn't mind going myself, if you want, Frost.”

“Hm... alright. I think I'll give it a chance. Yeah, I'll talk it over with my parents. I'll give them a call.”

“Ehhh, I think you should do it in person. I think it'll mean more to them.”

“... Zoleks.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop putting yourself down. You're more thoughtful than you give yourself credit for.”

“Heh, sure, sure. You two take care, alright? Looking forward to meeting both of you soon! And lemme know when you get the date, time, n' terminal, alright, Frost?”

“Sure thing, Zoleks. Sure thing.”

“Peace!”

“Peace, my friend...”

Click. Ending tone rang.

“I'll be back soon...”

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 9 Reached!

Perk added: Ice Elemental Union (Rank Two)- Do you feel the cold stirring within you? You are now 30% more resistant to colder temperatures and cryomantic spells are 10% more efficient. However, your body's core temperature is 20% lower and you are 40% weaker to sources of heat and incur a -100% penalty to fire resistance. These bonuses and penalties stack for each rank of this perk.

Spell Mastered: Ice Arms- You are able to create fully-functional arms formed of reinforced ice and can use them to grasp and manipulate objects in the environment around you. Thinner ice arms give a boost to AGI while thicker arms give a boost to STR but give a penalty to AGI (Note: The AGI and STR bonuses including swing/reload speed and recoil reduction only apply while handling objects and weapons. Additionally, rate of fire with semi-automatic weaponry is significantly increased.). Movement speed and maneuverability is penalized while ice arms are active and are more pronounced the larger they are. Remember you have zero tactile sensation from them!

Unlockables added: Inspirational Art- Canterlot Night by Tridgeon

Soundtrack- Theme of the Benevolent, Princess Celestia

Soundtrack- “Catgroove” by Parov Stellar

Soundtrack- Frost and Hummingbird (special thanks to RainbowYoshi)

Soundtrack- Going Home

Author's Note

My thanks to the usual suspects- Kkat for giving us Fallout: Equestria, the wonderful FoE community that sprung up from it, Lazer726 especially for pre-reading, and you for not-pre-reading. Feedback and especially critique are encouraged, as they can help me fine-tune my writing craft to better improve your reading experience.

Check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr too, if you wish!

Also, f-BUY SOME APPLES-k five straight weeks of midterms.

Reflection Ten: Shining Bright

Reflection Ten: Shining Bright

“Only guard yourself and guard your soul carefully, lest you forget the things your eyes saw, and lest these things depart your heart all the days of your life. And you shall make them known to your children, and to your children's children.”

The speaker in our booth chimed.“Your attention, please,” the monotonous, female voice called. “Arriving at Manehattan Grand Terminal in five minutes. Please prepare to disembark. Your attention, please. Arriving at Manehattan Grand Terminal in five minutes. Please prepare to disembark.”

I looked up and outside the window, giving Hummingbird a gentle nudge. The green pegasus mare, now wrapped in a thick winter coat, opened her eyes with a soft groan. “Hey, take a look,” I whispered, nodding to the window. Outside, the gently rolling hills of the countryside were slowly panning away to reveal the Manehattan cityscape. Farms and fields traded for dainty suburban homes and businesses. High-rise apartments and skyscrapers towered in the distance. Snow-covered fields seamlessly merged into the urban tapestry. Now that I'd seen Canterlot, I did notice the slight haze that seemed to hang in the air, but it did nothing to detract from the sheer scale of the city. Looking at the buildings crawl into view and the countryside slip away, some people would've felt a sense of loss. Me? I was coming home.

“Wow...” Hummingbird whispered softly.

“Heh, now it's your turn,” I chuckled huskily.

* * *

As everyone on board slowly shuffled off of the train car, I squinted and craned my neck as I tried to peer over the crowd of new arrivals, awaiting family and friends, guides, and terminal personnel. It might have been my trusty fedora, but I spotted a familiar set of stripes soon after we made it onto the platform. Leaving Hummingbird behind, I weaved through the group around me.

And there he was. We were about the same size now, if only because of my slight lankiness. Sincere, brown eyes; that friendly, smug smile; the strapping leather jacket, the Mohawk cut short so he could slip a bike helmet on... it was him. Best friend I could ever ask for. I rushed over and hugged him up tight, and we both burst out laughing in joy as we hugged one another tight.

“Welcome back, buck!” Zoleks greeted as we pulled away.

“Great to be back, buddy...” I said with a smile from ear to ear.

“So, this Hummingbird?” he asked, nodding toward my marefriend as she shimmied past the crowd to get to us.

“Mm-hm,” she answered with a nod, looking to me. Then, in a similar tone, “This Zoleks?”

“Mmmmmm-hm,” he answered with a nod of his own. Yeah, we were all going to get together quite nicely. “Come on, let's start heading back. Namira's getting dinner ready for us- don't wanna be late!”

“Heh, you didn't have to do that for us, Zoleks,” I said.

“You kidding me?” He shot a look at me, but his smile said it was all in good humor. “You come back home and tell me it ain't an occasion for us to have a meal together? Is that modesty I hear? Gooooood Lorn, who are you and what've you done with Frost?” I chuckled huskily and gave him a playful sock to the shoulder. “Seriously, though, let's get going. We already have it all planned out and have the guest bedroom prepped for you two. Couldn't bring the bike since there's three of us, but hey, look on the bright side. Walking's best way to see Manehattan, am I right?”

“Right right right,” I replied with a smile.

“Looks like I have to take your guys' word for it,” Hummingbird huffed with a grin.

“Take our word for it?” Zoleks regarded her with a grimace. “What, you telling me you ain't ever been to Manehattan before?”

“Nope, this is actually the first time for me.”

Zoleks blinked and looked at me. I looked at him.

She gave us a quizzical look. “What?”

He smirked. “I don't know about you, but I think this calls for a proper welcome.”

Smirks are contagious, folks. I smirked right back.

“What do you mean by proper welc- aaah!” Hummingbird cried out as we pulled her out past the front entrance, gracing her with the full splendor of the downtown district. Ponies, zebras, griffins, donkeys, mules, buffalo- all milled about the crowded pavement lined with those classy iron lampposts and the occasional bench. Buildings of red-rust-n'-brown brick surrounded us with flashy, over-the-top signs advertising- no, broadcasting their wares to all who could see. The recent snowfall added a lovely layer of white to it all.

Folks, remember when I told you about the three things I miss most about Manehattan? Something about the songs, something about Manehattaners knowing how to carry a tune? I don't think I touched on that too much. Well, just like with Hummingbird, let's fix that right up. Back then, everyone had this habit of spontaneously bursting into song. Don’t ask how- it just happened, and there was no stopping it when it did, folks.

So without further ado, it’s memento time! Hit it, Roanoke! My thoughts to theirs! Let's breathe some light and life into Junction R-7!

Roanoke grinned and held a claw to his forehead. And...

<===ooO Ooo===>

The younger Frost pointed to a group of street musicians, flashing a smirk that they mirrored on their own faces. A unicorn laid on a jumpy piano tune and a mule molly tapped away at the drums as the buffalo went wild with the trumpet. A good number of the newcomers from Manehattan Grand Terminal looked about in confusion as Frost and Zoleks went back-to-back before singing loud and clear in a fast-paced, swinging tune to a very bewildered Hummingbird, starting with Frost:

“Welcome to the city that never sleeps!”

Now Zoleks: “Work's expensive n' fun is cheap- yeah!”

Together, splitting up and circling around Hummingbird. The crowd around them began to tap their hooves and feet to the tune. “There's clubs that'll have you grinning ear to ear- yeah!”

Frost leaned in close to her with a sly grin, singing in a seductive tone, “C'mon, baby-girl, lemme take it from here...”

Hummingbird went scarlet. “Oh my...”

Frost and Zoleks met in front of her and danced together, mirroring one another's movements as they sang.

“Manehattan!
Where the lights and the smiles are bright!
Manehattan!
Where the partying goes on all night!
Manehattan!
Where the little can make it big!
Manehattan!
We're the City of Lights and Legends!” They went back-to-back. “Ya dig?”

There was a small instrumental break as the crowd reassembled, breaking out of their daily routine to join in on the song and dance. A keyboard trill from the pinstriped unicorn started them off. Now the rest of the Manehattaners joined in, displaying the city around them.

“Look at all the glamor, look at all that glitz!
Look at all the guys n' gals putting on the ritz- oh!
Different faces n' places n' races too- oh!
I ain't seen grander city- how 'bout you?”

And now the crowd broke into two aisles around Hummingbird and the rest of the new arrivals, mirroring one another as they cantered about as only Manehattaners could. People threw out their shutters and opened their windows, swinging their hats and joining into the extravagance.

“Manehattan!
Where the light and the smiles are bright!
Manehattan!
Where the partying goes on all night!
Maanehattan!
Where the little can make it big!
Maanehattan!
We're the City of Lights and Legends!” The twin aisles stamped their hooves and feet as one and pointed at the newcomers. “Ya dig?”

There was another instrumental break- this time with a squealing trumpet solo from the buffalo, who squinted his eyes as he played with passion. In the meantime, the aisles intermingled and danced with one another. Frost weaved around Hummingbird before snatching her along. The green pegasus mare let out a surprised shout before cantering about with him with raucous energy. Then, as one:

“Lose it to the music n' have some fun!
Sparkle-twinkle, razzle-dazzle, bright as the sun- hey!
We're a city of diff'rent shapes n' sizes, big n' small- hey!
You wanna be a legend, then stand up tall!

“Manehattan! (Where?)
Where the lights and smiles are bright!
Maanehattan! (Huh?)
Where the partying goes on all night!
Maaanehattan! (Wuzzat?)
Where the little can make it big!
Maaaaaanehaaaaaaattan!
City... of Lights! And! Legeeeeeeeends!”

Frost spun Hummingbird one last time as the music cut out, flashing a smug smile. “Ya dig?”

<===ooO Ooo===>

* * *

Hummingbird was positively, well, humming the city's tune all the way to Zoleks' place. It was actually a two-story business with the top floor being his humble abode and the bottom being his business. People of all kinds were working on the motorcycles in the shop’s garage- or, rather, they had been. They were still on their dinner break it seemed.

“You live here?” the green mare asked.

Zoleks nodded. “Yup. Manehattan's trying to curb its urban sprawl, you know? That means building denser and building higher.” He nodded to his employees. “Take another thirty off. Lemme know if anyone comes in, alright?”

They looked at one another, shrugged, and shared murmurs of approval.

“You managed to hire a diamond dog?” I huffed, watching him eat a sandwich of some sort.

“You mean Bo? Yeah, I still can't believe it. He seems pretty cool with it, though.”

“Hey, as lung as tuh bike's uff when I'm wurking un it, I nut complain,” he chuckled, his voice high and nasal.

“What's... that he's eating?” Hummingbird asked.

“That?” I shrugged. “Just a pork sandwich.”

“Pork?”

“You know, from pigs.”

She headtilted in her cute way. “Huh. I didn't know that pigs could make food.”

We both paused at that. “Hummingbird, pork is pig meat.”

* * *

Namira, Zoleks' marefriend, sat down next to us after we set Hummingbird down on the couch. “So... you just told her that pork comes from pigs?”

Zoleks nodded. “Yep.”

“And she fainted? Just like that?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Well, on the bright side,” Zoleks looked at me, “the boys are happy we're getting an extended dinner break.”

* * *

“... there's not any meat in this, is there?” Hummingbird asked as we sat down for dinner at their table.

“For the third time, no there isn't,” I said with an easy smile, giving her a nudge with my nuzzle. “You'll get used to seeing it while you're here. We've got tons of griffins.”

“Still, just... ugh, sorry about passing out like that.”

“Don't worry 'bout it,” Namira pat her on the shoulder, sliding her a bowl of...

“Udon?” I blinked. “You made bamboo udon?”

“Special occasion.” She smiled and slid me my own bowl. “Welcome home, Frost.”

“Home sweet home,” I sighed happily, forming a pair of ice arms. “Enjoy everyone. So Zoleks, c'mon. I've been talking a lot about Canterlot already. How's things here?”

“Well, you've seen my buds downstairs.” He grinned back at me. “Economy's starting to pick up again, so business is booming. Means more bikes on the road and bikes getting fixed or tricked out here. Means I can open up for evening hours again- I mean, you just saw all the guys downstairs. Just last week, this Hardly-Mason? Turned it into a real hot rod, hah! Sleek, shiny, slender- just beautiful, buck. The new supplier from Ponyville really helps a lot on that department. Real good prices. Have Namira to thank for that.”

“Oh?” Hummingbird canted her head after taking a clumsy mouthful of udon. “You help him out here? And this tastes wonderful, by the way.”

“Thank you.” The zebra mare bowed her head in gratitude. “And yes, I try to help out how I can here. I have recently been learning how to help fix bikes with him.”

“Ehhh, Cramp's been a better teacher than I've been really,” Zoleks chuckled. “I ain't too good at that teaching stuff.”

“Good enough for me,” she said, leaning over to nuzzle his cheek.

I looked between the two of them. Yeah... it was only a matter of time now... I couldn't help but glance over at Hummingbird all the same. I didn't want her to be another Song Spinner, but I still hoped that maybe- maybe- we could be something more all the same.

* * *

“Come on, Hummingbird!” Zoleks laughed as he led us through downtown, Namira trotting right up behind him. “You haven't been to Manehattan until you've hit the clubs!”

“Can't it wait until tomorrow?” she whined, barely able to keep up with me. “I just got here! Little tired from the ride!”

“Which you practically slept through,” I snickered, bumping into her. “Don't worry, you'll feel pepped up in no time here. You're gonna get the Manehattan experience!”

City of Lights and Legends, folks. The white blanket of snow caused all the shimmering lights to gleam off of the streets, walkways, and roofs. It was Manehattan during the most beautiful time of the year- and still the nocturnal splendor was going on strong- especially at The Lazy Dog. Ahhhh... it was all coming back- the good memories at least. Didn’t want anything to do with the Mumei anymore.

“Sup, Hammer,” I greeted the door bouncer. He blanched, went rigid, and did absolutely nothing as we passed on by, trading the coolness of the night for the rhythm and light. The sea of dark bodies on the dance floor and in the air, lit up by the strobe lights and beam talismans, Silva rocking it behind the turntables... and Lunafyre was on. Ahhhh, it was good to be back.

“Holy buck this is loud!” Hummingbird shouted unnecessarily over the music.

I laughed heartily, “You'll get used to it!” I nodded to my zebra friend. “Go ahead and have fun, Zoleks!”

The chill buck gave me a hoof-pump and swung away with Namira, disappearing into the crowd. Meanwhile, Hummingbird let out a surprised yelp as I pulled her into heart of the dance floor. She was shy at first, looking about in wonder and perhaps a bit of claustrophobia from the sheer scale and crowdedness of it all. I just held close to her for a good minute or so. I was there. She would be okay. I gave her a bright, confident smile and helped her warm up to it. Soon, we found ourselves lost in the music, ripples and waves in the sea of bodies. As we swung and flung, twisted and turned, I had to take it all in- she was just beautiful. She was a clumsy dancer, yeah, but the way the lights caught her slender form for a split second, the way her brilliant crimson eyes shone in the dark, the way her mane settled after she tossed it back...

The storyteller sighed softly, mistily. He was neither smiling nor frowning, eyes half-lidded with a gentle twinkle to them. No emotion crossed his brow. He only looked so tired, so old. He was quiet until something snapped him out of his trance and he shook his head.

Sorry about that, folks. A-Anyway, it, uh... it wasn't long before we had to catch a breather at the bar. Sweat was matting down our fur and we were out of breath, but we both wore happy, fulfilled smiles on our faces. I was content to lean against her while our bodies wound down- even if I was eager to get back out on the dance floor. But then a claw tapped my shoulder...

A familiar petite griffiness was seated on my other side, beak curved in a grin. “Wassup, businesspony?”

“Vani?” I stared at her and then smiled wide. “Vani!” I swung out my hoof and she met with her hand, shaking firmly. “Great to see you again!”

“Same, same! How've you been, huh? How was Canterlot?”

“Who's she?” Hummingbird asked, still a bit loud over the music.

“Right!” I motioned between them. “Hummingbird, Vani Windfall! Vani, Hummingbird!” I motioned to Hummingbird. “Marefriend!” And now to Vani. “Former owner/employer of The Lazy Dog!”

I tilted forward so they could reach across and shake hoof and hand. “Nice to meet you!” Vani said with a smile. “Heh, already got one, huh?”

“Well hey, it just happened!” I chuckled huskily.

“Hey, I'm not judging!” Vani huffed. “Zoleks let me know you were headed back today, so I popped in to say hi! I see it's still as loud as ever here!” She patted my back. “Look, we can catch up some more later! You get back out there and have a good time, okay?” The griffiness smirked and then waved a hand high in the direction of the turntables, motioning to me afterward and giving a thumb's-up. I looked over to see Silva looking over and then nodding and smiling, typing away at the compact terminal wired up to the turntables using her wings. Huh...

I didn't know what that was all about until the next track. Heavy bass blasted from the speakers, and at once I felt completely invigorated. By the time the cymbals went on, I already knew what it was- Yellow Line. Hummingbird cried out happily as I took her by the hoof, pulled her back into the heart of the dance floor, and we rocked it hard.

A proper Manehattan welcome-back, folks... a proper Manehattan welcome-back.

* * *

I cracked my eyes open, taking in my surroundings. We were in a simple guest bedroom in Zoleks' house. Beige wallpaper, a small television set, a warm bed, a lamp on the nightstand... I huffed at myself at how utterly extravagant and unnecessary all the furnishings back in my dorm in Canterlot were in comparison. This was how I grew up- worse than this actually- and that was all I needed in a bedroom. I glanced at the clock. Eight-fifteen... yep, back to Manehattan time at last. I looked down at the beautiful green mare snuggled close to me. I just loved that squeaky snore of hers... it was just so cute...

I nudged at her cheek and gave her a kiss, causing her to let out soft groan in protest. “Too early, Froooost...” she whined.

“Come on, Hummingbird,” I chuckled and gave her rear a rough rub before slipping away from her. “Up, up, up.”

She let out a soft giggle. “Okay, fine, fine.” She rose with me, letting out a squeaky yawn and smacking her lips. The green mare took a look at the time and grumbled, “Not even eight-thirty yet! We only got like five hours of sleep!”

“Welcome to Manehattan,” I said with a grin, sprouting a pair of ice arms to make the bed.

Hummingbird just let out a sleep-roughened groan.

“Hey, you had fun last night, didn't you?” I asked.

“Well... yeah, most fun I've had in years.”

“Then it was worth it.” I smiled.

“Can we at least get some coffee?” the green mare murmured, rubbing her eyelids with her wings.

I laughed outright, “Hahaa! Hummingbird, this is Manehattan. We don't need coffee growing up like this!”

She let out a groan and covered her face.

“Heh, alright, alright. We'll swing by a hotel on our way out. They have coffee shops in there.” I rolled my eyes. “Such a tourist.” Hummingbird lightly smacked me upside the back of my head with a wing, and I looked back at her with a smirk. She mirrored it herself and we fell into chuckles as we drew up close and shared a kiss. “Come on. We'll see if the shower doesn't wake you up.”

* * *

“Thanks again for the hospitality, Zoleks, Namira,” I said with a tip of my trusty hat as we left.

“Yeah, thanks for being so accommodating.” Hummingbird likewise thanked with a wave.

“Hey, no problem, buck.” The chill zebra grinned, giving a quick salute in farewell. “Just lemme know where and when to meet you for the festival after you talk to your folks, aight?”

I froze. I was... supposed to talk to them about that. Buck me. “Uh, sure thing, Zoleks! See you!”

Shoot shoot shoot shoot shoot. Uhhhhhhh, well, I had all day... right? Didn't have to see them now...

* * *

“Well heyyyy, Frost!” Shinespark, the orange, red-maned unicorn mare greeted as we stepped into her office at the Manehattan Magical Institute. “What a pleasant surprise to see you! How's Canterlot been? Who's your friend there?”

“Hello again, Professor Whitney,” I greeted, removing my fedora with a pair of ice arms and pressing it to the barrel of my chest respectfully. I motioned to the mare beside me. “This is Hummingbird. I guess you could call her my marefriend.”

Hummingbird quickly smacked me upside the back of my head with a wing without changing expression or looking away.

“Uh, I-I mean she is my marefriend.”

The Northerner unicorn just giggled. “Okay, okay, now... tell me all about Canterlot! How's your cryomancy been doing? Any progress there?”

“Heh, well, to start, first thing about Canterlot I found was that it was really expensive...”

* * *

“So, what'd you think of her?” I asked Hummingbird as we started leaving campus.

“I think she'd be a pretty fun professor to attend lecture for,” she answered with a smile. “She's pretty friendly.”

“Yeah, definitely,” I chuckled softly, glancing at the campus clock tower. Ten-oh-seven... still had plenty of time. Definitely still had plenty of time. No need to rush and see them right away...

* * *

“Wow, it feels like forever since we've eaten here, Frost,” Vani huffed with a grin as we sat down outside her favorite cafe. She motioned to the male griffin beside her. “Alden, this is my friend Frost and his marefriend, Hummingbird. Guys, this is my boyfriend here.”

I smiled and sprouted an ice arm to clasp hands with him. “Pleased to meet you.”

“The same,” Alden said with a nod.

“So, how is it you know one another?” Hummingbird inquired.

“Heh, Frost and I go back seven... no, almost eight years,” the griffiness replied. “He and some of his friends were trying to get work at The Lazy Dog back when I was the owner. Heh, at twelve years old no less. He was able to push through this city ordinance that allowed minors to get most jobs in the city with parent or guardian consent. Passed in a landslide victory, I tell ya.”

“Really now?” the green mare asked, looking at me.

This was starting to get a little too close to the Mumei for comfort, but I rolled with it even as my heart started to beat faster and my neck began to tingle. “Yeah, that was Prop Four way back when, heh...”

She looked between me and Vani. “Is this some kinda joke?”

“Don't think so,” Alden said. “That's the same story she told me, and given he talked to my boss just before the prop went up on the docket, I'd say he had something to do with it.”

“You're MPD?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yep. I'm usually on patrol in the northern quarter out east to the docks. Farrow's still alive and kicking as commissioner. But yeah, I think Frost here had something to do with Prop Four.”

“And you never told me you were behind all that?” Hummingbird stared. “Allowing older minors to work was one of the ideas I had at a Model United Nations conference! General Assembly Second Committee and all that!”

“I... didn't think it was all that important?” I shrugged helplessly.

* * *

I peered at a clock store as we passed by. Twelve-thirteen. Still have plenty of time to kill. No rush at all to see them.

“Hey, Hummingbird, did you want to see the view from the Pony of Friendship?” I asked her.

* * *

“... can see so much from the torch- I mean, there's the Lights and Legends Building, and if you look to the right,” I pointed out for Hummingbird over the gently whipping wind, “you can see the twin towers of the World Trade Center.”

“Frost,” the pegasus mare called gently.

“Oh, and if you follow that road to the right to Meridian and follow it downtown, veering left, there's the Institute.”

“Frost,” she called louder.

“You can really see it all from up here, Hummingbird. Celestia, the view is beautiful, isn't it-”

“Frost.” Louder.

I looked at her. “Sorry, just... I know it's only been a few months, but I've missed this city so much, Hummingbird. I've never really been outside of it until I had to head to Canter-”

“Frost.” Quieter. “Is this about not wanting to see your parents?”

You know that feeling when you get caught with a lie? That feeling where your whole body seizes up and you get sweaty around the shoulders? I was getting that feeling, and I'd learned to ignore it when someone called me out on a lie. I did it with Zoleks, I did it with enemies of the Mumei, I did it with the police, I did it with my parents, but I couldn't do it with Hummingbird. I just seized up and started getting that prickly feeling on my shoulders.

The green mare just sighed, “Are you scared, Frost?”

I gulped, forming the word in my mouth, working my jaw. “Yes...”

“What are you scared about?” she asked, drawing a wing over my back, hitting just the spot to help me relax. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, allowing me to think clearly. No veil of deceit this time.

“I'm... I'm just scared about being rejected again,” I said. “I mean, I was... pretty independent for most of my childhood, but... they disowned me over what I did, Hummingbird. They still call me their son, but I don't know how they'll react.”

“Sounds like you're just scared of what you don't know.” She smiled softly at me, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Let's go. We won't know unless we try, right?”

I looked over to the northern quarter of the city, filled with dread and anxiety as I slowly nodded and stood to go.

* * *

I don't know how long I stood in front of my family's... our mansion, craning my head up to take it all in. I kept on thinking of excuses to turn back, maybe ask to take Zoleks' guest bedroom again. It was early evening now. Maybe they were having dinner. I remember we liked to have early dinners. I should come back later. Maybe they were bathing. I could always come back tomorrow. Maybe they were relaxing, watching a movie together. I shouldn't interrupt. Later, later, I could always come back later. I should come back later. Take the easy way out. Just take the easy way out.

Hummingbird drew a wing over me and nuzzled my cheek gently. She looked into my eyes, and I looked into hers. I suddenly found all sense of anxiety fade away as I lost myself in the striking crimson and violet. “Go on. I'm here.”

Such simple words, and yet they gave me so much comfort. I drew in a breath- not deep, not sharp, just natural. I strode forward, raised my hoof, and rang the doorbell.

I could hear the chime echo through the halls of our home just as my own heartbeat echoed through my entire body. It could take five minutes for one of them to get to the door if they were busy at the far ends of the building. It didn't make it any easier as I awaited the moment of truth.

My mother opened the door first- coat of verdant green and short mane the color of fine lotus powder streaked with aged gray. The withered earth pony mare just looked at me with an expression that betrayed no irritation or surprise. I don't think she even looked at Hummingbird. For once, I was at a loss as to what could be on her mind, even with my experience with dealing with other people.

I somehow found the courage to speak first. “Hello, mother,” I said somewhat fragile tone.

She just turned away, refusing to meet my gaze as she opened the door wider for us. “Welcome home, Frostbane.”

The tension loosened its grip around my neck and I let out a soft breath. They still welcomed me back home- why was I afraid of that in the first place? Of course I was welcome. Well... I was permitted back home at the very least. Nevertheless, I bowed respectfully and stepped through. Hummingbird hastily followed my lead and stepped in with me before mom shut the door.

It was now that Mother noticed and looked at the pegasus mare beside me. She paused- us as well. “Is she a friend of yours?”

I looked from Hummingbird to Mother and swallowed as tension wrapped its fingers around my throat once more. “Her? Uh... she's...” I glanced at Hummingbird, “she's my marefriend.”

Mother looked at her with a look that betrayed... surprise? (The storyteller appeared to rethink this.) Intrigue, perhaps. “Aren't you going to introduce me to her?”

“Oh! Uh, well,” I coughed politely, “this is Hummingbird. Hummingbird, this is my mother.”

“Nice to meet you,” the green pegasus mare said with a bow of her head.

Mother continued to look between us. Then she cracked a smile and chuckled softly as she proceeded toward the living room. “Looks like the green will run in the family.”

I stared wide-eyed at her as she slowly went along while Hummingbird let out a muted giggle. Did... did she just make a joke? With me? The tension hanging in the air melted away and I found myself smiling softly as I led Hummingbird along to follow.

“Wow... you've got a beautiful mansion,” she remarked, taking a moment to appreciate the tiling of the spiraling princesses on the floor. “It's... wow, you weren't kidding, Frost.”

“And he was the one who helped us get it,” Mother said to my surprise. Then, not to my surprise, she added, “Even if it was in a less than honorable way.”

Hummingbird looked at me confusedly. My smile faded and I shamefully shied away from her gaze. “M-Mother... can we please not talk about that?” I implored. “I just wish to put that behind me.”

She paused and looked back at me with that unreadable expression. Today I know for a fact that my poker face comes from her. She merely nodded and headed on. To this day, I can only guess how she felt about that. Disappointed, probably.

Father was waiting in the living room, seated on one of the couches- coat a distinguished white, mane and tail a wholesome blue speckled with gray. Mother sat beside him, Hummingbird and I across from them on another couch.

Father drew in a soft breath and said with a small frown, “Welcome home, Frost. How was school?”

“It was good,” I responded in a hesitant, halfhearted manner. “How are, uh,” I motioned just off to the side without any clear direction, “things here?”

“Good,” he similarly answered. It, it was there- that... that same hesitation. None of us wanted to be here. I certainly didn't. We were just going through the motions to be courteous and presentable- for the sake of Hummingbird, I think.

We all talked for a spell- just idle chatter. How was Canterlot? How did Hummingbird and I come to meet? Tell about yourself, Hummingbird. Such and such, now what about you, Mister Dust and Missus Cure? Though I felt more at ease around then than I had ever since I dishonored them, a distant unease clung to the air. With every question asked and answered, I felt that they were judging me. If it were Mother alone, I could have merely suspected. Father's emotion, on the other hoof, was much clearer. A tinny frown or the slight smile could worry or empower me. It's the little things, I found, that swayed me the most. I knew I was trying to be friendly, trying to be civil.

The storyteller paused, working his jaw around and breaking eye contact for a moment.

I understand I never really talked a whole lot about my parents. It's because I never really spent a lot of time with them after I met Zoleks, then with the Mumei, then after being disowned. So, you might be thinking, “Big deal. Suck it up. You don't need them.”

He shook his head.

Maybe I didn't, but that's taking away the equine element. Do you know how many friends I really had? Really? Zoleks. Hummingbird. Vani Windfall. Shinespark Whitney. Maybe Silva Hound. I didn't have many friends, and those I cherished the few I had. At the end of the day, even when I ruled the biggest gang that ever walked the Manehattan streets, I always came back home. My parents were always there to greet me. They were the ones who brought me up, consoled me, cared for me. All without expecting anything- truly- in return. They knew I was going to walk out the door after breakfast. They trusted me and let me be my own stallion. Family are friends that matter most, and I willingly betrayed their trust and did all of that- Prop Four, the Mumei, the gang war- behind their backs.

I have a lot of things to regret, folks. I know where I've erred, where others erred. It's my virtue to know.

The storyteller leaned back and tilted his head up to the ceiling for a second or two, letting out a soft grunt as his joints popped.

Eventually, we ran out of things to talk about. We were just sitting in the same room, breathing the same air, avoiding eye contact, sitting in silence. There was nothing left to distract me, nothing to get in my way.

Remember what I said yesterday, folks? Back when I was first turning Sunny to my side? (He spoke in an eerily identical tone,) Ponies... people with nothing to lose and everything to gain will grasp at the first shred of hope they see. It's a fact.

I decided to grasp it.

I lowered my head (the old unicorn did just that) and let out a sigh, breaking the tense silence and putting all eyes on me. Twiiiilight Sparkle, it was like putting all the spotlights on me as I opened up a show. I never thought myself the type to get stage fright after all those years of publicly speaking to the Mumei, but here I was with the people that mattered most to me, scared out of my wits.

I lifted my head up, (He did so and pointed at his eyes,) established eye contact, (Now from his to the audience's), assumed good posture (And up he rose, straightening out), and prepared to speak.

With the right words... the right way.

“Mom, Dad, I...” Okay, good. I linked the three of us together in an endearing way. “I was told there is going to be a vigil for all Northerners tomorrow.” Use strong verbs and you make strong words. Declare, don’t imply. “If it's not too much trouble, I would like to join both of you in attending it.” Be polite. Establish that you are are trying to be convenient, but be firm with your wording.

Father tilted his head- in confusion? Surprise perhaps? Mother turned her head ever so slightly to the side. She was caught off-guard, her poker face fractured. They shared a quick look. Then Father asked, “Why?”

“I haven't been faithful to my heritage,” I answered, making that allowance, using the contraction to dull the blow, “and I certainly haven't been faithful to you.” Make it personal. Make that connection. Reach out and touch them heart-to-heart. “I don't know much about our people. I don't even know much of our language.” Admit fault with haste and sincerity. “It shouldn't be that way.” I let out a sigh. “Mom, Dad... you both really do mean a lot to me. I want to make it up to you, even if just a little.” Finish it. “Please.”

Mother and Father shared a glance for a few seconds. I waited anxiously, worry gnawing at my gut. Finally, they nodded and turned back to me.

“You and Hummingbird may join us, Frost,” said Mother with a tiny smile, the gnawing feeling swept away now and relief surging up instead. “We will talk more about the festival later.”

Father nodded likewise with a smile of his own, not quite as tiny. “Go to sleep early. We will be waking before dawn. Dress warm as well. The Cloudsdale Organization of Lightning and Thunder have scheduled for more snowfall.”

I bowed gratefully. “Thank you, mother, father. I won't disappoint.”

* * *

The storyteller sighed out a cool, misty breath.

This is going to be... one of those segments, folks. It's going to be one of those times in which I have a life-changing experience. You learned a lot about me just through my ambitions with the Mumei. But I didn't. I only learned that I had to control my ambition for personal power and glory lest I hurt those most important to me- and myself. I've said it before- the most important lessons come early in life. It was still early in my life.

Because nothing, I believe, was more important than what I learned during those few days.

Hokkaidans called it Yukute.

The Way.

* * *

We were up at four-thirty in the morning. It felt odd being the only one who didn't have to dress warm for the cold weather outside. Mother and Father were still Northerners. They- we- had the innate, stalwart resistance to the cold that all of them had. Mother wore only a simple coat while Father actually wore the ancient, scaled set of armor he showed to me months before. The old plates clinked together with the weight of so many years, but he never looked prouder. Hummingbird was almost comically layered up in a sweater and sweatpants, a rash guard on top, a snow jacket, and a scarf. She had boots at the door for on the way out. I couldn't blame her, though. She still had the weak constitution, even with all the strength she got back from finally eating well again.

“I could just help peel away the cold for all over you,” I offered to them as we met for breakfast. We all had just a simple slice of toast with our choice of nut butter. “It wouldn't be difficult.”

Hummingbird smiled. “Thanks, that would be-”

“Your father and I must decline,” Mother spoke, interrupting. “Oh, sorry, Hummingbird.”

“It wouldn't be... appropriate, Frost,” Father explained. “The point of the Northern Lights Festival is to preserve the memory of our culture. It... it wouldn't feel right to be warm in midst of all that.” Then he added, “I mean no offense.”

I nodded slowly. “I understand.”

“Yeah... I think maybe I'll decline too, then,” Hummingbird said. “I mean, I'm already all dressed for it.” Then she- cutely, if I may add- tilted her head. “Northern Lights? Is that what they're calling it?”

Father smiled thinly and chuckled softly as he helped slip on a set of saddlebags. “Fitting, isn't it?”

We all helped out with carrying what we needed to bring for the festival. A great deal of it was Hokkaidan food along with some... kind of book I never saw before. I approached it, sprouting an ice arm to take a look at it. Mother blocked my hand as I reached for it, not even flinching from the cold. I hastily sublimated it and retreated. The withered earth pony mare simply nodded in thanks and used her mouth to place the tome into her own saddlebags as if with reverence.

When we left the house, I was astonished to find so many ponies already starting to do the same. The Northerners filtered from their homes with warm coats and bulky saddlebags. Some of them even drew carts. Snow drifted slowly down from above in the sky, glinting in...

No wait, they weren't glinting. Odd. They should've been catching all the... light.

I looked about in surprise as I found nearly all of the lights around us off. There were only the streetlights and the lights in the homes of the Northerners making last preparations to leave. It was a strange, almost alien sight. Even Hummingbird looked mildly surprised. Mother and Father acted as if all was right in the world, however, and so we pushed on, making tracks in the snow like so many others.

It soon became apparent that we were all gathering near Meridian Main Street. It was the street that roughly split Manehattan's east and west halves, and it was also the largest street with ten lanes total. I felt my jaw hang open as I beheld what must have been thousands upon thousands of Northerners convened there from all over the city- millions, as I later learned. Never before in my life- or ever since- have I ever seen a larger gathering. Ponies of all shapes, sizes, and colors drew together as one, shuffling together and making space for everyone else. There was no sign of authority or leadership. They just instinctively made way for one another like it was second nature. Maybe it's some kind of herd instinct now long lost in the Wasteland.

Zoleks, his parents, and Namira were waiting for us where the road met. I smiled brightly and shuffled through the current of ponies over to them and wrapped my forelegs around the buck in a hug. Our parents met shortly after and started to talk between themselves. Hummingbird just took to the air and settled down beside us.

“Cheater,” I grunted at her after I pulled away from the buck.

“Pfft, you like how I cheat,” she snickered, brushing a primary along my side.

I shuddered and shied away from her. “Hummingbird! Not in public...” She just used a wing to stifle her laughter. Stupid cute Hummingbird...

“Well damn if this isn't the most people I've seen ever,” Zoleks remarked. “You have any idea where you guys are supposed to be going?”

“A rough idea,” Father responded. “Just stay close.” Then he headed off with Mother and Zoleks' parents following along, chit-chatting all the while.

“'A rough idea'?” Namira arced an eyebrow. “That doesn't inspire hope with a crowd like this.”

“More like a parade,” Zoleks huffed. “Come on, featherbuck. Let's get going.”

We all shuffled along amidst the crowd at an even pace, feeling neither rushed nor like we were about to be separated from one another. Somehow, someway, we found a place to settle down on the freshly fallen snow. The crowd seemed to more or less face toward the north. I craned my neck, thankful for being slightly taller than average. I barely made out a small platform where a small group of ponies appeared to be conversing. I couldn't hope to make anything out over the low din of hushed conversation among friends and family, so I instead let my eyes wander over the tapestry of Northerners. Except it wasn't all Northerners. I spotted a variety of other equines in the crowd. To true Manehattan flavor, there were zebras, griffins, donkeys, mules, and buffalo here. Hay, one of the unicorn mares sitting nearby was clearly an Equestrian pony with her lack of the Northerner slant to the eye and sharpness of the muzzle.

“Looks like I'm not the only one who brought a friend or two,” I remarked to Hummingbird.

“Can't blame them,” she said. “This is probably the biggest public event I've ever seen. Somepony- oh, sorry- someone was bound to get curious.”

“Actually, I'm an equinpologist from MMI,” the Equestrian unicorn beside us spoke up. Now that I took more than a glance at her, I noticed her sky-blue fur and her red, flowing mane. “I'm here on research.”

“Really now?” I huffed.

She nodded. “Yep. This is probably the best opportunity to get information on Northerner culture. Straight from the horse's mouth, as it were. I don't know if you younger people know, but a lot of knowledge was lost during The Great Exodus. Oh, I'm sorry!” She reached a hoof across the back of the pony beside her to reach me. “Professor Shipley.”

I stretched out to shake her hoof. “Frost Windchill. Pleased to meet you.” We released and I teetered a little. Zoleks caught me and pulled me upright, and I took a moment to nod in thanks before turning back to Shipley. “You were saying something about the Exodus?”

“Oh, yes.” She levitated out a notebook and quill. “A lot of cultural knowledge was lost to the deadly winter twenty years ago, you understand. What I'm doing here is simply keeping my eyes and ears open to document as much as possible.”

“Cultural knowledge?” I arced an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, traditions, customs, rules of conduct, ideologies, such and such. That's the basics of it.” Shipley rolled a hoof as she made her verbal list. “... you don't follow, do you? Okay, let me put it this way.” She shifted a bit to get more comfortable. “When your people fled from the Far North, they did so with minimum preparation. Save for the family album or some other memorabilia, they took very little with them as they tried to escape south. On top of all that, millions upon millions of them perished along the way or went missing and were never accounted for. Just think of all that knowledge stored up in here,” She patted her forehead, “that was lost in addition to that. Documentation of Northerner culture is hard to come by outside of archives in major colleges and universities. It's why the Northern Lights Festival is the biggest thing in equinpology right now. I have colleagues in Burrlin, Moscovo, Flankorage, and Stalliongrad attending festivals there. It's our greatest opportunity to find out as much as possible about this lost culture- yours.”

I was taken completely aback by all of that. Truth be told, all that I told you way back when I started telling this story about my past, before the War and all of this? I barely knew any of that. It's only because of my experiences with the Northern Lights Festivals that I learned all of what I told you folks.

“Wow... I... wow, I never thought of it that way,” I remarked dumbly.

“Most people don't,” the unicorn mare said with a shrug. “That's why I'm here. We can't forget that these things matter.” She looked to the north again. “Oh, it looks like they're about to start. I'll pipe down now. Maybe we'll talk more later.”

Hummingbird appropriately nudged me to face forward once again. Now there was only a single pony on the distant stage. The barely visible glimmer from her forehead told me this one was a unicorn.

“Welcome, Northerners and guests alike,” a female voice rang out around us. Okay, she was a mare, and she was broadcasting her voice out to us using magic so that we could all hear her at a normal volume. Sometimes, I really wished I could've used all these other spells. I could hear the murmurs of Northerners around us translating for those who couldn't fully speak Equestrian. “We are gathered here these next three days to hold vigil to our past lives in the Far North. Whatever name you call our home, it is still that- our home. And our bond there will never be severed.

“Today, we have to be reminded of the terrible tragedy of The Great Exodus twenty years ago. For many of us, the scars still linger. Old wounds may yet still open. Rest assured, everyone, we must pull through this and endure. We must endure for the sake of those that follow. Many of you have started new families. I know I have.” She appeared to look to a very specific place in the crowd for only a moment. “And right now, this new generation might be growing up without knowing their own heritage.” I felt my heart ache a little to those words. “It is our duty to uphold our tradition so that we may pass it on. We've lost so much to the Exodus. We don't need to lose any more. We need to have a future. But in order to do so, we must invest in the present. And the present is built on the foundations of the past.

“That is why here- today, these three days- we invite everyone to partake in this festival, this vigil. Be not suspicious or wary of them. Welcome them into your circles and share with them your tales and experiences. At the same time, I must ask that all visitors remain respectful and not press for information. Again, The Great Exodus was a tragic moment in our lives that still haunts us today. Please be mindful and acknowledge that we may not be willing to share all of our stories.

“Today, on the first day of the Northern Lights Festival, we shall share our tales, the cherished remnants of our past lives that we are willing to pass on to others.” I couldn't help but look at Father at that. He smiled a proud smile. “We are not eternal, and so we must pass the torch to the newer generation. You have already been informed of where each of the Northerner peoples will reside for this day in the festival. Be not afraid to mingle and explore other cultures. We all share the same kinship, and perhaps we have more to learn from others than from ourselves.

“And so I mark today, December fifteenth, as the first day of the Northern Lights- The Day of Remembrance.”

A group of pegasi shot into the air from the crowd, arcing and weaving dynamically skyward. There, they pulled back the cloud curtain to reveal the endless expanse of sky above. Dawn was breaking, and the rising sun cast a pastel yellow-orange glow to the east. It made for a very beautiful scene with the gently falling snow. The pegasi then sped back down for the ground toward the unicorn at the platform, arching back into the sky as she formed an overglow and fired a magical beam straight upward. The pegasi scattered away from one another as the beam erupted in a fantastic burst of energy that seemed to warp the sky itself in a dazzling array of colors. It was strikingly similar to a moving rainbow. The aurora undulated with life of its own, reflected in the drifting snowflakes. Gasps of awe filled the morning air- my own as well. I felt the slightest wetness against my eyes.

“Let the Festival commence.”

* * *

The Day of Remembrance was meant specifically for passing on traditions to the next generation- and that meant cuisine, customs, and culture. Definitely cuisine. Heh, one thing was for sure- nobody went hungry (The storyteller smiled and let out a soft, husky chuckle). I mean... the Hokkaidans alone had more ramen, udon, tempura, edamame, goma-ae, tonchi nasu, dengaku, hangetsu...

A lot of hooves and hands went up.

Eh, uh... Roanoke, help them out a little? Sorry if I'm on a roll here, folks. Just... it was a good time. It was nice and warm amidst the crowds and stands, the smell of familiar foods mingling in the air. Everyone was happy, smiling, laughing, eating. It was a time of plenty. Nobody seemed to go hungry and there always seemed to be enough food for everyone. (He let out another chuckle.) Hummingbird was so overwhelmed in it all. I couldn't blame her. She'd been eating vegetable soup for who knows how long and now she had the opportunity of a lifetime to sample true Northerner gourmet. I think the reason why Zoleks, Namira, Hummingbird, and I checked out the other ponies of the Far North was less because of my curiosity and more because of her desire to, well...

“I must try all the food!” the green pegasus mare declared with a squee, happily hovering in midair.

“Hummingbird, you know we've got three days like this, right?” I asked, unable to keep from grinning in spite of myself. She was just too cute, dammit.

It was a wonderful palette of food that day. I found myself eating small portions of everything along with Hummingbird in a manner similar to the Haysians' “dim-sum”. Thulians were hooves-down the best at seafood. I thought that Hokkaidan kelp was something. Heh, the Thulians used seagrass, barnacle barley, fluted sea pickle, and some kind of magically detoxified sea anemone. Horwegians had this red cabbage with this amazing crunch to it, these incredible potato dumplings, and a very creamy dish called rutmus. Like I said, nobody seemed to go hungry. Hay, I think some of them even took leftovers home after the festival.

Now for the customs part. At noontime, Father and several other older Hokkaidans in the same ancient, scaled armor stood in formation and at attention in a clearing we made specifically for the event. Mother told me they were performing the traditional “Changing of the Guard” ceremony that signaled the exchange of guard shifts at the Pearly Palace before the Exodus. She and Father lived in the capital city of Bīkon and had the opportunity to see the Pearly Palace in all its glory. It was so named because of the pearls inlaid into the stone blocks that the Hokkaidans used to construct the castle. She said she was going to miss being able to see the rising sun glint off of them like stars during daytime.

It then occurred to me that the Northerners weren't just some... backwards, primitive ponies who stubbornly refused to leave their home for a brighter, sunnier place. They were a civilization that birthed and grew up alongside the Equestrians, refusing to join them only because of their bond to the land. They had cities up there too. They didn't live in some run-down, straw-and-stone huts in villages- not all of them, anyway. They had industries, corporations, museums, monuments, skyscrapers, shipping yards. That put everything in a whole new light for me. Equinekind was at the pinnacle of civilization during those years, the Northerners along with them. And they suddenly had all of that taken away from them. I tried to imagine... (the storyteller sighed,) just... tried to imagine a horrible, unimaginably horrible winter descend on Manehattan and completely wipe it out. It was unthinkable. I just couldn't imagine it. To think- all that taken away in a matter of days. (He shook his head.) Traumatizing. It must have been absolutely traumatizing.

We weren't the only ones either. Looking at the ceremonial “Dragon Dance” of the Haysians and the Horwegian Krigsropet, or “war chant”, I realized that-

The storyteller paused as a colt expressed his surprise that the Horwegians were practicing a war chant.

Oh yes. Ponies have tasted war in the past, long before The Great War and even long before the War of the Heavens. The evidence is there. It's just been so long. But that's a story for a different time.

Where was I...? Hm... ah, right. I realized that the Northerners were a great people with a rich history- a history I was completely oblivious to in my personal lust for power. Yet again, I felt humbled under the weight of all this.

As the day drew to an end and the sun dipped beneath the horizon, we moved onto sharing our culture. It was the perfect place, time, and atmosphere. We huddled together around campfires for warmth amidst the gently falling snow, and without the lights of Manehattan, the stars of the night sky were visible to all. It was awe-inspiring to many of us including myself who rarely had the opportunity to relish their beauty. Combined with the snowfall, it looked like the very stars themselves were floating down to earth.

Mother and Father told a great many stories that night- stories of the heroic, the cunning, the foolish, the shameful. I... heh, I think I'll save those stories for another time. They're epics in their own right, some of them. Each of them served as windows to the past, reflecting the values that Hokkaidans valued and vilified. There was usually at least one guest listening or an equinpologist patiently observing. One of those tales especially resonated with me.

“This was my favorite tale from my father,” Mother began. “I guess that now I'll pass it on for him and pass it onto you. There once was a great, craggy mountain in the middle of a great, craggy desert...”

I'll... I think I'll save it for another time. But it had a good message, and... it spoke to me. It wouldn't be until years later that I fully appreciated it.

No, I think I'll speak of what my father taught me that night, that most important lesson I've ever learned.

“Frost,” he said, leaning forward and speaking directly to me this time, his features lit by the soft firelight. “This is mostly for you. Hokkaidans live through a special code of conduct. You might have heard of our samurai living by the code of honor known as Bushidō. My father lived by that code. I do not. I never took up the oaths. My... uh... my brother was to inherit the armor.” He sighed through his nostrils, his breath visible in the cold winter air, and flattened his lips. He was silent for a few seconds. “He didn't make the journey. Sometimes, I still wonder how I did. He was the one who trained in the Warrior's Way. He was the one who strove to... to perfect his mind and body. I wonder sometimes- why me?” The distinguished white stallion felt at his breastplate. I could almost imagine him trying to reach out to his brother's, his father's hearts.

“Hokkaidans live through a special code of conduct,” Father spoke again. “In Hokkaido, we called it Yukute. In Equestrian, it means The Way. It cannot be taught, only learned. No one can dictate how one lives The Way. Just as there are infinitely many paths through life, there are infinitely many ways to stay true to Your Way. No one knows where it leads but oneself, and not everyone can follow the same path. Inevitably, you have to walk alone.”

He looked back at me with eyes vacant with the weight of years of experience. “There is only a simple standard behind The Way, Yukute. It is that good and evil coexist. One cannot simply be without the other, and so one can never truly be vanquished. Our lives are guided by the constant struggle for balance between these two forces. It is... this sense of thesis versus antithesis, a war between opposites. From them comes a... a synthesis, something... new. Something unique. It is this struggle that defines our... character.

“What do you do when there's no one watching? What do you do when there's no one to guide you? You know how to use words, Frost. I know this. You've used them to bring out and to obfuscate the truth. But say what you mean, and mean what you say. Actions speak louder than words. They define who we are. These actions are what truly show our character, Our Way. Do you do what must be done? Or do you do as you wish and take the other road, even if it is the more individual one? Who is to say which choice is 'good' and which is 'evil'? Would you smite the one who has wronged so many in the past in retribution, or would you turn the cheek and risk him learning nothing with the chance to repent? There is no clear choice- only the one you believe is right.”

Every word came crisp and clear now. Father spoke with a gravity I have never heard from him before, weighted with the utmost importance. “And so we must learn. We must learn to see the good in that which is evil, and we must learn to see the evil in that which is good. Pledge allegiance to neither side but instead strive to strike your own balance between the two. That is the meaning of Yukute. That is the meaning of The Way.”

* * *

I didn't sleep much that night. My thoughts were consumed by what were without a doubt the most important words I'd ever heard in my life. What path did I walk, and where was it going to take me? I've undoubtedly caused great pains to a great many in the past. Was the further pain I caused worth erasing all of that, the Mumei? In the end, I convinced myself it was the lesser of two evils. I couldn't have let the Mumei perpetuate above the law. But did I truly erase all of it? Could I wipe the slate clean and start afresh just like that? Even now, I still know I can use my honeyed words to get what I want. It was that power, that dangerous power I held that could make history. Understand, folks, I don't want to put myself on a golden throne here. But... the words I've spoken and the words I chose to remain unspoken have, without a doubt, made history.

“Hey,” I heard a whisper to my side. “You alright, buck?”

I turned my head to the side, careful not to disturb Hummingbird as she nestled in the same sleeping bag as me. Zoleks was awake, looking at me as well.

“I could ask the same of you,” I chuckled quietly.

“Just taking it all in,” he whispered.

“Me too,” I sighed mistily in the cold air. “It's just... wow. I never knew all of this.”

“Well that's why you're here, right?” Zoleks said with a soft smile lit by the firelight. “Try not to let it get to ya, Frost.”

“Trying and accomplishing are two very different things, Zoleks,” I huffed softly.

Another nearby voice hissed, “You mind, you two? Trying to sleep here.”

“Sorry!” Zoleks whispered back. Then eyes back on me... those sincere, brown eyes. “Get some sleep, alright? We've got a whole two more days of all this. Sleep tight, Frost.”

I tucked myself closer to Hummingbird. “You too...”

I still couldn't help but mull over The Way I was following...

* * *

The storyteller took in a deep breath, taking a moment to sprout a pair of ice arms and undo the clasps on his helm. Lifting it from his head, he rubbed at his greasy-black mane and steeled himself.

All awake. Bellies full. Bodies warm. Huddled together. Around fires. Eyes north. On platform.

“Your attention please,” the unicorn mare began again, her tone weary, somber. All quiet. “Thank you, everyone. Today will be the hardest for all of us. We owe it to ourselves to pass our history onto those that follow, and with those come our most painful memories. The Great Exodus has gone down as the worst disaster in recorded history. Over twenty million lost their lives. Over eight million are still missing to this day. Many of us are still searching for our friends and loved ones. I'm still searching.

“We cannot allow such a tragedy to be forgotten in time. To forget it all would be the same as killing all those millions a second time.” Her voice began to shudder. “All of us lost someone close. Those who live- we who live- must carry them on in memory. It is our great burden, our great duty to ensure they are never forgotten. More than ever, I must ask for all guests to be as respectful as possible. Today will be a difficult day for all of us.

“And so I mark today, December sixteenth, as the second day of the Northern Lights- The Day of Tears.”

A group of pegasi took off. There was no theatrical display this time. As one, they slowly rose up to the clouds, and the sky began to close. A great, gray curtain blotted out the sun. The snow stopped falling, and the world seemed to lose color. The pegasi returned to earth, hovering down with the grace and solemness of angels.

“May the Lorns give us strength today as we mourn and honor those who have passed.”

* * *

The Day of Remembrance was bittersweet. We brought to the present the past lives of the Northerners and celebrated their traditions. At the same time, it brought back lamentations of the end of an era.

The Day of Tears was just bitter. There was no fanfare, no laughter, no joy. Conversation was muted, hushed. It was the lowest of dins, often lost to the whispering winds that blew around us. Only the soft cries of newborns broke the quiet. Our food was simple, plain. There was no extravagance. It wouldn't honor the dead. The very idea of eating decadent food that day made me sick. And so we ate only rice or bread. Nothing more.

I finally learned what Mother shielded from me yesterday. It was a photo album, filled with pictures of her family.

“That's my sister,” Mother whispered. She pointed to a photo in the album of a younger-looking version of herself next to a pink-furred earth pony with a teal mane and eyes. They were the same height and looked to be close to the same age, but Mother already had the telltale wrinkles of her progeria. They were both wearing uniforms in front of what was presumably their school, hugging each other close to fit into frame that was cramped in amateur fashion. “Her first name was Jikkō. Her second, Sprint Spree.” She smiled softly, eyes half-lidded in reminiscence. “She was the fittest of my siblings. She earned her cutie-mark the earliest too. It was a finish line. Same one that she crossed in her school's hundred-meter dash. Fastest earth pony ever, I tell you.”

Mother let out a sad sigh. “She didn't make it.” She laid a hoof on the album, letting it fall along the laminated photos. “None of them did. So many times I wonder how I did. Just look at me. My knowledge of herbs and remedies kept my body strong, but until I met Modeba and Vinija, Zoleks' parents, I was aging three times as quickly as everyone else. I should have died. But that is survivor's guilt. I should... find happiness in that I am alive and have you as my son, Frost.” Another sigh as she flipped through the pages. “But sometimes I can't help but think that way again.” She flipped back to that picture. “I miss her. She was one of my few friends. I didn't have many.” She looked at me. “Family are friends that matter, Frost. I've lost a lot of friends.”

* * *

“Looking all these people, I can't help but hate myself,” Father whispered to me with a sigh. “I didn't bring my family album. I just forgot. How could I have done that? I remembered to bring my armor. Twenty kilograms of weight. And I forgot a book that weighed hardly one. I just... rushed. I was panicked. There was no time for everything.” He drew his lips taut for a few seconds. “But I had time for the armor. I keep on trying to make excuses for an inexcusable mistake.

“I envy you sometimes, Frost,” he said, turning to me with sad eyes. “Your memory is almost perfect. Everything that will happen here will forever remain with you. Even the smallest details, if you think hard enough. So please... son.” His words struck my heart- his tear-filled eyes as well as he took my hooves tightly in his. “Promise me, Frostbane... Hokkaido Windchill. Promise me you won't let the memory of our people die. Stay true to your name.”

My heart called out to his, and I felt a great weight upon it as I removed my hooves and held his, held tight. “I promise, Father. I won't fail you.”

He drew me into embrace, his head tucked over my shoulder. I could feel drops of wetness fall.

* * *

The night was clear when the pegasi peeled away the cloud curtain, featureless save for the full moon. The sky was empty of stars, leaving it an infinite black. There was still no snow save for that which was already beneath our feet.

Mother and Father led us up north. Everyone was heading that way as one, silent, solemn. We were all carrying candles. As we left the city limits and moved into the countryside, cresting over a hill, I looked behind us. The crowd looked almost formless in the unlit night, instead taking the form of a sea of candlelight undulating with waves of gentle movement.

Mother and Father didn't reply when I asked where we were going. They only wordlessly motioned for us to stand and follow, just as the rest of the crowd slowly did. No words were spoken. The only sounds filling the void were the murmurs of the wind and crunch of hoof and foot against snow and ice.

I couldn't tell where we were going or how far we were going. What I did know is that we were gradually slowing down. I couldn't yet see past the crowd, but I could tell that we were nearing the end of the procession and that we were spreading out along wherever it ended.

The storyteller exhaled a long, misty breath.

It was a wall, a long wall a little under three meters in height. It stretched for... it must have been at least a kilometer in length. Because all along that wall, people were putting pieces of paper up and setting down their candles. I couldn't fully tell what they were doing, not until... not until we got close enough. But there were so many of them. So many. The wall was large enough so that not all of the space was filled, but it was starting to get there. Hummingbird, staying close by my side and clutching her candle in her wing, suddenly raised her other wingtip to her mouth and widened her eyes, pupils wavering. I couldn't tell what was wrong. I looked at her in worry... and then I looked at the wall. Those weren't papers they were putting up.

Folks, when... when you think about how many people died in The Great Exodus, you think of numbers. Maybe a few names. But... if you want to remember somepony, someone... you think of a face.

He swallowed hard.

They were photographs. Hun... hundreds of them.

I felt my heart grow heavy as I halted in utter shock. I slowly turned my head to look behind me. The procession was far from over.

The storyteller covered his mouth with a hoof, turning his gaze downward. He was blinking rapidly, eyes glossing over.

When he let his hoof fall and spoke again, it was in a whisper.

That wall was later to be known as the Wall of Faces. Every survivor of The Great Exodus put up pictures of their lost friends and family. When you reached the Wall, you followed it down. You walked for what seemed like ages, just... past all those faces. Almost every one of them was smiling for the camera. A few of the foals looked impatient to get away or pouted and looked away defiantly. Some of the newborns who didn't know any better looked away, their attention perhaps fixated on a shiny object out of view. You couldn’t be sure. There were faces of holiday celebrations- ponies in Hearth's Warming sweaters and fluffy caps, in costumes for Nightmare Night. Faces from birthday parties, where the low lighting, candles, and camera flash made their eyes glow red. Faces of family members dressed in thick coats for fall and winter or frolicking freely, gaily in spring and summer. Faces with family pets hugged close, of parents playing with beady-eyed newborns. Faces from amusement park rides, with ponies screaming for joy or shutting their eyes tight. Faces that were faded, faces that were tarnished. Faces that were torn, faces that were soggy. Just... so many faces. Each of them was bathed in the soft, subtle, pulsing glow of the candlelight that cast shadows over their features as if they were right there and you could just reach out and touch them. They were close, close like so.

He reached out with a shaky hoof, as if to stroke down an unseen cheek. He let it fall, biting his lip.

Some people left flowers, stuffed animals, jewelry, drawings. Oh my Goddesses, the drawings... sometimes they were just... just so childish... oh my Goddesses...

There were just so many... so many... it was unfathomable. There weren't hundreds anymore. Thousands, it must have been thousands. Tens of thousands. Many of them were already crowded up close, sometimes overlapping just barely. So many. Just... so many. What would get to you most was that not all of them were photographs. Some of them had been drawn or painted. Some people didn't... they didn't even have photographs. They had to remember those faces, all of those faces. You had to, just had to imagine them struggling, just trying to remember what they looked like to draw them down... and Manehattan wasn't the only city holding this procession.

He bit his lip harder, tears flowing down his cheeks.

Hours, you must have been walking for hours by now. You finally reached the end, and there were still so many crowded, happy, young, old, proud, sly, smiling faces. You would reach the end, and you... you didn't know what would happen next. You... you thought, you... you saw what was going on. You just... just couldn't bring myself to believe it was happening. You... just... they...

He choked up and squinted his eyes tight, shuddering as he wept softly.

They ran out of space and were putting pictures on the other side of the wall...

* * *

The minutes ticked by as his sobs died down. When he spoke again, it was softly, quietly, gently, with hushed deference.

Nobody spoke. It wasn't just that it would have been utterly, wholly disrespectful to the innumerable dead, but there wasn't anything to say. There was nothing to be said. The pictures, the faces... they spoke all the thousands, millions of words that needed to be spoken. Only hushed sobs filled the air.

Father and I helped steady Mother as she stood on her hindlegs to put her pictures up. The last one she put onto the Wall was that of her sister and her together. She drew it close to her muzzle and gave it a tearful kiss before placing it against the cold surface. She settled back down and set down her candle, laying out an offering of a beautiful wreath of spring flowers. She pulled slowly away, looked up to those faces of her family, and bowed. Her stony façade crumbled as she shuddered with sobs. Father was next. I supported him and his polio-stricken hindleg as he stood up to place... to place a charcoal brush painting of his family.

He covered his mouth again as more tears trickled down.

Father wasn't an artist, but it was incredibly beautiful and incredibly detailed. He must have worked on it for days, even weeks. Father... he... you... Father, you had a heart of diamond, a heart of true diamond... when at last he ensured it would not fall, he stood firm back on all fours. Then he pulled out the sword and its sheath from his side and sat down on his haunches, setting it down before his candle in offering with a bow. And then we stepped back and let the others pass.

We held vigil that night, standing in the snow but bathing in the warmth of the candlelight. All those innumerable faces... all the eyes of the dead were upon us. We were on hallowed ground. So many faces...

He breathed out a deep, shuddering sigh.

Sometimes, when I think back hard enough and close my eyes, I find myself thinking back to those haunting faces with those haunting eyes. They were all looking at you, through you.

When at last everyone sat on the cold earth, we rose almost as one, guided by the person beside us. A group of unicorns cast a protective ward over the Wall of Faces, preserving everything for the year to come.

Somepony in the crowd uttered, “Vivat Ultima Thule.”

“Vivat Ultima Thule,” echoed the Thulians of the crowd.

Another. “Lenge leve Horge.”

“Lenge leve Horge.”

Another.“Hàyzhōu wànsuì.”

“Hàyzhōu wànsuì.”

Finally. “Dai Hokkaidō banzai.”

And I repeated. “Dai Hokkaidō banzai.”

* * *

I don't know how many of us slept that night with the eyes of the dead upon us. But eventually, sleep came. We awoke again to gently falling snow and wandered back to the northern quarter of Manehattan, seemingly back to the very places that we slept two nights ago.

All awake. Bellies full. Bodies warm. Huddled together. Around fires. Eyes north. On platform. Beyond, we could see the flickering candlelight along the Wall of Faces- the true Northern Lights.

“May I have everyone's attention please?” the unicorn mare asked again. All quiet. “The worst is behind us now, just as it is for all of us who survived The Great Exodus. We have had our many trials and triumphs in the years since, trying to start our lives again. Many of us are leading fulfilling lives. Some of us are still struggling to get by. We must come together as a people, as Northerners, and come to the aid of our brothers and sisters. That is all we ask of each of you in the end.

“But remember, everyone, that it is with sobering knowledge that we remember that we live on carrying the spirit of the Far North inside of us by whatever flag you bear, by whatever name you called home. We learn to pay our respects to the past as we toil in the present for a brighter future. A still more glorious dawn awaits, everyone.

“Today is the day we look to the future not with dread or trepidation but with promise and ambition. We will rise again, Northerners! Celebrate today, for it is a gift- the present! Pay homage to the past, strive for a better future!

“And so I mark today, December seventeenth, as the third and final day of the Northern Lights- The Day of Hope!”

The pegasi shot skyward fast as they could, leaving a trail of colors behind them as they circled close and then scattered away, flinging up a fantastic, dazzling array of fireworks that chased away the foul mood of the night before and replaced it with wonder, noise, and light. Again the unicorn mare cast a great, fantastic aurora into the glowing skies.

“Long live the Far North!”

* * *

The storyteller was smiling and chuckling huskily now, tears long gone.

We must have woken up almost all of Manehattan with that, and it was only going to grow louder. We're still Manehattaners, even if Northerners. And we have a certain reputation to keep as party animals.

With The Day of Hope, the festivities were back in full swing. Fireworks were aplenty, confetti- rather than snow- was falling down from the sky, and joining it were sounds of Thulian, Horwegian, Haysian, and Hokkaidan instruments and singing. It wasn't the same as the nightclubs or juvie-joints, but it sure was close.

Mother brewed a special sake for the occasion, having to get a whole group of ponies to help bring out the massive containers of them. Now... I was still shy of the legal drinking age, but she sneaked me, Zoleks, and Namira a bit so we could get a taste. I always thought alcohol was supposed to burn, but her sake went down clean and smooth, leaving a sweet, invigorating aftertaste.

“Itaraki mas,” Mother uttered as she finished giving us our sake. “Yoi!”

“Holy buck that was good!” Zoleks exclaimed. Even I perked right up after that, rejuvenated rigid by the taste.

“Whoa!” Hummingbird beamed at Mother. “Can I have more?”

“No,” she answered sternly. “Only one per person. I only have so much of my Thunder Brew Sake, and it takes a long time to ferment. I want to make sure anyone who wants a taste can have it. Besides, we can't leave you drunk with Frost, can we? Especially with how he acted with his last...”

We shared a glance and I blushed, smiling sheepishly.

“Given how gropey he is in bed, I could imagine,” Hummingbird said lowly with a smirk.

“H-Hey!” I stammered. “Not in public! And I wouldn't do that to you if you were drunk! I'm not like that!”

She and Zoleks just bawled out laughing.

In the meantime, Father joined several other armored Hokkaidans that he met during the Changing of the Guard ceremony two days before and performed a series of war dances with them. He may have stumbled and had trouble from his shriveled hindleg and, well, not having any actual training, but to his credit, he looked like he was having a great time and made new friends that day.

Me? Hummingbird? Zoleks and Namira? We just reveled in the festivities, partying like true Manehattaners- rocking it hard. Yes, you can rock it hard to percussion, brass, string, and woodwind, folks. I was there.

Dancing and partying with them, I couldn't help but watch as Zoleks and Namira sidled up close and shared a passionate kiss. Hummingbird seemed to follow my gaze and then we met almost simultaneously. We fell into chuckles as we decided to do as the Roamans do.

* * *

The closing ceremony of the Northern Lights Festival came with no fanfare, no fireworks. With the great aurora lighting up the night sky above, only a beautiful song that united all the musicians of the Northerners was played. I can do no justice in describing it. I don’t have to.

Roanoke... play them the memento.

* * *

For once, I was beat after a long day and night of partying. I was still riding on the euphoric high of the afterglow, Hummingbird and I draping a mutual foreleg over the other's shoulder as we bid farewell to my parents and Zoleks', walking with him and Namira back to their home.

“That was an incredible experience, buck,” Zoleks said as we finally reached their doorstep. He pat me on the back and then we drew into a tight hug that left us both grunting in playful, faux exertion. “Still have a whole two-and-a-half weeks left of vacation time, right?”

“Yeah, that's right,” I said with a nod. “We gotta hit clubs together again before Hummingbird and I head back. Or maybe two more times. Or three. Four. Seven. Eleven.”

The green pegasus mare at my side giggled and socked my shoulder gently. “You Manehattaners. Seriously, is partying all you do?”

“Nah, there's a balance between work n' play,” Namira said. “Maybe Frost can tell you more about it. Like my buck said, thank you for the wonderful experience. It was the most powerful one I've had in my entire life.”

“Whiiiich also means I'm tired as hay,” Zoleks laughed heartily, tucking her close. “Catch ya later, okay, Frost? You too, 'Bird! We’ll definitely be meeting up for Hearth’s Warming- count on it!”

“Take care, Zoleks,” I said with a wave. “Take care, Namira.” With that, we turned away and started home. The northern quarter was quiet and empty once more, at least for tonight. But in Manehattan, it struck me as alien as the streets of Canterlot that first night. It just felt so off. Nevertheless, I breathed out a happy sigh. “How're you holding up, Hummingbird?”

“Still awake,” she chuckled. “Damn... that musta been some really good sake to keep me up this long.”

“Mm-hm...” I smiled softly. “Hey, Hummingbird?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks... for helping me go through all that.”

She gave me a kiss on the cheek. “No prob. It's what I here for. Heh, even if I'm still wide-awake, I can't wait to head to bed. Long three days...”

“No kidding,” I huffed. “Good thing Zoleks and I live so close, eh?”

Hummingbird just nodded, leaning against me.

“You know... I think I know what I want to do in life,” I said. “I really think I want to be a historian, or maybe even an equinpologist.” I looked at her as we walked. “I mean, I have the eidetic memory, and now I have the best opportunity to document Northerner culture on a yearly basis. I think I’m genuinely interested in it”

She smiled back at me. “Well hey, if that's what you want to do, then go for it.”

“Who knows. Maybe I might even double-ma-”

“Hey, Hokkaido.”

I froze, as did Hummingbird. My heart skipped a beat as I heard that voice, so full of hate and malice, muffled as if speaking around something. I slowly turned around to face...

Pick Pack.

And he had a gun in his muzzle.

I froze at the sight of that. My mind just seized up. I'd never in my life seen an actual gun up close. I didn't know what to do. Everything just shut down. I only registered Hummingbird pulling closer to me.

“Ohhhh, Hokkaido's got a new squeeze!” the dusty pegasus chuckled. His eyes were bloodshot, and he smiled this vile smile around the mouthgrip. “Or what was it they call you nowaday? Frost, right? What, did you think you could just waltz on back to Manehattan without me knowing? You fucking... started a song right out of Manehattan Grand Terminal for fuck's sake! You've got some balls, buck! Tiny balls, but you got some balls!”

“Frost... who is this?” Hummingbird said in a tinny voice.

The vice-grip around my mind wrenched open. “Hummingbird,” I finally spoke- slowly, clearly, “you need to go. Fly far and fast away from here.”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Pick snapped the gun up at her, causing her to gasp. “Neither of you are going anywhere. Neither of you are gonna shout. You’re staying put right here.” He then let out a low, evil laugh. “Seriously, buck? You didn't tell her about me? What else have you been leaving out, huh? The Mumei? Don't think I don't know about you and your little 'house-cleaning' mission, bitch. You completely eradicated my gang! There’s nothing left, not even in the newsprint!”

“Pick, why don't we all just calm down?” I asked calmly. Right words, right way. Right words, right way. Right, do it right. Do it right. “You're angry at me. I understand that.”

“No you don't!” he growled. “You took everything from me! Everything! The gang, The Lazy Dog, fucking Song Spinner! Yeah, she fucking left me, and it's all your fucking fault too! So don't you use your words with me! I ain't listening!”

“Pick, you don't want to do this,” I said calmly as I could. “You-”

“I said I ain't listening!” Pick tightened his grip on the gun and I froze into silence once more. “You're not talking your way out of this, you hear?!” He seethed with anger as he stepped closer. “Not a single fucking word! Now... I'm gonna take everything away from you...”

Think... come on, think! I tried to think of a way out, but my mind just froze the longer I stared at that gun. There had to be a way out. There had to be!

“Let's start with your mare...”

Hummingbird. No. Action. Go. Move. Forward. Attack.

The storyteller made the sound of a popping gunshot.

Adrenaline is a very, very powerful thing. It can make you push your body past your limits and achieve what was previously impossible. I ignored the feeling of something stinging at my chest as I plowed into Pick Pack, pinning him to the ground, slugging his face left, right, left, right, left-

“Frost! Frost! Stop it!”

I froze yet again to the sound of Hummingbird's voice. She was tugging on my shoulder, eyes full of fright. I wavered for just a moment and then blacked out.

* * *

“It was an AirSoft?” I asked, incredulous. “A BB gun?”

Hummingbird and I were seated on the curb along with a pair of police officers. Alden, Vani's boyfriend, was one of them. Pick Pack was unconscious but cuffed and stowed in the back of a police wagon. A few concerned neighbors were poking out of their homes to look. Mother, Father, Zoleks, and Namira were all there.

“Yep, spray-painted to look like an actual gun,” the griffin answered with a nod. Then he huffed, “You're one lucky son of a bitch, you know that, Frost?” He nodded toward the wagon. “His dad’s on the registered gun owner's list. He's also high as fuck right now. You’re damn lucky he didn’t remember to get it.”

I just let out a long sigh, winding back down. “Celestia's solar flares...”

The storyteller grimaced for a moment.

“Well I'm thanking her that you're safe, Frost,” Mother said, looking relieved.

“He is gonna be okay, right, officer?” Zoleks asked.

“Yeah, he's just a bit shaken up is all.” Alden nodded. “At most, he'll just bruise a little. Pick's the one in rougher shape. He'll pull through though. Nothing serious.”

“I'm gonna go to court for this, aren't I?” I groaned.

“Criminal and civil, maybe. Criminal if you sue the guy, civil if he counter-sues you for use of excessive force. Might be self-defense, but still. I can hook you up with a good attorney, though. You seem like a nice guy. Besides, you only knocked him out. Didn't even break his snout.”

For once, I was thanking Celestia that I was so weak. And that Pick was probably so dumb as a rock he'd forget he'd be able to counter-sue.

“Does that mean I can go now?” I asked.

Alden nodded. “Yep. You're free to go. You'll proooobably be getting a court-order in the mail soon, though. Just be ready for that. No more funny business until then, okay?”

“Thanks, Alden,” I said with a grateful nod, standing up.

“Lemme go with you this time.” Zoleks patting me on your back. “Can't let any of this stuff happen again.”

“Look, I doubt anything else is going to happen tonight. It's okay. Go home and rest.”

Zoleks just stared flatly at me.

I stared flatly back. “I mean i-”

“Come,” Father spoke, nodding to both of us. “Let's head back home and let everyone head back to sleep.”

Dammit.

As we started back, Hummingbird looked at me. Double dammit. “I'm gonna have to explain all this, aren't I?”

“Hey,” she huffed. “You're the one who wanted to be the historian.”

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 10 Reached!

Quest perk added: The Way- (Northerner Only) Your path is dictated by your actions. What do they say about you? You can no longer choose your perks. Instead, they are awarded to you based on your actions and Karma. Be warned- this means that you can get penalized for more extreme choices!
Perk added: Making History- You've chosen the life of a historian and equinpologist. Learning certain historical facts grants you unique dialogue options in situations where they might be called upon. You also gain a flat +5% boost to Speech rolls against people whose languages you take the time to study.

Unlockables added: Inspirational Music- Manehattan

Soundtrack- Lunafyre

Soundtrack- Yellow Line

Soundtrack- The Northern Lights Festival, Opening Ceremony

Soundtrack- The Day of Remembrance

Soundtrack- The Way

Soundtrack- The Day of Tears

Soundtrack- The Wall of Faces

Soundtrack- The Day of Hope

Soundtrack- The Northern Lights Festival, Closing Ceremony

Soundtrack- The Past Catches Up

Author's Note

This installment was... tough. A lot of the scenes here were ones that I had been looking forward to writing down for months, now, and I wanted to make sure it was just right. I hope that came through, and I hope you enjoyed it.

Funny thing- I knew I wanted this to be the Christmas present for everyone. Thing was, I didn't know when to post it due to the international date line. Soooo, I compromised and decided to post it at midnight on what was December 25th for me.

Yes, I was too lazy to calculate the midpoint for the date line. I'm not a math person.

Once again, I must give thanks to the FoE community and all of its wonderful people. Whether we've just looked at one another's usernames and went "Meh", chatted a while, read one another's works, discuss, or RP, you people are amazing. I'm also looking at you, Lazer726. Thank you so much for your pre-reading and discussion sessions. Work on your story already so I can promote it here.

Lastly, thank you for reading. Have a Happy Hearth's Warming, and if you would, please leave some feedback. It would really help me improve the reading experience for you in future installments.

Signing out,
Adder1

Reflection Twelve: Reaching Forever Higher

Reflection Twelve: Reaching Forever Higher

“You've come a long way from the runny-nosed and scruffy kid I knew...”

We didn't talk much about the whole ordeal after that. It was an ugly experience for all of us, and we didn't want to remember it. Canterlot's psychiatric ward was crammed for weeks after that. In the end, what we all believed was that the less said about it, the better. That was how we felt about it. Out of sight, out of mind. I guess... I guess that's how we liked to deal with problems back then. The Mumei, The Mare in the Moon, Discord, those... yet unnamed enemies of Equestria, and now the changeling invasion of Canterlot. And how I was... able to kill so easily without anything hanging on my conscience.

The storyteller made a carefree sweeping motion with his hoof.

Pushed away just like that. Lost to time.

He paused for a moment, mouth open as if to say something but then switching tracks.

You see that happening a lot in history. People forget. It's a fact of life. Save for those with the greatest gifts and the greatest curses, no matter how set in stone, no matter how monumental something is, it will erode and be lost amidst the sands of time. Nothing is sacred. Maybe that's another reason why I'm telling this story and why I told it back in Stalliongrad forty years ago. We need to remember. As hard, as painful as it is sometimes- I know- we have to remember.

He looked disgusted and looked away.

Ugh, dammit. Now I'm starting to talk like him.

The old unicorn breathed out a soft sigh and turned back to the audience.

The mementos for this segment won't just be tangible ones. They'll be word of mouth. After all, I did learn a very important and very... intriguing graduation requirement for equinpology majors.

* * *

“Field research?” I blinked in confusion at Professor Egan. Both fully recuperated from the changeling invasion just a month ago, we were in his office. A little suite tucked away in the department buildings, he still furnished it with a collection of books, tarps, ornaments, headdresses, and all sorts of interesting trinkets I only partially recognized from my studies.

“That's right,” the mule said with a nod. “Field research. I know it's a tough requirement for an often shunned major, but it's been there since its inception. The department doesn't expect a book, but a quality term paper will do just fine. Thesis, evidence, arguments, the whole shebang.”

“Any ideas on where to start?” I asked. “This is... kinda a big thing, you know, visiting a different equine species, even a different country.”

“My advice?” He set down a few books on his desk, sliding them over to me. “Start with griffins.”

* * *

“Field research, huh?” Hummingbird asked as we strolled briskly down the walkway to one of Canterlot's many concert halls. Thankfully, it was a casual evening affair, so we weren't too out-of-place heading there with me only in my hat and saddlebags and Hummingbird in her layers of jackets and sweatshirts. Good thing, too- we were cutting it close on time.

“Yeah, it's a graduation requirement,” I said with a nod. I let out a soft sigh. “Sorry.”

“About what?” she asked incredulously as I mouthed over our ticket stubs over the counter. It really sucked having a magical burnout when you relied on it so much to do everyday tasks.

“It's kind of an inconvenience, isn't it?” I muttered as he headed down the aisles in search of our row. “It's probably going to take at least a week, closer to a month to get enough for a thesis. I know I'm not writing a book or anything, but...”

She tapped my nose with one of her primaries, causing me to scrunch up my muzzle. “You don't have to go alone, do you?”

“Well... no...” I scratched the back of my head as we shuffled and shimmied our way to our seats. “You actually want to go with me?”

“Of course,” she said with a chuckle, leaning her head against my shoulder. “I'd miss my favorite pillow.”

I smiled at her as the orchestra began to tune their instruments. “And I my favorite blanket.”

Admittedly, I never listened to a lot of orchestral music in my time in Manehattan. Most of it was when... Song Spinner was doing her concerts in Central Park to raise awareness for Prop Four. To attend a concert such as this and listen to an orchestra of professionals at work was something completely new to me. It takes a lot of skill and teamwork to perform like that. I have to respect them. The concertmaster, section leaders, and ultimately the conductor have to keep everypony in line. The musicians themselves have to control their volume so that they don't stand out unusually above the others. It was something I appreciated.

The music itself... well, it's an acquired taste. You definitely have to get used to it. I had to get used to it, at least. I admittedly nodded off a few times and earned myself a few mindful taps from Hummingbird. Of course, as you might guess, I'd soon enough be acquiring that taste.

Still, I was happy to be with Hummingbird- happier still that we put the events of the changeling invasion behind us. And she was going to come along with me to Aldorna.

Everything was going just fine.

* * *

“What do you mean she can't come with me?” I asked in confusion.

“She can't come with you to Aldorna,” Doctor Muffin Top repeated. The physical therapist was a smallish earth pony mare with a brown coat and a tan mane and tail. From the way they puffed out, I could see how she got her name. We were meeting in her office- by we, I mean Hummingbird and I- at Canterlot General Hospital.

“But why?” I asked, looking to the green mare sitting beside me. She had a look of dread, as if she already knew the answer.

“Because her immune system is so compromised,” Muffin Top sighed, forming a steeple with her forehooves as she leaned forward against her desk. “Let me put it simply. Her body will either reject the required shots, or it will just plain become a full-blown infection. I'm sorry, but my recommendation is that she not leave Equestria's borders. It's just too much risk without proper immunization.”

Hummingbird and I looked at one another, exchanging crestfallen looks.

* * *

“Duuuuude, that suuuuuucks...”

“Don't I know it.” Sigh. “I know it's for her health and safety, but this is going to be the first time I'm going to be away from her.”

“Yeah, that's tough. Longest I've been away from Namira was like... a week at most. Sorry to hear about all that, buck.”

“Thanks, Zoleks. But... any advice? You know, something to help?”

“Advice? You're coming to me for advice? You have any idea what my face looks like right now?”

A soft chuckle. “I can guess.”

“Well, jeez... I dunno, you're gonna be away for a long time, but you both have phones, right?”

“... uh, well, I do.”

“Tell you what- you're doing this during the summer, right? How 'bout you have Hummingbird hang with us? She gets a place to stay plus friends she knows. You still have my number, and you two could talk anytime.”

“You'd do that for me?”

“You got it, boss.”

Sigh. “Thought you were gonna stop calling me that...”

“Sorry, just... just kinda... remembering, ya know? What's the word for it?”

“Nostalgia?”

“Well, that kinda makes me think of remembering something good. Never mind. I can do that for the both of you, no problem.”

“... thank you, Zoleks. I... honestly don't know what I did to deserve a friend like you.”

“Heh... hey, by the way, how'd your hat taste?”

“... shut up.”

* * *

Intermission at another concert. Hummingbird and I were walking around the lobby, stretching our legs before the next performance.

“That earth pony mare, Octavia?” she spoke up excitedly. “I thought she was amazing during the solo. I've never seen earth ponies play an instrument with that level of skill before. Heard she has a bit of a rivalry with that one lyre player though. What was her name again?”

“Lyra Heartstrings, dear,” I said to her with a soft smile. She was so cute when she got all hyped up about something.

“Lyra!” The green pegasus mare smacked her forehead with her wing. Cutely. “Duh, how could I forget a name like that?”

“You really love these concerts, don't you?” I huffed.

“Mm-hm.” She nodded. “Thanks for taking me here again, by the way. I know they're not your thing.”

“Heh... you already know what I'd do for... you...” I grimaced and she looked away as the ugly memories came back. I changed the subject. “So, you seem pretty interested in the strings section, huh?”

“Yeah, it's just...” Hummingbird looked away and scuffed her hoof against the floor, searching for words, “I always found them to be the most dynamic part of the orchestra.”

“Heh, you sure that doesn't go to the brass?” I chuckled.

“Dynamic isn't the same as loud, you uncultured Manehattaner,” she said, sticking her tongue out at me and smacking the back of my head with a wing. “When I say dynamic, I mean the most fluid. You can bend notes, even do these sort of... stuttering thing. Vibratto, I think that's what it's called?”

“You have experience in the matter?” I inquired.

“Sorta,” she answered. “My... dad was into the guitar.”

“Ah... say, what's... up with your parents, anyway? How come they're not looking after you?”

“How come other homeless ponies' parents aren't looking after them?” Hummingbird asked right back.

I sighed softly, “Okay, but what about yours?”

She just shrugged. “They already had enough to worry about during the recession before things started winding down for me. I don't know about now, okay?”

“... so... guitar?” I tried changing the subject again.

“Yeah, my dad was, uh, into that,” she said. “Even tried to get me to play it, but... just wasn't my thing. Maybe something else.”

I smirked at her. “Are you implying you'd like to learn something else?”

“Maybe, I-I dunno,” Hummingbird sighed, scratching the back of her head.

“Well you have plenty of free time, don't you?” I asked, bumping my flank against hers, causing her to stagger a little.

The green mare pouted, “Hey! Not in public, you!” She sighed again. “Look, I don't know. If anything, it'd have to be light for weak ol' me.”

“Well hey, at least you can actually push a terminal around,” I nickered.

She blinked. “... oh wow, that was so long ago.”

“Eidetic memory,” I said with grin. “Anyway, just something to think about, alright?”

* * *

“Omigosh omigosh!” Hummingbird flustered excitedly, forelegs and wings flapping wildly. “I-I thought you said you just said it was something to think about!”

“I lied,” I said as plainly as I could, but I couldn't hold my poker face just watching her get all giddy over the new violin and case I presented to her. My lips slowly quivered into a smile. I just couldn't help it.

“Best lie ever!” she squeed before snatching me up in a tight hug. “It even has a jack for looper pedals and stuff!” I couldn't help but let out a happy sigh as those feathery wings likewise surrounded me. She then pulled away and asked, “Wait, how will I learn?”

I just grinned and nodded toward our terminal. “It's not just for looking up porn, you know.”

“Hey!” Hummingbird flustered, cheeks glowing bright red. “I-I don't look up that on the terminal!”

“The browser history says otherwise,” I said, my grin growing to a smirk.

* * *

I tried to keep a straight face as I sat down at first lecture that day.

One of the unicorn mares who sat down next to him eyed me with a screwed-up expression.

“Not a word,” I said simply.

“Uh... is that a... slap mark on your fa-”

“Not a word.”

* * *

Nighttime at our dormitory, a few weeks later. I was poring over research materials for my upcoming trip. Griffin rules of conduct, their religion, their history... the reason why Professor Egan suggested them to me was, I believe, their more or less simple rules of conduct and their similarity in language. Their language had long since been lost, and only a few linguists had even a scrap of it.

Hummingbird, in the meantime, was seated in front of the computer watching instructional videos on EweTube. She was seated on her haunches, using both of her forelegs to keep her violin propped up against her chin while her right wing drew the bow back and forth. I'll admit, in the few weeks she'd been first learning how to play, I had to keep forcing myself to stay, reminding myself to remember that this was for her. Folks, I'll be frank- violins are very, very squeaky and have a high pitch. Unless if you know what you're doing, it... it really doesn't sound good. Honestly, the same could be said of most instruments, but the violin seems to really stand out in how awful it sounded when you didn't know what you were doing.

Instead of trying to block out sound with those of memories of the mixes from The Lazy Dog that time, Hummingbird... played a very, very short piece. It was obviously made for a beginner, but I still couldn't help but feel... just a little enthralled as I looked up from my studying and over to her play-

The storyteller broke from the text, motioning as if playing a violin, humming a tune as he closed his eyes.

I watched her the whole time. When she finally pulled the bow away and leg the violin fall slack, I asked, “What was that?”

“Small blurb of Ode to Joy,” she replied with a soft smile. “From Beethoofen.”

“That was... nice,” I said quietly, nodding a little. It struck me that this was the first time I complimented her on her playing. “Keep it up.”

She smiled brighter and went back to playing.

* * *

Another few weeks after that on a particularly cool night, Hummingbird and I were snuggled against one another in bed. I reveled in the feeling of her soft warmth and she in mine. But that was the night before we left for Manehattan. Only a few days before we would part ways.

“Frost?” she whispered.

“Yeah?” I whispered back.

“Are you awake?”

I chuckled and smiled softly.

“Pfft, duh.” She fell silent.

I gave her a gentle nuzzle. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

She inhaled, exhaled, shifted, looked up. “Do you... do you think we can be more than just... you know. Marefriend, coltfriend?”

I inhaled, exhaled, shifted, looked down. “I've... thought of it, sometimes.”

She tilted her head up, waiting.

“I love you, Hummingbird. I really do. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me ever since I found my magic.”

“But...?” she sighed.

“There's no 'but',” I said.

Her ears perked up.

“There's an 'and', though. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me ever since I found my magic, and... I've been... thinking of how things might be in the future. You... me... both of us together.”

She was quiet for a while. I could feel her letting it all sink in. But even in the darkness, I could feel. I could feel her heart beating faster. Mine was too. “Have you... have... have you thought about... foals?”

And I answered, “Yes.”

I felt the heat on her cheeks and the shuffling of her hindlegs. “I-I... oh... oh Goddesses, I can't believe...” She trailed off, but she didn't need to say anymore.

I hugged her tight and gave her a kiss. Nothing passionate, nothing deep or messy. Just a clean, wholesome kiss from lover to lover. “After graduation,” I promised. “After graduation and I get stable work.”

I could feel all those emotions welling up and rocketing around inside of her, finally finding an outlet as she hugged me tight and kissed me lovingly. I could only do the same.

* * *

“Mmmm-mm-mm,” I hummed softly to myself, eyes closed. “Mmmm-mm-mm... mmmmmmmm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mmmmmmmm-mmmmmmmmm...”

Ding-duung. “Your attention, please. The flight captain has just turned on the fasten seat belt sign. We are touching down in AIA in approximately five minutes, four-o'clock P.M. local time. Looks like about twenty-eight degrees Celsius, bright and sunny, though conditions may vary by elevation...”

I tuned out the flight attendant as I glanced outside the window. We passed through a rush of gray clouds, and I finally laid my eyes on the capital city of the Griffin Republic of Aldorna. I was unsurprised to find that the city of Avalon was extremely modern. Griffins, like Northerners, weren't some backwards people. They were an industrious race of equine beings, their magic founded not only in the cloud manipulation similar to those of pegasi but in industrial innovation as well.

No... what surprised me was that Avalon wasn't expansive in the same way as Manehattan or Stalliongrad. Griffins as a whole are all gifted with the ability of flight. And what did that mean? It meant that urban sprawl was no problem in Aldorna. Because when it came to the cities of Aldorna, instead of building farther, they went the Manehattan route- they built higher.

Much, much higher.

You haven't seen a real skyscraper until you've seen the ones in Aldorna. Up until then, the Lights and Legends Building in Manehattan was the tallest I'd ever seen. These ones? Heh... putting it to shame just doesn't cut it. These were real skyscrapers, these massive monoliths that were limited only with getting too close to the sun. Avalon was made of three of them- just three. The three-sided buildings were arranged in triangular fashion, close enough to one another so that they formed a larger triangle in and of themselves. Each of these buildings were three miles wide on each face and towered nine-hundred stories off of the ground, interconnected at various levels by these humongous enclosed bridges. Nine-hundred! Not even the S.P.P. towers come close!

And that wasn't it. As you got closer to the city, you realized- it wasn't completely enclosed and that there must have been hundreds of other flying shapes in the skies around the three towers. Griffins, hundreds of griffins were weaving in and out of the towers on their daily commute back home from work for the evening. Designated transit lanes went up and down, back and forth between the triple towers, where air freighters and a sprawling cargo rail system transported goods and people all around, docking into gateways and terminals built into the sides of the massive skyscrapers.

And did I mention that the late-day sun cast its glow over the entire city? It cast its orange pallor over the towers, light glinting off of the edge of the one closest to us while the remaining half was bathed in shadow, cloud banks drifting around the massive spires. Even if I knew what all of this was like beforehoof through research...

The storyteller let out a sharp breath and chuckled.

Avalon, The Skyward City. Heh heh heh... still takes my breath away even now.

The airship soon docked with one of the many port terminals lining the northwestern tower, and we soon disembarked into a room with marble flooring leading to a high stone archway flanked by statues of griffin Sky Knights and carved reliefs of famous scenes in griffin history. Proclaimed in massive, high-relief text along the top of the archway: “Avalon; Reaching Forever Higher”. Overhead rolled the grand flag of the Aldornan Republic- two griffins clasping their claws in unity around a massive necklace with a star-shaped pendant- one side a blank white with the other a rainbow of colors.

Heh, and I thought Canterlot was something else. Well, to be fair, each capital city had its own unique flair and wonders. But Avalon? Hoo! Again, still takes my breath away, folks. Just takes my breath away.

I tugged my suitcase onto my back, securing it in place with icy straps as I proceeded into the gate nexus of Avalon International Airport and proceeded to the main lobby. It was truly a grand place. Hallways were decorated with precious artifacts and artwork, each boasting the accomplishments of a griffin ruler, warrior, artist, or philequinpist. Paintings depicted grand processions of griffins honoring their cities and leaders. One thing I noticed, though, was that with apparently the sole exception of the entryway, the flooring was completely made of carpet. It was varied enough in design to be sure, but it felt out of place and perhaps a touch inconvenient at an airport.

Upon reaching the lobby with its high, vaulted ceilings, I scanned the crowd for my guide, having scarcely an idea of what she looked like. I gravitated toward one of the lobby's massive columns and looked from griffin to griffin. There were only minor variations in pinion and plume coloration for the most part. It was hard to single any one of them out. The variation in plumestyles didn't help much either.

A tap on my shoulder told me I didn't have to worry about that. I turned to face a griffiness just a hoof taller than me. Other than that the tips of her pinion feathers were a subtle red and that she sported a braided plume, it would have been easy to miss her. “Hey,” she greeted simply. “You're Frost, I'm guessing.”

I nodded stoutly, keeping a straight face as I said, “My name is Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill, but I wish to be called Frost. I hail from Manehattan of The Principality of Equestria. I take the role of researcher.”

She curved her beak in a tinny smile and said in turn, “My name is Karanika Chrysaor, but I wish to be called Kara. I hail from Avalon of Aldorna. I take the role of equinpologist.” She nodded to her side and headed for the exit. “Let's get going. Hm, straight, level head... eye contact... doing good so far, Frost.”

I followed at her side. “Thank you, Kar-” I bumped into another griffin and hastily apologized before stumbling back over to her. “Thank you, Kara.”

“Hmph, you know you can stop making eye contact, right?” she huffed. “More important to watch where you're going.”

“Right, sorry,” I apologized again.

“Look, I at least know you've got the body language part down. Just don't be too formal or anything. It should be natural, not stilted.”

“Right.” I nodded. “Natural, not stilted.”

Kara rolled her eyes and then roughly rubbed my shoulders with a smirk. “Relax, alright? You're a guest in our homeland. Nobody's gonna give you flak for tack. Enough about that. Hope you don't mind if we head for a place to eat? We griffins eat early. Early to sleep, early to rise.”

“Don't mind at all, Kara,” I answered. “Split the bill?”

“Yep, you definitely did your research, kid.”

As we exited the airport and headed for a nearby cafe, I noted that the mood of the place quickly changed. At least here, it felt busy, compacted. The way the stores were set up, it felt more like a shopping mall than anything. There were hobby shops, electronics stores, repair stalls. There were even a series of escalators going from floor to floor. There were crowds of griffins milling and gliding about, going this way and that, ranging from cliques of the stylishly-clothed to the lone, destitute window-shopper. The ambient conversation around us channeled into a dull roar by the vertical nature of the city. It seemed so chaotic, and yet as with all malls, it seemed to have a method behind the madness. Nobody bumped or crashed into one another after all. Looking down, I couldn't help but feel a bit giddy with all those stories spiraling down below. Griffins and air taxis soared up and down the air column, riding up leisurely on columns of rising warm air or tucking their wings in to glide down at a relaxed pace. With all the open spaces, I was surprised that the air was so calm. There was only a soft breeze flowing around us. That said, looking down and seeing all of that, I couldn't help but feel a little dizzy even despite my giddiness. We were really high off the ground!

Kara took me to a little restaurant by the name of Glide-By Grill. It was a subdued, easygoing place with a smooth, wooden interior and comfortable benches. The lighting was dim, adding to the relaxed look. The smooth jazz was barely audible, even over the hushed din of conversation.

As we both started looking down the menu, which notably had plenty of carnivorous fare, Kara looked at me and asked, “So, what do you think of Avalon so far?”

I set down my menu and smiled as I replied, “It's absolutely amazing. It's just... breathtaking, looking at it for the first time.”

“I know, right?” she sighed proudly, smiling as well. “Hope your legs aren't getting too shaky. We're pretty high up right now for a non-flier. Word of advice- don't look down.”

“Hah, no kidding!” I chuckled. “It's really not as bad as I thought, though.”

“Hm. Really now?”

“Well, I grew up in a high-rise in Manehattan, and I attend Princess Celestia's school in Canterlot.”

“Ah, so you're used to heights,” Kara surmised with a nod. “Gotcha, gotcha. Good. You're gonna need it here. So, have anything in mind for your research?”

I shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

The red-tinged griffiness gave me the look, that one look where you know you just said something wrong. She opened her beak to say something, then closed it and pinched her brow. Then, she said in a tone that was borderline irritated, “Look, Frost, I'm gonna lay it simple. You're not here for a research essay. You're here for a term paper. There's a difference. If all you needed was a research essay, you could've just headed to the local library, got a few books or academic magazines, and went to town on 'em. Hell, you could've just used our new-age friend, the internet.

“No, you're here in Aldorna, in our capital city of Avalon. You're not here to get go directly to an accomplished equinpologist and get whatever you need to write your paper. You're not here as a student. You're here as a researcher, now. That means you've gotta get in there, ask questions, and get answers- not from me.” She pointed back toward the exit. “From them. Me?” She placed a hand on her chest. “I'm here to lend you a helping hand. What I'm not here to do is hold your hand- hoof, I mean- through all of it for you.”

I just sat there, more than a little intimidated. I tried not to show it, though, and years of experience helped me out there.

Kara let out a sigh and gave me an admonishing look. “Kid, I'm sorry if I come across as pissy, but fact's facts. You have to pick up the pace. Equinpology is a demanding field of science because it's just so diverse and just so complex. If this is what you want to do, I'm here to help- only as your guide, though. Got it?”

I gave her a stout nod. “I understand.”

She motioned to me. “Show me, then.”

“I've read only a little bit on the city of Avalon. What can you tell me about the city overall?”

“Shoot, kid,” Kara chuckled softly, and I sighed softly in relief, “even a condensed version will take a while. Okay... well, the Skyward City is by far the tallest equinemade structure ever. It's an engineering marvel completely built by griffin resources and griffin hands. Built on top of our former capital city, it took over a century to build it and is continually being updated with the latest advances in technology. Even then, the general structure itself is the same as it was decades ago. Hope you don't mind if I get into the architecture?”

“Not at all, Kara,” I answered.

“Well, first off, Avalon's foundation is set in a very geologically sound area,” she continued. “Firm bedrock, but not too firm. You gotta have that when you have nine-hundred-forty-seven stories rising above the ground. That's nothing to say of what's below.”

“Below?” I asked.

“You didn't think that we don't have urban sprawl of our own, did you?” she huffed with a smirk. “Avalon's overall structure is set in stone. We can't build any higher, otherwise it gets too dangerous. Way too dangerous. We don't want to have our people stalling when they fly upwards, even if there's plenty of space to bank back up and recover. That's why instead of building higher, we're building lower into the earth.

“Now that you know that, let's talk about how the city's organized. What we put down in the ground is our governmental and religious institutions. Griffins place a lot of emphasis on death, even if they don't follow our religion. Fliers we may be, but we were born from the earth- and so we return to it. I don't know if you want to see the catacombs, but it's... different down there. A whole city of the dead supporting the city of the living. Even in death, they serve us. Grim, I know, but remember- we look at death differently. You won't see artificial hearts or other advanced replacements. With current technology, if you need a total heart replacement, I think you have like... an extra month or two?” She shook her head. “You probably know already, but we griffins see death as inevitable- and we embrace it. If we get organ failure or something, most of us just let go unless we have promises or contracts to keep. We can't keep the Lonely Mother waiting. She gave us the ultimate contract.

“Anyway, moving away from that morbid subject, above that is our government sector. I know what you're thinking- why the hell would we put Avalon's governmental institutions underground? Reason being because of safety concerns- mainly military ones. I know you ponies have it easy? Us griffins? We have nine different holds in Aldorna, and those nine holds have a history of conflict with one another for territory. Things are better now that we have the Griffin Republic of Aldorna instead of the Griffin Kingdom of Aldorna, but we don't want to take chances.

“Anyway, here's how our government sector works,” Kara said, tapping down on the table. “On the south tower, you have-”

A polite cough from the side alerted us to our waitress. “Hello, are we ready to order?”

Kara motioned to me. I said, “I'll have the Rustle Potato soup with a spring greens salad, please.”

“Filet mignon for me,” said Kara. After she took our menus away, the red-tinged griffiness turned back to me. “Okay, so on the south tower, you have the House of Administration. Northwest, House of Justices. Northeast, House of Legislation.”

“You have three different governmental bodies?” I inquired.

“Wha?” She blinked at me. “Ah, right. Forgot that you took out the world politics courses from your requirements. Okay, let me give you the crash course. First thing you need to know- griffins hate the idea of a single ruler. The last time we were a kingdom was when we went to war with Equestria six-hundred years ago- and we got our flanks kicked. I really don't know what went through Louis the Eighth's head, but the moment we attacked, you and your zebra allies went to town on us.” She shook her head. “Worst ruler ever. So now, our government is a republic. You know what that means?”

“Not really, sorry.”

“A republic isn't quite a democracy, which you might have heard of,” Kara explained. “Instead of having everyone participating in decisions, which is infeasible with modern population numbers, we have the people elect officials whose policies we endorse as a majority. Every single major political office is an elected one. Legislative representatives, justices, council members- every single one of them has to go through elections every few years on a certain trimester. Each hold of Avalon has its own political officials here- fifty representatives for the House of Legislation, two justices for the House of- you guessed it- Justices, and one council member for the House of Administration.

“Each house has its own responsibilities. The House of Legislation drafts new laws, ordinances, what have you. The House of Justices interprets those laws through the Nonpartisan Compact. That's 'non' as in 'nine'. Not nonpartisan as in 'no partisanship'. Though... I guess that definition works too. Lastly, the House of Administration enforces laws and judgments made by both other Houses. You following so far? Because I'm gonna add another layer on top of that.”

“Again, we don't like the idea of a single, powerful figure ruling our country. That's why there was a lot of concern from having not one but three different governmental bodies for our country. So, we developed a system of what we call 'checks and balances'. There are certain powers and limitations attributed to each House. For example, the House of Legislation drafts new laws, but they have to be approved by the House of Administration by a two-third's majority among the council. If not enough pass it, it gets vetoed. At the same time, the House of Legislation can overturn that veto by a tiered percentage. The more council members that vote against that law, the higher the percentage majority you'll need to overturn that veto. And at any given moment at time, the House of Justices has the ability to declare that draft law non-compliant with the Compact, at which that law is completely nullified.

“Basically, what I'm saying is that each House balances one another. There can be an uphill battle against two Houses- even two and most of your own if it's really bad- to use the powers vested in your House. That's to say nothing about the greatest checks and balances of them all- between the government and the people. Remember, the people elect the government's major officials. At the same time, they have to trust that the government will dutifully serve their interests. If not, people have the right to push things to the United Nations- and yes, there is a UN Security Council resolution for it. The UN can either then favor the people or the government over a dispute. You get the idea, right?”

“Hoo, that's a lot to digest, won't lie,” I remarked.

“Believe me- it's tougher still to digest how you ponies and the zebras run your governments,” Kara chuckled. “So that's what the government sector is all about. Anyway, moving on, you have the commercial sector. Read- tourist sector. These are the first three-hundred floors off of the ground. You have the services on the ground floor- you know, the official welcoming committee and all that jazz. You have tourism services, immigration regulation, the works. Those floors also have all the hotels for, you know, people like you, ponies and zebras. You've got the airports where you just touched down, the theme parks, shopping, guest services, the works. Like I said, a whole lot of planning went into the city. Most tourist stuff is within the first one-hundred fifty floors. They're juuuuuust low enough to stay in the comfort zone of you ponies and zebras, and they're juuuuust high enough to give tourists a taste of what Avalon's all about. That'll be where you'll be staying if you rented a hotel.” She eyed me strangely.

“Actually, I'm staying with the Windfall family here,” I said. “I have a friend back in Manehattan and she has relatives here.”

Kara looked satisfied at that. “Then that means you'll be hanging out in the residential sector. From the commercial sector up to the seven-hundredth floor, that's where we have a combination of housing and businesses catering to residents. You'll be putting that claim about heights to the test there, that's for sure. It's very freaking high up for a non-flier. Not as high as what's above that, though. But anyways, to top off on the residential sector, you've got homes, grocery stores, businesses, restaurants and eateries- plenty of bakeries especially. Oh, and you have lots of parks, too. Might seem weird, but remember that this ain't some massive high-rise apartment you're standing in. This is a city unlike anything else in the world.

“Now, last up is the industrial sector. That's where, as the name implies, you've got our heavy industry. Now, why so high up? One, if something goes wrong and takes out a floor, there's lower chance it'll send the rest of the tower down with it. There's a whole system of threat assessment that places you higher depending on how dangerous your operation is.”

“What's at the top?” I inquired.

She smirked. “NASE. National Aeronautics and Spaceflight Enterprises.”

I arced both eyebrows at that. “Spaceflight.”

“Yep,” Kara chuckled. “Heh, if I had a cent for every time I've seen that look on your face, I'd be a rich griffiness. It's still in its infancy, yeah, but Aldorna's hoping to make something out of it. I tell you, if there's gonna be a world superpower to reach outer space first, it'd be us. That's not boasting- that's fact. We're over nine-hundred stories up in the skies. If we want something in orbit, we're gonna do it. But anyway, enough about that. Now you know the general layout of the city. Where do you think you'll start?”

I leaned back in my seat. “Well, how-”

The waitress coughed politely and wordlessly set down our plates. My soup had an earthy smell to it, something I inhaled deeply. “Enjoy,” Kara said simply as she brandished a knife and fork.

“Enjoy,” I said in turn, sprouting a pair of ice arms to eat with. I took a spoonful of soup and grimaced, swallowing fast as my tongue flattened against the floor of my mouth from the surprising heat. Yeah, that was going to be a little scalded. When Kara shot a questioning expression at me, I merely smiled. “Little hot. Sorry. Anyway, I was first wondering what you think the most important thing about Avalon is.”

Kara arced her brow at me. She swallowed and set down her silverware before replying, “Industry. The Griffin Kingdom of Aldorna is the biggest economic superpower in the world. It's not boasting- it's fact. When you get down to it, it's all because of our 'form' of magic.”

“Griffins have magic?” I inquired.

“Mm-hm.” She nodded. “It's in our ability to innovate. We might not always invent the next best thing, but we'll make it more streamlined, more compact, cheaper, more efficient, more powerful, more lightweight, more reliable. Sure, we can manipulate clouds- it's how we've got no cloud banks drifting into the city. Pegasi are often better than us than that, though. Let me give you an example. Sky wagons. You've seen them, no doubt. A lot of what you Equestrians do is just take one of your Volkswagens and refit it to fly. Cuts costs, streamlines production. That's great, maybe, but that won't fly with us- literally. We take a look at that and see so many problems with that- aerodynamics, safety, even little details like cabin noise. After all, we're talking a frame meant for driving on the ground, not flying in the air. We build a new frame and chassis from the ground up, test it for aerodynamics, safety, fit it with a spark engine, badda-boom-badda-bing- you've got a Falkion.”

“So heavy industry is your forte, then,” I surmised.

“Yep,” Kara said with a nod, pausing to take a bite of her meal. “Only thing we can't beat you ponies at is durability. Earth ponies have us beat there.”

I took another sip of soup as I mulled it over. “So I imagine all this heavy industry in Avalon has caused an influx of griffin immigrants.”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Lots of griffins from all over have been coming here in search of jobs.” We ate in silence as I thought it over. All the while Kara seemed to regard me as all griffins regarded their guests. After a few minutes passed, she asked, “So what's on your mind?”

“I'm thinking- how has this affected social structures?” I inquired “Families had to have separated. Griffins are known to have strong family ties, but if that means members of the family move away to work in the capital- here- what does that mean? And what of cultural exposure with the obvious commercialization and internationalization of griffin industries here in Avalon? Has that caused a cultural shift?

Kara cracked a thin smile. “That might be something to think about.”

An audience member raised a hoof.

Yes?

The mare expressed surprise at the part about ponies and zebras allying against the griffins.

Hmph. Funny how things turned out in the end, huh?

* * *

A short, hook-beaked griffin male opened the door for me, offering a smile and a stout nod. “Hello. You are Frost?”

“I am Frost,” I answered in proper griffin tradition. “Am I to be your guest?”

“Be our guest,” he replied, standing aside and allowing me to enter. I brandished my hat and swept it to the side in gratitude and strode into the Windfall family home.

Even if the house was essentially built into the world’s tallest high-rise apartment building, it still felt like a proper home. It was well-lit with walls a welcoming shade of mahogany. Fluffy carpet cushioned my hooves, and down the hallway was a window into one of the many air columns shooting up through the tower. The rooms were quite spacious- nothing like my family’s old apartment unit. There was even a staircase leading to a second floor. Everything about the place was just so inviting- not surprising given the near-sacred ties of guest and host in griffin culture.

“I am Nichols Windfall,” the griffin introduced himself after I stepped through, closing the door behind me. “Welcome to our home.”

“I am welcomed,” I said in turn.

He smiled and motioned down the hallway. “Come. You’re just in time for dinner.”

“Oh, I already ate,” I said sheepishly, then added, “but I could have a little more.”

“Good,” Nichols said with a nod, leading me to the kitchen and dining area. There were already a taller griffiness with a messy plumage and a young female cub already seated at a wooden dinner table with a mix of carnivorous and herbivorous fare. Nichols motioned to them. “My wife Vivian and our daughter Phoebe.” Then he waved to me. “This is Frost Windchill, our guest and friend of your sister.”

“Welcome to our home,” Vivian said with a stout nod mirrored by Phoebe. “Please, dine with us.”

“I am welcomed,” I said with a smile. “Thank you. First, news of your sister, Vivian.” I sprouted an ice arm, which the young cub stared at in amazement. I removed an envelope from my saddlebags and offered it to the griffiness. “She felt I would be faster than the international postal service.”

“Ah, thank you, thank you,” she said, accepting the envelope with a smile. “Perhaps I may send a reply for when you return?”

“Yes, of course,” I answered, sitting down beside Nichols and facing her.

“Then let us dine.” Vivian formed a steeple with her claw and motioned to the food. “Praise be Zepitus, The Migrant Host, God of Shelter and Sky.”

“Praise be Zepitus,” we echoed, repeating the motion. And then we began to eat.

“I’m curious,” I spoke up after a few bites of their kale salad. It wasn’t tasty, but I’d had worse. They were, after all, trying to provide for a pony guest. “Forgive me if I pry, but you did send a prayer to Zepitus. It wasn’t the full version, however. Why so?”

“Oh, sorry,” Vivian coughed, “I have a night shift at my job coming up. In an hour. Have to make time somehow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Gotta provide for us somehow,” she sighed. “Especially since I’m the only working griffin now.”

Nichols grunted, “That’s going to be the only and last time I take such a lucrative job.”

“And what was that?” I asked curiously.

He let out a huff. “Startup company trying to design something called a ‘latticed spell matrix’. Basically, a spell matrix that can support more than one type of spell. ‘Would be the next big thing,’ they said. Hmph!”

“What happened?”

Nichols grimaced for a moment. “Our research went nowhere. Ended up getting bought by Equestria and got nationalized. Everything was taken to Equestrian soil. Now we griffins have nothing to do with it. You know what I say to you? Good luck. It can’t be done. Always has to be one type of gem, one type of spell. Can’t be done.”

The storyteller looked down, tracing along the eye-shaped gem on his breastplate.

* * *

“Heyyyy, buddy! How're you doing, how're you doing?”

“Hey, Zoleks. Doing great. How're things back home?”

“Just great, buck, just great. Hey, how's Aldorna treating ya?”

“Oh my goodness, where to start?” A husky laugh. “Avalon is just... just amazing, Zoleks. There's nothing else in the world like it.”

“I bet, I bet. Hey, I'm gonna go ahead and pass you on over to Hummingbird, okay?”

“No, no, you don't have to! We can talk!”

A hearty laugh. “Maybe you'd want to, but she's just itchin' to talk to ya, buck!”

“Oh, uh... talk later, then?”

“Sure, sure, no prob! Here, Hummingbird, hoofing it over-”

“Frost!”

“Hey, Hummingbird. How're you doing, love? Feeling any better?”

“Oh, I'm doing just great. Yeah, the cough's starting to go down. Voice is still a little rough, though.”

“Yeah, I can hear over the phone. Everything going alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just a little lonely here without you is all... so how are you? Tell me all about Avalon!”

“I'm just fine, but good Goddesses, where do I begin? Well, you took a peek at my books for research, right?”

“Mm-hm, I have.”

“Okay. Now picture this: each of those towers are three miles wide on each face and tower nine-hundred stories off of the ground. Nine-hundred, interconnected at various levels by walkways and bridges! You haven't seen a real skyscraper until you've seen the Avalon towers, I'll tell you that. And that's not all. The city's got these open spaces into the sky, and there must have been hundreds of other flying shapes in the skies around the triple towers. Griffins, hundreds of griffins were weaving in and out of the towers. Designated transit lanes go up and down, back and forth between the triple towers, and air freighters and a sprawling cargo rail system transported goods and people all around, docking into gateways and terminals built into the sides of the massive skyscrapers. To top it all off, when I arrived, the late-day sun cast its glow over the entire city. It cast its orange pallor over the triple towers, light glinting off of the edge of the one closest to us while the remaining half was bathed in shadow, cloud banks drifting around the massive spires.” Pause for dramatic effect. “Avalon, The Skyward City.”

“Wow... heh, Frost, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that was rehearsed!”

“It might've been.”

“Guessing the writing classes finally rubbed off on you, huh? Guessing you like it?”

“I love it. Well, okay, it's not Manehattan, but yeah, it's incredible here.”

“I'm glad to hear everything's good on your end.” Sigh. “Miss you already. Does that make me weak of will?”

“Heh, I guess I'm weak of will too, then.”

“...”

“...”

“Frost, I... can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course, Hummingbird! I'm here for anything!”

“I want to try to make something out of my life. I-I mean, I want to try again. I'm tired of just... being in your dorm doing nothing and getting all my job applications turned down. Maybe the world isn't ready for the my ideas for international trade and business, but... maybe there's something else.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well, you're asking the master of inspiration here, thankfully. I'm... thinking maybe music might be just that.”

“Violin? You're sure?”

“Yeah, I mean it. I've been working really hard on it, too! Zoleks helped me pick out a good looper pedal and stereo system for it, and I've been practicing for hours each day. Well, hours when he and Namira don't take me to the clubs...”

“Hey, you like it! I know you like it!”

“Yeah, yeah, I like it, I like it.”

“Hey, if this is something you really want to try, then by all means do it, Hummingbird. Now, this stupid old phone's starting to run out of juice, so I'm gonna have to say good-bye now. Love you, Hummingbird! Good luck with violin!”

“Love you too, Frost. Good luck with research.”

Click.

* * *

“-send money back over to my folks in Ithacaw every month,” the young griffin male seated beside me by the name of Iphicles Nephelegeretes said. Mouthful, I know. “Usually about half of my paycheck. Ah, Ithacaw is the southeasternmost hold, in case you didn’t know.”

“And you still get by?” I inquired.

“Yeah, barely, but I'm the oldest child and I've got two brothers and a sister plus my parents to support, you know?”

Iphicles and I were seated in a shipping facility at the bottom of the industrial sector with Kara just out of the way, keeping a watchful eye and a listening ear but remaining distant. It was an area that protruded from the face of the tower. It consisted of what boiled down to something between a shipping port along the likes of Manehattan Harbor and a factory assembly line. Freight boxes arrived by rail via the massive skyline network, where they were then diverted for repackaging and serial transportation. The rails and junctions ran everywhere through the complex- along the floor, along the ceiling, through suspended skyline rails. Iphicles, wearing a close-fitting work uniform (in this line of work, he told me, you didn't want any feathers or fur getting caught in the machinery- or loose clothing), was on his lunch break along with a third of the workers. I was told they had lunch in shifts so that the shipping facility was always running at acceptable capacity. The facility itself was surprisingly well-lit. I expected the place, which essentially boiled down to a factory, to be smoky, dark, cramped. It was none of that, even with the many freight containers rolling about. I’m told a lot of the industrial sector was like this- clear workspace with access to the open air to remind them that there was a world out there. I had to take his word for it since I wasn’t authorized to go any higher, but it did make sense. Griffins are by and large people of the skies. They don’t like feeling caged. “I can’t understand how those gals and guys underground do it,” Iphicles said to me earlier when I asked about it.

We were sitting just off of one of the incoming skyline rails so that our hindlegs dangled over the edge. It was just amazing to sit so high off of the ground. Everything below seemed to melt into these grids of different colors and textures- like a patchwork quilt of bumpy greens, flat browns, and spiky grays. At first, Iphicles expressed surprise that I sat with him without so much as a fuss or a nervous squeak. Truth be told, I might have had that uneasy feeling in my gut.

“How often do you see them?” I asked.

“Mmmm... not often enough,” the soot-covered griffin chuckled wanly as if confiding in a good friend. Just as they are now, griffins were wary of outsiders. But once you made friends, they vest a surprising amount of trust and faith in you. Maybe the reason I could sit there on the edge so easily was because I felt, in my mind, that he would catch me if I fell. “I'm usually back home for Last and First Breath.”

I nodded, understanding he was talking about the last and first weeks of the year. “I'm sorry to hear that. It's tough, I know, to live away from family and friends.”

Iphicles nodded in turn. “Yeah. I mean, sure, I call back, but it's not the griffin way. Face-to-face, you know?” He pointed a claw between him and me to make the point. “I'm taking evening classes at the School of Engineering, though. Hopefully I can land a better-paying job and maybe have more free time after that. Hopefully.” He let out a sigh. “It's like this global recession keeps coming back as soon as it starts looking good again. Everyone but the Almarinians are feeling it. Even just a couple years ago, I could work closer to home. Now, well... take it from me, Frost- take advantage of the opportunities you have in the now. You never know when you won't be able to enjoy them ever again.”

“Hmph... like Ilak...” I mused aloud. Iphicles arced a brow at me. “The Whimsical Effigy?” He still eyed me. “The... God of Now and Forever in the Outer Circle of your pantheon?”

“Oh,” he chuckled softly, looking away. “Sorry, I'm not the religious type.”

I raised both of my eyebrows. “Really now?”

“Yeah, really now,” Iphicles said with a nod.

“Why's that?”

“Well...” He wore a wan smile and looked down toward the ground far below for a second, “truth be told, with... what I learned in school and all this stuff to do, I just stopped caring about it.”

The storyteller leaned forward toward the audience.

You have no idea how such an idea was so foreign to me. You stopped believing in your own gods? Well bear in mind- back then, ponies worshiped living, breathing deities. The majority of other equine species didn't. I was about to voice that when I remembered- I was an equinpologist then and there. I was there to listen, not to speak out. Practicing that sort of restraint, I'm sure you can imagine, was nothing new to me.

“When was the last time you visited a temple?” I inquired instead.

“Mmmmmm... five years ago back when I first came here looking for work?” he said as if he wasn't very sure himself. “Like I said, not the religious type. Not anymore at least.” A droning thrum sounded off and Iphicles looked up at the clock. “Well, that's my cue. Been nice talking to you, Frost. Good luck with your research.” And with that, he slipped off of the edge, spread his wings, and soared back up to his station where a fresh cargo freighter stopped in with a hiss of steam and a clang of metal. “Okay, this one’s bound for Crate and Barrel! It’s a wagger- be careful!”

Hm... changing of priorities from family values to modernist views of the necessity of education and the lack thereof of religion... that was something to keep in mind...

I saw Kara looking at me with a smug look. She could tell the gears were turning.

* * *

“Frost! Dude, buck, buddy, you've gotta talk to Hummingbird!”

“What? Is something wrong?”

“What? Oh, no, nothing! Sorry about that, probably shoulda worded it differently. Everything's just great. Just... okay, I'm gonna just give you to Hummingbird!”

“What? Wait, how're you doing, first off?”

“Just great buck, but let's not keep her waiting! We'll chat after maybe! You’ll know what I’m talking about!”

Fumble fumble. “Hello? Frost?”

“Hummingbird! What's up?”

“I've got something for you! That's what! Hey, I'm going to put this on speakerphone, okay? Let me know how the sound is? You too?”

“Well, uh, sure. Sure.” Click.

Fumble, fumble. Fumble. “Uhhhh, how's this?”

“Sounds good on my end. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, and whoever's washing dishes!”

“Oh! Sorry, yeah, maybe we'll just stick to your end then.” Click. “Okay, so, what's up?”

“You have like... eight minutes?”

“For you? Definitely!”

“Hee hee hee! I know that! I meant your battery!”

“Yeah, it's about half left. Go right on ahead. Is this going to be a performance?”

“Mmmmm-hm! Ugh, you knew, though?”

“Just put two and two together, Hummingbird.”

“Heh, well okay. You ready?”

“Uh... yeah, I'm ready, I guess.”

“Don't worry, silly. It's nothing like in the concert halls in Canterlot. Something a little more modern, okay?”

“Huh? Well, uh, um, okay. Okay, then! Sure, I'm ready!”

“Heh, I thought that would make you more interested. Okay... one, two, three, four.” Tap, tap, tap, tap.

The storyteller leaned back and sighed mistily.

There's no way I could have recorded what she did- no way but in my mind's eye. I have to... thank my friend Roanoke Razorwing here.

Roanoke. From my mind to theirs.

Everyone? Just close your eyes... and listen. Melt away.

Sound flowed, coming from just one ear as if through a phone while the storyteller pantomimed holding a phone to his ear. It was clearly a violin, but it sounded it like it was being strummed like a guitar to create a very relaxing melody almost akin to a ukelele. Then there was a click and the melody looped again... again with the soft plucking of the strings. The storyteller furrowed his brow.

“Wait... I know that tune...”

And then came a playful tune, almost like soft laughter- short, giddy strokes on top of the original rhythm. He widened his eyes and smiled.

“Oh my Goddesses, is this 'I'm Yours'?”

“Not quite! You'll see!”

She kept on playing without missing a beat. The sound was pure, not squeaky- even when she hit a particularly high stroke. And it felt wholesome, felt full and complete, like Hummingbird was truly enjoying it. At the end of the verse, the tone changed. The storyteller's smile shifted to a gaping mouth turned upward, hoof moving to cover as he silently laughed. “'You're Beautiful',” he mouthed. And soon, he was swaying to the strumming baseline.

Hummingbird was amazing. Soon there was another soft click and another looped melody joined in, forming a polyrhythm as she played with grace and freedom. Soon, the storyteller was swaying to the gentle tune with eyes closed. Even his ice arm seemed to relax as he listened.

And finally she was done.

“Wow... Hummingbird, that was... wow...”

“That good? Not very often I send you speechless.”

“Yeah, that good!” Hearty laughter. “Jeez, it's... been less than two months since you've started. That's amazing...”

“Awwwww, thanks...”

“How did you even do that? I heard 'I'm Yours', 'You're Beautiful', 'Hey Soul Sister', and others in there!”

“Oh, well, see, I just got this great idea of how to practice! I just... got an ear for how songs sounded, then got an ear for how the violin sound, and, well... look, it's hard to put it into words. I just got these ideas that made it all work in reverse. I hear how the song sounds, then I hear how my violin sounds, then break it down and build it back up. Sort of like reverse-engineering?”

“So you just basically skipped past, what, months or years of practice?”

“Well, I don't know about that, but... maybe?”

“... Hummingbird, I think you've got something going here.”

“Yeah, me too. That's... that's why I think that this might be my ticket out of debt...”

“You're gonna have to get noticed if you want to take the musician route.”

A deep breath. “I know.”

“You've definitely got talent, though, Hummingbird. Keep it up, okay, love?”

“Heh, does that mean I've got the Uncultured Manehattaner Seal of Approval?”

Snort. “Yeah, yeah, it means you get my seal of approval.”

Squee.

* * *

“Yeah, it’s great here,” Lorraine Kitrel, a young griffiness with a beaded plumage and a designer leather jacket, answered- notably without looking at me. She was instead focused on the smartphone- basically this extremely portable cell phone-terminal mashup- in her hand, texting to... I didn’t know, really. Friends, I assumed. We actually ran into one another at Kara’s favorite cafe, and she agreed to answering questions. “Have everything you need- cheap food, lots of clothing store outlets, everything a girl wants.”

“How do you afford all this?” I inquired.

She actually looked up at me. “Hm? Oh, my mom owns a cloud seeding company here that took off. You know cloud seeding? New big thing. Allows you to grow crops on clouds just like you ponies do on the ground.”

“Really now?” Huh. Now that was mighty interesting.

“Yeah, really,” she replied with a nod, attention focused back on her smartphone. “Remember how things were before all the investors came along. We were really scraping by after taking out that loan. Now, everything’s great.”

“Everything?” I questioned.

“Yeah. Made a lot of friends, got internet, and I don’t even have to work anymore. Sometimes I wish I did, but mom said I needed to focus on school. I know it’s how she got where she is today, but I still think I’d rather have my own personal income. They don’t pay you wages to go to school. I...” She looked up, pouching her smartphone, “I’ll admit I kinda miss family time, though. Between school and mom’s work, it’s usually only just me and dad who have dinner together. Mom just gets back too late in the evening.”

“How often do you see her?”

“Usually only every other weekend,” Lorraine responded, back to texting. “Her days off alternate between weekends and Thursday-Friday every week. Unfortunately, Thursday-Friday is when I have class, so I’m really busy after I get back home. School here’s pretty freaking competitive, you know. I looked at stuff in Equestria, and you guys have it way easy.”

“Is it because of Aldorna’s demanding economy?” I inquired.

“Hell yeah, it is,” she scoffed. Even if it was in agreement, it was generally regarded as something rude to do in a conversation in any context with a griffin. “High school? They already start grading on bell curves. You really gotta push yourself with beak and claw here.”

“And how are your grades?” I inquired.

“A’s and the occasional B,” Lorraine answered, then smirked at me. “Surprised? My parents have this rule- when I study, I have to study hard, and when I play, I get to play hard. I’m not complaining.” She peered at me once again. “Nice hat, by the way.”

* * *

“Excuse me,” I called after a griffin who didn’t look too busy. Unfortunately, he quickly pushed away on his swivel chair to machine-gun staple a string of documents. Okay, not him. Kara and I were in a sea of cubicles, hurried griffins, and office machinery. The beeps and whirrs of printers and fax machines filled the air, along with the steady drone of coworker-coworker collaboration. Some of the busier griffins even darted overhead and glided to some distant area. How could anyone work here? I saw a griffiness looking like she was heading toward her break. “Excuse me, ma’am! Do you have some time?” Nope. She was heading back from her break. “Pardon, ma’am! Do you...”

“I told you this wasn’t gonna work, Frost,” Kara chuckled beside me. “Governmental sector will always be the governmental sector.”

“And you said low-priority interviews could take a week before they call back to schedule?” I asked her incredulously.

“Yep!”

“Well,” I said, looking around, “I think I can get the picture just by looks alone. Let’s go.”

* * *

“So here's what I've got so far along with specific citations from Iphicles of Ithacaw, Cecilia from Loondon, Cassandra of Skyfall, and Crowe... from... Nanagust,” I said as I turned my notebook over to Kara, pointing out specific sections. We were at an outdoor patio of a cafe in the residential sector overlooking one of the many air columns that griffins could use to catch wind and leisurely soar upward to the higher levels. The residential sector was a lively place, feeling more like one giant high-rise apartment building with cafes, shops, and small businesses filling the niches. Parks ranging from playgrounds to botanical gardens and open-air art galleries filled the spaces in between floors and air columns. The gusts spread the wonderful smells from all over the sector to my nose. It smelled wonderful from the bakery just across the way. “I know what I've got is rough, but I'd just like some pointers if you've got any.”

“No problem,” the red-tinged griffiness said back with a nod, looking over my materials. “Okay... okay... aaaaaand here.” She tapped a claw on the notes from my discussion with a griffiness by the name of Katrina, a business owner from the hold of Nulrein who recently started up a branch of her general appliances chain in Avalon. “Be careful not to over-analyze. It's great that you're trying not to inject your own cultural values into your evaluation of Katrina in light of your thesis, but try not to extrapolate here. Don't look at her like she's some kingpin.” She paused. “Kingpin? Queenpin? Ugh, like she's the head-honcho of some gang or something like that. Think about the other viewpoint- the industrialist viewpoint.”

“She would be doing good in this case by promoting competition and providing work,” I murmured.

“You're on the right track, but think back- we've got a conflict of interests here, don't we?” Kara leaned back in her seat. “You've got the traditionalist view of a strong, central family relationship and the industrialist view where it's acceptable for the family to be apart in order to financially support one another. Now, without outright labeling the industrialist view as 'bad', how can we weigh one view against the other fairly?”

“Well, okay, let's cut out that bit then, and...” I paused, furrowing my brow as movement caught my eye. I peered over to see what exactly it was.

The storyteller smiled.

It was a griffin at another table, idly playing with one of the most interesting knives I had ever seen. It had a pair of black metal handles with a groove running down the middle of them that hid a serpentine blade about three inches in length, connected by a pair of tangs. The guy was cantering and twirling the blade open and closed, sometimes even catching on the blade. He had this lost expression as he weaved the knife around as if lost in a trance.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Hm?” Kara looked up and smiled. “Oh, that? That's a balisong.”

I looked back at her. “Which is...?”

“Oh, it's a kind of knife,” she answered as if it were common knowledge. “You ponies like to call them butterfly knives.” She nodded over to the griffin. “When you think about it, I guess it makes sense.”

I looked back over at said griffin. “Seems kinda... dangerous.”

“It is, yeah, but not as much as it looks,” the griffiness chuckled. “They've got a safe side on the spine of the blade. Plus, they're more cubs' toys than anything else. Our talons kinda get sharp enough for most purposes when we get older. Having scaled and bony digits helps, too.” She flexed her claw as if to demonstrate.

I continued to watch on as the griffin pulled off a rather impressive combination of rollovers and passes from one hand to the other. “So why's he using it?” I inquired. “And how do you know so much?”

“Probably because it's still fun for him,” she answered. “I also had one when I was a cub, but I sold it at a porch sale. Didn’t click for me.”

“Fun. But still dangerous.”

“Pretty much.”

I nodded a few times, then looked at Kara. “Where can I get one?”

* * *

Kara directed me to a hobby shop near the top floors of the commercial sector. Rows upon rows of model kits, collector's edition items, trading cards, and various other paraphernalia lined the small but friendly-looking shop. The counter itself was almost completely devoted to balisongs, featuring a display case containing dozens of them, each with different colors and designs. There was even a bottle opener balisong! I chuckled at the sight of that.

Behind the counter was a large, burly griffin male with an ash-gray tinge to his pinion feathers and a hawkish beak. He was twirling away with a balisong with skeletonized, crimson handles and a drop-point tanto blade. He didn't even look at the blade as he performed graceful, lightning-fast techniques- he had to know them by heart. Rather, he was reading a pamphlet on NASE.

As we approached the counter, he looked up at us. “Good afternoon,” he greeted in a rough tone, deftly cantering the blade closed and setting it down on the counter atop his pamphlet. “My name is Grimm.”

The storyteller cracked a thin smile.

Yep. That was him, folks, way back when.

“Kara, Frost,” my mentor introduced us, gesturing to herself and then me. “I think you've got a customer interested in getting a balisong.”

Grimm raised a feathery eyebrow at me. “A unicorn? Wanting a balisong? Really? Now, not that I'm turning down a customer, just, well, balisongs and telekinesis aren't all that impressive. No offense. I mean, pegasi have their wings at least.”

“Well, I assure you, Grimm, that telekinesis has nothing to do with it,” I said with a smile, sprouting a pair of ice arms.

He looked over them, pursed his beak, and then nodded, looking back up to Kara. “Now we're talking.” Eyes back on me. “Well! I can definitely help you if you're interested in getting yourself a fine blade.” He snatched up his balisong, popped the latch and whipped the blade around, transferring hands every so often in a fluid pass or aerial. “Now, the question is- you looking to get one for utility, for self-defense, orrr for just plain fun?”

“Just plain fun,” I replied.

“Heh, you and I are gonna get along just fine.” Grimm grinned, pulling a repeated Chaplin around his index finger as he used his free hand to open up the shelves and set down a string of silvery balisongs with skeletonized handles with practiced speed and showiness. They were mounted on tiny display stands with the blades exposed, and there were ten different designs ranging from the ordinary to the outlandish. “For just plain fun, I recommend the Turnstile Model Forty-Two series.” He popped his own balisong into the air and caught it closed, then plucked one of them up and balanced it right on the middle on the back of his hand. “They've got perfect balance, great design, and they're all made of titanium.” He popped up another and stabbed along the other with quite some force, presenting it to me afterward- no cracks. “Made by hand, built to last.”

I pursed my lips a little as I smiled and nodded, impressed. “I like it.”

Grimm smiled back and set the blades down. “So take your pick.” He pointed down the line. “Trainer, bowie, tool, utility, weehawk, spear point, tanto, drop-point tanto (my personal favorite), Hakkapella, Damascus, plain... satin... stonewash, kriss- and they all come in black and/or serrated construction in addition to all of this.”

I took my time to look over the various blades and styles, but the over-elaborate ones never really drew my fancy. I rubbed my chin with an icy hand. “Mmmm... let's go with the weehawk style.”

“Weehawk, huh?” Grimm huffed. “Little ordinary, buuuuut I guess it's better than the plain and satin.” He started packing the others away. “That'll run you one-hundred-fifty dollars with tax and comes with the stand and a pouch. Of course, you also get the company-standard lifetime warranty. Now, don’t get ahead of yourself and go drop it to the ground from here or anything. Just manufacturing defects and the like.”

“One-fifty?” I raised both eyebrows at that.

“Balisongs aren't easy to make, pal,” the gray-tinged griffin snorted. “This stuff is steep, yeah, but you gotta admit you'll never find anything else like it. In fact, I actually recommend getting two.”

I eyed him. “Two.”

“Twice the blades, four times the fun,” Grimm said with a smirk, plucking up my blade-to-be and dancing it together with his. He was very, very skillful, I had to admit. He then closed both and pouched the Turnstile, sliding it over.

“So how much for two, then?” I inquired.

“Well, do the math,” he said with a shrug. “Three-hundred.”

“How often do you get a customer for these?” I inquired.

“More often than you think,” he answered. I could see a ghost of a smirk. He knew what I was doing. “Market price. It's non-negotiable.”

“Well, I sure that there's some discount for a bulk purchase.”

“Two isn't a bulk purchase, guy,” Grimm chuckled softly, crossing his arms. “Price is non-negotiable.”

“Okay, so the price stays.” I shrugged. “What about the content?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Hm. Now I'm listening.”

“I might be inclined to pay if you happen to offer lessons.”

“Hm... three-hundred for two Turnstiles with lessons...” He grinned. “I can fly with that.”

We stretched our arms to the side and swung them inward to clasp hands.

“It’s a deal then,” I said with a grin.

“Great! Now, before we get ahead of ourselves, there’s some things you’ll wanna know to get these cleared through Customs and Immigration...”

* * *

“Zoleks thought it was a really good idea for me to start doing these public performances. Just... you know. Outside on the sidewalk, just for fun. You know... just let the music flow- o-okay, Frost, what is that noise? I mean, seriously?”

Click, clack, cli- “... nothing.”

The storyteller twirled out Silver Skean, walking the blade open and looking back up at the audience with a sly, nostalgic smile.

* * *

“Oh, hello there,” a robed griffiness greeted us with an expression that betrayed her surprise.

Kara and I had just entered one of the underground temples dedicated to Alda, The Lonely Mother and Goddess of the Beginning and the End. It had a high, vaulted ceiling with beige, stucco walls that were featureless save for the niches where oil candles were lit. There were no lights down here in the religious areas, I noted- only candles that cast a subdued orange glow about. While the governmental sector had numerous air shafts and murals depicting outside scenery to reflect the griffin want of freedom, this place had none of that. Smooth, respectful walls- that’s it. An altar at the far end of the room down a row of pews was decorated with flowers and other plant and crop offerings and left to decay before Alda. A great brazier lit the altar and cast long, flickering shadows along the walls. In such a confined space relative to the rest of The Skyward City, it felt... cramped, almost claustrophobic. The candlelight reminded me of the Wall of Faces back in Manehattan, and I couldn't help but feel a chill not of my own. I was treading on hallowed ground.

The robed griffiness stood up from behind the counter and maneuvered around to meet us. “Sorry if I was being impolite,” she said in a hushed tone, bowing her head in traditional submission. “It's just... we normally don't get ponies visiting this place. I am Marie.”

“I am Kara, and this is Frost,” my guide introduced us. “He is here in Aldorna for equinpological research.”

“I see,” Marie said, still keeping her head bowed. “How may I serve you?”

“I just wish to ask a few questions and learn more about your temple is all,” I answered. “May we sit?”

And so began the process of asking and answering. Much of what I already suspected as confirmed- attendance was declining year after year. Marie had been a priestess for over fifteen years, and she could only keep doing it because her husband was the owner of a pharmaceutical drug company in the industrial sector. He and her daughter, at least, regularly attended prayer.

“What do you think might be the cause of all of this?” I inquired.

“I can only guess, not answer,” she responded with a soft sigh. “People today have so much more to do and so much more to worry about. I guess they just had to cut something out of their lives, and maybe this was what was most convenient for them to do that.”

“Have you ever considered another line of work?” I asked. Noticing her almost indignant glare at me, I added, “I mean no offense. Just... hypothetically.”

Marie relaxed after that and answered, “It is my choice in life. It may not be profitable, but I believe it is wholesome. Yagmarth guide me.”

I perked my ears up as footsteps echoed through the room. We rose as another priestess approached Marie and whispered something in her ear. She widened her eyes and nodded, and the other priestess hurried off. “Is something the matter?” I inquired.

“I'm very sorry, but you must excuse me,” she replied in a hushed tone. “Our next funeral service is upon us. You may remain, but... please stay out of the way if you must. Chryseis, please guide them over here, please...” Marie hurried back through the entrance to the temple, leaving us alone.

“Kara, should we go?” I whispered.

“I think this would be a good experience for you,” the red-tinged griffiness said. “Let's stick around.”

I couldn't help but feel a tad invasive as we moved to the back wall. I know I had asked many questions, often deep and personal, in the past three weeks I'd spent in Aldorna. But this was a funeral. This was the mourning of death of a family member or close friend. As I stood there seated on my haunches in the back, watching the procession of close ones march through the entrance, I felt a sickness gnawing away at my gut. They were all bare save for the few priests accompanying them. They were the young and the old, the tall and the small, feathers bright and feathers dull. They bore expressions ranging from serene calm to empty, false strength hiding a sadness just beyond the eyes. Even the children seemed to know the importance of this day. They paid us no attention, and I had to force myself to remember that funerals were seldom private in griffin society. Life and death, after all, was a contact shared by all.

It wasn't always the same in Equestria. Even The Northern Lights Festival wasn't quite at this level of intimacy. I had the expectation for The Day of Tears to be a public mourning. Not the case for a funeral such as this.

The procession split into the closer pews as they neared, dividing into the seats with such precision it almost seemed rehearsed. At the very rear of the procession, a group of six griffins- half female and half male- shouldered a casket down the aisle. Their footfalls echoed as one, beating like a steady drum off of the walls of the temple. Other than that, the room was oddly silent. There wasn't even any weeping or sobbing.

It felt wrong to be there.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at Kara. She only gave me a gentle rub of the shoulder, but even that little gesture told me: “It's okay. It's okay.” I nodded gratefully and turned away. Then she gave me a light nudge and showed me something dangling from her open palm.

It was a Star of Alda, one side an ivory-white and the other a rainbow of color. She motioned to me ever so slightly with it. I looked at her and nodded stoutly, my hoof reaching to clasp the necklace together with her. I know not if The Lonely Mother knew me, but I swore I felt her soothing embrace.

The silence was broken only when the priests of Alda gave their rites to the deceased- a griffin by the name of Darius. He died of... getting caught in machinery at a factory, I learned later. They kept the casket lid closed. It was for the best. For the best.

I forced myself to listen despite my discomfort. I watched as one by one the immediate family members of Darius gave their eulogies. He worked to support his family like so many other young griffins in Avalon. Only... he paid the ultimate price, fulfilled the ultimate contract.

And when all was done, a younger griffin stepped forward- Darius' younger brother. He stood before the altar...

And, to my surprise, sang.

The storyteller closed his eyes and slowly sung out in a haunting, wavering tone.

“I set my sail...
Fly the wind, it will take me...
back to my home, sweet home...

Lie on my back...
Clouds are making way for me...
I'm coming home, sweet home...

I see... your star.
You left it burning for me...
Mother, I'm hee-ee-eere...

Eyes open wide...
Feel your heart, and it's glowing...
I'm welcome home, sweet home...

I take your hand...
Now you'll never be lonely...
not when I'm home, sweet home...

I see... your star.
You left it burning for me...
Mother, I'm hee-ee-eere...”

The storyteller looked down for a few seconds, breaking eye contact. He looked back up, taking in a deep breath with those eyes full of... what was it?

I knew. I knew- from that moment forward- that I wanted to do this for the rest... of my life. I knew that I knew nothing of the world and its people, and that I had so much to learn from them.

And I knew I found My Way.

* * *

Kara sat across from me at the usual cafe, looking over my materials. I felt calm- not because I was confident in my paper, no. I felt calm because I knew that if it wasn't up to par, I knew where to start looking to improve it.

Maybe the balisong I was twirling around in amateur fashion had something to do with calming my nerves, too.

The red-tinged griffiness looked up me and smiled. No words were necessary. I merely sprouted another ice arm, and we clasped hands.

* * *

“Hello?”

“Hi, Father.”

“Oh, hello, Frost. How are you?”

“Great, just letting you know I'm on my way home tomorrow.”

“Ah, so did research go okay?”

“Yeah, just gotta comb through what I've got for grammar and spelling. How are you and mom?”

“We're doing good, we're doing good. Frost, what is that clicking thing I'm hearing?”

Click clacket- “Sorry about that. Uh, anyway, anything new going on at home?”

“Just had dinner with Zoleks' parents. It went good. Your mom is still learning how to use the terminal.”

“And?”

“I don't think I ever heard her curse that much before.”

Husky chuckle. “Maybe I can help her out once I'm back. Hey, I'm going to probably stay at Zoleks' for the first night back. Just letting you know, okay?”

“Okay. You have fun.”

“Thanks, Father. Gotta go now, okay? Love you!”

“Love you too, son. Take care of yourself.”

Click.

* * *

I nonchalantly stood just outside the door to Zoleks' and Namira's apartment inside their repair shop and rang their doorbell. I'd arrived just after they closed up shop and waited with a sly smile. I couldn't help it. I heard hoofsteps on the other side, growing in volume until they stopped at the door.

“What the bu...?” I heard Zoleks mutter on the other side, probably after seeing me through the porthole, before he pulled the door open. “Frost! You're back!”

The moment he said “Frost,” there was a string of hoofsteps coming from upstairs. The moment he said “You're,” a green blur flew toward me. Finally, the moment he said “back,” the green blur tackled into me and sent me rolling head over hooves on the pavement until I ended up on my back.

I was still somewhat dazed, and it took a few seconds of getting my eyeballs to stop spinning around in opposite directions to realize that Hummingbird was hugging me tightly. “Frost, you're back!”

“Yep, that's what I said,” Zoleks chuckled. “Damn, buck, why didn'tcha tell us you were back!”

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” I said with a chuckle of my own, getting up with Hummingbird.

The green-furred pegasus mare promptly smacked me lightly with her wing. “Evil!”

“Well, it was a surprise, wasn't it?” I smiled, hugging around her with a foreleg- a gesture she enthusiastically returned.

“Yeah...” She leaned in to give me a nuzzle, and I reveled in her warmth and softness. “I guess I can forgive you this time.” She pulled away and gave me a bright smile. “And you're just in time, too! We were about to head out!”

“For a club?” I asked.

Hummingbird merely her eyes. “Some things never change. No, you uncultured Manehattaner, you. I'm going to make a street performance!”

* * *

After a quick dinner, the four of us were on our way to Meridian Main Street. I felt right at home underneath the streamers of lights, the bustling cornucopia of people, and the music. Goodness, the music! Hummingbird was totting her violin case, Zoleks and Namira were lugging a pair of speakers, and I was carrying all of the electrical equipment.

Yeah. The light stuff. Did you expect any different?

The same little filly from before looked around sheepishly. The storyteller merely chuckled.

Don't worry about it, kid. Now, Meridian Main, in addition to being the yearly host for the Northern Lights Festival every year, was the go-to place for street performers. All of the biggest venues were there- downtown, Manehattan Grand Station, Manehattan Magical Institute- and that meant high foot traffic. Manehattan was the place to get heard as a musician, that's for sure. But play on Meridian Main Street? You were guaranteed to catch some ears. Nobody really raised a fuss about it, usually. Everybody tended to instinctively give one another enough space so that their music didn't clash. It's tough to explain just exactly how people did it back then- it just happened. It was instinct. That's all I can offer.

We got set up in an open spot pretty quick and plugged in all the equipment. There were always enough outlets provided for those. It took roughly five minutes for us to get all set up, and Hummingbird finally plugged the jack in. She tested a few notes, then smiled at me. “You ready, Frost?”

“All yours,” I said back, sitting down off to the side and giving her a hoof's-up.

He motioned to Roanoke.

Close your eyes. Melt away.

The world fell away, replaced with a window to the past. Hummingbird, bathed in the bright lights of Manehattan, took a moment to play a quick tuning test. She spaced her wings a little, propped her violin up using her forehooves... and began to play. Her eyes seemed not to register the world around her as she poured her heart out into the music.

Her bow scissored across the strings, creating a base melody that she quickly set to repeat with the looper pedal. She then swayed with the delicate drawing of the bow, creating a clear, crisp tune- light, without squealing or squeaking. Another click of the pedal, and now she beat against the side of her violin just like a drum, sending the speakers pounding away. Then she clicked the pedal once more and now the polyrhythm came together- as if she was a one-mare band.

It wasn't long before she attracted a small crowd. At first, it was a few passersby that lingered for a few seconds before moving on their way. Then some of them lingered- and stayed. Then came more, more, more.

And yet she seemed at peace amidst all the eyes and ears, the hushed conversation and the surprising clinks of bits in her violin case. She was distant, millions of miles away, and though her eyes may have been vacant, she was taking deep, drawn-out breaths as if with physical exertion. There was a lull in the music as she made the secondary violin fade away and she closed her eyes, sighing and wiping her brow with her free hoof- and yet she still played, not once missing a beat. Or, rather, the steady beat demanded that she didn't. And soon she rose again, and the song took her to greater heights, building up and up and up. Soon even the donations paused, as if waiting respectfully. And so higher and higher she went until the looped violin ran together with hers and the music peaked in a climactic combination of sound. The one-mare band became a one-mare symphony. There was a quick string of rising trills that she struggled to play, eyebrows furrowed and lips licked with concentration. Then the violins ran together once more, taking the breath away.

She began to wind down, slumping over as the symphony shrank back down to a band and the band back down to a single violinist.

And then it was over.

Frost let out a whooping cheer and the small crowd stomped in applause. Hummingbird slumped and panted for breath. But she smiled- smiled weary but proud- and bowed.

* * *

“That was amazing!” I exclaimed as we made it back to Zoleks' place, where I tried to lift her by the waist and twirl her around. I'd forgotten my strength- or lack thereof- and we instead tumbled to the floor with her on top. We still laughed regardless.

“Whoaaaa there, buck,” Zoleks chuckled as he stepped around us, setting down the speaker off to the side. “Not in the hallway!”

“Yeah, get a room!” Namira giggled with a wink as she passed by with him.

I looked back up at Hummingbird with a puckered grin. “I don't know about you, but I'm all for that.”

“Well, it's been almost a month without my favorite pillow...” Hummingbird said with a sweet smile, nuzzling into my neck, pulling away quickly. “Ooh! Little cold! Uh, anyway, I don't think I'm ready for that kind of action tonight. Little pooped...”

“Heh, don't worry about it,” I chuckled huskily, softly patting her on the head. “Okay, come on now. Gotta get up.”

The green pegasus mare pushed up with her forelegs but quickly fell back down on me. “Oof... okay, more than a 'little' pooped...”

“Took a lot out of you, huh?”

She nodded lightly against the barrel of my chest. “Mm-hm...”

“Okay, up we go!” I grunted as I started pushing her up, my horn firing up as ice muscles snaked down my legs. She let out a meek squeak as I lifted her off and slid her across my back, trotting off to our room.

“Thanks for being my personal taxi for the night,” she giggled softly, kissing my ear (it was the closest she could reach).

I smiled back at her as we stepped in and I tilted so she could roll into bed. “No problem.” I slid in beside her and we snuggled up together. “How did you learn to play all that, anyway?”

“Well... you know how it is,” Hummingbird said with a soft smile as she looked down at the light bulb on her flank. “Listened to it online and... it just came to me.”

“You've definitely got something going here. I can't remember the last time I've seen anyone learn that fast since, well, Zoleks learned how to ride a bike.” I sighed and smiled softly, remembering those days. To think that I bought that with money I made off of selling stuff we stole together. And to think how far we've both come...

“Hey, Frost,” Hummingbird called, waving a wing in front of my eyes and startling me out of my thoughts. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just reminded myself of that day,” I huffed softly. “Anyway, it's been a long month.” We kissed lovingly before curling up around one another. “Good night, love.”

“Good night, Frost...”

* * *

Woke up early that morning. It was back to Manehattan time for me, and I felt right at home as I rolled over to peek at the alarm clock. Six A.M. I smiled softly and rolled back, slipping my forehooves behind my head and breathing deeply. I was home, sweet home...

I frowned.

Rolled... without anything on... top of...

I looked around for Hummingbird, heart racing. She was only off to the other side of the bed, snoring squeakily. I lied back down breathing out a sigh of... no, I couldn't be relieved yet. I looked back over at her with concern. This was the first time she'd ever rolled away from me...

I slowly reached across and hugged around her, and she let out a soft ‘eep’ as she startled awake. “Ooh, uh... Frost?”

“That's me,” I whispered back, smiling for a moment. “Everything alright? Sleep okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, no, don't worry, I slept just fine last night,” she said, turning her head back and opening her eyes to see me even as she scrambled a little away from my forehooves.

I smiled back, maybe, but as I saw something else in those crimson, violet-splashed eyes.

You could tell a lot about ponies through their eyes, she said.

* * *

Footnote: Level Up! Level 12 Reached!

Perk Added: Of a Feather- Natural, not stilted. Your knowledge of griffin customs and culture grant you a +5 bonus to Speech rolls against them.

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Ode to Joy by Beethoofen; Excerpt

Soundtrack- The Skyward City

Soundtrack- Something a Little More Modern, Okay?

Soundtrack- Invocation of The Lonely Mother

Soundtrack- Found My Way

Soundtrack- You Ready, Frost?

Author's Note

And here we go. Sorry for getting this up so late. I blame midterms and lab write-ups. It's not even Skyrim this time! I swear! Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed this gigantic world-building installment. Next one should be coming up shortly. Once again, I owe my gratitude to the amazing FoE community and especially my pre-reader, Lazer726.

As always, please leave some feedback. I could always use it to improve in my weaker areas and thus improve your reading experience. Thank you for reading, and see you next time.

Reflection Thirteen: My Greatest Gift, My Greatest Curse

Reflection Thirteen: My Greatest Gift, My Greatest Curse

“It's what my cutie-mark is telling me.”

The storyteller sighed softly, eyes vacant, distant.

Eyes are telling. Where someone is looking can tell volumes of their intentions. Are they focusing solely on you? Elsewhere? Sometimes they even betray thoughts- a glance at a holstered weapon, a longing gaze to the world outside, a voyeuristic look that plays escalator up and down a body.

What I saw in Hummingbird's eyes that morning was something I hadn't seen since I offered to sneak her into my dorm room in Canterlot four years ago. Something I never hoped to see directed at me again. Just a look.

A look of uncertainty.

* * *

We tried to... act normal about things the rest of that day. It was easy. We just had breakfast with Zoleks and Namira, then headed back to our mansion. We made idle chatter, talked about last night, how amazing she was. And once we were home, my parents welcomed me back with open forelegs. Everything was going to be okay.

Everything was going to be okay.

And everything was. We had a day, later a night on town. She made a few more bits with another breathtaking performance. Something special happened that day for her. Something incredible.

It was just after she finished playing. Always just one piece. She never had the energy for anything longer without resting in between. I couldn't blame her. But there was someone, somepony else watching. Somepony I didn't notice... until she approached Hummingbird as the small crowd began to disperse.

My stamping applause and my great smile both gave away into a quick stride and a straight expression as I approached her. “What are you doing here?” I asked in a tone treading the thin line between curious and cold.

Song Spinner, the black-furred pegasus and the mare I thought I once loved, faced me, her own smile fading away. “I just happened to pass by, Frost,” she said simply. “Look, I just wanted to talk to your marefriend, okay?” Hummingbird looked between the two of us warily, panting softly for breath.

“What for?” I questioned her.

“Frost, I'm not your enemy, okay?” She shot back at me, then sighed, “Look, it's not like I'm pulling her aside. I'm just making her an offer.”

“An offer?” the green mare asked, causing us both to look at her.

Song Spinner turned to her and replied, “I heard about your performances. Even stopped by a couple of them, just out of the way. How long have you been playing?”

“About two-and-a-half months, give or take,” Hummingbird responded with a slight shrug of her wings.

“Really?” the jet-black pegasus mare chuckled softly. “You're not pulling my leg are you?”

She shook her head in reply. “No, I'm serious.”

“She's serious,” I added, tone softening as I merely eyed Song now. I had my suspicions of where this was all headed.

“Then I got a question for you,” Song said to Hummingbird. “How would you like to play on an orchestra?”

She blinked- once, twice.

And then she fainted and flopped onto her back.

Song just gawked and quickly turned to me. “I didn't do it!”

“I know, I know,” I sighed, sprouting a pair of ice arms. “Just let me pull her out of the way. And then we talk.”

* * *

With Hummingbird safely lying down on a bench, I turned to face Song Spinner. “Why?”

“She has talent,” the jet-black mare answered. “Isn't it obvious?”

“She's been doing these performances for a little less than a month now,” I said to her. I kept my tone civil, even. “Why didn't you approach her before?”

Song opened her mouth and quickly closed it.

I tilted my head downward so that the brim of my trusty fedora slightly occluded my vision. I knew the effect from experience- making it look like I was narrowing my eyes without really doing so. And so I asked, “Why in front of me?”

Song breathed out a sigh through her nostrils. “Because I guess this is a way of saying 'I'm sorry'. This and the court case two years ago.”

“You know I nearly died, I hope,” I said coolly.

“I-I didn't know, okay?” she protested. “I didn't know!” She sighed, looking away. “You want somepony to blame? Blame Pick, alright? Not me. Okay, I... I helped him, yeah, but he bucking blackmailed me and didn't tell me what he was gonna do to you!”

“Blackmailed you how?” Again, coolly.

“Planted weed in my home and threatened to report me to the police with his evidence,” she snorted derisively. “Look, if had known what he was gonna do-”

“So if you were so against this, why the cold reception after I checked out of the hospital? And if you knew what he did, why'd you become his mare? Cut the crap, Song.”

“Frost, why are you asking all of these questions?” she sighed sharply through her nostrils, massaging her temple. “It's all done and over with.”

“Don't deflect the question, Song,” I said firmly.

“Look, he made me his, okay?” she growled, a bitter look in her eyes. “You know what the Mumei was to Pick after he got rid of you? He treated it like... like some war prize. I was his war prize. He made me his... his fucking slut and he told me to give you the cold shoulder, okay? Just... it's ov- it's finished, okay? Only reason I stopped is because I could finally get back at Pick in court that day, okay? Just... just fucking drop it, Frost! Just...” She sighed and rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes. “Just drop it.”

You could tell a lot about a pony through their eyes.

I relented, pulling my hat off. “Song... I just wanted to know. I just... wanted closure. Okay?” I walked closer and rest a hoof on her shoulder. It was the first time I'd touched her in years, and she flinched away from me. I could've sworn ponies didn't use to be that warm to the touch... I reached out again, and this time, she didn't resist. “Eyes on me.”

Her eyes on mine.

“Are you actually sorry?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation and- more importantly- without looking away.

“Alright,” I said quietly, my tone softening. I let my hoof slip away. “This conversation never happened. Remember, the Mumei is finished.”

Song Spinner eyed me for a few seconds before nodding, looking somewhat relieved I think.

“Do you still keep in contact with the others?” I inquired. “Sunny? Blustery?”

“From time to time,” she replied, looking away. “We've, uh, more or less went our separate ways.”

“Okay. Okay.” I nodded slowly, turning away. Then back at her. “Song?”

“Yeah?” Back at me.

“Thanks. She needs this.”

Song smiled softly. “You're welcome. It's the least I can do.”

“But I'm holding you to it, understand?” I said to her, tilting my head down with both eyebrows raised.

“Heh... don't worry, I'll get it done.” She frowned. “Uh, listen... Frost... everything okay? I mean, I know it's your name and your magic and all, but... you're a little cold. Not, well, emotionally, I mean... physically.”

I looked at her, expression hardening. “How cold?”

“Like... chilly. Like you just came out of a cold shower.”

I sighed softly, turning away, silent as I worked my lips for a few seconds. I could feel my heart growing heavy, but I forced myself toward brighter thoughts. I just... smiled.

The storyteller grimaced at that.

“Song, you still play the piano, right?” I inquired. “You still have your portable keyboard?”

“Yeah, both yeah.” She nodded. “Why?”

I shrugged. “I was hoping you two could do a duet once she's back up.”

She smiled back at me.

* * *

I watched from close by as they played together. Hummingbird was having a little trouble sight-reading the notes, but once she heard the music in full, she nailed it after the third time.

And so I watched from the sidelines, reveling in the music, trying not to think about the dark clouds that were just beyond the fray.

* * *

“Whew... long day...” Hummingbird breathed out with a weary but happy smile.

“It's always a long day for you,” I chuckled huskily.

“Hey, now, don't go rubbing my frailty in,” she nickered, playfully jabbing me in the shoulder with her wing.

“Heh, don't worry,” I said to her, wrapping my forelegs around her. “I love you regardless.”

“Right back at you,” she said back with a smile, even as her bare body shivered lightly against me. She pulled away a little too quickly...

“So... ready for bed?” I asked with a soft smile.

“Yeah, sure, just... one sec,” she replied, heading over to the cupboard. My smile faded as I watched her put on her old sweatshirt, zipping it up.

“Everything alright, Hummingbird?” I asked quietly, almost timidly.

“Huh?” The green pegasus mare blinked at me. “Yeah! Yeah, yeah, I'm great! Just...” She broke eye contact, “gets a little chilly at night, you know? Northern Quarter and all that.”

It was mid-summer.

“Hummingbird...”

She let out a soft sigh and bit her lip. She looked up at me, looked away, and then finally steeled herself and faced me again. I saw something new in her eyes- sorrow. “Okay, Frost, you're... you're starting to get too cold for me. I mean... you were always a little cold to begin with, and I've been able to put up with it... just... last night was...” She didn't finish.

I let it all sink in. “... how long?” I asked.

Hummingbird met my eyes only for a moment before looking away again. “Since we first slept together...” Let it all sink in... all this time. All... this... time. How could I have not known? I must have had this hurt look because she moved closer, brushing my cheek with her wing. “Look, it's no problem. I've got my hoodie this time.” She smiled an empty smile. “It's no problem now, right?”

“Yeah... shouldn't be,” I said, smiling an empty smile of my own. “Come on... let's get some rest.”

* * *

The storyteller huffed softly, sadly.

“Rest”. I didn't get a wink of sleep that night. Hummingbird did, I know. I just watched her, keeping her close to me. So many confusing, conflicting, contradicting thoughts ran through my head. My heart raced, stealing my sleep.

I just watched Hummingbird. Even with her sweatshirt on, she curled her legs up and faced away, minimizing contact with me. I knew she was doing it unconsciously, but...

I just watched. Watched and tried not to cause her any more discomfort. I knew I should have pulled away and let her rest comfortably, but I... I needed to be close to her. After being away from her for so long, I needed to be close to her. I just couldn't give her up. I wanted her close...

I just watched. Watched her and the red, digital numbers of my alarm clock. The glare seemed hostile, angry.

Hummingbird.

Clock. 3:02.

Hummingbird.

Clock. 3:02.

Hummingbird.

Clock. 3:02.

Hummingbird.

Clock. 3:02.

Hummingbird.

Clock. 3:03.

It went on like that for the entire night. My heart just kept on hammering away, way ahead and winning when there was no real race.

When it finally hit 6:00, I stole away from Hummingbird, rummaged through the dark for my phone, and stole away outside the hallway down to the living room.

* * *

“Mm? Hello, Frost. What's got you calling this early?”

“Hello, Professor. Just, uh, two things.”

“Well, okay. I'm guessing this is important.”

“Yeah. First, well, I just sent you an e-mail with my additions to the Hydronomicon attached.”

“Okay, that's great! Yeah, I saw that yesterday. I'll start looking over it later after I get back from work. What's the second thing?”

“Professor, is... have you read anything about Mancers ever reversing their elemental union?”

“Reversing their... no, I don't think I've ever read anything on that.”

Sigh. “That's what I was afraid of.”

“Why? What's going on? … oh, no. What's wrong, Frost?”

“My core temperature is dropping.” Sigh. “I-I still feel fine, just...”

“... it's too much for your marefriend, isn't it?”

“... she has to wear her sweatshirt to bed with me.”

“Oh dear... I'm sorry, Frost. There's nothing off of the top of my head about anything like that.”

“Can you look into it? If it's not too much trouble, I mean. I'll be working on my end, too, but I read through four of the Mancer spellbooks. They didn't have anything on it.”

“I'll be looking into it for sure. We'll try to get you both through this, okay, Frost?”

No answer.

“... Frost, are you there?”

“I'm sorry, I have to go now. Bye.”

Click.

* * *

I slowly lowered my ice arm and set the phone down, looking over toward the entryway into the living room.

Hummingbird was standing there, ears tucked back, eyes so sad.

She said nothing.

I said nothing.

She turned and walked away.

* * *

“There has to be a way...” I muttered aloud as if the goddesses would hear my plea and answer it. “There has to be.”

My ice arms were tapping away at the terminal's keyboard. I tried three different search engines using Bullean searches, checked the databases for the archives at MMI and Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. I spent most of the day at home for once, just trying, trying, trying. I kept my ice arms busy. If I wasn't typing, I was twirling one of my balisongs. Just... had to keep my mind occupied. Had to keep myself occupied.

I found one text excerpt from the school in Canterlot.

I quickly changed to a different page and tried, tried, tried, kept trying. That would be a last resort, I told myself. That would be a last resort.

But the deeper and deeper I dug, the longer and longer I searched, I felt my heart growing heavier and heavier.

Finally, I felt a pair of forelegs tuck around me, and I looked back to see Hummingbird hugging me tightly. It was nighttime outside. “Frost,” she whispered, “just... stop. Just stop...”

* * *

Now neither of us could sleep. We just laid in bed together, saying nothing. Again she was curled up facing away from me to minimize contact. This time, it was conscious.

She broke the silence first with a whisper. “Frost?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe we should sleep on our own sides of the bed for tonight.”

I let out a soft sigh and pulled away. It was as if I was slowly pulling off a pair of Velcrow straps. It pained me to do that. But we did it without words.

The storyteller sighed.

It bothered me- it still does- that we were both able to sleep soundly.

* * *

“Professor?”

“Hey, Frost. How are things going?”

“Well enough. How about you?”

“Can't complain.”

“...”

“...”

“Did... you find anything?”

“Well... yes, but...”

Sigh.

“I'm sorry, Frost. I've been trying to find things all week. I only found one study from Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns dating four-hundred years ago that-”

“-says that the effects of an elemental union are permanent. And that only the progression of the union and its effects can be stopped. By ceasing practice of that magic.”

“... you found it too...”

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry, Frost.”

“I know. You said that already. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay.”

* * *

I set down my phone and... and... I just couldn't stand anymore. I just slowly turned around and slowly slumped down with my back against the wall. I looked about my bedroom, my gaze finally falling to the pictures on my desk. Photos of Hummingbird and me together had long since joined the ones with my parents and Zoleks. It was a clear choice with a clear decision. But even so, it was such a hard thing to do. Yet it was an easy choice to make. How could it be like that?

It was the first time in a long time that I hated my inability to perform any other kind of magic.

But it was a clear choice with a clear decision. Taking a deep breath to steel myself, I stood and headed for the door. No ice this time. I used my hooves to open it. Before I could even turn the handle, the door opened and I found Hummingbird on the other side. We both jumped and stared at one another like deer caught in headlights. Then:

“We need to talk.”
“I think we should have a....”

Oh no...

I swallowed hard and motioned to the bed. “Uh... shall we sit?”

She nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah.”

We sat down together, avoiding eye contact. We were silent for... I don't know how long. Only the music and wagon horns from outside filled the void. As one, we turned toward the other, opening our mouths to speak, hesitating.

“Y... you first,” I sighed, relenting.

Hummingbird swallowed and bit her lip. Her ears tucking back, she weakly said those words, those words that I had been dreading since she came in, those words that I hoped she would never say, “Frost... I... I don't think we're going to work out...”

My heart fell, and I felt myself sink with it. “H-Hummingbird...”

“It's... it's just starting to become too much, Frost,” she sighed, shutting her eyes tight. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...”

“No, no, we can't give up that easily!” I said with a forced... smile... I brushed her cheek, causing her to flinch but getting her to look at me. “There's a way to stop it. We can do this.”

“What... what is it?” she asked with a hint of hope to her voice, ears perking up.

“I just need to stop performing my magic,” I said with that... smile. Her ears tucked back and she looked crestfallen as she turned away. “It's okay, Hummingbird! Everything's going to be okay!”

“But... Frost...” she sighed, turning to me with a look that broke my heart, “it's your magic...”

“It's okay, Hummingbird!” I said, trying to sound as happy as possible. “I lived for almost nineteen years without my magic! I'd do it, especially for you!” I rested both my hooves on her shoulders. “It's for you, Hummingbird!”

“But I can't do that to you,” Hummingbird sighed with a pained look. “It's your cutie-mark, Frost. It's your special talent, your calling in life... I can't take that away from you, especially since you can't do any other magic...”

“Hummingbird, please... look at me,” I called to her. Our eyes met again. “It's okay, Hummingbird. Don't you want to be together?”

“... would you be happy like that?” she asked me.

I swallowed and- without thinking- glanced away for just a moment.

The storyteller shakily sprouted an ice arm and held up a single, wavering finger.

For just a moment.

She sighed softly, “This isn't going to work out, Frost...”

“Hummingbird-” I called, my voice catching in my throat, heart hammering away.

She just gave me that pained look.

“H-Hummingbird, please...” I pleaded. I choked up. I couldn't finish.

“I'm sorry, Frost...” she whispered, closing her eyes, lip quivering. “I... I had the time of my life with you, and you've helped me so much... I just can't keep taking and taking from you... I couldn't do that to you...”

“Hummingbird...” I begged. Begged. “Please, it doesn't have to end this way... please don't let it end this way...”

Her face contorted, and she couldn't hold it back. She galloped out of my room, hissing and heaving with tears streaming down her face. I tried to follow after her, but I just... I just lost all will to keep up. I just reached out after her with the most distraught look on my face.

I finally let my hoof fall.

Shut my eyes tight.

Headed back to my room.

Closed the door.

And wept quietly, feeling nothing but hatred for myself.

* * *

“... Frost?”

“Hello, Song. It's... been a while, I know. Deleted your number from my contacts. But I remembered it, just like everything else.”

“Jeez, you okay? You sound like you've been crying.”

“Look, I... I don't know if I can ask this of you, but... can you do me a favor?”

“What is it?”

“Hummingbird's moving out. There's... I can't send her to Zoleks and Namira without bringing bad memories of hers back. I... if you can, or if you know anyone-”

“I'll do it. I'll do it. Just... I'm sorry to hear that, Frost.”

“Thank you, Song. If there's anything I can do, just... just let me know.”

“Hey, the group has another recruit. That's good enough for me. Just... take care of yourself, okay?”

* * *

Zoleks opened the door, a smile on his face.

It disappeared as he looked at me, alone.

He hugged me tight.

And took me inside.

* * *

“Song?”

“Hi, Frost...”

“... hi, Hummingbird...”

“...”

“...”

“Is... everything going alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything's...” Sigh. “No. Frost, I'm... I'm sorry about... all this.”

“...”

“Look, I... I didn't want to do it either, but... it’s for the best.”

“...”

“It's better for the both of us, Frost. I... I know you don't believe that, and I know you don't want to hear it, just... I know you still have feelings for me. I know I still have them for you. I know you're all torn up. Me too... but... can we still be friends?”

“Friends? Of... of course. I'd-I'd never turn you away, Hummingbird...”

Sigh. “Thanks, Frost... I... I hoped I didn't hurt you too much...”

“No, no, I'm... better today. It's okay, I... I understand your reasoning, I...” Sigh. “I get it. Don't worry, we're still friends.”

“Thank you... shoot. Uh, I’m... I’m really sorry, but I have to go now, Frost. Please take care of yourself. Really. Don’t tear yourself up over this.”

“You too, Hummingbird. Stay safe. Stay healthy.”

Click.

“I love you...”

* * *

Click. Clack. Clackety-click. Cachink, clatter.

I picked up my balisong off of the floor of Zoleks' guest bedroom with a sigh, fanning it closed with a few rolls of my icy wrist. I didn't care anymore. I was using using my cryomancy. I didn't even really care that a light mist shot out of my mouth when I sighed like that. It didn't matter to me anymore. I was more concerned that I might have scuffed my best friend's floor- and relieved that I hadn't.

There was a knock on the door. Zoleks cracked it open shortly after and peeked his head in. “Hey, buck, you wanna hit the clubs?”

“Same answer as the last eight times, Zoleks,” I sighed out mistily again, my gaze fixed on my silvery blade as I pulled it into an Around the World, working it up and twirling it repeatedly around my index finger in a Chaplin. Silvery. Silvery... no Silver... what? I felt the odd compulsion to name her. Her? “Thank you for the offer, but... I think I'll just stick around here, if... that's okay.”

“Alright... alright,” he said softly with a shallow nod. “Hey, uh, your folks sent me a bit of mail that they got for you.” He set down an envelope on the nightstand with his mouth. “So, uh, take care, okay? Oh, and your parents wanted me to let you know that they're there to help in any way, alright? They're really worried about you, so... call 'em soon, okay?”

After he closed the door behind him, I brought out my second balisong out of its fetlock pouch and mirrored it with her sister blade. Her? Sister? What was I thinking? Nothing too flashy, I just... danced them together with simple techniques- relatively simple ones, anyway. I was starting to dabble into the intermediate skills now.

I finally made the short stride to the nightstand, pouching one blade and popping the other into an Aerial to catch it in an open position as I read the front of the envelope.

It was from the Department of Equinpology at Princess Celestia's School of Magic.

I flipped the envelope over and used my balisong to... Silver Skean. Yeah, there we go. I used Silver Skean to open the flap and read the letter.

And then I was reminded I still had my own Way to follow.

* * *

“So, guess I gotta call you Doctor Windchill now, huh?” Zoleks said, clasping me on the back as we left Manehattan terminal.

I chuckled huskily- the first time since... yeah. “Oh please, please don't. I'm just a graduate student in any case.”

“Ahhh, don't worry,” he said, giving me a light nudge with his foreleg. “You'll always be my buck, buck. Anyway, you have pretty good timing. Wanted to ask you something.”

“If it's hitting the clubs, then... sure,” I said with a smile at him.

“Well, actually, it's not about clubs,” Zoleks said.

“Holy buck, the sky is falling!”

“Good to see you got your sense of humor back, buck.” The chill zebra grinned. “Nah, I wanted to know if you wanted to see a concert this evening.” Then he added, “Hummingbird's gonna be there.”

I paused and stared at him.

“Hey, you gonna be alright, Frost?”

“Yeah,” I answered with a nod. “Yeah. Sure, I'd love to see her play.” I smiled. Nothing faked.

* * *

Namira, Zoleks, and I shimmied over to a place to sit at Carnegie Hall. It wasn't quite as posh as the halls in Canterlot, but it was just enough in my opinion. Everything had a nice trim that didn't scream, “All this could've fed starving foals, you know!” At the same time, it still gave a sense of... I wouldn't say “privilege” to be there, but it was more like it welcomed people in. I liked it.

“Look, there she is,” Zoleks pointed out as we sat. I leaned over and followed his hoof to find Hummingbird meekly setting herself up with the rest of the violin ensemble. In true Manehattan fashion, the entire orchestra was made up of all sorts of equines of all sorts of shapes, sizes, and colors. She was smiling and appeared to be joking with another mare, laughing a bit afterward. She was actually wearing a bow-tie, to my surprise. It reminded me of Octavia from back in Canterlot. I chuckled softly, imagining that she was trying to imitate her role model. I saw Song Spinner trot up to her and tap her shoulder. Hummingbird nodded as everyone began to take their places.

“So remind me again,” I said, leaning toward Zoleks, “this is a video game music concert?”

“I guess?” He shrugged. “Song Spinner just let me know that there was gonna be a concert with Hummingbird in it.”

“It's supposed to be music from the ‘Legend of Zelda’ series,” Namira explained for us, looking at the program. “That's the first big portion of this concert. Next part is going to be a mix from all sorts of games.”

“Heh... the things we poor kids missed out on,” Zoleks chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“Video game music,” I muttered. “Well, she's playing. We'll see what happens.”

“Hey, you thought classical music was bad,” Namira chided me with a smirk. “Give it a chance, alright?”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” I nickered.

The lights dimmed, and the conductor, a gray earth pony mare with a cool-blue mane, took the stand. The audience applauded politely as she smiled and took a quick bow, turning to the orchestra and motioning for them to go through the tuning check.

And, well... heh, here's your memento, folks.

Play it, Roanoke.

And so he did.

There was a fantastic, grand opening with the strings and brass joining together in a heroic medley, swaying back and forth accompanied with the clash of cymbals. Then there was a demure stroke of the harp and the muted support of the strings. Then the strings section began to set a melody, passing it back and forth with the woodwind with tambourines sprinkled in. The remaining sections joined each other in a grand rush of sound. Then the woodwind took over, passing it between brass and percussion and back to strings. The coda came up again and again, each time with new and surprising variations. Everything had an undertone of great power from the brass and percussion, which rose to overtake the other sections on occasion. And then everything came winding down. The opening played again, now softer and as an ending.

And then the next piece began, the woodwind playing softly. It grew slowly louder, the strings section joining in. Then the mighty percussion came in as it rose, then finally the brass...

Pause for dramatic effect...

Then all sections joined in in a mighty display of heroism, setting a powerful theme that the strings echoed beautifully, majestically. Then the strings set an undertone of struggle as the brass rose above it to greatness and grandeur. Then the music died down, the brass rising slowly as if in weary triumph with all sections joining in.

Then there was a quiet, gentle tune set by the piano, soon taken over by the strings with the occasional sprinkle of trumpet. It was as if it was telling the story of a hero's return home. It had an almost nostalgic tone to it, a sense of familiarity and relief with a bit of upbeat piano trickling in, as if representing playful children running by. The strings played a very touching, mellow tune with a recurring theme underlying it, growing more powerful as if in a reunion, the climax signaled by the cymbals before it wound down.

And it wasn't over. All of the songs seemed to tell a story, a story of an expansive, breathtaking world full of adventure, full of peril, full of mystery and discovery- a world for heroes. The pieces ranged from subdued and mellow to tense and powerful, full of grandeur to full of terror. There were tunes for journeying over wide landscapes, ascending to grand heights, fighting terrible foes... it certainly fit the soundtrack of a video game, yet at the same time, it stood as tall as any orchestral work.

When the intermission finally hit, Zoleks nudged me with his elbow. “Buck, you gonna be alright?”

I turned to him and nodded. “Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry.”

“You sure?” he asked, worried. “I mean... you sure you're over the whole thing with Hummingbird?”

“Yeah, I'm sure. Why do you ask?”

He sighed, “Frost, that was a forty-five minute orchestral arrangement. And not once did you take your eyes off of her.”

* * *

I met up with her and Song Spinner after the concert was over, catching them as they were headed back to the apartment.

“Oh... hey, Frost...” Hummingbird greeted meekly.

“Hey,” I said with a soft smile. “You did great out there, Hummingbird- and you made it through the entire performance. Just wanted to say I'm really proud of you.”

“That's what I've been telling her,” Song added with a grin. “'Course, she doesn't listen to me.”

“Heh... only because I pretty much spent all of the intermissions flopped on a sofa,” she chuckled softly. She nodded to me, smile fading. “So... how are you doing? I heard you graduated with honors. Sorry I couldn't attend...”

“Hey, it's fine,” I said, again with that soft smile. “No worries, really. I mean... I know you had this concert to prepare for, and it really paid off. You did amazing.”

“Thanks...” Hummingbird said gratefully. “So... what are you going to do now?”

“Follow My Way,” I answered. “I've found my calling in life, and it's equinpology and history. That's the path I lead.”

The green pegasus mare smiled softly back at me again. “Okay. Good luck, Frost. Oh! I-I still have this. I...” She removed... that hummingbird pendant I made for her three years ago... and held it to me. “I didn't know if you wanted it back... maybe as something to remember me by...”

My smile disappeared for a few seconds, so many memories rushing back as I lost myself in that pendant. I invested a so much energy to make sure it never melted. A permanent piece of me was left with it, I felt. And she had since-

“Frost?”

I shook myself out of my stupor and smiled gently to her, pushing her hoof back and then clasping it in mine. “Keep it. I'll always be able to remember you. Through here.” I tapped my forehead.

Hummingbird smiled softly and nodded, taking it back. And then she hugged me tightly. “Take care of yourself, Frost. Good luck.”

I hugged her back, letting out a shuddering, misty breath, eyes closed. “You too. Stay safe. Stay healthy.” I pulled away and smiled warmly as I could at her. “You're gonna go far, Hummingbird. I wish only the best for you.”

* * *

“Hello?”

“Hey, Frost. Everything okay?”

“Oh... hi, Professor Shinespark. How are you?”

Soft chuckle. “Hey, now, I asked first.”

Soft huff. “I'm doing... alright. Just trying to get an idea of where to go from here. Okay, now you go.”

“Doing alright myself. Just called and wanted to let you know that the new edition of the Hydronomicon is in circulation. Dunno how many will actually be interested in it, but I know academia will. I'll make sure you get your royalties, you hear?”

“Heh... thanks, professor.”

“Now, you're trying to find out what to do from here?”

“Just forming some ideas. Graduate school for both of my majors isn't too steep, but I'm not sure if it's worth the investment. Don't think I'm that great of a teacher in any case.”

“Well, just remember that MMI's always available if you ever need anything, okay?”

“Heh, I know, professor. Thanks. Be seeing you, okay?”

“I'll hold you to that. Maybe I can take you out to eat some actual Thulian fare sometime.”

* * *

“Hello! Jim Egan speaking!”

“Hello, professor. This is Frost.”

“Well hi there! What can I do for you?”

“Do you remember my term paper?”

“That I do! Could’ve used actual sources from the government sector, but it was still more than passable. What about it?”

“I think I'm going to take things a step further. Have any extra materials for buffalo?”

* * *

I opened up the drawer of my desk and took out a tiny case. I cracked it open, feeling an emptiness growing deep in me as I stared at the shining, glistening thing inside.

I closed the case, put it back into the drawer, and walked away.

I didn’t need her pendant to remember her by. I already had something else.

<===ooO Ooo===>

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 13 Reached!

Perk Added: Ice Elemental Union (Rank Four)- The cold beckons. You are now 60% more resistant to colder temperatures and cryomantic spells are 20% more efficient. However, your body's core temperature is 40% lower and you are 80% weaker to sources of heat and incur a -200% penalty to fire resistance. These bonuses and penalties stack for each rank of this perk.
WARNING!- Prolonged contact with sensitive people and creatures can induce hypothermia!

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Hummingbird and Song Spinner

Soundtrack- I'm Sorry

Soundtrack- “The Legend of Zelda” Orchestral Arrangement

Soundtrack- It's Time to Move On

Author's Note

Definitely one of my more emotional chapters. Hopefully I managed to nail things just right. Again, my thanks to the wonderful FoE community and especially my pre-reader, Lazer726. Please leave some feedback for me- I always appreciate it, and for an installment like this, I could really use it.

Until next time.

(Also, Ask Frost Windchill tumblr! )

Intermission Two

Intermission Two

“I didn't need her pendant to remember her by,” I finished. “I already had something else.” I looked about the audience in Stalliongrad, breathing out a soft sigh. “I think it's time for a break. Eat. Stretch your legs and wings. I'll start again in an hour.”

Idle conversation and the shuffling of hooves, claws, and paws filled the air as everyone began to sift out. I watched as Sly gestured enthusiastically as he talked with Xamuros and Chief Thunderhooves, the latter of which cracked a smile. Meanwhile, Rig and Azrael moved forward, sitting close by. I noticed that Rig's synthetic coat had all but “healed” now.

“Hey, uh... you gonna be alright?” Rig asked as she neared.

I looked at her for a few seconds. “It's been almost two-hundred years since that day, Rig. I'm ov...” I paused, hesitated, sighed. I'd already lied to them before. They came here for the truth, and I was going to give them that. “I'm... still... I miss her. I can't deny that, especially remembering those days. I... I'll be alright, yes. That's what matters.”

"You... you sure?" she asked again worriedly.

“I'll be alright,” I answered quietly. “It's just that I'm dredging up memories here. I'll be fine afterward. I promise.”

“'Dredging' doesn't have good connotation,” the earth-colored mare winced.

“It's not meant to have a good connotation,” I huffed, causing me to rumble my throat from the irritation it brought. “But I owe this, and I need this.”

Rig nodded wordlessly, and we fell into silence. I just watched her as she squirmed uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. Then, of all people, Azrael broke the silence. “Perhaps we should eat?”

The cloud-maned unicorn nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah, that's a good idea.” She started teleporting out cans.

“I don't really feel hungry,” I said with a shake of my head, much to my own surprise. Rig looked at me. Ugh... you could tell a lot about ponies through their eyes. I saw worry in hers, even if they weren't real. That's the power behind emotion. It can transcend the natural and unnatural. “But...” I added, relenting, “I should eat.”

The look of worry disappeared and Rig offered a soft smile, using her shovel to wrench off the lid from a can and floating it to me. I fired up my horn and sprouted an arm to take it and peered at the contents.

“Yams,” I snorted softly, cracking a thin smile. “I shouldn't be surprised.”

Rig chuckled softly. Meanwhile, Azrael tore off a strip of meat. “I feel lucky, for once.”

“Every dog gets his day,” I murmured as we ate quietly, quickly- in Wasteland fashion.

“Heh... Hummingbird was right,” Rig chuckled softly. “You Northerners really do spout philosophy from time to time.”

“It's a saying, not philosophy,” I snorted.

“Same thing,” she snorted back, then softened and watched me. “Hey... I've, uh... never seen another Northerner like you described. You know, like the whole zebra-like eyes and muzzle like yours. You Northerners sound like you have an incredible history. Have you seen any others? Where are they?”

Azrael and I shared a glance. “We'll get there eventually, Rig,” I replied.

I could tell she was assuming the worst. “Uh, alright, then.” Quiet again. “Frost... it's... tough, isn't it? I mean, leaving all of that behind. I'm sure you miss those days. You know, all the... all the good people, all the music, all the... well, the... sky...”

“I didn't leave it behind,” I said in a colder voice than I anticipated. “It was taken from me.”

Rig winced. “Right...”

I let out a sigh. “... yeah, it's tough. More than you know- yet. Just a bit longer. And many of your questions- why I did what I did- will be answered by one single reason.”

In spite of herself, Rig chuckled, “You and your damn teasers and cliffhangers.”

I huffed softly, smiling a little as I redid the bandages around my muzzle. “I've been telling stories for a long time. I'll be damned if I didn't pick up how to do those.” I glanced at the dark griffiness beside us. “Azrael, I've been thinking.” That got her attention. She turned to face me with those soft, milky eyes. “You know about Rig. You even know all about me now. What's your story?”

Azrael raised her head a little, eyes widening momentarily. “Hm. That was the last question I was expecting. You already know about my family, Frost. We told you our tale when you demanded an explanation for the first Dead Boys attack on Stalliongrad.”

“Perhaps,” I huffed, “but not in much detail. Even I'm starting to open up to people.”

“Are you planning to convince me to divulge my backstory by using yourself as an example?” she asked.

Shrugging was painful, so I merely tilted my head momentarily. “Possibly.”

She merely snorted.

“Well, he's kinda got a point, Azrael.” Rig chipped in. “We've been traveling and fighting together for almost a month now, and we hardly know much about you. I'd really like to know more about you, at least.”

“Frost already knows the story,” she said. “Ask him instead.”

“Well you only gave him a summary, from what I heard,” Rig said, crossing her forelegs. She then frowned and waved her right foreleg around a bit with a grunt. “Okay, that's it. I'm fixing this damn leg.” She took out her toolbox and floated out a set of tools. “But really, I'm really interesting in knowing more than just an outline.”

The dark giant remained silent.

“Azrael,” I called. Still silence. A different approach, then. “Soraya.” That got her attention, even if it was just a twitch. Even if she couldn't see me, I maintained eye contact as she faced me. “Discord is in the details.”

She closed her eyes and sighed softly through her nostrils. “How right you are...” She opened her eyes only most of the way, adopting a somber expression. “As you wish. I'll tell you all that I know. Or at least all that is relevant.” She frowned. “Rig, must you work on that right now?”

I looked over at her. The unicorn mare had pulled away the synthetic coat around her leg, revealing only the cybernetic skeleton underneath. That's the word, I think, that's most fitting. Her leg was actually quite simple in overall design, resembling just that- the skeletal leg bones of a pony just with hinges where the joints were and pistons where the tendons would have been. She appeared to be tightening her elbow joint with a wrench, tongue sticking out from between her lips and eyes squinted in concentration. It struck me as something so odd, that clash of a very equine expression with her very mechanical body. It gave me this odd sensation along my spine, working its way up to the back of my head...

Rig looked up at Azrael and set the wrench back into her toolkit. “Huh? Oh, sorry. I can wrap this up after. Go on. I honestly didn't, uh, expect you to actually listen.”

Azrael cracked a thin smile. “Hmph. Sorry to disappoint.” She inhaled softly, facing neither of us as she began her tale. “My story begins in Seaddle with my father, Garador. Back then, Seaddle was very much a dystopia, a true Wasteland city in ruin. People of all shapes, all sizes, all walks of life tried to eke out a living there. Crime ran rampant, and resources were controlled by gangs that formed out of desperation- and the need for stability.” She paused, thinking for a moment. “It was very much like a Manehattan gone wrong. I think that would be an apt comparison.

“Father grew up as a member of a griffin gang known as the Razorwings. Yes, that was how our last name originated. It is an adopted one coming from the unique wingblades its members used, often salvaged from scrap metal.” She spread her wings just enough to reveal her own. “Mine are... a little better than salvaged, you can imagine. Back to the matter of names, lineage and descent are treasures long lost to the Wasteland dust. Alda only knows what my family's truly were. Father was never able to find out. His parents were killed in gang violence. Meaningless violence, he later told me.

“The details from then until his adulthood are trivial. You know already of what people must do to survive in this day and age. What is important, however, was that he got into drugs. He told me that it was a textbook case. He started drinking with fellow gang members. That served as the gateway into more dangerous substance abuse, namely a combination of lysergic acid diethylamide, psilocybin, and THC. The product was a powerful methamphetamine. You know it colloquially as 'Dash'. It was his way to trade for a happier place than the world he knew for thirty minutes a pop, he admitted to me once. Eat, drink, sleep. Kill, steal, survive. Fight, flight, heal. No parents. No safety. No sanctuary. No easy day. It was his way to escape from that mundane routine. Not even dreams would give him peace.”

Azrael looked straight at me. “I'm sure you can relate, Frost.”

I said nothing. But I'm sure my eyes told a lot about me.

“His escapes were... expensive. He would... what is that expression ponies have? Stick his hoof- rather his hand- into the cookie jar? He would just take a few caps here and there. Just enough to keep his belly full, his thirst quenched, and his escapes satisfied. Then he asked himself- why steal and then pay the supplier when you can just steal supply itself?

“The rest, he told me, was a textbook outcome. He was caught. He was removed from the gang. He was left to fend for himself. Now he had to struggle to find enough food and clean water- a rarity in the Wasteland- in addition to the Dash he had become wholly addicted to. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it. One thing led to another like dominoes tipping dangerously toward the edge of abyss. He grew sick from too much dirty water. When he grew sick, he had to choose between food and Dash. When he chose food over Dash, he suffered from withdrawal. When he suffered from withdrawal and radiation sickness together, he couldn't scavenge for food. He was dying and dying young, just like countless others in this harsh, cruel world we've been left with.

“That's when he met my mother.

“You see those kinds of people now and again. People who try to make a difference, people who try to make things better. They called themselves the Saviors- a lofty title to be sure. They were almost entirely made up of unicorns, the few among the equine species that can use memory orbs. Through them, they saw, they heard, they smelled, they touched, they tasted... just a glimpse of better days. They wanted to bring those days back, those days of love and tolerance, of friendship and magic. They tried to clean up the streets, bring back law and order. They were a small operation, dwarfed even by the smallest Seaddle gang, but they were generally left alone and formed trading agreements for the rare services they provided- medical aid, for one. They ran the only clinic in Seaddle, even if a sizable one. It was the most important building in the city ruins.

“Her name was Duskfall. Her parents named her that for her all-black coloration, the coloration which I inherited. She worked at their clinic. One of the Saviors who combed the city streets found him dying in the alleyway and brought him back to her. As with all drug addicts the Saviors took in, he was treated and brought back from the brink of death. Father had never been treated so kind for so little asked. For mother, it was just another day on the job. His treatment took months, slowly weaning him off of Dash. She didn't get too attached to him. All too often, those they treated would end up right back where they started, unable to escape the vicious cycle- except through drugs and alcohol. The Saviors tried to break that cycle by putting those they treated into 'debt', pinning them to favors that they never followed up on. Mother just expected father to be the same.

“Except when father was released, he didn't leave.

“What else did he have in his life? He was expelled from the Razorwings, and trying to go back to that lifestyle with another gang would put him right back where he started. He knew better than that. Fending for himself would leave him no better off. So he made what he believed was the smartest choice. He joined the Saviors.

“Mother and father worked together. You could call him an unpaid intern, I suppose. He learned basic medical practices under her tutelage, and she in turn shared stories with him about those better days. Father came to respect mother, and mother came to respect father. As the years passed and their partnership grew deeper... well, I was the product. It was a pleasant surprise when mother got pregnant. It wasn't common for griffins and ponies to have relationships with one another, and so it wasn't known that they could produce a child.

“I was a telepath the moment I was conscious, you know. Even before I left the womb. It hurt. I remember that much. It hurt. I didn't have the reach I do now, but the clinic alone... all the drug-addled thoughts, the wounds and injuries from gang violence... even the worry and stress of my parents were enough for me to just try to shut everything out. It hurt. So much. Most overwhelming were the deaths around me. It is an unfathomable experience that I cannot and dare not put down in words. Mother said I was moving around more and more as my birth grew closer. I must have been restless. So much there was concern I would cause damage to myself. And I did. Combined with my size, I was born a cripple. My wings and one of my legs were bent the wrong way, and my face was incredibly disfigured. I must have been clutching at my head with my claws. I was lucky that both of my parents were so gifted in medical skills. The only thing they weren't able to save were my eyes. I still have the scars beneath the fur and feathers.”

I couldn't help but shudder. Scars. To this day, that word unsettles me.

“I was quiet and still, remarkably quiet and still even for a newborn,” Azrael continued. “It was just so overwhelming, all those thoughts and sensations hitting me at once. Mother and father were incredibly worried for me. I was like that until I was a year old, and even then, I did everything so sluggishly and clumsily that my parents were worried I was mentally disabled.

“My first sentence proved them wrong.

“Not 'first word'. First sentence. 'Dad... ibuprofen... please?' That first thing I asked for- painkillers for the headaches I was getting.” She cracked a thin smile. “I still remember his expression. More memorable was what he thought in his head right after I said that. 'What the ever-loving fuck?'” The griffiness giggled in that strange way of hers. “They knew I was different then. Mother understood the implications first. She deduced I was a telepath, and though neither she nor her fellow Saviors knew how to treat me, she had enough intuition to keep me sequestered from the patients as best she could. It was no to avail, but I still appreciated her gesture.

“My telepathy gave me an advantage over others. I knew how to communicate with other people at an early age. I learned the true nature of the world before any child ever has in recent times- or ever should. I knew how to deal with pain before them. Especially pain. Pain is everywhere in the Wasteland. And I knew how to best help my parents.” She huffed and smirked just a little. “You could say I was born a Savior. A presumptuous claim but... a true one nonetheless.

“There is little to speak of for a long time afterward. Things were good for us. Mother and father had a second child, Silas. My brother was thankfully spared the horrible birth I went though, although he lacks my telepathy... to an extent.”

“To an extent?” I inquired.

Azrael nodded. “Unicorn magic flows in our veins. Silas just inherited it differently. He could predict the impulses of others, such as whether and when someone would pull a gun on him. Such impulses have saved his life more than once, but he cannot always respond quickly enough to them. I'm sure you're well aware of that.”

I merely huffed softly, recalling the exchange just under a month ago.

“Things were good for a time. We had a secure lifestyle free from worry of directed violence against us. Nobody wanted to go against the Saviors. The services we rendered were so important, that nobody wanted to give us a reason to deny them. It's interesting. We were the most powerful faction in Seaddle in that sense. We were untouchables. Soon, the Saviors began to extend their influence. They established ceasefires between the gangs. Seaddle gradually grew safer, cleaner, happier. Mother and father continued to work at the clinic. Silas and I helped them. Things were falling into an easy routine. Things were... good. But as you know, Frost, good times rarely last in the Wasteland.”

“What happened?” Rig asked.

“Word got out that we kept our own stash of chems in order to rehabilitate addicts by weaning them off until we could rid them of their respective substance for good,” Azrael replied. “Or, at least, as long as their willpower held out. When that word got out, someone tried to rob us. I was the first to react to the noise, and I roused my family. It was just a lone pony trying to get her fix, but one look at all of us cornering her at once caused her to panic even as I tried to get her to calm down. She fired a shot that went wide as Silas pushed us out of the way. That gunshot started a chemical fire that razed the clinic. We were able to get everyone out safely, but we found our entire livelihood destroyed. That clinic was central to the recovery effort and the focus of the Saviors' reconstruction effort- an effort decades in the making. And it was all undone in less than an hour.

“With it died that dream of better days. The ceasefires gave away. Violence, drugs, and death returned en masse to the streets of Seaddle. Anarchy pervaded through city, and we found ourselves having to adapt to survive. We ended up turning to father for guidance. He knew how to live in such an unforgiving world, and so we adapted to fit its demands. Mother and father took it the hardest. To be reduced back to stealing, scavenging, and salvaging after living such a wholesome life... but that was the inconvenient truth of those days. Strength and cunning rules the Wasteland, and in Seaddle, things were no different.

“Then the Dead Boys made landfall.

“It didn't start with a massacre, as you might have imagined, Frost. The Dead Boys knew something was off the moment they noticed there were both ponies and griffins living... well, living and fighting amongst one another without a pegasus in sight. But they saw the chaos of the city and sought to bring order. Their order. Their law was harsh and unforgiving as the Wasteland itself, but from it came the stability we nevertheless wanted. Crime rates plunged, and people felt that they could for once walk the city streets without getting caught in a gang war crossfire. As the Dead Boys recruited griffins to their cause, it wasn't long before our family was taken under their wing.

“And it wasn't long until they discovered me. I find it surprising that I never saw nor gleaned any of their leaders aside from Lazare. Even then, I couldn't read her completely. She had lost her hindlegs during the guerrilla fighting back in Aldorna. The leaders of the Dead Boys must all be cybernetic or ghouls. Or I was just never lucky enough to get close to the ones that weren't. But in any case, they took me in and made me one of their leaders. My appearance and abilities made me a perfect fit, so they said.

“So I became Azrael, the Angel of Death and the darker half of Ezraal, the Icon of Existence.

“Do you know why I use my weapons?” she asked us, lifting her cloak to reveal her Kord machine gun, the collapsed ghostfire scythe, and her deadly array of wingblades. “They weren't forced upon me. I chose them.” She drew a claw along the edge of one of those blades with a soft whine hovering just under a screech. “These wingblades are the focal point of the Razorwing fighting style. They provide extra protection and an extra means of offense, and they also provide added stability for standing and moving in a bipedal fashion, acting as a third set of legs while leaving my forelegs free.” She drew her wing open, causing one of them to slip free from its position and dangle along her primary. “They can also be thrown in a pinch, should the need arise.”

Then she moved one to her heavy machine gun. “I've known death all my life. It's who I am. It's who I became. Death is beyond words. It cannot be summed into something so simple as a slowly encroaching light or a sudden blackness, as if falling unconscious for eternity. Such comparisons are far too insufficient. But it can be drawn out. It can be slow. It can be painful. If death is to come, I would rather it be quick and merciful. That is the reason behind my choice of firearm. The twelve-point-seven NSVT is one of the most powerful cartridges ever created. A near-miss will cause anything short of an earth pony to die from shock- to say nothing of a direct hit from an electrified round. As I am a harbinger of death, so too is my primary weapon. And it will deal it quickly- and hopefully, painlessly.”

Now she removed her collapsed scythe, gripping the handle and extending the weapon. The ghostfire that formed the blade buzzed softly as it bathed us in green. “The Angel of Death is always depicted with a scythe. The imagery is clear- you reap what you sow. Make sure your death means something. I was expected to keep true to that representation with my scythe. I don't use it often. Only on the most putrid of souls or in emergencies only. Often, I just use it for intimidation. Either the appearance of the blade alone or watching someone die by it is enough to send a message. Again, I have to emphasize that I choose when to use it. Ghostfire will kill you. Only ghouls, apparently and unfortunately, are spared. That is why I name her Valkyrie. She is the 'chooser of the slain'.

Azrael collapsed the ghostfire scythe and stowed it away under her cloak once more. “The first few months were actually... peaceful. I spent most of it under Lazare's tutelage, learning the finer points of being a leader. I may have the telepathic insight to learn what it takes, but it is no substitute for practice and experience. My assignments mainly involved intimidating the few gangs that remained into submission. Often, my appearance and Valkyrie were enough to get them to cooperate. If not, then I would use force. I do not regret what I did. I had seen death often enough that making my first kills did nothing to faze me. And if it was for better rather than worse, I had no problem with it. Things were... good again for those first few months. I supported a good cause. We had an organization to provide for us. We had the means to protect ourselves.

“Then things got worse. The Dead Boys needed capital in order to expand their operations, maintain their technology, and draw more recruits. They turned to less... moral ways of acquiring it. If you wanted someone- anyone- captured and brought alive, if you wanted something stolen- no matter the object or owner in question- and if you wanted anyone regardless of position or power killed so long as it wasn't one of their own, you came to The Dead Boys.

“Guess who did the killing?

“Believe it or not, I wasn't against what we were doing. Make no mistake, I knew by comparison that what the Saviors did was 'good' and what the Dead Boys were doing was 'bad'. I just knew and saw and heard and felt so much. Even if I knew just who I was killing, I didn't care. They were just another tragedy of the Wasteland. Just another number. Just another statistic. I didn't care. How could I after I'd seen so much? They wouldn't be missed in the grand scheme of things. It was just me, providing for my family, and the means and manners to do it. That’s all that mattered.

“Father was the first to grow reluctant about the whole ordeal. He said it just didn't seem right to him. I remember we got into a fight over it. I was colder back then- if you think of me as cold even now.” She cast her eyes downward. “It pains me to... think back on that fight. Never had father used such harsh words on me. Everyone was shouting. I remained... impassive in it all, firm in my opinion. Griffins honor oaths and contracts. I was bound. Thinking back, I feel so... wrong for standing firm in my views even as my father tore down every argument. I just told myself it didn't matter so long as we were safe- and we were. How could I have claimed to be bound by contract when I owed everything to my family?” She looked right at me. “This all starting to sound familiar to you... isn't it?”

I kept a straight expression and nodded slowly.

Azrael exhaled softly. “He struck me, you know. It was the first time he hit me. I thought little of it during the fight, even as mother's and Silas' shouts joined in. But that memory stayed with me that next day. As I kept on killing and killing, the more I felt that part of my cheek itch and burn. Father was soon forced to take up assignments again. 'Show us your loyalty,' they said. 'If you're not with us, you're against us.' Chilling words. Aren't they, Frost?”

I swallowed. And nodded.

“When Silas became of age... that was... that was when I understood,” she continued. “I wasn't with him when he made his first kill. I didn't have to be. But I see, hear, feel, smell everything he did. And I knew what was going through his head when he shot his first mark.

“I know death all too well. I've known it since before I left the womb. The concept of 'killing' as well. And nothing has ever simplified the process of killing, the process of death faster than the gun. Weapons have always held that... curious power. They say it's far easier to destroy than to create. It's all too true. You don't think about it in the heat of battle when you're fighting for your life- your life versus the life of your enemy. But every bullet you fire, every spark cell you discharge, every water-triggered explosive you set off, how long does that take? Less than a second. Less than a second to end something so many years to produce. In an instant, you could destroy all of that. I knew this. I'd become desensitized to it through the years. But when Silas staggered back from the corpse of the dissenter he killed, dropping his revolver in shock, all of those feelings came rushing back to remind me. It had been so easy, almost careless, almost child's play to take that earth pony’s life. He didn’t realize the repercussions until he felt the recoil.

“The seed of guilt germinated and grew as The Dead Boys expanded to surrounding communities. Those who resisted were cut down, and we were at the frontlines. I cut a swath of loud, flaming death through them. The 'enemy'. The people who eked out their own lives and only fought back when their livelihoods were threatened. The people who were only our 'enemies' because our ideas of whose land belonged to whom differed. I killed many. There was no control for collateral damage. Many shots found their mark, but many more hit someone I never intended- children cowering under furniture while their parents fought back, friends saving wounded friends, the old, the young, the weak, the dying.

“And I let myself open up to all of their thoughts. I knew everything that they were going through, even if I didn't have the time to delve into who they were. As I did, that rational voice in my head telling me, ‘It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things’ and ‘That person was just another tragedy in the wastes’ and ‘I’m just doing my job’ grew weaker and weaker and weaker. I knew that I had done wrong.

“Enough was enough. I relented and stooped myself low to my father and asked for his forgiveness. He was right. I was wrong. We all had hurt feelings after that fight so long ago. But for once, we could reconcile and plan our next move together. We would leave under the cover of darkness while the takeover was still underway. We spent the next days acquiring maps to places where we could seek refuge and amnesty, should The Dead Boys' reputation precede us. Supplies, ammunition, belongings... we even arranged for someone to cover our escape.

“That was our downfall. You know it was. Birth to earth, womb to tomb. Once a Dead Boy, always a Dead Boy. We were rounded up before we could even finish preparations. Lazare was there waiting for us. With many angry Dead Boys with her.

“Lazare was not a combatant. That's what made it worse. Even since the Enclave-Aldorna Civil War, she only served as a healer and medic, fulling her role as the Angel of Life. She didn't need to die. But when we knew there was no other alternative but to fight through against our own kin and country, we did. And both her and my mother were caught in the crossfire.”

The dark griffiness let out a long, deep sigh. “... you know the rest.”

We were quiet for a while. Azrael looked at neither of us, merely sat and stared off into the wall past us like a statue. In the corner of my eye, I saw Rig look at me in askance. What could I have told her? All my thoughts were focused on the still giant before me, whose cowl had dipped low enough to obscure her eyes. My heart was racing because I knew, and she knew.

“We're very much alike, you and I,” she spoke, turning to me as she echoed my sentiments. I could see her eyes now. They were soft, somber. “I know it’s a bit cliche, but it’s true. We've made similar choices, taken similar falls. I know the worst in my story echoes the worst in yours. So believe me when I say, Frost, that I know exactly what you did, why you did it, and what motivates you today. I know the Way you've traveled, and I know just what old habits you've clung to. The rest have yet to hear your story, but know that I am not your enemy. I know what we're going to do after we secure the water talisman for Stable Three. And I will stand by your side. I only have one question.

“Which Way do you follow now?”

I looked away and thought long and hard on that, even as both of them looked to me, expecting an answer.

I had none.

“Frost?” Azrael's voice broke the silence. “Rig? I wish to ask something of both of you.”

I merely turned to her. Rig did the same and asked, “Yes?”

“Please. Call me Soraya.”

* * *

It's getting late, folks. I know there's a lot of questions on your mind, and rest assured they'll be answered.

Tomorrow? We'll be answering one of the big ones in just a few more segments.

Who is Nightingale?

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level

Rig- DLC bonus XP acquired! Level Up! Level 17 reached!

Azrael

Poraui

Soraya

Soraya- Maximum Level

Unlockables added: Commission/Gift Art- Rig by ArtieStroke

Soundtrack- Reflections (Soraya's Song Version)

Author's Note

Again, sorry about the April Foals' Day joke. I really had to pull one. Anyway, my thanks to the usual suspects- Kkat, the FoE community, my pre-reader Lazer726, and you as well.

Oh, and if you wish, check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr (askfrostwindchill.tumblr.com). It's spoilerific, but you're all caught up now so you should be fine.

Until next time,
Adder1

Reflection Fourteen: Coping

Note: After a little blog post regarding music, I'm going to be trying something new this time. Links to music will be interspersed in the actual text of the chapter and also at the end. If you want to listen as you read, go ahead. If you feel it messes with the pace, then wait until after. Let me know how it works out in the comments. With that, enjoy.

Reflection Fourteen: Coping

“Oh, I don't have a very special somepony at the moment.”

Welcome back, folks. It's good to see you all again, just like old times.

The little filly from before said it had only been a week since he left and a few days since he came back.

Kid, you know what I mean.

Yeah... she did.

Heh... well, you know the drill, folks.

Melt away.

<===ooO Ooo===>

“I will go down with the ship.
I won't perrk my hands up and surrender.”

I woke up to the warped audio of my radio alarm clock going off at 6:00 A.M. My forelegs were curled up around somepony that wasn't there, hugged around myself instead. I gradually released myself and laid back, letting out a sigh of misty breath from my nostrils. I just lied there, eyes locked on the ceiling, enumerating the specks but losing count again and again. I just lied there, even after the radio shut off on its own. Five minutes, I remembered. It took five minutes for it to do that.

Why had I lost her? I knew it was because I'd gotten too cold for her, but... we could have held onto a relationship. We still could have kept things going. I wanted to see her smile. I wanted to see those crimson, violet-splashed eyes full of determination. I wanted to hear that cute, squeaky snore of hers. I wanted to feel her comforting warmth against... me.

That's what it was. Touch. Lovers need contact, closeness. You hear about the 'lovers' embrace'. Never the sight, sound. Embrace. That touch brings reassurance, a sense of... security and unity.

The storyteller paused, closing his mouth, turned away.

Turned back.

And my coldness destroyed that for the both of us.

The radio kicked in again.

“-who you aaaare theeese days.
But you ride on anyway,
don't you baaaaby?”

That was another five minutes. Ten total. Enough was enough. I was twenty-four years old. I had four years of the finest education in equinpology and history Equestria could offer, and I’d raised hell and beat it back. I wasn’t the type to get bogged down by all of this. I wasn't the type to get depressed. I wasn’t going to let this get to me.

Got up.

Washed up.

Wrapped my balisong pouches just above my fetlocks.

And slipped my trusty fedora on. It was time to head for the local library.

* * *

Heh... it was all coming back to me. I was back at the library at Manehattan Magical Institute in the midst of aspiring students, all new faces. It gave me a sense of comfort as I collected research materials off of the shelves and pored over them. 'Just like old times'. I can't begin to tell you how much comfort that phrase brings.

I smiled as I also heard a very familiar sound. “Gotcha this time.”

“Ohhhhh, darn it,” Professor Whitney Shinespark nickered softly. The orange mare with the flamboyant hair circled around me. “And here I was thinking I could catch you off-guard again.”

“Not this time,” I chuckled, turning to face her.

Our smiles slowly disappeared.

“So... how're you doing?” she asked.

“I'm alright,” I answered. “Coming to terms with things.” I turned back to the books before me. “Just gearing up for the next phase of my research.”

Professor Shinespark looked over my shoulder. “Hm... so I guess you're headed to Appleloosa then?”

I looked up from the books and academic magazines on buffalo traditions and customs. “Yep.”

* * *

Click-clack, click-click-clack, clackety-whoosh-chack, clickety-click, clackety-click.

Zoleks eyed me as we walked down the Manehattan city streets after dark. “Seriously? Buck, I think you might be scaring people when you do stuff like that. I mean, it's kinda cool, but... well, knives.”

“Oh!” I blinked. “Right, sorry.” I fanned Silver Skean and her sister blade... Chrome... Chrome Cleaver shut. Yeah, Chrome Cleaver. That'll work. I looked around and noticed I'd attracted some stares, most of them the worried or worrying type. I just paid them no attention and we all went along our merry way. “Yeesh... just a couple balisongs...”

“Well, you don't see anyone else packing that kind of heat, do you?” Zoleks huffed. “Whoa, down!”

Both of us dropped to the ground, as did many nearby as a powered wagon sped by. A colorful lemon meringue pie slammed into a mare that was just a little too slow, bowling her over and scattering a shower of pastry shrapnel around her. As the rest of us slowly got back up to our hooves, she waved away another mare who was helping her up and grumbled, “I'm okay. Freaking South Bucklyn Boys...”

I let out a chilly sigh and turned to Zoleks, tipping my hat to let a piece slide off. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” he replied, dusting some crumbs off of his shoulder as we kept moving along after what was just another harmless incident of gang 'violence'. “Damn, close call.”

“Yeah... times like these where I'm reminded of... you know,” I muttered.

The zebra buck just nodded silently as we reached The Lazy Dog. I frowned as those in line seemed to be... almost all under eighteen. We were the only older people there as far as I could see. We were attracting a lot of odd looks.

“Uh... you think maybe it's time for a different venue?” I asked reluctantly, turning to face him as he did the same.

Zoleks sighed, “One last stand? You're gonna be gone for a whole 'nother month tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah... I guess.” I smiled softly. “Wish Namira were here, though.”

“Eh, someone's gotta keep the shop under watch on a weeknight,” he chuckled. “Plus, you need a dance partner.”

I snorted and chuckled, “Ahhhh... I couldn't have asked for a better friend, Zoleks. Thanks.”

The chill zebra smirked. “No prob, bud.”

“Coltcuddlers...” a filly murmured ahead of us.

We both immediately frowned. “Well, that also brought back more unpleasant memories,” I muttered.

“Yep.”

* * *

Hellish. Helix. Half-Twirl. Screwdriver. Y-Zero-K... and... nailed it! I smiled to myself as Chrome Cleaver danced about in a myriad of clicks and clacks. Today's copy of Equestria Daily was left forgotten on the empty seat next to me. From the looks of things, the main page described the disappearance of some merchant ships of some kind. More bad news. Not like I needed any more of that. So I kept on clicking and clacking.

The speaker chimed, and I paused.“Your attention, please,” the monotonous, female voice called. “Arriving at Appleloosa Station in five minutes. Please prepare to disembark. Your attention, please. Arriving at Appleloosa Station in five minutes. Please prepare to disembark.”

I closed my blade with a swift windmill motion and slid it back into my pouch, removing my travel book on Appleloosa and the San Palomino Desert. Even though I remembered all of the details, it helped to skim through it one last time before we hit the station. From what I learned, Appleloosa was a rustic, Old West-style town that called back to the days when the Principality of Equestria was still the Covenant of Equestria and when the triumvirate government endorsed settlement of the frontier at bargain buy. Buildings were hastily built out of wood and cheap iron to capitalize on the even cheaper land. Appleloosa was built long after those times, but it was built the same manner- in just a year. Earth pony dedication, folks. I respect the folk.

However, walking off of the train... I thought for a moment I was in the wrong place.

All around me were those same flimsy buildings, yes, but further down Main Street appeared to be an explosion of growth. There was a theme park complete with a towering Ferrous Wheel and a rickety wooden roller coaster, several brand-name restaurants and clothing store outlets, and a casino of all things. My eyes were immediately drawn to The Wild West, a nightclub. Even in the midday sun, I could see all the various tubes running along the signs that indicated neon lighting for all of these attractions. Pop music was blasting through speakers mounted atop wooden poles. And it was much more crowded here than I imagined it would be. If I didn't know any better, I'd somehow gone the full circuit and ended up back in the Oldtown part of Manehattan.

“This doesn't look anything like the pictures,” I remarked to myself, completely caught off-guard. I had to, I had to be in the wrong place. Then I let out a shout of surprise as a butter-yellow stallion with a messy tan-orange mane wearing a stetson and a leather vest seemingly popped up in front of me and the rest of the new arrivals.

“Wayell, hey there, everypony!” he exclaimed excitedly, rearing back and kicking his forelegs. “Welcome ta AAAAAppleloosa!”

No. I was in the right place.

“Mah name's Braeburn, and Ah'm gonna give ya the rundown of AAAAAppleloosa!” he said with an impossibly wide grin. “Take a look around! We got attractions fer ponies of all ages! We've got the fiiiinest comforts- like horse-drawn carriages!”

He pointed toward what was, in fact, a horse-drawn carriage. The middle-aged puller grumbled into his cart, “For Pete's sake, it's your turn ta pull!”

Another older pony poked out and whined, “Again? We jus' switched!”

The yellow stallion who I was absolutely sure was in charge of tourism here continued. “And there's some horse-drawn, horse-drawn carriages!”

Okay. A pair of fillies sketching horse-drawn carriages- and quite accurately. That pun got a snort out of me, I admit.

“And here's our local waterin' hole, The Salt Block!” Mister Tourism pointed at a rustic saloon where a dapper stallion bucked out a dazed-looking old coot

“Last time- enough salt for yeh!” the presumable bartender growled.

“Can I least git some water...?” the poor bloke groaned dazedly.

“Over there's Sheriff Silverstar's office,” the butter-yellow stallion went on, tucking his head to nudge- yes, actually nudge all of us sideways, “over there are our famous wild-west dances- we also have mild west dances- you know, fer the young n' old folks- and oh, there's our most wonderful sight in all o' AAAAAppleloosa- our apple orchard!”

Now there was a sight I knew from memory. It still looked like just like what the travel book illustrated- acres of leafy apple trees grown on cultivated land with a wide dirt road weaving through the trees. Only earth ponies could have gotten such an orchard to grow in the middle of a desert, folks. I also noted that there were what looked like teepees barely visible in the distance. That was where I was headed.

Unfortunately, Braeburn had other ideas and nudged us all the way back into town, waving a hoof toward the newest additions to the town. “N’, of course, there's The Bison and Steed! If yer on the way to Las Pegasus, why should ya hafta wait fer the fun to begin? We've got attractions fer all sorts of folk! We've got theme park rides like Ghostrider, our all-wood roller coaster, fer the kiddies, and of course we also got our casino...”

And he droned on and on and on. I cast a few furtive glances about, noticing that he was so completely absorbed in displaying the town that he had all but ignored the small crowd he was addressing. Biting my lip and casually averting my gaze, I inconspicuously backpedaled away from the hubbub and down the dirt road toward the apple orchard.

* * *

“A tourist town,” I muttered to myself with a frown as I trotted between the trees. “It's become a freaking tourist town.” I sighed out a chilling mist and sprouted an ice arm to tuck my fedora lower. The midday sun was starting to bear down on me. I gritted my teeth and squinted my eyes from the sweltering heat. It was only supposed to be around thirty degrees Celsius today- a little on the warmer side but nothing quite as extreme as a heat wave running through Manehattan. Yet again I was reminded of my elemental union and just what I was losing...

And what I'd already lost.

The storyteller flattened his lips and glanced down at his left flank for a moment.

I paused, the recent memory burning in my mind. Burning, just like the sun beating down on me. I looked back up, reminded myself I was here for a reason, and strode forth. My horn lit up with its soft-blue glow and I veiled myself in a slight, chilling mist. It kept the sting of the sun at bay as I approached the cluster of teepees. Already I could see the gigantic buffalo move about, busying themselves with their daily tasks. They were in various dark shades ranging from ebony to rusty-red. Many heads turned toward me almost in unison, and I slowed in pace, somewhat unnerved. Then they went back to their routines, and I relaxed and resumed my stride.

I was approached by a young buffalo cow with a dusty-brown coat and a curly, mustard-colored mane. She had a headband made up of alternating purple and white triangular patterns, and she had a pair of feathers tucked behind her left ear, as did many of this particular chiefdom.

“Ya'at eeh, asdzání,” I said with a respectful bow. Hello, sister.

The young cow smiled and chuckled a little, replying, “Ya'at eeh, diyaáhastiin.” Hello, visitor. She reached her hoof across and I met it. She had a firm shake for someone of her age. “It's okay, go ahead and speak Equestrian. We all speak it fluently.”

“Doyashóda,” I said with a shake of my head. “Ay-”

“Doyashóda,” she said in turn. “You are a visitor and our guest. We have to accommodate guests. I'm Little Strongheart. And you are Doctor Frost Windchill, right?”

“No, not a doctor,” I blurted quickly, smiling almost apologetically. “Just... a researcher.”

Little Strongheart shrugged. “Well, alright, whatever you say. Um... what's with the...?” She motioned to me in general.

I looked about myself and realized she was talking about my mist veil. “Oh, uh... long story short, I can only perform ice magic, which has apparently made me more vulnerable to high temperatures. So, I... do this now apparently.” Nice job, Frost. Way to use the right words, right way.

“Well, alright...” Little Strongheart still eyed me but nevertheless nodded deeper into the camp and headed off.

I followed, taking in the goings-on about me. There was quite some commotion- a group of ch'il bééhasin, literally “those with knowledge of seasonal greenery,” had just returned to camp. Just as with many societies, it was easier and more efficient to delegate certain tasks to a particular set of talented individuals in this case the bééhasin. The ch'il bééhasin in particular were the gatherers of the chiefdom- again, this wasn't a tribe because it had a designated leader. Before their partnership and eventual friendship with the Appleloosans, the gatherers of this particular chiefdom must have had to scour for miles and miles to find enough food. Now it was just a short journey into town, but the fanfare of distributing food and other goods among the other members of the chiefdom was still very much alive. All work on weaving, cooking, storytelling, and such ended as soon as the gatherers stampeded back. Parents ushered their calves along, and I found myself smiling as I was reminded- just for a moment- of the days of my infancy in the refugee camps when volunteers arrived with a fresh batch of warm food. Little Strongheart led me around the crowd, searching for a way through. Some of them paused to stare at me, likely because of the mist pouring from my body, but they quickly moved along.

“Am I to take it you're my guide, then?” I inquired, raising my voice so she could hear me over the many gatherers boasting their finds and gifts. It was like the Manehattan Farmer's Market, almost. It at least brought me a sense of comfort, unlike... well, Appleloosa.

“Mm?” She looked back at me. “Oh, no. Not me. I'm actually taking you to him right now.”

I looked up and found myself heading toward the center of the community. “Isn't... that your chief's teepee?”

“Yep!” Little Strongheart smiled and trotted along, almost prancing as if she knew I would be dumbstruck by the idea.

And I was. “I'm sorry,” I chuckled huskily in disbelief. “Your chief is going to be my guide?”

“Yep!” she repeated, leaving me behind as she trotted along blissfully.

Finally, I managed to calm myself down and galloped a bit to catch up. “Is this normal?”

“It is, actually,” Little Strongheart answered. “We've had equinpologists visit us in the past, and Chief Thunderhooves was the guide for all of them.” She added with a friendly, comforting smile, “I hope that doesn't make you nervous.”

“Nervous?” I chuckled again, almost giddily. “No, no, it's just... exciting, the prospect of meeting your leader!” It was definitely a lie, but my expression and tone all but convinced her.

Old habits die hard...

Nevertheless, we finally made it past the commotion and into the chief's tent. And there... well, I met Chief Thunderhooves for the first time. He was a massive, powerful buffalo with a deep, dark-brown fur and eyes full of aged wisdom- they were the only thing that betrayed his age, I think. A colorful, feathery headdress sat between a pair of impressive horns. His nose was flat and especially broad. Despite the size of the tent and the more-than-adequate space it provided, it still somehow felt like his powerful presence took all of it up and surrounded you. And yet, looking at him, I couldn't help but feel oddly at ease. He looked up from a letter he was reading as we entered and greeted us with a patient, friendly smile. Even if he was by far the largest buffalo I had- and still have- ever seen, he still felt very much approachable. That all-encompassing presence that surrounded me felt warm, calming, comforting for my nerves. I was so wrapped up in all of this that I didn't even notice that Little Strongheart had stolen away back outside. I was alone with Chief Thunderhooves.

“I welcome you to the Clan of the Thunderhooves, Doctor Windchill,” he greeted me in a deep, thick voice. “I am their chief.”

“Oh, I'm no doctor,” I said, offering a friendly smile. “Not yet at least.”

“How shall I refer to you, then?” he inquired, motioning across from himself. “And please, have a seat.”

“Just Frost,” I answered, taking a moment to look around and sat on a mat with a black and white diamond-circle design across from him. I kept my trusty fedora on- buffalo never remove their feathers or headdresses save for going to bed and so I kept my own “headdress” on. I took the time to observe my surroundings. The spacious tent was enough to allow space for a small, gently humming, gas-powered generator. It powered a lamp that stood just off to the side of us, allowing him to read his letter, as well as a small television set in the corner of the room. There was also an electric heating unit and a rotating fan, which mercifully brought coolness to the tent. Despite the move to more modern times, there were still various paraphernalia that still harkened back to buffalo traditions. There was a feathered, web-like dream catcher hanging over the doorway, a large hoof drum off to the side behind him, and several clay jars decorated with different patterns to denote their contents.

He commented as such. “I take it you notice the new trinkets I've acquired?”

“Ah, yes, Chief Thunderhooves,” I answered. “Forgive me. I did not expect them.”

He sighed softly, “Just as I'm sure you didn't expect the latest additions to Appleloosa?”

“Mm... well yes,” I replied, unsure where he was going with this.

Chief Thunderhooves sighed and picked up his letter, tilting it toward me for a moment, “Your mentor Doctor Egan and I are good friends. He sent me a letter detailing the reasons behind your visit today. You're here to learn about the effects of industrialization on equinekind, correct?”

“Yes, yes,” I answered with an eager nod. “That's correct.”

The dark buffalo nodded and frowned, glancing away for a moment. “First know and understand that I do not hate technology or industry. They improve equinekind's ability to help one another out. I cannot deny that my clan has benefited from our contact with the Appleloosans. The hoof-cranked radio and the television have made us more aware of the world around us, and they opened us up to its wonders and its problems. We have plenty of food and medicine year-round. We have more opportunities to educate our calves- don't take my word for it; go and ask around like I know your kind do.

“But...” He glanced up, pausing, “I believe there is what you call a double-edged sword to all of this. I understand you visited the Griffin Republic of Aldorna recently?”

“Yes, just a little over a month-and-a-half ago,” I replied.

“And what did you see there?” Chief Thunderhooves asked. “Regarding your thesis, I mean.”

I inhaled deeply and answered, “I found that industrialization in the capital city of Avalon caused a migration of griffins to the capital in search of work at its many factories. This decreased poverty rates in Aldorna, which in turn brought down hunger and crime rates. It also allowed parents to better pay for higher education. In other words, standards of living have gone through the roof since the establishment of Avalon as we know it today. At the same time, the increased exposure to industry and commercial goods and services and their advertisement and proliferation created a sort of culture shock compounded by the increase in highly-educated griffins. This has unfortunately resulted in the... disconnect between religious and cultural facets of griffin life, which have taken a backseat to the necessity to become more educated and specialized in an increasingly competitive workforce.”

Chief Thunderhooves started smiling halfway through my reply. “Are you sure I can't call you Doctor Windchill?”

I smiled back and shared a chuckle.

* * *

Sifting Sands was a golden-yellow cow wearing a business suit made in almost comical proportions to fit the full-grown buffalo. Chief Thunderhooves introduced her to me after the return of the gatherers when the hubbub died down and everyone started to rest- except for people like her. She was getting her things together for work but assured me that she still had more than enough time for a quick interview. The desert night was mercifully cool, and I was able to relax without having to sustain a misty veil. The crackling of the campfires mixed with the sound of the nocturnal desert wildlife, and a sea not of water but of stars hung above our heads. It was a beautiful sight.

“Appleloosa was built in a year, you know that?” Sifting Sands said proudly as if she was an Appleloosan herself. “You know the whole saying 'we didn't build that overnight'? Well, we sure did for The Bison and Steed. You could only accomplish that with earth ponies and buffalo working together.” She inhaled a deep breath and swelled with pride, looking over to the broad building that dominated the distant horizon with its spotlights waving in the air like hooves at a Manehattan nightclub.

“So you work the night shift?” I asked. “Seven to three?”

“Oh yes,” she replied with a nod. “Many of us who work there do. That's when the casino’s busiest.”

“So you are... absent from dinner here?” I asked, looking back toward the camp.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Sifting Sands answered. “Swift Swallow has her grandparents to look after her while we're gone, though. Poor girl, I know she misses us.”

“'Us'?” I regarded her.

She nodded. “My husband works there too. We have the same part of the floor together, thankfully. It's tough, only seeing our daughter in the morning and the late afternoon. We’re at work during the evening and early morning and sleep while she’s at school. At least she still gets part of her family here after we go.”

Another earth-colored buffalo bull stopped by and said to me, “I'm sorry, but it's time for us to go. Have to beat the rush.”

“Have you said good-bye to Swift Swallow?” Sifting Sands asked.

He nodded. “Of course. You should too.”

“You go on ahead,” she said. “I'll say good-bye and be right there.”

The bull who I presumed to be her husband gently met foreheads and nuzzled with their eyes closed. Then he headed off only a short distance to wait for her instead. Sifting Sand turned back to me and apologized before trotting back to her abode. I stood there, watching as she knelt down with a cream-colored calf stooped over a book. They talked for a spell inaudibly, hugged tightly, and bid farewell. Sifting Sands met with her husband and shared a soft smile before trotting off together with the rest of a small group bound for The Bison and Steed.

The storyteller leaned back, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

Now... I made a promise to tell you this story faithfully and truthfully, just as I promised to Rig and the people of Stalliongrad before you. I felt almost... no, I just plain felt envious of that family. I could have had that.

His muzzle curved into a slanted frown.

I could have had that. And the part of me that craved power, that part of me that nurtured the Mumei felt I should have that. I felt entitled to have that.

That feeling passed quickly. I was a new stallion. But it still left me with a sense of longing.

I returned to the center of camp, where the others were starting to prepare dinner. With such a relatively small community, the clan was closely-knit. Meals were often public affairs where everyone ate together, sharing the bounty that the gatherers brought. It struck me as something similar to a camping trip- hay, this was a camp. The buffalo convened around a large mat where bowls and plates of all the food were placed, taking their pick. Then they sat down at a fire pit to eat and talk. In addition to the various apple-based foods that were no doubt a result of their relations with Appleloosa, there was a mush of some sort that had a murky-green color to it. It didn't look particularly appetizing and the smell was especially pungent, but many of the buffalo took a large portion of it in their bowls. I elected to take some for myself.

I sat down beside Chief Thunderhooves and his close friends, including Little Strongheart, and we all ate at our own pace. The heat of the fire washed over me like that of opening an oven right in front of me. I leaned back, blinking rapidly but forcing myself to stay out of respect. I tried a bit of the mush, and... well... I must have provided that night's entertainment judging from their chuckles in response to my coughing.

“It's alright,” Chief Thunderhooves said with a grin, downing his own bowl of the stuff. “It's an acquired taste.”

“What is it anyways?” I asked, beating my chest and clearing my throat to make sure my coughing episode was finished.

“A bit of corn, a bit of cactus, mostly whatever we can find out in the wilderness,” Little Strongheart answered. “Mostly whatever we find. It's what we're traditionally used to eating, so we still have it.” She smiled apologetically at me. “I'd... suggest eating it between bites of your other food. It makes it more palatable that way.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” I sighed a cool mist to which the others stared. I looked between them and quickly realized what it looked like.

The storyteller leaned back in his seat.

All equines have magic, whether it comes through spells, weather control, hard work, innovation, enchanting, what have you. In the case of buffalo, not only do they worship their ancestors- they can channel their spirits and commune with them. It's not necromancy, let me say that first and foremost. It's their innate ability to foster and maintain a connection to the family that transcends life and death. There are limits, of course- most of them taboo. They cannot ask about the nature of death and the afterlife nor may they ask for physical aid. The passed cannot grant that. They can, however, provide advice and endow the current generation with the knowledge and wisdom of those before them. Often, it can only happen when the body is in a relaxed state or through using various herbs and spices to ease the mind.

Hence their surprise at seeing me “smoke”.

“Are you... contacting-” one of the other buffalo around us asked.

“No, it's just... ice magic... stuff,” Little Strongheart quickly explained.

I nodded and demonstrated, firing up my horn with its icy-blue glow and sprouting an arm from my shoulder, waving. A multitude of “Ah”'s and “Ohhhh”'s followed shortly after, and we resumed eating shortly after. Well. That was awkward.

“Chief Thunderhooves, if you excuse me,” I spoke up and he paused in his eating, “exactly... how many of your clan work in Appleloosa?”

“Two-hundred-forty-four,” he answered after a momentary glance upward. “Roughly a third. A little over three-fourths of that number work at the casino.” He must have noticed my eyes widen as he merely smiled and added, “A chief must know everyone in his or her tribe, Frost.”

“That's true,” I said with a nod. “How would you say it has affected your clan?”

Chief Thunderhooves replied between bites, “It's brought more income to be sure, and it's allowed us to enjoy luxuries such as cooling during the day and heating during the night, television, radio, and electric lighting. However, it has caused parents to be away from their children in the late evening hours. You saw that yourself with Sifting Sands.”

“And have you noticed anything with the children?” I inquired, looking toward another fire pit where there were a couple calves laughing together after what seemed to be a joke of some sort.

“They miss their parents, of course,” he answered. “But we are a close community. There is always someone to care for and watch over them. Teach them, too.” I looked back at him. “Again, I know what you are here to ask, Frost. Our children still learn our traditions. We have a simple rule nowadays. They may do as they wish when in town and at school in Appleloosa, but when at home they are buffalo.” I nodded, gears turning in my head. “Our magic keeps us in touch with where we come from, Frost. It is difficult to forget and forgo our culture when it is so deeply ingrained in who we are.”

“But has there been any profound impact in your culture?” I inquired.

“None that I have seen,” Chief Thunderhooves said, “but I am not the answer to all your questions, am I?”

* * *

“Whoa, hey, Frost! Wasn't expecting you to still have cell service where you were!”

“Heh, well, given how much Appleloosa's caught up on the times, I'm not as surprised on my end. So how are you doing, Zoleks?”

“Ehhh, you been looking at the news lately, buck? Gas prices have gone up. Say it's because of halted oil exports from Zebrica after two of their oil tankers went missing. Full-on investigation headed by the KSV.”

“What? When was this?”

“Today's news. I'm expecting to see less business until this gets resolved, but we should still be fine with the subsidies from the government. I still don't like this, buck. Doesn't bode well with what happened last week. You at least heard about the missing Almarinian merchant ships, right?”

“That I heard about. And that they were loaded with Equestrian gems. This can't be a coincidence can it?”

“I dunno, Frost. Never heard anything like this before.”

“Well, let's steer toward brighter skies, shall we? How're you and Namira doing?”

“Huh, us?” Huff. “Ahhhh, you don't want to hear about us. How's things going for you?”

“It's interesting to say the least. The buffalo seem to be barely affected by industrialization and commercialization compared to the griffins. But really, Zoleks, how are you two doing? You've been together for years now. When are you thinking about proposing?”

Hearty chuckle. “Ahhhh, maybe soon, maybe soon. Really buck, let's not talk about that.”

“Everything alright, Zoleks?”

“Yeah, just great, just great! Just, uh...”

“Trying to avoid bringing it up?”

“Uh...”

“Look, it's all over with, Zoleks. Really.”

“Look, you keep saying that, Frost, but I know you went and got that ring for her...”

Sigh. “It's all over with, Zoleks. Really. I'm okay with talking with how things are going between you and Namira. I'm not the kind to get stuck. You know that.”

“Mm... well, I guess...”

“So how are you two doing, then?”

“Well, I actually proposed last night...”

Husky chuckle. “I knew it. That's why you were avoiding it. So? How did it go?”

Snicker, then quietly- “She said yes.”

“Great to hear, Zoleks!”

“Thanks, thanks... hey, I'm glad to hear you like this, Frost. Any ideas how much longer you'll be there?”

“Still going to give it at least a couple more weeks just to be sure.”

“Ah, alright. Take it easy. And don't just call me, okay? Give your folks a call too, alright? You know they're worried about you.”

“Yeah, I will. I will. Take care, Zoleks.”

“See you, Frost.”

Click... sigh...

* * *

Over the course of the next week or so, what I'd discovered with the buffalo was that their culture was all but intact. It was unsurprising given my conversation with Chief Thunderhooves previously. All of the cultural practices and customs still existed and were frequently practiced, from their communal meals to the greeting of the gatherers, from the invoking of the ancestors to the singing and music every three nights. It came to a point where I was no longer concerned for the condition of their culture. I assumed it to be more or less perfectly preserved.

Instead, my concerns started gravitating to the “socio” part of “sociocultural equinpology”.

* * *

“Did I do it right... now?” an older buffalo bull asked her daughter after clicking his mouse.

“No, that's right-click,” she replied. “That brings up a menu most of the time.”

He grumbled softly, clearly more than a little irritated at this point.

Eternal Blossom had been teaching her father how to use a terminal for the better part of the hour. I had been observing from a distance. It had been a very frustrating affair for the father, between the snorting breaths he was letting out and the furrowed brow, I doubted he would last much longer. Now, just bear in mind folks that they were all talking in Bise. For simplicity's sake, I'm translating for you. Some words might be a bit disjointed, but recall I'm not a native speaker. Also bear in mind that it's going to be a bit more disjointed since some of the words you'll hear won't exist in the Bise lexicon.

“Yes, that's it,” the little calf said, offering an encouraging smile as the web browser popped up and started to load the home page. “See? You've done great so far!”

He let out a soft sigh, obviously not feeling that encouragement as the page finally loaded and he was assaulted with various words, images, and colors. “What... is... all this? How do I get to the e-mail page?”

“This is just Whinny-dot-com,” Eternal Blossom answered calmly, resting a hoof on his side in an attempt to ease him up. “Just click on the e-mail login link on the top right along the banner.”

“Like... this?” he asked, unsure as he navigated his mouse icon to the link.

“No, that's right-click again,” she said patiently. “Left-click. That's all you'll need for this.” The older buffalo bull let out another sigh and clicked it, finally getting to the login page. “You're doing great! Now, since you don't have an account yet, we'll have to make one. Just click on the 'Create an Account' link. Remember, left-click... good! Now type in your information...”

“Why do they need my date of birth?” he asked incredulously.

“I...” Eternal Blossom frowned. “I don't know actually. You have to enter it in for you to create an account, though.”

“It makes no sense, though,” he grumbled, then proceeded to... tap multiple keys at once. He frowned and tried again with the tips of his hooves, unfortunately not angling them correctly and still hitting two keys. He growled and finally stood up and stormed off. “I've had it! I'll just stick with letters!” He stormed out and past me, mumbling, “Everything was simpler back then, dammit...”

Well. I guess that's why they called him Running Temper.

* * *

“What do you mean it broke down?” Sharp Hooknose asked.

“It won't work,” his wife High Mountain grunted as she removed the rear cover of the standalone microwave. “It's definitely getting enough power. It just won't start. Something is wrong with it, but I can't figure out what.”

“How long has it been like this? We're going to need it to heat up the food for dinner, and it's not too much longer!”

High Mountain frowned as she looked at the innards of the microwave. “I know, I know.”

“... do you even know what you are doing?” the bull asked, approaching her.

“No,” she sighed. “Do you know how to fix it?”

Sharp Hooknose sighed in turn, “No, no idea.” He stomped the ground in irritation. “And it frustrates me.”

“It's okay, dear,” High Mountain said to him, giving him a nuzzle. “We can just ask one of the others to borrow theirs. I'll ask our son to get a repairpony from Appleloosa to inspect it later.”

Sharp Hooknose let out another sigh and nodded, picking up their cold food. “Okay, okay...”

* * *

At the end of the week, I was pacing back and forth in my tent, repeating major points of analysis to myself while twirling Silver Skean and Chrome Cleaver together with my ice arms. “Due to the nature of their spiritual magic, the Thunderhooves Clan exhibits resistance to cultural deterioration. However, the effects of industrialization have had many notable social repercussions, including a growing divide between the younger and older generations due to the technological education gap and parents often spending time away from their calves as a result of the plentiful jobs at the nearby casino. Furthermore, the increased reliance on-” I paused as someone stomped a few times just outside of my tent- the equivalent of knocking on the door for the buffalo. I performed a pair of staggered Screwdrivers to close my balisongs and pouched them away. “Please enter.”

Chief Thunderhooves ducked under the flap and asked me, “Is everything alright, Frost?”

“Hm?” I blinked at him, at first not understanding why he was concerned. “Yes, yes. I'm quite alright. Thank you, Chief.”

“Why all the talking to yourself, then?” he inquired.

“The talking... oh!” I smiled. “Just how I organize my thoughts on what I'm planning to write for my research paper.”

Chief Thunderhooves looked around my tent. “Wouldn't it be better to use a notebook? Or maybe even one of those portable terminals I've seen at times?”

“I don't really need them, Chief,” I answered. “I have eidetic memory.” Both of his eyebrows raised. “Ah, photographic memory. I remember everything.” Eyebrows back down.

“Mm, you are blessed to have it,” the dark-furred buffalo chuckled softly. “Soon I'll get to that age where I have to be worried about Alzhaymer's.” He sighed softly.

“Yes... blessed...” I murmured, then nodded to him. “Well, with hope, you should be alright. You certainly don't seem senile right now at least.”

“Hmph, thank you,” Chief Thunderhooves huffed softly. Then he eyed me. “You are sure nothing is wrong?”

“Hm?” I was just starting to pace about again and then turned back to him. “Oh, no, no.” I smiled again at him. “I'm quite... quite alright.”

He caught the hesitation and let out a sigh. He did not say anything but merely kept looking at me expectantly. He knew I was lying.

I let out a misty sigh. Slipped up there... so I thought to myself, may as well say it. “I'm perhaps a bit troubled, but it's nothing serious, Chief Thunderhooves.”

“You are sure?” he asked.

I opened my mouth to reply, but he gave me a warning look. Be frank, Frost. Be frank. Get caught once, shame on you. Get caught twice, blame on you. “Perhaps, but... it will be no problem so long as I am here.” That part was true, at least.

“And what of your return to Manehattan?” he asked.

I puckered my lips for a moment, trying to think of a response. I had none.

“This past week, we have had little chance to talk as person to person,” Chief Thunderhooves said, his stance relaxing. “Maybe we can have a chat in my tent?”

“Oh, no no no,” I said quickly with a smile. “Honestly, it's nothing serious enough to warrant that.”

“Frost, it has always been strictly business about my clan, about culture this, social integrity that whenever we talk,” he said a little more excitedly. “I insist.”

“Chief Thunderhooves, I would rather not,” I said a little more firmly. Why wouldn't he get the hint? Even if he was a chief, I didn't feel like sharing such personal issues with him.

“I strongly suggest that you rather do,” he said a little more firmly in tone. I was about to reply one more time when he gave me a surprisingly angry look. Why was he doing that? I just wanted a little privacy while he was all obsessed about getting me to accept his... offer...

Oh. Oh shoot. Buffalo gain honor and prestige through gifts and offers. Here was a buffalo chief making an offer, three times refused so far, another would...

Challenge his honor. Oh. Oh shit. That was a really close call. I almost completely missed that.

I gulped and sighed, “Very well, Chief Thunderhooves. I accept.”

The dark-furred buffalo smiled easy and nodded outside in a motion for me to follow. I tagged along and we both headed to his tent, passing by the others. It was just past dinner, and there were many families still about. Calves were seated around relatives and friends retelling the day's events, the young and the old were working with one another to catch up on the times... it struck me as wholesome.

When we entered his tent, Chief Thunderhooves sat down on his mat and motioned for me to sit across from him. “Tell me of your troubles, Frost.”

I seated myself and inhaled deeply. “Well, you've doubtlessly noticed just why my name is Frost Windchill,” I said to him.

“Yes, yes.” He nodded.

“I am a cryomancer, a practitioner of ice magic,” I started to explain. “Now... elemental magic is inherently dangerous in that not only must someone have an affinity for a specific element- if at all- but with continued practice of the magic, an elemental union forms. This causes both physical and psychological changes in the practitioner.”

I paused to check to see if he was following. He nodded, still focused. Of course he was! What was I thinking? They were all fluent in Equestrian after all. I continued as such. “Well, I'm currently experiencing the more serious of cryomancy's elemental union effects as you've... no doubt noticed- a drop in my body's core temperature.” I raised my hooves and said quickly, “It's safe for me, I assure you! I don't feel cold at all right now. In fact, a little warm. But... I'm cold to the touch. You've realized this. Very cold.”

I inhaled slowly, deeply. “I had a marefriend.” Chief Thunderhooves' eyes opened up wider for a moment. He knew where this was going. I turned away and allowed myself a thin smile. “She was... such an amazing pony, an amazing person. She was my first friend in an unfamiliar place- the first I'd ever been to outside of my hometown of Manehattan. She helped me through school, she was very loving and caring, and she's just this... incredibly talented musician. Incredibly talented.” I turned back to him, smile gone. “She was... she was very frail, though. She got sick very often, and... she put up with me for a long time, all throughout college with me. Just a few weeks ago it... it just became too much.” For a moment, I could almost hear her playing on her violin, could almost see her on Main Street with a crowd gathering about, eyes closed, funneling her emotion through the bow into the strings and into the air...

It must have been for much longer because Chief Thunderhooves asked, “She left you?”

“Yes, but... but the way she did it was...” I sighed mistily again, jarred from that memory I wanted to relive. “She did it for me. I could've stopped the union's progression if I stopped performing cryomancy, and I was more than willing to do it! Even if it's the only magic I can perform- I can't even lift a wad of tissue paper with telekinesis! I was willing to do it!” I let out another sigh. “But... it was too late, and she said she couldn't do that to me.” I looked down at the snowflake on my left flank almost hatefully. “She left me, saying it was for the best. We're... we're still friends, but... but nothing more.”

I bit my lip and looked down and away from him. “I was going to propose to her.” It hurt a lot less than I thought it would. I didn't cry. My voice didn't falter. But I still felt that aching heaviness to my heart. “I was going to propose to her. I was going to be all clever about it, too. I would have slipped it into her violin case along with the other tips while she was too lost playing to notice and...” I sighed, crushing that thought of a moment never to be. “I figured out why, too. We loved one another, and I... I still have those feelings for her. It's just... lovers need physical contact between one another. It's so deeply ingrained in our minds. It's why long-distance relationships rarely ever work out. It's that reassuring lover's comfort. And...” I blew out a soft breath, watching the cool mist sift out and gently fade away, “I don't think I can give that to anyone anymore... I don't think that I can be able to love someone else. And that's what pains me the most.”

I looked back up to see Chief Thunderhooves lean back, looking upward in deep thought. “I think I know someone in my lineage who may be able to help you, or at least offer advice,” he said, closing his eyes and leveling out. “I would like to invoke his spirit for you. If you wish.”

This time, I got the hint. “I don't wish to ask something like that of you,” I said. One.

“Don't you?” he inquired.

“No, I don't,” I answered. Two.

“I'm more than willing, you know,” the dark-furred buffalo said to me.

“And I understand that, but I would rather not,” I replied. Three.

“But it is a very grievous issue, Frost.” He looked deep into my eyes and I into his. They were fierce yet full of depth, full of wisdom- wisdom, I thought to myself, that I should open my ears to. “Let me help you.”

I bowed my head to him. “I... I accept your generous gift, Chief Thunderhooves.”

He smiled thinly and nodded, tilting to the side to retrieve a long, wooden pipe with many intricate, ornate designs carved into it. He looked over, rolling it in his hooves. He pulled a clay jar closer and spoke, “I used to be able to invoke my ancestors without any of this, you know. I only needed to close my eyes and focus. I could just empty all other unnecessary thoughts but those of my ancestor. So could my father. His father, too. And his father before him.” He rolled the pipe a little more. “And his father before him... and his father before him... and his father before him... and his father before him... and his father before him...” I started to fidget a little, and he looked at me. He chuckled to himself. “And many fathers before him as well.

“But today, there are just so many things to worry about.” He went on, looking off to the side of the tent where the television set and the portable generator sat. “I hear about the children missing their parents and my brothers and sisters having difficulty adjusting to the new technology and having to worry about fixing it. I hear about those who work at the casino complaining about the schedule, not only how it disrupts time with their family but also because of how it works. We buffalo don't work on time. We have no clocks. We have no words in our language for nine-o'clock, ten-o'clock, eleven-o'clock, twelve-o'clock. No such things. If we want to meet on the prairie for a private talk after lunch, we don't give the time- just say after lunch. When the sun is high, when the moon rises, when the shadow is long and late or early... but instead we are constrained by your accepted construct of time. It is this tyranny of the clock, they call it.” He let out a sigh. “And then what I hear on TV. Buy this, buy that. Recession this, missing merchant ships that. So much worry. I can't focus.

“Bah,” he grumbled, facing me again. “I am rambling. Here.” He opened the pot and sprinkled a mix of herbs and a hint of salt into the bowl of his pipe and held it above the electric heater. “I will introduce you to my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great...” He paused and tapped his hoof in the air as if to count, “-one-less-great-grandfather.” He chuckled softly. “He is... a special case and had a situation very similar to yours. He may be able to help. Please treat him with respect. He is possibly the most important chief in the Clan of the Thunderhooves.”

“Yes, Chief,” I said with a nod in understanding.

The dark-furred buffalo lifted the pipe away as it began to smoke, closing his eyes as he sealed his lips around the bit and puffed three long times, paused, puffed thrice more, paused, repeated. Finally, he pulled the pipe away and set it down to burn out, falling into a relaxed slouch. When he opened his eyes again, they were rolled up to the point where I could see nothing but white. I knew what the process entailed, but... it nevertheless disturbed me.

“A pony seeks my advice?” he asked. His tone was the same, but the pace at which he spoke was a little slower and there was a clear distinction between each word. He was now a medium.

“Yes, Chief Thunderhooves of old,” I answered with a respectful bow. “I seek your advice.”

“Well go ahead. I won't bite.” A pause. “I'm smiling, by the way. I know it doesn't show. Limits of spirit channeling and such. Speak frankly. I'm not some terrible ruler here to curse you. That would be my great-great-grandson.”

I chuckled softly, feeling more at ease. Then I frowned as I recanted my tale to him. All the while, Chief Thunderhooves the vessel remained still and impassive, though I knew Chief Thunderhooves of old was listening- or at least I hope he did. Again I paused as I spoke about Hummingbird once more, unable to help but remember that comforting, subtle warmth to her slender form as she laid in bed with me with that quiet, squeaky snore of hers. Again he had to regain my attention.

When I finished, he let out a sigh and said, “Yes... I know why my descendant chose me to speak with you. You see, I... had a similar condition to you.” I looked up at him, giving him my undivided attention.

“I was not originally a chief, you see,” he began. “That was my brother. I was merely the clan's shaman, the spiritual leader and healer. When my brother died in a landslide, it fell to me to become chief. At the same time, I could not shed my past life as a shaman. So I acted as both.

“And shamans must remain chaste for life.”

I nodded slowly. I understood now why Chief Thunderhooves chose him. “So you... chose to remain shaman, even when you could have had the chance to have a wife?”

“It is because I could not give up the shaman lifestyle,” he answered. “It had become such an... in...trin...sic part of me. Is that the right word?” I nodded. “It was my destiny, and I had to hold onto that even if I had to become chief. It is just like your cutie-mark, Frost.”

I looked back down at my left flank and slowly nodded in understanding. “So how did you...”

“-deal with it? I was lonely to be sure. At first, I was tempted to find myself a loving cow and to break tradition to do so. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. I had to restrain myself. I was a shaman. That was who I was and still am. I know it is tough. Even to my dying breath, I occasionally longed for someone to hold close to me. I even had to remain distant from my selected heir.

“In order for you to learn to love life and live a wholesome one, you have to occupy yourself. I don't just mean busying yourself. I mean occupying all three parts of what makes you- you. That means body, mind, and spirit.

“The body needs a physical task, something you can always fall back on. For me, it was stampeding. I charged everywhere I went, even if just to aid the neighbor just a tent over. It's how I've always done things. Maybe that's why my name- and the name of this clan to this day- is Thunderhooves.”

I smiled at that.

He continued. “For the mind, you need something to test your intelligence. For me, that was being both a shaman and chief in one. Not only did I have to lead my clan, but I also had to tend to the sick and injured. Both require a lot of knowledge and both require continued learning. You see new situations every day, and you must plan for them or learn to act on them on the spot.

“For the spirit, you need something that soothes you. For me, that was again being a shaman. I healed the sick and injured, and every life I saved made me feel... whole. Complete. Whoever I helped was a son or daughter, a brother or sister, a father or mother to another. I could not save my brother in time, but being able to save the loved one of another made me feel happy and relieved. Even in the Everafter, I long to see a worried bull or cow turn into smiles and laughter after I let them see their loved one. It was something I was very proud and happy I could do for others.

“So let me ask you, Frost. Do you have anything for your body?”

I looked down at the pouches on my fetlocks, sprouting an ice arm to whip Chrome Cleaver up in an Aerial, closing her in a Full Twirl and pouching her. “Yeah... I think I do,” I answered as I did so, smiling a little.

“And your mind?”

“Well, my own job, like yours,” I replied. “I am an equinpologist.”

“Mm, I see,” he said. “I remember when your culture began to study ours. A very interesting buck. Used it to justify pony supremacy.” I winced. “Times have changed, and I am thankful for that. Now what about your spirit?”

“Equinpology as well,” I responded.

“I am shaking my head right now,” he spoke to me. “That is not going to heal your spirit.”

I furrowed my brow. “What do you mean?”

“From what I know, equinpology requires you to detach yourself from the others in a sense,” he replies. “You cannot allow how you were raised or what you know of your own culture to change how you view another's. You cannot compare taboos, customs, and other such things. There is emotion to be sure, perhaps, but it is not good enough. Think hard now. That which occupies your spirit must always call some... emotion in you, and a good one. It must make you laugh, cry, smile all for good reasons. Can you think of something that might do that for you?”

I thought on that for a while. I tried to think of something that made me that emotional. Was it learning about other cultures? Well... not exactly. Balisongs certainly did do that for me. Something else that I liked...

I found my answer much quicker than I thought. And I smiled.

“I think I have,” I said and bowed. “Thank you, Chief Thunderhooves of old.”

“You are welcome, Frost,” he spoke. “Be well. And tell my descendant to get a fine cow already.”

I chuckled softly as Chief Thunderhooves closed his eyes and stiffened up, opening them as normal and blinking rapidly. He caught the tail end of it and frowned. “Was it the cow thing again?”

I nodded, smiling apologetically.

“Hmph. And you Hokkaidans think you have demanding parents. I have a whole lineage shaking their hooves at me to get married!”

* * *

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Song Spinner. Hope I'm not calling at a bad time?”

“Frost? Oh, no, no, it's an off day for me today. I thought you were away on assignment in the San Palomino Desert. Are you back already?”

“No, no, just turns out there's actually signal here. How are you doing?”

“Pretty good. I actually meant to call you. Uh, Hummingbird actually moved out...”

“What?”

“She said she wanted to be able to take care of herself. She's making enough money with the orchestra that she decided she could move out to her own apartment. She said she sent you an e-mail with her new address and phone number, though.”

“Oh... okay, thanks for letting me know.”

“Sorry about that, Frost.”

“No, no, it's alright. Don't worry about it. I actually wanted to ask you something in particular.”

“Really? What is it?”

The storyteller smiled.

“Have you ever taught piano before?”

* * *

The armored unicorn stallion sat back, sighed, and smiled.

So that's where it all started for me a few weeks later. A few lessons to test the waters. I'd just swing by her house on Sundays at one in the afternoon, twenty-five bits for an hour. She was cutting me a real bargain considering most professional tutors charged a bit on the minute. I brought this issue up in concern for her, but she just reminded me she had orchestral piano as her primary income in any case. It was the same rate she charged for teaching her cousin.

“Also,” the blue-maned mare said to me with a smirk, “it's because I know you're too proud to take these lessons without paying for them.”

“That's not true!” I protested, feeling a bit of old Hothead Hokkaido in me. Then I looked away bashfully and crossed a foreleg over another. “Okay, maybe you're right.”

“Hey, give me some credit for knowing you better than most people,” Song snickered, patting me on the shoulder with a wing and recoiling a little from the cold before patting again. She tucked it back and headed into her high-rise apartment. I tried to keep my standards up again, but... I couldn't help but let my gaze dip a bit down.

The storyteller puckered his lips for a moment.

Yeah, she still had the nice plot. I'm only equine, okay?

After the chuckles and snickers died down, he continued.

“So how did your trip go?” she asked me, refocusing my attention to more important matters.

“It went pretty well,” I answered as I stepped through into her home, feeling a tad nostalgic as I took in the small, crowded spaces and the scratchy, flat carpet, the plain white walls and the steady chug of the air conditioner. She had appliances and furniture closer to the classiness and the richness that we had in my own home. If anything, renting an apartment with that level of income left quite a bit of money to go elsewhere.

“I was meaning, like, what you were studying,” she clarified as we headed for her glossy, black, upright piano located near the window, which had a view of Main Street. I could even see some musicians playing down there. Small wonder that she spotted Hummingbird- possibly with me in the crowd- so long ago. She had a Samick, one of those third-name brands. As she lifted up the cover and pulled away the bench, it looked worn but recently restored. There was still a bit of tarnish to the brass pedals.

“Oh, well, the Thunderhooves Clan of buffalo has actually been resistant to cultural deterioration,” I replied, then quickly added after realizing my audience was not an equinpological one, “meaning that their traditions and customs have remained intact in the face of the increasingly commercialized and industrialized nature of the modern world. That said, their proximity to the recently commercialized Appleloosa has had some interesting effects on their society. While the availability of modern technology has made certain tasks easier, it also gives them more to worry about. If a bull has to feed his family but also wants gas for his generator, he has to get a job in Appleloosa to pay for it. If that generator malfunctions, he has to pay to hire someone to repair it. That job often comes in the form of working for the town's casino, which often has work hours late into the night and thus disrupts family life. So while industrialization hasn't had a profound cultural impact on the Thunderhooves Clan, it's had a marked social and ideological one. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.” I paused, watching her stare at me. “Too much?”

“No, just, you really like doing that stuff, don't you?” she asked, smiling.

“Does it show?” I chuckled huskily. “So! Where do we start?”

The storyteller kept talking as he made his way over to the old piano.

“Well, there's an interesting story about that,” Song responded. “You see, you know how the only 'tutoring' I've done is for my cousin, right? Well, she was an earth pony. She could only play with her hooves and her snout, and I had to teach her to play like that. Wasn't easy, let me tell you. In your case, however,” She spread her wings and flexed her primaries, “I can use these. You've got those hands of yours, so hopefully this will make things go much smoother. So...” She sat down at the bench, “we're going to start with this.”

He sat down, sprouted a pair of ice arms... and used only one finger on each hand to play “Chopsticks”.

“Really?” I asked her. “We're starting there?”

“Yes, really,” the black-furred pegasus answered, lifting her feathers away from the keys. “Have to know the basics in order to build up.”

“Well, that really didn't count for Hummingbird, did it?”

“Hummingbird's a special exception,” she said. “Do you think you can hear a song, figure out the notes from ear or even by sheet, and then play it in a reverse-engineering way?”

“... no,” I answered. “I can see where you're going with this.”

She nodded. “Right. So, we start with...”

Song played “Chopsticks” again using her wings, but this time, she started using the damper pedal to blend nodes together.

“Then we start doing this,” she added. She then drew a primary up across the piano keys. “And this...” Then she moved onto a waltz-like spree and...

You know what? I'll play for you.

He faced the keys and let his fingers dance...

* * *

Six months passed. I got myself a full-sized electric keyboard, and soon, I could sight-read at a decent clip. Soon, I could play music without really needing instruction.

“It just takes longer for kids because they have to think about all these new ideas, you know?” Song said to me. “Translation of images to keys played, muscle or magic memory to know what keys are where without having to look down, the idea of planning ahead and looking ahead as you play down the measures. Older kids and adults pick it up easier.”

Six months passed. And for all those months, I still kept in contact with her. I'd just drop her a call every so often. Just to check on her.

* * *

“Hello, Frost.”

“Hey, Hummingbird. How are you doing?”

“Pretty good, pretty good. You?”

“Same, more or less.”

“Heh... so I heard from Song Spinner that you started taking up piano.”

“Yeah, that's right.” Soft, husky chuckle. “Guess you can't call me an uncultured Manehattaner anymore, can you?”

Soft giggle.

Sigh. “So how're your street performances going?”

“Still doing them in my off days.”

“Getting popular?”

“Well, uh...”

“Come on, Hummingbird. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“A-A little, I mean... I'm not used to it, you know?”

“Don't let it get to you too much. Manehattaners are kind to the famous folk. We know when to leave them be. You won't get pestered by fans or paparazzi or anything. Hopefully.”

“Heh, that's the key word, isn't it?”

Soft chuckle. “I guess. So have you ever thought you could go anywhere with that?”

“Hm... well, Song pitched the idea of recording my own pieces and maybe releasing an EP. A lot of the music I do is mishmashes of existing songs, so I'll have to get the copyright stuff taken care of, but it's something I'm considering.”

“An EP from you, huh? Well, if you're in any need of any good recording equipment, I could ask Silva Hound for advice.”

“Thanks, Frost...”

“No problem, Hummingbird. Just let me know what you decide to do with that, okay? I want to be your first customer.”

Soft chuckle.

* * *

The storyteller sighed.

Six months passed. A lot could change in six months. I was twenty-five years old, a grown stallion now. I couldn't head to The Lazy Dog without drawing stares from the others anymore. It was still a juvie-joint, after all. As much as I loved the music, I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't fit in anymore- either because I was older... or because I was colder.

I spent those months working, too- in my own hometown. Thinking back, it's hard to imagine how I missed all of that. Manehattan was a sociocultural salad bowl. If I was trying to demonstrate and eventually argue for or against industrialization, it was the place to look. I don't know why I didn't think of that earlier.

Manehattan epitomized the radical shifts brought by industry and commerce. Just walking through the City of Lights and Legends by night was enough to tell me that with all of the great, big neon signs, the variety of music blasting through the air, and the people walking, driving, and flying through the streets.

I discovered something in my studies at home. Manehattan was the quintessential Equestrian city. It incorporated the best Equestria had to offer- love and tolerance, music and magic- and the worst- gangs and thugs, the ultra rich and the ultra poor. It was thus the ultimate place for Equestrian naturalization.

And it showed.

* * *

“You come to ask me of Zebrica?” Modeba, Zoleks' father huffed. “Frost, it has been twenty-four... twenty-five years since we left. I could not tell you what you need to know for your research.”

“But surely you must have something,” I said to him.

He shook his head. “You know enough of my home country through your studies in Canterlot. For how industry and commercialism have changed our customs, I can't tell you- other than that the Great Depression caused many of us to move to Equestria, Aldorna, and Almarinia in search of work. I am happy here, and I care not to return. I would suggest that you go there instead, but all travel to the Zebrican Empire is suspended.”

“... it is?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

He nodded. “Zebrica is in a state of military operation. The minotaurs staged an uprising and the Caesar is putting it down. So they shut down travel and expelled all unnecessary foreigners.”

I grimaced for a moment. “Any idea how long it'll take for that to reach a resolution?”

“With Caesar Raj'M'Kora?” he huffed. “More of an intellectual than a military leader, that one. Minotaurs are the second-most populous species in the empire. It may take a long time. Don't get your hopes up.”

* * *

Six months became a year now. I had an academic publisher interested in my work with a hoof in the door ready for when I managed to get details on Zebrica, all thanks to Professor Shinespark at MMI. It was just me at home, typing down and fleshing out my notes by day and then partying or going to concerts by night with Zoleks. He and Namira had a simple marriage, just a family-and-friend get-together. Song Spinner and Hummingbird had their music- now me as well. My parents and I were still on good terms, and I was always welcome at home- a home I now enjoyed. I had my balisongs to occupy my body, equinpology to occupy my mind, and piano to occupy my spirit.

But I started feeling... unhappy. The deeper I dug in my research at home, the more... empty it felt. I don't mean the research, I mean Manehattan. And I couldn't believe I was thinking that. Like I said, The City of Lights and Legends was the ultimate Equestrian naturalization center. People from all places and all walks of life came there and were completely assimilated into Equestrian society. You won't find a buffalo, a mule, a zebra, and a pony together in pinstripe suits and straw hats playing swing music anywhere else in the world, at least not like this. I realized that- thinking back- Manehattan was obliterating whole cultures. The only exceptions were the Northerners who had the Northern Lights Festival every year, but that was held only because we had so little of our culture left and we wanted to keep it living on. No other celebration united a whole people in the same way.

I remember I met with Vani Windfall again, now proudly with child and preparing for a new life with her husband, Alden. She could only name four of the gods in the inner circle of the griffin pantheon. Zoleks' family- Namira's as well- didn't practice the same system of cultural responsibilities as zebras should have. But they all knew the Equestrian National Anthem, City of Lights and Legends and all the other pony songs by heart. They knew all of the big-time corporations' slogans and even reacted to their company jingles. They could usually name most of the Manehattan Giants' players- sometimes even their numbers.

Now this isn't to say that I overlooked Manehattan's beauty. Sure, the people greeted one another with a smile and wave, but there were so many of us there that at times- just... at times- it felt more mechanical that personal. Sure, there was still a ton of cultural diversity but only if it was convenient for industrial, commercial life. You won't find any griffin temples in Manehattan, that was for sure. And sure, the city itself was amazing- all the lights, all the people, all the songs. But all that glitters isn't necessarily golden.

So I came to a decision, one that led to a chance meeting that would change my life forever

* * *

We were at the dinner table, eating tempura and goma-ae. I had it all prepared. Was just going to lay it bare. “Mother, father,” I spoke, “I've... I've been thinking I've been needing a change of scenery.” I paused, letting them look up from their food to me. “You know how I'm starting to feel about Manehattan. I still love it as I would my home, but... I think I need a breather.”

They both shared a look. Mother gave a shrug, and father merely asked, “How long do you think you'll need?”

“I don't know,” I answered. “Might be a few months. Might be years.” I let the words sink in. Father glanced downward for a moment. Mother worked her jaw around a bit. “Rest assured, I'll always visit in time for your birthdays and for The Northern Lights and Hearth's Warming,” I said to them as earnestly as I could. “And will call.”

They shared a look. Mother said, “He's his own stallion now, you know.”

Father nodded, then faced me. “So where will you go?”

I inhaled and replied, “I was thinking Ponyville.”

* * *

“Ponyville, huh?” Zoleks asked as we sat at the bar in Club DV8. It was one of the trendier nightclubs in Manehattan. The music was nice, I'll admit, but... it just didn't have the same appeal to me as Silva Hound's at The Lazy Dog. Either it was sensual or it wasn't. DJ H0UND just managed to hit that perfect in-between.

“Yep,” I answered simply, puckering my lip as the scantily-clad waitress passed us by. I didn't even glance at her flank. I had less of a chance at a mare than I did as pre-Mumei Hokkaido. “I just... need some time to think. I'll still keep in touch, don't you worry.”

He smiled easy at that, offering a hoof at first. Then he chuckled and just drew me into a hug, which I gladly returned. “Sparklesake, you're cold,” he muttered as he pulled away, shivering. He nevertheless smiled and clasped me on the shoulder. “Take care, alright? I'll always be there if you need me.”

“I know, Zoleks,” I said with a smile at my greatest friend. “Thank you.”

* * *

“Hey, Frost...” Hummingbird greeted with a soft smile as we wrapped one another in a tender embrace. She was back in her old hoodie, I noted. But at least we were hugging, and for those precious few seconds, I relished her subtle warmth- not too hot for me but just enough to be comforting.

“Hey, Hummingbird...” I whispered to her before we slowly pulled away, mindful of what I was carrying on my back with my ice arms. “Whoa, careful. Mind the keyboard.” It didn't feel like Velcrow straps this time. I'd accepted things, as painful as they were (No I didn't.). “Just... you know, wanted to stop by and see you again before I headed off.”

“Sure, absolutely,” she said with a nod and... smile. I knew that kind of smile all too well. I'd used it before. It's the kind of smile that masks. Masked what? I didn't know. “Oh, come in! Come in!” She stood aside and waved a wing to her apartment. Walking in, it wasn't just a hint of nostalgia washing over me like with Song Spinner's. It was a torrent of it from the crummy appliances to the ratty bed that also probably served as the sofa. There was even an old Zenith television set with the bug-like antennae. I felt... oddly at home there.

“Frost?” she asked, stepping into view. “You alright?”

I shook out of my rumination and smiled to her. “Yeah, I'm okay. So...” I paused, setting down my keyboard and setting it up.

“So...” Hummingbird rubbed her foreleg. “Um... Ponyville, huh?”

“Yeah.” I nodded and stood up. “So... just one song and... maybe dinner after?”

Hummingbird nodded slowly. “Yeah... Frost, have... have you found anypony, anyone else?”

I paused. “... no.” Pause. “Have you?”

She stood there, still rubbing her foreleg. She glanced up at me once, then turned away. She gave the tinniest of nods.

I inhaled, steeled myself, and... smiled. “What's he like?”

“... I... I shouldn't talk about him here, not like this,” she said quickly. “Maybe another time.”

I nodded slowly, letting the smile slip as I turned back to the keyboard. “So, did... you have anything in mind? Just this once, right?”

Hummingbird didn't move for a few seconds. Then she went to the bed and pulled out a set of saddlebags from underneath, popping them open and offering a set of sheet music using her wing. I took them in my arms and looked the title over.

“Hummingbird...” I sighed mistily, closing my eyes.

“I thought it would be fitting,” she whispered.

Eyes open, I let out another sigh through my nostrils. I set down the sheets on the rack and nodded to her. “Let's do it. Let's do it.”

The green pegasus mare, that beautiful green pegasus mare (I still miss her) retrieved her violin case from under the bed. With practiced fluidity, she removed it and hooked it up to a speaker. With a pop and a buzz, she turned it on and drew the bow once, tweaking it until she sounded very close to a cello.

I turned to her and set my fingers on the keys. “On your go.”

Hummingbird closed her eyes, lifted her bow, set it down...

The storyteller nodded to Roanoke.

And we played.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 14 Reached!
Perk added: In a China Shop- They're more graceful than you think. You gain a 5% boost to Speech rolls against buffaloes.

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- AAAAAppleloosa (This Doesn't Look Anything Like the Picture...)

Soundtrack- Where the Buffalo Roam

Soundtrack- Theme of the Last Great Chief, Thunderhooves

Soundtrack- Chopsticks (But Not Quite)

Soundtrack- The Last Duet

Author's Note

So, after all this, I've learned something.

Buffalo names are freaking hard.

But that aside, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. The pacing was a little hard for me, but... I hope it's alright. Next one is where things get interesting. My thanks to the incredible FoE community, my pre-reader Lazer726, and you for reading. Please leave some feedback if you can. I would appreciate it since there'll eventually come a time for me to look back and tweak things a little. Also, let me know how the music experiment worked out!

Don't forget about the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr either!
(URL = )

Reflection Fifteen: Sunshine and Smiles

Reflection Fifteen: Sunshine and Smiles

“Morning in Ponyville shimmerrrrrs!”

“-ose three words
are said too mu-uch
but not enough.

If I lay here-
if I just laaaay here-
would you lie wiiith me
and just forget the world?”

I opened my eyes to the buzzing speaker of my alarm clock once more, blinking rapidly. I let out a misty sigh and rubbed my eyes with my hooves. I shut it off and sat up in bed, looking over to the pictures on my desk, to the one with me and Hummingbird.

She'd moved on. Of course she did. I couldn't expect her to suffer with me or anything like that. She had a new coltfriend. She was going to be happy. I should be happy- for her. But I wasn't. I know it's hard to picture me moping over something as “simple” as that in this day and age, folks, but... just bear in mind that things were different back then in those better days. Today, you have to worry about your special someone dying, not just breaking up with them. But none of that was really relevant back then. And so I sat there, staring off into the space just past that picture, feeling a great burden on my heart.

But eventually, as I always did, I sucked it up. No use dwelling on those things. I sprouted an ice arm to pull Silver Skean out from her pouch on my nightstand, dancing her around to keep my mind occupied as I made preparations to leave for Ponyville.

* * *

I clambered off of Zoleks' Hardy-Mason as he pulled up in front of Manehattan Grand Terminal, sprouting my ice arms to heft up my suitcase and my keyboard. I didn't need to bring many things- just my sheet music, my balisongs, some of my favorite books, and my portable terminal. Oh, and my trusty fedora, of course. And a few trinkets... everything else including toiletries could be purchased when I got there. Honestly, the keyboard was heavier than everything else combined.

“Thanks for the ride, Zoleks,” I said as I pulled everything onto my back, horn lighting up as I snaked ice muscles down my legs so I could shoulder the weight.

“You sure you don't want me to walk you to the platform?” he asked, eying me. “I have the time, you know.”

I paused, remembering the first time I said good-bye to him, heading off to a new place for the first time. It seemed so long ago, yet here we were all over again. We'd grown older. We led new lives. He was starting a family. I was... what was I doing? Secluding myself from my friends and family for time to think, a change of scenery. I suddenly felt selfish, hesitant to do it. But I'd already made plans, made purchases. I had to follow through, for better or for worse.

But thinking back to that time five years ago, I didn’t want another tearful good-bye. I already had enough on my mind. As I looked into those brown eyes seeing nothing but sincerity, though... how could I refuse? He was always there for me when I needed him most. I wouldn't be alive without him... I... wouldn't be the person I was then, nor the person I am today without him.

I felt my lip twitch and my eyes grow wet as I forced a smile and clasped him on the back. “Okay,” I said quietly to mask my shaky tone. “Let's go.”

* * *

I waved at him through the window as the train slowly pulled away from the platform, holding that soft smile until he slipped away out of view. Then my mask collapsed and I slumped back in my seat, overcome with a torrent of memories and emotions. Alone again, heading off into a new place without a friend. That feeling of nostalgia overwhelmed me, and I was left aching inside.

But the wound closed, as they all do in time. I took one look back at the retreating cityscape of Manehattan and looked beyond into the plains and rolling hills that encroached. It was time for me to lead a new life once more.

* * *

The storyteller flashed a postcard depicting a picturesque town with cottage-like houses and tile and thatched roofs, all painted in bright colors all under clear, sunny skies and a sparkling rainbow.

Pretty, isn’t it? To be truthful, I'd stopped by Ponyville several times before. It was a stop along the train ride between Manehattan and Canterlot, and that's why the town was my choice in a place to just take my mind off of things with a change of scenery. Granted, I'd never actually ventured into Ponyville itself, but that was going to change shortly. I stepped off onto the platform and was surrounded by family welcoming family, friends welcoming friends. I strode on alone just down the short few steps off of the station and into the Town of Sunshine and Smiles for the first time.

Unlike Appleloosa, it was just like what I saw in the pictures- a fact that comforted me greatly. There was not a paved road to be seen in the entire town, it seemed, and the homes and businesses were all built from wood, brick, and straw. Unlike Manehattan, everything seemed to be... radiant. All of the buildings were in bright colors- even pink. Stone archways and bridges connected various parts of town in a way that felt easy on the eyes. Ponies strode down the neatly-trimmed grass streets, chattering among themselves. They didn't just give a quick casual wave or hello- they actually stopped to chat or walked beside one another to hold a conversation- something you could never see or at least notice in Manehattan. The air was also pure and fresh like in Canterlot- which I noticed I could actually see way up high in the distance atop its mountain crest. It served to remind me that if I ever needed to discuss equinpology or history with anyone, Professor Egan was only a short train ride away. But looking around Ponyville, from its obvious stewardship to the environment what with using giant mushrooms for tables at outdoor restaurants to the bright, colorful architecture, the town just seemed so welcoming.

And I was about to find out just how welcoming the town really was.

I trotted down the streets leading to my apartment home after meeting with the landlady. The prices here were a real steal- less than five-hundred bits a month. Most apartments in Manehattan ran for close to double that, requiring either a decent income or a roommate to help cover the rent. I had enough from my own earnings and royalties from my work on the Hydronomicon to support me for a few months, but I had to get a job here, even if a minimum-wage one. Mortgage on my parents’ mansion in Manehattan finally emptied the coffer, and so I had to leave the rest to them so they could continue to enjoy their home. I was fine with that. They deserved it.

My thoughts were interrupted as a most peculiar pegasus mare descended in front of me. She had a gray coat and a butter-yellow mane and tail, and she was wearing a courier bag and cap. Her cutie-mark appeared to be a stream of bubbles. Most peculiar, however, were her eyes. Yellow wasn't a shade out of the norm, but it was the way that one of her eyes seemed to aim wherever it pleased independent of the other that surprised me. I was caught off-guard, but her friendly smile was infectious- I could only return it.

“Hi there,” she greeted in a high, slightly squeaky tone, using one of her wings to pull out a clipboard. “You're Frostbane Hok...kaydo Windchill, right?”

“Hokkaido,” I corrected as politely as I could. “And just call me Frost. Ah... are you alright, ma'am?”

“Hm, oh, you mean the eye?” she asked, using her mouth to remove a pen and mark off something on the clipboard. “It's just my lazy eye. Always had it. Anyway, you're new to town, right?”

“Yeah, I'm actually in the process of moving in right now,” I answered, shrugging a shoulder up to indicate my belongings.

“Oh, right, right!” She smiled and offered a hoof, which I shook. “I'm Ditzy Doo, by the way. I'm a courier for the town.” She stashed her clipboard away and dug into her bag, offering me an envelope. "This letter's for you. It's your official welcome to Ponyville.”

“Thanks,” I said, sprouting an ice arm to tip my hat to her. “I'll open it once I get settled in.”

“Whoa, uh, what's that you have there?” she asked, indicating my arm. Then she pointed at the tendrils around my legs. “Moreover, what're those?”

“Hm?” I blinked and followed her gaze- no, wait, that was the wrong eye. I followed her other gaze to- “Oh, you mean this. It's just an ice arm. It's how I grab and move things since I can't use another other magic outside of hydromancy or cryomancy.” Then I motioned to the tendrils. “Ice muscles here help me lift heavier stuff.”

“Hydro, cryo...” Ditzy murmured. “So, like, water and ice magic?”

I nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Oh, well that's pretty... cool,” she giggled at her own pun. “Anyway, I'd... really suggest opening it now.” She looked at me with a worrying expression. “Preferably after setting your stuff down.”

“Well, can't it wait until after I move in?” I inquired, my smile disappearing with hers.

“IIIIIII'd really suggest opening it out here,” she said with an almost apologetic smile, backing away. “I really should get to back to my deliveries. Sorry in advance!” She took off... straight into a streetlamp. She made this strange- albeit cute- “Derp!” And then she flew off.

Huh. I looked down at the envelope. It just read “Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill”. There were no return address or stamps, but otherwise, nothing about seemed out of the ordinary. Shrugging to myself, I set down my belongings, careful to stand up my keyboard to prevent it from getting wet from the grass. Sublimating my ice muscles and sprouting another arm, I dragged a finger under the flap to break the seal and opened it up.

And the head of a pink pony with an outrageously puffy, messy hot-pink mane and bright-blue eyes burst from the envelope with a spray of confetti and the sound of kazoos. “Surpriiiiiiiise!” she exclaimed in an even higher-pitched and squeakier voice than Ditzy.

I cried out in surprise, falling flat on my back and dropping the envelope and my ice arms. Goddesses Almighty, she almost gave me a heart attack! I only watched baffled as the rest of the pink earth pony popped out of the envelope and started bouncing up and down around me. My heart was still beating in a frenzy as she starting singing, zipping around me faster than the eye could track and handling the entire musical accompaniment by herself with a wagon she pulled from... I don't know!

“Welcome welcome welcome!
A fine welcome to you!
Welcome welcome welcome!
I say how do you do?”

“Well-” I started.

“Welcome welcome welcome!
I say hip-hip-hooray! Wheee!
Welcome welcome welcome-
to Ponyville today!”

She paused, reared up on her hindlegs as if to display the town around us. I blinked awkwardly, looking around.

“Wait for it...” she murmured.

We waited for it... whatever “it” was.

“Waaaaait for it...” the outrageously pink pony murmured again.

Again we waited. Nothing happened.

She settled back down on all fours and darted over to her music-playing wagon, opening a compartment on it. “Oh gosh darn it, there's no more confetti!” She tapped her chin in deep thought and then smiled far wider than should be physically possible. “Ooh!” She plucked a feather from... somewhere and tickled her nose. Her eye twitched and she took a series of deep breaths... and finally sneezed out a jet of confetti complete with a kazoo sound-off. Then she slid forward on her hindlegs while again displaying the town around us with a great, big smile.

Braeburn, you've been one-upped.

“Uh, I'm... welcomed?” I offered, unsure just what on Equestria I'd witnessed.

“You bet you are!” she exclaimed, righting herself and helping me back up to my hooves. Now that I was standing again, I realized why Ditzy had made me set down my belongings and apologized in advance. I also realized just how appropriate the set of three party balloons adorning the flanks of the mare in front of me were. “I'm Pinkie Pie! Hope you enjoyed your official welcome welcome welcome to Ponyville, even if I had to improvise a little at the end!”

Yes, folks. Pinkie Pie. The Pinkie Pie.

“Ah... do you... normally do this for newcomers to town?” I inquired, quite possibly still in shock.

Pinkie Pie snorted and giggled, “Of course I do! I make it a habit to meet and greet and greet and meet everypony new to town! So where're you from, huh?” And now she started hopping up and down. Good Goddesses, how much caffeine did she have in her system?

Well, at least it all seemed to be in good nature. She wasn't distracting me from a pickpocket or anything- all of my belongings were still next to me in any case. “I'm from Manehattan,” I answered, finally letting out a smile. “You know, City of Lights and Legends?”

“Ooh, big-city buck, huh?” Pinkie smiled, standing still and wagging her puffy tail excitedly. She wrapped a foreleg around my shoulders and displayed Ponyville to me. “Then welcome to the Town of Sunshine and Smiles! I hope I've put a little bit of both in your day today! Now come on! I gotta show you around town!”

“Eheh... sorry, but I really just want to settle down in my new home for a bit,” I said, prying her foreleg away and distancing myself with a smile turned apologetic. “Ah, maybe tomorrow?”

The upbeat mare literally seemed to deflate as I said it and pouted, “Awwww, are you sure? I planned the whole thing out...”

“I'm really sorry, Miss Pie,” I said as sympathetically as I could, approaching and patting her on the back. “I-”

“Oh, just call me Pinkie,” she spoke with a light smile. “Everypony here does!”

“Ah, I'm really sorry, Pinkie. Just want to settle down first is all. There's always time for the grand tour tomorrow, right?” I pulled away and started gathering my things back together.

“Aw, but everything was planned just for today!” she sighed. “I was going to show you the Golden Oaks Library, the day spa, Carousel Boutique, Sugarcube Corner, Sweet Apple Acres, Rainbow Dash's epically awesome and awesomely epic cloud house, Fluttershy's cottage, and our local nightclub...”

I paused with my ears perked up and turned back to her. “I'm sorry, did you say 'nightclub'?”

* * *

I ended up taking the tour after hastily setting my belongings just inside my apartment home. With an offer as tantalizing as an actual nightclub in a town like this, I couldn't pass it by. I mean, come on, folks- when I left Manehattan, I full-on expected to go cold turkey on the clubs! So after what seemed like the longest tour ever, where I was trying- I really was- my best to pay attention to Pinkie Pie's lightning-speed introductions and explanations, there we were.

Blaring Beats, that's what it was called. It was originally called Hoofbeats, but the similarity to a music magazine and the legal guillotine swinging overhead prompted the owner and DJ, Vinyl Scratch, to change the name. As the only nightclub in town, it was widely popular among the more rambunctious night owls of Ponyville- Pinkie Pie included.

Now, The Lazy Dog will always hold a special place in my heart. There's no denying that. But then, so will Blaring Beats. It was everything I could hope for in a nightclub in such a rural area. The place was pitch black with dance floor, turntables, walls, and bar counter were lit by stripes of light in subdued shades of blue, purple, and pink. I still lean towards Silva’s music, but this DJ knew just how to work those lights with her magic. The sound system was phenomenal. I could feel that bass beating my chest along with my heart. Then there was Vinyl Scratch herself, the ori-gi-nal DJ Pon3, folks. She was a white unicorn mare with a spiky mane and tail of electric blue, wearing a snazzy set of violet-tinted shades. And her music was hot. Every night, she would hold a “Beat Heat” hour and ask everypony to turn in music requests and would pick them out random.

I loved the place. It was a like my little slice of home away from home. Everypony was swinging and swaying away to the music, beam talismans and strobe lights creating a cascade of color accented by the glowrings everypony seemed to have.

And there I was, reveling in it all.

“Whoa, you've got some moves!” Pinkie Pie exclaimed. “I didn't know you were the partying type!”

“You kidding me?” I laughed. “You think these are moves? Lemme show you how a Manehattaner rocks it hard!”

* * *

“Heyyyyy, morning, buck! How're you doing?”

“Great, great! Zoleks, you won't believe it- they've got a nightclub here!”

“... heh, and here I was, thinking you'd hate it in Ponyville. Guessing you're cool with it now?”

“Yeah, yeah, definitely! I mean... wow! It was great in there! If it weren't for Pinkie, I wouldn't have even known about it!”

“Pinkie?”

“Oh, Pinkie Pie. She's the one-mare welcoming committee around here, apparently. She's kinda hyperactive and pulls all these... really weird stunts, but she-”

“Buck, did you just say you met Pinkie Pie?”

“Uh... yeah.”

“Don't you remember who Pinkie Pie is?”

Pause.

“Frost?”

“One sec.”

* * *

I slammed open the door of the gingerbread house-like Sugarcube Corner, catching Pinkie Pie just as she, a lanky mustard-yellow earth pony stallion, and a pudgy light-blue earth pony mare started setting up shop. She didn't act the least bit surprised, however, and merely looked at me with that impossibly wide smile of hers. “Oh, hi, Frost! What's up? Didja want some baked goods for breakfast?”

“You're Pinkie Pie?!” I exclaimed with the most baffled expression.

“Well, duhhhh!” the outrageously pink mare giggled. “That's how I introduced myself to you with your welcome welcome welcome to Ponyville!”

“I mean... you're the Element of Laughter?!”

She promptly snorted and giggled, “Yeah, it's pretty easy to tell, isn't it? The rest of the Bearers live here in Ponyville too, you know! And they're my bestest friends! I introduced them to you yesterday! Don’tcha remember?” Pinkie started hopping up and down as she said this. Did she ever run out of energy? I was surprised her cutie-mark wasn't a cup of coffee!

“All of you... here... Ponyville...” I retained my baffled expression.

Pinkie Pie hopped over to me and tapped me on the snout, to which I scrunched it up in response. “Try not to let it get to you. Sure, it's a huge responsibility- and believe me, I've had plenty of lessons in responsibility...” She looked back at the two other earth ponies with a soft, knowing smile to which they returned, “and it's extremely, extremely, extremely important, but really,” She turned to face me with a surprisingly earnest expression, “we just want to be treated like normal ponies.”

My baffled expression gradually turned to a more thoughtful one as she spoke. Back in Manehattan, celebrities were often left alone in a similar manner. I'd happened upon a few of them myself and treated them as I would any other decent folk. But Pinkie Pie and the others were heroines. Yet...

“So, you want a chocolate croissant?” she asked with a radiant smile. “I think it's time to introduce you to the Cake family, too!

I smiled back, burying those thoughts and deciding- just like back home- to take her as who she was in front of me. “Yeah. Thanks.”

* * *

I... liked Ponyville. The ponies were friendly, the air was fresh, the scenery was great, and the community was genuinely closely-knit. It only took a few days for word of the new stallion in town and his unique quirks to spread around. That came with some upsides... and some downsides.

I was at the aptly named Toadstool Tabletop, briefly intrigued by the gigantic, spotted, purple mushroom that served as my table. I was using an ice arm to look over the lunch menu, and I eventually decided that the Haysian Oriental Salad would do and set it down.

“Gah!” I exclaimed, reeling back as I found a minty-green unicorn with white streaks in her mane and amber eyes sitting across from me with a wide smile. Did everypony do that here?!

“Hi there!” she greeted excitedly. “You're Frost, huh?”

“Uh... yeah...” I blinked, resting a hoof on the barrel of my chest and taking deep breaths to decelerate my heart rate. Hold on... I knew this mare from somewhere... wasn't she that one musician from Canterlot? “Wait, are you-”

“I'm Lyra Heartstrings,” she answered my question preemptively. “Hey, can I see your hand?”

“My-” I looked at my ice arm, then back up at her. “You mean-”

“Yes, yes!” She again cut me off. “Pleeeeeeease, let me see iiiiiiit!”

At this rate, I was questioning the sanity of the unicorn across from me, vibrating in her seat in anticipation as I meekly- and literally- gave her a hand. She immediately grasped it in her hooves, tracing it over with an odd twinkle to her eyes. She tried to turn it over and flex its fingers, and I played along more out of concern for my personal safety rather than to sate her curiosity.

“It's made of ice...” Lyra remarked, looking back up at me in awe and noting the glow to my horn. “And it's a spell! Tell me how to do it! Tell me tell me tell me tell me!”

“Well-” I started.

“There you are!” an ivory earth pony mare with a pink-purple mane exclaimed, pulling Lyra away. “I'm so, so sorry, mister. She's so excitable sometimes, I swear, swear...”

“Nooooooo!” Lyra shouted in protest, flailing her forelegs and breaking free, zipping back to the seat across from me. “I must know! I must know! Tell meeeeeheeheeheeee!”

I glanced at the other mare, who only motioned to Lyra with a sheepish smile. I let out a chilly sigh and explained, “Well, you see, I'm a hydromancer and cryomancer. I was born with an elemental affinity for water- ice specifically. For you to be capable of performing Mancer magic, you have to be born with the affinity for said element.”

“Mm-hm, mm-hm.” The minty-green mare nodded throughout my explanation. “How do you find out if you have this affinity?”

“You have to try the magic out for yourself,” I replied, still a little cautious about the mare across from me. “There are spell tomes availab-”

“Kay, thanks, bye!” Lyra exclaimed and zipped over to the ivory earth pony mare, wrapping a foreleg around her shoulders and pointing with the other. “Bonbon, to the library!” Then she sped off.

The other mare, apparently Bonbon, smiled apologetically to me and then raced after Lyra with a sigh and a shake of the head.

Meanwhile, I just sat there, still in shock. Dear Goddesses! Everypony in this town was crazy!

* * *

I fiddled with my portable terminal's web-cam and microphone, furrowing my brow and looking around to make sure all the wires were properly hooked up. “Okay... Song, can you hear me now?”

“Yeah, I can see you now, too,” she replied, her video feed turning on. The black pegasus mare backed away from her camera, revealing her apartment and her piano. “Sounds fine, looks fine. How's the audio quality on your end? Any crackling, any lag?”

“No, seems to be good,” I answered. “So, how are things back in Manehattan?”

“Things are going pretty good,” Song Spinner said, sitting down at her piano and lifting the lid. “Oh, I hear Hummingbird's gearing up to release her EP, though. Anyways, how's Ponyville?”

“There's... been ups and downs,” I replied, “but I've been more or less alright. So Hummingbird's stepping up in the world, huh?

“Yeah...” Song nodded lightly. “So, let's get started?”

“Sure, sure.” I sprouted my ice arms. “So what should we start with?”

“Show me Cherokee,” she said. “Don't worry about improvising yet. I just want to see where you are in technique of the original.”

I nodded... and played.

* * *

“Hi, this is Hummingbird. I'm away at the moment, but if you leave your name and phone number, I'll try to call back as soon as I can. No solicitors please.” Beep.

“Hi, Hummingbird. Frost here. Just, uh, wanted to say that I saw that your EP went up for sale and I got it as soon as I could. I, uh... saw the last track on the list. I just wanted to... well, say thank you for including-”

Click. “Frost?”

“Oh, hey, Hummingbird! How are you?”

“Great, just great...”

“So... just... yeah, wanted to thank you for including the piece we did together.”

“O-Okay, I... I wasn't sure whether or not you were okay with it. I meant to ask, but... I kind of wanted it to be a surprise.”

Soft chuckle. “Well, it was. I'm okay with it, don't worry. I'll be listening to all of your music in my free time. You can count on that.”

Soft, wan chuckle. “Looks like the uncultured Manehattaner isn't so uncultured anymore...”

“Heh... keep it up, Hummingbird. I'm glad you can channel all that inspiration into music.”

“Thanks, Frost. So how's Ponyville? Everything going okay?”

“Yeah, everything's going alright. Made some friends already. A couple of them are a little... eccentric, but they're good folk.”

“Eccentric how?”

“Heh, well let's start with Lyra Heartstrings...”

Gasp. "Wait wait wait. Lyra Heartstrings? The Lyra Heartstrings?"

Husky chuckle. "Heh, yep... and let me tell you..."

* * *

I'd settled into Ponyville in no time. Thanks to the kind folk and the nightclub especially, I'd adjusted far quicker than I thought I would've been able to. Of course, I needed to find work. Even though I saved more than a few bucks by opting out of graduate school and earned some bits from royalties thanks to my update to the Hydronomicon- hardly much, really, considering only libraries, academia, and enthusiasts would be purchasing it at all- I still needed to get a job by the end of the month in order to pay for rent.

The storyteller chuckled.

I ended up being town watercolt, providing water and ice on demand for competitive rates, usually for the Toadstool Tabletop. Some ponies were skeptical at first, but after comparing it to importing or purifying water from the Royal River flowing from Canterlot, they eventually gave me a go. I didn't disappoint. With the air so clean, I could strain pure water easily enough from it, maybe drawing it through minerals to give it some taste.

Of course, that isn't to say I set aside equinpology or even history. After word of the new pony in town spread, the local schoolteacher Cheerilee occasionally came to me with questions about instruction and teaching curriculum regarding that subject area. She asked me if I was willing to stop by as a guest teacher sometime, but I didn't quite yet feel comfortable with instruction at the time.

In terms of equinpology, though... well, one time I was making my weekly stop at the market square and I had a chance encounter with an unexpected towngoer.

“No competition at all?” I asked the orange earth pony mare in front of me as I looked over her cart of apples. “Really?”

“Yup,” Applejack- yes, the Applejack- said with a nod. “Ponyville's a bit out o' the way for most other produce companies. Plus, even if t'were that way, Sweet Apple Acres has plenty o' customer loyalty. Go ahead, try one. You'll see why! So yer from Manehattan, right, Frost? Ever meet a young mare named Applebloom? She's mah little sis', an' she moved over to Manehattan a while ago.”

“Don't think so,” I responded. “Sorry, it's a big city, after all.”

He let out a cool, misty sigh.

Haven't had an apple that juicy or that sweet since I was in Ponyville. As I handed over enough bits for a bushel, a zebra mare of all people approached the cart. She wore dzilla neck rings and a pair of large, golden earrings. Her eyes were a soft turquoise, and her mane was done up in a Mohawk. She was dressed in a fine brown cloak.

“Good morning to you, my friend Applejack,” she greeted in a low, exotic tone- a Zebrican accent. “A batch of apples, please- enough to fill a sack.”

“Sure thing, Zecora,” she said with a smile, shucking the apples over. “Just a bit.”

The zebra- Zecora, apparently- deftly procured a shiny bit, knocked it into the air, and then tapped it so that it landed in the coin box. She turned to me “It is not custom to stare, if I may, if I might. Is a zebra here such an unexpected sight?”

“Well... yes,” I replied with a sheepish smile. “I only though there were ponies here. You're a welcome sight, though, don't get me wrong!”

“Ah, yes- the student of equinpology,” Zecora huffed softly, nodding.“Good, then. Too many are quick to judge in this country.”

“Heh, then you haven't seen Manehattan,” I chuckled huskily, offering a hoof with my foreleg bent at the elbow. “Frost Windchill. Pleased to meet you.”

We grasped forelegs and pulled into one another's shoulders. “Oh, so you know our way! Expected, maybe, but comforting still, I must say.”

“I'd be a poor excuse for an equinpologist if I didn't,” I huffed softly, then watched as a cream-colored earth pony mare with a rosy mane approach Applejack's card. “May we walk and talk?”

“Absolutely, Frost Windchill,” Zecora answered as we started off. “My abode is a ways away, so ask what you will.”

* * *

And so I grew accustomed to Ponyville and its many wonderful ponies and lone zebra, the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony notwithstanding. Time passed. Weeks became months became-

One of the ponies in the audience raised a hoof and asked if the storyteller could talk more about the Bearers. He smiled softly.

I wouldn't be able to tell you too much. I only really knew Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, and Twilight Sparkle in passing- as an animal caretaker, the town weather manager, a masterful seamstress, and a kindly librarian and occasional schoolteacher respectively. Applejack? Truthfully, I only met her by market. We never became anything more than acquaintances. Now, Pinkie Pie... we actually became good friends if not just for the fact that we enjoyed a similar pastime. (He chuckled huskily,) I think you already have enough of an impression of just exactly who she was back then. They're not the point of this- the point is for you all to hear and visualize just how amazing the world and its people were way back when. Sure, they were heroines in my time, but they were people all the same.

And so weeks became months became years. While I hadn't acquired enough knowledge from Zecora and zebras I knew in Manehattan, I had enough information to start planning a book and run it by a few publishers. In the meantime, I had some of my work published as articles in multiple academic magazines in equinpology. I wasn't given much of a spotlight since I didn't have a doctorate or master's degree, but for those who read it, my studies did earn me some helpful critique and commentary- and valuable advice for eventually putting a book together on the subject.

The storyteller inhaled softly.

That was a proud moment for me. “Moving Forward- Or Backward?: A Study on the Effects of Industrialization and Commercialization on the Griffins of Avalon”. Remember smiling to myself when I visited Professor Egan one day and he gave me a copy of that magazine with a contented grin from professor to student.

And so time passed. Twenty-five years old became twenty-six, then twenty-seven. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine...

Thirty.

* * *

“So yeah, we're going to wait a while. That's just how the Denipulo work, Frost. Courting takes a while, birthing foals take a while. Might not owe responsibility to Zebrica anymore, but we still owe it to one another. Wanna solidify it, you know?”

“So how long do you think before you try for a foal?”

“Maybe... jeez, maybe seven more years?”

“You're waiting until thirty-seven? Really now?”

“Hey, don't think I'm gonna be senile raising my foal up! So, how's things over there? You doing alright?”

“Yeah, I'm just fine. I think I really like this place, Zoleks. I don't think I'll stay here forever, but I'll at least keep like a rental home or apartment or something.”

“Well, don't stay too long! We're gonna need you for Winter Wrap-Up here in Manehattan!”

“Heh... I'll be there. You can count on that.”

* * *

So, I thought to myself as I set my phone down. Here I am. Thirty years old, virgin, without a chance at a successful relationship. And yet... no hard feelings, no hatred, no frustration. I felt oddly at ease, oddly content. Maybe it was because I'd accepted who I was. I felt a subtle tug on my heart whenever I saw a couple displaying their affection and especially when talking to Hummingbird again. I stopped meeting her in person three years ago. She had a loving husband now. Maybe a foal on the way. Best not let her think too much of me and how we could have had it all. She was happier that way, and if the interview on MTV- ah, music television, folks- was any indication, she'd found her purpose in life and reaped immense joy from it.

It felt sort of surreal, severing that tie. It was like I was a colt again, small fry in a big ocean. No concerns for relationships, just handling things as they come. I felt a sense of release in it, peace of mind. Even if I longed for that kind of closeness, it was only briefly.

My, how far I've come since....

A rapid knocking at the door shook me from my ruminations. I blinked as I realized I'd been dancing around my balisongs the whole time just out of habit. I pouched them quickly and trotted to the door, already having a feeling I knew who was on the other side. It was just shy of nine-o'clock, which meant...

“Do you know what time it is?” Pinkie Pie asked excitedly as soon as I opened the door, crouched down with her puffy tail swishing behind her. She already had her glowrings on, as did Lyra and Bonbon behind her. They were visible even past the scarves and earmuffs they wore for the chilly night.

“IIIIIIIIIIt's Party Time!” Pinkie and I exclaimed in unison, the outrageously pink mare hopping up and down, sending out a small splash of snow with each bounce.

“One sec, just let me get my things,” I said with a husky chuckle. We'd been doing this for years now. Old habits die hard, and I couldn't quite kick this one.

Little did I know that wintry night, I would meet someone, somepony who would void all those lonely thoughts of mine.

Somepony who would change my life and the lives of so many others forever.

* * *

The storyteller smiled softly, eyes half-lidded as if lost in the memory.

Powerful, deep, bone-shaking beats rattled at my eardrums as I danced to the tune, my legs ringed with colorful, glowing bands. I was thumping alone amongst a crowd of partygoers, feeling absolutely energized by the electro and rocking it hard in the sea of ponies. It was all as it should be that night, just the beating of my heart matching the beat of the bass. Unfortunately, I wasn't quite as young as I used to be. I needed to take a breather, giving a subtle nod to the bar at Pinkie Pie to which she... nod...nod...nodnodnodded to me in turn, almost in bobblehead fashion. And so I weaved past my fellow night owls toward the bar, a sleek black counter with a subtle backlight from below, where couples drank, chatted, and kissed with bliss... save one, not a common sight. My eyes fell on...

He let out a soft sigh.

Her.

She was a unicorn mare with a coat black as midnight and a mane and tail silvery as the stars, neatly cut short in a manner I could only describe as: cute. She looked oddly alone, three empty seats over from anypony else, head nodding lightly to the beat, watching over the crowd with a tinny smile, watching with those soft, blue eyes.

Our eyes locked- only for a moment.

The ancient unicorn spoke quietly.

Those eyes, eyes full of everything.

He broke eye contact for a few seconds.

It's tough to explain... just what went through my head at that moment. Maybe I was having a flashback of Hummingbird or Ditzy or Pinkie Pie, but it seemed odd for somepony to be alone- especially in such a tight-knit community. Blaring Beats was a place where ponies often came in pair, trios- hay, I came with Pinkie, Lyra, and Bonbon. Or maybe there was something else in those light-cyan eyes of hers. The rest of the crowd seemed to fade into a blur, the music into a slurry as I made my way to the bar and sat down beside her. She'd noticed me moving toward her and smiled politely.

“Hi there,” I greeted, raising my voice slightly over the music.

“Hello,” she said back to me in a crisp, high tone. Baby steps, I remembered... baby steps. Just make friends.

“Frost Windchill,” I introduced myself, extending a hoof. I suddenly had the feeling that I was being very, very stupid for some reason. It disappeared in a moment. I mean, what was I thinking? I'd greeted plenty of ponies and people bef-

She met my hoof, eyebrows raising for a moment from my cold touch. Just a moment. “Nightingale.”

Or maybe not so stupid. “Lovely name,” I remarked. No, stupid. Nice job. That didn't sound creepy at all. She looked like she was about to say something before I continued, “You look a little lonely by yourself. Have anyone to dance?” (Well that wasn't being invasive, Frost. Ugh, Pinkie must have been rubbing off on me...)

“Mm?” She canted her head in brief confusion as if taking a moment to decipher what I was trying to say over the music. “Oh! No no no, I'm just here to enjoy the music! Yes, just the music!”

… what?

Okay, forget being invasive/creepy/Pinkie-ish. The Manehattaner inside me was insulted. “Just the music?” I eyed her.

She smiled uneasily as if wondering if she'd said something wrong. “Well, it's... my first time here, actually... you know, at a nightclub.”

I huffed and declared without realizing, “Well, you can't enjoy the music without a little dancing.”

… oh boy. The buck did I do. Music makes me a different pony, folks. All I can say.

Nightingale widened her eyes at me, and for a moment, I'd felt that I'd overstepped my bounds and that my cheek was about to get very friendly with her hoof. But then she flashed me a sly smirk and raised an eyebrow. It was... this... challenging, almost suggestive expression that made my heart flutter and my ears to perk up with subtle heat.

“Is that an offer?” she asked.

I found myself grinning and bent in a theatrical bow, sweeping a hoof aside. “Only if madam wishes.”

She smiled wide and offered her hoof to me. “Madam wishes.”

I took her hoof in mine and led her back to the dance floor, leading her along and taking a moment to glance at her flank. Mind you, I wasn't peeking- merely looking at her cutie-mark.

Some members of the audience glanced at him dubiously.

I'm serious. In any case, her cutie-mark was a connected constellation of stars depicting Corvus, The Crow. Not quite a nightingale, but it was as close as a fitting cutie-mark could get. Again, it was lonely a brief glance and I turned forward to lead her to the dance floor. Instead, I received my daily dose of Pinkie Pie in my face. By now, I'd gotten used to this happening, so I merely flinched.

“Hey, who's your new friend?” she asked excitably, bouncing up and down. “What's her name? Did you meet just-” She suddenly froze mid-bounce and let out a great, big gasp that I swore must have overinflated her lungs. “I don't know her name!” She zipped to Nightingale, who reared her head back at the sudden invasion of privacy. “Who are you? Are you new to Ponyville? Did you just move in today without me noticing? You actually seem pretty familiar! I don't know why! Do you know why?”

I coughed loudly.

Pinkie giggled, “Oh, sorry! I get carried away sometimes! Okay, a lot of the time!” She giggled again. “So what's your name? I'm Pinkie Pie! I see you've already met Frost! Oh, wowie! You've been holding his hoof since we started talking, which has been nineteen, now twenty seconds!”

I blinked and looked down between us. We... we were still holding hooves. Well, at least up until that moment. Nightingale pulled away out of reflex and smiled sheepishly. “Yes... Pinkie Pie... mind if we chat in private, Frost? We won't be long.”

“Uh, yeah, go on ahead,” I replied. “I'll wait back over near the bar?”

“That'll do nicely,” she said with a patient smile, heading off to the restrooms with Pinkie Pie bouncing along after her.

I looked on from a distance at the bar, waving a dismissive hoof to the barpony as she passed by to offer a drink. They wouldn't be long after all, even as tempting as that strawberry daiquiri looked. As I watched them chatter inaudibly over the music, I couldn't help but furrow my brow in thought. She didn't seem bothered by my touch. It couldn't have been her just failing to notice it either. She definitely noticed the first time we shook hooves. Anypony else would have pulled away out of reflex- certainly after the second time. Nightingale was no normal unicorn by that alone, but that meant... could she possibly...

Whoa, Frost. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Don't just label the only mare you've met who seemingly tolerates your coldness as your mate for life! Show some tact!

I looked over to where Pinkie and Nightingale were talk... were previously talking. I must have spaced out from my thoughts or something. The outrageously pink mare giggled, “Have fun, you two!” And then she... winked... at Nightingale. Don't get your hopes up, Frost. That could've been for an entirely different reason...

The silver-maned mare cleared her throat and I shifted my focus back to her. “Now, you wanted to dance?”

The lights suddenly took an orange hue, the spotlights swiveling toward the DJ. The crowd fell silent and still all at once... except for the quivering bundle of joy and energy that was Pinkie Pie. Vinyl reared up and announced, “It's that time of the night, everypony! IIIIIIIIIIt's Beat Heat! Let's see who's got the first track!” She shuffled up a bin of paper slips and removed one using her magic with all the showmareship she could muster. “AAAAAAnd it's Frost with Drive Hard by Prototype Raptor!” She murmured, “Huh, Manehattan mix... been a while since...” She connected wires to her portable terminal and set on the track.

“Well lucky me...” I grinned wide, turning to Nightingale. “Let a Manehattaner show you how it's done.” She appeared puzzled as the light, anthem-like opening echoed in. Vinyl set the lights accordingly, darkening the dance floor again and flashing slowly to send us in trances. Everypony- myself included- swayed lightly to it. Nightingale looked about, hesitantly doing as the Roamans did while the soft beat trickled in. “Just take it easy,” I said to her with a grin, giving my hooves a shake. “It's nice and calm until a minute-twenty in- perfect for beginners.”

“Alright... alright...” She furrowed her brow as the tune grew louder. “And after?”

I grinned wider and paused as the sound fell away and Vinyl plunged the dance floor into darkness. Oh, Frost, you musical maniac, you. You timed it just right.

“Drive hard. Drive mustang.”

The floor was alight in flashes of color as the music pounded back in. Nightingale let out a cry of surprise as we kicked it into high gear, and I rocked it hard. My eyes met hers as she stood there, looking about in wonder and amazement, letting out a laugh lost to the sound and sight.

“Well don't just stand there!” I shouted. “Get those hooves shaking!”

The storyteller was positively beaming.

And she gradually did. It was comical seeing her trying to match my pace and footwork, brow furrowed and eyes cast down as she studied my movements. “Don't play copycat, babe!” I laughed (Babe? Smooth, Frost.). “Feel it! Move with it! Don't hold back!” As I said this, I hopped in the air, crossed my hooves as I came down and spun around, flashing her a smirk. A hint of red glinted on her cheeks, but then she flashed her own- that sly smirk with the raised eyebrow.

She had a lovely smirk.

She danced now- perhaps not as good as a Manehattaner or any of the frequent flingers at Blaring Beats, but I wouldn't go so far as to say she had four left hooves. It was as if my infectious energy and everypony else's breathed new life into her. I could tell as she stopped looking down at my legs and up at the dancing lights and swaying bodies around her- mine as well- that she was having the time of her life. As our eyes met, I saw that look in hers that told me this was the first time in a long time that she was able to just let herself go like this. She was liberated, a Nightingale flying free to revel the nocturnal splendor. I couldn't help but dial it back a bit so I could watch the way her cute mane bobbed as she whipped it back and forth, the swing of her flank (Don't do that.)... I was reminded of a time years ago as another pony swayed past us. For a moment, I saw green on green replace her blue and silver, a flash of inspiration taking the place of the dotted starscape, wings tucked to her side. I blinked and it was gone, jolted out of my reverie just as the song lulled into a soft trance, trickled in with new chiptune beats with the lights glittering overhead.

“Hoo... hah...” Nightingale panted, eyes half-lidded. “Most wond- ahhh, I mean, that was wonderful...”

“Hey now, I hope you're not too tuckered out,” I chuckled, getting back in rhythm. “It's not over yet!”

“It's... it's not?” She stared at me.

I sneered. “Hay no. This is just a break! Don't tell me you're already tuckered out!”

The opening tune trickled back in and Nightingale paused in realization. I just laughed as a the music dropped away.

“Drive hard. Drive mustang.”

And we were back to rocking it hard, at least for a brief dozen seconds or so. A classy trickle of piano broke in and I tweaked and kicked, moving my forelegs as if flipping about my trusty fedora. I caught Nightingale's smile and returned it, making one last toss of my imaginary hat and reeling back...

“Drive mustang.”

And then one last burst of energy, swishing and swaying, jerking and working, heartbeat and hard beat. Finally, the song came down from its high, and everypony was once again bathed in orange.

“Not bad, not bad,” Vinyl said, waving her forehoof in a 'so-so' motion. “For the newbies here, I guess. Let's see if the next one turns up the heat!” She floated up another slip from the bin. “AAAAnd it's Roseluck with Leto by Archie! Heh, you know, you should come here more often...”

I turned back to Nightingale and grinned. “Up for more?”

The midnight-black mare just grinned right back.

* * *

“Ahhhh, another great night as always,” I breathed out a misty sigh as my little group- plus one more- headed back out into the snowy night. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Abso-doodley-lutely!” Pinkie Pie exclaimed, jumping into the air and kicking her hooves around before plopping back into the snow. “G'night, Frost! G'night Bonbon and Lyra! And night-night-night Nightingale!”

“Maybe, maybe.” Bonbon tapped her chin. “Tomorrow's Saturday, and that means prepping for Sweet Sunday. I'll have to do inventory.”

“Bonbooooon,” Lyra whined. “Please? We get to spend more time with Frost!”

“You mean you get to spent more time with Frost.” The custard-colored mare bumped Lyra's muzzle with her forehoof, causing her to scrunch it up. Bonbon rolled her eyes. “Maybe, we'll see, see? Night, Frost. Catch you later!”

“Byeeeee!” Lyra waved enthusiastically as they trotted off. And so I was left alone with Nightingale amidst the soft streetlight and the gentle snowfall.

“She really seems to like you, doesn't she?” the silver-maned mare chuckled.

“It's the whole 'hands' thing,” I said to her with a husky chuckle of my own, sprouting an ice arm and waving to her.

“Oh!” She widened her eyes. “You're... you're a Mancer! There hasn't been a new one for hundreds of years...”

“You know of them?” I asked, my smile disappearing as my arm sublimated.

“Well... only in passing,” Nightingale replied. “I dabbled into a bit of archeoarcane sciences in my studies. I, ah, only recently graduated from Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns in Canterlot, so it's still fresh in my mind.”

“Oh, you went there?” I smiled easy again. “Two-hundred-fifty-seventh class.”

“Two-hundred-sixty-second.” Nightingale smiled. “Astronomy. You?”

“Equinpology and history. Chance meeting we've got here.” I chuckled softly, if not a bit uncomfortably. Standing alone with her in the streets of Ponyville... I had the oddest sensation that we were being watched- that I was being watched. I looked over my shoulder, but saw nothing but night and shadow (Now I remember. I missed that one, just over the rooftop. Classic.). I turned back to her and nevertheless smiled softly at her. “Anyway, it's getting late. I should let you get going now.” Still... I wanted to sate at least one curiosity of mine. “Aren't you cold, standing out here, though? Here you are, standing out here in the snow without a shred of clothing!”

“I could ask the same of you,” she huffed, “though your reason is all too clear, cryomancer. I cannot tell you, Frost, because I honestly don't know myself.” She chuckled softly, looking off in the distance. “I should get going though. Tonight was... fun.”

I grinned, lowering my head to peek up at her. “Just 'fun'?”

Nightingale chuckled softly in a way that made my heart flutter. “I had a wonderful first time tonight here.” She paused, then looked at me and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Sorry if I was a bit much,” I chuckled sheepishly. “I'm a different buck with music involved. So, uh, are you new to town by chance? I've lived here for a few years by now and I haven't seen you before.”

“Oh, I'm just stopping by in Canterlot,” she answered. “I'm on a business trip from Neighples, but it's still a little too expensive in Canterlot. I'm sure you understand, having been there yourself.”

“Heh... yeah... yeah... too bad I never picked up Itailian.” Neighples... that was a long ways away. “When do you think you're going to head back?”

Nightingale pursed her lips and shook her head. “Whenever the seal is dealed. Oh! Deal is sealed! Sorry, still learning the sayings of the Equestrian Heartland.”

“Any ideas how long that'll take?” I inquired.

“Could be just another day,” she replied. “Could be a week.” The midnight-black mare appeared to be regarding me. “Was there something you wanted to ask of me, Frost?”

You know the drill, Frost... right words, right way. “I just wanted to know if you were maybe up for another night of clubbing tomorrow,” I answered. “You seemed like you had a lot of fun for your first time, and you weren't half-bad at dancing.”

The silver-maned mare arced an eyebrow for a moment. She... might have picked up what I was really suggesting. “Tell you what,” Nightingale said with a... smile. What on Equestria... “I'll consider it. But look at the time.” Her smile changed, quick as can be. “I said I should get going, and here I am still chatting away with you. Good night, Frost. Sleep well.”

“Good Nighting... good night, Nightingale,” I said after getting hold of myself. As I watched her trot toward the only inn in Ponyville, I turned away and furrowed my brow in thought. That smile... I'd never had that specific kind of smile used against me before. It was unsettling yet at the same time... thrilling. I trotted back home, still feeling that odd sense of being watched until I shut the door behind me.

And yet, even after I put away my glowrings, even after I washed up and settled in for bed, I couldn't take my mind off of her. Nightingale... she was the only pony, the only person I've ever met that didn't flinch or make a remark on how cold I was save for Little Strongheart. She was being polite though. Nightingale... even in a calmer state of mind, lying down in bed without a hint of music, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I felt hopeful that... if... she could bear how cold I was... maybe...

Frost, here you are, losing sight of things. Be rational. You've only held hooves. That's not the same thing as bodily contact. And why should you be thinking of that, even? She's an astronomer from Neighples, hundreds of miles away. She has her life, you have yours. You hardly even know her. Don't jump on something like this with nothing more than puppy love.

But even as I turned over in bed, I found myself less and less willing to listen to that rational voice in my head. My heart was still fluttering, brimming with hope.

The storyteller chuckled softly.

I seem to have a knack for self-fulfilling prophecies, don't I?

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 15 Reached!
Perk added: Musical Mayhem- Music soothes the savage beast- or unleashes it. While music is playing, your S.P.E.C.I.A.L. is randomized and you get different dialogue options depending on the type of music audible.

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Sunshine and Smiles

Soundtrack- Theme of the Courier, Ditzy Doo (Special Thanks to Stormy Sunrise)

Soundtrack- Theme of the- WHAT THE BUCK?!, Pinkie Pie

Soundtrack- Blaring Beats

Soundtrack- Can I See Your Hand?

Soundtrack- Drive Hard by Prototype Raptor

Soundtrack- Theme of the Nocturnal Beauty, Nightingale

Author's Note

Phew... took a while, but here we are. My thanks to Kkat, the FoE community, and my wonderful pre-reader Lazer726. Thanks for looking over what I had on such short notice. ^^ Next, I thank you for reading. If it's not too much trouble, please leave some feedback. Things are going to start picking up after this reflection...

Of course, don't forget about the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr (), if you're interested.

Until next time,
Adder1

Reflection Sixteen: Nightingale

Reflection Sixteen: Nightingale

“There's somepony for everypony out there.”

I see that look in your eyes, some of you folks. I see that look that says, “Ah. That's who She is. That's the mare that started everything.” Nightingale, an Itailian mare with eyes full of everything, an aspiring astronomer fresh out of Princess Celestia's School...

A mare with a smile as ambiguous as mine.

Nightingale was the mare that started it all. There was something special about her, something I couldn't quite put my hoof on. But she could bear the cold, and for me, that made her somepony I wanted to get to know.

I had a lot to hide back then. Only former members, my parents, and Hummingbird ever knew about the Mumei. I didn't stop to consider that I wasn't the only one with something to hide.

* * *

Usually, it was Pinkie Pie who came around getting us ready to head to Blaring Beats.

Sometimes, I'm good at defying expectations. That night was such a time.

“Woooooow, look at you, Frosty!” Pinkie Pie giggled after answering the door. “You're already ready-Eddy-Teddy-Freddy-some-other-griffin-name-that-rhymes-with-ready to go! Gimme one sec!” She darted away and came back in exactly one second, this time decorated in glowrings and with a scarf around her shoulder.

“Pinkie... it still mystifies me exactly how you're able to do that,” I said as we started off toward
Sweet Sweets, Bonbon's home and store. Funny mare, her. She had a habit of saying things in pairs. Maybe something that had to do with her name.

“Oh, it's actually pretty easy,” the outrageously pink mare snorted and giggled. “I just make an accurate approximation of how far I have to go, how much energy it'll take, and then move!”

I looked at her dubiously and quickly moved to the side. “I don't think it worked.”

“Of course not, silly-willy-not-a-filly!” Pinkie giggled. “Only earth ponies can do it! Plus, you probably didn't do it accurately enough!”

“Sure, sure,” I huffed. She was only pulling my leg, after all. Right? We reached Sweet Sweets, where Lyra excitedly popped out before we even had a chance to knock.

“Hi, Frost!” the minty-green mare greeted excitedly. “Oh. Hey to you too, Pinkie. So, are we clubbing or what?”

“You bet,” I said with a grin. I craned my neck to peek around Lyra. “Hey Bonbon, are you going to join us? Or are you busy?”

“Yeah, I'm gonna be busy busy,” the ivory mare answered, poking around Lyra's shoulder. “Going to be checking on the branch in Canterlot on Monday, too. Sorry about that.” She then gave Lyra a quick peck on the cheek. “Have fun with the handybuck, dear dear.”

“I will!” she giggled, pecking her back and snatching up her glowrings and scarf in her magic.

“Ohhhh, not sure how much time we'll get to spend with Frost this time, Lyra!” Pinkie said with a chuckle. “Frost might have a new laaadyfrieeeeeeeend!”

“Wha?” Lyra blinked, then glared at me accusingly. “You do?”

“Oh come on, Pinkie,” I sighed mistily, “we've just met. Just being friendly with her, no more.”

“I dunnoooooo, you were looking over her pretty cloooselyyyyyyy!” she giggled. “And I don't mean just watching her moves either!”

I felt a subtle heat wash over my cheeks. “You were spying on us?!”

“Well hey, can you blame me if a new pony I've totally never met before in my life suddenly comes to Ponyville without me knowing and I want to know more about her?”

“... yes.”

“Okay, yeah, you can blame me,” Pinkie pouted.

“Does she like hands?” Lyra asked, eying me.

“Of course, that's the first thing that I ask a mare,” I answered with an upward glance.

“I'll bet she doesn't like your hands like I do!” Lyra declared. “I bet she doesn't even like... heh... hehahahah!” Her expression mellowed. “I'm just foaling with you, Frost. Sure she's okay with how cold you are?”

“Hey, I didn't say that I was interes-”

“You were checking her out,” Lyra said calmly, glancing to Pinkie.

“Dammit,” I grumbled.

Pinkie snort-giggled, “Yeah, she's definitely okay with the cold part. Trust me on that one!”

“Pinkie, if only you were with the MPD, I swear,” I sighed. “The things you notice...”

“Probably a good thing I don't because I'd probably climb my way to the top somehow and then abuse my power and turn into a crazy hag, fishing out ponies on the slightest suspicion that... wait a minute...” Pinkie paused and we proceeded to stare at her. “Oh, probably just a silly tangent! And lookie, we're here!”

My eyes went forward to the glowing doors of Blaring Beats, and my heart fluttered- why was I making assumptions again?- as I spotted Nightingale waiting just off to the side of the entrance. She was already looking at me as we approached with those eyes full of everything and a patient smile.

“Haaaave fun, Frost!” Pinkie giggled, bouncing away into the nightclub.

“Yeah, have fun!” Lyra added, trotting after. “We can always hang out later!”

I nodded and smiled softly to the two of them before turning to Nightingale. “Good evening,” I greeted.

“Good evening, Frost,” she greeted in turn, standing up to walk with me into Blaring Beats. “How does the night find you?”

I blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“Sorry. Itailian wording- saying, I mean. How are you tonight?”

“I'm doing just fine,” I answered, smiling. “How about you? Any progress in Canterlot today?”

“Un po, un po,” she answers. “I'd rather not bore you with the details.”

“No, no, do tell!” I encouraged her with a smile. Talk to others through their interests- a valuable lesson from Carnegie. “I took a course in astronomy, actually. It was something I delved into when trying to decide on a major.”

Nightingale smiled back at me. “Well... if you're so inclined, I noticed that current telescope designs are horribly outdated. I was a part of an undergraduate research project tasked with coming up with a better design, and we came up with a multi-gem reflecting telescope. By using high-grade quartz and glass, we were able to produce a telescope that would outperform the resolving power of current reflecting telescopes by a whole order of magnitude... theoretically.”

“Theoretically,” I parroted.

“Well, you see,” she coughed, “it would need to... be in space. As is, with the randomness of atmospheric conditions, the design could get maybe... four times the resolving power of a typical observatory telescope. It's not a good trade off considering the cost of production.”

“And so your business trip to Canterlot was...”
“-to pitch the idea of a space program to a rich noblepony,” we both said at the same time.

“Yes, yes, precisely.” Nightingale nodded. “Some things never change, unfortunately. Money runs the world.”

“Well, have you thought about turning to the griffins?” I asked.

“Griffins?” the midnight-black mare asked. “However do you mean?”

“Griffins have NASE,” I answered. “Ah, their National Aeronautics and Spaceflight Enterprise. It's still a relatively new industry of theirs, but if anyone's going to get into space first with technology, it's going to be Aldorna.”

“Griffins.” She seemed to mull over this. “Hm. Griffins. How did you know about this? I thought you were in equinpology and history.”

“I went there to research how industrialization and commercialization affected the sociocultural aspect of griffinkind,” I responded. “A lot has changed since the turn of the Age of Industry.”

“Yes... quite a lot,” she murmured. Then she flashed that... smile... at me. “But just look at us. We've been talking for several minutes now! Let's go inside.”

“Oh, right, sure!” I smiled and opened the door for her. She gave me a tinny nod and headed in, pausing only to scrawl out her music pick for the night and slip it into a bin. Her aura was... an icy-blue. Just like mine...

But that smile... what was it about her?

No sooner than the thought crossed my mind did it leave as I entered the world of thumping bass and flashing lights. I could feel my heart race as the beat thumped in my bones, ears throbbing from the familiar punishment. Nothing else mattered but moving to the music and watching the swing of Nightingale's flank as she swayed to the tune (Pig. Show some respect.).

She'd gotten better at dancing since last night. Well, maybe not that much better, but now that she was cutting loose and holding no reservations, she had the same energy everypony else in the room was infected with. It might have been the music, but the more and more I looked at her, the more and more it felt... right to be there. Not just at Blaring Beats but... with her.

After a good several numbers, I started to wind down and we headed for the bar. “Tired already?” Nightingale teased as we sat down. “Wasn't it you last night who all uppity about whether or not I was the one fatigued?”

“Heh, sorry, not as young as I used to be,” I huffed softly, then nodded to the barpony mare. “Strawberry daiquiri, please.”

“Oh, a Crystal Cove martini for me, if you will,” the silver-maned mare spoke up.

Hm. Good taste, good taste. After we paid for our drinks and sipped away, I turned to Nightingale and asked, “So I take it you've been interested in astronomy for a long time, hm?” I nodded to her cutie-mark briefly. Gotta stay civil at least (If barely.).

“Oh you have no idea,” she chuckled. “Ever since I was a filly. It all started when my mother took us stargazing. Not a very common pastime nowadays, mind you, but, well... my family has roots that go deep.”

I nodded. “I know what you mean.”

“Mm... yes, you're a Northerner, aren't you?” Nightingale inquired. “I'm so sorry. I know it's been decades since, but the Exodus still echoes to today.” She looked off into the distance for a moment. “Frost, do you... mind if we go out for some fresh air? I hate to say it, but a nightclub isn't very good for conversation like this.”

“Oh!” I pursed my lips and motioned to the door. “Sure! Absolutely.” I quickly polished off the rest of my drink and made a quick motion to Pinkie Pie. She just nodnodnodded in her bobblehead fashion, and we headed outside into the cool, wintry night with its silence and gentle snowfall. I hadn't expected to be removed from the pumping, thumping atmosphere of Blaring Beats so soon, and it was as if somepony had dunked me into a cold... well, a very cold tub of water. It was jarring, like I was crashing from the biggest sugar high I've ever been on. It left me stunned.

“Frost?”

I suddenly became aware of a very concerned looking Nightingale waving a hoof in front of my eyes. I started out of my stupor and smiled sheepishly, dumbly. “Sorry, wh- did you say something?”

“No, just... you spaced out for a bit,” she said. “Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, yes, I'm fine, I'm fine.” I smiled to encourage her. “Shall we walk?”

The midnight-black mare nodded and smiled, starting off with me falling in step with her. “A shame,” she said quietly, looking upward into the delicate trickle of white and catching my attention. “There are clouds tonight. The stars are wonderful here in Ponyville.” I found my gaze turned upward. The night sky was glistening with a soft scatter of stars, most of them obscured by wispy cloud banks.

I wasn't watching where I was going and nearly walked into a pole. I just happened to be lucky enough to stagger out of the way, flustering a little. Nightingale merely looked at me and giggled. Oh, what a wonderful giggle...

When she eventually calmed down, we walked aimlessly in silence. I didn't want to press her for conversation, but I found it odd that we were having so little seeing as that was our reason for being out here again. I let my eyes meander about- from the crunching snow beneath our hooves to the subdued colors of Ponyville's buildings that seemed themselves to be sleeping- and finally to her, Nightingale. Our eyes met briefly and we quickly broke eye contact out of instinct.

It did break the silence however.

“Frost, please be honest with me,” she started. Oh boy. That's an interesting opening there. She was probably going to ask about why I decided to ask her out for another night at Blaring Beats.

Instead, she asked, “Are you in danger?”

I was caught off-guard by the question, and as I blinked in confusion and let my mind process what she just asked me, I felt that odd sensation again- that I was being watched, and very closely.

“Well... no,” I responded. “Why do you ask?”

“I couldn't help but notice that you seem to arm yourself constantly,” Nightingale said, glancing downward. I followed her gaze to the pouches on my forelegs. “Pray tell,” I looked back into those eyes full of... danger, “why do you have such weapons so plainly visible?”

I fought the urge to gulp and merely chuckled, “Oh, so you recognize them? Would you like to see?” Watched. Very closely. “... perhaps not. How do you know about them?”

“Your balisongs, you mean.” Nightingale paused- and I with her. “I was curious as to what they were and did some research. So again- why do you have such weapons on your person and so clearly visible to those around you?”

“I... don't see the harm in it,” I replied frankly even as those eyes bore into mine. Even as my words came out, they were measured. I was inexplicably very afraid that she was looking for any sign of misinformation- and that if I tried too hard I might seem suspicious. “And honestly, it's because I'm used to it. They're quite fun, actually. Really, they're nothing more than a fun pastime for me.” I paused. “Would you like to see?”

The midnight-black mare tilted her head up as if hesitant to nod- but eventually did. After taking a step back, of course. I fired up my horn and sprouted and ice arm, slowly- slooooowly- pulling Chrome Cleaver from her pouch. I squeezed the handles to pop the spring latch and performed a basic Horizontal to open her. Nightingale continued to watch, gauging me. I breathed out a sigh and just let the movements come together. I mindlessly let my blade dance, merely deciding what technique to perform next based off of how Chrome Cleaver ended up. Open? Closed? Forward? Reverse? Bite handle up? Down? I sprouted my second arm to pass her over, brandishing Silver Skean. I merely mirrored the sister blades, but I still like to think I put on quite the show for her. I finished off with a double pass, exchanging the sisters between my hands and catching them closed. I thumbed the spring latches back into place and twirled them once before pouching them. I bowed afterward, sparing a glance up at Nightingale.

Her stern expression finally broke and she stamped softly in the crunchy snow. “Well done, well done. So... let me get this straight. You spin and throw around sharp objects.”

“Yes,” I said simply.

“For fun.”

“Yes.”

“That's rather dangerous,” she said, arcing a brow.

“Well. Yes.”

Nightingale looked me over up and down. “You must be quite skilled then.” She smiled easy- and so did I. That feeling of being watched seemed to ebb away. “A Northerner cryomancer. A student of equinpology and history. Who plays with balisongs for fun.”

“For fun,” I said more to reaffirm than to confirm.

The silver-maned mare inhaled and remarked, “You're quite the uncommon find, you realize that?”

“Oh yes,” I chuckled softly.

“Tell me, though, do you have any... safer hobbies, perhaps?” she asked, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Well, there's piano.” I offered.

That grin faded and she stared at me. For a moment, I inexplicably thought I'd said something wrong.

“Show me.”

* * *

“It's not much,” I said as I opened the door of my apartment home for Nightingale, “but... I hope you find it cozy.”

They say history has a funny way of repeating itself. I'd furnished my place in Ponyville as closely as I could to the apartment I used to live in back when I was still just Hothead Hokkaido. There was more space, my keyboard, and a second floor, but I did my best to scale things appropriately. What can I say? When you have memory like I do, having something that reminds you of times of old brings a sense of comfort. It's why I have all these mementos.

I watched as her eyes scanned my abode, settling on the keyboard. “Oh! When you said you... well... I was expecting...”

“I was starting to run on a budget at the time,” I said, closing the door and approaching the bench, scratching the back of my head. “And to be honest, I like to idea of being able to carry my instrument with me.”

“Mm, yes, you said you were a Manehattaner,” Nightingale murmured with a nod. “Well, ah...” She motioned to the keyboard. “Have at it then.”

“Sure.” I smiled lightly at her, still having that odd sensation of being watched, even if subdued. “Do you have any preference?”

“Something...” She inhaled and glanced up in thought. “You know what? Surprise me.”

I paused to mentally browse my repertoire and then smiled to her. “I think I know a good piece for a time like this.”

The storyteller seated himself at the piano bench and sprouted a pair of ice arms to lift the lid.

And so I played, letting the music move me.

He opened gently, delicately, plucking his fingers on the notes. It set the scene for a moonlit walk, perhaps along the pier of a lake with the stars reflected in the water beneath. It was serene, crisp, wholesome. Nothing was rushed- all relaxed, all at ease, all quiet. He picked up slightly in loudness for a hint of grandeur and then quickly hushed up again.

And then came a rush of mounting melodies, building higher and higher and then hushed up, slowed down, pluck... pluck. The moonlit stroll transitioned into a moonlit spree through a fantastic meadow with so much energy, whimsical energy and full of so many wonders. Perhaps a wind rolled through the field just like how his fingers rolled across the piano. It didn't seem to have an end in sight, a new sound around the crest of every hill. It finally reached a climax and then barreled down to a gently rolling tremble, going higher, lighter...

And then came that moonlit walk again, even more delicate, but perhaps with a hint of that spree still left in it- as if winding down after a gallop through the fields. It was drawing to a close now. Everything about the melody seemed to insist upon it. But there was still a bit of energy left- just a bit- and then came the rolling hills, the rolling notes just a few more times... and then a final, delicate, broken cord.

The storyteller pivoted around on the bench to continue his tale.

After I finished, I looked up at her and smiled.

She stood there, eyes... lost. “What was that?” she whispered.

“Clair de Lune by Cloud Debussy,” I answered.

“Clair de Lune... Prench...” Nightingale glanced downward and narrowed her lips. “Debussy... he's long gone, isn't he?”

“He passed away around eighty years ago,” I answered.

She inhaled deeply before looking up at me and smiling softly. “That was beautiful, Frost.” Again she glanced away and paused, then looked back up at me. “Thank you.”

“I could play more for you if you like,” I said, smiling a little to lighten the mood.

The midnight-black mare drew in a deep breath, maintaining her smile. “One more.”

I nodded. “One more.”

The storyteller spun back around on the bench and grinned.

This might sound familiar, folks.

* * *

Nightingale and I headed outside afterward, walking about aimlessly just as before with hardly a sound but the crunch of snow beneath our hooves and the muffled laughter and chattering of ponies heading home from Blaring Beats. Her eyes were wavering about now as if thinking of something.

Finally, she asked, “You said you were from Manehattan. Why did you move here to Ponyville?”

“Hm?” I turned to face her. “Oh. Well, I just needed a change of pace. A breath of fresh air, you know?”

“From what?” Nightingale inquired.

“Just... big city life in general,” I replied. It was true, at least. “Just too many people moving too fast with too little time to stop and smell the flowers. Don't get me wrong- Manehattan's an amazing city with amazing people. Just, well, this is coming from an equinpologist here, okay? Manehattan's losing cultural diversity save for those who regularly participate in keeping their own people's culture alive, such as with the Northerners. Outside of that, everyone else is being naturalized with Equestrian values. Just felt... wrong to me. That, and, well, I couldn't really enjoy many of the things I could anymore after growing up. Like the juvie-joints.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Oh, nightclubs aimed for the kids,” I explained with a soft, husky chuckle. “No fun in song and dance if someone's left out.”

“I see...” The silver-maned unicorn nodded lightly. “So, you just left because you were disillusioned?”

“Somewhat, I guess,” I answered with a shrug.

Nightingale turned away and nodded slowly to herself. Then she asked, “Frost, who was that mare in the photos?”

I froze. She... I left those out? Shoot, I left those out in plain sight, didn't I? Right on the counter, and I brought her in with those-

“Frost?” I looked up to see Nightingale facing me with a concerned look in her eyes, so full of everything. “It's... bad, isn't it?”

I grimaced and broke eye contact for a few seconds. “Well. You know how cold I am.”

Nightingale nodded slowly. “So... how long...?”

I breathed out a misty sigh. “Six years now.”

“And... nopony else since then?”

“No one.”

She broke eye contact this time, nodding slowly. Eyes back on me. “Frost. Be truthful now. How do you view me?”

I slanted my lip and looked away, sighing through my nostrils. “I...”

“Be truthful now,” she repeated.

Another sigh. “I was... hopeful. I mean-” I sighed again and looked up at her, “you're the first pony, the first person who didn't react to how cold I am. Here you are, standing out here in the middle of the night without a coat, without a scarf, without anything to keep you warm.” Yet another sigh, broken eye contact. “I know it's wrong to think of you that way- anyone that way. I'm sorry.”

Nightingale didn't say anything right away. I was afraid to make eye contact or break the silence.

She did for me. “So no one else,” she said quietly.

“No one else.”

“And... not even Northerners?”

“No.”

Nightingale breathed out a soft sigh. I felt something press against my cheek- her hoof- and made me turn to face her. Our eyes met briefly before we instinctively looked away from one another. “Frost, I...” She hesitated and closed her mouth. Open again. “I... am... willing... to give it a try.”

I looked at her for several seconds. And then I smiled softly. She smiled back. Nothing mysterious behind it. No second agenda like that other kind of... smile... entailed.

But still I couldn't shake that feeling of being watched.

* * *

“Hey, Frost!”

“Hooo... hey.”

“You alright, buck? You sound kinda... you know. You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just... hoo...”

“'Hoo' what?”

“I think I might be dating somepony.”

“...”

“...”

“You mean-”

“Uh-huh.”

“... then that means...”

“Yeah.”

“Hahaaaa! Go get 'er, Frost!”

“Oh shut up, Zoleks, it's not like I can 'go get 'er' or anything like that!”

“Hey, it worked for me! Oh come on, you know I'm joking. You know what I mean. Good luck, okay?”

“Heh, thanks, thanks...”

* * *

That afternoon, I stopped by Ponyville's cutely-named Sleep Inn. It was a welcoming place offering a more subdued color scheme compared to the rest of town with shades of dark blue and brown replacing the bright yellows and pinks. Everything about the place (quietly) screamed “cozy”. There was even a brick fireplace off to the side with a set of rocking chairs and blankets. Sleep Inn... a very apt name for the place. I was starting to feel drowsy myself just standing in line for the front desk.

“Hi, what can I do for you?” the receptionist, a beige mare with a curly purple mane asked.

“Ah, I'm looking for a Miss Nightingale,” I answered with a cheerful smile.

“Is she expecting you?” she inquired, already starting to look through the guest registrar nonetheless. Ponyville was very lax and trusting it seemed.

“Yes,” I replied just to speed things along. Well, she was, in a sense. Old habits die hard, folks.

The receptionist pony furrowed a brow. “I'm sorry, it was 'Nightingale,' right?”

“Yes, Nightingale,” I answered.

“Um... I'm afraid there-”

I knew she was there before I heard her- that feeling of being watched seemed to follow her everywhere. “Oh, hello, Frost!” the midnight-black unicorn greeted with a smile, startling the both of us- even me despite that odd feeling- as she seemingly appeared from nowhere. “Fancy meeting you here! Now, I was on the way to pick up groceries, but perhaps we may walk and talk as you say?”

The receptionist started to say something, but I quickly answered, “Sure, sure.” As we headed outside for the market square, I asked, “So, how are you doing?”

“Oh, quite alright, thank you,” Nightingale replied with a smile- a sheepish one perhaps? “I wasn't expecting to see you again before tonight. And... nice fedora, by the way.” I smiled and sprouted an ice arm to tip my hat to her appropriately. “Yourself?”

“Great, great! Ah, about tonight, actually...” I cleared my throat. Here goes. “Would you like to have dinner at the Toadstool Tabletop together?”

“Dinner?” She paused. “To...Together?”

“Well yes.” I offered a sincere smile. “Just giving you an offer you could always refuse.”

“Oh hardly,” she huffed, grinning at me as she approached Roseluck's stall and ordered a batch of flowers to go. “What time?”

“Whatever time would be convenient for you,” I answered.

“Oh, I'm not sure if eight-o'clock would be very convenient for you,” she chuckled softly. “Itailians tend to have dinners a little later than most Heartland ponies are used to.”

“Mm, well I could always hold off until then, no problem,” I said, still holding my smile.

“I suppose it's settled, then,” Nightingale said with a stout nod. “See you at eight-o'clock, Frost.”

“Yeah, see you then.” I smiled. “So...”

“I, ah, do have some errands to run, yes,” Nightingale coughed politely. “More chance to talk at dinner.”

“Of course, of course!” I nodded encouragingly. “Take care.”

“Yes, you too,” she said with a smile.

As I trotted away and the... watched feeling subsided, I couldn't help but chuckle softly to myself. It was clear that we were both quite flustered by the whole ordeal. Heh...

The storyteller breathed out a sigh.

* * *

“Really?” Nightingale widened her eyes. “You can only perform cryomancy? Nothing else?”

“It's the truth,” I answered with a soft, possibly wan smile as we dined.

We were seated outside at one of the tables of the Toadstool Tabletop's namesake. By the time we actually arrived, most of the dinner rush had come and gone. The few other ponies that were around were indoors around the fireplace. Nightingale and I were the only ones outside.

He smiled softly.

It was more romantic that way, I guess. With a clear night and a blanket of stars overhead and the soft candlelight complete with a simple yet wholesome dinner... well, it almost seemed straight out of a movie.

“My... that must have been quite the...” She grimaced, trying to think of a word.

“Disability?” I suggested.

“I was, ah, going to go with 'ailment',” Nightingale said with a smile turned grimace.

“Well being a weaker earth pony with a pointy thing sticking out of his forehead for almost nineteen years was quite a disability,” I huffed.

She stared. “Nineteen?”

“Nineteen,” I repeated. “And I didn't get my cutie-mark until then. Heh, you should've seen me. Finally finding my magic and earning my cutie-mark at last within weeks of one another? I was bouncing around like a foal again.” I let out a husky chuckle.

“I could imagine!” the midnight-black mare exclaimed, exasperated. “My word...”

I just shrugged and smiled from the memory. “Now, Nightingale, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself? I've talked far too much of myself already.”

“Myself?” She blinked. “Well, what did you wish to know precisely?”

“Well, let's start with your cutie-mark,” I answered. “It would also explain your career in astronomy.”

“Mm... it would, wouldn't it?” Nightingale smiled softly down at the constellation on her flank before turning back to me. “Seems almost fitting, now that I think about it. My older sister Skylark found a fascination with the sun that would make Princess Celestia proud. Myself... I was more of a- what is your name for it? 'Night owl'?” When I nodded, she smiled and continued. “That's the word. I just... always found myself staying and waking up late just to enjoy the night. Neighples is so different from your big cities, you know. Hardly any streetlight. The stars are always so beautiful, just like here.” She paused to look upward into the glittering expanse above us.

“Yeah... beautiful tonight, the stars,” I whispered.

She smiled appreciatively. “Mother was supportive of my interests and purchased a telescope for me for my seventh birthday. It was just a simple one that you could get from a 'hobby shop,' I think you call it. Just a trinket, a plaything for the novice astronomer.” The silver-maned unicorn smiled and exhaled in reminiscence. “It became my favorite toy. I took to stargazing like never before now that I could look just a little further, just a little deeper.

“I was seven years old. Science was previously something boring we learned at school.” She chuckled softly. “And after the telescope? It was something I pursued with a passion. A day ago, I couldn't have been bothered to pick up a book on anything related to school. The typical unruly foal, hm? Afterward, I was the one pining after a constellation chart and a sextant.” She paused to take another sip of her wine. “We still have those around. Such an old instrument, and yet sailors still fall back on it sometimes.

“That night, I took to the hilltop near our house, armed with my new knowledge and charts, and peered through the telescope in search of my first constellation.” Nightingale smiled and giggled. “I hadn't stopped to consider that it would be easier for me to just look with my naked eye. I just kept on looking through my little toy telescope until, well...” She looked down at her flank, “I found Corvus, The Crow. I rushed inside to show Corvus to my sister, silly filly that I was. She, well... noticed my new cutie-mark and I was ecstatic. My birthday and my cute-ceañera within two days of one another...

“I'm sure you can picture how everything else fell into place.” Nightingale continued. “My interest turned into a hobby, into a passion, into my calling, into my... well, my job.” She smiled and chuckled. “I know it's not exactly the best money-making career-”

“Well neither are mine,” I interjected with a husky chuckle of my own.

“Ah... well yes, if you put it that way,” Nightingale laughed. “But I enjoy it. It's what I feel passionate about. And by the way, maybe you're onto something with griffins and their NASE program. Equestria's commercial relations with Aldorna could always be strengthened.” She quickly coughed, “Well, so long as cultural integrity is preserved, of course.”

“Glad you remembered,” I huffed softly. “You know, I'm sort of surprised that between two goddess-princesses we don't know more about the cosmos. How do you feel about that?”

Nightingale grimaced and shrugged. “Well, space is vast, Frost Windchill. All the magic and technology in the world couldn't shed much light into the abyss. I doubt even Princess Luna could. After all, no matter how many questions we answer, they will only create more when it comes to something as infinite as outer space.”

I had the strangest feeling that I insulted her and moved to reassure her, resting my forehoof on hers. “Well, hopefully your telescope design will help open our eyes to a little more of what lies beyond.”

She smiled softly and then asked, “Now, I figure it's around nine, nine-thirty. Are you up for some fun at Blaring Beats?”

I grinned, removing my fedora. “You even have to ask?”

* * *

The storyteller smiled.

That was a good, no a great night. Thumping bass, flashing lights, swaying bodies... Nightingale's too. Couldn't help but, ah, glance at her sweat-speckled form. Just for a moment (Liar.). And I was in the midst of it all, rocking it hard Manehattan style. Then came that time of the night again. The lights went bright-orange and Vinyl shouted out, “Alright, everypony, we're gonna turn up the heat and crank up the beat! IIIIIIt's Beat Heat! First pick of the night is...” She paused to float out a slip of paper from the bin. “Huh... and it's Nightingale with Black and Green by Twistex!” She muttered as she plugged in her portable terminal, “Hm, East Equestria stuff... huh, newcomer thing maybe...”

I turned to face the midnight-black mare beside me as Vinyl spoke, catching her just in time to catch her horn winking out. “Well lucky me...” he said, that sly smirk and arced eyebrow sending my heart fluttering.

“'Black and Green'?” I grinned right back, glancing at my fittingly similar color scheme. “Are you implying something, babe?” (Again. Don't call her that.)

“Take it however you wish,” Nightingale chuckled. “Are we going to dance or what?”

“You bucking bet!” I sneered as the beat trickled in, letting the music move me.

The storyteller sighed softly, happily.

Love that song. Maybe not my favorite, but... ah, hell, it's still close.

* * *

It was around three-o'clock by the time Nightingale and I finally headed back outside. I was winding down from the high, still feeling a pleasant little buzz from the drinks earlier that evening. We just headed back to the Sleep Inn and loitered around the entryway for a bit.

“Hoooo... thanks for the great time, Nightingale,” I chuckled huskily. “Haven't had this much fun in a long while...”

“Thank you, um... me too,” she said quietly, glancing away with a soft smile.

After a shared chuckle, there was a moment of silence. Our smiles slowly turned to frowns. I asked, “So, uh... how much longer do you think you might be around?”

“Same estimate as last time,” Nightingale answered quietly. “Though, ah, I could... always make doubly sure on my prospective sponsor.”

I nodded slowly and gave her a brief smile, quickly glancing away.

Nightingale tilted her head to maintain eye contact. “You're worried, aren't you?”

I inhaled and replied, “Yeah. I just can't help but... feel like I'm making a mistake here. I mean... you're going back to Neighples, and I'm here pinning all my hopes on you. I'm not trying to be pitiful or anything, but it feels like I'm being a-”

“-don't.” She cut me off by tilting forward and giving me a nuzzle. It wasn't a kiss, but it made me pause nonetheless. I looked at her in surprise. She merely blushed softly and glanced away briefly before our eyes met once more.

“You know what you're doing?” I meant to ask, but it came out almost as if a statement.

She nodded. “Things will work out. I have a feeling. And... again, I'm willing. Coming from me, that... says something.”

“How so?”

Nightingale... smiled. I felt a chill running down my spine- more than I was used to. “Good evening, Frost. Same time tomorrow?”

I was left so stunned that I nodded dumbly. She maintained that smile as she slipped into the Sleep Inn. I turned away, brow furrowed in thought. What was that?

And what was that feeling, that feeling of being watched- gone just now?

* * *

“Heyyyy, buck! How's things in Ponyville?”

“Interesting, to say the least.”

“Oh? Guessing this has to do with Nightingale?”

“How is it you're so good at guessing and predicting things, Zoleks?”

“Just am?”

“There's gotta be a secret to you doing all of that. Come on.”

“Well, let me try to break this combo. Uhhhhhhhhhhh, oh! Oh! I know! You'll get fat!”

“...”

“... eh? Ehhhh?”

“Okay, yeah, that's not happening, then.”

“Great, means I just got lucky those times. But anyway, what's up?”

“Well... had another fun night with Nightingale.”

“And the interesting part?”

Sigh. “I don't know. That's the thing. There's just this... something off about her. I don't know what it is. I can't quite put my hoof on it.”

“Off how?”

“It's... just the way she can smile sometimes, partly. It's like mine.”

“Yours? How do you- ohhh, you mean the dangerous kind of smile.”

“Yeah, like that. That, and I just get this weird feeling of being watched while I'm with her. Not from her specifically. Just somewhere. I don't know where or who.”

“So odd feeling about this mare, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Buut... she's the only mare who's been able to accept you being cold as heck.”

“I know. But...”

“Mixed feelings?”

“Yeah. I want to confront her about it, but I don't want to... you know. Ruin chances.”

“As slim as they are for a mare living how far away?”

“Thanks, Zoleks.”

“Uh, sorry, bud. Look, I don't know what to tell you. You're way better at this stuff than I am.”

“Mm... sorry about the call then. Just... I don't know.”

“Hey, it's no problem, buck. Just, you know, hope you don't have to call me in the middle of the early morning or anything!”

“Heh, don't worry. Don't plan on doing that...”

* * *

Just have a nice evening, Frost. Have a nice evening. Nice dinner, nice conversation... then ask her. That was the plan.

“So, you said you took astronomy briefly, yes?” Nightingale inquired.

“Yeah, with Professor Freemane,” I answered. “One of the better professors that quarter.”

“Oh, him!” She smiled. “I actually had him, too! Just... wish he wouldn't have just gone off of the company lecture slides verbatim.”

I blinked. “He what?”

“Oh, he uses company lecture slides for notes,” she replied. “It's usually why his lectures always run over time. Come now, you have eidetic memory, yes? How did he start?”

I paused, sifting through my memories. “Why we study astronomy.”

“And is that not how the textbook starts off?” Nightingale chuckled.

“... my goodness, you're right.”

“Exactly.” She grinned and pointed to me. “Also... that ability to remember everything. What did I tell you- precisely when you asked me for another dance two nights ago?”

I paused again, lips working silently as I sifted through time again. “'Tell you what,'” I answered with a... smile. “'I'll consider it. But look at the time.'” My smile changed, quick as can be. “'I said I should get going, and here I am still chatting away with you. Good night, Frost. Sleep well.'”

“Oh, mia bontà, è fantastico,” she remarked.

I grinned, only understanding that last bit. “Like I said.” Okay, good time to ask about the-

“Oh my, look at the time!” Nightingale gasped, glancing at the clock-tipped lamppost nearby. “It's almost time for Beat Heat! Come on!”

Orrrr not.

* * *

And wouldn't know it, the moment we stepped into the music, all thought of asking her that very important question slipped from my mind. All that mattered then was the music energizing me from head to hoof and Nightingale's beautiful, swaying form...

…

…

Somepony in the audience called his name.

Oh!

The storyteller coughed into his hoof with a blush.

Apologies. Got, uh, got, uh... caught in the moment.

A string of chuckles and chides ran through the audience.

Oh come on, folks. Let me just enjoy a particularly happy moment from my life, okay?

Somepony remarked how he must have been really “happy.”

Ha ha ha, funny funny funny. Anyway, we might have gotten a bit carried away that night. I stayed on the dance floor a bit longer than I normally did and ended up absolutely beat when I slumped into a bar stool.

“Ahhhhhhh... goodness, I wish I'd started doing this sooner!” she laughed as she plopped down on a stool beside me.

“Heh, think it'll become your new pastime?” I chuckled huskily back at her.

“Oh, sì sì,” the midnight-black mare sighed happily, seeming rather fatigued herself. She suddenly tilted to her side and leaned against me as support. I merely arced a brow and grinned down at her “Oh, if only Canterlot was full of more ponies that were into this clubbing thing...” She then realized with a start what she was doing and pulled away. “Oh! Oh my! My apologies, Frost! I-I honestly didn't mean to do that! It just happened by refl-”

The storyteller flattened his lips as if trying to contain a smile.

Folks, remember when I said that music turned me into a completely different animal? Well, it certainly did back then. The rational part of my brain was telling me to just nod and smile politely and just let her talk it all out. The rational part of my brain was not working at that moment.

Instead, I kept grinning and leaned in to silence her with a kiss.

I swear her eyes went as large as dinner plates. She made a slight strangled sound into my mouth and raised a hoof as if to slap me... but merely held it there. I broke away only a few seconds after, leaving her staring at me with her mouth forming a small “o” in shock. Her hoof, still hanging in the air, soon moved to cover it.

“You kissed!” Pinkie Pie exclaimed and squeed, causing Nightingale to jump in surprise and me to flinch. By now, I'd gotten used to her doing that, but even then, my gradually decelerating heart rate spiked up again. “Omigosh you two totally kissed! And nothing bad happened!”

“Ah, um... yes... yes we did...” Nightingale murmured in a tinny voice almost lost to the noise if not for our closeness.

I grinned, satisfied. “Yeah. Yeah we did.”

“You know what this calls for?” Pinkie asked loudly. “A party!”

Nightingale blushed and shrunk her head back into her shoulders. I could only chuckle, “Pinkie, we're already having a party!”

“Exactly!” she squealed, kicking her legs rapidly as she jumped into the air and seemed to hover for a second. “So leeeet's partyyyyyy! Vinyl!” The white unicorn glanced over and tilted down her shades to look over. “Put on Viper Two!”

Vinyl grinned, knocked her shades back up, and twirled a new record on, and holy buck I could tell this was gonna be a good one. I looked back at Nightingale and nodded back to the dance floor with a smirk.

She looked at me for a moment and bit her lip.

“Come on, babe!” I exclaimed. “You only live once!”

Something about that made her expression melt and she gave me the brightest smile as we both slipped off back to the dance floor together. This time, I didn't have to hide my glances at her body.

* * *

We headed back out into the quiet, chilly night completely spent, leaning against one another for support. Even if I was winding down, I felt butterflies in my stomach with her close against me. The familiar, comforting warmth- not too warm to bother me, not too cool to go unnoticed-

The storyteller let out a soft, misty sigh. He didn't have to finish his phrase.

I felt Nightingale shift her head. “Frost? Are you crying?”

I blinked rapidly and finally noticed the wetness welling around my eyes and trickling down my cheek. “Y... I guess so,” I chuckled softly, smiling wide.

Nightingale chuckled quietly with me and gave me a kiss to the cheek. “See? Gave you a chance, and now look where we are just a few nights later.” She let out a subdued giggle that made even more butterflies well up inside. I could only let out a happy, misty sigh.

We didn't head for the Sleep Inn this time. Nightingale nudged me to my apartment home instead. The moment we slipped past the door, she drew her hooves around me and pressed close, no need to turn the lights on. Our lips met... again... and again... and again. We kept it gentle, kept it tender. At last when we pulled away with soft, satisfied, but powerful sighs, I looked deep into those eyes full of everything and she looked right back.

“I... hope it's not too much to ask if we... share a night,” she said quietly with a soft blush.

“Not at all,” I whispered, drawing her into a tight embrace as I let out another happy sigh. This was happening. This was really happening.

… so I figured, why not push it juuuust a little?

“You know we'll have to wash up first, right?” I asked with a grin.

“Oh, è scandalo,” Nightingale nickered, slapping me on the chest playfully.

“Too much?” I chuckled huskily.

“Too much,” she chuckled back, then pointed her hoof at me. “For now.” Her horn fired up with that ice-blue glow and a wash of white particles streamed around us. I could feel my coat, mane and tail whip around gently and could see hers do the same. When it all settled, I no longer felt sweat matting down my fur and felt... somewhat rejuvenated. “Wonders of cleaning spells.”

“Lucky,” I muttered.

“Hey, now,” she said to me with a grin, heading upstairs. “Wouldn't you say you're lucky yourself tonight?”

“Heh... too right, too right,” I huffed, lowering my head and smiling as I headed up after her.

“Oof...” she grunted as she slipped into my mattress. “A little firm, isn't it?”

“Well... uh, it's what I'm used to,” I said apologetically as I slid in next to her.

“Oh... right,” she coughed awkwardly. “Sorry.”

I moved close and gave her a nuzzle, and she relaxed and smiled, shifting over to lie atop me as our hooves wrapped around one another. I let out another satisfied sigh, reveling in her subtle warmth. “You sure I'm not too cold for you?” I asked quietly.

Nightingale lifted her head up to kiss me on the lips once more. “You're just fine.”

I smiled, mind put at ease once more... briefly. “Nightingale?”

“Yes, Frost?”

Okay. Time to ask... or... is it? She still looked at me expectantly. So I went: “Do you... think that maybe we're moving a bit fast?”

“Well... to be honest, I wouldn't know,” she chuckled softly.

I blinked. “W-Wait, am I your first?”

“Well, no, but... my first was... well, quite a while ago,” she answered. “You know... young love.”

“Ah...”

“Let's just play by ear,” she whispered, nuzzling into my neck. “Shall we?”

“Yeah... yeah...”

“But, um... Frost?”

“Yeah?” I looked at her.

“No, um... you know. For now.”

“... oh, sure. Ab-Absolutely. Wasn't even thinking about that!”

“Oh!” Nightingale chuckled. “Good...”

Okay, you dolt. You're gonna have to ask sometime, you know. Better now before it's too late. I looked down only to see that she had already started dozing off, muzzle buried against my neck. Too late. I sighed softly and smiled gently at her, stroking her mane. I still felt that odd watched feeling... even inside my home, even in bed.

It could always wait until morning, I guess...

* * *

Morning couldn't wait. I found myself blinking wide awake just about an hour later. I grunted softly in mild annoyance. I just let out a breath and snuggled closer against Nightingale’s dozing form, reveling in her warmth and the lovely feeling of her...

…

Her...

My eyes flew wide open. Nightingale didn't have those.

I gasped quietly and stared at... at...

I gulped. Whoever it was, it wasn't a unicorn.

And whoever it was, it certainly wasn't Nightingale.

* * *

The storyteller pulled out his next memento- one of the photographs tucked behind his breastplate. He held it delicately between two thin, scraggly fingers and drew in a deep sigh.

It all comes down to this.

He let out a deep breath.

All. Down. To this. It was an accident, you know. I mean it. I never knew, never suspected even though all the signs were there.

The old unicorn waved the photo lightly, expression dead serious.

This is from much later. Much, much later- after I finished my tour of duty in fact. It's going to answer... a lot of questions you have about me.

He let out a quick, soft chuckle and another deep breath.

My heart's racing, you know. Just like forty years ago back in Stalliongrad. A lot of you aren't going to like the answer. Some of you might have rather I lied. Back then, I almost wanted to.

But it's time for me to set the record straight. No more lies, I promised Rig. This is going to answer a lot of questions, folks.

Because you all know Her.

He tweaked his fingers and revealed the photograph. On one side, it was him- much older with his short mane streaked with gray. His green fur was somewhat faded, and there were some patches where the pinkish flesh of scars showed through. His eyes seemed cracked, clouded. But he wore an almost relieved, grateful smile.

Because snuggled lovingly against him was another mare. She wasn't a midnight-black unicorn mare with a silver mane.

She was The Lunar Lady.

The Nocturnal Beauty.

Her Majesty of the Night.

Princess Luna.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 16 Reached!
Perk added: Kissed by Luna- Literally. The night calls to you. You gain +2 to both Perception and Intelligence between the hours of 6:00 P.M. And 6:00 A.M. These bonuses can temporarily raise your Perception and Intelligence above 10. This perk does not stack with the Touched by Luna trait.

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Clair de Lune by Cloud Debussy

Soundtrack- Sonata Quasi una Fantasia (also known as “Moonlight Sonata”) by Beethoofen

Soundtrack- Frost and Nightingale

Soundtrack- Black and Green by Twistex

Soundtrack- Viper 2

Soundtrack- Love is in Bloom (Frost and Nightingale version)

Soundtrack- It All Comes to This, It All Comes Together

Author's Note

Thank you to the usual people- and you, the reader. Now, ah, if you'll excuse me... *hunkers down and pulls up a flame shield*

Reflection Seventeen: Luna

Reflection Seventeen: Luna

“Oops.”

The storyteller looked about the crowd and waited for them to fall quiet with that grim expression.

Well. Reaction seems about what I expected. Like I said, it probably answered many of your questions about me.

Can tell you now that the crowd in Stalliongrad was in an uproar after I showed them this photo. Xamuros especially. Rig just stared at me in shock. In fact, about the only two that didn't react to it at all were Chief Thunderhooves and Soraya.

He let out a sigh and flipped the photograph back around.

I told them exactly what I will tell you now: you all know how this story ends, that cruel truth. And that might give you even more answers. But like I said before, it's not the destination that counts.

It's the journey to it.

Now let me at least finish this... and then, you might just understand why I do what I do, why I've done what I've done.

* * *

Princess Luna. Princess... Luna. By the time I finally comprehended who was lying in bed with me and that she had been Nightingale all along, I felt a horrible sinking sensation deep inside. My heart hammered away and I panted in panic. I had to get out of there, and I had to get out of there now.

Okay. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Ignore how amazing her wings feel and... hohhhh, oh they were definitely amazing... so... so tingly and smooth and- no, no, no! Snap out of it! Deep breaths! Now. Let's try to do this quietly.

I slowly pulled my forelegs away from her and shimmied my way out from underneath her over the course of the next several painstaking minutes. Shifted my shoulders... then my back... then my waist... shoulders... back... waist. And all the while, I kept on silently praying, “Don't wake her up. Don't wake her up. Don't wake her up, and whatever you do, do not pass gas.” Now, praying to... who exactly?

I glanced at the alicorn lying atop me.

Worst time to think of that question. Ever.

Finally, I managed to slip out from underneath her and rolled over to the floor beside my bed. Rising, I let out a breath, relieved that I actually managed to pull it off. Now, though, I had to address the alicorn in the bedroom. Buck me, what was I going to do? She was royalty! A goddess!

I gathered myself, straightened out my thoughts. I needed to come up with what to do. I stole away downstairs and sat down in the flimsy, aluminum folding chair at my dinner table. Okay... what was I going to do? What the hay was I going to do?

I gripped my head between my hooves and drew in a deep breath. Only one other option when I needed help- I needed advice.

And so I picked up my phone.

* * *

“Nnnurgh... Frost? The hay you calling this early for? Granted, just got back from clubbing, but what's up?”

Hushed voice. “Zoleks, Zoleks, this is important. It's an emergency.”

Hushed voice. “Well, it better be considering you're whispering. Why don't you just call the police or something?”

“No no no, Zoleks, it's about Nightingale.”

“Okay... so you found out what the whole off thing was about her?”

“I did. I did, just... look... I know this is going to sound crazy, but Nightingale is Princess Luna!”

Pause. “Princess Luna.”

“Yes!”

“The Princess Luna.”

“Yes!”

“... yeah, I'm hanging up.”

“What? No! No, Zoleks-”

Click. Ending tone.

* * *

“Zoleks!” I exclaimed quietly. Then, in a shriller tone- almost a squeak, “Zoleks!”

I set down the phone and let out a heavy sigh. Well buck.

I heard startled movement upstairs. “Frost?” I heard... Her call (The storyteller looked visibly pained as he mimicked her voice.). “Frost, where-” There was a pregnant pause. “Oh no...” A few seconds later, she galloped down the stairs and we locked eyes, both sharing the same shocked expression.

I swallowed. Well buck.

“Frost... don't...” Princess Luna whispered slowly.

But I was already sliding out of my seat, backing away, fearful.

“Please...”

I froze. She had the most... pitiful expression as she croaked out that simple word. Something inside me made me still, gulp, and stand firm.

The dark-blue alicorn before me bit her lip. She glanced about the room and nodded toward the door. Suddenly the feeling of being watched left, but before I could comment, she motioned toward the lumpy leather sofa off to the side. “May... may we sit and talk?”

* * *

The first few minutes were less “sit and talk” and more “sit quietly a pony's length apart from one another.” For a princess, she seemed rather uncomfortable and shy- even for a situation like this. Watching her for a few seconds, I decided to start first. “Your Highness-”

“Luna,” she corrected. “Please, just... if anything... call me Luna.”

I let out a deep breath. “Luna... why were you...” I realized that for once I had no idea how I was going to do this. Instead, I turned to her and asked, “Why?”

She smiled wanly, avoiding my gaze at first. “A thousand years is a long time, Frost. Up until recently, I've been trying to catch up on the times in the way I was used to- books.” She let out a soft chuckle and turned to me. “My sister finally convinced me to just go out into the world and see things for myself. I admit I was eager to find out just how the nightlife changed since so long ago, and what better a place than a Nightmare Night celebration in Ponyville? After all, it was the town of the very ponies who saved me from... well, you know.

“It's been a tradition since then- a different city every year, of course. There's so much to see. And...” she chuckled again, “still I turn to researching what has changed for most of the remainder of the year. That is, un...until my sister convinced me yet again to go on more escapades. After all, you hear and forget, see and remember, do... and understand. And so... I decided I wanted to see what I was missing with the 'nightclubs' I'd been hearing about. I admit, I'd been catching up on music a little more easily and I figured... why not Blaring Beats? O-Of course, I was only feeling the... no, that's not the right phrase. I was only testing the waters so to speak, and so I did it in disguise. And... well... here we are.”

I stared. “So... I met you on your first night out?”

“Other than Nightmare Night, yes,” she said with a tiny smile and a shy shrug. “And it was a most wonderful of nights...” She let out a sigh and frowned, looking away. “So... now you understand? The cold of what lies beyond our world- yours is nothing compared to it, miniscule. That's why I don't mind how cold you are.”

I nodded slowly to myself. Everything fell into place now. Everything from her disguised name to her appearance to her fascination with the night sky to... even her story. Skylark? Fascinated with the sun? That was Princess Celestia. And the reason I couldn't see through her lies was because she buried them in truth- just like how I did before. And the smile... no wonder. She was as expert a liar as I was- perhaps even, no... far more the expert than I was.

“Frost...?” she called, catching my attention once more. She let out a soft sigh and glanced away momentarily before going on. “I should have told you sooner, I realize. Hindsight, as they say, is twenty-twenty. It's just...” She let out a wan chuckle, “how was I supposed to react to all that? Being... possibly the only pony, perhaps the only person who wouldn't object to your cold? Love demands closeness, I know. But... how was I to break it to you what was truly going on? That... you... and me! Everything just went so fast- the dates, the dancing, the music, and... and the kiss! I... I just...” She bit her lip as she looked at me, eyes full, eyes pleading as she searched for something in my expression, in my gaze. “I just got caught up in it all. Frost... can you... can you say something? Please? Anything...”

I watched, letting the seconds tick by uncomfortably for her one by one as I tried to make up my mind. Everything I heard... it was so much to take in. It sounded less like a princess meeting and learning more about her royal subjects and more like somepony lost and confused trying to play catch-up. She didn't even sound like royalty, stutters, pauses, even the broken eye contact. And yet here she was, the Lunar Goddess. Her mane and tail flowed in ethereal fashion, rippling in an unseen current with the stars dotting them like the night sky itself. A goddess, and yet... so insecure. She seemed less like the Princess of the Night and more like...

… she was scared, I realized. She was afraid. That's why she didn't tell me sooner.

I waited perhaps too long. She took in a deep breath, closed her eyes with her expression exhibiting nothing but calm, and stood. She was a princess again. But now that I knew there was a façade (It's all in the façade.), I could see past it and see her heart breaking “I should go. Forgive me, Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill. Farewell, and good night.”

“Wait,” I blurted out.

She was just starting to light up her horn with that same icy-blue glow as mine. Her aura collapsed and she turned back to me, the royal façade starting to crumble once more as she looking at me with eyes both full of hope and full of dread.

“First, call me Frost,” I said, chancing a weak smile.

She smiled back, the dread melting away. “And call me Luna.”

“Second, please...” I motioned to my side. “Please sit.”

She smiled wider, gratefully and sat back down at my side- though still at a distance. And then the smile was gone. “Frost, still... forgive me for not telling you the truth sooner.”

Time to test my theory. “I just want to know why you didn't tell me.”

She... Luna let out a soft sigh and grimaced tinnily. “I was... I was worried. I was afraid-” That's the word I was looking for, “-that I would hurt you and... and that it would hurt... me. I had an amazing time with you these past few nights, and when we kissed, I thought...”

I lifted a hoof and slowly... slowly, still not sure of myself, placed it on her shoulder to reassure her. I don't know why it took so long. I... I guess I was still afraid myself. Royalty... a goddess alive... but take away the flowing mane and tail, wings or the horn... she could be any other mare. The fact that she was bare of any of her royal attire completed the image.

“N-” I paused. “P-” Another pause. “Luna... I just want to know- how do you feel about... about us?”

“I'm still Nightingale, Frost,” she whispered, her entire body glowing a brilliant white before she reshaped into the midnight-black, silver-maned unicorn with that cute bob to her full, curly mane. “What I said to you- I meant it. I-I admit I was doubtful at first, but after all the music, the dancing, and... everything, I... ” She morphed back into the deep-blue alicorn with the flowing mane and tail, and a pregnant pause filled the air. “How do... you feel about us?”

I fully faced her, looking, searching. She faced me as well, and I could finally look into those eyes... they were unchanged. Cyan, and full of everything...

I let out a soft sigh and said, “I don't know... I mean... you're, well...”

Luna took my hooves in hers. “I gave you a chance, Frost. Will you return the favor?”

I kept looking into her eyes- and she into mine. I smiled softly. “Fair's only fair. I'm not sure if I'll ever be completely comfortable with this, but... I-I will.”

She let out a sigh and slumped, both drained and relieved, and suddenly pulled me close, throwing me over one shoulder and then the next as she suddenly belted out with enough force to rattle the floorboards, “Oh most blessed of nights! I thank thee-” Luna paused and let me go, covering her mouth with a hoof. “Ah... I mean... I thank you for your kind heart, Frost.”

I pulled away and stared at her, realizing that she'd done the same thing before repulsing Discord from Canterlot so long ago. “What... what was that?”

“Oh, ah... the Canterlot Augmented Pony Speech spell,” she coughed and glanced away, embarrassed. “Old habit. Forgive me.”

“Heh... let's try not to do that again,” I chuckled quietly. I could hear some of the neighbors rousing, muffled voices outside. “So, uh... back to bed?”

“Yes... that would be... nice,” Luna whispered as we stood, heading back up.

I breathed out a heavy sigh as I fell into bed- she as well as she slumped down beside me. She turned to face me and asked, “Will you be alright with this, Frost?”

I breathed out a misty sigh. “Well I'm no Shining Armor. An equinpologist and historian with... well, you?”

Princess Luna huffed, “Well... I'm unsure if this should exactly go public either, but... Frost?” I looked over to her. “Treat me as you would any other pony. Can you do that for me? Please?”

I let out a soft breath and cracked a thin smile. “Then c'mere,” I murmured, tugging her against me. Hohhh, those feathers...

Luna giggled this... cute, high-pitched giggle and inhaled deeply, relieved. She was still warm- comfortably warm- and as her tail drew closer to mine, it felt cool- comfortably cool. She tilted closer, her muzzle touching mine as if in askance, and... after a bit of hesitation, I obliged and gave her a gentle kiss. “Thank you...” she whispered.

I blushed, glancing away. Holy buck I just kissed Princess Luna on the lips. “Well... you know we're going to have to talk more until I'm completely comfortable with this, right?”

“Well yes... I didn't... completely expect you to just suddenly accept this,” she murmured. Then she giggled- oh that lovely giggle- again. “Though... that does mean more dating...”

I chuckled huskily, “Let's just talk it over some more after some sleep...”

“Now that... sounds... heavenly...”

* * *

That morning, I blinked awake to the sight of Luna casting some sort of spell, her eyes closed in concentration. The icy-blue pallor it cast over her was reflected in the glittering stars in her flowing mane. I couldn't help but watch, bewitched by her beauty, her serenity. Finally, the aura faded and she opened her eyes, smiling sweetly at me. “Good morning, Frost,” she greeted, timidly tilting closer.

I obliged and gave her a quick kiss and murmured back, “Good morning. What were you doing?”

“Setting the moon in wake of the new dawn,” she replied. “Normally, I would do it at the Lunar Dais in Canterlot Castle, but...” She lowered back down on top of me, “I would rather be here with you.”

I smiled and stroked down her back, awed by how silky her fur was. “Well... I'm not complaining. Prin... ah, Luna?”

“Yes, Frost?”

“Think we can have breakfast and maybe... I don't know, have a chat?” I offered.

“Of course,” Luna said, grinning wider and pulling away. “Though, ah, if it involves cooking... I suggest you do it in my stead.” Her smile turned apologetic at that.

I blinked and slipped out of bed with her. “Why is that?”

“Well... again, I have had to catch up on a millennium of technological innovations,” she coughed. “I got a bit ahead of myself when attempting to use the oven for a midnight snack to avoid waking the royal cooks. They are overworked, after all. However, I had no idea what an oven was or how it worked, so I figured it was a stove or such. Thus, I... piled in a few logs and... well...”

I just stared at her. “You lit a fire inside of an oven?”

“I did not know!” she babbled. “I-I mean, it looked like a modern stove or furnace or boiler or... something! I just figured we still used fires for cooking, and...” She sighs, “Anyway, that's why I don't trust myself with cooking anything anymore.”

“Well, I don't really have much for breakfast,” I said to her, scratching the back of my neck. “Just toast with nut butter or cereal. Nothing exactly extravagant. How about we head to Sugarcube Corner?”

“No, no!” Luna waved her hoof and smiled shyly. “Ah, toast sounds... nice.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positively,” she answered with a nod. “To be truthful, it's been a while since I've had such a simple breakfast. It would be a good... how do you say? Change of pace?”

I merely smiled.

After a brief few minutes of washing up, we headed downstairs and I popped a few slices of bread in for-

“My word, what is this?” she asked, walking up to the appliance, eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“It's a toaster oven,” I answered.

“A toaster... and an oven in one?” the dark-blue alicorn gasped, astonished. “Pray tell, is this a recent development?”

I couldn't help but let out a husky chuckle. “No, it's been around since I was a foal. Saves money since it acts like both.”

“Ingenious...” Luna remarked, tilting and lowering her head to get a better look at the heating coils. “Absolutely ingenious.”

After I prepared a few slices for each of us and slathered them with peanut butter, we sat down at my table, eating quietly. The air of unease still filled the air. We failed to meet one another's eyes. I meant what I said before, but...

I just needed one question out of the way, I figured. Just one question. “Luna?”

“Yes, Frost?” Eye contact at last, eyes full of everything.

I breathed in deeply. “I want to know- what do you see in me?”

Luna inhaled deeply, taking a moment to wipe her mouth with a napkin. She glanced downward for a few moments before solemnly, quietly replying, “A thousand years is a long time, Frost. The punishment I received, I deserved. That, I cannot deny. But so much has changed- so much. Customs, ponies and people, technology- even the land itself. There are now sprawling cities where once were verdant forests or rolling hills. Rivers have carved away canyons and valleys, seas have dried up into deserts, and snow and ice have swallowed up an entire homeland.” She briefly looked up at me at that. Flashes of faded faces, so many faces glowing in candlelight made my heart clench. She glanced to the window at the ponies just starting their day, blissfully unaware of us. “The people especially have changed...”

She let out a sigh and continued, “I'm beating around the bush, aren't I? I suppose what I'm really trying to say is that after hearing your story, about your disillusionment with Manehattan and the dreadful truth that we must outgrow things and things must outgrow us, I couldn't help but feel a certain kinship with you in a way. No, that's not the right word...” The dark-blue alicorn frowned. “Connection. That would be more fitting, I suppose. I just saw a bit of myself in you. And, yes, I did pity you.” She chuckled softly, wanly, “I don't know how this all happened in just three days. I honestly can't say.” Another sigh. “Frost... what do you see in me?”

The storyteller let out a deep breath and chuckled huskily.

Hoo, right back at me. Heh...

“I can't say,” I answered, biting my lip. “Luna, I only just realized who you are. I know so little about you. I'm not sure I can answer that- at least not yet.”

Luna smiled. She had this gorgeous, shy, little smile. “Well I did say we'd have to do more dating, yes?”

I smiled back. “Eight o'-clock, then? I have work today.”

“Eight o'-clock sounds nice,” she said, standing up. “Though... perhaps six-o'clock would be better in this case. My treat this time. May we meet here?”

“Sure, sure,” I replied, following her.

The dark-blue alicorn gave a stout nod and gave me a quick nuzzle. “Again, for what it's worth, I humbly apologize. Perhaps I can make it up to you tonight. Fare thee well, Frost. Until then.”

Her horn flashed, and she was gone.

* * *

Before heading to work, I stopped by Sugarcube Corner and found a certain outrageously pink mare entertaining a few early morning customers. The way she had them going made me wonder if it was the coffee or her contagious energy. She paused upon seeing me and zipped on over, saying nothing but wearing a far too tiny and innocent a smile for her.

“You knew,” I charged her with an accusatory edge to my tone.

Pinkie remained silent and maintained that too-innocent smile... for all of three seconds. Her lip quivered- no, rippled- and her eyes watered and her face puckered up until she howled with laughter. Dammit, I couldn't even stay angry at her and cracked a smile myself. “Surpriiiiise!” she giggled.

“Why didn't you tell me?” I asked.

“One,” she replied, holding up a hoof for each point, “because it was more fun for me that way. Two, because it was more fun for you that way. Three, because if was more fun for her that way. And four, you would've found out anyway!”

… one, two, three, fo- how was she still standing?

“Well maybe, but you could've told me!” I protested, sprouting ice arms to gesture.

“But that would've ruined the fun for me and you and her!” she protested in turn, gesturing even wilder in a way that coiled her forelegs around her torso. They quickly unwound, propelling her backwards a few meters. Trotting back, she said, “But now you know, and so you’ll have time to really get to know one another! Besides, that'd be spoiling things! Like telling you things'll end in sunshine and rainbows!”

“... wha-?”

“Ohhhh, you'll find out eventually,” she giggled before trotting off to entertain the other guests.

* * *

Work for me may have ended at four o'clock, but the next two hours were spent fussing over the date. Royalty, royalty, royalty... how was I supposed to prepare for a date with royalty? Unless she... was planning to go as “Nightingale.” Then I was just fussing over nothing. Oh, but what if she went as herself? Just a spritz of deodorant, a bit of- should I use cologne? I probably should use- oh, I don't have any cologne. Comb my hair, gotta comb my hair, gotta comb my hair that wasn't straightening for some reason why aren't you straighteninnnnnnng?

“Forgive me, but don't you usually wear your hat?”

I only flinched to the sound of Luna's voice. Between her, Lyra, and Pinkie Pie, those sort of things hardly fazed me anymore- or at least not as much. I looked at her where was standing, just outside of my bathroom and murmured, “Well-”

“Well?” The dark-blue alicorn stepped closer, once again bare of her royal regalia. “Do you not recall my request, Frost Windchill? Please treat me as you would any other mare. Although tonight...” she chuckled softly, “tonight I will treat you like a proper Canterlot noble.”

I blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“Frost, have you ever been teleported before?” she inquired.

“Ah... no,” I replied slowly. I had an idea of where this was headed.

“Well then.” Luna smiled at me. “We have a level surface, so that's good... best if you close your eyes the first time.” She paused, and I realized she was waiting on me. I obeyed, feeling a tad nervous. “Now, on three, alright?” I nodded. “Hold your breath now. Might make things a little easier. One. Two. Three.”

I heard her spell set off, which was followed by a strange sense of detachment and weightlessness. For a moment, I felt absolutely no sensation before feeling firm, cold stone beneath my hooves and a chilly breeze blowing gently through my fur. We were outside somewhere.

“Open your eyes, Frost,” Luna called softly. And so I did.

We were definitely within Canterlot Castle as I suspected. We were on a balcony high off the ground with a small dining table and chairs made from old-fashioned, wiry metal. It was my first time on castle grounds, and I was completely unprepared for the view before me as I was reminded we were on possibly the highest point in Equestria for a ground city. We could see dozens, perhaps hundreds of miles over the Equestrian Heartland, and the sun was setting, bathing the land in a splash of reds, oranges, and yellows that slowly darkened as dusk approached, mixed with the washes of wintry white. I looked to the opposite side of the balcony and found the moon starting to rise. Like only a few years ago, I witnessed the breathtaking moment of sun and moon exchanging hooves that could only be experienced in Canterlot, the blanket of day peeled away as the blanket of night drew down. The crimson, fire, and gold dulled to cooler, more subdued shades of their more vibrant colors as the cities and towns that dotted the landscape gradually turned on the lights. I realized that in the distance I could see Manehattan. It appeared like a mass of glowing, flowing sparks and embers mirrored by the slowly-appearing stars hanging in the sky above. I suddenly felt a pang of homesickness tugging at my heart.

I was broken from my moment of bitter nostalgia as Luna finished raising her moon and, to my surprise, hummed softly and began to sing.

The storyteller drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Now the hour has come at last.
The soft and fading light
has crossed the west horizon
and has bidden us good niiiight-
and what a lovely night it is
to walk a moonlit field,
to see the softer shades
that are by starlight now revealed...

“A thousand years have come to pass,
the winds of change have blown.
Now the ponies of the land
have made the night their owwwwn-
bringing light to dark to play
b'low my watchful moon,
could it have been my mistake
to judge them all too soon?”

He let out another sigh.

Singing's in our blood, folks.

Luna sighed softly, smiling... I couldn't tell if it was sadly or proudly. She turned to me and smiled, “Let us dine.” She did a double-take and looked me up and down. “Hm. You look nice without your hat, do you know that?”

The storyteller smiled softly.

And from that point on, my trusty fedora was no more.

I smiled back and we seated ourselves. “Why thank you.” As she magicked a silky tablecloth, a pair of candles, and silverware onto the table, I inquired, “Does anypony know we're up here?”

“Only a few,” she replied with a soft chuckle. “Rest assured, Frost- none of them will be bothering us.” I opened my mouth to ask something. “And no, they won't raise a fuss about this.” Mouth closed now. She teleported a pair of pasta dishes out. “Here we are.”

“Wow.” I stared. “That looks delicious. What is it?”

“Penne pasta with kale and sliced carrots, all drizzled with a lemon-cashew sauce,” Luna replied, smiling. “Is champagne alright with you?”

“Yes, definitely,” I answered as we began to eat. It was... heavenly, to say the least. The food, the drink, the scenery, Luna... after a spell, I decided to get straight to it. “So, first things first, I'd like to know a bit more about you. Fair's fair, after all. You know all about me, but... you? So little is known of you or your sister. Hardly anything shows up in history.” I decided to omit the part about Nightmare Moon out of the picture.

Luna sighed softly, “And with good reason. It is better that way, I suppose- ponies viewing us as divine, all-powerful.” She grimaced briefly. “Frost, I will grant that request. It is only fair, as you say. But-” She held up a hoof, “-not a word of this to anypony, anyone else? Understood?”

“You have my word,” I replied, maintaining eye contact.

The storyteller nickered.

Well. I'm about to break it yet again. Folks, this will change how you view Princess Luna and Princess Celestia. It will change how you view them as goddesses. But I hope that it will be for the better.

“You may have a hard to accepting this,” Luna said quietly, avoiding eye contact, “but most of what I told you was true.”

I had stopped eating by now. “I'm sorry?”

She inhaled deeply. “There was a time, Frost, when I was not called 'Princess Luna' but 'Nightingale'.”

The storyteller paused as murmurs ran through the audience, waiting for it to die down.

Luna said no more for the time being and let it all sink in. Even with all those years of learning and practicing proper etiquette, I found myself gawking at her. The gears slowly turned in my head, and finally I asked, “Wait... you mean to tell me that...?”

She nodded. “Yes. Neither I nor my sister were born as alicorns. Once...” Her form glowed a bright white before she shapeshifted into the midnight-black, blue-maned unicorn mare I had first known her as, “this was what I looked like. Well, perhaps... this is what I would have looked up if I had a chance to grow up properly. I suspect you wish to know the whole story, Frost. I shall not deny you that. That is, unless you wish otherwise?”

“No, no...” I replied with a shake of the head, still shocked. “Please continue.”

“Again, much of what I told you was true- including how my sister and I earned our cutie-marks. Skylark and I were just normal fillies back then, myself a unicorn and my sister a pegasus. We were both once just like everypony else. We were born in Neighples, and we lived a normal, perhaps privileged lifestyle. We were not poor, nor did we eat like the nobles did in Everfree. To be truthful, our lives were mostly uninteresting.

“Then Discord came along.

“Few know how Discord came to be. Only my sister and I remain as witnesses. Do you know how Starswirl the Bearded came to be known as one of the most powerful unicorns ever? It was his creation of the amniomorphic spell, a spell that allowed the caster to completely alter the biology of a living being- even one's own. You created new life. It wasn't some shapeshifting spell. It changed what an animal- or person- fundamentally was. It's an extremely powerful spell.

“It's also an extremely unstable spell. Unless performed correctly with the utmost concentration, the subject's mind could be permanently altered. One slip, one mistake, and... so much potential lost.

“I know you Northerners. Perhaps my sister knows you better as she remained, but... your kind has remarkable magical prowess. Who else could have cultivated crops, wrestled the weather, made the ethereal earthly in such a dynamic environment but your kind? Northerners were- perhaps still are- a very proud people. It's not hard to imagine coming from a people where advancement of a single pony race rather than cooperation between all three was doctrine for a number of years. The Far North and the Covenant of Equestria as it was called back then were partners in trading, yes, but also fierce competitors- in unicorn magic especially. Once Starswirl created the amniomorphic spell, many a unicorn tried their hoof at it. None were as skilled as Starswirl, and this upset the Northerners greatly. When an Equestrian pony such as he threatened Northerner pride, well...”

Luna looked at me almost as if to make sure I was still listening before letting out a sigh. “Frost, let it be clear that no other animal, no other being in the world has as much capacity for good as equinekind.

“Let it also be clear that no other animal, no other being in the world has as much capacity for evil.

“My sister and I chose not to remember his name. It is better for what he did to remain forever lost, scattered among the sands of time. But he grew so jealous of Starswirl the Bearded that he decided to ensure Northerner magic superiority. Neither I nor my sister know what darkness in his heart seized him and made him commit such cruelty. Perhaps he merely intended it to be a prank. Whatever the case, it does not excuse his actions. He sneaked his way into his quarters and cast an amniomorphic spell.

“You may be wondering why Starswirl the Bearded is so famous, having a wing of the Royal Library named after him, and yet among the most obscure unicorns at the same time. We even know his apprentice Clover the Clever better. Well I told you that my sister and I were not born alicorns. We were created.

“So, too, was Discord- formerly known as Starswirl the Bearded.”

It was as if the night silenced itself in wake of the revelation, the entire world holding her breath. I could have dropped a pin from atop the balcony and heard it from all the way below. It was broken only by one sound- my shaky, hard swallow. I felt a chill settle over me- one far greater than one I'll ever be able to conjure.

“It must have been torture.” Luna continued. “Pure torture. To become something completely different from oneself was one thing, but to be turned into an amalgam of thirteen different species? And that's only on the outside! I dare not fathom how many more he may be... that felon, that nameless felon broke Starswirl. Nay, 'broke' implies that it can be fixed. He annihilated the bright mind we knew as Starswirl, leaving behind a new, twisted persona. Fitting, now that I think on it- a chaotic chimera of so many different animals. What other name would have been as fitting as ‘Discord?’

“That felon created a god. A very, very angry god. I believe that you and Discord have met in a sense. We all have, recently. Make no mistake- it is not with glee nor humor as sick as it is that he did what he did. It was with mercifully slow-burning fury. The felon was the first victim, perhaps a deserving one. But the entire world soon fell under what we call the Age of Chaos.

“Discord was and is by all means invincible and immortal. No creature such as he could function under the laws of biology. Nay, he lived through the laws of magic, and magic is a manner of beast as fickle as Discord himself. Nopony, no one could kill him. We were all completely at his mercy for ten years.

“I was but a little filly when it all started, my sister just into marehood. His... 'fun' was lighthearted at first. It resembled material you may find on cartoons or comics nowadays. But all gods grow tired, grow hungrier for something fresh and exciting.

“And Discord was a very, very angry god.

“Do you know what they say about pain? You cannot bottle it up. You have to let it out eventually, it feels good to do so. Some people, like Discord, choose to dull their pain by inflicting it upon others.

“Take every disaster, every war, every tragedy equinekind has and will ever experience and nothing will ever amount to the pain and misery inflicted by Discord during his bloodthirsty cycles. Unimaginable torture to which I dare not even begin to describe- every single moment. And he kept all of us alive. You can’t play with a toy that's broken, and he similarly couldn't enjoy the screams of the dead.”

Luna inhaled deeply and leaned against the table, forming a steeple with her forehooves as she narrowed her eyes. “Let it be said that my sister and I love equinekind and all of its many wonders and intricacies. I dare say we've almost removed the word 'hate' from our vocabulary. We forgive the criminal, the sinner, the wrongdoer and offer the path of redemption. So bear that in mind when I tell you I... hate... Discord. I would gladly give an eye for an eye for all the pain, all the horrors, all the unimaginable torture he put us through and give it tenfold if not for the fact that he would probably scoff in my face and enjoy it all.” The deep-blue alicorn grimaced and coughed politely. “And, ah, also because it would be unsightly to those who witnessed it.

“I'm sure you've reached the conclusion already, Frost, but I'll lay it kind and clear- my sister and I were created by Discord. Earth pony, unicorn, and pegasus with their combined magic in one? Who could have created much less conceived such a notion other than Discord?”

Luna paused and looked at me. “It's a lot to take in, isn't it?”

I breathed out a heavy, misty sigh as I leaned back in my seat. “Oh definitely.”

“Perhaps we can talk more later, then,” she offered, idly spearing her pasta with her fork.

“No, no!” I smiled to her. “Please continue. You have the long-dead historian in me interested now.”

She breathed out a sigh and set down her silverware. “I...” Another pause, another sigh. “Very well. I promised I would tell you. Fair's fair.” She glanced downward. “For... some reason still unknown to me, Discord took a liking to my sister and to me. I thank fate for at least showing us enough mercy that his fancy for us was not of the... carnal... sort. He never stooped to that at the very least, if anything. Discord was in one of his calmer cycles at the time. He wanted to create something beautiful for once, as he claimed. Nothing absurd or macabre or twisted- just something beautiful, something easy on his mismatched eyes.”

“So he experimented on us as he did the rest. It was mercifully painless- but torture for the both of us nonetheless. We were changed into so many strange creatures- combined with griffins, zebras, dolphins, dogs- until he finally settled with Occam's Razor and simply combined all three pony races in one.

“By now, you've probably noticed the disparity between my cutie-marks,” Luna said as she glowed brightly once more and shapeshifted back to her alicorn form. “The moment that Discord changed us into new ponies, he obliterated our past identities. We were completely different ponies from that point on, including our destinies.”

Luna grimaced for a moment. “Losing my cutie-mark the way I did... it was something I wouldn't wish upon anypony. I was positively jubilant to have earned my mark so early and so close to my birthday. To have discovered that I no longer had it and that my destiny had forever changed, that... it filled me with dread, not knowing where my life would take me- especially when someone like Discord fancied me.

“Skylark and I were not alone in our desire to destroy Discord. Many had tried, and many were punished for it. It was well understood by then that in order to defeat a creature that fundamentally operated on magic, one must also use magic- fight fire with fire, as they say. It was just a matter of what kind of magic could defeat him. One school of thought believed that one could use another amniomorphic spell to render Discord harmless- such as by turning him into a field mouse or gnat or some other trivial thing. All attempts were unsuccessful. Discord was and still is the epitome of amniomorphism. He could not be harmed by such a thing. That left one school of thought, that one must use the opposite to defeat Discord. The opposite of disorder is order- in other words...” She looked at me expectantly.

“Harmony,” I whispered.

She nodded. “Precisely. Though... what is harmony? Or order? That was the great debate at the time, as the very nature of what is 'right' or what is 'ordered' is subjective. I dare not go into the details, but after much deliberation and much brooding, my sister and I came up with the answer. It was not a sense of 'order' or 'reasoning' that we needed to fight Discord but a sense of righteousness that he lacked. Righteousness... another way of saying 'virtue'.

“As a modern-day Mancer, you know firsthoof the immense power of being able to control a physical element, Frost. Physical elements are one thing. Spiritual elements are a completely different animal, operating by their own rules. We looked into what brought ponies together to live, work, fight alongside one another. In the end, it came down to six virtues.

“Honesty, in which all facts, all fouls are laid bare.

“Kindness, in which a gentle touch, a gentle word can bring a soothing sensation.

“Laughter, in which friends revel in to lift spirits soaring through air.

“Generosity, in which we must learn to help others in their time of need anytime, anywhere.

“Loyalty, in which we stand side by side no matter the temptation.

“And magic, in which we all share.

“These Six Virtues of Friendship are our own. Griffins, zebras, dragons, mules, buffalo- no other people hold them so dear. They are inherently our own, our Elements of Harmony. My sister and I helped birth them, and so they were ours to wield to defeat Discord, catching him when he least expected- while in reverie of his work.

“It was a beautiful thing to watch- a cascade of rainbow-hued energy undoing all wrongs Discord wrought.” She glanced down over herself. “Well... almost all wrongs. To this day, Discord's mad creations still linger- myself and my sister, for instance. The minotaurs remained, and the ability for all equines to... mingle with one another did as well. Fitting, I suppose, that Discord be petrified. He cannot be killed, and so he remains immortal- but contained. I cannot help but feel as if the punishment should have been greater for such a demon, such a cruel tyrant... but I suppose I am content with it.

“It should come as no surprise what happened next to a historian such as yourself. Ponies practiced hero worship since the infancy of our people. It is why ponies such as High Chancellor Puddinghead, Secretary-General Smart Cookie, Queen Platinum, Arch-Mage Clover the Clever, Supreme General Hurricane, and...” she coughed, “Commander Pansy were revered in ancient times. Many followed their wake- Skyfall the Swift, Lady Vanguard, and Starswirl the Bearded before his fall from glory. Ourselves? We... we were changed by Discord, forever changed. We barely resembled our former selves. No longer was my sister the belligerent mare who got into more school fights than the stallions, and no longer was I the adventurous, solitary filly who knew more constellations by name than friends in class. Ponies were so eager to worship us and celebrate our triumph over Discord, and so were crowned and so we adopted the namesakes you now know us by- Princess Celestia,” She pressed a hoof to her chest, “and Princess Luna.”

The dark-blue alicorn breathed out sharply and glanced downward. “Well drat. I went all long-winded again and now our food's cold. Apologies.”

“No, no, that... that was a wonderful story!” I said quickly, offering an encouraging smile. “Thank you.”

Luna returned my smile and our food steamed gently as she momentarily lit her horn. “I hope you understand now why we chose to omit our histories, Frost- and why none of this must be known by anypony, anyone else.”

I paused, trying to withhold a frown. In truth, I didn't. And she noticed.

“Multiple reasons, actually,” she said. “You see, Frost... one, ponies- people- view us as goddesses. Even if we really aren't, they still do. Perhaps you as well. Gods don't have origin stories, with few exceptions. It is easier to assume that they simply were, that they simply existed- no premise, no prologue. Two, because that time in history was time neither I nor my sister wish to revisit. The less talked of it, the better.

“And three,” she added in a hushed tone, “because we weren't always the good Samaritans you want to see us as. I don't speak of just Nightmare Moon, and I don't speak of only myself. Being immortal means time can drag on, and when time drags on, one can get weary and tiresome of the status quo. My sister have I have long learned since that we cannot allow ourselves to stoop so low ever again. But know this, Frost...”

She had a deadly look in those eyes.

“We are equine, and like all equines, we are not perfect, and we were both drawn to temptations of flesh and blood. After all, Discord was once equine. My sister and I are not proud of what we did, nor for how long we let it last. We would prefer that it, like the fate of Starswirl the Bearded and the name of that felon, be lost to the sands of time. I will not speak any more on the matter.”

* * *

After we finished dinner, Luna and I sat together before the balcony, looking over the softer shades of the starlit Heartland. I was still uneasy after those last few words, and she sensed it. I don't think she knew or realized back then, but that last reason struck home for me. Like her, I had my own regrets. I'd made my own mistakes. I knew the temptation of power and became addicted to it, lavished in it. It wasn't until it all came crumbling down around me that I realized the monster I created- and the monster I became. After all, you will never see the light if you refuse to leave shade.

But there was one difference- I rose to power with ill intent. She didn't.

She sighed, “I believe I was what you call a 'killjoy,' was I not?”

I opted not to reply to that, still too lost in my own thoughts.

She let out a sigh and rest a hoof on my shoulder. “One more point I was trying to make, one that I've been trying to convey since early this morning: I am- truly- just another pony. More powerful, longer-lived and wiser because of it, yes, but I'm still just another mare.”

“I know,” I whispered, turning to her to do the same. “I know.” I pulled her into an embrace, reveling in her subtle warmth as she returned it. I tried to find the right words, but after something like that, all I could manage was: “I respect you, Luna. I... I truly respect you. I don't think anypony else in this day and age could have gone through what you had.”

“... does that mean we can keep dating?” she asked.

The storyteller chuckled softly, wanly.

Of all questions, folks, that was the first she asked. I merely smiled. “Definitely just another mare.” I hugged her tighter and answered, “Yes, absolutely.”

She just... let out this cute, delighted squeak of joy and hauled me up onto her shoulder. “Oh! Ah... ahem.” She set me back down. “Pushing it?”

“Maybe a little,” I chuckled softly.“You know, it seems just about time to head over to Blaring Beats...” I offered her a hoof. “Shall we?

Luna smiled wide and shapeshifted back into her old self, taking my hoof. “I'd love to.” And then we teleported away.

* * *

“Woohoo!” Pinkie cheered, leaping into the air as we all headed back out together. “Can't wait for tomorrow night!” She zipped over to me and Luna... well, Nightingale. “You are coming back tomorrow night, right?”

“Most likely,” I answered, glancing at the dark unicorn at my side. “That is, unless we have other plans.”

“They don't involve hands, do they?” Lyra asked, eying me suspiciously. Then she snickered, “Oh just foaling around! Don't give me that look!”

“Well, we'll see what happens,” Luna chuckled softly. “This has become a new favorite pastime for me after all.”

“Works for me!” Pinkie exclaimed. “Good night, you too! Now scoodly-loodly-doo!” And she proceeded to scoodly-loodly-doo away.

“Catch you later, you two!” Lyra waved as she trotted off.

I stood and waved for a bit before turning to Luna. “So... uh... guess I'll be heading back now.”

“Oh no you don't,” she said, grinning. “Tonight, you're coming with me.”

I like to think of myself as a smooth fellow with a good sense of tact. Well, after she said that, I was left gawking at her. Not a proud moment. “W-Wait, you mean... is that even allowed?”

She smirked and arced an eyebrow, sending my heart aflutter with that expression. “Did you forget who you're talking to?”

I opened my mouth, hesitated, then answered, “You have a point there.”

She giggled and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Of course I do.”

Then came that still-jarring sense of detachment before we ended up in what appeared to be her royal quarters. The first thing I immediately noticed was the warm, soft carpet underneath my hooves- and I mean incredibly soft. I actually let out a yelp of surprise and pranced around in place before my overexcited nerves calmed down, allowing me to take in the rest of the room around me. The next thing that caught my attention was the source of that warmth- the crackling, column-flanked fireplace that served as the sole light source aside from the glittering stars and the moon that shone through the large, vaulted windows that ran down along the length of the spacious room. The room itself was surprisingly bare, painted in soft shades of blue that matched the pony beside me as she shapeshifted back to her royal form. Aside from the fireplace and a set of Prench doors that led to a balcony, there was little in the way of decoration. It was, however, dominated by an impressive four-poster bed that was- to my amusement- covered in a piles of books. Tucked off in the corner was a small nook with a large, wooden desk likewise crammed with books and a bulky terminal monitor- her private study, perhaps.

“Oh dear oh dear oh dear,” Luna muttered, clicking her tongue and striding quickly over to the stacks of tomes, wrapping all of them at once and arranging them into neat piles off to the side of her desk. “I thought I'd cleaned these up... apologies for the mess.”

“You?” I chuckled in a sarcastic tone. “Princess Luna? Messy? Some royalty you are.”

The dark-blue alicorn smiled sheepishly and settled down in bed with a sigh. “My point exactly.” She craned her neck, arcing a brow at me. “Frost, you can join me, you know. No need to be shy. “

“I know... it's just this carpet's so soft...” I murmured, coughing awkwardly. “I don't want to move...”

She let out a soft, regal giggle that she contained by keeping her mouth closed. “Oh you haven't seen anything yet...” I let out a yelp as the world tinted a slight, shimmering blue. I realized that she had enveloped me in her magical aura and lifted me off the floor. This wasn't something I'd had done to me since I was an unruly foal- and I reflexively flailed like one in both surprise and protest until she set me down beside her.

“OhmyGoddessesyou'reright,” I belted out in a sigh afterward, feeling her aura leave me. Her bed was soft- velvety soft. I practically sank into the cloud-like, cushioned surface, eyes rolling back in pure bliss. It was only after seconds had passed that I realized what I said and bolted up to look at her.

Luna was staring at me- and I right back. Then she let out a chuckle, and I relaxed as she snuggled up close to me. “Well, I'm certainly your goddess right now...”

I blinked.

“... oh dear, that came out wrong, didn't it?”

I nodded.

“W-Well, you know what I meant,” she stammered, blushing. “Anyway...” Luna breathed out a sigh and nuzzled against the crook of my neck. “Frost, be honest with me- are you still uncomfortable with... well, us?”

In spite of myself, I glanced upward briefly and gave her a kiss, stroking down her slender form. “Stop worrying. The only reasons I'd be uncomfortable after tonight are one: this is a really, really, really posh arrangement you have here, and two: to still have your sanity and your sense of morality after all you've been through, I less feel uncomfortable and more unworthy.” I paused, checking myself. “Although maybe we're moving a little fast.”

“Well perhaps,” Luna murmured. “Thank you, Frost. I... I know that we still need to work on-”

I cut her off with a nuzzle. “And stop being so insecure about this. I want this. You want this. Let's see where things take us. Alright?”

She breathed out a soft, satisfied sigh and nodded. “Wonderful... most wonderful.” She drew up her wings around me in a feathery cocoon- of which I was very, very delighted- and snuggled closer. “Good night, Frost.”

“Good... night... Lunaaaa...” I breathed out blissfully. I was in heaven. Soft, tingly, feathery heaven.

* * *

I awoke to the sound of throat-clearing. Throat-clearing is usually not a good thing to wake up to.

Especially when it comes from somepony wearing a rather intense expression.

Especially when that “somepony” is Princess Celestia, adorned in her regal attire.

“We need to talk,” she whispered in a way that made me feel incredibly, incredibly tiny. I could only nod and reluctantly pull away from my feathery fortress. My body protested each step as my hooves practically glided across the velvety carpet. But you did not keep Princess Celestia waiting.

I followed her quietly out the door, and we mercifully avoided waking Luna up. We were in a hallway that seemed to be the princess' quarters adjoined by a corridor, completely bereft of guards. The colors and stylized designs decorating the wall contrasted more and more the further down one walked- from dark shades and starry nights to the radiant colors of twilight and finally the clear skies of a sunny day. Gone was the soft carpet, replaced instead by cold, clacking marble tiles. It was some time past daybreak, which meant that Luna had woken up before I did in order to make way for her sister's sun.

It also meant that I might have overstayed my welcome if the stern-faced alicorn before me was any indication.

To my surprise, she actually led me into her royal quarters. I was surprised by the contrast. By comparison, Luna's bedroom was humongous. It almost seemed cramped with a low, vaulted ceiling with a skylight serving as the sole source of light. Her bed was certainly larger than most I'd seen, but it still had a sense of modesty. The grandfather clock opposite the door caught my attention as well. Aside from the edges of its frame, its case was mostly made of glass, leaving the internal mechanisms completely exposed. The half-seconds it counted beat by in almost deafening manner in the congested room. Just like her sister, she had a desk, but it was again much smaller and had far fewer books lying around. I noted that the floor was tiled much like the outside- cold, almost hostile. This couldn't have been the sun princess' room, could it? Perhaps they'd traded rooms and changed the murals outside to fit? I didn't know. All I knew was that it felt dreadful to be in here, especially with what was most likely an angry goddess.

“So,” she finally spoke, turning to me with her wings flared out dominantly and those pale magenta eyes boring into me, “you're the one who my sister is interested in. You're the one who's gotten her addicted to those 'raves' and distracted her from her royal duties. And you're the one who dared treat her like a normal pony.”

I gulped. Oh buck me so hard, I was in deeeeeep.

Princess Celestia maintained her expression, drew in a breath... and then softened her gaze, broke her muzzle into a smile, and tucked in her wings. “Well done.”

I blinked once, twice. Then I slowly began to teeter and finally fell sideways to the floor, relieved, so very relieved.

Hello, ground, old friend. It’s been a long time.

The white, regal alicorn chuckled softly and helped me up- physically helped me up with her own hooves. “Apologies. I couldn't help but take it that far. I just couldn’t resist.”

Don't be mad at her, Frost. Don't be mad at her. Don't. Be. Mad. At her. “Ah... thank you?” I managed. Good job. At least you didn't sound angry.

“Relax,” she said soothingly like a dove to a mate, floating her royal attire off onto her desk piece by piece. “I bear no ill will- honest. Just an innocent joke.” When she was finished, she surprisingly looked... well, normal. With the golden, glittering jewelry gone, she looked almost fragile, I would say. “So here we meet again, Frost Windchill. I'll admit, ponies like you don't come often. A modern-day Mancer, a double major in... equinpology and history I believe?” When I nodded, she continued. “And a Northerner unicorn with photographic memory- perfect photographic memory. One of a kind. Still, I never expected that we'd meet again quite like this.” She motioned to the bed. “Have a seat.”

I awkwardly sat down beside her on the side of the bed. It felt like one of those times my father talked to me like this with how motherly she seemed. “So, did you wish to speak with me, Your High-”

“Oh none of that,” she interrupted and chuckled. “Please. Just Celestia. May as well, considering you're dating my sister. And yes, I did wish to speak with you.”

“What about?” I inquired.

“Well to start, I'd like to thank you for getting Luna away from her desk,” she replied with a smile. “I can't tell you how relieved I was that she actually wanted to go back out the next night. Oh, she told you that I convinced her to try out Blaring Beats in the first place, correct?”

“Yes, yes she did,” I answered.

“And you wouldn't believe how much it took to convince her,” she laughed. “She enjoys that kind of music, but I swear she's so shy sometimes. She'd rather try to learn from books or from the terminal rather than experience it for herself. Firsthoof experience is the best teacher, but oh do I wish she'd realize it! Up until this week, her only outings were during Nightmare Night.”

“So what you're saying is...” I started.

“... that you're the one who convinced her to get out of her comfort zone and have fun doing it?” Celestia finished. “Certainly, and I'm glad for that. Though... I wasn't quite expecting that you would have fallen for one another.” Looking at me, she merely smiled. “Don't fret. I don't see it as a bad thing.”

“You mean you're alright with the idea that I'm dating your sister?” I asked.

“If I wasn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation,” she said. “We've lived for millennia, Frost. Both of us have had plenty of lovers in the past, and if you think it's awkward or even unseemly for you to be associated with royalty in this way, believe me- both of us have fallen in love with ponies of worse social standing than yourself.” Suddenly, she frowned. “I do want to be frank with you on this, however- don't give any reason to see it as a bad thing.”

“Of course, Y-” I coughed, “Celestia.”

“I also want to make a request,” the white-furred alicorn added. “I don't object that you and Luna go to nightclubs such as Blaring Beats- in fact, more power to you if you make it a habit for her. But I fear that she is growing more and more distant from the ponies of Equestria despite the recent boom in nightly activities that once were done only during day. Sure, she's made plenty of headway on updating our laws and statutes now that she's returned- she seems to find those administrative things almost enjoyable, by the way- but that's no way to express interest in your subjects. I request that you help Luna experience the world during both night and day- in a nutshell, get her out of her room and away from her books and that terminal, and get her to explore this new world.”

I nodded, already thinking of a few ideas. “I can definitely do that, yes.”

Celestia nodded in turn. “Good.” She then exhaled a soft sigh and turned away. “I'm glad.”

I canted my head at her. “Celestia?”

She inhaled deeply. “May I... oh, I may as well just up and say it, Frost. I'm desperate for Luna to regain her place in the world and especially her confidence. Nightmare Night is a time when she can cut loose and have fun, but why should that be the only time? Just because it's now expected of her?” She shook her head.

“I did not intend to punish Luna so long ago.” She continued. “Understand that. If there were any other option, I would have taken it, but as the situation was, there was no other option. That... thing dominated my sister, tormented her, and turned her desire into a relentless, violent obsession. Only time could weaken Its hold on Luna, and so I imprisoned It... and her... in her moon.

“And it worked. It wasted away without a chance to exercise Its might, and Its mind was left to wander away from Its singular goal with a millennium of idleness while all those years passed by for Luna as if a dream. It's no wonder that It was only able to render a squad of Day Guards unconscious rather than maim them, resorting to illusion and trickery thereafter.

“It's gone now, and my sister is back,” Celestia said with a sigh. “That's all that mattered to me. But my punishment for It also went to my sister.” She turned her head up to the skylight. “I sang her a lullaby every night, you know. Every night... a thousand years, Frost... a thousand years. Cities, whole civilizations rose and fell, water eroded and carved away canyons and valleys, hills rose from plains, mountains rose from hills, and ponies, people... they too changed. And almost everypony, everyone she knew is long gone. I don't know if it would be better to introduce her to her old friends' descendants or not.

“Luna was punished along with It. She may not have languished or suffered within her moon, but on her return...” She lowered her head. “She was frustrated, unable to comprehend the events and changes that happened in her absence and desperately tried to make sense of it, blundering about, learning the wrong things for the wrong time... her very first Nightmare Night back, she thought we were still speaking Old Equestrian.” She shook her head. “She continues to suffer to this day, trying to play catch-up with a world rolling away faster and faster each day, a punishment one-thousand-eleven years...” She looked over at the clock and its deafening clicks, “five months, twenty-five days, one hour, five minutes, and fifty-five seconds in the making. And still going. I regret what I had to do, but I had no choice...”

I realized with a dreadful sinking of the heart the significance of all the things wrong with Celestia's room. The cramped quarters, the cold floor, the limited view of the skylight that doubtlessly aligned with the moon at its highest point in the night sky... this was her way of penance for her actions.

Her bedroom was a cell.

“... oh, well now I've soured the mood,” Celestia murmured, frowning. She turned back to me, chancing a small smile, and asked, “So, steering for sunnier skies, what exactly do you do for a living?”

I blinked, not expecting this- whiplash for the emotions. “Well, I perform some equinpological work from time to time whenever time and/or resources permit. Otherwise, I'm... admittedly the watercolt for Ponyville's Toadstool Tabletop.”

“Oh, that delightful little cafe,” she chuckled softly. “A very creative premise, yes. Aren't you a double major equinpology and history, though?”

“Well, history, as it turns out, isn't too profitable unless you go for becoming a historian, a museum curator, or a teacher,” I responded. “To be honest, I don't really see myself being good at any but the last, and I'd rather not have to dip into the family coffer for graduate school.”

“Really now?” Celestia smiled benevolently down upon me as only she could. “Why, with your unique magic and your academic record, I firmly believe you could easily obtain a full scholarship for the graduate program at my school.”

“I don't know...” I murmured.

She cleared her throat. “Well I firmly believe...”

I got the message that time and smiled back.

“Do make your decision soon, though,” the white-furred alicorn chuckled softly. “Winter quarter starts the second week of January. Now, I believe my sister might be wanting you. Poor dear, still thinks that ponies including herself can get by on only three hours of sleep and still be able to perform administrative duties to the degree that she can... she certainly needs more rest than that. Now run along.”

“Alright,” I said, somewhat giddy. “Alright. Thank you!”

As I started out, Celestia called, “Oh, one last thing!” I turned to her, and she smiled slyly. “She absolutely adores endearing names, including her original one.”

I grinned back. “Thank you.” And then I headed back.

My body was ready this time, mercifully. This time, neither the velvety carpet nor the cloud-like bed impeded me from reaching Luna as she slept, stealthily slipping in and wrapping my forelegs around her from behind. Perfect.

Or... so I thought.

Luna inhaled deeply and tilted her head back to nuzzle my cheek. “So how did it go? What did she ask?”

“Went pretty well, and she just asked me some simple questions is all,” I answered with a defeated sigh. “We'll talk more later. For now, let's just enjoy this...” Pause for dramatic effect, “Lulu...”

The dark-blue alicorn let out a gasp and flashed her eyes open. “She told you my weakness, didn't she?”

“Mmmmmm-hm!” I chuckled huskily, giving her a kiss.

“How dare she!” she scoffed. “Well, good thing I already know yours...”

Oh colt.

I could only babble incoherently in bliss as she extended her wings and brushed them against my sides, snuggling closer with her. When the world's best form of torture ended, she arced a brow and smirked in that amazing expression. “Fair's fair.”

“Fair's fair,” I mumbled in accord. “So... I actually have something to ask you.”

“Hm?” Luna tilted her head at me. “What is it, Frost?”

“If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to invite you to join me for this year's Northern Lights Festival in Manehattan,” I told her. “I go every year, and I don't plan on missing out on this one.”

Luna bit her lip, mulling over the idea.

“Luna, do you know what Manehattan's known for?” I asked with a grin.

“The nightclubs?” She likewise grinned.

“Mmmmm-hmmmmm...”

“You know what? I think I'll give it a shot.”

I'll admit it, folks. I squeed.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 17 Reached!
Perk added: Surpriiiiiiiiiise!- Between Pinkie, Lyra, and Luna, it's gotten a bit harder to catch you off-guard. You take 25% less damage from sneak attack critical hits.

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Don't Wake Her Up

Soundtrack- Call me Luna (Special Thanks to Lazer726)

Soundtrack- Theme of the Princess of the Night, Luna (Special Thanks to Lazer726)

Inspirational Music- The Moon Rises by Ponyphonic

Soundtrack- Apotheosis

Soundtrack- Frost and Luna (Special Thanks to Lazer726)

Inspirational Music- Lullaby for a Princess by Polyphonic

Author's Note

Hoo... finally. I think more time was spent fussing over being able to capture Princess Luna in a proper fashion while still keeping a more unique flavor for her as opposed to just writing the whole installment out. My thanks to the usual suspects- Kkat, the FoE community, and especially Lazer726 for the help with pre-reading. My thanks to you as well for reading. Please leave some feedback if possible. It definitely wasn't easy writing this, and while there are places I want to keep for the sake of telling my own story (though there's nothing new under the sun), I do make mistakes. Thank you. And remember- musical suggestions are always welcomed!

Also, don't forget the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr ( Until next time, folks.

Reflection Eighteen: Signs

Reflection Eighteen: Signs

“There’s something in the air...”

Change was in the air again. My lifestyle, I felt, had been a roller-coaster ever since I was “Hothead Hokkaido.” The art and power of words, my empire, the takeover, the takedown, my magic, the Northern Lights Festival, Hummingbird, my Way, and now... Luna... I was in a relationship with Luna- still early on perhaps, but... nevertheless I was in a relationship with her! I felt young again- or at least younger- and it felt great. I could love again, and thinking back on Pinkie's words, I felt that it would, in fact, end in sunshine and rainbows for me.

The storyteller slowly frowned and glanced away.

Folks, I spent a lot time so far on how things used to be without even touching the darker days ahead. Remember what I showed you, what I told you- about me, about the Northerners, about Manehattan, Ponyville, Canterlot, Avalon, the griffins... and the princesses. Think of all that... all that beauty, all that wonder, all that music and magic. Think of how incredible all those places, all those faces were. That's the world I grew up in, the world I came to love for all that depth and complexity and wonder. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and here I've spent so many words and so many hours just hoping to paint a proper picture, to tell a proper story for you, to take you back to those olden days, golden days.

He leaned back, drew a deep breath.

“Money makes the world go round.” I don't know who said that, but it was true back then. The world ran on capitalistic ideals, that everyone did what he or she thought would best benefit his or her own interests. It's what drove people to dream, drove people to hire and pay others to make those dreams become reality, and it's what drove people to work to get paid to make their own dreams reality. Everyone working for his or her own interests.

So what happens if there's a conflict of interest?

* * *

“My father is Diamond Ki Dust, and my mother is Natural Chouju Cure. My father has a bad hindleg from polio, and my mother has progeria, so please excuse them,” I said. “Act natural. It's not good manners for us to practice our customs with visitors, so don't worry about any code of conduct. Just be polite, and you'll be fine.”

“Yes, yes,” Luna murmured quietly.

It was a feeling so familiar to me by now- slowly shuffling among the ground, craning my neck to peer over the sea of afternoon arrivals awaiting their family, friends, and guides. I felt a bump against me and thought it to be some oblivious passerby, but I instead found Luna- in disguise of course- glancing about nervously, biting her lip as she kept close to my side.

“You alright?” I asked, raising my voice over the din.

“Yes, yes, just...” She looked about anxiously. “I've never been so close to so many ponies since my return. Maybe a few dozen during Nightmare Night, but there must be hundreds here in this station...”

“Thousands.” I corrected, rubbing her shoulder and flashing her a smile. “It'll be okay. Just stick close and take a deep breath.”

Luna inhaled sharply and let it out slowly. “Alright. Alright. So, remind me again- we're looking for your friend, yes?”

I nodded. “That's right.”

“And he's a zebra?”

“Yes, that's right.”

She looked at me oddly. “How did that happen?”

“Well look around you,” I answered, motioning to the crowd. “Manehattan's full of people, not just ponies. It's certainly not unheard of for interspecies friendships, even couples.” I squinted my eyes as I peered over the crowd, spotting a familiar shape that made the corners of my muzzle turn up. “Come on, this way.”

Zoleks wasn't the first to spot me this time. No, this time, I managed to circle around him with Luna at my side, clearing my throat loudly. He glanced at me and promptly did a double-take as he realized I was there. From there, all formal pretense dropped and we hugged one another tightly as all old friends did. “Hahahaaaah, you sneaky sonuvagun!” he laughed in that jovial tone. “How was the trip? Oh, and where's your hat?”

I glanced back at Luna as we released one another. “Mm, I was convinced to try going without it for once. As for the ride, smooth as usual. Anyway, introductions are in order!” I stepped out of the way of my friends and motioned. “Nightingale, this would be Zoleks. Zoleks, Nightingale.”

“Pleasure,” Luna said with a sheepish smile as they shook hooves.

Zoleks nodded. “Yeah, same.” Then he eyed me. “'Princess Luna,' huh?” he snorted. “Beer goggles?”

“In my defense, she does look the part, and I did have good reason to drink,” I nickered.

The storyteller huffed softly.

Clever alibis, lord of the flies...

“Well hey, you have a marefriend again- plenty enough reason for me!” Zoleks flashed a friendly smile as we headed for the exit. “So, ever been to Manehattan before, Nightingale?”

“Well, no, not really,” she replied. “It's... still quite a bit jarring for me, all the po- people.” I could only smile as we left the station, watching her eyes widen in wonder as we stepped out into bustling downtown with its flashy advertisements, the sea of pedestrians and powered wagons alike, and the music- oh, the music. It was good to be home. “My word... especially the people.”

“You know, Zoleks, I think this might call for a proper welcome,” I chuckled huskily.

“Jeez, it's been a while hasn't it?” he laughed. “Ah, sure, for old times' sake!”

“Forgive me, but what are you two talking ab-wah!” Luna started to ask before I pulled her along as we started to sing:

“Welcome to the city that never sleeps!
Work's expensive and fun is cheap- yeah!
There's clubs that'll have you grinning from ear to ear- yeah!
C'mon baby-girl, lemme take it from here...”

* * *

“Whew!” Luna chuckled as we trotted on alone, Zoleks swinging back to his shop. “Now that was fantastic! I think I might have that tune stuck in my head for the rest of the month!” The black-furred unicorn merely chuckled softly, then started looking around. “Hm. We’re in the rich part of the northern quarter, it seems.”

I nodded. “Yep.”

Luna eyed me for a few seconds. “You mean to tell me your parents actually live here?”

“Mm-hm.” I smiled now.

She huffed softly and looked over the impressive rows of mansions as we passed by. “They must lead very profitable careers.”

Still smiling, I merely replied, “We've been very fortunate, yes.”

The old unicorn's eyes twinkled and he smiled slyly.

Well, I didn't lie, did I, folks?

“So, moment of truth, yes?” Luna breathed out.

“Oh, don't worry about it.” I tilted over and nuzzled her gently. “They're not the stereotypical austere Haysian parent type.” I checked myself. “Well, not as bad.” We finally reached our mansion and waved a hoof to it. White-washed with thick, strong columns and a tiled driveway, it radiated with power, prestige, and pride. “And here we are.”

“Forgive me, but how old are your parents?” she inquired.

“My father is pushing sixty-eight, and my mother just turned sixty two months ago,” I replied.

“And do they maintain the house themselves?” she inquired.

I nodded. “Yep, all by themselves.”

She looked over the lawn and the well-kept façade. “Incredible. They do well for their age and disabilities, pardon the choice of words.”

“Have to hoof it to earth ponies,” I chuckled huskily as we stepped up to the door. I rang the bell, and now became the waiting game. It was a mansion, after all.

Father opened the door slowly, warily and looked between me and Luna. I merely smiled. “Hello...” he greeted tentatively.

“Hello, father,” I greeted in turn, motioning between them. “Father, this is Nightingale. Nightingale, my father.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mister Dust,” Luna said.

“Yes...” he murmured. “The same. Frost, are you and her...?”

I nodded, smile growing.

Finally, my father smiled and opened the door wider to let us in. “Your mother is going to throw a fit about her not being green.”

Home sweet home. It was a good feeling walking into the foyer again, feeling the cool tile under my hooves. Luna lingered behind me, and I looked back to her in question only to follow her gaze to the centerpiece- a stylized design of the two royal sisters chasing one another's tails.

We made eye contact with another, and she chuckled somewhat uneasily. I merely smiled and led her to the living room where my parents awaited. For the first time in a long time, I had the feeling that everything was going to be okay.

* * *

The storyteller smiled softly.

Went as expected. Mom did, in fact, bring up the whole “green” thing. Asked her quite a few questions, all of which she and I answered as we discussed before. Had the whole thing planned out in advance. Definitely as good a liar as I was- if not better. Had dinner, had a nice conversation. My parents were happy.

So that left us a night on the town.

I just guided her along, remaining silent but wearing a shit-eating grin- pardon my Prench- as she took it all in. Her eyes twinkled in amazement and she wore a smile that would have sent Pinkie Pie rocketing around.

He sprouted an ice arm and held up three fingers.

Three things, folks. Those three things I'll always miss about Manehattan- the lights, the people, and the music. And then and there, Luna was basking in it all. There we were, heading down Meridian Main Street into downtown, crowds of people going every which way to revel in the nightlife, to eat, drink, and be merry. To party and play, to laugh and love- all under her night sky. She was happy, so happy.

“Come on,” I called to her. “Before we hit the clubs, I want to show you something.”

I took her far away, away from Meridian Main, away from downtown, all the way to Manehattan Harbor out to Ellis Island. There she stood- the Pony of Friendship in all her glory. We made our way up the spiraling staircases, wound our way up into the torch. Then, after I was sure nobody was looking, I pulled myself through one of the windows and scrambled up over the top out of view, using my ice arms to help pull Luna out with me.

And after that, I merely swept a hoof to display the sight before us.

Manehattan, City of Lights and Legends. You could see it all from up there. All the quarters, all the places, all the landmarks. The Institute, the Lights and Legends Building, the World Trade Center... you could see everything from up there. And all the lights... all those lights, reflected back in water like so many sparkling stars. As the wind whipped our manes, I could only grin proudly as Luna just watched in awe. All this, all this during her night. All this. She held a hoof up to her mouth, weeping tears of joy.

“I...” She gulped, trying to find the words. “It's... I...”

“There's nothing else in the world quite like it,” I said to her over the wind. “Nothing else. Maybe Las Pegasus. Maybe. But I tell you, you can't get nearly as good a view as this without wings. And yes, it's always like this. Every night of the year, every year. The city that never sleeps.” I just watched her as she beheld it all, unable to tear her eyes away. “You know, we can stay up here as long as you like.”

“Yes... that would be nice...” she said quietly. “Won't we get in trouble though?”

“Nah,” I answered with a grin. I conveniently left out how the security guards were once on my payroll.

Quite some time passed by, us just sitting there, enjoying the view- close to half an hour I'd say. It was peaceful to sit there, one of the few slow, quiet places in a city full of speed and sound. There were only the moving shapes of distant ponies, music from the speakers below, and the rush of the wind- and the scenery itself, of course.

Finally, she turned to me and spoke, “Frost, thank you. Really. This is amazing, and... if possible, now that you've shown me something dear and special to you, may I return the favor?”

“How do you mean?” I inquired, jarred out of the near-silence.

Luna smiled. “Have you ever flown before, Frost?”

“Well, I've tried to years ago,” I replied. “Ice wings don't work out too well, apparently.”

“Yes, yes, pegasi magic...” she murmured, nodding. Then she glowed a brilliant white and shapeshifted back to her majestic alicorn form. “Then how would you like to experience it for yourself?”

I gawked at her, my heart racing at the prospect. Flying? Flying?! For real? “Wait, won't people notice?”

Luna merely smiled and said, “I assure you that they won't.” She held her hoof out to me. “Shall we?”

Still panting in anticipation, I eagerly took her hoof and she smiled wider, turning away. Her horn fired up and the world tinted an icy-blue as she surrounded me in her aura. That old childhood discomfort of being lifted up in a telekinetic field seized my gut once more... and then promptly turned into something completely different as she slipped off of the Pony of Friendship and carried me with her. The statue's green form zipped by as the wind whipped past us, and I let out a panicked scream. At the last moment, we veered up away from the ground, soaring over the heads of ponies just starting to disembark off of the ferry to the island. As we skimmed over the sparkling waters of Manehattan Harbor, fear turned to exhilaration. I could only let out whoops of joy as we skimmed over the waters, Luna chuckling and trailing a wing in the water to cause a wake of ripples. In spite of serving no purpose, I held out my forelegs as if I was in control. I was not, unfortunately, as Luna sent me into a barrel roll. Immediately, I cut off mid-cheer and groaned as the world continued to spin long after she straightened me out.

“Urgh... gently, please,” I griped.

I could only hear her giggle at my expense, but she nevertheless obliged and guided me gently through the acrobatics. As for her, she held nothing back as she pirouetted in air and over water, one time sending a splash toward me.

“Ah ah ah!” I sneered at her, using my hydromancy to suspend the water and send it back to her. Luna let out a surprised shout, even if it was only a bit of water. “Hey, now, fair's fair!”

“Ohhh, you,” she nickered as we skimmed past a barge.

“Ohhh, me,” I chuckled huskily. “How come nobody's noticing us?”

“I have some tricks up my sleeves, figuratively speaking,” Luna answered with a grin.

“What, can't even tell me?” I huffed.

She arced her brow and smirked. That expression, hoh, just sends my heart racing. “That would ruin the surprise.”

Pinkie Pie, your influence knows no bounds.

Soon we flew up and away from the waters of Manehattan Harbor and out over the city itself, basking in the glow of its millions of lights and millions more people. Like Luna before me, I felt my own breath being taken away, feeling the warmth of all those nocturnal revelers. But then we started flying higher, higher, higher still.

As the people of Manehattan shrunk into tiny ants, I turned to the dark-blue alicorn beside me and asked, “Luna, where are we going?” I watched as she too enveloped herself in a magical aura. “Luna?” I looked down and gasped as I realized we were going very, very high. The clouds whipped past us and the earth fell away, and eventually the lights of Manehattan became but a part of the tapestry of lights illuminating the hemisphere. “Luna?!”

“We're going to my special place, Frost,” she said calmly, turning to me. “Relax. We'll be safe. Trust me.”

I let out a deep breath and steeled myself, looking up as we soared upwards at impossible speeds. We were above the clouds now, and now only the blackness of space and its ocean of stars greeted us. The wind that whipped by us slowly grew quieter and until it- and all sounds for that matter- ceased to be. We weren't just looking into space- we were in space. Her magic was keeping us from freezing solid, being turned inside-out by the vacuum, and otherwise shielded us from the many dangers of outer space. I looked to Luna questioningly, but she simply remained focus and veered us to the side. It was then that I realized what her special place was.

It was her moon.

As we approached at what must have been thousands of kilometers per hour, unhindered by any friction, I couldn't help but notice how sad the moon looked. It was pockmarked with countless craters ranging from the tiny to the downright enormous. It was bruised and battered, and yet it remained at its post.

The storyteller smiled.

Like a lonely sentinel.

We decelerated quickly and touched down gently on its surface. I couldn't feel anything, shielded so by Luna's magic. She stepped closer and merged our protective auras together- in order to speak and touch, I realized.

“Here we are,” she said with a soft sigh, looking about aimlessly.

“This... is your special place?” I asked. “Why?”

Luna smiled softly, perhaps a touch sadly, and pointed. I traced her hoof and... there it was.

Our world. A tiny marble of blues, whites, greens, and browns- so tiny in a sea of black. So incredibly tiny, so incredibly... alone.

“That's it,” Luna spoke, sitting down beside me. “That's all of us, everything we've been, everything we've done. All of our triumphs and failures, all we've created and destroyed, our beginnings and our endings. Everything that makes us... us. All those strange and wonderful things, everything. We tend to take it all for granted- I do at times, too. I'm only equine, Frost.

“It was when my sister and I decided to aid the unicorns in controlling the cycle of the day and night that we realized what our destinies were- its keepers- and secured our place in Equestria as something others saw and still see as near-divine. We earned our cutie-marks, our thrones, and even our new names. Everything just went by so quickly. The big things became so little and the little even smaller.

“One of the first things I did was fly out here, the first pony, the first person in our world to set foot on a celestial body. It felt like still another crowning achievement, but when I looked back to the earth- as you do now- and saw all that and then looked the other way...”

Luna turned, and I did the same. The great void and its cold, distant stars greeted us. I felt the little warmth I had drain from me as if sucked into the blackness, so desperate it was for warmth.

She looked at me and said, “It was sobering, realizing that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was our world. I put my hoof up and shut one eye...” She did so, “and my hoof, my mere hoof... blotted out our world, our home. Our world is so tiny, so alone, so... insignificant. If something, dare I say, were to happen to our beloved home... it'd be nothing. No matter what happened on or to our world, not even the faintest echo would be heard out here.

“You might think me spinning existentialism or nihilism or some other philosophy. I'm not. Save for this- after defeating the greatest monster in the history of equinekind, becoming a goddess-princess of the new Principality of Equestria, and being the first person on the moon, I didn't feel like a giant, looking upon that tiny little world we called home. As I blotted it all out with merely my own hoof, I felt so very, very small- but most importantly, humbled.”

Luna inhaled softly, then coughed, “A-At least until... well... I'd rather not get into that.

“My point is that all that we are is extremely fragile. Our world... is fragile. We have to take care of it. We have to do right and make things right. Because we only get one world, Frost.”

Now it was my turn to stay silent and watch, trying to make sense of all that I'd just learned while recovering from the great shock of it all. Do right, make things right... I was headed that way, an equinpologist and a historian, a true philequinpist. That was my Way. That was what I how I was going to lead my life and do right. I looked at the mare beside me, so very, very small just like me in this great abyss.

And as she turned to meet my eyes with her own, so full of everything, and smiled, I knew that I truly loved her.

And still do.

“Luna?” I whispered.

“Yes, Frost?” she whispered back.

“I'm sorry. Because I'm about to be cheesy. In Naponyyyyy where love is king, when boy meets girlllll, here's what they saaaaaay.” And with that, I tilted forward as far as I could and touched my eye against the surface of the moon as much as I could within her protective magic. Then I sat back up and sang:

“When the moon hits your eye
like a big pizza pie,
that's called amoréééé...”

Luna stared at first but then broke into a fit of laughter and we leaned against one another, singing to the blackness:

“When the world seems to shine
like you've had too much wine,
that's called amoreéééé...”

* * *

In the next few days leading up to the Northern Lights Festival, yes, Luna and I did enjoy the clubs, and yes, we did have a blast together- and everybody was none the wiser of who she really was. Even made sure to lock our bedroom door with a little extra ice to make sure our little secret stayed our little secret.

Waking up that morning with Luna snuggled up against me... it reminded me of that day years ago, the first Festival with Hummingbird. For a moment, as I woke up early and gently stroked her mane until she stirred awake, I couldn't help but see that green-on-green mare in her place just for a moment. I reminded myself that I found- hopefully- my true special somepony as unbelievable and unlikely as it was, and then I started making preparations for the day ahead.

It was a familiar feeling, all of us heading out together into the chilly morning with our cookware, tables, books, and memories- a morning bereft of the lights of Manehattan for just these few days out of the year. Under an overcast sky and amidst gently falling snow, a stream of Northerners and a few friends and onlookers in their light coats carrying saddlebags and drawing carts ran together into a mighty river millions strong, all bound for Meridian Main. I was long used to the experience, a veteran of ten years.

Luna wasn't so familiar.

“Relax, Nightingale,” I said quietly to her over the steady crunch of hooves in snow. “You're alright, you're alright.”

“I know, just... I didn't expect this many here,” she whispered, biting her lip, snorting softly. “And don’t treat me like some skittish puppy.”

“Sorry. Don't worry, though. I've been in your horseshoes before. It'll be good for you. Just take it easy.”

It all went as normal. My family met with Zoleks', and then we all gathered and sat down with enough room for the all of us- again, herd mentality, folks. Long lost to Wastelanders. Then I watched as a distant unicorn mare stood atop a small platform.

“Welcome, Northerners and guests alike,” she spoke with her gently amplified voice. Again came the whispering din of family and friends translating for those who couldn't fully understand Equestrian. The mare- Kindling... she sounded older. As she spoke, I couldn't help but wonder how many years she had left. “We are gathered here for these next three days to hold vigil to our past lives in the Far North, for no matter the different names we may have for it, it was and still is our home. And our bond to it will never be severed.

“Today, we must be reminded of the terrible tragedy of the Great Exodus thirty years ago. For many of us, even after so many years, scars still linger. Old wounds wait to be reopened. Many of us have tried to move on, started new lives, started new families. I'm one of them. There is a new, third generation of Northerners joining us now, and like the second, we must pass on our heritage for it is our duty to uphold our tradition so that it may be remembered. We've already lost enough to the Exodus. We don't need to lose any more. We need to have a future for our people, but in order for that to happen, we must invest in the present, and the present is built on the foundations of the past.

“That is why here for these next three days, we invite everyone to partake in this vigil, our festival. Be not suspicious or wary, but instead welcome them into your circles and share your tales and experiences with them. At the same time, I must ask that all guests and visitors please remain respectful and not press for information as always. Again, the Exodus was a great and tragic moment in our lives, and for many of us, it still haunts us to this day. Please be mindful and understand that there are some places we don't wish to revisit.

“And so today on the first day of the Northern Lights Festival, we shall share our cherished tales and memories of our past lives to pass onto others.” I smiled softly and looked over to my father at that. He too smiled proudly in his ancient suit of scaled armor. “We are not eternal, and so we must pass the torch onward and forward to new generations. You have already been informed where the Northerner peoples will reside for the duration of this festival, and there will be markers and posters up. Don't be afraid to mingle and explore other cultures. We all share the same kinship, and we always have more to learn from others than we have to learn of ourselves.

“And so begins the first day of the Tenth Annual Northern Lights Festival, the Day of Remembrance.”

Like so many times and with practiced coordination and precision, a group of pegasi shot into the sky from among the crowd, weaving dynamically and pulling back the curtain of clouds to reveal the glowing morning sky above. Luna gasped beside me and fired up her magic, lowering the moon just in time to make way for the rising sun. The yellow-orange glow was reflected in each flake of falling snow, glittering majestically. The team of pegasi drifted downward and then zoomed back into the air as the unicorn mare fired a magical beam up with them, which burst into a rolling, ribbon-like aurora that shimmered with the countless snowflakes falling from the sky. Gasps of awe filled the morning air, and like so many years ago, I again felt wetness at the edges of my eyes. I turned to Luna and saw my own expression reflected in hers.

“Let the Festival commence.”

* * *

For the most part, the Day of Remembrance went as usual. Cuisine, customs, and culture. It was a time of plenty with more than enough food to feed those millions of Northerners and visitors- of which I noted there were far more this time. My father once again participated in the Changing of the Guard ceremony with the other Hokkaidan Palace Guard and their descendants, reliving those brighter times when the Pearly Palace still stood.

After the sun dipped below the horizon and the snowflakes glinted in the moonlight looking like the stars themselves falling to the earth, something was different. This time, Mother wasn't going to be the one telling the stories.

“Go on, Frost,” she said to me from her cooking station. “You've heard those stories dozens of times by now. You remember them, I know you do.”

“Nopony and nobody can tell them like you do, though,” I said.

“Well somepony has to make the hangetsu,” Mother nickered. “And with your cooking, it's certainly not going to be you.”

Luna looked to me in question. “What does she mean by that?”

I coughed, embarrassed. “Let's not get into that.”

She looked at me with that expression. “Well are you going to tell us a tale?” She nodded to the circle that had gathered in anticipation of my Mother. Zoleks and Namira were already there, waiting.

“I-I don't know, it's not exactly something I've done before,” I said even as my heart went aflutter.

“Come now, everypony has to start somewhere. Besides, didn't you want to become a teacher someday?”

I let out a misty sigh. “Well, you got me there. Alright. I'll give it a go.” I put on my confident face- it's all in the façade- and strode forward into the circle. “Evening, folks,” I greeted. “Konbanwa. My mother's a bit occupied with preparing more food, so I'll be taking over this year.” From the murmurs and looks the small crowd shared, they didn't seem to object. A few of them didn’t look exactly pleased, however. Luna sat down beside me and gave my shoulder a gentle rub with her magic. I smiled gratefully back at her and readied myself.

“This is a favorite of mine,” I started. “It's called 'The Mountain that Loved a Bird.'”

Nightingale grinned. I knew she was grinning. I didn't have to look look. I just knew. So I took a deep breath, tried to find the right words.

The storyteller smiled softly.

Well, folks... this is where it all started.

“There once was a great, barren mountain that alone ruled over a great, barren desert. So craggy and dry were its peaks and slopes that no plant could grow on it, and no animal- not even the lowly, hardy ant- could live on it. The sun warmed it, the night chilled it, but the only other touch the mountain knew was the touch of rain and snow. Nothing else.

“All day and all night, the mountain only looked to the sky. It knew the path of the sun by day and the course of the moon by night. The constellations held no secrets from it. Only the billowing clouds continued to surprise the mountain with their wild, fantastic shapes as aeons ticked past. There was simply nothing more to see.”

I paused for a few seconds. This was... this was actually not too bad. Maybe thinking back on my memories of my Mother's storytelling helped to inspire me, but when it came right down to it, it was just the right words, the right way. Not to convince. Not to persuade. Not to bribe or blunder, sneak or swindle. Just to entertain. It felt liberating and sent my heart soaring.

“But then one day, there was a speck on the horizon. The mountain was surprised, astonished by this strange new thing. And it was growing. Not by much, but it was growing! No longer was it a speck, it was a shape, no longer a shape...

“... but a bird.

“She flew in a circle above the mountain, then landed in a crevice to rest in the shade. The mountain felt the dry grasp of her tiny claws and the softness of her feathers as she sheltered herself from the intense heat. The mountain was amazed, astonished that such a thing came from the sky it had known for countless centuries.

“'Who are you?' the mountain asked in a dry rasp. 'What is your name?'

“'I am a bird,' she answered softly. 'My name is Joy, and I come from distant lands where everything is green and warm. Every spring, I fly far and wide in search of a home to build a nest and raise my children. As soon as I've rested, I will continue my search.'

“'Must you?' asked the mountain, aching deep inside. 'Couldn't you just stay here? I have never seen anything like you before.'

“Joy sighed, 'Birds are living things. I have to eat and drink. There is nothing for me here. No seeds or insects, no ponds or streams... I can't stay.'

“'Will you come back, then?' the mountain pleaded. 'Please?'

“Joy sat and thought for a while. 'I fly far and wide every spring, but no mountain has ever cared whether I came or went. I would like to return, but I would only be able to come back during the spring when I must build my nest, and it can only be for a few hours with no food or water around.'

“'Even just a few hours a year would be enough,' the mountain said, put at ease.

“'But... there is one more thing you should know,' Joy said, casting her gaze downward. 'Mountains like you last forever, but we don't. Even if I visit you every year for the rest of my life, those visits will be very few. Birds don't live that long.'

“'I see,' said the mountain, feeling that ache grow inside once more. 'I will be sad when your visits stop but I would be sadder still if you flew away never to return.'

“Joy sat still for a while, nestled in that shady crevice. Then she sang in a crisp, bell-like song. It was the first time the mountain had heard anything like it- music. When she finished, she said, 'Since no mountain had ever cared about me so much, I promise that every spring for the rest of my life, I shall return, fly over you, and sing you a song. And because my life won't last forever, I will name one of my daughters Joy, and I will tell her how to find you. She, in turn, will name her first daughter Joy and teach her how to find you. Each Joy will have another Joy so that no matter how many years pass, you will always have a friend to greet you and to fly high above and sing to you.'

“Her promise filled the mountain with bittersweet... joy. 'I still wish you could stay, but I am glad you will return.'

“'And now, I must go,' said Joy as she took flight. 'It is a long way from the lands that have food and water for me. Farewell, until next year.' And then she took off, becoming a speck once more. All the while, the mountain watched her until she became a speck and finally disappeared in the distance.

“And then it waited.

“Year by year, spring after spring, a colorful bird would fly over the mountain, singing, 'I am Joy, and I have come to greet you.' And for a few hours, the bird would soar overhead or nestle in the shade of a crevice, singing.

“And every year, the mountain would always ask, 'Isn't there some way you could stay?'

“And Joy would always answer, 'I'm sorry, but I can't. But I will return next year.'

“Each year, the mountain looked forward to Joy's visit more and more. And each year, it grew harder and harder to watch her go. The mountain ached deep inside, and the years dragged on and on as he waited. Ninety-nine springs came and went. On the hundredth, as Joy was about to leave, the mountain asked once more,

“'Isn't there some way you could stay?'

“And Joy answered as she always did- politely. 'I'm sorry, but I can't. But I will return next year.'

“The mountain watched as she disappeared into the sky it knew so well, and it could bear the ache no more. Its heart broke. The hard stone cracked and split, and from the deepest part of the mountain, tears gushed forth and rolled down the mountainside in a stream.

“The next spring, a colorful bird appeared and sang, 'I am Joy, and I have come to greet you.'

“This time, the mountain did not reply. It only wept, its thoughts consumed with the knowledge that she would soon have to leave and the long months before she would return.

“Joy rested on her ledge and looked at the stream of tears. Then she flew above the mountain and sang as she always had. When it was time for her to go, the mountain was still weeping bitterly.

“'I will return next year,' Joy promised softly. And then she flew away.

“When the next spring came, Joy returned carrying in her beak a small seed. The mountain did not notice, still weeping its stream of tears. Joy carefully tucked the seed into a crack in the hard stone beside the stream. Then she flew above the mountain and sang to it. When the mountain did not reply, she flew away once more.

“In the weeks that followed, the seed began to send down tiny roots that reached into the hard stone, little by little spreading into yet smaller cracks, breaking through. As the roots found water and drew food from the softening stone, a shoot rose from the seed and unfolded its tiny green leaves to catch the sunlight. The mountain, however, was still deep in sorrow, blinded by its own tears. It did not notice a plant so small.

“The next spring, Joy brought another seed, and the spring after that another. She placed each one in a protected place near the stream of tears and sang to the mountain.

“The mountain still only wept.

“Time passed. As the years went on, the roots of the new plants softened the stone near the stream of tears. Where once was hard rock, now was fertile soil. Moss grew in sheltered corners. Grasses and little flowering plants sprouted in crevices and hollows near the stream. Tiny insects carried to the mountain by the winds soon scurried among the leaves.

“Meanwhile, the roots of the very first seed went deeper and deeper toward the aching heart of the mountain. Above ground, what had started as a tiny shoot was now growing into the trunk of a young tree, its branches holding a bounty of leaves to the sun. At last, the mountain felt the roots reaching down like gentle fingers, filling and mending the cracks in its heart. Sorrow soon faded, and the mountain noticed the many wonderful new changes that had been taking place. Tears of sorrow became tears of... joy.

“And each year, Joy did return, bringing another seed. Each year, more streams ran laughing down the mountain's sides, and the ground grew green.

“Now no longer overcome with sorrow, the mountain began to ask once more, 'Isn't there some way you could stay?'

“But Joy still answered, 'I'm sorry, but I can't. But I will return next year.'

“More years passed, and the streams carried its gift of life into the great, barren desert around the mountain until finally everything was green as far as the mountain could see. From lands beyond the horizon, small animals flocked to the mountain. As they found food and shelter among the slopes, the mountain suddenly felt hope rising within. Opening its heart to the roots of the trees, it offered them all its strength. The trees stretched their branches higher into the sky, carrying a song of hope from the heart of the mountain into every tree, every branch, every leaf.

“And sure enough, when the next spring came, Joy returned. This time, she wasn't carrying a seed... but a twig. She flew straight to the tallest tree on the mountain, to the tree that had grown from the very first seed. She placed the twig on a branch in which she would build her nest.

“'I am Joy,' she sang, 'and I am here to stay.'”

The storyteller grinned.

Not bad, am I right?

“So what did you think?” I asked Luna, grinning as we took a break for dinner.

“I'd say... not bad for your first,” she answered with a chuckle.

“Oh come on, you have to give me more credit than that,” I huffed.

“No, I'd still say it wasn't bad for your first.”

“Fine,” I nickered, crossing my forelegs. “Be that way.”

A felt a peck on my cheek and grumbled, cracking a smile. “But I appreciate the flattery,” she said.

I grinned and leaned against her. “Okay, I feel compensated now.”

Luna laughed softly and settled down with me as we ate. “One question, though- I, ah, saw sleeping bags among the items you and your parents packed.”

I nodded and paused to swallow my mouthful of hangetsu. Smiling, I replied, “Oh, yeah. We all sleep outside in the snow during the Festival.”

“Outside.”

“Mm-hm!”

“In public.”

“That's right.”

“Around... millions of people.”

I realized where this was going and frowned.

“I also couldn't help but notice the, ah... number of sleeping bags.”

* * *

Luna did like the solution. Just like before with Hummingbird, we shared a sleeping bag together. Thankfully, it had a hooded portion and thus she could worm her way deep enough so that nopony could notice who she really was. That was the good news.

The bad news was that it was horribly uncomfortable in our position. And she told me I would be getting no feather treatment that night.

It also meant that I could hardly sleep. At least Luna seemed well off enough.

I glanced over and noticed Zoleks still very much wide awake, working his jaw and looking up in a worried expression.

“Psst,” I shot over to him. “Zoleks. What's wrong?”

He looked over at the sleeping form of Namira and made sure she was, in fact, sleeping. He let out a deep sigh and replied, “You sure, buck? Don't want to dampen the mood.”

“It's the Day of Tears tomorrow,” I whispered back. “Look, it's bothering you a lot, I can tell. What is it?”

Zoleks sighed again, then turned to look at me. “It was breaking news today, and I didn't want to ruin the mood. The minotaurs hit the oil processing plant in the Persano Gulf.”

I widened my eyes a little. He had my attention. “Isn't that...?”

“Deep in Zebrican territory? The largest oil processing plant and oil field in the world? All of the above.” Zoleks thunked his head back against his sleeping bag. “That was, like, this morning. No new information since. And that's bad.”

That sensation of being watched crept back.

“Bad how?” I asked.

“Buck, since when does a first-world nation have a complete press blackout?” Zoleks asked, shooting me a look. “Whatever's going on there, it's pretty bucking bad.” He let out a sigh. “Well, that, and it's going to jack up gas and oil.”

“Hey, look, you've been through rough patches before,” I said to him. “You saved for a rainy day, right?”

“Well yeah...”

“Then just relax,” I said, offering as comforting a smile I could. “It's not like you to be a pessimist. You'll be fine. We'll be fine. Look, get some rest, Zoleks. No use worrying about it.”

“Yeah, you're right,” he murmured. “You got it, boss.”

“Don't call me that.”

“Sorry, habit.”

* * *

The Day of Tears. It's been a while. And yet... so little had changed.

Twenty million dead, eight million still unaccounted for. “We cannot allow such a tragedy to be forgotten in time,” the unicorn said, I remember. “To forget it all would be the same as killing all those millions a second time.” And so it became our burden to carry the memory on, to ensure that they are never forgotten.

By day, the older generation reminisced their loved ones, friends and family. By night, we lit our candles and slowly filed north.

The Wall of Faces. All those countless eyes of the dead upon you. You walked, and you walked, and you walked for ages past all those proud ponies at graduations, all those pouting newborn foals impatient to return to play, eyes turned red by birthday candles, faces faded, faces tarnished. So many faces, close... close like so...

The storyteller solemnly reached out as if to stroke an unseen cheek.

There were no new photographs to put up. There were only tributes to those we would never see again. Flowers, jewelry, stuffed animals, drawings- sometimes so childish. Mother, a new wreath. Father, a new charcoal painting. And then we held vigil in the snow, in the glow of the candlelight. We held vigil under the eyes of the innumerable dead, all looking at you, all looking through you.

Luna was silent the entire time, bearing no expression. I could see it in her eyes, though, those eyes full of everything. I knew what she was thinking. She was still in exile during The Great Exodus, all those hundreds of thousands of miles away.

She felt guilty because she could not help any of those millions.

I took her hoof in mine and squeezed gently. We locked eyes wordlessly. She gripped mine harder.

And then as one, we all rose.

Somepony in the crowd uttered, “Vivat Ultima Thule.”

“Vivat Ultima Thule,”echoed the Thulians of the crowd.

Another. “Lenge leve Horge.”

“Lenge leve Horge.”

Another.“Hàyzhōu wànsuì.”

“Hàyzhōu wànsuì.”

Finally. “Dai Hokkaidō banzai.”

And I repeated. “Dai Hokkaidō banzai.”

Long live the Far North.

* * *

The storyteller breathed out a misty sigh.

The Day of Hope did exactly as advertised in washing the melancholy away. Food, festivities... fun. If it weren't for the Day of Tears, I would have liked to have invited Pinkie Pie.

Over a cup of Mother's Thunder Brew Sake, however, I finally decided to ask her about... that. “So, Nightingale, I'm curious.” Once I was sure sure I had her attention, I nonchalantly said, “I've been having this weird sensation of being watched ever since that night we first met. What exactly is that?”

Luna blinked and then made an 'oh' expression before replying, “That would be my... escorts.”

“Escorts,” I parroted, not understanding.

“You know... ponies who look after me,” she clarified with a brief shrug.

“... ah.” I coughed into my hoof. “So, they've... been watching this whole time.”

“Not this whole time, no,” she answered in a chuckle. “But most of it, yes.” I opened my mouth. “Don't ask what they were watching.”

“Well... alright then,” I murmured. “So, I was wondering... after the closing ceremony, did you want to hit a favorite club of mine?”

Luna cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “They're going to be watching.”

“Is that supposed to be a warning?” I chuckled, heart racing.

“Just a joke,” she chuckled, giving me a kiss. “So where are we headed?”

I grinned. “The Lazy Dog.”

* * *

I knocked hard on the back door this time. Hopefully someone would hear me.

“Are you sure we should be using the employees’ entrance?” Luna finally inquired.

“Trust me on this,” I said to her. “Used to work here. Plus, we’re a little old for a juvie-joint, so I’d like a more private corner if possible. Skipping the line is just a bonus.”

“A ‘juvie-joint’?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s what we call a nightclub for younger folks here in Manehattan,” I explained. “Teens to twenty, I’d say.”

“And this is your favorite club?”

“Favorite since I was a foal,” I chuckled heartily. “Nothing else comes close. Not even Blaring Beats.”

“Ooh, a bold claim,” Luna huffed softly as a griffin finally answered the door, dull thumping bass audible from further in.

“Uh, not to be rude, but…” He tapped the ‘Employees Only’ sign.

I pouted. “You wound me, Kory. Don’t even remember me?” I… smiled. Then I reached up to tuck down an imaginary fedora with my hoof.

For… you know.

Emphasis.

“Oh…” Kory stared at me. “Oh! Heh, s-sorry, didn’t recognize you, uh, heh.” He stepped aside with a nervous smile. “Go on in. Silva’s on stage right now. Should I let her know you’re here?”

“Nah, she’ll find out,” I said with a shake of my head. “Come on in, Nightingale.”

After we left Kory behind, Luna questioned, “What was that all about? Dear me, it was like he was afraid of you!”

“I used to be his boss,” I answered. “Used to own the place. It’s why my parents live in a mansion now, you know.”

“And this is your favorite club,” she nickered. “I smell a hint of bias in the air.”

“Hey, now, I loved this place before I owned it,” I snorted as we reached the door to the dance floor. The music was only just dulled so, and I had an idea of what Silva was playing. “And now you’re gonna find out why.”

The storyteller pursed his lips.

Music makes me a different pony, folks. Don’t ask me why, but I thought Luna would love Silva’s remix of “Absolute Territory.” You folks probably haven’t heard it before, but the lyrics are rather…

He coughed.

… suggestive.

Of course, the possibility that this might put Luna in an uncomfortable position was at the back of my mind as I opened the door and rocked it hard to the music. Luna did too for the first few seconds, but then she slowly opened her eyes and slowed down to a complete stop. Then my midnight-black mane in disguise turned into a scarlet mare in disguise.

“F-Frost, maybe we should leave!” she explained.

In the midst of my music high, I just laughed, “What, too racy for ya?”

“Quite, quite!” she squeaked and grabbed my hoof. “Please, may we leave this place?” I grinned and pulled her in closer, cutting off her surprised shout with a deep kiss.

Remember waaay back when I first told you all about “Her” and how we always kept our kisses tender and loving?

The storyteller glanced away with a guilty grin.

I lied.

When I pulled away, leaving her a very scarlet mare in disguise, I said, “You know, for the Mistress of the Moon, you seem awful skittish about the notion of certain nightly ‘activities’.”

Yep. Feeling of being watched again. Definitely not getting on their good side right now.

Luna, meanwhile, looked like she was just about ready to slap me. She took a deep breath and hesitated, cheeks still crimson. “Only because it is being sung in public,” she grumbled.

“Welcome to the modern world!” I laughed, leaning in close. “Come on, you like the beat, don’t you?”

“Well… admittedly,” she answered, glancing away.

“Stay a lil’ longer and dance, babe,” I said to her (Don’t call her that.). “I promise the next tracks’ll go easy on ya.” I raised my hoof and hooked it to the side to grab Silva Hound’s attention. I grinned at the silvery pegasus mare, and she grinned right back. Turning back to Luna, I asked, “So whaddya say?”

“Well…” she murmured almost inaudibly over the music.

“Or I guess I shouldn’t treat you like a normal mare…”

Luna stared at me in utter shock, then slowly cocked that eyebrow and flashed me that smirk. “Oh, I’m staying now, Frost!”

Yet another lesson from How to Make Friends and Influence People, folks. If you aren’t getting results, make it a challenge. Soon we were both rocking it hard, partying the night away- even if that pink tinge remained on her cheeks.

And yes, she absolutely loved “Yellow Line.”

* * *

Of course, she realized I had tricked her into staying.

“Unclean,” she murmured into her pillow on the other side of the bed with a furious blush. “So unclean.”

“C’mon, you totally enjoyed it!” I protested from my side.

“Which makes me so unclean!” Luna shouted into her pillow. “Let us never speak of this again.”

“But-”

“Never! Again!”

I sighed in defeat. Every couple had its arguments, I guessed…

* * *

Definitely had its arguments.

“Really, Luna?”

“Yes, quite. I strongly feel I must endorse such a business in this manner.”

“But you totally enjoyed The Lazy Dog!”

“Never. Again.”

“Ugh…”

“Besides, I enjoy this place so much more, and thus…”

Luna, in all her royal regalia, burst open the doors to Blaring Beats with a dour expression, hoof still extended and wings outstretched in intimidating fashion. The effects were immediate. The music halted, the lights went on, and everypony in the room gawked at Her Majesty. Vinyl even let her shades droop out of place.

Luna then settled down on her hooves, closed her eyes, smiled easy, and cleared her throat. “I am Princess Luna, and this is my favorite nightclub in the Heartland.”

For a whole two seconds, nopony said anything. Then everypony burst into raucous cheers, and the music and dazzling lightshow resumed- this time with Luna joining in.

For the second time, I let out a sigh of defeat from outside, just out of view. As always, the music got to me, and I relented, joining in on the fun. I could only admire her from a distance to keep our relationship secret- I remembered, mercifully- but swaying to the music with the lights reflected in her ethereal mane… she was absolutely beautiful. Even if my pride was wounded, I still had that feeling- that everything was going to be okay.

* * *

But it wasn’t, even after I returned to Canterlot as a student. News leaked out from Zebrica that the Persano Gulf attack caused an unprecedented oil spill. Anywhere between nine to twelve-million barrels of oil were lost over the course of the leakage- the most of any recorded spill in history. In addition, the massive coal reserves at Persano Gulf were ransacked in the offensive as well. Upon initial news of the attack, gas and coal prices doubled. By the time cleanup operations wrapped up months later, they had gone up eightfold. Even as a graduate student, I still found time to return both to Ponyville and to Manehattan. Every time I went, I saw fewer and fewer powered wagons on the road.

The minotaurs were emboldened by the success of the attack. Their objectives shifted from fighting on the frontlines to destroying Zebrica’s economy. Coal mines, oil refineries, petrol depots, pipelines, highways, waterways, truck routes- all those and more suddenly became priority targets in their fight for freedom.

And still Caesar Raj’M’Kora remained determined to win.

* * *

“Why doesn’t he just give them their freedom, Zoleks? That whole war’s tanking the global economy!”

Crackle, sigh. “Ain’t that simple, buck. look, you’re the equinpologist here! Don’t you know how the whole responsibility works?”

“I do, but in this case, enlighten me.”

“The Caesar, like any other zebra, is bound by his responsibility to others.”

“Okay, that I know.”

“Unlike other zebras, he’s also bound by his responsibility to the Empire as a whole. If the minotaurs try to break free of the Empire, the Caesar- the entire Legion, actually- has the duty to either force them back into submission…”

“I’m sensing an ‘or’ coming up.”

“... or wipe them out.”

“But that’s genocide! The U.N. can’t condone that! Hay, I can’t imagine how… one sec.”

* * *

“Luna, why isn’t Equestria doing anything about this?” I asked, swiveling away from my dorm room’s desk.

Ever since my return to Canterlot, Luna opted to visit me whenever her work allowed- that is, almost every night. She answered, “Because we don’t have the authority to do so. The Holy Zebrican Empire holds veto power on the Security Council, and the War Accords expired during the Age of Peace following the Almarinian War between us and Aldorna six-hundred years ago. That unfortunately creates the present situation where any official Security Council action can be vetoed by Zebrica despite it actually being the warring perpetrator. The U.N. cannot do anything officially.”

“What about unofficially, then?” I sighed sharply, hissing out steam. “What about you and Celestia?”

“To declare war on the Legion would not only draw the ire of the international community- it would only cause more bloodshed,” she sighed, sitting down on my bed close by. “And my sister and I can do almost nothing.”

“But you’re the goddesses of the moon and sun!” I protested. “The most powerful ponies- beings, even- to walk the earth! Even if you’re ponies just like us, you must be able to do something!”

“We cannot,” Luna said, shaking her head. “Frost, when Discord turned us into what we are, it made us powerful, yes, but wholly incapable of offensive magic. It wanted beautiful playthings, not rebels that would overthrow it- never mind we did that in any case. Even with the Element of Harmony, we could only petrify it regardless of the fact that the nature of the Elements prevents any notion of killing. My sister couldn’t even use her magic to slay the changeling queen that attacked Canterlot years ago- she only tried to stun her. I couldn’t kill a bothersome fly save for stomping on it. The last time I could was when I… I…” She bit her lip and turned away. “Forget it.”

She inhaled deeply and strode over to me, caressing my cheek. “Frost, love, I know you worry deeply about your friend and his new, budding family, but understand that I have my limits- my sister as well. We are doing what we can.”

I let out another sigh, this time with a cool mist. I picked up the phone again and unmuted it. “Hey, back again…”

* * *

“So what is his name?” Luna asked, snuggled against me in bed. Oh, how I missed having somepony so close to me like that… the softness of her fur, her subtle warmth, her gentle touch… how I missed it so...

“Jorund,” I answered. “After his great-grandfather.” As she smiled, I couldn’t help but ask, couldn’t help but want to sate that curiosity. “Luna… what happened a thousand years ago?” Her lips flattened, and she cast her gaze downward. “... you don’t have to answer.”

“No,” she said, “but… you should know. We’ve been together for over a year now. You should… you should know, Frost.”

The storyteller grimaced.

Folks, I- folks… bear with me. I… I can’t hope to capture the intense sorrow and bitter remorse in her tone. Just… bear with me. Because I’m going to try a second time.

She breathed out a deep sigh. “History books do little justice in explaining just what happened. They might lead you to believe that the conflict between my sister and myself happened over a temper tantrum in which I was sent into the proverbial corner. She did not elect to harness the most powerful magical artifacts in all of Equestria and turn them against me lightly nor swiftly. What she did was not unexpected nor unprepared for. I… I gave her no other choice. She tried everything to reason with me, but I… the Luna you know, was far, far away, only able to witness the horror she created.

“What the history books gloss over and the foals’ tales leave out entirely is that the morning I rebelled lasted a little longer than a week- a true seven days’ war compared to that of the same name.” She huffed softly. “Some also mistakenly believe that, because my sister alone raised and lowered my moon for a thousand years in my absence, she is more powerful than I was- that my exile was petty, almost unnecessary as she could have merely taken control and lowered my moon herself. All falsehood. She could only raise and lower my moon all those centuries because I was not there, as- and I do not boast, Frost- I am the more powerful of us. It took my banishment to allow her to wrest control of my moon. It took my willpower alone to force her sun to stay down for over a week’s time, and she could do nothing about it.”

Luna exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. “You don’t have to continue,” I whispered.

“I already made my choice, Frost,” she said stoutly, resolutely. And so she continued, checking herself despite those painful memories, despite going back to that time. “I… I just wanted to be appreciated, loved... like my sister. Do you understand? A thousand years ago, we didn’t have electricity. A thousand years ago, we only had fire and magic to bring light to the dark. All equines are creatures of the day. Before we claimed this world as our own through fire and steel, we lived in fear of the nocturnal predator. And so they shunned my night. They feared it, even. I tried to make it beautiful, arranging the nearest stars into fantastic shapes and patterns. I spent… whole years trying to reach them all, abandoning my political seat and its duties just to earn my subjects’ love and adoration. Years, just to be appreciated. Decades. I grew more and more desperate, and then finally… I cracked. I know not what possessed me for at that time, I was still myself. But I thought to myself, if I couldn’t earn their love and adoration of my night…

“... I would force them to endure it.

“The horrible winter that persists in the Far North is… it’s a bitter reminder of what I caused by my actions. Equestria entered a deep winter, and the cold was killing all it touched. Forests, crops, wildlife, livestock... only those who sheltered themselves away could hope to withstand. Ponies everywhere were suffering, starving, freezing.”

And yet the storyteller’s next words- even mimicked through his magic- were all the more chilling.

“I didn’t care. I was in a great rage. And I wanted to punish.

“My wrath was not contained solely to our lands. Before the end, both Aldorna and Zebrica had sent their finest agents to assassinate me. But in my intense jealousy, I welcomed an… unholy presence that bound me and magnified my obsession, my anger, and especially my power. And I could kill. And it spoke to me, whispering and opening my eyes to a new source of strength- the stars. With my magic alone, I forged suits of armor for myself and those who remained loyal to me. And… in order to do so, I had to resort to a magic I was already familiar with.”

For a moment, her irises narrowed into slits. “Discord wasn’t the only expert in amniomorphic spells, Frost.

“First was myself. Then came my loyal guards. Equine beings, turned to monsters. Aldorna’s and Zebrica’s finest stood no chance.

“My sister… knew what she had to do. Not even she could break me of my madness, so strong was the Nightmare’s hold on me. It became too much. As blood was spilled and the land chilled, I could only watch from a distance as my rebellious outcry turned into atrocity beyond words. I was no longer ruler over this weak, puny world. I was a prisoner of my own doing.

“And even in the end, my sister was not powerful enough nor pure enough of heart to save me. It took others to do that. The Six. There is… there is a spark required to power the Elements of Harmony to their fullest, and it is nigh impossible to generate that spark without the aid of others. Friendship is magic. Magic is might.”

She let out a heavy sigh at last. “Enough. That’s… enough. I regret all of it. That’s all you need to know.”

I said nothing. Just held her close. What could I have said, even with all my speaking ability? What else was there to say? Sometimes, you don’t need to say anything. Hugging her tight, it conveyed everything I could have wanted- “I don’t care. I’m here for you. I love you.” All in the simplest way, all in the best way.

* * *

Things got worse as time went on- and not just for Equestria. I don’t have a copy of the newspaper, unfortunately, but I still remember the headline three weeks later:

“Sparkling Shores Mine Runs Dry!”

Two words ran through my head after reading that- “oh” and “shit.”

Sparkling Shores Mine was the largest gem mine in Equestria, and for it to abruptly run dry in such tumultuous times was like a double-whammy to the global economy. The next largest gem mine was Shattered Hoof Ridge, and even that only had a third of the output that Sparkling Shores had.

“Well on the bright side, you won’t have to worry about that where you’re going too much,” Luna said, peering at the headline over my shoulder with a comforting smile. Still didn’t keep me from frowning.

And where was I going?

* * *

“The Equestrian Protectorate of Almarinia. I’ll be there for about a month for research.”

“Heh, sounds good, buck. Least you won’t have to worry as much about the shortages.”

“Hopefully.” Pause. “Hey Zoleks, how’s things going? Really?”

Crackle, sigh. “We’re pulling through, at least. I’ve had to lay off Axle Grease and Hiziru, but we still get business at least. I’m seeing a lot more of those gem-powered bikes, though. You know, the weak-ass ones you still have to pedal for? Clunky as hell, but it keeps the bits coming in for me. Bo’s happy about how quiet they are, at least. Good for him. Namira and me? We’re still getting the ropes of how to service them.”

“Bet you miss those joyrides on your Hardy, huh?”

“Hoo, like you wouldn’t believe…”

“Eh… so how’s Jorund?”

“Hah! Little troublemaker, him. Loves breaking things. Those child safety brackets for cupboards are a goddesssend, that’s for sure. Least the cartoons on TV keep him happy while we’re working too… hey, uh, Frost, you’ve been with Nightingale for almost a couple years now, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You, uh, think she might be the one for you?”

“Heh… yeah, I really think so. Hope so, least.”

“You make it sound like she’s too good for you, buck!”

“Heh… in a sense.”

“Mm… thinking about all… you know. The stuff way back?”

“Mm? Oh, yeah… yeah.”

“Don’t worry. You’re past all that. I know the Way you follow. You’re fine, buck. So! She coming with you to Almarinia?”

“Oh, uh… no, she’s got her own obligations.”

“Ah. Well, hope you two hold out, alright, buck?”

“Yeah… thanks.”

* * *

Almarinia, Almarinia, Almarinia… it just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? It was the first Equestrian protectorate to be given a seat in the United Nations and its committees- and for good reason. Quite frankly, it had the economic power to say so.

Fillydephia, City of Smoke and Steam, was one of Equestria’s greatest industrial powerhouses. It was not, however, the birthplace of the Age of Industry. That lofty title belonged to Almarinia’s capital city of Shropshire.

Almarinia was an island that could comfortably hold the entirety of the Equestrian Heartland- and then some. And as the airship dipped below the clouds, there it was- Shropshire. It was as if Manehattan and Fillydelphia had a baby. It was sprawling, massive- a swath of masonry and metalwork, brass and burners. And steam. Lots of steam. Jets of it hissed into the air like smokestacks. It flowed up from the ships in its harbors, it fanned from the airships in its skies. Shropshire looked less like a city and more like a giant, steaming circuitboard. It was like a mishmash of Vectorian Era style and modern technology. I believe the word for it is “steampunk”. Rather appropriate, I’d say.

Just looking at it, I didn’t think I’d need to go far to find out how industrialization affected their society and culture. No, not at all. Industry didn’t affect their society and culture- it was their society and culture. Even the attire of the gentry looked like work smocks with scraps of fancy suitclothes sewn in. Grease and smog stains were worn like badges of honor. It was as if everyone could have gone back to work at the drone of the work bell.

Sorry, was that a question about the use of “everyone”? Almarinia was sitting between Equestria and Aldorna. There were ponies and griffins abound. The country was a fond trading partner with both nations, and it reaped the benefits- especially when it had gem, coal, and metal reserves. Every nation wanted to stay on Almarinia’s good side in such rough times, and it showed.

Technological marvels I hadn’t yet seen anywhere else were everywhere in Shropshire. Clunky, early monorails using parallel sets of gears underneath to pull themselves along tracks, new designs for powered wagons, and even these jittery, vaguely ponylike things they called “motorized stewards”. They were the world’s first mechanical automatons. And…

The storyteller let out a sigh.

It all ran on the hybrid gem-coal system Hummingbird once advocated for the rest of the world to use. I paused in the middle of the worn cobblestone walkway, feeling a pang in my heart. She would have loved to see Shropshire… me, not quite as much. I had to keep myself covered in a thin layer of ice in order to stay cool.

“‘Ello there!” I turned to find a chipper, young earth pony mare with a mottled brown-dark brown coat and a crimson mane- so young, in fact, she couldn’t have been even twenty yet. She wore a work smock with a chemically-treated leather apron on top. A pair of bolted-brass industrial goggles were wrapped around her head, and an odd gauntlet ringed with green-glowing capsules concealed the entirety of her right foreleg. “Mister Windchill, roight?”

“That’s me,” I answered with a nod, sweeping a hoof out to the side and bowing as she did the same. “And you must be… Inkblot.”

She grinned. “At your service!”

“Hm, you look a bit young to be a guide,” I remarked.

Inkblot snorted, “You look a bit old t’be a grad student.”

Ouch.

“Touché,” I coughed, grimacing.

“N’ for your information, I’m a proud Clockworks technician,” she huffed.

“Apologies, just didn’t expect somepony so young,” I said as we started along.

“Eh, guess I had t’see that comin’,” Inkblot grunted. “Same as usual for you tourists, especially Equestrians. I’ll have you know, I graduated from high school when I was fourteen! Took five bloody years t’get where I am today!”

“Wow,” I huffed, impressed. “You’re on the fast track, aren’t you?”

“Yep.” She sniffed and spat out a glob of mucus. “It’s good pay, too. Just have t’mind the hazards, all that. S’what’re you here for, anyway, Mister Windchill? And what’s with the ice?”

“Oh, it’s a cryomancer thing,” I explained quickly. “Only magic I can do, made me more vulnerable to heat, long story short. Anyway, I’m here to research the consequences of industrialization on society and cultures the world over.”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing,” Inkblot laughed. “Well, you don’t need t’look far! You came to the roight mare! Know the city like the back o’ my hand!”

I blinked. “... hand?”

Inkblot smirked, and the hoof tip of her gauntlet and the glowing capsules flashed brightly. Left in the tip’s place was a spindly, brass hand with its fingers flexing from a system of wiry drawstrings that acted like muscles and tendons. She pointed at me. “Love gettin’ that look from tourists.”

“What is that?” I asked, amazed.

“Transmorgrification gauntlet, TMG for short,” the mottled mare replied. “Earth pony ingenuity at its finest.” As she talked, it transformed into a drill, an industrial claw, a jigsaw, a blowtorch, a rivet gun… “Pretty much all the tools a Clockworks technician could ever want. Weighs a bucketload-and-a-half, but it keeps earthies like me as useful as horns and griffs.”

As she morphed it back to the standard hoof tip, I asked, “How does it work?”

“Well, everypony has magic,” Inkblot explained. “Everyone, rather. Same like you Mancers- and yeah, I know about them. Fast track education, you called it, right? Well the TMG just refocuses the whole cultivating thing we earthies have into a transmorgrification alchemer, and with six o’ these new microspark breeders powering it, no need t’replace batteries or plug it in t’recharge or anything like that! Oh, you should see what this one team’s workin’ on- a TKG! Telekinesis, for anyone who ain’t a horn! Think ‘bout it! Probably years, maybe decades away, bosh. Lotta kinks t’iron out, couple poor saps decommed from injuries…”

“Decommed?”

“Decommissioned,” she clarified. “Blokes who get crippled by machinery or research experiments, the lot. Can’t do typical Clockworks stuff, but they’ve still got bright minds. Can’t squander a resource like intelligence, s’they get put into think tanks or overseer positions. Gotta keep the Clockworks ticking.”

“Which brings us straight to it,” I said. “I want to see where all the magic happens.”

“The Clockworks?” Inkblot grinned. “You got it! C’mon!” An odd, whirring sound went off all around us, and the crowds around us started moving about with determined strides. “N’ just in time. Work shift just kicked in.”

* * *

“Actual name for the Clockworks is determined by the employer,” Inkblot explained as we marched into a tunnel, quickly stopping as a huge line formed. “My case, it’s R-n’-D station oh-nine-seven. Research n’ development, if you didn’t already know.” She looked up as a stallion wearing brass armor plating and what appeared to be an exoskeleton paused by us, eying me behind a multifocal visor. He had an array of back-mounted devices that I did not want to touch, and a system of hydraulics and pneumatics extended a good meter or so above his legs, giving him an almost spider-like appearance.

“N’ who’re you?” he asked in a gruff tone. “Name and business!”

Smiling cheerfully as I could in spite of my nervousness, I answered, “Frost Windchill, here on equinpological research.”

“He’s with me, officer,” the mottled mare beside me spoke up. “He should be set for level two clearance, aight?”

“Just need a valid ID, and you can be on your way,” the police officer- apparently- spoke. I presented him with my passport with an ice arm, and he nodded. “UV, multiprint, microprint, microweave, check-four. Fancy magic there, by the way. Well, please keep your hooves- and hands- to yourself, follow all safety protocols, and listen to all personnel on duty. And for the love of the goddesses, don’t wander off. Stick with your guide. Move along.” He waved us off and strode along with heavy clunks.

Inkblot nodded at him. “Watchtower. Newest addition to Almarinia’s finest. Don’t mind ‘em, they’re more here for our safety than anything else. Just don’t give ‘em any reason t’think otherwise, yeah? People keep thinking the Clockworks are an amusement park, and the whole ‘keep your hooves inside the vehicle at all times’ shebang doesn’t help that image. One wrong turn, one wrong peek into a testing area, off goes a leg or a wing. Anyway, where was I?”

“Being in R-n’-D,” I answered. “And what’s a Watchtower?”

“Eh, if you’re lucky, you’ll find out why. So! Reasons why they call the whole place the Clockworks are one-” She paused to punch in a time card, “because everyone’s on a shedule… sched… shed… bah, can’t say it like you mainlanders. So everyone’s on a shedule. Two- oi!” We approached a large freight elevator crammed to the brim with similarly dressed ponies and griffins. Inkblot let out a whistle just before they were about to head down. “Squeeze two more?” Some of them shuffled to make way, and we edged in. “Ta, mate. Clear the way!” The brown earth pony mare morphed her gauntlet into a hand and pulled a lever. “Goin’ down! Right, reason number two? Well…”

The freight elevator jolted, then chugged downward at a surprisingly fast clip. Rather than using cables, it used two large rails and four equally large gears to move. Very quickly, the walls of the elevator shaft opened up to reveal a massive underground facility where hundreds of workers were trotting and flying back to their stations. I noted that in addition to electrical wiring running about the place, so did huge gears, turbines, crankshafts, rotors, and everything in between. The Clockworks ran not only on electrical energy from coal and oil but mechanical and- as I noticed the gem motors- arcane energy as well.

“The whole bloody thing looks like it belongs in a Jeweled Fern novel!” Inkblot finished with a laugh. “Welcome to the Clockworks!” Already pegasi and griffins took off from around us to beat the crowd of ponies, which hustled to their workstations as soon as the elevator touched down and the rails lifted. “You wanted t’see what industry made us? Look no further! Humble beginnings, Almarinia. Huge mining colony, n’ thassit. Then came Cornwick with his horsedrawn reaper and White Neigh- don’t ask ‘bout that name- with the cotton ‘gine, n’ t’make a long story short, ‘ere we are. Hold up, mate.”

We paused as a unicorn team levitating two carts loaded to the brim with gems and coal rushed past us before she led on and continued. “Aldorna’s always boastin’ ‘bout its innovations n’ all that jazz. We’re humble folk like that. They’ve got their Avalon- which is a beaut, don’t get me wrong- but they’re all tar n’ feathers. Electricity? Us. Powered wagon? Us too. Computer terminal? Well, Aldorna finished the job, but we got most of the way there. Look, griffs made a bunch o’ neat stuff, but let’s not forget the birthplace o’ the Age o’ Industry, yeah? N’ we export almost all of our new innovations, too! Anything that doesn’t help produce more or invent more, we export it. Just look at our whoppin’ GDP. By the way, those monorails? Hoo, tough fight to convince the higher-ups to let us keep those. Helps with the commute.

“Now I respect griffs, Aldorna, Avalon, the whole lot- duck!” Inkblot and I dropped as a pegasi team lifting a powered wagon swooped by.

“Shite!” one of them cried out. “Sorray, Inkie!”

“For Sparklesake, overcompensate next time, wouldja?!” she shouted after them. “Sorray about nearly getting your head taken off there. Sky wagon. Still tryin’ t’make the spark ‘gine more efficient- y’know, so only one pegasus can handle a whole loaded one by hisself rather than a whole team nearly killing a poor pair o’ ponies here, yeah? Should be headed t’world markets by next year, hopefully. Roight, griffs. I respect the lot o’ ‘em, but it’s a real competition thing going ‘twixt us. Who makes the next big thing, y’know? So that’s why- n’ finally tyin’ it back t’your research- Almarinia and Shropshire especially’ve devoted so much to industry.” She nodded to a colt using a TMG to work on what looked like a spark engine. “Hullo, darling. Doin’ alright?” The colt, without looking up, waved back. “Alright, alright, keep it up, you!” She turned back to me and said, “Twelve years old!”

I stared. “You’re foaling me.”

“Dammit, I’m thirteen next month!” he shot back from behind us. Inkblot merely nodded back toward him.

“Is that legal?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, n’ there’s younger,” the mottled mare said. “Most only do simple maintenance n’ stuff like that- something t’build their resumé. But long as you’re certified by the Board of Industry n’ pass the Occupational Health and Safety Exam like Junk Punk over there, you can do stuff like me. Like I said, Almarinia’s almost wholly dedicated t’industry. Minimum five years o’ education t’work- no summer recesses like you spoiled mainlanders- n’ an accelerated curriculum for the gifted. Then the Clockworks’ your oyster. Yep. Think you’ve got enough research material, mate?”

“Well, if that’s the case, this is gonna be a very short research trip,” I huffed. “So what’re you working on?”

“C’mon roight this way,” she said, waving me to follow her. We navigated past numerous technicians, some working on solo projects while others collaborated on devices I couldn’t hope to comprehend. Inkblot led me across a series of catwalks that bridged over an underground waterway populated by steam-hissing barges.

Eventually, she led me to a testing area overlooking one of the loading docks for the waterway. A pair of technicians- another earth pony mare wearing a TMG and a griffiness- were already at work on a suit of some sort lined with valves, switches, and more of those microspark breeders. The left fetlock area featured a bulging monitor akin to a small television or old terminal screen with dials and buttons on the side. There were plenty of cooling vents and pipes running from the device as well. It appeared to be designed for a pony.

“What is that?” I asked.

“‘Ello Jane, ‘Ello Widget,” Inkblot greeted the others. “This, Frost, would be the beginnings of a mobile computer terminal.”

I stared at her.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” she said, proceeding to pantomime me in an excessively satiric manner. “‘But Inkblot! We already have portable terminals! N’ they’re sleek n’ light! What’s this on about?’ Bosh. The thing ‘bout portables is you can’t make ‘em all that powerful without shellin’ out the bits- more than you already do for a portable in any case. It’s because they need t’be portable, which means a lightweight, small package. Which means you’re gonna have cooling problems with such a confined space. It’s why a desktop terminal’s always better. A portable’s gotta have its components underclocked in order t’keep from fryin’. The limited power supply’s also another problem. Even if you have the most powerful portable terminal in the world, it ain’t lasting too long on a six-cell battery.

“Now, this is obviously a prototype given how much stuff is here, but we’re tryin’ to fix that problem. Proper cooling means more faster clock speeds, n’ a microspark breeder power supply means you have all the power for it. I’m gonna say it again- prototype. Hopefully we can scale it down a little.”

“Think there might be any practical use for it?” I inquired.

“Of course,” Inkblot chuckled. “Right here in the Clockworks, what with technicians meanderin’ all over the place on a constant basis. Especially overseers. Engineers, mechanics, repairponies- any job that needs powerful computing n’ mobility both. Hell, never know, maybe even those zebras down under might find military applications for-”

A rapid, clanging alarm sounded off from below, and I looked about in confusion. While I panicked, the others halted their work, lifted their industrial goggles, and peered down below.

“What is it?” I asked, trying to maintain an even, calm tone.

“Heh, you wanted to find out who the Watchtowers were?” Inkblot grinned. “Well here you go.”

I trotted over, looking out the window to the docks below, watching as a pair of those “Watchtowers” gave chase after a trio of people who appeared to be masked by hooded sweatshirts and balaclavas. Their exposed legs gave them away though- they were zebras. They were shouting quickly to one another and were hastily trying to cast off in a motorboat burdened with lashed crates while the Watchtowers ordered them to drop where they stood, their helmets powering up and casting bright spotlights at the zebras. Then one of them brandished something with his muzzle, and off went a sound that would stay with me for the rest of my life. It’s… that clatter, you never forget. Something that just stands out over every other kind of noise, even from afar.

Gunfire. Fully-automatic gunfire.

“Oh, shite!” Inkblot belted out as we winced and ducked down from the window- as did the others.When I peered back over, the closer Watchtower had keeled over while the other rushed forward, steam hissing from the hydraulic joints that ran above his legs. The rods suddenly shot downward, propelling the stallion into the air until he was towering over the scene at least ten meters off of the ground on these spindly legs that deployed sturdy claws at the end- almost like a spider. The gunner fired erratically into the stallion as he rose up, sparks visible where the bullets pinged off of his armor, raising a hoof over the eyes as the spotlights blinded him. Then with a sharp hiss of steam and the grind of metal, one of the legs shot forward and clamped onto the zebra, knocking the wind- and his gun- out of him. Then the Watchtower whipped him into the air and slammed him back down to the deck with a cringe-worthy thud.

By now, the remaining two zebras were shouting in panicked tones and were starting to accelerate from the dock. The Watchtower turned toward them, his spotlights casting the surface in a white pallor before lancing out with a stilted leg into the engine compartment before it could peel off, the impact actually causing the bow to bob- and the crew to fly- a good meter or so into the air. Wood splintered, and and a sharp bang went off as the engine blew. The Watchtower then hoisted the motorboat back toward the docks and used another clawed leg, joints hissing with steam, to tear off the cabin roof and expose the two zebras. One of them brandished a firearm, but the Watchtower was ready when one of the mechanisms on his back deployed and fired off in a rapid trio of sharp spits of steam. The zebra toppled to the deck limply. The Watchtower then loomed over the remaining criminal with his pneumatic weapon and spotlight aimed threateningly down at him. He wisely laid down flat on the deck in surrender.

“Open a line topside!” the Watchtower boomed in an electronically-amplified voice. “Three suspects apprehended, one officer down! Get a doc over here!”

“And that is why they call them Watchtowers,” Inkblot said, turning to me. “World’s first mechanized police force.”

“Did… did he kill those zebras?” I asked, still fixed on the scene below.

“Kill?” Jane, the griffiness huffed. “Nah. Probably broken some bones, maybe cracked that ’un’s spine.” She pointed to the first masked zebra. “They’re scary as hell, but they’re still policeponies. Pneumatic repeaters with rubber rounds.” She now pointed to the Watchtower’s ‘battle saddle,’ as I later found out. “Nowhere near as lethal as gunpowder, but it’ll break bone.”

“Who were they, those zebras?” I inquired, still shocked- less by the fact that one of the Watchtowers might’ve been killed and more by the use of an actual firearm.

“Gem pirates, I think,” Inkblot clicked her tongue. “Been seeing more n’ more o’ ‘em since the Sparkling Shores went dry. Basterds, tryin’ t’take what’s ours. Not like the Clockworks run on pixie dust! Got what’s comin’ to ‘em.”

“More of them, you said?” I turned to her. “How much more.”

“Well, we’ve had to bring Watchtowers down ‘ere,” she huffed in reply. “Think that says enough. Feckin’ hell, though, that’s the first time I’ve seen a group armed like that.”

Heart still beating, I looked over the scene from above with a new feeling growing deep inside. For once, I didn’t feel that everything was going to be okay.

Things were about to get worse.

* * *

“Sixteen of those incidents with the gem pirates,” I said to Luna as we made our way out from Canterlot’s skydock. “Sixteen. In two weeks.”

The disguised mare grimaced. “So that’s why we’ve been hearing less and less about it in the mainland. They’ve been going to a third party.”

I turned to her, shocked. “You mean they’ve been doing it here, too?”

“So surprised?” she sighed. “Yes, there have been gem pirate raids, although we’ve immediately tightened up security at the ports since. You’ve been away from Manehattan Harbor for a while after all. Now we have isolated incidents out at sea, which means that our trade vessels may require escort… hm…”

As we neared school grounds, I finally asked her, “It’s not going to get better anytime soon, is it? It’s only getting worse, isn’t it?”

Luna inhaled slowly and then rubbed my shoulder with her magic. “Just leave the international crises to the mares charged with seeing them handled. Right now,” She turned to me, “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”

And yet even with those three words, I wasn’t put at ease…

* * *

Though perhaps a particular mare helped in that regard.

Beep. “Hello?”

“Omigosh, Frost, thank you thank you thank you! This is so amazing! I-I mean… hand! Hand, eeeeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeeeeee! Oh! Yes! So metal!”

Distantly, “Lyraaaaa, stop playing with that! You promised to help me get ready for Taffy Tuesday, right, right?”

“Oh, shoot, right. But thank you thank you thank you, Frost! Please come back to Ponyville soon! Oh, I’ve got to arrange free sweets for you somehow…”

“Heheheh… no problem, Lyra. Take care.” Click. “Ahhhhh… looks like I am gonna have to take out that loan…”

* * *

“So, how was it?” I asked.

Sitting across from me at his desk, Professor Egan pursed his lips and nodded slowly as he set aside my final draft- a good two-hundred-eighty-six pages’ worth of research from multiple visits to industrial hotspots and bust towns the world over- from Avalon to Messologi, Shropshire to Sootstop, Canterlot to Fillydelphia. And it all came to this “Not bad. Not bad. For what’s there, it’s pretty good. I still wish you could have gotten something from Zebrica what with the whole complexity of the culture there, but…”

“They still have the war.” I finished.

The mule johnny frowned. “Yes indeed, and we can’t do anything about that, can we?”

“Could always add an addendum after things settle down,” I offered.

“We’ll have to make do with that,” he sighed. “You know, it’s been… what is it, ten, eleven years since we sat here like this? Ahhhh, how time flies… do me a favor, Frost?”

I looked up at him.

“Don’t suddenly bomb the final, alright?” he chuckled. “I want to see you at graduation.”

* * *

“Heyyyyyy, Frost! Or, heh, guess I should call you Doctor Windchill now, eh?”

“Ugh, please don’t…”

“Hah, just kidding, buck. Just calling to say sorry that we couldn’t make your graduation. Business to run and all that.”

“No, no, don’t even worry about it! Completely understandable! I swear, don’t even worry about it.”

“Heh, thanks. So, where are you headed from here?”

“Been making connections thanks to Professor Egan- you know, my old equinpology professor? Mule?”

“Mm-hm, mm-hm.”

“Well, hopefully I’ll be getting a position soon. Maybe it’ll be low-paying one, but it’ll be at least something I’ll enjoy doing. I just hope the Toadstool Tabletop didn’t get too attached to their summer watercolt…”

“Hah! Yeah, hope not! Heh…”

“Heh…”

“...”

“...”

“So, uh, you and Nightingale have been together for a while now.”

“Four-and-a-half years.”

“Mm. So, uh… have you thought about… you know, proposing?”

“Heh, I have… not sure if I should, though.”

“What?” Laughter. “Well why not?”

Subdued chuckle. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh don’t give me that alibi. C’mon. What’s up?”

“I don’t think I’m at liberty to discuss it. It’s a private matter.”

“Mm, okay… so what’s gonna happen between you two?”

“I don’t know. Only time will tell.” The sound of rippling cloth. “Um, uh, sorry, I’ve got to go now. Catch you later, alright?”

“Sure, sure, don’t worry about it. Heh, reversal thing going on.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Take care.” Click.

* * *

The storyteller leaned back and breathed out a misty sigh.

The sound of rippling cloth. Now, I was packing up my dorm room, maybe, but I honestly didn’t wear clothes. I’d already packed away my graduation cap and gown. So when I heard it during the phone call and turned around to see what it was, well…

First time I’d ever seen any of them up close and in the flesh. A thick fur coat the color of wet ash, amber-gleaming eyes with reptilian slits for irises, odd little tufts of fur topping off pointed ears. And a suit of archaic, gothic, demonic- whatever you wish to call it- design in shades of deep blue and violet- and a gem depicting a faded draconic eye in the chestplate. Hooves encased in sturdy horseshoes of the same material. A helm with an alien fin, and a sharpened sheath for the tail. And he was a unicorn, at that.

I wasn’t scared- no, not scared. Years of Pinkie Pie had long made me accustomed to ponies popping up out of the blue. I wasn’t scared. Spooked? Definitely. My heart wasn’t racing. Going for a thrill ride? Definitely. “Um, uh, sorry, I’ve got to go now,” I said into my cell at last. “Catch you later, alright? … yeah, yeah, I know. Take care.” I closed it and set it down on the table, showing a measured, calm face to this strange pony in front of me. “And who might you be?”

Roanoke… help me set a proper mood, if you will.

“Dawn Treader,” he answered in an airy, weary, yet smooth and perhaps… dangerous tone. A hint of Trottingham distinction.

[Snapshot. Black-and-white image. Empty hallway. Snapshot. He appears. Snapshot. He sees you. Snapshot. Gone. Snapshot. Close, very close, eyes gleaming, fangs bared.]

“Lord Protector of Thy Lady of the Night.”

[Snapshot. Luna. Snapshot. He appears before her. Snapshot. Faintest of shimmers on his horn. Lines everywhere. The air is death.]

“And… Lunar Guard.”

[Snapshot. Him alone. Snapshot. The eight appear. Snapshot. Stand attention.]

Thank you, Roanoke.

I grimaced momentarily. Oh. Sharp teeth too, apparently. “Am I in trouble?” I inquired, maintaining my expression.

He clicked his tongue and glanced downward. “That depends.” Eyes back on me, intense. He could see my every twitch, every subtle crease of the muzzle or cheek. Eyes. Eyes so intense, so predatory. Eyes… growling, hungry.

“On?”

“What you have to say,” he answered. He nodded toward my bed. “Well go on. Don’t just stand there over your luggage. Sit. Let’s have a chat.”

Eyes... hungry, thirsty. I kept looking at them as I cautiously, slowly sidestepped to my bed and seated myself- as if I were backing away from a coiled rattlesnake I’d almost stepped on.

Dawn grimaced. “I’d sit too, but… I’d probably be too heavy in all this.” He gestured at his armor and sat down on the floor. Eyes… pulling, come closer. Then they tilted. No, he merely canted his head. “Sorry, is it the eyes?”

Eyes… no longer tilting, listen now. “Beg your pardon?”

The air creased. I blinked, realizing I had canted my head to follow his and look into those… eyes. They were dimmer now, as if I was looking at them through a smoky window. His horn was barely shimmering with the slightest hint of a golden sheen. “There. Better?”

I righted my head. “Yes, what… what was…?”

“Trade secret,” he answered, doing the same. There was something wrong with those eyes. Now he no longer seemed threatening- well! As… threatening. In a way, if he was able to sit on the bed rather than down on his haunches like that, it would’ve almost been like how my father and I used to have discussions.

Then I thought of a more pressing question. The door didn’t open. The window was closed. No teleport flash. There was the sound of rippling cloth, and he was just… there. From nowhere. “How did you get in?”

“Trade secret,” he repeated, grinning for just a moment. Then came the click of the tongue, the glance downward. “You know, back in my day, we didn’t have ‘innocent until proven guilty.’ It was the other way around.” Eyes back on me. “I grant you that right.”

“What is this, an interrogation?” I questioned.

He laughed heartily, “Oh, I wouldn’t call it that!” Yeesh, those teeth. “Well...” He pursed his lips, “not exactly. I’m just here for answers.”

“What for? Did I do something… wrong to Luna? I don’t-”

“Oh, no, not to Luna,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Well… there was that first time in The Lazy Dog. That was pushing it.”

“You were watching,” I said, not asked.

“Lord Protector,” he said with a brief grin. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong to or with Luna. I… understand you may be considering proposing to her- going to that next step,” He motioned with his hoof as if going up a staircase, “if you will. So before anything, this is to ascertain her safety. Because a stallion in this day and age who walks around carrying a pair of highly concealable weapons already sent up warning lights before. Water under the bridge now, though.”

Click, glance. “We’ve been watching you ever since it became apparent you might have been getting into a relationship with Luna. And when it became apparent you were, in fact, in a relationship with her, we decided to do a bit of digging. You’re a good buck. Good grades, good work ethic, a Mancer- quite the intrigue- honed your magic, tagged on an addendum to the Hydronomicon, double major- even if in some rather questionable fields for long-term financial stability- and yet…”

Eyes on me. If looks could kill… “You are financially stable, aren’t you? It’s… rather unusual for a buck- let alone anyone- to simply disappear from public records for six years. Nothing but school transcripts and report cards from ages twelve to eighteen. No… receipts. No… photographs outside of school yearbooks. No… criminal history, no... medical history, no… surveys… nothing. And yet your family went from a high-rise apartment to a mansion. Six years, gone. Nopony, nobody is that shoddy at housekeeping.” He straightened his posture. “And no normal pony is that good at house-cleaning.”

Oh shit.

Blink. He caught it. Those eyes caught everything. “Oh shit.”

What… the… fuck.

Blink. He caught that too. “What… the… fuck.” Dawn suddenly broke into a hearty laugh. “Sorry, it’s… it’s just I’ve seen those little things, those little hints so many times I just know what’s going on inside your head. Sorry.” He coughed politely, straightened up again. “The fact remains, however, that you have six years of your life missing from public eye, and you’re always armed.” He tilted his head downward while keeping those eyes fixed, adopting an almost pleading yet strangely admonishing look. And he did it at a height disadvantage. Oh he’s good. “Oh he’s good- sorry again.” A polite cough. “Again, this is to ascertain Luna’s safety-”

“You keep calling her Luna,” I remarked.

Dawn huffed, “So you noticed. Again… this is to ascertain Luna’s safety- both as her Lord Protector… and as her friend. I want to know why those six years are missing.” His horn dimmed. Eyes… hungry. His horn shimmered mercifully. Eyes sated. “Come clean now.”

I inhaled deeply. “Will you tell Luna?”

“Depends,” the ashen pony replied. “But if it’s six years just gone like that, I may very well have to.”

Inhaled again. “Well, Manehattan is known for…”

“Gangs,” he completed.

I blinked.

“Sorry, were you expecting me to answer with ‘the lights,’ ‘the people,’ or ‘the music?’” he chuckled mutedly. “Lord Protector. Come clean now.”

“Right, well… I owned one,” I said. “Not just any gang- the largest.”

“The Cruds?” he inquired, arcing a brow.

“No. The Mumei.”

“Mm, now there’s a name I haven’t heard of before,” he huffed softly. “‘The nameless.’ Fitting, considering. Sorry, continue.”

“You probably already know that… I have a one-trick horn. No other magic, just cryomancy, hydromancy, atmidomancy, nothing else. Good grades? Maybe academic. Buuuut…”

“Magic kindergarten.” Dawn finished.

“Yep.” I flattened my lips momentarily. Bad memories, that. “So I was the runt, the cripple… and a Northerner to boot. The outcast. Save for my only friend at the time, I was alone, weak, powerless. And then found power, power in words.” I glanced up and down the pony seated beside me. “Power you’re familiar with.”

“All too much.”

I continued. “The moment I first exercised that power, I tasted its fruit and only wanted more. The immediate thought? Start a gang. Start young while I was already building connections and getting ready to move to the bigger pond of high school. I ate my way up the food chain until I was the apex predator- and all without anyone realizing it. No funny stuff, no shady business… I did it all legally, save for some political undercutting and well-deserved backstabbing. Puppeteered a police commissioner into pushing a city ordinance to lower the minimum working age. Prop Four was me. Twelve years old, and I already had my hoof in politics. Built bigger, built higher. Soon, we were the biggest gang- and nobody knew it. Though, less a gang and more a youths workers’ union and a political action committee.

“Then… one of my own inner circle slipped up, tried to rob drugs from the Cruds, fired his sorry ass… and then we showed our true colors as a gang,” I sighed mistily. “All-out gang warfare with the Cruds after that, buying off police to look the other way, all that.”

“Casualties?” Dawn asked.

“What?” I looked at him quizzically.

“Casualties?” he repeated.

“Wh- oh!” I chuckled in spite of myself. “Not that kind of warfare, no. Pies.”

“Pyrotechnically Initiated Explosive?” he inquired.

“No, no, pies!” I gestured frantically. “Cherry, lemon meringue, pecan- you know… dessert pies!”

Dawn just stared at me with a flat expression. “I’d say you were foaling with me, but I’m not seeing nor hearing any hint of that.”

“Because I wasn’t!” I nickered. “Pecan, those… hurt. No casualties in this gang war, Da- can I call-”

“Lord Dawn Treader,” he said in a deadbeat tone.

“Right, well… no casualties in this gang war, Lord Dawn Treader. But… it did bring out that power-hungry side of me in ways that didn’t boost my image.” I let out a misty sigh. “So I was backstabbed from that same idiot. Organized a hit on me, and… I could’ve been the only casualty of that gang war. He didn’t mean it, don’t think so. But he didn’t think that a scrawny, magic-less, sub-earth pony like me might not be able to lift thirty pounds of garbage off of me to escape a dumpster. Nor check on why I’d been missing for so long.

“Hot, sweaty during the day, chilly- never cold- during the night. Suffocating, sticky, smelly, dirty, leaky… I panicked for the first time in a long time, and with all the power I had with my words, they meant nothing if nobody could hear them. Weak again. Helpless. Alone. In the dark. And he ball-gagged me, no less. Ball. Gag. I still remember how… sticky it got from my slobber.” I shuddered.

“Three days. I was stuck in there for three days- thank goodness none of them were collection days- and I had plenty of time to reflect on my predicament as I lay dying. When Zoleks- you know him, I know- saved me, bless him… I was a new stallion.”

He arced a brow at me.

“Please, believe me- I changed, Lord Dawn Treader,” I said quietly. “All that power, and what did it get me? I used to go by another name. ‘Hokkaido.’ My people’s name for the Far North. Was that how I wanted to be remembered by? Power-hungry ruler of the largest gang in Manehattan’s history, that had its hooves in every major affair? No, I decided. But I’d left a legacy, and from the moment I realized that, I knew I had to obliterate it. Not just destroy, not just tear it down but completely wipe the slate clean.

“And so I did. Ten days to bring the Mumei down to its knees. A couple months afterward to wipe all trace of it. The only people who know or remember anything about it are those who lived under me. People… who choose to remember. They stayed quiet, some even helped me erase those records. Because I might have changed names, I might’ve grown older.

“But to all them, Hokkaido built an empire at twelve years old. Six years, and then tore it down in ten days. Mopped up in two months. Hokkaido might have died in that dumpster, but it’s a shallow grave. And if anyone tried to use the Mumei against me, he could easily come back to haunt them.

“I’ve left that all behind me, Lord Dawn Treader,” I said, wrapping up. “Wiped the slate clean. And I hope it stays that way.”

The Lunar Guard clicked his tongue and glanced away. “She’s right. You do make a good storyteller.”

“I hope that answers your question,” I inhaled. “Because I’ve got one of my own.” Eyes on me. “With what I have been, have done and with who I am, am doing now, does it matter whether or not Luna knows about any of this?”

He inhaled. “Yes. But.” He held up a hoof. “You chose to erase the Mumei. Do you want to keep it that way?”

“Yes.” Deadbeat. Straightforward.

“Then so it shall remain,” Dawn sighed. “Come clean indeed, cleaner than me.”

I arced a brow. “Beg your pardon?”

He looked at me. “Trade secret.” There was a knock on the door, and we both turned toward it- him far faster than me. “Mm, good timing.” He turned back to me. “Best not leave her waiting. Pleasure to officially get to know you, Doctor Windchill. Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Well, alright,” I said as politely as I could. “Farewell.”

“Don’t want to?” he chuckled. “Ahhh, well. Do me a favor? Blink.”

I blinked, not expecting that.

And he was gone, leaving nothing but the sound of rippling cloth in his wake.

I shuddered. “Hoo…” Then I picked myself up and answered the door.

“Hello again, Frost,” Princess Celestia greeted.

Oh dear not again.

“Met Dawn?” she asked softly, entering and shutting the door quietly behind her. “Good. He was just the primer.”

Oh dear yes again.

The radiant-maned alicorn looked sternly at me… then her lip quivered and she burst into chuckles. “Ahhh, apologies, can’t help it- sorry, just… that look on your face again.”

Oh thank godde- well… her.

Celestia was staring.

“I said that aloud, didn’t I?” I asked quietly.

“Belted it.”

“Ugh…” I groaned, sitting down on my haunches.

“He’s taxing, I know,” Celestia said with a momentary frown, sitting down on the floor beside me. “Now, like him, I do have a couple questions, but fret not- they’re far easier than what he asked of you.”

I froze. “You heard it all?”

“Oh yes, but don’t worry,” she said with the best smile I could hope for at that time. “My lips are sealed.”

I fell flat on my back. “Oh thank g- you.”

The regal-white alicorn chuckled softly, “You’re quite welcome. Now, if I may…?”

I jolted back up, energized by my relief. “Oh, go right ahead!”

“Well, first… any thoughts on where you’re headed in your relationship with Luna?” she inquired.

“Oy…” I sighed. “I don’t know. Have either of you ever been married since… well, becoming alicorns?”

Celestia was still smiling, but there was something hidden in those normally radiant eyes. “Yes, both of us at some point or another.”

“How come there hasn’t been any word of it?” I inquired.

She sighed and let the façade crumble. “Because neither of us have been married for over a thousand years.”

“Oh…” I drew quiet, understanding that I touched upon an unpleasant subject.

“We’ve actually stopped publically announcing our marriages for longer than that,” Celestia said quietly. “Don’t get me wrong- the weddings and ceremonies were always something to look forward to, but… the funerals aren’t. Plenty of funerals in our times.” She sighed softly. “Love is something all people crave- us too. If… that love comes to pass, we agreed, we’d rather it be a quiet affair.” And then like the sun breaking through a small patch of gray clouds, she was smiling again. “But none of that. Any plans?”

I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly through my nostrils, partly from the sudden one-eighty in mood. “I’ll think about it. It’s… you know.”

“A lot to think about, I understand,” the white alicorn nodded. “Second question is easier…” I looked at her. “As you no doubt know, Luna’s birthday is coming up. So… how would you like a job?”

I huffed and grinned at her. “A job? I’m starting to think I’m part of a scheme of yours.”

She chuckled softly, “You have no idea.”

* * *

Click-click-click, shirk-shirk-shirk… shick… shick, click-click-click, click-shick-clack. Just couldn’t break the habit. Just too damn fun. Home sweet home back in Ponyville, reading the newspaper over breakfast. Just waiting… any minute now. AAAAAAny minute now.

Then came the crackle and spark I’d grown accustomed to hearing- teleportation. I smiled and pouched Chrome Cleaver. “Hello there, Lulu. Did you like your-”

She was upon me before I had even set the newspaper down, cutting me off with a yelp and hugging me tightly with both forelegs and wings, the most delightful smile on her face. “Ohhhh goodness goodness goodness gracious!” she exclaimed giddly. “My word, Frost, do you have any idea what my sister got for me? ...Frost?”

Feathers… so amazing…

“Frost?”

“Oh, sorry, no, no idea,” I bumbled. Which was good because it was convincing.

“A school!” Luna squeed- yes, she did in fact make that very sound- as she pulled away from me, hopping excitedly in place almost like Pinkie Pie. “Goodness goodness goodness! It’s what I’ve always wanted ever since my first tour of her own!” She trotted up close. “And now I have my own in the Littlehorn Valley in Crescent Moon Canyon! Oh, the Littlehorn School of of Magic! Splendid, splendid!” She started trotting about excitedly as she spoke. “It has a wonderful crescent moon design in the courtyard, crenulated texturing to all the buildings, and so many towers- my word I love towers. It looks like something straight out of a sprite tale, oh that marvelous Apple Bloom! Like a monastic, walled village! Soon, I’ll have my own students- well, of course in a school under my name rather than under my personal tutelage, but just think about it! They’ll have their own baby dragons and other wonderful pets and companions, and it will be far enough from cities and villages for that natural setting- even far away from Celly’s own school! No rivalry! I must properly thank the Apple family for this, oh… oh… marvelous!”

I just watched, grinning.

She watched me, grinning. “You have that grin. I know that grin. There’s more, isn’t it?”

“Are you ready for your gift?” I asked.

“Yes, yes!” Luna gasped, overjoyed. “I don’t mean to sound foalish or prude or greedy, but what is it?”

I grinned wider. “Well, how closely did you look over the details for Littlehorn?”

“I hardly had the time!” she laughed heartily. “I mean, I had to maintain my royal composure in the presence of guests, but the moment I left the room, I just… immediately knew I had to come find you and tell you all about it!”

My grin grew sly. “You mean you didn’t have a chance to look over the proposed faculty roster?”

Luna froze, taking several long seconds to register what I’d just implied. “No...”

“Yes...” I said suavely as I could.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You are?!” she exclaimed, positively radiant.

“I am!” I laughed, the same. “Prospective Professor Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill, at your service! Not the head of the history department, unfortunately, since I don’t have the seniority, but-”

The storyteller smiled softly.

That day, I learned just what it felt like to be glomped by an alicorn.

* * *

Except one problem.

My eyes shot wide awake in the middle of the night as I slept beside her as if someone had shattered glass nearby. “Oh dear goddesses what the hay do I do with my first lecture,” I murmured.

* * *

I’m spoiling you folks, you know that? Several mementos in a single installment. Well. I guess it should be that way. Everyone… Littlehorn.

Crescent Moon Canyon was breathtaking. Temperate forests to the north, border jungles to the Zebrican Wilds to the south. Mountains to the east, prairies and badlands to the west. Do you know why they called it Crescent Moon Canyon? It wasn’t because of the shape of the canyon- it was the shape of the mountains that surrounded it on all sides but the west. The mountains were so tall that they blotted out the sun- if not physically, then by the clouds they produced. Luna ordained that the weather be allowed to run free barring a few certain exceptions.

The result? The lighting was breathtaking. Littlehorn was in a near constant state of twilight. The crenulations on the buildings and the high towers casted immense shadows over all the buildings- and we used only natural or magical light, no electricity. It was like something straight out of a sprite tale, like Luna said. Depending on the cycle of the moon, nighttime could have actually been the brightest time of the day, matching sundown in brightness and merely exchanging radiant orange hues with soft blues. Incredible.

And you know the perks of working at a school of magic as Luna’s lover? Didn’t need to worry about having to move there and leave all my friends in Ponyville behind. Just wake up in time for the teleport.

On second thought, maybe you folks aren’t so spoiled. At least forty years ago in Stalliongrad, I had the setting right- a lecture hall. Because here’s a special treat for you- a glimpse into Equestrian education.

Well, my way, at least. Spent months thinking up how I would do my lectures, considering I hated how it was taught in our school system. And thus...

It was the first time I’d entered the lecture hall not as a student but for students. All chattering excitedly among themselves, or… using a cellphone. Or a portable terminal browsing the web. Mm. Well at least the lighting was nice. Instead of conventional lighting, hundreds of candles gently bobbed in the air, their combined light more than enough to cut through darkness. Luna wanted bioluminescent beetles, but that would, well, discourage a good number of students. Plus, they would make quite a bit of noise.

I turned to my teacher’s assistant, a tan-furred unicorn that carted the projector in. “Thank you, Tiller. We’ll just leave this here for now, alright?”

“Right,” he said with a nod. “Meet with you after to discuss tutorials?”

“Sounds good, and contact Shine, Husk, and Volley- tell them to come, too, and on time next class,” I answered, then looked over the crowd of tiered students before me, high-school age. I prefer older students- or at least more mature ones. Oh, and this wasn’t just a school for gifted unicorns. That wasn’t in the title. Princess Luna’s Littlehorn Academy of Magic. Everyone has magic. Anyone who had the talent could attend. Ponies of all kinds, griffins, mules, donkeys, even a buffalo. Oddly enough, no zebras. Unfortunate that they all seemed to be consistently spooked with being so close to the Wilds- and for good reason. Our friends in Zebrica needed gems to hold it back, as did we. But… more on that later.

Moving away from that train of thought, I looked over near the top and spotted the familiar form of Nightingale in the back. We made eye contact and smiled at one another. I then looked at the distant wall and spotted the clock. Eight A.M. Showtime.

I merely stepped into view and smiled, just standing there in the middle of the floor. A good number of students caught on and fell quiet, a few shushed the others around them. Most kept doing what they were doing. So I waited patiently, rocking and leaning a bit to get the message across. Eventually, the rest… or most of them… caught on and I smiled brightly to them.

“Good morning!” I greeted, then looked about with a frown. “Really? Really? Come on, I said good moooooorning!”

“Good moooorning!” a good number of them shouted right back.

I grinned. “There we go. Let’s get straight into it. My name is Frost Windchill. Pleased to meet you. Now, you’re all here for Equestrian History Honors, section twelve-A right? ...well alright, then! Any Manehattaners out there?” A good number of hooves and claws of all species went up. “Heh, and they call us an uncultured bunch. Let’s get right to it, shall we? First things first, have you all read the course syllabus? A few hooves and a claw shot up.” I slumped and rolled my eyes. “Of course nobody reads the syllabus. What was I expecting?

“Right, let’s start with that, then. It’s not a long one, so this shouldn’t be too bad.” I turned on the projector with a hoof rather than using my magic. No need to spoil the surprise. “First off, I should start with this- no cell phones. Uh-uh. No way. No cell phones. This was a ground rule since elementary school for a reason. Keep them packed away, and keep them on vibrate- or better yet, silent ringer. You’d be surprised by the acoustics in this lecture hall.

“Which brings me to my second rule.” I turned the projector off and sent it rolling away. “Well, more like a quirk. I don’t use projectors, I don’t use slides, I don’t use a textbook, and I don’t use mics. You can all hear me, all the way in the back. I know for sure. These lecture halls were all tested. And if you can’t, well, sorry. Make do. I’m a Manehattaner, and if I can hear tick-tick-ticking of those keyboards while I’m talking about just the syllabus… a syllabus, by the way, which you shouldn’t have to be taking notes for.” I looked toward the left portion of the seats until I found a unicorn mare with a prim mane slowly lowering her phone. I looked directly at her, and soon, so did the rest of the hall. “Rule number one.” Her horn winked out as her phone slipped away. “There we go. Now the reason I don’t use any media is because I want you to pay attention. You’re all here at Littlehorn for a reason- and a good number of you are paying out of your parents’ pockets. If it should at least be on moral grounds for you not to squander those bits, at least don’t squander all the effort you put into just getting into this school. No media means you have to attend lecture and pay attention for all fifty minutes. Trust me- it’s in your best interests, and I’ll make it worth your time. And, as the saying goes, ‘time is money,’ so I’ll be making it worth your money by extension.”

The doors clicked open, and a wide-eyed pegasus glanced furtively about as he tried to sneak in. He immediately had all eyes on him.

“Ah, perfect timing!” I smiled… only for a moment. “Don’t be late for class, pleeeease? No projector, no computer, no textbook, no mic- that means you better be here for the whole thing.” I nodded to the pegasus, who smiled sheepishly before flying about, searching for a seat. “Now, rule three-” The door opened again as a pegasus mare, this time, tried to sneak in and was predictably met with failure. “Ahem! Don’t be late for class, pleeeeease? No projector, no computer, no textbook, no mic- that means you better be here for the whole thing. Rule three-” The door opened.

An earth pony mare peered in this time. “... oh, sorry!” She darted back out.

“... wrong lecture hall then,” I grunted. And then I waited, looking about for a good fifteen seconds. “Okay, that should be- I’m hearing the tick-tick-ticking again, ma’am.” Hello again, Prim Mane. All eyes on you again. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Don’t push it any further.

“Rule three-” One of the students stood up. “... is there a problem?”

“... bathroom,” the griffiness said sheepishly before darting out.

“Rule two addendum, then- take care of your business before coming to class, please.” I rubbed my brow with my hoof. “Rule three- hearing it again.” Prim. Mane. “Now, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me thrice… I shame you.” I held up my hoof and motioned quickly towards myself. “Cell phone. Now.” Prim Mane scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I mean it, young lady.”

“Well I’m kinda stuck here!” she protested, pointing to herself- namely her location in the middle of the aisle. Canterlot accent. Wonderful.

“Throw it, then,” I said, repeating the motion.

She rolled her eyes, wrapped her phone in her magic, and telekinetically tossed it at me. Everyone watched as it sailed through the air…

And everyone watched as it clattered on the floor beside me, shattering into pieces on impact.

“Oooooooooh!” went several giddy students in the crowd. I swore Prim Mane’s jaw unhinged.

“And that’s why I still use a Nokia,” I said with a grin. “Right, forgot to mention- I can’t do telekinesis. That’s what these are for.” I fired up my horn with its ice-blue glow and sprouted an ice arm, wiggling the fingers so everyone could see, then proceeded to snatch up the broken pieces and dump them into the trash. Some students outright stomped in applause.

“Rule number one!” I repeated, holding up a finger. “Please!” I sublimated the arm. “Rule number th-” The door opened. “Oh for the love of Luna!” The griffiness from earlier returned from her bathroom break and dove for her seat. “Oh, you. You missed a pretty good moment. See what happens when you forget rule number two? I told you I’d make it worth your time and money!” I looked back at Prim Mane, absolutely steaming with rage. “Not yours, sorry.”

I inhaled. “Rule number three tutorial sections are optional but highly encouraged you are free to attend whichever section you wish as seating permits but it is suggested you attend your scheduled section to avoid overcrowding- bam! Finally! And rule four, no eating. Drinking, fine. It’s quiet. Eating? Not so much. Okay, four rules! That’s it! Now… let’s get started.”

And here, folks, is where the magic happens.

“When I was growing up in Manehattan, there was a silly pop culture song called ‘What Did Washington Say When He Crossed the Delamare?’ It was sung to the tarantella beat of a Bitalian wedding song, and the answer was ‘Mirthe, Mirthe, there’ll be no pizza tonight!’ Silly, right? Everyone knows Gorge Washington only ate cherry pie!

“Well, that December night, Gorge might have told himself that this raid on an enemy camp in Troton, New Jersey better work or else he might be ordering a last meal before the griffins hanged him. But as the general rallied his ragged troops to cross the icy Delamare, one of his actual comments was far more amusing than those silly lyrics. Stepping into his boat, Washington- the plain-spoken frontiersbuck and not the marbleized demigod- nudged forty-hundred-twenty-kilogram General Heavy ‘Ox’ Locks with the tip of his boot and said, ‘Shift that fat ass, Heavy. But slowly, or you’ll swamp the damned boat.’”

I grinned and waited for the chuckles and snickers to die down. That was why I preferred older students. They didn’t have the taboo against cussing. I began pacing the floor much like old Egan did and continued. “According to A.J. Languid’s history of the Border Wars, that is how Locks himself reported the story.” I huffed, “I definitely didn’t hear that version of the Hearth’s Warming Crossing when I was in school. And that’s a shame. It reveals more of Washington’s true, earthy nature than all the tall tales about cherry trees and vigils in Valley Forge- and the physically impossible paintings of him standing poised at the bow of his boat rather than hunkered down like the rest. And that’s the point of my course- most of what we remember about our history as Equestrian citizens is either mistaken or falsehood. That is…” I paused and eyed the crowd, “if we remember it at all.”

And so I resumed my pace. “For all too many Equestrians who dozed through history in elementary and middle school, the Mayflower Compact might as well be a small powered wagon. Reconstruction has something to do with silicone implants. The Bayou Purchase means eating out at a Cajun restaurant. When I went to university, several prominent writers in my prospective field had just enjoyed profitable success by lambasting Equestrians’ failure to know our own history. We’re basically know-nothings according to Cultural Literacy: The Closing of the Equestrian Mind.

“We’re probably not as stupid as the books have us, but there is an underlying truth to all that- we’re no nation of scholars when it comes to history- our own for that matter. In a recent and highly publicized survey of high school juniors not much older than any of you, a third couldn’t identify the Proclamation of the Covenant as the document that marked the formal union of all three pony races, and only thirty-two percent of the students surveyed could place the Almarinian War in the correct century. These surveys go back and back and back, repeatedly blasting the historical ineptitude of Equestrian students. Part of the problem is that some of those juniors who took that survey are on their way to becoming teachers!

“But why dump on you?” I asked, motioning to them. “Why dump on the kids? While there are constant warnings issued about the yawning gaps in the education of Equestrian students, there’s a deeper question. Would most of your parents or older brothers and sisters do any better? Most might not pass a similar pop quiz. Comedian Jay Lionel routinely demonstrates this on his ‘Jaywalk’ segments of the Tonight show. Adults on the air are incapable of answering the simplest questions about their own people’s history. So the gap doesn’t just yawn for people like you.” I sprouted ice arms and pointed to myself. “It yawns for people like me as well.

“And do you know why we have so much problem remembering history?” I asked, leaning against the podium. “For most of us, history was boring. Many of us- me and you- were taught by a hoofball coach who dropped into the history class to give himself something to fill out the rest of his day and to fatten his paycheck. Many of us also learned about our past from textbooks that serve up the past on a silver platter- or, worse, as if it were a Hollywood costume drama. Come on, you’ve read them, I’ve read them. The warts on our Maternal Makers were neatly retouched. Slavery? Same glossy makeover. It was merely the misguided practice of the rebellious unicorn folk until the ‘progressives’ of the earth and sky showed them the light. Buffalo were portrayed in textbooks in the same way they were in Hollywood Westerns. Donkeys? Mules? Almost entirely left out of the picture.

“And as if to add even greater insult to injury,” I went on, pushing off and resuming my pace, “those gaping holes in our historical literacy have been reinforced by the horror that is… pop… culture. Just look at Pocahontas. Malt Disneigh unfortunately makes a much greater impression on millions of people than a carefully researched, historically accurate, but mind-numbingly dull documentary. Occasionally, films like Glory or Saving Private Rain can stimulate interest in history in ways that few textbooks or teachers can. But those gems are far and few in between when you have things on TV such as… ugh…” I sprouted arms and made air-quotes, “The ‘History’ Channel. Sure. Dinosaurs were wiped out by aliens to make way for harvestable equine evolution. Sure. Keep thinking that, Sue Kale. Just goes to show that mainstream movies and network TV have magnified the myths and makeovers. It’s important to realize that looking past these myths reveals so much more. The real picture is far more interesting than the historical tummy-tuck, and truth… is always more interesting than propaganda.”

I paused and glanced about the room. “I’m getting plenty of that look, folks- that look. ‘So what, Professor Windchill?’ those eyes are whining. ‘Why bother with history anyway? What difference does it make if our kids know what the Proclamation says- or doesn’t say? Why does it matter if most people think the Blueblood scandal at Watershed is just old news?’”

I pointed a finger at them. “The answer is simple. History is the story of cause and effect, the consequences of our actions- large and small. And that… has never been more apparent than today. Anyone know what happened today? Anyone at all? Too young to read the newspaper? Anyone? Silence.” I sighed mistily and headed back to the podium, procuring the front page.

The storyteller held up a yellowed newspaper.

This… front page.

He opened it up gingerly.

“‘Gem freighter missing at sea,’” I read. “‘Dozens feared taken hostage by zebra gem pirates.’” I set the newsprint down and looked back at the students. “History just got a whole lot more interesting, didn’t it? Cell phones away, folks. I think what you’re about to hear is a lot more important.

“History can explain how we got to where we are today,” I said, resuming my pacing. “We can use it to connect the dots from past to present. Take the Pareese Treaty- please! I know, those very words sound- as a friend would put it- boooooring! I can see those eyelids grow heavy as you hear ‘Pareese’ and ‘Treaty’. But consider what that treaty, which supposedly settled the Colony War, actually did. In one very clear and very obvious sense, it partitioned the territories around the world between the great superpowers of our day and age- The Principality of Equestria, The Holy Zebrican Empire, and The Griffin Republic of Aldorna. New colonies, new protectorates. Borders were redrawn, and some didn’t think those borders were fair.

“Folks, the Pareese Treaty laid the groundwork for another colony war… just twenty years later. They called it the Almarinian War.

“But look past that. You can draw a straight line from the Treaty of Pareese to events of today. Just connect the dots, like I said, from past to present. The Buffalo Nation disputes. The minotaur uprising. The Legion’s response- war. All these hotspots of the past few decades were created in the aftermath of Pareese, when the world superpowers carved up the world into colonies and protectorates they thought they could control.

“Let’s dig deeper into events of today. The Treaty of Pareese also laid the groundwork for EZTA, the Equestria-Zebrica Trade Agreement. But when the dragons got rowdy over the coal mines in their mineral stores during Caesar Bodorok’s reign, the KSV overthrew the dragon king. Nobody thought what it might mean in twenty-five years. At the time, Zebrica was worried about Aldorna and its own oil companies. What did it matter what the dragons thought? Restoring the exiled Rovgard to power in place of a horde hostile to Zebrica seemed like a good idea. Until the dragons thought otherwise and began the first wave of revolutions that eventually ended up in a bipartisan agreement- and disposed of Bodorok. Now we have Caesar Raj’M’Kora on the emperor’s throne- a scholar, a peacekeeper. But… viewed as weaker by the minotaur, so exploited for their oil and coal.

“So then we have the disaster in the Persano Gulf, soon after magnified by the exhaustion of Sparkling Shores. We’ve grown too accustomed to all the comforts of the modern Age of Industry. Powered wagons- running on gasoline. Generators for winters up north- running on gasoline. Boilers and smelters in Fillydelphia- running on coal. Trains scouring the land- running on coal. And across the border, whitefire burners- powered by gems. Magical energy weapons- powered by gems. No scaling back, no conservation. More, more more.

“Which led to coal pirates. Which led to gem pirates. Which led…” I reached the podium and waved the newspaper. “To this. History. Cause and effect, the story of our actions- of many, of few- and our consequences- large, small. The story of our people, of persons- singular persons- who championed causes that would change the course of history. The story of people who lacked those champions, who were smothered by the voices of the many.

“Welcome to Equestrian History Honors. My name is Frost Windchill. Pleased to meet you.”

* * *

“Not bad, not bad,” Luna smiled at me, giving me a kiss as we headed out of the lecture hall.

“Why can it never be ‘good job’ or ‘incredible’ with you?” I nickered.

“Because for the love of me, I can’t understand why you’d use that phrase,” she chuckled.

“Oh come on, I was already nervous for my first lecture and I wanted to just get on with it already,” I muttered.

“And the whole cell phone fiasco?” the midnight-black unicorn arced a brow at me.

“She deserved it,” I protested.

“Have to agree with you there.” Then she smiled at me. “By the way, quite a few whispers about your ‘sexy voice.’”

“Do you think it’s sexy?” I asked with a grin.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Luna huffed, then grinned. “Now, I think you deserve a reward for that first lecture. Being a pony of my position grants me special favors.”

“What… kind of favors?” I asked.

“Well this summer, I thought you might need some new material for your equinpology classes. So I spoke with a mare who knew a mare who knew a buck who knew a stallion.

“Well, Doctor Windchill… you’ve been cleared for a research trip to Zebrica.”

* * *

<===ooO Ooo===>

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 18 Reached!
Perk added: The Way of the Equinitarian- A lover of equinekind and all its complexities, you found your Way at last by walking alongside the paths of others and seeing how far they’ve come. With such a keen eye and ear for history and equinpology backed by your knowledge of rhetorical skill, your PER is maxed during conversation. (Note: Any “The Way” perk taken afterward will replace the previous “The Way” perk.)

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Wonders of the New World

Soundtrack- First Flight

Soundtrack- Her Special Place

Soundtrack- Birth of the Storyteller

Soundtrack- Absolute Territory by Ken Ashcorp (remixed by Silva Hound)

Soundtrack- Luna’s Lament

Soundtrack- Birthplace of the Age of Industry, Almarinia

Soundtrack- The Clockworks

Soundtrack- Dawn Treader Encounter

Character Voice Actor- Sean Connery as Dawn Treader

Soundtrack- Littlehorn

Author's Note

Author's Note: Holy buck. Finally, right? So terribly sorry for the wait. There was vacation, coming back from vacation realizing I didn't remember my password and the site logged me off, having to reset my password which wasn't possible due to me unsubscribing from fimfic's e-mails which also ties into the password reset e-mails (it really shouldn't be like that), and then having my laptop go kapuut on me...

Yeah. Also, school. And Asian parents.

In any case, I hope you enjoyed the longest installment of TLS yet. Check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr linked on my profile page at your leisure as well.

My thanks as usual to the FoE community, my pre-reader Lazer726 for being so awesome with feedback and reminders, and you for being so patient. Feedback of any sort, especially criticism, is always appreciated.

So with that, the next installment should be coming up much sooner than the last one. It's certainly not going to be anywhere near as long. And thus...

Until next time,
Adder1

Intermission Three

Intermission Three

Well, folks, it's getting late again. As usual, going to bring us back to forty years ago for a brief segment before you all head to bed.

But even if it's brief, by no means is it unimportant.

* * *

I looked over the crowd gathered at the Social Sciences Lecture Hall at Stalliongrad Community College, breathing out a weary sigh.

“That's enough for today,” I said. “More tomorrow. Just remember what I asked of you before I started- to withhold all judgment until everything's said and done. I won't be taking any questions tonight. We'll begin again tomorrow. Farewell.”

I eased a little deeper into the wheelchair as everyone started filing out of the lecture hall, chattering amongst themselves. There were a few that had concerned, even angry expressions as they bickered with one another. Not many, though. I was relieved that going those extra couple of installments past revealing my relationship with Luna stemmed the raging waters... or at least it seemed to. One particular stallion caught my eye as he headed for the exit, his face laced with an expression of contempt.

“Xamuros,” I called to him, and he paused, looking back to me as if irritated. “Think on what I told you- all of you- about Luna. She wasn't Nightmare Moon. She wasn't a vassal of the stars. She wasn't some tyrant bent on securing ponykind's superiority in the world with herself at the pinnacle. She was a person, an equine being just like any of us, confused and lost in a world that long changed from the one she knew.” I let out a sigh. “Think on that.”

He frowned and glanced away, letting out his own sigh before wordlessly leaving me behind. Only Rig and Soraya remained behind now. The earthen-brown unicorn mare stood and moved to face me.

“You... you were in love with Luna...” she said to me, not out of disbelief but as if letting it sink in. Her gaze was turned downward as if speaking about me, not to me. “You weren't smitten, it wasn't a crush... you were really in love with her.”

I said nothing.

“So that's why you became a Lunar Guard, then.” Rig continued. “All the secrets, everything...” Eyes on me. Indigo eyes so bright and shining. “Say something, Frost. Just... say something to us.”

I let out a weary sigh as I wrapped the loose bandage around my mouth once more. “What is there to say that can't wait for everyone else?”

“There has to be something.” Her eyes were searching for something. “I mean... all that, was it worth killing to keep secret?”

I glanced at Soraya. She glanced right back. “I guess there is something,” I said. “I'm two-hundred-seventeen years old, Rig. I've only gone through thirty-five of those years. The war drums have only just started to beat. And though war, war never changes... war changes everything. There's always more to the story, Rig. You just have to let it be told.”

“... how bad is it?”

“Worse than Miranda and Wendy,” I answered without pause.

Rig glanced away and flattened her lips. She said no more.

“Don't take this the wrong way, but I'd like to be alone again for tonight,” I said.

The cloud-maned mare looked back at me. “You want to see her again, don't you?”

I sighed softly. “Yeah.”

She glanced away momentarily, then asked, “How do you do it? It can't have been easy losing somepony like her...”

I huffed softly, “Understatement of the year.” Then I sighed. “You already know part of the answer to that, Rig. You'll find out the rest... just... later. Don't make it harder for me.”

She rubbed her shoulder- her natural shoulder- and turned away, nodding.

“Happy birthday again, by the way,” I nickered.

That got a smile from her, even if a small one. “Gotta admit your story's one hell of a gift.” I cracked a thin smile in turn. It probably didn't show up past the bandages. “Let's go, Soraya. Sly and Xamuros are probably at the Rusty Steed. Take care of yourself... alright, Frost?”

“You too,” I said with a stout nod as she started off. Soraya stood and followed, but not before resting a claw on my shoulder. To me, that comforting gesture did more for me than anything she could have said.

And then I was alone again.

I let out a deep sigh and closed my eyes. “Are you there, Nightingale?” I could sense her behind me now, draping a wing across my back.

“Always,” she whispered.

“Reaction went as expected,” I murmured.

“I know.”

I opened my eyes. She was hovering just out of view. But I could feel her close to me. That's all I cared about. “It's getting close to the moment.”

“I know.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Are you?”

I sighed softly. “Very.”

“Very.” She paused. “Do you feel any better, finally getting it off your chest?”

I snorted and cracked a smile- and my lips with it. “Heh... no, same as ever. 'The truth sets you free.'” I shook my head. “Never has.”

She didn't protest, didn't argue. She merely wrapped that wing tighter across my back. I suddenly felt the great weight hanging onto my heart drag it deeper, and I shuddered, shivered.

I longed to feel those feathers again...

Such a simple thing. Such a simple thing. And it led to so much more longing.

I longed for the lights of Manehattan.

I longed for the sunny, smiling town and the sunny, smiling ponies of Ponyville again.

I longed to feel the cool night breeze.

I longed to feel the sun again.

I longed for those olden days, golden days.

And I longed to see her alive again.

The storyteller glanced downward, lips creased in a frown, his expression pained, stained. It was as if he was holding back the tears. It was as if he'd held them back far too many times.

Then he let out a sigh and continued.

But I'd soon be feeling those feathers again, at least, after I recovered. That is, if Luna was right about what she told me. Can't break down. Just focus on the good. Focus on the good.

What little good there was.

I inhaled and turned to face her. “L-” I started, then stopped as she edged out of my vision faster than I could track. “Love? What's wrong?”

“You shouldn't see me right now,” she said quickly.

“Why?”

“Just... trust me.”

“... is it bad?” I asked quietly, slowly facing forward again to give her enough time.

“It's... better for you this way,” she answered.

“Better how?”

“Just trust me, Frost.”

I sighed softly, mistily. “I've grown to hate that phrase.”

“Me too.”

I only nickered in response.

“Frost. Someone's coming.” And then she was gone.

I let out a sigh and grimaced. I did not wish to be interrupted in the middle of this. “Well?” I called out to the lecture hall. “I know you’re here.” The door near the top of the hall creaked open, and in stepped the last person I wanted to see.

Grimm.

The former cosmonaut visibly winced as the door creaked again on its way back. “You know, for your age, you've got good hearing,” he remarked in his greasy, slithery tone.

“How did you get here?” I asked, scowling. “More importantly, why are you here?”

“Well, just look at me,” he said with a grin, descending the aisle stairs. “No feathers to rustle in the wind, black-on-black suit design, and I can fly, unlike Malcom- as he insists on me calling him. Oh, that brings me to why! I'm! Here!” He clapped his hands together- quietly. “I've got some good news aaaaaand... some bad ne-”

“Bad news first,” I grunted.

Grimm slumped and went slack-jawed. “Seriously? Just... deadbeat 'bad news first?' Jeez, you're more depressing than Malcom, you know that? You need a little vitality- oh, yes, that's good- so, good news first!” He clapped his hands together again- quietly. “So! Good! News! Is! I'm not here to kill you! Now, doesn't that comfort you? Doesn't that make you breathe a bit easier, hm?”

“So what's the bad news?”

“Guess not,” he said with a grimace. “Bad newsssss... Yagmarth is coming. Which is really, really bad news for you guys.”

I stared at him. “And he would be your top leader.”

“YYYYeah.” Grimm nodded slowly.

“Who even you are afraid of.”

“No!” he protested. “... yes.”

I did not need this. We did not need this. “Why is he coming?” I asked, a demanding edge to my tone.

“Yeah, see, he's wondering why we're taking so long because, well, you know, we're on a schedule,” the griffin ghoul said, grimacing and rapping his talons together. “Then he heard about the fighting, the ceasefire, aaaand he's... kinda pissed. Malcom just wanted me to let you know that, soooo, that's it for me! Toodles!”

“Stay put,” I ordered as he started off.

He then proceeded to stick a partly rotted tongue back at me. “Make me.”

Maintaining a straight face, I fired up my horn and procured his crimson balisong.

“... dammit,” he grunted, sitting on his haunches. “Alright, what do you want?”

“So he's coming to Stalliongrad,” I said, slipping his balisong away and sublimating my arm. I let out a cool breath, mind and heart racing. “If that's 'bad news,' am I to take it he's not going to uphold the ceasefire?”

“Nope,” Grimm grunted. “He's definitely coming in force. What, you're going to hold my baby ransom for a game of Twenty Questions?”

“You'd like it to be that simple, wouldn't you?” I huffed. “No, this...” I procured his balisong once more, an idea- a crazy idea- starting to form in my head. “Would you say that the memories it represents are important to you?” I asked, building steam.

“Mm-hm...” he nodded slowly, pursing his beak childishly.

“Just like your suit,” I said, motioning to him.

“Yes...” he answered, the childishness turning into confusion and leeriness. “Where are you going with this?”

“Say, if I were to destroy either, it would-”

“Don't you dare!” he snapped, the pilot light popping to life on his flamethrower.

Even if that action alone caused my heart to skip a beat, I grinned behind the bandages. “Interesting. Riddle me this, then- what’s so special about it? Huh?”

He snorted, “Well I’m not going to tell you.”

I waited five seconds.

“Okay, it’s just… you know? Piece of… you know. I mean, what am I gonna use it for?” He motioned to his wrist-mounted flamethrower. “It’s dull for Aldasake! It’s just…”

“A memento,” I finished.

He shrugged, then inched his lit flamethrower toward me, glaring. “So don’t you dare think about destroying it,” he rasped.

I inhaled slowly, the gears turning in my head. “So, Grimm Asher, alias Javahl, God of Vitality and Atrophy, one of the many leaders of the Dead Boys... if what Malcom told me about you is correct, that name is not yours. You took it from the original Dead Boys that defended and retook Stalliongrad. You took it to inspire that same valiance and defiance against impossible odds and incredible losses. You took it to send a message to the Enclave and make their blood turn to ice upon the mere mention of that name.”

The pilot light went out, and he turned his head slightly to look at me with only one eye. He was searching me now, that rage replaced with something else.

“Do you want to see Stalliongrad burn, Grimm?” I asked, returning the gesture. “Is all that meaning lost on you? Are you as much a 'Callow Elder' as you claim to be?”

He faced me.

I faced him. “Life is meaningless if we make nothing of it.”

“Meaning is lifeless if we take nothing from it,” he completed. “Teachings of the Callow Elder.” He leaned back, searching me once more. “Who are you? I thought I knew who you were once, that equinpologist with bright and curious eyes who stopped in my shop. Then we met again, you in armor of the Lunar Guard, hiding. Who are you?”

I maintained my straight posture and my straight face. “We all have names we choose or borrow. Mine’s the Sentinel.” I fired up my horn, sprouted an arm, held up his balisong. “And this is going to be your advance payment.”

He turned his head more. “Advance payment?”

“You're a leader of a paramilitary organization for hire. And I want to hire you.”

Grimm faced me fully, beak slightly ajar. “What?”

“I want you to return to Malcom,” I instructed. “Then I want you both to send my message to your troops. Then I want you to go contact Argus- that's his real name, isn't it?- and tell him just what he's doing by choosing to strike Stalliongrad yet again over something as simple as 'retribution.'”

“Hm... you're thinking dangerous.” The griffin ghoul grinned. “I like dangerous.” He pointed at his balisong. “So that's the advance payment. How much for completing the job?”

“Well Stalliongrad's still producing,” I answered. “I'd imagine your flamethrower's suffered some wear and tear. And they're not commonplace. Same with your suit. I'd say a proper refit and repair would cover it.” I lifted his balisong. “Personal first.” Then tilted it toward him. “Monetary second.”

Grimm pursed his beak and nodded slowly. “And the message?” he asked, reaching out with a claw.

I answered, “Tell him exactly what you all stand to lose by attacking Stalliongrad again.” We clasped hands, his balisong between them. “And tell him that it comes from Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill, former paladin of the Lunar Guard, formerly private first class of Sierra squad of Delta Brigade, also known as the Dead Boys.”

* * *

“Holy crap, you actually got him to work for you?” Rig remarked in disbelief the next morning. She and Soraya came early with breakfast- and biscuits. Thank Lorn for them...

“Still got it,” I said with a slight grin.

“Nevertheless, if what we've heard of Yagmarth is any indication, I doubt Grimm or Malcom would be able to convince him to cancel plans for an attack,” Soraya stated.

“And can we even trust him in the first place?” Rig added.

“Fair points on both accounts,” I said, “but it’s not like we have many options on the table. Even if we got all working equipment in combat-ready condition, Stalliongrad’s lost too much of her militia between the last two attacks. If the Dead Boys come in force, it’s a battle we can’t win, especially if those currently stationed here turn out to be more afraid of Yagmarth than loyal to Malcom. If fighting is sure to result in victory, then you must fight, even though the ruler forbid it; if fighting will not result in victory, then you must not fight, even at the ruler’s bidding. And right now, it seems like the Dead Boys are looking for a fight and they have their ruler’s bidding.”

“So what’s the plan, then?” Rig asked.

“We don’t fight,” I answered, “but we sabotage all production infrastructure here. If the Dead Boys are going to take this city without a fight, we won’t let them enjoy the spoils.”

“Just like during The Great War,” Soraya remarked.

“Just like during The Great War,” I echoed. “We have our mission. We’ll evacuate the city, then we head for Stable Seventy-Two once I’ve recovered enough. We still need to get you that water talisman.”

Rig scowled. “Dammit…this is just like the those ponies chased by those raiders. Are we seriously turning away from this again?”

“It’s not the same, Rig,” the ebony giant said, turning to her. “We have the opportunity to avoid a confrontation entirely with no loss of life. Would you rather we lose still more good people to a fight we can’t win?”

“So what, we’re gonna pull out of the city?” she retorted. “Where are they gonna go? Most of them can’t fly, so they’ll have to traverse the Divide to get to any place they can live. Do the people here even have provisions for that? The Dead Boys have been restricting travel to Stalliongrad for over a week, which means we’ve already lost that week’s worth of supplies. Even if there’s fewer mouths to feed after the attack, you saw how many wounded there are. They won’t survive the journey south!”

“There’s always the Stable just outside city limits,” I said. “They can take shelter there.”

“For how long?” Rig asked. “Do they even have a proper food supply?”

I sighed, “No… it was ransacked by the raiders when they took over the city. If it isn’t spoiled through improper storage, then it’s already been eaten.”

“So if Grimm of Malcom can’t convince Yagmarth to cancel his attack plan, we have to break the deadlock,” she said, crossing her forelegs. “We fight back and push the Dead Boys out. Then we re-establish contact and trade with the Capital Wastes, we get the water talisman to Stable Three, then we head to Tenpony to tell Treble Clef what the Dead Boys are up to.”

Soraya and I shared a look. “Rig… that’s provided we actually survive,” I said. “If anything, we risk losing more than if we evacuate the city.”

“And the people of Stalliongrad risk either running into Yagmarth on the way down and get slaughtered, or they try to bypass the long way around and die of starvation or infection,” Rig said, scowl intensifying as she leaned closer. “Meanwhile, we run away and try to do our job. You say it’s not like the time with the raiders. I say it’s pretty damn close. And this time, we can help. We flee or hide, we all lose. Fighting’s the only sure way to result in victory.” She teleported out a cigarette and lit the tip, popping it into her mouth. “So we’re fucking fighting.”

Soraya and I shared a look once more. “What’re your thoughts?” I asked.

The griffin hybrid inhaled deeply. “She’s right.”

“Right how?” I frowned. “Even if we win, unless we give them an uncontested smackdown, we risk them regrouping for another attack.”

“Well I doubt Yagmarth’s going to let us slip away in any case,” Rig snorted. “He’ll want to hunt them down if he’s already vengeful enough to strike the city again.”

I let out a sharp breath and hung my head, letting out a soft, short chuckle in spite of myself. “You know, Rig, this is breaking every single damn rule I set before we started traveling together.”

“And those rules have let people die, and they’re gonna let even more die,” Rig huffed.

I looked her in the eye. “This is on you, then, understand?”

She looked me right back with those bright indigo eyes. “You got it, boss.”

I glanced down at that. “Looks like I’m not your boss anymore.” I inhaled deeply and let it out sharply. “Can’t do much as is right now, so I’ll have to ask you to do it for me. Soraya, with Snowbourne dead, Keperskaiya is the acting militia leader. Find her, tell her we need to enact the contingency plan, and if she objects, tell her Rig’s arguments. She won’t like having her hoof forced, but like Rig said, our options are limited. Rig,” I turned to her, “head to the Hammer and Horns. If you run into Xamuros- and I hope you do- tell him to get a well-equipped team ready and get to scouring the ruins for medical supplies. I also need you to tell Chief Thunderhooves we need to ramp production up. We need everyone properly equipped and armed. And tell him we’re going to need all the gas and the best catalyst gems we can get.”

“Fuel?” Rig asked. “For what?”

“Tell him it’s for Little Kate and the Black Cats. He’ll know what I mean.”

Rig had a lovely smirk. And then she galloped off.

I inhaled slowly. “When did she learn to talk like that?”

“To be fair, you did leave your copies of Lying, Parliamentary Style and How to Win Friends and Influence People out for everyone, plus your personal annotations,” Soraya said.

I blinked, then growled, “Fucking dammit.”

“She’s right though. This is a fight we can’t surely avoid.”

“Should Grimm fail,” I noted.

“Should Grimm fail,” she echoed.

“I totally failed,” Grimm said.

“Twilight bucking Sparkle!” I growled, turning to him. “When did you get here?”

“Like… five seconds ago?” The griffin ghoul shrugged. “Sup, Soraya.”

“Shut up, Grimm,” she said flatly.

“Ouch… first kisser I get in decades and she gives me the cold shoulder,” he said with a pout. “So, uh, Frost.” He shrugged. “Sorry, bud. Didn’t cut it. Hell, even Malcom pitched in, and the big guy couldn’t be moved. Sorry to say, but in four, five days, uh, you guys are fucked.”

“Well if it’s a fight he’s looking for, then it’s a fight he’s gonna get,” I said.

Grimm blinked. “Well good luck. Now, about my payment…”

I sighed, “Soraya, on your way, stop by Benson’s. Clear him.”

“Understood,” she said.

“You haven’t left yet,” I noted.

“Neither has Grimm.”

He looked between the both of us before getting her message. “Ohhhh! Right, right, gotcha.” He gave a thumbs-up before sneaking his way out.

Soraya sighed, “We’re going to have to fight him again, won’t we?”

“Well he knows we’re going to fight back,” I said, “yet he didn’t try to burn us to a crisp at our most vulnerable time.”

She grimaced. “Don’t tell me you see a potential ally in him after what he did to you. To us. To Alhambronco, no less.”

“I don’t,” I answered. “I see one less potential thorn in our sides.”

She huffed softly. “So we have our orders. What about you?”

“Well we’re going to have to wind down and relax eventually,” I said to her. “And I still intend to tell my story.”

* * *

That should be it for tonight, folks. Junction R-Seven needs its usual night patrol back in the saddle. Until next time, everyone.

Steel yourselves. War is approaching- then, and further back.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level

Rig- DLC bonus XP acquired! Level Up! Level 18 reached!

Soraya- Maximum Level

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Olden Days, Golden Days

Soundtrack- A Deal with the Devil

Soundtrack- If Fighting is Sure to Result in Victory...

Author's Note

Yeahhhh, remember when I commented how this would be coming real soon? Apparently that was before I learned I had four straight weeks of midterms and... a certain special project to work on that you'll hopefully see sometime soon. Ugh, just thankful I managed to get this up before TLS' birthday on the 17th...

My thanks to the usual- the FoE community, and this time, Tofu and TheBobulator for the pre-reading. Much appreciated, you two. Lastly, thank you for reading. Any feedback, especially critiques of my work, are appreciated.

Hopefully the wait for the next one will be shorter. Hopefully. Dammit.

Until next time,
Adder1

Reflection Nineteen: Blood and Water

Reflection Nineteen: Blood and Water

“A civilization that does not remember is doomed.”

Welcome back, folks. Glad most of you still want to hear an old buck talk. You know...

He grunted, shifting into a more comfortable position.

I find it funny in a sick sort of way. Two-hundred-twenty-one years ago, the war drums were starting to beat. Forty years ago as I was telling this story up in Stalliongrad, so were ours. And even now...

Well, let's just say there's a reason I'm killing time telling you these stories, folks.

So let's kill some more.

Melt away.

* * *

Back to Stalliongrad for a moment, I watched as everyone filed back into the lecture hall's seats, many of them bearing nervous or suspicious looks. The low din of conversation filled the air, and hushed as it was, there was a sense of tension in the air. Many of the more seriously wounded were rubbing aching limbs from the rushed preparations. Everyone who could help, helped. Even Soraya, who showed no outward signs of fatigue, was taking deep if quiet breaths.

Hm. I could actually notice that. Luna wasn't lying then… I was recovering.

I glanced at Keperskaiya, a gaunt, stern earth pony mare with a faded gray coat and a dirty-blond mane done up in a tight bun. She met my gaze and nodded before standing and trotting to stand at the podium.

Clearing her throat, she spoke, “Everyone should have heard by now- the top leader of the Dead Boys is en route to Stalliongrad, ETA four to five days. We are in no shape for an evacuation of scale, as several of my trusted advisers and a few concerned... citizens...” She glanced to Rig and Soraya, “have made their case. Such a large group would be easily detected by Dead Boys scouts, and splitting up into small groups means that we cannot pool resources that we would need for survival. Neither can we hole up in what remains of the Stable- we don't have the food supply to hold out for long in such a condition.

“So if it's a fight the Dead Boys are looking for, it's a fight they'll get. We prepare, we fight. Priority one is fortifying viably defensible structures, followed by repairing whatever Katyusha rocket assemblies and Manticore assault bikes we can find, and lastly rigging factories with remote explosives. T-Thirty-Four tanks are for scrapping and salvaging purposes only as we are expecting pure urban combat. Frost.” She turned to me. “I trust you will instruct people how to operate the rocket launchers and bikes when you've recovered.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I acknowledged.

“In the meantime,” Keperskaiya resumed, “you all did good today. We've successfully reinforced Tozmash and Izmash factories still within our control. The sewer system is going to be the focus tomorrow, and we will send out recovery teams to obtain whatever useful aid we can from the nearby ruins. It will be even harder work, so until then, we rest. It's all you now, Frost.”

I nodded stoutly and removed the bandage covering my mouth. “Wonderful news, huh? At least the weary have rest now. So with that, folks… melt away.”

<===ooO Ooo===>

It was getting toward the end of the school year. The days were getting longer, the air warmer. Even as a cryomancer, I was brimming with anticipation for what was in store for me.

Rather, I would have been if it weren't for the final exam I had to prepare. It's funny- this time in a not so sick sort of way. Back when I was a student, I hated tests even if I usually scored well with my memory. Now, as a teacher, I hated making them- and grading them- even more. The more things change, the more they stay the same. And I still hate exams.

My place at Littlehorn was only an office in the vaguest sense. It had a desk, a few chairs, a file cabinet, and a terminal, but I hadn't had much time to really personalize it to the extent that, say, Egan did back in Canterlot between preparing for my customized lectures and grading the exams for those customized lectures. In a sense, I guess it did reflect my upbringing- simple, spartan, with only what was necessary to get the job done. It did, at least, have a nice view of the badlands. I mean “nice” in a different sense than what you might imagine. It wasn't much of a view. Desolate landscape and little else. But the way the sunlight or moonlight would poke holes through the clouds that rolled across it like rays from heaven made it seem beautiful in an alien sort of way.

I was in the midst of slogging through the exams when there came a knock at the door- a tinny one I knew all too well. “Come in,” I beckoned gratefully, happy for a break in the inundation of A's and B's and C's and D's and E’s and short answers and essays.

A blue-scaled baby dragon with segmented, rounded spines and miniscule wings opened the door and walked up to my desk with her tiny hands wrapped around a set of scrolls. “Mail call, Frost!” she called in a sing-song manner.

“Thank you, Crystal,” I said with a soft smile, firing up my horn and sprouting an arm to accept the parchments. “You checked for bile bombs this time, right?”

“YYYYeah,” she said with a sheepish smile, her violet, catlike eyes glancing away. “Sorry about last time. You... kinda had to admit you had to see it coming, though. Heard about the whole cell phone incident.”

“Hmph, if only there were more incriminating evidence...” I nickered softly as I inspected the first scroll. “This place reeked for a month, and I know it was that filly from Canterlot.” I recognized the seal of The Holy Zebrican Empire immediately- a two-headed, black bird of prey with its wings and talons outstretched amidst a yellow background, both screeching heads enveloped in halos. Power and the threat of death and the divine in one. “Oh, I see you received a letter from my contact. Thank you.”

“That one can wait,” Crystal chuckled, crossing her arms. “Think you might want to check the next one first.”

I arced a brow and- oh my, the Pony of Friendship herself. The seal of Manehattan! A letter from home! I unfurled the scroll and let my hungry eyes feast on the contents, widening them as I read.

Dear Dr. Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill,

The better part of me felt momentary unease. The worse part of me swelled with pride.

I must first introduce myself. I am Strikespark Thea, residing chairmare of the Northerner Cultural Committee. For eleven years now, I've watched memories shared and memories made during the annual Northern Lights Festival, keeping the fire of our Northern friendship burning strong.

I admit that my advanced age is starting to catch up with me, unfortunately, and I don’t know how long I have left. Though I will continue to plan and organize the festival as long as I am sufficiently able, eventually, I must pass the torch to a newer generation. As a member in good standing and a prominent equinpologist, I strongly believe it would behoove you to apply for my position.

I also strongly believe that while your articles and book on how the Age of Industry is affecting peoples worldwide are very informative, it would behoove you to eventually do some research at home. There are few Northerner equinpologists, and though Northerner culture is steeped in oral tradition, the written word may yet be necessary to chronicle our heritage and preserve it for the future.

Nevertheless, I still have at least a few years left in me. I hope you reach a decision soon and build a strong case for yourself should you choose to do so.

Regards,
Strikespark Thea

I found my smile fading as I read on until I finally rolled the scroll back up and leaned back in my chair.

“Something wrong, Frost?” Crystal inquired.

“Hm?” I glanced at her and shook my head. “No, no! Nothing of the sort, just...” She eyed me leeringly. Perceptive girl. “I've been an equinpologist for a long time, Crystal. All this time, I've been focused on other peoples rather than my own, and we might have the greatest need for our story to be told- and remembered.” I sighed mistily. “No… not just ‘might.’ Anyway, ah, thank you for delivering these letters. I'm glad to hear from home.”

The baby dragoness flashed a brief smile and curtsied before jogging out, passing by no other than Nightingale on the other side.

I smiled at her, grateful for her presence. “Hey...”

She smiled back and stepped inside. “Hello again. Hard at work, I see.”

I grimaced at the stacks of papers on my desk. “Hard at work, wish I was hardly working.”

The midnight mare chuckled softly as she trotted over to nuzzle my cheek, a gesture I affectionately returned. “I know the feeling,” she said. “How can you bear keeping Crystal around, though?”

“Her?” I huffed. “I just make sure she breathes out the letters before coming into my office. In any case, it's not often you visit me here. What's the occasion?”

“Well, it's only a few weeks until your trip to Zebrica,” Luna said with a smile. “I only wished to inquire if it would be too much trouble for me to tag along.”

I pulled away and stared at her. “You want to join me?”

She maintained her smile. “That's my intent, yes.”

“You're... sure you can do that?” I inquired. “You are a princess.”

“Do you imply that I haven't gotten my work done ahead of time?” she scoffed. “Honestly, I'm insulted you have such a poor impression of my work ethic.” She smiled slyly. “Sarcasm! Such... fun! In any case, do not worry about my royal duties, Frost. If anything happens to come up, I am more than capable of teleporting back to Canterlot if need be. So... what do you say?”

I leaned back in my chair, eyes turned up. Goodness, I was thinking of Hummingbird again, how she wanted to join me for my first visit to Avalon.

A member of the audience voiced her question, noticing the use of “first.”

The storyteller grinned.

You think I only visited Aldorna or even Avalon just once for my research? Hell, I'd be returning again in a few years.

That aside, I looked back at the midnight-black mare in front of me. “Well... I would enjoy your company.”

“So is that a yes?” she asked with a wide smile, leaning in closer.

“It's a yes,” I chuckled softly as she squealed in delight and swept me up in a hug.

* * *

“Heyyyy, buck! How're you doing?”

“Heh, doing great, Zoleks. Headed to Zebrica with Nightingale soon. You?”

“Finally getting the hang of these gem-powered bikes. About time, right? They're starting to get a little more interesting, too. Manufacturers are starting to sell ones with much higher gear ratios. I'm seeing people zoom around over forty, fifty kilometers-per-hour now. Well, when Manehattan traffic permits, heh.”

A soft huff. “Getting more business, then?”

“Yeah, yeah. Not as much as before, but it's definitely enough to keep everyone here afloat.” Sigh. “So... where in Zebrica are you headed?”

“Roam, primarily. Might check out other cities and towns, too.”

“Be careful there, Frost. Zebras there are damn tired of Caesar Raj'M'Kora. Things might get pretty tense in the capital.”

“Be careful how?”

“Just... I don't know, watch out for protesters, try not to cause trouble? Zebrica ain't Equestria or Aldorna, buck. Hell, you saw that down in the Almarinian Clockworks. They're... more militant than ponies or griffins.”

“Yeah, I'm well aware of that. They don't settle disputes with pie fights.”

“Pretty much... just be careful, aight?”

“I will. I'll make sure to call again, okay? Say hi to Namira and Jorund for me.”

“Okay, buck. Take care.”

“Yeah. Talk to you soon.”

* * *

The storyteller let out a soft, misty sigh.

And so it comes to this. A few days later, Luna and I were on our way to Zebrica by airship, flying high over the Equestrian Heartland, southward bound. It wasn’t my first time flying like that. That was way back with my first trip to Aldorna.

Another wistful sigh.

That was ages ago, ages ago even then. Way to feel old again, Frost. But this was my first time flying in a private airship. It wasn’t posh, no. It wasn’t a… ahem… “dick dirigible.” It was just a standard commercial airship, wood, metal, cheap padding and all- just reserved for Luna and myself. After all, recall that Zebrica was still closed to foreigners- save for Frost Windchill plus one. With her leaning against me, the cheap padding may as well have been the finest silks from Neighpon.

“So, Doctor Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill,” the midnight-black unicorn said with a grin, making sure to make each word come out crisp and clear, “what can you personally tell me about the Holy Zebrican Empire?”

“Ugh… Lulu, you know I don’t like being called that…” I murmured.

“Ugh, and you know I don’t like being called that in public…” she murmured back.

“Well isn’t the cabin soundproofed from us?” I asked. “I thought they were.”

“Still, it’s the principle…” Then she… ahem, booped my snout with her hoof. “And still, treat me as if I were one of your students in history.”

“I’m sure you’ve looked into it, though,” I said to her. “Don’t lie- you’re the studious sister.”

She merely huffed and crossed her forelegs at that, turning away from me.

“How about this?” I brushed her back. “Have you had the time to look into the history of Equestria-Zebrica relations?”

“Current relations, yes,” Luna answered with a soft sigh. “We were in good terms up until the oil and gem shortages.”

“But what about the history of that international relationship?” I asked with a smile, then snorted as she faced me. “Oh now you turn around.”

“Oh shush, you,” she nickered, giving me a kiss which I gladly returned. “Now, what can you tell me?”

I inhaled and exhaled cool breath, getting into the mood. “Well, what can you tell me about the Everfree Forest?”

“It is simply that- ever free,” Luna answered. “Nopony, no one can control it. Its growth can neither be accelerated nor slowed by earth ponies. Its weather runs wild regardless of pegasi. Many varieties of plants and some animals immune to unicorn magic exist within its borders.”

“And how it got there in the first place?”

She frowned. “Didn’t it use to be larger? It’s been a long time since my last history class.”

I pouted.

“Oh stop it, you,” she nickered. “I meant before yours.”

“Heh… well, yeah, you’re right in that regard,” I said to her. “Everfree Forest is but a remnant of what used to more or less cover the entire planet.” I watched her make the ‘ah’ expression and slowly nod. “Now it’s all coming back, isn’t it?”

“Yes, the Age of Struggle,” she answered.

I nodded. “Mm-hm. We’ve got to go aaaaaall the way back to the Age of Struggle. Back then, all of equinekind was living in uncentralized, secluded tribes in the harshest environments- The Far North, The Dune Sea, and The Hadean Scar. Why? Because back then, Everfree wasn’t just a forest. No, it covered almost the entire world, creating a vast Wild Unknown that was home to the stuff of nightmares. Paleontologists are still digging up fossils of incredibly deadly creatures from that epoch, and some live on to this day. So now you see why all of equinekind- ponies, zebras, and griffins- originate from such harsh environments so cold, so hot, and so high. It was there that the Wild Unknown couldn’t touch them, and they were safe from its many dangers. We certainly didn’t flourish, though. Evidence dating back to that time suggest that our territory back then was as much as a tenth of the size following the end of the next historical epoch. We lived for millennia in fear, unable to push forward when we were so undeniably weak compared to the many dangers that awaited just beyond our borders. But then…” I smiled and sprouted an ice arm to tap the tip of her horn.

“We all discovered magic,” Luna answered.

“Exactly,” I said with a smile, tapping her nose and chuckling as she scrunched up her muzzle in response. I continued after sublimating my arm. “Earth ponies slowly wrested control of the land and its creatures, unicorns harnessed magical spells to push back the hungry growth, and pegasi slowly starved them of sun and rain. Zebras used alchemy and essence grafting to create simplistic but powerful weapons to push back against that which they once feared. Griffins harnessed the power of fire and lightning and iron to lay waste. And so they ventured forth, no longer cowering in fear of the Wild Unknown, torching the growth and beating back the creatures that they were once powerless against.

“And so came the Age of Exploration as ponykind, zebrakind, and griffinkind staked out the brave new world they could enjoy and plundered its spoils. Inevitably, they began to form societies and... warred with one another- both within species and between.” I looked toward the direction we were flying in. “Sound familiar?”

Luna sighed and nodded. “It’s a story I’ve heard before.”

“But that was the first encounter between all three species.” I went on. “More relevant to our current topic, it was first contact between ponies and zebras. Fast-forward to the Age of Empires, when The Principality of Equestria, The Holy Zebrican Empire, and The Griffin Kingdom of Aldorna were founded. War and peace, trade and treachery. The rise of global superpowers, each with their own global agendas. But something was… off. It wasn’t until our current historical epoch, the Age of Industry, that we started to notice what we once took for granted.”

“You mean the Wild Unknown?” she inquired.

“The Wild Unknown which we thought we’d been rid of for good,” I answered with a nod, glancing to my left. “Right on time. Look out the window.”

And so we looked out together into what I hope none of you folks will ever have to see in your lifetimes.

We were just starting to fly past Shattered Hoof Ridge, the location of Equestria’s then-largest gem mine after Sparkling Shores. Industrial mining equipment clogged the land, as did an enormous facility that spanned the width of the Equestrian border with Zebrica. At that point erupted a gigantic curtain of white flame that completely cut off what laid beyond, stretching for kilometers and kilometers. There was no smoke, no massive heat wave that caused our dirigible to drift off course or burst. The pillars of flame burned pure and clean.

And what did it burn? What did that flaming curtain protect us from? Not zebras, no. Hundreds of kilometers away, the zebras had an identical curtain protecting from the opposite direction. Beyond the flames was a swath of our world was something so horrible that we’d all better be damn thankful those burners survived The End.

Beyond it was a swath of something that could not have been of our world. Grisly, steel-gray trees rose up from blackened earth, each constricted in a swath of bluish, tentacle-like vines that gave off an unearthly glow. So thick was this growth that it nearly blotted out the blackened earth below. And the vines moved, slowly writhing and undulating in great ripples that spanned the entire dead forest. There was clearly life other than those vines both above and below. There would be a flicker of movement here and there, a glint that caught the eye, or a flock of dots that took off from the blue canopy. The very sight of it all chilled me to the bone, even if I’d seen it before in books and video.

“The Zebrican Wilds…” Luna murmured to herself.

I nodded. “You know what brings people together faster than a common resource? A common enemy. Every continent has a remaining vestige of the Wild Unknown. We have the Everfree Forest. Aldorna has the Blackwater Anomaly. Zebrica…” I simply motioned out the window.

“It’s… beautiful in a strange sort of way,” Luna whispered.

“Deceptively, if that’s how you see it,” I huffed. “Three-hundred years ago, that used to cover only a few square kilometers. Then, all of a sudden, it spread- and aggressively, too. All those blue vines? They’re related to the ‘Poison Joke’ and the ‘Toxic Tongue’ found in Everfree and Blackwater. No playful names for this one. It’s straight up called the Cordyceps maaier- the Reaper. It doesn’t mess around with magical trickery. It straight up consumes and kills whatever it comes into contact with that doesn’t have an evolved resistance or immunity to it.”

“Alright… not so beautiful then,” she murmured.

I clicked my tongue, not blaming her the least. “With how deadly the Reaper was- and the creatures spawned by the rapid evolutionary arms race to grow resistance or immunity to it- both Equestria and Zebrica had to come together to neutralize the threat. The problem was that even with magic and alchemy, the Zebrican Wilds grew faster than they could torch it. Eventually, a common solution was found.” Now I motioned to the flaming curtain. “Whitefire. Burns pure, burns clean with localized intensity almost as hot as the surface of the sun. I’m actually sure you could see it from space.” I huffed. “And they only halted its growth. They’re all sustained on a combination of imbued longevity runes and the highest-grade diamonds. Theoretically, they should burn forever, and we should hope they will- both ponies and zebras haven’t found the necessary materials for a longevity rune since.”

“They… couldn’t possibly be tampered with on the Zebrican end, could they?” she asked in a worried tone. “The minotaurs, if pushed to extremes… no, doubtful. I’m sure there are extremely powerful wards placed on those burners.”

“Most powerful known to equinekind,” I said with a nod. “Small wonder that something like this resulted in our alliance and the Equestrian-Zebrica Trade Agreement, hm?”

“And recalling the Colony Wars, our alliance has held up all this time,” Luna murmured. “Thank you, Frost.”

I smiled back at her. “Mm-hm. So… hungry?”

She turned back and smiled in turn. “I’m a little peckish, yes. A shame they couldn’t even provide lunch for us like this… if it were a full airliner, they would have. Reduced costs if buying in bulk and all that.”

“Pretty sure the pilots are feeling the same way,” I chuckled softly, huskily, biting my lip as I removed the lunch pail from my saddlebags, offering it to her.

My heart was picking up now, my chest swelling as I inhaled deeply. She accepted the box, oblivious to me as she popped it open. And then her eyes widened. And then her forehoof fluttered up to her mouth, covering her gasp. And then my heart swelled further as my icy hands reached inside. And then produced another box from within. But smaller. Black. Velvety. And then I swept from my seat. And then I kneeled on the floor. And then I placed my fingers on the lid.

“It’s been a long time coming, my Nightingale. It’s been years since we first met at Blaring Beats, and it continues to lift my spirits waking up with you against me. We’ve shared such powerful experiences, and- with hope- there will be many more in store for us. So, my Luna, my Nightingale...”

And then I lifted.

“Will you marry me?”

The storyteller smiled sadly, a twinkle in his slitted eyes as they glanced downward, tunneling backward through the years.

She just… made this girlish squeal in delight as if all those millennia melted away in an instant, sweeping me up in a tight embrace.

He chuckled softly.

Almost lost the ring during it. Hadn’t planned for that in the rehearsals. But soon we were holding one another in a tight embrace. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, oh, yes, oh, yes…”

I smiled wide, still holding her. “You know what this means, right?”

“Mm…?”

“This is going to be our honeymoon.”

And there came that squeal again, and we hugged each other tight once more.

He sighed softly, mistily, wistfully.

So there you have it, folks. Princess Luna wasn’t just my marefriend.

She was my wife.

* * *

Hoo… damn. How the hell do I top that?

The storyteller inhaled and exhaled deeply.

I don’t think I can, honestly. I don’t think I can, knowing how the rest of my story goes. That was the happiest moment in my life. Nothing else ever came close.

He shifted slightly on his haunches, gaze turned downward. When he looked back, his eyes were hard, pleading. His words came out strong and slow.

Folks, I… I want you to pay close attention now. Listen up. Close your eyes. See with heart and soul.

If you take away anything- anything at all from my story so far...

Remember. Remember everything I told you about how good things were back then.

Remember the Northerners. Keep alive the culture we remembered, the tears we shed, the hope we spread. Don’t let those countless millions die a second time.

Remember Manehattan. Don’t forget those larger-than-life buildings and those larger-than-life people, the lights, the music, the nightlife, the seedy underbelly, the welcoming attitude. Don’t let those Lights and Legends ever dim, ever die.

Remember the Mumei. Every deed leaves a seed that remains- your legacy. Don’t make the same mistakes I made.

Remember the Mancers, who harnessed the natural energies of their world, who are the reason I still live to tell their story. Don’t forget them or their power, which could flow through any one of us.

Remember Canterlot. Picture those porcelain spires, those whites and violets and golden hues, the elite both sweet and sour, and the school of magic that built me stronger. And remember those countless stars by night. Don’t let those Hopes and Dreams die.

Remember the changelings, misguided with ill intent. But so were we, only decades later.

Remember Avalon. Home to the most innovative, reaching forever higher, impossibly higher to touch the stars and tower above all else. Remember all that industry, all that intellect, and yet all that equinity. Don’t let The Skyward City come crashing down.

Remember the buffalo. Always playing catch-up with a world that can’t wait. Remember their struggles, for they continue to this day, some severed forever from their ancestors.

Remember Ponyville. Remember the stone and thatched roofs, the soft, wet grass; the clean, fresh air that lifts the mood. Remember, and drink deep of its Sunshine and Smiles. Because you can never starve with a bellyful of laughter.

Remember Shropshire. Endlessly committed to an ever more imaginative future, to cunning and creativity, with brass and glass, with steam and smoke and steel. And while we want to remember what the birthplace of the Age of Industry gave us, never forget what it led to in the end.

Remember Littlehorn. Bathed in twilight, harkening back to a simpler day and age, it gave promise to the future for so many. Never forget those bright young minds glistening like so many stars.

And remember…

Sunny and Blustery Days. Split Skies, Cherry Oak, and Pick Pack. And Song Spinner.

Vani Windfall. Silva Hound. Shinespark Whitney.

Freemane. Jim Egan.

Cadance. Shining Armor.

Karanika Chrysaor. Vivian, Nichols, and Phoebe Windfall. Iphicles Nephelegeretes. Lorraine Kitrel. Grimm Asher. Marie Silverclaw.

Braeburn. Little Strongheart. Thunderhooves. Sifting Sands and Swift Swallow. Eternal Blossom and Running Temper. Sharp Hooknose and High Mountain.

Ditzy Doo. Lyra and Bonbon. Vinyl Scratch. Zecora.

Inkblot.

Dawn Treader.

Pinkie Pie. Applejack. Spike. Twilight Sparkle. Fluttershy. Rainbow Dash. Rarity.

Modeba and Vinija. Zoleks, Namira, and Jorund.

Diamond Ki Dust. Natural Chouju Cure.

Hummingbird.

Celestia.

Luna. My Nightingale… my wife.

Remember all of them. Keep them close to heart. For they’re memories of the world that I keep alive, now shared through my words to you. They’re memories of the world I miss so much, that I wish with all my heart that I could to return to.

Remember, everyone. Please. Remember those olden days, golden days.

Remember all that honesty, all that kindness, all that generosity, laughter, and loyalty. Remember all that magic and majesty and music, all that beauty.

The storyteller paused, eye downcast once more as he took a deep, shaky breath, steeling his resolve.

Because now I’m going to tell you the rest of the story. You will watch that honesty turn to deception, that kindness turn to cruelty, that generosity to greed, laughter to hurt, loyalty to betrayal. You will watch magic and majesty and music turn to machine and mayhem and malice.

And you’ll watch that beauty become a blasphemy of the world it used to belong to.

Because now this is the story of how the world died. And I want you to remember that, too. Because history means nothing if we don’t learn from it.

Don’t fail them.

* * *

There was a saying back then: “Roam wasn’t built in a day.” Meaning sometimes slips away between the grains of the sands of time. Back then, people thought it to meant that monumental accomplishments don’t come instantly- they’re accomplishments a long time coming. It’s a good interpretation to be sure, but historians like me know the true meaning. And it’s that Roam never stopped building.

As our airship approached the eastern Zebrican coastline far from the Wilds, before us was urban sprawl like no other. Where Avalon reached forever higher, Roam aimed to blot out the countryside. Manehattan, Stalliongrad, Fillydelphia, Shropshire- nothing came close to the immensity, the pure scale of the city that could have swallowed them up... and then some. Originally founded by the Seven Tribes of the Seven Hills, it grew to roll over dozens more. Buildings of all sizes- tiny apartment homes to wide-stanced office buildings and everything in between- dotted the landscape. There were no skyscrapers to break the ebb and flow either- everything was thirty meters or shorter by decree. It wasn’t monotone either- hell no! Roam was home to nineteen tribes, and each had their own flavor of architectural design to add to the feast for the eyes. Pleated tiles, pinched spires, arches and domes both big and small… and while the sturdier of the buildings had been around for ages, more modern constructs of metal and glass also speckled the cityscape. I’m no architect, but if I were, it’d be something out of a childhood fantasy for me. Shades of browns, grays, and blacks were there to be sure, but some tribes added a splash of color to it too. Red clay, white chalk, tarnished and golden yellows created a veritable color wheel of the city. Tribal banners ran from rooftop to rooftop, adding deep violets, golden yellows, verdant greens, bright blues, and so many other colors that flowed in the gentle breeze, making Roam less of an unsightly urban sprawl and more a rolling, rippling tapestry of metalwork and masonry- and majesty. It was as if the city itself was alive and breathing. And the way the sunlight just caused all of those banners to shimmer and glow, and the way the patches of mist, smoke, and steam just roll over the city…

The storyteller let out a soft, misty sigh and smiled.

Roam, The Eternal City. Takes the breath away, even now.

Shortly after touching down on the modern airstrip and disembarking, Luna and I were approached by a zebra stallion garbed in a beige duster that covered most of his form. “Hujambo,” he greeted in a guttural but clear tone, and we meeted to clasp forelegs and butt shoulders.

“Hujambo, hujambo,” I greeted with a smile. “Good to meet you in person at last, Viediv.” I swept a hoof over toward the black-furred unicorn at my side. “Nightingale, this is Viediv, my contact and equinpological cohort here. Viediv, my ‘plus one,’ Nightingale.”

“Ah, so your marefriend, then?” he asked with a slight grin, making a fluid transition to Equestrian.

“A little more than that now,” she answered with a grin of her own.

“I’m getting the idea this is more of a honeymoon than an equinpological venture,” Viediv huffed to me.

“I assure you this is still first and foremost a business trip,” Luna said with a soft smile and a light.

He nodded to her. “As you say.” The zebra buck then grimaced as he turned back to me. “You come to Zebrica at a bad time, my friend. I know we had this planned months in advance, but I strongly advise against visiting the Forum- perhaps going home altogether.”

“What’s the situation?” Luna inquired before I could even register that something was amiss.

“A number of legates within the Legion have… how you say, rebelled?” he answered, turning to me. “No, protesting. They’re protesting against Caesar Raj’M’Kora. It’s not rebellion, at least not yet.”

“Wouldn’t that be seen as an act of treason?” I inquired, suddenly not feeling so keen about this trip.

“It would be if it weren’t for the fact that both the Senate and the Court no longer support the Caesar,” Viediv replied. “I would have tried to contact sooner, but I just learned about all of this. Your airship is still docked, Frost, Nightingale. I strongly advise heading home. A great storm approaches, and I don’t speak of the weather.”

I shared a worried glance with Luna. I opened my mouth to speak, but again she answered in my stead. “We’ll be staying.”

“Kiongozi, are you sure?” he asked, sharing a similar look of concern. “Though, I’d think Frost would have more of a say in this. I mean no offense, Nightingale.”

One thing I learned as a gang leader… and then suddenly finding myself not-a-gang-leader: don’t tempt fate. So I turned to Luna and opened my mouth to apologize and tell her we would be headed back.

“I think we can risk it,” I said to Viediv. “Just steer us clear of any trouble spots if possible.”

The storyteller paused, looking from one end of the audience to the other. One finally coughed into her hoof and questioned why he said different. The old, armored unicorn canted his head.

Said what different? I knew I couldn’t risk the honeymoon of a lifetime- plus the only chance I had thus far to set foot in Roam for research.

Then she replied, yes, she could get that, but what about the part about learning as a gang-

I didn’t think anything like that. I’m the storyteller here. Would you kindly avoid putting words in my mouth?

Then he… smiled.

Moving on, Viediv gave me an odd look. “Are you sure, my friend? Nobody has died, maybe, but many have been hurt.”

“As ponies, should we be worried?” Luna inquired.

“You… could say that there is some feeling of blame towards Equestria,” the cloaked buck answered with a frown. “Coal pirates continue to strike our vessels, and the gem shortages are curtailing weapons production needed to fuel the war effort and our own efforts in controlling the Wilds.”

“So it’s a war with the minotaurs, then?” I asked.

He merely huffed. “I hope you don’t follow the media’s footsteps. It’s no mere ‘uprising.’ But yes, if you’re sure you want to stay… we’ll have to watch our steps. I’m your guide and accomplice, Frost, but don’t try to push things.”

“Let’s just get to a place to stay for the night for now,” I said to Viediv.

“Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll try to find cloaks, dusters, or some such. Anyone that looks close will be able to tell you’re a pony. You can’t hide a pastel-colored face among zebras, but at least you won’t be singled out from a distance. Now come on. Let’s get into my wagon.” He started off, but he quickly paused and turned back. “I want to make this clear. If anything happens, you do as I say, alright? I am not fooling around here.”

I nodded firmly to the zebra buck as he proceeded off of the dusty airstrip. Luna and I shared a glance. There was something else hidden in those eyes, those eyes full of everything.

I wasn’t the only one with business in Roam.

* * *

“Roam wasn’t built in a day” indeed. Having such a firm grounding in equinpology, I couldn’t help but look in amazement and pure wonder at the city about us as Viediv drove us in his old wagon. It still had rubber-lined spokes for wheels, but at least it wasn’t too rickety and the passenger compartment was more or less covered, allowing both Luna and me to look out into the streets undisturbed as we clattered through traffic.

As a city eternally building both newer and further, there were both dusty stone ruins- some protected under law as historical sites- and modern, squat office buildings in the city. In many places, they were side-by-side. Imagine that! There was no “business sector” or “residential area.” It all blended together into the rippling sea that was The Eternal City. Only government buildings and the Bazaar actually had a designated area in the Roaman Forum. That meant a few things.

First, only locals would know what’s what. It’s tough to find solid ground in a liquid city, and the walls were forever rippling in Roam. As the city grew, so did its nooks and crannies along with it, soon filled in with still more homes and businesses. Roam was alive and breathing, constantly evolving. If we didn’t have Viediv, we would be completely lost.

Second, there was no chance for gentrification to take hold. With Canterlot, limited space and prime real estate raised prices higher and higher until Celestia- and later Luna- personally had to step in. With Roam, they’d just follow where hammer struck and sparks flew. Work would always be available whether you wore cloak or collar. It led to an interesting arrangement where both the rich and the poor lived alongside one another. Remember what I said about the welfare system in Equestria, saying how it was amazing but obviously had its faults? Roam didn’t need to give government assistance to the poor. Between a culture grounded in ties of responsibility from person to person, group to group and forcing the rich and poor to confront the reality of the gap that yawned between them, the zebra people did a damn fine job making their own welfare system. No higher-up needed to tell them to do it- they just helped one another out. The only time the people had been brought to their knees was the recession over thirty years ago that forced Zoleks and his family from the country to find work. It took a major economic event to render the rich unable to help the poor and the poor unable to help themselves, and since then, it seemed they were back on their feet. This alone made me particularly interested in finding out how industrialization affected Zebrica- Roam in particular.

One of the members of the audience raised a hoof to interrupt, remarking how he had seen posters in different cities saying how zebras were cruel and mean-spirited and such- complete opposites of ponies. The storyteller merely grinned.

Like I said, folks- truth is always more interesting than propaganda.

Third, and also particularly interesting to me- the city itself was history come alive. Each time we passed by rows of homes and businesses, there would suddenly be a break in which there was a house-sized space where a dugout of a ruin or an entrance into the catacombs remained. I wanted to explore everything the city had to offer, knowing full well I would die before I would ever be able to.

… ah… choice words there.

Fourth, as Roam swallowed more and more hills, it also swallowed what used to live there. Not only did it absorb the different tribes- it absorbed the local flora and fauna itself. Patches of exotic plants rose up in the crowded alleyways, and blade-like trees created shade from the intense sun. Animals roamed freely in The Eternal City, if you forgive the pun. Everything from farm animals- and yes, there were terraced fields for farming interspersed between businesses and homes- to wild animals walked the streets and above. By above… I didn’t mean just flying. More on that later.

As Viediv skirted the wagon around a mare leading a peacock across the street, I couldn’t help but chuckle huskily to Luna, “Can’t tell who’d want to be here more- Fluttershy or Rarity.”

“Obviously, Twilight would want to be here the most,” she chuckled in turn. “Forever the student.”

“Heh… so Viediv, how have you been holding up?” I asked, calling up to him.

“Well enough, Frost,” he answered as he blared his horn to clear a stray dog out of the path of his wagon and turned onto one of the main roads that spiraled out from the center of Roam. “Finally,” he whispered as he shifted up a gear and we picked up speed. Then louder: “The family is doing good.”

“Do you have any children?” Luna inquired.

“Oh no, not family like that,” he said with a short huff and grin. “Equinpologists don’t make much money. Frost should know.” He jerked a hoof back toward me. “I can’t be responsible for a wife- Caesar forbid a child! Hah! I just live by myself.” I looked at his partially visible reflection in the rear-view mirror and watched his smile fade. “Speaking of which, since I understand your hotel is overlooking the Forum, it may be wise to cancel your reservations.” He glanced up at me in the mirror. “I have a guest bedroom. It’s crowded, but I’ll try to make you comfortable, my friends.”

“While we appreciate your generosity, Viediv,” Luna spoke up, “you don’t have to go out of your-” I rest my hoof on hers and she cut off, turning to me. I gave a tiny shake of the head. “Something wrong?”

“Zebras are bound to one another through ties of responsibility,” I explained quietly. “It’s how their families, businesses, and government are organized, leading all the way to the Caesar. Viediv is now responsible for us as his guests.”

“Ah, so rejecting it would be the same as…” She looked back at him. The unspoken words, we both knew, were “insulting him.”

“You did not know, my friend Nightingale,” he said, smiling pleasantly as he glanced up at our reflection in the mirror. “The fault does not lie with you.” His smile slipped. “But Frost is right. In Zebrica, ties bind us. You know the saying, ‘blood is thicker than water?’ The whole saying is ‘the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.’ I am responsible for you and your safety now, and that means avoiding the Forum for the duration of your stay. I’m sorry.”

Luna glanced away and nodded, though I had this oddly nagging suspicion it was meant for someone else. “Very well, Viediv. I appreciate the concern- even if it is your culture- but we had plans, and we intend to stick with them.”

The zebra buck opened his mouth as if to protest.

And there was a flicker of something else in the rear-view mirror.

“Very well, Nightingale,” he said with a nod, that look of protest gone in a flash as he started making his way to the far lane to pull into a U-turn at the next intersection. “I must inform you that I had cancelled my reservations in advance.”

“They will be arranged for,” Luna said with a… smile. “I’m sure zebras can be just as accommodating as any other person.”

I now looked at Luna with both rising concern and mounting suspicion. I opened my mouth to speak, and…

“How much longer till we get there?” I inquired.

“Maybe half-an-hour,” Viediv replied. “We’re going to hit heavier traffic at the Forum no doubt.”

All of the major roadways in Roam led to the Forum. It was where all the major government buildings were located- and the world-famous Roaman Bazaar. The traffic got much heavier as we neared, as Viediv claimed. Soon, we were moving along at snail’s pace, and it began to smell like Manehattan in rush-hour traffic with all the fumes. We made small talk, exchanging snippets casually to pass time. Eventually, someone had to bring up the obvious…

“Is the traffic usually this bad so close to the Forum?” Luna inquired. “We probably could have made it there by hoof by now.”

“No, it’s not usually this bad,” Viediv answered, standing up on his hindlegs, craning his neck to peer over the sea of wagons inching along. “Kiongozi…”

“What is it?” I asked. The zebra equivalent of blasphemy was never a good sign.

“It’s a military checkpoint, and I think they’re with Legate Khotek,” he answered, grimacing as he sat back down and turned to face us. “Alright, remember that part about doing exactly as I say? That’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to try to pass you as native Zebricans. Frost, you both came from the Wirani Province, alright? Your tithe is to Senator Harawa, and you’ll speak Zebrikaans. No Equestrian whatsoever, understand? Nightingale, don’t make eye contact, and let Frost speak for you. Just keep looking at the floor.”

“Alright,” she acknowledged. “And what happens if they discover we’re not natives?”

“Pray they don’t,” he answered, frowning as he faced forward once more. “All non-natives have been long expelled from Zebrica since the war with the minotaurs started. They may think of you as, ah, spies.”

She glanced to her side. “You think they might really do that?”

“Zebrica has a history of recurring conflict, more so than Aldorna and especially Equestria. We have a different mode of thought. And even if you declare yourselves as tourists or being here on research, I doubt they’ll take the time to check it out with the government they all hate.”

“So if we’re spies, what would they think of you?” I asked.

Viediv looked at me through the rear-view mirror and uttered a single word: “Proditor.”

I let out a deep sigh as my mind began to race. Words… don’t fail me now.

After several painstaking minutes, our wagon drew up to an overpass, where members of the Zebrica Legion had set up a hasty but well-fortified checkpoint. Sandbags limited traffic to one wagon at a time with a separate lane for foot traffic. A manual guard arm barred progress, as did a spike strip rolled out underneath. Armed Legionaries populated the checkpoint. Their armor was a combination of traditional and modern designs- it bore a scaled look made famous by movies and history books, metal plating and all. However, as we drew closer, the scales looked to be made of modern ceramic-laminate plating interwoven for maximum protection. The metallic pieces were deflective alloys rather than iron or steel. No shields, no gladii, no polearms. They were all walking in bipedal manner, toting assault rifles and military-grade magical energy rifles- none of the flimsy-looking Equestrian models you’re used to seeing. They were bulky, rugged, and downright intimidating. And all of them sported bayonets- these long, thick, tapered blades clearly meant for the traditional Roaman stab. This was the modern Legionary, a blend of old meets new. So many familiar things compared to the Equestrian and Aldornan military, yet so… utterly alien with the way they looked and the way they moved.

One of them approached from the side after we stopped. He caught sight of Luna and me, and given his stern look, I was very grateful that we had long stowed our bags in the trunk.

“Name and business,” he barked in Zwahili.

“I am Viediv, and this is Frost and Nightingale,” my friend answered in kind. “We’re just here to browse the Bazaar, sir.”

“And where are you from?” the Legionary questioned.

“I am from the Aemilia borough of Roam,” Viediv answered. “My friends are from Wirani.”

“They can speak for themselves,” the armored stallion said, turning to me. “You. Where are you from?”

Speaking under pressure was nothing new to me. Minus the threat of death. Speaking in Zebrikaans, I replied, “We are from the Wirani province, sir.”

He pursed his lips momentarily, switching to Zebrikaans as well. “Duration of stay?”

“A few days,” I answered, attempting an easy smile. “Can’t see all the wonders of the Bazaar in just one.”

“Hm… and who is your senator?” he inquired.

“Senator Harawa,” I responded. “Hopefully he makes that seventh term, yeah?”

The Legionary grunted softly, then turned toward two of his compatriots. In Zwahili once more: “Check the trunk. You, the undercarriage. Get the hound.”

Oh shit. They were going to see our travel bags. My heart rate picked up, but the only way I let it show was a shared glance at Luna as well. She knew.

One of the Legionaries dipped back around the blockage and returned with a warhound, this dark, mottled creature that was less dog and more wolf and bear combined. It was easily the size of a small pony, and its large teeth- blunt with the intent to crush and snap- poked past its lips. Despite the ferocious appearance, it walked by its handler’s side tamely- a testament to the bond they shared. The moment it neared the wagon, it suddenly looked right at us in the back and pulled back its lips, fully revealing its teeth, and growled lowly.

The zebra buck dropped to a crouch and murmured to his companion, who went rigid before barking savagely, pressing against the door with its predatory eyes shrunk to pinpricks. Panic finally seized me and I reeled from the door, heart pounding and a chill running through me realizing that something bad just happened.

Then we were moving along toward the Forum at the usual highway pace, the checkpoint long behind us. Viediv let out a sigh of relief, and Luna held a calm demeanor.

I shuddered and rapidly shook my head. “What the hay just happened?”

“What do you mean?” Luna asked.

I sputtered, heart still pounding away. “That… the… the hound started barking at us and, and…”

“What?” Viediv glanced back at me through the mirror. “Are you okay, Frost? Nothing of the sort happened.”

“But… what?” I looked between the two of them. Luna simply looked puzzled. “But there was… there was…”

<#2==OoO 00o=//=>

[“Down, down!” the Legionary handler ordered in Zwahili to his warhound, who backed out of the way as the others brought their weapons to bear. Panic took hold of me and I devolved to instinct, the chill consuming and controlling me as I could only hold my forehooves up in fear. “All of you out of the wagon right now! All of you out and down on the ground or we will fire!”]

[“Out, out, out,” Viediv uttered hurriedly, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. I could only look back at Luna as she inhaled and nodded. We exited the vehicle and laid prone on the ground obediently. Ground- my old friend under an old name.]

[“Kodavi, secure them,” one of them ordered. “You see any sign of magic, shoot to kill. Understand?”]

[“Sir!” the other complied. I swallowed hard.]

[Then the warhound started barking again. Its handler dropped to its side again. “Hey, easy, boy, easy!”]

[It kept barking, even as others moved to secure us. No doubt the others on the motorway were starting to get anxious at the sight, craning their necks out of their windows to get a better look.]

[“Easy, they’re out, they’re out! We’re going to search! There’s nobody left in the… in…”]

[I chanced a look back the warhound and the handler as the zebra above me shifted onto my back to bind my forelegs. It was still barking. But not at us.Not at the trunk or the undercarriage.]

[There was someone else in the back seats.]

[Someone, something that nobody but the hound could see.]

[There was shouting, hurried shouting that I couldn’t hope to translate in time. All of the zebras were up on their hindlegs, weapons aimed at this someone, something.]

[And then everything stopped. Everything was dulled to grayscale tones. Everything but Luna, me, and Viediv. A figure rippled into view. Someone- definitely someone- stepped from the back. I couldn’t tell who or what this person was. It was as if I was trying to look at someone past a smoky veil. The person drew up close to Viediv, whose look of fear suddenly vanished as he stood as if in a trance.]

[Then in a voice neither of a stallion’s or a mare’s, the warped figure said, “When I clap my hooves, you will get back in, and you will drive for the Forum with Frost and Nightingale. You were let through the checkpoint without any trouble.” The smoky… something backed away from Viediv, who swayed on his hooves but otherwise made no response.]

[The figure motioned elsewhere behind us along the roadway… and then came to me. A single, piercing eye cut through the fog, gleaming a brilliant amber. Its slit-like iris was all I could focus on.]

[“And you will all forget this ever happened.”]

[And then came an unearthly ding.]

<+=0o/=>

“There was what?” Luna asked, eyebrow arced, jarring me from my trance.

I noticed suddenly that we both left enough space for the far back seat to be left available. I stared at the seemingly empty space.

The smoky figure returned, but this time, clearly visible was the silhouette of an armored pony. What kind of pony, what kind of armor I couldn’t discern, but what I could discern was a hoof rising to the muzzle.

“Shhh…”

I swallowed and glanced back at Luna, her expression hardened and saddened. She flattened her lips and turned forward with a glance that cautioned me to speak nothing of this.

I wasn’t the only one with business in Roam.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 19 Reached!
Perk added: Extra S.P.E.CI.A.L. (2)- Intense training? What’s that? In any case, you get an extra point to allocate to one of your attributes.
Attribute selected: Perception

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- A Little More History

Soundtrack- The Zebrican Wilds

Soundtrack- The Happiest Moment of My Life

Soundtrack- End of an Era

Soundtrack- The Eternal City, Roam

Soundtrack- The New Legion

Soundtrack- Silence

Author's Note

And about time. Nearly three months without updating... ugh. Well, hopefully nothing like this happens again. I hope you enjoyed this installment, and I hope you stick around for the next one. Please leave feedback, as any kind is greatly appreciated- critique especially. My thanks to the FoE community and Lazer726 for pre-reading.

Until next time,
Adder1

Reflection Twenty: Blood in the Water

Reflection Twenty: Blood in the Water

“Wisdom is better than weapons of war, but one sinner destroys much good.”

We were supposed to have a room along the exterior of the hotel. We were supposed to have a patio with a table and set of chairs. We were supposed to have a wonderful view of the Forum plaza and the east side of the Bazaar. We were supposed to have just a simple equinpological research trip and a honeymoon.

Instead, we had a room in the interior of the hotel. Instead, we had no windows and no view. Instead, we had only one way in and only one way out. Instead, this whole trip had become something far more dangerous and far more secretive.

Life isn’t fair, and life isn’t free. At least we still had the nice accommodations and saved a few bits.

The suite had wallpaper the color of dusty hay with a criss-cross pattern of different shades reminiscent of tall grass. We had a large princess-size bed (or would it be Caesar-sized?) with a plush-looking mattress and fluffy pillows. The bathroom had polished tiles for walls and flooring, and we had the modern conveniences of a television set and air conditioning. There was a tall, potted plant off to the side with long, blade-like leaves; I took a moment to touch it. Plastic. Of course. No sunlight.

I didn’t expect the cat, though. It must have been a feral one. It certainly looked the part. I hadn’t noticed it at first until it mewed softly at us. It, in turn, appeared not to notice either me or Luna. Instead, it was staring, fixed on the empty space to our side.

Both it and I knew it wasn’t really empty.

“Go on,” Luna called softly, standing aside from the doorway and using her magic to usher the feral feline out. “Shoo.” Shutting the door behind her, she finally sighed. “I suppose I owe you an explanation for all this.”

I turned to face her. I don’t know how I felt then- a bit angry, a bit worried, a bit confused… maybe a bit scared too. I did my best to hide it in my tone. “I suppose you do.” I don’t think it worked.

The black-furred unicorn sighed. Her horn lit up and her magic projected across the room, scanning for… something. Then she glowed a bright white as she shapeshifted into her alicorn form and let out a soft breath. Then she nodded to the unseen unicorn.

Then came that feeling of being watched, like back in Ponyville years ago. Only this time, it was far, far more intense.

“Frost… the easiest way to do this would be if you close your eyes for a moment.”

I could see where this was going. And so I shut my eyes. Then came the sounds of rippling cloth. Of course. It was Dawn Treader all along.

Crinkling glass. Hooves on marble. Snapping wood. Dripping water. All at once.

Okay… maybe not, then. I opened my eyes.

She was flanked by a total of five Lunar Guards. I recognized Dawn Treader to her left for sure, but there were also two… pegasi stallions, they looked like, except with leathery, featherless wings of deep violet. They were nearly identical. Beside Dawn Treader was… yes, that was definitely that pony from earlier, still surrounded by that smoky veil. Last was an earth pony stallion who was, to my surprise, hovering silently off of the ground. They all had the same ash-gray coat, they all has the tufts of fur on the tips of their ears, and they all had those piercing eyes. Hungry eyes.

Since last time, however, their armor appeared different. It still had the archaic, demonic design, but rather than deep hues of violet with a splash of blue, the metal appeared to be a smoother dark blue with accents of light gray. It offered more coverage, at least just a little, but still remained menacing in appearance.

Luna glanced between her guards, noting the empty spaces to her right and beyond the hovering earth pony. “Where’s Obsidian? And Shine and Meadow?”

One of the pegasi glanced from me to Luna. “Should we be disclosing this information to you with him here?”

“Well we’ve already revealed ourselves to him,” Dawn answered simply and turned to the dark-blue alicorn. “Luna?”

“It’s no secret we’re conducting an operation here,” she answered. “Report. He should know.”

The ash-gray unicorn stallion nodded stoutly. “Obsidian’s cell is scouting out the palace once more for changes. I myself will be leading my cell to scope out the Bazaar plaza at your command. Now!” He turned back to me. “I suppose introductions are in order, Luna?” The dark-blue alicorn merely nodded, expression still hard.

And… Roanoke, again, if you could.

“This is Dawn Treader,” Luna said.

The unicorn stallion simply offered a thin smile. I was about to remark that we've already met, but those hungry eyes narrowed somewhat. They seemed to growl at me, and I remained silent.

Then Luna gestured to the obscured guard. “Daze Haze.”

[Snapshot. Black-and-white-image. A crowded sidewalk. Snapshot. Daze appears, unnoticed. Some phase right through her. Snapshot. She is gone. And so are a select few others. Nobody else noticed. Disappeared from memory.]

The veil circling the figure cleared until revealing most of the… unicorn mare, I presumed. Her face was still a swirling, inexplicable swath I couldn’t properly identify. She remained silent as she regarded me with a single visible eye.

Then Luna motioned to the two pegasi. “Anvil and Hammer.”

[Snapshot. Storm clouds circle the full moon. Snapshot. Bright flash of light. Snapshot. They descend, towing her grisly chariot in a near vertical drop at breakneck speed.]

Anvil smiled cheerfully and waved with a leathery wing. Hammer, meanwhile, simply gave a stout nod.

Lastly, she motioned to the hovering earth pony. “And Stagger Storm.”

[Snapshot. All is well at the outpost. All is silent. All is still. Snapshot. They are all cringing, contorted in silent pain. Blood oozes from their eyes. Snapshot. And he appears, stooping over one of them. Snapshot. They disappear.]

He too offered only a stout nod.

“These are my Lunar Guards, minus three.” Luna finished, “all Lord and Lady Protectors.”

And then that memory of walking through the statue garden with Hummingbird for the first time rushed right back. Eight statues. Eight guards. I was right- that garden had been a prison.

And I knew their crime.

“So, first off, congratulations on your engagement, both of you!” Anvil said in a chipper tone, smiling broadly. “I’m not sure whether or not you have a reception planned, but you both make a lovely couple!”

I was not amused.

He glanced around, smile deteriorating. “... no? Doesn’t work?” The armored pegasus...esque pony sighed. “Well, it was worth a shot.” He coughed into a hoof. “Awkward.”

“Only because of you,” Hammer muttered. “Now shut it.”

I glanced between all of them. “Okay. Okay. So, first things first, what exactly is going on and what-” I turned to Daze Haze, “-did you do to everyone at the checkpoint?”

There was an odd, deep inhale coming from the clouded mare, and she appeared to look to Luna for guidance. Luna clicked her tongue and lowered her gaze but for a moment before answering, “We’re conducting an operation here. By now you know that there is political unrest in Roam unlike anything seen since the dragon uprising. Caesar Raj’M’Kora was placed in power in the aftermath of that event as a promoter of peace and prosperity. With the worst recession Zebrica ever faced followed only decades later by the minotaur uprising, the people in general see him as weak and unfit to rule. I am well aware of the role of responsibility in zebra culture, perhaps more so after Viediv. And the people see the Caesar as having failed in his responsibilities.”

“So you believe that he is in danger?” I inquired.

“Yes,” Luna answered with a nod. “He is a good leader with good intentions. Were he a pony and this Equestria, he would have gone far. But he is far too innocent and naïve for the present circumstances, and the minotaurs knew that and sought to break free when the military was at its weakest in millennia. We fear- I fear- that his life is in danger, and I consider him a close friend. And we take care of our friends.” She glanced to her side. “Dawn.”

Dawn inhaled softly before continuing in her stead. “We have reason to believe that the insurgency led by Khotek plans to depose of RMK.” He stared at me as I opened my mouth and quickly explained, “Caesar Raj'M'Kora. Start picking up on the language, Frost.”

“Dawn,” Luna called again softly but firmly.

He inhaled softly through his nostrils. “Right. Sorry, but we’re burning moonlight explaining this to you. Do try to keep up. Now, we are not ruling out the possibility of armed assassination, as- if the last Senate poll holds any water- over seventy-eight percent of the civilian populace express at least some degree of contempt toward RMK, and Khotek himself has a penchant for making a show of force. With both the Senate and the Court similarly opposing him now, we suspect that they would accept his assassination if not favor it outright. Even if RMK led Zebrica through its most peaceful time, he’s also led it through the bloodiest in recent history. The war isn’t going well, and they want a more capable military leader at the helm. Such as Khotek, or Gorvan, or Dagmir, or any of the other legates wanting him gone. But RMK will not step down, nor will the minotaurs willingly surrender. It’s a case of the weakest link, and RMK may very well be just that. So the reason we are here is to assure his safety and evacuate him from the country if necessary. We don’t know the full capability of his lone Praetorian Guard, and we don’t want to risk finding out she’s incompetent or unfit for the circumstances. Thus, while we are here to protect both Luna and you, we are also here to assure the Caesar's safety. So now you know.”

I stared at them for a few seconds. That… was a lot to take in. Finally, I asked, “Does Celestia know about this?”

“Yes,” Luna answered.

“Does… the Caesar know about this?” I asked.

“No,” she answered, showing the hint of a frown.

Daze finally spoke in that ambiguous, androgynous, disguised tone, “A number of things could go wrong if he knew we were planning to protect and evacuate him should the situation grow dire enough. He might deny it and grow suspicious about Equestria’s involvement in the war, or- worse- it might give him a false sense of security and cause him to take more risks, thereby placing himself in greater danger and making our assignment more difficult.”

I grimaced briefly. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“No,” Dawn replied.

I breathed out a deep, misty sigh. “So exactly how many international laws are we breaking by doing this?”

“A lot,” Anvil answered, offering a cracked, guilty grin.

“Sixteen,” Hammer clarified in a deadbeat tone.

Anvil nodded, concurring. “A lot.”

“Including violation of the autonomy clause of the United Nations Security Council Accord of Greater Powers.”

“Let’s just settle with ‘a lot,’” Anvil said in a sharp whisper, making a chopping motion with his forehoof.

Hammer cocked his head momentarily. “Very well.”

I stared. “And we’re talking about this at normal conversation volume in a public hotel?”

Anvil pointed at Stagger. “He’s got it handled.”

Then, without moving his mouth, the hovering pony somehow managed to say, “Luna scanned the room for any sort of listening or recording device, and this room is effectively silent. Nobody knows we're here.”

I stared in realization. “You're an anemomancer.”

He nodded and cracked a thin smile. “You didn't think you were the only modern-day Mancer, did you?”

“Well... not anymore,” I answered, looking between the rest of the Lunar Guards as I took a step back in realization. My gaze finally settled on Daze. Focus. Getting to know another Mancer is secondary to this. “And the answer to the second question?”

The smoky unicorn inhaled deeply. “I forcibly altered the memories of all witnesses to ensure safe passage, yours included. In your case, I did it multiple times.”

I stared. “Multiple-”

[At the airport.]

[In the wagon.]

[Along the highway.]

[At the checkpoint.]

And I was back in the present once more, staring wide-eyed at Daze. She exhaled in a somewhat guttural manner. “You remember, don't you? What do you remember?”

“I-”

[At the airport, appearing as I was about to voice my decision to return to Equestria.]

[In the wagon, preventing me from noticing the empty space to Luna's side.]

[Along the highway, redirecting us to the Forum as initially planned.]

[At the checkpoint, erasing us from memory.]

Each time, there she was- unseen, unremembered. Almost.

And she had stopped time. I felt myself take another step backward, realizing I was in the presence of an extremely powerful unicorn. Two possibly. Plus a Mancer and two pegasi who could do who knows what.

“He remembers,” Daze stated simply. “Luna...”

“I know,” the dark-blue alicorn said with a frown.

“What is it?” I asked, looking between the two apprehensively. “What's wrong?”

“It appears that your highly superior autobiographical memory makes you... resistant to memory tampering,” Daze answered, “which poses a problem as Khotek also has veteris vestigia. Perhaps not as advanced as yours, but... that means I may not be able to simply manipulate him, and even if I do, there's the risk that he may remember me. And that's not good for Equestria.”

“So we go for the original plan, then?” Stagger inquired wordlessly.

“Obsidian and Luna have the final word on that,” Dawn Treader answered. “We'll discuss further when we can.” He turned to me and glanced at Luna.

She let out a sigh and said, “I'm sorry it had to turn out this way, Frost. I didn't think that you'd propose and you'd want this to be our honeymoon... forgive me.”

“No no, it's... it's alright, it's... it's fine,” I breathed out, still reeling from all this information. “You didn't know what I was planning, just... well this has become more than a simple equinpological research trip now, hasn't it?”

Luna only nodded sadly.

“It's... it's okay,” I sighed. “You didn't know what I was going to do. I just wish you would have told me something, even if it was just that you had important business in Zebrica, I don't know.” I let out another misty sigh, looking between the Lunar Guards and Luna. I honestly felt that spiel was more to convince me than to convince them. “Okay. Okay, okay. So we're obviously staying here as long as it takes for you to do what you gotta do. Where does that leave me? I can't get in the way, and I can't put Luna at risk.”

“You do whatever research you have to do,” Dawn answered. “Do as you originally planned, but use your common sense. I trust you not to approach Khotek's insurgents in a forward manner, and I trust you not to instigate an encounter with undesirable individuals. None of Khotek’s goons should know you’re foreigners, at least not yet. Don’t give them any reason to suspect that. We'll be monitoring you both closely, however, and we'll be there for both of you should there be any sign of trouble. If the situation grows dire enough, however, we may need to completely exfil, and then you do exactly as we say, when we say.” He stared at me. “You're lost. Exfil, short for exfiltrate, means get the hay out. So if it comes to that, you need to listen. Very. Carefully.” He nodded to Luna. “To her.”

“Can't... Luna just teleport us out?” I inquired.

“Well yes, but teleportation isn't subtle,” Dawn said. “It’s a spell that requires significant magical prowess to perform, and it also leaves magical backflash residue that the alchemists at the KSV can easily trace. She would be leaving a bread crumb trail to pointing to a powerful unicorn from Equestria. And we do not- I repeat- do not want Equestria to be implicated in what is turning into an international crisis. When we... 'move,' we're far less obvious barring the noises you've no doubt noticed. Moving somepony who can't normally do it, though... there are risks involved. And to make it blatantly clear, not a word of this reaches anyone else's ears. Understand? Nobody else must know we were ever here. Not Zoleks, not your parents, not even the other branches of the Royal Guard. Understood?”

“Alright... alright, that's fair,” I sighed mistily. “One question, though.” I turned to Daze. “You can stop time and alter memory. Why can't you use that power to save the Caesar, then? There are so many ways you alone could resolve the situation. You could stop the insurgency, and if Legate Khotek is such a huge problem, then... I don't know if you want to go so far as kill him, but you could certainly eliminate him as a threat somehow.”

Daze inhaled deeply once more before replying, “We've all considered other avenues and possibilities. The main problem is that memory alteration is an incredibly powerful and taxing spell and often requires follow-ups to ensure compliance, to say nothing of Khotek likely being resistant to such tampering. Too many already dislike or outright hate RMK. It's too late to attempt that, to say nothing of keeping track of each and every individual person. I already have to follow up with seventeen individuals today. And a damn dog. As for stopping time... that's another matter entirely. I merely formed a stable time loop that allowed me to analyze the situation and resolve it accordingly. I can't, say, stop time, kill Khotek, and have all else return to normal. I can manipulate objects and people, but everything is undone as time resumes. Think of it as a way for me to enhance my reaction time.”

“Why were we unaffected then?” I asked.

“You mean, why were you unaffected?” She appeared to pause and think for a few seconds. “It's likely because your highly superior autobiographical memory was trying to compensate itself for an experience it never had. You remembered me altering memory, but you experienced some form of temporal... disconnect or dissonance. And so your mind filled in the rest.”

“'Likely,'” I parroted.

“The mind is far more powerful than most believe,” the veiled mare answered. “It is able to create what can never exist and destroy the immutable. It's why I chose to specialize in psionic magic, and even now, so much remains a mystery. But that is why I can’t simply magick this problem away. It takes time and effort, and both are finite resources. We have so many resources as the Lunar Guard and not all the time to implement them. And time continues to grow short.”

Hammer turned to the deep-blue alicorn. “Luna, I'd suggest you take-” Anvil coughed, and the pegasus looked back at his compatriot, who repeatedly glanced in my direction. “Right. Luna, Frost, I suggest you both take your leave tonight. The situation in Roam has changed drastically in the last seventy-two hours, and we'll need to take account of the new fortifications and checkpoints.”

Luna nodded. “See to it, then. Dawn, take your cell and scout out the Bazaar. With Obsidian handling the palace itself, that leaves the governmental plaza to you, Daze. Stagger, I… have a feeling we may be discussing this further. Please remain close and maintain the barrier of silence. Go forth.”

In unison, they bowed and uttered, “We serve.”

That image was both so impressive and so unsettling that I blinked.

Rippling cloth. Crinkling glass. Hooves on marble. Snapping wood. Dripping water. All at once.

Only a fraction of a second to blink, and they were all gone. And we were alone again.

* * *

Evening turned to night with little to note. Everything just seemed... stilted. We washed up- separately. The shower, though nice, wasn't big enough for both of us. I called Zoleks to assure him I was okay, Nightingale was okay. We watched the television, flipping from channel to channel to see if anything was available. Everything was focused on the protests and the insurgency. Only one news station cast it in a negative light. Its signal cut out only a few minutes in.

And soon we found ourselves in bed, backs turned to one another, a curtain of silence separating us.

She opened it first.

“You're still mad at me, aren't you?”

I sighed mistily and closed my eyes. That was the question I'd both been dreading and expecting. I shuffled on the bed to turn to face her. “No, no, no I'm not.”

She was already facing me. And those cyan eyes, so full of everything, could see everything in me.

I broke eye contact and sighed again softly. “I'm trying not to be.” I could hear her sigh as well. “Luna, I... how long had you been planning this?”

It was a few seconds before she replied- a few too long. “Two days before I asked if I could go with you. Frost, it's... it's not the only reason I'm here… really...”

That last sentence, with its pleading, seeking tone, lanced through my heart. I swallowed, inhaled deeply, then said, “It's okay. You didn't know I was going to propose. It's okay.”

And once again, it was more to convince me than to convince her.

“Then why are we still like this?” she asked.

“Because,” I groaned, looking up at the headboard and gripping my mane with a hoof, searching for the proper answer, “because... urgh, because I'm not prepared for this! It's not because I blame you! You're, you're trying to prevent an international crisis! It's... I'm an equinpologist-historian, and I came here as one! I'm not... I'm not a soldier! I don't want to compromise your safety, or... or Equestria's safety or-”

All she did to quiet me was place a hoof on my shoulder. The subtle warmth slowed my speeding heart, mellowed my racing mind. There was a gentle tug, an invitation, and I accepted. We drew one another into an embrace. That warmth, still within my boundaries, gradually put me at ease.

“Just do what you can,” Luna whispered to me. “You're still an equinpologist, and you're still a historian. Do what you have to do- remember? That's what Dawn said. Just use common sense. I hate to do this… but I have to do this. Just focus on what you came here for. You'll be fine. We'll be fine.”

I let out a soft sigh, nodding lightly against her neck.

“Trust me.” I could feel her smiling a little. “This'll be much easier compared to dealing with in-laws.”

That got a husky chuckle from me, but it was short-lived. “Wait. In-laws.”

“Yes?”

“Celestia, I get, but... Princess Cadance is her niece.”

“Yes...”

“Which means...”

“You'd technically be her father.”

I pulled away to stare at her.

“And Blueblood's as well,” Luna said with a narrowed glance to the side and a slight edge to her tone.

I stared. “I can't believe I never thought about this. You're a mother?”

“By technicality, by technicality!” Luna quickly corrected, breathing out a sigh to steady herself afterward. “Cadance is... an interesting case. She's technically an alicorn, yes, although out of extremely rare circumstances of birth. She's realistically a winged unicorn, although she exhibits magical prowess approaching but not equal to, say, that of Twilight Sparkle. Blueblood...”

I fished for the rest of that sentence. “Blueblood...”

“Adopted,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Both of them, separately. They lost their parents to unfortunate circumstances, and Celestia took pity. Why on him, I can't begin to understand. It appears she spoiled him rotten. Originally? She considered him a son. Now? A nephew. We try to distance ourselves from that whelp. Compare that to Cadance doing the same voluntarily out of humility.”

I thought for a moment, tunneling through memory. “Didn't he write-”

“-Lying, Parliamentary Style?” Luna finished. “Yes. So now you see why I'm not fond of my technical 'son.'”

“... does this mean I have to meet them?” I blinked. “And does this mean that the Captain of the Royal Guard would be my son-in-law after this all becomes official?”

Luna cracked a crooked grin. “By technicality.”

I tried to stifle a chuckle, which came out as a snort. Luna couldn't help but snicker, covering her mouth with a hoof.

And just like that, all worry melted away, and I was left- once again- with the impression that everything was going to be just fine.

* * *

There were a lot of sayings about Roam back then. One of them was “You haven't been to Roam until you've been to the Forum, and you haven't been to the Forum until you've been to the Bazaar.”

Show of hooves and hands- how many of you folks have been to Friendship City?

A good number of both shot up.

Alright, so quite a few of you. Good. No doubt you remember what the market area was like, and it's a start to picturing the Bazaar.

So let me fill in the rest. The Roaman Forum is essentially a gigantic cobblestone plaza. We're talking something on the scale of around a dozen square kilometers in size. Like Canterlot, there was both an inner and outer circle. The inner circle contained all the governmental buildings such as the High Court and the Caesar's palace. The outer circle was completely dominated by the Bazaar, and as the city continued to grow, so did both of these circles.

Now, picture a typical vendor stand. Maybe... maybe occupying a few square meters, perhaps a bit larger depending on the wares sold. It's set up with lumber, steel, PVC piping, whatever's on hoof. Have a few staffing it, maybe have some music playing, and decorate it in tribal banners and designs of all shapes and colors to cover up the hasty construction.

Now pack as many of them as you can in several square kilometers with just enough space for a decent-sized pathway and order these stalls based on wares. There were thousands upon thousands of such stalls lining the Bazaar, the people running them shouting at the top of their lungs to advertise their wares to the world, then cycling out whenever their throats got sore. Buy this, buy that, no buy these- all in the many different dialects of Zebrica, all as colorful as the array of banners and flags adorning the stands, thousands of them clamoring for the attention of your ears, voices rolling into one another and blending with blasted music to form a din unlike anything you've experienced before. Just as these vendors tried to use their voices to capture your attention, so did their displays. So many colors, so many boldfaced prices and descriptions- a bundle of gilleaves for ten cronii, a deal here, fifty percent off there- so many wares displayed, too many for your eyes to handle. Then there were the smells. Lorn have mercy on the poor soul who went to the Bazaar on an empty stomach. Your nose was assaulted by so many smells- sweet, spicy, thick, alluring, dirty, clean- from food, from oils, from scented linens, from alchemical ingredients. Some so subtle that they made you want to turn your head for another smell, some so strong you could taste them on your tongue. Then there was the crowd itself- so many people of so many shapes and sizes, wearing so many different kinds of cloaks and cloths. Everyone wore garments in Roam after all. And even with the graciously large walkways, there were just so many you ended up brushing into one another. And there weren't just zebras either. Just as Equestria wasn't home to just ponies and Manehattan was a cultural melting pot, so too was Zebrica, in particular Roam, and even more so in particular the Bazaar. Zebras, ponies, griffins, buffalo, donkeys, mules, and everything in between went this way and that way, each integrated into the Roaman way of life with their colorful garments. Even if zebras made up a vast majority of the population, understand that Roam was at its heart a multicultural city. Honestly, I think the only ones who weren't there were diamond dogs. I doubt even the ones from the City of Lights and Legends could stand the noise.

Folks, when I say you had to go to the Bazaar in order to truly understand what Roam was all about, it's not because there were items and trinkets you couldn't get anywhere else in the world. It's because of the experience that the Bazaar offered- sight, sound, scent, taste, and touch all at once. There was nothing like it anywhere else in the world. Even for a Manehattaner so used to having my senses assaulted by so much stimuli inside a nightclub, nothing compared to the sensory overload I was getting at the Roaman Bazaar.

And we were still standing near the entrance. At least the coastal breeze made sure that I didn’t have to deal with keeping cool on top of all that.

Viediv turned to face us. “You're sure you know exactly what where you want to go?” he asked in Zwahili, mindful of the Legionaries stationed nearby.

Luna, disguised once more, shared a look with me. Viediv had acquired cloaks for the both of us, and they were all we needed to look the part of integrated Roaman ponies. I turned back to him and responded in kind, “Exactly where we need to go. We'll be headed to the alchemists' bloc first.”

“Which is a quarter-kilometer from here.” He nodded. “Alright, I'll take you there. It's not a long walk. Nightingale, I suggest you try to... keep quiet. I know it is inconvenient, but with Khotek's thugs around...” He glanced over his shoulders at the Legionaries standing guard just beyond the entrance. Luna nodded silently in understanding. “Okay, let's go. Try not to let your eyes wander too much, eh? If we get separated, move all the way to the nearest shop and stand tall. It'll make it easier for me to see you.”

And with that, we set off into the utter cacophony of the Bazaar. Even as a Manehattaner, I found at least one of my senses drawn to the nearest stall and lagged behind Viediv, who usually noticed us falling behind and waited for us. Luna especially was overwhelmed, and we instead opted to stick to one another's sides to ensure we stuck together.

The storyteller chuckled.

‘It's not a long walk,’ he said... ahhh, well, maybe for locals. Ahh... dear goodness, I wonder how much I pissed the Lunar Guard off that day (The answer- a lot).

As the minutes ticked by, though, I started to notice some... interesting differences between the Bazaar I researched and the one I was walking in. For one, this area of the Bazaar was mainly supposed to be filled with souvenirs for tourists. With Roam closed to foreign travel barring us, there was nothing of the sort... and instead I noticed a slew of Legionaries patrolling the area instead. Most of the people who passed them by seemed to regard them as part of the scenery and just trotted right past without so much as a glance. And so I did the same.

Eventually, we reached the alchemists' bloc. If I could offer an analogy, my nostrils were plucked from the mud puddle and thrown into the lake. All those foreign smells made me dizzy with sensory overload, making me wobble slightly on my hooves. Luna thankfully used her magic to steady me, and I offered her a grateful smile.

Good Lorn... I couldn't begin to tell you exactly how much I saw in that bloc while we slowly traveled from stall to stall. Zebra magic takes so many different forms after it’s made physical. Remember, zebra magic works through being made physical- imbuing, essence grafting, alchemy, fetishes, the like.

The storyteller tapped his chin with a hoof.

So many different forms? Scratch that, they can take any form. Remember my piano back in Stalliongrad? Xamuros restored that using alchemy. Where and how he managed to get the reagents to do that, I'll never know. At the alchemists' bloc, though, there was... goodness, there were so many different things there. Basically anything that wasn't an electronic device was being sold there. Writing utensils, dishware, pottery, cabinets, cloths and linens, instruments...

Then a call in Zebrikaans. “Essence-grafted silverware! They'll never break! We give demonstrations!”

I couldn't help but give pause and call to Viediv.

The stall, much like the others, was large enough to contain a space about as large as my family's old high-rise apartment in Manehattan. Plastic tubing formed the frame, and a series of tarps and banners of deep violets and sunny yellows sectioned off a rear section of the stall from view. Although a cloaked, hooded zebra mare was at the front, displaying and advertising an assortment spoons, forks, knives, tongs, and other utensils on a set of tables, I spied a toga-garbed unicorn mare in the back, reclining in a folding chair. Interesting. Anti-Equestrian sentiment around, here we had a pony and a pair of experts on blades at that... well, cutlery at least.

“Hello,” the zebra mare greeted us in Zebrikaans with a stout nod and a thin smile. Then, in traditional Bazaar vendor fashion: “What do you seek?”

“I first seek one of your demonstrations,” I answered in kind.

She nodded and produced a spoon from one of the packs lying under the table, showing it to us to display its factory-fresh condition. “Silverware can get bent or scratched or chipped.” She then bent down and scraped it against the cobblestone at her hooves, then displayed it to us. The surface was indeed covered in scratches and chipped points that would probably cut a tongue. “Not so with these.” The zebra mare swept one of the spoons off of the table instead and repeated the motion. Twice. And then sandwiched it between the stone and her hoof and really ground it. I could actually hear the sound of it over the clamor of the rest of the Bazaar. When she displayed it to us, the spoon was pristine, unblemished.

I huffed softly, impressed. Sure, I'd witnessed zebra alchemy before, but this was something I hadn't seen back in Manehattan. “And what reagent did you use to graft to make your silverware so durable?”

The zebra mare simply sat down and crossed her forelegs. “Trade secret. Now what do you seek?”

Mm. Touched a nerve there. I glanced at Viediv and found him giving a subtle shake of the head. So instead I inhaled and replied, “I seek... custom work.”

She let her crossed forelegs relax just a little. “What kind of custom work?”

I was about to sprout a pair of ice arms but thought better of it. We didn’t want to attract attention. Instead I reached into my cloak with a hoof and produced Silver Skean, pressing it against my opposite foreleg to pop the spring latch before fanning her open and regripping. “Could you do the same to something like this?”

The zebra vendor stared at the weapon for a few seconds, then looked up at me. The pony mare in the back was paying full attention to us as well. She looked up at me and asked, “Are you KSV?”

The storyteller sighed, chuckling softly.

What was it about balisongs back then that people immediately assumed you were some kind of hitbuck if you had one?

“No, just a collector of interesting foreign trinkets,” I answered with a hearty, husky chuckle. “Think you could give two of these the same treatment as the rest of your wares?”

She put a hoof to her chin in thought and held her hoof toward Silver Skean, adopting a questioning expression. I nodded and allowed her to take it in her hooves. She splayed the handles apart as if trying to get a sense of how it worked, even trying to repeat my method of opening it. It instead fell from her open-faced hoof and fell downward, but she quickly caught one handle with her other hoof and breathed out a sigh of relief.

“The moving parts might make it complicated, but I should be able to, yes,” the zebra mare said with a nod. “Would you please come in with me? All three of you?”

I looked between Luna and Viediv, who nodded in turn. “Yes, if you welcome us,” the zebra stallion answered.

“We welcome you,” she answered in turn, then looked to the unicorn mare in the rear. “Mint Twist, would you take over, please?” I noted that she still kept speaking Zebrikaans.

Mint Twist nodded and stood up, heading to her coworker to take over. The demonstration had attracted a few more passersby, but first the two whispered to one another. The zebra mare blinked as if realizing something. Luna, Viediv, and I shared a glance. Not a good sign. Oddly, though, I didn't get that feeling of being watched... something like this should've riled the Lunar Guards. Still, the zebra vendor nodded for us to follow into the rear section of the tarp-covered tent, and we obliged. The tarps must have been alchemically treated- the noise was reduced to a dull roar on the inside, a sanctuary for our ears.

When the word “alchemy” comes to mind, many think of the pestle and mortar, the bubbling cauldron, the outlandish glassware- at least, back in my day. The back area of the stall simply had a few large mats for sitting and a large chest, presumably full of reagents or whatever was necessary for the alchemy.

And oddly enough, there was a radio set quietly playing Flakey Art's Moanin'. The zebra mare paused by the set, reached a hoof as if to switch the track, then shrugged.

“You're a long way from home,” she spoke in Equestrian as we settled in. “I must say you chose a very bad time to come to Zebrica. Hopefully the Legionaries haven't been giving you trouble?”

I frowned- and I was certain I wasn't the only one who did. “So you knew, then.”

“Mint Twist recognized the Manehattan in your voice,” she said with a soft smile, clicking open the chest so that the lid obscured its contents. “She grew up there. Keeps talking about how there's a lot of similarities between it and Roam. I wouldn't know.” She started looking through the contents, which made me antsy. “So what brings you to Zebrica? It's supposed to be closed to foreign travel.”

Viediv finally spoke up by clearing his throat. “Miss, could you please show what's in the chest? We don't know what you're doing.”

“It's Kanturi,” she answered, smile disappearing before she spun the chest around to display a series of shelf stacks held aloft by the hinges of the chest, each holding a slew of bones organized by grid, each with odd nicks and grooves carved into them in patterns that sent inexplicable chills down my spine. “And there you go. I'm not packing a sawn-off if that's what you're wondering.”

“Sawn... off?” I asked, not understanding. Ugh. It pains me in a strange sort of way to remember how I knew barely anything about guns back then.

Viediv flattened his lips and shared a glance with Kanturi. “Shotgun.” I grimaced at that.

“Shotgun,” Kanturi sighed in accord, swiveling her chest back to face her. “By the Caesar, you ponies and your innocence. I'm not an enemy, for sun's sake. You wouldn't catch anyone in Roam speaking Equestrian in public with the Legionaries around.”

“So... you don't support Legate Khotek?” Luna inquired.

She arced a brow and paused in her sifting. “Legate Khotek? You mean Legate Damaro? Well I don't like Caesar Raj'M'Kora for where he's steering Zebrica, but I don't much like the 'rah rah it's the Equestrians' fault for restricting gem trade' banter either. So why are you... two, doing here anyway?” She looked at Viediv. “You're most certainly a native, but you two...” And back at me and Luna, “you two are here for a reason, and it's not simple tourism.”

“Just equinpological research, Kanturi,” I answered. “We were able to secure special permission from ImmeD to enter Zebrica.”

The zebra mare continued to eye us. “Hm. What kind of research?”

“In a nutshell, I'm trying to discover how the Age of Industry affected Zebrican culture and society as a whole,” I answered earnestly with a light smile. Not too much to make it seem like a lie- because it wasn’t- but earnest enough to entertain the idea. It was already suspicious enough for an Equestrian to be in Zebrica. I didn’t want her suspecting otherwise.

Kanturi looked down as she resumed sifting through her chest. “And so you come to the Bazaar. So is this merely a business transaction, or...?”

“It could be,” I answered with a shrug. Wait for it... “You don't owe me that.”

She looked back up at me with a sidelong glance. And a grin. “Well... you do sound like someone who knows a thing or two about us.” The zebra mare inhaled through her nostrils. “Before anything else, was your... knife... thing... the only object you wanted to be grafted, Mister...?”

“Frost,” I answered. “Just call me Frost. And my friends here are Viediv and Nightingale.” I pursed my lips briefly. Even if it was a show of trust, I don’t know if I should have given us our names in exchange for hers. “Possibly an identical one as well, depending on how the first goes.”

“Then I'll have to ask you to pay half of the cost up front,” Kanturi said. “I don't know how much you've learned of our magic, but unlike you unicorns-” She looked between me and Luna, “-we require physical materials.

“How much?” I inquired.

“It's custom work for a weapon,” she answered. “Two-fifty cronii up front, two-fifty after.”

Why did everyone always think I intended to use them as weapons? Still, I glanced at Luna at that. Five-hundred cronii was equal to around three days' single occupancy at our hotel's suite.

Viediv cleared his throat. “Kanturi, those were... bone charms, were they?”

The zebra mare eyed him. “Yes.”

“I don't think those are legal at the Bazaar,” he said with a slight frown.

“Not officially,” she said with a slight shrug.

“Pardon, but... why aren't bone charms legal in the Bazaar?” Luna inquired.

And soon all eyes were on her. Kanturi clicked her tongue and replied, “Because while similar to the Nameless Magic, it is not the same. Still,” She glanced at Viediv, “some consider it so. But relax. They're rat bones. Sun's sake, who do you take me for?”

“Nameless Magic?” Luna questioned further.

Viediv opened his mouth.

“Don't say it,” Kanturi said, tone rising just a hint. Just a hint. “Don't. Say it.”

Viediv closed his mouth.

“This is borderline taboo,” I murmured quietly to Luna. “Don't press.”

Her lip twitched as she suppressed the urge to frown but nodded.

“So was that why you were so afraid we were KSV?” I asked.

“That, and it seems the KSV seems to judge anyone connected with a pony here in Zebrica,” Kanturi replied with a frown, nodding toward the front. “Mint Twist has come under... ah, scrutiny.”

“Is she your...?” Luna asked, tilting her head forward at the end. The implied word was clear. Kanturi nodded slightly, slowly.

“So why show us the bone charms, then?” Viediv inquired.

“Because I know that you, as a good Roaman citizen, should know that there's a difference between what the Bazaar allows and what the Bazaar actually does,” she responded with a snort. “And because you were so paranoid of me having some kind of weapon packed away, like some sort of hitmare.”

I suppressed the urge to chuckle from the irony.

“Hmph... fair enough,” Viediv murmured, crossing his forelegs.

“So do we have a deal?” she asked me.

I glanced at Luna, who merely gave a slight permissive grin and nodded toward Kanturi. I turned back to the zebra mare and said, “Four-fifty cronii total. And I get to ask some questions about the state of Roam.” I held up a hoof. “But I will pay the two-fifty up front. Deal?”

Kanturi pursed her lip for a moment before nodding. “Deal.” And so I counted out the coin and slid them across to her. After she whisked them away, she set Silver Skean down on the mat and wriggled her forelegs to shimmy the sleeves of her cloak out of her way. “Ask what you will.”

I nodded, watching her all the while. “There was a recession that started around twenty-five years ago that started in Zebrica and lasted for over a decade. How did it affect you personally?”

“Starting big already, hm?” Kanturi huffed with a wry grin. She slammed a hoof down on one of her bone charms, hidden from view by the chest's lid. Afterward, she arched her hoof back up, drawing a ghostly, smoke-like substance that seemed to sigh as it moved through the air. “The short answer is here, the Bazaar. But I'm sure you're more interested in the more complex answer, yes?” I nodded, and she continued. “I grew up during that recession. It was a tough time for everyone in Roam. We all helped one another out, but if you know a thing about inflation... even if we did manage to perfectly distribute wealth- which we didn't- that wealth was shrinking in value. The capitalists of the modern corporations and the politicians they lobby for like to say a rising tide lifts all boats. I don't know if it works that way,” She then used her other forehoof to draw up an identical swath of smoke, “but I know that a falling tide beaches many boats.”

“But not all,” I said, catching the change.

“Not all,” the zebra mare echoed in accord as she drew her hooves into a tight, slow circle, condensing the strange, smoky essence. “CEO's swindled the stock market cold and held onto that wealth. How else do you think they withstood the recession? The same with yours and Aldorna's. We're not the only guilty ones.”

“I wasn't making any accusations,” I said calmly.

“I know,” Kanturi said, now starting to extrude the balled-up essence into a thin shape, pausing to look at me. “But I want to set the record straight. The world isn't as innocent as you ponies like to see it.” She folded the extruded essence back on itself, forming a thicker layer. “My family weathered the recession- if we follow the same metaphor- by finding deeper waters. We found out where all the money was going.”

“Big business?” I inquired.

“No. Well, yes, it flowed there too. I don't know if 'too big to fail' is ever a valid reason to bail out a company out of a recession, but I know it's a reason why some corporations stayed profitable during it.” And then she pulled back her hooves, taking a look at the essence. It was now a cylindrical shape hanging in the air, about as thick as a guard rail for a stairwell. “Recall my short answer.”

“The Bazaar?”

“The Bazaar,” Kanturi echoed with a nod. Then she dipped her hoof into the essence roughly halfway in and drew it down the middle, causing the lower half to split. Now it started to resemble my balisong with the handles splayed apart. “You see, long ago, before these big businesses and corporations and mass production, the heart of the Zebrican economy was the Roaman Bazaar. You've seen how large it is. Imagine all the cronii and traded goods changing hooves and hands. It all adds up. But when it comes to goods and services, the best are favored. Cheap, quality, convenience- pick two.” She laughed softly at that. “So there were the cheapest, the best, and the fastest who eventually dominated larger and larger portions of the Bazaar.”

“The merchant princes,” I surmised.

“Yes,” she affirmed. At this point, she was 'shaving' off the excess essence to match the details on Silver Skean- the skeletonized handles, the milleted grooves, the blade itself- with a precision I'd never seen before in my life. The essence she shed simply hung in the air, swirling in an invisible wind. “You know what they say about wealth? The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer? Usually, people take it literally. I like to offer an alternate interpretation of that. The rich get richer because they've come to enjoy the spoils of materialistic goods. They want the new, fastest wagon on the market. They want the newest, fastest terminal. They want the biggest, grandest villas. And they never tire in their search, wanting more and more and more. Meanwhile, the poorer learn to cope with how little they have. They get more frugal in their choices. Do I need that? Or do I just want it? I could probably live without that, right? Trim the fat. Save money for what you really need. Spend less. Stretch that cronus to last you another day, or week, or month. So we have the merchant prince, sitting on his linen-built wealth the way a dragon sits on its hoard. And what happens when they smell the promise of wealth offered by mass production, mass automation, mass commerce, mass export? The dragon hungers and wants it. So soon, the merchant prince became the business owner, who then became the CEO. And this, of course, left a great big hole in the Bazaar. And what happens then?” She looked at me expectantly.

I drew my lip taut, failing her expectations.

“New players step in,” Luna answered to my surprise. “All that competition is suddenly gone.”

Kanturi smiled, continuing to weave the essence. “Yes. Water seeks the lowest point. And that falling tide was flowing right into the Bazaar. You see, there are two economic... spheres, let's call them, in Zebrica. There's the one you no doubt know- big business, the bloated CEO, all of that- and the Bazaar. We operate on a barter economy backed by the exchange not just of the cronus but also other goods and services. There is no set price. The buyer and seller agree on the trade, unconstrained by values of international currency. So you see? It doesn't matter if it suddenly takes five cronii to buy a loaf of bread when it cost just one before the recession. You want indestructible silverware? I want enough to eat for a week. Let's trade. So you see, even if the cronus lost so much value, we sidestepped that. Physical goods and services don't lose value as easily. You always need food, water, shelter. And so the rich businesszebra keeps his or her wealth, riding out the falling waters. Meanwhile, we created our own wealth through this separate system, riding the falling waters from one ocean to another. Small wonder the Bazaar is at its largest ever in Roaman history. And so I went from a rag-wearing servant to a merchant princess. Well… close enough, I guess.”

The zebra mare held her hooves back. Hovering before us was a ghostly, near-identical copy of Silver Skean. “I'd like to see a machine do this,” she said proudly, pooling the excess essence together with her hoof and pushing it back into the bone charm. “And now...” She used both hooves to wave through the air, guiding the shape into my blade. The sighs increased in volume, seemingly growing in number as more voices joined the chorus.

And then silence.

“Well it didn't turn to dust,” Kanturi said, pursing her lip momentarily. “Try it. Test it. See if it's what you sought.”

The storyteller revealed his next memento- Silver Skean, mimicking his next actions.

I reached for my blade, my hoof hovering just over it as I glanced up at her.

“It's safe to touch, I assure you,” she said to me with a smile.

And so I gripped my blade and tested it with a twirl, spiraling it on the surface of my hoof until it closed. Then opened. There was still a bit of ply in the handles, but as I tested by seeing how much I could tweak up and down, it was still as good as the day I bought them. Then I gripped the handles in both hooves, slid the latch across to lock the blade open, and then leaned to the side to press the flat side of the blade against the ground, applying pressure. The metal did not bend at all even as I essentially began trying to do a push-up using it.

And even after nearly two-hundred years later, the blade still held up strong against the armored stallion. He smiled softly, tossing it up in the air and catching it as it closed on the way back down, pouching it once more.

“Impressed?” Kanturi asked, smiling as I eventually lost balance with a cry of surprise. Luna mercifully caught me in her magic, even if I was at no risk at falling on my own blade the way it was oriented.

“Thank you, Nightingale,” I said with a sheepish smile, pocketing my blade. “Yeah, very. Now, before I pay, though... any chance you could do another? Same payment?”

Kanturi pursed her lip for a moment. “You have deep pockets for an equinpologist.”

“And that bothers you as a bone charm grafter?” Viediv piped up.

The zebra mare raised both eyebrows at that. “Fair enough. You have more questions?”

“Yes,” I replied as I passed over a larger pile of cronii- and Chrome Cleaver- glancing at Luna momentarily. “Who is Legate Damaro?”

“You're definitely new to Zebrica,” Kanturi snorted as she began her work again. “He is in charge of the protest. He rallied up every Legate- almost the entire Legion, really- in a move to end Caesar Raj'M'Kora's rule. Again, I don’t like the Caesar, but I don’t think I want to go so far as to oust him.”

“And... you haven't heard of Legate Khotek?” I inquired.

“Maybe in passing,” she answered with a shrug, another string of sighs sounding off as she drew out the essences of another pair of bone charms. “Why?”

Luna and I shared a glance.

* * *

“I hope I wasn't the only one who found that odd,” Viediv said, switching back to Zwahili as we made our way back into the clamoring chaos of the Bazaar.

“You weren't,” I said in kind. “Have you ever heard of Legate Damaro?”

“Opposite of what she told us,” he answered. “I know of Legate Damaro, but he's supposed to be working for Legate Khotek, not the other way around.” I glanced at Luna and found her sharing a similarly puzzled look.

“It couldn't be mistaken identity, could it?” I inquired.

“Two completely different zebras,” Viediv responded, making a quick sweep of his hoof in a negatory gesture. “We would know.”

“Think it's just a fluke?” I asked.

“Could be, but I can't say for sure,” he replied. “I honestly haven't been asking around much about the insurgency for... obvious reasons.” He hushed up, and I followed his gaze to a pair of Legionaries in the distance.

“Could be worth asking for behind closed tarps,” I suggested.

Viediv snorted. “Are you a war correspondent now?”

“No,” I countered, unable to help but glance at Luna, “just suspicious and curious.” Turning to her, I grinned and quietly asked in Equestrian, “Well, I splurged quite a bit. Anything you're looking for?”

* * *

It was the same answer everywhere we went. Damaro. Damaro. Damaro. Khotek? Who's Khotek? I think I've heard of him. I think he's in support of Damaro.

I managed to pull Luna aside into a gap between one of the stalls, convincing Viediv that we needed to-

The storyteller coughed.

-discuss the fine line between research and tourism. Viediv gave a silent groan as if anticipating we were having our first argument as a couple.

Unintentional, but convincing at the very least.

“So, did any of your...” Okay, Frost, let's try to find a subtle way to put it, “associates...” There we go, “... ever mention a Legate Damaro?”

“As one of the legates firmly against Caesar Raj'M'Kora, yes,” Luna replied. “It doesn't make any sense, though. We know that Khotek's at the helm. Viediv knows it.”

“Even Zoleks knows that,” I added. “I'm smelling something fishy going on here. You?”

“Among other things,” the black-furred unicorn murmured, wrinkling her overwhelmed nose. “I trust in my friends. Something's wrong here, and I think it might be Khotek's doing.”

“So how do we find out?” I asked.

Luna arced a brow and smirked in that expression that made me fall in love with her. “I thought you came here as an equinpologist. You're starting to sound like you're trying to help me with this.”

“It's a smidge more important than a little research,” I said, glancing at the passing crowd to make sure we weren't being eavesdropped.

“But something you're not trained for,” Luna said, expression neutral once more. “Didn’t we just have the whole talk where you were worried you weren’t prepared for something like this?” She rest a hoof on my shoulder. “I appreciate that you wish to help, but leave that to my friends, Frost. Focus on your research. Whatever else we pick up is just, as Pinkie would put it, icing on the cake.”

I sighed softly, “Alright. We're headed back out then.” She nodded, and we made our way back to Viediv.

“All sorted out?” he inquired in Zwahili.

“Yes, though we're done for the day,” I replied. “Five hours is long enough. Let's get some lunch and head out, alright?”

“Alright,” the zebra stallion said with a nod. “We'll be heading through the sculptors' bloc, then, unless you wished to head back to your suite first?”

“Would be best to head back the way we came to drop our things off, yes,” I said with a nod. “Thank you, Viediv.”

“You can thank me by paying for lunch,” he said with a grin, starting to lead us back.

Then came that feeling of being watched again. More intense than back in Ponyville but not as strong as last night. I knew what it all meant now. Multiple Lunar Guards were nearby. I glanced back at Luna, now wearing a frown. Her eyes, full of everything, were narrowed slightly, focused.

Then they fell on me. And she unmistakably mouthed, “Careful.”

I looked forward and used my hoof to tug the hood of my cloak a little lower over my head. A pair of Legionaries marched right past us on their hindlegs, their armor and gear clinking audibly as they passed. Their weapons were lowered, but the sight of their rifles held at the ready unnerved me all the same.

Then we caught sight of another Legionary pair. One held a hoof to his helmet's integrated earpiece, then nodded in the direction we were headed. His partner nodded and they headed off. And then another pair passed us, calling behind him in Zwahili, “Move! Double time!”

Viediv looked back at me with worry creasing his brow. “We should take another exit,” he said to us over the din of the Bazaar.

I nodded in agreement, turning around to face Luna. She likewise gave a stout nod, then narrowed her eyes further, mouth slightly ajar with her ears tenting her hood.

I adopted a puzzled, questioning expression, but soon, I heard it too. Something in the distance, growing over the din of the Bazaar. Slowly, but steadily...

“Barra!”

“Barra!”

“Barra!”

“Barra!”

Out.

Out.

Out.

Out.

In Voturian. A dialect belonging to one of the older, argrarian tribes.

Barra. Barra. Louder and louder. Barra! Barra! Louder and louder until I could clearly tell it was coming ahead of us, and the other Roamans- most of them- were joining the cry. A group- not just a pair- of Legionaries marched past us, pounding a forehoof into the air, barking the chant out.

The crowd paused.

Listened.

Echoed.

And then followed.

The storyteller shifted a little.

Herd mentality is something lost to all but those who've lived during those days- ghouls, maybe a cyber, and myself. Ponies had it. So did zebras, perhaps to a much greater extent. When someone they saw as the authority started moving in one direction, they followed.

The sea of people had suddenly formed a current. And we were pushed along with it.

Viediv, Luna, and myself were pushed up close together and could only shuffle our hooves and follow to avoid being trampled or pushed aside. Viediv was panicking, but he tried not to show it. He just looked at me, and I looked at him. He had that look, I had that look. And then I turned to Luna. She knew, I knew.

We were going with the tide. There was no turning back.

And that feeling of being watched grew only stronger.

We followed along because we had to, and I watched as some of the shopkeepers joined in like tributaries merging into an ever growing flood. Teleport, I thought to myself. Why doesn't she just teleport us out? Some voice told me that was just the way it had to be. (Because they'd know. Because they'd see. You'd be singled out. They'd know something was amiss. They'd trace us back to Equestria. Or they’d know we weren’t supporters. Neither were good.)

“Barra!” the chanting continued, growing ever louder. “Barra! Barra! Barra!”

Then something else joined it that made me jump and made my chest tighten.

Boom.

“Barra!” Boom.“Barra!” Boom. “Barra!” Boom. Growing slowly louder.

We were out of the outer circle. We were within the inner circle of the Forum, the governmental bloc. The tall, marble buildings grew as we approached, supported by thick columns with incredibly detailed statues and friezes decorating the structures, depicting heroes from both reality and the realm of mythology.

The rational part of me told me- oh, no. We're marching on the Caesar's palace. The panicking, irrational part of me- it couldn't be that. No. Impossible. This couldn't happen to you.

Well, folks, life isn't fair, and life isn't free.

And then I realized what that steady boom... boom... boom was. We gradually joined a crowd- a massive crowd. There must have been thousands gathered in the grounds leading toward the palace. And all those thousands were beating their hoof on the cobblestone in near-unison as they shouted their demand.

As I later learned- tens of thousands.

“Barra!” Boom.“Barra!” Boom.

The storyteller leaned back, taking a deep breath.

This is it, folks. There we were. Luna. Viediv. Me. In the plaza right in the middle of the governmental bloc of the Roaman Forum. The High Court with its mighty columns and steps to the right, the Senate with its arches and friezes and reliefs and statues of warriors and civil servicezebras to the left. And before us, the palace of Caesar Raj'M'Kora. Like something taken out of Canterlot, it towered above us. Its architecture reflected that of the multicultural city, resulting in a blend of different architectures. Arches, domes, spires, high towers, buttresses, thick columns- all in a rainbow of colors. While some may think of the design as chaotic or an eyesore, it perfectly embodied the sense of responsibility the Caesar had to the multicultural country of Zebrica.

And the thousands of people, those tens of thousands, perfectly embodied his failure to uphold that responsibility.

And far beyond the sea of people- mostly zebras- I could see a small group of zebras gathering ahead of the crowd on the wide, marble steps leading up to the palace. All were clearly in military wear. One of them stood before the others.

“Damaro?” I asked Luna and Viediv, shouting over the chants.

Both looked similarly unsure initially, but then Luna’s ears flicked up.

“Damaro,” she whispered in confirmation.

The legate held a single hoof up, and slowly but surely, the people quieted. The jarring silence left my ears ringing.

The storyteller leaned toward the audience.

There are many profound differences between equine cultures. Some of those are the reasons for music. We ponies sing to mark the passing of seasons, to celebrate events, to express our anguish. Our songs reflect the circumstances. Griffins are an industrious race. Most of their songs are work songs meant to be softly chirped or whistled to oneself while busy with a task. They take the mind off of the toil, carrying the mind and body through hours of dull work as if on a tailwind. Only a select few of their endogenous songs have lyrics, and they’re often religious.

Cultural contact and exchange has caused all different forms of music to mingle with one another. Ponykind also share work songs, and griffinkind also have their circumstantial songs. But these are the kinds of songs that originate with each equine species. They’re an integral part of their culture.

Now zebrakind…

Zebras… sing with meaning. With purpose.

He leaned further forward.

With intent.

The old unicorn righted himself.

I want you to remember this moment, folks. We could have ironed out the resource dispute. We could have paved the way to diplomacy between the zebras and minotaurs. But what happened next changed the course of history.

And it all started with a simple song.

The group of… legates, I assumed, beat their hooves against the marble.

Boom-boom boom.

Then there was a pause.

Boom-boom boom.

Another pause.

And now everyone did it.

Boom-boom boom.

The jarring silence became deafening loudness once more. The hammer of hooves… I can still feel them pounding away at my chest. And I still remember the haunted look that Viediv had as soon as he realized what it was.

Boom-boom boom.

“Barra barra!” the crowd chanted at once.

“Hozd wel boghd ou zarawa!” Damaro shouted in song.

Boom-boom boom.

“Barra barra!”

“Fezd wel l’hozd ma b’qa aamen!”

Boom-boom boom.

“Barra barra!”

“L’alach we ness menhousinne!”

Boom-boom boom.

“Barra barra!”

“La horma dorm wet ouboudiiia!”

My mind raced to translate the song.

Out out.

Sadness and hate and the rule of the meaningless.

Out out.

Destruction and jealousy and no trust left.

Out out.

The people thirst and have no fortune.

Out out.

No honor but oppression and slavery.

Viediv stared with wide eyes like he’d just seen a ghost. I watched him mouth, “Kiongozi…”

The storyteller inhaled deeply.

History has a funny way of repeating itself. Connecting the dots sometimes makes a complete circle. That song- that exact song- was the same sung in protest of Caesar Bodorok’s rule during the Draconian Revolution only just before I was born.

A song of no honor, no love, no singing birds, stark walls, ruined seas. A song of no beauty, only desolation.

Hyperbole? Yes, of course. No rivers dried up during either Bodorok’s or Raj’M’Kora’s rules. But make no mistake- hyperbole is an excellent form of rhetoric. Songs already magnify the equine emotion. Add hyperbole to an already very angry song… you’ve got some very angry singers.

The storyteller glanced to the side.

There are… only a few things that truly scare me. I don’t speak of fearing for my life or… of those close to me. I definitely fear for those. The fear I speak of is… more along the lines of tension and apprehension.

And that song always gets me feeling tense and apprehensive.

As the song finally concluded with a dying string of booms, he appeared. All heads rose and all eyes fell on him. Silence, too, fell. Caesar Raj’M’Kora appeared on the high balcony overlooking the plaza. From the distance, I couldn’t tell exactly what he looked like, but I could tell he was wearing only a simple cloak awash with colors of royal purple and gold. He was wearing a golden sash, perhaps- a slight glint gave that away- but he was otherwise modest in his manner of wear. Appearing beside him was another figure I couldn’t quite identify. Definitely a zebra, though… his Praetorian Guard, I believed.

High as he was above the ground, his voice still carried over the entire plaza. I remember that I was told he adamantly refused to step down. But after all that? His tone was… tired. Weary. Almost defeated. And old. “I will meet with the leaders of the opposition,” he said in Voturian.

The power of a song, folks.

And everyone who heard those words knew- without a shadow of a doubt- he had given in. And yet there was no cheering. There was no applause. No fanfare or celebration.

“You will meet us alone in the Senate!” the emboldened voice of Damaro unmistakably shouted- almost angrily- up to him.

The Caesar didn’t reply immediately. He took a few seconds. But when he did: “We will meet in the Senate, then. I will go alone.” The zebra at his side leaned over as if to whisper something in his ear. Definitely his Praetorian Guard. “I. Will go. Alone.”

Those starkly repeated words sent murmurs and whispers through the crowd. Among those I heard: “Has he lost his mind? They’ll kill him!”

“You have ten minutes!” Damaro shouted up to him before turning with the rest of his cohorts and starting away. And the crowd in his path quickly dispersed- some willingly, others as the Legionaries wordlessly motioned them to make way. As I looked around, I could see many looks.

You could tell a lot about people through their eyes. I never forgot that lesson from Hummingbird. And what did their eyes reveal to me?

Guilt. Uncertainty. Fear. Worry.

There’s a lesson from all this, folks. Be careful what you wish for. Because if you get it, it might just smell of rot.

The storyteller inhaled softly.

He was out in five. I don’t know how his old, tired body was able to carry him down all those stairs so quickly, but he was out in five minutes. There was a clear path for him to the Senate. Waiting for him there at the top of the steps were the legates. His guard was at his side. Once more they appeared to share a whispered word. He visibly shook his head and strode forth while she watched and remained. It was pitiful. She knew. Everyone knew. And yet she still watched like a hound watching her master leave from behind a locked door.

You could have heard a pin drop as Caesar Raj’M’Kora strode forth. Every footfall was audible. His stride was uneven with age, but he carried himself with a dignified posture- head even, shoulders firm, chest out. As he passed by us, though, I could make out the grayness of his muzzle and the dark, sagging circles under his eyes. Even at a distance.

I couldn’t help but shake the feeling. I knew what was coming as he made his way to the stairs, then walked slowly up them. My heart was thudding in my chest, pounding away. My mouth was dry, my knees jittery. I kept my breaths shallow, constricted, as quiet as possible. I needed my ears to be ready for whatever happened. I still felt that intense feeling of being watched. Why weren’t they doing something? Do something!

When he reached the top of the stairs, when he met with Damaro and the other legates, there were some shared words. Quiet, too far and too soft to pick out exactly what was said. Everything was so quiet. And then they headed into the Senate. Their rolling hooves were the loudest sounds in those few minutes that seemed to span hours. Then they slipped from view past the columns.

I studied up on Roam before I went. I did my research. The first thing I told myself when I heard the soft, sharp bang was that it was probably just the doors. That was the irrational part of my mind.

The rational part of my mind reminded me something. I remember everything.

The Senate was open to the public.

There were no doors.

“Raj!” came a single, clearly female shout.

Almost as one, the entire crowd uttered out a string of gasps, muffled cries, some shouts. For about half a second.

Then there was the unmistakable shout of a Legionary near the palace. My eyes shot back to the lone Praetorian Guard, who was now making a break for the Senate. The Legionaries along the pathway took formation in pairs, the ones in front crouching down in front of their respective partners so the other could take aim overhead. They didn’t even shout an order for her to halt. They just opened fire, each in disciplined, controlled, staggered bursts.

From utter silence sprung chaos.

“Run.”

Luna’s single uttered word reached my ears just as the crowd turned into a haphazard stampede.

A zebra stallion with wide eyes, wearing a worn, red co- zebra mare running with the crowd to avoid getting tram- another mare pulling a foal out of the wa- the foal, shivering, shutting his eyes tight-

No.

No. That was exactly what happened with Hummingbird and the changelings so many years ago. I would not allow myself to make the same mistake.

Luna.

Luna. Only Luna. Focus on her. Black unicorn mare, silvery mane, simple hooded cloak. Focus on her and-

“Viediv!” I called, looking around for him in the panicked mass. Mare, stallion, stallion, foal, stallion, mare, mare, stallion, mare- but none of them him.

I felt the firm grasp of a bent fetlock around mine and looked back at Luna. Looked into those eyes, so full of everything.

Luna. Only Luna. Focus on her. Black unicorn mare, silvery mane, simple hooded cloak.

“We have to go,” she called to me, voice firm with cool, calm logic.

That’s what my ears heard. She was putting it lightly. She was breaking it to me gently.

Sometimes, when I think back, I almost hear, “We have to leave him.”

Luna. Only Luna. Focus on her.

I nodded quickly and picked up the pace. I wasn’t going to let her become another Hummingbird.

But at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel that leaving Viediv behind, I also left a part of myself. I never found out what happened to him. I never heard from him again.

I eventually had to let go of Luna’s hoof. We both had to run on all fours to get out of the plaza, but I always remained close to her. The irrational part of me kept on wondering- why doesn’t she just teleport us to a safe distance so we could exfil… exvil… exfiltrate?

To blend in, the rational part of me answered once again. Few unicorns knew how to teleport. And the KSV would investigate a teleportation event after all this. But wait, it’s already clear that Damaro and the other legates killed the Caesar. Why-

Luna. Only Luna. Focus on her. Stick close to her. Ignore the burning muscles in your legs. Ignore the burning questions in your mind. Focus on her. Run. Just run.

By the time we reached the tents and stalls of the Bazaar once more, I staggered to my knees. Sweat was making my cloak cling to my fur, and my chest heaved for breath. And my legs! I hated that burning sensation! Luna helped me back up to my hooves, hugging me tightly.

“We’re okay,” she whispered. “We’re okay.”

I nodded, still gasping for breath. Every part of me just wanted to sag back to the ground and just lie there… except for my ears.

“By the sun… did you see her move? And it was like those bullets didn’t even touch her!”

“Did she get into the Senate?”

“Yes…”

“The that means Legate Damaro…”

“We don’t know for sure. Ugh… this wasn’t what I wanted to happen, joining in all of this…”

I looked back up at Luna, trying to muster up the breath to tell her, “Let’s head back” or “Let’s get out of here.” I just babbled something not even I could understand and settled with waving in the general direction of our hotel. Luna nodded and then widened her eyes. There was a string of surprised shouts and cries and I wearily turned my head to see what was going on.

Off in the distance- roughly thirty meters away- the Praetorian Guard burst past a row of stalls, skidding backwards on her hindhooves. I’d only seen pictures of them before, but even at such a distance, I couldn’t help but tense. Her armor was a deep crimson, gleaming with its innumerable, meticulously layered scale plating backed by something that looked like either leather or an extremely flexible or glossy alloy. It only covered the torso- there were no sleeves or skirts or guards for her limbs, tail, or neck. She didn’t even have a helm for that matter, leaving her movement unrestricted. Most interestingly, two black bands of cloth covered her eyes and slipped through her mouth as a gag and blindfold. And she was immaculate. There had been a lot of gunfire before everything went to hell, and she didn’t even have a scratch on her. Standing bipedal, she gripped in her fetlocks a pair of similarly glossy swords. They were colored a chaotic mix of black and brown and were extremely linear and simple in design- I couldn’t even tell if they had crossguards from this distance. Their edges were sharp- odd considering the Roaman inclination for stabbing over swinging. And they were dripping with blood.

The people nearby quickly backed away, letting out a string of murmurs punctuated with shouts and sharp cries. A pair of Legionaries arrived on-scene, one more raggedly than the other. He barked into his helmet mic in Zwahili, “The Praetorian is a traitor to the Empire! Shoot on sight!”

As he spoke, “The Praetorian,” his partner maintained his distance while keeping himself between the other soldier and the mare defensively and fired off a burst with his assault rifle. As if anticipating this, she kicked off sideways in a short hop that somehow sent her several meters to the side in a split second and set off a resounding thud from her landing that even I could hear from that distance. The bullets harmlessly sailed into a tarp.

As he spoke “is a traitor to,” the Praetorian Guard darted forward in a low sprint, forcing the Legionary to take a split second to correct his aim both to the side and downward. A split second he didn’t have.

As he spoke, “the Empire,” his partner only fired a single round that barely missed its mark. The mare swung both of her shortswords upward in a staggered, fanlike motion, twisting her torso as she went. The first cleave sliced through the stallion’s left foreleg and continued on to cleanly bisect his rifle. The second diagonally lopped off half of his head, carving straight through the helmet on its way up.

And the words “Shoot on sight” barely left his mouth as the Praetorian’s momentum carried her toward him. Her blades fanned back downward another double cleave, the first slicing cleanly through his torso- which I remind you was armored with ceramic-laminate scaled plating- and the second beheading the already doomed stallion.

Now… I’ve killed before all this. I might not have been entirely lucid during it, but let’s not forget that. But watching this mare who had been trained to kill with such fluidity and so little effort downright scared me.

By now, panicked shouts and screams filled the air as everyone started running away. Adrenaline coursing through my veins once more, I hauled myself up to my feet and started galloping away even as Luna hurriedly uttered, “Run! Up, let’s go!” The burning weight in my legs seemed to vanish as I ran off, chancing a look back at the Praetorian Guard.

By now the remaining Legionaries had wisened up and were engaging her from a distance, taking accurate single shots from further down the Bazaar walkway. The armored mare darted to the side, swinging her shortswords a few times as if to-

The storyteller snorted.

-as if to block or deflect the incoming bullets, then darted behind one of the stalls for cover, crouching low and appearing to stare at us.

Yes, she was thirty meters away and growing.

Yes, she had a blindfold on.

And yet I couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that she was staring right at us.

That notion only strengthened as she stood and sprinted directly at us, her hindhooves creating a steady percussion of heavy thuds as she charged.

“Jy!” She let out a muffled shout at us past her cloth gag. “Stopp, perde!”

“She’s headed this way!” I called to Luna, panic rising in my tone.

I watched her chance a look back, and when she turned to face forward again, she said with an edge to her tone, “She knows.”

“What do you mean she-” I belted back at her in surprise. “She can see? How?”

“‘I don’t know, but we are leaving!’” she replied quickly. “There’s too many eyes around us, Frost! Look for a place where we can hide!”

By the tone of her voice, it didn’t sound like she meant just the Bazaar. “How about… about our suite?” I asked, my words broken up by my panted breath.

“I don’t know if we can make it that far!” Luna shouted back. Her horn lit up, and the two nearest stalls suddenly shifted behind us into the path of the zebra mare. “Just move!”

In spite of her words, I couldn’t help but look back… and then gawk as she effortlessly sliced her way through in a flurry of dancing blades. I could have sworn there was a whole refrigerator- with food!- lying cleanly bisected in her wake.

I slumped my shoulders at that. What couldn’t those swords cut through? My muscles were really burning by now as I galloped after Luna. The Praetorian Guard was pouring on the speed toward us, and despite her bipedal stance and her heavy, thudding footfalls, she was gaining. As we raced past another batch of stalls, the bystanders quickly scrambling out of the way, there was a quick series of cracks and shouts, and I watched as the guard mare brought up her blades in jerky motions, sparks flying from them. Holy shit, she was deflecting those rounds!

“Where do we go?” I called to Luna, my heart pounding as we passed by the pair of Legionaries from which the shots came from. One of them kicked backward out of the way with a shout of warning. The other one didn’t react fast enough. The armored mare leaped into a frontflip, bringing her hindlegs down hard on him with a sickening, wet crunch, the impact causing her to skid forward atop his crushed body for a short distance before she leaped off to continue barreling after us. You’ve got to be kidding me- this mare was coming after us?!

We started making our way toward the cramped, winding roads with small businesses, restaurants, and homes springing up along them. And all of them had people. Some were running like we were, others were looking in surprise, but they were everywhere. Not to mention that I was hearing the kind of shouting from up ahead that could only mean more Legionaries…

“Look for an alleyway, look for an empty stall,” Luna barked, “just something!”

I looked frantically for a way out, but each and every which way seemed to have zebras wondering what the hay was going on or just plain trying to get out of the way of the rapidly approaching swordsmare.

And then, just like that, fatigue caught up with me. A splitting pain lanced up all of my legs as they finally cramped up and I toppled to the ground hard, panting heavily for breath. My chin split against the stone and I felt myself bleeding there. I wanted to get back up or cover my chin- anything. But my legs were locked up and refused to budge, and I could only groan pathetically from the pain. Even if I was willing to risk using my magic, I couldn’t muster the concentration. Luna turned back to me, eyes wide.

“Oh no no no no no…” she muttered quickly, looking at me, then up at an alleyway. I could only weakly look back up at the zebra stallion standing there out of the way of the commotion, eyes wide. “I’m sorry.” I heard her whisper. I was about to ask something before her sky-blue magic flickered once against the stallion and he was blasted backward with an arcane force with a cry of surprise, tumbling into a crumpled, groaning heap on the ground. The world turned a similar shade of sky-blue as Luna magically hoisted me up with her and darted into the alley. “Shut your eyes!”

I shut them tightly and felt cold metal pressing against my shoulder, accompanied by the sound of rippling cloth.

Then silence.

For the briefest moment, silence and not a feeling of being watched but the unsettling feeling of pinpricks… everywhere. It was like your leg falling asleep, just… everywhere.

Then sound crashed back, the rippling cloth sounding like a roaring wave, and I tore my eyes open.

We weren’t in the Bazaar anymore.

I didn’t even think we were in Zebrica anymore.

Everything was dark, unbelievably dark, but I felt cold, wet stone beneath my hooves. The cold metal touch at my shoulder left me.

“Don’t turn around,” I heard Dawn Treader whisper calmly but firmly as a soft heat suffused through my split chin. The wetness from the blood disappeared. Without a hint of a magical aura. “Do not. Turn around.”

“Okay… okay…” I panted softly, too exhausted to turn around anyway. “Is she… is she-?”

“I’m here,” Luna’s whisper greeted me, and I felt her wrap her forelegs around me. She’d dropped the illusion, and I felt relief spring forth in me, letting that sagging exhaustion claim me. I slumped fully back against my alicorn lover, utterly spent. I even had trouble keeping my head upright.

“Thank you… thank you…” I whispered, my heart still hammering away and my body shivering as if going into adrenaline withdrawal.

“Are they bringing her?” Luna asked.

“Ohhh yes,” Dawn replied out of view. “Get ready. She’s not going to be hospitable.” Then he shouted in a manner that carried an echo within this… cavern, I suspected. “Daze! Get RMK over here!”

“Wait, what?” I whispered sharply. “But he’s-”

There was the sound of crinkling glass behind me. “Over here,” Daze Haze’s disguised voice echoed.

Hooves on marble. Snapping wood. Dripping water.

“Prepare yourselves,” came Anvil’s voice, much more serious now. “Obsidian’s cell is coming in hot.”

“Why hot?” Raj’M’Kora’s voice in Equestrian, with that Zebrican accent. The Raj’M’Kora’s voice.

“What’s going on?!” I demanded.

“Just stay quiet for now,” Luna shushed me. “Please. Just let us handle this.”

“Your guard has multiple Legionaries with eyes on her, your Highness, and whatever Daze tried to tell her about us trying to help out, it got lost in translation,” came Anvil’s reply. “If we want a clean evac, Obsidian’s cell might also be forced to bring two Legionaries along. And it’s likely that your guard will be initially hostile.”

“And you plan to kill them immediately afterward,” the Caesar surmised.

“... the Legionaries, yes.”

“And there’s no other way?”

“This would involve the least collateral, your Highness,” Hammer spoke. “Your guard is being very aggressive toward any Legionary in her path. And Princess Luna, I must ask again- should he be privy to all of this?”

I knew he meant me.

I felt Luna shift against me. “Yes. He was a part of this operation. He deserves some clarity, or at least enough to know why we had to do this.”

I felt so horribly out of the loop. I couldn’t see anything, it was cold and musty, and Caesar Raj’M’Kora was alive? And on top of that, they wouldn’t even allow me to see anyone or anything. The only comforting thing right now was Luna’s closeness. And even then I felt that adrenaline buzz working its way back at the notion of the Praetorian Guard being on the way...

A loud thud. Whooshing air. A muted chirp. All at once, all behind me.

Then there was a rapid pair of soft, bony snaps, then a sharp gasp of surprise and the rapid sound of metal-on-metal clanging, followed by rapid movement.

“Faraal, stopp!” Raj’M’Kora called. And then silence.

There was the sound of gently rustling cloth. “... Raj?” the unmistakable voice of the Praetorian Guard called in a whisper.

After a few seconds, there was a hard swallow and a polite cough. “Hoo… and you actually doubted the mare,” a smooth, male voice sounded off.

“I stand corrected and pleasantly surprised, then,” Dawn huffed in return.

“Still, cutting it a little close, your Highness?”

“I’m sixty-eight years old,” I heard the Caesar snort. “You’ll forgive my slow, ah, reflexes. Faraal, staan af. Hulle is vriende, verstaan?” Stand down. They are friends, understand?

There came a warped sound of sliding metal, followed by a loud snap and click. “Ek verstaan,” the Praetorian Guard… Faraal replied. Then there came a soft twin sigh and the shift of cloth, as if the two shared an embrace. “Wat gebeur?”

Then there came a firm female tone. “Caesar Raj’M’Kora, Praetorian Faraal, if I may explain?”

A pause. “I would rather hear it come from Luna,” he replied.

“Of course, your Highness.”

Luna pulled away from me and rest a hoof on my shoulder, rubbing gently as she pulled away. The immediate threat of death was behind us at last… and I let out a deep, misty sigh. “Raj’M’Kora, Faraal, we- that is myself, my sister, and my Lunar Guard- strongly believed that the opposition leaders were planning to assassinate you, and we took measures to ensure that wouldn’t happen.”

“And you were right,” the Caesar huffed softly. “I… apologize. I didn’t believe you.”

“Regardless, the situation required all of us to act without your knowledge,” Luna spoke. “I hope you both understand. If either of you had known this beforehoof, it could have complicated matters more than they already are- or needed to be.”

“Yes,” Raj’M’Kora said simply. “But what happened? I’m sure Faraal would like to know especially.”

“Yes, of course,” said Luna. “Daze, you were there. We’ll start debriefing with you.”

A deep inhale sounded off before the mare’s androgynous voice spoke, “As you were heading toward the Senate, I appeared before Faraal with an exclusionary illusion and tried to explain the situation to her in a way she could understand. The language barrier, of course, didn’t help. She was suspicious, even though she acknowledged me and made no hostile move. After that, Dawn and I moved in to secure your safety, Caesar. I created a multisensory illusion and substituted you with it before extracting you here.”

I could distinctly hear Caesar Raj’M’Kora sharing a whispered string of words to this Faraal, likely translating for her. He then asked, “And afterward?”

“We proceeded to fully exfiltrate from Zebrica, along with your guard,” Daze replied. “Rest assured that my illusions will be convincing enough. As far as everyone is concerned, you’re a dead stallion, your Highness. Now this is the part where I must ask you some questions. More specifically, I must ask your guard. Is she capable of seeing through magical illusions?”

“Yes,” came the Caesar’s reply. “She is not fooled by illusion magic of any kind.”

Daze inhaled particularly strongly. “So she can see what I look like and can hear my actual voice. For instance.”

“Yes.”

Another strong inhale. “Princess Luna, permission to take my leave?”

“Permission granted,” Luna said quietly. “I’ll speak with you later.”

“Understood,” Daze spoke. It was followed by a rapid warbling sound.

Before my exhausted mind could even attempt to unravel the meaning behind Daze’s exit, the firm female voice asked, “Shall I continue the debrief, princess?”

“Continue,” said Luna.

“Second, Praetorian Faraal, we lost contact with you once you entered the Senate,” the unnamed Lunar Guard mare spoke. “We overheard radio chatter that Legate Damaro was dead. What happened in Senate?”

I felt a sinking feeling in my gut. Even if he probably deserved it, the gears in my head were turning...

More whispered chatter before Caesar Raj’M’Kora replied, “She… she killed all of the legates there. She says it was an act of responsibility, by… which in a way you can understand, was exacting vengeance. She maintains that if I had really been there, I would have been killed, so she assumed the responsibility of exacting that same punishment on them and any Legionary who supported them. In other words, also any who shot at her. She considered them traitors to the Empire.”

“You killed all of them?” the unnamed guard questioned.

“Ja,” came Faraal’s reply after a brief whisper.

The Lunar Guard mare exhaled deeply. “Thank you.” A soft inhale, and then she confirmed my suspicions. “Princess Luna, that means that we have an even bigger problem. Effectively, the Caesar is dead, and so are all of the legates save Khotek, who we still haven’t heard a peep from.”

“Roam is going to eat itself alive…” Luna murmured.

“Or the minotaurs will take this as an opportune moment for strategic, widespread strikes,” Anvil added. “Likely both.”

I heard Luna sigh. “We’ll continue the debrief later. With Daze. But for now, we should be getting him back. He knows enough now. Anvil, Hammer, please retrieve our belongings from our suite. I’ll get Daze to forge our departure with ImeD. Meadow, Shine, you are both to return to the Senate to confirm the legates’ deaths.”

“We serve,” the four stallions complied simultaneously before there came the sound of hooves on marble, snapping wood, whooshing air, and a muffled chirp. They were gone.

“Can we trust him to remain silent about all of this?” Stagger Storm’s ‘voice’ finally asked.

“Your lack of faith and Hammer’s have been duly noted,” Luna said firmly with a slight edge to her voice. “He can be trusted.”

“Wie is hy?” Faraal inquired audibly. “Die res is jou wagte, maar wie is hy?”

“Ah… Faraal wants to know who he is,” Caesar Raj’M’Kora spoke. “The rest are your guards, but who is he?”

I felt Luna’s reassuring hoof against my shoulder, and the world tinted sky-blue as her magic surrounded me.

The storyteller smiled.

Her reply still brings a smile to my lips to this day.

“Classified.”

Of all things that fit the bill that day, me, folks. ‘Classified.’

He let out a husky, rapidly deteriorating chuckle.

Ahhh… what a day, that day.

* * *

I don’t know when I passed out, but when I finally came to, I was staring up into the wooden loft of my apartment home in Ponyville. My legs were so sore I could barely move. I couldn’t even bring myself to hug Luna when she came for me, and I was very thankful I didn’t have to worry about summer session for Littlehorn. With all the international uproar, I was surprised she could even set aside time for me at all, even if it was just to feed me.

Yes. Feed me. Remember what I said about pride being my vice way back? I can’t tell you what felt more horrible back then- the fact that I had to be spoon-fed by my prospective wife or that dreadful ache in my useless legs. But for the most part, I spent those hours just trying to make sense of all that had happened and listen to the radio. We were so quiet, I don’t think anypony in town even realized I had returned yet.

It wasn’t looking good in Roam. Or Zebrica for that matter. The apparent assassination and the deaths of nearly all of the legates left a yawning gap in the fabric of Roam. The chain of command both political and military had been broken in a matter of minutes, leaving a vacuum of power.

I remember lying there in bed with Luna that night. Not even her soft, feathery wings comforted me.

“-ports of minotaur sympathizer causing mass riots within Roam continue to leak from the county. The extent of the damage and death toll have yet to be released, just as they have always been since the start of the uprising. We, like many news outlets, continue to press officials in Zebrica for infor-”

“Frost, can we please shut that off?” Luna whispered.

In reply, I fired up my horn with its sky-blue glow and sprouted an ice arm to flick my radio alarm off. The ache in my legs grew, and the arm fell and shattered against the floor as my concentration slipped. I missed, so utterly fatigued as I was, and simply turned down the volume instead to a near inaudible drone.

It was the only sound for what seemed like hours. Luna didn’t say anything this time. She didn’t peel back the curtain of silence separating us. My mind raced with thoughts, my imagination conjuring the worst. What was she feeling? Did she blame herself?

No. This time, I pulled those curtains down.

“Hey…” I whispered to her. “Are you alright?”

She shifted against me as if surprised that I had spoken first. “... no.”

I grunted as I wriggled my torso until I eventually turned to face her. I looked into those eyes, those eyes full of everything, now glancing away from me. “Talk to me,” I urged her. “Please.”

The deep-blue alicorn let out a soft, deep breath through her nostrils before murmuring, “I knew the risks when we planned this operation. I knew that something could go wrong, but… not this. You were in real, legitimate danger from something that none of us had really accounted for. It is inexcusable.” She punctuated her last word by stamping her hoof against the mattress. If it were against the floor, it would have had more emphasis. The way she did it, it just seemed… weak.

I sighed softly, mistily. Some of it trickled onto her, but she scarcely seemed to notice. “You couldn’t account for everything. That saying about expecting the unexpected? You just can’t do it.” She refused to look at me, and instead her ears tucked back. I sighed again. “Nightingale… look at me. Please.”

Her name. That was all it took. The power of a name. The single sweetest sound in any language.

“None of us saw it coming,” I whispered to her. “None of us. And when it did happen, you and your guards acted admirably and accordingly to ensure our safety. The only thing that didn’t seem to work out was me being out of shape.” I offered her a faint smile. “So please… don’t blame yourself.”

Luna didn’t look entirely convinced, but she did mirror my smile. That, at least, put me at ease. “Are you alright, though?” she asked, reciprocating my earlier question.

“Oh jeez,” I nickered. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to move for days. But otherwise? Yeah… I’m fine. And… yes. I understand why you had to do all of this. And honestly… you being a mare who takes care of her friends, no matter the risks? That only makes me love you more.”

Luna slumped slightly before pulling me in for a tight hug, letting out a deep sigh. “Thank you, Frost… and I’ll see if I can help with your legs in the morning.”

I smiled broadly and did the only affectionate thing I could do at the moment given my legs- nuzzle her neck. “And thank you for giving me bragging rights for ‘most interesting honeymoon ever.’”

Luna let out a soft, short chuckle, then gently tapped me on the back of my head with her hoof in response.

“Oh come on!” I chuckled huskily. “You have to admit it!”

“Well… it’ll certainly be one to remember,” Luna murmured, then went rigid.

“... Luna?” I called softly. “What’s wrong?”

She said nothing. I only saw a sky-blue glow coming from behind me as she used her magic to turn up the radio.

“-egion forces have reportedly consolidated themselves within the city of Roam to quell the riots. Eyewitness reports have leaked from Zebrica, leading us to believe that one of the few surviving senior legates by the name of Khotek has assumed command of the Legion and declared himself interim protector of the Empire of Zebrica, thus enabling him to assume emergency powers. When our correspondent inquired how he was able to escape from the rampage of the late Caesar’s Praetorian Guard, it was apparently because he was purportedly in the field at the time to ensure the safety of the Zebrican people from the minotaur militants. We will continue to report on the matter as new details trickle in.”

“Clever bastard,” Luna remarked in a murmur.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 20 Reached!
Perk Added: Stripus Incognitus- There are shades of gray between the black and white. Your knowledge of zebra customs grants you a +5 to Speech rolls against them.

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- The Old Lunar Guard

Soundtrack- Theme of the Specialist, Dawn Treader

Soundtrack- Theme of the Psionic, Daze Haze

Soundtrack- Theme of the Escort, Anvil

Soundtrack- Theme of the Bodyguard, Hammer

Soundtrack- Theme of the Silent, Stagger Storm

Soundtrack- I Have to Do This, I Hate to Do This

Soundtrack- The Bazaar

Soundtrack- Moanin’ by Flakey Art

Soundtrack- Who’s Khotek?

Soundtrack- Something is Wrong

Soundtrack- Civil Unrest

Soundtrack- Barra Barra

Soundtrack- Coup de Grâce

Soundtrack- Madness

Soundtrack- Chase

Soundtrack- Location Unknown

Soundtrack- Theme of the Praetorian Guard, Faraal

Soundtrack- Together (Special Thanks to Tofu)

Soundtrack- Wool Over the Eyes

Author's Note

Well... at least it wasn't quite as long as the wait for last time. But yes, nearly three months between installments sucks. Really sorry about all the delays. I hope that in the end, this chapter was worth it.

If not, well, enjoy the crapton of music?

Anyway, my thanks to the usual suspects including Lazer726 for his suggestions and pre-reading. I must also especially thank you as the reader this time for being so patient. Here's hoping next installment comes out faster. Lastly, I must also thank Raugos for permission to use Anvil and Hammer as characters in TLS. Speaking of which, check out his works! My thanks to Egophiliac as well for allowing me to use... well, you'll see.

So with that, please leave some feedback. I read every comment and do take constructive criticism to heart.

Until next time,
Adder1

Reflection Twenty-Two: Event Horizon

Reflection Twenty-Two: Event Horizon

“War, war never changes.

It never has. It never will. It always destroys, destroys equinity, creation, life, ingenuity. War is like an empty void that swallows everything up and still hungers for more.”

“I regret that… the worst of times now lie ahead of us. That which I feared and tried to prevent…

“Parliament has overturned our unanimous veto.

“Equestria is at war.”

Switched off the radio. Didn’t need to hear any more. And, glancing at Luna, only just starting to slip out of bed, frozen as the announcement was made… neither did she.

Shifted slightly and looked at her, seated on the opposite side of the mattress. She seemed so statuesque. Absolutely still, save for her ethereal mane and tail. Couldn’t see her face, couldn’t see her eyes. Didn’t have an idea what was on her mind.

Until she spoke.

“How dare they,” she whispered. She inhaled deeply and swelled as if with rage. And she was trying very hard to control it. Kept her tone flat, even, quiet. Knew she was containing it all. “How dare they. Who are they to think that war, any kind of war is best for Equestria? How dare they. They have not tasted war, they don’t know war, they cannot comprehend war. How dare they.”

I twisted around and crawled closer to her side, looking up to her. Her expression was hard, lips twisted into a harsh frown, eyes glaring at the floor. I didn’t know what to say. My words failed me. What could I say to her? What did I know about war?

She glanced at me briefly, and her glare grew feeble. Her eyes narrowed to hide it, and she flattened her lips. “Six-thousand years, Frost. Six-thousand-one-hundred-two years I’ve been alive. I lived through the Age of Discord, the Age of Exploration, the Age of Empires, now the Age of Industry. I’ve seen too many wars in my time. Boundaries shifted, cities burned, families torn or wiped clean. I have waged my own wars. Without. And within.”

She turned to me. Her voice croaked, “How dare they.”

My heart fell at that. The last time I heard that strained tone… seven years ago, when I first learned who she really was. Only just one floor down, when she pleaded me to stay and listen.

And now it was my turn.

I opened my forelegs and drew her into a tight hug. She could only lean in to accept it. Couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t see it. But I still knew the tears were flowing.

“Why didn’t they listen to us?” she asked in a whisper to conceal her shaky tone. “Why didn’t they listen to me?”

Just held her tight as I could. Tried to comfort her with my strength. What little I had.

She pulled away at last, letting out a deep breath and avoiding my gaze. Still tried to hide it. “Sorry. I… I just… sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I finally spoke. Softly, helpless, unable to help. Wanted to say they would learn soon enough. Wanted to say something, anything that could comfort her. But I couldn’t say anything that wasn’t a lie. So I asked- softly, helpless, unable to help, “How can I help?”

She looked at me with those eyes, so full of everything, now so sad. So, so sad. Reached out to cup her cheek and tilted in close. Our foreheads met, and we both closed our eyes. She reached to cup my cheek, mirroring me.

“Just be here for me, Frost.”

The storyteller glanced downward briefly, falling quiet. Then eyes back on the audience.

Nightingale, folks. Nightingale. No goddess, no princess, no Luna.

Just a pony. Like you or me. Equine. With her own moments of strength- and weakness. With her own triumphs- and failures. Just a pony. A pony who’s lived too long, seen too much, wishes desperately for others to realize it all… a pony with the dream of a normal death. A pony who cannot stop- can never stop- and yet can’t help but look back at what- and who- was left behind. A pony who needed someone, anyone, to help her bear the burden. And only a few could do that for her.

And she could never let anyone else know. Because she was Princess Luna. And people had to see her that way.

I could see it all in those eyes. Eyes full of everything. Because they’d seen everything.

“I will,” I told her. “I will.”

She rested both hooves on my shoulders- and mine on hers. We met lips. Shortly, sweetly, softly. When she pulled away, she whispered,“I’m going to… I’m going to have to see to preparations. I expect Zebrica to declare war on Equestria in turn. I’ll be back, love, just… please be here for me.”

“I know,” I whispered back. “And I’m not going anywhere. That’s a promise, Nightingale.”

Our foreheads met again, and she gripped my shoulders tightly before pulling away… and disappearing in a flash of light.

* * *

Later that day. While I was preparing for Monday’s lecture.

There was a rapid knocking at the door- so rapid. Could only be one pony in all of Equestria

“Hey, Pinkie,” I greeted after opening up for her, smiling softly.

“Hi, Frost,” she greeted, mirroring my smile. She never smiled softly before. Always broad, always bright. And she never just said ‘Hi, Frost.’ Was always. ‘Hey, Frost,’ ‘Hi there, Frost,’ ‘How’s it hanging, Frost?’ Never just… ‘Hi, Frost.’ The bubble gum-pink mare nodded inside in question, and I stepped aside to let her in.

Shutting the door behind her and sublimating my arm, we stood in awkward silence. We never did that before. “So,” I murmured.

“So…” she murmured. Never before.

“Heard the news?”

She nodded. “I had the elbow twitch and lip tingle. That means Luna is sad. I also had the tail flick and hoof jitter. That… means you’re sad. Then I heard the news...”

I didn’t say anything. Only watched her.

“Will you both be okay?” she asked.

“I… I don’t know,” I said with a misty sigh, shaking my head.

“Wanna hit Scratch’s place tonight?” she said in offer, smiling a little more. “You know… with Lyra and Bon Bon? Like old times?”

“Like old times,” I chuckled softly, huskily. “You say that as if we’re already old.”

Pinkie giggled and snorted softly at that. “So… you wanna?”

“Sure,” I said with a growing smile to match hers, even if forced.

She nodded and said softly, “You know, I… had the nose crinkle, mane tug, tail twitch, half-blink, stomach rumble, tongue tingle, and ear flop. That means everything ends in sunshine and rainbows.”

My smile faltered somewhat. “Do you really think so?” I asked.

She just maintained her smile. “I know so,” she said quietly and left a token rub on my shoulder before taking her leave.

I didn’t know whether she was telling the truth or lying just to make me feel better.

The storyteller looked outside the opening of the train car.

Hasn’t been the first time Pinkie Pie lied to me.

He let out a long, misty sigh.

Luna was right. Later that morning, Zebrica responded to Equestria’s declaration of war with its own.

* * *

That evening.

“Hey, uh… hey, Frost.”

“Hey, Zoleks. Just… just calling to see how you and your family are doing. That’s all.”

Deep breath. “Hoo, us? Well, we’re… okay, we’re honestly a little… ugh, horseapples, buck, I don’t know how I feel about all this. I mean, my parents are immigrants. You know that. Hay, I was born there. Only spent a few years of my life there, but… still.”

“I know what you mean.”

Snort. “Really? You know what it’s like basically learning your kin are now the enemy?”

A few seconds of silence. “It only took ten days for me to tear it down, Zoleks.”

“Oh… right. Uh, sorry. Just, ugh, I really don’t know what to feel about all this.”

“It’s fine. Neither do I.” Deep sigh. “You going to be alright?”

“Hope so… you? You sound pretty shaken up too, buck.”

“Heh, well… I’m kind of the equinpologist here. I can’t bring myself to antagonize Zebrica- it’s a wonderful country with a culture as rich as ours. It all just… it doesn’t seem real.”

Sigh. “Yeah… I understand.”

“Look, I’ll… just stay safe, okay? All of you. Namira, Jorund, your parents. And let me know if anyone gives you any trouble, you hear?”

“Heh… sure. Alright.” Slow inhale. “Take care, then?”

“Yeah… take care.”

Click.

* * *

A month-and-a-half later.

Looked up the rows at all the bright young minds- my newest students of the fall quarter. Not a single cell phone to be found.

The storyteller cracked a thin smile.

Word had gotten around by then.

Room suddenly fell quiet. Never was that way before. Followed the gazes to one of the entryways, and there I saw why. A group of zebra students. They tried to ignore the stares, but I could see the quiver of their legs, the dry gulps of their throats. They moved toward the front row, and suddenly the ponies, griffins, and the lone mule already sitting nearby began to vacate them.

“Hold it,” I said firmly, authoritatively. With the room already dead silent, they could all definitely hear me. And they froze just as fast as my water. All eyes on me. The acoustics in the room were finely tuned for the best lecture experience. Every clip and clop of my hoof was distinctly audible as I made my way toward the group of students, standing between the zebras and the others. Looked from them to the rest of the class. “Well? Anyone care to explain?”

My eyes played elevator up and down the rows for what seemed like eons. Could hardly count how many squeamish souls shifted in their seats. Finally, an earth pony opened his mouth, “We’re… we’re at war with the zebras, professor.”

I grimaced. A new collective gulp was audible from the rows close enough to see me. “And who told you this?”

“My parents, professor,” he responded.

“Your parents,” I parroted, then I looked about the others. “Was that what they told the rest of you?”

Murmurs of affirmation, some audible replies, and a few nods answered in reply.

I inhaled deeply and moved closer to the zebra students. A couple of them flinched. Lowered my head to their level and asked, “Where’s home for you?”

One of the mares answered, “Trottin’am, professor.”

She definitely had the accent. “And how long did you live there?” I asked with an easy smile.

“All my life, professor.”

I looked at the others. “How about the rest of you?”

“Cowhoun. Reckon’ Ah’m the second generation of native Equestrians.”

“Canterlot, sir. I admit my parents immigrated over, but I assure you I am of Equestrian birth and citizenship.”

“Fillydelphia, and I’m an Equestrian through and through, Doctor Windchill.”

“Manehattan, born and raised.”

My eyes lit up at that. “Manehattan! Lights and Legends! Missing any of the juvie-joints yet?”

The colt rubbed his shoulder and blushed a little. “Well… Vortex’s, yeah.”

“Mm… not a bad place, been around for a while,” I said with a momentary purse of the lips, bobbing my head a few times as I mulled through memory. “Happen to swing by The Lazy Dog a few times?”

“Well yeah, but DJ H0UND’s retired, so kinda fell back on Vortex’s,” he answered with a boldened smile.

Mine faltered at that. Retired… wow… has it really been that long? But I forced it back on. “Bit of a shame, yeah, but still good taste.” I offered him a hoofbump- which he chuckled and returned- and stood tall once more. I addressed the class as a whole, “So yeah. They’re zebras. And I’m a pony.” And I began to point. “And you’re a griffin. And you’re a donkey. And you’re a buffalo. But you know what? Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’re all Equestrians. We share the same bedtime stories, the same music, the same experiences, and the same values, those Six Cardinal Virtues of Friendship- honesty, kindness, generosity, laughter, loyalty, magic. All of it flows in our veins.” I formed an ice arm and held a single finger up. “Know thy enemy; it is not them.” I pointed it at the zebras. And then I let it sublimate. “Let’s set the record straight, folks. Equestria is at war with Zebrica- a nation not just of zebras but minotaurs, dragons, and even ponies, griffins, donkeys, mules, and buffalo as well!”

“What?” a student I couldn’t see cried out in disbelief. “That’s a lie!”

I snorted, looking in the general direction of the shout. “You want to argue with a doctor of equinpology? Feel free. Want to turn it into a shouting match? Feel free. Gotta warn you though, I grew up going to the same juvie-joints as your fellow classmate here.” I nodded toward the zebra from earlier. “I can shout as long and as loud as any drill sergeant in the Equestrian Armed Forces. Equestria is a multicultural country. So is Aldorna, and so is Zebrica.” And so I repeated the gesture. “Know thy enemy; it is not them. Equestria is at war with Zebrica- not with zebras. If any of you, your friends, or your family have a problem with that, I’ll gladly entertain an audience.” I looked at the group of zebras. “Go ahead and take a seat.” And back to the class as a whole. “And if there are any further zebra-related problems- and I will find out- well… don’t make any. But we’re running a little late as is.

“Welcome to Equestrian History Honors. My name is Frost Windchill. Pleased to meet you. Class is in session.”

* * *

Four months later.

“-Battle at the Isles of Gallopogos resulted in another zebra victory. As usual, no deaths were reported and all wounded are expected to make a full recovery. As the Legion continues its ‘stepping stone’ approach to the many islands dotting both the eastern and western seaboard, this is yet another example of Equestria’s poorly-equipped and poorly-trained military-”

“Frost, you really should stop listening to that. It’s just gonna get you depressed.”

Snapped out of my stupor, blinking rapidly, breathing rapidly. Looked across my office desk to Crystal, the baby dragoness clutching a set of scrolls. Sprouted an ice arm to flick the radio off, sublimating it shortly after. Drew a hoof down my face and let out a misty sigh.

“Ya see?” the blue-scaled toddler said, crossing her arms and frowning at me, though her eyes betrayed her concern.

“Ugh… you’re right,” I murmured, taking a look through the window behind me. Beyond laid the desolate badlands beyond Littlehorn… desolate, yet beautifully dotted by the light poking through the clouds. Like heaven shining down upon a cursed land. It brought a sense of calm to me, and I inhaled deeply before facing forward again. “My apologies. What was it you needed?”

“Just bringing you your mail,” Crystal replied, setting her batch down on my desk. I followed her gaze to its surface. It was cluttered with paperwork. “Still working on drafting midterms?”

“Yep,” I said, hissing out a sigh through my nostrils as I started sifting through the scrolls. Department meeting… luncheon… yadda yadda. “At least this time I’ve got a few under my belt already.”

“Alright… just… take care of yourself, okay?” Crystal said, rubbing her shoulder. “Try not to listen to too much to the war. I hate to use a quote this way, but ignorance is bliss.”

I blinked, and for a moment, I saw trash bags blotting out my entire vision and remembered that suffocating heat and stench.

“Ignorance can kill,” I retorted, sprouting another arm to dip my quill and sign the RSVP. “What you don’t know can hurt you.”

She frowned. “You say that as if the war’ll come to Littlehorn or Ponyville or Manehattan or something.”

“One more reason to keep paying attention to the headlines,” I said simply, passing the scroll to her.

“Not to the point of depression,” she huffed as she took it from me. “All in moderation, right? You Hokkaidans are all about balance.”

I couldn’t help but smile softly. “That’s The Way.” I let out a soft sigh. “You’re right. I’ll keep posted, just… not too closely. Alright?” Crystal nodded, returning my smile before heading back out.

Leaned back in my seat and frowned at the rough draft of the exam in front of me. Brushed it aside and opened up my desk, unfurling the scroll I’d saved there. A soft, misty sigh left my nostrils as I reread the paragraph near the end.

“I also strongly believe that while your articles and book on how the Age of Industry is affecting peoples worldwide are very informative, it would behoove you to eventually do some research at home. There are few Northerner equinpologists, and though Northerner culture is steeped in oral tradition, the written word may yet be necessary to chronicle our heritage and preserve it for the future.”

Strikespark Thea’s words had left an impression on me when I first laid eyes on them nearly three years ago. Now was the time to act on them.

I set the scroll back in its drawer, leaned back in my seat, and shut my eyes. Let the world melt away and started recollecting all the memories I had of the Northern Lights Festival, year after year…

* * *

Two months later.

Was seated at my desk at home in Ponyville, putting together my application for board member of the Manehattan Northerner Cultural Committee, the radio alarm not too far away hissing the latest news of the hour. At least it was just business-related news this time.

“Well, since neither Equestria nor Zebrica wish to do trade with one another, Aldorna has become a sort of middlegriffin- or middlebuck in your terms- in this international trading relationship. That’s why we’ve seen the need for a consolidated organization branching multiple industries, including medicine, electronics, aeronautics, commerce, investment, and many others. So one business partner talked to the next, and we’ve formed a new conglomerate of sorts.”

“For those who’ve just joined us, I’m speaking with Sigmund Rothchick, spokesgriffin of The Dartmouth Group. Dartmouth’s rapid growth has attracted many investors both in the griffin republic and at home in Equestria, though its development has not been without hitches…”

Heard the sparking and saw the flash of magic, and I’d been with her for more than long enough to know what that meant. I pulled away from my terminal as I swiveled around to greet Luna, offering a warm smile and opening my forelegs for a hug. The deep-blue alicorn used her magic to shed her royal regalia with a deep sigh, and we embraced tightly.

“We secured a cease-fire,” she said breathlessly as I brushed my neck against hers. “We secured a cease-fire.”

“That’s wonderful news!” I said, smiling as I brushed down her spine. I wasn’t a masseuse by any stretch of the imagination, but I could feel all the tense muscle in her back. “Does… does that mean the war’s over?”

Luna snorted, “No, just… delayed. Khotek is arrogant, but at least he has some sense of decency. He’s granted us one year to train and equip our military for modern warfare.” She breathed out another deep sigh as she pulled away, sitting down on the bed. “It’s… it’s just so strange, this war. They’re not even trying to kill one another. It’s almost like playing a game where the one who’s had enough concedes territory. No deaths, only injuries. I’d laugh, but… it’s just such a strange feeling.”

The storyteller leaned closer for a moment.

Remember. No more laughter.

I stood and moved to sit by her side, looking up at her. “But we should be grateful that it’s not turning into something like the conflict between the zebras and minotaurs, right?”

“Absolutely,” she said quickly and firmly, “but I can’t help but worry. That’s all it feels like- a game. What if everypony sees it that way? It would seem to them that my sister and I made up all this fuss about doom and gloom when the most that happens is somepony cracking a rib from a rubber bullet. Why? Khotek isn’t one to hold anything back like this. He shelled half of Crete into rubble! It’s like…” She suddenly looked up, staring wide-eyed at the wall ahead.

Been twenty years since I ever had to think like this, but the political chessmaster in me reached the same silent conclusion. “It’s like Khotek wants to politically discredit you.”

“Clever bastard…” Luna remarked in a murmur, putting a hoof to her chin. “And the cease-fire…”

“Would pull immediate attention away from the war and put you and Celestia back in the spotlight.” I finished.

“But not if that attention is redirected toward how stupid Parliament was for declaring war without a proper standing army,” Luna rebutted, frowning intensely. “Blueblood. The dolt.” She glanced up at me. “You’re fortunate you don’t have to worry much about politics, Frost. It’s a cold world.”

The storyteller smiled in guilty fashion.

Couldn’t help but think back to Prop Four. How little she knew back then...

* * *

One month later.

Once again, I glanced up from my desk as Luna teleported into our bedroom, smiling broadly. It slipped as I saw her rub at her eyelids with her forehooves and push inward to pinch at her brow. I could have sworn I saw dark circles under her eyes...

As she began to remove her regalia, she grumbled, “I. Hate. Parliament.”

I let out a misty sigh and slipped out of my chair, trotting over to brush at the side of her neck with my own, a gesture that she returned. “What happened this time?”

“They can’t seem to make up their minds,” she snorted derisively over my shoulder. “First they approve a ceasefire so we can build and train a proper modern army, and now they say they can’t wait any longer to try to seize coal and oil fields from Zebrica.” Another snort. “As if we were in any shape to do so in any case. We’d just get our asses handed to us by some very angry Legionaries.” She paused and coughed politely. “Ah… pardon my Prench.”

“Heh… come on, you’ve attended some of my lectures,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Compared to you, I’m a sailor.”

That at least got a dry chuckle from her. She pulled away and sighed, looking away. “Fair enough. Still, it worries me. It’s like greed drives these ponies to no end. What makes matters worse is that the zebras also feel the same way, if the news headlines hold any water… they want more of our gems. And if they’ve already been seizing all of those mines with their string of conquests…”

I looked at her worriedly. “Luna?”

The deep-blue alicorn murmured, “I can only wonder what they’re using them for...”

I moved closer to her and caressed her cheek with my hoof, offering a soft smile. “We can worry about that another time. For now, though… you look like you could use some sleep.”

Luna huffed, “Some Princess of the Night I am… it’s hardly past nine-o’clock.”

We both chuckled softly and fell into a warm embrace before heading to bed. I wanted to say I had the distinct feeling that everything was going to be okay.

But I didn’t. Somewhere, somehow, I got the feeling things were about to get worse. Much worse.

* * *

One month later.

“-reports that hundreds of pegasi marched into the city’s recruitment office not to protest the war but to join it. Cloudsdale continues to boast the highest number of volunteers for the Equestrian Armed Forces. Here’s hoping that they provide a key aerial advantage when the war resumes next year. We wish all of our pegasi friends the best of luck in training.”

“Professor?”

Was jarred out of my stupor and turned to the door to my office. There was that one zebra colt again- the Manehattaner. I turned down the radio and offered a thin smile. “Ah, Kijele. Here for office hours?”

He smiled back broadly as he stepped in and nodded. “Yeah, and… honestly it seems like you could use the distraction, too.”

I grimaced. “Did Crystal send you?”

“No,” he answered just a little too quickly, just a little too firmly.

Opted not to press it. They both meant well. Leaned back in my seat and sprouted ice arms, tapping my fingers together as I did the same with my hooves. “So… how can I help you?”

“Well, uh… I… I’m still struggling a bit with the expedition into Blackwater Anomaly,” he offered up.

“Easy,” I replied in a heartbeat. “It was a gesture of international friendship between Equestria and Aldorna, namely to strengthen ties between the two nations after the Avalon Accord. The griffins wanted to find out more about the Anomaly, but they didn’t have experience dealing with that kind of natural magic. And so Princess Celestia offered a cadre from the Expeditionary Society to help.” I folded up my forehooves on my desk and watched as he fidgeted. His lies were obvious, and he knew it.

“Well, uh… that’s… pretty much it,” he murmured. “Thanks again for the help, professor.”

“No problem,” I said as he turned tail. “But really, if you need help, I’d gladly offer it. And send Crystal in on your way out, would you kindly?”

He winced, realizing the gig was up, before he slinked back out into the hallway. The baby dragoness walked in shortly after, scratching the back of her head sheepishly. “In my defense, I’m trying to help you.”

“And I realize that,” I said with a misty sigh, rubbing my brow. “But really, I’d rather you just up and talk to me like right now.”

“Still, it’s… I dunno, I’ve never seen or heard of anyone glued to the news like you are,” she said, concerned. “Is everything alright? You have family out in the territories?”

I shook my head and proceeded to use an alibi you might recognize.

“It’s complicated.”

* * *

Three months later.

Was just headed out of one of the staff lounges, popping my tupperware containers- now a rarity with the oil shortages- back into my saddlebags before heading to the lecture hall to get ready for the next class. Heard a bit of commotion coming from the grounds… suspected some trouble again with the Zebricans-not-zebras nonsense from before. Now even the administration had got all up-in-arms over it and installed magical defense arrays in the towers surrounding the campus’ perimeter. Just… why? So I galloped over, expecting to have to break up a fight but instead…

He smiled softly, a twinkle in his eye.

Heh… Luna. Surprise visit. She was absolutely swarmed by foals, all screaming excitedly to get to meet their princess. She was the center of attention, and I couldn’t help but chuckle as I watched her from a distance. I couldn’t hear what was going on, and I didn’t want to risk getting closer lest a more discerning eye put two and two together.

The old buck let out a deep, soft sigh.

All that dancing in the nightclubs and being around so many different people during the Northern Lights Festival and our less-than-legal stay in Zebrica really helped her out. Nightmare Night too, I suppose. She was no longer bashful or awkward in crowds, and she took the attention in stride. She reminded me a bit of Celestia, the way she seemed to waver between reserved royalty and playful prankster. I guess a bit of Pinkie Pie rubbed off on her. But she was patient, warm...

Another sigh.

She was happy. Very happy. A school of her own, filled with thousands of students. Each one looked up to her, and…

He brought a hoof to his mouth.

I’m sorry. Just… yeah. Just… just a good moment I want to remember.

* * *

Because nine months later.

My eyes flashed open as the radio alarm clock went off.

“-resumed hostilities centered on the island of Galicanal. Casualties number in the hundreds-”

It was only after I reflexively shut the alarm off and sat on the edge of the bed that I realized two things.

One, the use of the word “casualties.” That word had never been used before in any news coverage of the war so far.

Two, I had gone to bed with Luna at my side. She was nowhere to be found.

“Oh no…” I uttered before switching the radio back on.

“-that zebras have indeed been using lethal weaponry across all major territories last under siege before the ceasefire, their offensives especially concentrated in areas with known gem deposits. Equestrian Armed Forces have begun a rapid retreat across all major holdings in both the south Almarinian and south Berrillion seaboard…”

* * *

Early morning. The next day.

Could feel my eyelids sagging as I struggled to stay awake. The strain from staring at the display didn’t help. Was working on the section for the Horwegians for my paper on Northerner culture. Finally decided to follow up on Strikespark Thea’s words. But now, as I fought to stay awake, I struggled to describe the significance of their war chant. Such a simple thing. One thing led to another, and soon I couldn’t help but keep thinking about this war. A war that just escalated. Couldn’t shake it. Just couldn’t. I ended up deleting more than I wrote the last few hours.

I’d been up late before- many times. Even if I wasn’t young anymore, I was a Manehattaner through and through. But as I saw the first rays of Celestia’s sun start to poke through the blinds, I glanced at the clock readout at the bottom of the screen. Six A.M.

I let out a deep, misty sigh, fogging up the screen. Lowered my gaze out of desperation. Big mistake. As if spurred by momentum, my eyelids followed suit, and I felt content to lean forward and-

Jolted awake again as my body realized what was going on, and I righted myself before gravity finished the job, my heart racing. Just let out another deep sigh. Hang in there, I told myself. Just hang in there. She won’t be long.

Then came the flash and sparkle behind me, and I let out another sigh- this time of relief. I turned, and there she was- weary, sagging… but there she was.

“Hey…” I greeted quietly, slipping out of my seat and practically falling into her as she caught me, eyes wide with surprise.

“Frost, you… you stayed up all this time?” she whispered.

“Wanted to be here for you when you got back…” I murmured, snaking my forelegs around her to hug her tightly as I could. Her expression melted into a soft smile as she kissed me softly on the lips. After she pulled away, though, it quickly slipped. “... how bad is it?”

“It’s… it’s bad,” Luna replied quietly. “But… we can talk about it another time.” She forced a soft smile once more and helped me into bed, using her magic to turn off the display as she went. “And Frost… I appreciate you greeting me like this, but please don’t wait for me. Don’t do that to yourself.” She inhaled softly as we slid under the covers. Eyes downcast.“... this war has become real, Frost. I… I won’t be around as often. Please understand.”

“I do,” I whispered back to her, reaching to cup her cheek. “But if you ever have need of me… I’ll be here for you, Nightingale. Never forget that.”

She smiled. A genuine one. Sent my heart a flutter. I was glad that was the last thing I saw before fatigue overwhelmed me.

* * *

Two years later.

I started seeing her less and less. I tried to stay up for her. I really did. A few months passed that way. Just me, staying up into the morning just to see her, welcome her, comfort her. She needed it. Equestria had spent an entire year training its fledgling army. And Khotek threw it all in our faces with the first truly grisly defeats. Don’t know why he did it. Didn’t make any sense. He could’ve kept humiliating Luna and Celestia, but… I had a theory- though I never did find out- that he was pressured into it by his own people. They wanted those gems, whatever they were using them for.

After all, it isn’t always the people being at the whim of their government. Sometimes, it’s the other way around. You’d all do well to remember that, folks.

The storyteller let out a soft sigh.

One day, Luna didn’t return come morning. Passed out around noontime. Next time I woke up, I was in bed. She’d tucked me in. Then came another. And another. She’d been busy enough to the point of falling asleep at the castle. Couldn’t blame her, what she had to go through. Eventually, I yielded to her advice. I couldn’t afford it when I had lectures to give.

Another sigh.

Saturday. Bright and early. Was just washing up the dishes from breakfast when I heard a knock at the door. Pinkie Pie. Just checking up on me again.

“Hey,” I greeted with a soft smile. I didn’t try to hide the bags under my eyes. Nor she hers.

“Hey,” she greeted in turn. “So, uh… Nightingale’s…”

“Busy again, yes,” I said with a slow nod and inhaled deeply. “Any word on Rainbow Dash? Heard the news.”

“She’ll be okay,” Pinkie said with a faint but hopeful smile. “She’ll have a scar running past her eye, but her eyesight’s still going to be super-duper.”

Smiled softly in turn. “That’s good to hear.” It faded quickly. “But she’ll head right back to the Skyguard afterward… won’t she?”

Pinkie nodded, and for once I noticed a slight… droopiness to her mane. “Yeah. But who can stop her? Just have to keep spirits up and hope for the best.” She kicked at the floor idly. “Me and Fluttershy went to one of the hospitals in Wickermane’s Bay. It’s… how do you keep those ponies happy? How can I keep them laughing? All they have to look in the mirror, and…” She let out a deep breath. “Anyway, Scootaloo’s going to be kicking off the X-Games in Ponyville tomorrow. Did you wanna come see?”

Now it was my turn to offer her the comforting smile, rubbing her shoulder. “Absolutely. I’ll be there.”

And she returned it. “Thanks, Frost. See you then.” She pat me on the shoulder. “And remember- sunshine and rainbows.”

* * *

A few weeks later.

“The Griffin Republic of Aldorna maintains a stance of neutrality. We neither sanction nor support any military activity in the name of either the Holy Zebrican Empire or the Principality of Equestria.”

“Regardless, there have undoubtedly been numerous reports of griffin mercenaries working on both sides, Talon Company and Obsidian the most notable. What do you intend to do with them?”

“Unfortunately, the recent Briggs v. Avalon court ruling dictates that these private military corporations exist outside the jurisdiction of executive control. Unless they take illegal action against Aldorna or Aldornan citizens, they’re considered legal.”

“That seems to be a very fishy ruling.”

“It’s a very controversial one, yes.”

Crystal was right. All this was getting me depressed. Seeing so little of Luna… guess that was the last straw. Sat back in my office chair and extended an ice arm to flick the radio off as I rubbed my eyelids with my hooves. Let out a deep, long, misty sigh and wondered what the hell I was doing anymore.

Then a soft buzz filled the air. Looked down and realized it was my phone.

With a call from home.

“Oh boy…” I murmured. I had a hunch- a correct one- what this call was going to be about.

* * *

Four months later.

Finally, on my birthday, we had the chance to lay awake in bed together. Finally. Just laid there, lost in each other’s eyes. Her eyes… eyes full of everything.

I inhaled deeply, breaking the silence. “Nightingale… I know you’re a mare who likes tradition. I can understand that. Five years of courting before marriage, five years of marriage before…”

“Children,” she finished in a whisper.

There were some whispers in the audience, quickly hushed. His eyes seemed to command silence for now.

“Your parents put you up for this, didn’t they?” she asked with a thin smile.

“... yeah.” I admitted.

“Your mother’s so fixated on green fur…” Luna chuckled softly. At least she tried to brighten the mood first. After that, she was quiet for a while. But we still met eyes. Saw everything in them. Right now, uncertainty.

“Are you worried?” I whispered.

She nodded slowly. So her eyes kept level. “I love you, Frost. And look, that was… thousands of years ago, what Tia told you. It’s a dreadful thing… outliving your own children. I know it’s your birthday, but…” She let out a soft sigh. Never lowered her gaze. Eyes… so, so sad.

I squeezed her tighter in our embrace. “It’s okay. I understand completely.”

“And I’ve… I’ve thought of it myself, but now isn’t a good time.” A pause. “I don’t want our foal to grow up like this. Already a generation is growing up to antagonize Zebrica. Some of them are growing up learning to hate zebras. If we had a child… I wouldn’t one to grow up in that kind of world. I love you. Truly. But… maybe we can talk about this another time.”

“It’s okay,” I repeated a little more firmly. “I understand.”

Luna smiled softly, briefly. I returned it.

“Still…” she murmured tilting forward to nose at me, “it is your birthday. I’ll make it a special one.”

I blinked. “Ah… beg your pardon?”

Luna grinned. “I am the Princess of the Night… and dreams do fall under my domain.” Her horn cast us in a soft-blue pallor, and she lowered it toward mine. My eyelids grew heavy, but I could hear her last words as I began to slip away. “Sleep well, Frost… you’ll be having a very satisfying dream tonight.”

The storyteller cracked a thin smile.

I’m still a virgin. Technically.

One of the ponies in the audience asked if the notion wasn’t, well… blasphemous.

Is it? In a sense, maybe it is. But those few nights, those few dreams, she was Nightingale- my wife- to me. Not Princess Luna.

He inhaled deeply.

I still don’t take blasphemy lightly. But the reason I take such offense from it might be different from what you think.

In due time, folks.

* * *

His smile died quickly.

Two months later.

“-report that Northerners are becoming increasingly involved in the war effort. Stalliongrad especially has gone through rapid changes in its business sector. With me is Miss Grisgold Fairwind, who if I’m not mistaken, is Horwegian.”

“You’d be right, sir. Pleasure to join you.”

“Miss Fairwind is the owner of the BelAZ-Dzershinzky tractor factory. Or, at least that was what it used to be. I understand you’ve gone through a dramatic revision?”

“Correct. Like many of Stalliongrad’s automotive industries, we now produce armored vehicles. Tanks, jeeps, humvees, you name it. A lot of the other manufacturing plants have followed suit.”

“And what was behind this decision? Northerners in many other cities across Equestria have enlisted en masse along with pegasi or similarly started to support the war effort.”

“I feel it is… because we owe our lives to Equestria. So many of us died during the Great Exodus, yes, but we were saved. Millions of you Equestrians came to our aid. Stalliongrad and Burrlin, then Manehattan. We owe it to you. So in Equestria’s time of need, I feel it’s time to repay the debt.”

“Princess Celestia has stated multiple times that the Northerners owe no such service to Equestria and that they were simply doing what you would have done should the horseshoe have been on the other hoof.”

“Heh… maybe there’s a bit of griffin in me, then. I know I’m not the only one to see it that way. That’s just how it is for us.”

“Now for some more lighthearted news. A new restaurant has opened in Tail Aviv and has been surging in popularity not only locally but abroad. Golden Spoon has more…”

Tuned out the report after and just sat back in my seat. Repay the debt…

Debt. Powerful word. Powerful connotations, especially since I- like so many other Northerners- endured years of poverty after the Great Exodus. For me, especially, it was a dangerous word. When I owned the Mumei, I couldn’t afford to hold debts- I had to make others indebted to me. And now, after hearing that... couldn’t stop thinking about that, repaying the debt.

Stood up from my desk and headed to the window, cracking open the shutters. Still had a good view into the Ponyville town square and the train station with it. And there was Fluttershy. Butter-yellow mare with a long pink mane that you could’ve easily tripped over if you weren’t careful. Kindest mare I ever knew. Fitting, given the Element she bore. Poor girl was trying to put on a brave face as she held up picket signs in protest of the war along with several of her animals. Could barely hear them chattering and chirping, quacking and calling with her. Fluttershy? Could see her legs shaking from here. Her animals were certainly louder than she was.

But she got my attention. Thought back on my conversations with Pinkie Pie and the times I passed by the town’s hospital. Broken bodies, broken souls. With mangled limbs and blinded eyes, they knew how to treat them- or at least tried. The mind… still didn’t know back then. Nobody knew back then. Remember looking one of them- pegasus named Thunderlane- in the eye. Perfectly fine. Made a complete recovery. No bits of shrapnel left in his chest. He saw nothing. Just a blank stare off into the distance. Horrible, haunted look on those eyes. His family was right alongside Fluttershy, trying to convince the bucks and mares headed to enlist in Canterlot otherwise. You don’t understand what happens out there, they try to tell them. And nobody truly did understand except the soldiers themselves. And it would stay that way for years to come.

So why did it stick with me? Repay the debt…

* * *

Three years later.

Luna… didn’t see her much. Most of what I saw of her was in newspaper photos and on the TV. Most of what I heard of her was over the airwaves.

The storyteller sighed deeply.

It was hard… you know? Only on rare occasions did I get to see the mare I loved outside of the brief few seconds she took out of her busy day to teleport me to Littlehorn. My birthday, the Northern Lights Festival, Hearth’s Warming, Nightmare Night… those days I cherished. Fall and December especially were my favorite times of the year. And it showed. Outside of prepping and giving lectures and exams… pretty much stayed at home. Just wanted to be there in case she’d show up out of the blue. Just kept listening to my favorite tracks, kept myself busy with my work on Northerner cultures… wrote letters to her.

He cracked a thin smile.

I had to make a very special friend in order to send those letters to her. Well, technically to Celestia. But that’s not too important. I just didn’t want to miss her. And Pinkie… bless that mare, she stopped by often just to keep me company. Her other friends took priority most of the time. Couldn’t blame her for that, but… the one time she brought the party to my home… bless that mare.

He chuckled softly, shortly, huskily. The years seemed to weigh down on the buck.

Maybe it was a good thing Luna didn’t show up that night. If the Princess of the Night suddenly teleported into your house with others around…

Another soft, short, husky chuckle. His smile faded quickly.

I wanted to be there for her. Maybe it was partly for my own sake- try to blame me, just try- but it was mostly for her. I felt she needed me closer than that, but… having some seemingly random pony be in there with her during Parliamentary meetings or press conferences or whatever… that would raise rumors and questions. She wouldn’t want that, especially not right now.

So I found myself in Canterlot one day, stepping out of the social studies department building of Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. With an old friend.

“Thank you for coming, Frost,” Egan said with a bright smile. Almost eighty years old. Still kicking, still delivering those lectures I loved. “Glad I had another decent soul to back me up. I didn’t think there were so many extremists in the field.” His next words were muttered under his breath. “Taking zebra studies out of the curriculum… what a load of…”

“Well I’d rather not have us return to the days of Broca,” I said to the old mule. “That does equinpology as a whole a disservice. Thank you for informing me about this meeting.”

“Thank you for being so convincing,” he chuckled. “Now I can see why your students love you at Littlehorn.”

“You’re too kind, Egan,” I chuckled in turn. “Anyway, I’d best be off. Gotta prep for my own equinpology summer course.”

“Well it was good to see you again,” he said as we shook hooves. “Have a good one, alright?”

I saw him off with a wave of an icy hand. “You too. Take care.”

And so I made my way off of campus grounds, bound for the train station. Canterlot… the city really changed. There were posters up everywhere- not like the ones you see nowadays littering the Wasteland cities. They were even more cartoonish and cheesy- and far more straightforward. Join the Equestrian Armed Forces today. Call your local recruitment office today. Bland, overly patriotic stuff like that. Didn’t pay much attention to them.

Except to one.

It was one of the few proper posters up. Featured a Day Guard and Night Guard back to back with one another, halberds brandished and faces stern with a sunny and starry background separating them respectively. It proclaimed ‘For Goddesses and Country.’

I stopped there and stared, probably irritating a noble or two that had to walk around me. Don’t know why I did. Not for sure. Was focused wholly on that poster. Got the gears in my head turning, and I furrowed my brow in thought.

Repay the debt.

I made up my mind. I was heading to the Royal Guard Corps’ recruitment office. Right there. Right then.

The old buck inhaled deeply.

I know what you’re all thinking. This is that moment. Right? Well, you’re forgetting a few things.

It was located next to the police office. Clean building, very spartan. Bare necessities. Front desk, waiting area, hallway leading to the offices in the back, probably with rooms for checkups. If it weren’t for the Day and Night Guards at the front desk and the propaganda posters lining the walls, you could have easily mistaken it for the dentist’s. There was a good-sized queue already up, mostly younger bucks. Some of them shot questioning glances at me. I tried to pay them no mind. Instead I looked at the posters displaying all four branches of the Royal Guard Corps- Day, Night, Solar, and…

… odd. Nothing for the Lunar Guard.

“Next.”

I stood and strode to the front desk. The two guards there were seated with terminals at the ready. They were both unicorns, both a murky shade of brownish-gray due to their armor’s enchantments. The Day Guard, golden armor with the broomstick helm. The Night Guard, dark blue with more of a cloudy paintbrush look for the helm. Both bore the signet of the lower guard on their chests. And I could feel both judging me with their eyes despite the Day Guard already working with somepony.

“Sir, are you sure you’re in the right place?” the Night Guard asked. “This is the recruitment office for the Royal Guard Corps.”

“I’m sure,” I said firmly.

The dusk-furred unicorn grimaced briefly before glancing at his companion, who simply answered with a glance to his partner’s screen. “Full name?”

“Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill.”

The Night Guard’s magic flared to life and danced along the keyboard. He was focused more on the screen than me by now. “And which branch do you intend to enlist in?”

I answered without hesitation, “The Lunar Guard.”

He stopped typing. And so did his partner. Somepony flipped through the last page of a brochure for a split second, but afterward, silence fell on the entire office. I felt all eyes on me.

“Mister Windchill, you meant the Night Guard, correct?” he inquired.

“No,” I said plainly. “The Lunar Guard.”

The Night Guard turned to his partner and, in the dead silence of the entire room, audibly whispered, “Do we even have the paperwork or the access for that?”

“Just a crazy old buck,” he murmured back. “Just tell it to him straight.”

“I’m serious,” I said adding a slight edge to my tone. “I wish to enlist in the Lunar Guard.”

The Day Guard glanced at his partner. “I suppose this means we’ll have to contact Captain Shining Armor about this?”

And then she was there. An earth pony, or… vaguely an earth pony. Ash-gray fur. Tufted ears. Sleek, spiky armor in deep hues of blue with the eye-like gem in the chestplate. And eyes. Hungry eyes. No noise. No pretense. The space behind the two guards was completely empty before, and there were more than enough eyes to watch. One moment, nothing. The next, she was there.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said in a firm tone.

As she spoke, everyone- myself included- finally reacted to her sudden appearance. There were some curses, some audible jumping. Both guards spun in their seats with their forelegs raised as if anticipating attack but freezing partway after realizing who it was. Me? I flinched, and my heart did pick up, but years of Pinkie Pie and Luna tempered my surprise. Shame neither of the guards noticed.

“Captain Obsidian,” the Night Guard uttered quickly, rising with his partner to salute.

“At ease,” she spoke, eyes still fixed on me. “I’ll handle this matter personally. Continue.”

“Ma’am,” they sounded in unison before taking their seats.

As the room (mostly) began to settle, Obsidian simply nodded toward the hallway leading to the offices in a silent order to follow, and I obliged. I noted that she made no discernible sound as she moved. Her armor didn’t jingle, her horseshoes didn’t clink against the flooring. She was silent. Dead silent. And soon the subtle typing and ambient chatter filled it in. I didn’t know what to feel about the whole situation. There was no doubt she knew me, but at the same time… if she knew I would be here…

She led me into the very last office- an unmarked one. The inside was as objective as could be expected given the waiting area. Desk, terminal, chairs, file cabinets, office supplies. Nothing else. Upon entering the room with her, she… she moved again- fast, faster than the eye could track- behind the desk and flipped some kind of switch underneath. One moment, she was just in front of me. The next, there.

Obsidian looked up at me. “Close and lock the door,” she ordered.

I sprouted an ice arm to shut us in and twist the lock into place. As I looked back, she had moved the chair behind the desk to my side to sit with me and deftly spun it around before setting it down so that she sat down leaning forward against the backrest. She wordlessly gestured to the other seat.

As I sat, she started unlatching her helmet and neckplates. “Recorder’s off, room’s locked… let’s get started,” she spoke. “So you want to become a Lunar Guard.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered confidently as I could.

“Don’t call me that,” she said as she worked.

“How should I refer to you?” I inquired. “Captain Obsidian? Lady Protector Obsidian?”

She cracked a smile- a toothy smile- and let out a soft huff. “Just Obsidian,” she replied, removing her helm and neckplates- which I noted were part of a single piece- and set it down on the desk. Her mane, cut short, was a jet black with a subtle sheen. Explained the name. “That’s Dawn’s thing. He’s the only one who does that. Likewise, I hope you don’t expect me to call you Doctor Windchill. Or, goddesses forbid, Prince Windchill.”

“Oh Lorn no,” I murmured, grimacing.

“Glad we’re on the same page, then,” she snorted, grunting as she removed the eye-shaped gem lodged in her breastplate and set it on the desk with her helm. “In any case, I’m not your superior.”

“Not yet.”

She stared at me for a while with those eyes. Eyes… hungry. The ash-gray mare propped herself up a little higher against the backrest of her chair. “So you want to become a Lunar Guard.” She tilted her head slightly downward but kept her eyes fixed on me. “Is that your way of helping Luna?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation.

She was silent for a few seconds. Then: “Why do you believe that becoming a Lunar Guard would help her more than right now?”

I inhaled deeply and glanced away. Now I was the one silent for a few seconds. Eyes back on her. I didn’t fear them this time. “I can only help her so much when I see her so little. I do my best to comfort her. I’ve sent letters- many letters, but…” I fell silent. Obsidian said nothing and merely waited for me to continue. “I want to be there for her. I want to be at her side. She needs a physical reminder that no matter what, I’m always there for her. And I can’t do that as is.”

She kept a level head and a level gaze at me. “Is it purely for her sake?”

I inhaled again. “No.”

“You didn’t lie to me,” she said in remark, inhaling as well as she leaned back to fold her forelegs atop the backrest as she leaned forward once more. “Good.” She inhaled again. “Frost, can you say in good faith that you fully understand what it means to become a Lunar Guard?”

Inhaled again. “No.”

“You didn’t lie to yourself. Also good.” Obsidian glanced downward for a few seconds. Then eyes back on me. “There’s a reason nopony enlists to become a Lunar Guard, Frost. Here are the requirements. One, with few exceptions, you need to serve at least one tour of military duty in a combat role and be honorably discharged. That’s a requirement shared by all branches of the Royal Guard Corps. You are forty-five years old, Frost. Do you know how many forty-five-year-olds are on the battlefield right now? Zero. The oldest is thirty-six years old.”

“And how old are you?” I questioned.

She smirked. “One-thousand-seventy-eight. But you and I both know I cheated.”

“Still, eighty-seven,” I said, folding my forelegs across my chest.

“... we’ll get to that,” she said simply. “Two, guard training. But after a tour of duty, that’s foals’ play. Three, our training. Becoming a Lunar Guard is very demanding, Frost. We will push your body and spirit to its breaking point. We’ll strengthen you up. And then we’ll do it again. Guard training teaches you to be steadfast against all manner of adversity, whether it be against a threat to Equestria or against interrogation. Our training is meant to prepare you to go beyond all that. You will break a lot of things in the process- and you will break down. Because our training is meant for the fourth requirement.”

I continued to meet her eyes. “If your words were meant to intimidate me-”

“They aren’t,” she snorted. “Not yet.”

“So what’s the fourth requirement?” I asked.

Obsidian inhaled deeply enough to visibly swell her chest. “Frost, have you noticed something about the other members of the Royal Guard Corps? In… regards to their physical appearance?”

“That… their armor is enchanted to make them appear identical you mean?” I asked in turn.

“Yes,” the ash-gray pony answered with a nod, “an enchantment that requires a spell matrix running through the hidden gem chestpiece.”

“And?”

Obsidian stared at me for a few seconds longer, then glanced to the side in a very deliberate manner. Then eyes back on me. I followed her gaze to… her…

Gem.

I looked back at her. “Oh…”

“Oh,” she parroted, inhaling and glancing downward. Several seconds passed. She didn’t make eye contact as she spoke again. “This isn’t an illusion, Frost. Now, this?” She snatched up the gem and pushed it back into her chestplate with a metallic snap. “In moon’s light.” Her fur discolored and turned into the same lustrous black as her mane, her overall appearance reminiscent of a black cat. The tufts of fur on her ears disappeared, and her eyes dulled but retained the same amber shade. The iris of her gem turned into a soft purple. It wasn’t an instantaneous change either. It took a few seconds. It was no simple illusion. “This isn’t either. It’s a morphing charm- a very powerful one that takes a good chunk of a ten-pound gem to generate. Look into my eyes. Tell me I’m lying. I dare you.”

Resolute. Fixed. Honest.

“No.”

“I am not an earth pony. Not anymore at least.” Obsidian touched the gem again. “In moon’s shadow.” Eyes hungry. Fur ashen. Back again. She inhaled deeply. “I believe Luna told you about… what she did a thousand years ago? Possibly mentioned us?”

For a moment, her irises narrowed into slits. “Discord wasn’t the only expert in amniomorphic spells, Frost.

“First was myself. Then came my loyal guards. Equine beings, turned to monsters. Aldorna’s and Zebrica’s finest stood no chance.”

“... yes,” I answered. “Yes she did.”

Obsidian sighed softly, “The amniomorphic spell. A stabilized one. Luna is the only one who can do it. The equine body, transfused with the blood of a dragon which is then magically activated. And… having nearly lost my leg once and having it surgically operated on before the discovery of effective anesthesia or analgesics or equivalent spells, I can safely say that it is the most painful thing anypony, anyone can ever go through.” She stood and swung the chair around to sit in it normally. “We’re dracoponies, Frost. And you know what? This isn’t natural. This isn’t meant to be. There are consequences. And one of them? We’re all sterile.”

I gulped. And she noticed.

“Sterile,” she repeated, and that feeling in the pit of my gut grew only stronger. “Not just with intercourse with normal ponies. Between one another as well. Even mules, even zonies have a chance to produce a foal. Not us.” She inhaled. “I heard that you and Luna briefly discussed children. If the military service, if the guard training, if our training didn’t convince you otherwise, I hope that does.” She leaned forward, shifting on her haunches to get closer. “And I know you. Look into my eyes. They’re different, yeah. But look into my eyes. Does it look like I’m lying?”

Sad… so very sad.

“No,” I whispered.

“That,” Obsidian said as she pulled away, “is the biggest reason. In order for you to become a Lunar Guard, you have to become a dracopony. No exceptions. You simply can’t do what we require otherwise. And that- among the many other consequences of the transformation- is why we haven’t had a single recruit ever since the Lunar Guard was reinstated.”

“But… can’t she turn you back?” I asked.

Obsidian stared at me. And slowly flattened her lips. “Frost, when you become a dracopony, things get… ‘added.’ In the process. Shifted around, too. It’s hard enough to ‘add’ with an amniomorphic spell. Taking away is even harder. Even that is beyond Luna’s ability.”

“Do you know for sure?”

She sat back in her chair. Silent. For several long seconds. “You saw us in the gardens, didn’t you? You also saw Daze. She looked normal right? For a unicorn dracopony like herself at least.” A pause. “She changed her mind. She didn’t want to serve as a Lunar Guard any longer. She didn’t want to be a dracopony any longer. Luna granted her requests.” She took a deep breath. “She did her best. She really tried. But Frost, there’s a reason why she’s still a Lunar Guard. And there’s a reason why she hides behind her illusions now.” She sighed softly, glancing away. “And Faraal can see right through them. Small wonder Daze avoids her.”

Her eyes fell back on me. “So there’s no turning back, Frost. Believe me- please- when I say this isn’t the answer you’re looking for. If for… some reason you not only agree to all of this but survive to become a Lunar Guard… well let’s spell it out, shall we? One, you’re sterile. No children. That’s obvious. Two, you’d have to drop everything you have. Teaching at Littlehorn? That spot on the Manehattan Northerner Cultural Committee? Your research?” The ash-gray mare made a slashing motion with her hoof. “Gone. Three, you risk death. You risk it during military service, you risk it during our training process, you risk it in order to become one of us, and you continue to risk it serving Equestria as a Lunar Guard. And if you die… especially by Luna’s horn during the amniomorphic spell… that would be far, far from helping Luna and bringing you both back together as you desire. Do I make myself clear, Frost? I’m not trying to intimidate you- I’m taking the time out of a break in my very busy schedule to warn and advise you that this is not the choice you want to make.”

I nodded slowly. Felt as if my head was moving on squeaky hinges. Just felt… drained. Mouth, edges of my eyes were dry. Felt heavy, felt… weak… felt… drained.

Obsidian let out a soft sigh. “Look, I know it’s a lot to take in. I just want to make sure you make an informed decision regarding this. It’s a decision not to be taken lightly.”

I nodded slowly again, letting out a soft breath. “Alright. Alright.” Now I sucked one in. “I won’t enlist.” The words weren’t liberating. Nor were they painful to say.

The ash-gray earth dracopony returned my nod and reached out to pat my shoulder. Those horseshoes were cool- comfortably cool. “Don’t have much time before I have to return to my duties, but are there any lingering questions?”

I met eyes with her. “So how can I help her like this?”

Obsidian let out a soft breath through her nostrils. “Don’t worry about that, Frost. You just… existing is enough. That she knows that you love her enough to stay awake into mid-morning up until it started interfering with your ability to teach, that’s enough to keep her going. Now add in the letters you’ve been sending her and the days you do get to spend time together… trust me, Frost. You’re golden. Alright? You might not feel the same way, but trust me on this one. Now was there anything else?”

I glanced away, letting out a soft, misty sigh before turning my eyes back on her. “Nothing pressing. Though, eventually, I do want to know- why did you and the others decide to side with her so long ago?”

She let out a soft huff. “That’s a difficult question with a difficult answer, Frost. Maybe when this all sorts out- and I pray it’s soon- we can get a chance. You’re part of the royal family now, after all.”

“Does that mean I have one of you stalking me at any given moment?” I snorted.

“You haven’t been in any danger yet,” Obsidian replied, slipping her helm back on, clasping up the plates, and standing up. She… flickered… behind the desk again to set the chair back in its proper place. “And besides, you’d know. Unicorns and anyone else especially sensitive to magic can feel when we’re nearby. In any case, it’s back to work for me.” She headed for the door, and I stood with her. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Frost. Farewell.”

She flickered away as soon as she started opening the door, giving it the appearance that it had opened by itself.

* * *

One year, five months later.

Was seated at home at my desk. Terminal was off. Just me, my trusty quill, a half-full inkwell, and a fresh parchment scroll. Dipped the quill and began to write.

Dear Nightingale,

I hope the night finds you well, love. I heard the news regarding General Long Street’s success in routing the Zebrican naval fleet before it reached shelling distance of the west coast, and there’s promise that he may yet push the Legion further back. You made a fine choice in appointing him to handle the western front. From what I know of him, the closely-spaced atolls there suit his style. He knows how to penetrate them. I know he’ll take back our territories.

But to the other matter at hoof, I hope you’re free on November 16th- six days from now, that is. I have made a certain arrangement in Tail Aviv at a certain restaurant that’s been catching a certain somepony’s eye.

I hope to see you again soon. I aim to make the night special for us.

Softest starlight,
Frost

* * *

Six days later.

I looked at myself in the mirror at home. My fur was clean, my mane was done up nicely, and my balisong pouches were set aside for once. This was our night after all.

There was a flash of light from my bedroom and the sparkle of magic, and I curled my lips into a broad grin as I stepped out to greet her.

Still wearing her royal attire as she turned to me, Luna declared with a slight grin of her own, “You didn’t…”

“I did,” I declared in turn.

Her grin broadened. “You managed to get a reservation for us at Taste of the World?”

“Helps to have connections,” I chuckled huskily as I approached her- never mind how I had those connections in the first place of course. We embraced, and I let out a deep sigh. “Happy anniversary, Lulu.”

Watching her blush furiously was enough to make my night. “Happy anniversary,” she said in turn. She pulled away and magically whisked her regalia before glowing a brilliant white and taking the form of the silvery-maned unicorn I first knew her by. “So! To Tail Aviv, my dear?”

“You have a good idea where to teleport us without being noticed?” I inquired.

“But of course,” she chuckled. “Teleporation isn’t commonplace. You don’t think I can’t hide my own tracks in our escapades? For shame, Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill. For shame.” She caught me rolling my eyes and giggled. “Sorry if I was channeling your mother too much, love.”

“As long as you don’t keep hoping for green,” I joked in turn.

Luna let out a soft, short laugh. “Now… shall we?”

“We shall,” I answered, and the world whited out. There was a brief moment of weightlessness and detachment before the world rushed back with cracked pavement underneath my feet and… facing a brick wall. I looked around to find us in an alley between two dilapidated brick buildings. The smell of brine filled my nose as I sniffed deeply and looked toward the ends to find a wide canal separating this row of houses from the other. “Are we in the Flooded District?”

“The edge of it, yes,” Luna replied. “It’ll be around a ten-minute walk to get there. Not too long.”

The storyteller leaned back slightly and let out a slow, misty breath.

Tail Aviv. City of Water and Wonders. A city millennia old, so rich with history. And it showed. Originally the Equestrian stronghold against zebra invasion by sea during the Age of Empires, it was built as a fortress, but as times changed, so did the city. EZTA fostered alliances with the zebras, and trade soon opened up with the griffins following the Almarinian War along with all of the greater powers’ many territories following the United Nations Accord. What had once been a fortress turned into a port of trade. Tail Aviv sat very close to Littlehorn near the border of the Zebrican Wilds, and it also served as the gateway between the Berrillion Sea to the east and the Almarinian Sea to the west. The city expanded far beyond its original walls, once meant to defend from enemy cannons. Now an intricate network of canals and waterways linked one district of the city to the other, rolling from the Almarinian across the narrow stretch of land into the Berrillion. Ponymade islands connected by bridges spread outward from the battlements. Venison in Bitaly was the only other city like that, but it didn’t have that sense of nature to it, sitting in the middle of a lake- or the grandeur. The tides swelled and fell, and so too did Tail Aviv, rippling with the water that lent to its title. As Luna and I walked, we occasionally glimpsed the relics of the old days.

The towering walls still dominated the skyline where it was visible, governing and guarding passage into the Shielded District, where all the old military fortifications, religious institutions, and the administrative sector laid. Sprawling forth from it along the nearby coastline was the Terraced District- and indeed it did move toward the beach on visible tiers as ponies once fearful of their zebra competitors and enemies began to spread out from the walls, building suburban neighborhoods and businesses with them- and friendships with their new trading partners. Finally, there came the Flooded District- the many interconnected islands spreading from sea to shining sea and forming the grand canal that linked them- built to facilitate trade from friendly nation to friendly nation.

But now war returned- and with it, the threat of invasion by sea- and air. The canal spanning the two seas was closed. New battlements rose over the Flooded District. Construction on the Terraced District halted on its march to the sea. The fortifications of the Shielded District were redrawn and renovated. Massive, long-ranged cannons for defense against attack by air and sea took the place of the relics of old wars.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. History has a funny way of repeating itself. Tail Aviv, City of Water and Wonders, once again became Equestria’s southern stronghold. The only safe approach to it now was via Shattered Hoof Ridge.

Tail Aviv took steps too far, too many. And now it was aching inside. The Terraced and Flooded Districts were born from trade and commerce. Without them, their growth was stunted, and they atrophied. Tail Aviv fell only when spellfire rained from the sky, but even so, it could be argued that it was the Equestrian city hit hardest by the war after Stalliongrad. Tail Aviv grew too many mouths to feed and too reliant on trade to feed them, even with business from the Equestrian Heartland. There didn’t have to be a naval blockade to starve the city. Its own walls did the job just fine.

I was very glad that Luna took us to the edge of the Flooded District rather than its heart. Even if condemned houses and apartments, starving ponies, and beggars were nothing new to me, I’d rather not have had her see those during our anniversary. What little we saw of it were the few homes and scant few businesses and corner drug stores keeping them there, signs faded, paint mottled and peeling. It was worse than growing in Manehattan, now that I think about it. At least the Northern Quarter of the city was growing. Here… it was dying.

But we put it behind us quickly. We made our way across a bridge toward the Terraced District on the mainland, the shimmering water beneath us reflecting the moon and stars high above. Tail Aviv traditionally had little lighting due to the age-old fear of enemy bombardment, and so only the legal bare minimum light was there to lead us on our way. The Terraced District itself was like a breath of fresh air, so completely different from the Flooded District even with how little of it we saw. Ponies and plenty of zebras milled about the streets, filing in and out of the many stores both local and big-name. Many of them sat reclined in their seats at small cafés and enjoyed the common pastime of people-watching. The sound of crashing waves mixed with the muted sounds of idle gossip.

And something else.

As we neared our destination, we passed by an open plaza filled with a sizable group of very angry-looking ponies and zebras. Standing over them on the edge of a fountain was a young mare- one that we both heard long before we reached the scene.

In a guttural, Isorreli tone, she cried, “-and what happens next? Huh? Who cried for war? The rich, the old, the goddessdamn aristocrats! And who’s fighting it? The young, the poor, the people who always draw the shortest stick! And why do they want war? Over rocks, goddessdammit- coal and gems! And why do we fight? Because of the promise of pay to support our families, pay off our debts, and secure our futures! And so we risk life and limb, safety and sanity in the name of these barons who just sit on their couches and sit in their coaches! And they feed you with lies, saying we’d be starved of resources otherwise! Well the fact we’ve lost most of our foreign gem mine claims outside of Almarinia isn’t doing us any favors! See what happens when you let the rich declare war on a militarily superior enemy? It’s only because we’ve played catch-up that we’ve started pushing back! So how much longer will we have to go on? It’s been ten years! How much longer, huh?”

Luna slowed down to listen as we passed by, but I ushered her on. “Come on,” I whispered. “Let’s go.” She looked at me, then back at the crowd, then slowly nodded and picked up the pace.

And… there we were. “Taste of the World.” Bold name for a restaurant- and yet such a humble appearance. It was a very large restaurant to be sure- it had to be given the sheer number of people eating there on a daily basis- but it didn’t have the fancy upholstery or decoration one might expect from upscale cuisine at the time. It wasn’t Tenpony Tower by any stretch of the imagination. It had a very homey atmosphere to it. Plenty of wood and stone furnishing. It was warm and cozy- thankfully not too warm to the point I had to cool myself down- and very inviting. Even the waiting area was spacious and was able to accommodate even the two dozen or so patrons there- such was the size of the place. Thick, columns rose at least fifteen meters high off of the ground, and the center of the ceiling featured a large skylight with a view of the moon and stars above, all visible thanks to the dim lighting supplied by the large fire pits spaced evenly throughout the room- all magically protected, of course. And, just as the name boldly claimed, it featured staff of all shapes and sizes and species. Zebras, I noted, were quite numerous on the floor tonight.

We were showed to our table in short order. Again, no fancy glass pane or linen tablecloth. It was all wood- polished wood, of course. They had to let the cleaning staff catch a break somewhere. So there we were… Luna and me, me and Luna…

And her eyes were downcast.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I said softly. “Outside I mean.”

She snorted, “Don’t be. I’m honestly glad there are at least some ponies who think that way- people rather.” The midnight-blue unicorn in disguise let out a deep sigh. “I wish more people thought that way. Equestria was founded on the principles of friendship, those Six Cardinal Virtues that we still hold dear to this day. Zebrica was founded on the principles of community- responsibility to thy fellow neighbor leading all the way to the Caesar himself. Why fight? Why wage war? It’s pointless.”

I reached a hoof across to grip hers, squeezing her fetlock gently. “I know it is, love. But for tonight, can we please set that all aside?” I smiled softly. “It’s our anniversary. Let’s focus on us tonight. Alright?”

Luna let out a soft sigh. “Yes… of course. Just… it’s all that’s been on my mind lately. You’re right. We should be thinking about what to order, really.”

“Speak of the draconequus, and he might appear,” our waitress, a buffalo heifer, spoke up as she approached and sat on her haunches to clasp her hooves together. “Good evening. My name is Crackling Corn, and I will be your server tonight.” She glanced between the two of us as she set down a pair of glasses and filled them with a water jug which she then left on the table. “Is this your first time to Taste of the World?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Yes it is.” Luna did as well.

Crackling Corn nodded and smiled to both of us, then tapped her chin and adopted a half-lidded look to her eyes as she appeared to study Luna. “Hm… you look like… you’re in the mood for something old-fashioned- something homestyle, something warm and filling and… perhaps a bit starchy? Bitalian. Are you Bitalian by any chance?”

“I am,” she responded, blinking in surprise.

The heifer smiled wider and then turned to me, again adopting that studying expression. She was looking very distinctly into my eyes. “Mm… hm… not quite homestyle. I’m guessing you’d like something you’d see in the Heartland, but… you’re a Northerner. Hokkaidan, possibly? Perhaps a blend of Hokkaidan and Equestrian fare.”

I grinned. “Ohhh, you’re good.”

“Welcome to Taste of the World,” Crackling Corn chuckled. “So! Here’s how it works.” She clapped her hooves together and offered us a pair of very thick menus. “I can give you the menu, and you can browse our fare. We have everything for every budget and for every taste. You name it, it’s there. Or…” She pulled the menus away and slid them back into her apron, “you can place your trust in my intuition and the kitchen’s and let us surprise you. It’ll be a custom meal for you and you alone, for this occasion and this occasion alone. Even though our Chef, Mister Blackthorn, is only seventeen years old, I assure you he does not disappoint, and mind you we’ve served dignitaries from nations and territories around the world. And it comes at the competitive price of fifteen bits, beverages included. I warn you, though- given what I’ve gleaned off of both of you, I doubt there will be either appetizers or alcohol involved, though the meal will be no less filling. So! What do you say?”

Luna and I shared a glance and a smirk. And she raised her eyebrow- oh, that expression… the one I fell in love with. The decision was clear. We turned back to our waitress and Luna answered, “We place our trust in you and the kitchen crew.”

“Good choice,” she said with a smile and a respectful nod. “I assure you we won’t disappoint.” And then she headed off.

Luna turned to me and giggled, “Are you as excited as I am?”

“I like to think so,” I answered with a smile. “I hope you came hungry.”

“After realizing you got reservations for us here? Well, I had a quick snack to keep me going-”

“It was cake, wasn’t it?” I interrupted, smirking.

She gawked and pointed a hoof at me. “Hey, I’ll have you know that my sister has great taste in mid-day snacks that keep me going through-”

“It was cake, wasn’t it?” I repeated, still smirking.

Luna paused, huffed, and turned away from me with her forelegs crossed. “Yes,” she mumbled out. I couldn’t help but chuckle, and she glared at me with reddenned cheeks.“These are very stressful times! I’m consistently in the mood for something scrumptious!”

“Ah, I’m just teasing, love,” I said, relaxing my smirk into an easy smile. “Anything to get you flustered.”

She scoffed, turning her muzzle away, eyes closed. Then they cracked- and so did her mouth in a smile of her own. The silver-maned mare eased into her seat and asked, “Enough about me. Let’s put the spotlight on you. How have your students been?”

“Ohhh… they’ve been relatively well-behaved,” I replied as I reclined in my seat. “Again, troublemakers disappear after the first few lectures. Still need to get those finals ready, though…”

“Even with your TA’s?” she inquired.

“Even with my TA’s,” I replied with a nod. “Don’t get me wrong, though. They’ve been a boon. Remember Trimtip?”

Luna furrowed her brow as she tried to remember. “Ah…”

“Cell phone filly?” I hinted with a grin.

“Oh, her,” she snorted, then blinked. “She’s one of your TA’s now?”

I nodded. “Surprising, isn’t it? Cell phones and stink bombs one year, TA and rising historian and equinpologist graduate student the next.” I let out a husky chuckle and then sighed deeply. “Oh… that was ten-and-a-half years ago, my first class. I feel old now.”

“Well how are your joints?” she asked.

“Still good, still good,” I answered, rolling my fetlocks to crack them. “Still do plenty of walking, especially when I’m back in Manehattan for the Northern Lights Festival preparations.”

“Speaking of the Festival,” Luna spoke up, tilting forward, “how has your new book series come along?”

“Well you know I’m part of Manehattan’s Northerner Cultural Committee now,” I chuckled. “They were aimed at academia, so the reception has been the usual so far. I plan to work on a series of texts more easily digestible for the general public, starting with a collection of fables. I’m thinking… Born from Snow: Stories from the North. Think that would be a good title?”

“I think so,” she responded. “Bear in mind I’m no publisher or editor by trade.”

“Still helps to have familial approval,” I said with a smile.

“Oh, like I’m really going to say otherwise?” she chuckled. “No, it’s a terrible title and you should feel terrible.”

I chuckled with her. “Hey, I like my familial approval. Don’t you?”

“Ah… yes, I can’t argue with that,” she said with a soft sigh. Her mood seemed to deflate. “... seems we can’t seem to escape it even on a night like this.”

My own smile slipped. “You mean…?”

“I mean the war of course,” she murmured. “When we teleported in, we saw how Tail Aviv has changed. When we passed through the plaza in, there was the protest… even in here, just listen. All around us.”

I drew quiet and perked my ears up, looking slowly around us at the nearby tables as I tuned into the ambient conversation, picking out snippets.

“Have you heard? They’re pushing toward Shattered Hoof Ridge. And if that happens, they might move on to Tail Aviv!”
“They won’t let that happen. We’ll push them back before then.”

“So your daughter came back?”
“Yes, she finished her tour of duty. Shot up in a few places, but nothing serious. Thank the Lorns… it’ll be so good to have her home again.”

“Did you see the protest outside?”
“Yeah, and frankly, I sympathize with them.”

“Do you think these new walls would hold up to a dragon attack? The dragons are aligned with the Empire, you know…”
“But the Empire hasn’t enlisted anyone but zebras in the war. Barring those griffin mercenaries, we have a distinct flight advantage over them. I really think that’s the only reason they haven’t pushed into the mainland yet…”

I looked back at Luna. Her eyes were sad, so sad. “It’s been like that this entire night. It’s like no matter where we go, we can’t escape the war.”

“Then maybe this might help,” Crackling Corn spoke up as she arrived with a tray on her back. She deftly transferred it to her hoof and set down a pair of covered platters for us. “For the madam,” She lifted the lid away, “grilled barley-corn polenta with a side of lentils and portobello mushrooms.” Then she did the same to mine. “And for the gentlecolt, hakumai rice with the traditional nori, furikake, and tsukidani- and with a side of oats rolled in fettered hay and simmered in dashi broth.” Then she set a pair of drinks down. “Now this was interesting. Normally, this kind of fare would be accompanied by wine and tea respectively. However, both the kitchen staff and I suspected that the madam would enjoy a tall glass of moonshine- made from the Falcon family farm in Neighples with fermented grapes grown only in moonlight.” She turned to me. “And for the gentlecolt, Croaka-Cola. This one we had to import from Aldorna since the companies here have started using high-fructose corn syrup over sugar nowadays.” She clasped her forehooves together. “Does it all look satisfactory?”

To be honest, it’s only after thinking back to that time that I remember her speaking at all. I was just… lost in the dish before me. It was laid out on an elegant lacquerware tray, but… my goodness the smell. Don’t know how they did it, but that smell sent me back to my family’s old apartment in Manehattan. No television, no couch, no dinner table. Just ate on the bed. Wasn’t much, wasn’t even the fully traditional Hokkaidan fare. No tea, no tundra flowers- Croak and oats dressed in dashi to add to what little we could get.

Just like what was in front of me.

“I’ll leave you both be, then,” Crackling Corn spoke up after what seemed like an eternity. As her hoofsteps trailed away, I slowly looked up at Luna. It was like looking into a mirror. Eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. We both shared the same powerful experience that tunneled back through the years.

“Wow…” Luna whispered.

“Yeah…” I did in turn.

“And the… and the chef is-”

“-seventeen years old.”

“Incredible.”

“Amazing.”

The storyteller licked his lips from the memory.

Words just can’t do justice. I would never have a meal, an experience like that ever again.

* * *

Home at last. Luna and me, me and Luna. We leaned on one another, enjoying one another’s closeness. Felt her bubbling warmth and saw the glow past my closed eyelids as she shifted back into her natural form. Heard her heavenly sigh, felt her heavenly nuzzle.

“Thank you for the wonderful night,” she whispered.

Grinned as I cracked an eye open. “Well it’s not over yet. What would it be without a little serenade?”

Saw her grin in turn and I trotted away, letting my tail trail against her as I swung for my keyboard. Switched it on, set it to Grand Piano- Warm.

Sat.

Sprouted.

Played.

And sang.

“Fly me to the moon,
and let me play among the stars.
Let me see what spring is like on
Jupiter and Mars…”

* * *

The storyteller let out a deep sigh, smile fading. He was silent for a good, long time.

Next day was a school day. Knew I had to wake up early. Had the alarm set. Everything.

Groaned and tensed as it went off. Felt her shift against me. Heard it switch off. Sighed. Relaxed. Felt reluctant.

“Five more minutes?” she whispered. “Please?”

Smiled and shifted closer. Revelled in her warmth and softness. “Five more minutes.”

Slipped away again.

* * *

He fell silent again, eyes downcast. He inhaled deeply as if steeling himself.

Those five minutes became twenty-seven. Twenty-seven minutes. In different world, maybe I would have gotten up earlier- on time or… really in five minutes. Maybe she would have. I wonder sometimes.

I wonder how different the world could have been.

I felt her rapid movement at my side, and I jolted awake with my heart rate skyrocketing. I looked at Luna first and saw her caught halfway into a seated position, looking forward. “Dawn?”

My eyes followed hers, and indeed I found Dawn Treader, Lord Protector before us. His expression was stern, his posture firm. “Luna, Frost, I am sorry to interrupt you, but there is a situation at Littlehorn,” he spoke, each word deliberate. “Do. Not. Teleport there.”

“What?” Luna swept herself over me and out of bed as I scrambled to follow suit. “Dawn, what’s happening? What’s going on there?”

He parted his lips but hesitated to speak for a moment. “We just know that there is a situation directly affecting the entire campus. We have not been able to actively reconnoiter the area due to-”

“Lord Protector, what kind of situation?” I asked, slightly raising my tone, struggling to hide my worry.

“Dawn, what is going on there?” Luna questioned again, stressing each word.

And now his slit eyes looked between the two of us and, unable to hide it any longer, he reported, “There’s been some kind of alchemical attack that’s affected the entire campus. Nopony’s been able to raise communications with them. The number of casualties are unknown at this time.”

Luna had already started galloping downstairs the moment the word ‘attack’ left his lips, and Dawn and I tailed her. “Then get in there and start saving them!” she cried as she swept the living room with her magic and finally snatched up the television remote, frantically working the controls.

The storyteller, without meeting a single gaze, slid a broken remote out. Its soft plastic buttons and the frame itself have melted and deformed.

“We can’t,” Dawn replied, his ever-present air of calm starting to falter with his rising tone.

“What?” I spun on him, panic animating me. “You can move faster than anything I’ve ever seen! You and Daze are the most powerful unicorns I’ve ever seen! What do you mean you can-”

“We! Can’t!” Dawn’s roar left him panting, eyes wide. “Daze almost died going in there! Meadow and Storm are working to stabilize her, but we can’t risk sending any more of us! Nopony can get in there! It’s a death zone right now!”

A black ball of terror sunk deep into my gut, and I was left mirroring his expression. Then we both seemed to realize Luna hadn’t said anything since she started down the stairs. We both turned.

Luna stood with a look of abject horror on her face. She didn’t have to change the channel upon turning the set on. Was always ready to tune into the news.

The old, old unicorn reached up with a hoof to cover his mouth. His eyes were glassy. He let his hoof fall to continue.

And there it was. Littlehorn School of Magic. Covered in a swath of swirling pink. Many… many reporters on-scene. All watching in horror. Couldn’t hear their words, just couldn’t pick them out. Too many at once.

He swallowed and took in a deep, shaky breath.

I could see some of them crawling out.

His mouth worked slowly, no words coming out. Only tears. Until he found the strength to form them.

Just… they… waving the helpers off. Warning them with their last moments. Unrecognizable at that point… flesh… melting… coming undone.

Luna watched. Just watched. And then she finally collapsed without a sound.

He squinted his eyes tight and let the tears flow freely.

* * *

Minutes passed. With time, he stilled, straightened, and made eye contact once more. His expression was hard, etched in stone.

“I want to be alone.”

He inhaled deeply.

“I want to be alone.” That was all she said. She didn’t cry. She didn’t shout. She didn’t tremble. She made a single request, then disappeared in a flash of her magic. And with the sound of rippling cloth, I was left alone.

Just stood there. Goddeses know for how long. Fixed on the screen. Listening to empty words.

I felt empty.

And so I watched and listened. Tried to sift through speculation, find facts past opinions and accusations. Heard knocks at the door. No doubt it was Pinkie. Maybe some of her friends. Didn’t answer it. Didn’t want to see them.

I wanted to be alone.

He inhaled deeply.

No survivors. All students and faculty presumed dead. Dragons, too. Even after the cloud cleared, everything was…

A soft sigh.

There wasn’t enough to work off of to truly confirm their deaths. But we all knew.

Four-thousand-three-hundred-eighty-nine students. Four-thousand-three-hundred-eighty-nine bright young minds so full of promise. Just think- how many of those four-thousand-three-hundred-eighty-nine could have changed the world. Even if just one. Four-thousand-three-hundred-eighty-nine students, four-hundred-ninety-nine faculty members.

I was number five-hundred.

Another deep breath.

My mother and father weren’t strong in their own eyes. A feeble mare with progeria. A crippled stallion with a polio-stricken leg. And yet they survived the worst disaster in equine history up until The End. And there I was. Forty-six, going on forty-seven next month. Flecks of gray in my mane.

Now I knew what it meant to live with survivor’s guilt.

The old, old unicorn drew in deep once more.

Then came the address.

Princess Celestia stood alone. Even her radiant mane seemed… dimmer. Her eyes… I…

Deep breath.

“Good…”

A long pause.

“Greetings, my… loy… my fellow Equestrians.”

Even longer.

Then her golden magic started removing her regalia. In front of millions.

“I am no longer fit to rule. I abdicate the throne. That is all.”

And then she walked away. Bare. Back into her quarters.

Back into her cell.

* * *

That evening.

“Greetings. I speak to all of you not as Princess of the Night to her royal subjects but as a fellow Equestrian. I stand not above you but with you through these trying times.

“Many of you have no doubt heard by now of what transpired at Littlehorn School of Magic. Many of you are left wanting to find out what exactly happened. I will tell you now.

“At seven-forty-four A.M. local time, a group of zebra refugees seeking political asylum in Equestria came ashore at Moonstone Beach just south of campus and approached school grounds. They tried to make clear that they were seeking aid and shelter. Nobody on scene at the time knew their dialect, and, with so many zebras at their doorstep, they panicked and activated Littlehorn’s magical defenses. I regret to inform you that many innocent zebras were grievously wounded or killed until one of our students declared them to be refugees and convinced the school staff to deactivate the defenses.

“It was then that a zebra infiltrator with the Zebrican state security and intelligence organization known as the KSV took action. It is strongly suspected that one or more of the refugees had critical military intelligence that Zebrica wanted kept secret. That infiltrator, hidden among the refugees, activated an alchemical weapon of mass destruction known as the Maaier agent. That weapon resulted in the death of all of the refugees, all four-thousand-three-hundred-eighty-nine students at Littlehorn, their pets, and all but one of the five-hundred faculty members. The sole survivor is Doctor of History and Equinpology Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill, who was not yet on campus. The status of the zebra infiltrator is unknown at this time. Shujiaana, the student who courageously rushed to end the bloodshed, will be posthumously awarded our highest civilian honor, the Signet of Valor.”

A pause. A deep breath.

“I understand that many of you are afraid. My sister abdicated the throne. That was her choice and her choice alone. No one can dissuade her. Know this, my fellow Equestrians- I will do my sister proud. Not only had she ruled this great nation of ours for millennia- she ruled it alone for a thousand years, carried it through the greatest conflict of that day and age, and ended it with an age of peace and prosperity that lasted for more than six-hundred years. And when I returned and was freed from the foul Nightmare corrupting my soul and spirit, she not only forgave me but sought forgiveness herself. No other equine being alive can shine a light to hers. I will honor her. I will honor her.

“And now I have a message to Zebrica and Khotek in particular. We did wrong. We admit fault in our failure to understand who those people were. But so many thousands of innocent lives were needlessly lost today, Khotek- all for the sake of keeping secrets secret. The KSV’s actions not only against our citizens but its own can only draw my full condemnation.

“My fellow Equestrians, we have crossed the event horizon. There is no turning back. We are borne full steam ahead as I stand at the helm of our great nation. But as we observe this day of infamy...

“I pray I do not stand alone.”

* * *

Minutes later.

She appeared before me.

We stood.

We met eyes.

We embraced.

We wet eyes.

* * *

The next day.

I finally started answer the phone calls and the knocks at the door. Assured everyone- my parents, Zoleks, even Hummingbird and Song Spinner- that I was safe, that I was sound.

And Pinkie Pie. She brought all of her friends- even Rainbow Dash, fresh from the battlefield- over. Shared a few words. Learned what I could.

Six new ministries. Six new ministry mares. Wartime Technology. Peace. Morale. Image. Awesome. Arcane Science. Luna’s own set of advisors, readily accessible like the cabinet of a desk. Words. Words. So many words. So many condolences. I was tired of it all. I was depressed by it all.

Depressed… Crystal…

…

* * *

That afternoon.

Arrived in Canterlot. Headed toward the school. Lost in memory for a while. Then I met her there. Celestia.

Shared a few words. Asked a few questions. Received answers.

Embraced.

Parted ways.

* * *

That evening.

Headed toward the castle. Night Guards barred my access. Told me to halt.

Told them to just try and stop me.

They didn’t.

Strode all the way to her office. She was surprised.

We talked. At length.

She was adamant. At first. So was I. At first.

We talked more. At length.

We compromised. Fair’s fair.

We embraced. Tightly.

* * *

The next day.

Home. Stood in front of the mirror. Looked hard. Thought hard. Three words kept echoing in my head.

Repay the debt.

Repay the debt.

Repay the debt.

And so I switched on my cell.

“Frost?”

“Hello, Song.”

I started for my closet.

“Hello… I’m… I’m so sorry, Frost. I-”

“Enough. Please. You’ve already said it. Everyone I’ve met has already said it. I’m tired of it. I’m not here for more of your sympathies.”

I paused.

“... I…”

I sighed.

“... I’m sorry, Song. I… I didn’t mean that. Just… just… yeah.”

I inhaled deeply. And opened the closet.

“So… why did you call?”

“I’m calling because I need a favor from you. One you won’t like.”

Found Silver Skean.

“... name it.”

“Do you still have access to the city archives?”

Found Chrome Cleaver.

“Yes… I do.”

“Alright. Now Song, I need to stress now you don’t have to do this. It is completely your choice to follow my next request. Understood?”

Slipped them on.

Waited.

“Name it.”

“I need you to put together my old contact list. The phone numbers and addresses have changed, but the names haven’t. When I swept the slate clean, I left markers just in case. You’ll know them when you see them. Just look yourself up first.”

Looked up at the top shelf.

“... Frost… what are you doing?”

Reached up.

And slipped my trusty fedora on.

“Putting the Mumei back to work.”

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 22 Reached!
Perk Added: Terrifying Presence- With all you’ve gone through, your cold demeanor and tone make for great intimidation. With a successful Speech roll (subject to difficulty penalties), you can inflict fear in your opponents’ hearts. Be warned- in some situations, this could start a shootout!

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Just a Pony

Soundtrack- Escalation

Soundtrack- Children

Soundtrack- Theme of the Lunar Captain, Obsidian

Soundtrack- Obsidian Encounter

Soundtrack- Water and Wonders

Soundtrack- Fly Me to the Moon (In Other Words)

Soundtrack- Do. Not. Teleport There.

Soundtrack- Event Horizon

Soundtrack- Hokkaido Lives

Author's Note

Took me long enough, huh? I hope it was worth the wait. I owe my thanks to the Fallout: Equestria community as a whole with a very special thanks to Lazer726 and now Doomande for pre-reading this for me. Welcome to the team, Doomande. And once again, thank you for reading. Please feel free to leave some feedback. I read every comment, and I especially appreciate constructive criticism. Also, check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr blog! I've actually started answering questions again!

So until next time (hopefully soon),
Adder1

Reflection Twenty-Three: A Good Buck Goes to War

Reflection Twenty-Three: A Good Buck Goes to War

“The anger of a good buck is not a problem. Good bucks have too many rules.”

“Good bucks don’t need rules. Today is not the day to find out why I have so many.”

I knocked a little louder this time. At last, there was a string of muffled thuds from hurried footsteps, and she opened the door.

“Howdy, Frost,” Applejack greeted with an apologetic smile. The orange earth pony mare was still in her prime- not a single gray hair in her mane. “Muh apologies. Still packin’ up n’ all. Come on in, n’, uh… nice hat there.” She tipped hers in a token gesture of approval.

I tipped my trusty fedora in turn with a momentary ice arm in acknowledgement and smiled softly before following her into her home. “I take it you’re leaving Sweet Apple Acres in good hooves?”

“Ayup, family hooves,” she answered as she led us to the dining room, motioning for me to take a seat across from her. It had been a while since I’d been there… save for the appliances, everything was a homey wood decor in shades of green, white, red, golden yellow, and brown- colors of all the apples. “Plenty o’ aunts, uncles, n’ cousins to watch over the farm while Ah wrangle this new ministry.” As I seated myself with her, an awkward silence descended upon us. She twiddled with her forehooves on the table. “What a mess, all this… a part o’ me is glad that ol’ Granny Smith didn’t live to see it get this bad.” She sighed wistfully. “So, uh… how’ve ya been holdin’ up?”

“Well enough,” I answered. “But I didn’t come here to talk about Littlehorn. I’m here to talk business.”

“Right,” Applejack said with a nod, glancing away momentarily. “So, uh, Princess Luna did send a letter to me. Somethin’ ‘bout ya helpin’ out with gettin’ businesses on the boat with, uh... my new ministry?”

“That would be correct,” I answered with a slow nod.

She eyed me. “Princess Luna was pretty... vague on the details of exactly how ya’ll were gonna do that.”

“Well I was rather vague with her myself,” I said. “But trust me- I know a thing or two about what’s what when it comes to big business.”

“N’ how’s that?” Applejack inquired, still maintaining a patient air. “While Ah have learned to suck my pride n’ allow others t’help out- Sweet Celestia that feels like so long ago, that applebuckin’ season- Ah already have Applebloom set to help me out the moment Ah reach Manehattan.”

“Yes, your sister,” I said with a slow nod. “An architect.”

“A rightly famous one,” she countered. “Y’all know as much as Ah do that she made some critically-acclaimed designs, including…”

There came that silence again.

“Littlehorn.”
“... Littlehorn, yeah.” Applejack grimaced briefly. “Muh point is- she’s a very respected mare in her field. What can ya’ll offer that she can’t?”

I inhaled softly, folding my hooves on the table. “Architecture is one thing. Wartime technology is a whole other animal. The only places where architecture has anything to do with it is during the construction of bunkers, installations, factories, railyards, ports, the like. Don’t get me wrong- those are important, but for the most part, an architect like Applebloom simply doesn’t have the specific clout to bring the industries you really need to your side. I’m talking logistics, electronics, manufacturing, automotive, commercial, even the textile industry- plus more. And those are just the broad categories. Logistics? Railroads, shipping, air cargo, management, inventory, profit recovery. Electronics? Computer terminals, information technology, data governance- you get the picture.”

“But Applebloom’s worked with those industries in her projects,” Applejack said. “She knows a lotta ponies, a lotta people in those fields.”

I inhaled again and glanced upward momentarily. “She might. But trust me on this, Applejack- when it comes to business, it’s not about who you know.” I leaned forward. “It’s about who knows you.”

She cocked an eyebrow at me. “N’ ya mean to tell me that all those ponies n’ people in all those industries know you?”

“In Manehattan, absolutely,” I answered with a stout nod and easy smile.

Applejack leaned back in her seat and crossed her forelegs. “Remind me again exactly what ya did ‘fore comin’ to Ponyville?”

“I was into business,” I replied simply. “Entertainment mostly- I owned a juvie-joint- but I dabbled into a bit of everything.” I canted my head momentarily. “More than a bit.”

Applejack took a deep breath and rubbed her face with a hoof. “Ah dunno, Frost. Ah ain’t heard anythin’ about ya other than being into history and equinpology ‘fore comin’ to Ponyville. N’ Ah don’t like the idea that ya seem to be a lot less honest than the prufessor Ah thought Ah knew. Ah’m not likin’ this. Who are ya, Frost?”

“Honesty may be the best policy, but big business is a cutthroat world,” I stood up from my seat. “We need those corporations behind your ministry, and I’m going to make sure that happens. I wasn’t always an honest person, Applejack. I can’t say in good faith that I really am even now. But look me in the eye. Alright?” And once she did: “I used to be kingpin of the largest gang you never heard of. I took the fall, realized what I’d done, and wiped the slate clean. Led a better life. But people still remember my name, and I intend to use it to bring those corporations to your side.”

The sunny-orange mare sighed softly. “So that’s the truth, then.”

I nodded stoutly.

“Ah’m an honest pony, Frost- hence muh Element,” she said. “Ah don’t like the idea that what ya plan to do is rightly dishonest.”

“But you need those corporations.”

Applejack sighed sharply and leaned back in her seat, rubbing her face. “Yeah, Ah do. Won’t lie ‘bout that.” She let out another deep sigh. “Ya plan to hurt anyone?”

“No,” I answered, “but I might have to. It’s been decades since I exercised my power. Some might believe I still don’t have it. I might have to twist some hooves, figuratively speaking.”

“Don’t,” she said firmly, standing to meet me and glaring into my very soul it seemed. “Ah’ll accept yer help on the conditions that ya hurt absolutely nopony n’ no one- and that ya do it in honest, legal fashion. Ya can’t do that, Ah can’t accept yer offer. Whatever ya do in the name of the Ministry o’ Wartime Technology is reflected on me, understand? N’ Ah’m an honest pony. So, then, are you. Ah don’t care if it loses me them corporations- Ah won’t tarnish the Apple family name n’ especially not Luna’s.”

“Believe me, I’d much rather get through this whole ordeal quietly and peacefully and then be done with it,” I said.

“Well can ya guarantee it?” Applejack asked firmly.

“... no,” I answered.

Applejack sighed, and her intense expression softened. “Least yer bein’ honest with me. Ah’m takin’ a huge risk lettin’ ya do this for me, but we need to get the ball rollin’. Don’t go ‘round hurtin’ no one, Frost”

“I’ll do my best not to,” I said with a firm nod, “but understand that people will see you as the paragon of honesty no matter what I do. I won’t try to hurt anyone. I won’t go looking for trouble, but if trouble finds me, I won’t hesitate to act accordingly.”

She let out a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. Fine, fair ‘nuff. So how long will ya need?”

I inhaled in thought. “Give me… two weeks from tomorrow, when I leave. Two weeks, and I’ll have more corporations than you know what to do with lining up on your doorstep.”

“Two weeks?” she parroted, again cocking that brow. “Ya serious?”

I grinned. “Applejack, you should see what I can do in ten days.”

* * *

Manehattan. City of Lights and Legends. Thought I would have felt some measure of relief coming home again. I found none. The larger-than-life buildings hadn’t changed, but the larger-than-life people… they did. As I sat back in the chair and looked down many stories below, I could see profound changes even from so high up. People still milled about on the streets, yes, but there were distinct patches of striped grays, whites, and blacks that were… segregated from the rest. The other people seemed to distance themselves from zebras, leering at them from a distance. The sun was shining high in the sky, the music that was so ingrained into the city’s culture was playing… and yet all this. I didn’t like it. It was like that first class nearly ten years ago at…

Littlehorn.

I inhaled deeply and strived to push those thoughts aside, instead admiring the view in front of me as I stood and entered the next room. It was a nice office- a really nice office. It had a plush leather swivel chair, a smooth desk of polished wood with plenty of cabinets, shelves of necessary reference books, and everything was neatly organized and squared away. It even had a wonderful view of downtown. It was a really nice office.

It also wasn’t mine.

Seated at the desk was a big orange buck, still with that messy blue mane. Only differences since way back when were his business attire, the glasses, and a few more gray hairs. He stood up as soon as I entered and began to bark, “Who the hell are you and how-” Then he seemed to notice my hat. And then he realized.

“Hello, Sunny Days,” I greeted with a… not quite a smile. Not to him. “I think you know the answer to both of those questions.”

His jaw hung slightly ajar for a few seconds before he closed it, flattened his lips, straightened out, and said, “Hello, Frost.” He glanced up at my trusty fedora. “Or is it Hokkaido I’m speaking to?”

“I’ll let you decide,” I answered maneuvering toward his desk.. “But this isn’t right, is it? Come on.” I motioned downward. “Let’s sit and chat.”

“I’d rather stand, thank you.”

I inhaled softly. “Alright. Fine by me. So… Sunny Days, CEO of Crosswinds, the most important logistics arm in the Equestrian Heartland. And I hear Blustery’s due for another term on city council! How have you all been?”

“Look, if you wanted something from me, just say it,” he uttered at me, frowning.

I inhaled again- a little more sharply this time. Still, I… smiled. “Sunny, I’m trying to be friendly. That’s not Hokkaido. He’s civil.”

“You’re trying to be civil right now,” Sunny countered.

My smile flattened. “Well I was trying to be friendly in any case. A shame. I was hoping to catch up after all these years.”

“So what did you want from me?” he asked, still frowning.

I eyed Sunny for a few seconds before walking around the desk over to him. “Are you asking that because you know you’ll give me whatever it is I want or because you want to find out before you decide?”

He eyed me in turn. “I don’t rightly know.”

I inhaled softly and let out a deep, misty sigh, removing my fedora and setting it down on one of the visitors’ chairs. “Sunny, you and Song Spinner- in good faith- served as witnesses at that court date so many years ago to take Pick Pack down. I appreciated that. I come here knowing you’re not quite an enemy but not quite a friend either. So I come here with a request- not a demand. And you don’t even have to listen.”

Sunny maintained that frown, but the rage in his eyes seemed to subside somewhat. “So what is it?”

That’s the way. I turned to face the window, looking over the city as the sun hung high in the sky. “I work for the new administration now- namely for the Ministry of Wartime Technology. It’s meant to organize and regulate the war effort on the home front,” I turned back to Sunny, “but it can’t do that without help. So that’s why I’m here, talking to you.”

“You want me to pledge my support to the Ministry,” he surmised.

“Yes,” I answered. Wait for it…

“And why would I do that?” he asked.

There it is. “Skeptical?”

“Very,” Sunny replied.

“Because of the potential losses?” I inquired.

“No,” he answered with a straight face. “The gains would far outweigh them in the long run. I taught you business, Frost- I should know. It’s because you’re the one asking. I haven’t been keeping tabs on you, but I know enough. You became a history and equinpology professor, something that doesn’t bring much in the realm of a salary but… I would assume some peace of mind. Am I correct?”

And now he was studying me. I nodded.

“Historian and equinpologist- the kind of pony who loves his fellow equine being,” Sunny said, stepping closer. Despite his bulk, we were roughly at eye level due to my lankiness. “That much I knew of you. And right after Littlehorn, you come to me with your old look, your old behavior, and ask me to support the war effort. I know you tried to wash your hooves clean. So have I. But here you are, a good buck going to war. That doesn’t sit well with me.”

“A Wall Street buck with a conscience?” I huffed, cracking a thin smile.

He didn’t mirror it. “Because when I didn’t have one, it almost got a pony killed.”

My smile slipped. I straightened out and fully looked at Sunny Days. All those early wrinkles, that steady frown… and those analytical eyes.

“Tell me why you’re suddenly supporting the war effort,” the big orange buck spoke. “Tell me why you changed.”

I inhaled deeply. “Because, Sunny, I intend to repay my debt to Equestria like so many Northerners, and because the mare I love needs my help. This war is about to escalate very, very soon… and my wife’s right in the thick of it. So I’m helping in the way I know best.”

“So vengeance has nothing to do with this?” he asked.

“I don’t hate the people or the nation that killed everyone at Littlehorn,” I answered. “I hate the war- that we started- that led them to do so.”

He raised both brows. “And you’re supporting it.”

“We’ve reached the point of no return now,” I said with a soft, misty sigh that made him visibly grimace in response to the cold. “At this point, the war’s only going to end in victory or defeat. This is my way of helping to end it in our favor.”

Sunny took a deep breath. “Does your wife know you’re doing this?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“In this fashion?”

“No.” I stepped closer to him. “I’d prefer to keep this skeleton hidden. I’m only bringing it out of the closet one more time. And I hope it’s the last.”

He took another deep breath. “I expect I’m not the only one you’ll want on board for this?”

“No,” I answered. “I intend to get everyone else in Manehattan that can help.”

“Everyone else who used to be in the Mumei you mean.”

“Yes.”

Sunny closed his eyes and rubbed his face, falling silent.

“Will you help Equestria, Sunny Days?” I asked.

He let out a deep sigh and let his hoof fall. “Tomorrow, two-o’clock in the conference room downstairs. Janice Sylphfeather of J.S. Corp, Kory Wylder of Cardinal Freight Carriers, Rollout of Cromwell Cartage, Staunch Wall of Staunch Shipping, and Triple Twist of Tri-Mac Transportation. They’ll all be there. There’s also Duct Tape of Lancer Inway. You don’t know him, and he doesn’t know you.” He stepped toward me. “I’m going to help you with this but only after you answer one more question.”

I looked to him, posture firm, gaze resolute.

“Are you planning to be friendly or civil with them?”

“Do you consider them to be friends, business partners, or something less?” I asked in turn.

“Something less.”

“Civil, then,” I answered. “We can accept some casualties.”

Sunny Days huffed softly, “Alright.”

We shook hooves.

* * *

Song Spinner, the beautiful black pegasus mare with the flowing blue mane- with only a few stripes of gray in it like mine- was waiting for me just on the other side of the door. As I headed for the elevator, she fell in step with me while I tucked my fedora back down. “How did it go?”

“Better than expected,” I answered as we moved at a brisk pace. “And on your end?”

“Well I’m here, aren’t I?” she asked in turn.

“That you are. Thank you.” I inhaled softly. “We’ll be needing them on the floor. You’ve done a lot for me already, and I appreciate that. But before you head home- because I do need you rested for tomorrow-” We turned toward the elevator, and I called it up, “we need to make one last stop.”

“And where would that be?” she asked with a bit of uncertainty.

I sighed mistily, glancing downward.

* * *

Zoleks answered the door initially with a warm, comforting smile, opening his mouth to greet me. Then he saw my fedora. Then he saw Song. His smile slipped, and his shoulders slumped.

“No…” he called quietly, slowly and then quickly shaking his head. “No no no no no no no no… Frost, this better be some sort of trick! You haven’t worn that hat in-”
“Zoleks,” I called softly.
“-ages, and you’re with Song and… oh jeez, please just tell me this is a-”
“Zoleks.”

He bit back his words, expression fluctuating between fury and worry.

I used my hoof to remove my hat and hold it to my chest. I didn’t adopt a pleading look. That was Hokkaido. And I wasn’t. “I need your help. And yes, it involves the Mumei.” I saw him open his mouth. “Hear me out.” It closed. Now, Frost. Right words, right way. But this time… your way. “I’m only doing this because I work for Luna’s new administration. I’m trying to bring businesses over to the new Ministry of Wartime Technology headed by Applejack. Nothing more. And once the deed is done, I hope and pray that it’ll be the last time I have to do anything like this.”

The big zebra buck sighed softly and opened his mouth to reply-

“Zoleks?” Namira’s voice called from inside. “Who is it?”

He sighed deeply and turned his head back inside. “It’s Frost and Song!”

“Is it?” There was a rapid clip-clopping of hooves as she galloped over. The zebra mare smiled broadly at the sight of me, something I tried to return. “Hi, Frost, Song, uh… didn’t expect either of you over, but do come in! Jorund will be happy to see you!”

She was never a part of the Mumei. She couldn’t recognize the signs. And her obliviousness crushed my heart- and my attempted reply.

“Actually, I think we’re just having a quick chat right now,” Song spoke up with an apologetic smile. “We’ve actually got business to attend to.”

Thank you...

“Are you sure?” Namira asked. “You’re both always welcome here, you know.”

“It’s only a quick visit, yeah,” Zoleks said, smiling softly to Namira. “Shop’s still busy, so why don’t you help Bo and the others out? I’ll be right back with you, okay?”

Namira nodded slowly. “Ah… okay, but if you’re back in town, we’ve got to get together again properly, you hear?”

Now I chanced a soft smile of my own. “I hear. We’ll work the scheduling out later.”

The zebra mare nodded, gave a quick wave, and then she was gone.

Zoleks and I met eyes again. Our smiles had all slipped by now. “You need my help, don’t you?” he asked.

“I don’t need it,” I said quietly, carefully. “You’re my best friend, Zoleks- the best I could have ever asked for. I’ve said it to Song. I’ve said it to Sunny. And I say it to you- this is a request, not a demand. I want your help, yes. But you don’t have to give it to me.”

Zoleks inhaled deeply. “Will it come back to hurt my family?”

“No,” I answered firmly. “And if it even gives the slightest hint that it will, I will slam my hoof down so hard they won’t know what hit them. I won’t let them touch you.” I looked to Song. “The same goes for you. And I suppose Sunny.”

Song took a long, hard look at me at that. “And if they come for you?”

I sprouted an ice arm to whip Silver Skean out and danced her between my fingers as I replied, “More than capable of handling myself.”

Zoleks inhaled deeply. “Yeah, as if I’d let it ever come close to going that way. Urgh… alright. I’ll help. Namira’s not going to like hearing about gang-related work again, but I’ll handle it. Frost, you know I’ve got your back. Always have.”

I nodded slowly, slipping my fedora back on and resting my hoof on his shoulder. “Thank you. Just don’t call me ‘boss.’”

* * *

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mother.”

“Frost? Frost, how are you? Is everything okay?”

“As okay as they can be. How are you?”

“Your father and I are doing fine. It’s you we’re both worried about.”

Soft sigh. “I… appreciate that. Listen, Mother… lay low for the next two weeks alright? Stay away from any old centers of Mumei activity. I’ll be renting out a motel.”

“Frost… why are you getting involved in gang activity again?” Sterner voice this time.

“I’m garnering support for the new Ministry of Wartime Technology, and I’m going to use my influence to get it. I promise you that’s all I’m doing, and it’s why I’m warning both you and Father in advance to keep a low profile while I handle it. I just need you both to take public transit to and from home. Take a cab if you need to. You both have access to the account if you need the money. Keep the shutters drawn at night, and keep the alarm system on whenever you’re both at home. It shouldn’t come down to that, but I’m not taking any chances. And if I catch any funny business coming toward you, I’ll put it down hard.”

Deep sigh. “So you’re working for the government now.”

“Yeah.”

“It sounds like you’re putting us in danger.”

“I’m afraid it might put us in danger, yes.”

“Does Zoleks know about this?”

“He does, yes.”

“... Frost, I’m placing my trust in you for this. We’ve talked about this long, long ago. I know how you feel about the Mumei. I’ll tell your father, and we’ll do what we can to stay out of the way. But I will be asking Zoleks about what you’re doing. I don’t want to hear any shady business from you. Understand?”

“I understand, Mother.”

“Then do what you must. Tell us when it’s all over.”

“I will. Take it easy, alright, Mother?”

“You too. Stay safe.”

Click.

* * *

The next day. One-fifty-five. Just a floor below Sunny’s office at Crosswinds. Looked out the large, glass windows to the city far below. My seat was right up against the pane. It was comfy, one of those leather swivel chairs with full support. Very comfortable. I felt far less comfortable watching those segregated pastel shades and blacks, whites, and grays far down below. Rubbed my face and stilled as I realized I could vaguely see something in the glass.

The storyteller lifted his next memento up to his face and looked long and hard at it.

My reflection.

Leaned closer in my seat and looked at myself. High cheekbones, slanted eyes, sharp muzzle. Greasy black mane with flecks of gray. And those eyes. Fierce eyes. There was an intensity in them I hadn’t seen since… since ever.

I didn’t like what I saw.

There was muffled chatter and the sound of grouped footsteps. No time to think. No time to ponder. It was time. I pulled away from the ghost in the glass and tucked the fedora lower.

The door opened.

“Excuse me?” a female voice called. Janice. “We actually need this room for a conference right now.” I could already hear them start to file in and set down their folders, files, and portable terminals.

I cracked my neck. Show time.

“And I’m so glad you could all make it,” I spoke up. The noises quieted. I kicked at the floor to swivel the chair around so I could face them all with a… smile.

And there they were… Janice Sylphwing and Kory Wylder, both griffins. Rollout, Staunch Wall, and Triple Twist- all ponies, the latter a mare. All of them were dressed in business attire. All of them were staring at me with eyes wide and mouths ajar. Because all of them used to belong to me.

Then, following behind them, a younger, gray unicorn stepped inside to see what the commotion was. Ah. Duct Tape. Appropriate name. He glanced from the others to me. “The hay’s going on?” he asked nobody in particular.

He was never a part of the Mumei. He couldn’t recognize me. And his obliviousness only made me chuckle huskily on the inside.

(No. Easy now. It only made a part of you chuckle. Easy now.)

“Could somebody explain to me what the hay is going on?” Duct Tape demanded, turning as Sunny Days stepped in, and soon all eyes were on him.

Then Duct Tape was flanked by Song Spinner, entering from behind. And Zoleks.

The other five slowly turned their eyes toward me. At first, they were wide with surprise and perhaps a bit of fear. Now? Wider still from the crushing realization of what was going on.

Now I was cackling inside. (Easy.)

“Just sit down,” the big, orange buck commanded.

“What-” Duct tried again.

“Sit. Down.”

Duct frowned, glaring from him, to Song, to Zoleks- bad, bad move- and then finally to me before he and the other slowly took their seats. Zoleks and Song closed the door behind them and hovered just past it.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gents,” I greeted, leaning back in my seat and using a hindleg to pivot myself left and right, left and right. “We interrupt this program to bring you... me. Hello again. It’s been a looooong time.”

“The hell are you here for?” Janice said, deciding to stop being so chicken and frowning intensely at me.

“And could someone fill me in who the hell these guys are?” Duct added.

Oh how I was waiting for that.

I… smiled wider and stood from my chair, singing out:

“Please allow me to introduce myself-
I’m a chimera of wealth and taste.

“I’ve been around for a long, long year,
stole many a pony’s soul and faith.

“I was ‘round when-”

“Oh please don’t turn this into a musical,” Sunny groaned. “I am not joining in.”

I frowned- but only jokingly. “Well fine,” I snorted. “I suppose we need to get down to business in any case.” I remained standing as I looked to Duct Tape and… smiled. “My name is Frost Windchill. Pleased to meet you. Your, ah, associates? They know me by a different name- Hokkaido.”

The storyteller couldn’t help but grin.

Hohhh… boy did that send shivers around the room.

Duct Tape turned to Janice. “So… who exactly is he? Like a former business partner?”

“Something like that,” I answered for her.

“So… you’re in shipping or logistics?” he inquired.

“No,” I said with an ever-growing grin. “Management. But I believe you all, like Janice, deserve to know what I expect from all of you.” I pulled away from the seat and started to pace around the room, starting toward the windows and watching my ghost in the glass. Straight shoulders. Slow, methodical pace- like a wildcat circling its prey. Poised my head on my neck like a snake ready to strike. Narrow those eyes just a little- make them cackle darkly. Maintain that… smile. There. Textbook Hokkaido.

I continued to stalk around the room as I spoke, “See, I’ve moved up the food chain quite a ways. I work for the new administration now, namely for the Ministry of Wartime Technology. Its purpose is to oversee and manage the war effort on the home front- research and development, manufacturing and mass production, quality assurance and quantity delivered, supply and sustain. It’s still a fledgeling, yes, but it has plenty of room to grow.” I stopped as I passed by the head of the table, right by Sunny Days. “And that’s where you all come in. The hell I’m here for, Janice, is that I expect you- all of you- to pledge your support to the Ministry of Wartime Technology, and I expect all of you to deliver on the pledge.”

“Why should we join you?” Janice inquired, crossing her forelegs.

“And would we get from it?” Triple Twist added.

“Frankly, I’m wondering why I can’t just walk out of this room right now,” Duct Tape snorted.

“I’ll gladly answer those questions,” I said to them, turning briefly to Duct Tape. “Yours first, and frankly it’s because I’m a very dangerous pony, and your partners know this.”

“You’re just going to force us,” Kyle said with a grimace. “I don’t see why you’re bothering.”

“Nah,” I chuckled huskily. “That’s no fun. Sunny, if you would be so kind?”

The big orange buck reached over to the middle of the table to pull a cord from its socket and connect it to his own portable terminal. A projector above our heads put his screen up on the far wall, displaying graphs of all their companies’ stock share prices over time straight from the Manehattan Stock Exchange. He tabbed over to-

Multiple hooves went up.

… you’re all wondering what stock shares are, aren’t you?

Murmurs of affirmative droned through the crowd, and the storyteller sighed.

And you were doing so well. Hell, I was on a roll, too! Anyway, stock shares are a form of investment into a business, simply put. You’d invest money into a company, which would appreciate or depreciate in value depending on whether the company flourishes or stagnates respectively. If you play your cards right and buy shares low and sell them high, you could walk away a richer pony. So, with that…

“I’m sure you’ve all noticed by now that nobody’s doing particularly well,” Sunny said, changing the display to fit the last week. The graphs showed a very steep dive a few days ago. “Nobody came out of Littlehorn a winner- including us. Not you, not me, and especially not Duct Tape here.” The gray unicorn nickered softly at that. “I don’t expect any of us to make a profit this quarter, so the way I see it, we don’t have much to lose by throwing our support to the Ministry. Short-term losses will be largely masked by the recent dive, and if enough businesses show support, we might just see some bulls out of this if the public likes what it sees.”

“Key word is ‘if,’” Rollout snorted.

“You doubt me?” I challenged, cocking a brow. I hoped that for his sake my eyes looked ready to fire those shots off.

“It’s been thirty years, practically.”

I straightened my gaze. “And yet here you are. You’re still listening aren’t you?”

He and Kory shared a look across the table, and he momentarily nodded to me as if intoning ‘He’s got a point.’

“Still, could mean even sharper losses to the point of no recovery,” Janice spoke up. “Particularly for newer businesses.”

“Like mine,” Duct Tape said, crossing his forelegs.

Saw that one coming. I glanced at Song Spinner.

The black-furred mare gave me a subtle nod and said, “Given Frost’s track record, I don’t see that happening. Logistics firms won’t be the only corporations we plan to get on the boat. Anything that can drive the war effort has been considered. Logistics is often an unsung hero in the business world, but combined with, say, automotives and electronics- and far more industries- the public is more likely to see this new collective as something worth investing in. Just need one industry to pull the hook, and then it’s the unspoken business law of the lemmings.”

“Sorry, what business are you in?” Duct Tape challenged.

“Orchestral music,” she answered, “but… I used to work with management.”

I grinned at that.

“What kind of management are we talking anyway?” the gray buck inquired, looking from her to me.

“Business, political, public, private,” I answered with a… smile. “Everything, really.”

“This is starting to sound a little shady,” he remarked with a grimace.

I rolled my eyes and looked at Zoleks.

“Oh colt,” he groaned. “Right, can everyone who hasn’t engaged in shady business strategies please raise their hoof or hand?” None went up, and glances went about the room as if to confirm this. “I notice you didn’t, Duct Tape. Do we still have a problem?”

The gray unicorn grunted in response.

“As further argument for supporting the Ministry of Wartime Technology,” I said, “just take a look across the pond.” I clasped my hooves together and eyed Janice and Kory especially. “Anyone been keeping tabs on the Dartmouth Group? Sunny, if you would be so kind…” I waited as Sunny brought up a different set of graphs- these ones from the Avalon Stock Exchange. “While not government-sponsored, you can tell that the individual firms belonging to Dartmouth were in a similar situation. The start of the war caused stocks to take a dive. And sure- after Littlehorn, they took another hit. But comparatively speaking? Dartmouth’s companies are faring much better than its peers. There’s strength in numbers. You know this. You were planning to have a meeting here after all like good little business partners. So! With that, I have a message- and a question. A message from me- and a question from Ministry Mare Applejack: will you pledge your support to the Ministry of Wartime Technology and to the Principality of Equestria?”

“And your message?” Janice inquired.

“You don’t want to know.” I looked about the table. “So what’re your answers?”

“I pledge my support,” Sunny spoke first. “And I strongly suggest you do the same.”

Kory took a deep breath. “I pledge my support.”

Triple Twist worked her jaw for a few seconds. “I too pledge support."

Staunch Wall looked from her to me and nodded. “I as well.”

Rollout looked at all the others, frowning for a few seconds. “Count me in,” he muttered.

Janice grimaced, and I trained my gaze on her. She broke eye contact. “I pledge my support.”

Last one. I looked to Duct Tape expectantly. He leaned back in his seat. “I can’t.”

I cocked my head ever so slightly like a hammer primed to shoot. I could feel the others tense. Good. “And why not?”

“Lancer Inway is still a fresh face on the block,” he responded. “We’re barely scraping by as is, and any further short-term loss might jeopardize my company’s survival. And frankly, I don’t like how you’re coming out of nowhere as this guy who apparently everyone is scared of. Even if this isn’t the first time I’ve done fishy business, I don’t like where this is headed. Besides, I’m not too crazy about supporting a war just because Princess Luna took a personal hit.”

I blinked.

Oh no he didn’t. Oh no he did not go there.

“Sorry, what was that last part?” I asked in a dangerously low tone.

“I’m not supporting a war just because a personal blow to Princess Luna caused her to change positions on it,” Duct Tape said. “I mean it’s horrible that Littlehorn had to happen- don’t get me wrong- but I can’t help but feel this is leading to worse and worse things. She wanted an end to hostilities before, and now she’s pursuing them? That doesn’t sit well with me. So I’m not helping her.”

Not helping her.

Not… helping… her.

I inhaled deeply as I righted my head. “Well that’s just too bad. Here comes the message then.” I glanced at Song Spinner.

The mare grimaced momentarily, then whipped out her phone with her wing and speed-dialed a number. “It’s Song. Do it. Lancer only.”

And with that, I leaned against Sunny’s chair and… smiled.

Duct Tape narrowed his eyes. “They hay you smiling about?”

I glanced at him momentarily, then away.

“I said, the hay you smiling about?”

Eyes back on him. “Oh don’t mind me. I’m just enjoying the show.” Then I went right back to looking past them.

Now they started to get the idea. Janice was the first to look at the projector screen. “Oh… sweet Alda…”

The rest were quick to follow suit. Duct Tape turned at last to the projector screen and watched in shock as his company’s stock began taking a very steep, very sudden dive. “What the hay?!”

“I am Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill,” I spoke, making a slow pace toward him. “I was the kingpin of the largest gang in Manehattan you never heard of. I had my hoof in nearly everything in the city, and I had over twelve-thousand people backing me up. You’re looking at just a few of them.” And now I loomed over the gray buck. “Even thirty years later, you’d be surprised how many debts I’m still owed. And when I call to collect, they answer. Tens of thousands, Duct Tape, and those were just official members. There are so many more. Can you guess how many have shares in Lancer? Rather, had? Can you guess how many work at the stock exchange?”

“That’s illegal,” Duct Tape muttered, pulling out and then dialing into his phone. “That’s so fucking illegal.”

“Welcome to big business,” I whispered with a… smile.

“You’re going to fucking jail for this,” he seethed. “You’ve got a whole lotta witnesses…” His expression twisted in surprise. “They hung up on me?! Police don’t do that!”

I inhaled softly and added, “Can you guess how many work at MPD? Maybe Kory could tell you.”

The griffin swallowed hard.

“Still feeling so… hotheaded?” I asked with a smug grin, letting my expression darken afterward. For his sake, I hoped I looked terrifying. “So. Would you like me to repeat the question?”

Duct Tape feebly lowered his phone and murmured, “I pledge my support.”

“What’s that?” I held a hoof to my ear. “Speak up. Time is money, and you’re burning daylight.”

“I pledge my support!”

I let my hoof fall and nodded to Song Spinner. “Cease trading,” she uttered into her mouthpiece.

“Aaaaaand flatlined,”I said as his stock price stabilized, clasping and rubbing my hooves together. “Now, Sunny has the necessary paperwork with him. I do expect you all to follow up by contacting Ministry Mare Applejack herself. Only after that, Duct Tape,” I looked at him as he slumped back hard in his seat, “will I consider telling your former investors to start buying stock again.” I started on my way out toward Zoleks and Song. “Oh, and I do expect to see you all tomorrow. We’re cracking management next…”

* * *

And so the cycle continued. After management came computers. After computers came automotives. After automotives came manufacturing, power, gem mining, construction, research, and so many others. And each and every time, I had Zoleks and Song by my side. Sunny, too- and Duct Tape, in case anyone needed some extra “convincing” to remember who really owned Manehattan. And with each industry conquered, faces old and new stood by my side. I faced little opposition, and I made sure those who opposed me learned their lesson.

“You’re going to call Rider and her boys tomorrow,” I instructed over my phone, pacing back and forth in my room. “We need FN Horsetal on board with this to support Ironshod, and Rider’s going to be our stepping stone to them. She’ll listen once you mention my name. Now if there are no more questions, I have a meeting crash to prepare for.” I ended the call with a beep.

It was quickly followed by the sound of rippling cloth.

I removed my hat, and I greeted without turning around, “Good evening, Lord Dawn Treader.”

“Good evening,” came that familiar Trottish accent. Perhaps a bit more Glascow, now that I think about it. “I would have used your title, but Captain Obsidian informed me you wouldn’t appreciate that.”

I turned to face the Lunar Guard, standing firm before me. I met those fierce, hungry eyes of his, no longer afraid. “She’d be right.” Paused. “How’s Daze?”

He drew in a deep breath through his nostrils. “She’ll live. She’ll just be… keeping her illusions up. As usual.” He cast his eyes downward for a few seconds before flashing them right back up. “I didn’t come here to make small talk, you understand.” He motioned to my phone. “So this is how you intend to help Luna?”

“Short of enlisting,” I replied as I set it down on the nightstand, “and I already tried that route with your captain. So this is the way I know best.”

“You lied to her,” he stated simply.

“I told her I would help get companies on board with the Ministry of Wartime Technology,” I stated simply, “and I am.”

“Then you withheld the truth,” Dawn said, “and while the rest of the Lunar Guard and myself have also withheld information regarding the Mumei, it’s why I’m here. You’re stepping on many hooves, Frost. Combined with continuing to withholding information from Luna, I don’t appreciate that. But that doesn’t change the situation. I don’t need to tell you that you’re placing yourself in danger.”

“I know,” I said coolly, drawing Silver Skean with an ice arm. “Then again, who isn’t during wartime? One more reason to carry these.”

“Can you- in good faith- claim that you would be able to act quickly and decisively to defend your life, and would you take lives to do so?” he asked.

“Quickly, yes,” I replied, “Decisively, no. Take lives, yes. I’ve done that before during the changeling wedding crash twenty-five-odd years ago.”

“... fair enough,” Dawn said. “Then that is why I’m here.”

I furrowed my brow in question.

“I am Lord Protector Dawn Treader,” the unicorn dracopony declared. “I am here as your bodyguard- Lord Protector Stagger Storm as well when my specific skills are required or when I require rest. Again, I don’t particularly enjoy that you created this situation, but what must be done- must be done.”

Now I raised both brows. “Protecting me? Isn’t that a bit overkill?”

He huffed softly, “For a moment, I was afraid you’d ask ‘Just you?’ Perhaps, but you are very important to Luna- and to Equestria by extension. Honestly, I’d prefer if Anvil took the job since he’s much more amicable, but he and Hammer are inseparable. Having two of the Lunar Guard serve as bodyguards simultaneously tends to be such ‘overkill,’ even for Luna.”

“‘Even for Luna?’” I parroted in disbelief.

“I assure you that just one Lunar Guard is enough to protect her,” Dawn said. “Similarly, one Lunar Guard is more than enough to protect you. Sometimes, though, it is a case of image or inseparability. Or her preference.”

“Are you sure that’s a wise allocation of resources?” I inquired. “I have at least a glimpse of what you can do.”

“Frost, you are married to now the sole ruler of Equestria,” he answered, slowly moving closer.

“Parliament,” I noted.

“Semantics,” he snorted derisively. “Parliament may have started this war, but now Luna has to get us out one way or another. I can’t tell you how worried she is after you started taking a more active role like this. I don’t need to tell you how devastated she would be if something happened to you. And remember- she’s the one who has to get us out of this war. You already know how heavily Littlehorn weighs on her heart. Let’s not add another burden that might tip it toward surrender.”

I inhaled slowly but nodded stoutly. “So what do you need me to do?”

“Same thing as back in Roam,” Dawn answered. “Do what you have to do. Just try not to make my job too difficult. Don’t go looking for trouble. At the very least, don’t go looking for more trouble than you already got yourself into.” He eyed my blade. “Do you even have the slightest idea how to fight with that?”

“... no.”

He let out a soft sigh. “Then we’d better fix that.” Chrome Cleaver floated out of my pouch and over to him without the slightest hint of an aura- or any from his horn. There was a shimmer in the air before a scraggly, griffin-like ice arm of his own grasped the blade.

I arced a brow at him. “Illusion magic?”

“Something like that,” he replied while placing the blade on a finger to find the center of balance. He pursed his lips as he found it to be the exact center, impressed. Turnstile Model Forty-Two’s, folks. He switched from a forehand to a backhand grip. “Very well balanced… in this day and age, just brandishing a weapon may be enough to deter a fight before it starts, but these may be gang members we have to deal with. You have weehawk-style blades, suitable for both stabbing and slashing. I would recommend the latter for you at this moment. A stab has the potential to cause crippling internal damage, but landing a slash is inherently easier. Drawing blood or flaying flesh can still be effective for a society so unused to violence and so squeamish to simply the sight of blood…”

* * *

One week later.

“Hello. Frost Windchill speaking.”

“Tarnation, pardner! Ah didn’t think ya could sweep up Manehattan in two weeks, but Ah’ll be darned- ya did just that!”

“Heh… told you I knew my way around a conference room. I’m not done yet, though. Three more hours and I’m meeting with some suppliers that can help boost Ironshod’s production output. Then my work with you is done.”

“Ya sure? Ah could use somepony like ya fer management. Lorn knows Ah ain’t great at it.”

“I’m sure. This is but one way I’m helping Luna out. And besides, you should ask Sunny Days for that. You can trust him.”

“Wayell… if ya’ll insist. Hey, uh, Frost? Why exactly are ya so keen on helpin’ the princess out anyway?”

Inhale. “Littlehorn was extremely important to the both of us, Applejack. For me, it was my livelihood. For her, it was one way to have meaning in a world she’s constantly playing catch-up with. It was an anchor for both of us. Just in different ways.”

“Frost… Ah’m the Element of Honesty. Ah already pushed my values by lettin’ ya wrangle Manehattan yer own way. Be straight with me here. Ah can tell yer keepin’ somethin’.”

“... if you really think it matters that much, then ask Pinkie Pie. I have a meeting to crash.”

Click.

* * *

Let out a deep, misty sigh as I left the building. Done. Barring any hissy fits from the companies after they started their work with the Ministry- and I didn’t expect any- I was done. It was early evening, and there was fresh snow beneath my hooves, shining bright from all the lights that made the city famous. I felt at ease. I felt… liberated. Just like almost thirty years ago in the park after I erased the Mumei from public memory.

I turned around to face Zoleks and Song Spinner. “I want to thank you both personally for helping me out with this even though you didn’t have to- or want to. So please, if there’s anything I can do for either of you, please tell me. Don’t even hesitate.”

Zoleks looked… unhappy. Song… wary. The big zebra buck spoke first. “Just don’t put me through anything like that ever again, okay? I can’t speak for Song, but I hated every moment of that.” The black-furred pegasus winced at that.

I nodded. “I sincerely apologize for-”

“Don’t you ‘I sincerely apologize’ to me,” Zoleks interrupted with an anger I’d only seen a few times before- none of them directed to me. “You bucking enjoyed all of that! I could see it!”

“It was an act, Zoleks!” I said to him, shoulders slumping and ears tucking back. “It was all an act! Who do you think those guys would have listened to? Me, or Hothead Hokkaido? Frost Windchill is a historian, equinpologist, and the chairpony of the Manehattan Northerner Culture Committee! Hokkaido was a goddessdamn, scum-of-the-slum, puppet master hedonist!”

“Well you’re not a historian or equinpologist right now,” Zoleks said coolly. “So who are you?”

I started at him, at them. Zoleks, brimming with fury, and Song Spinner, looking… almost afraid. I realized… I had no answer.

And that scared me.

“I don’t know,” I answered quietly, looking them both in the eye. “I’m Frost, plain and simple. I left Hokkaido behind in the dumpster. But sometimes good bucks have to do bad things to make the world right. I didn’t enjoy doing what I did- believe me- and I hope I never have to do it again (Lies.). Zoleks, Song, I owe you both my thanks and my apologies for all this.”

Zoleks let out a sigh, grimacing and looking away as if wanting to believe me. “I don’t know. It was different back then, back when you destroyed it. I knew it was acting, and I was with you all the time. I mean, I still did it because I wanted to be there for you, but… I don’t know if this is the Frost I want to remember.” He let out another sigh. “Well we’ll have to see. I best be making myself scarce. I don’t like the looks all those other ponies are giving me for being with you two. So bye.” And then he walked away across the street, swallowed up in the stripes.

I looked to Song Spinner. “... what about you?” I asked softly. She flinched nonetheless. “You’ve been awful quiet.”

She sighed deeply. “All I know is I don’t like the old you. It’s why I did all this.” She bit her lip and turned away, spreading her wings. “I’m sorry.” And then she took off.

Even as the crowd milled past me, I felt all alone.

* * *

Was back at that park, back at that bench. Was late at night when most people were partying away at the juvie-joints and nightclubs. Not me. Was sitting down, looking into the snow. Melted some of it to look into my reflection. Looked hard into that gaunt face with those intense, fierce eyes.

I wasn’t Hokkaido. He wore a near-perpetual… smile, and his eyes always seemed to be laughing. Nor was I Frost. He wore no mask to hide his emotion, and his eyes were wholesome and radiated with warmth. One, the Master. Two, the Doctor.

So who was this stranger in the snow, this gaunt-faced buck with both fire and coldness in his eyes?

I let the pool freeze over with the familiar feeling of being watched. “Something the matter, Lord Protector?”

Cloth rippled next to me, and the feeling disappeared. “You.”

I glanced around and still found myself to be alone- visually at least.

“I’m still here,” Dawn spoke from beside me on the bench. "Nobody else is around, and as far as any potential passersby are concerned, you’re just a crazy buck talking to himself.”

I snorted, “Thanks.”

“Sarcasm,” he noted. “So not all hope is lost.”

I huffed at that. “I suppose not.” I drew in a deep breath. “Did I do the right thing, Lord Dawn Treader?”

“You’re talking to a buck out of his time here.”

“The question stands.”

He let out a soft sigh. “Giving advice isn’t in my job description. Not this kind at least.” He inhaled deeply. “‘Good’ and ‘evil’ are such ambiguous terms. It’s all a matter of perspective. Actually, isn’t that something inherent in The Way you Hokkaidans follow?”

Every word came crisp and clear now. Father spoke with a gravity I have never heard from him before, weighted with the utmost importance. “And so we must learn. We must learn to see the good in that which is evil, and we must learn to see the evil in that which is good. Pledge allegiance to neither side but instead strive to strike your own balance between the two. That is the meaning of Yukute. That is the meaning of The Way.”

“... yes it is,” I said in a whisper.

“So there you go,” Dawn said. “Your methods were questionable, yes, but hardly so in the grand scheme of things. You gave the Ministry a valuable head-start. I just wish you’d done it in a way that didn’t place you in danger.” He sighed softly. “I suppose you should do what you must, Frost. Forgive me for being cliché, but those who care don’t matter, and those who matter don’t care."

I narrowed my eyes at the source of his voice. “You say that as if Zoleks was just an ordinary buck. He was my best friend for nearly forty-two years, Dawn. He’s always been there for me. Even when he didn’t have to be.”

“And that’s why I shouldn’t give advice,” Dawn sighed. “My apologies, Frost.”

My gaze softened gradually. “I get what you mean, though. Guess now it’s time to head to Canterlot to see how to help next.”

“Very well.” A pregnant pause. “Trouble coming from behind the bench. Two earth ponies, one unicorn, one griffin. Eighty meters and closing. Definitely coming for you.”

“Let them come,” I muttered. “If they try anything, do me a favor and don’t kill them.”

“Are you assuming to be my superior?”

“I’d rather avoid a mess. I’m thinking you’d want the same.”

“Fair enough.”

I cracked my neck and took a deep breath as my heart rate spiked. I could hear the snow crunching as they approached. Four of them as described. They all wore masks improvised from Nightmare Night costumes, and that only made my blood boil.

They stopped only a few meters away. “You’ve got some nerve trying something like this in my own city,” I snorted.

“This ain’t your city, Hokkaido,” one of the earth ponies- a mare- retorted. “Not anymore. Don’t keep acting like you still own the place. You leave tomorrow. We see your sorry mug in town again, you’re dying in a dumpster for sure this time.”

I grimaced at that, but my rage brought me an eerie calm. “It took you this long to stage this? I’m already finished here and headed out.”

“So Hokkaido’s running scared?” the mare laughed.

Unimpressed, I sprouted a pair of ice arms and brandished my balisongs in a twin aerial into a backhand grip, then cycled them shut before independently rolling them around my ‘thumbs’ into a foregrip. Then I slid their spring latches across to lock them open. “Do I look scared to you?” I said lowly, lowering my gaze to show them the cold fire in those eyes.

A couple of them took a step back, but the griffin stretched his hand, displaying his sharpened talons. “That’s cute.”

“Well, looks like he’s going down fighting,” the earth mare huffed, then nodded to the unicorn. “Disarm him. Then we’re teaching him a lesson.”

Rule one of any engagement- never let the enemy know your game plan. Anticipating the unicorn to go for my blades, I thickened my arms to strengthen my grip.

I didn’t have to. The moment I saw the unicorn lighting up his horn, Dawn made his move.

The world turned black- but not because I was knocked out. All light just disappeared. There was a sickening crack, quickly followed by a rapid string of thumps and the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the snow. When the darkness gave way to the cold, snowy night, all four of them had been downed without a single shout. The unicorn’s horn had a jagged crack running along its entire length, and I couldn’t help but wince and reach up to rub my own.

“Good Lorn,” I remarked quietly, twirling my blades closed, stowing them, and sublimating my arms. “I told you not to kill them.”

“I didn’t,” the invisible unicorn said. “They’re still alive, I assure you.”

“Explain the unicorn,” I nickered.

“Extra precautions. Spellcasters can be unpredictable. His horn will be fine in a few months. Or six.”

Overkill indeed… I loomed over the limp form of the earth pony mare, now lying flat on her back, and removed her mask. Hm. Didn’t recognize her. Same for the rest of them. Random hired thugs, then. “Lord Protector, any chance you could wake this one up?” I asked as I froze her hooves to the ground in a way very similar to a certain griffin one-hundred-seventy years later.

“Tail,” Dawn spoke up.

I looked down and parted the fibers to reveal a hidden switchblade. Arcing a brow, I made a mental note to secure the tail in the future as I picked it up in an ice arm. “And now?”

“As requested.”

The mare jerked, and her eyes bulged wide open as she let out a sharp gasp for breath. I maintained a dead-serious expression. “Hi there.” She jerked her tail, craning her neck downward as she realized she was missing something. “Looking for this?” I held up her switchblade and flicked the blade out, dancing it around my fingers. No… just wasn’t the same as mine. “Let’s get started. Do not shout. Do not call for help. You won’t get any. What’s your name and affiliation?”

The mare watched as I tossed the blade up and effortlessly caught it in a backhand grip, looking ready to stab. “... Tableturner, South Bucklyn Boys” she muttered as she struggled against her restraints. Fruitlessly, I might add.

“Subservient,” I remarked. “I like that. Now who hired you?”

The storyteller cocked his head for a moment. He did not smile.

Had to start somewhere, folks.

* * *

Click. He picked up. Loud music in the background.“Hello? Who is this? How’d you get this number?”

“You know who. And you know how.”

“... oh.” Music faded. “Well, what exactly did you need? Did you need me to join you for another meeting crash or-”

“Stop talking, Duct Tape. You think you can play dumb after sending four gang goons after me? No, I’m going to give you a choice. Leave your company, or I’ll destroy it and ruin you..”

There was a momentary silence, then a soft, disbelieving chuckle. “What? You can’t be-”

“I’m dead serious. I didn’t just found the largest gang you never heard of- I destroyed it. In ten days. With yours, I won’t even need ten hours. You saw what I did to your company with a single unspoken command. If I don’t see you stepping down in tomorrow’s business section, you’ll have a good few thousand employees wanting your head on a plate. Get moving.”

Click.

* * *

He did. And I was glad. Could have turned out a lot uglier if he hadn’t stepped down. But he did.

Was back home in Ponyville. Just a quick stop while the train was there. Just had only one thing left to do.

Wanted to just… just get rid of it. Wanted to be done with it for good this time. But I’d remember. I’d always remember. So maybe I’d keep it. Just in the corner of my vision. To remind me.

And so I took off my trusty fedora.

Hung it just behind the closet door.

Closed it.

Moved on.

* * *

Canterlot. Not even the City of Hopes and Dreams could escape the war. Along with the usual posters, there was now increased presence in the air and in the streets for the Day and Night Guard. And the conversation was everywhere.

“Did you hear they started a draft? That’s horrible, forcing people to fight! And I heard the chef of Taste of the World down in Tail Aviv was conscripted! Can you believe it?”

“Horrible as it is, we need the ponypower. The Legion is escalating the conflict, and so must we. Good goddesses, they’re using dragons now! Dragons! How the hay do you kill one, let alone dozens on a single battlefield?”

“I just don’t know… good Lorn, I want to strangle those idiots who committed us to the War!”

“If you want to blame somepony, blame the princesses.”

Those words. They made my blood boil. I turned to the two nobleponies seated at an outdoor café- namely the stallion- and strode right up to them. “And why would you blame them?”

“Ah… sir, we’re just enjoying conversation over brunch here,” the buck spoke first. “We’d much rather continue in private.”

I exaggerated my look around the outdoor café. “You could have chosen a better place for privacy.”

“Essence, I’ll just call a waiter over to shoo him out,” the mare sighed.

“Oh, like a stray cat?” I huffed softly. “What, afraid to be proven wrong?”

That gave them pause. One thing aristocrats don’t take lightly- a challenge to their honor. “Excuse me?” the buck snorted. “Well if it’s a debate you want, it’s a debate you’ll get.”

“Excellent,” I said with a nod, lighting up my horn to form a chair beneath me as I sat.

The mare eyed me as I did so. “Aren’t you… Doctor Windchill? From Littlehorn?”

“I am,” I replied.

“My condolences,” she said- sincerely at least, “but… don’t you think that would make you just the slightest bit biased?”

“Doctor of Equinpology, Doctor of World History,” I countered. “Or at least I used to be. Try me.”

“Mm. Fair point…”

“After you,” I said, sweeping a hoof toward the buck. “State your arguments for placing blame primarily on the princesses.”

The gentlecolt cleared his throat. “Some may argue that the princesses did all they could to prevent the onset of the War, going so far as to unanimously veto Parliament’s war declaration. But what about after their veto was overturned? For something as horrible as they made war out to be- and indeed it became just as horrible- why didn’t they enact some emergency power to counter it? In fact, why have none of them done anything to stop the War since the early ceasefire? Princess Cadance has little political power outside of settling ties in Parliament and acting as a dignitary, but I find it telling that neither Princess Luna nor then-Princess Celestia did anything else.”

I allowed some time to ensure he was done. Then: “Fair points. That said, I argue that the princesses could not have stopped the War even if they wanted to. Just look at Aldorna. The government has been vehemently neutral and non-belligerent in the War, but its citizens are practically split evenly into remaining neutral, supporting Equestria, and supporting Zebrica. Those belligerent groups have been forming and continue to form paramilitary companies to fight for the side they support even as their government tries to control them. They just keep finding loopholes to keep fighting. That’s the direction I believe Equestria was- and still largely is- headed. Coal pirates and bandits largely did as they pleased because law enforcement agencies supported them, and many Equestrians- not just ponies- heavily antagonized Zebrican gem pirates and later the country for supplying them. It’s only now that a significant portion of the population is having second thoughts.

“Believe me- the princesses aren’t supporting this war- either openly or in some sort of secret conspiracy. They were pulled with the tide of the masses. It was only after a personal blow- Littlehorn- was dealt to Princess Luna that she began to support it. And now the same for me. And the same for so many millions of Equestrians. And that’s why we’ve passed the point of no return. So yes, perhaps you can blame Princess Luna. I can allow that. But you ignore everything else if you place blame primarily on her, her sister, and her daughter-by-title.”

The buck pursed his lip momentarily, mulling these new ideas over. “I see… then where does the blame belong in your opinion, then?”

I felt… something bubbling up, welling up inside me. Not rage. Not sadness. Something else. “Everyone. We all contributed to allowing this war to happen and to let it go on long enough to reach the point of no return.” I stood to leave and sublimated the chair. “And you can blame me as well. Because I have a war effort to support.”

* * *

It had only been fifteen days since I was last in Canterlot. A lot can change in fifteen days. The way to the castle was almost unrecognizable. What was once a wide, open plaza was now filled with a rectangular reflecting pool- currently without water- flanked by six new buildings, each with their own distinct designs even half-built. The first, spartan, The second, warm and friendly with the beginnings of a spacious lawn. The third, way, way too pink. The fourth, subtle yet stylish. The fifth, just… outrageous. The sixth, borderline futuristic. Ministry Walk. And at the far end of the pool was the frame and base of the Celestian Monument. Tall, thin, the frame of the obelisk was on its way to rise even higher than Castle Canterlot to honor her millenium-long rule and the peace she strived to uphold. Everypony was scrambling to get the construction done. It was loud, it was messy- and it was closed.

“Sir, this area is restricted from the general public,” the leftmost of the pair of Day Guards barring passage declared. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I don’t fall into that category,” I said simply, unfazed as I sprouted an ice arm to flash my new government-issued ID card at them. Honestly, my arm alone would have been enough.

“Doctor Windchill,” the same guard acknowledged, and they both bowed their heads momentarily and stood aside. “Apologies.”

“I’m not a doctor anymore,” I muttered in reflex as I strode past them. It both irritated and unsettled me that so many people knew what I was- sole survivor of the Littlehorn Massacre. Even if they didn’t know me by face, the moment they heard my name, they knew. Manehattan had always been a shelter for celebrities due to its treatment of them as normal people outside of tourists’ view. I was going to dread my new line of work.

But I had to do it (No you didn’t.).

I passed by several more Day Guards in near-identical fashion on my way into the marbled halls of Castle Canterlot. Upon passing through the grand doorway, the subtle feeling of being watched crawled up my mane. To think that years ago, I actually didn’t welcome it...

On the way to her office, I passed by a hallway with a high, vaulted ceiling supported by many columns. I took pause and took a detour through the hallway, and my pace slowed I looked up at the stained-glass windows that were spaced at regular intervals down its length. They depicted scenes from the founding of Equestria and the bickering of the leaders and then their union under the Covenant of Equestria, then scenes from the Age of Exploration and the rule of Discord. Then came his end at the hooves of Luna and Celestia, followed by their coronation and the beginnings of the Age of Empires. The historian in me noted the wars between the three superpowers for colonial spoils were left out, skipping right to scenes from the Age of Industry and the triumphs of the Bearers.

The historian in me…

The storyteller sighed deeply, mistily.

The thought just made me take pause after stopping by the last window- a depiction of Captain-in-Prince Shining Armor and Princess Cadance unleashing a powerful pulse of pure love. Then I turned around. I took one last look down the hallway, down those rows of windows into our heritage, our equinity- and to the doors to the throne room at the end, unattended, unguarded.

And I turned my back on it and resumed my pace toward her office.

The entrance to her office was flanked by a pair of Lunar Guards I didn’t recognize. Both were pegasi dracoponies, and one of them had a helm with an engraved extension that completely covered his left eye. Both snapped their stances narrower as I approached.

I looked from one to the other. “Shine and Meadow, I presume,” I said simply.

Both gave a stout, near-simultaneous nod, and though I could not tell who was who at the moment, the dracopony with the normal helm spoke in a soft, almost melodic tone, “Luna will see you now. She’s been waiting.” I nodded in thanks, and they reached outward with their leathery wings to part the double doors for me.

Luna’s office was little more than just that. Just a white, wooden desk with a pair of plush seating cushions opposite of it and a terminal up top- and plenty of paperwork and spent inkwells. The ovular room itself was nothing special, but over half of the room and a good portion of the ceiling was dominated by a multi-paned window that gave a panoramic view of Canterlot and the valley and river below.

The storyteller took a deep breath and cast his gaze downward for a few seconds.

It wouldn’t be the last time I’d see that view.

She looked at me with dark pouches under her eyes and seemed to swell with joy, flashing me this wide, tired smile. The mote of magic surrounding her quill winked out, and she fluttered up and around her desk. We met just around the other side, hugging tight. Shut my eyes tight and just hugged her for all I was worth, touching my forehead to hers. Just held each other close like that for a good while. I hardly noticed Shine and Meadow closing the doors to grant us privacy.

When I finally pulled away, I let out a deep sigh. “Nightingale, love, you’ve been skipping sleep...”

“Three hours a night is all the equine body needs,” she said in reply, guiding us down with her wing to sit down on the pair of seat cushions together. “My guards endure it. So can I.”

Then came the rippling of cloth, and we looked up to find Dawn Treader close by. “Personally, Luna, I believe your line of work is much more mentally fatiguing than ours.”

Luna let out a sigh, magically pinching the bridge of her nose as we pulled away from one another. “Dawn, really? Now?”

“The opportunity presented itself,” he answered simply. “Hours upon hours of paperwork put more strain on the mind and spirit than you might believe. Have you gotten any other exercise or stimulation other than walking to and from your quarters to your washroom to the dining hall and back here?”

“... no,” she muttered.

“Then do try to get more rest, Luna?” the unicorn dracopony sighed softly. “You do no good for anyone pushing yourself to languor- not you, not him, not us, and certainly not Equestria.”

Luna eyed him for several long seconds before letting out a sigh of resignation. “Alright. I’ll grant myself a bit more time to rest. But I shall not sleep myself spoiled.”

I arced a brow between the two of them. “Oh, so you listen to him but not your husband?”

Luna flattened her lips, then glanced at Dawn Treader. Then came that alibi you’ve gotten so familiar with from… Her: “It’s complicated.” She turned to the Lord Protector. “You made your point. I’d like to discuss things in private from here.”

He bowed. “I serve.” And then he was gone in the blink of an eye and the rippling of cloth.

I kept that brow cocked. “‘Complicated’ how?”

She grimaced momentarily, clicked her tongue, and answered with that subtle touch of irritation. “‘Complicated’ in that it’s a thousand-year-old regret I’d rather not dredge up, Frost.”

I eyed her for just a second, checked myself, and then broke eye contact in concession and sighed mistily. “Sorry.”

I heard her sigh in turn. “Sorry.” Then I heard her shift and reach around me with her wing, tugging at me. I couldn’t resist and fell into her embrace once more, hugging her tight and revelling in those soft feathers. “Applejack contacted me earlier. Thank you for helping her.”

I snorted softly and nuzzled up her neck, looking up into those eyes, so tired yet still so full of everything. “You should be thanking me for helping you, Nightingale.”

She chuckled softly, saying in a tone reminiscent of a reluctant, admonished foal, “Thank you for helping me.”

I gave my own husky chuckle as I pulled away. “That’s better. Now, you’ve been a busy mare too if the news have anything to say about it. NETO, eh? North Equestrian Treaty Organization. Your answer to the Legion.”

She nodded, standing and starting to pace about the room. “Khotek’s pulling out all the stops- oh, look at me, using modern figures of speech- and called to arms all peoples of the Empire. That includes Zebrican ponies. You’ve seen the increased security no doubt. All in preparation for infiltration attempts. And even then, we’re still playing catch-up with the Legion.” The dark-blue alicorn paused. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to learn about modern military tactics when there are no books written about it? You’d have to experience it first to employ it, and even then, what good is that if you can’t outpace your enemy and can only learn new tactics reactively?”

I stood up to move to her side, resting a hoof on her shoulder. “I think we need to dial back a bit, love. NETO. Other than the tabloids undoubtedly posing it as a ‘neato’ idea, why the name?”

She snorted, “Simply put, we don’t exactly have that many allies in the southern hemisphere. That is to say- given the majority of the dragons and minotaurs are imperial allies- we have none. Other than Almarinia, none of our territories or protectorates have pledged support to the Equestrian war effort. We didn’t force, and we didn’t request them to. After… the incident, they were more than willing to do so. Neighpon, Caledonia, Texass, and Tallahorsee all pledged their support, and at this point we’re going to need it. I’ve also asked to meet with representatives from Cloudbank, Berrillios. and the Buffalo Nation. The former two accepted.”

I nodded slowly as she spoke then watched her closely. “And the Buffalo Nation did not,” I said.

“They declined, yes,” Luna said with a nod, inhaling softly through her nostrils. “So I must ask a favor from you, Frost. You know Chief Thunderhooves personally. So do I, but I feel he knows me more as a ruler than a friend. That is not an image that would sit well with him in this situation. Frost, could you please meet with him and ask him to join NETO?”

“I’ll do it,” I answered with a stout nod and without hesitation.

“Thank you,” she said with a soft sigh and smile. “And Frost, if he continues to decline, please ask why. It’s all I ask. If it’s because of his or his people’s perception of me especially, I do wish to know. I may be ruler of Equestria, but I don’t place myself on a pedestal. I’m past that now. I ask for his aid. I do not demand it. Alright?” She reached out with a wonderful wing to caress my cheek, and I could only nod in reply as I closed my eyes and tilted my head into it. Fatigue momentarily overwhelmed me, but I snapped wide awake as soon as I felt myself teetering to the side, heart racing. Luna let out another soft sigh, looking at me with loving eyes. “Oh, Frost… you’ve been neglecting your sleep too…”

I let out a quick, quiet chuckle. “Too used to staying up late trying to wait for you.” Both of us looked back at the desk as a green fireball blossomed upon her desk and yielded… still more paperwork. Meeting gazes once again, as one we let out heavy sighs with bitterness in our eyes.

“... five more minutes?” I asked quietly.

Luna let out a soft breath and wrapped her wings around me. “Ten.”

The storyteller took in a deep breath through his nostrils and lowered his gaze. He was quiet for several seconds. Then he let out a soft, quick, puffy breath through his mouth.

We just held one another. Can’t put it any other way. Just… held one another tight and let the feelings flow free. All the love. All the tears. Just let it all out.

Quiet again with bitterness in his eyes.

Sorry, I… I just…

Quiet again. “Caught up in the moment?” one of them asked.

.... yeah.

He inhaled deeply and raised his gaze once more.

We didn’t even get seven. There was a subtle knock at the door, and we both turned, the moment lost. Sunshine, Meadow… one of them called from the other side, “The ambassador from Cloudbank is here, your Highness.”

We met eyes. She steeled herself. “... I guess it’s time, isn’t it?” Luna whispered as she brushed my cheek with a wing.

I reached back up with my hoof to cup her cheek, mirroring her. “I don’t want to go..,” I croaked.

She tugged me closer with her wing, and I with my hoof. Our foreheads touched once more, eyes closed. She inhaled strongly. “I’m sorry. I have to do this.”

“I know,” I whispered back, hugging tightly. “See you soon… and please, love… get some sleep. Alright?”

“You too,” she chuckled softly in a way that made me crack a smile. “... guess we can at least say good night while we’re at it.” I could hear and feel her magic sparkle to life, and I knew what was coming. “Sleep well, fresh Frost on the ground.“

I kissed her on the brow tenderly. “Sleep well, my little Nightingale.”

She kissed me in turn.

Then the world whited out and I slipped into space. For a moment I felt free and… hopeful.

Then I was back home in Ponyville. And reality came rushing back.

Deep breath. Straight posture. Level gaze. Somehow I could feel her doing the same, miles and miles away.

Because we both had work to do. For better or for worse...

We had a war to fight.

* * *

Was glad there was no reception waiting for the new arrivals at Appleloosa. Certainly didn’t miss it. At least Braeburn seemed to know a thing or two about designing firearms at Ironshod, even with a slow start.

Brushed my way past the others on the platform and cooled myself from the searing midday sun with a thin veil of mist, making haste toward the apple orchard. But as I did my best to ignore the town itself, I couldn’t help but find my eyes drifting. Appleloosa hadn’t changed much since I was last there. Still had the blaring pop music, still had the casino and theme park, still had the crowds. Some of them were even smiling. But take a closer look, and you could see the smiles were forced, trying to avoid and ignore the warring world around them in this little slice of paradise on the way to Las Pegasus. It felt empty, hollow- even more than how it was when I came here twenty-three years prior. Of course I’d visited more times than that since then- recurring field work is a part of equinpology after all- but… that first visit left the most profound impact on me.

Little had changed about the reservation as well. The cluster of teepees had grown in number since I was last there, but the image of the gigantic buffalo lumbering about and performing their daily tasks before heading to the town for nightly work remained untouched. Just like the years prior, they turned their heads toward me in unison as I approached- herd mentality- but this time I paid them no mind. I was a familiar face, and they soon returned to their duties.

Similarly, another familiar face trotted forth to greet me. I offered a thin smile and a respectful bow to the full-grown buffalo heifer. “Ya'at eeh, asdzání.”

“Ya'at eeh, diyaáhastiin.” Little Strongheart greeted in turn, and we shook hooves. “Some things never change.” Her smile withered. “Holding up alright?”

And so did mine. I knew what she was alluding to. “Mostly, It’s been over three weeks, Strongheart. And I have work to do.”

“Oh?” And that smile returned. “What kind of research this time?”

Mine didn’t. “I’m not here for research.” No. Don’t be cross with her. This isn’t Manehattan, and she isn’t a Mumei. Calm down. Gentler tone. “I’m actually here just to have a chat with Chief Thunderhooves. That’s all. Just a quick visit.”

“Ah, alright,” Little Strongheart said with a nod. “Well, I’ve got a calf who needs help with college applications. He’ll be in the same tent.”

I nodded in turn. “Take care, alright?” We shared a bow, and I strode toward the familiar, worn teepee near the center of town.

He was seated on a simple cushion, watching a television set connected to a portable generator. He looked old. So old. Yet he was neither thin nor fat, and he still had that powerful presence that seemed to reach across the room and surround me. He still wore that feathered headdress, and his eyes still twinkled with aged wisdom. His nose, lips, and the areas around his eyes were wrinkled, and his fur was streaked with gray. But his eyes lit up and a smile stretched those lips as he saw me enter.

He shifted his bulk to fully face me, showing not a hint of weakness. He greeted, voice as deep and thick as ever, “I welcome you again to the Clan of the Thunderhooves, Frost.”

“I am welcomed,” I said in turn, bowing my head and sitting down before him before raising my gaze to his.

We sat in silence for… I don’t know how long. I think we both saw it in each others’ eyes, the weariness. Our smiles disappeared as one, and soon the noise from the rest of the camp seemed to drown out. Only sounds from the television set filled the air around us.

“-cinct reports another equicide in the Western Quarter of Manehattan. Eyewitness accounts describe a drive-by shooting of a stallion later linked to the South Bucklyn Boys. It has been suggested that this may be a revenge shooting linked to the drive-by last Monday. Police are looking for the gunner, a purple earth pony mare with a short, dark-blue mane; and the driver, a lime-green unicorn mare with a long, beige mane. Both have been identified as members of Trinitario. Authorities are looking for any information and can be reached by the number on your-”

At some point, I’d turned my head to watch. A reporter was showing highlight reel footage of police investigating the crime scene with plenty of bystanders looking on in a mix of confusion- and perhaps a bit of apathy.

“I remember back when gang disputes were handled with pies,” Chief Thunderhooves murmured. I glanced at him and saw him watching with me. “Hay… I remember back when Appleloosa did that to us. Oh, ancestors, has it really been that long?”

I continued to watch him. “It has,” I whispered.

He let out a deep sigh through his nostrils and flattened his lips. “Look what all the Great War’s given us… it’s given us a taste of death, and now it’s as if we’re starting to become addicted to it.” He sighed again and then switched the set off by remote, facing me once more. “Sometimes I feel I should stop watching the news. All it’s doing is depressing me.”

Blue scales glittered before my eyes, and I closed them for a few seconds. Look at what the Great War’s given us indeed…

The storyteller inhaled deeply.

I don’t rightly know when The War became The Great War. It just crept into the tabloids, into reporters’ scripts, into everyday conversation. Fitting, really. The War itself crept onto us. And was great enough for it to change the course of history.

He inhaled deeply again.

“... not exactly the best way to greet an old friend,” Chief Thunderhooves muttered. “Sorry. Let’s push that aside. It’s been a while since your last visit, Frost. What research are you here for this time?”

And it just had to start off like that. I exhaled a cool, misty breath. May as well drop the bomb early. “I’m not here for research. I’m here on behalf of the Equestrian government.” Immediately, his attempt at an easy smile disappeared. “First and foremost, what I have to discuss with you today is neither a demand nor a warning. The buffalo people already paid enough during the Age of Empires. I’m not compounding interest.”

He seemed to relax at that, at least somewhat. “When did you start working for the government?”

“Roughly three weeks ago,” I replied.

“After Littlehorn, then,” he surmised.

I gave a tiny nod. “Yes.”

Chief Thunderhooves frowned slightly. “Does this involve the War? Does it involve NETO?”

Again I nodded. “Yes. Chief.” I inhaled softly, glancing downward, then meeting his eyes once more. “I am no supporter of the War. Let me make that clear. Ever since it started, I haven’t seen any merit that hasn’t been outweighed by its horrors. And I can’t say I fully understand those horrors either. All I know is that far too many still clamor for war, and that we’ve passed the point of no return. What little hope we had for peace died with Littlehorn. So now the way I seek to end the War is through defeat of the Empire. To that end, Luna created the North-Equestrian Treaty Organization to unite the Principality and all her territories and protectorates under that cause. I don’t like that in order to end the War, we have to fight it. But it’s the best we can do right now.

“Chief Thunderhooves, you are seen- rightly so- as the leader of the Buffalo Nation. Your support of the Equestrian cause would go a long way to forging more alliances. Last week, Luna invited the Buffalo Nation to join NETO. I understand that the invitation was declined. I’m not here to demand you to join. I’m not even here to request that from you. I’m not here to warn you about any repercussions- because there aren’t any. I’m here because I want to understand your decision and the rationale behind that decision. Will you grant me that?”

He was studying me with his eyes the entire time, patiently silent until I was finished. When I was, he said, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were born a politician. You certainly speak like one.”

I didn’t reply to that. Because honestly, he had no idea.

Chief Thunderhooves sat up straighter and let out a puff of hot breath through his nostrils. “Close to thirty years ago, not long after Appleloosa was built, my people had a dispute with them. You’ve walked through the apple orchard to reach this place countless times. That orchard actually runs right through our traditional stomping grounds. Those wide pathways and trails didn’t exist before, though. Those were complete aisles of trees. We tried at first to negotiate with the Appleloosans peacefully to try to get them to move their orchard elsewhere, but they refused. It was the only patch of good soil around. When negotiations broke down and with our ancestors still calling to us, we took the matter into our own hooves. We trampled through the orchard with abandon and sabotaged seed shipments and ‘transplant trains’ as they called them. And I endorsed all of it.

“Then the Bearers came. Once again, negotiations were on the table, but… we both only reluctantly went through the motions. Neither of us saw a point to them.” He paused, glancing downward. “Pinkie Pie, in her own unique way, tried to teach us something. I’m sure you’ve heard her say it from time to time- ‘you’ve got to share, you’ve got to care.’ I don’t believe trying to get the message across through song was the most effective way, and nobody listened. I certainly didn’t. It wasn’t until after a direct confrontation- and getting a pie to the face-” He cracked a smile at that, one I couldn’t help but share one through the image alone, “that we were able to reach a compromise. Appleloosa was able to keep the land and keep planting trees so long as they built a wide road through it and shared their food with us. This agreement later changed with the times. Soon we were offered employment and education in town in exchange for expanding the orchard by helping with rain dances and arability contracts with our ancestors. We’ve come through the agreement better for it in my opinion. I don’t agree with all of the town’s choices in its industrialization and commercialization, but I do my best to understand them.”

His eyes met mine once more. “Those words are words I’ve lived by since. You’ve got to share- nobody has everything. By learning to share and trade, we can all live comfortably and be better off from it. You’ve got to care- by understanding the motivations and cultural influences of other people, you can learn not to antagonize differences but appreciate similarities. In doing so, you can overcome those differences to forge friendships. There is no need for violence- only the need to listen and learn.

“And the Great War goes against all of this. It goes against everything I stand for.” He pointed a hoof at me to punctuate his statements. “Equestria and Zebrica failed to learn how to share. Their greed only drove them to further their own interests and their own interests alone. They failed to learn how to care. Nobody tried to understand the other. Nobody tried to resolve it without violence. And look where it’s gotten us. Ten years of warfare- ten years. Was all of this meant to prove a point? Has Equestria gotten any more coal or oil, and has Zebrica gotten any more gems than they would have if they simply would have adjusted their trade agreement or their needs to the new demands? It has only gotten you all nothing but a taste for death and nothing but the spoils of war- rotten spoils.”

The old buffalo sighed sharply through his nose. “There. That’s why I do not support this war and why I will not join NETO.”

I watched him the whole time, and as he finished, I nodded slowly. “Alright. I understand.”

“So now I have questions for you, Frost,” Chief Thunderhooves spoke. “Are you going to try to convince me to pledge support nonetheless?”

I looked long and hard into those eyes. They did not antagonize me. They did not belittle me. They only sought to understand. And I yielded and closed mine. “No.”

“You hesitated.” It wasn’t a challenge or objection. It was just an observation. And yet I didn’t reply. The old buffalo sighed softly. “What happened to you, Frost? What happened to that searching stallion I met twenty-three years ago? Your eyes, they were so full of hope and wonder, brimming with them even in your time of loss! Now they’re… they’re so sad and so angry! What happened that an equinpologist and historian such as you- a lover of culture and all cultures- should suddenly support this Great War?” He stooped over slightly to level his head with mind. “What did Littlehorn do to you?”

Deep breath. Closed my eyes. Opened them slowly, hoping my gaze had softened. How to answer this...? Another deep breath. “The mare I love was… deeply affected by what happened at Littlehorn. I was too. But it was nothing compared to the pain and anguish she went through.”

“You found somepony else,” he remarked softly.

“Yes, and she was at the center of it all,” I replied. “She is the reason why I decided to stop being a bystander and stop standing by. I know it’s twisted logic that in order to end this war, I choose to fight it in my own way, but haven’t you seen what happened when we tried to stem the tide and bring peace?” I motioned to the television set. “Luna and Celestia both tried to stop us from going down the warpath, and they failed. And now Luna has to pick up all the pieces. Ministry Mare Fluttershy? She protested long and hard, and now that she’s head of Ministry of Peace, even she realized that the War is past the point of no return. She’s now working to reduce casualties, and I can see the hurt inside her too. That’s just what this has become, Chief Thunderhooves. Too many people still clamor for war, especially now after Littlehorn with vengeance on everyone’s mind. The fire’s been stoked too high, and now all we can do is save what we can from being consumed by the flames before it burns out. I don’t enjoy what I’m doing. But the sooner this War’s over, the better.”

Now it was Chief Thunderhooves’ turn to take that all in. He fell quiet for a while, his wise eyes musing. He crossed his forehooves for a few seconds, and then reached up to rub his muzzle. “Is she still alive?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“... is she Princess Luna?”

“... yes.” I flattened my lips. He deduced it. There was no point in hiding it any longer. “How did you know?”

“I might be old, but I’m not senile,” he huffed softly, showing a ghost of a smile. “At least, I don’t like to think so. I found it strange how you referred to her without her title when you first spoke of her. It was a pattern you held, and you did the same for Princess Celestia. And I know you, Frost. Nopony, nobody else could bear being close enough to you for an extended period of time except for somepony so used to the cold. And Princess Luna is such a pony.”

I broke eye contact, a slight frown creasing my muzzle. Could I have really been that careless?

“What is your relation with her, the princess?” Chief Thunderhooves inquired further. “Is it love from afar, or…?”

“We’re married,” I said without looking at him. “We’d just celebrated our tenth anniversary the night before Littlehorn.”

He was quiet for a while. And I didn’t want to look at him. I didn’t know what he was doing or how he was feeling. “I’m sorry that it all had to happen like this.”

“So am I.” Now I could look back at him, voice cut and cold. “And I’ve heard that far too many times. It’s been three weeks, and yet when people recognize me, I hear that everywhere I go. I’ve shed enough tears. Now’s the time for action, not rolling around in the muck of the past.”

Chief Thunderhooves watched me, looked at me, looked into me. “I see.” He inhaled softly. “Do you… have children?”

“No,” I answered. “Not while the War’s still going on. We don’t want to raise a foal in this time when so many are already growing up to hate an entire culture.”

The old buffalo nodded slowly, sadly. He let his forelegs slack. “I’m afraid, Frost. I’m afraid of what the future has in store for all of us. The world may never be the same. And I’m afraid for you.”

I craned my head up higher at that.

“I’m afraid because I now remember that look in your eye. I see anger, ferocity, and such determination. I recognize it because so many years ago I had that same look in my own eyes. But that was a much kinder, much more innocent world back then.” He inhaled softly. “That is a warrior’s look in your eyes.”

I didn’t reply to that. I didn’t have anything to say. And for a long time, neither did he. So that was what I kept on seeing, that ghost in the glass, the stranger in the snow- not Hokkaido, not Frost… a soldier.

And that made me feel so cold deep inside.

After what seemed like an eternity, Chief Thunderhooves sighed softly, “But I still see some of the Frost I know in there. You remembered and respected my people’s past with Equestria and its government, and you did not force my hoof. You still share- your secret love. And you still care- you came to understand my motivations behind declining the invitation to NETO. The least I can do in turn is share a word of caution and reach an understanding of you. And yes, I will speak not a word”

I glanced away, mist sifting from my nostrils, and nodded slowly.

“I sense that your time to leave approaches,” he said. “I have but one favor to ask of you. Perhaps it is a gift to you, in a way. Maybe it can end all this pain and suffering.” The old bull rose slightly in his seated position. “Go to her. Tell her what I told you. Tell her to remember what she stood for. Believe me, I know how she feels. So many of my people feel a strong connection to Equestria, and so many already fight against the Empire. She must be steadfast. She must continue to offer a path to peace and recon...recon
“-ciliation.”
“-reconciliation, yes.” He nodded. “Leaders still have power in this time where the people have run rampant with bloodlust. I know, and I believe she can and will find a way. Tell her.”

I looked him straight in the eye, head level, posture straight. “No.”

He sat up a little straighter, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“The answer is still no,” I said coolly, curtly.

“Frost, I insist!”

“I will not.”

“Frost… please,” he said quietly. “We must stand strong in these dark times. Please… what reason would you have?”

“... I accept your offer, Chief Thunderhooves.”

He was stock still for several seconds. Then he slowly smiled, eyes alight. “You remembered.”

It was a smile I returned. “I always do.” I stood and bowed my head. “Thank you for welcoming me to your clan, Chief.”

He bowed in turn. “You will always be welcome. Farewell.”

I rose up and turned to leave. I stood there for a few seconds, reflecting on all that he told me. And then I started out.

As I reached up to push aside the flap: “Frost.”

I stopped.

“Be well. And don’t fall.”

Turned my head back toward him. Gave a stout nod.

Then I left.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 23 Reached!
Perk added: The Way of the Warrior- The journey down the warpath starts with but a single step, and once you take it, there’s no turning back. Skill points allocated toward combat skills, Sneak, and Survival count as double the amount. This occurs after other perks and traits are taken into account. (Note: Any “The Way” perk taken afterward will replace the previous “The Way” perk.)

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- The Plan

Soundtrack- No Place Like Home

Soundtrack- Tell Me Why (Special Thanks to Lazer726)

Soundtrack- He Returns

Soundtrack- Dawn Treader Encounter

Soundtrack- Growing Distance

Soundtrack- The Ghost in the Glass

Soundtrack- I Have to Do This, I Hate to Do This

Soundtrack- Empty Underneath

Soundtrack- What Happened to You?

Soundtrack- Theme of the Weary Warrior, Frost

Author's Note

At long last. Oy... finally. Really sorry about the wait, everyone. In the end, I decided to split this chapter up with how much content is already in and was originally planned to be in it. Hopefully it was worth the wait, and I hope it was worth its weight in references.

Happy Birthday, TLS. My baby's three years old. I do still plan to keep writing- don't you worry. I plan to see this one through to the end.

Special thanks to Lazer726 for the quick pre-read. You're the best, bro.

Also, here's something worth considering- Fallout Equestria: Outlaw by Tofu. He's been a good friend of mine for years now, and it's rare for me to recommend another FoE side story. He's in the process of rewriting, and if it's anything like his later chapters of the original, they're gonna be good. This guy really needs some publicity, I feel. Do me a favor- give him a go.

Thank you for reading. As always, I encourage and enjoy feedback, especially constructive criticism.

Until next time, hopefully soon,
Adder1

Reflection Twenty-Four: Pulling Under

Reflection Twenty-Four: Pulling Under

“You are either with us or against us.”

Didn’t go directly to Luna to deliver the message. Not immediately. Had to stop somewhere else first. Had somepony else important to talk to first.

Hesitated a little just outside her doorway. Felt that wave come up under me. Raised my hoof, held it there for a few seconds. Seemed like centuries.

I knocked.

“Come in.”

I entered.

Celestia’s place at the School was well-furnished. It had a broad, welcoming desk along with a terminal. Plenty of books. Had a window with a view of Ministry Walk and Castle Canterlot. Also had a twin-sized bed off to the side. Realized with a start- she was now living here.

The storyteller let out a soft, misty breath.

I often saw Luna without her regalia. It was a comforting sight, seeing my Nightingale like that. It reminded me that she was done with work and ready to relax with me.

I rarely saw Celestia without hers. The only time up until her abdication was after the first night I spent with Luna in the castle. Without that glittering gold and violet, she seemed… smaller. Weaker. Fragile.

Vulnerable.

“Hello again,” I greeted, my grave tone so incredibly loud in the stark silence.

“Hello again,” Celestia greeted in turn, her soft tone so incredibly delicate. She beckoned me closer with a gentle smile. Never did lose that motherly feel to it. “Come in. Come in.”

I stepped past the portal and clicked the door shut behind me. Sat down across from her. Silence surrounded us for several seconds.

No. Not silence. A steady ticking drew my attention to a grandfather clock. She was still counting the seconds. Her recompense.

And I had the feeling there was now something else she was keeping time for.

My eyes met hers once more. “What can we do to stop it? The War.”

She let out a quiet sigh made deafening by the reticence. “I don’t know anymore.” She cast her gaze downward. “I remember a time when ponies were all so timid that a stampede of rabbits could cause some to faint. A small part of me was hoping that every bit of news of horror on the battlefield would shock everypony, everyone enough that they would understand what war truly meant and seek an end to it. Zebrica started using lethal weapons, and that only steeled their resolve. And then… Littlehorn…” Her voice drew to a whisper, and the room fell silent once more.

I continued to watch her, letting out a soft, misty sigh. “You still blame yourself for it.”

“All for a joke, Frost,” she said exasperatedly and with her tone rising, speaking before I’d even finished. “All for a joke. Just so I could tell her I was sending her students to the moon.” And now her tone wavered.

“You couldn’t have known,” I said, my own tone rising.

“I did,” she countered, her shaky tone growing ever louder, ever angrier. “I knew about the tensions between us and Zebrica over the gem pirates. I knew the site might be too close to the ocean, and when war broke out, I didn’t even propose that the academy be moved! I ignored the signs, just like over a thousand years ago!”

I was stunned into silence. By now, she stood and loomed over me with her wings flared out dominantly. Her teeth were gritted, and tears trickled down her face.

On and on the grandfather clock tick-tocked, cutting deeper and deeper into her weary heart with each swing of the pendulum until she could bear it no more. In but a second, she collapsed back down, wings splayed limply to her sides as she squinted her eyes tightly shut.

“I let it happen all over again, Frost,” she hissed. “I… I can’t sit at the throne after that…”

I stood. I moved around. And I drew her close.

The storyteller let out a deep sigh.

And she surrendered to it. Absolutely no resistance. And she was so warm. Was painful for me. But she needed it. She needed it. She needed somepony. Anypony.

When the tears eventually dried, I whispered, “I spoke with Chief Thunderhooves. He… wanted us to continue to uphold what we stood for. He wanted us to keep holding onto the promise of peace. I need your help, Celestia. So does Luna.”

“I don’t know what help I can give,” she whispered over my shoulder. “We tried everything. And… in spite of all of the tragedy, all of the lives lost, they still fight harder than ever. I don’t know what madness found its home in the hearts of equinekind.”

The storyteller stood a little straighter, a little firmer.

Her next words… they still haunt me to this day.

“I don’t know what to do, Frost. I want to end it all peacefully. But I don’t know what to do. And that scares me.

“It scares me because this war is going to change everything.”

* * *

Then I went to her. Down the hallways. Past her two Guards. Into her office.

I didn’t come alone.

She greeted us with a smile first. The lines etched into her brow had thinned somewhat. She’d been getting sleep.

The storyteller smiled softly, shortly.

Good…

He let out a soft sigh.

That smile disappeared as soon as she took notice of Celestia standing beside me.

“We need to talk,” I said simply, seriously.

We sat down together around her desk, seated before that panoramic view of the Heartland. Shared to both of them- word for word- what Chief Thunderhooves told me: why he opposed the War, why he declined to join NETO, and his personal message to us.

“And so we’re gathered here in order to discuss what we can do to bring a peaceful resolution to the War.”

I made eye contact with each of them. “We’ve always stood for peace. Or tried to. I admit that… as of late, I saw that the only way to end the War was to finish the fight as quickly as possible, that because so many of us still clamor for Zebrican blood, there would be no way to silence the beating of the war drums.”

I made direct eye contact with Luna. “That was a mistake. Our mistake. Chief Thunderhooves reminded me that we must… do… better. We must continue to stand for what we believed in, for those ideals you stood for.”

I turned to Celestia, “Ideals that led the world to an era of peace and prosperity. The end of the Almarinian War paved the way to the Age of Industry, and look at all of its fruits! We can’t be daunted. We can’t be dissuaded. We need to be the ones to stand firm against the tide and declare, ‘No.’ And I’m very glad that Chief Thunderhooves reminded me of that.”

I looked to all three of them. “Equestria sees you as its leaders- we see you as our leaders. Even as much as you don’t want us to, Celestia. You may not have the heart to rule, but I hope you have the will to act. We’ve all yielded in the wake of Littlehorn, but if we can show that we continue to strive for peace even after that, it might just send a message to enough people to consider what we’ve lost… and that it isn’t worth losing more. To that end, I’ve decided that I will speak to Ministry Mare Fluttershy. She too always wanted peace, but she lacks a firm voice. I can give her one, especially with my ties to Manehattan. If we can spread that message through the most populous city in Equestria, it’s a start. At the same time, I’d like to hear what we can do together to bring a peaceful resolution to this great and bloody war.”

Celestia inhaled deeply and cracked a smile- a thin one, but it was a smile. “You make a fairer prince than my nephew, that’s for sure.” She took a slow breath through her nostrils. “I still don’t find myself fit to rule. But you’re right, Frost. I must have the will to act. This War has claimed over four-thousand Equestrian and Zebrican lives. With the conflict escalating further, that number will only increase… and sharply. I can’t stand by and let that happen. And so I will go from Stalliongrad to Tail Aviv, Manehattan to San Franciscolt, Cloudsdale to The Deep, Berrillios to Almarinia… and speak to any who will listen.”

I swelled, feeling hope welling within me. It wasn’t much, but I had the most powerful people in Equestria on my side. I turned to Luna, eager to hear what she would do.

She smiled softly, a twinkle in her eyes. “I suppose it’s time for another State of the Principality address. Sister, I could use your presence for it, even if-”

There was a knock at the door, and as one we all turned toward it. “Princess Luna,” one of the Guards called. “Captain Obsidian has returned from Ground Zero.”

That smile was long gone. “She’s been gone for almost an entire day. I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear, won’t I?”

There was a powerful, unnatural thud behind us. When we turned, the earth dracopony mare was there.

“No,” she answered, stance firm and expression dour, “but it’s important that you hear it. Right now.”

Luna let out a soft sigh and turned to us. “I’ll be back shortly.” Then to Obsidian: “Captain, take us to debriefing.”

She gave a stout nod and turned to us. “Celestia, Frost, if you would so kindly blink.”

I did. We did. And they were gone with that same loud thud.

We shared a look. “Ground Zero,” I repeated.

“Littlehorn,” Celestia surmised. Gone was that swelling hope.

Especially when they returned fifteen minutes later.

The storyteller inhaled deeply.

She had that look as she sat back down.

He held up a hoof in front of his lips as if contemplating, glancing away.

A very specific look. Eyes downcast, hoof rubbing against the mouth. A very specific look.

It wouldn’t be the last time I’d see it.

He looked back at the audience.

But I knew the moment I saw it… I wasn’t going to like what she was going to say.

“Frost, Captain Obsidian, would you please excuse us?” she asked, glancing up at me, keeping her hoof there at her mouth. “Please remain outside.”

I closed my mouth, straightened my gaze and my posture, and nodded silently. Obsidian, in the meantime, bowed stoutly. “Yes, Princess,” she uttered before righting herself. We saw ourselves out.

Deafening, deafening silence. So silent that the sound of the breath from my nostrils made my skin crawl uncomfortably. I looked between the two Lunar Guards at the door and then finally Obsidian. She was standing attention much like the other two, but the moment I looked at her, she already had her draconic gaze on me as if expecting it.

“What did you find out?” I asked.

“I’m not at liberty to inform you,” the ash-gray mare answered. “That is for Luna to decide. And no, I don’t expect you to be satisfied by that answer.”

I let out a soft, misty sigh. “How bad is it?”

She was silent, continuing to watch me with that unblinking gaze.

“You’re not even allowed to tell me that?” I inquired.

Now she let out a soft sigh of her own. “Not in public.”

I stared at her, then down the hallway, then back to the two Lunar Guards at the office doors. “‘Not in public,’” I parroted wryly.

One of the pegasi dracopony- the one without the engraved eyepatch- cleared his throat. “Our operations demand that we have very specific definitions and requirements for what we refer to as ‘public’ and ‘private,’ Frost.”

I let out another soft, misty sigh and nodded stoutly, yielding. So it was going to be a waiting game.

I was there for a… must have been close to a half-hour. The doors glowed a golden yellow, signalling the pegasi dracoponies to stand aside as Celestia parted them and strode on through. She spoke not a word to any of us, passing us with a hard, glazed look to her eyes.

Eyes full of hurt.

“Celestia?” I called quietly. But too loudly in the deafening, deafening silence. The brilliant mare with the colorful cascade of a mane and tail… she gave pause for a few seconds. Then she went on. Her movements were lifeless… almost robotic.

“Frost.”

Looked back. Luna was still seated where she was. With that very specific look. Eyes downcast, hoof rubbing against the mouth. A very specific look.

“May we talk in private?”

He let out a deep sigh.

I went back in. And she told me something. Something horrible. Something that, in my… utter inexperience with war, had never- never!- crossed my mind.

The Lunar Guard wanted it kept secret. With good reason.

The storyteller rocked slightly in his seated position, glancing away.

I argued with her, you know. Even with the facts in front of my face. Argued, because I just couldn’t accept that. We rarely argued.

He rubbed his beard.

And the thing was… she listened. Patiently. Got me to calm down. Got me to think about it. And I understood. I looked at those facts- the ones in front of my face. Connected the dots. Saw the picture they made.

And… frankly, folks, that picture horrified me.

He fell silent for several seconds, stock still, eyes staring a thousand yards ahead as if reliving that moment.

It was the truth. And she came to me.

He placed his hoof on his chest.

Me. For advice.

A millennia-old goddess-princess. Came. To me.

For advice.

And in the end, it resulted… in… a choice.

He held up a hoof to the side.

Reveal that horrible truth to everyone.

And the other.

Don’t.

He folded his forehooves back in, leaned back, and breathed out an icy mist. A lot of it.

You know, folks, some Equestrians were bound to have thought of it. Just randomly, maybe on a hunch. But… from experience- personal experience from wiping out the Mumei- it would just be a whispered word, a joke, something… not, not taken seriously. Those who thought they’d figured it all out would… they’d just end up being labelled as conspiracy theorists or branded as laughingstocks or something.

‘That couldn’t happen,’ people might respond to them. ‘No way.’

He let out another misty sigh and lowered his gaze.

So Luna… came to me. Told me this horrible truth- truth that I initially refused to accept- and then convinced me it was nothing but. Then she asked me… me… for advice. And it boiled down to a choice. A single… choice.

The storyteller inhaled deeply and grimaced briefly, working his lips and continuing to avoid the eyes of the audience. He clicked his tongue.

I wasn’t new to power. I learned it from a very young age. The power of words, the... power to manipulate... the traditional view is that power is something attributable to a person, something that a person can possess in varying amounts. Equinpologists, I later found out, add another layer of meaning to that. They say that power is anything that exerts an energy that can be used to achieve an end.

Then those intense eyes flashed back on the audience.

Remember those... remember those words? It, it wasn’t too long ago that I last spoke them. The example with the speed limit signs supposedly enforced by radar- do you remember?

I just started realizing that I had power of my own forty years earlier, exerted through words to achieve an end- to beat Sunny at his own game, to bring him to my side, to win over his parents and the district officials barring him, and to gather a circle of supporters. After being so weak, so helpless for so long... this power felt good. And I wanted more. Manehattan was the City of Lights and Legends, and I wanted to be one of those legends. I had the name, I had the anonymity, and I had the power.

He pulled away slightly, eyes shifting as if looking into those of the audience.

Ah… now, now you remember.

I learned lessons since. But I still always had that power. Ready to be tapped, ready to be flexed, ready... to achieve... the end. That I. Desired.

I so easily- easily- brought the Mumei back under my control in order to support the war effort. And I so easily- easily- convinced Princess Celestia- I told you just now- to continue to strive for peace despite being brought to her knees by regret.

He pressed his hoof repeatedly against his chest.

I was ready to to continue that effort. I was.

Not a shout, not a protest. Not a defense. He spoke it as a statement.

I was.

And then Luna came to me and presented me with this choice.

His voice lowered- deadly quiet.

And she gave me the power to help her make it.

Call it what you will. Say I was just giving her my opinion on it. Maybe you could even call it an “educated” opinion.

He shook his head slowly.

It doesn’t matter. My words… my words have power. They did before. They do now. They did… then. I helped her make that choice. I unwittingly exercised that power, my power… and achieved an end that… even now I continue to hope is just all a nightmare.

He straightened out, glanced away for a few seconds.

I’m sorry. Just like last time I told this story. Delaying. Again.

Back in Stalliongrad, I looked directly at Rig and Soraya.

He looked to a specific place in the audience, peeling back the years.

I told them, ‘You asked me why I chose to hide who I was. You asked me why I silenced Miranda and Wendy. This is the first reason. Of many.’

The old buck stood and strode for his belongings. Each step was measured, mechanical, and yet so jittery and clunky as if all the gears had gone for ages without grease.

He removed his next memento. A single cassette tape.

Walked over to Roanoke.

Handed it over.

Play it.

And as the Razorwing switched the jukebox on, the storyteller turned back to the audience.

And at this moment forty years ago, I turned to Chief Thunderhooves. I asked him, ‘Are you proud of what I did? Are you proud of what I told them? Of what I tried to do?’

Fearing the worst, as if remembering what happened next, he was silent. But aghast. And I saw. I saw.

He remembered what happened next.

And then I said to him, ‘I was. But pride is fleeting.’

The jukebox crackled with static, the audio poor and grainy.

~ ~ ~

“Greetings, my fellow Equestrians. I speak to you now bearing… grave news.

“Many of us are still trying to come to terms with what is now known as The Littlehorn Massacre. Four-thousand-eighty-nine students, four-hundred-ninety-nine faculty, and their assistant dragons- equals both in partnership and in number- lost their lives to that tragedy. I told you that an infiltrator working with the Zebrican KSV used an alchemical weapon known as the Maaier agent primarily to silence one or more refugees who were in possession of critical military intelligence that could be used against the Empire, and I told you that this came at the expense of all of the refugees and nearly the entirety of the School.

“I was wrong.

“My fellow Equestrians, I ask you this- if only the refugees were the primary targets, why use a weapon of such obvious mass destruction and such horrible power, a weapon never before seen or used on or off the field of battle? If only the refugees were the primary targets, why hadn’t they been eliminated before they set sail and reached Equestrian shores? If only the refugees were the primary target, why strike them when they had sought aid at an academy filled with people of all backgrounds, ages, medical conditions- a whole diverse, isolated city all to its own?

“If… only the refugees were the primary target, then why have we captured a team of scientists from the Zebrican KSV at Littlehorn?

“My fellow Equestrians, the refugees were never the primary target! They were collateral- and a means for the infiltrator to reach his true target!

“My fellow Equestrians, the Littlehorn School of Magic was specifically targeted as a test site for a new and deadly weapon of mass destruction in the Zebrican arsenal, selected for its biological and sociological diversity including but not limited to: species, sex, age group, disease state, and pre-existing conditions; selected for diversity in its local flora and fauna, selected for its isolation in order to avoid confounding data from nearby populations, selected for the nearby mountainous terrain and to analyze how the wind there would affect delivery and distribution of the agent, selected for the campus’ many buildings of different shapes and sizes to analyze penetration of the agent through multiple surfaces of different composition, and lastly selected for its impact on Equestrian morale!

“Khotek, false Caesar, puppetmaster, greatest demon of this Age! From the onset of The Great War, my sister, my daughter, and I myself have only sought a peaceful resolution to this horrible conflict! I believed that we could restore the centuries-old era of harmony and friendship that my sister started and that the Equestrian Parliament ended!

“But now I see your true colors, Khotek! You never wanted peace! You never wanted it, and in our endeavors to achieve it, you drew first blood, seized dozens of our territories, and! Now! This! We gave you the benefit of the doubt again and again when you did not deserve such sympathy! No more! I now know that the only way we can restore that centuries-old era of harmony and friendship is if you are not a part of it!

“By the power vested in my office as Princess of the Principality of Equestria, I declare total war on the Holy Zebrican Empire!”

~ ~ ~

The tape faded into static, and Roanoke switched it off. It was silent. Dead silent.

The storyteller carefully removed the tape and with the utmost care replaced it among his belongings. Each and every clack of metal, creak of wood, stretching of leather was wrongly deafening.

Then he faced the audience once more.

Back then… it was certainly… something, knowing you just escalated the War that already claimed so many thousands of lives, betraying a close friend in the process.

It’s certainly another to look back after all these years, knowing how it all ended.

He looked to a very specific place in the audience.

And to see the look on that friend’s time-etched, age-worn face. To see the horror in his eyes.

The storyteller closed his eyes and let out a deep, misty sigh. He kept them closed for a long time.

He asked me… ‘Why?’ In this horrible, scratchy whisper.

His eyes opened, their luster lost.

Evil prevails when the righteous fail to act. On some days, good days, I’m a righteous stallion.

But I’ve failed many, many times.

Melt away.

* * *

That evening. Alone. Back at my home in Ponyville. Lying back in bed, feeling utterly… lost as I stared into the rafters.

There was a light tapping at my window, beyond the shutters. Let out a deep, misty sigh. Just wanted to lie there. To keep feeling lost, staring up into the rafters.

Came again. Tapping was more insistent this time. Let out a sharper sigh, hissing out steam. Pulled myself out of bed, marched over, unlatched the window, tore open the shutters.

And found Pinkie Pie dangling in the air- from a giant bundle of colorful party balloons, no less. She smiled sheepishly at me and gave me this rapid, tiny wave with her hoof. “Hi, Frost.” There it was again. It had always been a broad, bright smile. And she never said ‘Hi, Frost.’ Was always ‘Hey, Frost,’ ‘Hi there, Frost,’ ‘How’s it hanging, Frost?’ Never just… ‘Hi, Frost.’

Remember, folks. No more laughter.

Sighed softly, feeling the rising irritation simmer back down. “Hi, Pinkie,” I greeted in turn flatly with little inflexion in my tone “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the MoM hub in Manehattan or something.”

The outrageously pink- even after all these years- mare rubbed the back of her neck and chuckled softly, “Yeah, I know, but, uh… I had the… elbow twitch and lip tingle.”

Tunneled back through ten years. “That means Luna is sad,” I whispered.

She nodded solemnly. “I… also had the tail flick and hoof jitter.”

I didn’t need to dig back to remember what that meant. We fell quiet for a moment after that.

“Then I heard the news,” she said quietly. Stared her for several seconds. Remember… remember what I said about history, folks? Has a funny way of repeating itself. There I was, feeling like those ten years tunneled forward to me.

Just like before, I didn’t say anything. Only watched her.

“Do you wanna talk?” she asked quietly.

The old buck let out a soft, misty breath.

We talked. She came all the way from Manehattan just to see an old friend. She already knew about me and Luna, Luna and me. Could only oblige her. She tied her balloons down to the roof so her “ride home” wouldn’t fly away without her. Let her inside. And we talked. About Littlehorn. How much it hurt, hurt me and hurt Luna. About Chief Thunderhooves. About Celestia. About the meeting. Hurt, hurt, so much hurt.

“When… when she found out the truth about Littlehorn, she went to Celestia first,” I told her as we sat down on the edge of my bed together. “I don’t know what happened between them. I don’t think I’ll ever know. But she stepped out with this… looking like she was just absolutely lost. Then Luna told me. The evidence was all there, Pinkie. I argued with her. I rarely raise my voice at her like that. But she was right. She convinced me so.” I looked up at the pink mare, listening in earnest silence with open eyes and open ears. So… unlike her. “She asked for my opinion on… what she should do. Tell everyone. Or don’t.” Flattened my lips and hissed out steam through my nostrils. “I deferred to her judgment.”

Then came that question- that same question.

He looked back to that specific place in the audience.

“Why?”

“They attacked an academy of magic, Pinkie,” I said quietly, slowly, dangerously. “Civilians. There was… Littlehorn had absolutely no military importance whatsoever. You heard the news. It was selected specifically as a test site for all those twisted reasons! Diversity, isolation, terrain, architecture, and impact! You don’t just casually select for those things. It must have been scoped out for months- that and who knows how many other sites. And if it was a test, that implies they’re still trying to perfect that weapon, Pinkie. The Legion is planning to use it again.”

A part of me died, watching her tuck back her ears and turn her gaze away like that.

“Pinkie, the Legion showed that they were fully committed to war against Equestria to the point that civilians were a viable target.” I leaned closer to her. “The Legion doesn’t want peace if they’re willing to do that. We can’t just ignore that and continue to try for diplomacy. We gave them that chance for over ten years, and each time we thought they would play along or turn around, they spat back in our face. We’re done with diplomacy.” She shut her eyes. Tightly. And nodded.

Power in my words. It’s a dangerous power. Because you don’t know how far it’ll reach.

Let out a deep sigh. Pulled back. Sat straight. Looked away. “How are the others taking it?”

“Badly,” Pinkie answered quietly. “Especially Flutters. She took it really, really badly. She locked herself away for hours before flying all the way back to her cottage. I’d never seen her fly that fast or that far. She just wanted to be away from everypony. She didn’t talk to me, Rainbow- any of us. But…” She looked down at her hoof, flexing ever so slightly, “I know it’s bad. Really, really bad. I don’t know what she’s going to do. I know she won’t go...” She swallowed, “go that far. But I don’t know what she’s planning to do once she gets back to the Ministry of Peace. Because she’ll go back. I can feel it.”

Nodded slowly. “What’re you going to do?”

Pinkie closed her eyes for several seconds. When she flashed them open, I saw that old fire burning behind them once more. She hopped off of my bed and turned to face me, vitality behind her voice once more. “Well if Zebrica’s planning to test the Pink Cloud again, I’m going to make darn sure they don’t get the chance to reach Equestrian soil! I’ve got a lot of work cut out for me if I’m going to help the war effort! If those zebras want a fight, I’ll give ‘em a piece of my cake! … mind! I meant to say mind!” She nickered. “You get what I mean. What about you, Frost?”

I glanced at my nightstand. “Well, I’m going to speak with Luna.” I sprouted an ice arm and picked Silver Skean, popping her open in a Behind the Eight-Ball. “I need to get back to work.”

* * *

The storyteller let out a soft, misty breath.

Total war. You know what that means? I don’t think anyone but the princesses knew what it meant. I certainly didn’t know. The buffoons in Parliament who ratified Luna’s declaration certainly didn’t know. And yet when Parliament saw that the Princess that had once tried so hard to hinder the Equestrian war effort became its new figurehead, they ratified her declaration all the same Difference was... I cared enough to ask.

The storyteller’s words were crisp, exact.

Total war boils down to two things.

Number one, it meant that our government and its new ministries had much wider powers to manufacture, mobilize, and maintain the Equestrian war machine. Remember all those wonderful technologies I talked about? Portable terminals? Web cameras? High-definition television sets and monitor screens? Even the new smartphones trickling in from the Aldornan market?

Practically all of it was reclaimed, recycled, and repurposed into the bits and pieces that went into the modern Equestrian war machine. Somepony in MWT came up with the idea of asking for civilian electronics donations, and with so much peer pressure all around to support the war effort, only the upper crust of society could refuse. Wires and circuit boards became the guts of everything from command centers to fire control systems. Cameras and screens went into optics and sights. Even remote control toys found a home in the fledgeling robotics development department of the Ministry. It’s why all the tech you see is more CRT than LCD. It may not be flashy, it may not be elegant, but it was cheap, it was durable, and the military needed the rest.

Number two, all resources and infrastructure that could contribute to the enemy war machine were deemed legitimate military targets. Sound like a loose, vague definition to you? That’s because it is. Those “resources and infrastructure?” That meant civilian assets too, folks. If a Wirani wagon factory built engines that could be used in a Legion KMGT-99 armored fighting vehicle, it was a target. If a cannery packed fish for dragon consumption, it was a target. If a fucking textile workshop made officers’ uniforms for Legion decanii, it was a target.

So you may be thinking, okay, that’s a little harsh, but with what happened at Littlehorn, it’s justifiable, at least to some extent. With such a tragedy, you might be left with at least two questions: Why did Zebrica do it? And why didn’t Aldornan support swing toward Equestria after the revelation?

I couldn’t answer the first one yet, but… well folks, all resources and infrastructure that could contribute to the Zebrican war machine were deemed legitimate military targets.

Nobody said they had to be Zebrican.

* * *

I was back in Manehattan. Several more wagon factories wanted to contribute to manufacturing armored vehicles, and they needed direction, materiel, and subsidy- not in that order.

A desk job. Me. At a Goddessdamn desk job. Smoothed out the transition of businesses joining MWT. Handled logistics of setting up shipping of goods and capital. Made sure everyone stayed in line. Hated it. Felt like I was running the Mumei again.

I hated it.

But what else could I do? Serve as an ambassador? Featherfall’s been our emissary to Aldorna for twenty-three years. I might be an equinpologist, but he had the tenure and political know-how. And as an internal ambassador?

The storyteller let out a deep, misty sigh and looked to that specific place in the audience again.

Couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Chief Thunderhooves again after all that. Unthinkable. And I wouldn’t see him again for one-hundred-sixty-five years...

Continue my research? No. Because those three words kept on echoing in my head.

Repay the debt.

Repay the debt.

Repay the debt.

Kept echoing. Beat like war drums.

I knew what I was doing. I was fighting in my own way- behind the scenes, behind closed doors, out of sight, out of mind. I didn’t need to fight on the frontlines to set policies for the industrial engine that funneled resources and ponypower to it.

I was checking out forms in print and online when Applejack stormed into my office. I looked up from my work immediately, and warning bells went off in my head from her stern expression.

Closing the door behind her, she uttered, “Frost, y’all been listening to the radio?”

I furrowed my brow. “More than I should be but not recently. What happened?”

Without asking, she trotted up to mine and switched it on. It was already on the news. I only needed to listen for several seconds before I seized the phone on my desk and punched in the number.

The moment the secretary picked up, I spat with a rising tone, “You know my voice, you know who I am, now get me on the line with Princess Luna right damn now!”

* * *

“Frost…” Sigh. “It’s good to-”

“Luna, are you- I hate to cut you off like this, but are you aware that one of our destroyers opened fire on an Aldornan freighter?”

“... I am.”

“Did. You. Authorize this.”

“I did. I gave direct orders to do so, and before you think about saying anything else, you better check that tone.”

Flexed my hoof and bit on the insides of my cheeks, hissing out a breath before I went on. “Luna… Nightingale, please, please tell me you had a very good reason to sink an Aldornan mercantile vessel and send it and our efforts at forging some kind of continued partnership with the griffins to the bottom of the ocean.”

“That vessel was en route to Zebrican waters, Frost. I was assured that the captain in command of the HMS Stormbreaker hailed the freighter and warned all occupants to evacuate the vessel. When they did not comply, I authorized a warning shot and a repeated call to evacuate. When they did not comply, I authorized the destroyer to inform the freighter they were going to fire a single shot at the bow and then do so after one minute. After a minute passed, I gave the command to fire. After firing and restating the order to evacuate, the freighter’s captain yielded and ordered her crew to abandon ship.

“After confirmation that nobody was left onboard, I authorized the destroyer to torpedo the freighter amidships in the cargo hold. Afterward, all crew members were detained. Some will be released and delivered back to Aldorna with reasonable accommodations. Most will be detained as temporary prisoners of war for extradition to Aldorna.

“Secondary explosions were confirmed by the Stormbreaker’s captain, and the vessel sank in eighteen minutes, Frost. Only a freighter carrying munitions could have met its demise that quickly. Those prisoners are members of the Twin Eagles Company, a private military company allied with Zebrica. This is the same address I am going to give in fifty minutes. I may not be a warmonger Frost, but I am neither naive nor a stranger to war. I hope that qualifies as a ‘very good reason’ as per your words.”

Deep sigh. Quiet for a while. “... yeah. I’m sorry.”

Deep sigh. “War is as new to you as much as the rest of those around your office. You are forgiven. Just remember that I know a thing or two of war and its playbook.”

* * *

Set down the phone and rubbed my muzzle, frowning hard. As much as my dour expression tried to hide it, my heart was racing. I never talked to Luna like that. Not since Roam… and yet it had happened twice in a matter of days.

I looked up at Applejack, who in turn looked down at me expectantly. I let out a deep sigh. No time for that right now. She was expecting an answer. “Munitions and mercenaries bound for Zebrica,” I stated. “No civilian casualties.”

She cocked a brow at me. “That’s it, then? One of our warships sank an Aldornan merchant ship, an’ that’s it? Sweet Celestia, when did we suddenly start justifyin’ things like that? ‘Taint right!”

“No it isn’t,” I sighed,giving a dull nod in agreement. “Neither was it right for Zebrica to test a weapon of mass destruction on a school. You know how Luna feels about that.”

Exasperated, Applejack nickered, “Oh so we’re gunna just punish a neutral nation over it. Y’all’re fine with the idea of that?”

Irritation and tone rising, I stood and pressed firmly on the desk as if bearing a great burden and replied firmly, “No I am not, Applejack! Goddessake, if anything, I’ve been trying to foster some sense of cooperation or at least some sympathy with Aldorna over Littlehorn! I don’t like where this is going any more than you do! I’m a businesspony, equinpologist, historian, and pianist, not some policymaker just because of my relationship with Luna!”

The orange mare tucked her hat lower at that and let out a sigh. “... I guess ‘taint right for me to see you as one.” She frowned harshly. “So the hay we gunna do about all this?”

I puffed out my cheeks and sighed deeply, mistily. “We’re going to hope this didn’t just shoot us in the hoof in negotiations with Aldorna.”

The storyteller eyed each griffin in the audience.

This is the story of how the world died. And you know how it goes.

* * *

It was a month later on the news. Applejack and I were in the office. I called her over this time.

“The High Council stresses that The Griffin Republic of Aldorna is and will remain neutral in the face of this Great War, and we will continue to foster peaceful relations between the belligerent nations. We’ve attempted to do this through the United Nations General Assembly and Security Council, by seeking to maintain dialogue even if we must be relegated to the position of an intermediate, and by encouraging free, unrestricted trade between all nations.

“Today, the High Charter put forward a measure by overwhelming majority, a measure the High Council ratified by unanimous accord, a measure declared falling within the bounds of the Aldornan Nonpartisan Compact.

“Powers of the world, greater and lesser, The Griffin Republic of Aldorna has tried to rebuild bridges torn up by this great and terrible war. But it is no use if hooves don’t meet halfway. After the atrocities committed by The Holy Zebrican Empire, the unrestricted naval warfare waged upon our mercantile vessels by The Principality of Equestria, and the unanswered calls for them to denounce private military companies originating from our country, it seems we can only be burned by the flames of war as we try to put it out.”

I could see by now that many others gathered around anyone that had a radio in their office. Applejack and I were joined by her aides and my own.

And with each of the following declarations from that member of the High Council, murmurs and low curses filled the room.

“As of this moment, The Griffin Republic of Aldorna is closing all embassies within Equestrian and Zebrican borders and territories.

“Trade to both Equestria, Zebrica, and their holdings will be restricted indefinitely following recall of all mercantile vessels.

“Individual and group travel to belligerent nations and territories are now restricted and will be reviewed for approval on a case-by-case basis by a new travel board.

“Individual and group travel from belligerent nations and territories for governmental and commercial purposes will be denied.

“Current traveling Aldornans are encouraged to return as soon as possible, and current travelers in Aldorna from abroad will be given one week from noon Avalon time today to leave the nation.

“Afterwards, any foreigners remaining in our borders will be located, detained, and subjected to review for immediate removal.

“All financial assets belonging to the Equestria and Zebrica regardless of purpose or affiliation are now frozen.

“Communications with government and businesses in Equestria and Zebrica for purposes excluding emergencies will be suspended for one month.

Then, wearily: “For all the eyes and ears of the world upon us… know that we tried. Xicis, Stark Widow... deliver us through this dark hour.”

Even the newscaster struggled to find her words to move onto the next segment just as we struggled to make meaning of this sudden new development.

* * *

Wasn’t the only country to make an address in that time frame.

He spoke again at last. In that guttural undertone yet with such measured, exact words.

“It is not often I speak in the tongue of the enemy. So listen well.

“The Holy Zebrican Empire was founded on the ideals of mutual responsibility between one and another, ideals that date back to when equinekind lived in fear of the Wild Unknown and when zebrakind was sequestered to the scorching Dune Sea.

“We put our trust and faith in one another to survive and banded together to eke out the means to live and later thrive. We depended on one another to keep one another safe, secure, and sated in those trying times where our continuation as a species was not guaranteed. You are your brother’s keeper. And from that sacred vow was borne a family, then a camp, then a band, then a collective, then a Legion, and then a glorious Empire.

“After the end of the Age of Empires and the start of the Age of Industry, our oath of responsibility expanded to our international neighbors and especially The Principality of Equestria. We were partners in trade and later allies in warfare against the then Griffin Kingdom of Aldorna. We were responsible for our continued mutual success and well-being.

“I am not ignorant of our pasts.The Empire, the Principality, the Republic. The Bloodborn Oath, the Six Cardinal Virtues of Friendship, the Sacred Contract. The vow of responsibility, the magic of friendship, the ties that bind. We are stronger when we act together. Our strides grow longer, our wisdom greater, our brilliance brighter. The accomplishments of the Age of Industry are monuments to what we can accomplish when we work as one.

“But all good things, it seems, must come to an end. During the crisis of the Far North, the Empire dedicated vast resources to the Equestrian aid effort- untold sums of monetary and material support. The Empire was responsible for the continued well-being for everyone under our oath. The Great Exodus ruined not only the Far North but everyone else with it. The failure to save the Northerners ended in the loss of all the resources dedicated to it and sent the world into a spiraling recession.

“If you are not yet convinced of the magnitude of the recession, ponies, the Holy Zebrican Empire has always prided itself on a microscopic poverty and infant mortality rate. We aid our fellow neighbor, for who knows when that fellow neighbor will save us from the thief, from the debt collector, or the jaws of death?

“For the first time since the Age of Struggle, we could not provide for one another. The rich tried to stave off their neighbor’s destitution, and they too became destitute. How many zebras, minotaurs, dragons- the three races most loyal to the Legion- fled to the Republic or the Principality in search of a better life? How many oaths were broken? To add insult to injury, the recession not only ruined Zebrican financially but morally as well. I was ruined! So many futures stolen, and mine with them!

“The Republic and its industrious griffins innovated and adapted. The Principality made do. The Empire suffered, and what happened to that responsibility for continued mutual success and well-being?

“The Empire survived, but we did not forget. We did not forget that our ally of centuries’ age looked for themselves as we wasted to the point that both the dragons and minotaurs revolted against the cause that once united us.

“The Empire survived, united once more through the ties of spilled blood, blood that we were forced- that I was forced to spill. The blood of our own brothers and sisters. You ruined us morally again, Equestria.

“The Empire survived, and the Principality did as well. But you… you are changed. We are bloodied, battered, but we remain true to our values of responsibility to our fellow brother and sister.

“You, Equestria, are tainted.

“Honesty to deceit, kindness to cruelty, laughter to hurt, generosity to greed, loyalty to betrayal, and magic to the machine. And like the machine, you hunger for fuel. Through the Northerner Crisis all the way to the end of the Minotaur Uprising, you clamored for more and more of our coal and oil, never considering you were asking for more from a nation crippled by its own generosity and sacrifice.

“Hmph, generosity and loyalty… virtues I believe many of my brothers and sisters respected of you. So fitting that we now despise you for your greed and betrayal.

“I know not how it came to be this way, Equestria. Perhaps in your idealistic, innocent world, you felt wronged somehow. But consider.

“Consider that you never came to us in our own time of need after we came to your side for not one but two international crises.

“Consider that you had the gall to meddle in our affairs by brokering deals with the dragons that put Raj’M’Kora in power and led to another revolt not even a generation later.

“Consider that you declared war on our nation over a resource dispute- over resources we were rightfully owed for so long despite us weathering so much far worse from you.

“And consider that you lashed out at Aldorna for merely trading with us.

“How soon? How soon will it be before this evil engulfs us all? Equestria is tainted, vile, rife with corruption. The Empire has watched on and suffered for too long. You claim me as the greatest demon of this Age? I see a different and far greater demon. We’ve watched from across the water, catalogued your sins. You may choose to forget or ignore, but you are not innocent.

“And so I ask the Senate and Court to ratify and I ask for Aldorna… no, the world... to answer my call to arms- to purge the world of the great ignorant, insidious evil of our era, to put down this sick animal, to bring an end the Lunar regime.

“Barra barra!”

* * *

War, war never changes.

But Celestia was right. The war was going to change everything.

Including me.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 24 Reached!
Perk added: For the Princess!- Sunlight guide you and moonlight hide you. Enemies of Equestria beware- you now do 10% more damage to them.

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- War Changes Everything

Soundtrack- United for Peace

Soundtrack- Revelation

Soundtrack- Through the Airwaves

Soundtrack- Coup de Grâce

Author's Note

Yeah... it's been a stupidly long time, hasn't it? But finally, it's here at last. I can't say much other than I hope you can all forgive me for making you wait so long before a new installment.

Special thanks go to Caesar Saladin for pre-reading this for me.

As usual, I encourage any sort of constructive criticism or feedback. Also, this still exists!

Until next time,
Adder1

Prologue: One Last Story

NOTE: This fanfiction is based on Fallout: Equestria by Kkat and somewhat Fallout Equestria: Project Horizons by Somber. Familiarity with the source material (here) may aid your understanding of the story.

Additionally, this story does include music. Links will be placed within the text itself if you wish to play it as you read along or at the end if you feel it detracts from things or messes with the pace of your reading. Read, listen, and enjoy.

Fallout: Equestria- The Last Sentinel
By Adder1

Prologue: One Last Story

Early evening. The storyteller spoke in a gravely, tired, tattered voice.

It's been a while since I've had a request. The last time somepony asked me to tell him or her a story was...

Seven? Was it seven years ago? Eight?

Oh, two months? Heh, my memory must finally be failing me. Had to happen eventually. I think it was just a retelling of “Little Red Riding Hoof” anyways. Nothing important enough to remember.

I'll admit, though, it's still been a while since somepony asked me for a story. Normally, it's just an old pony's tale or a sprite tale or something or the other. But you ask this old stallion for a real one? It's still been ages for that. I'm not sure if I still have it in me. I don't recommend it, son.

Nothing better to do?

…

Welllllll, alright.

One last story.

But first, a little history.

A light chuckle, like the first one he had in years.

Okay, okay, I get it. You don't like history. You have to admit, though, for a good story, you're gonna need some sort of background.

A little about myself first. Way back when, I used to be a historian and an equinpologist. So, why-

…

You don't know what an equinpologist is? Luna Almighty, what are they teaching you in primary these days?

Well, let me explain. An equinpologist studies equinpology, an area of science concerned with equine biological and cultural diversity across time and space.

…

I know that look. Don't worry. Okay, let me rephrase that. An equinpologist studies equinpology, an area of science concerned with how equines are similar and different both in respect to their body and to their mannerisms, and how these things change over time and from place to place. How ponies, griffins, buffalo and zebras are similar and different in how they act socially, politically, the works. You following me now?

Good.

So, why am I telling you this? Because historians and equinpologists regard and hold dear one value, one virtue above all else (Well, almost above all else).

Honesty.

You cannot teach history or equinpology with lies. Truth, above all else, must be observed and upheld. Distort history or equinpology, and you disgrace our heritage. You disgrace where we come from and what we've been through to get where we are today.

So, why am I telling you this? Because all that I say is the truth. Granted, some details are based off of my view on things, but for the most part, it's truth. Even as incredible or improbable as things might seem, they're all true.

Because this story is mine.

And you might want to grab a friend or two. One pony's nice, but for this, I'd like a bit of a bigger audience. It's a long story and a special one at that.

There we go.

Now, remember when I said that first we'd have a little history? Here it comes.

Look around you, mares and gentlestallions, colts and fillies. Not a tree for miles. Flat, barren landscape. Always in shadows, even during the day because of the Luna-damned Pegasi Enclave and their cloud cover.

An indignant exhale of cold, old breath.

Sorry. My feelings are... a little strong on the matter. Ahem, moving on.

So yes. Barren. Dark. Infested with Luna knows how many raiders, slavers, bandits, thieves, murderers, and all manner of mutated beasts.

Then, there's radiation, taint, enervation- the land itself is against you.

He held his forelegs wide and in the air, as if showcasing the land of dread around them.

Welcome to the Wasteland.

Now, young-'uns, you might all be wondering if it was always like this. After all, how on Equestria would everypony- Hell, why would anypony- be living in such a nightmarish place?

Here's where the history comes in. It wasn't always like this. I remember back to a time when the land was lush and green, when the air was fresh. The land was pure, and cities rose up across the land, small hamlets dotting the earth as respites from urban sprawl. I remember back when the land was bountiful, when the sun and moon still shone in the sky.

The old unicorn held a hoof to his heart.

Blessed be Luna and Celestia.

I remember back to a time when everyone- not just ponies- was united under the Six Virtues of Friendship.

Honesty.

Kindness.

Generosity.

Laughter.

Loyalty.

Magic.

He smiled in nostalgia, eyes glinting in remembrance. Then his expression darkened.

And I remember when we threw it away.

The very air seemed to chill. Nocturnal noises seemed to silence under his will. Goosebumps crawled under their coats and their spines tingled from the sudden cold that seemed to seize everything.

And I remember when we threw it all away.

Industry is a good thing. It provides us with the means to move forward and improve the standards of living for everyone- not just everypony.

But... perhaps we took one step too far. Neigh, we took one step too far.

With industry, we learned how to wrest energy from the land without the use of magic through the use of mediums such as coal and oil.

Coal and oil we didn't have in our lands.

But the zebras had in theirs.

They needed gems to power their weaponry to hold back the Wilds.

Gems they didn't have in their lands.

But we ponies had in ours.

So we traded. And we both prospered. We made great strides in technology. One step too far now became another. And another.

And another.

Over time, we less traded amongst one another and simply took. We took what we needed to power our advancing societies.

But when you take, and you take, and you take... it isn't long before somebody feels somebody's been taking too much.

The honesty that held us together crumbled.

It was replaced with deception. Cheating truth to take more than we needed because we needed.

The kindness of our agreement faded away.

It was replaced with cruelty. To simply swindle, steal, or rob what we wanted.

The generosity of our charity from one equine to another eroded.

It was replaced by greed. For what we had was never enough.

The laughter once shared by friends was long gone.

It was replaced by hurt. Because we were now stepping forward too far, and we were aching inside.

The loyalty that once held together the treaty of trade was no longer doctrine.

It was replaced by betrayal. If you won't help us, you can expect a stab in the back.

The magic of our land was no more.

It was replaced by the machine. For we thought and worked too much, and for we felt and cared too little.

Friendship crumbled.

Enmity remained in the shards.

Enmity breeds. It breeds hatred, anger, paranoia, fear, apathy, insolence.

And it breeds war.

Equestria was unfamiliar to war. In the beginning, it was childish, almost laughable. Almost. Remember, no more laughter.

Then it grew violent and bloody. After all, the zebras knew the art of war all too well.

We stopped taking steps forward. We galloped. Galloped to new heights on the piles of the dead.

Many things can change in the decades of war. You can change the reason for fighting. The tactics, the propaganda. You can change the weaponry. The methods, the means.

But the more things change, the more they stay the same.

And war...

War, war never changes.

It never has. It never will. It always destroys, destroys equinity, creation, life, ingenuity. War is like an empty void that swallows everything up and still hungers for more.

And so nothing changed when we galloped forward to megaspells and balefire bombs.

The details are trivial and pointless. The reasons, of course, were purely equine ones. We purged our land, and it was born anew. Baptism by spellfire.

Welcome to the Wasteland.

Some lucky thousands were spared. The more fortunate holed themselves in fortress-like Stables and new generations sprung forth; I was a part of one of them. The less fortunate were changed forever by the balefire, necrotized by the foul magic.

When the Stables opened up, ponykind emerged into a harsh land as unforgiving then as it is now. Some tried to bring back civilization, creating small havens that grew into great prominence. Others devolved into things... less equine... and took from these small havens.

Enmity, enmity never changes.

A light, husky laugh escaped him.

I guess I still have it in me after all. Apparently enough to gather quite the crowd. And I see some new faces...

A sly, old smile played across his lips. He no longer looked old as he took a seat, his plates of ancient armor clinking gently as he got comfortable.

Enough history. Let's get to the story.

My name is Frost Windchill. Pleased to meet you.

Now.

One last story.

* * *

Footnote: Unlockables added: Character Voice Actor- Logan Cunningham as Frost

Soundtrack- Theme of the Storyteller, Frost

Soundtrack- Theme of Fallout: Equestria- The Last Sentinel

Audio Recording- The Prologue as Read by Mathwyn

Author's Note

Many thanks to Kkat, for we have her to thank for the existence of Fallout: Equestria. And, it also goes to you for taking the time to read a storyteller's latest attempt to create. Critique of any sort is much appreciated.

Chapter Five: Dead Ringer

Chapter Five: Dead Ringer

Early evening once more. The storyteller was already there and waiting as the audience from last night filed into the small building. There were considerably more ponies than before, along with a few griffins.

Welcome back, everypony. Or rather, as I see a couple griffins, everyone. I'm glad to see a quite a few new faces, but you folks look a little more tired than last time, I think. Did I keep you up a little too late?

He smirked lightly.

Well, then I've got just the thing to wake you all right up. Because I've got one hell of a segment for you all. I assume the others filled you new faces in?

A string of nods and affirmations went out, and the storyteller smiled.

Good. Now, then. Stop seeing with your eyes. Clear your mind and relax. Focus on my voice as you slip into the void. Let it fill in the blanks.

Melt away.

* * *

Hours had passed by the time the last chord died away from the strings of that beautiful Steineigh. She had been with me the whole time, Her hooves moving with my ice hands as we played through my most recent repertoire of music.

Together.

“Thank you.” I smiled up at Her. But She was already gone. I looked back down at my hands, Her hooves nowhere to be seen, their comforting weight gone once more.

“Was that you, buddy?” I glanced behind me and found Sly standing in the doorway, smiling. I really had to get a proper lock on that. “That was amazing stuff, Frost. Really.”

I sighed, smiling in turn. “It's more amazing that you found this...”

“Well, Xamuros helped restore the woodwork.” He scratched the back of his head with a hoof, shrugging modestly.

“Regardless, I still very much appreciate it.” I got up and placed a hoof on his leg (couldn't quite reach his shoulder). “I think I'll be taking up your offer for the Rusty Steed.”

“Sounds great!” The giant of a stallion smiled. “So, Xamuros had me come and find you. Rig's pretty much finished up on training between the both of us. And... I kinda have some good news... and some bad news.”

I frowned, hooves back on the floor. “You've given the Chief a reason to turn you to pulp on the pavement, haven't you?”

“What?” He stared. “No, not that! Jeez, have faith in me, buddy! No, it's... about Rig. Namely her training.”

Knowing my luck, I just told him, “Alright, let's hear the bad news first.”

“It... kinda goes hoof-in-hoof with the good news.” Sly smiled weakly.

“Then what's the good news?” I stared blankly at him.

“Well, the good news is that Rig's completed her training for the day without another hitch.” He beamed. “Even better, she even found her favorite weapons! Can never have just one, like you say!”

“Okay, now what's the bad news?” I raised an eyebrow. This seemed pretty good so far.

Sly kicked a lazy hoof against the floor looking away. “Well...”

* * *

“The flamethrower?!” I exclaimed. I could feel my left eye twitching a little. “Are you shitting me?! The flamethrower?!”

We were back in the firing range, a vast space filled with a variety of training rooms- typical firing ranges with various types of targets, obstacle courses, and the armory. Oh, and Rig was currently spewing jets of blazing hydrazine all over the range, soaking the targets in liquid, flaming death- and damn effectively, too. She was cheering and whooping all the while, a very disturbing glow to those indigo eyes. I had to sheath myself in ice armor just to stand in the same room as her.

“Well don't look at me, I just taught her how to use it!” Xamuros shrugged helplessly. Sly was standing right beside him, offering an apologetic look.

“Of all the lighter, of all the better-ranged, more practical weapons with more plentiful ammo around in the Wasteland that are less dangerous to her and certainly less dangerous to me, she likes the flamethrower the most?!” I yelled, tossing my hooves over my head. “The flamethrower! Gah!” I fell back to the floor, hitting my forehead against the nearby wall. “Curse my luck, of course she picks the Mark Twelve! Of course she picks the pony-made, fire-breathing dragon!” I proceeded to hit my forehead a few more times.

“Hey, Frost!” Rig grinned from ear to ear as she trotted right up to me, Mark 12 telekinetically pulled with her, its pilot light still lit. Luna Almighty, her eyelashes were singed away! “You've absolutely gotta try this! It's so fun! Fire fire fire everywhere!”

I just stared at her in horror, backing away a little. “Uhh, no thanks, Rig! Youuuuu go right back to pointing that... thing in another direction, preferably back at the firing range. Away from us. Namely me. Please!”

She shrugged simply. “Suit yourself.” The young mare (A young mare, I tell you!) flipped the lever to switch the pilot light off, pulling out the cylindrical gas tank attached to the feed rung while simultaneously pulling a fresh one from a nearby rack. She screwed the new one in and flicked the pilot light back on.

And went right back to lighting stuff on fire.

“Good Goddess, I thought I knew her before all of this.” I just sat down, exasperated and forming a cup of water for myself as I placed a hoof on my head.

“Well look on the bright side, buddy.” Sly patted my back. “It's just one of her preferred weapons.”

A glimmer of hope at least. I sublimated the cup after I was finished and asked, “Well... what are they?”

“Well, there's grenades, grenade launchers, dynamite, landmines-”

I went right back to slamming my forehead against the wall. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-”

“Son of a cuss, Sly!” Xamuros growled. “Don't you have any sense of tact?”

The dark-blue giant shrugged helplessly.

“Frost!” The zebra pulled me away from the wall. He then noted my expression. “... uh... you alright?”

I laughed a little crazily and answered, “Ohhh, I think I just gave myself some permanent brain damage-age-age-age-age-age-”

“Frost, cut it out!” He thwacked me on the head. “Don't be so over-dramatic!”

“Sorry,” I laughed again, a little cracked, “it's just that the pony I plan to help obtain a water talisman, which will take Luna knows how long, apparently loves weapons that set things on fire and explode! Stuff that I hate with the intensity of a thousand burning suns!”

“Frost, Rig found something else other than high-explosives and fire-spewing weapons that she likes too!” he yelled in my face.

I blinked a tad awkwardly. “Oh.” I got back on my hooves, clearing my throat and regaining my composure. “Well... what is it?”

“I can answer that for you,” Chief Thunderhooves said as he entered through the doorway. “Rig! That is enough!”

Rig turned around (Luna Almighty, there went her eyebrows!) and shouted, “Oh, sorry!” With that, she put a halt to her fiery rampage and neatly placed the Mark 12 back on its rack in the armory, a light spring to her trot.

“So, what's up?” She beamed as she plopped down beside me. I had to remember for a second that she no longer had the flamethrower with her as I began to edge away from the earth-coated unicorn.

“Frost, she also like this.” The buffalo ghoul went to the armory and pulled out... a very familiar bullpup assault rifle for her.

My eyes widened as she took it up in her gray telekinetic grip, heading back to the range. “Is that... what I think she is?” I asked.

Chief Thunderhooves nodded. “Indeed she is. Still feminizing weapons I see.”

I watched as Rig aimed down the ironsights and began to take down targets, firing in two-shot bursts, handling the weapon's kick expertly. It was a beautiful thing to watch, and soon all memory of the previous few minutes was wiped from my mind as I turned my ice armor to mist and stepped closer.

I looked over the weapon from the side as she kicked a little under her fire. She was a rugged weapon, formed completely of stamped steel components. She was a factory-gray death machine born in the cold heat of Stalliongrad's factories. Her design may have been different from her predecessors. She may have had the equipment rails not seen on her ancestors. But the iconic length and curve of the magazine, the iconic, simple tab of a magazine release; the iconic charging handle, the iconic way the blowback system bent into the barrel, the iconic, familiar, powerful report that signaled a stinging rain of 7.62 Stalliongrad Rimmed...

She was a weapon that descended from a long line of the indisputably most infamous, most reliable, most iconic series of assault rifles ever built during the Great War.

The Avtomat Kalashneighkova Modernizirovanniy Bullpup. The AKMB. The great-grandson of the AKb2.

“Hey.”

I was jarred out of my stupor of awe by the cloud-maned mare as she looked at me. “You alright?” she asked. She stopped firing, and a tense silence clung to the room.

I had to be sure. I had to be sure it was really her. I opened my mouth slowly. “May I see her?”

“Uh... sure.” Rig levitated her over to me.

I took the cold weapon in my even colder hands. Now that I could see her up close, I could see it all. The carvings, the patterns so carefully etched into the body of the weapon. And the barrel.

On it were four inscribed words.

In laboribus et periculis.

The others knew it too as I looked back at them. Chief Thunderhooves nodded to me.

I looked back at Rig, who was looking over the weapon as well. She looked at me with those shining, indigo eyes. “Oh... oh, jeez, this wasn't the one I fired earlier! Frost, I'm sorry! I didn't kn-” I waved my hand, and her words caught in her throat. She silenced herself.

I leaned in close and told her, “This one will never fail you in battle. You can choke her up with sand, silt, mud, and she will still fire. She will support your weight and greater even if you do push-ups with only the magazine touching the ground, all your weight forced on it. She will never jam, never rust. She will survive every beating you give her and still stand ready for more. She will never break, short of throwing her under a tank. And she will cut down anyone who stands in your way.” I handed her to Rig, looking at me with those big, round eyes. “Luna's Fortitude. She will never fail you. For in labors and dangers, you will always draw strength from her.”

The weight of all the words fell upon the young unicorn mare, and she swallowed hard.

“Take her,” I said to her. “I've seen the way you handle her. You've tamed her. You are now her master.”

Rig smiled wide, bowing lightly as she enveloped Luna's Fortitude in her magic and pulled the weapon away.

“Well, then,” I smiled. “She's yours now. It's been a long time since I've wielded her, and times have changed. She must evolve. So. Are you going to add any furniture to her or what?” I nodded to a work bench near the armory.

She had a lovely smirk.

The storyteller paused to let out a chuckle, then nodded at a griffin leaning against the old jukebox.

Roanoke. Cue epic music.

The griffin elbowed the machine with a light grin, an orchestra gradually building up from the background with a bit of synthesized, electronic music blending in with the sound of striking iron accompanying it. It was... a shorter version of the music the storyteller associated with Rig. Epic music indeed.

I watched as she added a BS-03 Tishina (Russyin for “whisper”. Or was it “silence”?) suppressed grenade launcher. I didn't flinch at all in spite of myself. And I certainly didn't flinch the slightest as she sent a shell downrange with a light click, slamming into the husk of a powered wagon. Right through the window, I thought as I felt myself smirking. Impressive.

I watched as she retrieved a bayonet from the armory, the blade painted a matte-black that matched Luna's Fortitude. She used tools to modify the weapon's lug so that the bayonet was oriented to the side of the muzzle, allowing her to fire the BS-03 without it getting in the way. Luna's Fortitude was growing stronger. I could feel Rig growing stronger as well.

I watched as she nabbed a suppressor that Xamuros helped pick out for her, the nasty roar of the weapon muffled to a moderately quieter string of clicks and hisses. I just watched and listened on as he taught her to avoid firing full-auto with a suppressor to prevent from wearing it down too quickly, taught her how to hammer-tap one round at a time.

I watched as she had Chief Thunderhooves help her modify the weapon itself. They improved the barrel rifling. They reworked the firing assembly for a lower rate of fire and replaced the action and charging handle, providing for an optimal seal in the chamber when each round was fired.

I watched her as she slid a gem-powered, holographic reflex sight onto the top equipment rail, taking the time to test-fire shots downrange to calibrate the reticule to the weapon's new accuracy. Rig set the reticule itself as a small, open circle. Slotted in a bit of quartz with Chief Thunderhooves' directions to give it multiple levels of magnification. Luna's Fortitude was turning into a weapon of greater accuracy and precision.

Lastly, I watched as she brought out all the magazines she could find, welding them together in threes for quicker reloads. She practiced firing her. After every third mag, she expertly drew a new one while simultaneously depressing the mag release and removing the spent magazine, slamming the fresh one home and ratcheting back the charging handle. In under two seconds.

Xamuros had taught the girl how to speed-load the unicorn way. I grinned at him and he grinned right on back.

Born in the cold heat of the factory forge so long ago, the weapon that had served me so well in the past was born again. More accurate. More destructive. And yet more elegant. More refined. Without sacrificing firepower or rugged durability and reliability. Luna's Fortitude was now tucked against her new master's side as she beamed with pride.

Aaaaand cue end of epic music.

Roanoke chuckled softly as he elbowed the jukebox off.

“No flamethrower?” I couldn't help but ask with a smile.

“Not practical.” The young mare shrugged. “And besides, where will I keep finding the ammunition for it?”

I nodded in agreement, chuckling in spite of myself, then asked, “No sidearm?”

“Glad you asked.” Rig smirked, a burst of gray-colored light setting off as it appeared at her side, already wrapped in her levitation spell aura. At first, I was wondering how she did that. Then I realized- right, she's not limited on what kind of magic she can do. Unlike me (dammit).

Her sidearm was a Heller & Coach KP-12 (a Germane acronym for Kriegpistole, or war pistol, if I recall correctly). Little more than a fully-automatic pistol with no slide, a longer barrel and a side-mounted magazine, its uniqueness came from its cartridge. The weapon was designed around the experimental THV round, standing for Tres Haute Vitesse (Very High Speed in Prench). Though the supersonic nature of the cartridge (and the muzzle energy behind those little bastards) prevented use of a suppressor, the speed of those dart-shaped projectiles allowed them to easily penetrate armor. It may have had a lower rate of fire than most conventional machine pistols, but it boasted a degree of accuracy and range unseen in any other firearm of its size. Germane engineering with Prench ammunition made for an interesting choice for sure.

“Got this done before you got here, actually.” Rig scratched her mane. “Honestly, I didn't really modify it outside of giving it a reflex sight. Because really, the only problem with it is the ironsights. And boy are they ick. Now then... my other weapons.”

“I... beg your pardon?” I couldn't help but blink a few times.

“Of course, you had me give her CQC training,” Sly smiled, walking to her side. “This little gal picked out a couple melee weapons, the first of which I think you'll like...”

Rig smirked wide as her horn flared up brighter, a small spade appearing next to her in a burst of light.

“Is that a Spetsnaz throwing shovel?” I gawked.

“You bet it is,” the unicorn smiled. “Tried out a lot of things with Slyther. Edged weapons of all sorts, bludgeons, and even a powerhoof! In the end, it came down to the crowbar and the throwing shovel for my first choice. I just love the idea of using melee weapons that have alternate uses. And since you already have a crowbar, well... I thought I might as well go with this for diversity.”

With that, she turned around and whipped the shovel out of her magical grip. It spun in a slight arc through the air before the sharpened spade embedded a tad off-center of a wooden target.

“She still needs practice, but I'm sure she'll do fine,” Sly grinned as she tugged the shovel back to her side. “Plus, she's got S.A.T.S. for the times where it really counts.”

“And my other melee weapon of choice...” Rig said, another flash of light popping next to her along with an... industrial pickaxe?

“... before I say anything, why don't you explain your reasoning for this?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Truthfully, it's just because I like it.” She shrugged. “It just sorta... 'clicks' with me. Plus, I guess this is for when I need something with a bit more bite than the throwing shovel.”

“Well, seeing as I'm using an over-elaborate knife, I can't judge you there.” I nodded, smiling.

“That just leaves one thing,” Chief Thunderhooves piped up. “Armor, saddlebags, and ammunition. Now, as I run a weapon store, I lack the first two. Benson should have a good selection at his general store however. I am sure you will find something there.”

“Thank you, all of you.” Rig nodded. “Well, Frost? Let's go!”

“You go on ahead with Xamuros and Sly.” I smiled. “I... think I'll talk to Chief Thunderhooves for a bit.”

“Are you sure?” She canted her head to the side.

“Yeah, don't you wanna see what she picks out?” Sly grinned. “I mean, you sure, buddy?”

“Quite sure.” I nodded. “We have business to discuss anyways.”

Another partial truth.

“Well, alrighty then.” Sly shrugged. “C'mon, Rig, let's go!”

As the three headed out the door, Xamuros muttered, “Wait, neither of us wear armor. Why are we the ones doing this again when neither of us are qualified?”

After they left, I approached the buffalo ghoul and bowed. “Chief Thunderhooves, I... I am forever in your debt. Thank you so, so much...”

“Considering the weaponry and ammunition your friend is getting, you may as well be,” he chuckled. He then sighed, “But that is not the reason you thank me for, is it?”

I rose, nodding. “The photographs.”

He nodded in turn. “You are quite fortunate that no one else happened to come across them before I did. It would have certainly raised many questions.”

“Where did you find them?” I inquired.

“We are still clearing rubble from when we took back the city from the raiders,” Chief Thunderhooves told me. “I found both of them together in a home just off of the site of the Memorial. Upon seeing them, I immediately tore off the right third of the photo just in case. But... the second one... I knew I could not damage it in any such way.”

“And... by any chance do you still have that third with you?” I asked.

The buffalo ghoul nodded toward the main room and I followed him behind the counter into the storeroom. It was a spacious place with a high ceiling. Many of the pre-war light fixtures were still working despite the weight of so many years. Earth pony ingenuity, folks. But in this room were aisles and aisles of racks, and on all of these racks were boxes- of ammunition, of weapon components, of things even I didn't know of.

He led me to an unmarked box in a seemingly random aisle. He knocked the top off to reveal a safe. Opening it, he fished around inside and presented me with that missing third.

Yes... just as I remembered.

I swiftly slipped it behind my breastplate, the chief closed the safe and replaced the box, and we were back in the main room. We were quiet for a while. We both knew the importance of it all.

“... do you still think of Her?” Chief Thunderhooves broke the silence.

“Very often.” I nodded. “It is for that reason that I am forever in your debt for that photograph.”

He snorted, closing his eyes and smiling lightly. “Forever is a long, long time for us.”

“I'm well aware.”

The ghoul breathed a light sigh. “Have you told anyone else?”

“No.” I shook my head. “You're one of the few who know. Because you were there. And you saw the Memorial before it was destroyed.”

Chief Thunderhooves nodded lightly. “It is not easy, is it? The lies you must make?”

“It's only gotten harder.” I breathed out a misty sigh. “Luna only knows when I'll have to let it all out.”

“And you still blame yourself for everything?”

“All of it, yes.” I nodded lightly, inhaling sharply. “Chief Thunderhooves, if you were in my position, how would you deal with all of it? What would you do?”

“Hard to say,” he said as we met gazes. “I have lived long and seen many horrible things just as you have, Frost. Perhaps not as many, but I have seen horrible things. I will not 'beat around the bush', as you say it. I would have likely become withdrawn, possibly lose my mind to some degree. Possibly worse.”

“... worse?” I ventured.

“Killed someone who did not deserve it,” he said. “Or some people. I understand you went through intense mental training, however. Would that change anything? I cannot say. I am not you, and you are not me.”

I nodded slowly. “Well, how about something a little less morbid to talk about?”

“That would be preferable, yes,” Chief Thunderhooves spoke up. “What is on your mind?”

I faced him. “Does the name 'Azrael' mean anything to you?”

“Azrael.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “Hm... is that not a being related to pony mythology?”

“Equine theology, more specifically.” I nodded. “The Angel of Death. But, I'm namely speaking of a... griffin. A female one.”

“Ah... let me think.” He turned his gaze upward in deep thought. After a bit, he said, “Azrael... griffin. Yes, I heard her name a bit around here. If I recall correctly, I believe I heard some griffins talking about an Azrael recently moving into Stalliongrad with two others. This was about maybe three months ago, I believe? Three months, yes. I have heard little else. I cannot say I have personally met this Azrael of yours though.”

“Well... I thank you for telling what you know at least.” I sighed.

“What concerns you?” the buffalo asked.

“I have reason to suspect that this 'Azrael' is after my head,” I answered him. “During my most recent bounty hunt, I cheated a griffin of his prize in the process and perhaps humiliated him to some extent. I saw him talking with her before he trained his guns on me. Luckily, others around us took aim at them. They stood down and went away after that.”

“Was Azrael openly hostile to you?” he inquired. “You only stated that this male griffin you offended took aim at you.” Observant as always.

“Well... no.” I admitted. “But the griffin I cheated talking with another in such a manner... it doesn't sit well with me... especially because of this Azrael...”

“Go on.” Chief Thunderhooves pressed.

“Just... her eyes.” I bit my lip. “It was like she was tunneling into me with those eyes. And her voice... it's so much like the first Overmare of Stable Seventy-Two.”

“But she was not openly hostile to you?” he repeated.

“No, she wasn't,” I also repeated. “But I just can't shake the feeling.”

“Well, knowing your training, you will not have any problem taking her down if she is in fact hostile.” he leaned onto the counter with a smirk.

“I'll keep that in mind...” I sighed. Oh sure, training that I've long been out of practice with. “But let's cut the chit-chat. I have a feeling the others will be back soon. Let's talk actual business.” I waited as he nodded before continuing. “So, with what I have given, how much do I owe you for the training and weaponry?”

“At the moment, three-hundred caps,” he answered. Wow. He was being really generous to me today. “But remember, she has not yet purchased ammunition.”

Oh. Right.

“We're baaaaaaaaack!” Sly exclaimed in a sing-song tone as he swung the door open.

And because the Wasteland hates me with the intensity of a thousand burning suns, I had the luck of being right where the door would swing. Thank goodness I reacted fast enough to stop it with my hoof.

At the very least, I have some capacity to create my own luck.

“Hey, where's Frost?” I could hear the giant ask.

“Almost crushed to death,” I said, walking around the door to greet the-

Whoa.

Just... whoa.

Rig was wearing what looked like the typical Stable engineering utility/safety barding. Everything else was covered by a layer of what looked like cobalt-blue segments of armor with black, corrugated matte filling in between them. On her head was a welding helmet, currently flipped up. It consisted of a smooth, slightly bowled steel plate reinforced with additional pieces of the same cobalt armor along with a panel for unicorns so the horn wouldn't get in the way. A single, black, rectangular lens of reinforced glass would allow her to see once it was flipped down. A pair of standard saddlebags were slung across her back.

“Whatcha think?” The unicorn smiled.

“Modified engineering wear,” I chuckled. “Honestly, I should've seen it coming.”

“More importantly, what do you think?” Xamuros asked her.

“I love it!” she squealed. “It's just such a wonderful familiar feeling! Can you believe they had it on clearance? Only fifty caps!” Multiple flashes of light went off as a flurry of different types of wrenches, a pair of screwdrivers, a welding torch, a hammer, and all sorts of related things popped up next to her. “And I have my tools back!” She squeed in delight before teleporting them back into her saddlebags.

“Good to know.” I smiled. “How's the weight?”

“The armor plating weighs it down a little, but it's still pretty light even with my saddlebags,” Rig answered. “So! Ammo!”

“Alright, then, little one.” Chief Thunderhooves smiled. “What can I get for you?”

Well, she got her ammunition alright. I suppose her PipBuck made it easier on her with the inventory management system at least. She purchased at least one-hundred rounds of ammunition for both weapons in addition to shells for her launcher.

And grenades.

She definitely had that explosive personality... fragmentation, HE (high-explosive, kids, high-explosive), EMP (electromagnetic pulse, kids- you can put your hooves down), thermite...

The last one alone made me wary about being around her again.

“And that brings the total to five-hundred-seventy-two caps.” The buffalo ghoul finished typing it all into the register, eying me.

“Again, thank you, all of you.” I smiled at all of them as I fished through my saddlebags for the payment, taking a bit to get the number right before sliding the pouch to him.

A chime came from Rig's PipBuck, and we both looked at the screen. “Resupply at Stalliongrad” was marked as complete.

“A pleasure to do business.” The old buffalo nodded. “Now go and have fun. Something tells me Frost will be joining in, too.”

“What do you mean, Chief?” Xamuros raised an eyebrow.

“I was... going to tell you all that I'm taking you up on the offer for the Rusty Steed tonight.” I smiled.

“Oh you are, huh?” The zebra grinned.

“Yeah, and food and drinks are on me tonight,” I nodded, then glared, “but don't think about exploiting that too much. I don't want to see anyone get drunk.”

“Psshaw, I only get buzzed at best.” Sly swatted a hoof.

Chief Thunderhooves, Xamuros, and myself promptly provided blank, unconvinced stares at him.

“... shut up,” he grumbled.

“We didn't say anything.” The zebra sneered.

“I said shut up!”

“... do I really want to know?” Rig asked, blinking in confusion.

“You really don't,” I answered. And then something occurred to me. “Rig? How old are you anyways?”

“Seventeen,” she answered. “Eighteen in another month, actually. Why?”

“... close enough.”

* * *

The Rusty Steed was, from what I'm told, an indoor powered wagon dealership up to the day the megaspells fell. Back then, it was actually called the “Trusty Steed”. After taking the city back from the raiders, though, the “T” had apparently fallen off. The name stuck, and the Rusty Steed was converted into a pub. It had a nice, homey atmosphere to it. Luna only knows how they managed to get such nice seat cushions and tables. The bar was also a big one for lots of equines to enjoy- after all, it was an indoor autowagon dealership. It was also usually crowded around the hour we arrived.

And when it's crowded, it gets very noisy.

“Now I remember why I don't ever come here,” I grumbled, ears tucked back under the chatter of the other bargoers around us. And they were just talking at normal conversation volume, too. We're talking a pretty big pub here. We were even in the corner, in a booth all too ourselves with drinks and pub-grub for all of us.

“Aw, cheer up, buddy,” Sly grinned, pausing to guzzle a bit at his drink, “we're here to have fun, catch up!”

“What?” Rig rose her voice over the clamor, pausing in her meal for the moment. “What did you say?”

The three of us waved our hooves in panic. “Nonono, don't-”

And because of this rise in volume, it made everyone else have a harder time hearing anyone else. So they raised their voices to make sure they were heard. And the others raised their voices to make sure they were heard. And so it repeated again and again.

I facehoofed and promptly glared at her.

“Sorry.” She shrugged apologetically.

“Quiet down!” the magically-amplified voice of the bartender rang out.

And it got quieter again.

“Thank you...” Xamuros muttered under his breath.

Now that we could all speak at at a normal volume, I cleared my throat and smiled. “Xamuros, Sly... thank you so much for the piano. It means much to me.”

“The what?” Rig asked.

“Oh... right.” I facehoofed. I hadn't told her. “They uncovered a piano, a sort of pre-war instrument.”

“Yeah, I know what that is.” She nodded. “We had some books at our Stable too.”

“Right then, well... both of them were nice enough to work on restoring it for me. I'm very grateful.”

“Thought you'd love it.” The zebra smiled. “I actually didn't even know that you played until Sly told me how he found it. After that, though, I spent a bit of time during my off-hours restoring the woodwork and paint. I gotta say- finding reagents for the proper potions is not easy when we're so close to the Far North. But I'm glad you like it. That aside, how'd you two meet each other anyways?”

“Oh, us?” I motioned at Rig and then to myself. “We happened... to cross paths with my most recent bounty.” I didn't know if she was still touchy about it. I decided not to find out.

“I was in chains and a bomb collar.” Rig put flatly.

Oh. Well, I guess not.

“Heh, so the oh-so-overdone damsel in distress, hm?” Xamuros chuckled.

“Xamuros...” I frowned at him.

“Well... it's kinda true.” The young mare shrugged, kicking at the floor a little as she looked away. She then looked up with that sparkle in her eyes. “But not anymore.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself.” Sly took another swig. “You haven't been in a real firefight just yet. Targets? They move in predictable patterns or just plain stand still. Raiders? They don't. And targets don't shoot back at you either.”

Rig grumbled and cross her hooves.

“We'll get to that eventually.” I assured her with a pat on the back. “Raider nests always keep popping up around the Manehattan area. Just let me draw the fire first, alright? We'll get you up to speed one raider at a time.” That seemed to cheer her up a little at least, as she smiled lightly at me then took a look at her drink. “By the way, I never asked you about this, Rig. What kind of magic can you do?”

“Magic?” she chuckled, scratching the back of her head. “Well, not too much. I can do telekinesis just fine and I can do a bit of teleportation. Honestly, I haven't really gotten the hang of teleporting myself from place to place, but I can teleport other objects just fine. Just... not ponies. I also know a soldering spell.”

“Ah, that explains the weapons and tools then,” I nodded.

She nodded, taking a light sip at her drink. She promptly screwed her up face and slid the mug away. “Blegh, what is this stuff?”

“Alcohol,” I chuckled. “Now you know why I don't come here ordinarily.”

“Ponies drink this stuff?” Rig stared in amazement, eyes widening as Sly continued to guzzle his drink down. “Isn't it flammable?”

“Well yeah, and zebras and griffins and buffalo drink it too,” Xamuros shrugged, sipping at his own. “Pfft... Stable ponies...”

Rig looked at me with a bewildered expression, motioning at both of them. I just shrugged at her. “So, how's work in Stalliongrad?” I asked Sly, turning to him.

“Again, damn slow.” The giant sighed, setting down his drink. “I mean, you ever see a criminal here? Hardly any Regulator work, really. I have to head down south if I feel the itch. Otherwise, I just work on maintaining the walls.”

“And I already told you about what I do.” Xamuros took another sip. “Same old story.”

“By the way, I'm surprised you didn't tell your friend about us,” Sly snickered at me.

“Kinda wanted to surprise her.” I smiled. “But seriously,” I turned to the young mare, “would you have believed me if I told you I had a buffalo ghoul, a zebra, and a giant pony for friends?”

“Uhhhh... probably not,” Rig laughed a little. “We did chat a bit on the way to Benson's, though. They talked about how you met them.”

Oh dear Goddess.

“What about?” I inquired, hiding my worry behind a level tone and a light grin.

“I just asked how they knew you, that's it,” she answered. “So you really helped everypony here take back Stalliongrad from the raiders?”

“A few years ago, yes,” I nodded. “It's... nothing too much though.”

“You somehow knew about the sewer networks underneath the city.” Xamuros pointed a hoof at me, eyebrow raised. “And you knew enough to help us catch the raiders completely by surprise. I think that's more than 'nothing too much'... great, now I've gone and remembered the smell... and what a cussing labyrinth it is down there...”

“Yeah, how'd you know so much about that anyways?” Sly asked.

“You remember how I told you how we had this big library back at Stable Seventy-Two, right?” I brought up. “Stalliongrad sort of piqued my interest, so I did my research on the city and its involvement during the war. I had no idea it would actually help me and hundreds of others though. When I joined the camps and overheard how everyone wanted to take the city back but couldn't manage it, I just lent them my aid is all. Didn't remember every single tunnel, but I knew the main ones.”

“I'll say.” Xamuros slid his now-empty mug aside. “You nearly has us pop out under the ringleader's stronghold!”

“That was actually a lucky guess,” I admitted. “I was actually aiming for a more remote area of town so we could move into the city undetected. Kinda worked out in the end.”

“You'll have to tell me more about that sometime.” Rig smiled. “Sounds like a good story.”

“Hah, you bet it is!” Sly chuckled. “He's quite the storyteller, you know.”

“Really now?” She looked at me.

“Ehhh... it's only because we had the books.” I sprouted an ice arm to slip under my my helm to scratch the back of my neck. “I just add a little personal flair to them.”

“Well, you certainly have a way of telling them.” Xamuros smiled. “Oh, hey, did I ever tell you about the time that-”

I wasn't listening. I caught black movement on a table in the distance. And then I saw her.

Azrael.

The cloaked griffin was seated with Silas. From the looks of it, they'd been there for a while. How did I not notice that before?

Those blank, white eyes locked with mine for a split second. She turned away, appearing to say something to Silas. Despite Chief Thunderhooves words, I couldn't help but feel that something was going on...

But before I could do anything about it, the bartender yelped, “Radio on! Cut the chit-chat and listen up!”

The bar fell dead quiet. Everypony and everyone instinctively and immediately dropped their chatter (and proceeded to knock unconscious the ones too drunk to do so). I met a glance with the distant griffin for a moment longer before we all did the same. The mare bartender was adjusting the volume on the old set, wires sticking out all over the place.

“What's going on?” Rig whispered to me.

“City-wide radio,” I whispered back in response. “The only time it ever comes up is if we have unidentified people approaching the city. Now be quiet and listen.”

“This is Militia Chief Snowbourne to wall one, quadrant three,” the radio crackled with a male voice. “Is there an officer on station? If so, keep it Equestrian. Not all of us know Russyin.”

“This is officer-on-station Sparks,” came a female reply. “Copy that.”

“Officer Sparks, what is the situation?”

“We've got three griffins approaching the city. They have not stopped to identify themselves and are in our killzone.”

“Are they airborne?” Snowbourne queried.

“Negative, they're grounded,” Sparks replied. “Zasili is on-station and trying to hail them.”

“Any luck?”

“Hang on for a moment, chief, they're responding now.” A pause. The seconds ticked by. “The griffins identified themselves as members of the 'Dead Boys,' chief. Do we have any records on them?”

I felt my blood run colder than usual. I think Chief Thunderhooves was feeling the same thing at his store. I instinctively felt at my breastplate, the old photographs pressing against me. The Dead Boys... that brigade has been truly dead for a long time gone. What the fuck were these griffins doing, sauntering about with a title they didn't deserve?

“No solid copy, repeat your last,” Snowbourne crackled.

“The griffins are identifying themselves as members of the Dead Boys. Chief, do we have any records on these guys?”

“Solid copy, checking as we speak.” Another long pause. Every second that ticked by only made my heart hammer faster.

And then I caught sight of Azrael and Silas. They were shooting each other odd glances. That wasn't a good sign.

Wait... I focused and got a better look. Silas looked... worried?

Then that was an even worse sign.

Rig's PipBuck chimed. We both looked at the screen. It had a new mission. I read it, but I couldn't believe it. I blinked, but the words remained. My blood ran colder.

It read “Defend Stalliongrad”.

For everyone's sake, I hoped that Stable-Tec messed up on that behalf.

“Officer Sparks, we have no record of any Dead Boys of any sort,” Snowbourne finally sputtered out over the radio. “Any new developments?”

“One second, one second...” Sparks paused. Good Goddess, I hated these pauses! “Chief, they're demanding custody of three of our own.”

“Custody of who, Officer Sparks? Did they give any names?”

In spite of myself, the grammar policepony inside of me wanted to question whether or not it was grammatically correct to substitute “who” for “whom”.

“What?” Sparks seemed to be chattering with some one else. “Who? Uhhh, Chief, do we know any- Damn it, Vicks, what? Three?... Chief, do we know any griffins, last name Razorwing? They claim there's three of them.”

“Fuck.”

It was at this moment that everypony and everyone turned to look at the source of that voice: Silas. Or rather, Silas Razorwing.

“Affirmative on that, Officer Sparks,” Snowbourne crackled out, our attention shifting back to the radio set, “but tell them we don't.”

More speaking to someone away from the radio and yet another Goddessdamn pause. “Chief, these Dead Boy griffins claim that they have actionable intelligence that the Razorwings are in Stalliongrad and will refuse to leave without them in custody. Tried to call their bluff. Didn't work.”

“Clarify.”

“They're listening to us as we speak.”

The militia chief paused for a few seconds. Then he spoke, “Foxtrot Sierra.”

NETO code for F-S. In this case, it was their code for Frequency Switch. They were bringing the ghost channel online, but it would take a bit of time.

I glanced at Silas to find him starting to leave the bar with Azrael following behind him, every footstep generating a resounding thud on the tiled floor. Silas had his revolvers drawn. Everyone noticed.

I shot glances at my friends. Sly and Xamuros glanced back in turn. They seemed to realize what was about to happen. Rig just had an expression of worry.

“Tell them that we will not, I repeat, will not hoof over the Razorwings,” Snowbourne ordered after the wait was over.

Another pause.

“Chief, the griffins are not backing down and will take the Razorwings by force,” Sparks reported. “Permission to engage?”

“Permission granted,” the militia chief responded without hesitation.

The crack of a mortar shell explosion followed by the pop of rifle fire rang out over the radio.

A few seconds passed.

“Officer Sparks reporting. Hostiles neutral-”

The rest was lost over a ghastly whine. I knew that sound.

Incoming Ripper-class autocannon shells.

“Snowbourne to Officer Sparks, status report!” the chief crackled through the radio. “Damn it, come in!”

“Sparks to Snowbourne!” By the hurried voice and complete disregard for specified rank, things were escalating. “We've got incoming cannon fire from beyond our killzone and multiple airborne hostiles approaching the city! Request immediate-”

Oh Goddess. Zasili...

“Matchbox to Snowbourne, wall one, quadrant two! We've been hit hard by arty fire! Multiple casualties sustained and hostiles incoming by air! We need reinforcements on-”

“Flare to Snowbourne, wall one, quadrant four! Wall breached! I repeat, wall breached!”

Everyone was already rushing out, weapons drawn, some pulling out communications headsets as the radio blared, “This is Chief Snowbourne. All combat-ready personnel are to report to their stations, aerial threat designation. All non-combat personnel are to pull back and withdraw into the sewers. Mind that we've got griffins on our side too, people- watch your fire. Identify then shoot. Hostiles are wearing black combat armor and skull faceplates. Numbers unknown at this time. Use of heavy air defense weaponry permitted. Await further orders.”

“Chief Thunderhooves reporting!” I heard the buffalo ghoul over the radio. “Full discount on weapons and ammunition! Grab it and go!”

Ice armor solidified around me as I whipped out Luna's Judgment, swapping for a different drum. I snagged one that had a blue shell exposed on it. Flechette shells. Perfect.

“They hay we supposed to do?!” Rig cried out in panic as she scrambled along after me, Sly and Xamuros beside us.

“Fight back!” I told her, taking out Night Fang and quick-drawing Midnight Talon. “Sly, Xamuros- Rig and I are heading for Hammer and Horns first! I'll hook up later! Rig, stay with me and put that training to good use! No one's going to hold your hoof!” With that, we began to split off in the crowd and break into the streets.

Kids, you ever witnessed a firefight, even a small one? Ever heard a gunshot? I'm sure you all have at some point. Unless those things are suppressed, those things are damn loud.

Now imagine hundreds upon hundreds of them going off at once. Little cartridges. Intermediate cartridges. Machine gun rounds. Big, heavy, radio-proximity flak rounds. Outside was chaos.

And the poor girl wasn't ready for it.

Rig stumbled, covering her ears with her hooves as she fell to the cold, cracked road. Gunfire erupted around us, tracer rounds and flares lighting up the night sky as Stalliongrad was under siege once again. Anyone who wasn't properly armed scrambled for the factories or armories. Those that were proceeded to their stations, taking shots at the black-armored griffins as they did the same. Cracks. Pops. Shouted orders, shouted death.

Outside was chaos. Organized chaos. Organized, bloody chaos.

And in the organized, bloody chaos, I only just realized I left Rig behind. She was about twenty meters behind me, still down on the ground, covering her ears, so foreign to the cacophony of battle.

I rushed back to her and yelled, “Get up! Dammit, get! Up!” I yanked her to her feet and roared, “Get your head in the fucking game and get... up!”

I didn't mean to do that. I really didn't want to ever do that again.

But it had the desired effect as she snapped out of it, pulling her hooves away with a wince. She steeled herself and magically flipped her welding helmet down, teleporting Luna's Fortitude out as she weakly nodded at me.

“I can't walk you through everything anymore!” I yelled as we made for the Hammer and Horns double-time. “Start learning how to gallop!”

We made a break for the weapons store, taking potshots at the griffins that bore down onto us. One of these “Dead Boys” swooped down for a strafing gun, his battle saddle-mounted heavy machine guns tearing up the street.

“Side dive!” I yelled. I had no time to relay the full order, but Rig got the point as we dove out of the line of fire. Seconds later a streak of smoke and a deafening crack later, the griffin was a blood-red mist with sprinkles of metal. Sly sped past us like a blur, his dual rocket launcher battle saddle leaving a smoke trail behind him. That's my Sly, scoring a direct hit on an airborne target with a rocket launcher.

“Is there any way we can get to the store without getting shot up?!” Rig shouted unnecessarily loud over the clamor, voice oddly reverberating from her helmet.

My mind raced as we got to our feet. Then I realized we had dodged into an alleyway. “The alleys! We can use them for cover!”

We raced toward the other end, intent on reaching our position.

But the Wasteland decided it still hated me with the intensity of a thousand burning suns.

I heard the flap of wings and time seemed to slow down. I reacted on instinct. I spun around, already knowing that the griffin was about to dive-bomb into me. And so I had a better look at these Dead Boys. He- scratch that. She wore skeletal armor, black with alternating bands the color of decaying flesh. And there was the face plate, that of a griffin giving a Rebel Yell, eyes exposed and bloodshot. And I saw those powerfists making their way down for me. My armor- ice and Lunar Guard- wouldn't protect me from those, not by a long shot.

Surprisingly, Rig fired first, the armor-piercing 7.62 SR rounds living to their name as the griffin twitched and slowly squinted her eyes in this slowly passing time, the bullets biting into her chest. I finished the job by filling her face with super-sharp, metal darts.

Time snapped back to the normal pace as the griffin's head snapped back and I kicked off out of the way before she fell on me, looking at Rig. “Okay, bad idea! Alleys suck, always have!” As we backed out for the streets, I added, “Oh, and nice shot!”

“Thanks!” she yelled back, still unnecessarily loud. She probably used S.A.T.S., but I didn't care. As long as it didn't become a crutch, I'm still satisfied. A dead enemy is a dead enemy, no matter how you kill it.

We reached the Hammer and Horns within ten minutes of hectic galloping and diving out of incoming fire, taking shots at the Dead Boys all the while. It looked like Chief Thunderhooves already cleaned the whole inventory out, as multitudes of ponies and griffins- even a buffalo- rushed out of the entrance, taking to the fight from the ground and meeting them in the skies. Others had taken up in freshly-fortified positions on the roof. That was where we were headed.

“Come on, Rig, up the fire escape!” I directed her toward an adjacent apartment building, where a wide plank bridge spanned the gap between the two buildings.

“The what?!” she yelled back.

“The-the-” I stammered. Goddessdamn it, she was a Stable pony. I growled, “Just get up the stairs and watch the gap!”

The unicorn mare began shooting up the rickety, metal steps. In the meantime, ice muscle tendrils snaked around my legs as I jumped about halfway up the side of the warehouse, kicking off of the wall and back to that fire escape to head up the rest of the way. Skipping stairs as I went and galloping over the plank that bridged the gap, I reached the top and slid into a wall of sandbags next to a group of battle saddle-equipped ponies.

“Sitrep!” I called out over the gunfire, now adding to it myself as I worked to keep incoming griffins at bay with my flechette rounds.

“We're holding, just barely!” a deep-red mare with two machine guns answered back. “Chyort, what the hay did those Razorwings do to warrant so many of these bastards?!”

“No idea!” I shouted back, ducking under the sandbags in time with the others as a volley of return fire pockmarked our cover.

I took this moment of forced respite to glance at the fire escape where I left Rig behind. The armored mare was now near the top, the only thing separating us being the five-meter gap between the two buildings. She was about to run across the plank that spanned the two buildings when the fire that had us pinned scattered across the roof deck, chewing up the time-eaten wood and causing it to snap, sagging in the middle. No way she was going across that.

“Dammit!” I growled. “Rig, stay back and get down! I'll meet you once the fire lets up on-”

It was then that she crouched down and flung herself across the gap, legs spreadeagled. She landed hard on the deck, crawling to my side. I could see her wink behind that welder's helmet.

“... nice.”

Yeah, that was honestly all I could remark at the moment.

“So what's the plan?!” she yelled, firing off quick hammer-taps from Luna's Fortitude.

“A little loud, aren't we?” the same red mare shot at her as we opened back up on the skies.

“She's new to this!” I explained then turned back to Rig. “Okay, you stay put here!” I could already see her opening her mouth behind that helmet. “Before you say anything, this isn't one of those 'so you can stay safe' things! This... is... a... test! I'm counting on you to keep the fire up on the griffins! Don't let 'em so much as set a claw through the front door! Now, you're practically all-quiet with that suppressor in this firefight, so try shooting at them from other angles! Get to another rooftop if you have to, alright? You hold the Hammer and Hooves with these ponies without losing it and without getting seriously injured, you've earned the right to fight by my side! Got it?”

“Got it!” she shouted back, determined eyes sparkling through the lens. “What about you?!”

“I've got to get to the nearby factory!” I ducked back down to reload. “Gonna hook up with Sly and Xamuros! Don't let me down, alright?”

Rig held a hoof up in affirmation.

Then a Dead Boy griffin sprung up from the side of the building, gripping the neck of the machine gunner mare beside me. She was yanked off down off the side of the warehouse, screaming as she plummeted the long way down. That skeletal griffin came back for more and I still hadn't replaced the drum magazine, but I still had one in the chamber. I took the shot, flechettes tearing into his chest, and I brought the hooked end of the crowbar down on his head for good measure, sending him plummeting down as well.

What I didn't count on was that he brought friends. Three more griffins clambered over the sides, and I knew Night Fang wouldn't be able to punch through that armor. Nor could I reload Luna's Judgment in time.

The world became an orange, smoky haze as flames consumed the Dead Boys, sending them falling to earth with horrid cries of agony. The stench of burnt flesh and feathers stung at my nostrils. I growled in pain myself, the heat sapping my magic once again. My ice armor fell off of me in cracked chunks, and my weapons clattered to the roof deck as my ice arms fell to pieces.

I craned my neck to see Rig, a recently-teleported M12 flamethrower floating next to her. She proceeded to look over the side of the roof into the alley below, ducking back when rounds bit at the air around her. She then hosed down the area with jets of flaming hydrazine, those horrid cries filling the air again.

“What the...” I stared. “What the fuck?! You could have killed me!”

“Well I didn't!” Rig retorted, levitating Luna's Fortitude alongside the M12. “So let me have my fun since I'm stuck here!”

By the looks of the other ones guarding this rooftop, they were just as keen on her idea of 'fun' as I was.

“Fine, fine, whatever!” I grumbled, getting to my hooves. “Just cover me so I can get rid of this damn burnout!”

“Got it!” the unicorn cackled as she continued to spew out liquid death into the alleys below, checking around the other sides while I closed my eyes and concentrated. My horn sparked once, twice. Flared up a little. I kept focusing on that feeling.

A bullet whizzed by and my restoration attempt imploded, a very uncomfortable tingle crawling up and down my horn as I winced from the sensation.

“Sorry!” I could hear Rig calling out.

Oh. That was her bullet.

“Just watch your fire!” I yelled before trying to focus again, trying so very hard amidst the cries, the gunshots, the explosions.

Spark, fizzle.

Spark.

Spark.

Spark.

Flare.

I focused on that flare and my horn was suffused with that familiar, soft warmth, a halo of ice forming and collapsing into it, my blue aura sheathing it once more before winking out.
I opened my eyes. Alright. This was the fun part.

I whipped up Luna's Judgment, reloading quickly as I iced down my saddlebags, ensuring they would stay shut. I sheathed myself in ice armor once more, sprouting six blade-like extensions from my back, three on each side. They extended out to about double my body length, bending in the middle. They were wide yet thin, and ice muscles were snaked around their bases.

Yeah, that's right, folks. I can make wings.

“You're kidding me!” Rig stared. “You can fly?!”

“Remember when I told you about how I couldn't travel like I normally could with you?” I grinned wide, my smooth, blade-like appendages crinkling as I tested them. “This is how I normally travel! Now don't let me down here, Rig!”

And with that, I dove off the roof and snapped my six wings shut behind me, thrusting myself down to the streets before whipping them open and gliding up higher and higher, leaving her behind as I made my way for the factories.

Ah... I loved the feeling of wind rushing past me like that.

Now I'm no natural flier. I can't pull all the fancy maneuvers you griffins can. I can climb, dive, roll, steer, accelerate, brake, and pull a jink maneuver. I could even fly backwards if I had to. But little else. No fancy acrobatics for me. At least I can be pretty fast if I need to.

And as my luck would have it, when those Dead Boys saw a unicorn in Lunar Guard armor flying with six ice wings, they couldn't resist turning to look, maybe take a few shots. Whatever the case, it distracted some of them long enough to get them killed. But, of course, it also got me some tailgaters.

I jinked up and down as bullets zipped past me. I formed a mirror to see I had two Dead Boys on my tail. I banked into another street, an ice arm whipping Night Fang out and spraying behind me. Given the fact that I wasn't exactly keen on flying backwards and that she wasn't exactly good for armored targets, I was just hoping to clip some unprotected wings. Should've known my luck better. My shots either cleanly missed or pinged off of their armor.

Yet another interruption, this time by a griffin who asked why he didn't just cloak himself and avoid having to go through all this trouble.

As much as I wanted to cloak myself, that requires a... very specific thickness of ice around me. A rather thin thickness. In most situations, sure, I would've cloaked. But in the middle of a massive battle? With bullets zipping everywhere already? Survival became more important. Especially since by now a good dozen or so lower-caliber rounds had pinged off of me.

But anyways... my griffin pursuers.

I pulled a slow, gentle roll, dodging incoming fire as I whipped out Luna's Judgment, focusing. I stopped mid-roll, looking down and behind me to aim as I mustered up my old training and experience. Time drew to a crawl, vision hazing and tunneling as I aimed down the simple, three-pronged sights of Luna's Judgment. Pull, quick-pump, pull, quick-pump. Two shots, aimed at the beating wings of the closer griffin. Shot one barely nicked my intended target. Shot two caught it on the downbeat, feathers, flesh, and muscle rent apart as the Dead Boy griffin dropped slowly, ever so slowly in this state of time. Not missing a beat, body straining as I struggled to keep focused, I trained Luna's Judgment on the second griffin, waiting for that upbeat. The moment it came, two pulls, two pumps. He started to bend back now as time resumed a normal pace, my focus breaking as a shot whizzed by. Target one dove spiraling to the ground, smashing into the pavement with a hard, raw crack, rolling a few times. Target two bent upwards, still carried a bit by his last wing-beat. Slammed hard into a lamppost, spinning back before landing on the cracked streets with a metallic yet fleshy thump.

Who says you can't double-tap a pump-action shotgun?

I had no more tailgaters. It was a straight shot to the factory, my objective, my designated area of protection. This one was one of the sturdy fortresses that were the lifeblood of the City of Blood and Iron- Izmash. I had no idea what it meant or what it translated to, but I knew what it meant to me.

AK heaven. For this was just one of the factories they were produced at.

Slanted, segmented roofing lined with blast-resistant surfaces. Large, shatterproof windows- all cracked but still holding together. Towering smokestacks, imposing obelisks of concrete and rebar. And gray. All gray. Those columns were still spewing out thick, black, acrid fumes as the factory still ran. Folks, the Stalliongrad factories stop for nothing- not even a firefight.

The Dead Boys appeared to have broken through the outer defenses and were taking the fight inside, Gunshots echoed out and flashes of gunfire lit up the darkened windows. Shouted commands rose above the din of battle. I touched down past the chain-link fence that surrounded the compound, ice wings sublimating as I quickly but quietly made my way to the factory doors to assess the situation.

The interior of Izmash was mayhem to begin with already. The shop floor- the large main room where the assembly line was located- consisted of cramped interiors filled with all manner of weapons assembly machinery dimly lit by the barely functioning pre-war light fixtures, catwalks criss-crossing the area high above. The mostly automated machinery continued working even under fire. Pistons jerked, gears turned, cranks swiveled, arms pivoted, and presses stamped. One wrong step, one loose bit of hair, feather, or clothing... and you could easily find yourself caught in the clockwork. There were only a few ways out of this area. Break rooms and entry to the weapons testing areas were accessible on the ground floor while the office complex was accessible only via the catwalks leading to a doorway a the back of the room.

But outside of these general ideas of finding one's way around the factory, it was nothing but a mess at Izmash.

So that made me wonder- why the hay was there so much fighting going on here? Dead Boys were all over the place- in the narrow aisles between machinery, in the air trying to reach the catwalks. Just absolutely all over the place, trying to make their way, as it would appear, deeper inside.

They weren't getting through primarily for two reasons.

One, our boys and girls knew the factory. They knew how to fight in them, too. The ponies knew there was a method to the madness of the shop floor- they knew the layout. And so they attacked from all sorts of odd angles, forcing the Dead Boys in between the machinery where they were at a disadvantage. They were using corners and the machinery itself to control the ranges and angles of engagement, never letting the enemy have a fair firefight.

Two, our boys and girls had some neat little toys. Remember that full-body ballistic armor I told you about, the ones factory workers wore while Stalliongrad was almost constantly under fire?

Yeah, they still had those lying around. And- forgive my choice words here- they were simply abso-fucking-lutely badass.

Yellowed and browned by age, the suits only looked even more imposing as the earth pony stallions behind them lumbered into battle, machine guns sputtering out brass death to keep the Dead Boys pinned (What, you think unicorns or griffins of lesser musculature could use those suits in a firefight? Hey, I'm a unicorn myself here! I know my kind's limitations!). While the others could use the layout of the shop floor to their advantage to engage the Dead Boys on their own terms, they couldn't pin them down from every angle. So whatever angle they couldn't take- open areas with little cover for instance- they brought in the fully-armored stallions. I didn't know what the Dead Boys were thinking, but if a near-direct hit from the odd howitzer shell that crashed through a factory roof couldn't tear those suits apart, small-arms fire and grenades wouldn't do the trick. Watching one of those ponies slowly but strongly advance through punishment after punishment and still come back for more could strike fear into even the most battle-hardened hearts.

And it certainly worked against the Dead Boys. They were panicked and fighting a losing battle in the dark, confusing twists and turns of the shop floor. They were getting chewed up, often unable to take flight from the danger of getting caught in the machinery.

But as they say, who dares wins. And those Dead Boys knew how to dare, I'll give them that much.

Some of them managed to slip through the maelstrom and clambered onto the catwalks, returning fire against the ones who formerly had the advantage. As more and more Dead Boys started to do this and almost ignore the sluggish, armored stallions, the ponies of Stalliongrad started to lose ground and pull back into the weapons testing areas and office complex, taking losses all the while. The Dead Boys were getting a much-needed morale boost from breaking the stranglehold and were pushing forward, deeper into the factory.

But they weren't expecting anyone from behind, I thought as I surveyed the action. And so I topped off my magazines, thinned my ice armor and cloaked myself, running along easily with my hoofsteps covered by the boisterous machinery.

I didn't know Izmash as well as the mares and stallions who worked it, but I knew the Haylorist theory of production streamlining enough and made guesses grounded on basic factory knowledge and how one would optimize production through architecture. I took a stairway up to the catwalks, working myself toward the office complex. I decided that the testing area had enough decent cover and confusion for the Stalliongrad citizens to use to their advantage, but the offices were straightforward enough for the griffins to make sense of. That's where most of the hell would go down, and that's where I was headed, shadowing the Dead Boy griffin that took the rear.

My suspicions turned out to be true. The offices were getting taken fast by the Dead Boys, the Stalliongrad ponies starting to panic and retreat under fire. The office complex was organized like any other typical one. Rows of cubicles formed of cheap plasters and fabrics were separated by wide aisles. There was little cover and it was near impossible to form a good defensive position here, and the Stalliongrad ponies knew it as they kept pulling back deeper toward the administrative sector. I saw a mare go down as she fled from the cubicles, shot in the hindleg by a lever-action rifle. She was still scrambling, reaching out for her comrades who were forced to leave her behind. A second shot through the back of her head finished the job as the Dead Boys pushed forth.

I looked around. All enemy eyes were forward, confidence returning to the Dead Boys after pushing through such a choke-hold. I counted eleven of the bastards and made my move. Nobody bothered looking back now. Everything was perfect. Now was the time to strike.

I formed an ice arm, letting a gap show in my ice cloak for just a moment to whip out Midnight Talon. I turned her down into a reverse grip then performed a Viper to pop her open in a flash. With only an ice arm and an ebony blade showing, those griffins would have to look hard to spot me as I dashed forward, covered by the gunfire, shouts, and the machinery behind me. I overtook the Dead Boy taking the rear, plunging the hellhound blade into the back of his head and keeping it in as I kept moving, slicing his head open and spattering the nearby cubicle wall panel with fresh blood and cerebrospinal fluid. He crumpled in a heap, unnoticed by his now-cocky friends as they took positions to storm the hasty barricades erected in the administrative sector ahead. I took them down in order from behind, one by one, quickly and quietly, never stopping. I always went for the kill, went for the head. If I couldn't reach it, I tore open their necks. If I couldn't get at their necks, I slipped a hoof over to knock up their faceplates, muffling their cries of surprise with an icy hoof and plunging Midnight Talon through the shoulder into a lung and tearing back. By the time five griffins were down, the rest were wondering why it had gotten so quiet on their side... and noticed the bodies.

I took position on a desk overlooking my most recent kill, preparing an ambush as they sent a pair to investigate, not willing to sacrifice the momentum they built in this push. Fools.

The pair approached and I spurred into action as they passed the bodies. Now that they were listening for footsteps, they were already starting to turn around. But they weren't fast enough. I brought Midnight Talon up, slashing across the faceplate of the female griffin closest to me. The blade sheared right through the metal, letting out a horrid screeching sound as the plate was sliced cleanly off... along with her eyes. As she cried out in agony, I brought the blade back into the next Dead Boy, who reacted fast enough to block my ice arm, blade just barely too far away from his face. Now making myself visible and forming ice muscle tendrils along my hooves, I brought one up hard into his chest. The surprise of an ice-covered unicorn stallion in outlandish armor seemingly materializing out of thin air combined with the tendril-enhanced uppercut did its job and his breath went out of him and his block fell slack. I seized my advantage, pushing forth once more and Midnight Talon plunged into his throat. I tore sideways, ripping apart the jugular vein and whipped the body behind me into the blinded female behind me as she began to fire just that- blindly. Feeling the weight against her, she instinctively fired into the body of her dead comrade as it slammed into her and I stabbed through the temple to finish her off.

Instinct and experience took over and I vaulted over the cubicles and out of the hallway. The gunfire and cries of pain would surely draw attention, and I no longer had the element of surprise on my side. The four remaining Dead Boys ceased their advance and started to double back to engage the threat that had taken down so many of their brethren in such short order. Stowing Midnight Talon away and pulling Luna's Judgment out, I was prepared for up-close-and-personal business. Expecting heavier calibers, I increased the thickness of my ice armor, absorbing the muscle tendrils in the process. It would be a necessary sacrifice.

My guesses were spot-on as the first griffin who headed the quartet simply opened up with a machine gun, tearing through the thin cubicle walls and trying to flush me out. The full-sized rifle rounds pinged off of my thicker ice armor, saving my life this time as I poked out to engage my threat. A pop later, and there was one more dead, flechette-filled Dead Boy (Heh... dead Dead boy...). I had only pumped my spent shell and poked out to fire again and/or relocate when something metal and apple-shaped pinged along the floor past me.

I had no time to even curse. Everything was automatic as I moved to put as much distance and as many solid objects between me and the grenade as possible. I vaulted over the cubicle, casting ice behind me to form an impromptu blast shield that would be far too thin when that thing went off. I was only a couple meters away and past a cubicle when the grenade went off. My ice wall shattered as shrapnel scattered through the area, but that combined with the cubicles and their contents saved me from the blast.

Unfortunately, there was still the matter that I had been forced from cover and was looking at three very pissed-off Dead Boy griffins right now. And I was crumpled on the floor. Not a good tactical position to be in.

A good five or so bullets pinged or rolled off my sloped armor before a rocket slammed into the floor just far enough from me so that I was merely showered with debris but close enough to tear up the two nearby griffins and send the third stumbling in a daze. A fragmentation rocket smartly being used indoors to maximize blast while minimizing collateral damage. I already knew who was coming along as a familiar dark-blue blur sped up to the third griffin, Sly smashing his powerhooves into him. Even with that metal combat armor, pieces were dented and caved in, the griffin down on the ground and gasping for breath and clutching at his crushed chest. Sly simply lifted up a hoof and curb-stomped his head into a red, messy paste. I could barely hear the skull splintering into a thousand shards over the metallic, shockwave-inducing impact.

“Goddess, I love doing that...” Sly grinned wide, coming over to help me to my feet. “Buddy! Am I glad to see you!”

“Same.” I smiled back weakly as I got up with his assistance. “Thanks for the save, Sly.”

“Should say the same.” Xamuros strode in along with five ponies, looking worse for wear. But alive. “You took them out from behind just in time.”

“Casualties?” I asked, to the point.

“Eight dead in our squad, seven of them back on the shop floor,” the zebra told me. “We've got three wounded at the secondary fallback position, but they're stable and under the eyes of our medic.”

“Then I didn't come just in time.” I frowned. But I felt no remorse. There was no changing the past. “Any ideas why the Dead Boys are so intent on this place?”

“Honestly, no fucking clue,” Sly shook his head. I looked at the others. By their expressions, they were similarly baffled.

“Well regardless, we have to keep moving,” I told them. “The Dead Boys split up from the shop floor- here and the testing area. I don't know how well they're handling the situation down there, but any help we can offer-”

“You still talk too much,” Xamuros sneered as the rest got the message and headed back to the catwalks of the shop floor while I tagged along. “Come on, everyone! No rest for the weary! Let's hit them hard and from behind!” The others, Sly included, let out a guttural shout of approval and clambered down the stairs. Me? I just vaulted over the side and landed in a hard crouch on the floor below, breaking ahead to the testing area.

Unless if you've never heard anything about firearms, you should all know that the AK series is the pinnacle of reliability in weaponry. Practically never jams, never rusts, never breaks down short of throwing one under a tank. Izmash took that to heart with the testing areas it placed in each factory compound. Every firearm produced was to meet the minimum company standards for reliability and ruggedness. They would be filled with silt, sand, mud, dirt, all manner of grime. Then they would be test-fired. They would be submerged in water. Then they would be test-fired (Trust me, folks, you'd be surprised how many firearms would fail to properly expel the water, pressure often causing the chamber to burst or something). They would be subjected to extreme temperatures, highs and lows. Then they would be test-fired. They would combine these tests together. Then they would be test-fired.

For every. Single. Firearm. Produced.

If that bullet didn't clear the chamber after any of the tests, it didn't deserve to be an AK. The same went for any kind of furniture meant to go along with the weapon- it had to work under stress or it wouldn't be accepted. Optics, suppressors, launchers, bayonets, the like- everything was strained and put to the test.

So you can imagine just how intense and expansive the testing areas were. Though... after the megaspells fell, most of the stuff fell into disrepair. Heat chambers and freezers don't work anymore for instance. Given company reputation, it didn't matter in the end and Stalliongrad kept on cranking out the AKs once the city was taken back. Once, every so often, your AK miiiight just jam on you. But I'll be damned if it does it twice in a short span of time.

So this was the place we were headed. A mighty big place. A mighty big place very uniform in structure.

And also a place where a proper fallback position could be easily established.

The remaining Dead Boys in this factory were in a tight bind, taking cover by ducking into the many testing rooms that lined the hall. In front of them was a quickly but smartly fortified defense position of sandbags and blast plates in that easily controlled hallway where the Stalliongrad ponies were making their last stand. And also advancing on the Dead Boys from behind, the ballistic-armored stallions were slowly catching up to them, one-man armies practically impervious to conventional weaponry. They couldn't push forward, and they couldn't fall back. Talk about getting caught between a rock and a hard place.

We were about to throw in a brick wall into the mix.

Sly rushed ahead of me alongside the heavily-armored stallions, sending out a pair of rockets from his battle saddle before ducking into the nearby testing room for cover, blowing out a wall and the griffins behind it. Xamuros took position behind one of the ballistic armor stallions, standing up on his hindlegs and whipping out a DSA-58OSW SOPMOD (Special Operations Peculiar Modifications, folks).

The storyteller paused, glaring at a stallion who was slowly raising his hoof to ask a question. The stallion slowly began to drop it under his stare.

All you need to know for the moment is that the DSA-58 is essentially a sawn-off battle rifle, a battle carbine if you will. The magazine was practically as long as the barrel, folks. Xamuros slapped on a suppressor and a variable-zoom scope onto it as well as removing the trigger guard. Yeesh... scope's practically half the length of the weapon...

But anyways, the zebra stood up on his hindlegs, holding up his weapon in a pretty peculiar way. He was holding it as if he were a griffin, with his left hoof supporting the barrel and the other at the trigger. No idea how he managed it, but if you ever get a chance to see a zebra shoot like that, it's a rather imposing, intimidating sight. Even worse with how quickly and how accurately he can put hammer-tapped rounds downrange, and the Dead Boys were swiftly learning this. I was at his side shortly after, taking cover behind another heavy and opening up with Luna's Judgment.

Those Dead Boys didn't stand a chance, and they were getting pinned. The heavy stallions advanced into the rooms one by one to mop those bastards up, and now that they moved out of the way...

I saw her. Azrael. She was there, still in her cloak with her cowl draped over her head, those piercing, empty eyes unblinking. I was about to aim and pull the trigger when I realized two things.

One- the cloaked griffin was behind the barricade and nopony was shooting at her. That meant she was on our side. The fact that she soon sent a good few rounds into a Dead Boy with the misfortune of peeking out at the worst possible time reinforced that fact.

Two- her weapon. And looking at it, I realized just why she had such a big hump hidden behind her cloak.

Folks, I'm sure you've seen all sort of weaponry. Why, we even have a freaking plasma cannon here at Junction R-7! But let me tell you... I was kinda ready to shit myself at the sight of Azrael's weapon.

The Kord 6P50. A big, ugly, rugged monster of a machine gun. Fired at around seven-fifty rounds-per-minute. And what did it fire at seven-fifty rounds-per-minute? The monstrous 12.7 millimeter NSV cartridge. Now, most assault rifles fire the 5.56 NETO. The NSV... well, think of something bigger than that. A lot bigger than that.

Azrael had a fuckin' Kord 6P50. Mounted on a battle saddle. And she could somehow withstand- hell, control the recoil of that monstrosity. Again, I was kinda ready to shit myself.

That poor bastard with the misfortune of peeking out at the worst possible time? His head (and a good portion of his chest) was fucking gone, folks- it was spattered all over the place. And the sound of that thing firing down a hallway indoors... my ears were ringing a bit from that heavy, guttural thrum of that weapon.

Right now, I was glad she was on our side. At least, for the moment so it seemed. Still remembered her talking with Silas. She caught sight of me looking at her and simply nodded at me.

And then a string of explosions sounded off, causing all of us to drop to a crouch, ducking toward the nearest piece of cover.

“Incoming midway, my left!” Azrael cried out.

I was about to ask how exactly she knew that but scrambled behind the closest ballistic armor stallion nonetheless. “Incoming what?” I shouted down the hall to her.

Another flurry of explosions, this time far too close for comfort, sent my ears ringing as the sound of crumbling walls likewise filled the air. It was followed by the heavily-armored stallion that entered that doorway staggering back under fire.

“You know what?” I yelled to her. “Never mind!”

Okay, granted the armored stallion was still alive and pretty much unharmed, but something with the firepower to send one of them backwards and sent out that shrill whine at the same time...

Ripper-class autocannon.

FFFFFFFFFFFFuck.

“Fall back,” Azrael ordered the ponies around her as the last of the string of shots sent the stallion toppling over onto his side, alive but out of commission. “I'll handle this.”

“Handle an autocannon?!” Sly yelled from the testing room he'd taken cover in. “I'd like to see you do it!”

The griffin stepped over the barricade with an even, determined, purposeful stride, each step generating a resounding thud. “Is that a challenge?” she asked calmly. If I was an uneducated pony, I would've said she sounded downright arrogant right there. But I wasn't. She was very, very sure of herself. I honestly wanted to see what would happen, taking cover behind the stallion in front of me and thickening my ice armor regardless.

I also noticed how Sly didn't make a comeback on that one...

The explosions settled and Azrael peeked into the doorway for only a moment before kicking backwards. She landed heavily a good ten meters away with a heavy impact lost in the explosions from the shells that chased after the griffin, blowing through the wall. Finally, the explosive threat we were all looking for peeked through.

It was a Dead Boy griffin, clad in full-body armor. It was skeletal, spiny, ebony, intimidating. Covered everything save for the wings and tail. The Rebel Yell faceplate was absent, replaced with a respirator-equipped helm. Yeah... that was power armor. Oh, yes, folks, it was a griffin in power armor, alright. How else could he have hefted that monstrous Ripper-class autocannon on his battle saddle otherwise?

With surprising speed, Azrael ducked into another of the testing rooms, cloak flowing behind her as the Dead Boy griffin opened up, explosive shells blasting at the ground she was standing just split seconds before, chasing her into the room and blasting through the wall. He was completely ignoring us, and I certainly wasn't complaining as everypony else and I began to lay down fire on that heavily-armed and heavily-armored griffin.

He only grunted and buckled a bit under fire, probably just from my flechettes punching into his flank.

On second thought, that might not have been such a good idea as he now glared directly at me, autocannon swiveling in my direction.

Oh dammit...

Chuunk.

… heh?

The autocannon clicked empty, and the Dead Boy griffin looked at the barrel in surprise. He kicked the side of his battle saddle to start the reload cycle.

Too bad that was just what Azrael was waiting for.

I found my ears ringing (Goddessdammit!) yet again as she opened up on him from behind, the massive 12.7 NSV rounds tearing the bastard up, even if he was clad in power armor. It only protected him enough to prevent him from getting gibbed inside as he slumped over, crying out in pain with his power armor crackling with electricity as it failed him. Azrael calmly stepped around the fallen griffin as he hissed and grunted in agony, likely from the big holes put in him, before leveling the Kord down at his face and firing once.

It was a gruesome, sickening, wet sound. The helmet was strong enough to withstand the shot, but his head exploded inside of it, liquefied by the heavy-caliber round. The body slumped to the side.

“... well?” Azrael turned to us, the clinking of an ammunition belt audible as her Kord reloaded. “There are still some left hiding in the testing rooms. Clear them out.”

The last gunshots echoed out at Izmash. The Dead Boys, and whatever they were trying to do at the factory, were finished here. Heh, bit of humor- one of them was so desperate by the time one of the ballistic armor stallions poked through the doorway that he pulled the pin on a grenade and rushed at him. In a sick sort of way, it was kind of funny to see the suicidal griffin get torn to ribbons by the shrapnel while the stallion just stood there for a couple seconds in surprise and walked right on.

“Okay... casualties?” Sly asked down the hallway. “And good Lorn, you really did do it.”

The storyteller facehoofed as he watched several ponies raise their hooves on that one.

It's... not a commonly used term. It's a short way to say “alicorn,” another way to refer to the Goddesses in other words. “Ali” sounds... just disrespectful and “corn” makes no sense at all. So Lorn it is.

“Four wounded, zero KIA,” Azrael replied. Goddess how I hated that voice. “We have enough healing potions to stabilize them. They'll be alright.” She then added, “And I wasn't kidding when I said I would handle it.”

The city-wide radio let out an electronic whine as it kicked up again, causing me to tilt my head away from the nearest broadcaster as it blared, “Chief Snowbourne to all personnel. Hostiles appear to be withdrawing. Proceed with mop-up. I want casualty and damage reports ASAP.”

“Quick as that, huh?” Xamuros raised an eyebrow. “Has it even been an hour yet?”

“Something tells me they're regrouping,” I said, knowing my luck.

“Or they're retreating after seeing Stalliongrad was more than they bargained for.” Sly shrugged. He was really too optimistic sometimes.

“Sure.” I sighed at him. “They wouldn't have been here in the first place in that case. Either they're pulling back to regroup or they...”

… got what they came for.

I was questioning myself of my stance on that griffin, but I still didn't want to ask her. So I turned to my friends and inquired, “Do either of you know a Silas Razorwing? His station perhaps?”

“Nope,” Xamuros shook his head. Sly similarly shrugged, slanting his lips in quite the humorous fashion.

“Silas has no station,” Azrael spoke calmly as she stepped heavily toward me. “If you're that intent on him, you will find him at his dwelling. It will be down the alleyway you met us at just a few hours ago.”

I faced the female griffin once more. Now that she was this close, I noticed that she was... quite simply, gargantuan. She was a tad taller and larger than Sly (who seemed similarly uneasy). If that was all muscle (most likely the case), then I suddenly found myself less surprised at how she managed to wield a Kord so effortlessly...

“And... you're just going to tell me, just like that?” I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yes,” she said simply. Her voice was unwavering, even. She betrayed no sign of an ulterior motive nor any sign of deception. I had to take her word for it. For now.

“Right,” I nodded slowly and then turned back to my friends. “Look, I'm going to check on Rig and then try to find him, alright? Sorry that things didn't really turn out how we wanted tonight.”

“There's always another time, buddy.” Sly reached out to pat me on the back.

I whipped away, exclaiming, “Hey! Hey! Powerhoof!”

“Oh, right.” He blinked. “Well... see ya.”

I nodded, waving back at them as I ran for the exit, sprouting ice wings and taking to the skies again.

Things were different after such a huge firefight. Shots still rang out, but they were fewer in number now. The black, skeletal Dead Boys were nowhere to be seen save for the dead or those too injured to fly to safety. They were quickly put down or taken in for questioning by others. But for now, the airspace was secure and the long, nervous process of assessing the damage and checking for friends and family began.

News spread quickly through Stalliongrad. Multiple sections of the first wall were blown apart by autocannon fire, and some buildings inside the city had sustained minor explosive damage. No structures were reported to have collapsed, however. But as reports came in, I learned that we lost fifty-six ponies, nine griffins, and eight of our already tiny population of buffalo. Many of them were due to these heavier, autocannon-equipped griffins...

I was glad to hear that Zasili was not among them, but it all still nagged at me. Maybe... maybe it was because I'd just become numb to what was going on around me, or maybe it was just because Stalliongrad was so huge and I was simply in a sector that saw less action. But I hardly saw any of these staggering deaths.

And again, I didn't feel anything.

But, I still couldn't help but smile a little upon seeing Rig's scorched welding helmet flipped up as I touched down on the roof of the Hammer and Horns, her face blackened with soot but turned up in a great, big grin. “Everything alright?” I asked as I gently touched down, wings turning to mist.

“A couple cashew-tees while you were gone, but we managed to hold out up here alright,” the earth-coated mare answered.

“... casualties.” I corrected her.

“I know, that's what I said.” Rig cocked an patch of skin above her eyes. It took a moment for me to remember she burned her eyebrows off.

“Ca-su-al-ties,” I repeated with a sigh, stressing every syllable.

“... oh.” She winced.

“Anyways, I'm glad you're okay. I have to look for someone else now, but I'll be back soon. Just stay in the Hammer and Horns, got it?” As I turned to leave, I couldn't help but look back at her. There was the earth-coated girl from Stable Three, not even a mare yet. But yet... she was growing up so fast. She had a maturity far greater than what I expected of someone her age. I smiled back at her and told her, “You did good tonight. Something tells me we'll be just fine traveling together. Stay frosty, Rig.”

She did have a lovely smirk.

I sprouted wings and took off once more in search of answers, having bid her a too-short good-bye after a too-short check-up. I thought of what to say, what to do when I found Silas. The Razorwings must have done something to piss these “Dead Boys” off enough to warrant such a high-profile attack with so many griffins committed to the effort. I wanted to find out what that “something” was.

I touched down on the road leading to the center of town, wings sublimating as I found the alleyway I had glanced down only a few hours before. Ghostly visions played across my eyes as I could almost see those empty eyes stare back at me. I proceeded into the narrow pathway, Luna's Judgment drawn. I slotted in a fresh drum of flechette shells before I stowed it away. My ice armor flattened as I cloaked myself. The path led me down a couple turns to a passageway with a door in the side of one of the buildings. Seeing no other alternative, I approached and strained my ears. I was greeted by the barely audible sounds of argument. One of the voices sounded like Silas'. Seems like I found the Razorwing residence.

And, of course, the door was locked. My concern was less of the lock and more of the fact that I would be risking opening the door on Silas and this other party. Well, I would just have to risk that and be ready to defend myself.

Looking around to ensure I was indeed alone, I made myself slightly visible as I sprouted an ice arm, palm placed against the lock. I seeped my ice into it, feeling for the tumblers. In no time, I formed a matching key and turned the cylinder. I immediately sublimated my ice arm and listened again. The muffled argument continued. I hopefully hadn't been noticed. I cracked the door open and slipped into the building, turning the door handle on the other side so the latch didn't catch on the frame as I closed it. Letting the handle shift quietly back to its neutral position, I surveyed the situation.

I was standing in a rather cluttered apartment home, more accurately in the kitchen area. Empty food cans were scattered across the cracked, wood floor and dining table (with seats for three, I noted). The place was dirty and unkempt, a layer of dust and dirt covering almost every surface. A doorway lead to a living room area where there were a couple sofas... and two very angry griffins.

One of them was Silas, and boy was he furious. The other one, another male dressed in what looked like trader wear and appeared a bit older, looked just as furious. They were also trading blows.

“Langson, you lunkhead!” Silas roared, catching the other griffin with a fist to the cheek that sent him stumbling. “You're so damn lucky that my dad ain't here right now! You are so damn lucky he told me not to kill you!”

“You brought this on yourself.” this Langson fellow got to his feet, blocking the next blow and shoving Silas away. “For fuck's sake, I told you what would happen if you didn't have the caps!”

I just eavesdropped, unseen. For all I knew, they could answer all the questions and I didn't have to raise a hoof.

“So you sold us out?!” Silas exploded, whipping out a revolver and using the butt to strike. Langson blocked, but it still hurt him enough for Silas to catch him in the gut and send him sprawling to the floor. “Unbelievable... you actually sold us out and caused all those people to die just for those caps?!”

Okay, hold up.

What? What?!

“Ugh, do I need to say it again?” Langson grunted, getting back to his feet. “Yeah, I did. Wasn't that what we agreed to? You didn't keep up your end of the bargain, so I didn't have to keep up mine when the Dead Boys offered their caps.”

I could feel rage simmering under my skin. A whole city attacked, seventy-three good people killed. Over caps.

Suddenly, finding answers was pushed to the back of my head and I found myself prioritizing something else instead...

Silas just stared, mouth agape. He then expertly flipped the revolver back around. “Fuck dad's orders. You're dead.”

“Hold up, Silas,” I spoke, dropping the cloak, walking up to them. “Hold up.”

The storyteller's tone changed. And it came back. That same, all-consuming cold...

My heart was racing excitedly. I didn't know what came over me, I just acted on instinct. I could feel a sly grin turning up my muzzle as the two turned to stare at me.

“The hell are you?” Langson asked.

“What the-” Silas stared. “You?! How the hell did you get in here?”

Langson used Silas' distraction to his advantage to strike out. I didn't let him. I moved faster, an ice arm sprouting to block his blow, forcing his arm inward across his body so he couldn't retaliate with it in his way. I then curled my arm around his elbow, straightened out... and applied pressure. Langson growled in pain as his arm was dislocated and I shoved him to the floor.

“It wasn't too difficult,” I finally answered a now-bewildered Silas, words smooth and crisp. I knew I had to speak just the right way to convince him. “Now... you want this guy dead. I can understand that. But... how about you let me have some time with him alone...? I'm sure you'll be pleased with the results.”

Silas opened his mouth to object, but then he paused in thought. I could just imagine him remembering what I did to Sewn Britches as he slowly grinned and said, “You know what? Sure. Go right on ahead.”

I kicked out with a hindleg as Langson tried to yank me off my feet. “Good. Now then... do you have a some place where I can get some... private time?”

* * *

A grimy, rusted-out bathroom wasn't quite what I had in mind but it would serve well enough as I shoved Langson against the wall. He slumped down to the floor and I bound him there with ice, making sure to lock his crippled arm in a very uncomfortable position. I looked back at Silas with a rather evil grin before I shut and locked the door. I didn't care if he listened in on it. Just as long as there wasn't anyone breathing down my neck, I could do my work...

“So, Langson, is it?” I paced around. This time, I let my victim have full sight of me. Hm, not a whole lot of space to do this pacing thing. What a shame... I like to pace around as I do these things. “I just want to understand the situation.” I leaned in, perhaps a little too uncomfortably close. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but you were... extorting the Razorwings to keep them hidden from the Dead Boys, yes?”

“And so what if I did?” the griffin hissed.

I regarded him with a very disappointed expression. I snaked a line of ice along the floor and up the wall to behind where his wing was pinned. And then I formed a spike right through that point.

“I'm the one asking the questions here, Langson.” I reminded him, speaking with that calm smile with that calm grin over his grunts of pain. “And trust me, I'm only asking a few easy questions. So, answer me. With clear, concise statements. And for your sake they better be answers I like.”

“Fuck... you,” he spat.

I widened the spike by a few inches, forcing the wound wider. I savored the screams.

“Answer me,” I repeated.

“Yeah, I did... I did...” he panted out between the grunts.

“How long has this been going on?” I questioned. “How long have the Razorwings been paying you to keep them secret?”

“Three months...” Langson groaned. “The three months they've been living here...”

“And how much have they been paying you?” I asked him, leaning in close.

“Two-thousand caps,” he hissed. “Per month.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“And... what happened this month?” I asked. But I already knew the answer.

“Came up short...” Langson growled, pathetically trying to pull his wing away. “Came up short by eight-hundred...”

So when I killed Sewn Britches before Silas...

My Goddess. Now I felt so, so rotten...

He must have caught my expression of realization, as he looked at me a little quizzically.

“And how much did the Dead Boys pay for your information?” I continued, eyes on him again as I backed away.

He looked like he wasn't going to say, mistaking my pause for weakness. I reminded him who was in control by widening the spike a little more, extracting a wince from him.

“Nngh, three-thousand!” he spat out, squinting an eye in pain.

“And when was this exchange?” I inquired.

“Yesterday, outside the city,” he sputtered out.

“And do you know if the Dead Boys succeeded in capturing or killing any of the Razorwings?” I inquired. “Other than Silas?”

“No, no, they didn't...” Langson grunted.

Well thank goodness for that at least... I'd find out more from them later on...

But now was the time for a little payback.

“You know, Langson, you were much more cooperative than my last one,” I sublimated the spike, and he let out a light sigh of relief. “Kudos to you for that.”

“Great, now let me out of-”

“Oh no.” I leaned in unbearably close again, letting him see the darkness in my eyes. “You won't be going anywhere soon. You let seventy-three people die for caps. You know how much their lives were worth? Were they worth any sum of pieces of stamped metal? Huh? Answer me, Langson!”

“Don't fuckin' care,” he spat in my face. “We had a contract. Griffins abide by the contract.”

I wiped my face clean and backed up, standing above him. “Seventy-three people, Langson. Seventy-three good people, far better than you. Or me.”

Midnight Talon danced into my fingers as I formed an ice arm, playing with her as the griffin stared, eyes wide. Oh, how I loved that rush of adrenaline coursing through me, my heart beating faster in anticipation. Oh, how I wanted to just kill him! Kill him in bloody death, bloody death! But I had to contain myself... I had to let this play out. I had to... enjoy it.

Hm, I forgot to clean the blade from earlier this night. I would fix that shortly.

“Seventy-three good people died for pieces machine-stamped metal,” I hissed at him. “You know, I'd like to venture that we're quite a bit alike, you and I. You know, Langson, I once thought something so insignificant was so much more important than the lives of many just like you.” I paused in my play to point the exposed blade at him.

For... you know.

Emphasis.

“Yes, something that I cherished so much, so very, very much...” I began twirling, fanning, spinning Midnight Talon round and round again. “I would've gladly given everything I had for that insignificant little thing, I felt it so important to me. And... so many good people died for it. So yes... we're quite a bit alike, you and I. But we're not quite the same. You see, I feel regret for what I did in the past.” I stopped again, Midnight Talon now held in a reverse grip.

“You don't.”

I plunged her diagonally into his gut, stabbing in deep as he cried out in pain. I twisted to keep the wound open and pulled away. I wiped her on Langson's clothes, stowing her away in her place on my left forehoof. His blood dribbled out, flowing down his side and to the cracked tile floor.

“Seventy-three good people died tonight in this city, Langson,” I spoke to him with a grin. “I aim to make it seventy-four, and yours I will aim to make the most painful. Having all of your internal organs bathed in stomach acid is a very painful way to die.”

“Nnngh... damn it, fuck you!” Langson roared. Wow. Such bland, two-dimensional words from such a bland, two-dimensional griffin. I'd heard so much better from Sewn Britches.

“Tell me, Langson, did you eat well recently?” I creased my lips into a sinister, vile smile. “That means more acid... more pain...” His facial feathers seemed to grow paler. “Oh, you did? Mm, then this will be very enjoyable indeed. I'll savor every moment. But!” I beamed at him. “You answered my questions, and you were much more cooperative in doing so than most of my... victims. So I'll grant you the luxury of choice.”

His eyes opened wide. “Wh-What?” he sputtered.

“The choice for a quicker death of course,” I answered. Oh how I loved that expression of crushed hope. “I'm going to kill you, and there's no stopping that. But... do you want to die slowly, your internal organs acidified by your own stomach enzymes, or do you want to do a... slightly quicker death?”

“What... what is it?” Langson coughed, gasping from the pain it brought.

I formed a large cylinder of ice, my horn flaring as I melted the inside so that it gave way to water.

And big enough to cover his head.

“Drink.” I sneered. “It'll make death come faster for you. Trust me...”

I held out the cup within easy reach, to let him contemplate it.

I didn't have to. He went right for it, drinking deep as I kept on forming more ice to melt. I continued to slip the block of ice over his head, locking it closed around his neck. Water filled up around his face, and I reveled in watching the frenzied gulps turn to bubbles of death, watching his eyes widen and grow bloodshot as he began to drown...

“That's it...” I seethed, my horn casting an eerie glow over us both. “Drink, you swine. Drink...”

* * *

The cold... that tone... both were gone now. All was well again.

A good five minutes later, I unlocked and opened the door, stepping outside to find Silas waiting, eyebrow raised and arms crossed. He had been listening to what went on the entire time.

“You sure are a sick pony, you know that?” he told me.

“But did you enjoy it?” I asked him.

Silas sighed, then cracked a thin smile. “Yeah. I enjoyed it. Little... gruesome, though, don't you think? Steeping his organs in stomach acid?”

I stared at him.

And then I began to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. I whooped with uncontrollable laughter, almost laughing myself to tears as I finally composed myself enough to answer the creeped-out griffin. “Oh, that's the best part! That was never going to happen! Sure, I punctured his gut, but I did it in such a way that his stomach acid would have had to work against gravity to leak out the way he was lying down!” I stopped laughing now and just grinned so vilely. “I just lied. He was never really in any danger of dying. He chose to kill himself. Isn't it so poetic?”

“... you are a sick, evil bastard.” Silas stared.

“Well are you going to try to kill me now?” I raised an eyebrow. I was still in my high, fueled by the adrenaline still running through my veins.

“What for?” the griffin blinked.

My heart began to slow down from its frenetic beat, cold calm flooding my body as I straightened myself out. I inhaled deeply and expelled cool mist as I sighed. “Oh come on, you know, Silas. You were short on caps because of me. I'm as much at fault as this Langson fellow. So. Are you going to try to kill me now? You know I'm not going to make it easy if you are.”

It was Silas' turn to sigh now. “Honestly, we would've run into cap problems with the bastard anyways,” he said. “Bounty hunting's hard stuff, and it doesn't help when you run into better competition.” That... wasn't quite a glare he was shooting at me at least. “Besides, killing you isn't my call. Not anymore at least.”

“Then whose call is it?” I asked.

I heard a light, polite cough behind me, and I wheeled around already knowing who I'd find.

I wheeled around to find Azrael looming behind me, empty eyes staring down at me.

“My sis's of course,” Silas smirked.

Fuck.

Me.

* * *

Footnote: Maximum Level
Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Cue Epic Music
Soundtrack- The Dead Boys
Bonus features added!

Rig's S.P.E.C.I.A.L.
Strength: 5
Perception: 6
Endurance: 6
Charisma: 5
Intelligence: 8
Agility: 4
Luck: 6

Commission Art- Rig... and That Lovely Smirk by Blue Pencil

Author's Note

My thanks go out to Kkat and Somber for their amazing stories, to which I base mine off of. I also extend my thanks to Kookamater and Agent_Kiosce77 for looking this one over. As always, feedback of any sort is much appreciated. Thank you kindly.

Chapter Sixteen: Still in the Dark

Chapter Sixteen: Still in the Dark

“Rig,” I spoke up.

“Yeah?” she spoke back.

“There's an alicorn here.”

“Yeah.”

“Why is there an alicorn here?” I deadpanned.

“Good morning to you too,” Rig huffed, rolling a can of- surprise, surprise- yams to me. Miranda wasn't going to let me forget anytime soon, particularly since I was starving and very thirsty. The alicorn regarded me in silence, her snout turned up as if in noble derision. Azrael maintained her level, unreadable expression. I sighed out- cool mist with it, thankfully- and rolled into a sitting position. I felt something cold brush against my foreleg and winced, the memory of the bodies still fresh in my mind. It was only my helm. I grumbled to myself and slipped it over my head, working the clasps.

“Why is the alicorn here?” I asked, taking a moment to slice off the lid, wolf down the yams, and condense moisture around my muzzle to drink, horn flaring up with an icy-blue glow.

“We would prefer if you addressed us directly, Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill,” the pony in question scoffed in a regal, haughty tone.

“I don't care as long as I get an answer,” I growled.

“Wait, you two know each other?” Rig blinked.

“Not particularly,” I answered.

“She was wandering in the area before I tried to delve into your memories,” Azrael finally spoke. “She happened to wander into my telepathic radius and tried to contact me. I know not how, but it resulted in some sort of negative feedback loop. My telepathy has been... muddled ever since, and you were put into a coma for three days.”

“Three days?” I parroted incredulously. “Does that mean-”

“-Tenpony Tower has been restocked?” the griffin finished. “It appears so. And yes, it also means you didn't have anything to eat or drink for three days.”

“Explains a bit,” I murmured as Rig telekinetically flung another can of yams at me. I caught it with an ice arm and ate hungrily. “Except why the alicorn's here and still here.”

“We would prefer if-” she started.

“If you're so intent on being addressed, then why don't you go ahead explain yourself?” I scowled.

The alicorn snorted, turning her snout up a bit higher, “We detected another telepath as we wandered, searching for those able to join the Unity. We were merely curious- particularly since that telepath suddenly withdrew communications- and made haste for her, in this case your companion Azrael Razorwing. We remained because we were curious as to how a griffin- even a griffin-unicorn hybrid- can use such telepathy. In addition, we are interested in taking up your companion Rig into the Unity and are still quite interested in you, particularly after finding you still alive and ageless and especially after taking a peek at that nightmare of yours.”

I deadpanned at the green-coated alicorn. “You... what?!”

“We were- and are- highly interested as to how you survived naturally for so many years. It is thus again that we extend our invitation for you- and your companion Rig- to join the Unity.”

I turned back to Rig and Azrael, the sensation of something curling around my mind working through my brain. “And that's why I kept the mental shield up all this time- these Goddessdamned alicorns.”

She had the gall to scoff, “The Goddess would not and does not damn her Children!”

“Well your Goddess- isn't.”

The alicorn visibly tensed before closing her eyes and letting out a soft, sharp exhale of breath. “We shall not argue over these semantics. However, our offer still stands to the both of you.”

“My answer is the same as eighty years ago- I refuse,” I spoke firmly.

“And you?” The alicorn turned to Rig.

She took more than a second to respond. She actually took more than a second! “So... you invite only unicorns to turn them into... alicorns, right? Is there a catch?”

“Rig!” I gaped.

“Only that you serve the Goddess and spread her teachings and invitation,” the tall, 'regal' pony continued without missing a beat. “In return, you shall become an alicorn, a creature perfectly adapted to the dangers of our new world. Healed by radiation, impervious to Taint, and possessing the strength, endurance, agility, grace-”

“-humbleness,” I added snidely.

“-and repertoire of spells necessary to survive in the new world.”

“And it'll work, even for me?” Rig queried.

“Yes, even having lost the majority of your body,” the alicorn replied with a nod.

“Rig, you honestly can't be considering this...” I balked. She didn't answer me. That wasn't a good sign. “Rig!”

“Rig...?” Azrael ventured quietly, quietly even for her.

“How does this transformation happen?” Rig inquired.

“The methods and means of joining the Unity are not to be discussed with outsiders,” the alicorn answered.

Rig tapped her chin. “Why not?”

“It is a matter of faith. One must believe in the ascension- a leap of faith, is it were. But is the alternative any better? Would you prefer remaining as you are, without a heartbeat, without breath, even without your own voice?”

“Without individuality?” I asked, pointing at the alicorn's flank.

It was indeed bare- there was no cutie-mark bestowed upon it.

“That notion is preposterous.” The alicorn waved it off with but a shake of her head. “Even if the notion held any truth, it is insignificant as opposed to what you have to gain.”

“So how does the transformation happen?” Rig asked. “Is it any worse than death?”

“Neigh, it is a rebirth,” the alicorn answered, her tone slightly raised. I noticed it shuddered at the end.

“How successful is this transformation?” Rig questioned.

“We assure you that it is most successful, as you can plainly see!” She spread her wings wide. It was not regal, was not elegant- it was menacing.

“Sure, but I meant how often it's successful,” the earth-coated mare clarified.

“We-” The alicorn faltered.

Rig waited patiently, teleporting out a cigarette and lighting the tip with her soldering spell before popping it into her mouth. I smiled, just a little. She wasn't being curious. She was testing the alicorn. “We...?”

“We assure you it has an acceptable degree of success.”

“Which would be...?”

“Acceptable.”

The cloud-maned unicorn took a moment to levitate her cigarette aside and let out a smoky breath. “I'm a bit of a number-cruncher. I'd like some numbers to crunch.”

“We do not keep records of our success rate,” the alicorn declared.

“Which implies there's a failure rate,” Rig countered.

The alicorn remained silent.

I caught a ghost of a smile on Azrael's beak. “Socrates would be proud.”

Rig leaned back. “Tell you what- I've got obligations. I've got promises to fulfill. Come back to me when I've got nothing to live for. Then we'll talk.”

“We...” The alicorn paused. “We believe that is acceptable.”

“Alrighty, then. So, now that that's settled, can you please... you know, give us some private time? We're on a schedule.”

“Of course.” The alicorn finally rose, looking down upon Rig. “We thank you for your consideration. As for you,” She turned to me, “we hope you find your way and reconsider. After all, you served a Goddess before, if we are not mistaken.” I only leered at her. She shook her head. “And so we bid all of you farewell. We hope to meet again soon.” With that, she turned tail and took off, bound south. The guardponies along Tenpony's courtyard wall ducked and took aim as she passed, relaxing as she continued past, disappearing out of sight.

“The Wasteland has waaaay too many dicks,” Rig huffed with a smile, shaking her head and sticking the cigarette back between her lips.

“Agreed,” I sighed. She looked at me with a half-lidded expression. “I'm one of them, aren't I?” She continued to stare. “That answers that.”

She let out a smoky sigh and levitated several cans over to me, to which I took and devoured. “You're gonna try to make up for it, right?”

I paused and responded, “I plan and wish to.”

“Then I'll work with you- for now,” the young mare said. “We already talked about all this. It's over. We've got a whole lot more shit on our plates now. Let's handle that first. Azrael, you still blind?”

“Yes...” the hybrid griffin answered tentatively.

“Can you use your telepathy at all?” I inquired.

“It hurts if I try. A lot. Very much so.”

“That's not good,” I murmured.

“That doesn't even begin to describe it.” Azrael scowled. “It's... unnerving. I... I don't think I can fly like this if we need to go anywhere.”

“Ohhhh, that's so not good,” I said. That was going to be very inconvenient. “Has this ever happened before?”

“No, this is the first time ever in my life,” she exhaled, “and believe me- I'll be frank here- it fucking sucks.”

“Well, if it just hurts using telepathy, that means you still have it, right?” Rig asked. “Then this should just be temporary, right?”

“I hope,” Azrael snorted. “Otherwise it'll be a much greater hindrance.”

I took a moment to polish off another can before asking, “And this just popped up when the alicorn entered your radius?”

“Yes,” the shadowy giant affirmed.

“Well, crap,” I grunted. “There's a ton of alicorns in the downtown area of the Manehattan ruins and in the Far North. Which means you won't be able to accompany us there, seeing as you can't fly.”

“Ugh, this week is sucking so badly right now,” Rig groaned, pressing her hooves against her face. “Well, I can't imagine it getting any worse.”

I stiffened as I heard footsteps behind me, glancing back to find one of the Tenpony guardponies trotting toward us. He cleared his throat and spoke, “Hello, Sentinel. DJ-PoN3 wanted me to pass the message to you that none of the traders that stopped by the Tower had any RadAway. When asked, the traders said that griffins bought it all off of them. The DJ sends his apologies and suggests you look elsewhere, wishing you luck.”

I gave Rig a half-lidded stare.

“You shitting me?” She deadpanned at the guardpony.

“Rig... just...” I sighed. “You never, ever say things like that! Ever!”

“Ever?” Rig grumbled.

“Ever,” Azrael murmured.

“Well,” the guardpony coughed politely, “there's some good news and-”

“Bad news first,” we interrupted in unison.

Laugh it up, you big, empty bastard. I hope you die running out of breath.

* * *

By now, you should be recognizing a pattern. The good news coincided with the bad news. The good news was that there was a nearby hospital in the area- possibly with stores of RadAway. It was, after all, where scavengers got their steady supply of medical supplies for Tenpony.

The bad news? No guarantee it wouldn't be bereft of RadAway already. We'd have to try it out and hope for the best. Hope? Something that the big, empty bastard devours all too readily, all too easily.

“I suppose there's a bright side to this, somewhat,” Azrael piped up as we made our way to street level. That was rather uncommon of her- an optimistic thought, and being the first to open conversation with such a remark.

“And that would be?” Rig huffed. She was sticking close to the giant, who was resting a claw on her as she guided the avian-leonine-equine along.

“Seeing as I'll be all but dead weight, you won't have got get any RadAway for me once you decide to make the journey to the Far North,” Azrael replied. “I'll probably stay behind in Stalliongrad or something. Maybe you can find a 'sky taxi service' or something.”

I recalled how I met Silas and Rig. “Very funny, Azrael,” I nickered.

“I do my best.”

“Alright, let's hold up for a second and plan our moves.”

“Okay.” Rig nodded. “Last step, Azrael.”

“Thank you,” the giant spoke as she eased off.

“So, any idea where the hospital are?” I asked the cyber.

Her PipBuck thrummed and chirped softly as she fiddled with it. “It's about... three cubes from here, to the northeast.”

I ran through that last sentence for a moment. “Blocks?” I suggested.

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. Stable pony. “Look, I got something to add. Hear me out for a second? It looks like we're in a residential area or something. Lots of these buildings look like homes and businesses. I figure they'd have medical boxes of their own. Why don't we check the intact ones out, too? I figure that if anything, they'll at least yield some stuff we can used for trading away if not RadAway. How many do you figure we need anyway?”

“Well, since we're traveling by foot, we're going to need substantially more RadAway,” I responded. “We'll be on the snow itself, meaning you'll be soaking up more radiation, Rig. Even for just you, we'll need the same twenty overall. That's a conservative estimate, even if I can move the ice around us. Thirty would be better, but it'll be a miracle if we manage to get that much. Two from... Miranda's store plus seven from Cutthroat, we have nine. We'll need at least eleven more. Unless you let me go by myself-” Both of them promptly glared at me (Well, Azrael tried to. She ended up glaring in my general direction). “I get it, you two, I get it. You don't trust me entirely. I know. Speaking of trust... how far did you manage to glean from me, Azrael?”

“Your capture in Stalliongrad,” she answered. “The first week. I still wish to withhold judgment until I finish, but...”

I rolled my hoof toward her. I then realized the futility of the motion. “Go on.” I encouraged.

“I'm starting to see why you don't want to go back.”

I sighed out a cool mist. “Yeah, well, that's just the tip of the iceberg.” I paused. “That pun was so not intended.”

“You were captured during the Great War?” Rig asked.

“Later, Rig. Let's deal with that later. Please. You don't step on landmines, real or psychological ones.”

She regarded me for a bit before relenting. “Alright. Alright. So, let's get going?”

“In moon's shadow,” I muttered, pressing my hoof to the eye-like gem on my breastplate. I felt invigorated- stronger, faster, more sensitive. “Yeah. Let's.”

* * *

We were off the beaten trail now. No longer were we soaring above the Wasteland dust- we were right in the heart of it. As we wandered past the first row of crumbled buildings, there was a profound change in the overall atmosphere. The world grew darker, the scant light that filtered through the omnipresent cloud cover choked further by the husks of skyscrapers. Through this, the Wasteland strangled the precious little life left in the world- color. Everything was desaturated to shades of gray- factory gray, blank gray, pale gray, ash gray, deathly gray. The constant shouting and clatter of gunfire coupled with the stench of decay only served to reinforce the big, empty bastard's message- death was always breathing down your shoulder. All it took was a misstep, an ill-timed turn of the head, a lapse of vigilance, a slight onset of ignorance, of sloth, of distraction. We were all just one death away.

We moved slowly, cautiously- if not for the sake of Azrael, then for the sake of the omnipresent danger around us. We stuck to the sidewalks as close to the destroyed houses as possible, trying to keep out of the open streets. I kept the IF-55 Spikeshot at chest level, the barrel tilted slightly downward. I was ready to snap it up and bring the scope to my eye at a moment's notice. Azrael was right behind me, keeping a heavy hand on my back as I acted as her guide, whispering caution of obstacles in our path. Rig took up the rear and occasionally checked our six. Our movement was slowed significantly by the giant's blindness- something that irked her greatly. Her beak was drawn tauter than usual- just barely, but I was able to notice.

It was only after the first block that we came across a few relatively intact apartment houses. They used to be petite, dainty buildings- stacked-shutter-style wooden walls; neat, slanted roofs; four windows- two for each story- in the front with quartered panes, an unnecessary but aesthetically-pleasing pair of steps up to an elevated front door, a front lawn split by a smooth, paved walkway; a neat picket fence with a mailbox. Small, sterile, simplistic, sunny- the ideal home, supposedly. Now the majority of them were reduced to rubble, collapsed, crumbled. The few remaining were charred by spellfire, window panes blown out. The grass lawns were scorched a grisly black, walkways cracked, pickets scattered.

I took a precautionary sniff and glanced about us. The stench of decay was all around, but the very specific smell of raiders that could only be described as... dirty... was nowhere in our vicinity. No other equine scents. I nickered to catch Rig's attention then nodded at the first of such intact apartment houses. “First stop,” I whispered. “Let's go. Rig, take care of Azrael for a second.”

As Rig fell in beside the griffin, I crept ahead and peered through one of the shattered windows, the IF-55 following my gaze as I swept the barrel across the portion of the living room I could see. The wallpaper was torn, mottled; a grisly-black chandelier hung on the ceiling. There was a tattered sofa with an age-worn coffee table in front. A broken television set sat atop a buckled stand beside a low bookshelf. All the books were scorched beyond legibility. Eighty years ago, my heart would have ached for those books and all those powerful words lost forever. I would have wondered who lived here, what they did, and if they made it to the Stables in time, hoping that they did.

Now? I tapped the barrel of the IF-55 against the blown-out pane, making just enough noise to rustle any would-be raiders or slavers out of view. Hearing nothing, I turned back. “Anything on E.F.S., Rig?”

“Nothing,” the cloud-maned mare replied. “It's clear.”

I nodded and pushed the door open. I noted that it swung open only on its lower hinge with a worrying squeak. There was a snap of wood, and I rushed forward to catch the door before it fell. Not quite fast enough- it clattered to the floor with a cringe-inducing, dust-scattering clunk. Rig raised an eyebrow at me.

“... I'm really out of practice, okay?” I grimaced as I pushed past the doorway and into the home.

“Hey, I didn't say anything,” Rig huffed as she passed through. There was another cringe-inducing clunk, and we both turned around to find Azrael rubbing her forehead and backing away from the low (relatively speaking) doorway. “Oh! Sorry!”

“Is it bad that I've only met one alicorn so far and I already hate them?” the griffin hybrid grumbled with a scowl.

“They all share the same attitude, so I can't blame you,” I huffed.

“The attitude is... tolerable.” She clarified as she ducked down to enter. “The telepathy is... not.” Now her shoulders prevented her from entering. “... I'm going to have to stay outside for these situations, aren't I?”

“Pretty much.” Rig smiled apologetically. “Will you be okay while we scavenge?”

“I know you're close... I'll be fine.”

“You're sure?” I arced an eyebrow.

“I'll be fine,” she repeated firmly.

Rig and I shared a look. “I'll take upstairs?” I suggested. The earth-coated unicorn gave me that look again. “Come on, we're in the same house. I'm not going off on my own. Can you at least trust me with that?”

“Fine,” she sighed, shaking her head as she headed for the kitchen. I was only heading for the stairs when she let out a soft shriek. It was followed by a wet crunch and splatter.

“Rig!” I called out, IF-55 brought to bear.

“I'm okay, I'm okay!” she panted, backing out into view with a green-stained pickaxe floating beside her. “Jeez... think The Guide calls those radroaches? Fuck, the bears are bigger, the bugs are bigger- is every animal bigger?”

“Let's just say we're fortunate to be able to fly between Stalliongrad and here,” I told her, trotting back up the steps to the second floor. “Lots of dangerous- and yes, bigger- creatures there. We were able to bypass them, thankfully.”

“And now?” Azrael inquired from outside.

“... let's... just hope that your telepathy comes back by then so you can fly,” I answered as I headed into the bathroom. Inside was only a black-stained tub with a shattered toilet sitting beside it, both full of putrid water. I only sighed and checked the medical box hanging on the wall just beyond the doorway. The pristine nature of the pink box with its yellow cross and butterfly designs spoke volumes about the power of the protective wards cast on it as I opened it up.

Mint-als. A colorful, art deco-styled tin of Mint-al cognitive and memory aid tablets. I didn't even bother taking it; I scowled and shut the box up.

I met the cracked mirror above the sink instead. I looked at my reflection for a while. Long, ash-gray coat with those fur-tufted ears. Eyes slanted like a zebra's, slitted, gleaming a brilliant amber. A rough five-o'clock shadow.

I also wasn't alone in the reflection.

“You know even if we whisper, they'll probably hear us, love,” I spoke quietly.

“Or maybe just you, talking to yourself,” She whispered with a ghost of a smile on her lips.

I reciprocated that smile, if only for a moment as I headed for the bedroom. “Do you remember the... nightmare?”

“I shared it with you, yes.” She nodded, looking about the room with a somber expression.

I nodded slowly, moving on to the master bedroom. “Does it sadden you? What I've become?”

“It does,” She answered. “And that I'm the reason for it.”

I stopped in the hallway and turned around. “No, love, don't think like that.”

She looked at me with those wholesome eyes, eyes so sad. “Well it's true, isn't it?”

“What?” I stared at Her. “What kind of a question is that?”

She stared right back. “A simple one. I'm the reason behind all that you've done, all that you've become. Right?”

My mouth went dry as I tried to respond, words caught in my throat. “N-...”

“Say it, love,” She whispered. “It won't hurt me.”

I bit my lip and closed my eyes, ears tucked back.

“Say it. Please.”

I shuddered, gritting my teeth.

“Say it.”

“No!” I barked, eyes snapped open, ears upright. “The blame is mine and mine alone!”

She still looked at me, looked so, so sad. It took a while for Her to say anything, but Her words carried a great weight. “You're wrong.” She strode past me and out of sight. I already knew She was gone.

I sighed sharply, steam jetting from my nostrils rather than mist as I strode into the bedroom. The time-eaten mattress of the bed surprisingly intact. The sheets, blankets, and pillow were dusty, but it was otherwise in relatively good condition. Seemed to be the case for every bed out there, funnily enough. But I paid it no attention, didn't let the mind wander. Checked the dressers. Checked the drawers. Checked behind them and under the bed. All I got in turn were three caps. I shook my head and started back to the stairs.

Rig was there, eying me with a worried expression. “You okay, Frost?”

“I'm fine,” I lied blatantly, moving around her. “Let's keep moving. We're still racing the clock.” I felt her hoof rest on my shoulder and I turned to meet those bright, indigo eyes.

“Frost,” she said plainly, worriedly.

“I'm fine,” I asserted. “Let's go.”

“If you want us to trust you, you gotta stop lying to us first,” the cloud-maned mare spoke.

I looked away and sighed out a chilly mist. Our days were just full of sighs now. “I'm as fine as I can be, alright? As far as the operational definition of 'fine' goes in the Wasteland, that describes me adequately. Just... don't worry about me.”

“Hard not to worry when I'm looking at a two-hundred-year-old unicorn batpony-”

“Dracopony,” I corrected.

“-dracopony with denial issues who just talked to a hallucination and just says that he's 'fine.'”

“And this is coming from a unicorn cyberpony, also with denial issues?” In spite of myself, I felt my muzzle curve up in the ghost of a smile.

“Not to mention the blind, telepathic griffin-unicorn hybrid with a history of atrocity!” Azrael added from downstairs.

“Pfft...” Rig shook her head with a soft chuckle, “we are such a dysfunctional group.”

“Not that dysfunctional. We're still breathing aren't we? Now, next house.”

* * *

“Alright...” I murmured to himself as I leaked ice into the floor safe's keyhole and cycled the lock. I swung the door open to find another Colt M11901 pistol along with two magazines of .45 ACP and a few pre-war bits. Occasionally, even the big, empty bastard grants small favors to the luckless. After sprouting ice arms to snatch up the ammunition and money, I began to field strip both Night Fang and her sister, swapping out worn parts for newer ones.

“Hey Frost, did you know this part of Manehattan?” Rig asked from downstairs. I could hear her rummaging through the cupboards.

“Not too well,” I answered back, swapping the hammers. “Just because I grew up here doesn't mean I knew every inch of the city. It's a massive one, after all.”

“Well what parts of the city did you know?” she queried.

“The northern quarter and downtown, mainly,” I responded, unscrewing and replacing the grips.

“What was Manehattan like?” Rig inquired.

I paused in my comparison of the barrels, staring off into space as her question triggered years upon years of memories long lost to the sands of time- good memories, bad memories, memories of power, memories of bitterness. My gaze cast downward, my mind wandering back to the bathroom I used for storage back in Stalliongrad...

“Frost?” the young mare called out. I could hear her uneven footsteps “Are you alright up there?”

I snapped out of my trance and tossed aside the useless remains of the M11901. Slipping Night Fang away, I replied, “Yeah, I'm alright.” I checked myself. “Just... just remembering. It's... I'm...”

I looked up as she limped into the doorway of the bedroom and she looked back at me. “You want to wait until later?”

I nodded glumly. “Later. I can tell you a little, though.” I stood up, and we were back to searching the different floors. “The cities of Equestria each had their own unique traits, their own flair.” I paused, snatching a few caps lying at the bottom of a dresser. Who just puts all this loot in random containers and just leaves them there anyway? “Manehattan was known as the City of Lights and Legends. The city had a very prolific nightlife. It was once said that Manehattan never sleeps, and having spent my childhood here, it's a matter of fact. Lights were strung up all across the city and would turn on right after sundown. It's like the day never ended, and the party only begun.”

“And the 'Legends' part?” Rig asked.

“Heh... Manehattan was the birthplace of scores of legendary figures,” I huffed. “Musicians- Chimney Hendrucks, DJ Champony, The Foo Fliers, The Rolling Scones, Ray Marbles, Sapphire Shores, The Whoof. Athletes- Babe Truth, Tiger Woods, Cherry Polevault, Cold “Beef” Tyrant-”

“Say what?”

“Don't... ask about the name,” I chuckled, checking the closet for anything of use. “You just don't ask about his name. Either of them. There's also Malt Disneigh, Tie Pennington, Mill Gates, Hoard Hues- too many to name. And those are just ponies. Scores of famous people were born in Manehattan. On any given day, you could just as easily bump into a movie star or a jazz musician or an inventor or a philequinepist.”

“What made you leave?” Rig inquired.

“Girl, aren't you a barrel of questions today?” I grinned, even as I found nothing worthwhile. “I left because... I finally learned how to perform magic. My magic.”

“Cryomancy?”

“Barrel of questions indeed. Yes, cryomancy. After becoming more and more adept with the art, I was offered a scholarship to attend Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns in...” My grin faded, “... Canterlot.”

Rig didn't make any comment. I couldn't even hear her moving downstairs.

“Well, that killed the mood rather quickly,” Azrael remarked. I only offered a grunt as I vaulted over the side of the stairwell, landing in a soft crouch.

“Anything useful?” Rig asked, poking out of the downstairs bathroom.

“Another Colt forty-five to repair Night Fang and some ammunition,” I answered. “Otherwise, only a few pre-war bits. You?”

“Got some magical bandages, my PipBuck calls 'em.” She shrugged. “Better than nothing. Didn't really expect to find anything we needed in these houses anyways, but it was worth a shot.”

Soon after, we moved on the next house, the last intact building before the hospital. Same architecture, same state of disrepair, same scavenging plan.

There were plenty of radroaches though.

Rig slammed her pickaxe into one of the ones crawling around the living room with a wet crunch. “So gross...”

On the other hoof, I formed ice arms with muscle tendrils attached, squishing them. “I have to agree. There's just something about these mutated bugs that just... makes me want to avoid getting any bit of them on my weapons.”

“I'm just glad I don't get to feel them die,” Azrael huffed from the doorway, not reacting to the resounding crunches in the least.

“Something weird about this, though,” Rig spoke up, spiking through another one of the pests. “How come there aren't any- ew!” She jumped as the headless radroach continued to skitter about aimlessly. Another slam from her pickaxe stilled the overgrown insect. “That is... so disturbing!”

“Yeah, they live without their heads.” I grimaced, proceeding to smash more of them. “Probably should've mentioned that.”

“How come The Guide didn't say anything about that?” the cloud-maned mare asked.

“Mm. I admit it's probably outdated and definitely nowhere near all-inclusive.” Smash, smash. “Okay, taking upstairs as usual.” I trotted up the steps, but a worrying groan caused surge of adrenaline to rush to my head. The stairs were giving away. Without firm ground to push off of, I lifted my right legs and kicked off of the wall, rolling sideways in the air and landing in a crouch as the stairway crumbled down in a small plume of dust as time cranked back up to speed. And wouldn't you know it? More radroaches crawled out from the cloud.

“Oh for the love of-” Rig started, bringing out her throwing shovel beside her pickaxe and hacking away. “Frost, you weren't kidding when you said the Wasteland hates you.”

“Has every right to,” I grunted as I resumed smashing. “On the upside, at least you're getting some practice with your melee weapons.”

“Hardly,” Rig scoffed.

“And you're both talking to one another in a civil manner,” Azrael commented. “I consider that a plus.”

“Very true.” I nodded in agreement. I smashed a radroach just as she went for it, embedding her pickaxe into the ice. We slowly looked up at one another. “That reminds me. We've got to start learning how to fight together.”

“We've been doing good so far, especially back at Vealville,” Rig noted.

“We weren't working together directly in that fight,” the griffin hybrid reminded her.

“Right... well, any ideas?”

“Call out targets, call out reloads, stagger fire to prevent reloading at the same time, and most importantly, do not wander into someone else's line of fire,” I answered. “We're very lucky that hasn't happened yet, but you have hit pretty close to us with explosive ordnance before, Rig. Namely me.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Rig said with a shrug, taking a moment to smash a twitching radroach.

“Heh, if it was easy, you wouldn't have needed a whole regimen at boot camp for it,” I huffed, jutting an ice platform off from the wall above the destroyed stairwell and using it as a stepping stone to get upstairs. “We'll work on it as we go, starting today.” As I dipped into the bedrooms, I asked, “So Rig, you were saying something before the headless radroach incident?”

“Oh, right. How come there aren't any skeletons or anything here? Haven't seen one since, well, for a long time.”

“Cloudsdale was the first city hit by a balefire bomb, and it was completely eradicated by the blast,” I answered. “The other cities had ample time to sound the alarms and evacuate the chosen population into the Stables. You'll only see skeletons in the suburbs, usually.”

“Chosen population?” Rig inquired further. “You mean not everyone got into the Stables?”

“No, it was a lottery,” I said, shaking my head despite no one being around to see it. “Not enough Stables were built by the time the contingency of a spellfire apocalypse was realized.” I took a moment to check behind the dresser. Bingo, safe. I placed my hoof against the lock and seeped ice into the keyhole. “Hmph, more like an auction bid for the aristocrats...” It was already unlocked, and I swung it open. Bingo, empty safe. Of course, right?

“Jeez, I thought there would've been enough for everyone...” Rig sighed audibly as I moved back to the washroom. “Hey, Frost?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you do all this stuff? You were a bounty hunter before I came along.”

I sighed out a chilly mist as I checked the medical box, “I-” A healing potion and a vial of Med-X. I scowled and threw the Med-X down with enough force to break the syringe and stowed the potion bottle. “Sorry about that. I do what I do for... redemption.”

“No, I meant before, uh, Miranda and Wendy,” Rig spoke up.

“Same answer,” I said as I headed back and vaulted back downstairs. “Redemption.” Rig eyed me, poking out of the restroom levitating a pack of RadAway. Wait, how...? She's luckier than you, Frost. Just accept it. “Rig, you didn't think they were the only innocents I've killed, did you?”

Rig looked at me for a while. “Are you sorry about them?”

“More than you can imagine,” I replied, eyes hard. “And I know I'll probably never be able to pay for what I've done.”

“So why do you try?” the young unicorn mare asked.

“Because I hope that one day I'll be able to. I've lived for two-hundred-seventeen years,” I told her. “I'll probably be able to push some more decades out of that; see what I can do then.” I inhaled and straightened up. “But I think you've been asking enough questions. Time for me to ask the same of you. Why do you still want to help your Stable after they ostracized you, Rig? Even your parents cast you out. So why?”

The earth-coated mare slipped the RadAway into her saddlebags and answered, “Because it's the right thing to do. I'm not going to let hundreds of people die of thirst just because of my own reasons, uh... oh, I'm so bad at this...”

“No, no, go on.” I encouraged her.

“Well...” Rig sighed, sitting down, “I can't just let them die for revenge or whatever. That'd be, you know, selfish of me, doing that. Sure, we're not on good terms or whatever, but... they're still my family and former friends. I can't just do that to them, since they're depending on me. Hell, I think they might actually be worried. Maybe more for the fact that no one's come back yet, but maybe worried about how I'm doing, too. Crap, that sucked, didn't it?”

“You did well enough,” Azrael spoke up.

“Sure, sure, now how about you?” The young mare pointed at her. “Ha, no fun now that the spotlight's on you, is it?”

The avian-leonine... equine (okay, I'm going to just drop doing that) shrugged and merely said, “Same as Frost.”

Rig deadpanned at her. “What?! No fair! You can't do that!”

Azrael smiled- just barely- and backed out of the way for us. “I just did.”

I couldn't help but let out a husky chuckle of myself. “Alright, onto the hos-” I paused, hearing something tinny in the air over the distant gunfire and shouting. Something... lively in the land of death.

“-shaaaaaare, you gotta caaaaaare!
It's the right thing to do!
You gotta shaaaaaare, you gotta caaaaaare!
And there'll always be away throuuuuuugh!”

“... hang on a second.”

* * *

“It's been a while, Watcher,” I spoke, alone and in the streets as Rig and Azrael watched from afar.

Hovering in the air before me was a spherical drone of sorts. It had numerous antenna-like extensions jutting diagonally upward and downward from the rear of the machine along with a grill-like speaker for a “face.” Two pairs of insect-like wings buzzed away to keep the machine afloat. It was a Sprite-bot, playing a cheery tune from its speakers. The tune muted abruptly, the automaton suddenly very quiet except from a barely audible drone of its wings.

“It's been a while, Sentinel,” the machine spoke back in a nonfluctuating, robotic tone. “I almost didn't recognize you until I remembered you're...”

“The last surviving dracopony and Lunar Guard, yes.” I finished for... him, I assumed. “The armor probably helped.”

“Yes. The last sentinel. It's been... twenty years since we last spoke, if memory serves.”

“Twenty years.” I nodded in affirmation. “Back when I started bounty hunting and headed up north.”

The Sprite-bot remained silent, and for a moment I thought he might have gone away again. Then: “You've changed.”

“Started to,” I corrected. “How are you doing, Watcher?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” he responded. “Are those friends of yours over there behind you?”

“... friends, yes,” I answered with a nod.

“Hm... yes, you've changed,” Watcher remarked. “For the better, I think. Now, did you come to me just to say hello and ask how I am after all these years? Or was there something else?”

I sighed a cool mist, “Am I that transparent?”

“You're the one with the ice. You tell me.” His chuckle came out... rather disturbing from the unwavering tone.

“Heh, well, let's cut to the chase. Have you heard about The Dead Boys?”

“I have,” Watcher stated simply.

“Do you know anything about what they're doing here when they're supposed to be based in the Westerns? Even if they are after the griffin behind me?”

“... should I even ask about that?”

“It's a simpler answer than you think,” I told him. “Her family ran with The Dead Boys until their morals finally took hold of them. They tried to sneak away three months ago but were discovered. Her mother and one of the leaders of The Dead Boys were killed in the struggle. They've been hunted ever since.”

“Simple answer,” Watcher huffed. “Now isn't that a nice change of pace. If only other answers could be so simple... but I digress. The Dead Boys have a new contractor apparently, and this new contractor wants them to gather... something or some things from the bomb craters in various locations around Equestria. As for the relocation, this new contractor found... something for them. Or possibly someone.”

“What do you mean?” I inquired.

“They said they found Niiviin.”

“Oh great. That makes seven more of these so-called 'gods' we have to kill.”

“There's a cruel irony to that,” Watcher commented.

“Don't remind me,” I snorted. “Anything else?”

“Not much. They destroy Sprite-bots on sight, so I can't effectively monitor them. What I do know is that the Dead Boys here now are better-equipped than before. You'll want to take engagements with them seriously.”

“Better-equipped how?” I inquired.

“Imaging and weapons systems along with a whole slew of other technology I couldn't even recognize. Be careful, Frost. That sort of technology is unheard of in the Wasteland.”

I nodded once and started back. “Take care of yourself, Watcher.”

“Wait,” he spoke up. “One last thing.” I turned to face him. “Remember what I told you before, Frost. Find your virtue. And don't let go.”

I regarded the Sprite-bot for a few seconds before nodding stoutly. There was a pop, and the drone went bobbing along with its cheery tune.

“Friend of yours?” Rig asked as I regrouped with her and Azrael.

“Something like that.”

* * *

The hospital, a wide, square-shaped construct of cracked concrete and broken windows, loomed before us as we scouted it out from the ruins of an apartment building. I tried to picture how it looked before the bombs fell. I couldn't- it was now a partially-crumbled morgue in an appropriately deathly shade of gray. The three-story building also took up the majority of a city block; I could see now just how scavengers kept finding medical supplies in it even after one-hundred-sixty years.

There was just one unforeseen problem.

“Raiders own the place,” Rig grumbled as she lowered the ice lenses I coalesced for her. There were indeed a slew of them just loitering around the outside, gathered around trash fires. “Great. You know, I really thought that guard would've mentioned something that important.”

“You really should start expecting things like this given our luck, Rig,” I huffed. “It's never that easy for us. Azrael, you still blind?”

“Still blind.” She scowled. “There are just too many alicorns in the area.”

“Can't you just avoid reading them?” I asked, facing her.

“I haven't been reading anything for the past three days,” the ebony giant replied curtly. “If it would've made a difference, I wouldn't be completely blind right now.”

“That's going to complicate things, isn't it?” Rig sighed.

“I'll just shoot in the general direction of incoming gunfire.” Azrael shrugged. “That's how I handle machines.”

“That's a pretty shitty plan,” the young mare murmured.

“The Kord 6P50 isn't exactly a weapon of precision in any case. If you have any better ideas, then by all means say so.”

“Well, we still need to clear a way in,” I spoke. “Rig, you get to have some explosive fun. I want you to fire a grenade at the raiders hanging down that way, further down the side of the building.” I pointed to indicate where I wanted her to aim. “Should distract them and pull some away from the entrance.”

“And if it doesn't?” she asked.

I formed a pair of ice arms and checked the load on my IF-55. I swapped to 7.62 SR rounds, forming a frozen suppressor over the barrel. “Then I get to see if I'm still as good a marksman with this and clear out the entrance for us.” I peered through the scope, leveling the crosshairs on a seated raider's head. “Tell me when you're ready.”

She teleported Luna's Fortitude out and tilted the barrel up. “Ready.”

“Weapons free,” I ordered.

“Uh, what?” She looked at me with a puzzled expression.

“Oh just fire already...”

Rig fired the 40-millimeter grenade with a softened crack followed shortly by a much louder crack as the grenade impacted squarely in a group of raiders, sending up a plume of dust and severed limbs as the those who survived the blast let out distant cries of pain. We watched as a good number of the raiders rushed over there to see what was the problem, drawing weapons. Unfortunately, the ones at the entrance were far enough that they paid no attention to it- or didn't want to.

“Well, your go, I guess,” Rig said as shouts and curses rose in the distance.

“My go,” I complied, zeroing in on the smoking, dirty mare and pulling the trigger. There was a muffled click, but oddly enough, I didn't feel the solid kick of the IF-55. The raider didn't also get a hole in her head. I pulled the trigger twice more with similar results then pulled back, tilting the DMR sideways and working at the mag release plate. It caught. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” Rig glanced at me. “What's wrong?”

“Unbelievable!” I repeated, sliding the plate out of the way and slapping the mag well. “We just got more ammo for this and it jams!” I pushed the plate back into position and slapped the covered mag well again. I tapped the forward assist, took aim, and pulled the trigger. Another click. “Dammit!” Flipped on the safety, tapped the forward assist, flipped off the safety, aimed, pulled the trigger. Click. “Come on!” This called for more... forceful procedures. I slid the release plate forward all the way and removed the magazine before closing it up and hitting the butt of the rifle against the ground several times. I replaced the mag, slapped the plate, took aim, and pulled the trigger. Click. “Fucking come on!”

“Frost?” Rig called to me.

“What?” I growled, trying to work the receiver as best I could to pry the chambered round out. I felt something poking at my leg and looked down to see a 7.62 SR round floating in her gray levitation aura. I looked back up at the smirking mare. “When did you get that out?”

“Just now,” she answered.

I shook my head and took aim once more, taking a moment to cycle the plate to chamber the next round before taking aim at the oblivious mare. “Alright... come on...”

The raider's head snapped back with a barely audible pop, a fresh hole between her eyes. But I didn't pull the trigger.

“Heh, nice shot.” Rig pat me on the shoulder.

I lowered the IF-55. “That wasn't me.”

“Say what?”

“That wasn't me,” I repeated. The raiders at the entrance were taken down in quick succession with more tinny pops. Movement from a distant set of houses caught my eye and I pulled up the IF-55, peering through the scope.

What I saw was a griffin wearing a strange helmet that completely encompassed his head, even with a larger forward area jutting out to accommodate for the movement of the lower jaw when talking. The right eye bore an extension resembling a monocular with three blue-lit lenses arranged in a triangular fashion. The left eye bore a shorter eyepiece with a similar blue glow. Said griffin was holding what looked like an AL-F2 sniper rifle fitted with a suppressor. I couldn't make any sense of this one from this equipment alone.

But I recognized the skeletal armor with its shades of death and decay.

The griffin's head turned directly toward me. I fired my IF-55 with a useless click and ducked as his suppressed shot whizzed through the air my head had been moments before.

“Shit, stay low!” I hissed quietly, Rig and Azrael dropping into cover as another .308 Wynnchester round whizzed by. “Dead Boys.”

“What?” Azrael shot back in a low tone. “Here?”

“Hard to miss the armor,” I answered back, keeping low.

“Did you get him?” Rig asked.

“He shot back twice,” I growled. “Of course I didn't get him. I think the firing assembly's turned to shit.”

“Well what the hell are we supposed to do then?” Rig growled back. “Play sitting ducks until they hit us?”

“Hold on, hold on,” I told her, raising an ice arm and reshaping the hand into a reflective square. I tilted it around to scout out the situation. I saw the Dead Boys sniper and four others moving low and fast across the street to the hospital entrance. One was armed with a bullpup assault rifle of some sort, the second with a light machine gun, the third with a Saiga shotgun (I wanted that!), and the fourth... the fourth had a weapon I couldn't even identify. Instead of a barrel, it had three long, parallel spires jutting from the body in a tight fashion like a miniature railgun. The five griffins were moving across the street so that they weren't bunched up close together, and they were aiming their weapons to cover lines of sight that the others did not as they headed for the hospital. The last one, the griffin armed with the AL-F2 sniper rifle, spotted my reflector and took another quick pair of shots, the second of which tore clean through the ice. More suppressed shots came much more rapidly, pinning us down. The volume of fire caused Rig to wince and flip her welding helmet down.

“Five of them,” I reported, slipping the useless IF-55 away and bringing out Night Fang. “We're dealing with a squad, and they're decked out.”

“Why can't things ever be easy for us?” Rig growled. “Well, any ideas?”

“Just one,” I answered back, ice crinkling over my form. “Stay low! Open fire on my mark!”

My vision was slightly blurred from the thickness of my ice armor as I stood back up fully, taking aim at the squad as they stacked up against the entrance. The assault rifle griffin and the sniper both took shots at me as soon as I left cover. I headed away from Rig and Azrael, a frozen suppressor forming over Night Fang as I fired right back, taking slow, deliberate shots as best I could. Pistol ironsights are generally ill-suited to combat at this range, and I probably only chipped at their body armor at best. Still, I diverted their fire away from Rig and Azrael.

“Open up, open up!” I shouted, my voice muffled from the armor as I kept up the fire.

Rig popped out of cover first and fired a grenade at them. The hastily-fired shot landed just past them and caused them to duck away from the blast. By this time, one of the Dead Boys griffins tossed a grenade through the doorway. I spotted a quick flash of light and could hear a dull bang as it went off and the squad quickly breached. Rig and Azrael both opened fire at the pinned squad, but the griffin was firing at where the young mare's grenade went off, only serving to generate an obscene level of noise. One squadmate returned to clasp both of the griffins firing at us on the back and they quickly retreated. The sniper staggered a bit as Rig managed to clip his hindleg with Luna's Fortitude, a second hail of shots felling him as the other gunner slipped inside.

“Fuck!” Rig growled as the giant kept firing. “Azrael, ease up, ease up! They're gone!”

The griffin hybrid ceased fire and asked, “Did we get them?”

“Reloading, only one,” I answered, topping off Night Fang. I had to get a better gun for distance work. “Come on, we're going after the-” I was cut off as a new volley of fire scattered around us. Both Rig and Azrael were hit and ducked down beneath cover as I stood firm and looked at the source.

I really, really, really should have told Azrael to hold her fire, because Harbinger's enormous report drew the raiders' attention back to us. I fired a few shots in their direction to gain their attention and soak up the incoming fire. Shots pinged and rolled right off of my armor as I advanced toward them, trying to get closer as I fired in quick bursts. The raiders still thankfully had that aversion to heavier armor, and Night Fang easily brought them down. I spotted a unicorn raider pop out from a window, on the second floor of the hospital, levitating a-

Fwoomp-whoosh!

“Shit!” I cursed, leaping sideways. Thankfully, the bitch had tried going for a direct hit, something you never do against a soft target. The missile struck far enough behind me so that I was spared the brunt of the damage. But there was a hard crunch followed by a blooping sound and then my hearing went out into a dull ring; I was knocked off of my feet and sent rolling along the cracked asphalt from the blast. Ignoring the drone in my ears, I scrambled to my feet and ran lopsidedly back into cover with Rig and Azrael.

“-fuck was that?” the unicorn mare shrieked as my hearing warped back. “Was that a missile launcher?!”

“Missile launcher.” I nodded weakly, panting hard as I collapsed next to them. Azrael was bleeding, clacking her beak repeatedly in irritation. Rig had several holes in her but mostly in the places where she had cybernetics. Her left foreleg was bleeding, though.

The cloud-maned mare popped out to fire once again. “Where the fuck does a raider get a missile launcher?!”

“The Wasteland Hates Us Store!” I shot back, creeping up with her and laying down fire with Night Fang at the street-level raiders. “I don't know, just take it out! Azrael- you, me, covering fire!”

“Got it!” the giant complied, standing up and opening up with Harbinger. The force of the weapon firing alone kicked up the dust around us. Even if we were both spraying wildly, they stood no chance against fat .45 ACP and electrified 12.7 NSVT.

“Rig, you get her yet?!” I shouted over the gunfire.

“I'm trying, I'm trying!” Rig exclaimed, Luna's Fortitude clicking dry. “Reloading! Oh... shit!”

I snapped up as another missile arced for us, my heart seizing and my eyes widening as we ducked down. Rig let out a shriek and her horn flared up brighter as... the missile teleported away.

“The fu- aah!” Rig cut off mid-curse as the missile teleported back at the window... and streaked straight for us again! She let out another gray flash, the missile reappearing further down the street, continuing along its course and exploding harmlessly away from us. “That's it! I've had it!” The earth-coated mare popped out as the missile launching raider dropped another load into the tube, teleporting the weapon away... into her own telekinetic aura. “Sit on my horn and spin, bitch!” She promptly sent the missile straight back at the gawking raider, standing there wide-eyed like a deer caught in the headlights. The explosion scattered body parts, concrete, metal, and dust from the building as a section of the floor collapsed from the force of the detonation.

I think Azrael somehow even managed to join me in staring at Rig as she stood there, dropping the spent missile launcher and slowly turning toward us.

“It feels fucking good to vent!” she panted.

* * *

“Okay, now I feel fucking terrible,” Rig groaned, plucking out pieces of the hollow-point bullet that struck her right foreleg.

“Seconded,” Azrael piped in after slugging down a healing potion. “Really, I wouldn't mind a smaller telepathic radius right about now if it meant I didn't have to worry about the Goddessdamned alicorns leaving me blind like this!” We both stared at her as she bristled and gritted her teeth. “... sorry. That was uncharacteristic of me.”

“Can't blame you,” I sighed out a cool mist, checking over myself for any gunshot wounds or burns.

“You know it's pretty funny,” Rig huffed. “Normally I'm the one who gets through these firefights unscathed.”

“I guess even the unlucky get lucky sometimes,” I nickered. “But that back there? I don't think encountering a high-tech Dead Boys squad and then getting shot up by the raiders we were trying to get past in the first place can be called 'lucky'.”

“Okay, is that all?” the young mare looked over her leg. “Is that all?” She waved it around. “Ow... yeah, that should be all.” She poured half of a healing potion into the wound and swallowed the other half. She looked back up at me. “Learned it from you.”

I grinned at her. “You learn fast, kid.”

“And on that note, what happened back there with the missile?” Azrael asked. “It never hit us.”

“Well, I teleported it back in the window, but it still kept flying straight at us,” Rig replied. “Then I teleported it away further and it... continued...” She widened her eyes, “on its way into the other end of the street... wow.” She put a hoof to her chin. “So the velocity of an object in motion is conserved during teleportation...” She grinned, levitating a fresh magazine and tossing it away. She teleported it back to her other side. She caught it as it zipped into her hoof, and she promptly reloaded Luna's Fortitude. The young mare was beaming. “I'm brilliant!”

I smiled right back at her, but the flicker of a memory erased it quickly.

“... you okay, Frost?” she asked, tilting her head.

I looked back at her. “Just... you reminded me of someone, that's all.”

“You know, you still owe her a mind-reading session once we're done with this,” Rig said, cocking her head at Azrael. “When we're done with this and she can do it again, that is.”

“Yeah, I know.” I nodded. “Now, everyone all patched up and ready to go? We still need RadAway, and we still need to find out what those Dead Boys are up to.”

“Ready,” Rig answered. She did have a lovely smirk.

“Ready,” Azrael likewise answered, thudding to her feet. “Though, if you don't mind, don't be afraid to point me in the direction of the enemy.” She sighed, “This is becoming a real hindrance.”

“Well we don't intend on leaving you behind by yourself for someone to kill you,” I huffed, starting off and forming ice armor. “Now let's go. I want to check out that body.”

We moved quickly as possible across to the hospital entrance, although perhaps not as quietly as possible. We stopped by the entrance, taking a moment to loot the bodies of the raiders for a few caps. Lucky Rig- one of them was using an AKM and as such had 7.62 SR for Luna's Fortitude. Now for the more interesting matter.

The body of the Dead Boys griffin.

We dug into the saddlebags first. He was well-equipped. I thought as much. He had plenty of .308 Wynnchester rounds in a variety of flavors- straight up full metal jacket, armor-piercing, hollow point, even jacketed soft point. There was also three days' worth of army-grade MREs, or Meals Ready to Eat (Alternatively, Meals Ready to Expel. You can probably guess what they taste like.), and plenty of water. He even had six healing potions and two super restoration potions. There was even a shaped breaching charge on him. And his AL-F2 sniper rifle? It was worn to be sure, but it was in surprisingly good condition. This wasn't just well-equipped for the wasteland- this was well-equipped for the Aldornan Land Army even.

And on the body were at least thirty packs of RadAway and ten bottles of Rad-X in a compartment all to itself.

“Holy shit...” Rig remarked.

“I think we just found our ticket to the Far North,” I muttered, divvying the loot up between the three of us.

“So what's the plan now?” the earth-coated mare inquired. “That's more than enough to last me through the journey.”

“Well.” I looked up, back at the entrance of the hospital. “I still want to find out what these guys are doing here.” And with that, I rolled the body over and took a closer look at the helmet, trying to work it off. A gray flash of light later and it was hovering right beside me. I raised an eyebrow at the girl.

“What?” she snickered. “Theatrics do make things more fun, you know.”

I smirked right back at her and took the helmet in my ice arms, using a reflective square to see how the eyepieces worked. I frowned quickly. “Can't tell what's going on with these helmets,” I sighed. “Azrael, do you know anything about the technologies The Dead Boys employed back in the Westerns?”

“I might if you could give me a description,” the hybrid replied hopefully.

“Large anterior, large enough to accommodate for a moving lower jaw when talking,” I told her. “There's a telescopic eyepiece on the right side with three lenses, all blue-”

“You can stop now,” she said. “I know it. It's an enhanced-reality combat helmet, a project that never came to fruition before the apocalypse. I never had the opportunity to use one myself, of course. All I know is that it has built-in E.F.S., some sort of biological scanner, and multiple imaging systems.”

“Well fuck,” I said outright. “That's gonna make things a little... interesting. Still, we should try to get a live one. So, without further ado...” I slid to the warped sliding doors and peered inside in the opening the griffins made.

The bodies of six raiders littered the floor of the lobby. The place was trashed and already filled with the hallmarks of raider territory marking, ranging from obscene, violent graffiti to even more obscene, more violent bodies flayed and strung up with chains. It was an affront to the numerous Ministry of Peace posters lining the room. If anyone, the somber, pleading gaze of Ministry Mare Fluttershy (War? Fear? Death? We must do better!) didn't deserve this kind of... insult.

There was also a landmine lying just beyond the doorway.

“Rig?” I called.

There was a gray flash and a quick chirp. She had already disarmed it and was tucking it into her saddlebags. “Mine,” she said, giggling at her own pun.

I snorted and slipped inside first, Night Fang drawn. “Keep me posted if you pick up anything on E.F.S. And keep an eye out for more traps.”

Azrael coughed politely.

“Figuratively speaking of course,” I added.

“Well, I'll try...” Rig murmured as we pushed onward, levitating Luna's Fortitude beside herself.

“Try?” I arced an eyebrow back at her.

“It's kinda dark past the windows, Frost?”

Oh. I hadn't even noticed because of my eyes. I gave her a nod and we pushed forth carefully. “With me, Azrael.”

I felt the giant's hand on my back as we advanced cautiously. “As you wish.”

The hallways were just as messy as the lobby, filled with bodies both mutilated and fresh. Azrael's size and weight made every thudding footfall echo through the halls. Occasionally, a weakened tile would shatter under her feet with a wince-inducing crack. We definitely wouldn't be sneaking up on the Dead Boys squad. That much was certain.

The raiders in the hospital didn't stand a chance against them. The only blood splatters I saw were around their corpses; as far as I was concerned, none of the griffins had even been touched. The smell of the freshly-spilled blood made my nostrils flare and my eye slits narrow. I felt energized- stronger and faster even in my dracopony form. I kept alert, glancing across the hallways and into the medical suites.

“You wanted skeletons, Rig,” I whispered. “Here you go.”

The suites were filled with them. Unable to flee to shelter or forsaken by untimely illness or injury, the hospital became a tomb for hundreds. Most of them were in medical uniform or in patient gowns. It wasn't clear what killed them. Who knew? Did the blast from the bomb kill them outright, mercifully? Or did they languish before succumbing to death from illness, starvation, dehydration, or radiation? I hoped it was the first. To hold on day by day, watching as the weaker and young and older slipped away around you, knowing you could be next... knowing that death was creeping closer, inescapable, inevitable...

“Oh Goddesses...” Rig whispered, voice cracking as we passed by a suite. I stopped and took a closer look.

Inside on the bed was the skeleton of a female pegasus, illuminated dimly by the twice-filtered light streaming through the broken window. Her gown was torn. I wish it hadn't been. Because curled up in her belly region was the tiny, fragile form of another skeleton.

I hoped it was the first.

“What is it?” Azrael whispered.

“It's best if you don't know, Azrael,” I told her. I looked back at Rig, almost able to see her pained expression behind her helmet.

I looked back at the room. The soft, choked wind that blew past the ruined pane and the torn curtains sounded almost like hushed, shuddering sobs. Slathered on the wall was raider graffiti, yet not obscene, not crude. It was the words, “See what the Goddesses gave us?” An accusatory arrow pointed at the two bodies.

Unbridled anger seethed through me, and I lashed out with my hoof with a snarl. Ice crackled over the profane words and obscured them as I hissed breath through gritted teeth, heart aching.

“Frost...” Rig called softly.

“Let's move,” I murmured. “Now.” I started off wordlessly. Rig followed along after a moment's hesitation. “Anything on E.F.S.?”

“Nothing yet,” she answered. “Only us.”

I kept Night Fang out, sweeping her out wherever I looked. It was far too quiet. The Dead Boys should still be dealing with the raiders, and raiders were definitely not known for subtlety during combat. I spotted something new amidst the sea of blood and spent bullet casings, however. It looked like some sort of transparent capsule the size of a microspark cell, filled with a blackened, viscous goop I couldn't identify. I picked it up with my second ice arm and gave it a sniff. It smelled... charred, like burnt meat.

“Any idea what this is, Azrael?” I inquired, pressing it against her free hand while resting the other on my back.

The black-cloaked griffin took the capsule and rolled it around in her palm. “What does it look like?”

“It's clear and filled with some black goop of some-”

“E.F.S., E.F.S.!” Rig called out.

Adrenaline rushing to my head as the ceiling tile above her head began to glow a bright orange. With time slowed down, I shrugged and twisted to dislodge her hand and knock her off-balance. The griffin toppled over to the side as a three, cherry-sized orbs of orange energy passed through the ceiling together in a tight, triangular pattern with a warped, blasting sound. The projectiles zipped fast into the floor, leaving a glowing patch behind. If she had still been standing, it would have passed through her head.

“Frost!” Rig cried out in surprise as time wound back up to speed, jumping from the energy projectile that zipped past. “Aah! What was-”

“Run, just get up and run!” I yelled, the giant scrambling to her feet and racing after us as we broke down the hallway, another triple energy round skirting past Azrael.

“Frost, ice the ceiling, now!” the giant griffin called, cantering to throw off the gunman from above. A shot clipped her midsection, and she collapsed forward into the floor with a heavy thud and a cry of agony

My horn flared up with an icy blue glow as sheets of ice crackled over our heads. Whatever those energy projectiles were, they couldn't pass through the ice. The projectile that struck it left a worrying hiss, though...

“Azrael, you alright?” I asked as I rushed to her side and proceeded to spread the ice along the rest of the ceiling area around us.

“Nngh... I'll live,” she gasped, clutching just behind her shoulder, where the shot caught her.

“Quit saying that!” Rig yelped, teleporting a healing potion out for the griffin hybrid, which she quickly drank. “The hell was that?” I inspected the area where she was hit. The shot didn't even tear through her cloak, it seemed... or passed right through that and her armor.

“Arcsurge plasma rifle...” Azrael panted, visibly wincing and reaching out again. Rig winked out another potion bottle, and she imbibed it hastily. “Semi-auto... six shots. It fires... biomass-enhanced plasma... takes on unique properties... ignores most types of cover... most metals, only some fabrics...” She exhaled heavily, appearing to catch her breath. “These are the fully-equipped Dead Boys, alright.”

That explained the strange weapon I saw earlier.

“So wait, you're saying they've got weaponry that can ignore cover and armor?” Rig flipped up her welding helmet and balked at her.

“Most types, yes.” She nodded, rising to her feet. “It appears that organic material and water are exceptions.”

I looked up at the ice coating the ceiling. “Thank you, cryomancy...” Back at the other two. “Azrael, can you move?”

“I'm fine, Frost,” she answered. “Just don't get hit by it, and take out that gunner ASAP.”

I nodded. “Least we know one thing- they're upstairs.” I glanced down a corridor and found our way up. “Get ready and let's move. Azrael, stick with Rig this time.”

“Understood,” the hybrid complied, resting her hand on the young mare as we made for the stairwell. I made sure the ceiling above us was properly iced over all the way.

Once we reached it, I made a downward patting motion to Rig. She got the message and stayed put, flipping her welding helmet down. I holstered Night Fang and sublimated my ice arms, thinning my ice armor and cloaking. I made my way up the first flight and stopped dead in my tracks. There was another mine sitting just around the bend, hidden out of direct line of sight. I receded my cloak just a little and waved to Rig to get her attention, mouthing, “Mine.” A moment later, the explosive was gone, I was cloaked again, and I peered over the top of the last flight to scout out the situation.

Nothing. I only met an empty intersection. Raising an eyebrow, I checked to the sides. Ah, there it was. They were down the right side. Just past the second corner down, the griffin with the light machine gun was set up with the bipod deployed, lying prone on the floor. I recognized it as an AGK-T9, an Aldornan copy of the venerable AK series. Equipped with a heavier, fluted barrel to improve heat dispersion, the AGK-T9 is an assault-rifle-turned-squad-support-weapon. To top it off, the barrel had an integral suppressor and sitting under the chamber was a drum magazine. Just one suite down and opposite the machine gunner was the griffin equipped with the bullpup assault rifle, a suppressed Steighyr AUG A3 with a carbine barrel and a reflector sight. Further down and on the same side as the prone machine gunner was the big target, the Dead Boy wielding the arcsurge plasma rifle, sweeping the weapon around, looking at the floor. Last was the one armed with the Saiga at the far end of the hallway, crouched and checking around the corner to make sure they weren't getting flanked.

In short, they were dug in hard and dug in well with what they had available.

I doubted they expected me coming up cloaked, however. I crept forward, intent on taking out the arcsurge rifle Dead Boy. I had only moved about two meters closer to them when the griffin looked up right at me and called out, “Therm, fore!”

I rolled out of the way as he sent a triple blast of plasma my way, my cloak thickening back into armor as the machine gunner fiddled with his visor and opened up with a string of quieted cracks. I brought Night Fang up and sprayed wildly to cover my retreat, unable to bring the armor up fast enough as several bullets punched through. Thankfully, they only caught me in the torso, the bullets harmlessly caught on my armor beneath. I couldn't stop- had to keep going, had to get to the stairwell. The Dead Boy armed with the AUG began alternating fire with the machine gunner, making sure I was peppered at all times as I finally reached the stairs. A blast of arcsurge plasma caught me in the chest as I slipped around the corner, and I howled from the intense heat as I tumbled down the stairs with my ice armor cracking off in chunks. The world spun around me as I rolled several times and finally came to rest (hard) against the wall of the landing, Night Fang clattering beside me.

“Fuck, that hurts...” I groaned softly.

“Frost!” Rig called, and I could hear them approaching. “You okay?!”

“Wait, wait!” I cautioned them. “I'm coming back down, just... wait...” I shook it off rose to my feet, kicking Night Fang up and catching her in my jaws. I leaped the rest of the way down the staircase, landing in a crouch at the bottom, where Rig and Azrael were waiting. Thankfully the ice on the ceiling still held. We were safe- for now.

“What happened up there?” the young mare asked as we spoke in hushed tones.

I spat Night Fang out and panted, “They've got thermal imaging in their helmets. Of course they've got thermal imaging with their helmets, right?”

“Well, that explains how they were shooting at us from through the floor.” Rig grimaced. “You okay?”

“Fine... need to cool the burnout... gimme a sec,” I sputtered, closing my eyes and focused. It was far easier in this form than while under the transmorgritive spell. Just needed to focus and... there. That familiar coolness washed over from my horn through the rest of my body. “Fucking hell that arcsurge plasma's hot... alright then. We go back up there, we're fucked as is. They're dug in deep and dug in well.”

“Have they moved?” Rig inquired.

“... one second.” I crept back upstairs, forming thicker ice armor this time in preparation for the light machine gun. I peeked my head out for just a moment and quickly ducked back. A hail of hushed gunfire struck the area around the corner. I descended back to Rig and Azrael and reported, “Still same places.”

“Well, I think I can give them a little surprise, then,” the cloud-maned mare huffed. I could almost see that smirk behind her helmet as she winked out a HE grenade. “So, where are they?”

I pointed up at the ceiling. “Machine gunner, assault rifle, arcsurge rifle, shotgun. Got all that?” Thank goodness for eidetic memory...

“Got all that,” Rig parroted in reply. “Now, with that grouping, I think I can take out the first two. The last two, we'll have to duke it out. Frost, take Azrael up there. Going to try to see if I can do this. If all goes well, I'll give you the heads-up to take 'em on. Azrael, with him, go.”

The avian rest her hand on my shoulder, and I guided her up the stairs, hugging along the wall as we neared the end. “Ready, Azrael?”

“Just point me in the right direction, and don't let me get hit,” the griffiness answered. “Please. It's bad enough that I can't see what I'm shooting at.”

“Alright, anytime now, Rig...” I murmured, drawing Night Fang once more and speed-loading a fresh mag.

I heard a tinny burst of magic downstairs, repeated again much closer. “Grenaaade!” shouted one of the griffins. The HE grenade set off with a fiery roar, combined with the crunch of weakened plaster and the shatter of bubbled glass. The blast wave washed past us, and I was quite thankful my ice armor soaked up the brunt of the heat. I moved up with Azrael, laying down fire with the Colt M11901. As expected, the two griffins up front were taken out by the explosive. The second one had managed to duck back into the suite in time but was pulverized by the high-explosive blast. The remaining two griffins were ducking into cover- the arcsurge Dead Boy into his own suite and the shotgun griffin ducking around the corner he was previously guarding.

“Open up, open up!” I yelled to Azrael. She let loose with Harbinger shortly after, the hallways turning the Kord's massive report into a deafening roar. The griffin at the end of the hallway poked out but was quickly overwhelmed by the devastating if not inaccurate suppressing fire and was forced to duck back around the corner, blindly firing a pair of buckshot rounds that hardly touched us. Azrael's gunfire suddenly stopped however, and I was only left with my not-very-armor-piercing .45 ACP. “Azrael, status report!”

“My firing bit's gone!” she exclaimed. “Lucky shot tore off the firing bit!”

“What?” I shot back quietly, speed-loading a fresh mag to keep them pinned. “Can't you just use the temporal spell matrix to fix it?”

“The battle saddle isn't a part of Harbinger itself!” Azrael yelled back. “I can't fire her!”

“Well thanks for shouting it to the enemy!” I growled as the arcsurge rifle Dead Boy threw a canister into the hallway. “Shit!” I squinted my eyes tight and thickened the ice around my ears on instinct. The flashbang grenade still sent my hearing into a dull ring and caused Azrael to shudder, and my sensitive eyes were still blurred after reopening them. I kept up the fire with Night Fang to suppress them, but eventually they wised up to the notion that I couldn't punch through armor. The shotgun griffin edged out and opened up on us while the arcsurge rifle griffin did the same... shooting through his own cover! I stamped down on the floor and shot up an ice wall to protect us. Some of the shotgun blasts punched holes in the ice before I had a chance to thicken it, and I think I swore as I felt Azrael's weight shift off of me and felt the ground shake. Sound came back as a roaring wave as I watched Azrael lie sprawled on her side, blood flowing freely from where the buckshot tore into her neck and a patch of her breastplate glowing a hot orange. She was lying there, twitching.

“No!” I roared, dropping Night Fang and fishing out a... I didn't have any super restorations with me. I only had regular healing potions. “Fuck!” I cracked the seal and propped up her head to allow her to drink as I heard uneven footsteps scamper up the stairs.

“Frost!” Rig cried, flipping up her welding helmet. “Shit... what happened?!”

“Restoration potions, now!” I bellowed as Azrael continued to bleed out. The ice wall continued to let out hisses and cracks as they continued to fire away at it.

“I... I...” She teleported out all of her healing supplies. “I think we used our last one when... when...”

“When what?!” I yelled at her, growling as Azrael sputtered out some of the precious liquid of the second potion bottle I poured for her.

“When I nearly beat you to death...”

My heart wrenched a little at her pained expression and stood there panting for a couple of seconds before turning back to the downed griffin giant.

“B-B-Buh...” she stammered, coughing.

“Don't talk, just drink!” I held another potion, preparing to crack the seal when her large, heavy hand grasped mine. “Do you have the two restoration potions in your bags?”

“B-Bandages... on my neck, stop bleeding...” Azrael whispered. “Then super potions. From Dead Boy. In my bags.”

“Magical bandages...” I murmured, then turned to Rig. “Magical bandages!”

The earth-coated unicorn winked the roll out, and I pushed back the griffiness' hood to wrap the bandages around her neck. The red was already starting to blot through, but it was rapidly slowing as I fished through her saddlebags for those restoration potions. Goddessdamn, she could carry a lot of weight! It took precious seconds to find the two bottles before I cracked the seals and poured both for her. Azrael groaned and panted heavily as the potions did their work, and soon, she gradually got up to her feet.

“Alright... that's one disaster averted,” the griffin hybrid said weakly as we both sighed in relief.

Wouldn't have done that if we stopped to notice the Dead Boys had stopped firing. We all ducked back as a door-sized hole blew out from the ice and another flashbang bounced in, I squinted my eyes tight as the world fell away into a dull ring and a blur of colors. Strangely, as I started shaking away the disorientation and tried to find Night Fang, I noticed that no shots were hitting us. Once my vision warped back to normal, I saw that Rig was firing out of the hole at the two griffins behind using Luna's Fortitude and effectively keeping them from breaching in on us.

“-close it up close it up close it up close it up close it up close it up!” Rig yelled repeatedly before I drew the ice wall shut. “Phew...” She turned to me. “For once, I'm glad my eyes and ears aren't normal ones.”

“That's... creepy, but that came in handy, yeah,” I muttered. “Everyone okay?”

“Add flashbangs to the growing list of things I hate,” Azrael groaned. “I'll live.”

“That's your response to everything!” Rig grumbled. “Realoding. And fuck, I'm running low on ammo for once! And I took a bunch of ammo for Luna's Fortitude back at Stalliongrad!”

I checked my own loadout after retrieving Night Fang from the floor. “Four mags. Not looking good.”

“Azrael?” Rig turned up to her.

The hybrid simply pointed at her firing bit. There simply wasn't one anymore. It was at that moment that a triplet shot of arcsurge plasma tore past her face, just past the edge of the ice wall. They were moving around.

“Okay, you know what?” Rig grumbled, flipping down her welding helmet. “I'm getting real fucking tired of this.” To my surprise she teleported Harbinger off of Azrael's battle saddle, levitating it beside her. Even the griffin was wide-eyed. “Lower the ice.”

“Are you sure that's a-” I started.

“Please just lower the bucking ice...”

I looked at Azrael in askance and quickly realized she couldn't see me in any shape or form. I hoped I wasn't going to regret this as I reloaded Night Fang, holstered her, and brought out Midnight Talon in a Snap Open. “On three.” She nodded. “One, two, three!” The ice wall dropped to chest height to still provide cover for us. Only the shotgun Dead Boy was at the end of the corridor, poking around the corner to watch us. He let out a muffled curse at the sight of the free-floating Kord and ducked back as Rig fired wildly at the fleeing griffin, blowing out chunks of plaster and rebar.

“Hey Dead Boy bastards!” Rig yelled, her shout oddly reverberating behind her helmet. “I'm here to kick ass and smoke cigs! And...” She teleported out an empty pack, “I'm all out of cigs!” She nodded at us to follow as she vaulted over the ice wall and arcsurge plasma continued to streak past us. I tapped Azrael to serve as her guide and we tagged along, keeping our heads down as fire continued to fly past. “Oh, you like that, huh? Shooting through fucking walls and fucking ceilings? How about now?!” She fired in the direction the shots had come from, tearing great holes in the walls. “Huh?! You like that?!”

A streak of orange plasma zipped through the wall... and through her head.

“Rig!” I cried, heart seizing.

The unicorn mare wavered for a second, then raised her helmet and felt at her face. She looked at me, looking completely unharmed. “So... fucking... creepy!” the cyber shook herself, flipping the helmet back down and resuming blowing holes in walls. “But hah! How's that feel, me being... eight...five-ish immune to your stuff, huh?!”

“And I thought your personality was tough to pin down...” Azrael murmured softly over the roar of Harbinger.

“That's... comforting?” Really, how do you reply to that?

Harbinger clicked dry, and Rig ratcheted back the charging handle to let the orange-glowing weapon rewind to pristine condition. As if on cue, the Dead Boy with the shotgun rushed around the corner, weapon raised. I let the adrenaline rush to my head to slow down the clock. I slipped Midnight Talon's safety latch across, adjusted my grip, pulled back, and threw forward, following through. Time whipped up to speed, and the black, wicked blade sliced through his neck and bounced off the wall behind him. The griffin slumped to the ground, nearly decapitated as blood bubbled out onto the floor.

Rig looked back at me. “Uh... nice throw.” She started forward again.

“Hold up, let's not get too carried away, shall we?” I nickered, catching up with her and watching as Harbinger clicked full. “Alright, Azrael, stick with Rig. I want that last one alive. I want to know why they're here.”

“Understood,” the behemoth complied, shifting over to the young mare, who looked at me for a few seconds before nodding.

“Let's see if I've still got it...” I murmured, pouching Midnight Talon. The last Dead Boy wasn't shooting. My mind was working, thinking of the possibilities. Perhaps it was he didn't want to give his position away. In that case...

I created openings in my ice armor over my nostrils and sniffed the air. It smelled faintly of... ozone. Only high-end magical energy weapons emitted that scent, I remembered. I sniffed deeper...

I had his scent trail.

I rounded out my ice armor and snaked ice muscle tendrils down my legs as I raced off, looking for overall protection rather than deflection. I raced further down the hallway, the scent growing slightly stronger, stronger, stronger, stronger, weaker- turn down this corridor. Stronger, stronger...

There was that last griffin, ducked in a medical suite. Not far at all. No fun. I dropped low in anticipation- instinct is to shoot on sight. I wasn't disappointed. The Dead Boy fired a triple blast of arcsurge plasma where my torso used to be. Now low to the ground, I pounced at him with a roar (Theatrics can't hurt, can they?), propelled faster and harder from my muscle tendrils. I slammed hard into him, knocking him onto a back as he let out a muffled shout. I slammed my hooves down on his right foreleg, the clang of metal obscuring the crunch of bone as I did the same for the other. Muffled cries of agony sounded from his helmet as I seeped ice around my hooves to grab him. I hefted him up and threw him against the opposite wall, forming ice shackles around his wings, all four legs, his neck, and his tail.

Hm. Now wasn't this familiar?

I trotted up to him, reaching a pair of ice arms up to yank off his helmet and cast it aside. It was an older male griffin alright, heavily scarred on the left side of his face. I arced an eyebrow for a moment, then called to the side. “Rig! Azrael! Got him!”

“Yeah, yeah, we heard, we heard,” Rig grumbled, limping around the corner with Azrael in tow.

“I'd really like my gun back...” Azrael muttered.

“Sure, sure, here you go. Dunno what good it'll do for you...” The cloud-maned mare pushed Harbinger against the ebony giant, who took it wordlessly and started mounting it on her saddle.

I turned back to the griffin, sublimating my armor and muscle tendrils. For a guy with two broken arms and locked against a wall, he was surprisingly taciturn. I gave him a friendly smile as I spoke in a jovial tone, “Hello there. My name is Frost Windchill. Pleased to meet you.”

The griffin remained silent and continued to glare at me.

“I'm trying to be civil here, you know,” I told him, maintaining my demeanor and tone. “I'd really... really like to remain civil right now.” I raised both my eyebrows and tilted my head down just a tad for a slightly pleading expression.

He spat in my face.

Not changing my expression in the least, I let out a soft, misty sigh and turned to Rig and Azrael. “You mind leaving us alone for a bit?”

“Wha...?” The young mare flipped up her welding helmet. “... oh. Oh! Shoot. Um, sure.” She turned around and guided Azrael away.

“Don't be too messy,” the cloaked giant huffed. I swore she said it almost jokingly.

Now alone, I turned back to the Dead Boys griffin before me, straightening my face again. I spoke, lowering my tone a little, adding a little fluctuation for good measure, “So. What am I going to do... with... you?”

No response. Only that silent glare.

“Really, what am I going to do with you?” I asked him, throwing out my forehooves. “You're not even addressing me. I don't even have a name to work off of. What am I going to call you? Can't I get a little-” I produced an ice arm and whipped out Midnight Talon in a Helix technique (Goddess, I loved that move...), “-heart-to-heart with you?” I punctuated that statement by tapping his breast with the blade, letting him watch the edge effortlessly slice through the armor. But I didn't hurt him yet, oh no. Not yet. I was only doing it, well....

For... you know.

Emphasis.

And this time, I got a few words from him. His voice was a little shaky, given his arms were broken, but it was surprisingly steady and gritty. “I've been with The Dead Boys for the three years it's been around, and I've lived long enough in the Wasteland to know the difference between the people who do this because they're crazy and the freaks like you that do it because they enjoy it.” I nodded my head a little to his words as he spoke, tilting my head down to look at him from the top of my vision. The effect was, I hope, looking a little more the part of this 'freak'. “And the name is Kaden.”

“See?” I grinned, tilting my head up and grinning toothily. “That wasn't so hard, was it?” I started to pace from side to side, dancing my black blade around my fingers. “So, now that we know names, we can play some games. I'm going to ask questions,” I paused, tapping the flat side of the blade on his beak, “and you're going to answer them.”

Silent and glaring again.

“Alright, glad you decided to take part.” I grinned at him again. “I'm going to ask you nicely the first time. If I get an answer I don't like, then you get answer... you won't like.” I pulled Midnight Talon into a Half Twirl to get her into a backhand grip.

For... you know.

Emphasis.

“That includes no answer,” I told him. “Now. First question. What was your squad doing here?”

No response.

“Ooh... I told you, that includes no answer.” I frowned, eyes downcast for a moment before glancing up at him. It's all in the theatrics. “Let's switch gears. Do you know where you feel the most pain? Hm?”

No response. But I saw him clench his beak in anticipation.

“Right here,” I whispered before warping the ice shackle around his neck to force him to look at his hand. I violently plunged the blade into one of his talons, tearing it out along the length of the finger. He let out a roar of pain, and I yanked out the blade to let him watch his nearly bisected digit hang limply, blood dribbling out onto the floor. “Quite unsurprisingly, the part where you feel the most pain is the part of you that does the most feeling on a daily basis.”

Heh... I knew my anatomy.

The griffin trembled in pain and clenched his beak tighter. I watched as a spasm occasionally seize him and lapped at the safe edge of Midnight Talon. Ahhh... it might have been for theatrics, but the taste of that blood invigorated me.

“Can you feel your heart racing?” I whispered, leaning in closer to him. “Me too. You've got to calm down a little. Loosen up. You might just die of blood loss, you know, might just... die of excitement.” I rubbed the flat edge of my balisong against the next talon and reshaped the neck shackle to force him to look right at me. “Now what was your squad doing here?”

“The hell should I tell you?” Kaden scathed through gritted teeth. “You're gonna kill me anyway.” He promptly yelled in my face as my blade bit into his next finger. I twisted it around, boring a hole into it rather than cutting through. Ohhhhh, thoooooose screaaaaaams...

“I get that question sometimes,” I told him in a low tone. “And you know what? I might just tell you why. What was your squad doing here?”

“I don't need to answer the question,” he hissed, “or any of yours. You saw the bodies. You already know.”

My mind sifted through what I knew of the first Dead Boy we killed today. “RadAway and Rad-X.”

Kaden glared at me in silence, beak trembling from pain.

“Were you here to retrieve those items?” I asked.

He spat. “What difference does it make?”

“Well, you want to know about what I'm doing,” I answered, “and I want to know what you're doing.” I raised both eyebrows and tilted my head down for that pleading look again. “Well, I guess it's confession time for me too.” I shrugged, tilting my head up, gazing down at him through the lower end of my vision. “Do you know who I am? Hm?” I patted him on the cheek a few times. “Do you? I'm an ex-Lunar Guard. I was a personal bodyguard of Princess Luna. And I was also one of her personal stewards. We did as she directed, and interrogation of prisoners was one of them when not even the Ministry of Morale could do it properly. Memory extraction is... a sketchy process after all.” I grinned at him, tilting him head to the side. “But no, I didn't learn how to torture from the Lunar Guard. No. If we needed information, we didn't have to resort to exploiting prisoners through pain or humiliation or demoralization or deprivation. No.” I inhaled and grinned wide. “We never did that. You see, with interrogations...” I leveled out my head, “what we want is in here.” I tapped my forehead. “Torture gets it through here.” I motioned to the rest of my body. “It might work for the weak-minded or the simpleton, but you're not weak-minded or a simpleton are you? Neither were the prisoners we were meant to deal with. You don't bring in a Lunar Guard for that kind of lowly thing. You get what you want here,” I tapped my forehead again, “through here.” I tapped again. “I might be over two-hundred years old, but you can bet that I remember how to do it.”

“Bullshit.” He sprayed into my face again. “All of it.”

“You don't believe me?” I pouted. “I'm serious. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a knife in my eye.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“Oh, well,” I sighed, “it was worth a shot.” I formed another ice arm, widened the hand, and squeezed around his cheeks. “Okay. Fine. You're right. It's bullshit. Fake. All of it. I can't get anything from you, so you're worthless to me. Now look at me.” He was struggling, turning his eyes away. “Look at me. Come on. Look at me.” I flashed the blade across his vision, catching his attention. He fell for it, and we locked gazes. I pulled back my eyelids and stared right into his shrunken pupils. “Relax. Pain is only but a state of mind. Relaaaaaax...” He was still twitching, still spasmodic. “Relaaaax. Think of your happiest moment. Get lost in it.” I let the ice creep around his forelegs and hands. “Hold onto it. Let it whisk you away.” Midnight Talon danced up, primed to strike, just within his field of vision. “Because it'll be the last thing you get to hold onto before you die.”

Then I saw it. The resigned relaxation of his eyes, the stilled body movement. He was only shaking just so slightly now. I eased the shakes and let him fall forward to me as I tilted back, making sure he could only see my eyes and the slowly disappearing blade.

And then I pressed a hoof to his forehead and pushed his head back. “Now sleep-p-p.” He hung limply now, mouth agape. No more shaking. His eyes were closed, breath even. He was in a trance. Just took a bit of theatrics and deception. All too easy. “I'm going to tap my hooves. And when I do, you're going to wake up and answer my questions.” I sat back and tapped my armored horseshoes together. They let out a tinny, otherworldly ring. Kaden's eyes flashed open, glazed over, hard, unblinking.

“Would you kindly tell why was your squad here?” I asked calmly, clearly, outright. No more theatrics.

“To secure any available RadAway and Rad-X in the area,” he replied in a flat, tired, deadbeat tone.

“Would you kindly tell what they were for?”

“To allow operations in balefire bomb impact craters to continue without casualties from radiation sickness.”

“Would you kindly elaborate on these operations?” I questioned.

“The details of impact crater operations are privy only to squads performing such operations.”

“Would you kindly tell why these operations are taking place, the ultimate purpose?”

“Details were never shared to my squad.”

Hm. Too much to hope for I guess. Still... “Would you kindly tell where these operations are taking place?”

The robotic reply: “Whitetail Woods, Burrlin, Pareese, and Fillydelphia. Future operations are planned at...”

My heart seized for a moment. Then it pumped faster. “Would you kindly repeat your last?”

“Whitetail Woods, Burrlin, Pareese, and Fillydelphia. Future operations are planned at...”

And he told me again.

My eyes narrowed, but I maintained my tone. “Would you kindly tell when those future operations are to take place?”

“Zero hour was approximately two days ago.”

I drew my lips into a soundless snarl, poising to strike. No. No. No. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. I breathed out a sigh and closed my eyes. I relaxed the ice arm and spoke, “I'm going to tap my hooves. And when I do, you will return to normal.” Then came that ethereal ring once more.

Kaden shuddered, slumping down and groaning in agony once more. His eyes lost that glaze. “The...The fuck?”

I grasped his cheeks with a widened hand and we locked gazes. “So. What was that about zero hour for the takeover operation two days ago?”

His eyes widened. “Y-Y-You...”

“Me.” No more acting. I was seething with rage now. “Yeah. You still don't believe me? I made you sing like the bird you are. You see? I don't need to resort to this-” I plunged Midnight Talon into the palm of his good hand and jerked it around as he shouted and yelled and roared and hissed, “-to make anyone talk.”

“So why torture?” Kaden scathed, clenching his beak tightly.

“I don't need to answer the question.” I pursed my lips and shook my head tinnily, mockingly. And then I grinned. “You already know. You said it yourself right? The difference between people who do this because they're crazy and the freaks like me that do it because they enjoy it?” I flashed a wide smile, displaying my sharp, pointy teeth. My voice darkened as I whispered horribly, “Cross my heart...” I drew Midnight Talon twice diagonally across his breast, raking through his armor in with a harsh screech and squeal that almost drowned out his screams, “and hope to die! Stick a knife...” I raised her up and watched him slowly look at the wicked balisong. “Well. You already know.” The blade came down.

Ohhhhh the screams...

Ohhhhh the writhing...

Ohhhhh the red, so much red...

The fun went on even after I let him drop to the floor and run, chasing after him with his eye held in between my reddened, icy fingers.

For... you know.

Emphasis.

* * *

“Alda above us, Frost, I told not to be too messy,” Azrael said simply as I returned.

“Stow it,” I told her, slinging my new Saiga 12S over my shoulder. “Loot what you can from the Dead Boys, and make it fast. After, we're leaving.”

“What?” Rig stared at me. “Where?”

“Stalliongrad.”

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Maximum Level
Quest perk added: It's All Coming Back... (Level One)- Your training under the Lunar Guard is slowly coming back to you. Your Strength, Endurance, and Agility are raised by +1 and Perception is overcharged to 11 while in dracopony form. Note: S.P.E.C.I.A.L. buffs and debuffs caused by cyromancy spells still stack with this perk.

Rig- Level Up! Level 11 Reached
Companion perk added: Outreach Program- While Rig is in the party, her prowess with telekinesis and teleportation enables long-ranged pickpocketing, disarmament of explosives, and manipulation of non-living objects, including slow-moving or thrown explosives. This can be done through one surface (such as a wall) as long as Rig knows the location of the desired object's location and trajectory upon teleportation and telekinesis.

Azrael- Maximum Level
Azrael's Extrasensory and Inequine Empathy perks are suppressed!

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- One Death Away
Soundtrack- Dead Boy Elites

Author's Note

Thank you to Kkat, Somber, Mimezinga- hell, everyone in the FoE community for making it the awesome sub(sub)culture it is. Special thanks go to Broadestpeak, Razorwing Greybeak, Dust Nox and doomande for helping me out with editing. Best of wishes to QuackmanBrony. Hope everything turns out alright for you. Lastly, thanks for reading. Comments please? <=3

Also, check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr!

Reflection Eleven: Not All Sunshine and Rainbows

Reflection Eleven: Not All Sunshine and Rainbows

“Don’t know where he’s gone.

Might be gone for good for all I know.

Wherever he is, it's somewhere I never been.

Somewhere I never want to go.”

I told her. Everything. I told her about how I was bullied, never let up because of how much of a failure I was, about Zoleks, about Lying, Parliamentary Style; about the comeback, the inception, the birth of an idea. I told her how it all started at that lunch table, the dealings with Vani at The Lazy Dog, about Prop Four, how I gathered support and silenced opposition. I told her about the creation of the Mumei, its under-the-table dealings, about the bloody dagger behind the sunny smile. About my backstabs, about my rise to power, about the start of the gang war with the Cruds, about my own downfall. I told her. Everything.

“And then I erased it,” I finished.

“Erased it?” Hummingbird stooped forward toward me, confused. We were seated in on my bed, door closed. She kept herself distant.

I nodded. “I told Pick that I gave him ten days to disband the Mumei. Each day he delayed, I would do something to break his morale. It started with just being annoying- replacing the drinks with ketchup, releasing a frog or eight in a juvie-joint.” I sighed, “Then I got... nastier.”

“You... you didn't hurt anyone did you?” Hummingbird looked worried.

I should tell her the truth, I thought to myself. I should tell her the truth. The other part of me told me to hide it. It would spare her, and you'd get to keep her. I wanted her. I wanted this to work.

“Pledge allegiance to neither side but instead strive to strike a balance between the two.”

“I had some of Zoleks' friends add an alchemical agent to the drinks that would make people ill for a few days,” I said to her. “That was the worst that it got.” She still looked unsettled. I added, “After replacing some of the inner circle's... things... with itching powder, that was it. Afterward, Pick did himself in from paranoia.”

She turned away from me, lips pressed thinly together. She looked deep in thought.

“Hummingbird, I-I know my mistakes,” I said, trying to sound as earnest as possible- because I was. “I know what my ambition can lead me to do. I know all of the people I've stepped on, all of the deals I've cheated, all the officials I corrupted. I can't forget, Hummingbird. I simply can't because I remember everything I've gone through. I've tried to make amends and put all of that behind me now. Look at me? Please?”

The green pegasus mare turned to me. We made eye contact. I kept it like that and moved closer, taking her forehooves in mine.

“I'm trying to be better, Hummingbird,” I said. “I really am.”

She looked at me for a few seconds before closing her eyes and letting out a sigh. She took her forehooves away and wrapped them around me, head tucked over my shoulder in a warm embrace. I let out my own breath and hugged her tightly.

“The eyes never lie,” she whispered. “You know, when you said you had all this baggage, I wasn't expecting anywhere near this much.” She chuckled wanly and then exhaled through her nostrils. “Are you still in danger here, Frost?”

“I don't think so,” I answered her. “Pick was the only wild card. For all intents and purposes, the rest of them are keeping to themselves now or moved on.”

“You think any of them are still angry with how you acted during the gang war?”

I huffed, “Well, they took me down and they found somepony even worse to replace me. I think at this rate, they hate Pick more than they do me. People are quick to forget. It's one way how I got ahead.”

“You're sure you're safe here, right?” Hummingbird asked, pulling away and holding me at foreleg's length.

“I'm sure we're safe here,” I said. “It's been a long day and a longer night, Hummingbird. We should get some rest.” I sprouted an ice arm to toss away my trusty fedora onto my desk. Then I flinched and pulled away. “Uh... that is, unless... uh... unless you want to sleep alone tonight.”

Hummingbird wrapped her hooves and drew her wings around me, causing me to roll my eyes up in bliss as she tugged me down. “Nah, I'd miss my favorite pillow too much. Just try to keep your hooves up this time.”

The storyteller smiled this embarrassed smile.

I didn't. I'm only equine, folks. Even now.

* * *

“All rise,” the buffalo bailiff uttered. I stood tall and firm as the room filled with the sound of hooves and feet rolling to the floor in near-unison. A black-robed mule molly strode swiftly and with purpose down the aisle, pivoting on her hooves as she ascended to her seat. “The Court of General Sessions, Fourth Judicial Circuit is now in session. Judge Girder presiding. Please be seated.”

The room filled with the squeak of rubber against wood flooring as we sat back down- again in near-unison. I took a moment to look about the courtroom, my eyes falling on my parents, on Zoleks, on Namira, on Hummingbird close by- and Pick Pack to my side on the other table as well.

And the few other members of the Mumei's inner circle scattered throughout the room. Maybe this wasn't going to be as easy as I thought.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlefolk,” Judge Girder spoke. “Calling the case of Frostbane Hokkaido Windchill and Hummingbird versus Pick Pack.” She banged her gavel with her mouth. “Are both sides ready?” I admit I grimaced for a moment. I didn't like having my full name used.

Our family's lawyer, a Hokkaidan earth pony stallion with a fiery coat and a cool mane by the comforting name of Bluff Call answered, “Ready for the Prosecution, Your Honor.”

Pick's public defender, a griffiness, likewise answered, “Ready for the Defense, Your Honor.”

Judge Girder looked to the side. “Will the clerk please swear in the jury?”

The middle-aged buffalo cow stood before the panel. “Will the jury please stand and raise your right hoof or hand?” She waited for them to do so. “Do each of you swear that you will fairly try the case before this court and that you will return a true verdict according to the evidence and the instructions of the court, so help you Goddesses? Please say 'I do'.”

“I do,” rang out the members of jury.

“You may be seated.”

Bluff Call rose and addressed the jury. “Your Honor and ladies and gentlefolk of the jury: the defendant has been charged with threatening Mister Windchill and Miss Hummingbird with a BB gun disguised to look like an actual firearm. He is also charged with intent to harm or murder. The evidence will show that the defendant indeed threatened my clients in such a manner on the night of December seventeenth. There exist multiple witnesses of the defendant demonstrating premeditated intent to harm or murder Mister Windchill and multiple eyewitness accounts of the exchange itself. The defendant's DNA was found from the saliva was on the weapon used to threaten my clients. The evidence I present will prove to you that the defendant is guilty as charged.”

I have to admit that my inner rhetor wanted to berate him for using passive voice over active, even if by accident.

The fiery earth pony stallion took his seat and Pick's lawyer now addressed the jury. “Your Honor and ladies and gentlefolk of the jury, under the law Pick Pack is presumed innocent until proven guilty. During this trial, you will hear no real evidence against my client. You will come to know the truth: that Pick Pack was under the influence of the illicit substance known as marijuana, and he was thus cannot be charged for this crime except that of narcotic abuse, which will be settled in a separate court and case. Therefore, my client is not guilty under the preceding charges.”

I maintained a straight face as she returned to her seat, but on the inside I may as well have been scowling. Pick was trying to take the easy way out.

The storyteller leaned closer to the audience.

Are you hearing me, folks? This was how the judicial system worked back then. No judge-and-executioner in one, no trial by wood, fire, and steel; no punishment by death. It's almost alien, isn't it? That's how things worked back then- civilly, calmly, deliberately. There were mistakes made, yes- innocent labeled guilty, guilty labeled innocent. But at least they didn't have to worry about judgment being delivered by a bullet to the head.

“The prosecution may call its first witness,” the robed mule molly declared.

Bluff Call spoke, “The prosecution calls Sunny Days.”

I widened my eyes. I wasn't notified at all of this and looked to Hummingbird in confusion as she did the same to me. The bailiff led the big, orange buck with the blue mane to the witness stand nonetheless. I looked at Bluff Call in askance.

He only whispered, “Trust me.”

The other buffalo approached Sunny and said, “Please stand.” He did. “Raise your right hoof.” He did. “Do you promise that the testimony you shall give in the case before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you Goddesses?”

“I do,” Sunny said with a stout nod, locking eyes with me. It had been a long time since I heard his voice. I heard no enmity or animosity in it, nor did I find any as I searched his eyes in that brief moment.

“You may be seated.” And so he sat, and the clerk drew away.

Bluff Call stood and strode for the witness stand. “Mister Days, you are a friend of Pick Pack, correct?”

“Was,” Sunny corrected curtly. I arced an eyebrow at that.

“And when was the last time you saw him?” the fiery stallion inquired.

“December thirteenth,” he answered. “Around seven-thirty P.M.”

“What was going on at that time?”

Sunny looked at the jury. “Should I... censor the curse words or something?”

Oh this was going to be good.

* * *

Sunny wasn't the only one to testify against Pick Pack. So were Blustery Days... and Song Spinner. Pick couldn't hope to dig his way out against their testimonies, much less the eyewitnesses' or mine and Hummingbird's. His lawyer even knew it.

Five years of prison on top of a year, possibly longer in drug rehabilitation. That was a relatively light sentence, but as long as he got put away, I was fine with it. I wanted to be done with the Mumei. That's all that mattered in the end.

When everything was said and done, we left the courtroom and exited the building. As we did so, I looked across the crowd over to Sunny, Blustery, and Song. We met eyes again for only a few seconds, but I couldn't really read them. Thinking back, I still can't tell what was on their minds. The better part of me hoped it was regret. The worse told me it was bitterness. Sunny gave a stout nod, which I returned. And then we parted.

I didn't know back then whether or not we were on good terms again. I didn't know if they still hated me. If they did, I knew one thing.

They hated Pick more.

* * *

The storyteller leaned back.

I don't think I need to go into too much detail about what happened after that. In the interest of time, I'll breeze over the rest of the happenings during the break.

Hearth's Warming went very well. I spent the days leading up to it making a necklace for Hummingbird as her present. (He smiled and exhaled softly.) Made completely of ice. Had a, well... hummingbird pendant. She loved it, just absolutely loved it. As for her gift, uh, heh... (He blushed just a little.) I never noticed her sneak out to go shopping. Just, uh, expected her to cuddle with me throughout the night. Well, she... she got a very... very nice dress with some stockings, and, uh...

Someone in the audience called him out.

Yeah, okay, maybe I'm not done with the little white lies. This is more for my sake than the interest of time. Okay, uh... you know how I said I'm still a virgin, right?

He twiddled with his hooves a little.

Well... doesn't mean I haven't gotten bedroom action.

Several complaints rang out from the crowd. The storyteller looked unimpressed.

Oh come on, folks. Really? Really? “Think of the children?” I go through whole torture scenes, graphic dismemberment and disembowelment, and probably the most depressing shit you'll hear in a story ever, and you get a little upset about me talking about bedroom activity? I'm not even going into detail or anything! I'm just implying it!

They quieted down after that.

Okay... better.

Someone asked if they could maybe have an adults-only session where he went into detail abo-

Get out.

Some of them chuckled. So did the storyteller and especially a little filly from earlier.

Heh, n-no, seriously. Get out.

* * *

Well, with that out of the way, we can move on. Rest of the break went great, but there wasn't really anything else to really talk about. Nothing notable at least. Had more get-togethers with Zoleks and Namira, Vani and Alden. Heh, we definitely hit The Lazy Dog several more times while I was back. It's kind of a funny feeling, you know. The juvie-joints were meant for kids, and you have people like us partying like we were nine there. Just imagine all the looks we got... anyway, I also met with Professor Shinespark for more talks on cryomancy and legal stuff on giving her credit as well- okay, I'm trying to give her credit. I don't know what the problem was, but she told me the legal system would be in the way even for that. Because, folks, apparently paperwork ran the world back then.

It was a lot of fun, being back home and finally back on track with my parents. It was a good feeling. Even more than on the dance floor, I felt truly happy. I had the world at my fingertips with a path before me. Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

“Wow... yeah, I definitely know what you mean with Canterlot being like a whole new world,” Hummingbird said as we left Canterlot Royal Station, a gigantic structure that managed to combine the busyness of a train terminal and an airship port with the regal air of the City of Hopes and Dreams. “It's a whole lot... quieter here.”

“'Sterile' is the world I use to describe it,” I sighed. Even as we left and reveled in the fresh layer of mountaintop snow that glossed over the city, accentuating its porcelain-white tones, I couldn't help but think aloud, “Miss home already... and spring break's too short for a trip to Manehattan by train.”

“Yeah, airships are expensive,” the green mare mumbled, then pat my back with a wing. “Hey, why don't we take a walk for a bit? Lemme show you something new here for once.”

“Another special place of yours?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, not just for me,” she chuckled softly. “Come on. As a history major-to-be, I think you might find this pretty neat.”

That certainly perked my interest. I followed her along into the inner ring of the city, heading toward Castle Canterlot. As we strode down the snow-lined sidewalk past the upper-crust ponies in their lavish- and almost wholly fashionable rather than functional- winter attire, I couldn't help but wonder where she was leading me. We finally neared an enclosure blocked off by a high wall of hedges, the archway of which was flanked by two Royal Guards. I couldn't help but stifle a snicker as I saw that in their stillness, they had acquired a light layer of snow. It also made me curious- Royal Guards were only stationed around areas of great importance or ones that required protection. And yet, ponies just walked in and out of the entrance without being stopped. Just what was this place?

“These are the Canterlot Sculpture Gardens,” Hummingbird answered me as we passed through and headed down the walkway. “You'll see sculptures from through the ages here. Some even date from before the War of the Heavens.”

“That far back?” I huffed in surprise.

She nodded. “That far back. Just take your time to enjoy them.”

And so I did, looking at the statues around us. They were of all sorts of ponies in all sorts of poses and depictions. Some of them held banners or flags in festive Canterlot fashion. I wasn't very educated in art history at the time, but I saw a clear progression of style as we moved further down through the circuit that took us through the gardens. The first ones were very rigid, their design more geometric rather than realistic like the ones further down. As one who worked hard to get where he was today, I couldn't help but appreciate the finer details. Even with magic, it takes a lot of skill to shape bronze, stone, or marble. It was especially the case further down the walkway, where the musculature on some of the ponies became very, very lifelike and the statues themselves seemed to convey a sense of motion. One such example was the Diskobolos, apparently a peace offering from the griffins. It depicted an earth pony in mid-spin, preparing to throw a discus.

Hooves and hands went up.

Uh, Roanoke, help me out here. Thanks. Consider these the... first mementos of this segment. Just take a look at that image. You get a sense of balance between tension and relaxation in different parts of the body. The tension is clearly biased toward one side, one direction- and the eye is drawn there. It's not perfect, of course. The Diskobolos was meant to be viewed from a specific, frontal angle. Look at it from anywhere else, and it feels... awkward. Clumsy, even.

Then there were sculptures that really engaged the viewer, and it took Hummingbird to help me appreciate this one. It's called the Seated Boxer. Made by Bitalian hooves and bronze, just... just look at it- in your head, of course. Amazing, isn't it? Not only is the musculature incredible, but look at the pose and attention to detail. The stallion is clearly fatigued. The muscles are bulging from overwork, he has this slumped, heavy pose, and his mouth is open as if to pant for breath. He has a broken nose, cauliflower ear, and he even had a copper finish in some parts of the face to show bleeding. Most of all, look at the expression. Imagine that you're trying to get a feel for this in real life, walking around it- I know, it's a foreign feeling to people like us, so accustomed to the Wasteland. But think on it. At one point, you look down on the Boxer as he looks up to you. This is a sort of artistic interaction going on here. The sculpture is reacting to your presence. It's as if you've caught him right after a match and... what is that, irritation? Maybe? Regardless, you get the feeling as if you're invading his personal space. Fascinating, I think.

Amidst all these sculptures, something struck me as odd. A few of the sculptures seemed... out-of-place. Some of them were incredibly detailed, incredibly realistic for their artistic era, especially when you could compare them to other statues nearby. Such sculptures had no plaques to describe them. They had no documentation, no names- nothing.

One of them especially struck me as... chilling.

It was unlike any other statue in the gardens. For one, it wasn't a sculpture of a pony. It was this... utterly chaotic mishmash of body parts. It had a long, serpentine torso ending in a horse's head, jaw filled with long, sharp teeth with one particularly long fang. There were two horns- a goat's on the left and a deer's antler on the right. It had the forked tongue of a snake and the beard of a goat. The wings were mismatched- one looked like it could have come straight from Hummingbird while the other looked leathery, skeletal- like a bat's. It had the right paw of a lion, the left of a bird-of-prey; one leg goat, one leg reptilian. It even had a horse's mane running along the back of its head, leading to a serpentine tail with a tuft at the end. Just looking at it made no sense. There was no order, no sense of continuity to it. And yet, it looked so realistic... as wild and fantastic as this creature appeared, it looked as if it could spring to life at any moment. It looked almost ecstatic, mouth open and eyes squinted tight as if singing out to the world in joy.

I recognized it immediately, the words and images flashing into view as my memory sifted for a name.

“Discord,” I whispered. “Huh... what's a sculpture of him doing here?”

“Beats me,” Hummingbird said with a shrug. “None of the Royal Guards answered me when I asked about that. Not like they answer anyone much anyhow, but you get the idea.”

I frowned. Just looking at the statue caused my gut to twist and turn. Odd, convoluted thoughts plagued my mind. Unbidden thoughts, raw and animal, rushed forth. It felt...

intoxicating...

intoxicating...

intoxicating...

intoxicating...

I didn't want to stay there. “C-Can we... keep going?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said a little quickly. I got the feeling she got the same disturbing sensation just being there.

As we headed down the walkway, nearing the time period leading up to the War of the Heavens, we found another of such undocumented, lifelike statues. There wasn't just one, either. Not two, not three, not four.

Eight. They were definitely ponies, but they didn't look like any ponies I've ever seen before. They were clearly a lot... furrier than the typical pony, and they had these strange tufts on their ears. The pegasi among them had leathery wings in the same vein as a bat... or a dragon. Their eyes were what struck me most- their pupils were slit much like those of a dragon, a reptile, or a cat. The eight demonic ponies wore similarly nightmarish armor lined with way more sharp edges than should be allowed on any sort of uniform. I counted them off. Four pegasi, all stallions. One of them had what looked like a leather eye-patch. There were two unicorns, two earth ponies- one mare and one stallion each. Interestingly, the earth pony mare seemed to take the lead of the group. Of them all, she looked the most grim, and yet her expression was unreadable. One of the unicorns gritted his teeth while the other bared them- and they were sharp!- as if in grudging acceptance and defiance respectively. The earth pony stallion bore a tense frown, as if anticipating pain. All four of the pegasi looked... bitter.

“Who are they...?” I asked in a whisper.

Hummingbird looked at me and shook her head. “Nopony knows.”

* * *

Professor Egan, a well-groomed and well-dressed mule john, entered the lecture hall quietly, tugging an old projector unit behind him that he plugged into a wall outlet and set up. He was a bit on the older side (if the projector wasn't evidence enough), but he definitely looked like he aged well. The gray hair looked good on him if I do say so myself. By now, all novelty and incredulity of non-unicorn, non-pony professors at Princess Celestia's School had worn down. He simply made a 'settle-down' motion with his forehooves to get us all to quiet down.

With a jovial, sunny Kansass tone, he began, “Hello, everyone. Welcome to the noon Monday-Wednesday-Friday section of Equinpology Two-A. That's 'Intro to Sociocultural Equinpology'.” He looked around. “Everyone in the right place?” He smiled once nopony got up. “Righty-o, let's get started.

“First, what exactly is equinpology?” He strode away from the podium at a slow, methodical pace, turned away from us. Notably, he pursed his lips as if in thought. “Well, we can put the root words together. 'Equine' and 'study of'.” He stopped and faced us, eyes bright and friendly just like his smile. “Simple, right?” He flattened his lips and glanced away, bobbing his head from side to side as if in contemplation. He was the animated sort of professor. I liked that. “Wellllll, not always.”

He started pacing again. “In basic biology, you study cell structure, organ systems, how the equine body works.” He paused and made eye contact with us. “Does that make it equinpology?” He gave a shrug. “Maybe. Not exactly.” He turned away. “In history, you tend to study people, what they did, how they shaped the modern world, and how they'll shape the future.” Back to us. “Does that make it equinpology?” Again, he seemed to mull it over. “Mmmmmm, no, not really. Maybe.” Then a more questioning expression. “So what exactly is equinpology, then?” A purse of the lips, an earnest nod. “It took many years to actually answer that question. Equinpology might have a succinct definition now, but not always. More on that later.”

Professor Egan finally approached the projector and switched it on, writing out with his mouth and then repeating, “Equinpology is the study of equine diversity.” He set the marker down and began to pace once with at that slow, methodical stride. “In a more specific sense, equinpology is the study of equine diversity in terms of biology, social organization, culture, and linguistics.” He paused and turned to face us. “It's a pretty broad area of study, actually. Biology? Yeah, there's biological equinpologists. History? Yeah, we call those archaeologists. You even have mythographers if you want to get into details. Equinekind is extremely diverse. So too, then, must be the study of it. But equines also change over time. We also move around from place to place, exchange ideas, blood even. There is a lot of conversation, interaction, conflict- a lot of social dialogue between equine species. That must be taken into account. And so, if we want to make as simple a definition of equinpology without losing meaning, equinpology is the study of equine diversity across time and space.”

And so he wrote that down too. “Now then. We're focusing on sociocultural equinpology. That means we've got to answer another question.” He shrugged. “What the hay counts as 'culture'?”

Oh yes. I was going to like this professor.

* * *

“So, what do we have here?” Hummingbird asked, curious. We were standing in one of the alleyways near school grounds- funnily enough, the same one we used to 'sneak' onto the campus several months ago. If it weren't for my memory, I wouldn't have recognized it with all the snow.

“Ice muscles,” I replied. “Or something close at least.” I gave each of my legs a wiggle, displaying the thick, sinewy fibers that more resembled the actual horse leg muscles than the ones I use today.

“You're trying to... actually augment your own strength instead of relying on another limb?” the green mare inquired, sniffing a little. Hm, maybe she was starting to get sick again.

“That's the gist of it,” I said with a nod. “Might not have enough space, and maybe this might give me some extra running speed too.”

“Sooooo, what are you gonna do to test it?” she asked, already with a partly-worried-mostly-skeptical look.

“Gonna buck a wall and see what happens,” I answered without missing a beat.

“You sure this is such a great idea, Frost?”

“Nope.”

“Well, come on,” Hummingbird facewinged (cutely) and then gestured to me with the same wing (again, cutely). “You're the one with the eidetic memory here! Don't you remember what happened last time we went through this?”

I winced and grimaced for a moment. “I ended up in a much thornier-than-expected bush.”

“Soooooo, maybe there's a safer way to do this?” she suggested.

I sprouted an ice arm to rub my chin in thought...

* * *

Hummingbird watched as I kicked another soccer ball down the field at the school's recreation center. “That looks like around ten meters again.” She looked at me with a chuckle. “No offense, but that's not very impressive.”

I nickered, “Well, those were just the control runs. Now I'm gonna try with the ice muscles.” Then I flattened my lips and bobbed my head dully from side to side. “And yes, I'll do just one leg.”

She closed her eyes and nodded stoutly, satisfied. (The storyteller sighed.) She was just so cute...

…

…

…

Oh, uh... sorry. I... got a little lost there.

Ice muscles. Right, right. (He blew out a deep breath.)

I fired up my horn with that ice-blue glow and snaked the sinew down my legs, using my memory to get it as close as possible to actual pony musculature. I took a moment to admire my hoofiwork. The level of detail was something I took pride in- remember, my... personal vice. Then I settled back down on all fours, bent down a little.

And kicked.

* * *

“He... he tore out all of his leg muscles?!” Hummingbird exclaimed.

The cream-colored unicorn stallion by the name of Doctor Chock Full took a moment to telekinetically (cheater) wipe off the spittle from his face before answering, “Yes. All of them.”

I was lying on a hospital bed. Again. You know, hospitals were much nicer in pre-war Equestria. Bright, sunny wallpaper, dainty furniture and furnishings, and good service. Oddly enough, I didn't seem too bothered with the idea that I was in a hospital being treated for tearing all of the muscles in my right foreleg. Maybe it was the powerful painkiller spell the cast on my right foreleg earlier. Cheaters. Ah, hay, who was I to complain? Just fifteen minutes before, I had been in such excruciating pain that I'd almost gone into shock. The doctor had thankfully healed up the teeth I cracked while gritting from the pain.

Yes, it was pretty freaking painful, folks.

Her voice cracked several times as she tried to muster up something to say. Finally, her vocal chords seemed to work again, and she again exclaimed, “How?!”

Chock again wiped his face free of- oh, that was mucus. Oh dear, she was sick again, wasn't she? Taking an exaggerated step back, he replied, “Well, if your friend's description was any indication, his,” He paused to cough in a polite, 'proper' manner, “'ice muscles' moved his foreleg with a force that was more than sufficient enough to rip the actual muscles beneath.”

Hummingbird winced and looked a little squeamish. “Will he be alright?”

“Oh most definitely. He'll be good to go in anotherrrrr,” He paused to check a fetlockwatch, “forty-seven minutes. It's actually something we see happening every so often when of you novice students attempt to use a teleforce spell to amplify their muscle movements. We're very experienced in this regard. It's honestly just medical protocol that's keeping him here. Need to know how he reacts to the painkiller and mending spells and make sure there's no adverse reaction or anything. Magic is strange like that.”

“So... nothing too serious?” she asked, starting to look relieved.

The doctor nodded. “He'll be sore for a week in that leg, but he should have full mobility.” She slumped down to her haunches in relief, falling flat on her back afterward. Chock looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Lightweight, isn't she?”

“Kinda,” I grunted as I shifted into a more comfortable position.

“You know, I'm impressed,” he huffed. “With a stunt like that, I would've thought you'd broken your foreleg.”

“With how much pain I was in... I think I would've rather had that,” I grumbled.

“Oh, come now,” Chock nickered with a roll of the eyes. “You should see who we have next door.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Doc-Chock snorted, “He was hit by a soccer ball which, according to him, was traveling at a rather extraordinary velocity.”

“I'm... afraid I don't-”

“Broke his pelvis.”

Gravity started pulling harder on me, and I suddenly wanted to curl up and be as tiny as possible. I know I definitely narrowed my hindlegs to that.

“I'm going to court for this, aren't I?” I finally managed to mutter.

* * *

The gavel banged. “Court is now in session.”

“Celestiadammit,” I muttered.

* * *

“Celestiadammit,” I muttered as I tossed away a snot-lined tissue paper, wrinkling my nose. I was lying on our bed, stooped over my history textbook. Thankfully, I used the tissue just in time before my mucus stained the pages.

“Sorry for getting you sick...” Hummingbird said meekly, turning away from the terminal, her voice dulled from her inability to breath through her nostrils.

“Eh... it was bound to happen,” I sighed. “I don't blame you.”

She made eye contact.

“... okay, I sort of blame you,” I sighed. I couldn't get away with her.

Hummingbird merely smiled a little and walked over to give me a nuzzle, which I gladly returned. As I formed an ice arm to flip to the next page, a thought occurred to me. I kept my horn fired up as I froze and then sublimated my nostrils clean of snot. It worked! It... took a while for me to freeze it, but it worked!

“Wow.” The green mare blinked. “Could you do that for me?”

I shrugged and...

“Wah!” she cried out. “Cold! Cold! Cold! Cold! Cold!”

I just bawled out laughing, and soon, Hummingbird joined in, too.

And then came a knock at the door. We both fell quiet, covering our mouths. Ohhhh, so not good. I motioned for her to steal away into the bathroom while I cautiously approached the door and peered through the porthole. I gulped.

It was the RA- the resident assistant.

I put on a... smile... and opened the door. “Hi there, Dustbin,” I greeted the appropriately dusty unicorn. “What can I do for you?”

“Okay, jig's up, Frost,” he said, adjusting his glasses with his magic. “Where is she?” Oh dammit. He even knew it was a she. Hiding her up immediately went out the window. Okay, relax, Frost. Just use what you know in How to Win Friends. Put that Carnegie to use. Admit error quickly and earnestly.

“In the bathroom,” I said, dropping my 'smile'. I saw Hummingbird peek out, looking worried- scared, even. Eyes back on Dustbin, the buck looked surprised, as if he expected me to deny it. That was good. That was what I wanted. “Look, I know the rules. I'm not supposed to have anypony else in here, and I willingly broke that rule.” I tilted my head forward for a moment, trying to look modest. “I get that. But I did it wholeheartedly because Hummingbird's been my first and thus far only friend here in Canterlot since I first arrived by train, because she's backed me in my studies and endeavors ever since, and because she's homeless.” I flattened my lips. “And because I love her.”

Dustbin rubbed at his forehead and sighed, clearly trying to think this over. Don't let up. Keep pressing him. First, get him to say 'yes'. The brain likes repetition. Keep him saying 'yes'.

“Look, Dustbin,” I continued. Use his name. Names hold power. There is no sweeter sound in any language than the sound of one's name. “Would you agree that these dorm rooms are, if anything, extremely spacious?”

That seemed to be an easy thing to answer for him, an easy way out. He let out a relieved breath. “Yes, yes they are.”

“And quite lavish?”

“Yes indeed.”

“Does it strike you, then, as odd that all of this would be reserved for just one pony?” I asked him. He looked hesitant to answer. So I pressed. “Come now, you have to agree there, even if you grew up in Canterlot!”

Dustbin sighed out, “Yes, I agree.”

I didn't say anything now. Give him a chance to come to the conclusion himself. It makes the decision much more resolute.

The dusty unicorn adjusted his glasses again and sighed out, “Alright, alright, she can stay.” My heart soared, and I let myself show it as I smiled wide and gratefully. “But!” Oh shi- “Keep the noise level down to a minimum, okay? I don't want to let everypony else I'm doing this for you. More than they already have. And you owe me.”

“Deal,” I said a little too quickly. “Thank you, and we'll keep quiet.”

Dustbin just grumbled and shook his head as he trotted back down the hall, and I closed the door and leaned back against it, exhaling out a deep breath as I slid down to my haunches. Hummingbird sat down as well, and we both looked at one another with expressions that said, “That just happened. That just happened!”

We cheered. Quietly, of course.

* * *

“New plan,” I said to Hummingbird. We were out in the field again, soccer ball before me. “I'm going to work my way up with thin ice muscles, thickening until I start to feel... something, okay?”

“You're pretty persistent with this thing,” she remarked. “We gave up on ice wings, if I recall.”

“Well we didn't with the thicker ice arms,” I argued. “And ice wings took multiple attempts. I want to give this a few more gos.”

“Hmph, maybe you're just being stubborn,” the green pegasus mare grunted.

“Well, breakthroughs aren't made by the easily-discouraged,” I countered... stubbornly.

“Just try not to hurt yourself again... please?” Hummingbird sighed.

“I'll try, love,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She flushed red. She always did that when I called her that. She said it made her feel old, like she was back in the times they spoke Old Equestrian. Personally, I think it might have been a fantasy of hers in a sense. I don't know. My thinking was... different back then.

I bit my lip as I drew the icy sinews around my left foreleg this time, heart beating faster. Was I really going to try this again, even if I risked ending up in horrible, agonizing, excruciating pain? Well... discoveries weren't for the faint-of-heart either. I scowled and grunted as I committed myself to it, giving my leg a test punch.

Okay... nothing painful. Great! I looked over at Hummingbird with a smile and noticed she had covered her face with her wings. She peeked between the tips of her feathers with a single eye. “You're okay?” she asked. Just... so... cute...

“Yep!” I smiled at her. “Now then... let's see if this works...” And with that, I gave the ball a solid kick, watching it sail away. “... hm, distance could use some work.”

* * *

“'Ice arms are an ideal substitution for telekinesis when it is either impossible or infeasible to use it,'” Hummingbird muttered aloud as she read what I typed down on our terminal. “'Like telekinesis, they do not provide a sense of physical contact or sensation. However, they allow for a level of fine-tuning beyond what hooves are capable of- somewhere approaching or at least between griffin claws and telekinesis.'” She bobbed her head to the side for a moment. “'The process for creating ice arms is similar to forming ice in and of itself. One must-' Okay, see what you're doing here?” She turned to me. “You're using a lot of 'one does this' and 'one does that'. Maybe substitute for 'you's for a more personal feeling. You're trying to talk to the other pony. Er, person. I just feel using 'you' would feel more personal is all. It's still good, just...”

“No, no, I like that suggestion,” I said to her, giving her encouragement. “Let's keep on reading. Anything else you have to add?”

“Okay, sure, no problem.” The green mare turned back to the screen. “'One must imagine flowing and freezing the water just as with creating shapes, this time forming a physical limb rather than a shape. Accurate anatomy isn't important- just that there is an arm itself with fingers...'”

* * *

Winter was rolling out and spring was rolling in, the seasons changing hooves in Canterlot like the drawing of curtains- much like the cycle of night and day. The days grew warmer and longer, the ponies and animals more lively and outgoing. Well, a little more anyway. I woke up well-rested, sighing in content with the feeling of Hummingbird snuggled on top of me, snoring squeakily as usual. I smiled endearingly at her, idly stroking down her wing as I glanced at the clock. Well. Looked like I had to disturb Sleeping Beauty.

So I... (he coughed into a hoof) gave her flank a smack.

Hummingbird let out a squeak of surprise, those lovely crimson, violet-splashed eyes flashing wide open. “Urgh, you know there are better ways of waking me up!” she grumbled, betraying a grin nonetheless.

“Like... this?” I snickered, giving her rump a good rub.

She smacked me playfully on the head, causing me to cry out softly more out of reflex than pain. We fell into chuckles, hugging each other- but only briefly, only briefly.

Because we both startled as a new, unfamiliar sound filled the air.

“Mmhmheheheheheh...”

Even the storyteller looked unsettled as he repeated the sound.

Still chills me to this day...

Hummingbird and I bolted upright in bed. “What was that?” she whispered.

“I don't know...” I muttered.

“Should we be worried?” she asked quietly.

“I hope not,” I answered, heading to the door. It was worth investigation. I sprouted an ice arm to turn the handle and push it open...

… and then I was knocked off of my feet as the hinges swung inward. I cried out in surprise, then flailed as I realized I wasn't falling down. I was falling sideways to the wall, knocking over the coat-rack in the process. My eyes bulged in surprise as I found myself lying flat against the wall as if gravity decided to take a day off. What the buck was going on?!

“Hummingbird, what's going on?!” I cried out, starting to panic as shouts of surprise filtered through the walls of our room. This was completely new to me! And it made no sense!

Hummingbird flew up to me and sat on my snout. Uh. Wh... Hummingbird was... was... she was a hummingbird! She was literally a very wide-eyed, surprised-looking hummingbird! What the buck!

“Mmhahahahah!” that sinister laughter thundered out. Then in a voice slick and sinister, filled with both malicious playfulness and playful maliciousness: “Hoooooooheeheeheeheeheeeeeee! Movement! Hoooooeeeee, movement! I can move again! I can wiggle my toes, I can wiggle my eyebrows, and-” There was this absolutely hideous grinding noise. “Oh, ohhhhh, yes, and now I can finally scratch that itch. Oh, you wouldn't believe how long I've been waiting to do that!”

The only words running through my head right now were: What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck- hooooly shit my bed just turned into an ostrich! Hooooly shit my ceiling fan just turned into a ceiling chair! Whyyyy do I suddenly feel like spitting out pickles while hula-hooping and drinking cheese? Yes, drinking cheese!

“Good morning, fillies and gentlecolts! I am today's entertainment! Oh, please, please, please hold your applause! Now, I've been planning a wonderful show for all these centuries! And guess what? You're going to be the stars! Oh, just look how marvelously you fit your roles! Mmmeeeeheeheeheeheeheee! It's almost delicious! I could just drink it up right- okay, you know what? I will drink it up!” There was an exaggerated slurping sound as... something was sipped up. Followed by an explosion of all things! “Whhhhoopsieeeees! Oh dear oh dear oh dear, uhhhh... property damage. Rates go quite high here in Canterlot. Ahhhh, I don't give a lizard's foot anyway! Haaaaahahahahahahaaaaa! Discord's back, baby! Now everypony get your dose!”

Son of a bitch.

“Okay, somepony's cussing too much out there!”

I froze.

Then, in a sick twist of fate, I literally froze over. Hummingbird's beady little eyes bulged as she hovered away from me in surprise.

“That's better. Come now, don't you know this is a G-rated television show?”

What... what? What the fuck?!

“Okay, that's enough, you there. Zip it.”

I let out a muffled grunt of surprise as my mouth somehow zipped shut. While I was frozen. Then a padlock appeared at the end, was locked by a key, and then the key darted through the window- shattering it from the outside-inward by the way- whereupon I felt the entire dorm complex lift up and slam down on the ground.

“Now that that's out of the way...” Discord boomed, still out of view. “No no.” The walls and floors blew away, turned into a myriad of flying cards, causing everyone in the buildings nearby to fall to earth. Now we could behold the wicked draconequus in all of his sinister glory. With his eyes open now, I could tell they were mismatched... but they both held this unsettling hunger to them. “Now that that's out of the way, let's put on a show!” He started pointing around. “I want a garbage truck,” The Canterlot Bazaar- all of it- turned into a gigantic garbage collector wagon that let out a loud hiss of pressurized air, “a mime on a dime- oh what's a dime, you ask?” And then one of the unicorns turned into a mime precariously balanced on top of a tiny, silver coin. “That's a dime! Now a whale with a pail, a bucket on a musket, a water main on a daughter's mane...” The items popped up all over the place, all taking the place of everyday objects- and ponies! A green unicorn mare wailed and ran around in circles as a water main started discharging gallons of water from her hair. “Now some passes and grasses and lasses and basses- and let's not forget- chocolate raaaaaaaaain! Some stay dry and others feel the pain!”

Good news, I wasn't frozen anymore.

Bad news, I fell under the, uh, “lasses” category.

I felt something very off about my body all of a sudden and then looked down and between my le- holy buck I was a mare! My higher-pitched scream joined those of thousands as we ran and panicked across the reorganizing streets. I watched as I suddenly began moving backwards even as I galloped forward, policeponies suddenly pirouetted on sheets of ice... cream, everything started turning into random objects or exploding, and finally, to top it all off, the sky turned pink with brown clouds raining... chocolate milk on us all. It was just as Discord would have wanted- utter chaos. And he was reveling in it all, giggling and guffawing at our expense.

Then the world seemed to shake as a bowel movement-inducing voice completely unlike Princess Celestia's boomed, “Enough!”

Discord blinked. “Oh snickerdoodle.”

A wall of darkest black burst from Castle Canterlot, enveloping everything in blinding darkness.

* * *

I blinked my eyes open and groaned as I picked myself off of the floor of our room. Wait, my voice was deep and grave again! And I was standing up in our dorm room! I looked over to find Hummingbird steadily getting up to her hooves, and she did the same. We both cheered and hugged one another tight.

“Jeez, are you alright, Hummingbird?” I asked worriedly as we pulled away from one another.

“Y-Yeah, I think so,” she sighed in relief. “You?”

“Yeah, back to... stallion me.” My hindlegs twitched involuntarily as I shuddered from the recent memory.

“Hey, do you hear all that?” the green mare asked, looking toward the window. There was some commotion outside, and I headed over to open the window and swing out the shutters. There was a gathering of Canterlot ponies and Royal Guards, now all congregating about Princess Celestia as she seemed to look around in relief.

“I'm glad all of you are alright,” she said softly, gently, “but I'm afraid we have a matter of national security on our hooves now. Please remain sequestered to your homes, my little ponies. Run your shops and do your errands as necessary but only if necessary. An ancient evil known as Discord is free from his prison, and while my sister is working on protecting Canterlot from his influence...” She looked off to the pink skies in the distance. “I'm afraid the rest of Equestria may not be as fortunate. Stay safe, my little ponies.” And then she disappeared in a flash of yellow light.

Murmurs of questions filled the air as everypony headed back to their homes and businesses. I had a few of my own as well. How did Discord break free? What was that about her sister, Princess Luna? How long would it take for this situation to be contained?

I had one answer, though. I had a nagging idea of what all those unmarked statues were...

* * *

As it turned out, it took less than a day for the six new Bearers of the Elements of Harmony to repetrify Discord. It allowed us all to breathe easy now, though the psychiatric wards certainly had their hooves full with the traumatized ponies left in the wake of his very brief rule. Hummingbird was one of them, though it left her under more physical duress than emotional. She was a frail pony, after all, and she was in the hospital for a few days just to make sure her body was checking out alright after all that stress. I was with her the whole time, leaving only to get her food.

“You... you got caramel?” Hummingbird squealed, wriggling in delight as she undid the twine around the plastic bag and started chewing on a morsel, melting just like the square in her mouth. “Mmmmm... oh meh gush...”

The storyteller smiled softly, sadly with the memory. And then he blinked his eyes rapidly and moved on.

I couldn't help but find myself... a bit disturbed. No, not at what just transpired but my... lack of response to what just transpired. I wasn't fazed by any of it. Sure, the experience itself was traumatizing, and to this day it still scares me... a little. But only a little.

I didn't think too much of it at the time. I just focused on what needed to be done. Hummingbird needed to be tended to, especially since her illness did, in fact, get worse as a result of all that stress. She needed antibiotics and shots. She needed somepony to keep an eye on her. I knew she was frail, yes, but I didn't know it was because she had not one but two immunodeficiency syndromes. She still had an immune response, but it was about a third the capacity of a normal pony.

When I did have time to think of it, I just brushed it aside. I was mentally tougher than most ponies, I thought to myself, because of my near-death experience at a relatively early age- and by the hooves of other ponies. That was how I rationalized it. That was how I rationalized it for a long time after that.

Folks, you know what I'm like today. You've listened to what I did to Sewn Britches, Langson, Snake Charmer, Kaden, raiders in general. You know, you know that I talk to Her. You know... you know that I have these, these nightmares, these memories that... won't leave me, these... all of these, these... (he contorted his lips and wavered a little, trying to put it all down and out) all these scars.

He stilled.

I'm not sound of mind. That didn't happen overnight. And I might say I'm crazy, I might say I'm damaged. Does that mean I'm any less crazy, any less damaged?

* * *

“Zoleks? Zoleks, are you there?”

“Yeah, I'm here. Hoooooly shit, buck, that was some real bucked up stuff we all went through...”

“Are you and Namira going to be okay?”

“Yeah, we're going to be okay, Frost. Zebras are tough, heh. But what about you? You okay? You and Hummingbird?”

“Yeah, we'll be fine. Hummingbird's in the hospital right now, just to make sure she's okay after all that. Want to say hi to Zoleks, dear?”

“Hi, Zoleks!”

“Heh, well she sounds fine to me, buck.”

“Mm-hm. She should be cleared for leaving soon. How's everyone else down in Manehattan? How're my parents? Yours?”

“Our folks are fine, Frost. Don't worry about it. Your mom's a little shaken up, had a bit of a heart attack-”

“What?”

“She had a heart attack, but she's stable. She's alright. She's just fine, Frost.”

“Jeez... do you know what hospital they went to? I want to give them a call.”

“She's already checked out, buck. Like I said, she's just fine.”

“Oh thank Goddess... well, guess it's 'Goddesses' now, huh?”

“Yeah... hey, look, I gotta check on downstairs again, okay? Talk to you later?”

“Okay, okay. Call you later.”

“See you, Zoleks.”

“Peace, bro.”

* * *

Hummingbird and I headed back toward the Canterlot Sculpture Gardens a few weeks after she was cleared for leaving the hospital. I felt a sense of worry for her as we neared, even as she strode forward ahead of me with a confident, level head.

“You sure you want to do this?” I asked her quietly.

She nodded stoutly. “I have to get over this. I just have to.”

I nodded slowly, keeping an eye on her should anything happen. As we neared the rows of hedges, though, there appeared to be quite the commotion near the gateway. A pair of Royal Guards were holding back a small crowd, a cacophony of mixed, irritated voices making it difficult for me to tell exactly what happening.

I moved forward and tapped one of the ponies on the shoulder. “Excuse me, ma'am, but what's going on?”

“They're not letting us see Discord, that's what,” she snorted angrily. “Frankly, I couldn't imagine even Princess Celestia herself forbidding us to spit on his feet, let alone the Royal Guard.”

“What?” Hummingbird stared incredulously past the crowd at the pair of guards keeping the mob at bay.

“I'm quite as surprised as you are,” a unicorn stallion close by grumbled. “I bought these specific tomatoes to pelt that bucking statue! Specifically! I don't even like tomatoes!”

The green pegasus mare groaned, rubbing her face with a wing. “Well no way we're gonna be seeing the statue.”

“Hang on, let me handle this,” I said to her with a soft smile. I turned back and let out a shrill whistle. That certainly got their attention, though I suddenly had twenty-plus pairs of irritable eyes on me. “Folks, we're all agreeable ponies here. Look, I can understand your anger. We all went through the same experience together-”

“He turned me into a newt!” one of them cried indignantly, causing them all to snap angry remarks at me and start turning away.

“Well you got better,” I countered, then looked at everypony else. “Right?” The lot of them grumbled in affirmative. Good. Already had them saying 'yes' with me. “Again, we're all angry at Discord for what he did. Be that as it may, do recall what started this whole mess. It was a few fillies displaying a profound sense of disharmony. Now, if you directed your anger at this statue...” I rolled a hoof to them, letting them come to the conclusion themselves. “Well, even if he was sealed away again by the new Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, it wouldn't be a good idea to risk another outbreak for the sake of a petty display of vengeance. Wouldn't you agree?”

There were more grumbles in affirmative, and the crowd began to disperse. Many of them did so reluctantly, but after a few minutes, we were left with alone with a pair of very relieved-looking Royal Guards. The brilliant-white pegasus stallions nodded stoutly in gratitude and resumed their posts. Hummingbird looked at me with a thankful smile, but as soon as we tried to pass, the guard pair shot out their wings between with a sound not unlike the clash of swords, barring our passage.

“Apologies, ma'am and sir, but we cannot allow public entry into the Canterlot Sculpture Gardens at the present,” the one on the left said firmly.

“Sir, we don't wish to cause any trouble,” I explained. “Hummingbird here just wants to face her fears. She needs this.”

“Our orders stand,” he said simply. “No public access.”

I frowned, but his partner pushed down their wings and added, “What my partner is trying to say is... while we appreciate your help, we just can't allow anyone into the gardens right now. If you really must know, we are moving his statue to a more secure location to ensure that such an outbreak cannot occur again. I hope you will understand.”

I looked at Hummingbird for her reply to all of this. She sighed, “We understand, sir. Come on, Frost. Let's go.”

“And cue that,” the more friendly guard spoke as a procession of Royal Guard unicorns marched by, their magical fields working in concert to lift a massive, tarp-covered object past us as we hastily backpedaled out of their way.

I squinted my eye in scrutiny, however. The object was a lot... longer than Discord's statue as I remembered him. One particular unicorn looked like he was straining a little harder than the others. There was a thud as something dropped out from the tarp. With the low levitation height, I couldn't see much.

But I could see a set of four stony legs, each hoof covered in a very particularly armored horseshoe completely unlike any of the Royal Guards.

I looked back up to see the lead unicorn glaring daggers at one who slipped up as he hastily levitated the other statue back under the tarp and they proceeded toward Castle Canterlot.

It confirmed my suspicions. The Canterlot Sculpture Gardens weren't just an open-air gallery.

They were open-air prisons for enemies of Equestria.

* * *

You know what? Let me fast-forward a little. Summer came and went. I returned home to Manehattan once more, glad that I was finally able to return to a home where I could be accepted with open forelegs... and to see Zoleks again.

This time, instead of helping him out, I came to him seeking my own.

“Really?” he chuckled at me as we sat down near the fountain square just like old times. “You're coming to ask me for help?”

I only nodded at him. “I really want to learn more Zebrikaans. More about zebras in general, really. It would really help later on.”

The chill zebra buck smiled and pat me on the back. “Ja soos altyd, my vriend. Come on. Let's head back home. Walk n' talk, walk n' talk. You'll wanna chat with my folks, though. They know more about the Denipulo tribe than I do.”

“Chiefdom,” I corrected.

“Huh?”

“Chiefdom. Tribes have no central leader. Chiefdoms do. Therefore, every single buffalo 'tribe' we learned about in elementary is actually a chiefdom.”

“Heh, whatever buck,” Zoleks chuckled. “Whatever.”

And then after all that? Princess Luna had her first public appearance since her return, funnily enough on Nightmare Night in the place she first tormented in her return as Nightmare Moon- Ponyville. That caused quite the ruckus, of course.

The storyteller huffed softly, looking over his armor for a moment as he smiled with the memory. He removed another newspaper and set it down. The front page article displayed a cloak-wrapped alicorn descending from darkened skies atop a streamlined yet archaic and very much intimidating chariot lined with spikes and an eye design on the front. It was pulled by chains connected to a pair of leathery -winged pegasi dracoponies- two Lunar Guards. The headline: “WHAT A NIGHT, WHAT A FRIGHT”.

I remember when I looked at this way back when. I didn't know what to think. Those unmarked sculptures were all petrified ponies- and a draconequus. I always thought Equestria to be a relatively peaceful place outside of maybe the gang wars in Manehattan. Those were the only two Lunar Guards that anypony, anyone had ever seen for a long time. Whatever happened to the rest, Hummingbird and I could only guess. Any questions we asked were ignored, avoided, or dodged. We didn't see any harm, so eventually, we stopped asking.

He looked at the cover again. He pointed from the one in the front to the one in the back.

Anvil. Hammer. Not the same Hammer Toss from Manehattan with the Mumei, no. I... I still can't believe that... no, I'll save it for another time.

He set the paper down and sighed out a cool mist.

I'll save it for another time.

Another Northern Lights Festival came and went- another year of remembrance, tears, and hope. Now that I actually had some formal education in equinpology and history, I had the opportunity to really appreciate the similarities with and differences between the surviving Northerner peoples. In truth, the Northerners- the Thulians, Haysians, Hokkaidans, and Horwegians- were actually very different in terms of lifestyle and culture. They were extremely diverse and often led independent city-states. It was The Great Exodus that really brought them all together. They... we all shared a common tragedy, a common event that changed our lives forever. It was a powerful experience that created a bond between Northerners stronger than any other.

Life was good, for a time. Life was really good.

The old unicorn dracopony leaned back.

I touched on me being... different from other ponies a few minutes ago. Not just magically- mentally. Let me... let me give you another example of my... of my difference from other ponies. I need to make time for this especially. See, things back then weren't... perfect. We like to imagine pre-war Equestria as this idyllic society free of worry, free of fear, free of danger. We tell tales of how great things used to be back then, stories about “the good ol' days”. In truth, things were less than perfect. There was worry, there was fear.

And there was danger.

* * *

Early springtime in Canterlot. We were in our dorm room then. Hummingbird was at the terminal browsing music, and I was testing out my ice muscles, sitting on my haunches and shadow boxing. I'd long since refined them. They were no longer these sinewy, realistic structures. In the end, all I needed was a wraparound structure that moved with my legs.

A crackling filled the air as he formed them.

I only needed overlapping tendrils, like these.

And then they sublimated.

There was a knock at our door, and as one we turned toward it. There was a shuffling sound and a dainty little envelope pushed under the door. Hummingbird was the first there and picked it up, looking it over.

“Huh, it has the Equestrian Royal Seal on it...” she muttered, then looked at me. “Expecting any summons from Princess Celestia?”

“No, not really,” I said with a shake of my head as she tried to open it. “Here, let me handle it.” I fired up my horn and sprouted an ice arm to demonstrate.

The green mare hoofed it over and smirked. “Fingers make it so much easier, huh?”

“Sooo much easier,” I chuckled, taking the envelope and opening it in a swift, fluid motion. I read aloud: “'Princess Celestia cordially invites you to the wedding of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and Shining Armor, Captain of the Royal Guard'.” I blinked. “Huh. How about that?”

“Wow, a royal wedding?” Hummingbird trotted in place excitedly... and cutely, of course. “When and where? When and where?!”

“Let's see... 'at the Castle Canterlot Keep on Saturday April Twenty-First... starts at noon... free food and drink... formal attire is recommended but not required...'” I looked up and turned to Hummingbird. “I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind going.”

“I'd love to!” Hummingbird squealed. “Ohhhhh, I still have that dress, but...”

“Uh... I... I think that's a little... racy...” I said with a blush.

She rolled her eyes and grinned. “I could always go in it to make everypony else jealous...” Then she snorted and laughed, “Haaaaahaha, oh gosh, I'm so terrible at doing that...”

I looked away. “Yeah... sure...”

* * *

I looked at myself in the full-body mirror, admiring myself. With the fedora and the simple black tie, I looked more like a reporter for the event than an invited guest. I was even wearing a small set of saddlebags. I just liked the ability to carry things with me and have some extra space. Still, I didn't want to be too formal even if the stallions of the Canterlot elite attending would no doubt be attending in tuxedos and sport coats.

“I don't know why I'm bothering with the mirror,” I chuckled, looking back at Hummingbird. “It won't change how I look all that much anyway.”

Hummingbird was wearing a cheap, er- (the storyteller coughed and then spoke in a haughty tone) 'less expensive' cream-colored dress. From what I heard, it was a new option made available as a new line of clothing from Rarity from Ponyville, this fashionista and supposedly also the Bearer of the Element of Generosity. It was simple and looked more like a nightgown, but Hummingbird didn't mind. That it was comfortable was all that mattered for her.

“Yeah, move over so I can... what, do it all over again for the sixth time?” she chuckled.

“I think you look just beautiful, love,” I said. “Come on, let's go. Don't want to be late for something like this, do you?”

“But... but do I look presentable?” Hummingbird flustered. “It's been so long since my last formal event! I have to be presentable! Is my mane okay? I haven't even styled it!”

I gave her a kiss on the cheek and hugged her. “You're fine, Hummingbird.” And she was... I pulled away and we headed out.

The first thing we noticed? The gigantic pink-colored bubble formed over the city. And the increased presence of Royal Guards.

“Uh, e-excuse me, sirs?” I said, quickly approaching a pair. They always came in pairs. “What's going on?”

“Princess Celestia has declared a state of emergency,” the pegasus answered. “There is evidence of a credible threat to Equestria, and so there are additional security measures in place.”

My heart raced. “What about the other cities? Is Manehattan protected?”

He shook his head. “We believe that this threat is directed specifically at Canterlot. Regardless, the royal wedding is scheduled to continue at the request of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and the Captain of the Royal Guard.” He then muttered something under his breath.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, citizen,” he said to me a bit more firmly than necessary. “Move along.”

I kept my eye on him as Hummingbird and I headed away from the guardponies. “Did you catch that?” Hummingbird asked me.

“No, you?” I turned to her as we proceeded toward the center of the city.

“Something about how he agreed with the other Captain of the Guard on postponing the royal wedding,” she answered. Wow, was her hearing really that good, or was my hearing really that bad?

“'Other Captain of the Guard'?” I blinked. “I wasn't aware there were more than one.”

“Me neither,” she said, shaking her head. “So, what's the plan?”

“I guess we're still going,” I replied. “After all, once-in-a-lifetime event, right?”

“Right, but...”

“Hey.” I gave her a nuzzle. “If anything happens, I'm here for you.”

“Heh, as much as that means if something manages to get pass the shield and the Royal Guards,” the green mare snickered. “It's good to know I have my knight in shining armor, though.”

The storyteller smiled softly, looking at his own armor.

Not yet, Hummingbird. Not yet. “Heh, choice words considering the groom,” I chuckled. “Hey, look, I'm going to call Zoleks and make sure everything's alright, okay?”

“Sure, sure, no worries,” she said with a nod.

I took out my cell phone, but a glance at the display told me I wouldn't be calling anyone. I scowled and pocketed it, breathing out a sigh. “No reception,” I hissed. “Dammit...”

“You okay, honey?” Hummingbird tilted her head down to look at me at eye level.

“Yeah, just... I'll be fine,” I lied. “Must be the shield.”

“You really care about him, don't you?”

I only nodded. “Let's... just get going. Let's just get going.”

We definitely weren't the only ones invited to the wedding. All of Canterlot, from the workers to the nobles, the rich and the poor, were heading to Castle Canterlot. It reminded me of how the Northerners of Manehattan were coming together for the Northern Lights Festival albeit on a much, much smaller scale. Still, it made me happy to see that nopony and nobody from the city was excluded from such a once-in-a-lifetime event, even if most of the aristocrats were... less than enthusiastic. At least they had the decency to attempt to hide it. The additional security measures were all too apparent, however. It wasn't limited to increased Royal Guard presence. There was a security checkpoint just before entering the keep, where guests were magically scanned before they were admitted in. A Royal Guard unicorn even had to take special time to remove and scan my cell phone before allowing us through.

Another unfortunate security measure was that only close friends and family of the bride and groom were allowed in the chapel. The rest of us remained outside in the keep, though there were more than enough food and festivities to keep us occupied. Heh... Hummingbird and her food. In the meantime, I managed to catch up with a certain mule while at the banquet.

“Hello, Professor, Egan,” I greeted.

He turned around and smiled at me. “Hello, Frost! Nice digs.”

I smiled as I realized that he'd only come wearing a tie himself. “Not one for being too formal, professor.”

“Heh, I get where you're coming from. Enjoying the wedding so far?”

“Well, at least I have my-” I glanced to the side as Hummingbird smirked and teasingly raised a wing as if to slap me, “marefriend here with me.” She smiled happily and relaxed, going back to eating. “To be honest, my mind is elsewhere. It's tough not to worry about things with a big pink dome over our heads.”

“Know what you mean,” Professor Egan sighed. “But, let me take your mind off of things. You're a Northerner. I trust you've been to both of the Northern Lights Festivals these last couple years?”

“Oh definitely,” I said with a nod, grateful for the change in subject. “It would've been a sin to miss it. Have you been to them?”

“Absolutely, oh!” He clasped his forehooves together and smiled brightly. “I went to the one in Burrlin last year, the one in Little Shanghay this year and oh my Goddesses you Northerners are such amazing people! I just finished sifting through what our department learned last year, and then the next year's festival was upon us! It's incredible how much we're learning after all these decades of hardly anything at all!”

Hummingbird gave me a little nudge with her elbow. “Frost here's aspiring to become an equinpologist himself, Professor. Any pointers you can give him?”

He gave a short laugh, eyes bright. “Really? Well, where to begin? You have your four-year plan in order?”

“Ah, yes, professor.”

“Take any languages?” he asked.

“Zwahili and Bise,” I answered. “I have a friend back in Manehattan teaching me Zebrikaans.”

“Manehattan? Is that where you're from? Oh, that's...” He paused, looking confused as he raised a floppy ear. “Do... do you hear... pinging?”

I looked to Hummingbird who perked her ears up, and looked up. Her eyes widened and her mouth went agape. I slowly turned my gaze upward.

What I saw high above Canterlot was a swarm of black, winged shapes ramming against the shield encircling the city, far more than I could ever hope to count. There could have been hundreds, possibly thousands of them, all trying to break in. Conversation quickly muted and murmurs took their place, ponies and the scant few people backing toward one another by instinct. We began to exchange worried looks between one another. A new series of sounds filled the air- Royal Guards shouting orders back and forth and preparing for battle.

“Should... we be worried?” Hummingbird asked very much worriedly as a pair of Royal Guard pegasi flew by. “We've got the shield, right? It was made for that, right?”

“Don't worry, ma'am,” one of them answered back. “They're going to need a lot more firepower to get through Captain Shining Armor's shield.”

A loud crackle sounded off as a discharge of magical energy ran up and down the pink-colored dome, which flickered ominously. With a final, concerted ram, fractures ran along the top of the shield as it spider-webbed, shattering like glass and collapsing into nothingness.

For a moment, I thought one of the guards murmured, “Well fuck.”

And then chaos.

“Assault! Assault! Shield breach-”

“Guards, to your stations! Repel the inv-”

“Alert the Sky Archons! Get them airborne! Go, go go!”

“Battlemages, defensive perimeter, now! Move, move, mo-”

“Too many! There's too man-”

“Go!” the other guard shouted as us as the crowd devolved into a cacophony of flailing legs and panicked shouts. “Get to the barracks! Get into cov-”

And then he was slammed into the ground as a streak of green fire sent him cratering into the ground. We could finally see one of the things up close as it rose from the limp body of the guard. Whether he was dead or merely unconscious, I couldn't be certain. It was more bug-like than equine, having a smooth, black carapace rather than a fur coat. Its legs were spindly and were pockmarked with gaps. A set of frighteningly long fangs protruded from its mandibles, and it had both a set of filmy wings and a sharpened horn. Its eyes were a pale, seamless sky-blue with only hint of melded white in the center.

Whatever the fuck it was, it scared the living crap out of me, and I, along with the rest of the crowd, ran away as fast as we could. In my panic, I just galloped off as fast as my legs could carry me, stumbling over tables, chairs, and toppled food containers as everything went to hell. I just had to get away- and get away fast. Nothing else matt-

Wait. Wait wait wait. I realized I completely lost track of Hummingbird and looked around frantically, heart racing into a frenzy. There was a gray stallion with a monocle and top ha- old mare with a beady neckla- younger mare with a filly on her back, eyes shut ti- guard pony unicorn trying to move past, casting a defensive ward over-

“Hummingbird!” I shouted desperately, my voice lost over the others.

Orange pegasus trying to fly over the crowd and tackled down by a blitz of green fi- colt running, slowly turning as he did, crying for his parents- blue, red, red, white, gray, gray, gray, white, blue, red, mare, stallion, stallion, stallion, mare, stallion, mare, mare, filly, colt, mare, filly, mare, mare, colors, shapes, on the ground, in the air, fallen down, trampled over, too many, too many, too many-

“Hummingbird!” I shouted again to no avail. Too loud. Others shouting. Could not match. Could not overcome. My eyes were wide with fear, breath frantic huhhuh huhhuh huhhuh huhhuh, heart badumpbadumpbadumpbadump-

Shapes, colors, mare, stallion, tall, small, young, old, child, adult, light, dark, earth pony, unicorn, pegasus, rich, poor, together, alone, too much too much too much too much!

“Hummingbiiiiiird!” I shouted uselessly. No hope. Not a shred. Not a chance. Not a sliver.

I was pushed back by the crowd. Tried to fight back. Couldn't. Pulled away, reaching out. I swore I saw her out there. I swore I did. I reached out. No... no. No. No! No!

I stumbled over, fell to the ground, felt a hoof slam into me. Trampled over. Another. Another. Another. Snap. Another. Another. Crack. Another. Another. Pain. So much pain. Just wanted to curl up, just wanted to curl up. Just let it end. Just let it all be over...

No!

I roared as I pushed back up to my feet. Instinct took over as I toppled over an older stallion that made the stupid mistake to step on top of me as I bolted up. Move. Move. Move. Don't care about anything else. Move. Live. Survive. Get to safety.

I ran with the crowd. I ignored the streaks of horrible green as they slammed around and ahead of me. I ignored the shouts of dismay, pain, for shouting's sake. I move forward. I didn't let up. I finally reached the guard barracks. I scrambled inside. I was safe. I was alive. I was pained. I would live. I was going to be okay.

And then... amidst the panting, the relieved sighs, the slumped bodies, I realized.

“No...” I panted faster as panic seized me. “No, no, no, no, no!”

“Easy, son, you made it out ok-”

I swatted the hoof that tried to touch, tried to comfort me away and scrambled up. I didn't care for the faces, the identities, their survival, what the barracks looked like, what anything looked like. Hummingbird wasn't in here. She was still out there. And I left her out there.

I.

I alone.

Guilty.

So fucking guilty, you idiot! You idiot! Why did you leave her out there?!

Desperation seized me, motivating me, moving me.

The faceless stallion shouted back, “Help me keep him down! Hey, help me out over he- ungh!”

I bolted up from the floor, pushing him away from me.“Hummingbird!”

“What the hay! What's he doing?”
“What just happen-”
“What's going on over-”
“What was tha-”

“Huhh, hahh... Hummingbird!”I made my way to the door, breath heavy with panic, fear.

“Wait, is he...?”
“What?! Stop him! Don't let him out! Stop him!”

“Move! Move! I have to save her!” I broke into a gallop even as a mare stood to block me.

“Whoa there, kid, just ca- guh!”

I roughly shoved her aside, growling,“Move, damn you!”

This time, the lone pair of Royal Guards that remained inside blocked me, wings clanging together.

“Halt! Citizen!”
“Halt!”

“Out of myyyy wayyyy!” I roared over the low murmurs of the others. They easily barred my progress, keeping me at bay. Dammit! Celestiadammit! Lunadammit! Why was I so weak?

No... I wasn't weak.

I fired up my horn and let the tendrils slide down my legs.

“What th- ahhh!”
“Nngh!”

I let out a shout as I forced them apart and bucked the door open with my new strength. I raced outside into the porcelain city, into chaos. There were green streaks everywhere, and the swarm blackened the skies with countless specks. The guards were losing. Many were stuck, immobilized by green amber. I ignored them all.

Hummingbird. I had to find her. I ran, starting just in time to avoid the bug-equine thing cratering behind me. I heard it and spun around, saw it leaping at me.

Smash.

I didn't turn back again. I didn't get pounced; I thought no more of it. I had to move. I had to find Hummingbird. I could move fast, so much faster from the ice muscles. Thank Celestia...

Celestia. Where was she? Why was this going on so long? Princess Luna?

Hummingbird. Only she matters. Focus on her. No one else matters.

Guard pony, one of the few remaining. He was in my way.

“Halt!”

I ignored him and bashed him aside. I watched the green flames burst around him as he turned into one of... he was one of those things? How? They could disguise? Find Hummingbird. Get to safety.

Hummingbird.

I saw more of the creatures dragging ponies away. Disguised as them. They saw me and transformed back into their bug-like forms as I rushed at them.

That was a big mistake.

I took the first hit as one of them rushed toward me in kind. Cracked rib pushed deeperrrrrrrr, so... much. Pain!

I roared. Pushed forward. Ignored it. Somehow. Didn't care. Smashed it down. Crack. Gush. It let out a hideous shriek. Deep dent in its carapace. I stomped on its head. Splatter. Felt wetness. Disgusting wetness against me.

Slammed on the back. Me. One of them tackled from above. Pushed me down. Barely. Ice muscles held up. Reared back with their strength. Bucked the thing on top of me. Came down hard on its back. Wasted no time. Ran over and stomped its chest in. Watched its eyes bulge. Mandibles flailed. More disgusting wetness.

Pain.

I was hurt.

Ignore it.

Hummingbird.

I turned to the last pair. Scared now. They were. I knew. I could see it. I roared. Weakly. Pathetically. But I backed it with force. Tackled the one on the right. Stomped. Many times. So many shrieks. So much wetness. Felt it dripping from me. Legs felt weird. Felt shaky.

Pain. I was hurt.

Ignore it.

I turned to the last one. It flinched and let out a shrill, stifled cry. It was shaking. It was scared. Good.

Hummingbird.

I pounced it and kept it pinned.

“Where are you taking them?!”

A new voice. Not my own. But from my mouth.

No response. It looked so weak. So fragile.

“Where?!”

It weakly pointed shakily. Voice submissive. Voice crackly. “I-I don't... I don't.”

It looked so weak. So fragile.

So useless.

Stomp.

So dead.

Ran. Left the limp ponies behind. Didn't care. Only one thing mattered.

Hummingbird.

Ran. So fast. Legs ached. Yet felt numb. Ignore it. It doesn't matter. She does. Hummingbird.

Ran past alleyways. Checked as I went. Two creatures. Heard me. Moved to attack. Smashed the face. It tried to pounce me. I just smashed. The face. Green splat. Other one. Scared. Flew away. I pounced. Tugged to ground. Only caught by legs. Couldn't wait. Smashed. Stomped. Its legs. Shrill cry. Worked my way up. Tears? I saw tears? No matter. I silenced.

Looked around.

“Hummingbird!”

I wheeled around. No. No. She had to be here. She had to be here.

“Hummingbird!”

“Frost!”

Her. That was her.

“Hummingbird! I'm coming!”

Didn't ask where. I knew. I heard. Followed sound. Ran past two Royal Guards. Both immobilized. Stared as I passed. Gawked. Why?

Don't care.

Only she mattered.

Moved on.

Found her. Flying. Fast. Trying to escape. Dress torn. Shredded. One chasing her. Now another.

“Toward me! Toward me!”

She heard. She listened. Her eyes bulged. Even if she just passed by. Raised my hooves. Swung at them as they flew by. One- head caved in. Two, sent into wall. Crumpled on ground. No chance to escape. Don't let up. I ran over. Smash. Stomp. Crush. Cry. Piercing cry. Rip. Silence. Pieces.

I finally turned back to Hummingbird. I found her. I won. I succeeded. I did it. I headed for her. She backed away.

“H-Hummingbird!” Weaker. My own voice now. “Come on, we need to get to... to...” I suddenly felt so slow, so... sluggish. I gasped as I felt the numbness start to peel back, giving away to pain. So much pain. I staggered to the ground, looked down. I panted hard for air. Air, air. I needed air. I looked back up. She was still there. Frozen. Why did she look so scared? “Come on... need to get to... safety...” Every breath felt labored. I was winding down.

She still backed away from me. Why? “F-Frost, you...”

I panted quickly for a few seconds then groaned as I forced myself to move. Mind over matter, magic over physical strength. I forced my legs to move even as the ache spiked in protest. I've been through worse, I told myself. I've been through worse.

I hadn't. Not by a long shot.

“Come on, Hummingbird...” I gasped, squinting my eyes even and fighting forward even as my gut heaved. “Ugh... ohhh... we can't stay out here...”

“You... b-but... you...” she stammered, looking at me with eyes full of fright.

“Hummingbird... please...”

She looked back at the creatures swarming in the air and descending on the helpless ponies of Canterlot and then back at me and groaned. “Alright, let's go!”

I staggered around, hissing from the pain. Move... move! I howled in agony as I pushed forward, baring my teeth and breathing haggardly as I galloped back toward the barracks with Hummingbird flying low and with me. Every step sent bursts of pain pinballing through my body, racking me all over. I grit my teeth and snorted with each painful exhale of breath.

“Frost, look out!” Hummingbird cried out suddenly, veering into and out of view.

I stupidly looked around to see what was the matter. A changeling with green fire fully enveloping its body tackled into me from above. I howled in agony, my concentration finally breaking and causing my ice to shatter. I was slammed and pinned against the ground, my body refusing to cooperate as I tried to move, tried to fight back. Everything felt wrong, broken. I could only gargle as I finally and violently vomited, my bile leaking out and clinging around my muzzle as I laid there. I creaked my head up to find the... thing perched atop me, hissing angrily as it exposed its fangs and-

-was then blasted away as a wave of pink energy washed over us, bursting from the center of the city. It left a tingling feeling over me that caused me to surge with new-found energy. I felt powerful, clean, wholesome...

Well. Before I breathed in the stink of my vomit and fell back into it. My body and mind finally surrendered to the overwhelming tide of fatigue and all faded to black.

* * *

“Just to let you know, Mister Windchill,” Doctor Chock Full said as he entered my hospital suite, “I don't pride myself in repeat business.”

I just sat there in bed. Bandages covered most of my body and gauze pads were taped to both of my cheeks. All of my legs were splinted. I gave him a wry smile. “Very funny, doctor.”

“Anyway, your marefriend is here to see you,” he spoke after flipping through papers on his clipboard. “Just thought I'd let you know.”

“Hummingbird?” I jolted a little, causing a dull throb of pain to course through my flanks. “Is she alright?”

“Yes, yes, she's just fine,” the cream-colored unicorn said with a sigh. “Just a few scratches and cuts, a few bruises here and there. Nothing too serious. I can't say the same for her mental well-being. I'm only a doctor of the equine body, not the equine mind. Anyway, she's absolutely intent on seeing you, so I'll just leave you two be. Good day.”

With that, he headed out the door and Hummingbird slipped inside, looking... I thought she looked tense, but she also appeared worried at the same time. She didn't speak at first and pursed her lips as if unsure of what to say.

I eyed the few bandages on her body and broke the silence for her. “How are you doing?”

She sighed through her nostrils and sat down at my bedside. “I'm okay, I'm okay... you?”

“I feel... like... shit,” I chuckled softly. “Definitely an improvement, though.”

“Still sore?”

“Oh definitely still sore,” I wheezed. “Other unicorns are lucky, being able to put ribs back into place without having to put me through surgery or anything. Wish I could do that sometimes... a lot of times.”

Hummingbird let out another sigh. “Frost, are you okay? I mean... other than physically feeling like shit.”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” I said with a smile at her. “I'm just glad you're safe. I heard others weren't so lucky...”

“You mean... you're sure you're fine?” she asked, persistent. “Nothing wrong or anything?”

“I'm fine, Hummingbird,” I repeated, just a little firmer to get the point across while trying to remain as gentle as possible. “I'm fine, really.” I saw her bite her lip and asked, “What's wrong? Tell me.”

The green pegasus mare sighed sharply and said in a way that sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “You killed those changelings! H... how?”

I shrugged. “It wasn't hard. They were attacking everypony, everyone in the entire city. I had to defend myself. You too.”

She flung her hooves up in frustration. “But you killed another living being!” She let out a distraught groan. “Not just one, either! You were covered in that... all that green... blood of theirs! How many did you kill, Frost?”

“Eight, maybe nine,” I said calmly.

“Eight!” Her eyes bulged at that and she actually staggered back. “Ei... eight? Nine, even?! How are you saying that so calmly?!” She looked almost hysterical.

I sighed softly, “Hummingbird, I had to find you and bring you the safety no matter what. I-”

“Is that why you put two other ponies into the hospital?” she growled, glaring at me. “Is that why you're being charged with assault against them and two Royal Guards?”

“Hummingbird, I just-”

“No, Frost!” She gripped her head, gritting her teeth. “There's no 'just'!” She sighed helplessly and let her hooves fall. “Why? Why did you do all of that, even for me? What's wrong with you? Was it something I did, something I said, or-”

“Hummingbird,” I sighed. No. Think carefully before you say anything. I paused and drew in a deep breath. “Hummingbird, it's not you. Okay? Okay, I-I wasn't thinking clearly. I... I-I panicked, okay?” I saw the look of desperation fade into worry now. But it was better. “I...” Think back. Tell her the truth. “I just... I was so selfish. I thought only about getting myself out of harm's way, and by the time I realized you were gone, I... I just panicked. I left you behind, and because of that, you... I could have killed you.” I broke eye contact and bit my lip, ears tucked back. “I just felt so... disgusted with myself. I just had to save you. I just had to. I couldn't let anything get in my way.”

I looked back at her now- and she at me.

I whispered powerfully, “I love you, Hummingbird. I could never forgive myself if you got killed because of me. It's why I tried so hard to make up for it, praying that I didn't fail.”

Hummingbird slumped but looked at me with painful love, loving pain. She leaned forward and rest her head in the crook of my neck, and I gratefully nuzzled her back. “Please... you have to believe me.”

“I...” She hesitated, sighing. “I believe you, but... how can you just kill another living being like that and not feel anything...?”

I just kept her there, nuzzling against her soft mane. “I don't know, Hummingbird. I just don't know.”

And I didn't.

“Will you be okay?” she asked, pulling away a little to look up at me with those determined, red-violet eyes.

“I'll be fine,” I said quietly. I thought on that for a few seconds. Was I really ‘fine’? I had no problem with killing those changelings, yet Hummingbird... and the Royal Guards, even... “I mean it.” I didn’t. I didn’t. And when I realized what I just did, I kept her from making eye contact. I added, “I'm more concerned about you. Will you be okay?”

She nodded slowly and nestled her head against me. “I'll be fine,” she said weakly. She and I were quiet for a long time. I was still trying to piece together just what her problem was with me killing those changelings. It was as if she expected me to be shaken up. Now that I saw her disgust and dismay over it, I was starting to feel a bit worried myself. Was there something wrong with me?

No. I didn't feel off. Everything I did felt natural. Panicked, maybe, but natural. Perfectly natural. Yes. It was perfectly natural to use excessive force in a desperate situation where lives were on the line.

Yes... that's it.

"You know, I hear they're reorganizing the wedding with the real Princess Mi Am- Princess Cadance, I mean,” I said to her. “Still feel up for going?”

Hummingbird let out a sigh.

"I hear they're bringing a DJ from Ponyvilllllle...” I said encouragingly.

"Oh alright, you,” she finally chuckled, relenting.

I smiled to myself. Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 11 Reached!

Ice Elemental Union (Rank Three)- Things may start to feel... different. You are now 45% more resistant to colder temperatures and cryomantic spells are 15% more efficient. However, your body's core temperature is 30% lower and you are 60% weaker to sources of heat and incur a -150% penalty to fire resistance. These bonuses and penalties stack for each rank of this perk.

Spell Mastered: Ice Muscles- You are able to form a second set of artificial muscles around your legs with ice. Your STR, unarmed damage, movement speed, and jump height are doubled with this spell (STR capped to 10). You can also ignore crippled legs provided your strength of will is high enough. However, you will incur limb damage as long as this spell is sustained without horseshoes. When using horseshoes, their CND will degrade three times as quickly. Note: The STR bonus from his spell does not apply to equipped weapons.

Unlockables added: Inspirational Art- Diskobolos

Inspirational Art- Seated Boxer

Soundtrack- No Documentation

Soundtrack- Perfect Chaos

Soundtrack- The Changeling Invasion

Soundtrack- Perfectly Natural

Author's Note

Sorry for the wait this time, everyone. I blame Skyrim and three different types of chemistry this quarter. Graah... anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. As always, many thanks to the wonderful FoE community and especially my pre-reader, Lazer726. Give him some encouragement to take up writing again, will ya?

Thank you for reading as well. Feedback and especially critique are always appreciated if it's no trouble. And check out the Ask Frost Windchill tumblr!

Reflection Twenty-One: Enmity Breeds

Reflection Twenty-One: Enmity Breeds

“The honesty that held us together crumbled.
It was replaced with deception. Cheating truth to take more than we needed because we needed.

The kindness of our agreement faded away.
It was replaced with cruelty. To simply swindle, steal, or rob what we wanted.

The generosity of our charity from one equine to another eroded.

It was replaced by greed. For what we had was never enough.

The laughter once shared by friends was long gone.

It was replaced by hurt. Because we were now stepping forward too far, and we were aching inside.

The loyalty that once held together the treaty of trade was no longer doctrine.

It was replaced by betrayal. If you won't help us, you can expect a stab in the back.

The magic of our land was no more.

It was replaced by the machine. For we thought and worked too much, and for we felt and cared too little.

Friendship crumbled.

Enmity remained in the shards.

Enmity breeds.”

The storyteller exhaled deeply.

I was thirty-five years old.

He paused and let out another deep sigh.

None of it had to happen. None of it. But if you do as I do… if you look back through the years… if you connect the dots… it was inevitable.

It still doesn’t make it any more believable.

He sat up straighter, another misty breath coming from his nostrils.

When times are good, we can’t imagine that something horrible could happen to us. At least, not until it’s already happened. Sometimes, not even then. It’s not stupidity, it’s not weakness; it’s merely equine nature. Even now, as you sit here with me, you’re not expecting anyone here to die tonight. You’re just sitting back among friends and possibly family, enjoying an old buck’s story. You can’t imagine that happening. Just like I couldn’t imagine we’d destroy our world in twenty-two years.

We look back on it now- I know I have, many times- and think, ‘oh, but it’s so obvious that would happen.’ Well, folks, you know what they say about hindsight. Foresight usually gets the wrong prescription strength. Zebrica, Aldorna, even Equestria were no strangers to using power. We were already bickering among one another for resources. At that point, it was just a matter of time. The proverbial writing was on the wall. We all just had to read it.

I certainly didn’t. Or, at least, I chose not to. Those people who couldn’t believe something horrible could happen while times were good? I was one of them. I just called Zoleks and my parents- and my friends in Ponyville- and told them I was fine, Nightingale was fine. We’d gotten out safely. All, of course, while remaining hidden at home pretending to be on a flight back. I’m sure Pinkie knew, but she wisely remained quiet on the matter.

The storyteller inhaled softly.

And we got married. As expected after the talk with Celestia- and Luna and I both wanted the same- it was a quiet affair. No ceremony. No reception. Just some royal paperwork. It was all hush-hush… heh… our dirty little secret. Nobody ever found out. Pinkie didn’t even tell anyone.

I don’t want to get into the details. Those matters are… private, you understand. No, right now, I’m going to focus on something else.

Something far more important. Something far worse.

He inhaled softly.

I don’t remember it all happening so quickly like most say. It didn’t happen immediately after. It took its time creeping up on us. That three-letter word. One that chills me to the bone.

The storyteller sprouted an ice arm to produce his next memento- an old radio alarm. Several of the buttons were missing their tabs, and one of the switches was missing. The digital display was cracked, and black gunk had melted into the spiderweb. The grill cap covering one of the speakers popped out and started to fall out, but he caught it just in time and snapped it back into place.

It’s obviously not Stable-Tec. But it was important to me and I’m sure many others over the course of the next two years. Before, I tended to avoid paying attention to current events. After playing a part in them? I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on the tabloid and my ears to the speaker.

I’ve said it before, not too long ago. I’ll say it again. Industry is a good thing. The Age of Industry allowed society as a whole to improve the standards of living for everyone. It bolstered food production. It gave us modern conveniences. It gave us the means to communicate instantly over vast distances.

He gently pat the device at his hooves.

It made the whole wide world a whole lot smaller. It allowed us to wrest energy from the land and breathe light and life where there was none before. It allowed us to step forward.

And step forward.

And step forward.

And we took one step too far.

Remember, folks. Remember how this story all started.

* * *

One day after we returned.

“-little over a day ago, it was believed that Caesar Raj’M’Kora was assassinated in the Roaman Senate by Legate Damaro and other opposition leaders. It appears that he in fact survived, likely through a double- in other words, another zebra who took his place. He appeared via live feed from Avalon, apparently granted asylum by the Griffin Republic of Aldorna.

“In a speech, the Caesar questioned the legitimacy of Legate Khotek’s new regime, claiming that he was more than willing to peacefully pave the way for a transition in power. He described it as a takeover by military coup and called upon the greater powers to refuse to recognize the new leader of the Holy Zebrican Empire.

“The new regime has yet to reply or comment on the matter, and it is still unclear what stake Aldorna has in the conflict, as they claim responsibility for evacuating the Caesar. When asked about their stance on the matter, both Princess Celestia and Princess Luna offered no comment.

“The situation continues to rapidly evolve, and it is expected that an official response from Zebrica will come soon…”

* * *

Two hours later. And I will never forget that voice. Calm. Collected. Yet with that guttural undertone.

“-ago we reported that Caesar Raj’M’Kora is, in fact, alive and well and has received asylum under The Griffin Republic of Aldorna and has denounced the new regime in Roam. Only minutes ago, we received an official response from Legate Khotek himself.”

“Mi’h nalmuf sifan-”

“It is regrettable that my fellow legates resorted to such a barbaric act, an act which I too condemn. No zebra, no servant of the Empire since the rule of Caesar Hilamnyama thousands of years ago ever committed such a high crime against their master. Only those legates, those barbarians, and the small circle that acted with them were responsible. As soon as the situation in Roam has stabilized, an investigational committee will be organized to identify those responsible. Their memory will be condemned. No further mention of their names will be permitted from that point on, and all existing icons of their visages will be destroyed, though their families will be compensated for their deaths. Their families will not share their punishment or shame. That is not our way.

“I understand that many both within and without The Holy Zebrican Empire call the legitimacy of my rule into question. I assure you- all of you- that I was elected by the senior members of the Senate and approved by the High Court to serve under emergency powers, and I accepted. No other living legate has as much experience or seniority, and I am in firm belief that I will lead this country to victory against the minotaur insurgency. We will show them their place. They will submit as fellow servants to the Empire.

“Now my own challenge to Caesar Raj’M’Kora. You claim that you would have willingly allowed for a transition of power anyway, which means that you no longer seek to become our leader in any case. So would you have elected one of those legates, knowing now that they planned to kill you? Would you have elected one of those transgressors to lead our nation? I doubt it. So who would you have nominated in this day and age? Who? Name another legate of similar standing. The Senate and the High Court will consider your nominations.”

* * *

One week later.

“-has finally allowed access to the press in a stunning reversal of policy. Legate Khotek claims that all minotaur and minotaur-supporting insurgents have been neutralized within the city of Roam, although he will continue to institute martial law and maintain a strict curfew in the event of possible infiltration until the end of the conflict. Citizens are not barred from the Bazaar but are encouraged to limit activities in public spaces for their own safety. Legate Khotek also announced that he will begin the counteroffensive as soon as they’ve combed the city from rooftop to waterway. There still has been no response from former caesar Raj’M’Kora regarding Legate Khotek’s remark last week. Officials from Aldorna maintain that he is in good hands and in good health.

“In other news, the hostage crisis regarding the Almarinian gem tanker Seashine has ended. While the gem pirates were allowed to seize much of the tanker’s cargo, all hostages were accounted for with only minor injuries. At a press conference earlier today, Princess Luna stated that Equestria will step up its security for gem tankers in the Almarinian Sea and will take a more hardline approach to hostage situations in the future, criticizing Almarinian authorities for conceding to the pirates’ demands. Her remarks have drawn a wave of criticism…”

* * *

Five months later.

“-that King Giannis of the minotaurs has surrendered. Almond Butter has more.”

“King Giannis unconditionally surrendered to the Zebrican Legion. He states that they will submit to their demands, only requesting that all further hostilities cease and that Legate Khotek allow equinitarian aid workers to enter the isle of Crete. Legate Khotek responded that he will remove the blockade from their ports only after all of his militants have fully disarmed.

“Princess Celestia and Princess Luna again withhold their comments on the conflict itself but express their relief that the fighting is over and pledge further equinitarian aid as needed.

“Former caesar Raj’M’Kora also broke his silence and similarly expressed gratitude and hopes for swift reconciliation between the Empire and the minotaurs. However, he also expresses concern regarding the blockade of the Cretan ports, stating that denying basic necessities to civilians constitutes what’s known as a ‘war crime.’ He condemned such an act and offered no further comments. Back to you, Trowel.”

“And now we have Hal Emberwind from the Aldornan Consulate in Canterlot. Thank you for joining us, Hal.”

“Thank you for having me.”

“Now I’m sure many of our listeners are wondering the same thing we are- what exactly is a war crime…?”

* * *

Two weeks later. Three days after we were married.

“-Senate and High Court have approved Khotek as the four-hundred-ninety-second Caesar of the Holy Zebrican Empire, a responsibility that he accepted. The international community in general, including The Principality of Equestria and The Griffin Republic of Aldorna has not recognized Khotek as the rightful leader of Roam while the International Court of Justice and the International Criminal Court continue to investigate the accusations of war crimes against the minotaur people.”

Then came Princess Celestia’s unmistakable voice.

“It is not a question of leadership ability. Khotek has displayed he has exceptional talent in that regard. It is a question of whether or not he deliberately committed war crimes against the minotaur people. Equestria’s decision to recognize Khotek as Caesar of The Holy Zebrican Empire is pending the ICJ’s evaluation of the litigations against Zebrica and the ICC’s individual investigation of Khotek himself.”

Then he went back to the reporter’s tone.

“In other news, it has been recently noted that Princess Luna has been increasingly absent from Parliamentary meetings. Both she and Princess Celestia declined to comment…”

The storyteller smiled briefly, knowingly.

* * *

Two months later.

“-has reached their decision regarding the allegations of war crimes levied against The Holy Zebrican Empire and Khotek personally. Shutterbug, our correspondent in Shropshire, Almarinia has more.”

“The International Court of Justice investigations committee addressed the press today, declaring that Zebrica is not guilty of war crimes against the minotaur people. The International Criminal Court reached a similar decision regarding then-Legate Khotek. With me is Think Tank, one of the members of the committee. Miss Tank, this ruling will certainly raise a great deal of controversy. What was the reasoning behind it?”

“Well, y’see, in order for either the ICJ- which as a ‘minder tries whole countries or organizations- n’ the ICC- which tries individules- t’declare an act as a war crime, there has t’be undeniable evidence that such a war crime was actually committed. In this case, it was the notion that Zebrica n’ Khotek specifically denied equinitarian aid t’the civilian populace o’ the isle o’ Crete. While there is plenty o’ evidence that they blockaded Crete as a whole, there is little evidence t’suggest that Zebrica or Khotek specifically targeted civvies with the naval blockade.”

“Are you suggesting that these civilians were collateral then?”

“Unfortunate collateral, yeah. Very unfortunate collateral. It’s like usin’ pesticides. You kill the hoppers n’ all the other nasty buggers that chew your crops up, but you also kill off pollinators jus’ the same.”

“Not to point out the obvious, but these are unarmed civilians we’re talking- mothers and children. Not bees or butterflies or some other bug.”

“Oh, nob off! Please don’t twist my words like that! It’s just an analogy! Now look ‘ere, it’s unfortunate that all those civvies suffered from the blockade, n’ my heart goes out t’the families affected, but the rulin’- which was unanimous- remains. There was no bias- there weren’t even any stripes on the committees for Sparklesake. Civvies weren’t specifically targeted, n’ so Zebrica n’ Khotek are not guilty of such a war crime. They jus’ cast a wide net, n’ that resulted in everyone in Crete gettin’ affected.”

“Despite the fact that the Legion barred equinitarian aid from entering the country?”

“N’ other goods, both from legitimate shipping companies n’ smugglers. We had t’take all evidence int’account, includin’ the materials smuggled from Aldorna t’Crete- materials that could have been used t’make weapons o’ war. The minotaurs did, in fact, testify that such smugglin’ did take place. I’m not tryin’ t’cast the minotaurs in a bad light. Honestly, this whole conflict was a horrible mess t’begin with. It’s just that we had t’look at the whole picture in a comprehensive, holistic manner, n’ we made our decision accordingly.”

Back to the first reporter.

“And now we’re going to take a look at the response from both Equestria and Aldorna regarding the ruling, and let me say now- they’re a mixed bag…”

* * *

A few days later.

“-with me here today is Professor Motoupepo from Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. Professor, what can you tell us about the developing energy crisis?”

Though the professor speaks in clear Equestrian, there is most definitely a Zebrican accent to it.

“Oh boy. It’s a very complex situation right now. The minotaurs destroyed a number of Zebrican oil rigs and refineries, collapsed coal mines, and targeted much of their infrastructure. We’re talking highways, canals, shipping yards, even tankers. I think you just reported a few minutes ago that oil and coal imports were down by nearly forty percent last month, and I don’t think that’s going to improve anytime soon. Frankly, I feel we’re going to be turning to Almarinia for coal at some point. What hasn’t been often reported, however, is that the Empire’s demand for high-quality gems has remained constant even despite the end of the uprising, putting a strain on Equestria’s own supplies…”

* * *

Two weeks later.

“-find it odd that they didn’t bring any dragons, minotaurs, or hay, even any zebras on the investigations committee is all I’m saying. Why set up a committee for investigation allegations of war crimes made entirely up of races who haven’t seen war for centuries?”

“The point was t’review evidence of the allegations o’ targeted war crimes against civvies without the cloud of bias, Barge. Ask a minotaur, n’ they’ll definitely claim it happened. Ask a zebra, they’ll claim it didn’t! Ask a dragon, well, they’re with the Legion! They’ll claim the same thing! I’m sorry if the decision the committee made was a decision you didn’t like, but with all respect, it’s probably the best you’re going t’get in this day n’ age.”

“Then if you continue to defend the zebras, why-”

“I’m not defending their actions! I’m doing my bloody job without any confirmation bias unlike you!”

* * *

Four months later.

“-we have dispatched search boats int’the area. Rest assured, we will find them.”

“For our listeners who just tuned in, that was Captain Brass Buckler of the Shropshire Provincial Guard. The Almarinian gem tanker Lucid has gone missing. What’s most worrying was that this tanker had escort courtesy of Equestria. All attempts to hail the escort vessels were met with static or no response. The fate of the crews is unknown, but if zebra gem pirates are behind this, this would be their boldest attack ever…”

* * *

The next day.

“-reports that an Almarinian search party located the Lucid and confirmed the worst- the gem tanker has been seized by zebra gem pirates. They also reported signs of wreckage of the Equestrian escort ships and found no sign of their crew or any life vessels. They are feared dead. In addition, when attempting to give chase to the vessel, they were fired upon with powerful anti-ship weaponry jury-rigged to the deck by the pirates and lost two of their own ships and crew, whereupon they were forced to retreat. It is unknown how the gem pirates managed to obtain such weaponry. Caesar Khotek denounces the pirates’ actions and pledges support in efforts to apprehend them and free any hostages they may have taken. He stopped short, however, of allowing Equestrian or Almarinian vessels to enter Zebrican territory.

“We will continue to report more as the story develops. NPR sends its condolences to the families of the lost and taken…”

* * *

Two weeks later.

“-can all breathe easy, fillies and gentlecolts of Equestria. Princess Celestia announced this morning that the Wonderbolts, Equestria’s greatest fliers, have successfully rescued all crew members of the Lucid, now currently in safe hooves in the southern city of Tail Aviv. All seventeen crew members are accounted for, and only one received serious injury during the escape. While no name has been disclosed, the aforementioned pony is expected to make a full recovery.

“The success came at a grave cost, however. Four members of the Wonderbolts were confirmed killed in action as a result of the fierce gunfight that broke out during the rescue. They were reported to have drawn gunfire away from the captive crew members, and one especially valiant mare used her own body as a shield against an explosive device known as a hoof-grenade. Princess Celestia expressed her condolences to the Wonderbolts and the friends and family of those who gave their lives so that others may live, and she stated that they will be posthumously awarded the Order of the Alicorn, the highest military honor available.

“We are joined by Dux Valorum of the Roaman Legion. Thank you for allowing us to interview you, sir.”

“Do not honor me yet. I have given nothing to you.”

“Ah… very well. Dux Valorum, Caesar Khotek stated repeatedly during this hostage crisis that he would pledge the Legion’s support in tracking down the Lucid. What happened here?”

“The KSV held that the gem pirates, which we continue to disavow, were operating in international seas, and so that is where we searched, working closely with both Equestrian and Almarinian volunteers.”

“Did it ever occur to the Legion or to the KSV that the pirates could have been anchored closer to home for you?”

“The, ah, the possibility was considered, yes.”

“But was it ever explored?”

“I’m sure that, ah, our Legionaries have combed our outermost territories.”

“Can you personally confirm that they did, though?”

“You would have to speak to another Dux or a Legate. If I may speak my mind for a minute, however, the more pressing issue to the whole of The Holy Zebrican Empire is that your military deployed their most elite squadron into Zebrican airspace without either prior notice or prior approval. What do you have to say to that?”

“Well, actually, Princess Celestia mentioned that in her address this morning. She said it was… let me take a look here… the result of a ‘happy miscommunication’ and apologized personally to Caesar Khotek.”

“That still does not erase the fact that Equestria violated Zebrican airspace, and furthermore…”

* * *

One month later.

“Pua men ef ha’ema enna-”

“It is my understanding that The Principality of Equestria continues to express concerns that the Empire is not doing its part to reign in zebra gem pirates. Will all due respect to the Princesses and the Equestrian Parliament, we are doing all we can with the resources available. Gems, the means to combat the pirate scourge, are the very thing they steal, preventing us from mounting proper raids on their strongholds. As evidenced by the Lucid crisis, they have acquired more powerful weaponry through the black market and from raids made on military bases we were forced to abandon back during the minotaur uprising. Without the proper means to combat them, efforts to flush them out and apprehend them will be fruitless.

“And in spite of all this, I must also point out that Equestria continues to do nothing about their own oil pirates, bandits, whatever you choose to call them. Another group was captured at Mosambi- eight total, bringing the number of felons to twenty-six. We will extradite them to Equestrian territories in exchange for extradition of apprehended zebra pirates currently held at your Shattered Hoof Ridge facility.

“This is also without touching upon Equestria’s continued violation of our territorial borders with their task forces. Even if their intentions are just in locating gem pirates strongholds, I cannot condone their repeated breaching of international law…”

* * *

One week later.

“-have to respectfully disagree, Doctor Eckhardt. This could have all been avoided. So many already saw this energy crisis coming! I’m surprised The Great Exodus wasn’t already enough to get people to cut back, but apparently we already forgot about that! Hay, I’m wondering who thought it was a good idea to base an energy system off of an exclusively foreign resource in the first place!”

And now a clearly Aldornan accent.

“I’m not saying I don’t agree with your points, Motoupepo. I’m saying that the world is by and large unwilling to try for efficiency. Power-guzzling machines have been and will continue to be the trend. It would have been costly to convert to the Almarinian hybrid system as suggested earlier, and right now, it’ll be even costlier.”

“It’s cost untold numbers of lives already. I fail to see why legislation for all three global superpowers keeps failing to see that! If anything, now is the best time to push for efficiency standards to reduce dependency on traded coal and gems!”

“And I’m saying it’s already too late. It’s no use. At this point, it’s either continue using the systems already in place or switching to the hybrid system, which would take years to implement, involve an astronomical price tag, and stunt foreign trade among all global superpowers after. That last point, by the way, would strain Equestrian-Zebrican relations even further. It’s just too late to do that…”

‘Too late.’ A pair of words I’d started hearing more and more often over the radio…

* * *

Three months later.

“-will not stand idly by as the sovereignty of the Empire continues to be violated! From this point on, any Equestrian who enters Zebrican borders or waters will be apprehended, and any attempt to resist will be treated as hostility! Know I have the backing of all of the Zebrican people behind me, and we will not hesitate to establish order!”

* * *

The next day.

“This is Golden Fawn reporting from just outside the United Nations building in Manehattan, where the General Assembly has gone into uproar over the escalating tensions between Equestria and Zebrica. The press were barred from the meeting due to how intense the caucus had become. In fact, before we were escorted out, the chairs were unsuccessful in maintaining decorum among the delegates. I’m afraid that until the meeting is adjourned, we won’t… I’m sorry, but it appears that the Zebrican delegation is leaving the grounds! They are walking right out of the United Nations General Assembly, and I’m seeing the delegation from the Security Council do the same! Uh, sir! Sir! Pardon, I’m with NPR! Can we please have a moment? Sir? Sir! Excuse me could we please…?”

* * *

The same day. And I’ll never forget that somber tone.

The voice of Princess Celestia.

“Good morning, my faithful subjects. I’m sure by now many of you are well aware of the rising tensions between Equestria and The Holy Zebrican Empire. While yes, it is true that in order to apprehend and neutralize gem pirate threats for our brothers and sisters in Almarinia we had to deploy our task forces into Zebrican territory, it was a necessary petty crime. And as this continues to be brought up in the Caesar’s many speeches, I continue to object the actions of oil bandits that believe that just because the zebras do it, so can they. Shame. Shame. On. You.

“The discoveries today will only serve to add more fuel to the proverbial fire. It was proven today with undeniable evidence from our Aldornan cohorts that the Legion has, in fact, been supplying the very gem pirates they claimed to be suppressing, intentionally allowing them to obtain the gems they so desperately crave. This contradicts statements made by the Caesar claiming they needed those gems to combat the pirates. As such actions have led to the deaths of far too many good mares and stallions, I can only condemn their actions.”

Pause.

“Many of you have written to me expressing worry- worry that… this may lead to the most tragic, the most horrible of all things.

“War.

“Understand, my little ponies, that such a declaration cannot be taken lightly. Very few outside of my sister and I truly know its implications and its disastrous consequences. I… no. My sister and I must ask that you all cease to believe that war is a viable option. None of you know what horrors it entails. We have known nothing but peace for over six-hundred years. It has been that way for a reason.”

Pause.

“No one in this country of ours wants war. I must strongly emphasize that. But... if war should come…”

Pause.

“I pray it does not come to that.”

* * *

Three weeks later.

“-but sir-”

“You will refer to me as ‘Your Excellency.’”

“Your Excellency, there hasn’t been a single emergency Parliamentary meeting that’s been documented for six-hundred years. The last one was during the onset of The Almarinian War against the then-Griffin Kingdom of Aldorna. Have you… has Parliament voted on a declaration of… of war?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that.”

“But Prince Blueblood, what else could warrant an emergency meeting?”

“I don’t know! Fetch yourself a history book or something if you insist on asking!”

“Your Excellency, does either Princess Celestia or Princess Luna- or even Princess Cadance know about this meeting?”

“No. What could they possibly know about what the ponies of this country want? I love my dear aunt to death, but she can’t possibly comprehend all the strife those striped felons are causing while seated on her golden throne. The time has come to teach those zebras that their treachery has consequences.”

“Then… Parliament has voted on a declaration of war, your Excellency?”

“... I will neither confirm nor deny that.”

* * *

The next day.

“Good evening, my faithful subjects. I understand that even as your Princess of the Night, I do not speak often to the press. That is for personal reasons. But personal reasons have no place at a time so dire. While it is true that if sufficient members of Parliament deem it necessary, they can call forth an emergency meeting with or without sister, myself, or Princess Cadance presiding, this vote for a declaration of war against Zebrica goes against everything that we and all people of Equestria, not just ponies, seek out of this international crisis. My sister, myself, and Princess Cadance will veto the declaration of war.

“... ah… yes, do you have a question?”

“Your Highness, doesn’t… the… Parliament actually have the power to overturn a veto with a three-fourths’ majority?”

A pause. A deathly long pause.

“Do you imply that we should go to war?”

An audible gulp. No response.

“Do you. Imply. That we should go to war?”

“W-W-Well…”

Another audible gulp. Another pause.

“This press call is adjourned. Leave my sight at once. All of you.”

* * *

Three. Days. Later.

“Good…”

“... greetings, my faithful subjects.”

“It seems like not too long ago I addressed all of you.

“I regret that… the worst of times now lie ahead of us. That which I feared and tried to prevent…”

“Parliament has overturned our unanimous royal veto.

“Equestria is at war.”

* * *

I was thirty-seven years old.

* * *

Footnote: Frost- Level Up! Level 21 Reached!
Perk Added: Radiohead- It’s time to tune in. New speech options are available as you listen to radio broadcasts, even mid-conversation. Musical Mayhem triggered by ambient radio music is more likely to increase your CHA score.

Unlockables added: Soundtrack- Through the Airwaves

Soundtrack- Never Changes

Author's Note

What's this? Two uploads in the same month? Inconceivable!

It's a shorter segment, yes, but I hope the unique style and the events lead to much greater anticipation of the horror that is to come. My thanks to Kkat for birthing this fandom within a fandom. The community is amazing, and I'm proud to have befriended so many of you. You know who you are. My thanks to Lazer726 as well for a swift pre-read on his part. Thank you as well for reading. I would appreciate any form of feedback, especially constructive criticism.

One last thing- I've looked at the rating of this story and the content of its chapters and... I'm kinda thinking I should probably flag all of this as "Mature- Gore" because... yeahhhhhh just look at chapter one. What do you guys think?

With that... farewell until next time,
Adder1