Day By Day, Moment By Moment

Chapters

1) Day One: A Walk Down The Trail
2) Day One: Canterlot High
3) Day One: The First Class
4) Day One: Morning's Call
5) Day One: Welcome Back
6) Day One: The Frost Residency
7) Day Three: Rainfall
8) Day Three: Tremble
9) Day Three: Words For Thought
10) Day Four: Hues
11) Day Five: Weekend's Beginning
12) Day Five: Pathfinder
13) Day Five: Reverence
14) Day Five: Knowledge Given
15) Day Five: A Lingering Tangerine
16) Day Five: Lackluster
17) Day Six: Nonsensical Nonsense
18) Day Thirty: A Change In The Air
19) Day Thirty: Lessons In Distractions
20) Day Thirty: Degradation
21) Day Thirty: Strange Company
22) Day Thirty: The Uncertainty Principle
23) Day Thirty-One: Stagnation
24) Day Thirty-Two: Delirium
25) Day Thirty-Five: Nowhere Is Somewhere
26) Day Thirty-Five: Elsewhere
27) Day Thirty-Six: Teacher Convention
28) Day Thirty-Seven: From High Places
29) Day Thirty-Seven: Freudian Slip
30) Day Forty-Two: Be Still, My Heart
31) Day Forty-Seven: Another Path
32) Day Fifty-Six: The Final Stretch
33) Day Fifty-Seven: The Void of Truth
34) Day Fifty-Eight: The Circle of Friendship
35) Day Fifty-Nine: Preparations
36) Day Sixty: The Fall Hallows' Eve Event, Part I - Rebirth
37) Day Sixty: The Fall Hallows' Eve Event, Part II - Renewal
38) Day Sixty: The Fall Hallows' Eve Event, Part III - Reconciliation
39) Day Sixty: The Fall Hallows' Eve Event, Part IV - Revelations
40) Day Sixty: The Fall Hallows' Eve Event, Part V - Redemption
41) Day Sixty-Two: The New Day
42) Day One-Hundred-Fifteen: Holiday Special

1) Day One: A Walk Down The Trail

Author's Note

What started as a series of one-shots intended as mini continuations to my PoME story, The Chronicler, has evolved into a fully-fledged sequel story. It is intended to be read under a more "studious" light, as themes and ideas will continuously be added and confronted by the characters. Each chapter is meant to teach something new, either in an obvious manner, or subtle one; the meanings I leave up to the readers to interpret. Most chapters will be short, to emphasize the "moment-by-moment" feel, but some will be longer when need be. Consequently, some arcs will be multi-chaptered; some, single-chaptered. Some days may even be skipped, and this will be intentional.

I look forward to any comments that people may leave, in the hope that I will have have, at the very least, accomplished something thought-provoking and worthwhile.

With that being said, please enjoy Day By Day, Moment By Moment.

First chapter pre-read by BRyeMC. Thanks so much, man!

1) Day One: A Walk Down The Trail

“The most important thing is to enjoy your life. To be happy—it’s the most important thing.”

Audrey Hepburn

***

September meant colder weather, but for the first time in six years, Artifex Frost experienced warmth. Not only was the wind gentle and kind, but so were the sun, the clouds, and the very sky. The birds, now, no longer sung a song that haunted him as it did in the past; now, they sung of glorious hymns, and new beginnings.

He silently laughed. It was paradoxical, really. This new beginning wasn’t really new. After all, technically this was his second day of Canterlot High. Only according to paperwork was it his official first. Though, he supposed, it really was the latter case; this was the start of a new life, one borne of happiness and carrying a message of acceptance with it.

Said message seemed to be carried within his backpack, a carry-on item that clung to his yellow jacket, weighed down by all the necessary books and binders. Underneath his jacket was a black-and-white-striped undershirt. The cuffs of his sleeves were rolled down, and were loose around his arms. A pair of skinny, denim-blue jeans and smokey-grey shoes finished off his attire.

Yes, this was the newest start to the newest life; a new wardrobe, and a new attitude, signaled this effectively. His smile perked up slightly.

“Thought of something funny, Chronicler—I mean, Artifex?”

Briefly blowing a strand of icy-blue hair out of his face, Artifex looked to his left, seeing Soul Writer walk with him. In truth, it was more of a slow walk. Frost still suffered from an old limp that, while having rapidly faded in the course of a single day, was still evident in his stride. Beside Writer was Sunset Shimmer, Writer’s girlfriend, and Artifex’s first encounter with Canterlot High’s student body.

Artifex smiled, his cerulean eyes twinkling like a sea of gemstones. “Heh. It’s a hard habit to break, huh?” he said, referring to the title that Soul had called him.

The other boy nodded and blushed a little. “Yeah, I guess it is. Considering how we all called you it for an entire day…”

Sunset spoke up. “Hey, wait a second. Nobody else knows about that, though, right?”

“That is correct, Sunset. Only you two know my actual name.”

“Hoo boy. That’s gonna stir up something.” Soul whistled.

“That’s a strange way to put it, Soul. ‘Hoo boy!’ I could have sworn you turned into Applejack for a moment there.”

“I do not sound like my cousin!”

Sunset, giggling, said, “I don’t know, Soul. You could have a bit of South in you.”

Soul’s blush grew under his friends’ shared laughs. “Alright, alright, that’s enough, you two. Besides, we should get back to you, Artifex. What were you thinking about?”

His smile remained strong and true. “Nothing much. Just remembering.”

“Remembering what?” asked Sunset.

“The past. The present. The future. Anything that ever mattered, anything that changed. Everything that’s led up to now, to us, to me, to here.” He blew out a breath, sharply turning it into a whistle, creating a string of notes that were unfamiliar to the other two. “Hmph. Now that I think about it, that sounds rather cheesy.”

“It’s nice to see you in good spirits, though,” Sunset reminded him.

“I suppose so. It’s a little strange,” he added, his smile ever so slightly faltering. “I mean… for the longest time I had very little to be happy about…”

Soul stopped the group, and grabbed Artifex by the shoulders. “Hey. It’s okay to feel a bit apprehensive about something this new. What’s important is that you try your best to live with it.”

Sunset nodded, then added, “Happiness is a virtue, Artifex, and while it may seem rare for some to have, once you have it, it’s something you’ll always cherish. Even if happiness does some weird things.”

He looked between the two. “Pinkie?”

“Pinkie,” they said in unison, before the three of them erupted into giggles.

“Ah, do you suppose that girl will want to throw me a ‘real-name-revealed’ party once she finds out?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, Artifex,” Sunset replied. “She can get rather… enthusiastic.”

“Don’t remind me.” He fluffed the collar of his yellow flannel jacket, feeling the sleeves slip a little. Instinctively, he covered his exposed wrists but, once he remembered the company he was in, dropped his hands. “Sorry… force of habit.”

“No need to apologize, Artifex,” Soul assured him. “We understand."

Artifex nodded gratefully. Knowing that his friends wouldn’t judge him made his heart soar.

Friends. Funny how a day ago I’d never thought I’d associate that word with myself. Happiness comes in forms and places you least expect it. Ooh, I should write that down.

He took out his notebook from under his arm, opened it, and jotted the phrase down. Other phrases had been scrawled on the other pages; the longest entry was from last night, and had taken up the better half of the remaining pages. Somehow he managed to both write and walk at the same time, deftly navigating the sidewalk with ease.

“How do you do that?” Soul asked as he finished writing.

He shrugged, smirking a little. “Practice, I believe.”

“Dang. If I could do that, doing homework on the way to school would be a breeze!”

Sunset gave him a half-lidded look. “It would probably be easier to do your homework on the day you’re assigned it.”

“I concur,” Artifex added. “At my previous schools, homework was to be done at home and on the day you got. Hence the name, ‘homework?’”

The other boy frowned. “Aw, c’mon, you guys. Can’t a guy find a workaround without being judged for it?”

Sunset and Artifex exchanged looks. “Sunset, what’s your overall grade again?” Artifex asked.

“A plus.”

The tan boy turned to Soul. “When you’re dating a genius, you’ll be judged harshly no matter what.”

Sunset laughed. “Maybe you should take some compliment lessons from Artifex, Soul. I’ve heard that writers are very romantic.”

Both boys returned rosy cheeks, Soul out of indignation, and Frost out of surprise. “Er… yeah, we’ll go with that,” said Frost.

She laughed warmly. “No need to be embarrassed, Arty! It’s a compliment; girls like it when a guy does that.”

“Arty?” His eyes widened. “Oh, no… don’t tell me that’s my nickname now.”

“What?” Soul asked, tilting his head. “It’s not a bad one.”

Artifex sighed. “No, it’s rather… juvenile, don’t you think? Arty sounds like a kid from…”

“From Manehattan?”

“I was thinking more on the lines of foreign. Germaney, maybe?” He sighed again. “Well, I suppose I can thank the stars that Pinkie won’t be calling me that.”

He caught the exchanges of looks between Soul and Sunset, and he frowned, realizing what they were thinking. “Oh, no. It’s only my second day at Canterlot High. I am not dealing with a silly nickname already!” He then murmured to himself, “Maybe a month into the year…”

Sunset’s grin matched Soul’s, and they shook their heads. “Oh, Artifex. Don’t ever change.”

“Don’t count on it.”

2) Day One: Canterlot High

“I cannot even imagine where I would be today were it not for that handful of friends who have given me a heart full of joy. Let’s face it, friends make life a lot more fun.”

Charles R. Swindoll

***

“Hold up, guys. I’ve gotta finish some paperwork,” said Artifex. After Sunset and Soul had nodded, he slipped his backpack around and grabbed the folder containing the necessary papers. Fluidly, he opened the wooden door and entered the office.

“Can I help you?” asked the person at the front desk. His eyes scanned downward, looking over her name tag.

“Yes, Miss Raven,” he said, holding out the folder. “I’ve some paperwork for you to look over.”

“Ah, yes. Mister… Chronicler, was it?” She looked up from beyond red-rimmed, narrow glasses, a small, knowing smile across her features. “I had a feeling you’d be returning. And this time with proper identification.”

“What, are you psychic?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I know a good deal about this school than you think. Such as that secrets are revealed, and accepted in the end. Or that a boy going by the name Chronicler isn’t really named such a weird name.”

Not offended, he sighed. “Yes, well, considering you’ve people in this school with monikers related to a condition of law, it really isn’t too hard to believe.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to tell Swift Justice that. But I suppose you’re right. Now, let’s look this over.”

She was fast, Artifex had to admit. She read over the papers like they were nothing, and signed just as quickly. He hadn’t taken so much as four breaths before she handed them back over with a pen in her hand. “Just sign this last document, then you can hand them to the principals.”

He blinked, surprised, before nodding. He wrapped the pen around his thin fingers, signing his name quick and elegantly.

“You have beautiful handwriting,” commented Miss Raven.

He shrugged. “Writing a lot tends to do that to you, I’ve found.”

“Hmm. You should tell that to my kids. They hate cursive.”

He managed a small, knowing smirk. “Who said I liked it?”

After looking over his handwriting to verify it, Miss Raven nodded. “Okay. Head on in, Mr. Frost.”

“Thank you, Miss Raven.”

As he approached the door, through its stained-glass window he could see two silhouettes—no doubt the principals. He paused briefly, in order to better adjust his grip on the folder, before using his free hand to knock.

“Come in,” said a voice he recognized as Vice Principal Luna’s.

He twisted the knob and pushed, allowing himself entrance. He stopped mid-step at what he saw. Celestia was sitting at her desk, a perplexed look on her face, while Luna stood behind her, also confused. They both looked up once they heard him enter.

“Oh! Chronicler!” Celestia greeted. “I see that Raven let you in?”

“Yes. I’ve some paperwork I need you to look over.” He leaned to the side. “May I ask what it is that you two are doing?”

Principal Celestia let out an irritated huff. “It’s our Superintendent, Mr. Discord. He’s sent us some sort of… email spam.”

“Email spam?”

“Yes,” Luna said, shaking her head. “A prank of his.” She leaned back, folding her arms. “Not his best, if I have to be honest.”

Artifex started. “You mean to say that he’s done this before?”

“Exactly. He has a… unique sense of humor,” answered Celestia. She moved her hands away from the monitor. “But, enough about our clown prince of the educational system. What have you to show us, Chronicler?”

Rather than correct her, he handed her the papers. As he did so, he was able to steal a glance at the monitor’s screen. It was indeed an email spam; each second, a new menu popped up, with the words “DISCORD OWNS” appearing on each menu. He resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow.

“For a superintendent, this ‘Discord’ is rather childish,” he commented.

Luna sighed. “Yes. The poor dear hasn’t found it in himself to grow up at all. He’s always been that way since we were kids.”

Celestia, meanwhile, was busy going over the papers. She nodded to herself, before reaching over her desk and signing her name. She then handed the papers over to Luna.

“These are…” started the Vice Principal.

“Artifex’s enrollment papers, yes," her sister said, emphasizing the name. She offered him a beaming smile. “I had a feeling you’d come around again.”

“Funny. Your secretary outside said something similar.”

Luna finished signing her own signature, letting out a sigh as she did so. “Hmm. Seeing a new student enroll in our humble school always brings warm feelings to my heart. Here you go, Artifex.”

“Thank you, Vice Principal Luna.”

He tucked the papers back in his folder, before placing them back in his backpack. Celestia shuffled around her desk, looking for something. She let out a short, “Aha!” as she found what she had been looking for. She took out a piece of paper, and handed it over to Frost. “Here’s your schedule. We were able to drum it up yesterday after school. I hope you find it satisfactory,” she added.

Artifex nodded. “I’m sure I will, Principal Celestia.”

He then tucked the schedule inside the pages of his golden notebook. Slipping his backpack back on, he turned, intending to head out, but was stopped by Celestia.

“Artifex?” she called.

“Yes?”

“… I just want you to know, that you are always welcome in our office, if only just to talk.”

He understood what she meant by the words. Turning, his face showed no signs of discontent; instead, across his lips, was a grateful smile. “Don’t worry, Principals. I’m sure my friends and I will manage. But on the off chance I do need someone to talk to… I’ll come here.”

They both nodded, returning his smile.

“Oh, and before I go…” he said as he reached the door. “Thanks for everything.”

“You’re very welcome, Artifex. Now, run along.”

He nodded, showing his gratitude, before once again exiting the wooden doors of the office. Briskly, he checked the clock, seeing that there was still some time before his first class. He saw Miss Raven wave to him, a gesture he mimicked with the same speed, before heading out for the hall.

Outside of the front office, he found Soul and Sunset still waiting for him.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “Thanks for waiting up for me.”

“Not a problem, Artifex,” said Sunset. “You know where you’re going?”

The young man opened his backpack and grabbed his notebook. He opened it, and pulled out the schedule, glancing at the first class. “Huh. English. With Mr. Solil?”

“Oh, you’ll like him. He’s really into the class.” Soul offered him a smile. “I’ve a feeling you and he will get along really well.”

“You think?” He cocked his head, then grinned. “Well, I’ll take your word for it.”

They exchanged goodbyes, before leaving for their separate classes. Artifex fell into a thoughtful silence. His steps clacking against the floor were the only things generating any noise as he ascended to the second floor. The class was soon within sight.

He hesitated. Am I ready for this? Certainly, he had been through the school’s grounds the day before; he knew the ups and downs, the stairs from the halls, the walls from the classes, the exits from the entrances. Yet here he was, preparing to enter a simple classroom; to resume a sense of normality, something that had been hard to keep hold of in recent years.

The schools he had been filtered through in former years had little impact on him. But Canterlot High was a different story. It had, after all, changed him for the better; he was starting a new life here. That thought reassured him that, yes, he was ready; ready to start anew; ready to resume living.

He grabbed the knob and turned, sliding swiftly through the gap, and entered Mr. Solil’s class.

3) Day One: The First Class

“Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”

Charles Dederich

***

“Oh? You’re rather early, son.”

The voice came from a golden-brown-skinned man, who wore a cream-colored vest over his chest. His hair, another, darker shade of brown, was of medium length, and had some grey highlights at the edges. Artifex found himself most struck by the bright, periwinkle eyes that stared at him intensely.

The man was sitting at the teacher’s desk, absentmindedly rolling a pen through his fingers. He seemed bored, or at least tired, with his head leaning against the palm of his hand. But he waited, expectantly, for Artifex to answer.

The boy cleared his throat. “Right. I am, sir. This is Mr. Solil’s class, correct?”

Rather than answer, the man ceased his pen rolling. His hand reached under his desk, grabbing something. Before Artifex could ask, the man threw something at him, exclaiming, “Catch!”

Frost yelped, but managed to raise his hand. By some stroke of luck, the object landed neatly in his palm. He looked at it, confused. A breath mint?

“You like those, right? If they’re too minty, I have some others here with me,” said the man, popping his own mint in his mouth.

Artifex paused, then shrugged, and took off the wrapper and put the mint in his mouth. True to its name, it cooled his mouth. He placed it to the inside of his cheek.

“North or South District?” asked the man suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?” Artifex asked.

“North or South District, where are you from?”

“Um… neither, sir. I’m from Westside.”

The man took a second to take in his words, before sighing. “Ah, of course. That accent always throws me off. It has just the right amount of ‘north’ to sound Northern, but a touch of ‘south’ to throw us off.” He placed his hands behind him, walking over to a filing cabinet. “I grew up on the North end myself. Never thought I’d see a Westside here at this school.”

“How’d you guess I was from Manehattan?”

“Guess? I didn’t guess, son.” At this, the man wagged a finger back at him. “I concluded.”

“Uh… huh.”

“And you are correct, too. This is Mr. Solil’s room. Welcome, by the way. Why are you here so early?”

Artifex frowned, unintentionally ignoring the question. “You’re Mr. Solil?”

“Indeed, young sir.”

“I had thought you’d be older.”

“I’m younger than I look. Now, are you going to stand there and question my age-to-appearance correlation, or introduce yourself?”

He sounded a tad bit impatient, but Artifex remained mostly unfazed. “I’m Artifex Frost, Mr. Solil. I’m new here.”

“New student? Hmm. Well, good to meet you, Mr. Frost. Have a seat anywhere; we won’t be getting assigned seats until someone messes up.” Something of a devilish smirk crossed the older man’s features. “Which, if we’re lucky, will be once first period starts.”

Artifex, as he searched for a seat (he had no idea why; the entire room was empty), glanced all around the classroom. It wasn’t too large, maybe the length of a small bus, and the seats were placed neat and straight next to one another. To the far left wall was a pair of windows, overlooking the front entrance of the school. The far back wall, meanwhile, had two bookshelves, each filled to the brim with what appeared to be textbooks and a complete 26 encyclopedia set.

“Those encyclopedias must have cost a fortune,” he said aloud.

“Hmm? Oh, those?” Mr. Solil’s voice sounded disinterested, waving away Artifex’s surprise with an indifferent tone. “Not really. I got a discount for writing a few entries myself.”

“You wrote part of an encyclopedia?” Artifex turned, a smile on his lips. “Hm. There really is more to you than meets the eye.”

“And you couldn’t tell already,” responded the man with a similar smile.

Artifex then looked at the right wall as he sat in his seat. It had some posters up; they were generic ones, the ones you’d see in every classroom. Next to them was a bulletin board, with the label “Student Quotes” on top.

“Student Quotes? What is that?” he asked.

“Ah, yes. A rather unique idea, of my own creation,” Mr. Solil said. “In my years of working in the educational system, I’ve come across some students who could fill every empty page in the world with the wealth of knowledge in their own minds. I thought it’d be nice to spread that knowledge to the next batch of kids I have to teach. Besides, I’ve found that some children have more intelligence than some adults.”

“Years, huh? You must have worked at Canterlot High for a while.”

“Eh. This will be my second year teaching. Though, really, it’s my twentieth year in educational teaching.”

Artifex looked back at the Quotes board. “Do you think that this’ll be a hit?”

“Who knows? It worked somewhat last year. Maybe students have more to say this year.”

“And it’s a year-round project of sorts?”

“Not exactly. I like to call it ‘charity work.’ An interesting concept, you will agree.”

“I do, indeed.”

The mint in Artifex’s mouth was starting to irritate the inside, so he shifted it to the other side.

“You never answered why you’re here early, young man,” Mr. Solil said, raising an eyebrow at the boy.

“Oh. It’s I’ve always liked to get to my classes early.”

“Really? Well, I like that attitude.” Mr. Solil winked and smiled. “If you’re early to something, it’ll give you extra time to think.”

“That’s what a lot of Manehattanites say, isn’t it?”

“Quite right. Good advice, mind you.”

“One that you follow, I’m sure?”

“Of course. What kind of Manehattanite would I be if I did otherwise?”

Both of them shared a smile. Artifex found Mr. Solil an appealing sort. He was sharp, like a blade, and quick on reply. As Mr. Solil turned away, Artifex found himself reflecting on this. Somehow, he knew that he would like this class, and this teacher.

The mint was dissolved completely, leaving him feeling fresh.

He nearly jumped when the bell rang. Mr. Solil barely glanced over his shoulder. “Hmm. The first bell already? Time flies when you are busy preparing, I suppose.”

Yep. Definitely going to like him.

A chorus of stomps, cheers, groans, and more filled the next few minutes. Students ran past and down the hall, and Artifex could make out some of his new friends moving with them. He didn’t wave, but he did smile, even as they didn’t see him. They’ll see me later, anyhow.

He winced as he heard shoes screeching on the linoleum floors. Something—no, someone—colorful appeared in the doorway, panting heavily, her female frame bent over as she caught her breath. “Whew! Just made it!” She flicked her hair back, grinning tiredly. “Nearly got trampled by the crowd.”

Just as suddenly she had appeared, her smile faded into a gaping expression. She stared directly at Artifex. “C-Chronicler?”

He offered a wave and a small smile. “Hey, Rainbow Dash. As fast as ever.”

Mr. Solil raised an eyebrow. “Chronicler?” he asked, looking to Frost for answers.

The boy shook his head. “It’s a long story, Mr. Solil. I’ll tell you it sometime.”

“Hmph. Very well. Rainbow, why don’t you choose a seat?”

“Gladly!” Rainbow gave a winning grin, and she practically rushed to the seat to the left of Artifex. “I can’t believe we’re in the same Language Arts class!” she exclaimed. “I’m sure to get an A for sure!”

He gave her an incredulous look. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I believe it means that Miss Dash is implying that she will cheat,” Mr. Solil spoke up. “Or am I wrong?”

“N-no, of course I wouldn’t cheat!” Rainbow protested, blushing with embarrassment. “I just meant that… well… Chronicler here could—you know—help me out!”

“I suppose Mr. Frost could. Within the realm of rules, of course,” responded the teacher drily.

Once he had turned away, Rainbow leaned in close to Artifex. “‘Mr. Frost?’” she asked. “What’s that mean?”

He whispered back, “It’s my name, Rainbow. Artifex Frost.” He quickly explained to her the reason behind his previous deception. Her face fell at his words.

“Wow… that’s a lot heavier than I expected,” she finally said. “Are… are you alright? I-I mean, you seem okay, and I don’t mean to sound like I’m assuming or anything—”

He patted her shoulder, stopping her. “I’m fine, Rainbow. It’s really thanks to you and all of the people I met yesterday that I am okay.” He gave her a smile, which, after a moment, she returned.

“Well… good to really meet you, Artifex Frost.”

“Likewise, Rainbow Dash.”

4) Day One: Morning's Call

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

5) Day One: Welcome Back

“No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.”

Buddha

***

Whether it was luck, or fate, or the work of some high power, Artifex did manage to survive. He chose, ultimately, not to question it; something told him doing so would bring untold horrors unto him.

Physics hadn’t been super hard. Mr. Turner was about as eccentric as they came, but he had the charming personality to back him up. He very much reminded Artifex of those old mad scientist characters on TV, particularly the cartoons, and watching Mr. Turner teach and practically gallop around the class brought up even older, nostalgic feelings.

Following Physics, Artifex had moved on to World Language. It was a basic course, teaching a variety of languages and their particular rules. He hadn’t much of a mind for it, but found it intriguing nonetheless.

These two classes, however, had no one he knew in them. Aside from the usual icebreakers and introductions, he had no way of really getting to know any of the other students. Most of them, thankfully, paid him no heed, nor indicated any ill will towards him. Interaction remained brief, only a few words being exchanged over a simple project.

Friends were hard to come by, he reflected between classes. More often did they show up without you expecting them than not.

That in mind, he found himself walking alone as he exited World Language. Surrounded by a sea of students as he was, he found that much ironic. To think one could find a level of anonymity in a place of social interaction was… well, it was humorous in some manner. But also a bit distracting. Those thoughts made his steps slow, and his limp was no help; he had to force himself to keep an even pace so as not to be trampled by the majority.

He gradually made his way to the first floor. The crowd of students was beginning to thin, leaving him a relatively open path to his next class. A quick check of his schedule reminded him that it was Algebra. He sighed. Not my strongest course, but oh well. He rolled his shoulders, repositioning his backpack, and clutched his golden notebook in his right hand.

Upon reaching the door, he stopped. Once again, he was the first to arrive; the rest of the crowd had split off a hallway ago. He glanced inside of the room, noting the teacher, before turning and looking at the hallway’s clock. Early again, huh? Even with my slightly slower pace and limp?

It would be a few minutes before the bell rang. He chose to use that time to lean against the wall, prop his good leg up, and whistle an aimless tune for a little while.

***

By the time his whistling had ceased, and the bell had rung, several students had lined up behind him. Most didn’t give Frost a glance, but a few noted his being a new student right off the bat. They were quick to welcome him.

He answered all of their greetings with a short nod and a few words back, though refrained from going too much into detail. Once the bell had rung, he stepped away, opening the door and allowing the others to go in first.

Frost took his seat silently, as assigned by the teacher, a young Miss Cheerilee. Dropping his bag and slipping his notebook in, he took out his papers, folders, and pencils, readying himself for the drudgery ahead.

He waited. He waited some more. A frown formed, and he glanced at the teacher. What’s taking so long? The bell already rang.

Miss Cheerilee had a frown on her face. One of the students asked her what was wrong. “We’re missing someone,” she replied, her brow creased with worry—and also a tinge of disappointment, if Artifex was reading her right. “As usual,” she added, adding more credibility to his observation.

Both teacher and students turned their heads towards the door, as if waiting for this particular person to magically appear out of thin air. Artifex at first doubted the adverb, but after reflecting on the school, its students, and the stories behind it, he had to wonder if that adverb had a good chance of existing in reality.

Miss Cheerilee tapped her foot, a hand on her hip. “Now… if I’m timing this correctly, it’ll be in three… two… one…”

Just as Artifex was wondering if that particular number sequence was used by every teacher, there was the sound of shoes screeching on the floor, not unlike No Clue’s appearance. For a moment, he thought that it would be that boy showing up around the corner, but the resulting voice demonstrated otherwise.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Miss Cheerilee!” she exclaimed, blue ponytail hanging limply behind her. Her dress was all rumpled up, and she looked like she had been in a stampede. “It was just that I got lost in the crowd again!”

“Again, Sonata?” Miss Cheerilee, to her credit, didn’t look too angry. “Alright. Take your seat, and we’ll begin class shortly.”

“R-right.” Sonata reached around and fixed her hair. She then ran her hands down her blouse and skirt, straightening the clothing as best as she could. “There, all better!” she said once she was done, a beaming smile on her face. She took a single step in.

Her smile, for some reason, began to fade as her purple eyes scanned the room. They stopped right on Artifex. She froze on the spot, leg midway between landing and lifting, while he stared back, unsure of how to respond.

“Sonata? Sonata, is something wrong?” Miss Cheerilee followed the ex-Siren’s gaze to Frost, but remained still confused. “What is it? Is it that boy?”

Sonata began trembling, and she looked down, hiding her face. Concerned, Artifex slipped out of his seat; Miss Cheerilee didn’t bother stopping him. He approached Sonata carefully, so as not to provoke a sudden response.

“Sonata?” he called softly, still a good ways from her. “Are you alright?”

“Y-y—” she stuttered, still not looking at him. Artifex paused, ceasing his movements.

He waited with a held breath, as did the entire class. After tense seconds had passed—it felt much longer—he stretched out a hand, in offer. “Sonata, it’s me—”

“You’re back!”

He couldn’t even let out a startled cry as the girl surged forward, tackling him to the ground in a bone-crushing hug. The very force of the tackle caused them both to slide several meters back, almost hitting the opposite wall.

“Sonata!” Miss Cheerilee gasped. “What are you doing?!”

The ex-Siren paused, her hold on Frost weakening. It gave him a chance to take a breath, but before he could ask the same question, he was silenced by her hugging him even tighter. Past the pain, he could hear some of the students “oohing” at them. His face flushed.

“Oh my gosh! Chrony! You’re back!” Sonata reiterated, taking no notice of his predicament or of the class’s reaction. “And here I thought—well, what does it matter what I think? You’re here, I’m here, we’re in Canterlot High! Ooh, does that mean you’re gonna be a student here? That would be so cool!” Just when he thought she had expended all of her energy, she somehow squeezed even harder. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you again!”

I think I have a faint guess!

Artifex struggled to speak. “Sonata… you’re… strangling… me…!”

“Hmm?” She leaned closer. “What was that? Straddling?”

What?!

Artifex craned his neck and opened one eye. He was at a loss for words.

Sonata’s left leg was, indeed, straddling his right side, and if his body was signaling correctly, her right was doing similarly. It didn’t help that she had her hands on his chest, her bosom pressed against him. If his face wasn’t flushing before, now it was.

Her face remained quizzical as it stared down at him. “What’s wrong, Chrony? You’re all red! Are you sick?”

The class “oohed” again. This time, Sonata took notice, and she glanced up at the other students. “What?”

“Sonata…” Though he couldn’t see her, Artifex somehow knew that Miss Cheerilee had her palm placed firmly between her eyes. “If you would, please, look at your… position… right about now?”

If Artifex had room to exhale, he would have sighed. Poor choice of words, Miss Cheerilee.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Sonata looked back at Frost, confused. He offered her nothing in reply, choosing instead to keep still and hold his breath. Her gaze drifted downward, through the narrow space between them, then to his side. She looked at her leg wrapped around his, and gave an experimental wiggle; he was locked tightly to her.

The slow dawn of realization began to rise. “Oh. Oh… oooohhh…” She giggled nervously.

“I think,” Miss Cheerilee continued, “that it would be beneficial for all of us if you were to… remove yourself… from the student.”

“O-okay.” Sonata sucked in a breath, and tried to squirm her way out of her hug. She didn’t get far, as somehow, each movement made the position more uncomfortable, and much tighter. After several moments of struggling, she grinned sheepishly.

“Uh… little help?”

Artifex never more wanted to sigh than right now, but seeing that he couldn’t, he gave an exasperated sigh in his head. Before the poor girl could further tangle herself, he propped himself up on his elbows so that his body was no longer stuck to the floor. Gingerly, he placed his hands on Sonata’s shoulders, then, with a little help on her end, managed to push her up and increase the gap between them. It was then a simple matter of her rolling away that finally removed her legs from his.

Now, she lay next to him, somehow breathless, a grin on her face. He, on the other hand, retained a frown, and was breathing much more slowly. For a moment, his eyes were closed. Then he ran a hand through his hair, finally letting out the much-desired sigh and snapping his eyes open. He looked at Sonata with a cerulean, slightly narrowed gaze.

“Hi, Sonata,” he said, a bit of dryness in his voice.

“Ehehe… hey, Chronicler,” she responded, returning back to his initial title.

He chose not to correct her, thinking he’d explain after class. He stood up, reaching an arm back down for Sonata, who took it gratefully. Pulling her up, he left a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you better?” he asked.

“Yup! Perfectly fine!”

“Good, now if you two would please take your seats, we can now begin class,” said Miss Cheerilee impatiently.

The way she said “two” caused giggles and chuckles to rise. Artifex shook his head, red with embarrassment, while Sonata’s cheeks were stained crimson. Both walked to their respective seats, doing their best to ignore the cooing from their classmates.

Artifex sunk back into his seat. Well… I guess I was only tempting fate, thinking that nothing bad would happen. He glanced at Sonata. She met his gaze and smiled, and he looked away, still thinking.

Strange, he corrected himself. Not bad. Strange.

***

“Are you mad?”

“No.”

“You seem mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just… surprised.”

“Surprised?”

“Surprised.”

“At what?”

“At you, of course.”

“So you’re surprised you’re mad at me?”

“No, I’m just surprised at you.”

“How can you be surprised at someone?”

“It’s easier than you think.”

“So… you’re not mad.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“And you’re surprised. At me.”

“Correct so far.”

“… Why are you surprised?”

Artifex moved himself to the hallway’s wall, motioning for Sonata to do the same, allowing the other students to walk past them. With Algebra finished, they had begun walking to the cafeteria, when Sonata had begun her questioning. He took a moment to answer, thinking over what to say.

“I suppose,” he began, “it’s because of the way you acted. You were so… happy to see me. Like you were genuinely glad that I was there.” He rubbed the back of his head. “That, and, the compromising position you put us in. You do realize people are going to start saying things?”

“Pfft! C’mon, Artifex,” she responded, her lips using his name quite easily. He had made sure to explain as quickly as possible the reasoning behind the initial mystique, and she had just as quickly accepted the information, albeit with a slightly more serious outlook than usual. “Nobody’s gonna believe that! I mean, no one here really knows you!” Realizing her choice of words, she sombered up. “Uh, sorry.”

He shook his head, but wasn’t offended. “It makes sense. I’m new, therefore I have yet to be acquainted with anyone, really.”

“Right. And of course I was glad to see you!” Sonata beamed at him. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my friend!”

Her enthusiasm was so contagious, that he couldn’t stop himself from smiling along with her. For some reason, Sonata found this strangely humorous, and they were reduced to friendly giggles.

“So, all is forgiven?” she asked him, once their laughter had died down.

Briefly, his mind flitted back to what he had said yesterday to Adagio. He smiled. “Yes. All is forgiven.”

“Good! Now, c’mon! We’ve gotta get to the cafeteria before they’re out of tacos!” She suddenly reached her arm out and grabbed Artifex’s, then began leading the way, pulling him along with her.

***

“Oh, wait! I want to show you something!”

“Hmm? What is it, Sonata?”

Just outside of the cafeteria, they stopped and headed out to the gardens outside. Only now did Artifex take note that, in the center, was a rather large tree. Just looking at it made him want to sit under its branches with a good book and relax.

“See, over there! Next to the tree!”

Following Sonata’s finger, he saw a lone, white, three-petaled plant, sticking up and bending over. He found himself smiling.

“See? I planted it, right where you said I should!”

In a motion unlike him, Artifex took the initiative and hugged Sonata. It wasn’t as tight as the girl’s, nor as long, but held just as much affection and meaning. She patted him on the back. “Aw! Thanks, Artifex.”

“And thank you, Sonata,” he said, stepping away. “Now. Why don’t you lead the way once more?”

“You got it!”

***

“Did ya have to bump into me that hard, Rainbow?”

“Sorry, Swift. But it's not my fault you were in the way while I was rushing for my next class!” The rainbow-haired athlete had the decency to look sheepish.

“Aw, is my poor Swifty hurting?” Pinkie cooed, leaning over to the blue-skinned boy. With her face just under his, he could feel her breath hitting his chin, making him blush. “Would he like Momma Pinkie to make him feel better?” she whispered coyly.

“N-now, Pinkie,” Swift stammered, “this isn’t the time for that!”

“Aw, poopie.”

Rainbow shook her head at the two’s display. How did Pinkie end up with such an awkward guy like Swift? I’ll never know.

With the last class of the first half of the day finished, Rainbow now found herself sitting in the cafeteria with the rest of her friends. The boyfriends were also included. Right beside her was Sunset, with Soul sitting next to her. In front of them were Rarity and Clyde, both lost in each other’s eyes. Fluttershy was to Rarity’s side, listening politely. Applejack, meanwhile, sat next to them, stirring her yogurt with her spoon, but appeared to be mulling something over.

“What’s wrong, Applejack?” Rainbow asked, causing the other girl to snap her eyes to her. “You’ve got a funny look on your face.”

Applejack scrunched up her brow. “I ain’t got no funny look, Dash.”

“Well, you do now,” commented Soul. “What’s up?”

She sighed. “Nothin’ really. Just thinking.”

“Thinking? What about?” Sunset asked.

“Is it a boy?” Pinkie then spoke up, smiling mischievously. “Ooh! Did our Applejack finally meet someone?”

The farmer girl raised an eyebrow. “Really, Pinks? Second day of school and I suddenly and magically have a boyfriend? Right.”

“So it is a boy!”

“No, it’s—nevermind.” Applejack released a hefty sigh, then turned away. “Ah’m just… remembering something I heard yesterday.”

“Really now?” Rarity intoned, looking past her boyfriend. “Well, forgive me for being so nosy, but what is it that you heard?”

Applejack visibly hesitated. “Uh… Ah’m not sure Ah’m the one to be telling you. Ah mean, he didn’t really make me promise not to say anything, but—”

“So it is a guy—”

“Not the point, Pinkie,” Sunset interrupted, shushing the girl. “Look, Applejack, if it makes you uncomfortable, we won’t ask about it. Alright?”

“Well, that’s mighty kind of ya—”

“Actually, Sunset,” said Rarity, “I think it would be better if Applejack did tell us what was wrong.”

“What?” The former pony gave the fashionista an incredulous look. “Why?”

“Now hold on just a minute—” Applejack tried to say.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t the least bit curious. And you’d be, too, I’d imagine.”

“I am curious,” Sunset admitted. “But that doesn’t mean that we have the right to pry.”

“I’m with Sunset on this one,” Soul said. “Whatever is AJ’s business is her business.”

“I’m with them on this, too,” Clyde said. “Sorry, boo. We shouldn’t push if Applejack’s uncomfortable.”

Rarity pouted, but after a moment, her face relaxed into a concerned frown. “Alright,” she relented. “But, Applejack, darling, I can’t help but notice you look uncomfortable either way.”

Applejack’s brow furrowed, but her frown had lost its intensity. Now she simply looked tired. “Well… I suppose I can tell you somethin’.”

“You don’t need to do that—” Sunset tried to say, but Applejack raised her hand.

“Ah appreciate it, sugarcube, but… well, this is important. And y’all deserve to know.”

She took a breath to steady herself. “It’s… it’s about Chronicler.”

Their voices moved to hushed tones, and they all leaned in close, wanting Applejack to say more. But the farmer girl refused, crossing her arms and looking away. She already looked like she was regretting her decision.

“What? That’s it?” Pinkie asked.

“It’s… it’s a personal thing, okay?”

Something clicked in Rainbow’s head, and she whispered, “It’s about his sister, isn’t it?”

“Sister?” everyone else but Applejack asked. The farmer girl looked at Dash with surprise.

“How’d you guess?” she asked.

“He told me this morning.”

“Wait! He’s here?” Swift asked, shooting up and nearly causing Pinkie to topple.

“Chronicler is in our school? As a student?” Clyde stared at Rainbow with incredulity.

She nodded. “Yep, he’s here, all right. I had him for Language Arts with Mr. Solil. But that’s besides the point.” She looked back at Applejack. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

The other girl sighed. “Yeah, you are. Guess I can tell the whole thing, can’t I?”

“Actually, no.”

“No?” the rest of the group echoed, save for Fluttershy.

Rainbow rubbed the back of her head. “It’s just like Applejack said. It’s a personal thing. If you want to find out, you can try and ask him yourself.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” said Rarity, moving away from Clyde and placing her chin on the palm of her hands. “Still, though… would that be wise? If Applejack is uncomfortable saying it, wouldn’t Chronicler feel the same?”

“Maybe. But then why did he tell me?” Rainbow countered.

“Maybe he trusts you more,” Pinkie said. “Or… maybe he thought you could keep a secret!”

Rainbow thought on that. Chronicler—Artifex, she mentally corrected herself—hadn’t seemed wanting to have that particular piece of information hidden. He had smiled with confidence at her, reassuring her it was alright. With that in mind, she doubted he intended for it to be a secret.

“Still,” she said, after thinking hard, “it’s not my place to say more. Once again, you’ll have to ask him. Whenever you next see him, that is.”

Rarity sighed. “So after lunch, then.”

“Actually…”

Suddenly, Soul craned his head. He stood up slightly, looking at the far end of the cafeteria. “Uh… actually, you might be able to ask him now.”

While the others didn’t get up as Soul did, they did crane their necks and look towards the doors. Sonata was there, her hand held out behind her, as if pulling someone along. Once she had entered the cafeteria, they could see who was behind her.

“Icy-blue hair?” noted Sunset.

“Yellow jacket and black-and-white-striped shirt,” said Soul.

“Blue jeans and smokey-grey shoes,” Fluttershy added.

Applejack looked at Rainbow, then back at the boy and the Siren. “Definitely him.”

“Yup!” Pinkie said cheerfully. Suddenly she stood, raising a hand to her mouth and the other up in a wave. “Hey, Chrony! Over here!”

“Gah! Pinkie, that’s not—” Rainbow’s protest came too late, as the rest of the cafeteria was rendered silent by the party girl’s cry. Pinkie remained unfazed, smiling just as brightly as ever, even as Swift struggled to pull her down.

The boy’s eyes zoomed in on Pinkie. Even though he was a great distance away, Rainbow could tell that he was surprised. But the frown that was quickly forming on his face worried her.

***

Sonata blinked, pausing mid-step. “Oh, hey! That’s Pinkie! Guess that’s our cue!”

“I guess so,” Artifex replied, rubbing his wrist nervously. He saw what he was doing, and stopped. I should really get out of that habit, he thought, dropping his hands to his pockets.

While Sonata easily bounced and bobbed, even occasionally weaving around people happily, Artifex acted on the opposite spectrum. He tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone, focusing instead on Sonata and the table. He hoped no one would bother him.

Much to his mild surprise, no one did, and he reached the table with little more than the lingering effect of curious—but not altogether cruel—eyes. Pinkie and Swift slid over, providing room for two. Sonata slid in first, practically dragging the boy down with her. To his relief and her continued but innocent obliviousness, neither ended up on top of the other in a precarious position.

At first, no words were spoken. Artifex himself deigned to keep silent, even as everyone’s eyes unintentionally fell onto him. He glanced at them, apprehensive. Who would be the first to speak?

“Um… hi, again,” he said, before mentally slapping himself. Real smooth, Frost.

“Hi, Chrony!” Pinkie responded cheerfully. Her words bolstered some amount of response, and those who had both already seen and not seen Frost gave their own forms of greeting.

He shifted in his seat, unsure of how to continue. He decided to point out the glaring obvious. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“What look?” asked Pinkie, tilting her head.

Gesturing with his hands, he answered, “Like you’ve all seen a ghost. Or…” He frowned. “Like you’ve heard something bad.”

Rarity cleared her throat. “W-well, dear, Chronicler, it… it’s not bad, I don’t think. We were just… curious.”

“Yeah,” Swift said. “Curious.”

Artifex cocked an eyebrow. “About?”

The blue-skinned boy attempted to explain by way of hand gestures, but Artifex failed to understand his meaning. His eyebrow lowered, and his frown became contemplative, as he worked his brain to understand. Eventually, given Swift’s awkward silence and the rest of the group’s half-lidded expressions, Artifex intervened with a shake of his head. “Sorry, Swift. I don’t understand what you’re signing. Maybe if you use your words.”

“Oh!” Swift blushed, then nodded. “R-right, sorry about that. Anyway, we were curious about your sister.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Artifex saw Rainbow and Applejack stiffen. Their eyes moved to him, and he glanced back evenly.

“My… sister,” he repeated.

“Yeah!”

“And… how did you learn about… her?”

“Oh! That’s easy,” Pinkie said, smiling. “Rainbow and Applejack were telling us all about her!”

He looked back at them, his face a mask of settled emotions. “Really now…”

The two girls were the only ones who caught on to his tone. The others remained as curious as ever. Sonata watched the boy and the pink-haired girl, giving Artifex a squeeze on his shoulder.

“Well, not really,” Pinkie corrected herself. “AJ started telling us how this thing you told her was something personal, and then Rainbow correctly guessed it was about your sister, and then before they could explain further, you showed up, and I called you over—”

“Yes, I was there for the last part. So they didn’t tell you about…?”

“About your sister? Nope! Both said we ought to ask you instead!” She narrowed her eyes. “Unless they were lying and you don’t actually have a sister?”

“No, no… I have one.” Strangely, Artifex didn’t feel angry at either of the girls for effectively telling the others, or at least prompting this questioning. Sonata knew, they knew; was it really that hard to imagine that the others would find out? No, he was not angry; but he wasn’t happy, either. He felt drained of energy. It was a wary tired, the kind you got after telling the same thing over and over again, knowing that nothing would change it.

He blinked, and saw red. He blinked again, and was greeted by Pinkie’s smiling face. He bit his lip, carefully moving past whatever it was that was afflicting him.

“Really?” Pinkie said, her smile widening even further. “That’s great! Can we meet her? Is she older?”

“The second one I can answer. Yes, she is older. By about seven years. As to if you can meet her…” He trailed off, looking back at the table. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly? What do you mean?”

Why am I beating around the bush with this? It’d be so much easier just to tell them straight off… right?

“Well, you can, that’s what I mean, but you also can’t.”

“Why? Ooh, is she like from another dimension? One that we can’t visit?”

“What, like me?” Sonata spoke up. “Or like Sunset?”

Like Sunset? What does that mean? He turned to the amber-skinned girl. “What does she mean by that?”

“She means that I’m from the same world Sonata and her sisters are from: Equestria.”

“Equestria?”

“I’ll explain later.”

He nodded to himself, supposing that was fine. Then he turned back to Pinkie. “No, she’s not extra-dimensional, or anything like that.”

Just tell them already! Why won’t you tell them?!

“Okay?” Pinkie tilted her head. “So, where is she? College?”

“She would have been…”

“She dropped out before she went to college? Or she dropped out of college? Is that why we can’t meet her? Because you’re too upset, or ashamed, or—”

“I am not ashamed of Ruby Frost!” Artifex exclaimed, slamming his palm on the table. Pinkie yelped, and the others, save for Sonata, skirted instinctively away. Artifex closed his eyes, attempting to slow his breathing. He kept them closed tight, and counted to ten three times.

“… Sorry, Pinkie,” he said, voice suddenly soft. “That was wrong of me.”

Pinkie shook her head. “It’s alright, Chronicler. That slipped out of my mouth. I’m sorry, too.”

A moment of silence passed between all eleven of them, each person scooting slowly back over to their original position. Artifex sensed that each had figured out that his sister was a sensitive topic for him.

He felt something slip into the palm of his hand, something thin and papery. Opening it, he read the message: “You don’t have to tell them if you’re uncomfortable.” He recognized it as Sonata’s handwriting; where she had gotten the pen, paper, and the speed to write so quickly, he didn’t know. He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing, folding back up the paper.

“… So her name is Ruby, huh?” Rainbow asked, trying to start the conversation up again (this time without unintentionally antagonizing Artifex). “That’s pretty neat.”

He let out a breath. “Yep. She’s the one with the ordinary, non-Latin name in our family.”

“Wait,” Applejack asked, leaning in, “‘Chronicler’ is a Latin name? That ain’t no Latin name Ah’ve ever heard, even if I haven’t heard that many.”

Artifex brought his palm to his forehead. “Of course I make things even more complicated,” he muttered. “No, ‘Chronicler’ is not a Latin name. It’s…” He sighed. “Damn it, I can’t even say this without finding some level of incredulity in it.”

At the tilt of his head, he saw looks of understanding cross Sunset’s, Soul’s, Rainbow’s, and Sonata’s faces.

He looked back down, contemplating his next move. He stared at the wooden furniture for a solid thirty seconds, not moving, not blinking.

Then, he exhaled again, a heavy exhale, and straightened up. “… In order to explain any of what I am saying, I’ll have to be very, very truthful with you all.”

“Weren’t you already?” Clyde asked, but Artifex shook his head.

“Not quite.” His breathing hitched, as he tried to think of some smart way to speak, but came up with nothing. Another sigh escaped his lips. “I’ve no easy method of saying this, so I’ll put it as bluntly as I can. ‘Chronicler’ isn’t my real name.”

A chorus of “Huh’s?” and “What do you mean’s?” rang around him, but he refused to address them at the moment. Instead, he lowered his hands to his lap. His fists clenched twice, then relaxed. He breathed in, and out; and in, and out again, until he was sure he was calm enough to speak.

“As for my sister…”

His next few words he had no idea where they came from. Perhaps from some book, or an old lesson. Maybe it was his sister. Maybe his parents. Or maybe it was something he had learned a long time ago, and was only now just beginning to welcome back into his life.

“The first place the dead go… is the heart of someone else.”

Thus, he began his tale.

***

They were all quiet as he finished with a downturned head, his body slouching over the edge of the table. For a second, he recalled he hadn’t eaten lunch; but his appetite was virtually nonexistent, and he didn’t want to tempt it. Glancing around, he noticed that the meals of his friends remained either half-eaten or not completely finished, set to the side like they weren’t necessities.

He straightened his back, suddenly thankful for the rest of the cafeteria’s noisiness. He wanted to keep this as close as possible. If the entire school learned about it… well, maybe they would learn about it, in the future, at least. But for now, they couldn’t. He didn’t want them to.

As he straightened up, he felt a hand grab his. Looking down, he saw that it was a teal hand wrapped in his tan one. A flick back up showed it to be Sonata. She gave him a quick squeeze, staring at him with her wide, comforting eyes, before letting go and retracting her hand.

Artifex then looked all around him. All of them had looks of both pity and shock. Rarity, Fluttershy, and Sunset had one hand over their mouth, presumably because they were left gaping at this new information. Applejack and Rainbow, while not indifferent, were harder to read. They avoided making direct eye contact with him. Soul, Clyde, and Swift, meanwhile, were visibly troubled; each had their own form of furrowed brow and neutral frown on their faces.

Briefly, Artifex wondered if there was any sort of humor in this situation. Maybe dark humor, he thought, but did not internally nor externally chuckle.

Pinkie was the only one he hadn’t looked at, so he turned to her. To his own surprise, her hair had rapidly deflated into thin strings that hung down from her head to her back. It was slight, nearly imperceptible, but he did see her shaking. Her lips trembled, and her eyes were closed. Was she angry he had kept this all to himself? Or…

It’s not too bad, is it? I’ve gotten over most of it… recovered a good deal lot…

The voice in his head matched his feelings: uncertain.

“It’s all true, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?” He looked back over to the other end, seeing that Fluttershy had removed her mouth and was staring intently at him. She appeared waiting for an answer.

He nodded once.

“Oh…” Fluttershy looked away, before her own lip began to tremble. “That’s awful…”

His mind flickered back to some years ago. “It was,” he muttered, thinking that “awful” was a rather light term in retrospect. Would a better one be “soul-shattering?”

“Why didn’t you tell us this sooner?”

Sunset’s voice. He looked to her. Her own hand was placed down at the table, and her mouth had contorted into a worried frown.

“Was I supposed to?” he asked back.

“I guess not,” Sunset said. “But… no, you’re right. This…” She waved her hand aimlessly. “This isn’t something you go around telling people.” He noted her stern look directed to Rainbow and Applejack.

“It’s no one’s fault but mine,” he said, trying to drive the blame away. “You were bound to find out some time. It’s only natural.”

“How can you say that?”

The voice was tiny, and very much unlike the party-girl he had come to know. Looking back around his shoulder, he saw Pinkie suddenly up close to him.

“How can you say it’s all your fault?” she repeated, this time much more strongly. “How can you say any of this is your fault?”

“Because it’s my secret. My burden—”

“It shouldn’t be!” she exclaimed. “I-I-W-We should have noticed right away! Th-that you were hurt!”

“You did, remember?” He lifted his forearm, pulling slightly back on his sleeve, making his point.

“Y-yeah, but we didn’t know why!” she wailed. Before he could react, she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him and crying into his shoulder. “And-and that’s not right! We’re your friends! We’re supposed to know when you’re not okay!”

He had no idea what to do at first. How could he? He could have anticipated pity, or compassion; but open sobbing? And from Pinkie, no less.

To be fair, we weren’t exactly friends until later on yesterday… I shouldn’t say that. It wouldn’t help.

What would Ruby do?

“Swift, if you would, please…”

Swift understood the fragmented message, and gently pried Pinkie off of Artifex. She didn’t let go, however, leaving only a gap between them. Swift looked to the other boy, who nodded.

“Pinkie.” Voice as calm as a settled lake, he requested that the girl look at him. She obliged, through teary eyes and sniffles. “Listen very closely, okay?”

“Okay…”

“… Now… I don’t claim to be some expert in all… well, whatever this is… but there is something I want you to understand. Sometimes, in a friendship, you find out things you never thought you found out. Like if a person prefers cats to dogs. Or if he or she likes band A to band B. Who this person votes for, which dressing they like. Sometimes…” He paused. “Sometimes it’s something deeper. Something secretive. Something so radically different that you’re thrown for a loop, and might feel like you should have known earlier.

“But that’s not the important part of learning these things. It’s what you do with it that counts. How you judge it, think about it…” He paused again, feeling his words come from his heart. “How you live with it.

“If you know everything about a person, what’s the point of even getting to know them? If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t predict everything. And you shouldn’t push yourself to be able to predict and know everything there it to know about someone.”

Ceasing his words, he allowed himself a quick chuckle. “And now I’m rambling. Like I said, I’m no expert. I don’t even know if what I said even made any sense.” Turning serious once more, he continued, “The point is, Pinkie, all of you actually; you can’t blame yourself for not knowing the why’s and what’s. That was my choice to make. And it’s my choice to live with. So don’t feel bad for not knowing. You couldn’t have. You weren’t meant to.” He then looked back at Rainbow and Applejack.

He smiled. “Luckily for me, friends tend not to fall into that level of predictability.”

He turned back to the pink-haired girl. She had noticeably calmed down, and her hair was starting to puff up again. Judging by her neutral expression, she was listening intently. “Am I making at least some sense, Pinkie?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She smiled, as her hair finally recovered its usual shape. “Thanks, Chronicler.”

He wagged a finger. “Artifex,” he corrected.

“Right, Artifex.” She beamed. “Hey! Maybe I should throw you a ‘Real-Name-Party!’”

At a glance back at Sunset and Soul, he saw them giggle, and he gave a knowing roll of his eyes. “Not today, I hope.”

“How does this weekend sound?”

“That sounds great, Pinkie.”

“Super! Swift, can you come by early to help?”

“S-sure thing, Pinks!”

“Even better! Ooh, you two are the best!” Somehow reaching around both of them, she brought them in for a double hug. Artifex nearly bumped his head against Swift’s.

“Well, she’s back to her usual self,” he said to the blue-skinned boy.

“Yup. Thanks, Artifex.”

Pinkie eventually released her hold on them, before pivoting around for her backpack and taking out a small notepad. “Let’s see… I’m gonna need balloons, streamers… what kind of cake do you want? Oh, that’s right; mousse! Chocolate! Good choice…”

As she continued planning, Artifex turned back to the others. “That,” he said, referring to what he said to Pinkie, “goes the same for all of you. It’s not your fault. Okay?”

“Okay,” they all said, returning him smiles of their own.

Rainbow reeled him in with her arm, tapping him with a fist. “Dang, Artifex. You’ve got mad speech skills. Did you come up with all that on the fly?”

“I guess I did.”

Rainbow laughed. “See? You should totally write Celestia’s announcement speeches from now on!”

Artifex would have answered, but a low grumbling interrupted him. Suddenly he remembered very clearly the fact that he had no lunch with him. He checked his back pocket, letting out a sigh of relief as he realized his wallet was there.

“Hold the fort, guys. I’ve the munchies.”

“Hey, me too!” Sonata exclaimed. “Let’s go together!”

Before he could either agree or protest, she pulled him off the table and dragged him away towards the lunch line. Luckily, the period had yet to end; maybe fifteen minutes were left. Enough time to eat, and reflect.

***

No Clue cursed. He was late. He had to stay behind for his last class—which was Chemistry—because the teacher wanted to get to know him better. Not that he minded; the teacher was very nice. Mr. Star Swirl, he remembered.

It was just that he stayed behind far longer than he intended. Sure, it was technically a free block, and he liked Mr. Star Swirl, but now he was late for lunch. And thus, late for his invitation.

The only good thing to come out of this was the fact that he had packed a pre-made lunch, which he ate along the way. Mmm… potato salad… wait, what?

Nearing a trashcan, he spat out the piece, then looked at his lunch. “I thought this was chicken I packed!” On the underside was a sticky note, saying “Out of chicken, used potato.”

He sighed. “Of course. Oh, well, might as well finish it.”

He ate quickly, wiping his mouth with a napkin, before dumping both the wrapper and napkin into another garbage can. By and by, he reached the cafeteria’s entrance.

As he entered the doors, his eyes landed on a certain, rainbow-haired girl. She immediately saw him, and waved him over. Eagerly, he walked towards them.

His eagerness fell as he realized he knew no one next to Rainbow. Looking around, he then realized that Artifex wasn’t there. Is he late, too? I thought he’d be the punctual type.

“Hey, No Clue.” His ears perked up at the sound of Rainbow’s voice. “Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you, too, Rainbow Dash. Can I sit down?”

“You sure can!”

The two people next to Rainbow—an amber-skinned girl and a silvery-white-haired boy—scooched over, allowing Clue to sit down beside them. He fought down his blush as he realized his close proximity to the athlete.

“Is this a friend of yours, Rainbow?” an alabaster-skinned girl on the opposite side asked. Next to her was a grey-skinned boy; judging by their arms around each other, they were likely very close.

“Yup! No Clue, meet Rarity and Clyde,” Rainbow responded, pointing to the pair.

“Nice to meet you,” Clue said. He couldn’t help but notice how absolutely fair Rarity looked. Clyde’s one lucky guy.

“Nice to meet you, too, No Clue,” Clyde said, while Rarity smiled back.

“Next to me,” continued Rainbow, “is Sunset Shimmer and her boyfriend Soul Writer. Say hi, you guys!”

“Hi there!” Sunset greeted with a wave.

“Hey,” Soul said.

No Clue nodded back. Another couple?

“Next to Rarity is Fluttershy.” Rainbow pointed to a butter-yellow girl with light, pink hair. The girl eeped and hid behind several strands. “Er, she’s… well, she’s shy.”

“Hello,” Clue greeted, trying to appear reassuring. “Nice to meet you.”

“N-nice to meet you, too, No Clue,” the girl responded quietly, before ducking back behind her hair.

“And, over to your right, we have—”

“Hi! I’m Pinkie Pie! Nice to meet you!”

Caught off guard by the pink-haired girl’s exuberance, No Clue nearly jumped into Rainbow. He, thankfully, had his legs hooked under the bench seat; he only jumped a little before landing back down with a pain-filled wince.

“Uh, hi,” he endeavored to say. “You’re… awfully excited.”

“Am I! I love making new friends!” Pinkie suddenly gasped. “I know! You should come to the party on Saturday! It’ll be like a double party event!”

“Uh, what? A party, this Saturday? Why?”

Pinkie bounced away, somehow ducking under the table and returning to her normal seat. Now Clue could see that beside her was a blue-skinned male, who looked about as exhausted at Pinkie’s display as he was. The boy scooched a little closer to answer. “Pinkie does that. She throws parties for every new student. I’m Swift Justice, by the way,” he added, holding out a hand.

No Clue took and shook it. “That’s really nice of her,” he commented. “I don’t think I’ve ever been invited to a party like that before.”

“So! Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, No Clue?” Rarity asked, prompting him to turn back to the others.

“Sure, why not?” With that, he quickly summarized what he had said in his first class, revealing that he had moved around a lot, and hadn’t had much of a chance to make permanent friends. Thankfully, with the job his dad had being stable, it seemed he would be at Canterlot High for longer than initially expected. Meaning that—

“You’ll be able to graduate with all of us!” Pinkie exclaimed, once again by the boy’s side. “That’s great, Cluey!”

“‘Cluey?’”

“It’s a nickname that I came up with! Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“Super! Okay, what’s your favorite kind of cake?”

“Well, I…”

As No Clue continued to talk with Pinkie, Rainbow turned to the others. “Hope you guys don’t mind having a few extra guests at our table. It was kinda last minute,” she added, rubbing her head.

Rarity nodded and smiled. “It’s fine, dear. Besides, we’d already invited Chronicler over yesterday. Or, Fluttershy did. But either way, it’s no problem. Right, girls and guys?”

“Right!” they echoed back.

Rainbow was about to say something further, when No Clue let out a short “ahem.” Turning to him, she asked, “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Uh, Chronicler? Who’s that?” Clue furrowed his brow. “I thought you invited Artifex over. By the way, where is he?”

“Oh, right.” Rainbow waved a hand. “It’s nothing. We just knew Artifex as Chronicler first off, but today we learned that his name was really Artifex.”

“That sounds really convoluted.”

“Does it?” Pinkie cocked her head. “Makes perfect sense to me!”

“So, what, is Chronicler like his nickname?”

“Not exactly,” Rainbow said. “It’s something more personal than that.”

“Really? What do you mean?” No Clue paused, then continued, “Is it like some sort of internet monicker? Oh, no… is Artifex like those super-edgy tough guys on the internet that take things too seriously?”

“What? No, no! Nothing like that! Artifex is… well, he’s Artifex!”

“So why was he called Chronicler—”

“Oh, hey! Look, there they are!” Rainbow interrupted, pointing to the lunch line. “Scooch over, Clue; we gotta give them some space!”

“Uh, okay? Could you move over, Swift?”

Once he had moved over enough, Rainbow let out a breath of relief. Thank goodness… I know Artifex wouldn’t really mind me telling someone about himself, but it still feels like he should be the one telling No Clue the truth about himself. She looked at Applejack, and the two shared a mutual nod. Guess that makes us in agreement. Together, they waited for Artifex to arrive.

***

“Sonata… did you really have to get so many tacos?”

“Of course! I didn’t want to miss out on them!”

“You do realize that, in doing so, you’ve effectively created a taco shortage in the cafeteria, right?”

“So? Not my problem until tomorrow!”

“That… seems highly irresponsible, but alright.”

While Sonata carried a tray with many tacos on it, Artifex had opted instead for a simple PBJ sandwich. It hadn’t cost him much, and he wasn’t that hungry either way. Lunch hadn’t been his biggest meal for the better part of his life. Seeing Sonata look eager at the prospect of eating all of the tacos made him wonder if it was her biggest meal.

Hmm… for a Siren, she sure has some strange eating habits. Sorry, ex-Siren, he mentally corrected himself. In retrospect, she isn’t really what I’d think an ex-Siren would be.

Sonata led the two of them back to the table, skipping happily along the way. Artifex mostly followed, but his gaze wandered over the rest of the cafeteria. Seeing the students no longer stare brought him great ease.

Something flashed in the corner of his vision: it was orange, and large, but seemed to vanish the moment he blinked. He shrugged it off as him just seeing things.

“Hey! There’s another guy at our table!”

“Hmm?” He craned his neck, looking at where Sonata was looking. “Oh, that’s No Clue. He’s a classmate Rainbow and I met back in our first period class. She actually invited him.”

“Really? That was nice of her!”

“Yes, real nice.” Artifex smiled to himself, replaying in his head the image of Clue blushing.

“But what’s with his name? It sounds kinda mean.”

“He made it up himself. For the full story, you’ll have to ask him.”

“What, you can’t tell me?”

“Well, I could…” He grinned, a bit devilishly. “But it makes for a better story if he says it.”

“Oh, alright.” Sonata huffed, but conceded defeat. “Let’s go meet him, then!”

In only a matter of minutes, they reached the table. A space had opened up for them, settled between Rainbow and Clue. Sonata took the place by Rainbow’s side, while Artifex slid in after.

“Hey, No Clue,” he greeted. “Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you, too. Who’s that girl with you?” He lowered his voice. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“Not this again… no, she’s just a friend. Say hi, Sonata.”

“Hi Sonata!” said the ex-Siren, giving a friendly wave. No Clue returned it.

Artifex unwrapped his sandwich and, after a quick inspection, dug in. He ate quickly and quietly, attempting carefully not to make a mess, while Sonata dug loudly into her own meal. He finished in mere moments, swallowing the bread and jelly. That should tie me over well enough.

“Dang, you sure ate that fast. Did you have breakfast?” commented No Clue. “I mean, you didn’t look at all hungry in first period, but you never know.”

Ah… crap. He didn’t fully blush, but he did look away in embarrassment, only to be met by Sonata’s waggling eyebrows. He then looked down, a full-on blush settling on his face.

“Hey! Arty’s blushing!” Pinkie said.

Sonofa… With a glance at Sunset and Soul, his fears were realized—they were laughing. He resisted the urge to slam his head on the table, but did let out a groan.

Just call me Mister E. S. P., because I am psychic…

***

With No Clue’s arrival and Artifex and Sonata’s return, lunch ended sooner than expected. The group of friends packed their belongings, then exchanged their momentary goodbyes.

“Bye, Arty! See you later!” Pinkie called as she and Swift walked away.

“Yeah, yeah.” Artifex waved back, slightly exasperated. He glanced back at Sunset and Soul, glaring at them. “Not. A. Word.”

They nodded, but smiled and giggled anyway. Artifex rolled his eyes. Great. That’s my new nickname.

He found himself, now, with Sonata, No Clue, and Rainbow left over from the group. “Hey, Artifex,” Rainbow called, “what’s your next class?”

“I don’t remember. Let me check.” Artifex dropped his bag on the table, unzipping it and pulling out his notebook. The pen was still attached. He opened the notebook, shifting through the pages until he found the small slip of paper that was his schedule. With his index and thumb, his took it out.

He heard No Clue whistle. “Dang, you write a lot, dude. Is that your book of stories?”

On instinct, he shut the notebook. The action was not lost on Clue, who gave him a confused look. He cleared his throat, trying to save face. “More like a journal, really.” He turned back to Rainbow while opening his schedule. “Let’s see here… it says I have History class. Second floor.”

Rainbow nodded. “You’d better get going, then.”

“Right. See you later, Dash.”

“You too, Frost.”

Grabbing his backpack once more, he slung it over his shoulder and began heading for the exit. The others followed. Once they had reached it, Sonata suddenly reached around and grabbed Artifex into a simple hug. No words were spoken, but when she pulled away, Artifex saw she had a serene smile on her face, one that he couldn’t help but mirror.

“Bye, Arty!” His smile faded the moment she said that. Before he could refute her, she was gone, vanished into the throng of students. Looking around, he saw that Rainbow had done much the same.

Most of the crowd appeared to be heading in the direction opposite of his destination, and it was still rather small in size. In a short while, the halls were spacious enough for him to get a move on.

“Uh, mind if I walk with you? My class is on the same floor,” said No Clue.

He glanced at him, then back down the hall. “Sure.”

No Clue fell in line beside him, and together they traveled down the hallway, heading for the stairs.

For a good while, they walked in silence, passing the other students without so much as a word. Artifex in particular kept himself composed, his mouth in a thin, neutral frown, while he walked at a brisk pace. Yet for all his composure, he failed to completely mask the lingering effects of a fading limp; something, he was sure, that No Clue, if his name was not in coordination with his observation skills, would surely have picked up on by now.

At first, the mental prediction seemed to come true, as No Clue cleared his throat. Both boys stopped their trek, and Artifex looked at Clue.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Can… can we talk about your—”

Here it comes…

“—notebook?”

Artifex cocked his head. “My… notebook?”

“Yeah. I was just curious why you shut it so suddenly.”

Artifex said nothing for a few seconds, staring the other boy down. No Clue rubbed the back of his head, squeamish.

“What do you mean?” Artifex decided to ask. “I was done looking for my schedule.”

“Yeah, you were, but you closed it really quickly. Like a snap-and-shut kind of motion. If I didn’t know any better, you closed it because you didn’t want me to see something.”

Artifex’s silence betrayed him. “No,” said Clue, backing up, “seriously?”

The icy-blue-haired boy avoided his gaze. “Why, though?” Clue asked. “It can’t be all that bad, can it?” He put his hands on his hips. “Is it like some sort of fake journal? A fanfiction? A self-insert?”

“… I have no idea what those are.” Artifex shifted his notebook up until it rested between his armpit and torso. “Now, we should get to class before we’re late.”

“What? We’ve still got time, can’t you answer some—”

“And I want to get there as early as possible.” Artifex started to walk again at a speedy pace, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Artifex.” No Clue’s voice had lost the curious joviality from before, and instead had been replaced with alarming seriousness. “What’s wrong, man? Whatever it is, I won’t judge you, I promise. You can tell me.”

Artifex looked back at him. Could he tell him? Should he? He was confronted with the fact that No Clue seemed to care much for him. Almost like a brother, which was an impressive feat, considering how they hadn’t even interacted for a full day yet.

The part of him that was filled with warmth urged him to speak. To reveal the truth. It would do no good to hold it all in. But the other part… the older part, the one that was as old as he was, and still remained deep down, after all these years; it urged otherwise. Not in an overly hostile way, but more in a cautious manner. How could he be sure that No Clue could be trusted with this information? How could he be sure that the other boy wouldn’t react negatively?

Artifex’s words spoken to Pinkie echoed in his mind. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t predict everything. And you shouldn’t push yourself to be able to predict and know everything there it to know about someone.

After some more pondering and recollecting, he arrived at his answer; but it had a bitter taste with it.

“I can’t.”

No Clue retreated back, surprised. “You… can’t?”

Artifex confirmed this with a nod.

Clue clenched his fists. “But why? Why can’t you tell me? Why do the others know, huh? Aren’t we friends?”

“Yes, but—”

“Okay, maybe not close friends. But we’ve known each other for nearly a day, now! And you’ve known the others for not even two! What makes them more trustworthy than me in that regard?”

He was irritated, certainly, but behind his words, Artifex sensed something different. It was pain; regret; longing. Something close to what he had had. Something deeper; something darker.

Artifex decided to answer first by action, and then follow with words. He raised his left arm slightly and slowly, letting it level with his hip. His other hand came over and tugged at the ends of the sleeve. No Clue’s eyes moved down, and his mouth opened up, as he stared at Artifex’s wrist. The point had been made, and driven home without so much as a speed bump.

“Because they were the ones who saved me,” Frost said softly, “when I needed saving the most.”

No Clue said nothing, his irritated attitude fading almost completely. His silence did all the talking that he needed.

Artifex released his sleeve, then turned back to face the hall. He didn’t look back at the other boy. “No Clue.”

The boy answered with a nod, which Artifex saw as a faint motion just outside his vision.

“I… I get the feeling that you’re a good person. A bit oblivious in some ways, but decent all around.”

“Oh. Well, thanks, Artifex.”

“And… I do want us to truly become friends down the road. Maybe, in time, I’ll even tell you what I told them. Perhaps more. But…” At this, Artifex did finally turn back to Clue, his cerulean eyes seemingly shimmering. “I need time. Time to get to know you. Time to learn about you, about what I can say, about what you need to hear. Time to learn to trust you.”

He, after a moment’s hesitation, placed his right hand on Clue’s left shoulder. “No Clue, will you give me that time? Will you wait until I’m ready? I won’t fault you if you don’t.” But I will be greatly saddened.

No Clue said nothing for several seconds, even as Artifex retracted his hand. His head was lowered; Artifex could not read him.

“… Okay.” Clue’s voice was just barely audible above the sounds of the school, but in Frost’s mind, it was like a foghorn over a deafened ocean. “I’ll wait.”

Artifex’s lips twitched at the sides. “Thank you,” he whispered.

He saw that Clue still had a frown on, but reasoned that he would be fine later.

The tension mostly dissipated, they both resumed their walk towards the stairs. They walked in joined silence, the other’s company being the only presence they needed. Talking became obsolete and unnecessary. They were heading in the same direction, same floor, but different classes, different locations. Artifex realized they were going down two routes, two paths, one for each.

It set his mind aflame with worry and curiosity. He wondered where those paths would take them. He hoped it was someplace good.

6) Day One: The Frost Residency

“The home is the chief school of human virtues.”

William Ellery Channing

***

Artifex Frost was what one would call a “latchkey kid.” It was something he had been taught, living in Manehattan, back when his family only had a simple apartment. Even after that apartment became a medium-sized, suburban house out on the western side, the term and the concept and method stuck.

It was something Ruby had encouraged him, but also reminded him of its importance. “With this key,” she would say, “you have access to our home whenever you need it. But be careful not to lose it. If some shady figure finds that you dropped it on the way to school, there’s not much stopping them beyond moral reasons from coming to our home and robbing us—or worse.”

It was one of her more graver lessons, but it made sense. Even in a city that was as splendid as Manehattan, the threat of break-ins loomed overhead, like a shadowy veil. Suspicion was low, but not nonexistent. Each kid in that suburban neighborhood knew the risks, and understood the responsibility. Don’t let the strange in, or strange things will happen, was the common saying.

The city suburbs of Canterlot was different in that regard. It wasn’t under such a shadowy veil, and Artifex felt he could at least afford to let up for a bit. Just walking home from school showed the differences. Houses were brighter and livelier; streets were relatively empty; trash and litter was virtually impossible to find. The gutters, to his pleasant surprise, were clean and simple; not filled with whatever passed for liquid nowadays.

“Safer” was the prime word that came to mind, but not exactly “secure.” As far as he could tell, there wasn’t a nearby police department or neighborhood watch. From what he had heard from the others, as well as from initially moving in, the police headquarters lay in the larger section of the city.

While that didn’t quite make him feel insecure or at risk, he noted it with some amount of cynicism. How exactly had nothing criminal occurred? He supposed these questions would either be answered later, or not at all; truth be told, he didn’t care much for them.

Artifex fished around his pocket, taking out the key. It was a simple, bronze device; the key ring had several ornaments on it, among which was a mini quill, and a lovely, red gemstone. He stared at the latter object for a moment, before shaking his head and palming the key.

He then made his way up the steps to his house, a two-story building with light-blue outer walls and a shingled roof. While it was much bigger than their first apartment, he reflected, it was also somewhat smaller than their previous residency, at least by an entire floor. Glancing around, he noted how it was similar in size to the rest of the houses down and up the block. The only difference, really, was the color.

It gave him a sense of hesitant anonymity.

He approached the door, intending to unlock it, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He swiftly turned, eyes darting all around, before they landed on a small, feline form peeking out from the corner of the house. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Francis,” he called, crouching down, “I can see you.”

The form blinked its chocolate-cherry eyes, before mewling softly, as if saying, “No, you can’t.”

Artifex stood and walked over, pocketing the key for now. “Francis. You’re literally next to the house. You don’t even blend in with that apricot coat of yours.”

Francis mewled a little louder in protest.

“Oh, come here,” Artifex said, crouching down and holding out a hand.

Francis hesitated, before letting out a resigned growl. He walked out from behind the corner, fur coat bristling and tail raised. He cocked his head, almost challenging Artifex with his eyes.

Artifex rolled his own. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. God, you’re such a silly kitty.”

Francis hissed at him, and Artifex chuckled. “What? I thought you liked that name! Besides, Ruby used to call you it all the time…”

Both of them calmed down, looking away. Francis meowed softly, before moving forward and placing a paw on Frost’s foot. He looked down at the cat, thinking deeply.

Francis meowed again, and Artifex smiled a small smile. “Yeah. You never liked it either way, did you? Well, I’m still going to call you that from time to time.”

The cat hissed again, but shorter this time, and then batted his foot. “Alright, let’s go in,” said Artifex.

He walked back over to the door, with Francis following. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the key. He inserted it into the keyhole, then turned it, hearing the familiar “click” sound, then pushed on the door, allowing the both of them entrance.

“You first,” he said as he moved to the side. Francis nodded haughtily, then stepped inside. Artifex followed after, closing the door and locking it.

A short, narrow hallway greeted them openly. To the immediate right of the hallway was the living room, filled with two medium-sized sofas and a simple, circular rug. The fireplace lay at the end; it had not been used in a while. A floor lamp stood in the corner, darkened, while windows stared out from behind the first couch. Artifex saw that one of the pillows had been thrown to the floor, presumably by accident. Looking down, he saw Francis look suspiciously away.

“Really? You made a mess while I was gone?” He chuckled, then walked over and placed the pillow back on top of the first couch, straightening it. He looked back at Francis, who meowed innocently. Artifex narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t fooling anyone with that act.”

Francis meowed again. Artifex nodded. “Right, upstairs. Hopefully you haven’t thrown around my bed’s pillows.”

The cat gave him an incredulous look, and Artifex rubbed the back of his head. “Okay, maybe that might have been me. But we won’t know until we check, so let’s go.”

The two of them—boy and feline—traveled up the steps. Light as they were, the wood beneath them did not creak nor whisper. The first door at the top was the entrance to the bathroom. Next to that was Artifex’s room, which was opposite of the supply closet. Down the rest of the hall was his parents’ room.

They entered his room, feet stepping on soft carpet. Artifex looked around. His desk and, consequently, desktop, was as it was that morning: clean and straightened in orderly fashion. The bookcase was somewhat dusty; he would have to fix that later. His eyes traveled to his bed, and he frowned. The covers were thrown all over the place, and the pillows were flattened.

Ruby taught me better than this.

He looked back down at Francis, who meowed at him with a sly look. “Okay, you win this time.”

Artifex slid his backpack off of his shoulder, letting it rest beside his desk. He then turned to the bed, grabbing the blankets and swooping them back over. Hands reaching out for the pillows, he fluffed them quickly, letting them settle on top of the blankets. He stood back, admiring his efficient work.

Turning back to his desk and backpack, he unzipped the latter, taking out all of his binders and folders. Inwardly, he groaned. Do they really assign this much on the second day of school?

His eyes gleamed over his notebook, and he took that out, too, placing it to the end of his desk. He then took out his phone and charger and plugged them into the wall socket. He stared at the screen. Towards the end of the school day, a number of his friends had offered him their phone numbers. He wondered if he should text them, if only to say a late hello.

It’d be awkward, he reasoned, pushing the phone away. He looked back at the pile of work. Besides… I’ve got things to do.

Suddenly, he coughed, and a cloud of dust blew out of his mouth. He grimaced. “Right. Dust first, work second.” He looked at Francis. “And you’re helping, since you made a mess downstairs.”

Francis bared his teeth, but otherwise didn’t protest. The two of them walked out of Artifex’s room and opened the supply closet, intent on getting to work.

***

With the bookshelf fully dusted and his homework completed (hindered only slightly by Francis who insisted on pawing at his leg continuously), Artifex allowed himself a moment of rest as he sat on his desk’s chair. He stood corrected to his initial conclusion; the workload was not as hard as he had expected. Given that it was only the second day of school, that was something he should have figured.

His right hand rested on his desk’s edge, drumming a beat against it with his fingers. Tap, tap-tap-tap, tap, tap-tap-tap. His thoughts followed the beat, even though they were mostly fragmented in his mind.

Times like these, when he had the company of himself and a non-speaking individual, gave me a sense of peace. Even after the accident and the attempts, when he was alone with himself, he could find a place of solitude. Perhaps that was one of the things that kept him going for so long. Sometimes he had thought he had heard Ruby speaking to him, though usually it was an old adage being repeated in his mind over and over. And even though it was his mind speaking, he found it comforting to know that, in that way, at least, Ruby lived on and never died.

His mood turned melancholy, and his fingers ceased beating. His right hand drifted over to the notebook which rested, closed, at the end of the desk. Those same fingers tapped twice on the notebook, as if checking to make sure it was completely shut. They then slid back a little, landing on the blue pen. He tapped its end, and then its point, but didn’t take it.

Should I write now… or later?

Ruby’s encouragement came to him. When he was little and anxious of the world, she would say to him, “Write your fears down.” Then the fears became thoughts, thoughts became ideas, ideas became paragraphs of little things—the little things that mattered. Writing, Ruby had correctly guessed, had brought him a solace he desperately needed back then.

Even more so did it bring peace of mind after she had gone.

His hand slid back down to rest by his side. Suddenly he was aware of a frown on his face. His other hand, the left one, came up, pausing in the air. Then, it came down, and paused just above the glass screen of his phone, not yet touching it. He glanced at both the hand and the phone. His hand moved away, placing itself next to the phone.

He craned his neck over his shoulder, checking his clock. 5:45. I should eat soon.

He looked back at the objects that were on his desk. His phone to his left, his notebook to his right. He raised both of his hands up, as if to slam them down; and paused.

If I write now, it’ll be fine.

But if I open up my phone, it’ll also be fine, I think.

Would not both bring me something I needed a long time ago?

His hands came back down to his sides, and he exhaled slowly. He breathed in through his nose, then out of his mouth, and closed his eyes.

He imagined Ruby on his right; the person who had guided him for the best half of his life; the person who had taught him the most; the person he loved the most. She seemed to smile at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. In his mind, her red hair was splayed all around her, like she was floating. A glow was behind her. She looked absolutely divine, angelic, like a symbol from the heavens.

To his left, he imagined the students of Canterlot High who had opened their arms to welcome him. He imagined Soul, Sunset, Swift, Pinkie, Clyde, Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Sonata, and now No Clue. He even saw Aria and Adagio there, standing behind them, but still somehow giving off the same feeling of openness. He imagined that they each held their hand out, smiles welcoming and bright.

Artifex opened his eyes, and he was back in his room. Francis had found it entertaining to lick his paws clean. His room, other than the cat, was empty.

His right hand rose, then fell, falling next to the notebook. He moved it closer, closer, closer… and then took his hand back, letting it rest, once again, by his side.

His left hand then rose up and shifted over to his phone. It, too, grew nearer, nearer, nearer… and then it skirted away, falling back to his side.

His stomach rumbled lowly. Time to eat, I suppose. He got up, and looked at the two objects for a little while. He scanned each feature, each bump, each ridge, cementing them within his mind for the future. He didn’t realize that his brow had settled into a worried position.

Then, he looked away. After beckoning Francis along, he walked out of his room, and shut the door behind him, hearing it close with a resounding click.

***

Dinner consisted of a quick pasta dish, with just cheese on top. Artifex finished quickly, then cleaned his dishes and put them inside the dishwasher. He then walked back to his seat and sat down.

The dining room was seemingly darker than the rest of the house, even with the light on. It was like any light that came from or entered it was absorbed the countless decor that sat in a bureau behind him. The rest of the table was empty. No plates, no sounds of laughter as the day’s stories were shared. The chairs were bare; the tablemats, oddly clean; the napkin holder, barely touched. Even though Francis was snoozing next to him, Artifex still felt that the place was sparse.

In front of him was a large vase, filled with dirt. The plant it housed was a tall galanthus, taller than wild ones. He wasn’t sure if that was the doing of his parents, or just that it was a unique flower all by itself. It’s petals were drooping downward, and the plant itself faced away from him. He looked at it, then followed where to where it faced.

Through the windows at the end of the dining room, he peered out. He saw the night sky, a jeweled canvas that stretched across the world. It wasn’t his first Canterlot night he had seen, but it felt more meaningful than that. He didn’t get up, choosing to imagine himself outside, reaching up with his hands to touch whatever lay beyond. His mind turned artistically thoughtful. Would the sky be as cold as snow, or as warm as a loving heart? Would the stars be solid and strong, or formless and easy to pass through?

He looked back at the flower, face concealed behind mixed emotion. Finally, he stood up, but instead of immediately leaving the room, he reached out and placed his hand on the vase. It was cool to the touch.

He grabbed it, and pushed it until it rested on the side opposite of him. Now the vase felt a little warmer.

His troubled expression didn’t quite vanish, but he did feel a little better.

It would have to be enough.

Artifex moved his seat back in, and Francis woke up. The cat looked at him and meowed. Artifex nodded. “Yeah. I’m alright,” he said. The cat stretched him, before leaping down and nuzzling the boy’s leg.

“Okay, let’s go.” Together, they walked away.

7) Day Three: Rainfall

“The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows.”

Rocky Balboa

***

Thursdays. A Monday by another name, really. Disguised with a different beginning, but essentially feeling the same. Better than Wednesday, in that it was closer to the end of the week, but not as good as Friday. A day for appointments, dates, dinners, and social gatherings. Thursday.

A day that Artifex was not particularly fond of. Today, though, Thursday had a different reason to be on his dislike list.

For starters, it was raining.

The weatherman lied!

Artifex grumbled something incomprehensible to himself as he stepped outside. On him was a sleek, black raincoat that he had hoped he wouldn’t have to use until a few more weeks had passed. In his right hand was a similarly black umbrella, held above him irritably. He fumbled about for his pocket with his left hand, not wanting to further wet himself.

He glanced inside, where he saw Francis staring through the window. The mouser gave him a look that suggested he found the display highly humorous. Artifex rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Well, you’re just lucky I don’t want you to get wet and smelly,” he muttered, glaring harshly at the cat.

Francis blinked owlishly, then leapt off the couch and out of view.

Artifex nearly slipped the moment he took his first step. Somehow, the rain was coming down even ferociously than minutes before. He looked at the sidewalk, realizing that the water was no longer trickling, but now rushing, down the path. Soon, his side of the neighborhood would be flooded.

He groaned. Getting wet was not on his list of “Things I’d Like To Be.”

Begrudgingly, he stepped off the front of his house and looked up the road. Canterlot High was a good deals away. He could walk, but with this rain and—he had to pause his thinking, as a sudden gust of wind nearly toppled him—obnoxiously powerful gale beating down on him, he thought it unlikely he’d get there on time.

He stumbled, but regained his footing. He glared, frustrated, at the ground, then kicked up a splash of water. The action only further wet him, much to his annoyance.

But boots were on the ground, which meant he had to get a move on. Not quite stomping, but not quite walking either, he moved up the sidewalk, pushing against the hail of rain and wind. A sudden gust caught him off guard, and he heard something snap. Looking up, his eyes widened when he saw that the tarp of his umbrella had been pulled straight up, pulling against the metal arms that held it. Another gust of wind, and the tarp ripped clean off.

He pulled in his arm, staring at the now empty umbrella, incredulous. Something in his mind failed to click. He shrugged, and raised his arm again, positioning the bare mechanism above him as if the tarp was still there.

He began to walk again. The rain pounded against his hood, hitting his body like pebbles. The wind blew more rain in his face, causing him to stop and try to wipe it away, only to further dampen his features.

He gave a gruff sigh. I can’t win…

Something blared in his ears. It was then followed by a familiar voice shouting, “Hey, Artifex!”

Then again…

As he turned, he had to shield his eyes as two, bright lights shined on him. Once his eyes adjusted, he realized it was a car that had pulled up to a stop. In the glare, he made out that it was a fiery red, with yellow-flame streaks blowing up behind the headlights. Behind its windshield, he made out two people: Sunset, who was driving, and Soul, who was sitting next to her.

“Get in!” Sunset called, honking her horn again.

Artifex nodded, and quickly walked over, trying—and failing—to avoid getting hit by more rain. He nearly slipped on his way over.

Hand outstretched, he grabbed the back seat’s door’s handle, and swiftly pulled, nearly propelling himself inside like a missile. To his surprise, the seats were soft and comfy; his landing, while not graceful, was certainly not painful either.

He sat up and reached back over, closing the door with a slam. “Uh… sorry about the mess,” he said sheepishly, once he realized he had gotten a good deal of the seat wet.

Sunset shook her head, smiling at him from the rear-view mirror. “It’s okay, Artifex. It’ll dry out later. Now, buckle up. We've got a little ways to go before we reach school.”

He nodded, reaching over and strapping the seat belt to him. Once he was secured, Sunset took off.

“What are you doing out here in this weather?” Soul asked. He looked back, surprised. “Wait, were you actually considering walking to school?”

“Well, yeah,” Artifex said with a shrug. “There didn’t appear to be any other option.”

“Couldn’t one of your parents have driven you?”

“Not exactly,” he explained. “We only have one car, which I’m not allowed to drive yet. And my parents have to get up really early to drive to their respective places of work. My mom actually has to drive herself and my dad to the city to do that. So by the time I’m awake, they’re not in the house.” He carefully leaned back, trying not to accidentally spill water off of his hood as he let out a sigh. “Really, the only company I have is Francis.”

“Francis?”

“Oh, he’s my cat.” He let out an irritated huff. “Must be laughing his butt off at watching me go at it.”

Artifex saw Soul and Sunset exchange looks. The amber-skinned girl then said, “So you pretty much wake up all alone in the house, huh?”

“Yep,” he responded, crossing his arms.

“Wow… that sounds pretty bad, all things considering.” She hadn’t said it directly, but Artifex immediately knew she was referring to the knowledge she had learned just two days ago.

He nodded sagely, appreciating the indirectness. “To be fair, I’ve gotten used to it after all these years. It was much worse in Manehattan, believe me. Some days they’d get up before the sun was even awake.” Though, it wasn’t like the rest of the city was asleep.

“Wait,” Soul said. “Going back to what you just said. You’re not allowed to drive?”

Artifex looked out the window. The sidewalk moved past them at a slow rate. No one else seemed to be outside.

“It’s… more like I don’t want to,” he finally said. Catching the concerned looks on the couple’s faces, he added, “It’s actually because I’ve been afraid of driving since I was little. Not because of… you know.”

“Ah.” Soul nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty nerve-wracking in the beginning. Especially in this weather.”

Soul then turned to his girlfriend. “Speaking of which, how are you doing so far, Sunny?”

“Going at this slower pace is definitely helping. But…” She craned her neck, looking out the windshield. “Seems we’re gonna be going a little slower. Look.”

The two other boys looked out, and saw that a line of cars had gathered in front of them. Soul sighed. “Well, if we’re late, at least we won’t be the only ones.”

“Third day of school and late?” Artifex shook his head. “Never thought I’d be in that situation.”

“Don’t worry,” said Sunset, “I’m sure the principals will understand.”

Artifex returned to looking back outside as the others resumed waiting. He wanted to complain a little more, but stopped himself. He watched the water trickle down the window, and saw the streetlight reflect their light off of each drop.

The rain continued to pour.

8) Day Three: Tremble

“They say actions speak louder than words, but actions don’t speak. People speak, and people are loud.”

Jennette McCurdy

***

“Whoa. You got soaked.”

Artifex gave Rainbow a half-lidded expression. “Hello to you, too, Rainbow Dash.”

“It would appear that Artifex’s wit is the only thing that has remained dry,” commented Rarity, leading to Artifex palming himself in the face, much to Rainbow’s amusement.

Sunset and Soul had gone on ahead, while Artifex attempted to dry himself off in the school’s lobby. Rainbow had come up shortly after, having been driven to school by her mom, and Rarity and Clyde had arrived together a few minutes later.

Clyde gave Artifex a lookover. “Why are you holding onto a metal cane?” he asked.

The icy-blue-haired boy threw off his hood with his free hand. “Because that used to be my umbrella,” he said, lifting the metal contraption up. He rotated it slightly, before walking over to the trash can and tossing it in. “It barely lasted five minutes outside.”

“Well, it is quite windy,” Rarity said. “But why were you outside in this weather?”

He quickly explained to them just exactly why. Clyde nodded afterwards. “Well, it’s a good thing Sunset and Soul came along to pick you up.”

“Yeah, I’m thankful they did.” Artifex shook his good leg, cringing as he felt the now-soaked material rub against his skin. “Ugh. I hate getting wet,” he said, grunting irritably.

“Shaking around isn’t gonna dry you out as much as walking will,” said Rarity.

He shot her an annoyed look. “I’m aware of that.”

“Rarity’s right,” Rainbow said, “which means we should start heading to class.” She smirked. “If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll fan you down.”

“As much as I would love the ‘fan service,’” Artifex quipped, “we ought to wait for Clue to show up.”

“Hmm. Alright, we’ll do that.”

“Rarity, Clyde, it was nice seeing you both. You’d better head off, now, before it gets too late.”

“What about you two?” Clyde asked. “Won’t your teacher be mad if you’re late?”

“Maybe,” Artifex said, “but I’m willing to take that risk.”

“Yeah, we can’t leave our third member hanging!” Dash exclaimed.

“Then it’s settled,” Rarity said with a nod. “Clyde, shall we?”

“We shall. See you guys later!” They left.

Once they were gone, Rainbow turned to Artifex with a raised eyebrow. “‘Fan service?’ Really?”

He shrugged. “My wit appears to not have been at all dampened by this weather.”

“Yeah, but… that was an awful pun.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Awesome.”

“I am awesome!”

“And I agree.”

As friendly and enjoyable as the bickering was, Artifex’s irritated mood failed to leave him. The storm not only took a toll on his mood, it took a toll on his body, too. He balanced most of his weight on his left side; the sudden change in weather was affecting his limp badly. Rainbow noticed this, and looked at him with concern.

“Hey, you gonna be okay walking to class?” she asked.

“I’ll power through it,” he responded, though without a confident smile.

The clock ticked twice. Then, they heard a loud, ear-bursting screeching, causing the two of them to cringe in shock. Looking back outside, they saw a car had slammed down on its brakes, nearly crashing into a parked one on its arrival. A young man stepped out, with a navy coat on, and signaled something to the car’s driver. He then made a break for the entrance.

“Hey, guys, am I late?” asked No Clue, once he had reached them.

“Not yet,” said Artifex, watching the boy’s car drive off with a bang.

No Clue let out a sigh of relief, throwing off his hood. “Oh, thank goodness. Mom might have killed me.”

“Why? The weather would have impeded your timely arrival either way.”

“Okay, maybe Mom would not have killed me. I might have killed me if I was late!”

He took no notice of Artifex’s briefly troubled expression.

Rainbow stepped forward, bumping Clue lightly on the shoulder. “Dang, dude, you’re pretty fast. Made it up the steps in under ten seconds!”

“R-really? You mean it?” Clue gulped, then tried for a confident grin. “W-well, maybe it’s just the rain that got to me.”

“Ah, don’t be so humble! Seriously, Clue, you’re speedy, for a newcomer.”

“Heh… well, if you think so.” Clue looked away, but caught himself in Artifex’s sights. The boy froze, as Frost gave him a knowing look.

“Alright, enough chit-chat,” Artifex said. “We’ve gotta go.”

“Aye aye, Captain Frost!” Dash exclaimed, grabbing her backpack with one hand while saluting with the other. No Clue, slightly bewildered, nodded, and grabbed his own belongings. Together, the three of them set off for Mr. Solil’s classroom.

***

They weren’t the first to arrive, but neither were they the last. They shuffled in, partially wet, partially dry. Artifex appeared the most exhausted; his increased limp had cost him a good amount of energy. Rainbow and No Clue looked slightly less tired.

They took their seats, Rainbow and Clue greeting several other students, while Artifex remained silent. As he sat down, he was aware of just how wet his pants had gotten. He didn’t make a sound, and it didn’t appear that the rest of the class had heard the squelch, but he nonetheless silently huffed angrily. He didn’t even feel like opening his backpack to take out his materials.

It took nearly all of Artifex’s will to not place his forehead on the desk. Lethargic as he was, he didn’t feel much of a need to do anything.

“Hang on a second.” Rainbow’s voice brought him out of his mild stupor. “Where’s Mr. Solil?”

“Hey, yeah,” Clue said. “I hadn’t noticed it at first, but… there’s no one at the desk!”

Murmurs rushed through the students. Was he late? Was it because of the rain? Had something happened to him? Rainbow asked a few of the students if Mr. Solil was ever late before. All of them said he had never once missed a day of class unless he had a meeting to attend or some other event.

“Made skipping his class really hard,” commented one student.

Rainbow returned to her seat. “What do you guys think?”

“Well, it’s probably the rain, really,” said No Clue. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in a traffic jam.”

“I thought he lived close by,” said Rainbow. “He seemed always here, like he was never far away.”

Mr. Solil’s proverb rang in Artifex’s mind. “He probably just gets here really early,” he said, “and probably lives a short distance further. Like the downtown area; maybe even the city.”

“If that’s the case, then who’s to say we’ll even have class?”

“They won’t just leave us with an empty classroom, Clue,” Artifex said. “All things considering, they’ll probably get one of the other teachers to sub. Maybe a gym teacher, or the janitor, or someone. Maybe even the principals, if they’re desperate.”

“What if they’re really desperate?” Rainbow asked. “Who do they turn to, then?”

“… I’m not sure. A parent, maybe? An old teacher, retired? Secretary? Maybe even—”

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and welcome to the first day of your entire life!”

Only Clue and Artifex were the ones who did not groan at the sudden and intrusive voice that came from where the now-opened door. Following the voice to its source, Artifex found himself peering at an older man with olive-grey skin. His eyes were a combination of yellow corneas and red pupils. A brown suit, with red pants, a single, green shoe, and a yellow-brown sneaker, all combined to form an atrocious set of clothing. If Rarity had been here, she would have surely fainted at the mere sight.

The man had a short, white beard hanging off his chin. Most of his hair shared the same color, but the tail-end appeared to be jet-black. Artifex wasn’t certain whether it was dyed or natural; he doubted the latter. The man before them appeared nothing of that sort either way. Frost further concluded this by the way the man’s toothy grin had a mischievous glint to it.

“Uh, who is that guy?” No Clue asked.

The man let out a gasp, covering his mouth with one hand. “My word! Does one of my treasured students not know who I am?”

Clue shook his head. “Am I supposed to? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone like you before in my entire life!”

“Well, yeah, you wouldn’t; you’re still pretty young. Far too new to be able to say that you’ve seen a cornucopia of oddities.” The man giggled in a high-pitched manner. “Well, why don’t you ask one of your fellow classmates? I’m sure they’d love to tell you!”

“Uh, okay.” Clue turned to Rainbow. “So… who is this dude?”

The prism-haired athlete sighed. “That’s Superintendent Discord.”

Artifex stared at her, incredulous. “That’s the superintendent?”

“Yup.”

“He looks nothing like a superintendent!”

The man named Discord looked at Artifex with a slight amount of amusement. “Oh? You must be new, then. Tell me, dear boy, what does a superintendent look like normally?”

Artifex stood up, giving the man a cautious glare. “Well, for starters, Discord—”

“That’s Mr. Discord.”

“Fine. Mr. Discord. A superintendent should look as professional as he can possibly be.”

“What, this isn’t professional?” At that, Mr. Discord spread his arms. “Come now, my boy. I’m one of the better dressed superintendents in the area.”

“Speaking from experience, Mr. Discord, you aren’t even among the top fifteen.”

Superintendent Discord frowned and narrowed his eyes at the boy. “Did someone take a bathroom break in your cereal this morning?”

Artifex bit his tongue. Irritated as he was, he knew it wouldn’t do any good to backtalk the boss of the principals.

But something about Discord rubbed him the wrong way. Whatever dampness he felt suddenly vanished, replaced with a level of coldness that engulfed his body in a frigid atmosphere. He focused solely on the man; Discord’s strangeness combatted Artifex’s coldness.

Mr. Discord appeared mad only a moment longer, for he suddenly threw up his hands and let out a chuckle. “Well, nevermind hypothetical pissing in porridge.” Several classmates, No Clue included, let out disgusted groans. “What? I said hypothetical!”

The man then walked over to the teacher’s desk, taking obnoxiously long strides. The class watched him, trepidation filling the air and crushing down potential voices of protest. He examined the black chair for a second, before shrugging and kicking it away.

He looked back at the quest, smirking. “I do my best work sitting up,” he explained to no one in particular.

He then looped his fingers between each other and cracked them, sighing as he did so. “Ah. So! As I see it, you students have no teacher this morning! And I, having stopped by and being your kind, considerate, caring—and a bunch of hard “c” sounds—superintendent, have decided to take the liberty to become your substitute teacher!” He flourished his hands, oblivious to the looks of horror and shock on the students’ faces. “Ah, judging by your stunned silence, you are all at a loss of words! Perfect.”

No Clue raised his hand. “Yes, young man? What is it?” Discord asked.

“Are you—I mean, does our regular teacher know about this?”

“Does he? Why, my boy, of course he doesn’t!” Discord let out a mad cackle. “Why would he even know about this?”

“Because that’s the responsible thing to do?”

“Pfft. Where’s the fun in being responsible? Where’s the excitement? The pizzaz?”

Artifex leaned over to Rainbow. “And just how is this guy our superintendent?”

“That question has been asked many, many times, and never fully answered.”

“The system must be broken, then.”

“Maybe.”

“Sit down, boy,” said Mr. Discord to No Clue. The boy sat down, questions still obviously racing in his mind as Artifex watched him. “Now! If there are no further questions, we shall get started.”

“Actually,” a student from the back started, “I was wondering if you know where our teacher is.”

“Ah, him? He’s just late, that’s all. Now, that’ll be enough questions.”

“But do you know what’s made him late—”

“I said that’s enough!” Discord glared at the boy, before replacing the glare with a sunny smile. “Now! With that settled, let’s get onto my favorite part of any school program: attendance!”

The faux-superintendent picked up the attendance sheet from the clipboard and held it out in front of him. He proceeded to mispronounce nearly every name in the class, much to their annoyance and malcontent. He stopped, once he reached No Clue’s entry.

“My word… it seems we’ve a psychic in our class. Nostradamus Clue!” Mr. Discord grinned at the young man. “You know, your namesake is one of my favorite topics of contingency among all the historical figures.”

“Oh, uh, thank you. My grandmother came up with the idea—”

“Catch!”

“Gah!”

No Clue had to swerve to the side just as Discord threw the clipboard at him. It clattered loudly behind him, sliding under several students’ desks. Clue panted heavily, body shaking all over. He slowly looked back at Discord. Anger, so foreign, so distant, rose up in his eyes and his frame.

He would have shouted, but Artifex did that for him. “What the hell was that?!”

“Watch your tone, young man,” Discord warned.

Artifex wasn’t having it. He shot up from his seat, glaring ice-cold daggers at the older man. “You just threw a clipboard at a student!”

Discord shrugged. “It was all in good fun. Besides, I proved a point.”

“What point?”

“That Nostradamus was a charlatan who had a habit of guessing in the dark.” He gazed at No Clue. “Hmm. We have yet to see if that has carried over to your lineage.”

He then looked back at Artifex with a slightly bored look. “Besides, why do you care? It’s not like you were going to get hit or anything.”

“Because what you’re doing is wrong,” the boy answered, not once letting up his gaze. “And, as a member of the educational system, you would know that there are serious repercussions towards staff members who seek to harm or hurt a student of theirs.”

“Hmph. But can you say for certain that I meant what I did? For all we know, that could have been an accident.” Discord stepped around his desk, crossing his arms and glaring at Artifex. “It’s all a little joke. Lighten up.”

“Then why is no one laughing?”

“Because they’re slow on the punchline.”

“Or maybe it’s just that your kind of humor is in poor taste.”

All eyes were trained on the boy and the superintendent. Discord narrowed his eyes. “Young man, just who do you think you are?”

“Artifex Frost,” he responded with a narrowed gaze of his own. “And I am the guy who doesn’t like it when someone as chaotic as you tries to take charge.”

“Mr. Frost? I’ll have to remember that when I go over the student records.” Discord’s frown sharpened at the edges. “You’ve an attitude that I don’t like, Mr. Frost.”

“The same to you, Mr. Discord.”

He felt Clue tug at his sleeve. “Artifex, what are you doing?” the boy hissed. “In case you haven’t noticed, that’s our principals’ boss! Why are you antagonizing him?”

Frost didn’t answer. He stared at Discord through a concentrated gaze, as if willing the man to dare to speak.

He thought he saw red; then, from behind the door, he saw a flash of orange; then, both colors were gone.

Discord suddenly threw up his hands. “For God’s sake, it was just a clipboard! It wasn’t like I threw a pair of scissors at him!”

“The thought crossed your mind.”

Discord huffed loudly. “Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t. Irregardless—”

“Regardless.”

“Oh, lookit Mr. Grammar Na—”

“Look at. ‘Lookit’ isn’t a word.”

“What is this?! Grammar class?”

“Actually,” Rainbow said, “this is the Language Arts class.”

Discord paused, looking at Dash with mild surprise. “Ah. Of course it is.”

He then looked back at Frost. “Regardless, as your substitute teacher, I am afraid I cannot stand for this insubordinate behavior.”

“Then you had better sit down.”

The voice was neither Frost’s, nor Clue’s, nor Rainbow’s, nor any of the other students. Rather, it came from the creaked-open door, from the mouth of one, glaring Manehattenite.

Discord seemed to pale at the intrusion. Turning, he muttered, “Ah, hello, you must be—”

“Mr. Solil. This class’s teacher. And I don’t recall asking you to stand in for me.”

“Well, you see, Mr. Solil, I was just visiting, and I saw that this class was empty. I thought, ‘What better way to get to know my students than to engage them as a substitute teacher?’ I figured that would be fine, since you were late.”

“Except that I wasn’t. I had even put a sign up, on my door, saying that I was in a meeting with the principals to discuss changes in the class period time due to this weather. Which, I see, has been suspiciously torn down.”

Discord now visibly paled. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “W-well, isn’t that strange—”

“Superintendent Discord! What a surprise; we weren’t expecting you today!” As Mr. Solil stepped inside, Artifex and the rest saw Principal Celestia and her sister step into view. The former had a diplomatic smile on her face, while the latter had on a disgruntled frown.

The superintendent let out a short string of nervous laughter. “Yes, well, you know me, Celestia. Always one for surprises.”

“Indeed,” said Luna. “It is also quite surprising that you had not stopped by our office on your arrival.”

“I-I had assumed that I could walk freely wherever I wanted.”

“Oh, you can,” Celestia affirmed, still keeping on her careful smile. Judging by the slight narrowing of her eyes, though, she was far from feeling anything positive towards the man. “But don’t you think it’d be much more friendly of you to come and visit us?”

“O-oh, well, I can’t just leave my adoring crowd of students hanging, now, can I?” He looked around, expecting some to stand up and speak on his behalf. The only ones who stood, however, were Frost and Clue; they, and the rest included, gave him blank, exasperated stares.

“It would appear that that is your answer,” said Luna. “Besides, they’ve their teacher already.”

“Yes,” Celestia added. “Now, come along, Mr. Discord. We’ve so much catching up to do.”

“Hmph. Can’t I stay a little longer? I was enjoying the atmosphere.” He pointed to Artifex. “Particularly the one that he was providing.”

Mr. Solil suddenly stepped forward. He was as tall as Discord, but at least twice as intimidating. His gaze easily beat down the superintendent’s with a nasty stare. “With all due respect, sir,” he stated, plain and simple, “get out of my classroom.”

“R-right, of course, Mr. Solil. Er… Class! Don’t forget to do all your homework, and listen to everything your teacher says. Also—” Before he could say further, he was dragged out by the twin principals. His voice completely faded when the door slammed shut.

Mr. Solil let out a breath, then walked over to his desk. Seeing his chair had been pushed away, he grabbed it, and put it back in its original place. He sat down on it, testing the springs. “Ah, much better.” The class watched him, unsure of what to do next.

“Mr. Clue, you can sit down. Mr. Frost, could you please remain standing?” Both boys obliged with silence, doing exactly as he requested. Frost closed his eyes, took a breath, then opened them as he exhaled.

Mr. Solil drummed his fingers on his desk. They drifted over to a fountain pen, and he picked it up, juggling it between his fingers. He gazed at Artifex with a stern gaze, lips in a set frown.

“Artifex Frost.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You do know that talking back to a teacher, no less a superintendent, comes with huge ramifications.”

“I do, sir.”

“Do you?” Mr. Solil leaned back, his hands falling to his lap. “This will undoubtedly appear on your transcript as an offense. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you accept these future ramifications?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the responsibility that comes with them?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good. Catch!” Something darted out from the teacher’s hands. Artifex reached out, and caught it. Looking down, he realized that it was a mint. He gave his teacher a confused look.

Mr. Solil leaned forward again. “Now, as your teacher, it is my duty to have this incident written up, and sent to the principals for examination. But… I wasn’t in the room when it happened. I saw nothing.” He winked. “Good job, Mr. Frost. You may sit down.”

“Thank you… sir,” Frost said, doing as he was told.

“Wait, that’s it?” a student from the front row asked.

“That’s what?” asked Mr. Solil.

“A mint? No punishment? No staying after class?”

“None whatsoever. I agreed with everything that Mr. Frost said, regarding our superintendent.”

“I get the feeling that you don’t like Mr. Discord that much.”

“Not at all. Despite him surprisingly being an adequate superintendent, I find his tactless and childish nature to be… well, immature. Chaotic. Disorderly.” He placed a finger to his chin. “How fitting, I suppose.

“Either way. Mr. Frost, enjoy this chance privilege while you can. In the future, I cannot guarantee that you’ll have the backing of the principals or even myself to get through this mess. Still, though… I could not have said what you said any better myself.”

Artifex nodded, but, for some reason, felt a welt of unease rise in his stomach. He fought it down as best as he could.

“At least the superintendent did something right. Attendance is all filled out, good good… alright!” Mr. Solil clapped his hands. “It’s a shorter block, so we’re not going to do too, too much. Pencils and paper, everyone; let’s get to work.”

9) Day Three: Words For Thought

Author's Note

I honestly would have been on the ball for updating regularly, but life has a nasty and sickening habit of getting in the way.

I got sick on the day I last updated this story, and ended up having a good week's worth of feeling like utter crap. And I'm still sick, so it's even more of a pain.

But anyway, this ends Day Three of Day By Day, Moment By Moment. It's shorter than Day One, to be sure, but I wanted to keep it to three chapters maximum. Not because of the fact that it is called Day Three. I just felt that three chapters was adequate enough to display the growing conflicts.

And what kind of growing conflicts are there going to be? Well, you'll have to read on to find out!

9) Day Three: Words For Thought

“Happiness is here today, gone tomorrow. There is no everlasting happiness, so don’t be greedy.”

Driftveil City Woman; Pokemon White

***

Artifex met up with Rainbow and No Clue once their classes had ended. Rainbow was notably ecstatic, while Clue appeared more lethargic than anything. Artifex took quick note of both qualities. He chose to ask the former why she appeared excited.

“Dude! Are you kidding me?” Rainbow laughed, clapping him hard on the shoulder, causing him to stumble; she didn’t notice. “Not only did you stand up to the superintendent, you got rewarded for doing so! I can’t believe you actually got away with that!”

“Neither can I,” Clue spoke up from behind them. His voice was a softer tone, quite unlike his usual earnestness. “I would have thought you’d have at least gotten detention.”

“Me too! That’s why that was freaking awesome!” Rainbow exclaimed.

Artifex thought back to that class. Mr. Solil, the principals, even the students, were all obviously confused and even angered by Discord’s appearance. He wondered why.

“Does the school not like Superintendent Discord?” he asked Dash.

“Hardly any of of do. Well, except for the janitor,” she said. “And there’s a rumor that one of the principals used to date him before he, well, became superintendent.”

“I’ve gathered that the biggest cause for disliking him is that he’s immature,” said Artifex, frowning in thought. “But still… Forgive me if I speak out of place, but it would appear to me that there are more… personal reasons as to this unified disliking.”

Rainbow scratched her head. “Well, there was that one time he made us think Principal Celestia was being replaced by him, while Vice Principal Luna was also stepping down.”

“There’s no way anyone would have believed that.”

“Initially, no, but since Celestia’s had to work hard to hide all the weird stuff that has happened here—”

“You mean, the Sirens?”

“And also Sunset Shimmer’s evil takeover of the school.” Artifex stared at her, unamused. “Hey, it’s true. Just ask her. But anyway, since Celestia has had to hide all that, it made us realize that it was possible that she was quitting in order to avoid suspicion. If the school board got involved and got together an investigation…”

“It wouldn’t be good for any of us.”

“Right! So, when Discord said Celestia was quitting because of those reasons, it seemed credible at the time.” She blew out an angry breath, hitting a stray strand of hair out of her way. “Of course, afterwards, we realized it was all a prank. Celestia was actually going on a private vacation to relax with her sister.”

Artifex glanced out the corner of his eye, seeing a painting of the principals. Next to the painting was one of Discord. While the former had the pair smiling kindly and compassionately, he saw an eerie, mischievous resemblance in the latter drawing. Almost as if it was following him with its eyes.

“Hence, the hatred for him,” he said to Dash once the painting was gone.

“I wouldn’t call it hatred. He’s actually helped us before, like funding some of our dances and events. But we’re still really annoyed with him. Like, twenty-percent more annoyed with him than usual.”

He didn’t bother asking where she had gotten that estimate. Instead, he continued walking, falling silent, as did the athlete.

Breaking the silence was No Clue, who, with a stronger voice of protest, said, “That wasn’t a good idea, Artifex.”

The other two stopped walking, giving Clue their own confused expressions. “What do you mean, Clue?” Artifex asked.

“I mean that talking back wasn’t a smart move on your part.”

“Well, duh, of course it isn’t,” said Rainbow. “But it was still awesome.”

“But that’s the superintendent. He could probably get you expelled if he wanted to!”

“Would not the principals fight on my behalf?”

“I don’t know, would they?” No Clue responded heatedly.

Artifex caught his tone, and narrowed his eyes at the other boy. “I’d like to think so, yes.”

“They probably would,” added Rainbow. “Plenty of other students have had threats of expulsion by others, and are still in this school. Like Sunset Shimmer, for instance.”

“But what if you’re wrong?” No Clue asked.

“Then I’m wrong,” said Artifex.

No Clue huffed, crossing his arms. “It sounds to me that you don’t really care!”

“If the point has been made, then the argument has been won in my favor.”

The other boy stomped his foot. “Artifex, don’t you get it? That man could ruin your entire future just out of spite! Doesn’t that concern you?”

“No.”

“Well, why not?”

Artifex was growing impatient. He tapped his foot on the ground rapidly. “Because no man decides my future, No Clue. No man, or woman, or person. Only I get to choose.”

“But don’t you get it?! This man could easily have you blacklisted from attending colleges! He could ruin your entire life!”

“My life was already ruined,” Artifex muttered lowly.

“What was that?”

“Nevermind that. And besides, I think you’re overthinking this, Clue.”

Clue threw up his hands. “Maybe I am, because you’re not thinking enough on it!”

That gave Artifex reason to pause. He took a moment to look at Clue. The boy was breathing heavily, and his hands were trembling with what seemed to be fury. Yet, looking at his eyes, they held a sea of worry and concern in them. Was he angry, or scared? Vengeful, or fearful?

Rainbow stepped between the two, looking at Clue with a frown. “Dude, chill out. It’s fine, really. Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

“But how do you—”

“And if anything bad happens, we’re gonna be there to support Artifex. Right?”

“I… I guess, but—”

“See?” Rainbow smiled. “If we all stick together, nothing bad will happen. That’s how friendship works!”

She stepped away, and grabbed her belongings. “Now, come on, you two. We’ve gotta get to the lunchroom.”

Even as Rainbow began walking away, a skip in her step, Artifex knew that the matter had yet to be resolved. Casting a cautionary glance back, he saw that No Clue was hiding his face by looking down. Artifex wasn’t sure what to do; would it be best if he tried to comfort him, or to step back and let him sort through the mess himself? Either action had unforeseen consequences that he could only guess as to their potential ramifications.

He frowned. When had friendship become something he needed to predict?

Then again, are we really friends? My words two days ago now suggest differently.

Ultimately, he remained unsure, and remained unsure as he walked away. Clue did follow, but they both were a distance away from each other, and walked in silence.

While it didn’t seem like such a long walk, Rainbow’s reaction pointed out otherwise. “What took you guys so long?” she asked them once they arrived at the cafeteria’s doors. “I’ve been waiting forever!”

“We’re not as fast as you,” Artifex managed to say.

“Right, right, whatever. Now, c’mon, we’d better get to our seats quickly.”

“Why? They’re pretty much reserved for us, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but I made a bet with Applejack that I could get to my seat faster. I want to see the look on her face when she realizes I made it there before her.”

“… That’s a dumb bet.”

“Yeah, you would say that.” She turned to the other boy, who was lurking a little ways back. “What about you, No Clue? Back me up?”

No Clue shifted on his feet. “A-actually… I have to go somewhere else for lunch.”

“Huh? Somewhere else? Why?”

“Uh… appointment. A teacher wants me to talk to them.”

“Oh. Well, that stinks. You sure you can’t come sit with us for lunch, then?”

He hesitated, and Artifex saw him thinking it over. After a moment, Clue said, “S-sorry. I can’t skip this.”

“Oh, okay.” Rainbow nodded glumly. “Well, at least I have Artifex to have fun with. Right, Arty?” She gave him a playful punch to the shoulder, and he rolled his eyes. “Anyway, No Clue, we’ll see you later, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “Um… bye.” He swiftly grabbed his bags, and walked away, not stopping to look back.

Rainbow put her hands on her hips. “Huh. He doesn’t look at all excited.”

“Would you be if you had to be called away by a teacher?”

“No, I wouldn’t. Still, though… think we ought to go after him, cheer him up?”

Artifex frowned. “… Not quite. I think this is something he has to face on his own,” he said mysteriously.

Rainbow gave him a questioning look, then shrugged. “Alright. Your call. Now, c’mon. I want to win that bet!”

“… Lead the way, Miss Dash.”

She only briefly hesitated at the title, before shrugging it off easily.

Artifex cast a look back towards No Clue, watching him head down the halls. It seemed like he had no idea where he was going. He looked a little longer, then turned away. It wasn’t his place, he figured, to judge. Nor was it his place to confront him.

***

Sonata had somehow managed to arrive faster than both Rainbow and Artifex, despite being in the same class as the boy. She saw them coming in, and waved a hand, signaling for them to come over. Soul, Sunset, Rarity, and Clyde were already there.

As they sat down, Rainbow swiveled around, looking everywhere. “Huh. Applejack’s not here yet?”

“Nope,” said Sunset. “Neither are Fluttershy, Pinkie, or Swift.”

Rainbow smirked. “Good! Looks like I win the bet!”

Sunset raised an eyebrow. “What bet?”

“Rainbow made a bet with Applejack that she could get to her seat before Applejack could,” Artifex explained in a soft voice. He met Sunset’s half-lidded expression with a shrug. “Her words, not mine. And yes, I think it’s dumb.”

“Must you make a competition out of everything, Rainbow?” Rarity chided. “I swear, you only do that to inflate your self-imposed ego.”

“Hey! That’s libel!”

“Actually,” said Clyde, “it’s slander since she spoke it. Libel is written.”

“Whatever! And besides, I only make a competition out of some things.”

“Speaking of your competition,” Soul said, pointing towards the back right corner, “here comes my cousin.”

Applejack rushed in, breathing heavily, her stetson hanging by her hand. She saw Rainbow sitting at the table, smirking. Applejack stopped, then sighed. “Aw, consarnit,” she muttered as she made her way over. She sat down next to Rarity, then fished around her pocket. “Here,” she said, pulling out a few coins. “Your winnings, Dash.”

“Thank you, AJ. Fair’s fair, right?”

“You’re later than usual, Applejack,” Soul said. “Any reason why?”

Applejack raised an eyebrow at her cousin, giving him an unamused look. “Are you implying Ah’m late most of the time?”

“Wha-no! No, of course not!”

She sighed. “Whatever. I was late because I had to ask mah chemistry teacher somethin’. Ah’m havin’ a hard time in that class.”

“Well, you do suck at chem—Ow!”

Artifex had to take a moment to think in order to realize that Applejack had, in some way, managed to grab an apple out of her backpack and throw it at Soul in one, lightning-fast motion, all in the course of a second.

He gazed at Applejack, a silent question on his lips. She returned his look with a satisfied smirk.

Soul rubbed his head, grumbling, “Well, it’s true.”

“Eeyup. But that don’t mean you need to say anything.”

Artifex was about to say something, but felt someone tugging at his sleeve. Looking to his left, he saw Sonata with a slightly sheepish look. “What is it?” he asked.

“Uh… I left my lunch money at home. And… those tacos look really, really good.”

He looked at the kitchen, staring at the trays. “… Sonata, they aren’t serving tacos today.”

“Really? Then what are those yellow things on the trays?”

“… Fruit cups.”

“Hey, don’t give me that look! I’m suffering from hunger-induced impaired vision!”

He looked at her for a little bit, keeping his gaze as steady as he could manage it. Finally, he sighed. “Alright, fine. I’ll buy you lunch. I should have enough, anyway.”

“Yay!” Sonata exclaimed, hugging him. “Thanks, Arty!”

“Artifex. Now, come on. Everyone, we’ll be back.”

The two of them got up, and walked away, heading for the lunch line.

“Was that a Terminator reference?” Sonata asked him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said with a frown.

***

When he and Sonata came back with fruit cups and sandwiches, he saw that the others had arrived and were seated at their usual places. He noted, however, with confusion, that everyone had odd looks on. It didn’t soothe his nerves at all once he realized that these looks were directed at him, and they failed to let up once he and Sonata had sat down.

The ex-Siren chowed down on her sandwich, oblivious to the others’ strange looks. Artifex also took out his food, but only set it on the table, choosing not to open it. He counted to ten three times, hoping in that time someone would speak up.

Much to his continued annoyance and irritation, no one did. Not even Dash or Pinkie, both of whom he had assumed would be the bluntest of the group.

“Okay, what?!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and causing Sonata to reel back in surprise.

Sonata coughed, then reached for her drink and downed a good amount. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and let out a relieved gasp. “Geez, Artifex! I almost choked!”

He gave her an apologetic look, but otherwise did not directly apologize. He looked around, narrowing his eyes at his friends. “What is it? You’re all staring at me like I killed someone.”

“Wait, you did?” Sonata asked.

“It’s a hyperbole.”

“What’s that taste like?”

Refusing to answer, he continued, “So, would you care to enlighten me as to the cause of these odd looks? Because I am seriously feeling quite uncomfortable right now.”

“O-oh!” Sunset stammered, breaking her gaze. “W-we didn’t mean to stare! It’s just that—well—”

“You took on Discord…” Swift whispered in awe.

Artifex raised an eyebrow. “Who told you?”

“Rainbow.”

“Of course she did.” He looked to Dash, shaking his head, feeling somewhat amused. “I guess I did take him on.”

“As in, Superintendent Discord,” Clyde spoke up from the other side.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“How are you not dead?” Soul asked.

“Am I supposed to be?”

“Unless he has chaotic, magical, reality warping powers like the Discord from my Equestria, you would be fine,” Sonata said. She then looked at Sunset. “Oops, our Equestria.”

Artifex frowned, and narrowed his eyes. “That’s… I’ll ask about that later. Regardless, why are you all surprised?”

Applejack shook her head. “Artifex, Ah’ve only known ya for not even a week, now… but dang. You’ve some serious balls standing up to Discord like that.”

“What, is he really that scary?”

“Well, no,” Rarity responded. “But his position makes him imposing at best.”

“I didn’t think he was that tall.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I guess I do.” Artifex sighed. “Though I fail to really see why this is such a big deal. Clearly you all do not like the superintendent. If push came to shove, I wager you’d have done something similar.”

They murmured their agreement, while Swift said, “I guess we would. But, you’re the new kid. You don’t even have a week’s worth of experience, and already you’re taking on the clown prince of the tri-state area!”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

“What, were the hand gestures too much?”

“Maybe a little. But I do see your point. This stuff is… unexpected, isn’t it?”

“A little, yes,” Sunset said. She looked away. “Though, in terms of a new person doing something extraordinary…” She shared looks with the other girls. “Well, maybe it’s not so spontaneous as we make it out to be.”

Artifex caught their looks, then turned to Sunset. “You’re… referring to what you did, aren’t you?”

She pursed her lips. “Yeah, I am. Have… have you heard about it?”

“Not much, really. In fact,” he added, raising a finger to his chin, “I don’t know that much about you, do I? Other than you are Soul’s girlfriend and that you come from where Sonata comes from.”

“Oh… well, would you like to know more?”

He lowered his finger, resting it back on the table. He placed the rest of his hand on the table, drumming it with a soft hum escaping his lips. “No.”

“No?”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, looking back at her. “It’s more that I think that is a matter for another day. Besides, I’ve still to contend with the ramifications of this Discord fellow, haven’t I?”

Sunset nodded, offering a smile. “How about I tell you all of my secrets at the party this Saturday?”

He gave a small, brief smile back, and said, “Not all of them. At least not the ones you haven’t told Soul.”

“Hey! Sunny’s told me plenty! Maybe?”

While Sunset and the others giggled at Soul’s reaction, Artifex’s smile slowly melted off of his face. He returned to looking down at the table, losing himself in thought.

Either the unsettling realization that he might have screwed himself over was settling in, or the sudden epiphany that said No Clue wasn’t present was. Both situations he tried to reason as small, as things that could be easily manageable at some later point in time.

If that is indeed the case, then why do I feel so apprehensive?

Left without a solid answer, the most he could do was shrug the issues off and hope for the best.

Filled with a need to do something other than eat, he shifted through his backpack and took out his schedule, reading it over. His brow furrowed at something on it, something he hadn’t noticed before. He tapped Sonata on the shoulder.

“Hmm?” Sonata said through a mouthful of lunch. “Waf if ift, Arfifix?”

“My schedule,” he responded, somehow piecing together a translation. “I can’t believe I missed this.”

Sonata swallowed her food. “Missed what?”

He pointed to his sheet of paper. “Well… shouldn’t there be a place for gym on here? Unless it’s like a semester thing where you have it once per semester.”

Rainbow, upon hearing the word gym, looked over. “Oh, that,” she said. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“No?”

“Oh. Must have slipped my mind.” She sipped at her juice box, then put it down. “See, they’ve been renovating the gym for a while now, which created some schedule conflicts with the students.”

“Really? So how come No Clue was able to go to gym on our first day?”

“My guess is that he’s one of the few who didn’t get a schedule conflict.” Rainbow shrugged. “Or maybe they’re letting in a few students at a time, so as not to miss the required number of gym periods.”

Artifex raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean for me, then, since I’ve missed one?”

“They tag it on for an extra day out of the year, or they count it double at some point. Not sure.”

He remembered that Dash wouldn’t really know, since when he had first arrived, she was in the gym with a bunch of other students. “I suppose I’ll have to wait for a schedule update, then.”

“Yep, sounds like it.”

He packed his schedule away and finished his sandwich. It didn’t taste as good as it did before.

***

Artifex didn’t see No Clue for the rest of the day.

I shouldn’t worry. Our schedules conflict; we don’t see each other that much anyway.

As much as he tried to reassure himself of that, down somewhere, in someplace hidden from him, he knew that he was worried. No Clue’s absence this time brought different feelings. Feelings, such as apprehension, fear, confusion, and a hint of anger. The latter emotion he could not explain; though, if he had to be honest with himself, he couldn’t explain the others.

He also did not have No Clue’s number, so he had no method of contacting him. Why he would want to contact him, at first, seemed strange. The more he thought about it, though, the more he realized that he wanted to deal with those emotions as soon as he could.

But, he couldn’t. Not yet. Not now.

That left stranger tastes in his mouth. Like sour juices. But those juices weren’t juices at all; they were phrases and words and letters, that ran in his mind and down his throat, keeping him silent.. He walked with that taste in his mouth. Walked, for once, while ignoring the wetness of the ground beneath him.

He walked alone. He walked, thinking he had lost some certainty from before.

10) Day Four: Hues

“God will not look you over for medals, degrees, or diplomas, but for scars.”

Elbert Hubbard

***

Artifex’s favorite color had been red. But, since he had had no wish to express that favoritism—and because red was now the color of his trauma—he had switched gears and had decided that yellow was his favorite color. Particularly, the kind of yellow that the sun smiled with, or that lemons dripped with, or the kind of yellow that dandelions in the springtime would sprout with.

Yellow was his jacket; yellow was his notebook. Yellow were his pencils, yellow were his highlighters. When he was younger, he might have yearned for colored contacts; now, older, he sometimes stopped to wonder what he’d look like with yellow eyes instead of cerulean ones.

How fitting, he would sometimes think, that the color most associated with happiness would become his all-time favorite out of the entirety of the color wheel. Even in his darkest of days, when he thought it unlikely he’d understand or experience that happiness, yellow was always by him; in that golden notebook he held like a cherished heirloom.

But he never forgot his original favorite. He couldn’t; he wouldn’t let himself. Sometimes he’d fish around for his keys, and stare at the ruby gemstone, thinking, wondering, reflecting. He’d travel to a distant place, a bright place, and remember when red had been his favorite color. When red had been his saving grace.

Yellow was his rebirth; red, his origin. If they combined, they would create orange; he sometimes wondered, would that make his life an orange tint? Would that mean he would taste the world as a citrus fruit? Would he see Francis’s coat in all things, living and dead?

These were, upon Artifex’s reflection, juvenile and random thoughts. He realized this as he walked down the halls of Canterlot High, alone. They were filler words and filler ideas, with filler phrases and filler thoughts. Sporadic; sparse; difficult to follow to the end.

As he walked, he did his best not to bump into anyone. Vaguely, he was aware of students rushing past and towards him. He stuck to the walls, sinking into that familiar feeling of anonymity. He realized what he was doing. He frowned. Why was he resorting to old habits?

The question was left unanswered, as his destination was in reach. He shifted around, trying to better his grip on his satchbag containing his extra clothes. Satisfied with the new hold, he tried to adopt a more casual approach as his destination grew closer.

Seeing that a certain, blue-skinned athlete was nowhere to be found, Artifex assumed she was already inside. It was slightly disconcerting that they had several classes together. While he supposed that wasn’t such a bad thing, he had to wonder if some higher power was decidedly lax about shipping fuel.

If No Clue is any indication of that… He frowned as he remembered. No Clue, once again, had been out of his reach. Sure, today they had no classes together (as had been the same case on Wednesday), but Artifex felt that there was something different. He couldn’t figure out what, and he couldn’t force himself to completely shake the thought.

Was it paranoia, or genuine worry? Too many times had the answers to those questions slipped away from him. Impatiently, he sought them out, despite thinking that he would most likely not find them.

Thinking that, he finally saw a flash of solid, hard-hitting orange appear in his vision, before it faded away into the recesses of his mind.

He reached the door to the gymnasium, and opened it, stepping inside while letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Met without stares, he was glad to see that the attention was off of him for the moment. He saw several boys walk towards a door; he assumed it was the male locker room, and followed after them.

It wasn’t his first time in such a testosterone-fueled environment, but that hardly made him feel at home. Thankfully, and much to his relief, the guys of the locker room seemed less eager on proving their manliness and more on getting changed quickly. Artifex himself opted to find a secluded spot, and quickly changed into a mellow-yellow shirt and black shorts. Remembering the scars, though, he dove his hands into his pockets, attempting to act casual, and leaned against one of the lockers, trying to not meet anyone’s gaze.

Eventually, the bell rang, and they all filed out of the locker room. Artifex, neither first nor last, was jostled and pushed along.

“Alright, kids! Listen up; Iron Will’s got some important announcements to say to you all!” a man in the center of the gym shouted, voice deep and reminding Artifex of a wrestler. The man was absolutely imposing, seemingly twice as tall as the shortest among them. Grey skin failed to hide his bulging muscles. Not that he wanted to hide them, as Artifex kept seeing him take every chance to flex.

So that’s Coach Iron Will… Artifex looked away, feeling strange.

The boys reached the coach first. They stood, most with arms crossed, with grins on most of their faces. Artifex was then aware of the size difference between himself and the others. Being the non-athletic type as he was (the limp only adding to that as a disability), he was much skinnier than the other boys. It was pure luck that he managed to be as tall as them. He didn’t feel, however, inadequate; he shrugged off the comparison, thinking it would do no good.

“Hold on a second, men,” Coach Iron said in his commanding voice that Artifex was now realizing more closely resembled a drill sergeant’s. “We’ve gotta wait for the ladies.”

They didn’t have to wait for long. The door to the female locker room opened up, and out piled the female portion of the gym’s student body. Artifex easily spotted Rainbow; she led the group, a grin on her face. Behind her, the girls looked much the same, with confident grins. Only a few, like Artifex, deigned not to smile, choosing instead to gaze around.

“Heya, Coach Will,” Rainbow said, saluting the older man as she and the girls finally them.

“Iron Will returns the greeting, Rainbow Dash,” he responded, also saluting. “Are we all here? Good, good. Very well! Let’s get down to business, ladies and gentlemen.”

Artifex raised an eyebrow. Quite the “hype-man,” this coach of ours. He caught Rainbow waving at him, and he nodded to her. When he looked away, he heard several other girls asking Rainbow about him.

“Now, as Iron Will is sure you all know, the gym has been under extensive construction and maintenance since school started. Due to this, only a few classes of students have been able to use it. However!” he added, waving his arm. “We have been fortunate enough to know that the gym is finished. Which means that gym class is up and running as it always has!”

The class let out several triumphant cries that mimicked the coach’s. Artifex kept silent, watching.

“Coach!” Rainbow said, once everyone had calmed down. “Doesn’t that mean we’re a day behind!”

“You are correct, Rainbow,” Iron said. “But, Iron Will has already taken the issue up with the school board. They will be deciding on how best to handle this situation.”

“Any ideas?” asked another student, a light-blue-skinned boy with wavy, navy hair.

“Well, Soarin,” said the coach, “if Iron Will had to guess, we’d either get an extra period for gym, or a special event to compensate.”

“Special event?” asked a grey-skinned girl. “Like what? A speed-muffin-eating contest?”

“Iron Will wouldn’t mind that,” the coach admitted. “But no, Miss Hooves. Iron Will thinks it will be sports related.”

“Speed-eating is a sport.”

“He means a physical sport, Derpy,” said Rainbow. “Like basketball. Or something.”

Or something indeed, Artifex thought.

“Anyway!” Coach Iron shouted over them. “With that out of the way, it is time for us to start gym class!”

He waved his hand in a circle. “For warm-ups, I want you all to do five laps, around the room! No slacking, either! Right, Mr. Swift?”

Artifex perked up. Swift’s in my class? Why hadn’t I noticed him?

Swift groaned. “Yes, Mr. Iron, I’ll try.”

“Good! Now, hop to it!”

Walking to the start line, Artifex managed to catch up with the blue-skinned boy. Swift saw him, and smiled. “Oh, hey! Artifex! I didn’t know you were in my gym class!”

“Likewise. You didn’t have gym when I first came to Canterlot High, though.”

“Yeah. Looks like they changed a few things on my schedule in order to do that.”

“Hey, you two!” They both glanced over their shoulder, and saw Rainbow Dash running towards them. She had a gleaming smile on her face. “Man! This is great! We’re all in the same gym class together!”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Swift said, rubbing the back of his head. “Though, we’ll see how long that holds up after this first class.”

“Aw, c’mon, Swift. Running’s not that bad!”

“Rainbow, don’t you remember last year? I nearly collapsed!”

“Actually, you did collapse. Right at the end, too.”

Artifex spoke up, “Is it really that intense?”

“Nah,” Rainbow said, looking at him with a smirk. “Swift here just sucks at physical activity.”

“Hey!”

“Unless it involves Pinkie,” she added slyly.

“… Damn it, I can’t say anything to that, can I?”

Artifex rolled his eyes. “I didn’t need to hear that.” He saw a bit of silvery-white flash in his vision. Blinking, he saw that it was gone, and he shrugged it off.

“Whatever,” Dash said, flicking her hair, creating a swipe of rainbow. “Let’s get going.”

“You get going,” Swift said, as the class began to run. “I’m gonna stay back here and not die from exhaustion.”

“Your call. What about you, Artifex?”

“I’m not a runner, so I’ll stay behind with Swift.”

“Fine, but don’t complain if I somehow pass you!” She took off in a sprint.

Artifex shook his head. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Swift gave him an odd look. “Really? You’re gonna stay back here and suffer with me?”

“I can’t leave my strange friend Swift hanging, now, could I?” Artifex said. “That, and, well, my limp makes it hard to run.”

“Oh.” Swift nodded. “We’ll probably be the last two, though.”

“Can’t be helped,” Artifex said, shrugging, just as people started passing by them. “We finish when we finish.”

Swift nodded again. “Well, thanks for the company.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

***

Much to both of their surprises, they weren’t the last to finish. The steady pace that Swift had kept, despite practically sweating buckets, allowed them to finish their laps ahead of a few other people.

Artifex was sweating as well, but not as much as his companion. He couldn’t help but look at Swift with incredulity. “You are really out of shape.”

“Yeah, I really am,” the boy agreed, wiping his brow with his arm. “But hey! At least I didn’t collapse this time!”

“Only because I’m holding you up.”

“Oh.” Swift nearly toppled, but Artifex held him up, walking the both of them to the center. Once Swift had managed to recover proper use of his legs, Artifex let go, and the boy slid off easily.

He wobbled for a second, then smiled as he managed to stand still.

Then his knees buckled. It was only because Artifex was close to him that he didn’t collapse to the ground. “Er, Rainbow? Lend a hand?”

“Sure thing, Arty.” Rainbow walked over, helping him prop up Swift, who had a dazed look on his face. Artifex expressed his thanks, and Rainbow walked back over to the girls.

“Arty?” he heard one of them ask her. “Is that like a pet name?”

“Ooh!” another girl exclaimed, giggling. “Are you two an item?”

“Shut up, both of you,” Rainbow muttered, glaring at her.

Artifex sighed. More rumors needing to be resolved. Glancing at the second girl, he saw she was a blue-grey color. He frowned. That seems… fitting, for some reason.

They waited a little longer for everyone to finish, before Coach Will began speaking again. “Everyone here? Good. Now we can finally get down to business.”

“Wait,” said Derpy. “You mean we’re actually going to go ahead and do sports already?”

Iron Will laughed. “Of course! We have to compensate for missing a day!” He tapped his fist against his clipboard three times. “The school year will consist of several sport lessons that this class will be partaking in! For the first quarter, it is…” His eyes trailed up and down the paper, and he mumbled to himself. “Hmm… Ah, there it is! The first sport will be—” His eyes flashed as he looked up and roared, “Volleyball!”

Met mostly with shouts of approval and excitement from the more athletic types, Iron Will smiled at them. “Now. I want you all to help set up the nets and equipment. Get to it, before I make you run five more laps!”

They all broke off into various groups. Artifex, Swift, and Rainbow helped inflate the balls with several others, while the rest of the class took to the nets, eagerly putting them in their place. Artifex maintained a steady frown on his face, slowly realizing what was about to happen.

“Hey,” Swift said as he pumped a ball full of air, “are you any good at sports, Artifex?”

He shrugged, placing down his own ball once he had finished. “I wouldn’t say so,” he said. “I can play, I guess, but I’m not sure how well I’d match up against others.”

“Eh, you’ll get the hang of it, I’m sure!” Rainbow exclaimed. Somehow she was pumping five balls for every one ball the two of them pumped; Artifex figured she must have been excited. “Volleyball is a pretty easy sport, too. You ever played it?”

“A few times in old schools.”

“Sweet! So you’ve got experience. Besides,” she added with a grin, “anyone can play volleyball. Even Sonata?”

He and Swift exchanged looks. “You sure about that?” Swift asked.

“Okay, maybe not Sonata. But I’m sure if she tried really hard—and got really lucky—she’d be at least able to play.”

“Anyways, you’ll be fine, Artifex,” Swift said, patting him on the shoulder. “I mean, you’re not too tired from the run. And sure, you’ve got a limp. But I’m positive that you’ll be able to play.”

“It’s actually starting to fade a little,” Artifex replied, indicating his limp. “But that’s not what I’m worried about, actually.”

“Really?” Rainbow said as they finished pumping the last ball. “What is it, then?”

He hesitated for but a moment, before raising his arms and facing his wrists towards them. They were confused at first, but then realization dawned on their faces. He tucked his hands back in his pockets, slouching.

“As you can tell,” he said quietly, “I’m not really comfortable with… showing these yet.” He shook his head. “Too many questions could come up. None of which I’d like to answer.”

Rainbow nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. Well, if you want, we can put you in the back at first. If we get a streak going, you won’t have to change.”

“Besides,” Swift added, “nobody’s going to be looking at your arms while they play. They’ll be focusing on the ball!”

“Swift’s right,” Rainbow said. “So don’t worry, okay, Arty?”

“Artifex,” he swiftly corrected, but he did nod. “Alright. I’ll try not to worry.”

“That’s the spirit!” Rainbow glanced over her shoulder. “Looks like they’re about done setting up. Let’s head back over.”

Artifex, before following her and Swift, looked at one of the volleyballs on the floor. He noted, with a touch of surprise, that it wasn’t standard volleyballs. While certainly made of the same material, it had what appeared to be a reddish tint to it. He touched it, moving his hand down its surface, before raising his hand and himself, and following after his friends.

Iron Will had somehow procured a whiteboard and erasable markers, and had drawn up a quick diagram composing of two large rectangles. Just as Artifex arrived with the others, the coach quickly put several items on the board. Once he had stepped away, he revealed what he had places.

Twenty faces, or what could be assumed to be faces, were poised above hastily written names. Artifex raised an eyebrow at the one labeled “Swift;” it was a sloppily, colored-in circle with swirls for eyes.

“Hey, I’m not that ugly,” Swift muttered.

Artifex looked to Rainbow’s caricature, and noted (with great amusement), that it was also a sloppy job. With a crudely drawn, blue circle, and a bunch of colors thrown in her hair, it more resembled a child’s painting than a teacher’s.

He noted, with some alarm, that his own picture wasn’t present. Instead, there was simply a box spelling his last name.

“Er, coach?” a dark-grey-skinned boy with a blue-silver crop of hair asked. “Are those supposed to be us?”

Iron Will nodded. “Yep. My daughter made them once she found out who was in my class. Couldn’t say no to her face once she showed me.”

“I think it’s rather cute!” a grayish-lilac girl said with a smile. She pointed to a particular one, which Artifex saw was labeled as “FLITTER.” “See? She even got my hair right!”

“How did she know what we each looked like?” Soarin asked.

“She looked at my yearbook,” answered the coach, “and used the pictures as reference.”

Artifex nodded to himself. That explained why he hadn’t his own caricature; he had no school picture for the daughter’s reference.

“Okay, let’s get to it,” Coach Will said. “Now, I’ve split the class into four teams, with five people on each. The teams have already been chosen.” This was met by several groans from the more competitive bunch. “Now, now, this is only for today and next week. I want to see how well you each can do on a team you did not select. Considering last year’s problem, when Rainbow wanted to pass on choosing between Adagio and Trixie… well, this ought to fix that.”

Artifex let out a low whistle. Sounds like a tough choice, even though I don’t know who this Trixie is.

“Coaches are: Rainbow Dash, Cloud Chaser, Thunderlane, and Derpy Hooves. Coaches, come on up and take your papers. These have all the drills and exercises you’ll be guiding your team through, as well as a list of who is on your team.”

They each came up and took their papers, walking back over to the others. Rainbow shuffled out her list and read it. She nodded to herself. “Huh. Not bad.” Cloud Chaser and Thunderlane bore similar expressions to Dash’s. They looked at her, grinning competitively, and she smirked back, tapping on her list and mouthing “Gonna beat you!” to them.

Derpy had on a cheerful smile as she read down her list. Artifex found himself following her two, crossed eyes, wondering how she managed to read without direct focus. She caught him staring, and waved at him; he looked away with an embarrassed blush.

“So?” Swift asked him, once the blush had faded. “How do you think we’ll do?”

“If we’re lucky,” Artifex responded, looking at the number of physically adept people in the room, “we won’t get slaughtered and our teammates will be able to compensate for us.”

Swift groaned. “Great. We’re doomed.”

***

Four games in, three wins, and one tie, it seemed that Swift’s prediction was wholly unfounded. To the boy’s credit, each win was a narrow victory, and the tie game was nearly a complete loss. Only by sheer luck had they managed to tie the points.

And now we find ourselves on the fifth and final game, Artifex thought as they walked over to the court. In front of him was Swift, exhausted and sweaty, but with a proud grin on his face; his last hit had managed to give them the extra point needed to tie the previous round.

“And you said you were bad,” one of Artifex’s teammates, whom he now knew was Blossomforth, jostled the blue-skinned boy.

Swift blushed under the praise. “W-well, to be fair, that was a pretty lucky spike. A-and I wouldn’t have been able to do it if Artifex hadn’t set it up to me.”

Blossomforth turned to Artifex, grinning. “How could I forget? You’ve got some moves, Artifex. Almost a natural!”

He nodded his thanks, though he still felt uncertain of his abilities.

Ahead of them was Rainbow Dash, with her co-captain—she had readily come up with the term—Soarin. The two, Artifex had quickly figured out, were natural all-stars. Rainbow was fast on her feet, able to set and bump as soon as the ball came over. Soarin, physically bigger, could block and spike just as well. The two were a powerhouse pair, and complimented each other’s abilities brilliantly.

To himself, Artifex wondered if the two shared some history together. He knew they were on the same soccer team, but he had to consider the possibility of whether or not the two had dated. How else could they so firmly work together?

Maybe they’re just really good friends.

He saw Rainbow laugh at something Soarin said, then slap him on the back, causing him to stumble forward a little. The two laughed at the display.

Maybe really, really good friends. He found himself smiling. Hmph, No Clue might not have a chance.

His grin faded. He had not seen No Clue in quite some while. He shook his head; remembering that fact would do nobody any good.

“Okay, guys! Let’s get into our positions!” Rainbow called once they were all on the court. Derpy’s team was on the other side of the net; Artifex recognized only a few of them. He stood in the back with Swift and Blossom, while Soarin and Rainbow took the front row.

Volley for serve, Artifex reminded himself.

Derpy held the ball in her hand, then set it up with a light touch. It sailed over the net with a light whizzing sound. Dash was already on the move once she saw the ball. She jumped a little and set it over for the second hit. She hit it hard enough to send to the back row.

One of the opposing placed his fist in his palm and shrugged, letting his forearms bump the ball back over. Soarin was there; he jumped and attempted to spike it, crashing his palm down on top. Yet Derpy somehow managed to go underneath it, tipping it over before Soarin could recover.

“Down, Soarin!” Rainbow exclaimed. He obliged, and she leapt over him, setting the ball over to the left side, away from Derpy.

Another opposing student managed to set the ball. It flew over the net and towards Artifex’s left, where Swift was. The boy yelped in surprise, but managed to bump it back, even as he stumbled.

Flitter darted out of the corner of Artifex’s vision, a smirk on her face as she jumped up. She spiked the ball, hard; it nearly hit the ground. Luckily, though, Rainbow’s speed allowed her to dive for it, digging it up with the side of her fist. The action hit the ball light enough for Soarin to add his own, counter-spike.

Blossomforth huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her way. She looked at Artifex with a slightly annoyed expression. “Sheesh. We haven’t hit the ball once!”

“We will someday,” he replied, causing her to giggle.

Someday came too late. Derpy’s team tried to hit the ball back over, but Soarin’s spike had jarred them. The ditzy girl attempted to set it, but she hit it too lightly. One of her teammates attempted, with an upturned palm, to “carry” the ball over. She managed to do so, but, with Derpy in the way, she tripped, and fell against the net.

“You hit the net!” Rainbow cried. “Woo! Our ball!”

The teammate nodded begrudgingly, then hoisted Derpy up. She nodded her thanks, then rolled the ball to the other side.

“Blossom, can you serve?” Rainbow asked.

“Sure thing, Rainbow.” At that, the prismatic athlete tossed the ball over to the other girl. “Alright, zero serving zero.” She tossed the ball up, then hit it with her open hand. It made an arc as it sailed over.

Flitter set it up to one of her teammates, who set it up again. Derpy came in, setting it back over. The ball flew over to Rainbow, who set it up for Soarin to attempt a devastating spike. Unfortunately, Flitter easily dug for the ball, causing it to head back towards Artifex and Blossom.

“Got it!” Artifex called, backing up so that he could bump it. With a quick shrug of his shoulder, he bumped the ball to the far right corner. One of the opposing teammates returned with a bump of their own. She caused the ball to fly straight up, hitting the ceiling with a loud thud.

Iron Will blew his whistle. “Ceiling shot. Rainbow’s team’s point.”

“Nice job, Arty!” Rainbow cheered, high-fiving the boy.

He returned the high-five with a raised eyebrow. “I swear, you’re using that name on purpose. People are already thinking I’m with Sonata.”

She pouted. “You’re name’s not exactly the easiest to say…”

“Nevermind that. Blossom,” Soarin said, holding the ball out, “here ya go. Serve another good one!”

“Will do, boss!”

Blossomforth was an excellent server, and with the proper sets and spikes, Artifex’s team managed to score another three points. On the fourth serve, though, the opposing team managed to score by redirecting the ball towards Swift. He hadn’t been ready. The ball knocked him upside the head, and he fell.

Artifex—with Rainbow close behind him—rushed to his side. “Hey, you okay?” he asked as he propped him on his shoulder.

Swift’s eyes pointed in opposite directions. He raised a finger, then circled it around. “Hello, Scootaloo! Did you do your homework? Because if you didn’t, Mom will kick my ass!”

Artifex looked at Rainbow. “That… is new.”

“Swift, can you stand?” Rainbow asked.

The boy shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness. “I’m okay, coach, really. I’ll just shake it off!” He again shook his head as he stood, but made himself dizzy again, and had to hold onto the both of them to settle his head.

“Ookay, maybe you shouldn’t play for the moment,” said Rainbow. “Let’s walk him over to the sideline and let him rest, Artifex.”

Artifex nodded his agreement. They managed to assist-walk Swift over slowly, reaching the sideline within a few minutes. Iron Will, having witnessed the whole situation, had grabbed an ice pack from his office.

“Hmm,” Iron murmured as he examined Swift’s face. “Nose is a little red and swollen, but doesn’t look broken. Here, son, take this.” He handed the pack to him.

Swift took it and placed it on the bridge of his nose, wincing. “Agh. Somehow I knew this was gonna happen.”

The coach then looked to Rainbow Dash. “You’ll be down a player, Rainbow. Think you can still play?”

She gave a confident grin. “Of course we can! Don’t worry, Swift; we’ll win, just for you!”

He gave a thumbs-up in reply.

Artifex and Rainbow returned to their spots, ready to play. The other team, seeing this, called for the ball, and Soarin rolled it over to them.

“Okay, four on five. Is that okay?” Rainbow asked. There was a chorus of affirmation. “Alright, you guys serve.”

“One serving three!”

And so it went again. A fourth hit, a fifth. A minor fall, like a stumble, then a major lift; a return. Artifex’s team composed, bafflingly, a quadruple attack, somehow managing to make up for the lack of one player. Though, in his eyes, it was really a triple attack plus him; Blossom, Rainbow, and Soarin, all on their own, were the ones scoring the points. He was just the setup.

But the other team was either just as good, or the lack of a fifth member made keeping the advantage all the more harder. For each hard-earned point that Rainbow, Soarin, or Blossom scored (with Artifex’s help), a member of the opposite team managed to score their own. Each hit returned with another hit; each return, came a rebound; each rebound, was followed by a rebuttal.

Now they were tied. Artifex took a moment to glance at the clock. Only a few more minutes until we have to change, he realized. He glanced back, seeing that the other team was getting ready to serve. He tensed, finding himself crouching on instinct. Beside him, Blossom did the same.

“Eleven serving eleven!” the server called. She performed an underhand serve. The ball swooped over and fell towards Rainbow.

“Got it!” she called, setting it back over.

The ball was swiftly counter-set, with enough force that it went past Rainbow.

“Got it!” Blossom called. She bumped it up lightly, not trying to blast the ceiling.

It went over in a straight dive. Derpy called for it and bumped it back. Dash jumped to intercept, setting it up.

“That’s yours, Soarin!” she exclaimed as she came down.

The baby-blue-boy nodded. He rushed forward, and jumped, just as the ball was coming down. Swinging his hand down like a hammer, he let loose a deterring spike. The ball, under the attack, rocketed to the edge of the court.

Suddenly, Derpy was there. She dug the ball, and it went up. Another teammate managed to set the ball with a light touch. Then, Flitter appeared with a wild jump. An equally, wild grin spread across her face, as she slammed her hand down, delivering her own spike.

She hit the ball in its midsection, causing it not to fall straight down, but to fall in a more diagonal trajectory. Soarin should have been there, but he was too busy getting up from his last blow. The ball raced like a meteor, whizzing ferociously.

Artifex thought he saw it flash yellow. He realized that no one else was nearby; the others were too spread out, and too caught off guard, to assist.

It was down to him. If he missed, they’d lose their streak. A part of him thought that that wouldn’t matter. But one chance look at Rainbow and Swift threw that thought out the window. A surge of competitivity ran through him.

With it, he acted.

He dove for the underside of the ball, sticking his left hand out. He was aware of a jolt of discomfort, which quickly erupted in a firestorm of pain. His leg; he had done something to it, something that caused his limp to grow into a paralyzing condition. Artifex grit his teeth, trying to ignore the pain, even as it raced from his foot, to his calf, then to his knee. He closed his fist, and prayed that he wouldn’t miss.

His hand first grazed the ground, and his knuckles scraped against the polished wood. At the same time, the ball blasted into his wrist, practically punching it down into the ground. He felt his bones crack against the floor. The resulting pain, combined with the screaming burn in his limping leg, made him see stars.

But he had hit the ball nonetheless. As he rolled over, cradling his leg and left hand, he saw the ball fly into the topside of the net. Derpy’s team was too sparsely located to reach it. It teetered over, and landed with a resounding bounce. Twice, both without interference.

Iron Will blew his whistle. “Game! Alright, kids, tally up your points, then go get changed. We’ll leave the nets up for now.”

“Yes!” Rainbow boomed, pumping her fist in triumph. “We won!” Soarin and Blossom returned her enthusiastic cheer, and they came together for a group hug. “Hey, Swift! Come here and join in the festivities!” Swift, from the sideline, stood up, stumbling over with a grin on his face.

Rainbow looked around. “Nice job, Arty—” She gasped when she saw him on the ground, hunched over, wincing as he rubbed his leg. “Oh, shoot! Artifex!”

“I’ll get him,” said Soarin. He walked over to the boy, offering a kind smile. “That was an amazing dig, Artifex. Really saved our butts there.”

He tried to say something in response, but winced again, cutting himself unintentionally off.

Soarin grimaced. “Nasty spill, there. Here, let me help.”

Artifex saw his hand reach out. He noted, with severity, how close it was to his other hand. “No, wait, it’s fine.”

“Nonsense, dude, it’s the least I can do.”

“I-I don’t think—”

Artifex stopped the moment Soarin grabbed his right hand. Instantly, he felt himself go cold. He saw Soarin’s eyes widen in shock as his thumb rested at the base of his wrist. Artifex didn’t have to look to know what he was seeing.

The boy pulled himself up, seeing as how Soarin was currently incapable of doing much other than hold on. He propped himself on his good leg for a second. He glanced at Soarin; his face was a mix of emotions.

Soarin held on for far longer than Artifex was comfortable with, but for some reason, Artifex wasn’t able to muster the will to snatch his hand out of his grip. Instead, he held his breath, and waited for a reaction.

Rainbow walked over, concerned. “Hey, what gives—” She stopped mid-sentence once she realized what Soarin was doing. “Oh…”

Soarin’s hand loosened its grip, almost unconsciously. Artifex slipped his own hand through and away. He rubbed at the eerily familiar etchings with clear hesitance, holding both hands to his chest with the knuckles facing outward. His face burned with hideous emotion. Anger, shame, resistance, filled his entire being.

He saw the red again. It colored his vision and dripped down his eyes and onto his cheeks. His body trembled; his leg with the limp bent and collapsed.

Quickly, he placed his hands in his pockets. The action diluted the red, allowing him to see the rest of the world’s hues.

“C’mon, ladies, wrap it up and get changed!” Coach Iron shouted. Soarin’s attention was momentarily diverted by his voice, and Artifex took the chance to slip away.

***

He was alone. Finally, he was peacefully alone.

And he hated it.

Looking around the locker room, Artifex was treated to the empty sight. The students had all left without passing him a glance, and for that he was thankful. The less attention, the better—or at least, less people paying attention to him. The lockers, though, kept staring through metal eyelids, judging him, speaking to him in wordless tones. Their greyish-green schemes whispered sweet nothings, telling him false comforts in an effort to push him away.

He remained standing, too, as the benches placed there were also not at all quiet. Though immovable, he thought he could hear them whisper their own, voiceless words. False promises of rest, if he just sat down.

He worried that if he obliged either of them, he’d be unable to leave. Even though the rational part of his mind knew otherwise, he couldn’t help but turn that thought over and over in his head.

It was painful. But he could bear it.

He thought.

Artifex sighed, feeling regretful. Did he really have to act so nervous? It was only a few seconds; had it really been that bad? Perhaps Soarin had not seen the wrists’ scars. Maybe he was just surprised at Artifex getting up so fast.

Yeah, right, he thought, huffing with indignation. He couldn’t lie to himself. Soarin saw what he saw.

Why was that a bad thing, though? Hadn’t he made peace with those scars years ago? Or at least days ago? What made now different?

Because now, I had no choice in the matter. Because now, I couldn’t choose to hide or to show them. He grit his teeth and frowned, rubbing his aching wrist. The ability to choose those options was of the utmost importance to him; and to discredit those choices as chooseable meant that he effectively had no say in the matter.

He tried to push away the thoughts and grab his backpack and bag, but all he could see was the color red, and Soarin’s shocked face, and hear the roaring silence that followed. He was afraid to close his eyes, else the red become a metallic behemoth racing for him.

He wasn’t over it, that was for sure. How could he have let himself believe that?

With a shift of his head towards the clock, he saw that he still had some time before his next class. The block was not yet over; he felt that it shouldn’t have to end. He didn’t want to head out there, to see all those faces, and… and…

And now you’re being stupid! It wasn’t that bad! Get over it! Be a man and go to your next class!

He thought that voice was someone else’s, but he soon realized that was his own. It was dripping with crimson anger and bloody frustration; it was a magma-filled volcano that threatened to explode.

Was he mad at Soarin, or mad at himself? Did it matter who was to blame? All that he saw was red, and red, and more red; he could discern who possibly could have caused this.

Blinking, the color faded away, leaving him back in the empty locker room, confused, wary, drained.

He felt dirty. He walked over to the sink and turned the water on, then splashed his face. Grabbing a paper towel, he wiped and swiped, drying himself, before looking at the mirror.

There he was. Icy-blue hair, tan skin, yellow jacket. But something had changed—or had returned. The boiling, latent, raw emotion that was brewing behind his features; it was there. He could see it in the way his lips trembled, in the way his jaw locked. He raised his right arm, facing the forearm at the mirror so he could examine the scars.

Seeing them filled him with a morbid peace. Not because they were familiar, but because he was reminded that they were fading. He recalled distinctly that only a year ago, the scars were redder and more obvious. Now, they were a darker red, but also thinner.

I’m healing, he reminded himself. Slowly but surely, I’m healing.

Maybe that’s why I feel this way right now. Because I don’t want to disrupt the healing process any more than I already have.

He walked back over to where his belongings lay and picked them off, slugging them over his shoulder. He counted to ten three times, breathing in and out slowly. His hand fished around his pocket, bringing out the ruby accessory. He rubbed it; it was warm to the touch.

His arm trembled, and he put the accessory away, shooting his hands in his pockets. Now all he had to do was leave without another word—

“Hey.”

Oh.

He rotated at a snail’s pace, knowing who he would find, but was still surprised anyway. Soarin was there, his arms crossed, a pensive frown on his face. Behind him, to Artifex’s confusion, were Swift and Rainbow. The two shared similarly concerned looks, and watched him with uncertainty.

Artifex’s gaze shifted back to Soarin, and he nodded. “Hello.”

There was a moment of silence as the two regarded each other. Artifex wasn’t sure what to make of it. Hadn’t Soarin left a little while ago? What was he doing back here? Was this a confrontation? Artifex tried searching Swift and Rainbow’s faces for answers, but received none.

“I just wanted to say,” Soarin said, bringing the scarred boy out of his thoughts, “that you played great today.”

Artifex reeled back slightly, but recovered almost instantly. “It wasn’t that great.”

“I mean it! You made up for us missing Swift like a pro!” Soarin managed a smile, replacing his thoughtful frown. “Have you played in volleyball tournaments before?”

The conversation, Artifex realized, was lighthearted, and he was quick to respond, to the best of his ability, in a similar tone. “Not at all. I only played a little bit of recreational volleyball over the years.”

“Well, you could have fooled us!” Soarin laughed. “You’re probably good enough to get on the school’s team!”

Artifex looked away. “You think so?”

“Definitely, dude. You’ve a lot of potential.”

“Hmm. I’m not much of a sports guy, but… maybe I’ll consider it.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Soarin remained standing there, the frown returning to his face. Artifex knew that not everything had been said. He considered either waiting, or leaving; but fell for the former option. He crossed his own arms, careful to keep his wrists covered by his sleeves.

Swift and Rainbow continued to wait.

“… Hey,” Soarin said after a little while, “you know Flitter?”

Artifex quickly recalled the exuberant, grey-blue girl on Derpy’s team. “Not personally, but I do know of her, yes.”

“She has this cousin,” Soarin continued. He rubbed the back of his head, as if not sure what to say. “I’ve met her before, and she’s really a sweet thing. She likes to draw, incidentally.”

Rather than ask where Soarin was going with this, Artifex kept quiet.

“Her name’s Gale Rush. She’s about our age, and moved to Manehattan a year ago to attend one of the private schools. She’s pretty smart, all things considered.”

“Ivy league?”

“She’s planning on attending one of them, yeah.” Soarin chuckled. “Flitter and she are pretty close.”

Artifex nodded. “That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah, it is.” Soarin became quiet, and for a moment, Artifex thought that he was finished. He shuffled his bag over his shoulder again, waiting for the athlete to move.

“She almost didn’t make it that far,” Soarin suddenly said in a low voice.

Artifex ceased his movements. He stared at Soarin with narrowed eyes, and said nothing. He knew what he meant.

Soarin’s eyes fell to Artifex’s pocketed hands, then rose back up to his face. “I… know that you felt really uncomfortable back there, and, well… I apologize for making you feel that way, is what I’m trying to say.”

Artifex relaxed his gaze, but did not say anything back. Soarin rubbed the back of his head. “I’m not so good with words, and I know this seems very sudden and all…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away.

The scarred, young man stared at the taller athlete. Blue. The color of calmness… but also of sadness.

He could tell that Soarin wanted to say more, but also knew that the man couldn’t figure out how to say it. For some reason, that was an immense comfort for Artifex. No false sympathies, no empty words. Just a guy who was as confused as he was, but more willing to try and make up for it.

It was nice. Like a pure, lovely white shine.

Artifex stepped forward, reaching out with his right hand. Soarin, after a quick, surprised look, took it. They shook, strongly, a period of understanding passing between them.

“I appreciate the compliment on my volleyball skills,” said Artifex. “Maybe I’ll see if I can try out.”

“It’d be great to have you on our team,” Soarin replied with a slight wink.

They released, and Soarin shuffled around on his feet. “So… see you next week?”

Artifex nodded. “Yes. Hopefully we’ll win the next few games.”

“With you on our team?” Soarin grinned. “I think we will.”

He waved goodbye, then walked off with a slight spring in his step. Artifex watched him go, feeling different.

He then looked at Swift and Rainbow. They looked back at him. No words were spoken at first.

Then, he simply said, “Thank you.”

They nodded.

Red still peeked out of the corner of his vision. Within his pocket, he could feel his hands shake. Then his hands settled on the ruby gem, and he felt himself grow still, comforted by its presence. For now, that was all he needed.

11) Day Five: Weekend's Beginning

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared dream before.”

The Raven - Edgar Allen Poe

***

“C’mon, Ruby! The chocolate shop’s just over there!”

“Okay, Artifex. Slow down a sec, will ya?”

Artifex Frost didn’t pay much heed to Ruby’s request. He skipped and bounded about, darting around the businessmen and women. Ruby kept close; if he looked back, he would have seen an amused smile on her face.

But, being the young kid he was, his impatience matched his speed readily. He was already at the first corner when Ruby was still lounging behind him. He let out a huff, and stomped his foot. “Ruby!” he wailed. “If we don’t get there sooner, they won’t be serving that special, scrumptious, superb sundae!”

Ruby rolled her eyes as she approached. “Relax, Artifex. The owners’ are our friends. I’m sure they’ll save us both a piece.” She wagged her finger. “For an eleven year old, you sure are eager over ice cream.”

“Hey!” he protested. “Mousse cake is not ice cream at all!”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right.” She checked her watch. “It’s five o'clock right now. We’ve got at least fifteen minutes before the special ceases to be there.”

“Right, when it ceases to exist.”

“Artifex, they don’t just disappear into thin air. They put them in the back and let them sit until the next Sunday.”

He pouted. “I know… but it sounds cooler that way.”

The light turned to a red hand signal, and Artifex let out an annoyed sigh. Ruby caught the action, and laughed. It was like hearing gemstones tinkle. “Oh, Artifex. Surely you know you can’t hit every green light in life, right?”

He answered with his own adage he had long heard: “If you’re early to something, it’ll give you extra time to think.”

“Oh? And what would you think about if you were early?”

“How good the sundae tastes, duh?”

Ruby laughed again. After a moment, Artifex joined in.

As they waited, Artifex decided to look around. Though he had lived in Manehattan for a good portion of his young life, its numerous wonders were not lost on him. Buildings that were already built—the observation alone brought a good amount of amusement—pierced the sky, breaking past the very limits of heaven. Similarly, the roads ran down all four cardinal directions, like paths to the endless and infinite. The people and cars that came from those directions were as varied as the paths they roamed. With vehicles and residents of all sizes, colors, and places of origin, one could be certain that you could meet someone or something new each passing day.

He knew that down one street, one could find the next best place for their fashion passion; down another, the newest in good and delectable food. Make a corner on Main Street, you’d be greeted by a huge art galleria. Turn left down Galloping Boulevard, you’d arrive at the lush Manehattan Park. Roads were crossroads, he had long realized, that led an individual to the numerous possibilities that life had to offer. And all those places and attractions to the side added further to that idea. Manehattan was the prime example of a city of opportunities; no, it was the City of Opportunity.

Everything was possible. Everything.

The sound of wheels screeching against pavement brought him out of his observations. The light had switched over to a white stick figure, with the word “WALK” blinking beneath it. He smiled, pumping the air. He grabbed his sister’s hand and began dragging her forward.

Ruby tried to struggle, but gave up after a little while. Her hesitation was replaced with enthusiasm, and she soon was the one pulling Artifex gleefully through the streets.

This was his favorite part of any day; spending it with his sister. With his parents having to work a lot, Ruby became his best friend, teacher, and guardian, all the while not letting up on the typical “annoying sibling” routine. She was his role model, his vice, his shoulder to cry on, his annoying nuisance. She was everything he needed, and everything he didn’t want, all rolled up in one caring, kind, and generous package.

He couldn’t have been happier.

And he doubted he ever would.

After all, he had no reason to think otherwise.

They continued to walk down the sidewalk. Not at all silent, but not completely talkative, they fell into a pleasant discussion and exchange of observations. The hot dog stands at each end, for example, were pointed out by Ruby; she always had liked Manehattan’s local vendors more than any professional restaurant. Which, if Artifex was being honest, was a weird trait to have; after all, she seemed more “prim and proper” than that. To his own, paradoxical nature, though, he was more fascinated by the flowers that people planted on their windowsills. He saw the usual roses and violets, but several flowers he didn’t recognize. I’ll have to look them up when we get home, he thought, an eager grin on his face.

Another crosswalk approached, and they stopped right at the end. It had just turned to red, meaning that they had to wait a little while; and judging by the amount of cars that were passing through it would be a big “little while.” Artifex didn’t mind as much as he made himself out to be; if anything, it meant he could take a chance to be with his sister for a little longer.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t realize that he would still be with her when they would arrive at the ice cream shop. This was simply different. In some way, it held a change in value. When they, last Sunday, shared desserts, that brought nice feelings. But when they were simply walking around, as two Manehattenites, lost in the glory of their city, those feelings weren’t just nice; they were euphoric.

Maybe I don’t need that special, he mused. All I really need to be happy is Ruby.

The thought was surprisingly mature for him. He quickly amended it by adding, But a delicious mousse dessert wouldn’t hurt anybody.

The light changed with a ding, becoming once again the white stickman. Surprisingly, there was no one at the other end of the walk, and they were the only two who appeared to be wanting to cross. Artifex smiled, excited and ardent at the prospect of there being no further hindrances. The sundae would be his!

He walked quickly, a bounce in his step, ignoring the sounds of the city. Just ahead, down the sidewalk, was the shop. He could already see the vanilla ice cream sign jutting out of the side. It glowed as a neon beacon, beckoning him. He could taste the chocolate already, hitting his mouth and sliding down in a blissful flood of delectable, sugary goodness—

“Artifex!”

All of a sudden, that imaginary, future paradise came crashing down. At first, he thought he heard Ruby screaming. Then, he realized it wasn’t Ruby, or even a person. It was a sound close to fingernails scratching a chalkboard, but amplified so that it was like claws scraping against pavement. There was a bellow, from the mouth of a roaring beast, that combined with the screeching.

Artifex froze as the sounds paralyzed him. Frozen, with both fear and confusion, he rotated slowly, looking for the source.

A gigantic, metal behemoth barreled down the narrow road. Fumes of black smoke rose out of its ears; its eyes were pupil-less, glassy, without focus. Red stripes, like flames of war, raced down its face and to its rolling feet. It channeled utter chaos and discordance; an avatar for all that was unethical, wrong, things that lacked basis in reality. It shouldn’t have been there; it shouldn’t have been anywhere. Yet it was. It, and its frightening body, that bore signs of the weariness of battle. It, and its reflective face, that rumbled and shivered unnervingly.

A million, empty thoughts raced through his head, so fast that the world seemed to stand still. None of those thoughts held substance; none, wanted to stay, for fear of being wiped out. It was a valid fear that he himself shared. As he stared into the eyes of the beast, he saw that it was an emotion mirrored in the helpless master’s own eyes.

He saw the face of the monster. It glowered at him, without mercy. The metal mask that covered its face looked all the more menacing.

Panic raced through him. Terror, too. He was aware of the silence; the loud, seemingly impossibly loud silence that coursed through the city. The beast’s roar was deafened by it; yet its effect still pervaded.

Where was—

“Oof!”

The cry escaped his lips before he even knew that he had said it. The hit pushed him back, and he landed on his left leg hard. Instantaneously, pain shot through him like bullets, and his cry of shock became one of pure agony. Something had broken; a bone, a kneecap, who knew?

When he raised his head, he saw the metal plates again; only, this time, instead of him they were on, they were smacked firmly on her.

The smack came with a disgusting crack, followed by a wet spurt. He saw red gush everywhere. Metal upon skin, pavement upon spine; clothing, torn, eyes, shut, no movement, no breath, no gasp.

Just the resounding silence of a dying world.

And in the silence came the cry of the last denizen of that world:

“Ruby!”

***

The name still clung to his lips like claws, even though it had long escaped its confines. He felt it tug at his heart, pulling him forward in a shocked position. For a moment, he couldn’t see anything, but as his eyes adjusted, he was reminded of the fact that he was in his room.

Breathing did not come normally. It was a rapid gasp followed by brief exhale followed by immediate inhale. He clutched the bed sheets to his body, feeling the soft fabric rub against him. It did little in terms of comfort. He was reminded, suddenly, of the coldness of the room; somehow, it felt even colder now than it did before.

His hand eventually released its vice grip on the blankets, letting them fall to his lap in a depressing flop. The hand remained on his chest, feeling his torso rise and fall with each breath. With his other hand, he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.

He looked to his nightstand, seeing that his alarm had not gone off. For a moment, he panicked. Why hadn’t it? He could have sworn he set it for five, but now it was five-thirty! Was he late?

Quickly searching for an immediate solution, his eyes rested on the mini calendar next to the clock. Several dates had been crossed off with an X. He let out a relieved sigh; it was Saturday. No school to be late for.

He fell back to his pillow, spreading his arms, focusing on breathing slowly. He stared up at the blank ceiling, aware of how awfully quiet the house was. Save for his steady breaths, it seemed that no one else was around. He had a few guesses as to why that was.

But the silence crept under his skin and made him feel all itchy. Imaginary blisters appeared on his arms, racing down his body to his left leg. He frantically attempted to rub them away, even though he knew that they were nothing but figments of his imagination; just another demon from long ago that he had figured had long been conquered.

He stopped rubbing once he realized that it was hopeless. He fell back, defeated once more, and stared at the ceiling.

He stayed there for only a little longer, before heaving a sigh and kicking the covers off. Squirming out of bed, he felt the itches return in full force. The tug of his sister’s name also came, willing him towards the bathroom.

The mirror showed exactly how he felt; burdened, tired, and unready for the day. His hair was a mess; sweat, even though it was cold, dripped down his face. More importantly, his eyes were a bleak shade of crimson. Bloodshot, irritated. Red.

He half-stomped away from the mirror for the shower, desperate to throw the thoughts aside. Maybe after a hot rinse-off his spirits would be feeling better.

***

Now clean, dried, and properly clothed, Artifex could rightly say that he did feel much better. “Much” being the relative term, though; he could only assume an approximate amount. A little combing, a splash of cold water on his face, and a towel all helped keep up the appearance of betterment.

Yet while his body was certainly less achy and pained, his mind remained transfixed on the broken and beaten.

The thought strong, he returned first to his room, where he saw that his bed was an absolute travesty to behold. Just looking at it filled him with a sense of bitterness. He was quick to grab the pillows and fluff them, and even quicker to elegantly drape the blankets and covers back onto the bed in a straight, uniform fashion.

By then, the achiness had faded, but his mind, just as ever, was enchanted by the feelings of emptiness that filled his being.

He pondered over just why as he poured himself a bowl of cereal. Francis accompanied him, having woken up a little while after his shower. The cat had been quick to greet him with a soft meow, asking for his meal; Artifex was quick to oblige.

As Francis ate his breakfast without worry, the boy’s mind fell back on the dream. He quickly corrected himself—the nightmare. Yes, that was it. A nightmare. A horrific nightmare.

One he hadn’t had in the longest time.

His spoon hit the edge of the bowl loudly. He flinched, surprised. He hadn’t even started eating yet. Francis looked up, confused as to the sudden noise intrusion to his meal.

Artifex gingerly placed the spoon back beside the bowl, then got out of his seat and went to the cabinet. He just needed a glass of milk; that’s all.

He reached for the glass; his hand trembled once he took hold of it. Ignoring it, he walked over to the fridge door and pulled out the carton. He attempted to pour it, but stopped once he realized his hand had not stopped trembling.

Then his other hand, the one holding the carton, trembled as well.

He nearly threw the glass down out of frustration and anxiety. Letting out a gruff breath, he walked over to the counter and placed both items down.

He waited for his hands to stop fidgeting. Only through grim determination did he managed to cease their senseless wiggles. He managed to pour himself the milk, but felt little need for a full glass.

He walked back over to his seat, staring at the half-filled drink holder. He frowned, his mind racing from the glass to the dream. Something in his head rambled on about a lesson he had learned about milk; but he ignored the voice. It was a childish one; immature; yet also old, older than him somehow.

A gentle patting of his leg alerted him to Francis’s call. Looking down, he saw that the cat had an almost pleading look on his face. The cat’s eyes moved from Artifex’s to the glass. It didn’t take long to piece together the silent request.

Artifex sighed. “Alright, here. I’m… not that thirsty after all.” He poured the milk into the cat’s drink bowl. “Don’t make a mess, though,” he warned.

The cat mewled in reply, then began slurping up the liquid eagerly. The sight brought a tiny smile to Artifex’s face.

It was brief, falling soon after into another one of his frowns. He stared at the bowl of cereal.

He had had that dream before; the nights following the accident were the hardest. And, occasionally, over the years he’d see it. Every time, though, it was different. Sometimes, it was a brief recollection of the pivotal point. Other times, it was a build-up to the moment. Only rarely had it ever been a somewhat complete narrative. This time, however…

It had been clear. A clean, A-to-B narration, occurring just as fast as the events themselves. His dreamscape had even been accurate enough to build up the city of Manehattan just as he remembered it. It was the most vivid dream he had had in a long time—

Nightmare. The most vivid nightmare I have had in a long time.

His frown grew. When was the last time he had dreamt? When was the last time that images would flicker before him, complex amalgams of thought and memory, rolled up in a package that was both beautiful and wistful?

He shook his head, staring down at his bowl. Such questions, he knew, would not easily bear their answers. If he wanted any, he would have to strangle them out with his will alone. But he hadn’t the energy, nor the desire, to attempt such an act. As he looked at his cereal, he realized too that he didn’t care.

Or at least didn’t want to.

A groan escaped him. Guess I’m not that hungry. He poured his dry cereal back into the container, then got up and deposited his dish into the dishwasher. He spent a few minutes organizing it, straightening and adjusting, before realizing his aimless endeavor. A disgusted snort escaped his lips, covering a hint of confusion. With a loud clatter, he shoved the bowl into a slot, filled the detergent and soap section, then closed the door and walked off.

Artifex escaped to his room, intending to sort things out the way he knew best: thinking. An image of his neatly made bed appeared in his mind, calling to him. He struggled to keep it there, as it was being pushed by an unknown force. He wasn’t aware of Francis beside him, having been far too concerned to have finished his meal. The steps were ascended with haste, like the boy was being pursued by some manner of demon.

In retrospect, he supposed that simile was accurate in a sense.

Once he had opened his door and stomped inside, he wildly shook his head. His icy-blue hair became undone as he attempted to clear his mind of all distractions. He snapped a hand up, wiping a strand away, and he heaved a frustrated breath. God, he needed to get his act together!

Though unaware of the soft, feline form of his animal companion beside him, his ears caught the faint vibration of his phone, coming from his desk. With a whip of his head, causing more hair to fall out of place (only now did he realize that a haircut would be appropriate), he scoured for the object. At first, when he saw it, he thought it was the notification for when his phone was finished charging. But he couldn’t recall if he had placed the phone solely on vibrate or—

“I’m singing in the rain, I’m singing in the rain…”

No. No, he had not.

I have to change the text ringtone sometime, he thought with a pinch of his nose. Temporarily, his previous discomforts were forgotten. He walked over and, after punching in his password, peered at the message.

‘Hey, Arty! I was wondering if you were still coming to the party today. It’s at eight, but it’d be cool if you got here early!’

Judging by the exuberant tone and the balloon emoji left as a signature, he figured it was from Pinkie Pie. What party? Oh, right. Mine. After pressing down on his volume button until the phone was back on vibrate, he texted back:

‘I still am available. But, Pinkie… it’s not even seven. Why would I need to come in early?’

He sent the message, expecting a moment for the party girl to reply. But to his surprise, she sent a text almost instantaneously.

‘Silly billy! I know it’s not seven yet, but, like the great minds once said, early to bed, is a bird in the bush!’

‘… What?’

‘You know, the great minds! Abraham Franklin, Franklin Jefferson, Franklin Chives…’

‘Those aren’t real people, Pinkie.’

‘Yes they are! I’ll check with my history teacher next week, you’ll see! But back to the party; can you still get to Sugarcube Corner, say, 7:30-ish?’

He glanced at the time on his phone. His fingers texted out his answer:

‘I mean, sure, I could, but do I have to get there early?’

‘Mmmmmmmaaaaayyyyybeeeee?’

‘Did you really have to draw that word out…’

‘Yes! Also, yes!’

‘Wait, what?’

‘Awesome! See you there! You’re the best, Arty!’

‘Pinkie? Pinkie, I haven’t agreed to anything yet! Pinkie? PINKIE!?’

Met without an answer, he groaned, utterly exasperated. “That girl is crazy!” he exclaimed. “Though, no surprise there,” he added. His palm flicked up to his forehead, then ran down the side. A sigh escaped him. He stared at the screen for a little longer, before shoving the device into his pocket.

He ran a hand through his hair. Maybe I should go out… it might help to get rid of these thoughts. Once again, he was reminded of the dream—the nightmare. He shuddered. Yes. Fresh air, a change in scenery. Maybe the party will help.

But first things first. He walked back into the bathroom. Have to keep up appearances. It’s what I was taught.

12) Day Five: Pathfinder

“If you’re walking down the right path and you’re willing to keep walking, eventually you’ll make progress.”

Barack Obama

***

Though not one for arriving as the first guest, Artifex was far from one who liked to be the last addition to an event. More or less, he preferred being the middle arrival; neither first, nor last. In this case, though, he recognized he had not much of a choice in the matter.

Certainly, he could refuse, and leave much later than 7:30. Maybe eight-o’clock. If memory served, the party wasn’t to start until nine, at the earliest. There wasn’t much of a need to be there before then.

But there was an incentive. Pinkie. Artifex had half of him not wanting to disappoint his superbly-exuberant friend, and the other half not wanting to somehow incur her latent wrath. A wrath that, according to Swift, was a literal raging inferno; fire often sprouted from her poofy hair. The thought alone provided the push for Artifex to get himself together and head out.

Fear was like that. An incentive. Both for good and bad, he supposed, though in his case he felt that it was more likely to lean on the latter outcome.

The fear quickly changed to discomfort when he walked to the front door. His left leg’s limp lagged with him, and he found himself needing to compensate more and more. He sighed, knowing he’d have no luck in easing whatever tension was in his limb.

His eyes scanned the area next to the door, falling upon a simple, wooden cane. Dust had gathered on top of it; its end was dulled, but not completely flattened. His hand reached out and grasped the handle, wiping the dust off. He twirled it for a bit, ruminating.

He supposed he’d be able to force himself through the day without the cane, but he also supposed that such an idea would result in more pain than anything. He cursed the nightmare once more; if he hadn’t had it, he wouldn’t need to resort to old tricks and techniques.

A cane was just another stark reminder of a physical weakness. Did he really need it?

He looked outside. The sidewalk to the city was a long, winding route, with curves along the edges. With a limp, he figured it’d take maybe a half-hour just to reach the first tall building.

Again he was confronted with the possibility of waiting a moment longer.

Then the old Manehattan maxim rang in his ears: “If you’re early to something, it’ll give you extra time to think.”

His hand clenched around the top of the cane. He refused to look at it.

He took a few, experimental steps around, then pat his pocket, realizing he had forgotten his keys. A short walk to the holder later, he had them back in his left pocket. His thumb traced around the ring, then ran down the side of the fake jewel. It was colder than he expected, but was quickly warming up.

He gazed at the snowdrop flower that was still on the dining room table. It had not been moved since Tuesday. But it seemed a bit more depressive. Was it his imagination, or was it bending over more than usual?

He felt his phone vibrate, and he pulled it out, reading the new message.

‘Get that butt moving, Arty!’

He just stared at the message, his thumb grazing over the keyboard. Eventually, he pressed the power button, and pocketed the phone without so much of a reply.

No point in stalling. Better move on.

Just as his hand twisted the doorbell, he heard a familiar mewling.

“What do you want, Francis?” he asked, turning around.

Francis meowed back. His chocolate-cherry eyes remained centered on Artifex.

“Yes, I’m going out.”

“Meow?”

“To Sugarcube Corner. Another party.”

Francis purred, then made a scrunched up his face, as if incredulous.

“Yes. The second one this week for me. Surprising, isn’t it?” Artifex shook his head. “That’s Pinkie Pie for you.”

Artifex felt his phone vibrate. Pulling it out, he saw Pinkie’s follow-up message:

‘You’re probably super busy, which might be why you didn’t respond, but in case you missed my text, here it is again: get that butt moving, Arty!’

He pocketed it, looking back at Francis. “Well, I guess I’d better get going.”

His pet companion meowed with a fluctuation, asking a question. Artifex raised an eyebrow. “Really? You want to come along?”

Francis purred in confirmation, then scuffed at the ground with a paw.

Artifex thought about it for a little bit, then said, “Alright. You can come. Wouldn’t make sense to leave you in this house all alone.” He looked around. “Though, I suppose I wouldn’t want to be alone here either.”

Turning, the boy grabbed the doorknob once more, and twisted it, before pulling it wide open. After pushing the screen door, he stepped to the side. “After you, Francis.”

The cat nodded his thanks, then stepped out. Artifex then closed both doors, and locked the front one, before following Francis out.

***

Artifex met with a colder wind once he was outside. It wasn’t particularly cloudy—he could still see the blue sky—but he noted with slight interest the prevalent appearance of clouds. The weather was changing; the world was growing colder and darker; soon, it’d be much darker in the mornings, and hard to see at night. The world would be covered in a luscious, white blanket, comforted only by the raging iciness outside its doors.

A thin smile formed on thin lips. Autumn was fine and all, but winter was something he looked forward to especially.

Also showing the signs of change was Francis, whose apricot coat puffed up in response to the wind. The cat shivered, but didn’t seem at all willing to head back in. He saw Artifex staring and, after a hiss, stomped twice on the ground and held his head up high.

The action morphed Artifex’s smile into a slightly larger one, and he shook his head with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Artifex himself wasn’t too affected by the chill. His choice of attire, while light in material, didn’t do anything to subtract his bodily heat. He hardly shivered as he stepped off the porch and headed down the driveway. The cane helped right his stance, though he still felt disgruntled by it.

A year without needing it… if only I hadn’t had that nightmare.

He shook the thought away. Mulling time would come later.

The young man strode beside his cat, keeping a steady pace, even with his cane impairment. They stopped at the end of the driveway. Francis flicked his head towards him, then cocked it in a questioning manner.

Artifex raised and swung his cane towards the right. “We go that way,” he said, eliciting an agreeing meow from Francis.

They walked at a steady pace, taking into account Artifex’s limp and Francis’s smaller size. Besides themselves, the wind was their only company. It seemed that the rest of the world had decided to sleep in; though, there was no surprise there, as the sun had only risen a few hours before. Artifex looked into a few windows, seeing that the lights were all turned off. No cars had left the garages; no father or mother had said goodbye to his or her children. No children, actually, had decided to come out and enjoy the day.

His looked back to his home, and remembered how different his family was. A sadness, one that felt familiar but truly wasn’t, welled up in him. It was with a mix of hesitance and gruff force that he pushed the feeling away.

The wind wailed a breathless song, leading them down the concrete path with its beckoning voice. And the giant, metal towers that stood alongside their stalwart, smaller, sister buildings answered the call with a brighter tone. The world wasn’t completely asleep.

***

Supposedly, Pinkie Pie worked with the Cakes family at Sugarcube Corner. Artifex had no reason to doubt that claim; but he had yet to even meet the pair in person. He wondered what they were like; if they were nice, or just as—he searched for a softer term—rambunctious as the party girl himself.

From Swift, he had learned that the Cakes had twins of their own; a boy and a girl, named Pound and Pumpkin Cake respectively. Pinkie helped babysit them when she could, and Swift aided from time to time. Soul had also, apparently, had experience in babysitting the twins; a detail that Artifex decided he would not ask for clarification.

Such thoughts made their way into the young man’s mind as he approached Sugarcube Corner. Francis had stopped along the way to converse with a resident tabby cat; of the topic, Artifex had no clue. Judging by the soft meowing and purrs, though, he surmised that his own cat had, at the very least, made a new friend. Now they were together again, looking at the Corner with varying emotions.

Artifex, for his part, knew the place well; Pinkie had thrown him his first party on his first day at Canterlot High. Whether it was a welcome sight to behold or a revolting place to witness remained unseen; in truth, he was more indifferent to it than anything. Francis, however, immediately focused in on the exterior decor. There was no doubt in Artifex’s mind that the cat’s eyes were glued to the chocolate-looking roof tiles and the table-sized cup that hung at the edge. There were some new additions, though, that hadn’t been there before. For starters, the sign was now a large cupcake instead of a simple rectangle, painted with pink in order to convey frosting. It shone with neon coursing through its veins, illuminating smaller tubes that looked like sprinkles.

Francis licked his lips in anticipation, and let out an impatient meow.

“The food’s pretty good, I guess,” Artifex said, “though I’ve only had that one mousse cake that Pinkie made.”

Francis hissed, then clawed at Artifex’s jeans. He danced just out of reach. “Okay, okay! I’ll make sure that Pinkie gives you some sweets to sample. Sheesh!”

The cat nodded at the negotiation terms. Artifex crossed his arms. “You can be really stuck-up, you know that?”

The only response he got was a little too self-satisfied of a purr.

Uncrossing his arms, Artifex resumed his walk, cane in hand. He stopped at the crosswalk leading over to the side where Sugarcube Corner lay. No cars appeared to be passing by, and no policeman was on traffic duty. He checked both sides numerous times. Then, satisfied that it was clear, walked across to the opposite sidewalk.

He paused in front of the doors, though. Francis, catching on quickly, mewled at him with concern.

“Was I supposed to bring anything with me?” Artifex asked the cat. “I mean, Pinkie didn’t say so… she just said I had to get over here as soon as I could.”

Francis blinked, then meowed back. Artifex sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. If Pinkie didn’t say anything, then I don’t need anything… unless she meant for me to bring something by not saying it.”

He shuffled nervously on his feet, feeling a bit of pain run up his limp side. Francis cocked his head and meowed, this time more in a questioning manner.

“Hey, you never know. Pinkie seems like the kind of girl who’d do that.”

“Pinkie’s the kind of girl who’d do what, Arty?”

The door had swung open so fast and without warning that both Artifex and Francis jumped in fright. While Francis landed on his feet easily, the boy toppled back into one of the tables. His hand still gripped the cane in a deadly lock. He managed to prevent himself from crashing even further by shooting his arms back and grabbing the edge, but didn’t stop the rapid jolt of misery that coursed through his left leg. The discomfort was evident on his scrunched-up face.

“Oh, shoot!” Looking back over, Artifex realized that Sonata, of all people, stood in the doorway. The ex-Siren immediately rushed over, helping Artifex to his feet. “I am so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you like that!”

He winced as the pain slowly but surely made its way out of his system. “It’s fine, Sonata, I know you didn’t mean to.”

“Are you okay? Do you need some ice?”

“No, I’ll be fine, I think.”

“You sure? And what’s with the cane?”

Choosing to try and divert attention away from the tool, he simply said, “Bit of an old injury kicking in.” He looked at her strangely. “What are you doing here, though?”

The question easily pushed aside any concerns regarding the cane. “Me? I’m helping Pinkie out, duh! Isn’t that what we’re all here for?”

“‘We?’”

“Yeah. All of us! You know, the gang, the compadres, the companions, the… uh… other terms for our friends?”

He leaned over, looking past Sonata. Inside, he saw that, indeed, their friends were all busy setting up the party. He didn’t bother counting how many, and leaned back in. “Well, yes, I suppose we are all here to help out. Though, why me?”

“More hands to help out?” Sonata shrugged. “That, and she wanted you to meet with the Cakes before they went on their September vacation.”

He was about to ask what that meant, when Sonata gasped, interrupting him. “Oh, who is this cutie-patootie?” she exclaimed, pointing a finger at Artifex’s companion.

“Oh, right. Him.” Artifex gestured between the two. “Sonata, meet Francis, my cat. Francis, meet Sonata, my friend. Say hello, Francis.”

“Hi!”

“… I said for Francis to say hello.”

The cat nonetheless let out a greeting meow, and seemed to puff out his chest slightly. Sonata giggled. “Aw, he’s so cute!”

Francis took the compliment in stride, letting out a thankful purr. Artifex mumbled, “Careful, you’re inflating his ego.”

Sonata started, staring at Artifex with wide eyes. “Wait, you can understand him?”

He shrugged. “Kind of. It’s not perfect, my method of understanding, but I can at least figure out what he is trying to say in human terms.”

Sonata suddenly grabbed him, staring at him intensely. “Teach. Me. Everything.”

He pried her off, keeping his balance on his cane. “Maybe later. For now, I’ve gotta go inside.”

“Ah! Right!” Sonata leaned back inside the Corner. “Hey, guys! Artifex’s here!”

“We already know, Sonata!” he heard Rainbow’s raspy voice yell back. “We heard you scare him!”

“Oh, right.” Sonata giggled. “Anyway, why don’t you guys come on in?”

She stepped back in, allowing the both of them to enter through the glass doors.

Nearly all of the bakery had been completely redone, transformed into a mish-mash of party decorations and assortments. The sound of balloons being blown combined with the smell of whatever delicacy was being prepped in the kitchen. Just by looking around did Artifex see how busy everyone was.

Applejack, Sunset, and Soul were at the booths, placing down pink, thin tabletops at each table. Coupled with each top were sets of plates, napkins, and fork-and-spoon combinations. Artifex’s eyes were briefly entertained by view—Applejack and Soul were arguing over proper utensil arrangement (“Spoons go on the right side!” Applejack argued, while Soul insisted that they be next to the forks), much to Sunset’s amusement. Soon, however, Artifex looked away.

The young man then looked to where Sonata was leading him past. A ladder held up Rarity as she placed and taped several, iridescent lights onto the paling ceiling. Below and beside her were Rainbow and Clyde, handing her the lights strand-by-strand.

“C’mon, Rarity!” Rainbow huffed. Her voice was more raspy than usual. “Just tape them up there! You don’t need to be super precise!”

“On the contrary, Rainbow Dash!” responded the fashionista, slamming a strand hard against the ceiling for emphasis. “Placement is key to providing a positive atmosphere! And it helps make the whole mess not look so bad!”

“Look bad? Rarity, they’re just lights!”

“Perhaps, but they are important to the decor!”

As the argument continued, Artifex saw Clyde look his way. They waved to each other.

“Having fun?” asked Artifex.

Clyde shrugged. “Hey, I’m helping my boo out. I can’t complain.”

“Clyde? Who are you talking to?” Rarity craned her neck, then gasped. “Oh, my! Artifex! There you are!”

Rainbow coughed. “Uh, Rarity? I literally just said that he was here!”

“Yes, well, I was busy working on these lights! And… he’s with a cane, no less.” Rarity frowned. “Sonata, you didn’t hurt him, did you?”

“Me?” She shook her head. “No, he brought it with him.”

“Old injury,” he clarified sharply.

“Ah, I see. Well, you’re here now, so you should be able to help out.” The boy raised an eyebrow at the slightly demanding tone. “Be a dear and tell Rainbow the importance of light placement!”

“What…?” he asked.

“‘What,’ exactly!” Rainbow exclaimed. “You tell her Arty! Nobody’s gonna care about stupid lights!” She shook the ladder with vigor at the last, excited statement.

“Rainbow! Quit shaking! You’re gonna make me fa—AAAAA!”

“Whoa! Gangway!”

In an alabaster-and-teal twirl, both girls came tumbling down. Clyde managed to dart under and catch his girlfriend, while Artifex, maneuvering swiftly even with his cane, was able to grab Rainbow before she hit the ground.

“Rarity! Geez, are you okay?” Clyde asked, gazing deeply into the fashionista’s eyes.

“I am now,” she whispered back. Her hand reached up and caressed his cheek.

Artifex distinctly heard Rainbow sigh and smack herself between the eyes. “Who’d say that kind of sappy crap?” she groaned. “At least you aren’t doing any of that!”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips as he recalled just “who” he thought would say the “sappy crap.”

Rainbow pulled herself up and dusted off. “Nice save, though,” she added. “You and No Clue can be quick when you need to be.”

The ghost of a smile faded into a phantom’s frown at the mere mention of the name. Sudden as the change was, it somehow sent a jolt from his cane to his impaired leg. Rainbow didn’t notice.

“Artifex!” Sonata called from somewhere ahead. “There’s some people over here who want to see you.”

“You better move on,” Rainbow said. “Before Sonata talks your ear off.” She shivered. “Trust me, I know.”

He only offered a somewhat sullen nod.

Looking around, he found that Francis had seemingly disappeared. But a dash of apricot revealed in his peripherals revealed that the feline had followed Sonata to the kitchen. Which, he figured, was to be his next destination. He got up, swinging his cane lightly.

After saying goodbye, Artifex continued past the counter area. With a dart to the left, he found himself in the kitchen, where he could smell various bakery items being… well, baked. He rested his walking stick at the side-wall, letting his body lean against it, as he observed the room.

To his surprise, even the appliances were as colorful as the rest of the establishment. Contrasting the typical, grey-metal ovens, the one in Sugarcube Corner more closely resembled a gingerbread house, with its brown face and whipped-cream edges. The stove was more akin to gumdrops than blank, circular roundabouts. The sink, just as colorful, was filled to the near brim with dishes, pans, pots, and other kitchenware; yet, somehow, managed not to overflow, despite the clear presence of continuous, running water. As soap bubbles floated out of the sink, Francis jumped onto the side and stared at them. He stuck a paw out, and poked the bubble, curious. It popped, and his fur stiffened in surprise, and he leaped away—right into Artifex’s arms.

“Gotcha,” the young man said as he managed to wrap the cat between one arm. Francis squirmed and hissed but, to his dismay, could not gain enough leverage to break free. Using his stick, Artifex pointed at the counter, emphasizing it with an air-drawn circle. “That’s what you get for jumping where you shouldn’t jump.”

In an oddly human manner, Francis stuck out his tongue and made a “blowing-raspberry” gesture with his lips. Artifex booped him on the nose. “There’ll be none of that. Behave yourself.”

Francis sulked, but resolutely fell silent and still, and Artifex did his best to hold him comfortably.

“Eek! Swift!” cried a familiar voice. “That’s not how you do the cakes!”

“Well, then how do you do the cakes?” the aforementioned Swift replied.

“Uh, is this a bad time?” Sonata called.

“Oh, Sonny! No, it’s fine, come in! Is Arty there?”

Sensing that as a cue, Artifex strolled in with Francis hanging by his arms.

Immediately, he saw that Swift was in front of another oven, toiling away at some sort of delicacy—a cake, if not several, according to Pinkie’s previous statement. Said party girl was behind him, seemingly attempting to coach the somewhat klutzy lad. Swift, leaning over the stove, had one hand placed on the counter, while the other was holding a blue icing bag. The cake appeared misshapen, with its brown complexion not quite rich, nor quite poor; if Artifex could choose a word to perfectly describe it, it would have been “conflicted.”

“Oh, hi, Arty!” Pinkie greeted exuberantly, her attention seemingly taken away from Swift’s baking. “You got here just in time!”

“Did I?” He raised an eyebrow at the display. “I suppose I got here just in time for something… Oh, and hello to you, too, Swift.”

“Hey, Artifex!” Swift said with a wave. His other hand, still holding the bag, moved with the other hand, effectively spraying down the side of the cake and the rest of the counter. “Yipes!”

As he made to grab a paper towel, he somehow managed to lean down on the stove’s switch, pushing it all the way to its limit. With a roar, the stove flared to life, engulfing the cake in a fearsome inferno.

“Aack!” Swift and Pinkie jumped away, while Sonata jumped into Artifex in surprise.

“Quick! Someone call the fire department!” Sonata yelled.

“No, wait! I have a better idea!” Pinkie threw herself off of Swift and collided with the back wall. Beside her was a glass container with a fire extinguisher within. Unfazed, she pulled open the case and grabbed the extinguisher, then let it loose on the flame.

“YAAAAH! Take that, ya flaming freak!”

“Pinkie, quit waving that extinguisher around!” Swift cried. “The flame’s already out!”

“… Oh.”

Artifex, repressing a huff, surveyed the kitchen. Indeed, the cake’s flame had been truthfully and fully extinguished—as had a good deal of the rest of the appliances. Pinkie stared, dumbfounded for a second, then shook the steel tube. “Huh,” she murmured, “it’s empty.”

Pinkie had done it; emptied an entire chemical container’s contents in barely a minute. That, in it of itself, should have been impossible. But Artifex supposed it was to be expected.

Pinkie then tossed the extinguisher aside. “Well, that was exciting! But onto the more important stuff—hi again, Arty!”

“Artifex.”

“Artifex! Thanks for coming by so early!”

“You didn’t exactly leave me much of a choice. Nor, really,” he added, “a reason as to why I ought to come.”

“What?” She cocked her head. “Didn’t my text explain it?”

He pulled out his phone and read off the series of texts. When he was done, Sonata said, “Actually, that does sound pretty vague.”

“Oh, well!” Pinkie giggled. “What can you do?”

“You can start by telling me what you need me here so early for.”

“Oh, that’s easy!” Suddenly, she procured a clipboard and a pen from her hair. “I just need you to answer some questions.”

“Some questions?” He frowned, grip accidentally loosening. Francis wiggled free, and jumped to the floor. “Wha—hey! Get back here!”

“I’ll get him!”

“Sonata, wait—and, she’s gone…” Artifex sighed, rubbing his hand down the length of the cane. “I suppose no harm in letting them go. Now, what are these questions about?”

“First question!” she said, completely ignoring his own query. “What kind of cat food does Francis like?”

“What kind of—hang on.” He narrowed his gaze. “How’d you know his name?”

“Well, duh! Isn’t it obvious?” Pinkie leaned a bit forward, putting on an expectant smile.

“… No.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Oh. I thought it was!”

Artifex pinched the bridge of his nose. “Getting back to the topic on hand. Francis doesn’t really have a preference, though he’s more partial to the store-brand than anything, in my experience.”

“Super duper!” She scratched that down. “Next question: if a tree falls in a forest, and no one’s around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

“Are you actually being serious right now—”

“Correct! Next question! Where’s No Clue?”

“Well, I—” Artifex stopped. His mouth remained gaping open as he turned to stare at the pink-haired girl. “I… I…”

“You’re what?” Pinkie asked, tilting her head. “Confused? Unsure? Bewildered? Befuddled? Baffled? A bunch of other B words?”

“No, I…” As his voice trailed off, he shook his head. “Nevermind. Your question just caught me off guard.”

“Okay?” He knew she wanted to question further, and immediately he moved to interrupt her.

“I don’t know where Clue is,” Artifex said. “The last time I saw him was on Thursday.”

“Really?” Pinkie leaned in, squinting an eye at him. “Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.” He felt a bit of bitterness slip into his tone. “What, do you think I’d lie about that?”

Pinkie recoiled slightly, caught off guard by the sudden level of toxicity in his voice. “Wha-no! Of course not!”

Artifex simply stared at her in silence.

She rubbed the back of her head. “Well, shoot. That kinda makes it hard to ask the rest of these questions.”

“They’re all about No Clue?” Swift asked, speaking up for the first time.

“Yup! I wanted to try and surprise him by getting Artifex’s input!” She smiled brightly; then the smile faded away. “Of course, I guess since you haven’t seen him, that means you wouldn’t know what his favorite animal was. Or his favorite color. Or his favorite animal color.”

Artifex shook his head once again. “We’ve only known each other for less than a week. I hardly think that, in that amount of time, I’d learn about him to that extent.”

“I don’t know about that,” Pinkie replied, tucking the clipboard back into her poofy hair. “I mean, I’ve known you for about the same time, and I already know that your favorite color is blue!”

“… It isn’t.”

“Green?”

“No.”

“Orange?”

“No.”

“Red?”

The image of the crashing truck raced through his mind. “No,” he said tersely.

“Oh… I guess I don’t really know you that well.”

Artifex made no move to answer. Instead, his eyes drifted to the wall, following the lines to the exit.

“I haven’t seen Fluttershy,” he eventually commented. “Where is she?”

“Oh, she’s upstairs with the Cakes,” said Swift. “She’s helping them pack while Pinkie and I help bake.”

If Artifex strained his ears enough, he could faintly make out several voices on the floor above. Though, it was hard to discern whose they were; the hissing coming from the stairs was distracting enough.

Wait… hissing?

Artifex glanced back at the kitchen. The stove and oven had been turned off; no boiling water in a pot could be seen anywhere; and no source of steam could be found. It was unlikely that the sound was coming from here, then. Where was it coming from? And why did it sound familiar?

His thoughts were interrupted by Sonata suddenly rushing down the stairs. Breathless, she stood in front of him. “Uh, Artifex? Could you come upstairs? We have a situation.”

“A situation? What do you mean?”

“It’s Francis. He’s…” She looked from him to Pinkie. “He’s met the twins.”

“Oh!” Pinkie clapped her hands, back to her usual chipper self. “That’s not so bad, Sonny! Pound and Pumpkin are great with pets!”

“If by great, you mean they like to cover them with peanut butter and set them loose.”

Artifex’s eyes widened. “Ah… Francis won’t like that.”

“Yeah, which is why he’s hissing,” Sonata said with a nod. “At least, I think that’s why he is.”

“Alright. I’ll be up in a second to reel him in.” He looked back at Swift and Pinkie. “Nice to see you two again.”

“Likewise, Artifex,” Swift said.

Both he and Pinkie waved the young man goodbye, before returning to the kitchen. Artifex then nodded to Sonata, signaling her to lead on. She did so, and they made their way up the stairs.

***

“Is it just me, or did Artifex seem… different?” Swift asked once the young man and ex-Siren were gone.

“No, I noticed that to,” Pinkie said. She bent down and took a tray of cookies out of the oven. She placed them on the stove to cool off. “There! And that’s how you make awesome gingerbread men cookies!”

“Pinkie, it’s not Christmas yet… why are you making gingerbread men cookies?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

Swift decided that was good enough of an answer. He returned to squeezing icing onto another cake. “Still, though, do you think he’s having an off day?”

“Maybe he is,” Pinkie said. “Which is why a party ought to cheer him up!”

Swift smiled. “Yeah. If it helped him back then, then it ought to help now.”

She nodded. “And maybe it’ll help him and No Clue make up!”

“Make up? What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you notice? They’re obviously having some sort of argument! A party like this ought to bring them together!” She spread her hands, grinning. “And then the magic of friendship will do the rest, and they’ll be friends again!”

Swift couldn’t help but smile at his girlfriend’s enthusiasm. “Right. So we shouldn’t worry.”

“Right! Now, let’s get back to baking!”

13) Day Five: Reverence

“The knowledge that makes us cherish innocence makes innocence unobtainable.”

Irving Howe

***

The sound of hissing was slowly but surely being coupled with growing giggles from the upstairs room. Artifex could hear two voices babbling something. Each word “spoken,” at least relatively so, was followed by the hissing and growling of Francis. And neither side appeared ready to give ground.

“Right here!” Sonata said, pulling the young man into the first room on the left.

The door had been left open. A quick look around revealed that this was a child’s room; no, it was two children’s’ room. A blue rug with several rocketship patterns ran down the length of the floor, all the way to two cribs that were empty. Several toys, including a stack of wooden blocks, were strewn about, tossed aside without rhyme or reason.

Artifex’s eyes fell to the dresser, where, at its base, he found Francis. The cat’s fur stood on end, while he bared his teeth and hissed. The young man then turned his head, and saw what put Francis on edge.

They were obviously twins, as Pinkie had said. One, the boy, had brown hair; the other, his sister, had a flowing orange. The pair wore identical shirts; a strange choice, since it was counteracted by the differing appearances. They had a somewhat pudgy appearance, but weren’t too tiny. Beside them was a jar of peanut butter, opened and armed.

Had he not been so entranced by the view of his angry cat and the oblivious twins, Artifex might have laughed. Instead, he opted for a sigh that escaped through his nose.

“These are Pound and Pumpkin Cake?” he asked Sonata.

“Yup. They’re pretty cute, aren’t they?”

He saw them giggle, then stick their hands in the peanut butter. He supposed that, as a cat, the sight would indeed be somewhat terrifying. “I guess.”

They noticed them standing there. Francis didn’t relax, while Pound and Pumpkin babbled incoherently, waving their peanut-butter-covered hands.

“Anyway, we’d better stop them before anyone gets hurt.” She leaned into him, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll grab Francis and make a run for it, while you distract the twins. Sound good?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you tried asking them not to put peanut butter on my cat?”

“… Do you really think that might work?”

“It’s worth a try.” That, and I don’t think I want to risk getting peanut butter on my person.

Sonata nodded. “Okay.” She turned to the twins. “Uh, Pound, Pumpkin?” They babbled in response, still giggling. “Could you, um, maybe, not put peanut butter on the cat?”

Pound cocked his head, as if confused. He then faced his sister, and spoke something incomprehensible. Pumpkin said something in return, making the both of them let out high-pitched laughs. They turned back to Sonata and Artifex, wearing disarmingly innocent grins.

“Uh, what’s that mean?” Sonata asked.

The twins dunked their hands in the jar again, scooping out a good amount.

“I think… they don’t want to negotiate,” Artifex muttered.

Francis let out a loud meow, and immediately bolted from the room. Artifex grabbed Sonata’s hand and did the same, just as the twins let loose a barrage of creamy peanut butter. The butter hit where they had stood; had they been there a moment longer, their clothes would have turned to a stench-filled town.

Upon their exit, though, Francis accidentally got in their way. While he managed to slip out unscathed, Artifex tripped over his pet, letting out a surprised yell. Sonata, still attached to him, tripped as well. Both of them crashed into the opposite wall with a loud smack.

“Ugh…” Artifex rubbed his head. “Of course that had to happen.”

Sonata murmured something, and Artifex realized that her face was buried in his chest. A blush engulfed his face.

She raised her head, bleary-eyed. She appeared not to have noticed the compromising position they were in. “Oh, hi, Artifex. You look particularly double-headed today.”

“Sonata…”

“Eek!”

Both of them turned to the room down the hall where the screech originated. It had been surprisingly high in tone, that Artifex thought it had to be Fluttershy. His initial guess was rendered incorrect once a flurry of words erupted from the same room.

“Oh, dear! Mr. Cake, are you alright?”

“Yes, dear, are you okay?”

The first voice Artifex recognized as being Fluttershy’s. And based on that context, the second voice had to be Mrs. Cake herself.

Mr. Cake screamed?

“Uh-uh-I-I’m fine, dear, thank you,” Mr. Cake said, his voice slightly muffled by the door. “Just startled, that’s all.”

“Well, I don’t blame you!” Mrs. Cake responded. “That cat just about scared me just as much!”

“Oh, I don’t think he meant to startle anyone,” came Fluttershy’s soothing voice. “Isn’t that right, little one?”

While the door muffled a good amount of the noise, Artifex could guess that Francis meowed something in response. He rolled his eyes; of course that cat would try and appear all innocent-like.

“Why did he run in here in the first place?” Mrs. Cake asked.

“Maybe something startled him. The twins, perhaps?” Fluttershy responded. “Speaking of which, I should go check up on them.”

“We’ll go, too,” said Mr. Cake. “We have to say goodbye to them and everyone, don’t we, dear?”

“Of course, Carrot,” Mrs. Cake said with a light laugh.

Artifex’s eyes widened. “Oh, shoot… Sonata! They’re coming!”

“Hmm? Yes, they are. So?”

“So…” He gestured at himself, then at her, then at the both of them. “It’s just that…”

“That?”

“Sonata, please, you cannot be this dense—”

“Of course not! ‘This’ has no density, since it’s only a word! Unless you count the air being released when saying it as having a density…”

“Eep!”

Now it had been Fluttershy who had yelped. Flicking his head, Artifex saw the girl at the end of the hall. Her hands were over her mouth, while Francis was at her feet. Behind them were Mr. and Mrs. Cake, wearing equally shocked expressions.

“Oh! Hi, guys!” Sonata said, waving. “Did you come to say goodbye?”

“O-o-oh, y-yes,” Fluttershy stammered. “J-just d-d-didn’t want t-to interrupt o-or anything!” Her butterscotch skin was quickly turning to a tomato red.

“Interrupt what?” Sonata asked, cocking her head. The movement caused her hair to fly into Artifex’s face, muffling his frustrated cry.

Mrs. Cake cleared her throat. “Now, I’m not one to judge what a person does with their… significant other, but… could you perhaps do this somewhere else? Preferably not in front of the babies’ room?”

“Do what? Trip?”

Mrs. Cake turned to Fluttershy. “I’m afraid I don’t know that… expression.”

Fluttershy meeped and hid behind her long hair.

Artifex sighed. He could hear the chortles of the twins coming from the room, then a low snickering from Francis.. Yeah… laugh it up, you three.

***

Mrs. Cake could barely contain herself. Laughter escaped between breaths as she brought a hand up to her face to fan herself. “Oh, but you must understand, dear, from where we were standing, it looked like—”

“Like we were doing something dirty,” Artifex grumbled, holding an ice pack to his head. The fall had raised a bump on his head that needed proper soothing.

“Oh, and you weren’t?” she teased.

He groaned. “Please spare me, Mrs. Cake. An entire class already thought that Sonata and I were dating; I don’t need anyone throwing more fuel to that fire!”

Mrs. Cake giggled. “Alright, dear, I’ll stop. But you have to admit, the way you two were positioned—”

“Yes, Sonata has a strange talent for that, doesn’t she?” Artifex mumbled, turning the look at the ex-Siren. Though she was just as embarrassed as he was once everything was explained, she seemed a little calmer now. It helped that Francis was by her, letting her stroke him while Fluttershy took care of the bump on her head.

Catching him looking, Sonata waved; Artifex waved back.

“You can’t get mad at her, can you?” Mr. Cake said.

Artifex shook his head. “I guess not.”

The man smiled. “Well, that’s just sweet.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed his wife. “A lot of girls like that kind of boy; the one who can forgive small mistakes like that!”

Artifex clutched his head with both of his hands. “God, you two are such parents…”

“Well, that is true, dear,” Mrs. Cake responded with a wink.

Francis, satisfied that he had comforted Sonata, decided to do the same for Artifex. He hopped off of the girl’s lap (to both her and Fluttershy’s dismay) and onto Artifex’s, settling in comfortable between his legs. A soft purr began to rise out of him.

The irritation from before lifted; Artifex, on a primal instinct, reached out and began to pet his cat, letting his fingers comb through the soft fur.

“He’s very well-behaved, all things considered,” Fluttershy said. Artifex noticed she had a somewhat disappointed look on her face; no doubt she wanted to pet Francis herself.

The boy nodded, then beckoned the shy girl over with a jerk of his head. “Well, he’s had a good while to learn the rules around here,” he said. “Believe me, he wasn’t like this when we first met.”

“Oh? That seems so hard to believe,” Fluttershy said, gingerly adding her own hand to the petting. Francis responded positively, letting out a yawn, blinking, then rubbing his face in Artifex’s leg. “I mean, sure, he ran into here without warning, but it’s hard for me to see anything but a gentle cat here. You must have trained him very well.”

Artifex shrugged. “Trained? I wouldn’t say I trained him. More like… we reached an agreement.”

“What kind of agreement?” Sonata asked, coming over and sitting next to the boy. Since there wasn’t enough room on Francis for another hand, she contented herself with placing them in her lap, clasped together.

“The house rules, essentially.” Artifex counted off his fingers. “One: Do not tear up the couch. Two: Do not attack the mailman. Three: Do not scuff up any non-carpeted floors.”

“The second one sounds like something a dog would do.”

“Well, Francis is a dog in some ways.”

The cat raised his head, murmured an annoyed growl, then placed his head back down.

“You know it’s true,” Artifex said to his pet.

Francis only meowed into his leg in reply, causing a ticklish vibration to travel up his leg. The young man grunted, shifting slightly in reaction to the strange feeling.

“I’ll just be a second,” said suddenly Mrs. Cake. “Carrot? Could you come help me?”

“Sure thing, Cup,” Mr. Cake said. The two bakery owners walked away, leaving Artifex alone with the girls and the cat.

A period of silence fell before them. Yet it did not leave much of an empty husk behind; rather, it was a peaceful silence, one that Artifex wanted not to break or be broken. His fingers rubbed against Francis’s skin, matched by Fluttershy’s gentle petting, as Sonata gazed longingly at them. Catching the look, Artifex shifted slightly, allowing Sonata a chance to start petting the cat as soon as Artifex himself had ceased.

After a moment of thinking, Artifex scooped Francis up, careful not to disturb him. At first, both Fluttershy and Sonata gave him confused looks, thinking that they had done something wrong. Their confusion compounded as the young man set the cat down upon the space between them. With a wave of his hand, he signaled that they could continue petting. Hesitant as they were, it was only after the wanting purrs from Francis arose that they finally did move back to the previous actions.

Artifex turned away. He knew that while they were busy, their eyes—and even Francis’s—were trained on him. No doubt were they curious as to the sudden. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure either. He couldn’t sit still, though, that much he knew. It wasn’t a physical need, but something deeper within him.

A winding, whining, and worrying wyvern of a walkway wove intricate spools of thought within his mind. He walked over to the window, and stared outward, eyes diligently crossing the horizontal lines to the edge of the world. It wasn’t Manehattan’s skyline, nor was it Manehattan’s skyscrapers, that rose up and grew out.

Yet he could not deny the strange feeling that simply looking outside brought him. It was like he was a child again.

“Artifex?” Fluttershy called, suddenly close. “Are you okay?”

“You’re acting really weird,” Sonata said, also having gotten up. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I just feel… funny.”

“You feel funny? Do we need to call a doctor?”

“No, not that kind of funny, Sonata.” Turning back to them, his eyes jumped from the two, then lost themselves on an unfocused background. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Oh… well, is there anything we can do to… um… help you not feel this way?” Fluttershy asked, tilting her head.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. But don’t worry. It’s just… old feelings cropping up in unwanted places.”

He rested both of his hands on the crook of the cane, gazing down at the floor. Old feelings indeed, he reflected. How true that statement was.

He snapped his head up once he heard the approaching footsteps of the Cakes. “Now, Pound, dear,” he heard Mrs. Cake chide, “you know better than to plaster peanut butter on the nice cat!”

“Ga-goo!” Pound responded, following up with a clapping sound.

Once the family of four entered the doorway, Artifex could see that they had cleaned up the twins nicely. No longer was brown batter on their hands. Breathing in, he detected a faint, soapy smell; perhaps they had had a quick bath, though he couldn’t remember hearing anything of the sort.

“Oh! You’re all still here! Thank you for watching our stuff!” Mrs. Cake said.

Fluttershy offered a simple nod. “It wasn’t a problem, Mrs. Cake.”

“Right, right…” She fixated an unreadable gaze on Artifex. “Okay, Pound, Pumpkin. We’re just going to set you down for just one moment.”

“Uh, are you sure that’s a good idea, dear?” Mr. Cake asked. Even as he clutched his daughter in a firm grip, nervous drips of sweat pooled down his face. “I-I mean, you know how they can get.”

“It’ll be fine, Carrot,” Mrs. Cake assured him with a smile. “It’ll only be a moment, after all.”

She placed Pound on the floor, right in front of Artifex, and Mr. Cake did the same with Pumpkin. Francis shot his eyes open and hissed, hiding behind Sonata. The twins giggled, but other than that paid little attention to him.

“Right. Okay, let’s see,” Mrs. Cake murmured. She opened up one of the travel cases. “We’ve our clothes, about three days’ worth…”

“Three days?” asked Fluttershy, getting up to help them organize. “Are you sure that’s enough?”

“It should be,” said Mr. Cake. “We’re only taking a short vacation, after all.”

“Mmhmm!” Mrs. Cake affirmed. “Now, then, what else? Oh, right…”

As they began making their rounds, inspecting each item they needed, Pound and Pumpkin began to slowly approach Artifex. He watched them with slight unease, not daring to move. His eyes flicked to Sonata, intended on asking for her assistance; but she was busy, too, having now gotten up and helping the Cakes, Francis still with her.

Artifex looked back at the twins, not sure how to react. They stopped, staring up at him, before resuming their crawling. He looked back at the Cakes, then back to the twins. How best to go about this?

No answer arrived, so he fell back on his instincts. He averted his gazed, hoping that his indifference would ward away the toddlers.

But though he could not see them directly, he could hear them. Pound and Pumpkin began “talking” to each other; and judging by their tone of voice, they were confused as to the sudden change in his attitude. Their voices, however, grew closer and closer, as did their bodies.

All of a sudden, he was aware of a light tapping right beneath him. His hands lightly jolted at the sudden movement, and he glanced down.

Pumpkin’s light-yellow hand was entertaining itself by raining a few, miniscule blows upon his cane. She giggled, delighted at the sound it made, even though to Artifex it sounded much duller. She pat, slapped, poked, and prodded a little longer, before looking up and cooing in beckoning. Her brother sat next to her, also letting out an oddly satisfied coo.

Artifex looked at them in confusion. Their hands grasped and clenched at nothing; their eyes, wide and marvelous, looked to him with want. But what did they want?

On a hunch, he slowly extended the cane towards them, expecting a happy coo. Instead, they shook their heads, synchronized,. Pleading tears began to pool.

Artifex had on his own, more subtler pleading look. “What is it?” he murmured softly, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “What is it that you want?”

Without words to speak with, Pumpkin and Pound opted for a simpler form of communication. For a moment, they struggled, their arms and hands still wiggling without purpose. Pumpkin let out a mildly frustrated sigh as her fingers twitched and contorted. For a second, they pulled back and left one up, in an unintentionally vulgar gesture. She, just as much as Artifex, was bewildered at the display, and retracted her head. She turned to her brother and goo-goo’d something. Pound responded with a gurgle.

With their attention off of him, Artifex was left without much of an inkling on what to do next. He looked back up to where Fluttershy and the others stood. The shy girl turned to one of the suitcases, then saw the young man out of the corner of her eye. Their gazes locked; hers, filled with a confused why, and his with confounded how.

Her gaze moved down to the twins. He saw her begin to piece together the puzzle. He tried to steel himself, waiting impatiently for her to give a solution.

Fluttershy’s mouth opened.

“Excuse me, Fluttershy?” came Mrs. Cake’s voice. “Could you check to make sure we have all our toiletries?”

“O-oh?” Fluttershy sharply turned around. “O-oh, yes. I’ll go do that.”

She began to walk away, but before leaving the room, looked back at Artifex. All she could do was offer an apologetic shrug. He met it with a carefully composed, stony face, masking his heaving sigh.

So much for an easy answer, he thought. He looked back at the twins. They appeared to be arguing over something, judging by their excited babble and animated waves. Artifex considered stepping in to act as act as a mediator; then he stopped himself, once he realized he’d be little help.

He fell back into the sport of the spectator, choosing to let the twins sort out their differences on their own terms.

“Gah!”

“Goo-goo, ga, aah.”

“Aaah! Flubaba!”

“Aha.”

Terms, of course, being the relative word.

In a way, it was almost endearing to hear the twins speak their strange language. It was unique to them, and no one else could understand. Was that tragic, or special?

Artifex’s thoughts turned to the future. The language wouldn’t stay, of course. The twins would learn how to properly speak, and they’d forget how to babble incoherently. They’d forget, the parents might not, but it’d still be a lost ability. Did that mean that it was a needless function, if it was only going to be replaced?

But they’re close, aren’t they? This temporary language won’t lessen their bond, even after it’s gone.

“Mm-aa.”

His eyes snapped to Pumpkin. She stared back, slightly wobbling her body. She raised her left arm and, through considerable effort, curled in her thumb and the end three fingers, leaving the index as the remaining one.

Pound clapped happily.

Artifex only stared at Pumpkin. Wordlessly, he followed her finger down to the middle of his chest. It couldn’t be a mistake. She was pointing at him.

He looked back up at her, tightening his jaw. She cocked her head, but nevertheless continued to point.

“… Me?”

She nodded, and goo-goo’d happily.

Pound scooted a bit closer to be next to his sister. Together, they raised their arms expectantly.

Artifex did not let up his gaze as he, slowly and steadily, brought his body down to the floor. His cane lay poised in front of him as he sat down. The twins clapped giddily, while Artifex’s jaw loosened up.

“Hello,” he said, speaking in gentle tones, the pain in his leg momentarily vanishing. “My name is Artifex Frost.”

“Ar-fe-fo,” said Pumpkin.

His lips ever so slightly tingled. “Close enough. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you.”

***

Mrs. Cake watched the three from afar, a gentle smile on her face. With Fluttershy and Pinkie busy doing their best to check to make sure everything was ready, she was left alone at the far end of the room. Besides herself was a feeling of satisfaction for her work.

Mr. Cake stuck his head in, and saw his wife watching the young man and two babies play. He walked up next to her, rubbing his chin. “Um, dear?”

“Yes, Carrot?”

“Well, I don’t mean to sound assumptious, but… you called Fluttershy back just to interrupt whatever Artifex was going to ask, didn’t you?”

She giggled. “Oh, you know me too well, Carrot. Yes, it’s true.”

He rocked on his toes, gaze turned towards the young man. Mrs. Cake continued watching. She noted that the young man’s disturbed frown had vanished. Even as he continued to speak softly and move stiffly with the young ones, his thin lips were stretched into an unconsciously warming smile.

She had heard enough from Pinkie to know that Artifex wasn’t a “big smiler.” But when he did, when something tickled his fancy, made him laugh, made him light up like the autumn’s sky, his smile was all the more worth seeing.

She saw her husband open her mouth. She swatted him. “Shh! Don’t ruin the moment!” Carrot promptly shut his jaw.

They continued to watch. Artifex, despite being a complete stranger, managed to handle the twins well. Mrs. Cake doubted he had any experience, yet watching him talk to, and indulge in, the children, made her think otherwise. Maybe it’s a gift from another life, she wondered.

“Can I ask just one thing?” Mr. Cake asked.

Mrs. Cake responded, “Yes, you can.”

“Why’d you do it?”

At first, she didn’t answer. Mr. Cake hadn’t turned his head to search her. Both of them continued to watch the three children.

Artifex stumbled ever so slightly as Pound pushed into him with a hug. He fell onto his back, a slightly pained expression on his face. It was quickly replaced with one of horror; his sleeve had rolled up, revealing his scars. Pumpkin crawled onto him, intending a squeeze, but saw his look. She babbled, concerned, then saw where his eyes pointed.

Artifex attempted to assuage her concern with a nervous laugh, but Pumpkin was more receptive than she let out—Mrs. Cake knew. So she instead crawled over to his arm, and just as he tried to pull his sleeve down, she held back on the sleeve.

She mirrored what her mother would do whenever she got a cut. She held up the arm and gave it a wet kiss, thinking that the gesture would heal all wounds. It certainly made hers feel better; why wouldn’t it work here?

She looked back at Artifex, smiling toothily. Mrs. Cake already guessed her excited babble, and translated it in her head: There! See? All better!

Suddenly, the red-orange-haired girl vanished under a wave of arms, and Artifex was hunched over, careful not to hurt the girl. She squirmed, but stopped resisting, once she registered the familiar feeling of arms across her hugging her close. As she saw her brother climb up on Artifex’s shoulder, she giggled happily, and wrapped her own arms around the boy.

His face hid behind Pumpkin’s red hair, but Mrs. Cake somehow knew that his eyes were closed, and that he was breathing softly. Why he was acting this way didn’t matter; what Pumpkin had done was significant, and that was all she needed as an explanation.

Mrs. Cake’s smile doubled in warmth, and she tilted her head, letting out a sigh. “Because,” she finally said, answering her husband’s question, “he needed this.”

Author's Note

As it so happens, I am a horrible updater. It's hard to keep a good schedule going when you're busy with writing the next chapter, another project, school, etc. But that's not much of an excuse. I can't promise a constant stream of updates, but I'm hoping to at least get through Day Five before the end of October. Here's to hoping for that.

14) Day Five: Knowledge Given

“Life is pain and the enjoyment of love is an anesthetic.”

Cesare Pavese

***

To both parties’ disappointment, playtime had to end. Pumpkin and Pound’s parents whisked them away and placed them in their cribs. After a little bit of coddling, the two slowly began to drift off into sleep. Mr. and Mrs. Cake kissed them both on their foreheads, whispering some sweet goodbyes.

Artifex watched slightly from afar, a mildly worried expression on his face. “Are you sure they’ll be able to sleep through the noise?” he asked the Cakes.

Mrs. Cake nodded with a smile. “Of course they will, dear. They’ve got to put up with Pinkie, remember?”

He nodded. No doubt they must have had some amount of tolerance for loud noises if Pinkie wasn’t already kicked out for disturbing the peace.

Tapping his foot with his cane, he nodded again. “Right. Well, I think I’ll get going, then. Do you need any help?”

“Actually, could you take some of our belongings downstairs?” Mr. Cake asked.

“Sure, no problem.” Artifex limped over to the suitcases and picked one out, careful not to bang it against his leg. He began to roll it behind him.

“Are you sure it’s not a problem?” Mrs. Cake asked. “Considering your leg, I mean…”

“It’s fine,” he said. He glanced back, a quick smile on his face. “Besides, it doesn’t hurt that much anymore.”

Once he heard the two adults grabbing the rest of the belongings, he started to walk down the hall and head for the stairs. At the top, he took a deep breath, before slowly making his way down them, careful not to bang the suitcase against his bad leg. It took him a little while, but he managed to work his way to the first floor without causing any pain. Glancing back, he saw that Mr. and Mrs. Cake weren’t too far behind.

They rolled into the front desk area, where everyone else was waiting. “You’re leaving?” Rarity asked.

Mrs. Cake nodded in reply.

“Hope you have a good trip!” Clyde added. “Don’t worry; we won’t make a mess of things. We promise.”

Mr. Cake nodded as well. “That’s good to hear. And even if you did, I’m sure that you kids will clean up that mess anyhow.”

“Here, let me get the door,” said Fluttershy. She swung it open. Artifex and the Cakes said their thank you’s, then walked out.

A taxi cab was waiting for them, and the driver offered a saluting wave. “Oh, Ernest!” Mrs. Cake exclaimed. “You’re early!”

“‘Course I am, Mrs. Cake,” said Ernest. “Wouldn’t want you and your husband to be late for your trip to the Caribbean, would I?” The driver’s eyes shifted to Artifex. “What’s this? An extra customer, I hope?”

“Actually, he’s just helping us move our things,” said Mr. Cake. “Artifex? Meet Ernest Travels. He’s our favorite taxi cab driver.”

Ernest rolled down his window and stuck a hand out. “Heya, kid. Howyadoin’?”

Artifex shook his hand with his own. “I’m fine. How’s life away from Mareston?”

“The accent gave it away, din’t it? It’s fine. Canterlot is a close second to me home town.” He then waved his arm to the back. “Pop the trunk. You can put your suitcases in there.”

“Are you sure they’ll fit?”

“Of course they will, kid. If not, I’ll just make them fit.”

“If you say so.” Artifex rolled the case to the trunk, and opened it. With a little help from Mr. Cake, he managed to place the item inside. A few moments later, he and the older man had successfully managed to fit each piece of luggage inside.

“Hmm. Like it was bigger on the inside,” Artifex murmured. “Magical.”

“No magic to it, kid,” Ernest said. “Just plain an’ simple power of knowing your car. This beaut can fit just about anything!” He barked a laugh. “And by anything, I mean anything!”

Judging by the man’s tone, and by Mrs. Cake’s blush and Mr. Cake’s shake of his head, Artifex assumed that they were each thinking exactly what he was thinking. “I’ll take your word for it, and pray that there won’t be a live demonstration.”

“Sharp, kid, very sharp. I like that.” In the rearview mirror, Artifex saw Ernest tip his cap. It was only now did he register that the man was without pupils; his eyes were more-or-less bright-blue orb. Somehow, the fact didn’t seem at all disturbing, especially considering his blackened attire.

“Now, enough chit-chat. Didja say goodbye to your kids?”

“Yes, we did,” answered Mrs. Cake.

“And your other kids?”

“Of course!” Mr. Cake said.

“Good, good. You ready to go?”

“Just one other thing,” said Mrs. Cake. Suddenly, she turned to Artifex. She had on a knowing smile, though he wasn’t sure just what she knew. Stepping forward, she wrapped him in a surprising hug, one that Artifex gave back awkwardly.

“Try to enjoy yourself and the party, dear,” Mrs. Cake whispered in his ear. “You deserve it.”

He didn’t have a chance to wonder what she meant, as she pulled away and got into the cab. Mr. Cake then grabbed Artifex’s hand and vigorously shook it. “Any friend of Pinkie’s is a friend of ours!” he affirmed cheerily, before following after his wife.

At that moment, the doors to Sugarcube Corner swung open again. Out stepped the others, each expressing their goodbyes. Pinkie excitedly bounced up and down, her hand waving so fast that it became a blur.

Artifex heard the sound of a key being turned, and the car rumbled to life. “Right!” Ernest said. “Next stop, the airport! Oh, I should let you know that I’ve had the meter running the whole time.”

“Ernest!” Mrs. Cake gasped.

“Kidding. Only just turned it on now. All set? Good! Hey, kid!” the driver called back.

“Yeah?” Artifex responded.

“Keep care o’ yerself, y’hear?”

“Uh, I hear ya. I mean, you.”

“Great! I’ll see you around!” With a blast of noxious fumes and a short screeching of tires, the cab jetted off into the horizon. Artifex saw the Cakes wave back at them.

He crossed his arms, a little smile dancing across his face. Even though he had just met them, he got the feeling that they were a nice couple. Maybe that was another reason why Sugarcube Corner was so popular. Seeing them go felt like a little piece of that bakery had gone on vacation.

“Okay!” he heard Pinkie exclaim. “Vinyl should be on her way over with her music!”

“Any idea when she’ll get here?” Soul asked.

“Fifteen minutes! That gives us enough time to go over the party list a few more times!”

“Big Mac said he’ll be coming by with some cider,” Applejack said. Catching the others’ slightly concerned looks, she added, “Don’t worry, they’re non-alcoholic. Practically apple juice!”

“Aw, where’s the fun in that?” Rainbow complained with a pout. This earned her a swift punch to the arm by Rarity.

“Rainbow, we are underage! It is illegal to drink!” the fashionista warned.

“Hey, hey! I was just kidding around! No need to be so uptight…”

“Uptight! Why, you—Clyde! Hold me back before I waste this fool!”

“Uh, you got it, babe,” Clyde said as he wrapped his arms around his girlfriend.

Rarity struggled for a little while. “I didn’t mean literally!”

“Better take them inside,” Applejack mumbled. She grabbed Dash by the waist and pulled her into the bakery, with Clyde following in pursuit. The girls’ fighting words diminished behind the glass doors.

“Guess Rarity’s still a tad bit sore after that ladder incident,” Swift commented.

“Stepladder, you mean,” Pinkie corrected.

“… We’re not starting this again,” Swift said, following after Applejack and the others.

“That’s just cuz you’re afraid of being proven wrong!” Pinkie let out a huff, then stomped back inside.

“We’d better go make sure Pinkie doesn’t accidentally kill Swift out of spite,” Soul said.

“Do you really think she’d do that, Soul?” Sunset asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“This is Pinkie we’re talking about. Besides, we still have to finish setting up, don’t we?” The couple walked back inside arm-in-arm.

Though, Artifex thought, as he watched them all, I suppose some parts refuse to leave altogether.

He thought back to the twins. And, a part of the Cakes is still here as well. No point in wishing for them to come back already. Enjoy yourselves, you two.

“H-hey!” he heard Sonata suddenly cry. “Get back here!”

He felt something run up against his leg. Looking down, he saw that it was Francis. The cat meowed a hello, rubbing his fur against Artifex’s jeans. The boy bent down and gently rubbed his pet. “Glad to see you’re feeling better, Francis,” he said, “especially after being oh-so-scared of those innocent twins.”

The cat hissed at the very mention. Artifex booped him on the nose. “Now, now. We’re in a public place, and I won’t stand for that kind of language. What do you say?”

Francis made a lower hiss. Artifex nodded. “Good.”

Sonata reached him, out of breath and hunched over. “Sheesh! Francis can run!” she exclaimed.

“Slipped out of your grasp again, did he?” Artifex quirked an eyebrow, amused.

Sonata blew a strand of hair out of her face. “No! He’s just really hard to catch sometimes!”

“Believe me, I know. Maybe we ought to try and paste him with peanut butter. That way, he’ll be too disgusted to even move.”

Francis squirmed, and bared his teeth. He swiped at his owner with a clawed paw. “Kidding. C’mon,” Artifex said to Sonata, “let’s head inside.”

***

There was not much left to be done. The food had all been baked and placed in their dishes. The decorations had been hung. Garbage had been thrown away, and tools placed back in toolboxes and closets. The place now looked more like it had on Artifex’s first day in Canterlot, albeit more filled.

The continuous pounding of his feet upon the floor as he did his best to help, however, caused a great strain upon his leg. He managed to last long enough for everything to be finished, then sat himself in a booth with Sonata and Francis. Artifex rubbed his leg, massaging it carefully. The cane lay against the back end of the booth; he had made it clear that it wasn’t to be disturbed.

Sonata craned her head, looking for Pinkie. “Hey, Pinkie!” she called.

“Yuh-huh?”

“What do we do next?”

Pinkie placed a finger to her chin, slightly pouting. “Wwwwwelllll, now comes the hard part. Waiting.”

“Waiting?”

“Yeah! We’ve gotta wait for Vinyl to set up her music, and then for No Clue to come.”

“Oh, right.”

“Vinyl texted me and said she’d be a little late, so I’d say give her up to twenty minutes. Hopefully that’s fine?”

The question was directed to Artifex. He shrugged. “It’s fine; we can wait.”

“Well, yeah, I think we can, but can you?”

“… Yes.”

“Okie-dokie-lokie!” Pinkie bounded away in a blur.

Artifex tried not to show his discomfort, though. For some reason, at the mention of No Clue, his leg throbbed. The pain was only a brief feeling, thankfully, and now was nothing more than a memory. Still, it left its mark; he shifted his leg so that it was less cramped beneath the table. Forming a shut jaw, he kept up a neutral expression.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Francis, who meowed, concerned. Artifex looked at him, then back at the others, thinking that they, too, would pick up on the discomfort.

“So!” he began, attempting to dissuade any curiosities. “Have you guys met my cat?”

“I have!” Sonata immediately said, nodding happily. “And I love him!”

“I haven’t,” said Soul.

“Me neither,” Sunset said.

“Well, here he is.” Artifex grabbed the cat by the torso, and gently lifted him up. “Francis, say hello.”

“Mreowo.”

“Huh, that’s a pretty good ‘hello,” Soul said. “Wonder if I can teach my pet to do that?”

“Maybe with a little practice. You have a pet?” Artifex asked.

“Yup. He’s Toby, my dog.” Soul tilted his head. “No offense, but I’m not too much of a cat person.”

“None taken—”

Francis hissed at the boy. “Francis!” Artifex scolded. “What have I told you about keeping your words in check?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sonata said, seeing the others’ surprised expressions. “Artifex can kinda ‘talk’ with his cat.”

“That’s pretty neat,” Sunset said.

“It’s even more neat when he actually listens.” Artifex glared at his cat. “Did we not have a similar conversation just minutes before, Francis?”

The cat scrunched up his nose and hissed at Artifex. “You know I won’t let go until you behave yourself,” the boy said.The cat squirmed and clawed at the air angrily.

Artifex gave a half-grin. “If you want, I can ask Pinkie to make one of her special milkshakes just for you. But only if you behave yourself.” Francis sobered up almost immediately.

The boy raised his head. “Hey, Pinkie—”

“Already on it, Artifex! Anything for your fine, feline friend!” Somehow Pinkie, from all the way in the kitchen, had heard the bribe.

Artifex nodded, then turned back to the others. For a moment, he was unsure how to continue the conversation. Then his eyes caught sight of Francis’s ears swiveling towards Sunset; after a moment, he heard what sounded like a phone’s buzzing.

He gestured his head at her backpack. “Is that your phone?” he asked.

She gasped. “Oh! No, that’s not my phone. It’s my book.”

“Book?”

“You haven’t heard?” Sonata said. “Sunset has this magical book that lets her talk with a princess from another dimension!”

Artifex paused. Days ago, he would have discounted everything that Sonata had just said. To be truthful, he wasn’t sure he could accept all of it readily. But still, given what he had seen, such words had to have had a smidgen of truth to them.

“Let’s say I buy that,” he said carefully. “What does that exactly mean, you can talk to an extra-dimensional princess?”

“Do you remember on Thursday how I said I was going to tell you about where I came from at the party?” she asked, reaching around and unzipping her backpack.

“I do.”

“Well, this has to do with that.”

When Sunset turned back to him, in her hands was a brown, thick notebook. Unlike the typical, spiral-ringed ones that a thrift store would have sold, this one was bound in a seemingly exotic material. If Artifex had to guess, it was much closer to velvet than anything else. Directly in its center was a figure of a sun, though not one he had ever seen before. Four, sharply distinct rays stood out in all four cardinal directions, while smaller, wider ones filled in the spaces between. The sun and its complementing parts were the same color as Sunset Shimmer’s hair; an odd detail, Artifex found—almost too specific to be coincidental.

When the notebook vibrated another time, then fell silent, Artifex was almost certain he was seeing and hearing things. Putting his skepticism to the side, he asked, “That’s yours?”

“Yup,” Sunset said. “I use it to communicate between this world and my home dimension, which is also where Sonata comes from.”

“Equestria, if I remember correctly.”

“Yep! That’s exactly right!”

He gestured with his left hand. “And… you write in this notebook, and this… ‘princess,’ somehow receives it?”

“I understand it sounds crazy,” said Soul, “but yes, that’s true. I even used it myself to give Sunset a gift once.” The white-haired Writer scratched the side of his head. “Think of it like a phone with text messaging. Both sides can communicate with each other, but only through what is written.”

It took Artifex a good ten seconds to search for a simpler term. “It’s a phone book.”

“Well, I mean… actually,” Soul said, looking at Artifex, then at Sunset, with surprise, “… That makes an alarming amount of sense.”

“It’s a phone book,” Artifex repeated, incredulous. “It’s a literal phone book.”

“Well, not quite,” Sunset said. “Sure, like a phone, it has a limited amount of communicating you can do, since there’s only so many pages available. But, unlike a phone, this doesn’t run on electricity. It runs on magic.”

“Magic. Right.” Artifex blinked, then turned to the ex-Siren beside him. “Sonata… you told me that your amulet worked off of magic, didn’t you?”

“Yup, that’s correct,” she said with a confirming nod.

“Is this the same magic, then—”

“Oh, no,” Sunset quickly said. “This one’s, as far as I can tell, simple, honest-to-good pure magic.”

Artifex looked back at Sunset with a raised eyebrow. “There’s a distinction between the two, I take it.”

She nodded. “I won’t get into the details, but basically, there’s regular, good magic that a lot of us use, and then there’s dark magic, what Sonata and the Sirens used. A skilled unicorn can use both, as can an alicorn, but—”

“Wait, wait. ‘Unicorn?’ ‘Alicorn?’” Artifex held up his free hand, keeping Francis tucked in the other. “I know what the former is, but what’s the latter?”

“Basically, it’s a hybrid of unicorn, pegasus, and earth pony. They have insane amounts of magical energy. I’m talking about the kinds that would give a lot of energy corporations a run for their money.”

Artifex caught onto another detail. “Hang on; pony?”

Sunset patiently nodded again. “Yep. It’s gonna sound crazy, but I come from a place where ponies are the dominant species, and no humans have ever existed beyond myths.”

The young man felt a childish curiosity grow inside of him, like a balloon of questions being inflated. “Ponies.”

“Yep.”

“As in, horses, equines—”

“Just ponies is fine. Um… horses isn’t a particularly fond word to use, and equine just feels too formal.”

“Right, right, sorry. So… that means that you’re a pony.”

“Yes.”

“And Sonata… is a pony-Siren?”

“No, I’m just a Siren. But I guess if I ever did go back, I would kinda look like a pony. But with fish tails in the place of hind hooves.”

“Okay. And…” Artifex recollected another detail of Sunset’s. “You said there are unicorns, pegasi, earth, and alicorn ponies. Those are—”

“The three main races plus the rulers of the land,” Sunset explained. “And even though unicorns and alicorns have a good connection to magic, all of the races can access latent magical powers. For example, pegasi can control the weather, and earth ponies can bring in a more bountiful harvest.”

“What? Control weather… control crop production?”

“Yeah!” Soul exclaimed. “Isn’t that so cool?”

Artifex shook his head, then leaned back. “It’s… completely surreal.”

Sunset grinned. “Well, that’s not the half of it. You see, back before all the ponies lived together in harmony—”

She was interrupted by another vibration from the notebook; a shorter one, but still enough to derail her train of thought.

Artifex rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Maybe we should skip the history lesson for now, and talk about what we originally were discussing: the notebook.”

“Aw, are you sure?” Sonata asked. “I was getting into it.”

Sunset raised an eyebrow. “Really, Sonata? Didn’t you and your sisters live through a good amount of the early years?”

“Yeah,” Sonata said, “but that was so long ago. I didn’t even know Nightmare Moon had come back, or that Discord was around, or that Tirek broke free, or—”

Seeing Artifex’s growing bewilderment, Sunset giggled. “Maybe we should save that for another day. I don’t want Artifex to become overwhelmed with too much.”

Artifex nodded slowly. “That… would be preferable.”

His curiosity came back to him, and he gestured back to the book. “So, this journal lets you communicate with your home dimension?”

“Well, more like it lets me communicate with a friend of mine from there.”

“Really? Then she must be pretty far in that dimension, if you have to write letters just to talk.”

“Actually, from what I’ve heard from her, the portal that connects our two worlds is in her castle.”

“Portal?” He blinked at the word; then blinked again as he repeated the statement in his head. “Wait, castle? She lives in a castle?”

Sunset nodded again. “Yes, yes, and yes.”

He scrunched up his brow. “Where is this portal’s entrance… on this ‘side,’ I mean?”

“You’ve seen it several times,” Sunset said. She grew a smirk as she watched Artifex attempt to put the pieces together. “Take a guess?” she offered.

“The school?”

“Not quite. The school statue—”

“The statue—oh.” He thought back to the large horse statue that stood in front of the school. “It didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary, though—huh.”

“Thought of something?” Sunset asked.

“No, that actually makes a good amount of sense,” Artifex said. “Since it looks not at all suspicious, no one would think that it’s a portal to another world.”

The amber-skinned girl smiled at Artifex’s insight. “That’s one of the theories we have going as to why it’s even here. Starswirl was more clever than we give him credit for!”

Starswirl? … Never mind.

“Anyway,” continued Sunset, “what used to happen was that the portal would be open for only a select number of moons. But, thanks to some engineering done by my princess friend, we’ve managed to be able to keep the portal open as long as we need it.”

“But how do you prevent people from accidentally falling in?” Artifex asked. His petting of Francis ceased, but the cat didn’t mind. In fact, he, too, seemed intrigued by what the girl was saying.

“Well,” Sunset explained, “a lot of the students at CHS have a good idea of what’s going on. They know to keep away from the statue.”

“What if someone else tries something, though? Maybe they’re an exchange student, or some curious individual, or a suspicious interloper. What’s going to stop them from investigating and accidentally falling in?”

Sunset rubbed the back of her head, closing her eyes. “Unfortunately, we’ve no definitive solution for those kinds of situations. Our best bet is to simply persuade people not to lean on the statue, or to build something to prevent them from falling in.”

“The latter possibility, however, meaning you’ll have to obstruct the entrance.”

“Right.”

Artifex tapped his chin, closing his eyes for a moment. The statue seemed like a matter worth investigating further. He recalled his initial conclusions about the school, supposing the “magical anomalies” that that girl online had spoken about. The way Sunset was describing it, it seemed more like a “door” than anything sinister.

He thought back to Sonata and her Siren sisters. Then again, what comes through isn’t always going to be something sweet. He looked at Sonata through the corners of his vision. But that isn’t to say that things don’t change.

Still, there was the matter—or, rather, the conclusion—that the portal was essentially an entrance point, without so much as a lock or handle to keep it shut. However, if the stories of the Sirens and of Sunset herself were to be believed, then surely the school had some form of “defense” to combat potential threats. But that thought seemed illogical; they were all teenagers, and he couldn’t imagine the principals having the ability to rehabilitate the Sirens.

He cast the matter aside. What was done was done, and he was worried that if he started questioning it, more odd occurrences would happen. He wasn’t the superstitious type, but he knew when life was trying to be funny.

But back to the door. Why keep it open when Sunset can just as easily communicate via notebook?

“Artifex?” Soul’s voice called out to him. “Is something wrong? You’ve been staring at the bench’s backside for quite some time now.”

“Hmm?”Artifex shook himself out of his ruminations. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, I was thinking.”

“What about?”

His finger rested back onto Francis’s head, scratching it slowly and absentmindedly. With each scratch, the cat blinked, letting out low coos and purrs. Artifex’s other hand came up and rested on his chin. “Forgive me if I sound repetitive. I’d like to confirm some things with you, Sunset.”

“Huh? Okay. Go ahead.”

“First: this portal is constantly open, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And you have a friend on the other side. A ‘princess.’”

“I guess it’s a little hard to believe.”

“Actually, it isn’t. I mean, considering everything… but anyway. You talk with your friend via notebook.”

“Yes, this one. It’s magically powered, allowing me to talk to her across dimensions.”

“And the portal’s exit lies in her own, personal castle.”

“Yes, that’s also right.” Sunset frowned. “You just said everything I talked about back to me. What are you driving at, Artifex?”

“It just seems a bit… strange,” he said, forming his own frown. “If she’s a close friend, who has access to the portal on an assumed, consistent basis, and the portal’s open… why don’t you visit her in person?”

Sunset’s reaction shocked him. She visibly cringed, and withdrew herself physically. Her confidence had evaporated on the spot, and Soul moved quickly to comfort her.

Knowing that he had touched upon a sore point, Artifex distanced himself physically, letting his back run up against the booth. Francis jumped off of his lap and onto Sonata’s, who yelped in surprise. Artifex ignored the shout; a creeping nervousness ran up and down his arms. Something itched, and he rubbed his forearm.

His frown slightly trembled. “S-sorry,” he mumbled, not daring to look directly at Sunset. “I… I didn’t mean to offend—”

Soul quickly raised a merciful hand. “It’s okay, Artifex. You were curious, that’s all. Right, Sunset?”

The amber-skinned girl nodded, trying to reassure Artifex. “Y-yeah,” she stuttered, then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too. I thought that it wouldn’t keep hurting after all this time.”

Artifex finally looked back at her. As Soul moved away, he saw that she was trying to keep herself composed. She, too, was nervous, leading Artifex to still think that he had said something wrong.

She took several deep breaths. Then she managed a slightly forced, yet kind smile. “Don’t beat yourself over it, Artifex. Everyone else knows, so you’re bound to be curious.” She ran a hand through her hair. “But, like I said. This… opens up old wounds.”

For a second, Artifex’s eyes dropped to his wrists; then they bounced up and looked at Sunset. He nodded.

“Where to start?” she asked herself.

Artifex kept quiet.

After a number of seconds had passed, she nodded to herself, and began her tale.

“In Equestria, the land is ruled over by two alicorn rulers. Their names are Princess Luna and Princess Celestia. The former has the power to control the movements of the moon, and is called the Princess of the Night. The latter wields authority over the sun, and is called the Princess of the Sun.” Noticing Artifex’s curiously disbelieving look, she chuckled dryly. “Yes, it’s true; Equestria’s rulers control the sun and the moon. Believe me, I was just as confused as you are right now when I first came to this world, and realized that the sun and moon moved independently.”

To the side she added, “Of course, back then there was only one ruler, but… that’s a whole different story.”

Artifex let the matter slide.

“I was a unicorn back in Equestria, and I was the student of Princess Celestia for most of my childhood.”

“You say that like it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“It is! Or, was, anyway. You didn’t just have to be a unicorn to study under the pony who’s considered one of the strongest magic users in the world. You had to be incredibly gifted. Which was why, in Canterlot, there was a School for Gifted Unicorns, where you got tested on your magical ability.

“Long story short, I was the top of my class, and was selected by the Princess to train my magic.”

“Sounds strenuous,” Sonata said. “Oop! Sorry; I didn’t meant to interrupt.”

“It’s okay, Sonata,” Sunset said. “I guess you’d be curious, too.”

Sunset then looked to Artifex. “Does that make sense so far?”

He took a moment to consider his next words. “… About as much sense as talking to a girl from another dimension would merit, I suppose.”

“Huh. You’re… really not at all freaked out about this.”

He shook his head. “I think I wasted my ‘freak out’ the day I met all of you.”

“Right. So, anyway, where was I? … Oh, yes.

“I studied under Princess Celestia’s tutelage for many years. I was growing more powerful and much smarter each passing day. But, at the same time… I was getting consumed by it all.”

“‘It?’”

“The power. The opportunity. I thought I deserved everything that Celestia was giving me, and more. I wanted to be the most powerful pony in Equestria.”

Sunset’s face cast a dark shadow as a cloud rolled in front of the sun.

“And… as time passed… that need grew into unquenchable want. I wanted more than just magical power; I wanted status. I wanted to be praised as a goddess, like my mentor. I thought that I was on the path of glory, to princesshood or alicornhood, and I thought that I could have the world grovel at my hooves.”

Artifex placed his hands together and set the underside of his wrist on the table. His chin settled on his fingers as he released a breath. “I see… you were drowning in more power than you thought possible.”

Sunset nodded solemnly. “Yes. I grew selfish; arrogant. I started to look at my life through a narrowed lens, focusing on only helping me, rather than trying to help others. I was boastful and condescending to everyone, even though Princess Celestia tried to teach me humility.

“That was around the time I found the Crystal Mirror.”

“You mean the one in your princess friend’s castle?”

“Yes, that one. It was, as I said, originally in Canterlot, and I had seen it myself back when I was a student of Princess Celestia’s. When I looked into it, I saw myself as a beautiful alicorn, a ruler of Equestria—a perfect princess. I wanted to learn more about what I saw, but Princess Celestia forbade me.” Sunset closed her eyes. “I have to wonder if that was because she was starting to see me turn into something else. Something darker. Something… sinister.”

“Well, the important thing is that you’re no longer that kind of person—er, pony, Sunny,” said Soul quickly, giving her a squeeze; he had sensed her growing discomfort.

Artifex, too, had sensed it, but knew that she needed to push through the memories. “What happened next?” he asked.

Sunset sighed. “I wanted to look at the mirror again, so I began researching dark magic to see if I could understand what made the mirror special. But I was quickly found out by the guards and the Princess.”

Her discomfort grew, even as Soul did his best to comfort her. Her brow scrunched up. She closed her eyes and trembled. Artifex waited, not daring to push until she was ready.

Looking at her now, though, Artifex couldn’t picture her as ever being less than kind and compassionate. It was comparable to Fluttershy, but with more confidence in her actions. She was an affirmative voice with an intelligence to back it; no longer Soul had fallen for her. But to think she was ever cruel? Was that feasibly possible?

Does this Equestrian magic change a person? Or does something else? At first, it seemed like a silly pair of questions. But, with magic now as a factor, Artifex had to wonder if something intense had happened to completely change how Sunset acted.

Finally, she appeared more-or-less composed.

“I… said some things I’m not proud of saying. I accused her as purposely holding me back out of fear of being usurped. I cursed her and her name.” She buried her face in her hands. “God, I was so angry and stupid…”

“It is as Soul said,” mentioned Artifex softly. “That’s in the past; that’s not who you are anymore.”

She nodded, then continued her story. “Celestia revoked my student status, and was about to throw me out of the castle. But I wasn’t having any of that, so just as the guards made to grab me, I jumped through the mirror.”

“And you ended up here.”

“Yep, and just as you see me. Well… with a lot more negativity than I have now, at least.”

Artifex nodded, reclining back. “And you’ve remained here ever since?”

She nodded. “I thought I couldn’t go back. I thought that I would be captured, and thrown into a dungeon.”

“Is it really that harsh in Equestria?”

“Well, I did threaten to return with an army to take over the throne by force.”

“Ah… yeah, that would require a number of years in… a dungeon.”

Sunset let out a dry, short laugh. “That’s an understatement.”

She fell silent, and Soul hugged her close. Artifex looked down at Francis, thinking on what to say. He sensed Sonata stir a bit, but the former Siren didn’t appear willing to speak.

“How long?” he finally asked.

“Hmm?” Sunset tilted her head, not quite understanding.

“How long has it been?”

“Oh… roughly three, four years, I think. Time here and time in Equestria move at different rates.”

“I see.” Artifex nodded, looking back up. His eyes softened their pinpointed gaze, becoming somewhat warmer. “And… that’s why you haven’t gone back to talk to your princess friend? Because you don’t want to face your former mentor in person?”

A slow nod met his assertion.

He let out a low hum. “Well… have you considered going back?”

“Oh, of course!” Sunset’s voice noticeably brightened. “I mean, sure I’ve gotten used to being human, and I wouldn’t want to leave Soul here to suffer all alone—”

“I’d suffer a lot without her,” Soul commented.

“—but, it’s still an intriguing possibility.” She let out a sigh. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be able to use magic on command.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sonata said with a whimsical tone. “Sometimes I like to wonder what would happen if I had my magic and could control everyone in this booth with the sound of my voice.”

Everyone gave her strange looks. She shrugged. “What? Once a villain, always somewhat a villain.”

“We’ll just have to make sure you don’t try and get your magic back, then,” Artifex said. “I’d prefer to think on my own, thank you very much.”

“Aw! Don’t worry, Arty; I could never control you! Unless I wanted to, for some reason…”

“… Right. Anyway…” He turned back to Sunset. “So, you haven’t even thought about going back just to visit your princess friend? Even if that meant you didn’t have to see this Princess Celestia?”

Sunset shook her head. “It’s more than that. I think… I think at some point I’ll have to go back to Equestria. Not permanently,” she quickly added, “but… I think it’s something I’ll have to do. But only when I’m ready.”

“And you’re saying you’re not ready now.”

“I don’t think I am.”

Artifex glanced at Soul, then around the entirety of Sugarcube Corner. Seeing so many familiar faces, and all of them connected to Sunset in some way, made him wonder about the girl’s last statement.

“What about your parents?” he asked.

“Oh!” At that, Sunset did manage a smile. “I saw them, actually. Last year, around Christmas time. It was thanks to Soul that I did.” She pecked him on the cheek. “Still love you for that, babe.”

Soul blushed, and rubbed the back of his head. “I just wanted you to be happy, Sunset. You were really down during that time. And if seeing your parents was something that would make you yourself again, well, who was I to let the opportunity slide?”

“I was with them for a week in Equestria,” Sunset further explained. “But I didn’t want to see Celestia during that time. I just wasn’t ready.”

An old phrase came to Artifex. It sounded familiar, but he didn’t think that he heard it from anyone before. “Our biggest regrets are often the biggest actions we never took.”

Sunset blinked, then nodded. “I get it, Artifex, really. I should try to go home and patch things up. One day.” She repeated the phrase to herself, like a mantra. “One day…”

Artifex waited a moment to see if Sunset would say anything further. He slowly realized that she wouldn’t.

“Is that it, then?” he asked. “It’s fear that keeps you from reconciling with Princess Celestia?”

Sunset didn’t nod, but she didn’t shake her head either. “It’s more than just fear. I… I want to prove something.”

“Prove something?”

“I want to prove… that I have changed. That I am better than I once was. That I’ve matured, that I’ve learned my lesson!”

Artifex matched her tone with an exclamation of his own. “And I’d argue that you very well have! Sunset, I’m a pretty perceptive person. Normally, I can tell what a person is like based only on how I see them when we first meet. But I can’t—nor couldn’t—detect a trace of malicious intent in you when we met on Monday!” He leaned forward, eyes sharpening once more into a concentrated gaze. “I knew, then, that you were a good person. You reached out, and you helped me, despite me being a complete stranger.”

Soul nodded, then put in his own input. “Sunset, you saved the school already once. And you tried not to let the pain of your past stop you from trying to help out wherever you could. Trust me; would I have fallen in love with you if you hadn’t changed?”

Artifex continued his point. “Look around, Sunset. You’ve made friends; changed lives, or at least mine. You’ve done so much good because you wanted to do good, and because of that, you have clearly changed, and for the better. If that’s not proof enough, then I don’t know what is.”

“And it’s more than just Artifex’s life you changed,” Sonata said, beaming. “I mean, sure, it sucks that I can’t do magic stuff anymore, but because of what you and your friends did, I made new friends and started to really like singing again!” She adopted an out-of-character smirk. “Plus, I’m sure that ‘villain reformation’ would be great to put on your resume, if you ever want to return home to Equestria.”

Sunset was quiet for a little while, and Artifex began to relax back into his original position. He wondered if he had said enough—if he had said the right thing.

As if sensing his master’s worry, Francis purred, and rubbed his cheek against Artifex’s thigh.

Sunset’s voice came softly. It wasn’t quite tired, nor was it quite chipper. It seemed more accepting than anything. “I know you guys are right. Trust me, I do. But… I’ll go when I’m ready. Really.”

Artifex waited a second, then leaned back into his seat, giving Sunset an even gaze. “And that’s all we’ll ever ask.”

Sunset nodded, then flashed Artifex a smile. “You’re pretty good with motivational speeches, Artifex. Have you considered joining a club for them?”

He tapped the side of his head, offering a small grin, relieved that the issue had been momentarily resolved. “Hmm. Guess all that practice on Francis has paid off.”

They all laughed, even as Francis lifted his head and scratched irritably at Artifex. For the moment, the mood was lifted.

“Oh, hey! Vinyl’s here!”

Pinkie’s excited voice came from their side. Turning their heads, they looked to the window.

Outside, a fancy-looking car was parked. Vinyl Scratch was in the back, rummaging through the trunk, but she stopped and waved when she saw them all standing there.

Pinkie waved excitedly back. “Wow! That looks like your biggest bass cannon yet!”

“It certainly looks big,” Artifex commented.

“It sure does,” Sunset said. “C’mon; let’s help her bring it in.”

15) Day Five: A Lingering Tangerine

“We can’t help everyone, but everyone can help someone.”

Ronald Reagan

***

Sitting down had unintentionally caused Artifex’s leg to stiffen up. He moved once again with a well-developed limp, but he was quick to wave off any offers for help. In his head, moving whatever equipment Vinyl had wouldn’t be too much trouble; so long as the others helped.

He grunted as he began pushing a cart with a massive speaker. The wheels made it smoother to move, but he had to grit his teeth against the discomfort of pushing off of his left leg. With himself obscured by the speaker, and everyone else busy moving and transporting whatever they could (it wasn’t much, thank goodness), his grunt went mostly unnoticed.

But Vinyl had clearly heard him, and walked up beside him, concerned. “Is it your leg?”

“Hmph. Yeah, but I can manage.” He blinked. “Wait. You can talk?”

“Well, duh.” He saw her eyes roll behind her glasses. “Of course I can.”

“I was under the impression that you were mute.”

“That’s just because I don’t want to talk.”

“Right. Anyway, could you give me a hand?”

She could give two, at the very least, and did fall quiet once they began pushing. From the side of the speaker, Artifex saw Pinkie hold open the door. He and Vinyl wheeled in the device, hearing the click-clack of the wheels as they hit the floor. Vinyl nodded to herself, then headed back to her car to grab some other supplies.

“Alright. What next?” Artifex asked Pinkie.

“Next, we set it up! Do you think you can lift it?”

“I don’t think anyone could, Pinkie.”

“That’s okay! We can still plug it in. Here, let me show you where to put it.”

They moved the cart so that it was in the right corner of the bakery, nestling it as comfortably as possible between the corner booths. Pinkie procured an electrical cord, then plugged one end into the speaker, and the other into the wall socket.

Artifex gazed up at the device. “Um… are you sure this building has enough energy to power this thing?”

“Of course it does! I mean, if you disregard the chance of a citywide blackout occurring, that is!”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m joking!” She cocked her head. “Maybe. Anyway, let’s test it out!”

From her hair, she pulled out a microphone. She plugged in the jack to the corresponding port on the speaker. She took a deep breath, before shouting into the mic, “CAN EVERYONE HEAR ME?”

Artifex was suddenly flung aside by the force of the sound. He couldn’t even hear himself groan as he crashed onto the floor. A ringing held strong in his ears, and as he struggled to regain his footing, he was aware of an obvious shaking beneath him. Around the Corner, the others clutched their heads and recoiled, eyes clenched and pained cries escaping their lips.

Pinkie appear unfazed. “IS THAT A YES?” she shouted. Sharp feedback rocketed from the speaker, silencing all thought. Several light bulbs cracked under the power.

The pink-haired girl paused, looking around. She moved the mic away from her mouth, frowning. “Huh, it seems louder than normal.”

Even though the mic was now an arm length away from her, it still managed to pick up her voice. The windows vibrated dangerously.

Vinyl walked up to Pinkie, also unfazed, but with a frown on her face. Going past her, she stepped up the speaker. Her hand reached out and grasped a protruding knob, then twisted it down. She grabbed the microphone out of Pinkie’s hand. Tapping it twice, then blowing a little, she nodded, seeing that the noise level was, at the very least, bearable.

“Ooh,” Pinkie said, smiling brightly. “It was on full volume!”

Artifex slowly got up; his leg ached, but he ignored it. Casting a look behind him, he saw that Swift had his hands on his ears and was speaking with Clyde.

“WHAT?!” he shouted. “I CAN’T QUITE HEAR YOU THROUGH THIS RINGING IN MY EARS!”

“Give it a second, Swift!” Clyde said back, a little louder than normal. “The ringing will go away!”

“WHAT?!”

Artifex turned back to Pinkie. “‘Full’ is an understatement.”

“Ah, it’s no biggie. Besides, we’ve still the other equipment to set up, don’t we?”

Artifex nodded, but kept a stiff jaw. He suddenly regretted not bringing earplugs.

***

Eventually, they set everything up, doing their best to keep the volume as low as possible. Vinyl set up her booth quickly, playing a few tunes to fill the songless void. Despite the bouncing and bounding beats, they rested easily in the background, no longer a distraction.

With everything set up, and the glass debris swept away, the requirements had been met. All they had to do was wait.

But the question now became just how long they needed to wait. A glance at the clock showed that nearly two hours had passed since Artifex had arrived. The party was scheduled to begin at around 9:30; it was now 9:15.

Mild regret filled Artifex’s stomach. He should have had No Clue’s number, if only to ask what was taking him so long. Surely the boy could keep track of an appointment; surely his name wasn’t a true testament. Nonetheless, the worry was on everyone’s minds, especially Pinkie’s.

The two of them were in the far left corner of the bakery, standing up. “Are you sure he’s coming?” she asked him once everything had settled down.

“I thought I’m supposed to ask you that,” Artifex responded. He arched his back, stretching, then fell back into a neutral stance. He stared out the window. “I’m fairly certain he doesn’t live that far from here. What could be keeping him?”

Pinkie tapped her chin. “Hmm. Is he allowed to go to parties, I wonder?”

“I believe so. I’ve had no reason to think otherwise.”

Rainbow came up behind Pinkie. “You guys talking about No Clue?” They nodded, and she sighed. “Yeah, me too. I didn’t think he’d be the late type.”

“Technically, it isn’t ‘late’ yet,” mused the young man in front of her. “So, maybe he’s just left now.”

“It stinks that we don’t have his phone number,” Pinkie groaned. “Darn it! Time always gets in the way of partying!”

“Knowing you, Pinkie,” Rainbow said, “you’d find some way to get around time in order to party.”

That earned a light, but fleeting smile from Artifex. He continued to watch the outdoors.

He wished he had his notebook with him. Writing did its best to bring him solace, and he figured a little scribbling wouldn’t hurt anyone. Unfortunately, as he was all-too-well aware, all he had was his cane. It hardly constituted for writing material.

Francis circled around his legs, then looked up and meowed. Artifex bent over and picked him up, cradling him his arms. “Getting antsy, are we?” he asked, as the cat squirmed ever so slightly against him. “Yeah, me too, Francis. Don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll meet No Clue soon.”

Francis surprised him by growling loudly. He stuck out and waved his paw at something coming from their right. A second later, Artifex saw a pair of copper headlights shine over the crest of the road, revealing a sedan not unlike the one No Clue’s mother had driven.

“Is that him?” asked Pinkie, having also seen the incoming car.

“I think so!” Rainbow cheered. “Yes! Now we can get this party started!”

Artifex smiled, scratching behind Francis’s ear. “Good catch, Francis.”

“C’mon! Let’s go greet him!” Rainbow pulled him away from the window, rushing herself and the boy out the doors.

Artifex stumbled on his limp, but managed to keep himself held up long enough for the car to be within Rainbow’s shouting distance. She placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled, waving her other arm. “Hey! No Clue! Over here!” she called.

The car grew closer, but the windows were too dark to see through. Artifex struggled to recall if No Clue’s mother’s car had tinted windows. Perhaps this was his father’s, then, or a relative’s.

The exact details didn’t matter, for the car began to slow down. It was a surprisingly a gentle stop, and the car pulled neatly to the side of the sidewalk. The car hummed once more, then simmered down with a click. The lights died down just as the car did.

Artifex moved past Rainbow, glad to see that No Clue was finally here. “Here, let me get the door,” he said, once he heard the click of the unlocking mechanism. A silhouette nodded back at him; it seemed familiar, yet also different. He shook the thought away, and reached out to grab the handle.

He pulled it open, a welcoming smile on his face.

It effortless melted into a look of complete shock.

A taller, poofy-haired woman with a knowing smirk on her lips stepped out. She wore a lilac-purple dress and skirt. Her lips parted into an almost predatory, confident smile.

“Surprised to see me, I see,” the woman said. The other door behind her opened, revealing a pig-tailed woman with a green jacket.

Artifex struggled to gather his thoughts. He stared at her for a few seconds, before stuttering, “A-Adagio?”

“The one and only. Hello, Chronicler. Or, should I say, Artifex Frost.”

“How did you—Sonata, right?”

“I love my sister, but lord, she can’t keep a secret all that well,” Adagio said. She frowned. “We’re not too late, are we? I had wanted to leave earlier, but it was harder than I expected to convince Aria to come.”

“I still don’t want to be here,” said Aria over her shoulder.

Artifex avoided Adagio’s gaze, looking past her into the back of the car. He squinted, attempting to look through the opaque glass, but to no avail.

Adagio tapped him on the shoulder, but he did not turn around. “Looking for something? I didn’t bring a weapon, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“For someone,” he murmured, leaning back over. “I was almost expecting to find No Clue in your car.”

The ex-Siren leader cocked her head, frowning again. “No Clue? I don’t believe I know of any person with that name.”

“Really? Does Nostradamus Clue ring any bells?”

“None at all.”

Artifex huffed, falling silent. He crossed his arms, not realizing that the situation had become awkwardly stiff.

Adagio cleared her throat. “Anyway. I presume that we’re holding the party right about now?”

Her voice snapped him out of his reprieve. “Yeah. You were invited—this time?” he quickly added.

She adopted a playful smile. “Yes. I made sure to have an invitation on hand.” Reaching into her pocket, she brought out a gold-white envelope. Opening it, she revealed Pinkie’s handwriting. “She couldn’t hand it to me personally,” Adagio explained, “so she had Sonata give it to me. I said I would think it over.”

Artifex nodded, still unsure of how to react. “Well, that’s good and all, I suppose. Anyway, would you like to come in?”

“Gladly,” she said. “Would you like to lead the way?”

Something in her tone made his lips twitch. “If you wish it. Aria?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll follow.”

Turning, he was abruptly stopped by an elbow from Rainbow. “Psst! Is No Clue in there?” she asked. She wasn’t particularly discreet about it, as Adagio raised an eyebrow at the second mention of the name.

Artifex shook his head. “He must be coming much later than we thought.”

“Oh… that stinks.” Rainbow heaved a sigh. “Well, what can you do.” She headed back inside.

Artifex heard Adagio hum. “Something tickle your fancy?” he asked, looking back.

“Someone, more-like,” she responded. “But that can wait. Shall we get going?”

“We shall.” Together, they entered Sugarcube Corner once more.

***

Francis settled into Adagio’s lap like he had been there his whole life. He had made no fuss as he was introduced to the girl, and had eagerly set about displaying his affection towards her. In no time at all, he had warmed up to her, then fell asleep in her arms. Uncharacteristically, Adagio had on a small smile as she watched the cat sleep; a smile that did not reflect on the two others who were with her.

“How’d you do that?” Sonata exclaimed. “I mean, sure, Francis liked me, but he hadn’t been this affectionate!”

Driving the point home, Francis suddenly yawned, licked his lips, then buried his face back into Adagio’s dress.

The ex-Siren leader leaned back into the booth, still smiling. “I don’t know, Sonata. Maybe Francis just has an eye for beauty.”

A strange saying came to Artifex’s mind. “Cats of a coat color hiss together.”

“Well, now,” Adagio said playfully, “you really think I’m a cat, Artifex?”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “It would certainly explain your personality.”

“Hmm? You mean my exotic and graceful self?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘temperamental and spoiled.’”

“Mm. I see.” She seemed unaffected by the insults. “Well, if we consult the same list of adjectives, I suppose that another word to use would be ‘sultry.’ Wouldn’t you agree, dear Francis?”

Francis purred quietly, and Adagio’s smile grew ever so slightly. “I must say, you’ve raised him well, Artifex.” She raised an eyebrow. “So well, in fact, if what Sonata is saying is indeed true, that you can ‘talk’ with him?”

Artifex shrugged. “Not quite. I can’t talk with him. I can understand sort of what he’s saying based on his behaviors, and he’s gradually begun to understand what I myself say.”

“And you still have to teach me how to do that!” Sonata said.

Artifex was about to retort, when Pinkie’s voice cut in. “Hey, guys! Wanna try the cake?”

“Ooh! Sure!” Sonata exclaimed, getting up. “Do you guys want any?”

“Not right now,” Artifex said.

“I’m fine,” said Adagio.

“Oh. Okay. More for me!” Sonata paused, then looked to the cat on Adagio’s lap. “I suppose it’d be rude to ask if Francis would like to come along for dessert?”

Upon the mention of the word, the cat sprang up, suddenly and completely alert. He gave Sonata the most pleading look he could muster; her heart gave way. “Oh, I could never say no to that face! C’mere,” she said, scooping him up, “let’s get ourselves some cake, okay?”

Once they were gone, Adagio let out a light laugh. “Maybe she speaks ‘cat’ better than she thinks she does.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she picked up something after several hundred years,” Artifex replied.

A not-entirely awkward silence fell between them. Its unconscious influence made Artifex instinctively look away, staring out of the side window. His mind drifted.

“Found something interesting to look at?” Adagio said.

“Mmm,” was all he said. Truthfully, he hardly had registered the many people that walked or drove by them.

Adagio didn’t reply immediately, and the silence increased to chasm-like proportions.

Moments passed. The silence became heavier and heavier. Artifex sensed the chasm widening.

I have to say something, Artifex thought. But what? What exactly can I say?

“You don’t seem happy to see me.”

Her voice was subdued—uncharacteristically subdued. She sounded almost defeated, worn down. It was enough of a shock to cause Artifex to abruptly turn around to face her.

Her face didn’t match her voice, but he noted that there was some stiffness in her expression. Her smile was slightly smaller. Her eyes looked slightly to the side of him.

“Pardon?” he said.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Adagio said, waving a hand and leaning back. “It makes sense, I suppose. I mean, we may have reconciled our differences on the day we first met, but I suppose you still weren’t ready to see me.”

“I—”

“My fault, really. I expected that after all the trouble I had gone through just trying to help you, you’d at least show some amount of gratification.”

Trouble? What does she mean?

“However, judging your bewildered expression—” Her smirk returned, but it was strained. “—you had no idea that I was doing anything.”

“Adagio. What are you talking about?”

She kept silent at first, and Artifex assumed he would have to press her further. He leaned slightly forward, intending to question her; then, she spoke up:

“On the first rainy day of the month, do you remember what happened?”

Memories flashed in his mind, of a strange, tall man, with a terrible choice of clothing and a terrible want for chaos. “I do.”

“How do you think your teacher and the principals had arrived so quickly?”

“Mr. Solil’s meeting had finished,” he surmised, “and the principals were already aware that Discord was in the building.”

“An adequate conclusion,” she said, “but consider this. Mr. Solil’s meeting had just finished, but he was in the break room getting coffee. And Principal Celestia and Vice Principal Luna weren’t even aware that Discord was in the school.”

Artifex considered her words. “I suppose that’s one possibility. But… where are you going with this?”

“Oh, Artifex. Come now; surely you’d have figured it out by now?” Her smile returned; and it was somehow warm. “Think about it. Where am I going with this?”

“You could just tell me.”

“I could.”

“But you won’t.”

“I won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it should be obvious what I mean.”

Artifex sighed, closing his eyes. He went over the memory again and again, trying to piece together the images that burned vibrantly in his head and what Adagio had suggested. It didn’t take long.

“I remember… seeing something orange right in front of the door,” he said. “I had thought it was just my mind playing tricks, especially since I had just seen red a moment before. Then, right after I had seen the color, Mr. Solil and the principals barged in.” He pursed his lips. “The strange thing is I think I’ve seen that orange before. It was a large orange, and not a concrete one.”

“Not concrete? How so?”

“It had hues, I think. They were all flashes and snippets, but there was something unique about each instance.”

Looking up, he found Adagio smiling at him.

“… It was you.”

“Indeed it was.”

He blinked. She wasn’t lying; he could somehow tell. The facts; they matched up with her suggestion. It made sense; so much sense, that he knew it couldn’t be a simple matter of coincidence.

She had been there; she had been actively helping him.

“But why?” he asked.

Her fingers laced together, and she adopted a more serious frown. “Why, indeed. I don’t really know myself.”

“How can you not? You did what you did of your own volition.”

“I’ve done many things of my own will, Artifex. I attempted to enslave an entire school using Equestrian magic. Before that, I used my power to make ponies fight one another. Even more recently, I cornered you willingly, making you uncomfortable.” Her bright-amethyst eyes narrowed. “Every time I did something, it was out of a desire to be powerful. And you know this.”

Unsure what she was completely trying to say, he nodded.

“The point is, I have never done anything out of a desire to do good. It was all for me, and me alone.” Her frown straightened into thin lips. “So, indeed, why did I help you? Maybe it was because I knew what Discord was like; or, at least, the Equestrian version of him. Maybe I didn’t like his human counterpart, and just wanted to shake him up a little bit. Maybe I just didn’t have much of a reason, and just did what I did, because I felt like it.”

“That sounds like a cop-out,” Artifex said. “You’re a driven person, Adagio. You do things because you think you can do them.”

“Do I? I suppose I sound like Sunset Shimmer in that regard. Nonetheless, if I don’t know my own reasons for helping you, then the reason or reasons must not exist.”

He shook his head. “I don’t buy it. That isn’t like you.”

“Oh?” Her voice became tight, irritated. “And you think you know me?”

Did he?

He looked down, covering his face with his icy-blue hair. Did he know anything about Adagio? All he had was barely a day’s worth of experience with her; the rest, he learned from other sources. Could he say he knew who Adagio was as a person, if he hadn’t had the opportunity to interact with her as a person?

The question brought a sour taste into his mouth, and he realized why. It was the wrong question to ask, because he already knew the answer.

“I do know you,” he said, voice steady but filled with surprising conviction.

Looking up, he saw Adagio blink, obviously surprised. “Y-you think you do?”

“I do,” he reiterated, now looking directly at her. She huffed and crossed her arms; but he sensed that a part of her, no matter how small, wanted to know what he meant.

He began with clarification.

“You already tried to control two worlds, so I can’t say for certain that you’re entirely good. After all, from what I can gather, the only regret you have from both attempted takeovers was losing.”

“Thank goodness for that,” she said dryly.

“Ah, but there is some goodness in that; or, at least unintentional goodness, depending on how you look at it. Put simply, you feed on emotions like an animal feasts upon another animal. It’s a survival mechanism; it’s how you ‘eat,’ which is the closest analogy I can imagine. In objective terms, you were doing what you had to do in order to survive in a world that was without a steady supply of sustenance. Equestrian magic must have been like a buffet course for you.”

“Hmph. If only more people thought like you, Artifex. Then maybe I wouldn’t have been defeated.”

“But it wasn’t just for you,” he continued. “No, in fact, it was never just for you. If you so wished it, you could have tried to get that Equestrian magic—that food source—all for yourself, without your sisters.”

“And if I had, I would have failed,” she responded. “The three of us, if we combined our powers, could counter nearly any threat!”

“Really? Three Sirens would mean three ways to divide the food between yourselves. But if only one Siren had access to the food, then she’d get more food. That would mean she’d get more power.”

“It doesn’t work like that. If only one of us could use that power, we’d have a harder time controlling everyone. Multiple magic users still have a wider range of influence than just one, all-powerful magic user.”

“So you admit that one Siren with all that power is stronger than three sharing that same power?”

“I… well—”

“So you shared your power, even knowing that you could have taken it all for yourself. Why’d you do that, do you think?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he didn’t let her. “Because you three were sisters. You three were family. And even though you bickered and fought, you still stuck together. If you had taken all that power for yourself, then your sisters would have either been severely weakened, or died. And you couldn’t let that happen.”

She frowned. “Are you done?”

He smiled dangerously back at her, to his own, hidden confusion. Why was he getting excited about trying to prove Adagio wrong? “I’ve just asserted that you have done some good things before. Do you really think I’d stop there?”

“I’m beginning to think that coming here was a bad idea.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ve probably done a lot of ‘bad ideas’ before.”

“Don’t remind me. What were you saying?”

“Let’s take a trip down memory lane for a little bit. Remember six days ago? Judging by your eyes, yes, you do, of course; how couldn’t you? But let’s skip the unpleasantness that came with that day; let’s skip to the end.”

“The party.”

“Yes, the party. You could have not gone at all; you weren’t obligated, and you knew that if you came, you weren’t necessarily to be welcomed with open arms. So why’d you come?”

“Because I had to apologize… to you.”

“Precisely!” Artifex leaned back, crossing his arms, smirking. “You came, to apologize, to me. Even though, I would imagine, you’d guessed that I wouldn’t forgive you so easily.”

“But you did.”

“But I did! Now, can you tell me why I forgave you?”

It didn’t take long for Adagio to recall his exact quote. “‘If you earnestly want to apologize to me, that must mean you do mean it, and that your apology is sound and from the heart.’” She cocked her head. “You have a nasty habit of knowing how to deliver a speech.”

“I have no idea where I get that from. But that’s beside the point.” Now he leaned forward, resting his elbows a good length from each other, and placing his chin between laced fingers. “You did those things even though you didn’t have to. You did them because you wanted to. Because you felt that you had to, no matter the consequences.” He leaned back, smiling. “Admittedly, I really don’t know much about you from you, especially since all the stories I’ve been hearing are, as I said, from third-party sources. I don’t know your favorite color, or your favorite drink, your favorite type of music, or whatever. I don’t know those things. But what I do know is that bit of you that you demonstrated in your refusal to leave your sisters to die—the same bit that you showed me when you came to the party and apologized. And let me tell you, just knowing that ‘bit’ means I know a lot about you than you might think.”

A satisfied grin now rested on Artifex’s face. Adagio had fallen silent in the face of his explanation. It appeared that she was at an utter loss for words.

When she spoke again, she seemed to have accepted the explanation. “You ought to be a preacher, Artifex,” she jeered. “You’ve certainly the voice and belief.”

Something in her voice made him feel a flush of heat run across his face, and he quickly pushed it away.

“Ah, but don’t look so smug, now,” she continued. “Answer me this, Artifex: so what?”

Artifex blinked. “Pardon?”

“I asked, so what? What does it matter whether or not I did those things out of the goodness of my heart? That wasn’t the original topic of this conversation. The topic was why did I helped you.”

She leaned forward, disarmingly smiling. “So, tell me, Artifex: what do the purposes of my past actions have to do with my present ones?”

He opened his mouth; and hesitated. Then he closed it. His smile slowly melted into a pensive curve.

Adagio nodded to herself, leaning back and now adopting a satisfied composure. “Ah. So you can’t answer?”

“No, I cannot,” he said, gazing at her. “But that just leaves us back at square one.”

“Does it?” There was a prompting in her voice, like she was pushing him down a certain path—the path that she chose for him.

He shrugged. “Clearly you’ve thought of something. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Adagio tapped the side of her head. “If what you say is true, about all that I did up until the day after we initially met, then we can apply it here. I helped you out without you knowing not because I had to, but because I had to. Does that make sense?”

“It’s your reason; it’ll make sense to you.”

“Oh, but it doesn’t. Don’t you see, Artifex? I don’t know why I helped you. I just did. It was probably one of the first times I did something only for the sake of doing it; beyond that, I have no real, concrete reason or reasons.”

“Which, once again, leaves us back to square one of this confusion conversation. How did it begin, anyway?”

She ignored the question. “I wouldn’t say it leaves us back at the start, Artifex. You’ve come to your conclusions, which have led to mine. We’re left off with something more, don’t you think?”

Artifex was silent for a little while; then, he said, “I suppose that makes sense…”

“Oh, but why the long face? This wasn’t your issue to begin with.”

“I suppose not. But then again, you were the one who brought it up to me in the first place.”

“I guess I did.”

He let out a sigh. “Still, I can’t help but feel dissatisfied.”

“Really? I’m the one who should be feeling dissatisfied. What on Earth could you have reason to be dissatisfied about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mm. Perhaps it’s best that way, then.”

He crossed his arms, and looked down, thinking. “So… the reason why you helped was because you just had to,” he reiterated.

A nod responded to him.

He shook his head. “Then this was a strange and pointless talk we had.”

“I agree.”

He looked up, and found a smile upon her. It was visibly more relaxed than when she had first sat down and begun talking.

“You are a strange woman, Adagio.”

“And you are as equally strange of a man, Artifex. Or has that not already been determined?”

The corners of his lips twitched, before they curled up into a smile.

***

“Uh, are you guys okay?” Sonata asked, coming back to the booth. An orange ball of fur rested between her crossed arms. Her hands held four plates. “I, uh… well, you guys were getting pretty intense.”

“I believe we are fine, Sonata,” said Adagio, giving a wink towards Artifex’s direction. “We were just… having a conversation.”

“It sounded pretty heated. Are you guys still mad at each other?”

“I could never be mad at Artifex. But I can’t speak for him, can I?”

“We’re fine, Sonata… I think.” He looked back at Adagio, the smile still on his face. “Just… getting to know each other, in a way.”

The ball of fur uncurled before him, revealing Francis in Sonata’s arms. The ex-Siren hummed. “Hey, can you scooch in for a sec? I wanna sit down.”

Artifex did. Sonata sat down lightly, carefully placing the plates down. “I know you guys said you didn’t want anything,” she said, “but Pinkie pretty much insisted.”

“It’d be rude to deny it now, would it?” Adagio commented. She took her plate, analyzing the cake. “Is this mousse?”

“Yep,” answered her sister. She picked up her own spoonful. “It’s pretty good.”

“We’ll see. I’m not too big of a fan of mousse myself.”

“You sick freak,” Artifex dared to jest, and Adagio laughed.

“Alright. If it’ll get you to calm down, dear Artifex, I’ll give it a taste and try not to throw up.”

She took a bite, chewing it slowly, then swallowing. “Well?” asked Artifex.

She shrugged. “Well, I suppose it’s gotten better over the years. It’s at least edible—more edible compared to the garbage I ate years ago.”

“Thanks, Dagi!” Pinkie managed to yell from all the way from the kitchen.

“… We’re not going to ask how she heard us, are we?” Adagio asked.

“Nope,” answered the boy across from her, digging into his own plate, “we are not.”

He ate his piece slowly, relishing the taste. Sure, he had had mousse very recently, but he loved it whenever he could have it. Sonata chomped down on hers; Adagio joined in at a slower pace.

They talked, mostly around their food that was in their mouths. It wasn’t too substantial of a conversation. Mostly it was just catching up. Artifex relayed what Adagio had said to him to Sonata, and the teal-haired girl beamed. “Aw! That was really nice of you, Dagi!”

“Don’t remind me,” said her sister. “Ugh. You kids have been having quite the influence on me.”

She then went on to tell the boy what had been happening since they last talked—it wasn’t much, as it turned out. Between attending school and going home, they were looking for jobs. “Without our powers, we’re just ordinary human beings,” Adagio explained. “We may be much older than we look, but we still need to find some way to sustain ourselves.”

Artifex frowned. “You’re not homeless or anything, are you?”

“Hardly. We’ve a relatively large condo just down the city’s Fifth Avenue.” Noting his continued frown, she added, with a slight smirk, “It was legally bought.”

“Oh, good,” he said dryly.

Beyond work, there wasn’t much to say. School became part of their daily lives (they excelled at history, to no one’s real surprise) as much as it did for every other student. But the need for finding a job to bring in a steady stream of money meant that they hadn’t much time for recreational activities. “We were only just able to come to the party today because we thought it’d be a good idea to take a break.”

“Though you were nearly late, thanks to Aria, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“I heard that!” yelled the angry ex-Siren from the other side of the bakery. She stood, huffing and glaring at the boy.

“Simmer down, Aria,” Adagio said without looking back. “We’re here to somewhat relax, so be a dear and do so, why don’t you?”

Artifex grinned, then waved at the girl. She fumed, but sat back down, crossing her arms.

“But enough about me,” Adagio said. “What about you, Artifex? What have you been up to? Writing, I would imagine?”

He shook his head. “It’s been a busy week for me, too. Settling in, homework, trying to get comfortable with my surroundings; it’s taken a toll on my free time.” He raised an eyebrow. “Besides, that journal of mine isn’t really for me being a writer.”

“Oh? And what is it for, then?”

“I’d say it’s a recording tool; it helps me go over the day, and think on the future.”

“How positively quaint. Though, I suppose I pegged you to be the introspective sort.”

“Probably the only thing you ever got right about me.”

Adagio met his jest with a mock glare, before softening. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Artifex sensed he touched upon a nerve; and, remembering their prior conversation, shifted the topic elsewhere. “So, work, huh? Any idea where you’d like to find yourself in?”

“I suppose singing of some sort,” she responded, seemingly grateful for the change in topic. “Admittedly, without my amulet, I can’t say that it’s a future I foresee being mine. Though, there might be something else I can do.”

“Really? What is that?”

She grinned, but there was a hint of embarrassment glowing on her cheeks. “Marketer.”

Artifex remained unfazed, even as Sonata giggled. “Makes sense. I’d say you can be persuasive when you want to be.”

“Good to know I’ve at least one person who thinks it isn’t a wholeheartedly irrational decision.” She glared at Sonata, sobering her up.

“What about Aria? Does she have any plans?”

“Surprisingly, yes. You know that car we drove here? She fixed it up herself. I’ve seen her browsing the newspapers and looking at any job that would require some sort of automobile expertise.”

“She’s really good at it, too,” Sonata added. “I mean, if she wanted to, she could probably open a repair shop all on her own; if she wasn’t so lazy.”

“I’m lazy?!” shouted Aria, rising up again.

Sonata blinked. “Well, that was just a guess, but if you think so, too…”

“Grr… I’m gonna—ulp!”

Looking over the booth, Artifex saw that Rarity had suddenly covered her mouth with her hand. She giggled nervously. “Now, now, Aria, dear. There are children upstairs who are sleeping; we wouldn’t want to wake them with upsetting language, now, would we?”

“Mmmph, mmph mmph! Mmnmnph mmmph!”

“There are children?” Adagio asked, getting Artifex’s attention.

He nodded. “Pound and Pumpkin Cake, Mr. and Mrs. Cake’s children. They’re—”

“Cute? Adorable? Loveable little scamps?” Sonata inputted.

Francis hissed.

Artifex rolled his eyes. “I was going to say nice, but clearly Sonata thinks they’re a little more than that, and Francis deplores them.”

“Give him some time,” advised the girl. “I’m sure he’ll grow to love them.”

“Or at least tolerate them, I hope.”

Her responding laugh was light. “And if not, I suppose you could always resort to that peanut butter he so hates?”

“If he forces my hand, yes.”

Francis hissed again. Artifex looked at him. “I’m serious, Francis. You’ve gotta learn that they’re just kids; they do kid things. Like shoving peanut butter onto household pets.”

“Or wailing excitedly when they see you,” Sonata added.

“Or throwing the peanut butter.”

“Or throwing the peanut butter at you while wailing loudly.”

Adagio held up a hand. “Alright, that’s enough teasing. You’re scaring the poor dear.”

Francis gave a grateful meow. Artifex rolled his eyes, but did quiet up.

They finished their pieces, not wanting to fill themselves completely before the last party invitee arrived. The clock continued to tick well past nine; soon it would arrive on ten.

Artifex watched the clock with slight unease. He recalled No Clue’s lateness on their shared first day. The boy had made up for it by arriving on time as best as he could; knowing this, Artifex doubted he was usually late to anything. His absence served as the antithesis to that claim, however, and Artifex found himself doubting his friend’s ability to be available when asked.

No, don’t think that. You shouldn’t assume something based on only a few facts. You don’t have the full story; you can’t reach that conclusion if you don’t have the middle to lead you to it.

Perturbed slightly, he continued to stare at the clock as one end of the fork stuck out from his mouth. As his tongue rolled around it, so, too, did his eyes watch the second hand tick and tick and tick around it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Pinkie was also casting questioning looks to the clock, as if trying to pry out an answer.

“You know, I’m sure if you just ask, the clock could give you the time.”

Adagio’s flash of a grin—and equally flashing of a one-liner—pulled him from his thoughts.

“What are you talking about, Dagi?” Sonata asked, sipping from her smoothie (Where did she get that? Artifex thought). “Clocks don’t talk.”

“She means why I am staring intently at it,” Artifex explained.

“Interested in leaving, are you?”

“Not exactly. Do you remember what I said to you outside; about No Clue?”

“I have ‘no clue’ what you mean.”

“Har har. Do you know anything at all about him, though?”

She shrugged. “Well, he is a male. And judging by both you and Rainbow knowing him, he’s amassed some sort of friend group. Aside from that, nothing.”

“He’s another new kid attending Canterlot High. He arrived a day after I did, so we both started on the same day. He and I go to the same Language Arts class.”

She nodded. “I see. And you were expecting him, then?”

“For a good while now.” Artifex shook his head. “Frankly, I expected him to show up a long time ago. But he hasn’t.”

“You can’t blame him; perhaps he is busy. Though you’d never know for certain, considering you don’t have a way to contact him.”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking. Still… Rainbow’s here. Would No Clue miss up a chance to talk to her?”

The mention of her name brought over Canterlot High’s star athlete. “Huh? Why would he care if I’m here, Artifex? I would have thought he’d be more willing to come if you came, too.”

Realizing he had made a blunder, Artifex quickly said, “Well, it’s just a possibility. Any one of us could be his reason for coming. If he came, that is.” A glance back to the girl in front of him showed she had caught on. She gave him a slight smirk, and he shook his head again.

Once Rainbow left them, Sonata said, “Cheer up, Artifex. Maybe he is running a little late. We all can’t be perfectly punctual.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said, but his face betrayed him; it had a cynical frown, wary.

The clock continued to tick.

16) Day Five: Lackluster

“The sudden disappointment of a hope leaves a scar which the ultimate fulfillment of that hope never entirely removes.”

Thomas Hardy

***

“Agh,” Artifex groaned as he got out of his seat. More discomforted than pained, he hobbled out like an old man, slightly hunching over. In a similar manner, he gripped his cane and leaned heavily on it. There was no doubt in his mind that simply sitting down made whatever had caused his limp to worsen to… well, worsen further.

He supposed there was a good thing to come out of that discomfort. He didn’t like to sit down and simply wait. Better to stand and do something while you bide for time.

Unfortunately, for him, there was nothing else to do. Everything had been set up; the food, the decorations, the music. The only thing incomplete was the guest list, but he knew he couldn’t do much to fix that.

“I didn’t cause that, did I?” a voice from behind him asked.

Turning around, he saw Adagio giving him an abnormally worried look. He shook his head. “What, my leg? No, that’s not your doing. It’s… well…” He trailed off, looking away. “It’s something else.”

He sensed her frown long before he heard her get up and approach him. Her hand fell onto his shoulder. “You are obviously in pain, Artifex. Do you need help walking?”

He grinned darkly, knowing she wouldn’t see it. “What, is the feeder on pain going to attempt to buy a meal at my lowly restaurant?”

She offered a chuckle. “Well, at least your sense of humor—for lack of a better word—is still there.” Her tone became serious once more. “However, that still does not mean you should hurt yourself.”

A fresh splotch of blood rose in front of him upon the utterance of the last two words. He shook his head, both in answer and to remove the red. “I’m fine, Adagio. My leg just has a nasty habit of stiffening every once in a while.”

“Alright. Did you need to go somewhere or something?”

He turned, now facing her. “I just need to stand up and stretch. That’s all.” He shifted a little, grunting. “Damn. How long had we been sitting?”

She nodded. “Well, either way. It won’t do you good to keep putting your weight on your leg. Even with your cane aiding you.”

He didn’t answer at first. He looked around. Sonata, still with Francis, was on the other side of the bakery. Aria was with her, irritable as ever. Soul, Clyde, and Swift were with their respective girlfriends, still talking and generally enjoying themselves. Applejack and Rainbow were locked in an arm wrestling match that didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Fluttershy was, supposedly, upstairs, tending to the Cake twins, though she had come down every so often to eat, talk, and get some advice and help from Pinkie.

Everything seemed as ordinary as it could get, but Artifex knew that that wasn’t the case. His eyes rested back on the booth he had been sitting, and he pictured himself and Adagio there. In his mind was a small, yet paradoxically and overwhelmingly large, empty space that beckoned for someone else’s company.

A loud snapping abruptly drew him out. Blinking, he found himself looking at a smirking Adagio. Her hand was in her face; then, both rested upon her hips. “I know I’m a very attractive young lady,” she said, “but even I know that it’s impolite to stare.”

He sputtered, but managed to compose himself with a grunt. “I-I was just zoning off there. Not staring; intentionally, at least.”

“Right.” Her sly smile revealed sharp teeth. “Though, I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

Not meeting her comment with anything short of a ruminating frown, he stared past her, through the doors. His hand twirled and gripped at his cane’s top. Adagio’s own smile began to fade. “You do know I was just teasing, right?”

“Huh? Y-yeah, I do.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes temporarily closed. “Again, sorry. Guess I’m just not feeling too focused right now.”

“Distracted by something other than looks…”

“Not even by looks, I would argue. Just by…” His free hand came up, danced up and down twice, then fell. “This situation,” he finished.

“Still worried? Come now, Artifex. You can’t worry forever. He either comes, or doesn’t; and either way, it won’t be your fault.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Who said I was thinking it was mine?”

“You weren’t. But you were going to.” She tapped her temple. “You’re the kind of person to do that, I think.”

“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions.”

“It’s still one worth considering. Nonetheless, you shouldn’t blame yourself, if you at all begin to.”

“Your warning has been heeded and will be followed as best as it can,” he said dryly. “Not that it is helping.”

“Was it supposed to?”

He rubbed his chin, still looking outside. The hand fell to his jacket, where he picked at the top button like it was suffocating him.

“I’m gonna step out for a little bit,” he said, not realizing how loud he had said it until he noticed that all eyes were rested upon him. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“Are you leaving already?” Pinkie asked.”

“No. I just need some fresh air.”

“Oh, okay. Have fun, Arty!”

He nodded. “Thank you. Please excuse me, Adagio.”

As he stepped around her, he grunted as a fresh wave of discomfort made its way up his leg. Before he could even think to walk differently, he felt someone raise his left arm and place it across their shoulders. He blinked, then frowned. “What are you doing?”

“You’re still limping,” Adagio replied, and he could just feel the smirk on her face glowing off like a beacon of smugness.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t walk.”

“No. It means you can’t walk straight. Quit complaining and let me help.”

“This seems awfully unlike you.”

“Looks like you and your friends are beginning to have an effect on me. Now, come on. We’re about the same height, so help me out by moving, okay?”

He grumbled a little more, mostly out of embarrassment and surprise, but relented eventually. Upon Adagio’s shoulders, he walked out.

The cool air of fall rushed into him with zeal, and he paused to take it in. He breathed deeply and long, relishing the taste of falling leaves and a blue sky. Winter may have been his favorite season, but nothing beat the air of autumn.

When he opened his eyes, the city met him with its tar-black roads and greying buildings and complexes. Adagio was still beside him, but it seemed that she, too, had taken pause, to experience the rush of wind.

“It’s vague… but it reminds me of a sea breeze,” she said, mostly to herself.

Her comment wasn’t a strange one, if he had to be honest. For a moment, he was back as a kid, not confused, not worried nor wary, just enjoying the world for as it stood. For the briefest a moments, a childlike smile rested on him.

Then a jolt of pain from a lapse in balance pulled him from the euphoric memory, detaching the grin as quickly as it came.

“Do you need to sit down?” asked Adagio, noticing the pain.

He shook his head quickly. “I have to keep standing, or else it gets worse. Much worse.”

They moved to the side of the bakery, careful not to accidentally place too much pressure on Artifex’s lame leg. Eventually they reached the end. After some prompting, Adagio slipped out from under Artifex; the two of them then rested against the wall.

Artifex breathed in and out. The action was a calming one; and the restlessness from before began to fade. A glance at Adagio revealed something surprising; her eyes were closed, she was breathing at a slow pace, and she looked completely at peace.

Had all that “helping” tired her out? No, that wasn’t it; she generally did look like she was enjoying herself. Her eyes opened, and the relaxed look vanished into an ordinary one, focused on the world in front of them, and not the one that was right next to her.

Artifex looked away. He remembered Adagio’s comment. He breathed in; and, to his surprise, thought he could smell the faint scent of sea salt. Perhaps there was some sort of truth to the claim.

He closed his eyes once more, and let himself fall into the pit of relaxation, trying to push aside all worries.

“You never told me how you hurt your leg.”

“And I was just about to fall asleep, too. Thanks a lot.”

Adagio laughed. “Can you blame me for being curious? I did feed on pain and misery. Of course I’d be interested in a former diet of mine.”

His heart seized up, but he reasoned that it wouldn’t hurt to share. “It’s a long story, Adagio. You see—”

“Artifex!”

Jumping at the cry, Artifex whirled, and saw Rainbow run out of the bakery. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, hobbling over as fast as he could.

“Look!” She pointed down the road, a terrific grin on her face. “Don’t you recognize that car?

“What car?”

“The one that’s coming our way!”

Artifex squinted hard, peering down the end. A distant automobile was heading their way. He couldn’t make out the exact features, but it did look familiar.

He just had no clue why—

“That’s—” Artifex uttered in an astonished tone. The car began to take shape; it was small, compact. As it crested over the hill and grew closer, he could see two people inside. One was a woman, driving the vehicle; and the other, was none other than—

“No Clue! Ha!” Rainbow cheered. “I knew he’d show up!”

She began laughing and pumping the air, and Artifex couldn’t help but join her. The pain in his leg left, gone up in apparent and joyful smoke.

He’s got a strange sense of timing, thought the icy-blue-haired Frost, but he’s here nonetheless. That’s all that matters!

So busy, however, were he and Rainbow celebrating their friend’s supposed arrival, that they didn’t notice the frown upon Adagio’s face. It was only when Artifex paused for breath did he finally see her troubled expression.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She nodded. “I know I haven’t met this friend of yours, but… does it look like he even is considering coming here?”

“What do you mean? Of course he is! Just look at the—” Artifex looked back at the car. “—at the fact that it’s not slowing. It’s not slowing at all. Rainbow, why isn’t it slowing?”

“Beats me. Maybe we need to get their attention?” She frantically waved both her arms. “Hey! Over here!”

Artifex joined in not long after. The two shouted and hollered until their throats were hoarse and their voices became rough. Yet no matter how much effort they put in, the car slowed not a bit.

Only when the car rushed past them in a blur of green, and the noxious fumes made their way down their throats, and the car had become a dot going down the road, did they cease their movements, and feel the sting of regret pierce their confused selves.

“No way… did he really just miss us?” Rainbow whispered.

“That’s impossible,” Adagio said. “Nobody could have ignored the two of you.”

“But… but somehow, he did! Or maybe his mother did? Or maybe she was so busy concentrating on the road that she didn’t think to stop? No, wait—that doesn’t make sense. She would have seen Sugarcube Corner. She would have stopped if she saw it! You can’t miss it! There’s a literal giant cupcake out front! How could she have missed it? How could they have missed any of it?”

Artifex arrived at the grim answer far too soon, and his confusion boiled over into exhausted befuddlement.

Rainbow raised her arms behind her head, transfixed on the now-disappeared vehicle. She whispered incessantly to herself questions without answers. Adagio kept silent, just as confused as they were.

Pain jolted through Artifex’s leg like heated iron flowing through his blood. Red pooled in his vision. He collapsed to the ground, falling on his bottom. The cane became grasped in a tight grip, and Artifex refused to let go. He closed his eyes, and found he could not regulate his breathing.

“Guys?” Pinkie poked her head out. “What’s wrong? Did you see No Clue?”

Rainbow tried to answer, but was cut off by the bitter tone of Artifex Frost. “He’s not coming,” he said, not looking up or back. “He never was.”

***

News broke for everyone soon after. Save for Aria, they were surprised. “Perhaps it was a mistake?” asked Rarity, her question followed by wondering murmurs from the others.

Artifex met the question with a slow, disappointed shake of his head. “There was no mistake. There just couldn’t be one.”

Beside himself and Rainbow, Pinkie was the most dejected one of them all. Her hair had deflated into straight lines, and she had on a visible scowl. “I swear I sent him the invitation,” she said, eyes drilling holes through the ground. “Maybe he didn’t get it?”

“I suppose that’s possible.” Artifex furrowed his brow. “But I can’t help but think that’s unlikely. Call it a gut feeling.”

“Either way, I’m sure the dear had his reasons. Perhaps he was too busy to join us?” Rarity said.

Rainbow huffed. “Would it have killed to let us know beforehand?”

Artifex’s breath escaped through his thin lips. “Would it, indeed…”

Beyond the mutters and murmurs coming from everyone else, Artifex detected that only Adagio had refrained from saying anything. He supposed that wasn’t out of the ordinary; she and Aria were the only ones who hadn’t had any sort of interaction with No Clue before.

To his surprise, though, the latter did speak up. “You said he was never coming? How do you know that?”

He could only offer a wary shrug. “Like I said, it’s a gut feeling. Just looking inside the car, and seeing him not even spare us a glance… it told me that.”

Aria kept up her scowl. “That sounds to me like you’re making an awful lot of assumptions. I mean, how much do you really know this guy?” Before Artifex could respond, she continued, “If you don’t know a lot about him, then why should he be in trouble for meeting expectations that he had no idea about?”

“But I’m sure he did!” Pinkie protested.

Aria threw up her hands. “But that’s just another assumption to add! Look, if you really knew No Clue, then you would have either known that he was definitely coming or not. Since it seems that he isn’t, that doesn’t mean that you suddenly know everything about him, about his reasons or motives.”

“Aria is right,” said Adagio. “We can’t fault this No Clue since we have nothing of his character to fault.”

“What about his actions, then? There’s a fault in those, I would imagine,” said Artifex heatedly. He glared at her.

“But do we know why he acted as he did?” Adagio raised an eyebrow. She crossed her arms and met Artifex’s glare evenly. “No, we don’t. We should look to explain that before we start dishing out punishments.”

“That makes sense,” said Sunset. “Maybe on Monday we’ll be able to talk to him and find some sort of explanation. I’m sure there is one.”

Rainbow mellowed considerably at the possibility. “Fine. But I swear, if he missed the party for something stupid—“

“Ah’m sure No Clue had a perfectly sensible reason fer doing this,” Applejack interrupted. Everyone else nodded their agreements.

Everyone, except for Artifex. A stormy look crossed his face. Old frustrations and new ones surfaced, but he refrained from speaking. He instead stared at the floor, his hand clenching around his cane.

He closed his eyes, saw the red, and counted to ten twice. Then, he opened his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Alright. I’ll hear him out on Monday.”

“You mean, we will,” said Sonata. Francis, in her arms, meowed his agreement.

“… Right. We will.”

As silence engulfed the bakery, Pinkie looked around, still dejected. “So much for a fun party,” she sadly said. “And it’s almost noon, too. We should be cleaning up.”

“Very well,” Rarity said. “We’ll help you clean up the mess.”

Most moved away, unplugging lights and gathering up trash. It wouldn’t take long before the place returned to how it normally looked.

Artifex, however, hadn’t moved yet. He still stared at the floor, his tumultuous expression growing more and more troubled.

A hand on his shoulder interrupted his woe. Turning, he found himself face to face with Soul. The older boy gave the younger one a worried look.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked.

Artifex took a little while to answer. “… I’ll be fine, Soul.”

Soul nodded, then walked away to help clean. After a few more moments, Artifex joined him.

He never once lost his frown.

17) Day Six: Nonsensical Nonsense

Author's Note

This chapter was pre-read by Ragga_Muffin. Thanks so much, man!

Also: in this chapter, I decided to go a different route and explore another aspect of Day By Day, Moment By Moment: the character of Nostradamus "No" Clue. Artifex Frost may be our protagonist, but side characters should be treated just as importantly.

I'd also like to apologize for the large gap between this chapter and the previous one. Due to personal struggles, I was unable to stay true to my schedule.

But enough of that. Enjoy this chapter.

17) Day Six: Nonsensical Nonsense

“Nothing can stop the man with the right mental attitude from achieving his goal; nothing on earth can help the man with the wrong mental attitude.”

Thomas Jefferson

***

No Clue hated autumn.

No, wait; “hate” was much too strong of a word. Perhaps “dislike would do.” No, that wouldn’t work; it was far too weak. Strong dislike? That was two words, but it seemed to work.

No Clue shook his head. Was he really trying to figure out which word to use in his thoughts? It didn’t matter in the long-run. It made no sense to try and pinpoint the best word for the job.

Yet as his pencil scratched against his algebra paper, all he could think about was that word. It was so harsh, yet held a truth to it, and it disturbed him greatly. His pencil’s movements stopped, and he had to place the tool down beside the paper just to take a breath and attempt to clear his thoughts.

He failed, but he did catch the whiff of an approaching garbage truck. It was Sunday; garbage day. Getting up and out of his seat, he glanced out the window. The garbage bin was outside, and the truck approached. He let out a terse breath as it stopped, picked up the bin, dumped its contents inside, and then drove off.

He shook his head. He was getting distracted more easily than he should have. In another life, in another school, as another person, he might have thought it had to deal with his name.

Sorry; scratch that. My nickname.

No Clue was not, as his nickname suggested, without a clue. The Clue family was just that; a family of people who all were part of a larger road. Their names were the steps one took on the way to glory. They were the shakers and breakers of the world, the guides and light-bringers, path-showers and destiny-molders. Which was why he himself was named after the person who was supposed to predict the most important and incoming events in human history.

While he had no powers to speak of, No Clue had long been bred with the idea that to carve one’s own path, one had to be smart. It was almost a family motto, shown in the numerous books that did not gather dust on the shelves of his home. In his parents’ room, he remembered, were the college diplomas for each, from high-prospecting and difficult colleges. “Someday,” his father would often say to him when he was younger, “you’ll have to hang your own certificate on your own wall.”

Clue thought on this as he reentered his room. The path set before him was one his parents had walked, and their parents had walked, and their parents had walked; it made no sense to stray from it. He would go to college. He would care about his education. He would try to make a difference, in his own way—the Clue way, if there ever was such a way.

He shook his head. That was enough retrospection for the day. Now he had to focus back on his work.

Let’s see… given the equations 3x + 5y = 30 and y = 9x + 18, solve for x and y respectively. That should be easy. It’s not like I’ll be wrong. And even if I am, then I’m wrong.

No Clue blinked. He shouldn’t doubt himself; this was an easy algebraic problem. Maybe if I just push that thought away—

“But what if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’m wrong.”

“It sounds to me that you don’t really care!”

Angry? I was angry. I was so angry… why was I so angry? No! I can’t be thinking about that now. I have to focus on this homework—

“Huh? What’s this? A… letter? From Pinkie Pie? Oh, right. She was one of the girls I sat with on my first day, thanks to Rainbow. Hmm… ‘Dear No Clue, come by Sugarcube Corner this Saturday for a special event!’ Sounds fun. Maybe I’ll go.”

No Clue gripped his pencil a little tighter. “C’mon, solve the problem, solve the problem—”

“Nostradamus?”

“Mom, I told you. That’s too long of a name; just call me No Clue.”

“Fine, No Clue. Anyway, there’s a bakery coming up on our left called Sugarcube Corner. Do you want to stop and get something to eat?”

“… No.”

“Are you sure? I think I recognize some of your friends—”

“Mom—”

“What about that rainbow-haired girl you like?”

“It’s only been a week, mom. I haven’t really made any friends yet. Just keep driving.”

Furiously, No Clue scribbled down a random answer. He broke his pencil’s tip. He stared at it, then—eerily—placed the pencil down, as if unfazed by the shard of lead that was now absent. He took a deep breath.

When he blew it out, the paper flew up and landed at the far end of his desk. He stared at it; then looked away. He got up. The last question had been answered; he didn’t care if he was right or wrong.

It had been three days since then. Three days since he had disagreed with Artifex. One day, if he thought to count what was said on Saturday. It wasn’t even that big of a disagreement; just on the actions of the other boy.

It made no sense to continually think upon it. So why was he?

Why couldn’t he shake those words he said? Why couldn’t he simply forget about the argument? Why did he refuse to go to Sugarcube Corner, even though he had an invitation?

Running a pale-yellow hand through his light-blue hair, No Clue walked over to the window and closed it. Perhaps it was just the effect of the outside world creeping inwards. If he blocked it off, then maybe he wouldn’t have to think about it.

After doing so, No Clue turned and walked out of his room, heading downstairs.

Sunday’s sunlight peeked through the simply-stained glass windows of his front door, landing upon the wooden steps. His body cast a dark shadow as he walked through the beams, unfazed by the brightness. A light hissing and a rich aroma drew him to the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, once he saw the vanilla-skinned woman standing over a boiling pot of water.

“Oh, hello, No Clue, dear,” she said, looking over and smiling. “Have you finished your homework?”

“Most of it, anyway. I took a break..”

“That’s good. Well, lunch is almost ready. Could you please set the table?”

“Sure thing, Mom. By the way, where’s Dad?”

“He’s out back. Tending to his garden.”

No Clue nodded. He then went to the cupboard and began taking out the necessary plates and cups. Walking past his mother, he headed towards the dining room.

As he moved past the door leading to their backyard, he saw his father bent over, an iron hoe in his hand. The older man wiped his brow with a faded-yellow arm, and then pushed aside the mop of light-amethyst hair. Then, he was gone behind the frame of the door, replaced by the dining room’s wall.

It was bright. The unveiled window let in a huge amount of sunlight that cascaded across the six, lovely, copper-yellow seats. A lone vase, porcelain-white, was at the center of the table. It was empty; No Clue’s father must have taken the flower out some time ago.

Next to a large bureau filled with ornate cups and glasses were several other paintings. They depicted country landscapes and wide, open fields, filled with nothing but amber grain and an endless, blue sky. These were Clue’s mother’s favorite paintings. She had gone the whole drive from their old home to here gently cradling them in her arms. Her knowledge in interior design solidified her aesthetic sense. His father, while not much of an art lover himself, knew a good canvas when he saw one.

The young, faded-yellow-skinned boy couldn’t say he shared the sentiment, but at the very least he understood the idea. As his eyes skimmed the paintings, his hands placed the dishes down in front of three of the chairs. Then he put down three napkins.

He moved away a little, now leaning gently against one of the walls. He looked outside and squinted.

“Antsy, dear?” he heard his mom ask. The smell of whatever she was cooking was just as close as her voice. “Maybe you should go out.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” he said, glancing back at her.

She hummed, setting the pot down, a steady stream of smoke rising from it. “Are you sure, son?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” He wasn’t sure why he repeated himself, or why the first “yeah” sounded more addressed to himself than to his mom.

She walked away. No Clue heard the back door open. “Honey!” she called. “Lunch is ready!”

Hickory “Honey” Clue stood up, and looked back with an eager smile. “Oh, great! Is it my favorite?”

“Honey, all of my food is your favorite,” she said, light laughter carried on her voice.

With a quick patter of feet, followed by some light stomping on a wool carpet, Mr. Clue finally entered the home. He smelled of outdoors, but not in a bad way. To No Clue, his father smelled much like fresh-cut grass when he was out gardening, with a hint of just-as-fresh-rain thrown into the mix.

No Clue turned around, and saw his mother dance away, a mildly disgusted look on her face. Hickory had tried to provide a thank-you kiss. She pointed to the sink. “Not yet, mister. You better at least wash up, first!”

He nodded, his smile never waning. “As you wish!”

Rushing water ensued, as did splashing, and then quick drying. Finally, Mr. Clue was finished. He gave a quick peck on his wife’s cheek (she giggled lightly), then stepped into the dining room and ruffled No Clue’s hair. “Done with your homework, champ?”

“Yep,” he said. “It wasn’t too hard.”

“That’s good to hear. A little difficulty now and then hasn’t hurt anyone.” Hickory looked back to his wife. “Right, Sweets?”

Sweets Clue nodded, and then said, “Well, difficulty has made me want to hurt someone.”

“Ah, adversity. The punch of life. Alongside variety, which is its spice.”

Hickory was always fond of strange, but somehow still genuinely wise sayings. No Clue tolerated them; but his mother showered them with corny adoration. The way that the two could bounce off one another lifted his spirits. It surprised him to no end how seemingly storybook his parents’ love was.

“What’re ya smiling for, son?” Hickory suddenly asked.

“It’s nothing, Dad,” he said, as that same smile began to slide off. “Now, come on, let’s eat.”

***

Lunch was… lunch, for lack of a better term. Despite his mother’s work, No Clue found he barely registered the differences in spice and sweetness in the dish. He doubted that it had been bad; and judging by the pleased look on his skinny father, it had seemed that the food had been absolutely delectable.

He put on a satisfied smile to mask his strange indifference. It was an act that his parents bought. His stomach filled—though neither with pleasant fullness nor unpleasant emptiness—he offered to wash the dishes while his mother and father took some time to relax.

It was ritualistic, now that No Clue thought about it. His father took care of the outside of the house, as well as the finances behind it; and his mother took care of the interior (as was fitting), both of the house and of the rest of the family. Each of them had a specific role, a specific responsibility.

He had not found his yet, but he did not doubt that he would find it eventually. Clue family’s honor. A pleasant promise, and an equally pleasant mantra.

But as the water ran itself across the dishes, as the soap grew white bubbles along the edges, and as No Clue’s hands became soggy and messy, his mind returned to less pleasant things. The voices of his parents faded away; in his mind, they were replaced with his own, and that of the other boy’s.

Why had he been so angry?

No, wait; which he was he talking about? He, he? Or the other boy, he?

More importantly, why is this always in the back of my mind? And why does thinking about it make me feel so… so… mixed?

He put the last dish away—he was a quick cleaner—then filled in the dish detergent and soap and closed the dishwasher. He pressed a few buttons, and then heard the machine start its cycle.

Somewhere—likely the living room—he heard his mother and father laugh. Something was on the television. Something entertaining. Something distracting.

Maybe I should join them.

He frowned, and then sighed inwardly. No, I shouldn’t. I’ve still homework to do.

No Clue walked away, and headed back up the stairs to his room. He sat down at his desk, and pulled out his folder of problems, and opened it. Grabbing his pencil, he prepared to write.

But the sheet was already completed. And the strange voices from himself and from the boy returned in stride.

18) Day Thirty: A Change In The Air

“Any truth is better than indefinite doubt.”

Arthur Conan Doyle

***

October was the month of orange squash-lings (not to be confused with the Oompa-Loompa’s of fiction) and even more orange days. Autumn was prevalent everywhere, and even the most ignorant of folk knew the difference between a fall leaf and a spring one. The sky now glowed not just with blue, but with yellows and reds; a ring of pink met the space between night and day.

Some people, however, not content with the view; some chose to complain about it. One of these “some people” happened to be Sunset Shimmer’s boyfriend.

“It’s not like I dislike fall,” he protested once Sunset asked why he was complaining about the season. “I just don’t like the yardwork that comes with it!”

“Soul, your lawn only has one tree,” she responded lightly.

“Yeah, but I also sometimes have to rake both my lawn and the neighbor’s lawn!”

“But you get paid, don’t you? And besides, I’m always willing to help out, if you call me.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He rubbed the back of his head, abashed.

Sunset smiled, then squeezed his free hand with her own. “Hey, it’s okay. At the very least, the leaves won’t fight back.”

“You say that now, but you never know when they might.”

She shook her head and laughed. “Right, that’ll happen. Maybe when pigs fly.”

Soul gave her a deadpan look. “Sunny, we go to a school where magic can be conjured up through singing. I’m pretty certain that “pigs flying” isn’t too far off.”

Sunset giggled. “Well, write me a letter when you do see an airborne pig.”

“I’ll be sure to, with Artifex’s help. Right, Artifex?”

Both of their smiles remained for a second, before becoming strained. Soul called again, “Artifex? You’ll help me write that letter, right?”

Slowly, Sunset and Soul turned their heads towards their companion; only to find him no longer beside him.

“Wha—where did—”

Sunset continued turning, her voice trailing off, as her eyes centered on a loan figure a short distance behind them. He stood in his yellow jacket, sleeves pulled down, and he clutched a golden notebook in his hand. But the notebook wasn’t opened; in fact, it didn’t appear to be in any sort of use. The young man himself was as still as a statue, and were it not for his occasional blinking, Sunset figured that he might have been a strange statue. The wind swept through his icy-blue hair, but he remained still, frozen.

She followed his gaze, which was directed diagonally downwards. She couldn’t make out its exact details, but it was clear that it was small, and that it piqued his interest—perhaps enormously, or at least enough to pull him away from their walk.

“Um, is he okay?” Soul asked.

“I’m not sure… come on.”

As they approached, the young man still made no motion that he heard that coming. Once they were close enough, Sunset could see his eyes had narrowed, honing in on the object. She looked down. At his feet was a small, white flower; it was an odd sight to behold in a sea of yellow-green with surrounding boats of darkening orange. Vaguely, Sunset recalled from her science classes that this was a galanthus; a snowdrop flower. She immediately recognized the significance.

“It’s very pretty,” she said, and her voice seemed to draw Artifex from his reprieve.

“Yes, it is,” he replied, but his voice came out low and mumbled, as if he was distracted. Sunset supposed that much was right.

“Hey, sorry for leaving you behind back there,” she said. “We thought you were still with us! Soul and I were just talking about autumn and—”

Abruptly, Artifex cut her off. “It’s fine, Sunset.” He raised his head, breath escaping through thin lips. “We’d better get going; don’t want to be late for class.”

Sunset blinked, but nodded. Artifex walked past her, and she and Soul followed as close as they could.

Soul ended up closer to Artifex, and Sunset saw him lean him. “You okay, Artifex?”

A low moan barely erupted behind sealed lips; but the point was made. This was not a person in the mood for conversation. Soul nodded sagely, backing off, allowing Sunset to move up.

As they walked, she reflected how frequent the display was becoming. Artifex appeared more distracted than ever. He lagged behind, not just because of his limp, but because his attention was always constantly diverted. The smallest objects seemed to fascinate him, even though he never had previously appeared to be fascinated by them before.

Sunset knew Artifex was, to put it lightly, a complicated individual. She never doubted that he still was sorting through some personal issues. While she couldn’t say she understood his pain, she at the very least understood the process. The memory of the Fall Formal came to mind, as did her fight for redemption following it. She couldn’t blame Artifex for regressing inward; but, at the same time, her gut told her that something was seriously wrong. After all, Artifex had been lighter, happier; now he more resembled how he was when they first met.

Soul appeared to have read her mind, as he whispered to her, “He’s been like this for a while now. Any guesses as to why?”

She shook her head, whispering back, “I wish I had any. What about you?”

“None so far. Maybe it’s just been a bad few days for him.”

“Maybe…” Looking at the young man with a limp, she had a feeling it was more than that. “Well, not much we can do other than be there for him when he needs it. Even if he doesn’t know he needs anything.”

Soul nodded his agreement. They continued walking. None of them felt particularly keen on restarting a conversation.

***

Towards the end of the walk, when they were nearing the school, Sunset caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of something different in Artifex.

His lips, previously sealed, parted slightly, revealing clenched teeth. He didn’t appear intent on stopping or slowing any time soon; if anything, he appeared to be speeding up. As his pace quickened, he moved away from Sunset’s gaze, and the glance was lost once again.

But it remained in her memory, and she frowned. Was it the sight of the school that set him on edge? Or something else?

Suddenly the doors had approached, and they swung open without much care for who was closer, nearly hitting Sunset. She narrowly dodged it; but Soul was not so lucky. As she turned back to comfort him, Artifex continued ahead; and the questions followed.

Author's Note

It's been a rough two weeks, but seemingly--and hopefully--my life has gotten back on track.

You may be wondering why this chapter takes place leaps after the previous one, in terms of textual continuity. The reasoning for this is simple: detailing every day is simply too hard and tedious and slow, and would yield nothing for me or for the reader beyond simple exposition (exposition which I intend to supply whenever there is a large gap between day continuities). Additionally, I find it is better to start right where the conflict may be brewing first, rather than give repetitious and overall meaningless chapters that don't capture what I need to say.

Next chapter will be coming soon; I promise.

19) Day Thirty: Lessons In Distractions

“Sometimes, I think if you get away from what you’re called to do, it’s more of a distraction.”

Joel Osteen

***

The final bell rang, and the students took their seats, plopping their colorful backpacks—designer or otherwise—beside them. The bell chimed a little more, but then, strangely, when it finally finished, it let out a sour note, as if it was releasing its last breath. This chime was sharp, but low, and ended just as quickly as it began; instinctively, the students cringed under the sudden change.

All except for one student; and Rainbow Dash noticed this. Even as her shoulders rose and she winced along with the rest of the class—Mr. Solil included—the young man next to her was withdrawn, hunched over in a different way, over a book. What book exactly was unknown, but something about the way he stared at it suggested he wasn’t really reading it.

Withdrawn. There was a word that Rainbow never thought she’d describe Artifex as being for a long time, if not forever. When she had first noticed it, it had been shocking; but, after all this time and all these days, she had regrettably gotten used to it.

Just seeing him like this made her frustrated. But each time she tried to confront him about it, he waved it off as “part of a cycle.” But what cycle? “It’s something that happens to me from time to time,” he would say. If it’s happening all the time, shouldn’t you be getting help? “Not necessarily,” he would say. Then he would turn away, and the conversation was over.

Her frown, developing as she glanced at him, began to eerily match his. Eventually, it was enough to cause her frustration to bubble, to incite her to act.

“Uh, hey, Artifex?” she questioned, leaning over to tap him. “That bell was strange, wasn’t it?”

He grumbled—or perhaps murmured darkly—but otherwise did not respond. He flipped to another page; his eyes did not move.

“Ookay, then. Talk to you later, I guess?” She leaned back into her seat with a huff.

She had a few guesses as to why he was acting as he did. One of them pertained to another part of her confusion.

No Clue’s seat would have been empty, had his seat still been there. A few days ago, when Rainbow had walked in, it was gone. When she asked Mr. Solil about it, he explained that No Clue had transferred to another class. “Along with some other students,” he had added, showing her the list. Only a few stuck out, and even then, she hardly really knew them.

It was a bummer; partly because No Clue was actually pretty smart, and was always willing to help her with classwork. She wondered why had he moved; was it because she had been holding him down? No, that didn’t make sense; he had been pretty well in the class, scoring fairly high scores. It was unlikely that she relying on him made him worse.

So if it wasn’t grades, then what was it?

She racked her brain, then quickly gave up. She was tempted to ask Artifex again, but, remembering his grumble, she thought otherwise, and resigned herself to simply sighing.

Sighing really loudly, as it turned out, much to her embarrassment. The entire class looked at her, and Mr. Solil stared at her behind his reading glasses. “Is there a problem with my role call, Miss Dash?” he asked.

She quickly shook her head. “N-no, it’s fine, Mr. Solil. I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“Well, while I do encourage thinking, please try to do so without interrupting something as simple as attendance.”

“Yes, sir,” she said meekly. She sank into her seat, arms crossed. She waited for a snarky remark to come from Artifex’s direction.

Another student filled that role, but didn’t bring the same effect. She politely told him to shut up.

***

“Class, I have an announcement to make,” Mr. Solil said once he had finished his attendance. Everyone looked up at him with curiosity. “We will be starting our first project of the year.”

At the expected groans that followed, Mr. Solil raised a golden-brown hand. “Settle down. You haven’t even heard what the assignment is going to be.”

“So?” cried one of the lazier students—it sort of sounded to Rainbow like Snips, but she honestly doubted that he would be in this class. “It’s still a project that none of us are going to do until it’s almost too late!”

A loud hush fell over the class, as, in one motion, a good portion of it turned to glare at the student. Rainbow wasn’t one of them.

Mr. Solil offered a cool stare in the student’s direction. “Thank you for mentioning that possibility, Mr. Fens, but I have been aware of the slackers in my class for a good while.” He looked around the room. “Nonetheless, it is indeed a valid concern of mine, that in the midst of our course, there will be some who decide to be lax in their learning. Which is why for this project I’m instituting a special clause, if you will.”

Rainbow leaned a bit forward. A clause? What, like they had to do something special with the project? Make a video? Work in groups?

Mr. Solil sighed. “Look, kids, I’m going to be honest with you. I always make my first projects easy. This isn’t just a class for learning; it’s a class for living, as I said on the second day of school. There’s no need to look so despondent, I assure you.”

Unsure if she was part of that assuring statement, Rainbow nonetheless leaned a little back, trying to appear collected.

“I call this the ‘Quote’ project. It’s very simple. Please direct your eyes to the back side of the room, towards the bulletin board.” Everyone did so, even, to Rainbow’s surprise, Artifex Frost. “You can see that I have freed up some space for this year’s class to fill.”

Rainbow quickly read some of what was still pasted upon the board. “A long time ago in a galaxy far away…” “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.” “You may not deserve to live, but I’m not going to be the one to end you.”

That last one seemed way too… “edgy” to be real. And the others were mostly cliché lines ripped from movies and speeches.

“This project should be fairly simple to complete. I want you all to come in with a meaningful quote and explain it to the class.”

“Explain it?” asked another student, not Fens. “What do you mean?”

“Your interpretation of it,” said Mr. Solil. “Your ability to perceive what an author said and what the author’s words mean to you, and its relevance to the real world. These will be a part of your final grades for this class, alongside the likes of the typical reading and writing.”

Rainbow whispered, “Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Surprisingly, Artifex murmured his agreement, causing her to look at him wide-eyed. He fell silent before she could respond.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“You will not get points taken off for taking a quote or two from some other form of media,” Mr. Solil continued. “Some of the greatest and most influential words ever said have, in some form or another, been ripped from somewhere else. I will only grade you on the originality of your interpretation, and whether or not you can support that interpretation adequately. However,” he added, a slight twitch to his lips, “feel free to come up with your own quote, if you want. I’ve had some amazing things that students themselves have said hanging up on that board.”

Murmurs rushed through the class like waves of intrigue. Some were already comparing their ideas of where to get their quotes; most, however, wondered how long the interpretation had to be, and how long they had to not only find a quote, but to interpret it as well.

“I’m glad you asked,” said Mr. Solil to these concerns, “because that brings me to the aforementioned clause. I am granting you the rest of this month of October to complete this project.”

“Woohoo!” shouted Fens from the back. “A whole month to slack off!”

Under Mr. Solil’s cold stare, and under something similar from several other students, Fens gulped. “Uh… I mean, a whole month to prepare! Yeah, totally…”

The teacher nodded. “I thought so. But in case the point has still not gotten across to the slackers of this class; let me give you a word of advice. If you’re early to something, it gives you extra time to think. Therefore, if you want to get the max number of points on this—100 points, by the way; that’s right, it’s very easy to get a good grade for this project—you ought to search for your quote as soon as you can. Then you will have a good amount of time to figure out what it means.”

A tan hand reached up, the sleeve around it slightly falling off. It didn’t reach very far; and it shook, trembled even, like it was exhausted.

“Yes, Artifex?” called Mr. Solil.

“If this project is meant to last a month long,” he said—Rainbow noticed that his voice seemed frail and weak—“then why do some of those quotes have dates from many other months?”

I didn’t see that. Maybe Artifex looked more closely at the board when I wasn’t looking.

The teacher nodded. “A fair question; and it allows me to better transition to another aspect of this project.”

“Another clause?” asked another student.

“In a way. You see;” At this, Mr. Solil picked up the yardstick that sat upon the shelf of the whiteboard, and pointed it towards the back. “This ‘project’ never was meant to be a project. Originally, it was simply something I allowed students to do, if they were willing. Only this year have I decided to turn it into a project.”

He withdrew the stick back, and rested it against his shoulder. “However, that is not to say that students aren’t allowed to contribute once this month is over. It is as I told Artifex when we first met: ‘In my years of working in the educational system, I’ve come across some students who could fill every empty page in the world with the wealth of knowledge in their own minds.’”

“So,” Fens interrupted, “if we do add a quote after October is over, it isn’t graded?”

“It is not, Mr. Fens.”

“Then what’s the point of even bothering?”

Mr. Solil sighed, clearly irritated. “Mr. Fens, there is no point to anything beyond what we make. Purpose has never been a universal constant. What people have to say—the lessons they can share through their words—can sometimes enrich our lives; and that, I believe is very important. Tell me, would you rather have a weak and boring life, fraught with disinteresting things?”

“No…”

“Precisely.” He pointed back to the board, and made a circular motion with the yardstick. “Far better off is the person who lives life to the fullest and takes any opportunities presented to further their education, enrich their being, and fulfill their dreams, than is the person who casts such opportunities away for them being simply in the guise of ‘work.’”

Fens raised his hand again, even though it was unnecessary. “So, what you’re saying is, if I do this quote thing outside of October, I’ll be able to play football professionally?”

“Am I?” Mr. Solil lowered his yardstick. “Theoretically, anyone who did this would be able to play their sport of their choosing professionally—whether that is football, soccer, lacrosse, whatever. What makes you think that you alone will be able to play that sport professionally? No, Mr. Fens, I am not saying that you’ll be able to play football professionally because of this project. You must work—you must practice—to even be able to grasp such a concept in your hands. No, Mr. Fens. This project is for the other parts of your life that are equally as important as football.

“Now,” he said, cutting off Fens before he could speak any more, “are there any other questions?”

No one raised their hands.

“Very well. Please turn in your books to page 54. I believe we left off on the second-to-last paragraph…”

As they pulled their books out and flipped through the pages, Rainbow began to consider what she could do for the quote board. As much as she didn’t like school projects, this one seemed easy enough. She could probably do it without much of a problem.

Her eyes looked up at Artifex’s back. Still he was hunched over. Was he busying himself in his work… or distracting himself with it?

She thought back to the project. Then she thought about Artifex. Slowly, a path began to form between the two thoughts.

***

The dreams have gotten worse.

Every time I rest my head upon my pillow and close my eyes, I can hear the sounds of the city roaring in my mind. Then, too, does that same truck roar with the city, and then does it overpower that same roar with its own.

But while what happens remains the same, mild details change.

Sometimes I’m in Manehattan. Sometimes I’m in Canterlot. Sometimes, I’m in front of the ice cream shop; others, the Sugarcube Corner. The streets are either packed, or their empty. And the noise, the roar, is either that of the city, or that of the squall of my high school.

The dreams always start the same. We—Ruby and I—we’re walking down the sidewalk, and make a turn down a crossroad. In front of us is that shop, that corner. I surge ahead, excited, not taking into account my surroundings.

Then I would hear that roar. Then I would hear Ruby’s scream. Then…

Then it is odd, because I’m not sure what is really part of the dream, or of the dreams, plural, and what is part of my confused mind.

Sometimes I hear a… a crunch. Other times, a low smack. More often it’s silence that fills that dreamy air. Silence that is quickly replaced with screams and cries; but whose they are is unknown.

At one point, I was able to look more closely at that beast, that crashing, thundering, monstrous, metal behemoth. The driver changes between a generic trucker, to a factory man, to sometimes nearly recognizable figurines.

In one dream, I thought I saw Superintendent Discord at the wheel. In the next, I thought I saw myself—or, at least something that I seemingly recognized as myself. Myself running my sister over… what does that mean for me?

Last night was the worst. I didn’t just see the truck; I suddenly was in the truck. Everything felt completely out of my control. I couldn’t move, couldn’t sharply jerk the wheel, couldn’t slam down on the brakes. I saw myself run across; heard Ruby scream; there was a moment of blackness; and suddenly, I was back in my own body, on the ground, clutching my left leg, looking back at the scene.

In other dreams, the scene would turn red before I saw everything. But in this dream, in last night’s nightmare… I saw Ruby’s mangled body, with blood pooling all around her.

I don’t think I’ve seen that in years. I don’t think I’ve remembered that in nearly forever.

I remember, right after seeing that, my wrists suddenly burned as they burned all those times I… well, you know too well, journal.

Then, I awoke.

It’s been like that since the party on September 6th. All these dreams, these nightmares, growing steadily and steadily worse.

What does it all mean?

***

The handwriting had gone wavy, turning into illegible scribbles. The vowels had become misshapen shapes, while the consonants had become harsh, slanted lines that blended with the next letter. It was hard to read through the mess; it was even harder to even open up to those pages.

While there were still a substantial amount of pages left, the young man quickly realized that he would need a new notebook soon. Unspoken dread edged across his face. He would soon be unable to “talk” with his sister.

“Hey, Artifex!”

He swiftly shut the book and shoved it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He rotated halfway around, and a moment later, met with Rainbow’s eager face.

“You bolted out of class pretty quickly there,” she said. “Did you have someplace to be?”

“Just lunch,” he murmured.

“Sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Lunch,” he repeated, adding a bit of a bite to the word.

“Ah, right.” She crossed her arms. “Well, did ya have to run out without me? It’s like you want to avoid me or something.” She furrowed her brow. “That’s… not it, is it?”

Becoming suddenly more animated, he shook his head. “No, of course it isn’t.”

“Then what is it?”

“What is what?”

“You know what. You’ve been acting really strange for a while now, and I want to know why!”

He shrugged, trying to appear confident in his answer. “Like I said all those times you’ve asked before, it’s just a phase.”

Her brow remained furrowed, but her arms did uncross themselves. “Fine. Let’s go, then.”

They began to walk together, heading for the cafeteria. Throng upon throngs of students passed by, becoming blurs of multi-colored people. He saw blues and greens and even a few seemingly misplaced reds. Not once did he see a tangerine, or even a hint of pale yellow. Something distasteful rose in his mouth, causing his lips to morph into a frown, one that he kept carefully hidden from Rainbow. She didn’t need to know; and he didn’t feel particularly keen on speaking about it.

The notebook, even though it was behind a layer of cloth, suddenly felt cold.

“Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you,” Rainbow said, abruptly pulling in front of him, turning around, and walking in reverse.

He was not off-put by the sudden change in direction. “What is it?”

“The quote project that Mr. Solil gave us. Any idea what you want to do?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Really? I’d have thought that you, of all people, would have the perfect quote to say.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Duh!” She pointed to his chest, right where his notebook was. “You write, dude! I mean, come on. You’ve got to have a good quote somewhere!”

“Maybe…” He shrugged, avoiding her gaze.

He could just feel the smile slowly melting off her face, before it transformed into a concerned grimace. She suddenly grabbed his shoulder and guided them to a wall, away from the traveling students.

“Alright, seriously. I’m gonna ask again—”

“Don’t.”

“Why? I’m just concerned, man! This isn’t like you! Or—” She winced. “It isn’t like how you are now…” Her words fumbled; something incomprehensible came out of her.

“Rainbow…”

“Okay, listen. I’m your friend. And as your friend, I have a right to be concerned, whether you like it or not, okay?”

He remained silent.

“What’s wrong, Artifex?” Her voice dropped to a level of softness that he had not thought that the brash, confident athlete could have. “Please, tell me. Tell me something, anything. I want to help; I really do.”

He didn’t answer for several moments; but his lips trembled, and his body shook. Even as he didn’t look at Rainbow, he could feel her cringing under his silent stance. Only when he was sure she was about to shout, only when he felt he could not keep silent any longer, did his mouth open, reluctantly, for he knew that he should tell Rainbow something, anything, if just to even out the weight on his shoulders; and he opened his mouth, and he said—

“Hey, guys!”

Artifex and Rainbow jumped and yelped as a familiar, blue-skinned girl with an obnoxiously long ponytail appeared to their side.

“Sonata!”

“Sonata…”

“Yup, it’s me!” The ex-Siren grinned. “Did I surprise you two?”

“Surprise is one word,” Rainbow said, rolling her eyes. Artifex opted for a simple “yeah.”

“Coolio! Are you guys heading for the lunchroom?”

“We are,” said Artifex. “Would you like to join us?”

“Sure!” Sonata responded bubbly.

“But—”

Artifex cut Rainbow off with a wave of his hand. “Let’s go,” he said. Behind him he heard Rainbow let out a frustrated huff.

A strange feeling of morbid satisfaction crossed his mind, and he felt a tiny bit guilty. The guilt only grew when Rainbow muttered, “We’ll talk later, Artifex.”

He didn’t nod.

20) Day Thirty: Degradation

"Trials teach us what we are; they dig up the soil, and let us see what we are made of."

Charles Spurgeon

***

"You seem tired," Sonata said.

"I am."

"Why?"

"Sleep. Bad." Artifex rubbed his eyes. "Sorry; tired."

She patted him on the back, nodding while doing so. "Don't worry; I get it. Sometimes I can't sleep either."

"Why?"

"Well, sometimes Aria is up making a lot of noise or yelling at someone or something. It's kinda annoying, to be honest."

Artifex exhaled. Normally, such a conversation with Sonata would have brought an amused smile to his lips, but all it did now was cause him to reflect on his own situation. In doing so, he only grew more and more tired; a detail that was lost on the former Siren.

She sat next to him, and beside her was Rainbow, who was busy talking about something-probably sports; he barely tuned in-with Sunset and Soul. Next to the couple were Rarity and her boyfriend, Clyde. Applejack sat by them, idly sipping a juice box, while Fluttershy calmly ate her lunch. Pinkie and Swift had yet to arrive.

There was an extra seat next to Artifex. Empty and void of a presence, Sonata described it as being "kind of sad looking," and tried to fill it with her backpack. It didn't quite bring out the intended effect. Artifex felt more aware of the absence than he had before.

He stirred his spoon in his soup, one hand resting underneath his chin. He stared down at his tray, absent in thought, staring intently-but without intent-at a single point on the tray. Beside him, Sonata chewed on her sandwich; she had not had to borrow from Artifex this time. It was kind of annoying, hearing her smack the sandwich; but he was tired, and didn't want to tell her to try and be quiet.

He closed his eyes for a second. Drifting, Artifex. You're drifting. Focus. Focus on... what?

His eyes opened, and suddenly, swiftly, he had his hand clenched around the spoon, as if he meant to catch it before it fell. Indeed, just before he had fallen into a sudden and unexpected sleep, the soup left in his spoon had begun to slowly drip off of it and onto the tray. A neat puddle already had formed.

He sighed, a bit louder than he should have, and grabbed his napkin, and wiped the little puddle away. He set the spoon down, no longer feeling hungry.

"Uh, you okay?" came Sonata's voice from his side.

He rubbed his temples, and then ran both hands through the side of his head. "Yes, Sonata, I'm fine, Sonata, just tired, Sonata."

"Ookay? I think? Maybe you should take a nap."

"No. Too early."

"Maybe so, but you look really tired. Like, really, really tired. As in, how tired I was after my amulet broke and I had to put up with Adagio and Aria arguing all the time and I was really hungry but gradually my body adapted to become more human and soon I wasn't as hungry but I was still really, really tired and-"

Artifex tuned her out, lowering his hands back down to his lap. He stared at his soup, face drawn, lips almost etched in a frown.

"It's not going to get any prettier the longer you stare at it."

At first, he thought that was his mind speaking. But as a presence made itself aware behind him, and as he heard Sonata let out a surprised gasp, he realized that it was an actual person. And she was familiar.

"I don't care," he simply said.

"Mmhmm. Is this seat taken?"

"Ye-"

"You can sit there!" Sonata cheerfully interrupted, much to Artifex's hidden annoyance.

"Thank you, Sonata. Girls, guys? You don't mind, do you?"

Sunset waved an acknowledging hand. "It's alright, Adagio. We're all pretty much friends here." She narrowed her eyes. "Unless, of course, this is part of some devious plot to take over the school again."

Adagio half-grinned, half-smirked, and mused, "Well, isn't that a fine idea."

She settled down next to Artifex. He noted that she was careful to avoid bumping elbows with him. On her tray was the school lunch: soup, with a package of crackers next to it.

Seeing his curious half-gaze, she said, with a touch of smugness added in, "I usually get a boy to buy lunch for me. Unfortunately, I had to resort to more... mortal means of getting any food."

"Aw, the food isn't that bad, Dagi!" Sonata exclaimed. "In fact, those tacos are superb!"

"You think that all tacos are superb, Sonata," said Adagio.

"That's not true! For instance, you know that one Mexican restaurant down the road? It's actually a lot worse, I think, than the cafeteria's! And that's saying something!"

"I'll take your word for it."

The others at the table gradually turned away, moving back to whatever was their original conversation. The sounds of the cafeteria-the chomping, biting, laughing-became diluted in the mix of Artifex's thoughts. As aimless as they were, they were plentiful, completely overcoming his raucous background.

"I know my soup looks so delicious, but could you please perhaps stare at your own?"

Aware that, for some reason, his gaze had drifted over to Adagio's soup, Artifex jolted back. "Uh... sorry."

Adagio met his blushing expression with her signature smugness. "Well, at least there's one thing about me that's gotten your attention."

"But that's not..." He cut himself off with a sigh. "Never mind."

"Hmm." She went back to poking at her soup, disinterested, just as he did the same with his.

"You seem..." she started to say after a few moments, but stopped herself.

"No, please, continue," he said, irritation seeping into his voice.

"... colder."

"Mmm."

"So I take it that was a good guess?"

"Mmm." Artifex turned away, twirling the spoon between his fingers.

"Hmph, you are different." Adagio brought her spoon up to her face, almost like she was examining it. "Then again... maybe not so different," she mused.

She glanced at him with fuchsia eyes. "Yeah... now that I think about it-"

"Adagio," he warned.

"—you're much more like how you were when we first met—"

Somehow, when Artifex slammed the spoon onto the tray, it created a much louder sound than he had anticipated. The spoon's end split in half. Everyone else's conversations suddenly ended, replaced with curious and tense silence, as they all turned to him, questions already rushing to pursed lips.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, before anything could be asked. He stood up, not bothering to be subtle about his discomfort; then, he limped away, and was out of the cafeteria moments later.

***

"Dagi, that wasn't very nice," Sonata said as Artifex's figure vanished.

Adagio raised an eyebrow. "What? I didn't say much."

"Ya obviously said enough," Applejack pointed out. "Ah haven't seen Artifex this mad since that first day."

"Really, dear," Rarity said, "did you have to push his buttons so hard? Why couldn't you just have left him alone?"

Adagio leaned back, eyes closing. "What, like you have?" She opened an eye, seeing a fuming Rarity before her. "I thought friendship was about helping your friends; not pushing them aside and hoping that they'll be able to sort out their problems themselves."

"Why, you-"

"We have been trying to figure out what's up with Arty," insisted Rainbow. "The problem is, he's not the most open of people."

"Which makes it hard for us to even approach him about it," said Soul. "You saw how he reacted just now. Who knows what would have happened if we tried to pull it out of him?"

Adagio opened both eyes and leaned forward, resting her chin on top of her laced-fingertips. "I suppose that's always an issue. Still, at least I pointed out the obvious discrepancy between how he acts now, and how he acted during the first week."

"Yeah, but did you have to do so in such a blunt manner?" Sunset asked.

"Wouldn't you?" Adagio suddenly turned to Sunset. An unknown feeling coursed through her veins, a combination of anger and frustration. "Oh, no, don't tell me; that's not how the 'magic of friendship' works."

"It really doesn't work like that," murmured Fluttershy. "At least, I'm pretty sure it doesn't."

Something closely resembling a thoughtful growl rose out of Adagio's throat. At first, it sounded threatening; Rainbow could be seen clenching her fists. The tension dissipated, however, once they all realized that her attention was no longer fixated upon them, but upon where Artifex had sat.

If the soup had not yet already been so disinteresting, surely now it had become a bowl of metaphorical bleurgh that Adagio disheartenedly stirred. Her other hand cupped around her chin.

What was with Artifex? That question was prominent in her mind, but so was another one. One that was much more surprising and highly irregular of her.

How can I help him?

***

Snowdrops always were Ruby's favorite flower. Their pure white petals often shined in the moon's glow, and if they had been fortunate to have had a brief, nightly rainfall, in the morning those same leaves would glisten with fresh dew. Ruby had liked snowdrops so much that she, back in Manehattan, had had her own windowsill garden growing outside their apartment.

They bloomed in the lateness of winter and of the early spring, often when there was still snow on the ground (as their name implied). Most did not last into the summer. Ruby's, however, did; the first generation of her snowdrops lasted for an entire year. By the time she was in college, her garden of snow had surpassed many expectations; the fifth generation could theoretically survive a minimum of two years, while also still spreading its seed on the city's wind.

In a way, that was Ruby's special talent. Oh, sure, she might have been a gifted student with a winning streak for volleyball and a penchant for chemistry—and, indeed, her grades, scholarship, and attitude certainly propelled her into those fields—but her passion—and she so clearly made that distinction between "job" and "passion"—was in cultivation; in growing things; in nurturing life.

Perhaps that was why she had been a good teacher for Artifex. Perhaps that was why she still was. And perhaps that was why he had always looked up to her, admired her, loved, adored, and cherished her.

More importantly, that was why her death had crushed him so severely.

These were not random facts, but rather familiar thoughts—at least, to Artifex, as he stood out in the courtyard, staring at the snowdrop that Sonata had planted. Such facts simply reminded him of a better time, a less complicated time. They, combined with the dreams, the nightmares, were remnants of a past he knew he could never let go, never relinquish; never find a peaceful coexistence.

That was the tragedy in tragedy, he supposed. It was simply too abnormal to fully become normal. Incorporating it could only go so far.

How far have I gotten? he wondered.

Artifex's legs began to move. First they directed him around the snowdrop; then, around the tree that lay at the end of the courtyard. They moved him without so much of a care for his thoughts or his mind, like they didn't matter; only movement, only physically continuing, did. In a way, that was true; staying still was a death sentence for him. He'd much rather suffer while moving than suffer while not. Pushing ahead was, really, all he had been able to do. After Ruby's death…and after what he had tried twice.

Those scars on his wrist burned; he rubbed them, hard and fast, then soft and slow, attempting to alleviate his pain. No matter how much he tried, he knew that they would be there for a long time, if not for the rest of his life. No amount of long-sleeves, or smiles, or joy, or sorrow, or anything, would be able to remove those blemishes upon his wrists.

Yet, at the same time, he knew that, if he had to be honest with himself, he would not want to take those scars away.

Lessons. Ruby taught me lessons. She taught me many things. Like how to be a good person; or how to ask questions; or how to learn, and not let formal schooling get in the way of a proper education.

He walked back to the snowdrop and bent down, feeling the sloping leaves. The soil was dry. He fished around his backpack, and took out a small bottle of water.

She taught me how to grow snowdrops; how to care for something that was more helpless than you.

He poured the water around the snowdrop, watching as the soil turned dark and moist.

I just wish she was still around, to teach me some more. Maybe then I wouldn't have to feel this way.

The bottle now empty, he shoved it nonetheless into his backpack, stood, and slung the belonging around his shoulder. He waited a moment, hoping that the snowdrop would wave, or wink, or do something.

It merely stood there, wet, motionless.

So Artifex, dry as opposed to wet, did the same.

21) Day Thirty: Strange Company

"The key is to keep good company only with people who uplift you, whose presence calls forth your best."

Epictetus

***

Was Nostradamus Clue alone?

A month had gone by, and still the question remained strangely unanswered. He had family who supported him, so he wasn't alone in that regard. But in terms of friends? How many did he have? How many had he had? How many were left behind in Detrot, or in Baltimare? Did he even have any back then?

No, don't start thinking like that! He fiercely shook his head, and leaned back into the front of a red locker in the middle of a hallway. I have friends, of course! I just…I just...

He sighed. This wasn't something he was willing to confront at the moment. He'd rather have it pushed aside while he focused on more important things. Namely, his getting used to a new Language Arts class.

Mr. Solil was a nice teacher; of that, No Clue had little doubt. Still, the class itself was more challenging than he had expected, and though he had managed to get by with a decent grade, he had felt nonetheless that down the road he'd face greater difficulty. He had dropped to a class level just below Mr. Solil's, where he felt much more content.

His parents may have given him a hard time over the dropping had they not recognized No Clue's other talents—specifically, the ones in the more applicable courses, like Science and Math. Certainly, they wanted him to take on harder classes, but at the cost of losing out on what he did the best. Thus they had offered their support in his decision.

Now, though, he was in a class of mostly strangers. They were either upper-class seniors or lower-class sophomores; no freshmen were present. The teacher was a rather old and somewhat dull man, whose name No Clue could not quite recall—as could not most of the class. It was indeed an unsettling situation; No Clue, in his preferred element of learning, was effectively stuck with a bunch of strange students for company.

Occasionally, between classes, he'd catch a glimpse of Rainbow Dash running through the halls. Sometimes she'd almost turn his way, and he'd have to duck his head and avoid looking anywhere near her. He would often hope that she hadn't seen the growing blush on his cheeks.

That itself was another issue; one that he didn't really want to confront at all. It was just a little crush; though, a smaller, more dreamy and ideological part of him wondered of the possibilities.

But, like all things non-Clue driven, it drifted away, replaced with a question.

Or perhaps a better term was "quandary," perhaps even "thought experiment," for Clue found that he could not formulate an answer to it—at least, not a satisfactory one. And "it" felt much too impersonal, too inanimate, to be the subject of his continued frustration. No, it was far better to call the "it" "he," since "he" indeed was a confusing sort of person.

How this "he" grew to be No Clue's source of angst was unknown, even to the boy himself. In another life, he supposed, had certain, seemingly inconsequential events played out differently, they might have been close friends. Yet here and now, it was different—at least, No Clue felt it was different.

Ah! There I go again; making myself confused with all that stupid wordplay!

No Clue rubbed his eyes. Maybe he needed more sleep. Since that day, he hadn't been sleeping all that well. Something kept him up at night.

Or rather, the thought of someone—

I seriously need to stop thinking about him! We're finished; in fact, we never even began!

"Well, well, well, is the school lunch really that bad?"

That voice—could it be?

Realizing he had groaned aloud, No Clue whipped his head around, meaning to cast a bitter—or, perhaps a bittersweet, if he was being honest with himself—glare at the speaker. Instead, his glare devolved into a confounded glance, with his brows raised in the middle, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

He figured out almost immediately why he had mistaken the speaker for the "he." This speaker was a young man, probably his age, with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. It wasn't his physical appearance that was familiar, though; it was his demeanor, his attitude. He stood straight and tall, appearing confident, but also having a coldness settle between his eyes. The way the corners of his lips lifted up into a not-wholeheartedly-mean sneer suggested a hint of arrogance. There was a remarkable amount of intelligence on his face, but not as much as No Clue had anticipated nor had become familiarized; even then, he found himself feeling tricked.

They don't look the same…but...

Behind the speaker was a taller male. A flash of recognized passed between Clue and this boy. Blue-skinned, with brown eyes and darker-blue hair, he had a wider and bulkier frame, evidently because of hours spent lifting and training. Compared to the speaker, this boy was much more physically imposing. Yet the speaker held some presently unspoken advantage, as he stood in front of him, wielding an equally unspoken level of authority.

Once No Clue realized that the pair was waiting for some sort of response, he asked, "Can I help you two?"

"Maybe. Scooch over a bit, would you?" asked the speaker. Upon speaking, No Clue realized that he had a bit of a snobbish tone to him. It wasn't completely unpleasant, but just enough that it made his tongue curl and him grimace a little.

He, after a bit of hesitation, did so, moving aside his backpack and the lunch he had bought. The odd pair sat down, with the speaker sitting first and the taller boy sitting next to and slightly behind him. From his position, No Clue found it almost comical; he vaguely recalled an old book series from some time ago, about a scrawny kid with the brains to take over the world, served by his faithful and hulking bodyguard friend.

"Ah," the long-haired boy said, rubbing his legs. "Finally. Some place away from the common folk."

Reminded once again of the boy's pretentious demeanor, No Clue asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"What do I mean by that, he asks?" The boy laughed. "Oh, well, isn't it obvious? The common folk! The drabble! The lot, the normal, the unordinary ordinary!"

The boy's hands flew outward and twirled, like a stork about to vomit. He held some amount of contempt on his face. "It is a shame that we must share these sacred halls with such fools, don't you think?"

"Fools? You mean, the rest of the students?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, indeed, the 'students.' Though, I prefer to call them 'sheep,' since, comparatively, their heads aren't bigger than some ewes I've seen. Neither are their brains, mind you."

"That's a bit rude, don't you think?"

"Rude?" The boy shook his head. "No, I think not. It's simply the truth of the matter."

"Um…okay."

No Clue turned away, thinking them strange. The large, somehow familiar boy had not yet said anything; but it appeared that he wouldn't either way. Clue took this time to take a bite out of his school lunch. It wasn't as bad as the boy made it out to be.

"What, you still intend on eating that disgusting grub?" the boy scoffed, causing Clue to look back at him, confused. "Very well. Blueblood isn't known to be at all altruistic, but just this once I'll make an exception. Brutos!"

The taller boy rolled his eyes, mumbling something under his breath. He turned, and fished around his backpack, before bringing out a small paper bag. Opening it, he took out an entire salad, complete with at least five different leaves, tomatoes, croutons, onions, cheese, and a bunch of other stuff that Clue could only liken to "food accessories." Brutos then pulled out two bottles of two different salad dressings.

With all of these in hand, he leaned over and handed them to Clue. The younger boy stared at them, surprised. "Uh…what?"

"Just take it, No Clue," said "Brutos."

Simply hearing him talk was enough of a shock for Clue to take the salad—then he realized that he had just said his name.

"Now I know where you're from," he said to Brutos. "You're in my Language Arts class, right?"

Brutos nodded. "You got it, little man. In fact, we both transferred around the same time."

"Too hard for you, too?"

"You could say that."

"Ah! So you two know each other?" the other boy interrupted. "Splendid! Then I need only make one introduction!" He brushed a long strand of hair away, almost posing like a make-shift king. "I am Blueblood! Heir to the Canterlot High School's legacy! Last of my royal blood, lord of all that is good and pure in this world! An aristocratic prodigy in the making, voted best-looking-student three years in a row, with a great amount of stock in the business world, and—"

"He gets the idea, Blueblood," said Brutos. "And besides, you're not the last of your so-called 'royal blood.' Aren't you related to Vice Principal Luna?"

"Hmm. I suppose you are right. Far smarter than you let on, aren't you?" As Brutos grumbled, Blueblood turned back to No Clue. "Yes, it is true. I am the nephew of Vice Principal Luna."

"And…of Principal Celestia, too, right?"

"If you wish it so." Blueblood shrugged, but offered a smug grin. "So you see, I hold a little bit of authority in this school."

"If that's true, how come you aren't in charge of some of the clubs?"

"Clubs?" Blueblood sniffed loudly. "Please! As if I would soil my manicured hands for something so…drab! Come now, man, come now. Surely you would understand!"

"No... why would I?"

"Why would I, he asks! Ha!"

The uproarious laughter that emanated from Blueblood's mouth contrasted No Clue's befuddlement and Brutos's annoyance. The two boys exchanged silent looks, one seeking answers, the other unable to provide one. Nonetheless, the boy managed to calm down long enough to notice.

Wide-eyed, Blueblood stared. "Wait. You mean to say you don't actually know?"

"Why on earth would I know what you're even talking about?" No Clue responded. "I mean, I didn't even meet you until just now!"

"Now, that's just preposterous—hmm." Turning away, Blueblood rubbed his chin. "No, that would mean—perhaps, but then—mmhmm, I see, I see—yes, I get it now. Yes, that makes sense."

"Wait, wait. Now you've got me confused," said Brutos, holding up his hands. "You mind explaining yourself, Blueblood?"

"It's quite simple, really. A…mere bit of situational irony, I am sure. You see, No Clue, while you have not known me for long, it is I who has known you for longer."

"Uh..."

"Oh, don't give me that look. Let me explain before you jump to strange conclusions. No; you see, my father—who is the principals' brother, I'll have you know—he works in, how you say, the 'higher-ups' of society. The upper-class; the peuples supérieurs, if you will. And in his time up in that glorious niche of society, he's come across some unique people. One of them being your father, actually."

"Really? So my dad knows your dad?"

"Knows? Man, they practically grew up together!" At this, Blueblood let out a high-pitched laugh. "Even after they drifted apart due to time and life, somehow they managed to find it in themselves to locate each other once again. I believe it was around the time my father was just starting out his business, and he just so happened to meet your father where he worked!"

Taking Clue's hesitant silence as permission to continue, Blueblood plowed on: "Well, I doubt you'd very much remember this, but at some point, a long time ago, you and I had met before. A business trip, I think, on my father's behalf, had us go to Detrot, where, coincidentally, your father was working for a bit. Though, obviously, he's not there anymore, is he? No, of course he isn't. He still works in accounting, yes? I'll admit, not my preferred occupation of choice, but good on him for contributing meaningfully to society."

The string of expositional statements and sudden questions came to a quick end. Blueblood now stared at Clue, expectant of a response.

Clue cleared his throat. A faint memory shined; he was smaller, barely up to his father's hip. There was another man, a little blurry in his mind's eye, but still evident by voice. It was a deep voice, rich and blessed, and behind it spoke years of education spent on attaining and retaining the most. Beside that blurred figure was a smaller one, whom, after a little bit of thinking, he realized to, indeed, be Blueblood.

"Oh, now I remember," Clue said. "We met in my dad's bank. Behind the booths, actually."

"Yes! Now you remember!" Blueblood clapped his hands. "Oh, that is such a relief! Knowing that you are here and now, in my same school, nonetheless!"

"Yeah, I…I guess it's pretty coincidental."

"Coincidental? Nonsense. Nothing is coincidental." Blueblood swept an arm around Clue's shoulders, bringing him close. He waved his other arm before them, as if displaying a piece of artwork. "I believe that this is fate speaking, Nostradamus Clue. We were destined to not only find each other again, but work together for a common goal."

Slightly annoyed by the full-name usage, Clue asked, "And that goal is?"

"Advancement, my dear, fine fellow. Pushing above and beyond the normal lot." Blueblood winked at him. "I know from Brutos how smart you are. Think of the possibilities if you truly applied yourself."

No Clue gave him an unsure look. "I'm doing fine on my own—no offense."

Blueblood shook his head. "Oh, I am sure that you think you are doing fine on your own. But is that really true?" He scratched his chin, as if stroking a beard that hadn't yet decided to spring up. "I would imagine, of course, that your grades have remained fairly high. But what about the rest of you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Brutos, tell him."

"It isn't that hard to see, Clue," Brutos said. "You've been acting really strange for a good while now. Like you're really depressed or in a bad mood all the time."

Clue blinked. "I have?"

Brutos nodded. "Yeah. You don't talk much in class like you used to."

"I…I guess I hadn't really noticed. Were you worried?"

"Worried?" Blueblood cut in with a gasp. "Nostradamus, we were absolutely petrified with worry! How could our dear, fine friend, Nostradamus Clue, be upset? And if he's so upset, then shouldn't we be upset?"

"You're not usually this dramatic, Blueblood," said Brutos.

"Quiet!" he barked. "I'm trying to prove a point!"

"Well, if you are, it's a pretty confusing one. Just get to it, Blueblood. You don't need to act like such a drama queen."

Blueblood fumed. "Brutos, you will watch your tone with me."

Brutos shrugged. "Whatever."

The arrogant blonde turned back to No Clue. "Now…where were we?"

"I'm not sure. Something about feeling bad that I apparently was feeling bad?"

"Right! Of course we felt bad, Nostradamus Clue. I mean, I felt bad, at least; and that's saying something because I don't normally feel bad for people! But with you?" Blueblood held a hand to his chest, closed his eyes, and took a breath and sighed. "I would dare say that, among this crowd of mundane peoples, you are the closest with whom I can relate."

"And why is that?"

"Let's face facts, Nostradamus. You are a rather smart fellow, much like myself. And you are quite well off, with your father having done a great deal for the rich and becoming a richer man himself. Why, were it not for the differences in class, I would call you my equal!"

No Clue frowned. "Differences in class?"

"Ah, never mind that. The point is, I felt a certain kind of kinship with you. And as the spirit of this school, I thought to myself, I should help him! And I did!"

"Er…no, you haven't."

Blueblood rolled his eyes. "Well, fine, I haven't. At least, not yet. But give me some time."

"Right..." Clue cleared his throat. "So how exactly did you plan to help me?"

"Oh, the usual. I sit down, have a chat with you, and then provide some life-changing advice to put you back on course." Blueblood sniffed loudly. "For example, you should comb your hair more. You honestly look like a mop—a literal mop—of blueberry ice cream."

No Clue frowned, then ran his hands through his hair. He faintly heard Brutos grumble. "Now that was uncalled for, Blueblood."

"Hey, he can take it. Right, Nostradamus?"

"Okay, let me stop you right there." Clue raised a hand. "My name, yes, is Nostradamus, but I'd rather be called 'No Clue' if you don't mind."

"Why?" Blueblood huffed. "That just sounds like an insult to me."

"Maybe, but it's far easier than being called Nostradamus all the time. And two: I thought you came here to help me, not insult my hair. Either do one or the other, okay?"

His voice had come out forced and strained, with restrained temperament behind it. Momentary shock spread across Blueblood's face. Then, it was cast aside with a clearing of his throat.

"Ah. Yes. Well, if you insist, then I shall call 'No Clue.' And I did intend on helping you, No Clue. Truly, I did. In fact, I still do."

Brutos, Clue noticed, said nothing, preferring to let the two talk. He did give the boy a quick nod, but he was unsure if it was meant to be reassuring, or just an acknowledgement that Blueblood had spoken. Nonetheless, Clue decided to give the other boy his full attention, and waved for him to continue.

"You see, Clue, in this school, there are the winners, and then there are the losers. You have the rightfully high and mighty, who are ensured to go anywhere in the world for anything they want, and then you have the disgusting and lazy low, the ones who would scramble about for scraps of glory rather than work for it. They would encourage chaos and disorder over unified goals." He paused for effect, looking to see if Clue was still following along.

"Go on," said the boy.

"In the best interest for anyone, it is far better to work yourself to the top of this societal food chain. After all, you wouldn't want to be swallowed up by some idiotic, numbskull of a predator, would you? So to do this—to rise to the top—you should understand what it is that you need to do."

"And that is?"

Blueblood raised No Clue's arms, causing the boy to develop a heated blush that the other two didn't notice. "Hmm. Clue, I wouldn't say you're the athletic type. Ah, well, you can't win them all." He lowered the boy's arms. "That opens up several possibilities nonetheless—intellectual ones, of course."

Clue blinked. "You mean I should just keep studying to 'get on top?'"

"That's one idea, yes. But simply studying? That's far too boring and mundane to get you anywhere, my friend. Tell me, are you appreciated for your educational efforts?"

"What?" No Clue arched his brows. "Of course! Mom and Dad have always encouraged me to get good grades!"

"Oh, of course your parents would. But what of your peers? Your fellow students? And I don't mean Brutos and myself," Blueblood quickly added.

"W-well, I'd imagine that they do—"

"So you don't know for certain? What a shame!" Blueblood sighed, placing the back of his hand on his forehead. "It would seem that all intellectuals are unappreciated in their time! It must make you quake with rage, with indignation! Surely you feel just as pained as I do, seeing you so upset?"

No Clue couldn't say he was upset; more confused, really. But Blueblood either didn't notice or didn't care, and went on: "Take it from me, No Clue. Sometimes, in order to show everyone just how truly impressive you are, you have to stomp a few heads into the ground. Dig a few graves. Bury the hatchet and the body, if you will." He chuckled at his own joke. "Ah, I kid, but not really. But do you understand?"

"I would think you're suggesting murder, but you don't look the type."

"Please. As if I would engage in such dastardly activity. Blackmail, on the other hand…" Blueblood harrumphed. "What I mean to say is; life isn't just a simple game of chess. It's a tough and brutal battlefield, and only the strongest can survive. And if you want to survive—and I'd imagine that you would want to—then you would want to fight to your very last breath! Slashing and stabbing and all that fighting stuff…yada yada yada, for honor and glory, all that, you know. But I digress! No Clue, I sincerely believe that you and I could make it big in the real world. For now, we ought to settle for this smaller one—together, of course. And with my help, I'm sure you'll quickly rise through the ranks of the downtrodden, to the top of our great society. What do you say?"

Blueblood stuck his hand out, an expectant smile on his face; one that No Clue was careful not to mirror quite yet. He stared at the outstretched arm, feeling uncertain. Blueblood hadn't kept his promise to be clear in what he said.

Clue sorted through the other boy's words. What exactly was he saying? That No Clue should push everyone away? That he should work towards impressing others by overpowering them with his own unique qualities? Maybe a combination of all three?

Yet something in those words of that arrogant boy touched something in his heart. Like a fire of blazing passion, it rose up and roared in his mind, burning away a layer of uncertainty. It was just enough to reveal a figure to him; a boy clad in yellow, with an icy-blue crown and a cape of pure mystery, and eyes that spoke of anarchy, of chaos, of a dislike for the proper way of things. Then the figure faded into the nothingness; but it was replaced with an idea, a desire, a drive, a need. It was an answer—at least, a potential answer—to Clue's question.

Then he was back in the real world, still staring at Blueblood's hand.

If the doors of opportunity knock, then you had better answer them. Even if they appear confusing at first.

"Alright, Blueblood," No Clue said, grabbing his hand with his own. "Let's go get that opportunity."

Blueblood smiled. "Splendid. I'm sure this will be the start of an amazing friendship."

The bell rang, signaling lunch's end. Their hands released. Brutos looked on, his face a mixture of approval and mysterious intent. Clue put Blueblood’s salad into his backpack, a meal for another day.

"I trust I shall see you soon, No Clue?" Blueblood asked.

"I guess so," he replied. "I guess we should get going.”

22) Day Thirty: The Uncertainty Principle

"Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings—always darker, emptier and simpler."

Friedrich Nietzsche

***

Uncertainty was quickly becoming an unlikeable but familiar emotion for Adagio. The first time she felt it was when she and her sisters had landed in this world, banished by Starswirl the Bearded; the second, when she and her sisters had been defeated by the Rainbooms, and had been forced to cope with their now completely-human lives. The third time was when she had suddenly found herself, much to the efforts of Sonata, growing closer to the group that had turned them this way, almost to the point of them all being "close friends"—a term that Aria despised enormously.

Now that she thought about it, those moments of uncertainty had all been in the span of about a year. Soul Writer's arrival on the scene might as well have been the catalyst for them. Not that she blamed him; in truth, seeing Sonata grow happier each day in the "enemy's" company was nice, as lame as that sounded in her head. And once she and Aria were "tolerable," as Sonata obliviously and bluntly put it, well, that same description could be said for herself. It was nice; what she felt was nice.

In that sense, was certainty quickly becoming a rarity? For some time, that had been a question on Adagio's mind. She was the leader of their group; and then, all of a sudden, they were a trio of bickering, independent sisters of humans. Even after they had reconciled thanks to the Rainbooms, there had always been a missing feeling in her.

She had missed power. She had missed being in power. She had missed having power over others. Could one blame her, if there was a biological reason behind it?

Could one excuse her, then, for wanting to have a taste of that power, even if for a moment?

Adagio would never tell Sonata—the girl cared far too much for her own good—but one of the reasons why she had even bothered sauntering up to Artifex was because he seemed vulnerable. Easy picking. A good test subject for her experiment in power-play. Sonata didn't need to know; and Aria didn't need to care.

Because of that omission of knowledge, however, of what her purpose was, her actions could be seen as selfish. And, indeed, they were; that much she knew. Adagio was a vain creature, one that prided on having everything she wanted. Even if there were obstacles in her way, she'd push them aside, complete with a sultry smirk, and accomplish her goal with whatever method she deemed fit to use.

Of course, those "vain methods" were indeed in vain. Artifex had reacted far worse than she had expected; and she had reacted far differently than she had planned. There she had been, the former villainous Siren leader, feeder on mistrust, misfortune, and perhaps a hint of misanthropy; feeling concerned for someone obviously scarred in more ways than one.

Certainty had long been out the window since then, even if that window had originally been made for the sole purpose of creating that hard-to-now-reach-certainty.

Ah, life. You work in mysterious and often ironic ways, do you not?

Life answered, "Go the f*ck to sleep, Sonata!"

Why does life sound like Aria? Oh, wait...

"Aw, c'mon, Aria! This show is actually really good!"

"I don't care what kind of crappy show you're watching! It's nearing midnight! And I want to sleep!"

"So why don't you?"

"Because someone refuses to turn the goddamn volume down!"

…Aria had always been a loudmouth, now that I think about it. Huh. I'm thinking about "it" a lot, now that I—huh.

"Please, Aria? Just twenty more minutes!"

"No!"

"Fifteen, then!"

"No!"

"Ten!"

"Just shut up and go to bed!"

"Dagi?"

Oh, goody... "What is it, Sonata?"

"Can I stay awake for ten more minutes? Five, at least?"

"We'll compromise." Adagio yawned, then repeated herself. "Compromise. Yeah. You can stay away for…seven and a half more minutes."

"Yay!"

Aria shouted one final curse, before her door suddenly—and explosively—slammed shut.

Adagio looked out the hall for a moment longer, hearing Sonata happily giggling at some "anime" show, before sighing and getting up and closing her own door. At the very least, in this sudden sea of uncertainty, the boat of familiarity remained aloft.

Adagio's mind drifted from thought to thought. Tired as she was, most thoughts were just fragments of a larger idea; yet she could not use them to lull herself to sleep. In the midst of those thoughts was a common idea; but its purpose, its reason for being there, eluded her.

Then, just as Sonata let out a loud gasp, and Aria screamed another curse, the idea was gone, lost in the winds of memory. Adagio, frustrated, turned over on her side, mumbling something incoherent.

I need to sleep, she groggily thought. Maybe once it quiets down...

From downstairs, she heard what sounded like some sort of "theme song" playing, presumably from the television. A few minutes passed—she heard Sonata mumble something, then let out a brief cry—and then she heard her sister come up the stairs. The light in the hallway went out as Sonata entered her room.

Quietness reigned supreme once more.

And Adagio's thoughts became louder than ever.

Primarily on her mind was that of the issue of that cold, distant, aloof, young man she had come to know: Artifex Frost. But it wasn't so much of an issue of his character; rather, it was the issue of why it was an issue. She'd blame Sonata if it was actually her fault, which, surprisingly, it wasn't. No, this was no one's fault but Adagio's.

She tossed and turned; then she turned her pillow and tossed it across her bed, hearing it land with a thump against the floor. She brought a tangerine hand up to her forehead, closing her eyes, counting to ten three times, trying to steady herself and find a moment of clarity.

Artifex. Artifex, Artifex, Artifex. Artifex Frost. That Frost kid.* The *Frost kid. The strange kid. The kid. The...

Except…he wasn't quite a kid anymore, was he? No, he was not a kid. Certainly younger than Adagio and the Sirens, and no older than perhaps Sunset or Applejack, but there was something about him that suggested he wasn't just any kid.

It has to be his eyes. They're so…full of something. Of what, though? And why are they so piercing?

The image of Frost came to her like a phantom. He stood at the end of the room, looking away; but she could still see the side of his face, see the curvature of his frowning jaw, his tightened lips and cheeks, the way his eyes were always slightly narrowed. Gradually, the phantom became full, and the image of the kid—not kid; young man?—grew to encompass his entire person.

There on his wrists were another matter altogether, though Adagio could not speak of their meaning to her. They were scars; light ones, old, faded, healing. But scars nonetheless; scars that still stuck out, she presumed, to Artifex, in such a way as to persuade him to never wear shorter sleeves. She remembered the first time they met, how he had collapsed due to some sort of overstimulation; she wondered, far longer than she normally would have, if his scars had hurt that day.

She frowned, as more, unfamiliar feelings grew in her. It seemed that a heavy weight set upon her shoulders. It reminded her of the centuries of burdens she had borne; but this was different. Whereas those burdens could easily be cast off as being expendable, worthwhile, collateral damage in the winds of time and the woes of history, this burden, this weight—she could not bypass it. She could not excuse it.

Is this…guilt?

She was reminded, then, what Artifex had said to her at the party. How she had demonstrated some ounce of goodwill, not just towards him in his apology, but in her willingness to do whatever it took to keep herself and her sisters alive— even at the cost of potential power.

Then, she remembered her own words, her own account. Her actions. Little favors. The incident with Superintendent Discord. Were these the willing perpetrations of a former Siren…or something more, something else entirely?

Even then, she still wondered: Why do I feel guilty?

Adagio went over what happened in the day. Artifex's frown. His tired and irritated tone. His leaving.

Is that what I feel guilty about? Artifex leaving?

No, there had to be more to it than that. Artifex didn't seem the type to just up and leave when confronted by someone like Adagio. In fact, he didn't seem like the kind of person to run from his problems. It had to be something else; something personal.

She tried to recall what Sonata had said of Artifex throughout the time period between the party and today. She tried to recall her own observations. They all came to mind, but served little purpose than as a means to refashion her thoughts again and again until they no longer were unique but rather worn-out clichés of hypotheses and conclusions.

Maybe he's just tired. Maybe he's been having trouble sleeping. I certainly am.

But the question—the large and general question, the cursed interview interrogative, the question that every child asked an adult until the adult no longer had the patience to answer—persisted: why?

That stupid young man…how has he ensnared me so? She shook an overly-dramatic fist at the sky, frowning as she imagined herself delivering a stunning soliloquy to an equally stunned audience; and in that crowd she saw Artifex. He wasn't smiling. Her fist came back down, and with the rest of her arm fell against her side with a dull thump.

She sat like that for what seemed like minutes for her; but the moment she turned over, a bolt of shock jolted in her system. 1:00 had rolled around, and just moments before it had been midnight. Either she was stuck in some temporal jump stream, or she was so tired that she couldn't even comprehend her own temporal experience.

She rolled back onto her back, an arm lying against her forehead. Suddenly she felt very hot, and she realized that she had on far too many blankets than needed. She threw some of them off, but the heat would not go away; in fact, it seemed to spread, from her chest, to her toes, and then back up to her head.

She was sick; she had to be. Yet she did not feel an urge to retch, to vomit; no sense of nausea, nor lack of a sensible balance, attacked her. She was hot, and nothing else.

She then threw off the rest of the blankets, trying to cool off. She cringed as she felt beads of sweat slowly slide down the side of her face. Quickly, she wiped them away. More beads replaced them.

Adagio sat up. She glared down at the foot of the bed, as if hoping to scare away the dark shadows that followed the moonlight. But her heated expression and heated stance—literally—only served to make her glare appear more as one of discomfort as opposed to frustration. The shadows remained; as did her sour and baked attitude.

She rubbed her eyes. Where was sleep when she needed it? Rarely had she gone so long without rest. Though she was a self-diagnosed "night owl" ("night-Siren?" "night-ex-Siren?"), she hadn't had much time to practice her "literally-stay-up-past-dawn" skills while on her mission of conquest. Was that the sound of mice chittering in the walls, or just the squeaking of the bed? Were those shadows really moving, or was she imagining it? Was Artifex Frost standing in the middle of her room, stoic glare and set frown, or was she—

She blinked, and he was gone.

"Gah!" She threw herself against her pillow. "There's got to be something to help me sleep..." In the distance, from behind closed doors, she could hear the gentle snoring of Sonata; Aria, too, appeared to have finally falling asleep. A brief rush of wind giggled from outside; leaves rustled; the night was awake.

Adagio's ceiling slowly became intolerable to look at, as did the rest of her room. Finally, she closed her eyes, and tried to steady her breathing, hoping that the slow rate would calm her down long enough for her to fall asleep.

Yet the moment she closed her eyes, the visions returned; they were of the boy, and the young man, and the scars, and the flower, and today, and yesterday, and last month; they were of everything that had happened and had not happened, of power, of tragedy, of hope, of despair. More importantly, uncertainty filled the visions like a cement solution, sealing them in her mind without holes to breathe from, letting them suffocate under its weight and stickiness.

Uncertainty. A familiar emotion. A familiar vice, a familiar familiar. Bothersome. Troublesome. Uniquely annoying, unwaveringly persistent.

Adagio's eyes opened. She groaned, and rubbed her eyes. "Damn it," she whispered, sitting up. "Why am I so bothered by this? Just get to sleep, Adagio. Don't worry about that boy—that young man—that…that…ugh."

She glanced at her clock. 1:30. A half-hour had been spent simply struggling to sleep. Lost time. Lots of lost time, and rest.

"Argh..." There wasn't much she could do other than hope that, eventually, her body would give in to exhaustion, and fall asleep on its own. But, until that time arrived, she would remain here, staring up at the uncertain ceiling, tired and bothered.

With no other choice, Adagio resigned herself to her fate.

23) Day Thirty-One: Stagnation

"Audacity augments courage; hesitance, fear."

Pubilius Syrus

***

Artifex had been making his way to his first block class when he heard the announcement. Preceded by a loud, blaring, and short siren—which annoyed him greatly—it turned out that Principal Celestia had an important announcement to make.

"Good morning, students of Canterlot High!" she said boisterously. A few students murmured their own greetings, even though they knew she wouldn't hear them. "I hope you all had plenty of rest and are ready to face the day."

Artifex nearly snorted. Sorry to let you down, Principal.

The announcement continued, "I am here today to reveal a very special announcement. Those of you who have been with us for a good while know about the Fall Formal dance. In previous years, we would have had it right at the end of September, but as I am sure you are now all aware, that was not the case for this year. Instead, Vice Principal Luna and I decided to move it slightly ahead, in order to try something different."

Artifex continued walking, but quickly realized that he was the only one. Looking around, every student had stopped whatever they had been doing, and were looking to the intercom speakers with wide, expectant eyes. After a moment of pondering, he, too, did the same, albeit with a much more tired look.

"That's why this year we have combined our September Fall Formal with our October Halloween Dance to create our very first Fall Hallows' Eve Event!"

The strange name aside (it was hard, Artifex figured, to come up with something that used both names), it was clear that Principal Celestia excited. Indeed, at the conclusion of the first part of the announcement, every student in the hall let out jubilant cheers like they had won something important—which, Artifex supposed, was true, though he could not say he shared the same sentiment.

"With this new Fall Hallows' Eve Event,"—Just rolls off your tongue, thought the young man—"we have more than just dancing going on. We will have several games set up that are all Halloween themed. Additionally, if any bands from the first Battle of the Bands would like to sing for us, you are welcome to do so! Just sign up at the office first.

"We have about a month to work on this, so any student who can help with the building and construction would be greatly appreciated. If you have any ideas or suggestions, let us know! We might be able to fit them in. If you have any questions, you can talk to your class representative for more information." There was another short ding. "Thank you all for listening, and I hope you're all as excited as I am! Have a great day!"

As one final, longer ding rang, Artifex resumed his walk. But whereas the halls had been rather low on the volume, now they roared with pure excitement and energy. Students were already piling into groups, and Artifex could hear some spouting off suggestion after suggestion. At first, it wasn't a problem; the trouble began when the groups became large enough to crowd the hall, to the point that Artifex had to push and shove his way just to get to his class.

He neared the stairwell, but was stuck between several other students. With no other choice, Artifex surged forward, doing his best to only lightly tap each student as he made his way through.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" one of the kids protested. He sounded familiar; a little high-pitched, and his voice was slightly masked by the sheer number of students, but it was definitely familiar.

Artifex glanced behind him; and cerulean-blue eyes met with salmon-pink ones. Shock filled both. As Artifex's eyes widened, so did the other boy's. Had things been different, perhaps they might have been much like a funhouse mirror attraction; at least, that was what Artifex would think later.

Then, just as quickly as the two met, they separated, the latter boy being swooped away by the call of some other person whom Artifex did not recognize. That boy's distinctive blonde locks stood out, though, and as Artifex moved away, they shown brightly in his mind, like a halo of observation.

He climbed the stairs in silence, mulling. Had that really been No Clue, or had his eyes deceived him? No; that had to have been him. There's no way it wasn't! He shook his head, but then had to swiftly crash himself against the opposite wall as a large group of giggling girls obliviously pushed past him.

"Urgh..." Groaning, he clutched his shoulder, annoyed. He looked back up the staircase. No one noticed his bitter stare.

With a flourish of yellow, he ascended, and walked down the hall towards his classroom.

***

"Isn't this exciting?" Pinkie exclaimed, bounding down the hall. "A whole new dance!"

"Yes, dear, I admit," said Rarity, clutching onto Clyde's arm, "it is rather exciting. Don't you think so, too, Clyde?"

"Of course I do, Rarity!" Clyde said. "It sounds like a lot of fun."

"You're darn tooting it'll be a lotta fun!" Pinkie turned back, facing them with a humongous grin. "I can't wait until the end of October for that!"

"Amen to that," said Applejack with a nod. "Ah gotta see if we can spare some apple cider just fer the occasion. Non-alcoholic, of course," she quickly added.

"Boo!" Rainbow shouted from behind. "Where's the fun in that?"

"We're minors, Rainbow," Fluttershy reminded her. "We can't drink any alcoholic beverages."

"I'm sure Principal Celestia would be okay with it!"

"And Ah'm sure that she wouldn't."

"You would, you goody-two-shoes..."

"What was that, Dash?"

"I said, you goody-two-shoes—"

"Girls, can't you keep the arguments from escaping until after lunch?"

"Sorry, Fluttershy, but if Miss Dash here thinks she can get away with insutin' me, then she's got another thing coming!"

"Ha! You'll have to catch me first!"

"Wha—hey! Get back here!"

Fluttershy shook her head as she saw Applejack chase after Rainbow. She could have tried to step in and stop her, but Applejack was notoriously strong-willed and stubborn. And Rainbow would rather goad her on than ruin the fun.

She wasn't in the back back of their little walking group, but she wasn't quite up front either. Soul and Swift were slightly ahead, discussing something "nerd" related, as Soul had once put it. They appeared to be in quite the heated discussion. Try as she might, Fluttershy couldn't understand a word they were saying. It all sounded like meaningless garble.

She glanced around. Rarity was, of course, with Clyde, while Pinkie happily skipped ahead, her hair bouncing and poofing everywhere, and landing with a light sproing sound. Applejack and Rainbow were even farther ahead, with the latter desperately trying to escape the former's clutches. Dash may have been fast, but Applejack had the stamina to keep up.

That rounded up her head count, but one person was missing. Fluttershy looked all around her, before letting out a light gasp as she realized. Sunset! She turned around, and found the girl slowly shuffling along, with her head slightly down. She appeared despondent, a feature that called out to Fluttershy's heart.

"Sunset," she said, lightly tapping the girl's shoulder, "are you okay? You look upset."

"Hmm?" Sunset raised her head, and Fluttershy saw that she had been mistaken. Sunset had a frown on, but her eyes weren't telling a sad story. She appeared bright, curious, contemplative, as if analyzing some sort of problem. "No, I'm fine, Fluttershy. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I don't mean to sound rude, but you're kind of falling behind."

"Oh! My bad!" She and Fluttershy quickly sped up to a point where they were no longer so far behind the others. Once they had gotten close enough, they fell into an even stride.

"Sunset," Fluttershy called, still seeing the girl's frown, "are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just thinking."

"Is it a bad thing?"

"What?" she gasped, giving Fluttershy a surprised look. "No, of course it isn't! Why would you think that?"

"You're frowning."

Sunset looked down at herself, then cleared her throat. "Ah. Yeah, that would give you the idea. No, it's nothing bad, really."

"Oh. Okay."

One could perhaps have sliced the silence with a knife had it lasted long enough to solidify, but, unfortunately for that particular slicer, Pinkie's bounces and the talk coming from Soul's, Swift's, Rarity's, Clyde's, Applejack's, and Rainbow's directions kept the world from becoming wholly quiet. Nevertheless, Fluttershy felt the weight of silence on her shoulders as she and Sunset walked. She wanted to ask more, but, then again, if Sunset said it was fine, then she had to trust that it was. It wouldn't be at all kind to pry into a friend's business.

"You're still wondering, aren't you?" Sunset's voice came suddenly, smashing aside Fluttershy's thoughts.

"Eep! N-no! I-I mean—" She looked away, furtive, then looked back, guilty. "I-I mean, maybe a little..."

Sunset offered a light laugh. "It's no biggie, Fluttershy. I figured you'd be curious." Her laugh faded as her voice took a more inquisitive tone. "I was thinking about Artifex."

"Artifex? Really?"

"He's been acting really different these past few weeks. You've noticed too, right?"

Fluttershy thought back to yesterday, with the lunch period ending with Artifex's sudden departure. According to some students who managed to catch a glimpse of him, he spent the rest of the period in the courtyard, admiring a flower. Part of her thought it was somewhat Adagio's fault, but another part reminded her that Artifex had been acting similarly for days prior to yesterday.

"Yes, I've noticed," Fluttershy finally said.

Sunset nodded. "It's a little concerning, seeing him like this. Can you think of any other time he was this…aloof?"

The realization came quickly, but still Fluttershy hesitated to speak it. "… Well, there was the time he met all of us a month ago."

"Exactly. Then a week went by, and he was fine. And then all of a sudden it's like he pulls a 180 and reverts!" Sunset compounded the statement by throwing her arms in the air.

"Eep!" Fluttershy ducked. "Careful, Sunset!"

"Oops! Sorry, Fluttershy." She lowered her hands. "I'm just... really, really concerned about what's going on."

She sighed, blowing hair out of her face. "I'm the pupil to the Princess of Friendship, and so far I've been pretty good at solving whatever friendship or relationship problem has come our way. But Artifex…he's a different case." She pocketed her hands. "I don't want to say he's fragile, but…well, that's the word I keep coming back to."

"Are you afraid he's been hurt in some way?"

"No, Fluttershy, that's the worst part. I know that he has. But I just don't know by what." She looked away, voice dropping to a low tone that Fluttershy could barely hear. "I don't know if it's because of his sister…I mean, that's something I could never imagine. Losing someone that close to you, at such an age; it no doubt has done something to him. Something that should never happen to anybody."

Fluttershy nodded sagely. "I understand, Sunset. I don't think any of us can truly imagine just how much that hurt." She looked away, wondering briefly how she might have reacted, had she perhaps lost Zephyr Breeze a long time ago. "I'll bet that losing Ruby made an impression on Artifex that day. A big one, at that."

"Mmm. A big one, indeed; so big that there's probably no way he can ever completely move on."

"But, that's what we're here for," Fluttershy reminded her. "To help him live on."

"I know that, Fluttershy. I truly do." Sunset looked back at her. "And believe me when I say that I haven't—nor do I intend to—forget that any time soon. But don't you wish there was something more you could do, besides just be there for him?"

"Of course I do, Sunset! I don't like it when my friends are hurt! But what else can I do?" Fluttershy balled her fists and placed them against her temples. "Oh, poor Artifex. Now that I think about, we've probably barely made a dent in his armor."

"His emotional armor," Sunset clarified. "That's why I'm so concerned. I just don't know what to do, or how to do it, or how hard I should do it. I'm afraid of it either breaking apart, or pushing back forcibly. "

"What if that's the whole reason why he is how he is now?" Fluttershy asked. "What if we pushed too hard? What if he feels resentful now that we know and are trying to help?"

"I don't think that's it, Fluttershy. When he learned that Rainbow had told us about what happened to him, he didn't appear resentful; more accepting of the facts than not. In fact, all through the week, he never appeared bitter towards us because of what we knew."

"Then…it's something else? Something else besides his sister?"

"That would seem to be the case. But I just don't know what!"

Looking ahead, Fluttershy saw that the others had not yet noticed their conversation. The whole group stopped at a corner, waiting expectantly for Applejack to come back with Rainbow locked under her arm. Around the corner, they could hear what sounded like the two girls fighting.

"Do you have any ideas, Fluttershy?" Sunset asked.

She sadly shook her head. "I'm sorry, Sunset. I don't. I thought it was just Artifex having some bad days. Do you think we should ask him?"

"Maybe if we could locate him. But even then, do you think he'd want to talk?"

Recounting Artifex's sudden and irritated departure, Fluttershy shook her head. Sunset nodded in response. "Yeah, me neither, unfortunately."

While the group waited for Applejack to return, Sunset propped herself against the wall, her arms crossed. Fluttershy stood next to her, arms by her sides.

"I haven't seen him today, either," Sunset murmured. "I hope he's okay, wherever he is."

Fluttershy nodded. "I hope so, too, Sunset."

A brief period of unspoken uncertainty filled the gap. It was heavy, and Fluttershy found herself unconsciously bending underneath its weight. Sunset didn't appear to be faring much better.

***

"There you are," said Rarity, with a slightly disapproving tone in her voice. "What took you two so long?"

Applejack's face burned, while Rainbow merely looked away. "No reason," the athlete murmured.

"We heard you guys arguing for a few minutes," said Soul, "and then there was sweet, merciful silence."

"That a crack at how loud we were, cousin?"

"You were pretty loud," Swift put in. "We could hear you like you were next to us."

The blush on Applejack's face grew, and she pulled her hat down. "There was a teacher. She saw us chasin' each other, and pulled us into her classroom fer a talk."

"Must have been a pretty lengthy talk," said Clyde, whistling.

"It wasn't that long!" Rainbow protested.

Rarity raised an eyebrow. "Really? In the time it took for you two to come groveling back, I had already reapplied my make-up."

"Why'd you need to reapply it anyway?" Pinkie asked. "Were you and Clyde 'messing around' in Chemistry again?"

"Pinkie! Are you insinuating that—"

"A little," Clyde admitted, much to Rarity's embarrassment. "But it was, ehehe, nice? While it lasted?"

Rarity's blush was about as intense as Applejack's, a comparison that Rainbow dutifully noted. Her attention shifted, however, to the two girls in the back, who had on despondent looks.

"Uh, is something wrong, you guys?" she asked, addressing Sunset and Fluttershy.

"You could say that," Sunset said. For the next several moments, she explained everything that she and Fluttershy had discussed. The others, when she had finished, nodded gravely, their concern equal to theirs.

A thoughtful silence then settled. Each person tried to come up with some sort of solution to Artifex's problem. But as the minutes passed; as more students passed by; as the first bell rang for lunch; nothing appeared. No solution; no retribution; no absolution.

"D'ya think if we asked enough, Artifex would tell us something?" Applejack suggested. Before Sunset could answer, Rainbow spoke up.

"I don't think so. I've pestered him over his attitude for almost a month now, and he's refused to say anything."

"So we're back to square one and stagnant…great," Sunset said with a groan. "Girls, guys, we need to do something, anything!"

Soul frowned, thoughtful. "You're right, Sunset. We ought to do something."

"But what?" Swift asked, the question an obvious one. "And how?"

"A party?" Pinkie immediately suggested, though her tone was less-than light and more on the heavy side.

"Maybe not," Sunset said. "I'm not sure he'd be willing to even go."

"But…there just has to be something we can do!"

As they walked, though, little in the form of suggestion came up. As the lunch room approached and the noises of students gathered neared, still nothing appeared. The question and problem hung over their heads like a storm cloud. They sat down; and it rained negativity and uncertainty.

Their silence followed. Fluttershy took note of this as they settled. Gone was the vibrant attitude, the excitement from the announcement, replaced with worried ones and anxious twitches. It was indeed a mess, if Fluttershy had to behold one, and mess was, even then, a light word for it.

In gazing at Sunset, she saw just the exact weight of the situation. Slumped shoulders hoisted up Artifex Frost the Problem, and a furrowed brow attempted to ease the burden. Obviously, she had taken the issue to heart greatly; perhaps she felt it was her duty to help Artifex, and given the way he was acting, she felt like a failure in that regard.

Looking around the group, Fluttershy realized they all felt the same way.

She looked down at her lap. Artifex… there must be something we can do to help you! But what?

24) Day Thirty-Two: Delirium

“Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated.”

Alphonse de Lamartine

***

Artifex stood in the courtyard once again. No one had seen him come; no one had seen him go. And hopefully no one would.

The snowdrop flower from yesterday was, as expected, still there. But it appeared to be drooping ever so slightly; an observation that filled Artifex with worry. He looked down at the flower much as a concerned adult may gaze upon a stranger’s injured child, with reserved sympathy but a hesitance to help. He had only water on him; but the soil was still wet, and the plant did not appear to be thirsty. He dared not use it, for fear of drowning the poor thing.

He sat himself down beside the flower, tired. He had been tired for a number of days now; the exhaustion never seemed to run dry. As to what caused the exhaustion, he had several guesses; but he was simply too tired to list them mentally, nor physically.

He breathed in the autumn air. It no longer smelled or tasted as good as it used to. Certainly, it was just as brisk, but it lacked a certain spice to it. It missed the bite, the sharpness, the witty demeanor of a giddy wind that had long followed Artifex throughout much of his years; it was unfamiliar, a mere cousin of the air to which he had become accustomed.

The snowdrop must have felt the same, because it seemed to droop even lower to the ground.

The wind rustled through his hair. Some leaves hit his fingers. He closed his eyes, feeling relaxed. His shoulders slumped; breathing steadied out. The world and its nuisances, its annoyances, dulled considerably; Artifex could have fallen asleep if he so wanted.

In his darkness, he saw the truck again; and his eyes opened, and he frowned. Even if he wanted to sleep, he knew it to be impossible.

The world remained dull for but a second, drowned out by his own thoughts; then, as a roaring and rushing river of rambunctious and rowdy students, it returned, and he was aware that he was at school, and that lunch had not ended, and that he was outside, and that he was alone, mercifully alone.

He didn't close his eyes this time, but he did lower his head, in silent contemplation, in silent condemnation.

Slowly, though, he grew aware of another presence. It felt familiar, though no other sounds besides soft footsteps could be heard. It approached, then, walked around him, and sat down. Had he had the energy, he might have said something. Perhaps he might have gotten up.

He waited; and the presence waited as well.

"You look like how I feel," the presence suddenly said. He realized it was a she; and that she was, undoubtedly, familiar.

And her words were enough to make him smile only slightly; an action that was not lost on her.

"Finally. Some progress," she said, and he could practically feel the knowing smile upon her face. "Guess the good-old-sarcasm-and-dry-wit-combo still works."

He didn't answer, and the smile began to fade.

"Suit yourself," she said. Something rustled; she had shifted slightly. "Gosh, how did you manage to sit here? The ground is much too hard."

Again, he refrained from answering. Something in his heart bubbled; something in his stomach growled.

"Did you eat yet? No, of course you didn't. You wouldn't, I'd imagine, until you had to."

In answer, and with only a hint of chagrin, Artifex grabbed his backpack, unzipped it, and retrieved a simple, blue lunchbox. He opened it, and took out a small sandwich, which he weighed in his hands, tossing it up and down. With a slight wave of his arm, he gestured—without looking—to her.

"I appreciate the offer, Artifex, but I'm not all that hungry." She yawned. "Just tired."

His head bobbed slightly, and he pulled the sandwich back. Opening the packaging, he took a bite. It was sweet to the taste, like nectar or honey.

"So what brings you to this place, Artifex?" She probably looked around, due to the pause between her statements. "I admit, it's nice-looking. In fact, in some ways it reminds me of college. A lot of students, spacious, a stupendous courtyard… Mom and Dad certainly chose a good school for you."

He nodded again.

A pair of hands ruffled his hair. They were light; so light that they might as well have been the air itself. "Aw, are you giving me the silent treatment again? You know I don't like that, Artifex."

He shook his head; an apology of sorts.

"Hey, if you don't want to talk, that's fine. Still, it'd be nice to hear your voice, Artifex. You shouldn't try to hide it."

He didn't answer.

"What's wrong, Artifex? I would have thought that you would be sitting with your friends at your table. Or at least with someone, and not out here in the cold." She brought her hand to his shoulder, and gripped it, tightly, to reassure him of her presence. "I mean, I know you aren't the most social of butterflies, but still. This isn't like you—it wasn't like you."

He made a point to look away, staring at the snowdrop flower.

She nodded, accepting his silent remark. "Alright. I understand. You want to be left alone with your thoughts—that's something you've always done, especially when things got tough. Just promise me one thing, okay?"

He nodded slowly.

"Promise me…that you'll be alright. Okay? Because I can't always be there to watch you; I won't always be there to help you. You're smart, Artifex; I know you are. So you can figure things out on your own without me."

Her grip briefly tightened. "Okay, Artifex? Promise me that, at the very least. Please?"

"..." He turned to face her, to answer, to indeed promise; but she was already gone. His mouth remained open for a moment longer, before it closed, and he looked back at the snowdrop flower beside him.

He nodded to himself, then gradually got up. Good talk. Good talk.

***

Adagio would have gone up to Artifex to confront him.

She would have.

She would have, knowing that he was distressed; that he needed someone to talk to.

She would have, thinking that it felt somehow right; that it felt more right than anything she had ever felt.

She would have, had he not sat down.

She would have, had she not seen him smile.

She would have, had she not seen him sitting underneath that tree, next to that snowdrop flower, having a silent conversation with something that wasn't there.

25) Day Thirty-Five: Nowhere Is Somewhere

"Nowhere man, don't worry / Take your time, don't hurry / Leave it all, till somebody else / Lends you a hand..."

Nowhere Man—The Beatles

***

Another day passed without Artifex Frost present. Then another; then another; then another; then today. With school having come to a close only minutes before, Sunset might have expected to at least see him in between the other students who were leaving. Yet again, however, that crowd was devoid of any sign of him. Once or twice, she had thought he might have been darting between students; each time, though, it was another person.

She craned her neck, now standing just outside the school grounds. Desperately, she looked for a familiar yellow-jacket, or at least icy-blue hair, or a hint of a golden notebook. The pattern persisted; not one of those things appeared.

Soul did, however, as did Rarity, and Clyde, and the rest of their little group. They, too, joined Sunset in looking for Artifex. They, too, had the same result.

They were all at their wits' end. It seemed as if Artifex was deliberately avoiding them whenever possible. And whenever he couldn't, it seemed that he fought hard to keep interaction to a minimum of three or four sentences. This made discussing anything difficult; in Rainbow's case, frustratingly so.

"I just want to talk about what to do for the quote project," she vented, "but even then he insists on not talking at all!"

"But he answers you, at least," Fluttershy pointed out.

"Yeah, with grunts and murmurs! He might as well not be answering at all!" She threw her hands up in the air, body shaking and quivering with anger.

"If Ah didn't know better, Rainbow, I'd say yer thinkin’ 'bout beating some sense into him," Applejack said.

"Trust me," she growled, "I'm considering it."

Soul held Sunset close. Their tight frowns and furrowed brows matched perfectly. They said nothing, letting their silence speak for them.

"He hasn't responded to anyone's texts?" Swift asked.

"Not to mine, at least," Rarity said, "though, I'm not sure if that's because of this, or because I've texted him quite a lot." She frowned. "Goodness, I do hope I didn't come off as confrontational."

"How many messages did you send?" asked Clyde. Rarity gave him her phone; he counted the texts. "Thirty-five? That's not too bad, I don't think. We send each other more, anyway." He gave the phone back.

"But look again, Clyde. No response; and only the top few have been read."

"It's the same with me," said Fluttershy. "Though, I haven't texted him that much..."

"I see. What about you, Pinkie?" At her boyfriend's utterance, Pinkie sharply turned her head. "Did you text Artifex?"

"Yeah..."

"Did he respond?"

"No..."

"How many did you send? A lot?"

"N-not exactly..."

She took out her phone and tapped on the messages button. Then she gave her phone to Swift.

He tried to scroll, but found that he couldn't. "Wait, that's it? Seriously?"

Pinkie nodded, but Swift remained incredulous. "I would have thought you'd have texted him at least ten times, Pinks."

"I would have…but I think after the fifth text I got the idea he didn't want to talk."

Swift handed her her phone. "Did he respond to anyone?" A resounding series of "no's" and "nada's" followed, and Swift shook his head. "Well, that confirms it; he doesn't want anything to do with us right now."

Applejack crossed her arms. "In other words, he really is avoiding us. And there ain't much we can do about that."

While they stood, mulling and despondent, a certain trio of girls approached. Sunset recognized them, and offered a curt nod of acknowledgement.

"Hey, Sonata," said Soul. Then he blinked, surprised. "Oh? Aria and Adagio! Why are you here?"

"Because Sonata wouldn't stop bothering us about 'meeting up with the gang,'" Aria characteristically grumbled. "And Adagio couldn't say no. God, she's gone soft..."

"I heard that! And I'm just trying to be more considerate to our sister," Adagio seethed.

Aria rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, what's with you guys? Someone piss in your porridge this morning?"

Once the disgusted looks had passed, Adagio asked, "Does it have something to do with Artifex?"

Sunset rubbed the back of her head. "How'd you guess?"

The former villain crossed her arms, not smirking. In fact, she appeared somewhat despondent herself, not as sassy or saucy as she normally was. "Because lately everything has been having to do with that boy." She looked slightly away, and lowered her voice. "And for good reason, I would imagine."

The way she said that, Sunset wondered if she knew exactly how hurt Artifex was. A quick look at Sonata showed her that some secrets had decidedly not been kept hidden; and who could fault the Siren?

"Well, you're right," Rainbow huffed. "We're still trying to figure out a way to break him."

"How delightfully violent," said Aria.

"I meant make him tell us what's going on with him, Aria." Rainbow glared at her. "I'd never want to hurt my friends like that."

"Sure, whatever you say, kid."

"Anyway," said Sonata, "did you guys come up with anything?" At their defeated shaking of their heads, she frowned. "Oh, well…that stinks. I was hoping you'd have come up with something by now."

"Trust me, we're trying," said Soul. "But it's way harder than it looks."

Murmuring agreements resounded throughout. Then they were replaced by a temporary silence.

"So why bother?" Aria spoke up. All eyes turned to her, shocked at the harsh question. "Clearly he wants nothing to deal with you."

Rainbow balled her fists. "Listen, Aria, just because you have some problem with Artifex, doesn't mean we're going to stand by and do nothing."

"And yet here you are, making a hissy fit, thinking that'll solve anything." Aria rolled her eyes, disgusted. "So he's been kinda a dick for a good month now. So what? Maybe that's how he always was. Or maybe that's how he wants to be now."

"You don't know Artifex like I know him," replied Rainbow angrily. "He's better than that!"

"Then maybe you don't know him as well as you'd like to think." Aria smirked. "Which, if you ask me, tells me that he's not worth all this worry."

Held back by Applejack and Rarity, Rainbow could do little but sputter, "Don't you dare talk about him like that!"

Sonata directed her frown towards her sister. "Aria, if you're going to be mean, then maybe you should leave."

Her sister glared back evenly. "What? I'm just telling it as I see it. And as I see it, nothing's getting done, and nothing will be done, so drop it. If Artifex doesn't care to tell you what his problem is, than he isn't someone you want to be friends with." She looked around the group. "Besides, that's what friendship is, isn't it? A bartering chip between people, where one side gives their benefits, and the other gives theirs. And if one doesn't give their fair share—like, say, they lie, or take more than they should from the other side—then that friendship is over." She sneered at Sunset. "What do you say to that, 'Student of Friendship?”

Sunset refused to be dismayed by Aria's harsh words. She expected it from her; Aria had always been the harshest of the three. "That's now how friendship works, Aria. And no matter how much you try to deny it, no matter how much you want us to think otherwise, we know that Artifex is our friend."

"Really? Then, tell me, Sunset. If he's your friend, then he must have told you something, anything! Because that's another part of friendship, isn't it? Saying what you're feeling."

Sunset noticeably looked away, unable to keep her gaze. "Then…maybe we haven't reached that point yet in our friendship."

Aria shook her head. "Which just proves my point. Since none of you have been able to 'get to that point,' then he can't be worth the effort. If he doesn't open up, that's on him, and you shouldn't have to expend so much energy on just trying to crack open a door."

Mean as the girl was, there was a certain logic to her words. Maybe Artifex truly wasn't comfortable with their presence. Perhaps he had grown annoyed with them, and, in response, he secluded himself, hoping to drive them away. If that was the case, then what Aria said made sense. This was a friendship train going Nowhere, onboard Friendship Airlines to the island of Nowhere, sea-bound for the Nowhere Ocean.

But that was the problem with what Aria said. It went nowhere, too; at least, nowhere past wherever it started. Inherently, it was flawed, because it was too quick of a rationalization. It had no substance to it. No support past what Aria instinctively and intuitively knew. An argument without an acknowledgement to the counterclaim; was that really an argument?

Just as she was about to point how the Aria's words' fallacy, Adagio spoke up. But her voice was soft, yet also sharp; reprimanding, yet restrained.

"Yet Artifex trusted Applejack there enough to tell her about Ruby. And he trusted Rainbow enough to tell her just the same. And he showed no ill-will towards Rainbow when she told her friends who Ruby was, and what had happened all those years ago." She looked straight at her sister. "He demonstrated remarkable heart, in not only forgiving us for what we did, but understanding and allowing us the privilege to know what had hurt him the most; what had made him, him. So perhaps he does value us, if only somewhat, and in his own way, if, again, only somewhat."

Aria sneered. "Well, look at you, Adagio, defending some guy you barely even know, let alone interact with. What, you got the hots for him?"

Adagio didn't answer; an unusual thing, since Sunset figured she'd be quick to deny it. She shook her head, pushing the thought aside. "I'm not sure you'd really understand, Aria, so I'll try and put it simply. We care for Artifex a great deal. It's only natural that we want to help him if we can. That's what friends do."

The pig-tailed Siren snorted. "Yeah. Some friends. If you really were friends, then you'd have solved this issue by now." She turned to Adagio. "This was stupid. Can I go now?"

Adagio didn't respond. Aria threw up her hands. "Ugh! Whatever, I can drive myself home. You guys can walk for all I care!"

They watched her go, drawing with her that cloud of negativity that had covered them all. Yet once she was gone, the effect remained. It was as if there was simply too much to be able to remove it all.

October afternoons had never been so morose before.

Pinkie shook her head. "Poor girl. She needs to get a boyfriend."

Rainbow, finally released from Rarity and Applejack's clutches, blew a strand out of her face. "She needs something, that's for sure."

"Or at least get laid."

"That…I'm not so sure about."

"Nevertheless," Adagio finally said, "she brings up a point."

Everyone looked at her, shocked. "How does being mean prove a point?" Rarity asked, appalled.

"I mean that there must be something more we can do. If we can't get Artifex to talk to us directly, then there must be something we can do indirectly." She placed her finger on her chin. "Perhaps if there were some way to ease into that topic of conversation. Or, at the very least, calm him long enough to truly ask."

“But even if we did do that,” Fluttershy said, “how do we know if it will even work?”

“We don’t; that’s the point,” replied the former villain. “That’s what’s frustrating Aria right now, I think. She’s not just being mean—admittedly, she was quite on the harsher side today, I’ll say that—she’s genuinely mad at us and our wasted efforts.”

“You mean she cares?” Rainbow incredulously asked.

“In her own way, yes. And she, of course, would never admit it.” Adagio smiled slightly. “She’s gone soft, too.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Sunset clarified, “we’ve focused on whether or not we can, that we’ve lost sight of actually doing it.”

Adagio nodded. “Precisely. So beset are we by worry that we cannot see where we are headed, nor can we remember our original destination. Which means it would be far better to act and take that risk, than to hold back and worry about the consequences.”

“Hasn’t that been what I’ve been doing?” Rainbow huffed. “I’ve literally gone up and pestered about what’s with his attitude for about a month now.”

“And he never answers why,” Adagio finished for her. “So we change our method. Our approach. If we can’t talk about him to him directly—”

“We do it indirectly,” said Sunset. “So… basically what you said. But, once again: how?”

“The Fall Hallows’ Eve Event,” Sonata suddenly said.

They turned to her. “It’s gonna be big,” she continued. “Like, really big. Bigger than the Fall Formal and the Battle of the Bands. Supposedly, it’s gonna be open for kids not just in Canterlot High, but those who are just outside the sending district.”

“Oh, right,” Pinkie piped up. “Yeah, they were thinking of letting in some Crystal Prep kids, if their principal would allow it.”

“Which she probably won’t,” mumbled Rainbow, much to the confusion of Sunset and the remaining two Sirens.

“We’ll question that later,” Adagio asserted. “Now, what exactly does this Fall Hallows’ Eve Event have to do with Artifex?”

Sonata took a moment to find her voice. “Well, from the way the Principals have been selling it, it seems like every student at Canterlot High is required to go, since it’s so new and they want everyone’s feedback. So that would mean that Artifex would have to go either way, whether he liked it or not.”

Pinkie’s eyes lit up like a bunch of fireworks. “Right! And because of that, we’d be able to actually find him and talk to him!”

“That’s a big if, though,” said Swift. “Knowing Artifex, he might be hesitant to even consider going or not. Even if it is mandatory, how do we know that Artifex won’t just… I don’t know, skip out?”

“We don’t,” admitted Adagio, “but we should consider it as a definite possibility nonetheless. So let’s assume he does go.” She looked all around the group. “What then?”

“Well,” Rarity mused, “if the Event is as good as it sounds, then he’ll probably have a lot of fun—as will the rest of us, I do hope.”

“And maybe he’ll have so much fun that he won’t be so cold and distant,” said Pinkie.

“Ooh, that would be nice,” Fluttershy murmured. I haven’t seen him smile in a while.”

Sunset noticed Adagio adopt a somewhat disturbed expression, but thought little of it. “Okay, then what?”

Soul shuffled his feet, then rubbed the back of his head. “Uh… we talk? Probably?”

“And hopefully,” said Clyde, “we start to drift towards discussing his behavior as of late.”

“And if all goes well,” Applejack started, “we talk it out, ‘n then we sort through the problem as friends.”

“And things go back to normal,” concluded Rainbow. She twisted up her face into a frown. “But that sounds too guess-y for my tastes.”

“It does ride on a lot of guesswork and assumptions,” said Adagio with a nod. “But right now, it’s all we’ve got.”

“Adagio’s right,” said Sunset. “And it’s better than nothing. So we’d best work with it.”

“Still, that’s a long time away,” Swift reminded. “What are we going to do until then?”

They, quiet, found no immediate answer. But it was only when the clouds parted, and the sun shined and warmed the land, that Sonata spoke for all of them.

“We help him. In any way we can.”

Then her moment of confidence fell, and she looked at Sunset. “I mean—that’s what friends do, right?”

Sunset smiled. “That’s right, Sonata. Friends help. Friends always help when they can.”

Sonata beamed, and gradually, her smile spread to the others’ faces. For the moment, their uncertainty vanished; and for the day, that was enough.

26) Day Thirty-Five: Elsewhere

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

Various sources, though most attribute Saint Bernard of Clairvaux as being the original

***

It seemed far, too perfect. Ending the first day of the second week of October—a Monday, nonetheless—with going over to a friend’s house? And to top it all off, hardly any homework assigned! Knowing this, No Clue waited for the other shoe to drop. Perhaps Blueblood, in his characteristically charming-yet-arrogant way, would request that he do something for him. Certainly, the boy had hardly even asked for much beyond Clue’s company. But there remained a doubt in the boy’s claim that all he wanted, truly, was Clue’s friendship.

But staring at the large mansion that lay several miles from the school, with its gleaming windows, massive, brick walls, and acres of trees and bushes in the front, the side, and the back of it, that doubt soon fell away, replaced with awe.

Blueblood chuckled at Clue’s expression as he stepped out of the limousine. “Over the years, I’ve gotten used to it,” he said. “Guess it’s still a sight to behold.”

“That’s because not every person has a mansion, Blueblood,” Brutos mumbled.

“True; but not every person who has a mansion has a mansion like this, do they?”

“It’s gotta be at least late-Victorian style,” Clue said, geeking out at the architecture. “With a hint of Roman in it, definitely. Who built it?”

“I have no idea of exactly whom,” said Blueblood, “but they must have been paid a handsome sum to construct this beauty.”

“Beauty is right! Blueblood, you live in a freaking castle! That has got to be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!”

He saw a smirk cross the other boy’s face. “Oh, really? Is that a challenge?”

Sticking two fingers in his mouth, Blueblood let out a sharp, high-pitched, short whistle. A moment later, a slightly hunched-over man appeared beside him. Clue blinked; it seemed like he had come out of nowhere. Perhaps he had been in the car?

“Oz?” Blueblood said. “Take our guests bags to the guest room, will you?”

“Certainly, Master Blueblood. May I ask what you will be doing in the meantime?”

“Have I not told you that it is not in your job description to inquire about my activities?” Blueblood glared. “Have we not been over this at least a dozen times?”

Oz barely flinched. “Of course, Master Blueblood. I was speaking on behalf of your father.”

At that, Blueblood cringed, as if physically struck. “Ah. Of course. Tell my father I will be showing our guests around the mansion.”

“Right away, Master Blueblood. Will you be needing anything else?”

“Some snacks,” he said. Then he checked his watch, and saw it was 2:40. “Bring them up to my room at 3:30, on the dot. Understood?”

“Without question, sir. I’ll be off.”

Oz seemed to disappear entirely from view; when Clue looked to where he had last stood, he had vanished, and when he looked back at the mansion, he stood in front of the doors, having seemingly teleported. Clue blinked. “How did he do that?”

Brutos shrugged. “Honestly, I haven’t figured that out myself.”

Blueblood made a sniffing noise. “Oz has been trained in the fine arts of butlery, No Clue. He is a master of his craft.”

“And that means he can teleport whenever he wants?”

“I’m no butler; how should I know? Now, come on; we want to get this tour started as soon as we can.”

“Really? Why?”

Blueblood surged forward, ignoring Clue’s questions. The boy stared after him, confused. Brutos stepped up beside him, and leaned down to whisper, “It has something to do with his dad. Some sort of bad blood or whatever.”

Clue gave Brutos a questioning glance. “What kind of bad blood?”

“The kind that makes you want to stay far away from whoever you’re mad at.”

He scrutinized him with a narrow, albeit light-in-meaning, glare. “For a jock, you sure know a lot about people.”

Brutos shrugged. “I’m more than just a jock, Clue. Now, come on. We don’t want to piss off Blueblood Senior.”

They trudged after Blueblood, entering through the large, oak-wood doors. Inside, Clue was treated to a sight just as impressive as the outside. While a lengthy red carpet with golden-yellow edges ran its way down the center, a candlelit chandelier hung above them, swaying ever so slightly due to the oncoming autumn wind from outside. Two sets of stairs rose at the sides of the rug, up to the second floor, where three sets of doors could be seen. A similar color-schemed rug went up each. At the bottom, where he stood, he saw two archways, one on either side of him. The left led to what seemed to be a living room, although it was a rather large one. The right, on the other hand, led to the dining room.

After he heard Oz close the doors behind them, Clue breathed in deeply. He was surprised to notice a lack of cooking or any sort of scent beyond the rich, general candle-scents that pervaded throughout. “No one’s making dinner?” he asked aloud.

Brutos shook his head. “No one yet, anyway.”

“Alright, Oz,” Blueblood said. “If you would take the backpacks to the guest room, now.”

“Right away, Master Blueblood.” Oz darted up the stairs like a shadow running from the lit candles, and disappeared into one of the rooms.

Blueblood turned around and spread his arms. “Welcome to Casa De Blueblood, my friends. I trust you are impressed?”

Clue nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! It’s just as awesome in here as it is out there!”

Blueblood smiled a genuine smile. “I doubt I’ll tire of your enthusiasm, No Clue. Now; let’s start the tour, shall we?”

Lowering his arms, Blueblood briskly walked past them, heading into the arch on the left. They followed.

Three seats and one sofa, all a tan leather, centered around a mahogany coffee table, with a square rug with a series of intricate, salmon-pink lines lying underneath. Behind the further-most seat was a brick fireplace. Its pit had been caked with soot, but it had obviously been glossed over with some sort of varnish material, judging by the way it slightly gleamed.

“Here, as you can surely see, is our living room area.” He scrunched up his face. “Ugh. Don’t tell me we still have those ugly curtains hanging up.”

No Clue peered at them, curious. “I’m no interior designer, but they do look nice.”

“Nice on a different coat of paint,” Blueblood groaned. “Just another thing to add to the long list of things needing to change.” He cleared his throat. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes.” Blueblood pointed to the chairs and sofa. “These were imported, I am told, from the far east of the world. Some place in Yakyakistan. They’re the finest devices of sitting that you will ever gaze upon, gentlemen; so you would be wise to cherish the fact that I am so willingly letting you sit on them.”

They sat down. Clue found his seat to be surprisingly quite comfy, while Brutos, in his massive size, no doubt felt that the seat he sat in was too small. Blueblood did not appear to take note of either reaction, sitting down on the sofa, legs crossed, a thin, neutral frown on his lips.

Blueblood leaned forward, then, and opened up a drawer on the coffee table. He took out some sort of remote control. He pressed a button, and the lights turned on. They came out as copper-colored. “Now, this,” he said, “is my favorite part of this room, to be honest.” With another flick, the lights changed to blue, and with another one, to neon pink. Blueblood regarded them with a carnation-tinged smile. “Isn’t that pretty swell?”

Brutos shrugged. “It seems useless, Blue. They’re just lights.”

Blueblood shook his head. “I’d hardly expect someone as simple as you to understand, Brutos. So let’s just ask what No Clue thinks.” As Brutos bristled slightly, Blueblood turned to the third boy. “So? What do you think of them?”

Clue shrugged. “I guess they’re nice, in their own, unique way. If you ever want to have some weird relaxation session in here, the blue lights would be nice.”

“Precisely why I got them, No Clue.” He looked back at Brutos. “At least some of us know what we’re talking about.”

“But… it seems needlessly money-wasteful just for a bunch of colored lights.”

“Ah!” Blueblood shot a hand up, palm facing No Clue, while he looked away. “That’s enough out of you, Clue. We’ve got an entire mansion to tour, and I shan’t be having side comments along the way slowing things down.”

“Huh? But I was just—”

No sooner had he uttered the stutter that Blueblood was up and already heading out of the room. Clue stumbled on his feet trying to get up, with Brutos rising at a somewhat slower rate. The taller boy let out a snort, letting his annoyance show. Clue shook his head. “Right. His house, his rules. I should have figured…”

The kitchen, as it turned out, was the next room, and as No Clue quickly realized, it was taller than the living room. If he had to guess, it had to be the tallest individual section of the house, with all four walls rising up to the roof. While a hanging chandelier—only slightly larger than the one in the welcoming hall—lit the area, Blueblood stood in the center. His arms were spread, and he did a little circle. “This is where the magic happens, gentlemen,” he explained. “Here are created the culinary delights that we will no doubt be feasting upon soon. Our kitchen table has been made from the finest marble, imported all the way from the Latin world, bathed in the lava of a Polynesian volcano, and sculpted by the finest that money can offer.

“Gaze, gentlemen, upon these royal-purple tablecloths. Would you believe they come from Germaney? Yes, all the way from there. Supposedly these were in the possession of some ancient king many centuries ago. How fitting that they should wind up in this very household!” He laughed, then continued, “And these seats! Ah, yes. They may appear simple in design, but don’t let that fool you. We’ve had some of the best craftsmen come in and carve these out of rich, Spaneish oak, glossed and finished, and now out for display for all eyes to see. Gentlemen, it is with no doubt in my voice that I tell you that this is the most highly-ornate area of the house; a fact that, no doubt, you already have observed.”

“They’re just a table, cloth, and chairs,” No Clue heard Brutos mutter, but Blueblood didn’t appear to hear him.

He guided them towards the back, and, from a light-green cabinet, dug out some cups. “Would you care for refreshments? Some champagne, perhaps? A little wine? Or if you’re really daring: some tequila?”

“Just water, Blueblood,” No Clue said. “We’re too young to drink, anyhow.”

Blueblood rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. In this household, Clue, we can do what we want. I insist that you drink and be merry!”

He shook his head. “Sorry, Blue. I don’t like alcohol, anyway.”

“Hrm. Suit yourself. How about you, Brutos? Care for—”

“Water,” Brutos said gruffly. “Anything else is bad for tomorrow’s workout.”

“Fine, fine, water it is.”

After handing them back their water-filled glasses—with his filled with some bronze liquid—Blueblood led them to the area adjourning the kitchen. It was another living area, though without fancy lights or a fireplace. However, it did have a large, flat-screen TV poised high above a wooden centerpiece that had, to No Clue’s confusion, been turned on to some sort of children’s cartoon channel.

Blueblood as well appeared surprised, even shocked. Clue turned to him. “Uh… did you leave the television on all day?”

He shook his head. “No. I haven’t watched the telly in a good while. I didn’t even turn it on this morning.” He shot Clue a slightly murderous look. “And no, I don’t watch a children’s show about some… what is that, a talking pig?”

“I wasn’t insinuating that,” Clue replied. “Still, that is pretty odd.”

“You’re telling me.” After grabbing the remote, Blueblood turned the television off. “Perhaps Oz left it on. Or perhaps Father did.” He spoke of his parent with a biting tone.

After a moment of awkward silence, the rich boy cleared his throat. “Right! Anyway. There’s not much to see in here, unfortunately; at least, not much that you couldn’t find out on your own. Nothing too extravagant was placed in this room, I’m afraid.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Brutos muttered. “I might have thought you’d have run out of money by then.”

“Hmph.” Blueblood flicked away a long strand of hair. “So behind that thick skull of yours is some sharp wit.”

Brutos smirked. “I wear a helmet for a reason.”

“Clever. Anyhow, let’s move on, shall we?”

The final room on the floor was the dining room. A lengthy table laid in the middle, surrounded by ten chairs—four on the left side, four on the right, and one on either end. It was just as extravagant as the one in the kitchen, though obviously much longer. While white placemats sat in front of each seat, two vases that held some red flowers filled the gaps between them. In the center of the table, a triple candle-holder stood, empty and unlit; though, the way the wax seemed to glide down, frozen, off the edges, suggested that it had been used recently.

“This is a much simpler room, I must admit,” Blueblood said. “It’s all one color scheme: brown. Earthy, I suppose, but not entirely delectable.”

“You’re supposed to eat here, not admire the décor,” Brutos said, to which No Clue offered a murmur of agreement.

“That just goes to show how little appreciation you two have for the finer things.” Blueblood pointed to a large bureau that stood at the back end of the room. “I suppose you’d miss this fine china had I not pointed it out? Or perhaps you’d make a crack at how they’re ‘just dishes?’”

“You’ve got me there,” Brutos said. No Clue chuckled. Blueblood fumed—but only slightly.

The rich boy gazed at the table, his brow furrowing. “Something catch your attention?” No Clue asked.

“Why is that placemat—” Blueblood pointed to the one farthest from them; “—out of place with the others?”

It was indeed out of place. With its crumpled look and wayward placement, it stuck out like a sore thumb. “Oz?” No Clue suggested.

Blueblood shook his head. “No, that can’t be it. Oz is in charge of making sure this is all straight and even. Something else is going on.”

“What, like a ghost?” Brutos snorted. “Thought you didn’t believe in that crap, Blue.”

“I don’t!” the boy barked back. “But this is not how I left the house this morning, I swear!”

No Clue remained doubtful. “Are you sure? Maybe you were a little absentminded or something and accidentally prodded it.”

“To that extent? I don’t think so.”

Blueblood paused, and breathed in deeply. “I suppose it’s not something worth getting riled on about… at least, not at present. Can’t I conduct a tour without something going astray?”

“You’ve done this before?” Clue asked before he could even think.

Blueblood’s face fell. “W-well, y-yes… and no. Not in my home, at least…”

“Oh…”

More, awkward silence followed. No Clue took this time to look around the dining room a little more. His eyes settled upon a painting that hung next to the bureau. It depicted a scarlet-haired woman wearing some sort of teal blouse, staring off into the sunset. Her face was masked by her hair; No Clue couldn’t tell if she was smiling or frowning, or whatever the artist had originally intended. He looked around the painting for a signature, but found surprisingly none.

The one thing he did know was that she was very pretty, and if he ignored the lack of definitive facial features, the entire scene looked peaceful. Like the end of a good novel kind of peaceful. He wasn’t sure why he thought of that particular analogy, but it seemed fitting.

Blueblood, with another clearing of his throat (he somehow managed to do it in a much more haughty manner than before), interrupted Clue’s musings. “Well, we ought not to let this mild mishap make our experience any less educational. We’ve still got one more floor to explore, gentlemen.”

Blueblood then began to walk backwards towards the welcoming area. “I assure you,” he said while still walking, “this will be the most fun part of your day. We’ll relax a bit. Have tea, cake, cookies, you name it.”

Before Clue could respond, someone else said, “As you wish, Master Blueblood.”

“Yipes!”

Brutos was the only one who remained staunch and stoic, though he raised an eyebrow, amused, as the two other boys jumping into each other’s arms at the sound of Oz’s voice. Both quickly separated, No Clue embarrassed, Blueblood fuming.

“Damn it, Oz!” the rich boy shouted. “I told you not to sneak up on me like that!”

Oz appeared only the slightest bit repentant. “My apologies, Master Blueblood,” he nonetheless said, bowing. “I had thought you more aware of your surroundings than you really were.”

“Oh, ha, ha.” Blueblood wiped a finger under his nose, sniffing loudly. “Well, now that you’re here, prepare for us some tea, cake, and cookies, would you?”

“Certainly, Master Blueblood. Anything else?”

He pondered for a moment, before saying, “Actually, there’s something I want to ask you.”

“Ask away, Master Blueblood.”

“Can you tell me why the placemat over in the dining room area is crumpled up?”

“Ah…” Oz’s voice trailed off as he looked to where Blueblood pointed. “Ah, yes. There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for that, young sir. You see, I believe the Missus was having some fun over there.” Thinking that his task was done, Oz set off for the kitchen to start his next task.

“The Missus?” Blueblood repeated. “I thought my mother is away on a business trip.”

Oz was already (somehow) in the kitchen before he answered with, “Oh, not that Missus, Master Blueblood. The young Missus.”

Blueblood’s eyes went wide. Before No Clue could ask why, they heard a door slam shut, followed by a singular, soul-piercing, far-too-eager voice coming from the stairs above:

“Was that cousin Blue-Blue that I heard screaming?”

Then Blueblood did scream; it was shorter, sharper, but it conveyed perfectly the level of shock, annoyance, and anger he held in his heart. Brutos was quick, however; once a second or two had passed, the older boy’s hand found its way around Blueblood’s mouth, muffling his voice.

“Let’s not do that,” Brutos said with an eye roll.

Blueblood, after a moment, nodded, and Brutos relinquished his hold and stepped away.

No Clue looked up to the second floor, but couldn’t find the source of the voice. Something pink, however, flashed by, and he turned his head sharply, trying to follow it. Unfortunately, Blueblood’s head was a little too close, and his face crashed into the back of the boy’s head.

“Argh! Sunovamotherhubbard!”

“Damn it, Clue! Where’d you get such a hard nose?!”

Brutos rolled his eyes.

Blueblood rubbed his head, frowning, while No Clue struggled to his feet. “Today just isn’t my day, is it?” the boy muttered. “First Clue having a hard-ass head… and now this.”

“Aw, come on, Blue-Blue! That’s no way to greet your cousin!”

“I swear to God!” Blueblood roared. “If you use that asinine moniker one more time; just one, more, time!”

The voice giggled. “There’s no need to get so upset! It’s just a friendly nickname, that’s all. Hey!” The tone shifted to curiosity. “You brought friends? You actually made friends?”

“Very funny.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to them?”

“If I must; and if you actually get down here. I see you hiding behind that post!”

Another giggle followed. “Alright, I’m coming down, then!”

Clue could hear someone quickly descending the steps, but it sounded like they were taking at least two, heavy steps at a time. There was a pause in the steps, and then that pause was replaced by a loud thud. They had jumped down the rest of the stairs. A rather unorthodox descent, but whomever this person was, they did sound unorthodox.

He heard Blueblood sigh, annoyed. “How many times have I told you; you’ll end up either cracking the floor or your knees if you keep that up!”

“And how many times have I told you: that neither of those things has happened?”

While the two continued to bicker, No Clue decided to take this opportunity to see the newcomer for himself. He stepped around Blueblood, rubbing his nose. The conversation suddenly ceased on the newcomer’s end.

Her hair, a rouge-pink, curled into a neat bun. It was cut short, stylized for both form and function. Upon her light-tan face was a pair of round glasses that glinted under the chandelier’s light. Her attire consisted of a simple school uniform, with a navy jacket, white undershirt, plaid and baby-blue skirt, and a dashing, violet bow on the collar. What was odd was that her lip appeared to tremble, like she was afraid.

“Oh, good, you finally quieted up.” Blueblood straightened. “Gentlemen, this is my younger cousin on my father’s side: Aurora Veil. Aurora, say hello to Brutos and Nostradamus Clue.”

“Hello,” Brutos greeted calmly.

Clue tried for a smile. “Uh, hi, Aurora. It’s nice to meet you. And you can just call me No Clue.”

Just like that, all that sass and bravado, that gallant and carefree tone, vanished. “H-hi, No Clue,” she stuttered. She did a curt, little now, holding up the ends of her skirt. “N-nice to meet you.” She hid her face in her hands, much to Clue’s and Blueblood’s confusion.

“Don’t mind her,” the rich boy said, “she’s always been on the weirder side.”

“Dang. You just tell it like it is, don’t you?” Clue said.

Aurora let out a little, nervous giggle, seemingly unoffended.

Blueblood rolled his eyes. “Look, you try living with her for most of your childhood and not get annoyed whenever she shows up. But that’s a topic for another day. Move aside, would ya?”

“Okay, Blue-blue!”

“I said—”

She was already up the stairs and had vanished behind the corner before he could finish. He sighed. “Ugh. Whatever. Let me show you around the upstairs, and then we’ll relax in my room.”

***

Aurora Veil was simply adorable. There was no other way to describe her. Between the girly giggles, the light blush, and the slight wobble in her step as she dangerously followed them into Blueblood’s room (much to the boy’s annoyance), there was no way that Clue could deny it. And it was a more subdued kind of adorable, too; and judging by the fact that Blueblood didn’t immediately kick her out of his room the moment she entered—in fact, all he did was sigh really loudly—it was something that he himself considered true.

She had made to sit down next to No Clue, still blushing. Seeing that there wasn’t enough room, he had shuffled over, offering a kind smile. She had giggled lightly, and sat down, clutching her dress between closed fists. Every once in a while, she would look at him through her glasses, and each time he would catch her; each time, she would either giggle or gasp, and then look away.

No Clue shook his head the first few times it happened. Adorable as she was, there was no mistaking it; she was weird, too. But not in a bad way.

After Oz showed up with a plate of cookies, they began to talk between bites. Most of the conversation drifted towards the relationship between Blueblood and Aurora. Brutos was, in his usual, quiet manner, the most curious, specifically asking the younger girl “how you had managed to put up with his pretentious ass all for all those years?”

“Firstly,” she said, straightening up and letting out her own, haughty sniff, “language. And secondly, Blue-Blue isn’t pretentious! He’s just selfish in his old age, that’s all.”

“I’m only two years older than you!”

“And it wasn’t that hard to grow up with him around,” she continued, ignoring his outburst. “Mother Radiance and Blue-Blue’s father were on very good terms with each other, and thus, so were their kids. Blue-Blue himself used to beg his dad for more playdates with me!”

“I did no such thing!” he protested.

“What’s with that nickname?” No Clue asked.

Blueblood huffed. “I can answer that. Aurora here had had a tough time pronouncing my name when she was baby. Apparently, two-syllable names that start with the same letter but end different is tough; but repeat the first part and place a hyphen in between, and that makes it so much easier.”

Aurora stuck her tongue out at her cousin. “Hey, you never once asked me to stop until you were a sixth grader.”

“And yet you still insist on calling me that, anyway!”

“Only because it’s fun to get you riled up!”

Blueblood made a fist. Aurora yelped and dashed behind No Clue, holding his back—far too tightly than she should have, but he reasoned she was just a little frightened. “Easy there, Blueblood,” he said as calmly as he could, trying not to snicker. “No need to get violent.”

“You’re already on her side?” he asked, incredulous. “I swear; she must be half witch!”

“She’s a little kid, Blue-Blue,” Brutos said. He dodged the boy’s rampant fist with ease.

“I’m not a little kid!” she protested from behind Clue. “I’m a sophomore at Winnipiac!”

“That private school outside of Canterlot’s district?” Brutos raised an eyebrow. “Guess you must be pretty smart, too.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, very! I’m in all AP classes, five different clubs, and I’ve gotten student of the month already!”

“Meanwhile,” Brutos continued, “Blueblood here just goes to good ol’ Canterlot High.”

The boy groaned. “Look, it was close to home, and my parents decided it was the best place to ‘indulge in the commonalities,’ okay? If I had my way, I’d have gone to Crystal Prep!”

Aurora suddenly pouted. “But if you did that, Blue-Blue, you’d never see me again! Or your friends!”

That sobered him up. “Yeah… I guess I wouldn’t have.”

No Clue felt a bit of warmth at that.

The conversation drifted over to other matters, namely the absence of Blueblood’s father so far. The boy expressed his annoyance greatly: leaning back into the wall, eyes closed, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s always so busy these days. I don’t see him in the morning, and it’s really only after dinner that I get to see him at all. Even then, he’s so tired, that after he eats, he either crashes, or stays up to work on some business plan.”

Aurora nodded sagely. “Yep. Mr. Blueblood Senior is a super busy guy. He has to deal with all those bureaucrats and seedy businessmen in the city, like, every day.”

“And he’s good at it, too,” Blueblood said. “But the problem is it’s a lot. And with mother gone on a business trip, well, it makes things all the more stressful.”

“Really? Why is that?” No Clue asked.

Blueblood let out a dry chuckle. “Oh, you know. Mother provides some amount of stress relief, be it cooking, or… ‘baking.’”

Aurora blinked. “She smokes weed?”

“What? No! Of course not, Aurora! I mean… ‘oven-baking.’”

“Baked brownies, then?”

Blueblood glanced over at the other boys. No Clue had a blush on, while Brutos carefully looked away. “Not quite, Aurora, dear. You’ll understand when you’re a little older.”

“Aw…”

“And hopefully not in an intimate way,” said Brutos. He received a loud cough from No Clue, and a successful whack on the head from Blueblood.

“I still don’t get it,” Aurora said, pouting.

The conversation drifted again, towards school. Having not seen her cousin for a good while, Aurora wanted to know everything that had happened to him—a request that Blueblood happily obliged. The added commentary from Clue, and the snide-and-side-corrections from Brutos, delighted her to no end, almost as much as Blueblood’s indignation from the contributions.

“Wow! It sounds like a lot of fun at Canterlot! If it weren’t for the fact that I’m already doing so well at Winnipiac, I’d want to go!”

“Oh, please don’t,” Blueblood groaned. “I barely survive there on a day-to-day basis.”

“You’d like it there, I think,” No Clue said. “It’s a lot of fun, once you get over being the new kid. Speaking from personal experience.”

“Y-yeah. I think I really would like it there,” she said, and her face became like a tomato.

Yep. Weird but adorable.

The two cousins began to argue and bicker again, with Brutos acting as a somewhat amused mediator between them. No Clue’s thoughts began drift to other things. He thought of this situation with a farm feeling in his chest. Being here, among friends—yes, friends—was, indeed, a beautiful, little moment. Already he felt closer to these kids than he had with anyone else.

His thoughts shifted to darker territory. This was what it was supposed to be like, wasn’t it? With Artifex. Had things gone correctly and not gone astray, had things been fine, had things been more than just things, would No Clue have sat in Artifex’s room, with whomever he called family, eating cookies, laughing at the antics of another? Would he be smiling as he smiled now? Would he have felt this warmth?

He pushed the thought away. It sounded like he was comparing this friendship to that broken one; and that made this friendship anything but valid. Blueblood, Brutos, and Aurora didn’t deserve that. They deserved No Clue’s full attention, his full compassion; his entire companionship.

Blueblood had said something. Aurora made a quip. Blueblood bristled and fumed. Brutos laughed. Yes; this was where No Clue was. And he was happy. So he forcibly evaporated the thought, and put on a bright smile, and was back in the present, and was glad.

***

No Clue’s mother called; he was to come home pronto. Brutos decided as well that now was a good time to get going. Blueblood agreed; no matter what home you came from, a mother’s wrath for tardiness was universal in ferocity, and he did not wish such a fate upon them.

Oz handed them their belongings once they had reached the bottom of the stairs. They thanked the butler for his assistance, and he responded in kind for their presence. “Master Blueblood knows how to pick his guests,” he said with a little bow.

They exchanged some more pleasantries, even a handshake and pat on their backs. No Clue thanked Blueblood profusely for the opportunity. He found himself shaking his head in response. That boy is far too earnest for his own good, he thought with a smile.

Then they left, quickly and quietly, smiles on their faces, backpacks strapped to them. Blueblood watched them go, feeling somehow satisfied. Despite the hiccups and despite this being the first time he had compatriots over, he felt things had gone just as well as they could have.

“That went pretty well, don’t you think, Blue-Blue?”

His lips twisted into a sour frown, but he kept his composure and nodded. “Yes, I believe it very well did. No thanks to you, I might add.”

“Hey! I provided the loveable cousin atmosphere that was necessary!”

“‘Loveable?’ Mmm, that’s a moot point.” He turned to face her, frown morphing into a wicked smirk. “Though, I suppose for you, it was entirely necessary, wasn’t it?”

“W-what do you mean?” she stuttered, straightening her glasses.

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean.” He laughed, sharp and loud. “I never thought I’d see the day when my own cousin, Aurora Veil, would fall head-over-heels for my friend!”

“H-hey! I didn’t—I’m not—I—”

“Oh, don’t bother denying it, little cousin,” he said, tone softening and his smirk becoming a smile. “Honestly, I could not have picked a better candidate to be your object of obsession.”

She blushed furiously. “I’m not obsessed with him!”

“Not yet, at least.”

“Blue-Blue!”

“That’s what they all say, Aurora. First you’re not obsessed, and the next moment, you’re collecting pictures, likes and dislikes, compiling a list… if you want, I can maybe find some stray strands of hair left on my bed for you to gush over about.”

She stomped her foot angrily, but her blush betrayed her. “I—I don’t have a crush on No Clue!”

He kept smiling. “Who said anything about this person being No Clue?”

She paused, and then gasped and covered her mouth, realizing her mistake far too late. Blueblood laughed again. “Oh, this is just precious. Remind me, how long are you going to be staying over?”

“F-for a good month or so…”

“I suppose I’ll have to invite Nostradamus over more often, won’t I? And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“N-now, Blueblood, I’m—I’m not—”

“Just say thank you, Aurora. You’re lucky I’m not using this information for blackmail.”

She hesitated, hesitated; then nodded slowly. “O-okay. Th-thanks, Blue…”

He smiled, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey; anything for my annoying but loveable cousin, right?” He stepped away.

Suddenly, she surged forward, and hugged him tightly. “You’re the best cousin a girl could ask for, you know that?” she said into his chest.

Awkwardly hugging her back, he replied, “Just don’t go asking for any more favors in the future, would you?”

“Can’t promise anything.”

Author's Note

Proofread by FrostGuardian and Celtic Fire.

Thanks to them for coming up with the name for Blueblood's cousin!

27) Day Thirty-Six: Teacher Convention

“He who opens a school door, closes a prison.”

Victor Hugo

***

When he had first moved in, the door had been a much brighter color. The knob had been much shinier, glossed and polished like it was shoe leather. The frame of the door itself had stood straighter, too, and wouldn’t creak whenever it closed. The binds that hung up front used to be a friendly blue, greeting newcomers with a delighted clacking.

Nowadays, the knob had lost its sheen, going from intense to impotent. The frame, under the pressure of too many angry door slams, bent slightly at the middle, and when there was a breeze coming from the hall, sometimes a low whistle would sound through the cracks. The binds themselves had long been replaced, but each time they were, they seemed to grow more neutral in color. The ones that hung outside now were a topaz grey; hardly friendly, but not entirely unwelcoming.

Mr. Solil closed that door with a sigh. The action was a familiar one. He had closed his door every day for the past few years. The first time, he had done so with great hesitance in his hands, not wanting to leave just yet. Just a few more papers to grade, was what he had often thought. But as the years went on, as the action became repetitive, he found it much easier to close the door. The advent of new technology meant that more work could be done at home. There was less paper; thus, less need for the red pen, and more need for the red comment online.

Still, though, closing the door today felt different. It felt wrong, almost like he was closing off something important. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out. He checked his pockets. He had his phone, wallet, keys. He had his bag with all of his work slung over his shoulder. He checked its contents; they were all there. Everything he needed, he had. Yet he still felt empty.

He ran a hand through his dark-brown hair. When he pulled back, a few strands of grey came out. He frowned, and then stepped away from the door.

The halls seemed darkly lit. After-hours at Canterlot High were hardly as bright as they were during the day. Most of the students had long gone home; any who remained were stragglers, and were likely to leave soon. Looking around, he realized that he was actually one of the few teachers who had stayed behind much longer than he feasibly should have. Even Mr. Cranky Doodle, a teacher three times his senior and three times as stubborn, had long gone home; though, that was likely because he had a lady friend to please.

A slightly-humored smile danced on his lips for but a moment.

“Evening, Scrubby,” he greeted the late-night janitor.

Scrubby looked up from his sweeping, and then nodded. “Scrubby say hello, Mr. Solil.”

“Any news?”

“No news tonight.”

“Mmm. Well, as my father used to say: no news is good news. Goodnight, Scrubby.”

“Goodnight.”

Mr. Solil continued walking. The halls weren’t long; the exit, in sight. In fact, it seemed much closer than usual. He couldn’t help but think that it—that is, the whole school—seemed a little lonely without its students breathing new life and virtue into it. Perhaps that was why the exit did appear so close. In just a few short steps, he’d be out the door, into the faculty parking lot, in his car, driving home—

“Mr. Solil?”

He knew that voice. He stopped, searching for less than a second, before he saw the school’s secretary standing at her door. “Ah. Miss Raven. Did you need something?”

“Actually, Mr. Solil,” she said, suddenly pushing the door open, “it’s the principals who need you.”

He blinked, scanning her face for any sort of joke. Sure, Miss Raven wasn’t one to kid, but it never hurt to check. “Well, I was on my way home, Miss Raven. Are you sure this can’t wait?”

She nodded gravely. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Solil. But they can explain it better than I can.”

He sighed. “Dinner will be late, then. Ah, well. I’ll go see them.”

Stepping past her, he paused to pop a breath mint in his mouth. It was largely unnecessary, but it kept his wits sharp. The burst of flavor awakened his senses. He swallowed instinctively.

The office itself wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. Most every teacher had come by at least once in their careers, either to use the copying machine, get their mail, or send in their attendance (on the off-chance the server was down). Miss Raven’s desk, situated up front, made for a nice, welcoming position, once you got past the frosty disposition of the secretary herself.

But the door that led to the principals’ office, however, was more unfamiliar territory. To his memory, Mr. Solil had been there only once. The first time was when he had first applied to be a teacher, and that was for his interview. The second time was when a parent had come in to complain about him giving her kid a bad grade for a “wholly needless assignment.” Thankfully, that time had gone in his favor; the parent was subdued, the kid made up the assignment for several more points, and things had remained calm ever since.

Still, even in a school as zany (he mentally berated himself for using the word “zany”) as Canterlot High, there was this unspoken rule: the principals’ office was for serious matters. When that Twilight girl came through that magic portal, this was where she had cleared her name. When the Rainbooms grew suspicious of the Sirens, this was where they informed Principal Celestia and Vice Principal Luna of the possibility of dark magic. Indeed, despite the school’s rather cheery and sunny inward and outward appearance, here, in that office, the world felt all the more darker and grim.

He heard Raven close the door behind. She walked around him, and then sat back down at her desk. “You can go on in,” she said, waving at the door.

He nodded slowly. He found his grip tightening on his bag ever so slightly.

The door reached him before he reached it—at least, that’s what it seemed. Choking back a gulp, he grabbed the knob, twisted, and pulled.

The room had its lights on, but despite the brightness, he was treated to a sore sight. With a mix of surprise and disgust on his face that mirrored his own, Superintendent Discord stood in the center of the room, glaring at Mr. Solil.

Well, this can’t be good, he thought dryly. The mint became stuck to his cheek.

“What are you doing here?” Discord asked.

Before he could answer, Principal Celestia’s voice interrupted him. “Ah, Mr. Solil, there you are. I trust you got our request?”

His eyes flicked to the desk where Principal Celestia and her sister stood. But whereas the older sister appeared more open and friendly, wearing a light smile, he detected from Luna a trace of hesitance. Her eyes flicked from him to Discord, and he guessed already the source of her hesitancy.

“A bit abruptly,” he said to Celestia, “but yes, I did get it.”

“Excellent,” she replied. “Would you please close the door behind you?” He did so. “And lock it, too, please.” He nodded, and with a click, the door locked.

Celestia’s smile fell once he had finished. “I know that this is rather sudden, and I apologize for the short notice, but it is rather important.”

“It’s fine, Principal. It was beginning to look like a boring Tuesday evening for me, anyway.”

“Please, Mr. Solil, just call me Celestia.”

“And call me Luna. We’re all friends here.” Luna glanced at Discord. “Relatively friends, I mean.”

It didn’t feel right—Discord was the oldest in the room, followed by Celestia, then Luna, meaning that Mr. Solil was the youngest by at least five years—but he obliged anyway. “Alright. Celestia, Luna. Can I ask why I’ve been called here?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Discord muttered. “Celly, if this is all just a way to get under my skin, let me tell you that 1) you are far more devious than I remember, and 2) it’s working.”

“Hello, Superintendent Discord,” Mr. Solil said, giving the man a half-lidded stare. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Yes, yes, whatever, Mr. Solil. Hello, hola, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”

“If you two would settle down,” Luna said, “then perhaps my sister and I would be able to explain.”

“Hey, he started it.”

“Discord…”

“Fine, fine. Just don’t blame me if this guy starts yelling some Manehattan slur.”

“Tempting, but I promise that I won’t.”

“Boys.”

“Sorry, Luna.”

“Thank you, Mr. Solil.”

He nodded, then leaned his back against the wall, waiting for Celestia to speak.

“To business, then,” she said. The sounds of a drawer being pulled indicated her shuffling about her desk, presumably for some papers. “Mr. Solil, you teach Language Arts, correct?”

Caught off-guard by the question, he answered with a nod rather than his voice.

“And you have Artifex Frost in your class, do you not?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

Celestia pursed her lips, as if not wanting to ask her next question. Mr. Solil waited patiently.

“Are you aware,” she finally began after what seemed like forever, “of some of Artifex’s… less-than ‘star-citizen’ activities?”

This time, even though he was caught off-guard, he managed to answer with, “I beg your pardon?” He raised his eyebrow, voice dripping with unexpected anger.

“Activities, huh?” Discord rubbed his weird chin, coaxing his fingers through the beard. He had on a sinister grin. “I had a feeling that boy was up to no good.”

“Discord—” Luna began.

Mr. Solil turned to the superintendent with a glare. “What are you insinuating, Discord? That Artifex is in a gang of some sort? Or is doing drugs on the side? Maybe part of a satanic cult, while you’re at it!”

“Mmm.” Discord rubbed his chin, the glint in his eyes becoming more amused. “Well, that last one does sound particularly enticing. And I admit, while I do enjoy a dash of questionable actions every once in a while, clearly this is something we must look into. I’ll drum up the papers for expulsion as soon as I can, Celly, don’t you worry.”

“Discord,” Celestia warned, “we don’t want to expel Artifex—”

The superintendent may have been his bosses’ boss, and a man far older and keener than he let on, but that did not mean that Mr. Solil was willing to back down. He marched right up to the taller man, and prodded his chest with his finger. “If you really think that I wouldn’t have noticed those things that you think Artifex is doing, you’re wrong. I come from Manehattan, Discord; I’ve seen the signs of needles. I know them. Do you honestly believe that I would miss something as degrading as that?!”

Discord pried the young man’s finger off his chest. “Careful, Mr. Solil. You and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms. If you want to keep your job, you won’t be defending such destructive behavior.”

“Destructive?! The only destructive one here is you!”

Celestia tried to intervene. “Discord, Mr. Solil, please—”

“Mr. Solil, if you want to be fired, you can just ask. You Manehattenites are all so silly.”

“Keep talking, and I’ll show you how silly we Manehattanites can be.”

“Carter!”

Luna’s voice was sharp, penetrating Mr. Solil’s conscience like a spiky barb. He immediately seized up. No one used his first name unless it was absolutely important. Few even knew it; he preferred to introduce himself as “Mr. Solil.”

“You two,” Luna said. She pushed in between them and spaced the out. “Enough.”

Whereas Mr. Solil nodded and stepped away, Discord pouted. “Party pooper.”

“Don’t make me have to throw you out myself,” she growled.

“Fine, fine.” He then stepped back as well.

A moment passed, with Luna looking quickly between the two, gauging their reactions. Mr. Solil averted his gaze, obviously ashamed; and Discord glared at the floor, as if willing it to combust on the spot. Another moment came and went. Luna nodded, and walked back over to the other side of the desk.

Celestia cleared her throat. “There are two things I wish to discuss here, gentlemen. Two things that I believe you will both be interested in. The first, as I have already stated, consists of Artifex.”

She raised her hand, revealing in it a manila folder with a bunch of papers sticking out. She directed it towards Mr. Solil, a grim frown set on her lips. “Carter, I know you’ve had some special students before, but this one requires your full attention.”

He took it with a raised eyebrow. “Celestia, I can assure you that I give all of my students my entire attention no matter what their background is.”

“I know you do,” she replied. “But… well, read what’s inside. It’ll explain mostly everything.”

He detected an audible, snooty sniff from Discord, but other than that, the older man did not as much as whisper. He looked back at Celestia, then down at the folder.

“How did you get all these documents?” he asked.

“Public records. Law enforcement records,” Luna answered. “Whatever the city was able to provide, we have.”

“Well, at least you bothered doing a background check on this ‘Artifex Frost,’” Discord muttered. They all gave him harsh glares. “What? I’m complimenting your thoroughness, Celly, Lulu; really.”

Mr. Solil took a deep breath. He sincerely doubted that Artifex could be up to anything but good; the boy didn’t appear the malevolent type. Nonetheless, the stoic stares from the principals only increasingly alerted him to the magnitude that these files had. Could he stomach whatever it was that he found?

I’ll have to. They wouldn’t have given me this if they thought otherwise. He glanced up once more, locking eyes with Luna. She gave a-not-quite-reassuring, not-quite-off-putting nod.

He opened the folder, and began to read.

As he did so, the folder and papers began to shake. He hardly noticed. A deep coldness welled up in the center of his chest, and then dropped into his stomach. He leaned slightly in, as if trying to figure out whether what he was reading was indeed what was written. He paused at the bottom of the first page. He blinked. Then he turned to the second.

At the mere sight of the hospital record, he sucked in a breath. Then he nearly gasped as he realized that there were two. Then he muttered something inaudible when he realized that those two were nearly identical. Most of the details had been blotted out, which was to be expected, but the one that wasn’t was smack in the middle. And though it was written in standard font type, size, and color, with nothing at all exciting or intriguing about its display, his eyes drew to it like morbid moths to a ferocious flame.

“He-he—” Mr. Solil had no words.

Celestia gazed at him sadly. “Yes. He did.”

A lump welled up in his throat. “I—I should have known. I should have known! I should have—I—I—”

The room spun. He felt queasy. He blinked, and the room was steady. But in the place of his nausea was a sickening feeling: guilt. Deep, disturbing guilt.

“Is he alright?” he whispered.

Celestia nodded. “For now. As far as we know, he hasn’t tried anything since.”

“What?” Discord tilted his head. “What’s going on now?”

They ignored him. “But things have changed. You’ve noticed it, too, haven’t you?” Celestia asked.

“He… he has been acting a bit differently,” Mr. Solil admitted. “He’s almost… reclusive. Withdrawn. You… you don’t think—” He stopped himself by biting on his knuckle, a habit he had long tried to forego. Only now did he realize that the mint in his mouth had melted; but he could not find the will to pull out a new one.

Celestia and Luna exchanged looks. “We don’t know for sure,” the Principal admitted. “But… we need to keep an eye out.”

Mr. Solil nodded. His arm became lax even as it trembled; suddenly, the folder became heavier than it should have.

And then Luna was there, taking the folder from Carter and placing it on the desk. She hugged him close; he reciprocated almost immediately. “I know… I know…” she whispered.

His left wrist burned with unprecedented guilt and shame. He clenched his eyes shut, and focused on breathing.

“So is anyone else confused?” Discord asked, but they did not notice. Celestia gave him a saddened look. “What?”

She gave him the folder. He read it quickly. Then his face lost all of its scorn, and his voice dropped down into a miniscule whisper. “Oh. I… I see.”

The two watched the Vice Principal and Language Arts teacher with pity in their hearts, for no one should have had to know their pain, their anger, their indignation. The evening grew cold, and the lights grew dim. The clock ticked. The room grew heavy under a decade-old burden.

***

The generator kicked itself back into high gear, resulting in the lights brightening up back to normal. Four, gloomy individuals stood in the office, their grim expressions illuminated in the copper glow.

There was a knock on the door. “Celestia?” Raven the secretary called. “I’m going to head home, now. Do you need anything?”

“We’re fine, Raven,” the Principal replied. “You can head on home.”

There was a pause. “I don’t think I have the authority to speak on the manner, but… for what it’s worth, Celestia, I think Artifex is far stronger than he appears.”

A brief silence ensued. Then: “I think so, too, Raven. Thank you for your input.”

“Goodnight, everyone.”

“Goodnight.”

They heard her footsteps increasingly grow softer and softer. Then another door creaked open, closed, and the footsteps no longer were there. She was gone.

Mr. Solil ran his hand through his hair. It did not bother him how bedraggled it now appeared. Luna stood next to him, keeping a comforting arm on his shoulder. They all were silent, but their minds brewed with questions.

“Carter,” Celestia finally said. He snapped his gaze back to her. “Are you alright?”

“I think so,” he said. “Just shaken up, that’s all.”

She nodded. “That’s understandable, given the circumstances…” Her voice trailed off. It only then occurred to him how uncertain she looked, like she, too, was lost. How funny, he thought, even knowing it really wasn’t. Here is the Principal who has taken on magical anomalies one after another, unsure, and devoid of insight.

She cleared her throat. “Well, Carter… I know that this situation makes you very… uncomfortable. And under normal circumstances I wouldn’t want to drag you into this. But—”

“I understand, Celestia,” he said. “Really, I do.”

Still she appeared uneasy. “I don’t want to make it sound like your past would be a tool to use here, though.”

He nodded. “I know, Celestia. But… experience is experience, not matter what its nature is.” He looked down. “Even if it hurts to be reminded of it; if I can use that knowledge to not only help someone, but potentially save someone else, then I should.” He paused, and then looked back up. “It would be irresponsible to do otherwise.”

She nodded in response, but kept silent. She thumbed through the papers on her desk, almost as if distracting herself. Discord, as well, kept the peace.

Suddenly, Luna’s hand fell from his shoulder and into his hand. She squeezed it a little.

Finally, Celestia spoke up. Her voice carried an aura of authority and purpose. “I doubt I’ll have to formally ask you to do this, Carter, but... beyond giving him passes to come to here, there isn’t much we can do but wait and see. So I ask you, please, look after Artifex when we cannot.”

His voice returned with just as much clarity and with a bit of strength to it. “I will, Celestia. I promise.”

And at that, his bag suddenly felt lighter.

“Alright,” Celestia said. “Thank you for your time, everyone. But it’s getting late; we’d all better head for home, now.”

She stood up, grabbing her belongings and jacket. Luna gave Mr. Solil’s hand another, gentle squeeze, before she also grabbed her items.

Discord was the first to go. Surprisingly, he clapped Mr. Solil on the shoulder, firmly. He said nothing, but a level of understanding grew between them. Mr. Solil nodded, and Discord left.

Then the other three followed, with Mr. Solil walking out first.

“Carter.”

He paused. “Yes, Celestia?”

“Will you be alright?”

“Yes.”

“Until tomorrow?” Luna asked.

He looked back at her, and offered a tired, but sincere nod. “And forever onward.”

The doors swung behind him as he made his exit.

28) Day Thirty-Seven: From High Places

“You can’t get there alone. People have to help you, and I do believe in karma. I believe in paybacks. You get people to help you by telling the truth, by being earnest.”

Randy Pausch

***

Class ended seemingly just as fast as it began. Artifex felt that he had just sat down when the bell for second block rang. He blinked owlishly, a bit sluggish, but did manage to gather his senses and grab his belongings just as the other students walked out.

Rainbow was gracious enough to lend him a hand, though he was quick to wave her away. He didn’t need her help holding his backpack; besides, there weren’t too many items in there anyway. Hefting both his backpack and his gym bag over his shoulder, he stood back up.

“C’mon,” Rainbow said, “we don’t want to be late for gym.”

He glanced at the clock. The gym wasn’t too far; there was little chance of being late. Nonetheless, he nodded his agreement, and together he and Rainbow headed for the door.

“Hold on, you two.”

“Hmm?” Rainbow intoned. She turned, while Artifex did not. “What’s up, Mr. Solil? Is it about the quote project?”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Well, we kinda have to get going. Can’t it wait ‘till next class?”

“I know, Rainbow. But, please. This is important. Artifex, could you please turn around?”

Seeing no other option, the boy wearily did so, facing Mr. Solil with a collected face. Wordlessly, he nodded for the teacher to continue.

But Mr. Solil said nothing—at first. He regarded Artifex with a careful gaze, hiding whatever emotions might have been brewing underneath. Artifex noted, with slight intrigue, that his hand tapped against his desk, while the other hand, lying on his leg, ever so slightly quivered. His eyes glanced back at the teacher’s face; Mr. Solil’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes seemed locked completely on Artifex.

Why wasn’t he saying anything? His throat bobbed like he was testing out a silent word. His gaze suddenly turned away; and then, after a second, went back to Artifex. The two stared at each other in resolute silence, while Rainbow watched, both confused and worried.

“Uh… guys?” she asked. “Are you… uh… should I go on alone?”

They gave no answer. Rainbow hesitated, then shook her head. “Well, it was only a suggestion…”

Artifex waited a little longer. Then, a little longer again. Finally, he gave up. Exhaling out of his nose, he shifted a little onto his right side, carefully avoiding his limp.

“Artifex.”

He stopped moving, and replayed Mr. Solil’s voice in his head. Was it his imagination, or did he sound… tired? Weary, even, like Artifex’s weariness? He turned back around, looking at the older man with new, subdued interest.

The man appeared to hesitate. He flinched under Artifex’s gaze, but returned back to normal seating position. He seemed to be contemplating his next words.

Finally, he raised his head and asked, “Are you alright?”

Artifex blinked again. Had he heard him right? Did he really just ask that?

“Yes,” answered the boy. Unintentionally, he sounded uncertain.

The teacher waited for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mr. Solil, I’m sure.”

They resumed their odd staring contest. Rainbow grew more uncomfortable, shifting her weight on both of her feet. The clock ticked on and on.

Mr. Solil then leaned back into his chair. “Artifex, if you need anything—anything at all; yes, I’m serious—please, let me know, alright?”

Artifex said nothing. The clock ticked on.

Something in the back of his mind told him that there was more going on than what he was seeing. It was the way Mr. Solil spoke, as if having some extended authority. It was the way he acted, nervous yet knowledgeable, weary yet willing. It was the way the older man stared at Artifex like he was staring at something else, perhaps through something else.

Another corner of red appeared. It receded just as quickly as it came.

Artifex forced a smile. It was small, slight. There was an obvious strain. He hoped it looked at least a bit genuine.

“I’ll be fine, Mr. Solil,” he said with that weirdly-shaped smile. “I promise."

Then, before the other man could speak, Artifex walked out of the classroom.

***

“No offense, Mr. Solil,” Rainbow said, “but that was a little weird.” She hoisted her bags. “Now, if you excuse me, I have to get going. Bye!”

Just as she reached the door, though, she heard Mr. Solil say, “I know.”

“Huh?” She whirled around. “What do you mean, ‘you know?’”

He suddenly appeared more tired than he previously had. “I mean that I know what happened. To Artifex, I mean.”

Rainbow started. “Wha—then that means—”

Mr. Solil nodded grimly. “The truck. The accident. Ruby. I know what happened then, and I know what happened after."

Rainbow felt cold. “Then… you know—”

“The scars.” He looked away. “I should have known sooner. But that’s beside the point.” He looked back at her. “Rainbow, I know that you and Artifex are good friends. Perhaps really good friends, I might add.”

She blushed. “We’re just friends!”

“Right. Anyway, I want you to know that—” He sucked in a breath. “That I want to help him. I want to help him as much as you want to help him; as much as you and your friends want to help.”

“Really?” A delighted smile grew on her face. “That’s awesome! We could use any support we can get!” Then the smile waned. “But, um… if I could ask; why do you want to help?”

Mr. Solil visibly hesitated, and Rainbow blushed in embarrassment. “W-well, I mean, you don’t have to tell me why exactly. I mean, it’s great that you want to help and all. Right? That’s what matters the most.”

“No, it’s fine.” He nodded, curt and short. “I guess you would be curious as to why I, all of a sudden, want to help. The truth is…”

He trailed off. “The truth is…”

Rainbow glanced at the clock. “Um, could you make it quick? I’ve got only a few more minutes until gym starts.”

“Right, right, sorry.” He breathed in, then out. “The truth is… I have some… personal experience in these kinds of things.”

“Personal? What do you mean?”

Mr. Solil carefully raised his left arm, and pulled back the sleeve. Rainbow gasped. There was a visible scar that stretched across the wrist. Then, just as quickly, he covered it back up again, and lowered his arm.

“That’s why,” he simply said.

Rainbow nodded, at a loss for words. Mr. Solil frowned. “That wasn’t too uncomfortable, was it?”

“No, it—” She stopped herself, gathering her thoughts. “It’s fine, Mr. Solil. I get it. It’s nice that you want to help out and all. Really.”

“Thank you,” he said. “But, could you keep this between us? I wouldn’t want to start any rumors of any sort.”

She offered him a grin. “No problem, man! You can count on me!” She turned. “Now, I better get going. Gym starts in just under two minutes, but if I can get there under one...”

She was out the door in seemingly but a second. Mr. Solil watched it creak and sway. “Have fun, Rainbow,” he whispered, “and may we find a way to help Artifex soon.”

Soon, the bell rang, and second block started.

29) Day Thirty-Seven: Freudian Slip

“People may hear your words, but they feel your attitude.”

John C. Maxwell

***

What Mr. Solil said began, in Artifex’s mind, to play like a distant echo, even hours after he had spoken. Blood pumped throughout, like a vital drum to accompany the echoing beat of the words. Bump, bump, bump, it went; his steps followed the tune without question.

But he himself questioned the beat and its origin. The echo became a roar that resounded heavily in his head, rising without end, deafening the world and making him slow to respond. In kind, his shoulders tensed up, and his leg once again ached, and his wrists burned, and he kept seeing red peek out of the corner of his vision, and—

Artifex stopped his train of thought for but a moment. He had thought that he was in the gym; but now that he looked around, he saw that he was outside, in front of a trophy case, seemingly staring at his own reflection. Blinking, he glanced to the sides of him, then at an above clock. Gym had ended maybe two minutes ago. The students still were leaving.

“Artifex, if you need anything—anything at all; yes, I’m serious—please, let me know, alright?”

Why did that make him so uncomfortable? And why did he know that deep down, Mr. Solil knew something about? And why did that, of all things, worry Artifex?

So many questions. So few answers.

Artifex raised his head, brow furrowed. What did he need? Some answers, he supposed would be nice, but which question should he have answered? One of them? All of them? Could one even be answered? Could Mr. Solil even answer correctly?

More questions, Artifex… seriously?

The train started up again. But just as it began to pull out of the stagnated station, an outsider made it stall.

“Arty?”

Artifex made a small gasping sound and whipped his head behind, where he found Swift, Rainbow, and Soarin standing and watching him. Soarin, however, appeared confused, and looked to Rainbow.

“’Arty?’” the athlete repeated.

Rainbow shrugged. “Hey, it got his attention. Anyway…”

They walked over, and in turn Artifex fully turned to face them. His hands dove into his pockets like frightened animals, and he kept a stiff lower jaw.

He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at them prompted them to speak up.

“Um, you were staring into space for a bit,” Swift said, rubbing the back of his head. “Were you looking at something in particular?”

Artifex glanced back behind him. “Not really,” he answered softly.

“You sure about that?” Swift leaned forward and looked past Artifex. “I kinda thought you were staring at one of those trophies.”

“One of mine,” Rainbow added with a smirk.

That caused Artifex to roll his eyes. He stopped when he saw Rainbow pointing. “There! I got him there!”

“What is this, a spectacle to watch?”

Rainbow seemingly ignored him. “See, Swift? You thought I couldn’t get to him like that!”

Both Artifex and Soarin wore confused looks, though the former appeared slightly more irritated. Swift looked back at Rainbow, shrugged, then gave Artifex an apologetic look.

Rainbow turned back to Artifex. “So… was it the trophies that you were looking at?” she asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering, Arty.”

Artifex didn’t immediately answer. He turned back around, re-evaluating the trophy case, searching for a white lie he could make.

“Oh! I‘ve got it!” Rainbow exclaimed. She stomped forward, and ripped something off of the display. “You were looking at this!”

He barely glanced at it, but nodded. There was his excuse, front and center. Rainbow would hopefully buy it and leave him alone—

She tilted her head. “Wait, seriously? You're interested in this?”

“Yes, seriously,” he said. “Why wouldn't I be interested in the… ‘Fall Hallows’ Eve Event?’”

Even he was surprised. That event had slipped from his mind over the last several days.

“Ah,” said Soarin, causing the two of them to turn back around. “So you’re thinking about the dance, huh?”

“Yyes,” Artifex said, unintentionally drawing out the “y.”

“Probably about who you’re gonna bring?”

“Yea—huh?”

“Dude!” Rainbow exclaimed. “That’s what the Event is about! You get to bring a date and everything!”

Faster than he could think, he immediately responded, “Wow, Rainbow. Didn’t think you cared about dating.”

Her enthusiasm dried up, and she crossed her arms. “H-hey! Just because I’m an awesome person doesn’t mean I’m not a girl! I-I have crushes—had crushes, I mean!”

“Never mind that,” said Swift. “So? Who are you going to bring?”

Artifex raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it a bit too early to choose?”

“Well, not really. Some people like to… what’s the word, ‘ascertain?’ Yeah, ascertain their chances and figure out who’s available as soon as they can. That way, they can prepare themselves for the actual dance with enough time on hand.”

“Plus,” Soarin said, “some girls take a long time to choose dresses.” He glanced at Rainbow. “Er, no offense.”

“Eh, it’s cool.” She shrugged. “Besides, it’s kinda true. Not for me, of course; I just go to Rarity and have her design a dress for me. But it has to be cool,” she quickly added.

Artifex kept his eyebrow raised. “But… I’m not a girl. I don’t need that extra time.”

“Maybe not for dress choosing,” Soarin replied, “but maybe for date choosing.”

“It’s not a date; it’s a dance.”

“Most dates start out like that!” Swift exclaimed.

“Yours did.”

“And so did Soul and Sunset’s!”

“Mmm.” Artifex looked at the poster that remained in Rainbow’s hand. “Still, it’s two weeks away. People can change their minds, their decisions, who they choose, what to wear. No point in planning ahead knowing that.”

“So, what, you think it’s better to ask on impulse?” Soarin asked.

“In some cases, yes.” Artifex looked back at them, shaking his head. “But then again, in some cases, no.” He searched for the best phrase to explain what he meant. “It’s up to the individual to decide when their ready.”

“Man, you can pull out something short and inspirational on the fly.” Soarin let out a whistle. “But… I guess that means you haven’t decided yet, have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, you at least have some time to decide.”

“If I decide at all.”

“You can’t just not show up,” Swift said. “The principals said that it’s pretty much mandatory.”

“I know that,” Artifex said. “I mean deciding if I go with anyone in particular.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Soarin spread an arm. “I’m sure that there’s a lot of people in this school who would like to go with you!”

That’s not… Artifex paused, and then crossed his arms. “That’s not what I mean, Soarin.”

“Huh? Then what do you mean?”

He looked away, gazing down the long hallway. As full as it was, with all the students bustling out of their classes, heading for lunch, or another room, perhaps outside, who truly knew—as full as it really and truly was, he couldn’t help but think that it looked a little lonely, with its length stretching from end to end, with escape and entrance arriving from the same place.

The walls appeared to close in. The others didn’t notice.

He looked back at Soarin, feeling tired all of a sudden. His throat tensed, and his eyes lost their brilliance and gleam. All he could give was a hard, stubborn stare that acted as a barrier to his heart.

Soarin visibly became uncomfortable. “Um… you okay, dude? Was… was it something I said?”

Artifex stared for a few moments longer, before sighing. “No. It’s… it’s something else.”

It’s always something else.

They remained confused, and Artifex was much too tired to further explain his point. He shifted back on forth from his heels to his toes, hands placed behind him, and he refused to look at anyone directly. Another minute passed.

He grabbed his backpack, his journal, himself. “If that’s all, I’d best be going. Don’t want to be late to my next class.”

“Huh?” Rainbow asked. “Oh, right. Yeah. Uh… you’d better do that.”

“Right.”

He left them standing there without another word.

***

“Aw, damn it!” Rainbow smacked a locker. “Did he just leave us in the dust?”

“More like hanging in the hallway,” Swift said. “But it is kinda dusty.”

Rainbow shook her head. “Shoot. He and his attitude… well, at least we know one thing.”

“And that is?”

“That he hasn’t decided if he’s going yet, or if he’s going to try and fight his way to stay home.” She groaned loudly. “But that doesn’t really help us, does it?”

Soarin frowned. “You guys were definitely right; something is obviously up with Artifex. Any idea what?”

Rainbow and Swift filled him in on what they had each concluded, which was mostly nothing substantial. The athlete shook his head sadly. “Yeah. It figures it’d be hard to crack that coldness.”

“Coldness is right,” Rainbow scoffed. “I don’t think I’ve even seen him smile in a month!”

Soarin shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Well, I’m not sure there’s much I can do, other than just… be there for him. We don’t know each other that well in the first place, so…”

“That’s okay, Soarin,” said Swift. “There isn’t much we can do other than just show that we’ll be there for Artifex.”

The girl to his side scuffed her foot against the floor, emitting another groan. “God. I just wish he’d quit being so stubborn. Artifex, you idiot…”

Swift turned back to Soarin. “Anyway, the dance is in two weeks. All we can really do is hope for the best. So… don’t beat yourself up over this, okay?”

Soarin nodded. “I’ll try not to, so long as you guys don’t as well.” He turned his gaze down the hall, looking to where Artifex had once stood. “And… you guys don’t lose hope either, alright? Artifex is… obviously working through something. He’ll come to you in time.”

“How do you know?” Rainbow asked. “He acts so distant all the time?”

Soarin shrugged. “I don’t; I just have this feeling that, when he knows he needs it, he’ll come to you for help.” He looked back down at the floor. “That’s… well, that’s my impression of him, anyway. I don’t know if it’s right, or if it’s wrong, or it’s at all accurate. But Artifex doesn’t seem like the kind of guy—to me, at least—to throw away friendships for something else. He seems more… responsible than that.”

Rainbow swallowed her frustration, then nodded. “Yeah, I know. Artifex is a toughie to understand, but deep down, he’s just as much of a person as the rest of us are.”

They expressed their agreement in murmurs. “Anyway, I better get going,” Soarin said. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Yep,” said Swift. “See ya, Soarin.”

They watched him go, still feeling uncertainty in their hearts.

30) Day Forty-Two: Be Still, My Heart

“Tragedy, for me, is not a conflict between right and wrong, but between two different kinds of right.”

Peter Shaffer

***

“Aha! No Clue! There you are!” Blueblood extended a hand in greeting. “What’s the word, my good man?”

Clue blinked at the strangeness of the greeting, but otherwise took the boy’s hand and shook it firmly. “I’m, ah, good, Blueblood. Thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Simply splendid, I do believe so.” His gaze drifted to the window, looking past the glass and onto the courtyard that lay just outside the front of the school. “It is quite a stupendous Monday, don’t you think?”

No Clue as well turned his head as well. Despite it being October and quite cold, he could still see that the grass remained a healthy shade of green. If rumors were to be believed, that was the work of both Scrubby the strange janitor, plus whatever magic had been left over due to the Battle of the Bands (something that, while wildly unbelievable, he had no choice but to accept as having indeed happened). He could even see small pockets of dandelions still popping up, the stubborn weeds refusing nature’s call to yield.

The seasons came and went, but this sight, he knew, he would never be tired of.

“For autumn, it is quite beautiful,” he admitted. “Hmm… by the way, where’s Brutos?”

“Something to do with sports, I believe,” Blueblood said. “There’s some sort of meet going on right now, if his text is to be believed.”

“What, do you think he’d lie to you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past anyone, really. Aside from you, of course.” Blueblood narrowed his eyes. “You’re much too good-hearted for this world sometimes, you know that?”

No Clue gave a grin. “Hey. If it’s part of what makes me endearing, I’ll take it.”

“Ah. I suppose that’s to be expected.” Blueblood let out a hum. “But, I must wonder, since you brought it up: what would you lie about?”

“You know how loaded that question is. I could tell you a lie and have you believe it—”

“Or tell me the truth and I might not trust you—”

“Or I could believe my own lie to be true.”

“That is a good point, my fine friend, but you miss the larger picture. Lying requires a level of subtlety, intrigue, prowess, to truly possess and call your own. It’s more than not telling the truth; it requires levels of social skills never before seen in any other species of animal!”

They began walking down the hall towards their next class. “It’s lying, Blueblood,” said No Clue, “not an art.”

“Hmm.” The boy tapped his chin, looking half-at the ceiling, half-at the floor. “Criminals would have you believe otherwise.”

“But that’s why they’re in jail in the first place!”

“The caught ones, you mean. Not the ones who successfully lied and got away with it.”

“Blueblood.” No Clue paused; “Don’t tell me you worship criminals. Oh my God, you do, don’t you?”

The boy shrugged, but had on a mocking smile. “Only the good ones,” he said, and then laughed at the paradox. “Besides, the world likes to tell tall tales of the underdog, even if the underdog has probably done something wrong.”

Clue rolled his eyes. “Leave it to you, Blue, to support the criminal underground. The next thing you’ll tell me is that your family has connections to the Mafia!”

Blueblood winked at him, and Clue felt his heart drop into his stomach. “I was kidding. You’re a gangster?!”

“A gangster? Please.” Blueblood snorted. “As if I’d settle for anything less than a mob boss. You do know how I feel about power and control, after all.”

Meanwhile, No Clue wasn’t sure whether to pinch himself or run. Am I friends with a criminal mastermind? He does look the type.

This was yet another series of conversations that the young boy and the rich boy had grown to continuously have over the days. Their schedules, while different, allowed them to meet up in various place throughout the school and walk to their next class together. Sometimes Brutos would tag along, but, as today demonstrated, he often had other obligations. Not that Clue minded; what he and Blueblood talked about ranged from simple, to straight-up bombastic, a quality that he had initially thought the other boy incapable of having. It was enough to make up for the absence of the strangely perceptive jock, that strangely calm, taller boy.

In retrospect, this wasn’t so strange. No Clue had little memories of his old life that consisted of simply talking with friends. Perhaps he had been lonely; perhaps he hadn’t realized that until he came to Canterlot High. At the same time, though, he thought that it mattered little. He was simply glad to be with Blueblood. And it was more than just the company that he enjoyed. It was the conversation, the talk, the banter, that carried him brightly through these halls. No matter the subject, he and Blueblood could debate and speak seemingly forever; or at least until their respective classes approached.

In short, No Clue had found someone who could supply something that he hadn’t had in a while: an equal in both intellect and passion.

But these conversations had another effect, one that Clue was not entirely aware of. Each time he and Blueblood talked, a little part of him slipped away. That part contained the memory of a certain, icy-blue-haired boy, with cerulean eyes and a yellow jacket, who had refused to trust him.

Perhaps Clue was indeed aware of this; but for now, he wouldn’t care. Each time he thought of that pain, that loneliness, that strange boy, he would make himself forget.

It became easier every time. Soon it was “me, Blueblood, and Brutos;” that other boy no longer was in the picture.

“—should I take, Clue?”

“Hmm?” Blueblood’s voice suddenly drew him out of his thoughts. “Sorry, didn’t quite catch that. What did you say?”

“I made mention of how that—oh, what’s it called…” Blueblood stopped at one of the bulletin boards. His eyes scanned it quickly, and then he gasped. “Right! The ‘Fall Hallows’ Eve Event. It’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”

No Clue looked where he looked, and saw a flyer announcing the Event. “Yeah, in about two weeks,” he said. “On the thirty-first. A… Friday, I think.”

“Right, right. Anyway, I was wondering if you had any opinion on whom I should bring?”

No Clue paused. Then, slowly, he turned to look at his friend, a surprised glint in his eye, and laughter dancing on the tip of his lips. “Hang on. Did you, Blueblood, self-proclaimed ‘male extraordinaire,’ just ask me, No Clue, for girl advice?”

Blueblood huffed. “No! Of course not. I just wanted your opinion, that’s all.”

Clue covered his mouth with his sleeve, and had to look away. “Right! Right. But my opinion is that you asked me for help in getting a date!”

“It’s a bloody dance, Clue! Not a dinner at the Grand Bazaar!”

“The heck is that? Oh, wait, don’t tell me; that’s where you plan to go afterwards!”

He and Clue kept on walking, with Clue chuckling while Blueblood lightly fumed. “If Brutos were here—you know, he’d probably do something similar, wouldn’t he?” the rich boy muttered.

Clue cackled. “Of course he would.”

“I thought friends were supposed to be encouraging.”

“Hey, and I am! And I encourage you to choose on your own. I’m sure there tons of girls you could pick from.” At an odd look from a passing couple, Clue added, embarrassed, “But I’m not saying that they’re like candy you rob from the store or anything like that, of course.”

“Of course.” Blueblood sighed. “Still, it is a bit of a dilemma. Who do I choose to bask in the glory that is Blueblood? It should be someone worthy; someone truly stupendous.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be too hard of a choice,” Clue said. “I’m sure there a lot of girls who would want to dance with you.”

At that, Blueblood managed to smile again, but it looked a little strained. “Perhaps there are, Clue. Perhaps there are.”

They walked on for a little while, before cutting a left and going up a staircase. It led them to the front of the first hall on the second floor; their classes were all the way down and to the right.

Clue saw Blueblood’s smile grow more cunning. “I suppose that I have been the topic of this conversation for far too long,” he said, turning to Clue. “So I suppose that means that I’ll have to ask you: who are you bringing to the dance?”

A cold pit welled up in his stomach. He jerked his head, almost like he had been pulled back. “W-what? I-I—w-well, I don’t know…”

“Ah! So you have someone in mind, then!”

“W-what? N-no, of course I don’t! W-what would she think—I mean, no! There’s no one, really!”

“Ah, but I caught that little slip, my friend.” Blueblood clapped him once on the shoulder. “So, who’s the lucky gal? One of the girls in our class? I noticed you and Lyra getting comfy.”

“We were working on our homework!” Clue replied hastily. “And, besides, she’s already in a relationship with Bon Bon!”

“Mmm. Good point. I guess I’ll have to keep guessing, then.”

He groaned. “Oh, please don’t.”

“Oh, but I simply must! Is it Sky Drops?”

“No!”

“Flitter?’

“No!”

“How about her sister, Cloud Chaser?”

“No!”

“Man, you really like saying your own name. What about Blossomforth? I admit, she does seem like a rather nice girl.”

“No, it’s not Blossomforth either! Would you cut it out? How you would like it if I started randomly guessing your dance date?”

Blueblood wagged a finger. “Oh, No Clue. How adorable it is that you try to counter this. But the problem is that I haven’t the faintest idea of who I might enjoy the night with. You, on the other hand, do, and thus give me the ammo to keep guessing.”

Suddenly, he fell silent. He stared at Clue for several moments, before asking, “… it is a girl, right? I mean, I won’t judge if it isn’t. I’m sure that whoever he is, he’s a nice person.”

No Clue heavily blushed. “Blueblood, I’m not… that way. Not that there’s anything wrong with it! But I’m not. Really.”

“Alright. But just so we’re clear, I wouldn’t be against that.”

“… right.”

“… so is it Carrot Top?”

“Blueblood, I will throw you out the window if you keep guessing.”

“So it is Carrot Top!”

No Clue answered with a huff, and then practically wrenched open his classroom’s door, slamming it in Blueblood’s face not long after.

Blueblood blinked. “Maybe it’s not her… oh, well.”

***

No Clue couldn’t concentrate. Blueblood’s inquiries hounded him, and he attempted to drown them out by drowning himself in a textbook. When that didn’t work, he slammed the book shut, much louder than he had anticipated, and all eyes suddenly trained upon him.

He let out a nervous giggle. “Um, sorry about that. Guess I don’t know my own strength?”

The students didn’t bother him after that. He slipped the textbook back into his backpack, letting out a silent sigh. Then he sat back down, and stared at his desk in equal silence.

It seemed to not make any sense at first; but, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it actually did. He was bothered because he hadn’t realized how much it bothered him. It shouldn’t have; but it did.

But, I mean… how do I even ask her? I mean, how do I even go about that?

He shook his head. The dance is still a long time away, he tried to reassure himself. I still have time… right?

His mind drifted, to her, and her rainbow-hued locks, that confident smile. He balled his hands into fists, feeling more nervous than he had ever had. Attempting to calm himself, he forced himself to breathe slowly, quietly, so as to still his rapidly-beating heart.

***

Once the bell rang, all the students piled back into the halls, heading for their final class of the day. No Clue was a bit late on the uptake, resulting in him coming out somewhat last. He already knew who was outside waiting for him, no doubt still grinning devilishly. He already anticipated the question.

“Is it—”

“No, it isn’t, actually, Blueblood,” Clue said. “Can you stop bothering me about it?”

“You know my answer already,” the boy said. “C’mon, I was just teasing.”

“Yeah, I know, and I’m starting to get annoyed with it.”

Blueblood audibly hesitated, as his voice stuttered a little. “No Clue, that really got to you, didn’t it?”

No Clue blushed and continued looking away. “W-well, I mean… kind of.”

“Hrm. That is surprising. I had thought you hardier than most people.”

“Hey! I have feelings, too!”

“Right you are, right you are, indeed.” Blueblood cast a narrow look down, ruminating over silently-moving lips.

Clue couldn’t say he was rightly mad at Blueblood; in fact, he doubted he was truly irritated towards the richer boy. If anything, as he watched people go by, with several couples and groups passing them, he realized that the one person he was frustrated with was himself.

They paused at a locker for Clue to gather himself and his belongings better; they had been slipping. Blueblood looked back up, and appeared to be struggling to say something.

“I—well, I—hmm, why is this so hard to say?” Blueblood rubbed his temples. “God, it makes you wonder politicians can do this…”

Clue quirked an eyebrow. “Lie?”

“No, lying is far, too easy. I meant apologize.” He looked at the other boy. “I did not mean to put you in an uncomfortable spot, No Clue.”

“It’s fine, Blueblood. You didn’t mean any harm by it.” No Clue paused, then let out a breath. He couldn’t stop himself. “But… the truth is, there has been someone on my mind…”

“As much as I would love to hear it, you don’t have to tell me.” Blueblood winked. “Until the day of the dance, at the very latest.”

No Clue offered a laugh. “Well, if that’s the case, then you have to tell me who you’re going with the day before!”

“Hmm, sounds like a fine deal. Shake on it?” He stretched out a lean hand.

Clue grabbed it with a smile. “No fingers crossed?”

“Please, Clue. A good businessman doesn’t cop out on a good proposition.” He brought out his other hand, and waved it. “See?”

They shook. It felt solid. Like a promise between two, surprisingly good friends.

“Right-o!” Blueblood said. “We’d better get going, before the lunch crowd completely envelops us both. The usual lunch spot, then?”

“Yep, the usual. And maybe Brutos will join us.”

“Perhaps he will.”

They turned to leave, but just as they began to walk, something tugged on Clue’s backpack. He nearly toppled over.

“Whoa, man!” Blueblood exclaimed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” No Clue frowned. “Huh. Looks like my backpack got caught on the edge of the locker.”

He reached out to grab hold of the edge, intending to pry it out, when a voice above said, “Here, let me get it.” A hand stretched out over his, unintentionally brushing against it.

“Hmm? Oh, thank you—” As he turned to the voice, his eyes shrunk, and his own voice receded into his throat. Something akin to a gasp and a squeak escaped his lips, but the other person didn’t mind.

“Wait, No Clue? Is that really you?” Rainbow Dash, the Rainbow Dash, beamed down at him. “Holy cow! I can’t believe I finally found you!”

“H-huh? I—I mean, yeah, this is where I am!” He let go of his backpack and pulled away from her hand. “I-I mean, why wouldn’t I be here!”

“I dunno! But seriously, man, I have been looking all over for you!”

“Y-you have? Y-you’ve been looking for me?”

She playfully rolled her eyes. “Well, duh! Course I have! I mean, you’re my friend, so why wouldn’t I want to know what you’re up to?”

She wrestled a bit with the caught end of the backpack, before pulling it out triumphantly. “There! Got it!”

Afterwards, she helped him up. “Hey, so, I was gonna ask you something.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah. I need your help, actually.”

“O-oh!” No Clue eagerly jumped at the chance presented. “Well, I can help, really! What is it?”

“Really? You will?” Rainbow beamed again, and her smile was absolutely brilliant in Clue’s eyes. “Awesome! That’s really awesome of you, Clue. I knew I could count on you!”

She laced an arm around his shoulder, and he let himself be drawn closer to her. A goofy smile stretched across his face. “Man! Having you back is gonna be great!” she said. “I can see it now: you, me, and Artifex, all back together again!”

He kept his smile on at first, but then it slowly slipped off. “W-wait. Artifex? What about him?”

“Hmm?” She glanced back. “Oh, right. You probably haven’t seen him lately, have you?”

“N-no. Should I have?”

“Nah, it’s fine. Anyway, point is: I think he needs our help, Clue. Like, he really needs it. Of course,” she added under her breath, “it’d be nice if he saw that he needs help, but oh well.”

No Clue fumbled for words. “Uh… so… like… what does Artifex need help with?”

Rainbow sighed. “He’s in a bad state. He’s super mopey all the time.”

“Maybe…” No Clue licked his lips. Why did his mouth suddenly grow dry? “Maybe he needs some time alone?”

“Some time? Dude, he’s been like this for the past month!”

For a moment, surprised flushed out his flustered feelings. “Wait. A month?”

“I know, right? I’m pretty sure that’s cause for alarm.”

“Y-yeah, it is! Um… what do you want to do, again?”

“Oh, right! I haven’t told you yet. Y’see—”

“Ahem.”

No Clue only momentarily seized up, and relaxed once he had fully processed the voice. “Oh, shoot! Sorry, Blue, didn’t mean to forget you there.” He turned around, and noticed that the other boy had a distinct frown crossing his features.

Unsure what to do next, he opted for introductions. “Um, Rainbow? I’d like for you to meet my friend, Blueblood—”

“We’re acquainted,” Blueblood interrupted coldly.

“Unfortunately.” Rainbow made a gagging sound. “Ugh, hang on. Did you just call him your ‘friend’?”

No Clue blinked. “Wait, you know each other? How?”

“Through mutual association, Clue,” Blueblood responded, “and nothing more, I should hope, Miss Dash.”

“Don’t you ‘Miss Dash’ me!” She stomped towards him. “I still haven’t forgiven you for making Rarity cry last year!”

“That was an unfortunate occurrence.”

“You spilled fruit punch on her, you arrogant asshole!”

“I’m arrogant? Why, I ought to—”

“Hey, hey!” No Clue, much to his own surprise, stepped between them. Furthering his surprise was the fact that his voice regained the same level of confidence it had held before Rainbow had arrived. “Both of you calm down!”

They both stared in surprise at No Clue, before, grudgingly, they backed off. Their glares remained transfixed on each other.

Clue let out a huff. “Now, before you guys start slugging it out or whatever, do you mind telling me what’s with you both?”

They didn’t immediately answer. Gazes breaking, they each looked away, unwilling to even remotely glance at where the other stood. Clue let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, I gather that it has something to do with Rarity…”

Blueblood, in the corner of No Clue’s vision, flinched slightly, like he had been struck by an invisible force.

“Well, of course it has to do with Rarity,” Rainbow said, crossing her arms. “You mean you don’t know?”

Clue fought his own emotions and gave Rainbow a plain stare. “Should I?”

She sighed. “Nah, I guess not. It happened, what, a year ago, I think.”

“A year and a half,” Blueblood corrected.

Rainbow glared at him. “Shut it, Blueblood.”

Blueblood appeared ready to reply in kind, but one glance from No Clue kept him quiet. “Alright,” said the boy, “what exactly happened?”

“It was another dance,” said Rainbow. “A small one, but a lot of people still came.”

“Was this before the Battle of the Bands?”

“Way, way before, actually. It was before Sunset tried to take over and—” At Clue’s incredulous look, Rainbow stopped. “Oh. Right. You don’t know a lot about that. Look, I’ll tell you it later, okay?”

He nodded slowly. “Um… okay.”

“Anyway, we girls were together for a while, but we became separated during the dance to have our own fun and all, y’know?” She tilted her head a little to her right, looking up as she remembered the dance. “I was having fun hanging out with the other athletes, when, all of a sudden, I heard this sharp and shrill scream! So, naturally, I looked over, and what do I see? Rarity, soaked with punch! And who else was next to her, holding an empty cup, then Blueblood himself?!”

Clue turned to the other boy. “You spilled punch?”

Blueblood bristled. “It was an accident, I assure you!”

Rainbow scoffed. “Yeah, well, the first time was an accident, alright.”

Clue’s eyes bulged. “You spilled punch twice?!”

“And the second time was intentional!” exclaimed the girl behind him. “Oh, don’t even bother defending yourself, Blueblood! Cause you know exactly what you did!”

Blueblood struggled to keep his composure. “What happened was… was…”

“Entirely on purpose!” Rainbow shouted. “Sure, you apologized the first time, but the next time Rarity showed up—and she wasn’t even trying to get your attention, you jerk! She was just trying to get a cup for the rest of us!—you, in all your ‘kingly splendor’ or whatever the hell you call it, freaking dumped the entire punch bowl on her!”

The hall went dead silent. Every other student’s eyes drew towards the trio. Blueblood cringed under their gazes, while Rainbow and Clue remained standing. Eventually, Clue’s hand promptly decided to amply express exactly what his owner felt.

Head on; apply directly to the forehead, it said, as it practically slammed itself against his forehead.

None said anything, and seeing this, the curious gazes of the other students gradually turned away. The hall became loud and busy once more; though, for those three, awkwardness was plentiful.

Clue found his voice several moments later. “Wow. I… I don’t know what to say.” He turned to Blueblood. “Did you actually do that?”

The boy actually shivered under Clue’s penetrating stare. “Y-yes, I did.”

“How? Why?”

“I was…” Blueblood paused, searching for the right word, but found he couldn’t locate a good enough euphemism. “Okay, I was an arsehole back then. A ripe, smelly arsehole. With just a touch of—”

At Clue and Rainbow’s disgusted looks, Blueblood paused. “Right. Well. That analogy has gone on long enough. But yes, I am aware of how awful of a person I was back then. And I will always regret doing what I did, believe me. Which is why I am trying to do better; to be better.” He suddenly looked directly at Clue, and his voice became more subdued, like he was pleading. “You… you can see that, right, No Clue? That I am trying to be something more than what I appear?”

No Clue tapped his chin. “Well, to be fair, I don’t really know any sort of ‘old you,’ so I can’t say for certain.” He saw Blueblood cringe a little more, so frantically he continued, “But that doesn’t mean that you aren’t less of a person! I mean, I think you’re okay—well, not just okay, but—you’re a good friend in your own regard, alright?”

“Wait, wait-wait-wait-wait; hang on.” At Rainbow’s tone, Clue whirled around, blushing once again when he found himself under the athlete’s own, penetrating stare. “Blueblood’s your friend?!”

He gulped. “Y-yeah. I mean—yeah, he is.”

“How?!”

Taken aback by her hoarse voice, he stuttered, “W-what do you mean?”

“I mean how can you be friends with this guy? How can you be friends with someone as condescending, arrogant, stuck-up jerk?!”

“The same way,” Blueblood said, “you can be friends with Sunset Shimmer.”

“That’s different!” Rainbow exploded. “She’s different! She’s changed for the better!”

“And so have I!” Blueblood shouted back. “Or, at least I’m trying to change! Shouldn’t that be enough? Is that enough?”

“It is enough, Blueblood,” Clue said. He frowned. “If people are willing to do better, then… then you have to give them the benefit of the doubt. That’s what friendship is, right? Giving people a chance?”

His words brought Rainbow’s to a grinding halt. She slowly processed what he had just said. Blueblood did the same, and both stared at Clue, for different reasons.

No Clue closed his eyes. His hands shook; his body quivered. They expected some sort of follow-up, because they knew he had more to say.

He slowly breathed in and out. I think… I think I’m going to regret this.

“R-Rainbow.” He cleared his throat, then said again, more clearly, “Rainbow.”

“Hmm?” Even she sounded hesitant. She looked at him. “What is it?”

“… Listen. You’re… you’re a good person. You’re… amazing, and strong, and…” He stopped himself before he unintentionally spilled everything. “I just… I need… I mean…”

Damn it! Can’t I just get this one, simple request out of my mouth already?!

“I… I…” Again he gulped, and then he pounded the back of his fist against the palm of his hand. “B-Blueblood. He’s… he’s my friend. The first real one here.”

“Huh?” Rainbow replied with a frown. “What about me and Artifex?”

“No, it’s—” Clue had to take another breath before continuing. He was shaking all over, nervously anxious. “He’s—Blueblood, I mean—he’s been around me the longest. So… so… isn’t that enough?”

Now he looked at Rainbow with his own, pleading eyes. “Can’t… can’t I at least have that? I think… I think Blueblood is my friend. That… that should be enough, right? I mean, I think it should. No, that’s not… Rainbow. I need you to let me know that this is okay.”

There. I finally said it. No, wait, that’s not what I wanted to say—damn it, Clue! Why do I have to get tongue-tied at times like this?

He barely registered her shocked expression. Look, man, she’s just a girl. Another person, I mean. A really… kind of attractive person… Agh! Never mind that. Try saying it again!

“Rainbow—”

“You’re right.”

Both Clue and Blueblood were taken aback at Rainbow’s tone. It was defeatist in nature; low, downtrodden, like all of her enthusiasm, her anger, her energy, had been thoroughly drained. Clue grew aware of her hair and how disheveled it appeared. That feature both made him blush and grow even more concerned. Has… has she been messing up her hair? Is she nervous?

Rainbow could scarcely bear to look at him. “You’re right, Clue. You really are.” She let out an empty laugh. “Always knew deep down you were a pretty smart guy.”

“Rainbow, I—”

“Please, just… let me finish first. Okay?”

“… Okay.”

“Thank you.” She finally offered him a smile, but that fell quickly. “But you’re right, Clue. I haven’t been that much of a friend to you, have I? I haven’t even gone out of my way to see you over the past month until today.” She suddenly looked at Blueblood; there was barely any trace of antagonistic intent in her eyes. “How long have you two known each other?”

Blueblood started. “Um… Nearly two weeks, which is, admittedly, kind of short.”

“Still more than between me and him,” Rainbow muttered. She looked back at Clue, then back away. “I haven’t even known you—like, really know you—for a full week. I guess that means… how can I say who your friends are?”

Another hollow laugh bubbled in her throat. “I just was so worried about my other friends that I forgot about you, Clue.”

Other friends? Could that mean…?

She finally looked directly at him. “I’m really sorry, Clue, for the way I’ve been treating you. It wasn’t right, and because of that, because I haven’t been a good friend towards you, I don’t have the right to judge who you become friends with. Even if that person is Blueblood.” She shot the rich boy a glare, but it appeared more halfhearted than anything. “The point is, Clue, is that you deserve to have your friends. You deserve to choose who you become friends with. Even if—” She hesitated, her voice dropping several octaves. “Even if I’m not one of them.”

No Clue nearly responded; in fact, he would have immediately come to Rainbow’s defense.

Blueblood, instead, spoke in his place. “Rainbow Dash.”

“Oh, what do you want, Blueblood?” she asked, half as cold as she could have asked.

“I wanted to apologize, you know. To Rarity.”

“You did?”

He nodded. “But I was a coward back then. And… I think I still am a bit. I just want to let you know that you have every right to regard me with scrutiny. After all, I myself would find it hard to forgive me.” He looked to the other boy. “Clue, I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but, I’d like to think that so far, our friendship has been helping me far more than hindering me.”

Clue managed a smile. “I’d like to think the same,” he said. Blueblood nodded, before stepping back.

He looked back at Rainbow, swallowing his nervousness. “It’s not completely your fault, Rainbow. I haven’t talked to you, or tried to. Not that I didn’t mean to, though; it’s just… y’know… life stuff.”

“Nah, I getcha.” She sighed, then looked at the bell. “I still feel pretty awful, though. How about I make it up to you?”

“Make it up to me? Well, I’m not sure how you could…”

For several heavy seconds, the three of them stood in complete silence. No Clue felt an itch, and tried to scratch it away, while Blueblood uncharacteristically shuffled his feet. Rainbow, meanwhile, had placed her hands behind her back, and had crossed her legs, appearing almost guarded.

“A-actually,” she muttered, so softly that at first Clue didn’t hear her. “M-maybe there is a way.”

“Is there?” he asked. “I mean, not that I’m asking for a favor. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, too.”

“No, it’s fine, Clue,” she said, letting out a slow breath. “Oh, boy… this is gonna sound really weird.”

“I’m sure it isn’t, Rainbow,” Blueblood managed to say. “It’s not like you’re going to ask Clue here to the Fall Hallows’ Eve Event, are you?”

More silence followed. Blueblood blinked. “… Are you?”

“Uh…” Rainbow let out a nervous giggle. “M-Maybe…?”

Clue blinked. Had he heard that right?

“Dash!” Blueblood scolded. “You can’t just turn a very important dance into a chance to turn in a favor!”

“It’s not that important!” She paused. “Okay, it’s pretty important. But I’m not doing just to turn in a favor!”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Because… because that’s all I could come up with to show Clue that I’m truly sorry!”

“Couldn’t you just do his homework for a week?”

“You and I both know that I couldn’t handle his homework!”

“I—Alright, you have me there. But the point is that you obviously didn’t think this through!”

“Well, I’m sorry, Blueblood, but I can’t exactly think on the fly, okay?”

“And I’m not saying I can either, but clearly this is some serious lack of regard for—”

“Guys,” Clue said, cutting both of them off. “Rainbow,” he further addressed. “Are you… are you asking me to the dance?”

“Huh? Y-yeah, I—I am. Yeah.” She cleared her throat, repeating herself several more times, before slowly growing quiet at Clue’s lack of response. “Um… Clue? You okay?”

No way…

“Clue? You’re… you’re not mad, are you?”

Is this really happening?

All thoughts of his confusion over Rainbow and Blueblood’s fighting, over his problems with Artifex, all of it, vanished, revealing to him a single, lit path. Opportunity lay at the end; opportunity that he knew, deep down, he would never find again.

No Clue was many things, and he was not many things. But he was anything but unwilling to take that chance when he saw it.

A wide, open smile crested his lips, and he looked at Rainbow with renewed happiness and joy. And when he spoke, an unexpected wave of calmness washed over him, filling him with just the right amount of confidence that he needed. “I-I mean, if you’re offering, then, yes. I’d love to go to the dance with you.”

“Y-you’re serious?” Blueblood said.

“As serious as I will ever be.”

Rainbow stared at him, eyes wide, mouth gaping; then, her mouth slipped into a beaming smile of her own. “A-Awesome! I, uh… y-yeah! That’s… that’s great, really.” She began backing up, and grabbed her bag. “I, well… I… I’ll see you in two weeks, I guess?”

“Yep!” Clue exclaimed.

“C-cool! I mean, cool. Yeah. That. Um… Bye!”

Rainbow Dash dashed away (No Clue would later facepalm because of that pun). Clue stared after her, the smile slowly diminishing as he realized she was gone. But the elated feelings remained.

His heart beat a thousand miles a minute, like it just had a huge surge of pure adrenaline; yet, he didn’t feel like he might collapse. Throw up, maybe, but not faint.

When he turned back around to grab his belongings, he found Blueblood giving him a dumbfounded look. “What is it?” he asked.

The richer boy shook his head. “I am absolutely confounded as to how that happened. You’ve managed to score yourself a date before me!”

“Is that all you care about?”

“No! It’s just… surprising. Absolutely surprising.”

No Clue turned away, staring down the hall for a second. When he turned back, he found Blueblood with a smile on his face.

The richer boy offered a hand, and No Clue shook his in it. “I’m still dumbfounded about all that, but… thanks for sticking up for me, Clue. It means a lot.”

“O-Of course, Blueblood.”

“There you go, stuttering again! Come on, man, where was all that confidence from mere minutes ago?”

As Blueblood laughed, Clue’s smile grew. They began to walk down the hall, going the opposite way.

Today had been a good Monday morning.

31) Day Forty-Seven: Another Path

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You’re on your own, and you know what you know. And you are the guy who’ll decide where to go.”

Dr. Seuss

***

A noteworthy feature of Artifex’s neighborhood was that the general structure of it—that was to say, not what lay inside the houses, but the houses, bushes, and sidewalks themselves—more or less became a linear pathway. One end, of course, led to the school; the other, obviously, led to the city of Canterlot.

This was what Artifex now focused on; the road to the city. Under the cover of darkness, he could more clearly see all of the colorful lights that emanated from there. It was reflective of Manehattan; both cities were literal beacons, refusing to sleep even after most had gone to bed. But unlike Manehattan, Canterlot was much quieter. Fewer cars roamed the streets; fewer pedestrians walked between them. The buildings, while huge in their own right, were never quite as big as Manehattan’s. And there were less people; less strangers.

As paradoxical as it would sound, this made Canterlot a highly unfamiliar place for Artifex. Even as he stared at it from the porch of his home, he could not help but look at it with subdued anxiety. It hadn’t been as apparent when he went to the party all those days ago; but now, after everything, it returned. Like a swirling dragon, it roared fire in his ear, burning his insides and making him sweat. It took all of his will not to turn and run.

Still did that fire burn. From it the smoke of longing, desperate and despondent longing, rose, and clouded the beautiful night sky above.

As waves upon waves of thought crashed upon his mind’s shore, as winds upon winds of temptations, ill-wills, and inner demons blew against the lighthouse sanctum of his internal self, his body responded accordingly; around the porch’s wooden railing, his fingers tightly gripped the edge; his jaw shook, and eyes stubbornly remained transfixed upon the city in the distance.

He mentally went over the time. About an hour ago, his parents had turned in, and now slept soundly and peacefully, unaware of their child’s inner angst. Artifex hadn’t been much of a sleeper in a good while, so staying up this late was a common occurrence. Sometimes he’d stay up way past his usual bedtime, to the point he’d see the moon begin to set before anyone saw the crests of the sun peek above the hills. But he had never gotten too tired, too worn down by this act. He’d conditioned his body to become accustomed to late nights and later hours.

Now, though, he did feel tired. The weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders; at least, that was what he imagined. He needed a way out, an escape route of some sort. And so, with calls from sirens ringing in the distance, as golden wishes glorified a temporary solution, Artifex, after grabbing his cane, stepped off of his porch, onto the sidewalk, and forward towards Canterlot, not noticing the presence of a smaller companion trailing behind.

***

With his limp still afflicting him, it took Artifex around twenty minutes to enter the city. The road had been mostly silent, with a few birds deciding that now was a good time to gossip. By the time he had entered, all outside noises had faded away, replaced with the city’s own ambience.

Copper streetlights stood like metal sentinels next to the cement sidewalks, illuminating trash bins and benches for passerby to see. Artifex could hear a low hum from each. Far above those lights were the lights coming from the office buildings, shining out of some of the windows. In some, he could see silhouettes of late-night workers, bent over their desks, typing presumably away at some document or another. Some of these silhouettes would suddenly straighten up, and raise their arms, and yawn; and then they’d go back to work.

In the smaller buildings, it was a much different case. Either the owners or tenants were asleep, as the insides were almost always darkened. Artifex stopped momentarily to gaze into the shop of one “Seamstress Savvy,” peering at the shaded display of a mannequin wearing a purple sequin dress. He brought a hand up to it, feeling the cool glass. Ruby would have liked this one, he thought, recalling her ecstatic cries one Christmas morning. I wonder if Rarity, as an amateur clothes-maker, could make one of these?

He blinked, then sighed, realizing how silly that sounded. Slowly, he lowered his hand; and even more slowly did he turn and walk away.

In the distance, Artifex saw Sugarcube Corner. Surprised to see that it still had its neon lights on, he considered stopping by. Then he thought against it, reasoning that it would be odd for him to show up unannounced and at this late hour. Still, as he recognized the poofy-haired outline of Pinkie Pie, he felt a sudden desire for companionship.

His mind drifted. He thought of Pound and Pumpkin Cake, how sweet they were to him, how innocent, how blissful. To have that treasured youth again… he knew it was impossible.

He kept walking. Sugarcube Corner once again became distant.

Mentally, he kept track of his trek, constantly retracing the route back to his home. With each turn, he added another section of the city to his memory. Now it stood beside his old home, his old Manehattan. Gradually, the details began eerily similar. A metal garbage can here reminded him of the same one there. One pothole on the left mirrored one that had been on the right. Even the pedestrians who roamed the streets began to blend with regular Manehattenites. Old faces reemerged; he saw the downtown gardener; the west side banker; the north end retired taxi cab driver.

Differences were there, too. The clothing in particular were much different than their Manehattan counterparts, as they were much brighter in color. Some places, like the subway station, were nowhere to be found. Even the sounds, as similar as they were, had their share of discrepancies; in Manehattan, the hustle-and-bustle had been notably louder, while here in Canterlot, it was on the quieter side.

In reflecting upon these observations, Artifex realized that these were two cities that led similar, yet at the same time different, lives. But they both embodied the same thing: large communities of culture, standing as cosmopolitan centers for the progression of people.

And he, he further realized, was much the same. He had led different lives in each city; but, essentially, he was the same person in each. There was some level of comfort to be found in that realization: the comfort of knowing that, in a tumultuous and terrifically changing time, he, at the most basic level, remained constant.

But it was a small comfort. So small, in fact, that it might as well have been a discomfort. Artifex stared at a streetlamp with this discomfort written on his face for the entire world to see.

“Mrow?”

He would have jumped in surprise had he not been concentrating so hard on the lamp. Turning slowly, he saw an apricot cat steadily trailing behind him, giving him an indifferent stare.

“Followed me all the way here, Francis?” Artifex asked. The cat answered with another “mrow;” Artifex offered a temporary smile. “Of course you would. Can’t leave me alone, can you?”

He looked away. “Not that I mind. No doubt you might have thought I was planning on running away, or something drastic like that. The truth is, Francis, I don’t know what I’m thinking. I’m just…” He struggled to find the right words. He walked over to one of the many bus benches and sat down, with Francis leaping up and landing beside him. “Wandering, I suppose. Yeah. Wandering.”

He softly rubbed Francis’s coat. “I bet you know exactly how that feels. You’re a genuine alley cat, with a heart for adventure. Remember that time you scampered off and nearly got into a fight with those crows? We had to literally drag you away from that.”

Francis did appear to remember, as he brought up a paw to his face and slid it down.

A person walked by, and Artifex fell silent, running his fingers through Francis’s fur. Once they were gone, he could speak again.

“I don’t know why I feel this way, though. And I don’t know why I felt the need to come out to here, at night, in the cold, when I could be home, in my warm bed, sleeping. I don’t know anymore. I just feel…” He sighed, hand coming off of Francis; the cat looked at him expectantly, then lay his head down on his lap. “I just feel confused, I guess. Just confused.”

He shook his head. “And I’m probably going crazy, because I’m talking to a cat, of all things. Not a person, not a friend, not a therapist or a psychologist or whatever. A cat.”

Francis purred in light protest. “Alright,” Artifex said, “my smart cat.”

He continued, “But I’m more than that. I’m confused, but also… angry. Angry at something or someone, I don’t quite know. But it’s such a faint yet persistent anger that I always feel tired out by it, even when it isn’t there.” He paused, thoughts turning slightly sour. “I wonder why that is. Or if it’s because of him…”

Francis tensed, as if sensing his owner’s growing anger.

“I shouldn’t feel this way, I keep telling myself. I want to believe that. But… why can’t I listen to my head?”

He fell silent, and the anger gradually dissipated. Francis relaxed.

They sat there for a good while, and Artifex, due to Francis’s warmth and nuzzling, began to grow sleepy. And though the moon above was full and bright, it acted as a welcoming nightlight. Artifex’s eyes drooped; his breathing slowed; his thoughts began to swim through the stream of consciousness, collecting dreams and nightmares along the way.

But a bed would have been nicer and, realizing this, Artifex opened his eyes and yawned. He reached for his pocket and took out his phone, checking the time. It was nearing ten. He sighed, loud enough to wake Francis. “I suppose we ought to head home, then,” he said, and rose.

He grabbed his cane, lightly tapping the ground with it. For a moment, he fought to find his balance; and after finding it, he breathed in the cool air. It was a good one. Fresh. Crisp. Beautiful. He’d hate to miss such a night.

“Come on, Francis,” he said.

Francis jumped off of the bench, and together, they headed back the way they came.

But the feline evidently had other plans in mind. Once they had reached the nearest crosswalk, rather than going over the way, Francis made a sharp left. It was so sharp that Artifex at first thought the cat had simply disappeared. “Huh? Francis, this isn’t—Francis!”

The cat appeared certain to at least give Artifex the walk of his life as, in ignoring the boy’s shout, he actually sped up. In return, Artifex gave chase, moving as best as he could with his limp. It wasn’t easy; several times his cane hit between the cracks, and he nearly toppled over.

“Francis, it’s too late for this,” he grumbled to himself. The cat paused, looking back at the boy. Then he stuck out his tongue, and surged ahead. Artifex thanked whoever was listening that the streets weren’t crowded tonight.

Francis crossed another street, and Artifex pursued. Francis dashed over potholes; Artifex maneuvered around them. Francis ducked into an alley; Artifex slowly followed. The cat even had the nerve to slow down just enough so that Artifex didn’t lose sight of him.

“What the hell’s gotten into ya?” he asked at one point. All he got in answer was a determined growl.

Momentarily stopping, Francis raised his head and sniffed. He ducked down an exit alley, and was back on the main street. As Artifex followed, Francis made another turn, this time right, and headed into a smaller street. Then, he slowed, and waited for his owner to catch up.

The boy briefly took in his surroundings. It wasn’t exactly decrepit, but it certainly had seen better days. A lone streetlamp rested at the corner where two buildings met. More trash littered the sides of the street, and several day-old newspapers could be seen scattered across black bags. Breathing in slowly so as to catch his breath, Artifex smelled remnants of cigarette smoke.

“Francis, are you just purposely trying to get us lost?” he asked.

He did not respond; all he did was stare at his owner.

Artifex walked closer. He noted that the brick that made up each building was old and sturdy. He touched one; it was somewhat cool. It reminded him awfully closely of the place where his parents’ old apartment had been; not quite in an alley, but in a smaller sector of Manehattan, with cool, old brick, and tinted windows.

Just out of curiosity, he looked at the windows, and found they were of an eerily similar tint as those in Manehattan, give or take a few shades of yellow.

He looked back at the cat. “Francis, you better explain yourself.”

When the cat meowed back, Artifex crept closer. “What do you mean we’re here? There’s nothing here; just a bunch of old apartment buildings.”

Francis meowed again, and cocked his head. Artifex grew closer. “Come on, Francis. It’s too late for a nightly escapade. Don’t you want to sleep?”

Artifex blinked. “Why am I talking to you like you’re a baby? You’re… what, middle-aged in cat years?”

Francis seemed to take offense at that, as he hissed, and disappeared around the corner.

“You’re older than you look!” Artifex protested. He limped after him, expecting to see a dead end, hoping he’d be able to go home soon.

The narrow backway opened up into a wide complex. Somewhat-mossy cobblestone covered the road, replacing the tar in the main city. Two gardens were fenced off with iron rungs, and several trees and flowers grew there; it reminded Artifex of a much smaller Central Park. Dark as it was, it came as no surprise that this complex had its fair share of streetlamps. But they were several feet smaller, and looked more robust and oil-run than their electrical counterparts. They were situated next to each step that led to presumably an apartment; though, one of those doors had a sign that read “Closed,” so he assumed it must have been a shop of some sort. At the end of the complex, opposite of where Artifex stood, he saw a lone gate, and beyond that, he could see the rest of Canterlot.

So surprised was he to find this place that he unknowingly bumped into a signpost. He backed up to look at it. “Esquire Square?” he read aloud. The name fluidly danced out of his mouth; he found it rather enjoyable to say.

He heard loud meowing. Turning his head, he saw Francis at the top of one of the stairs. He scratched and hissed at the door, but he didn’t seem particularly angry or fearful of it; rather, he appeared impatient, imploring the door to open.

Artifex swiftly walked over to his pet. He was at the first door to the left, so it wasn’t a far walk. “Francis, cut that out; you’re going to wake someone!” he whispered fiercely.

The cat paused to look at the boy, but then just as quickly resumed his fit. The loud, grating sound of Francis’s claws running all over the wood made Artifex wince. He picked up the cat by his torso, scooping his arm around so that he couldn’t wiggle free. “That’s enough!” he scolded. “You and I are going home right now!”

The cat hissed and growled, defiant and stubborn, and Artifex scolded him a little more, trying to keep the feline pinned under his arm. He did not notice the door open; he was too busy seeing Francis suddenly stop squirming, and wondering why that was, that he did not register the sound of someone tittering lightly.

But he did take notice his name being called. He heard a familiar smugness in her voice.

“Artifex?”

For a split-second, he stopped functioning. His arm loosened, allowing Francis to slip out. Fifteen possibilities raced through his mind, and he discarded them all, focusing in on the one conclusion that mattered. Slowly, as he worked himself back to the present, he rotated on the heel of his foot, coming face-to-face with the source of that smug, sultry voice.

“Adagio?”

***

They talked for a good while. Artifex’s irritation towards Francis melted into surprise that he even managed to find Adagio out here. Sure, he had known, from Sonata, that she lived in the city, but what were the chances of them meeting right in front of her apartment? On a Saturday, no less? And even more extraordinarily, at night, right when Artifex had intended to head home?

“I’m honestly asking myself the same question,” Adagio said, chuckling softly. Her hair was a little more disheveled. She had showered just a few minutes before, and had in her hand a cup of coffee. She looked pretty awake; and in the reflection of the moon, Artifex couldn’t help but see that her eyes were, pun unintended, truly eye-catching.

“If this were a romance novel,” Adagio said, “this is probably where we’d have our first awkward meeting.”

“I think our first meeting was awkward enough,” Artifex replied.

“You’re not still mad about that, are you?”

“Far from it.”

She laughed again. It was a gentle laugh, very much unlike her. He wondered if she was usually like this at night. “I guess it was awkward,” she said. “Still, what on Equestria are you doing out here?”

“I… went for a walk,” he answered.

“At this hour?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm.” She took a sip from her cup. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. You strike me very much as a night-owl.”

He looked briefly away. “For a good while, I couldn’t sleep at all.”

She nodded, already understanding—surprisingly already understanding, now that he thought about it. “But what brings you to my doorstep? You should be home now.”

“Francis bolted; I followed him here.”

“Oh? How odd of him. He must be truly fortunate to have found my place out of all the apartments.”

“If you really think so.” He looked at Francis, considering something. “Hmm… I wonder…”

He let the question hang; the cat didn’t appear inclined or willing to answer.

Adagio took another sip. “You’re not cold, are you?”

“Only a little. Cities like these have some pretty nippy winds now and then.”

“Mmm. Tell me about. In all the places I’ve lived, the wind has always howled the loudest and bit the hardest in cities.” She breathed in slowly. “It’s like the wind never changes its style.”

“In a way, there’s a comfort to be found in that constant.”

“In a way, indeed.” She regarded him with a mixture of smugness and knowingness. “You say a lot of wise things, you know that?”

He blinked, the corners of his lips almost turning upward into a smile. “I guess I do.”

“I wonder… in another life, might you have been a philosopher?” She tapped her chin, looking above Artifex at the moon in contemplation. “Perhaps in Equestria, your counterpart is that?”

He blinked; he had forgotten the mirror aspect of their worlds. While now he found himself wondering if Adagio had any human counterparts of her own, he simply nodded at her.

She took another sip. He was silent for a moment, before asking, “What are you doing up?”

“I’m a night owl myself,” she said, that knowing smirk still crossing her lips. “The coffee helps.”

“And your sisters?”

“Sonata’s snoring, and Aria’s grumbling quietly in her room. They don’t like the night, I guess.”

“I guess so.” He crossed his arms, unsure how to continue. The moon kept on shining down on the three of them. It might as well have been intruding on their talk.

He found that the silence was nice. Comforting. And, he realized, it was one of the few times it had just been himself and Adagio together. In most other cases, he had been among others; but this? Once again, he was reminded of the sheer absurdity of the situation. Somewhere, far above the clouds, he supposed, there had to be some higher power finding all of this absolutely amusing.

Deep down, he probably felt the same.

Once again, the silence was permeated by the sound of Adagio sipping. This time, though, she took a much longer one, finishing the coffee and letting out a satisfied breath, causing a whiff of white to slowly roll out of her mouth. “Do you drink coffee, Artifex?” she asked.

“On the occasion,” he responded, lips twitching and eyes momentarily twinkling.

“You really should. It’s one of the few things mortals got right. Even immortals hate late nights and early mornings.”

She laughed a little at her comment, and Artifex nearly joined her; he had to work his jaw hard just to refrain from laughing, though he did not know why. She saw this and said, “Too tired to laugh, then? Shame. I rather like it when you do.”

“I guess I am a little tired,” he said. Then he paused. “Sorry; did you say you like it when I laugh?”

She paused. “Did I? Well, I mean that in a kind way, Artifex.” Her lips curled like she had tasted something awful. “Mmm. That sounds too corny for me to say.”

He let the comment go, nodding. “Either way… it’s getting late. I suppose I’d better head home now.”

“Yes… I suppose you should.”

Francis meowed lightly, and Artifex bent down and picked him up. He looked back at the ex-Siren. He opened his mouth to say something; but then closed it, and nodded, seemingly content with the action alone. Adagio, to her credit, didn’t appear to mind, and nodded just the same. He noted that she was frowning.

He turned and walked down the stairs, his feet making light, clopping sounds against the hard pavement, like echoes of a journey. Just as he reached the tree and made to turn right, though, Adagio spoke.

“Artifex.”

Now her voice truly became laced with conflicting and confusing emotions. It was soft and hard, kind and strict, caring yet cruel. It was both a lawful request and a punishing demand; a whisper on the winds, a cry in the city. Quiet, yet loud. Enough to make him stop.

“Yes?” he called, turning back around.

“Are you alright?”

“What do you mean? I’m just tired, Adagio, that’s all.”

She was unsatisfied, and expressed it with a shake of her curls. She placed the cup down upon a table, then, surprisingly, stepped outside and walked up to Artifex. To his own surprise, he didn’t move.

She stared, and he stared. Magenta irises that sharpened at the edges—a sign of a conniving leader, no doubt—stared into cerulean eyes that lightly curled up at the sides—signs of tiredness, yet innate intelligence. Neither they nor Francis moved; neither blinked. Neither of them spoke a word; their eyes, their stares, did all the talking.

Finally, she did find her voice. “Your friends are worried,” she said softly. “About you. About how you’ve been acting lately.”

He said nothing.

“You’ve changed; and, so they say, not necessarily for the better. You’ve regressed. You’ve become cold and distant.”

Again, he kept silent; but the trembling of his jaw was all the answer she needed.

She almost stumbled over her next words. “You’re making Sonata worried, too. I… I thought you should know.”

I know.

“And Aria… well, she doesn’t even want to deal with you.” She tried for a chuckle, but it was weak. “In her own way, she’s a little concerned.”

Her gaze had shifted to Francis, and she reached out, as if to pet him. Francis gazed at her expectantly, yet not in a way that suggested he wanted to be petted. He seemed to be waiting for her to say more.

Her hand came back. “And,” she murmured, looking back at Artifex once again. “You’ve been… making me worried, too.”

She hesitated. Her hand came up and, after seemingly much difficulty, rested itself on Artifex’s shoulder. The action was stiff, uncommon, unpracticed. Her arm lifted a little; her wrist tilted down and to the left, the other side coming up. It now made a line to Artifex’s chin. This action as well felt unrefined and unpolished; yet it was so gentle, so miniscule, that he would not have noticed it, had not for the girl’s soft sigh, and the way her fingers danced to a soundless tune on his shoulder.

He became aware of how close they were; he could smell her hair from this distance. It was nice; disarmingly nice, much like the rest of her.

The fingers danced a little more, then fell a little closer to his neck, brushing against it with light taps. He felt almost compelled to lean into the slightly-open palm.

He already guessed the next question.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

His heart, for some reason, skipped a beat; but he said anyway, in a softer voice than he ever imagined he could have mustered, “Yes.”

She did not let up her gaze. If anything, it seemed to grow more intense, searching for any sign of hesitance or doubt. Her arm fell away from his shoulder; she stepped away, slowly, like she did not truly want to leave. “Promise me?”

At that moment, he felt almost everything inside collapse. The last vestiges of stubbornness, of fear, of all of his personal angst, of all his personal problems, of all of his wants and needs and desires, of all of his pain, his worry, his uncertainty, fell apart. He felt open, hollow, and vulnerable; his knees felt weak, and Francis became like deadweight in his arms, so he had to gently put the cat down to the grown. It took all of his willpower not to suddenly break out into tears.

He wanted to tell her, just as he had wanted to tell Rainbow. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted; he needed. It was so strong that he thought he might break under that pressure. Already he could see himself talking about Ruby, about school, about the world, about friendship, about No Clue—

The last remark in his mind gave him pause, and the walls inside slowly began to build back up. He swallowed hard. He saw red flashes, felt red flashes. It was enough; the desire remained, but it also remained blocked, hindered by his self-made inhibitions.

She sighed. “No. Of course not. I should have realized…”

He turned, but lowered his head so that he wouldn’t have to meet her hurt gaze. “See you around… Adagio,” he said, and he said this not unkindly, but without any trace of previous warmth. It was just a statement of fact. Nothing more, everything less.

He walked away. Francis followed.

The night became colder and darker with each step they took.

32) Day Fifty-Six: The Final Stretch

“In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”

Martin Luther King, Jr.

***

Four more days.

Just four more days.

Four more mornings, plus one evening, and then it would be night. More importantly, it would be the Fall Hallows’ Eve Event (that was almost easier to say out loud, now).

It was easy to see the excitement on all of the students’ faces. Girls were giddy, speaking in hushed or excited tones, depending on the group; guys were nervous, murmuring but also bragging about with whom they would go. A few were still attempting to ask out members of the opposite or same sex, and surprisingly, few were rejected.

There were a few, however, who remained undecided. They decided to strike at it alone, thinking that they’d inevitably hook up with someone at the dance. But with how late it was, the chances of someone being free dwindled with every passing moment. It was risky.

Of course, according the tall, blue-skinned brute that walked beside two other, shorter boys, that didn’t matter. And to the richest among them, that was both amusing and preposterous.

“You are a jock!” Blueblood loudly protested. “You are supposed to have a date for any event! That is your niche in life; that is your trope!”

“Blueblood,” Brutos grumbled good-naturedly, “what have I told you about abiding by stereotypes?”

“Brutos, how can you possibly not see the importance of this event?!”

“I see it quite clearly, I’ll have you know. It’s not that hard.”

“Then why aren’t you getting a date?!”

“Because I don’t want one for the moment.”

“Brutos, you could get any girl to go with you just by flexing! Surely you see the advantages in that!”

“If by advantage you mean manipulation, then no, I don’t see that.”

Blueblood let out a disgusted groan. “Fine! I see you’re a lost cause! At least No Clue here has the sensibility of having a date!”

Clue blushed. Yes, it was true, he technically had a date; but at the same time, it wasn’t like he made it happen. It was just coincidence; happenstance; circumstantial.

Still, it had happened; and that had to mean something. No Clue was going to the dance with Rainbow Dash; and she had been the one to ask him out! Never in a million years had he thought that would happen.

In fact, it was just as surprising as the fact that—

“You don’t have a date yet either, Blueblood,” Brutos reminded the boy, “so don’t play ‘doting aunt’ on me.”

Blueblood harrumphed. “L-listen, that’s only because I haven’t made up my mind on who to go with!”

“Better hurry it up, man,” Clue said. “Your chances are already low as it is.”

He gave him a withering look. “Are you suggesting that I, Blueblood, am incapable of finding a companion for the night? Have you even looked at whom you speak?”

“Someone who doesn’t have a date yet,” Brutos commented. That earned him a light slap on the shoulder that barely phased him. “So, Clue,” he said, “since you’re going with Rainbow Dash—lucky you, by the way—what are your plans?”

“Huh?” Tilting his head, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“You know…” Brutos gestured vaguely. “Are you going to… make a move on her?”

Clue’s face grew heated. “That’s not… I’m not…”

“I meant that in an innocent way, man.” Brutos rolled his eyes. “I meant are you going to try some corny pick-up lines or something.”

“Why would I do that? We’re already going to the dance.”

“Yeah, but you’re going as friends. Don’t you want to leave as something more?”

“W-well…”

That realization had struck him early on; that really, they were indeed going as friends and nothing more. Not that Clue minded; any chance with Rainbow was a nice opportunity. It was a shame they didn’t hang out much these days; between conflicting schedules and hanging out with Blueblood, Clue saw Rainbow less and less. But the feeling in his heart was just as strong as when it had begun.

He rubbed the back of his blue-haired head. He’d need a haircut soon. “I mean, I guess I would like to be something more, with her… but… you know…” At this, he gestured just as vaguely as the other boy had. “This is… this is nice.”

Brutos raised an eyebrow. “But it could be even nicer.”

“Yeah, I guess. Still.” He let out a breath. “This is… just the first step. We go as friends and, at the very least, we leave still as friends. I don’t want to risk messing things up.” That, and, I don’t quite know what Rainbow really thinks of me. I’d rather confirm it than blatantly ignore it.

Brutos shrugged. “Well, whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

Clue then turned to Blueblood. “So? Any idea of whom you might go with?”

“I keep telling you, my options are great and numerous—”

“Then why haven’t you chosen anyone yet?”

“… Because most are already taken.”

“Well, who isn’t?”

Blueblood raised his hand; he curled his thumb and pinky in, leaving three up. “Blossomforth, Sky Drop, and Carrot Top.”

“Well, you’ve got four days until the dance. I think you could afford making a quick decision in that time.”

“Or maybe I’ll just ask the next girl I see.”

“Blueblood, don’t be so callous.”

“I don’t know the meaning of the world. Oop!” He suddenly stopped as they rounded a corner. “When opportunity knocks, cautiously open the door,” he muttered to himself; then, to his friends, he said, “Carry on, you two; I’ll be with you momentarily.”

He dashed off into the hallway, posture straight, a confident grin adorning his refined features. They watched him go, initially confused.

“Has he found another person to bother?” Brutos asked.

“Maybe he spotted a candy machine with two, free candy bars stuck in the slot,” Clue suggested.

“Why not steal candy from a baby while you’re at it?”

“He would, if the baby had some sort of peanut-butter delight in its grubby hands.”

Brutos smiled. “We banter a lot when Blueblood isn’t around, don’t we?”

Clue returned the grin. “Hey, it keeps the both of us practiced for when he does come and bother us.”

They went down the adjourning hall, heading towards their lunch spot. Students bustled and jostled by; from the snippets of conversation that No Clue heard, it was clear that the Eve was still fresh on their minds. One girl mentioned she’d probably go to Canterlot to buy her dress, while another insisted she ask Rarity for a custom-made dress. In another corner of the school, one group gossiped about who was going besides the students. Rumors had long been confirmed. Other schools were invited; including, much to the majority’s disdain, Crystal Prep.

Clue, new as he was, wasn’t sure what to make of it. On one hand, it would be nice to meet some new people. On the other hand, if the stories of the students there were to be believed, most were a bunch of condescending jerks. The closest comparison he could make at the moment was an entire student body of Bluebloods, but without his wish to be a better person, and completely focused on academic superiority.

The thought was both weirdly fascinating and terribly frightening. Clue would have shuddered had not for the company beside him.

“Hmm,” Brutos murmured. “Since we have so many other schools coming to our event, I’d imagine that little Miss Veil will be coming.”

“You think so?” Clue pondered it for a moment. “Yeah, I can see her definitely coming. She’s certainly livelier than her cousin. Think she’ll enjoy our school? I mean, it’s no Winnipiac… that place has got to be so much more advanced than ours.”

Brutos turned to him, giving him a knowing smirk. “Oh, I think she’d like it very, very much.”

His words and expression made Clue falter in his steps, and soon the taller boy was several paces ahead. “Why’d you have to say it like that, man?” he grumbled as he rushed towards him.

Just as he reached the boy, they heard a familiar voice call out to them from behind. Turning, they found Blueblood walking towards them. He grinned triumphantly. “And you doubted the words of the Almighty!”

“He’s a god, now?” Clue whispered.

“Maybe in his head,” answered Brutos. The two shared short laughs.

Blueblood reached them. “Laugh all you want, peasants, but your lord Blueblood has emerged victorious!”

“He hath slain thy beast!”

“Nay, he hath rescued a damsel in distress!”

“Ha ha ha. Very funny.” Blueblood rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t you two at least try a bit harder with your banter?”

“We try! We can’t help having a poor audience,” Clue protested.

“Scored yourself a date, Blue?” Brutos asked. “I’m surprised you managed that at all.”

“Ha! No lady can resist my natural charm!”

“I think they’d get sick of trying. So Blossomforth said yes, did she?”

“Indeed she did, my jaunty jock friend. Jealous? I wouldn’t blame you.”

Brutos shrugged. “Eh. She’s a nice girl. Anyone would be lucky to go out with her.” He leaned in. “So why, of all people, did she decide to go with you?”

Blueblood flushed and said, “What are you implying, Brutos? That she didn’t want to go to the dance with me consensually?”

“More like she was doing it out of pity.”

“As if! She was just as willing as I was to go together!”

“That’s not saying much. Didn’t you say you’d go out with the next girl you see?”

“Shut up, Brutos—”

“She probably didn’t have a date herself, and decided that Blueblood was okay enough to go with.”

The silence from Blueblood that followed Clue’s statement was deafening. His eyes nearly bugged out. “Wait. Seriously? I was just guessing!”

Blueblood chuckled sheepishly. “Y-yeah, well… you’re good at that sort of stuff, aren’’t you?” He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Turns out neither of us had a date. And, well, she said it herself: she’d be okay going with me. I believe her exact words were ‘You’re not that bad, Blueblood.’ Even smiled and winked.”

“Aww. That’s nice of her, Blueblood,” said No Clue with a smile. “Looks like your change is becoming more apparent.”

“I certainly hope so. I’d hate for it all to be for naught.”

“Well, it got you a date, so I’d say that’s a good sign.”

“Indeed so.” Blueblood tilted his head, looking at Brutos. “Which means you, my friend, need one yourself, just so that we’ve a full set.”

“We’re not a collection, Blueblood,” Brutos said. “Besides, I’ve already told you. I don’t particularly care for having a date.”

“Sure, you say that now. But mark my words, Brutos; you’ll be begging every girl the day before.”

The taller boy rolled his eyes. “Right, right, because you can somehow predict the future.”

“Stranger things have happened,” the boy reminded him.

They turned down another hall, with Clue taking the lead. He turned around and walked backwards, talking to his friends as he did so. “So! Four days,” he said. “I haven’t seen what they’ve been doing with the gym. Any of you guys know what’s up?”

“Besides having the Rainbooms play? Not really,” said Brutos. “I’d imagine that the Party Planning Committee is throwing something huge together.”

“Yes, the PPC is infamous for that,” said Blueblood. “Though they can get a bit overenthusiastic, if you ask me.”

“Well, Pinkie does love her parties,” said Clue. He reflected on that. “A lot, actually. Probably more than any person I’ve ever met.”

“She’s unlike any person any of us have ever met.”

“What about that teacher who works with the committee? Cheese Sandwich?”

“He and Pinkie certainly go hand and hand. They’re probably planning something huge.”

“Or maybe they aren’t because this school doesn’t have the funds for five party cannons,” said Blueblood.

“Now you’re pulling my leg. Pinkie has a cannon?”

“Brings it wherever she goes, apparently.” Brutos shrugged. “Maybe you’ll see it at the dance.”

Clue tried to imagine Pinkie with a high-grade celebration weapon, and found, to his slight horror, that it certainly seemed possible. That girl was absolutely crazy and bubbly; two dangerous combos that could probably end up with someone hurt. Hopefully that cannon isn’t loaded with actual cannon balls.

But he was so busy imagining that he forgot that he was walking backwards. Blueblood’s voice, sharp and sudden, stopped him long enough to turn, but not fast enough to slow him down and avoid a collision. Clue felt himself crash into someone else. They hit each other hard, and there was the sound of objects being dropped. He stumbled back, dazed.

“Oh, geez!” he cried. “Man, I am so, so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going and—”

Clue’s voice gave out as he looked over what had fallen. He saw pages of pages with uncountable scribbles. They were dated, written in a blue ink, and from what he was briefly able to understand, beautifully eloquent in their meaning. There was a dull click in the back of his mind—he thought he knew this from somewhere—but he pushed it aside, seeing that the other person was still on the ground. “Sorry, sorry; here, let me help you up.”

He offered a hand just as the person looked up. Both of their eyes widened; their pupils shrank; they instinctively pulled away in shock.

His were a cerulean pair of eyes that dug deep and wounding holes into Clue’s eyes like daggers of ice. He was instantly reminded of their last encounter weeks ago. In those eyes he found the same glaring anger, the subdued rage, but also the biting sting of defeat and degradation. The boy before him scuttled forward and grabbed the fallen item, tucking it into his yellow jacket, but throughout he kept his gaze on Clue. He seemed intent on boring a hole through his head.

Clue gulped. Already he felt beads of sweat gather on his face. This guy really is intense! was the only thought positive enough to register; the rest were more akin to screams, sharp and distorted and loud. They blocked everything out, even Blueblood’s concerned voice, and the sounds of the hallway and of the students that surrounded them.

“Uh—uh—”

He felt himself being righted by Blueblood, who pulled him back and stepped forward. “I apologize for my friend’s clumsiness,” he said, offering a diplomatic smile. “But I can assure you he meant no harm—”

His voice dried up as he was subjected to that same, slicing-cold gaze. The boy said nothing, but that was more than something.

What was that writing? Clue thought.

The boy suddenly turned his gaze back towards him, and Clue realized he’d also said that out loud. Once again, his glare answered for him.

Blueblood cleared his throat. “Er… right. Um… yes. I—that is, we—are sorry to have bumped into you, um… I don’t believe I know your name.”

The boy looked back at Blueblood for a moment, twisting his mouth into a frown. He slowly stood up, still not saying anything. Clue could see his jaw set, veins popping out of his thin face. He seemed angrier than he should have over a little bump.

He thought about what Rainbow had said a week and a half ago. He thought about what he had heard, what he had seen, and what he hadn’t seen. He tried to make that connection, to drive together a coherent thought. He tried to find the reason for this behavior.

He was interrupted by the boy suddenly pushing past him and Blueblood. He hit Clue hard in the shoulder, almost pushing him over, but he couldn’t tell if that was done on purpose. Startled, he didn’t have the chance to call out. The screeching in his head ceased, replaced with the sounds of the school once more. But he felt a pit of coldness and dread sink into his stomach.

Blueblood, he saw as he turned to face his friend, had a mixture of emotions on. But one of them was definitely anger. He balled his fists, and looked like he was going to go after the boy.

“Who the hell was that?” he asked.

Before Clue could answer, Brutos grumbled darkly, “That was Artifex Frost.”

“Sorry, who?”

Once again, Brutos interrupted him. “The newest asshole to Canterlot High.”

Clue stepped forward. “Whoa, hey, he’s not like that at all.”

“Really?” Blueblood crossed his arms. “The way he acted just now certainly supports that title.”

He couldn’t find the words to refute that. He sighed. “Look, I’m sure he’s just having a bad day. Come on, we’re missing lunch.”

Even as they resumed their walk, the topic could not be dropped. “A bad day? I don’t think so,” Blueblood muttered. “No one is that angry over a mere bad day.”

“Maybe Artifex is different.”

“Different is putting it nicely. Didn’t you see his eyes? There was an entire sea of anger there, Clue. And it was directed at you. A bit at me, but mostly at you.”

That certainly seemed to be the case. “Look, can’t we just drop it?” Clue pled. “It’s not worth pursuing.”

“Clue, you’re wincing,” Brutos said. “Here, let me see. Yeah. He hit your shoulder pretty hard.”

“I’m sure it was an accident! He wouldn’t… he couldn’t…”

“But he did,” Brutos insisted. “Therefore he meant it.”

“Why are you saying this? It’s like you’ve got a personal vendetta against him!”

“Now I do.” The jock crossed his arms angrily. “When someone beats on my friends, it’s personal.”

“I agree,” said Blueblood. “I don’t know who this Artifex fellow is, but it seems clear to me that he’s not a kind man.”

“I’m telling you, he’s not like that. He never was. He’s… he’s—”

“Then why’d he glare at you, Nostradamus?” Blueblood said. “Why’d he stare into your soul and look like he wanted to rip out your heart?”

“Now you’re exaggerating!”

“But so was he; no person should exert that much anger over something so trivial.”

“Well, maybe he’s—maybe he’s… ugh.” Clue rubbed his temples. This was going nowhere. “Just… let’s forget it, okay?” he asked them. “This… this isn’t something I want to deal with right now.”

Blueblood and Brutos shared looks. “Alright, Clue,” Blueblood said, sparing him his full first name. “We’ll forget it for now.”

Clue nodded. “Thank you.”

They walked up the stairs and sat in their usual lunch spot. No Clue took out his sandwich and bit into it. It was dry, unappetizing, and cold.

33) Day Fifty-Seven: The Void of Truth

“Your worst dungeon might be the room with the most windows.”

Rene Denfeld, The Enchanted

***

Once upon a young man’s lifetime, the world had been a bright and colorful event to attend. He didn’t have to constantly see in one shade or another. They all blended together, creating a true piece of art, and he was both the maker and viewer of it, as was everyone else. This had been the most important lesson he had learned from Ruby; that life was a story that you could not only tell, but also listen to, and be a part of. Life was a cacophony of enormous symphonies, a splash of fresh paint, a detailed scribble of words. Life had everything to offer and, as Ruby had continuously believed, nothing could persuade life to take that offer away.

He saw that offer constantly. Take, for example, Sunset Shimmer. He’d no doubt that it would have seemed to her, having done everything she’d done, that life would forsake her a chance to redeem herself. She seemed willing enough to, anyway. But five other girls, plus one attempted takeover, and now a boyfriend had shown her that things could be different. In the realm of all things possible or impossible, one might have assumed this was all by chance occurrence. But he doubted that. They all made a choice, to accept the silent offer of life, to continue, to rebuild what had broken.

Or, perhaps, he ought to consider the example of Adagio Dazzle. She could easily have been a bitter soul after the Battle of the Bands. She might have gotten harsher, meaner, crueler to her sisters, and perhaps they, though Sonata to a less-extreme extent, would have responded in kind. Their relationship would have fallen apart. They would have been left to die in this world, alone, if they had not been stubborn enough to persist. They could have left this world and given in to fate, to return to Equestria and face out a life sentence, or remain here and refuse the changes that had now affected them. Sonata had been the first to come around, and Adagio was the second; Aria, too, was also beginning to turn, albeit in a much slower, more biting manner, as was to be expected. They hadn’t given in and, if he had to be honest, now that he thought about it, they’d acted maturely and responsibly with what they were now offered.

Chances. That was what life gave. Chances to do better, to be better, to strive for something greater than yourself.

This was the truth that he had learned from Ruby Frost all those years ago. This was the truth that should have been at every corner, with him at every step, comforting him at every obstacle, instructing him at every problem.

Perhaps it was there. After, he had said himself that life was not known to forsake that option.

His ears were tuned to a different frequency; he listened to a far harsher voice. It screeched and scratched against his head, and he could no longer hear life’s voice.

This was the greatest lie he’d know; he’d convinced himself that what this new voice said was true.

Life called and sent its followers, and he refused to oblige either it or them. But life didn’t give up. Life was too stubborn because life knew the one truth that he knew. And life knew that he had to be shown that truth once again.

Unfortunately, he didn’t want to listen.

***

Artifex didn’t know why he was angry.

His hands clenched around his notebook as he tried to write, but the writing came out as shaky scribbles, and he only grew more frustrated upon each messed-up word. There were scratched out words and even phrases as he tried to put to pen what he was thinking. But with each thought came a shake, and he could write no longer than a few letters before giving up and attempting to start again.

It was late. He sat straight on his bed, the covers thrown off, the pillows placed upright against the post, and he had on his reading lamp so as to see. It might have been unnecessary; the moon shone nicely through the window that was in front of him, and because it was a clear night, he could see a good amount of detail in his room. He saw that Francis lay in his little bed, staring up at him with unblinking eyes.

Artifex glare at his pet. “What do you want? Go to sleep, Francis.”

Francis meowed gently. Artifex groaned. “Yes, I know that I’m still up. Just go to sleep.”

The cat refused, though, and Artifex could not find it in himself to force him to sleep. He groaned again. “Fine. Just don’t make so much noise. I’m trying to concentrate.”

Francis placed his head between his front legs but never once stopped staring at Artifex. Had the young man turned his head and looked at just the right angle and in the right combination of light, he might have seen a great deal of human-like concern in the feline’s eyes.

Artifex took a deep breath, then stopped, listening for noises in the rest of the house. Nothing seemed to stir. His parents had long gone to bed; it had been yet another silent dinner. He glanced at the clock, and saw that it was just past eleven again. He couldn’t remember when exactly he’d gone to bed, nor when he’d taken out the notebook. He just knew that he hadn’t been able to sleep and had returned to old comforts in the hope that they would soothe his slumber.

But they hadn’t.

Artifex let out his breath, and took up the pen again. He turned to a new page, the blankness taunting him with its silence. Struggling to not throw the book down in anger, he forced himself to raise the pen, bring its tip hard upon the paper, and began to move it up and down, left and right, so that he would form letters, and then words, and then phrases, and then sentences.

He started with a question.

***

Why am I so angry?

That is a hard question to answer, much to my surprise. When I stare at this page and try to mull over the possible reasons, the anger just shoots off like a rocket, and it makes it hard to focus.

I got a bad test grade today, but that was my fault because I didn’t study. I was… distracted. Yes, that’s the best word to describe it. No, I’m not proud of the C-. It’s passing, but I know I could do so much better if I tried.

A grade like this doesn’t explain the anger, though. There’s too much anger; that I know for certain. So what is the root of this emotion? What caused it?

The reason why I’m thinking this over now and not, say, a month ago, isn’t because I’d only just realized it. In truth, journal, I knew there was something different about me about two weeks ago. But I wanted to push that thought away and I wanted to focus on getting through the day. I figured that it was just the stress of being the new kid, and having all these homework assignments and stuff.

But Adagio’s words from a week ago are still in my head. I’ve made Sonata worried, and Aria worried, if in a more subtle and different manner. More importantly, I’ve made her worried.

I don’t know why that means so much to me. Why, after all this time, I still feel guilty, why I still feel that cold pit in my stomach when I think about how I’ve made Adagio Dazzle feel concerned over me. I’d be laughing at the absurdity of such a scenario a month ago, but this? It is different. And I don’t know why.

Adagio reminded me that I was doing things differently, that I was acting very differently. She reminded me of what Rainbow had said. She reminded me of a different time, I think, when I wasn’t this angry.

But reminders aren’t enough. They’re just flags on the timeline. I know they happened, but I don’t know why they happened. I don’t know how they happened for certain. This history—my history—has been irrevocably changed, so much so that I don’t know where it began and where it’ll end.

Once again do I ask: why am I so angry?

When did this all begin is perhaps the best place to start answering this question. Let me think… yes, that’s right. I was much happier the first week of September than I am now. That was because it was a new school, and I had made many friends, and I was settling in as the new kid. My classes were good, I wasn’t too far from the people I was familiar with, and Canterlot High seemed very accepting of me.

It still is. I don’t get too many strange looks; it seems that, after having so many magical mishaps, the students here have grown used to newcomers showing up out of the blue. Comparatively speaking, I think I’m the most normal “new kid” out of all the new kids who’ve come here.

Therefore, something during that week, or after, must have done this to me. If, of course, the assumption that something happened outside of me to make me feel this way.

***

Francis suddenly let out a yawn, causing Artifex to sharply turn to him. The cat blinked tiredly, but still appeared intent on keeping a watchful gaze upon the young man. But his ears wilted at the side; he blinked slowly, and his head wouldn’t rise more than a few inches off of his bed.

Artifex frowned. “Maybe you should sleep, Francis. You know I’m a night owl.”

The cat meowed in response. “Yes, Francis, I know that you can stay up late if you want to. But you don’t want to be too tired, do you?”

Purring softly, the cat begrudgingly nodded. He lowered his head, but cracked open one eye and stared at his owner.

Artifex rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, Francis. I’m not gonna go for a late night stroll anytime soon.” He tapped his blanket. “Besides, the leg’s acting up again.” At Francis’s knowing purr, Artifex continued, “Look, I’ll go to bed soon. I promise.”

The cat didn’t respond. Looking over the side of his bed, Artifex saw that he had closed his eyes and was breathing slowly, having finally sauntered off to sleep.

He turned back to his journal, the frown becoming harder. The pen rose and fell.

***

I return to the party that Pinkie held for me. Mostly because I think it’s relevant, if this timeline I’ve created is any indication.

I can see it clearly. I walked to Sugar Cube Corner with Francis, and met Sonata at the entrance. The party was still being set up. Francis fled into the kitchen, where I saw Pinkie and Swift making the food. Then Francis went back upstairs, and that’s where Sonata and I saw Pound and Pumpkin.

That was where I think I felt the happiest that day. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was that hug that Pumpkin gave me. Or the fact that the Cake parents were so nice. God, I forgot to ask them how their vacation was! I’m sure it was fine.

Then I went back downstairs and waited a while, helping put up the decorations and whatnot. Sunset told me about her past, her actions, and why she came to this world in the first place. Soul and I talked about how she was a much better person because of it. I told her that “Our biggest regrets are often the biggest actions we never took.” We bonded because of that.

There was a screeching of tires and a revving of engines. We went out, Rainbow and I. We found Adagio and Aria, surprisingly, and it was altogether a pleasant moment for all of us. She came in, and was smiling, and Aria didn’t seem too intent on killing anyone, so that was good, I guess.

Adagio sat with me and Sonata. We talked. Sonata left to get something. Adagio and I had a heart-to-heart conversation about knowing each other, doing good, our true selves, and so forth. That was possible the most I’ve talked with her on anything. And… if I recall correctly, it felt good. It felt right; fitting, even. Like she was exactly who I needed to talk to if I wanted to say something.

Which is weird considering who she is and what she’s done. I’d daresay we’re friends, though there’s some level of… tension between us. But I don’t know if it’s bad or good; it’s just there.

Back to the party. Yes, we talked. We talked for a pretty long time, and the talk grew intense. But it was nice when it finished. We waited a little more because we were expecting No Clue to show up.

***

Artifex paused as he stared at the last sentence. He felt something in his head click. In an almost fervent manner, he reapplied the pen’s tip to the paper, even as he felt some odd, sinking feeling of dread sink deep into the pit of his being.

***

No Clue.

Nostradamus “No” Clue.

He never showed up.

I remember now.

He never showed up.

And…

And I felt… bitter, for some reason.

Like… like I’d been… I’d been…

Ugh. I can’t recall the word.

We tried to pass it off as him being busy but…

No, that wasn’t it.

He did show up, for a second.

But he drove past. Or rather, his mom did.

I never met his mom before. Hmm. Maybe… no, don’t start making assumptions like that, Artifex.

Do I have his number? I don’t remember if any of us did. Pinkie said she’d sent him an invitation, and if I know Pinkie, it isn’t like her to mess up the address, especially when it comes to parties.

So the conclusion, journal, that I can now make, is that I’m angry that No Clue didn’t show up.

But…

But that’s…

That’s stupid!

Even I know that’s a dumb thing to say!

There is no way that’s all there is to it. I mean, holding on to this anger for a month due to one little incident? What gives? That… that isn’t like me. I know it isn’t. At least, it shouldn’t. Not even with the truck driver was I this angry. And not quite with Discord.

Still, that does seem to be the most apparent conclusion, given the facts. But still…

Journal. I saw Clue yesterday. He was with two others, but I don’t think I quite recognized them. Only one looked vaguely similar, but from where I don’t know. We bumped into each other pretty hard. Dropped this—you, actually. I think he said something but I didn’t hear him—or at least I don’t remember hearing him say anything.

I tried to get out of there really quick.

I’m not sure why.

***

Artifex stopped. He stared down at the page, at the words, the sentences, at what he had written. He knew there was more to it than that, but this seemed like the perfect place to stop.

I’m not sure why.

That summed up everything that he felt, now that he thought about it. He wasn’t sure about anything. So much had changed, so quickly, so subtly, and in such a way that he hadn’t cared to confront it in the slightest until now.

That felt wrong.

But I’m not sure why.

Briefly putting down the notebook, he closed his eyes. He remembered the faces of his friends, but they appeared differently now. Their eyes were full of concern, big and wide, and they seemed like they were pleading for him to do something. Each had their own frown, their own set of tired features; had this been because of him? How many sleepless nights, if any, had he given them unintentionally? How many times had he made them worry?

Had they worried? Of course they had; that was what friends did.

But he hadn’t worried. He hadn’t even given in to their worries. What did that make him?

When he opened his eyes, he saw his room. But all of a sudden, it felt much colder, lonelier. Even with Francis’s breathing coming softly, piercing the silence of the night, Artifex could not shake the feeling that something was missing.

His room was dark. Only his lamp and the light from the moon illuminated it. His bookcase was dark; his blankets were dark; his desk was dark. In the glow that came artificially and naturally, even he, pale-skinned, white-haired, bright-eyed, felt like he was nothing but a masked shadow, portraying itself as having color.

When he breathed in and out, it felt like the air rushed in and out of him without bothering to stay. He felt empty, devoid of being.

And I’m not sure why.

The pen felt so much heavier like it had mysteriously been filled with lead.

***

Things have to change.

I don’t know what exactly, but they do. Whether those things are me and my attitude, or something else. Things have to change. They just have to.

If I truly am so angry and so filled with despair that I am pushing away the once chance that life has given me to get back on track, then perhaps I haven’t learned what it means to be alive yet. I thought that the scars on my wrist had taught me enough; have they not said enough?

But that doesn’t matter, does it?

I’ve been doing wrong by my friends. I’ve been hurting them. I didn’t see it until now. And I still don’t know why this happened.

It can’t just be because No Clue didn’t go to the party. There’s more to it than that. There has to be.

Things have to change, journal.

I think I have to make that change.

***

Artifex went to sleep. His mind was filled with the relentless thoughts, the crushing emotions. They bothered and pestered and hounded him at every turn in the dreamscape, and his nightmares grew more harrowing by the hour. They didn’t let up until the morning came and shook the shadows from the walls.

Even then, it still felt cold and dark.

34) Day Fifty-Eight: The Circle of Friendship

“Friends show their love in times of trouble, not in happiness.”

Euripides

***

“Thanks for letting us use the music room, Mrs. Torch Song,” Sunset said to the somewhat short, somewhat plump music instructor. “Sorry for asking for it on such a short notice.”

Mrs. Torch Song let out a forgiving huff. “The pleasure’s all mine, girls! It’s important to keep your voices in practice, you know.”

“Oh, but of course, Mrs. Song,” said Rarity. She applied to her face some sort of powder that made her skin almost glow. “Singing is much like any art; it requires a lot of practice to make sure it’s your very best!”

Applejack nodded, but she had on a rather unamused expression. “Ah get the sentiment, Rarity, but d’ya also need ta use this room as your personal parlor?”

“Why, whatever do you mean, Applejack?” Rarity turned to the farmer girl, blinking past the obvious gleam of glitz and glam. “I assure you, this’ll be over quick.”

“Ya have all morning t’do that.”

“But I didn’t want to be late to school!”

“Let the lady be, Applejack,” said Mrs. Song. “A lady has to keep herself refined, even at a moment’s notice!” While the girl fumed not nodded, Rarity giggled and expressed her further thanks.

“Well, girls,” said Mrs. Song, “I’ll be going now. Remember to clean up after yourselves. And be sure to knock the socks off those other students coming from the other schools!”

“Of course we will!” came the scratchy voice of Rainbow. “You can count on it, Mrs. S!”

Once she had gone, Sunset took a moment to look around. Next to the doors that led into the music room itself were Rainbow and Fluttershy, helping each other unpack the Rainbooms’ instruments. Beside them were Clyde and Swift. They held onto Pinkie’s drum set, their faces set in concentration—though it appeared Clyde was doing the heavy lifting while Swift limply held on. Pinkie stood a little ways away, pointing and humming to them.

“Move a little left,” she said. They moved there. “No, actually; move it back right.” They moved again. “Back right some more. A little more. Just a teensy bit more—STOP! That’s too far, Swifty!”

Swift let out a gasp. “Pinks, I don’t think I’m entirely to blame for this.”

Clyde frowned. “Come on, man. At least put your arms underneath the drums and look like you’re holding them up.”

Pinkie continued directing them. Sunset watched for a little bit, before turning over on her side to grab her guitar case. She took the instrument out and strummed out a few keys, testing it, and saw that it was properly tuned. The metal strings were cold to the touch. The wood was polished. It was ready.

“Hey, Sunny?” she heard Soul call from behind her. “Where do you want me to set up the speaker?”

Sunset got up and walked over to where Soul stood, right by the big and black speaker that Vinyl had let them borrow.

“Here, it’s not too far,” she said. She and Soul got on one side and pushed the speaker some number of feet to the back corner of the stage.

Soul wiped his brow. “Dang, that thing is heavy. Must be pretty expensive, too. Remind me; why did Vinyl agree to let us borrow it?”

“She said she wanted us to have the best sound playing while the dance was going on,” explained Sunset. “Something about literally blowing the competition away.”

“Crystal Prep, Strident High School, and all those other schools—they have bands?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, but they probably don’t focus on it as much.”

“Or save the world as much as you guys have.” Soul let out a whistle. “So, why’d she let you have it today? Why not, I dunno, give it over during another band practice?”

“Her reasoning was simple. In our school, the students are used to loud noises and they probably won’t care to hear some previews of what we’re going to play. And neighbors are far less likely to show up and yell down our throats—her words, not mine.”

“What if some teacher comes along, like Mr. Cranky Doodle?”

Sunset shrugged. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Besides, isn’t he on his honeymoon with Matilda?”

“Oh, right. I’d completely forgotten.”

“But you’re still right,” said Sunset. “We shouldn’t overdo it. I don’t want to accidentally blow out someone’s ears or the speaker itself.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Soul responded. “You’ll be fine! Unless Rainbow starts going solo all of a sudden, I’m sure nothing bad will happen.”

“Hey!” Rainbow called from the other side of the room. “I heard that!”

“Well, it’s a good idea,” said Rarity. “This is very expensive equipment, and I for one would love to keep my hearing intact for another few years, at the very least.”

“I don’t even play that loud!”

Sunset and Soul pushed the other speaker onto the opposite corner of the stage. They plugged it in and gave it a once over. Soul turned to Sunset. “Wanna test it out?”

She smiled. “Sure thing.”

She grabbed the cord and plugged it into her guitar. Then she played a few notes. The sound came out loud and clear, rich and vibrant. Vinyl obviously had the best equipment in the school.

“Not bad,” she simply said, putting her guitar down. She turned to the rest of the girls. “Are you guys ready to practice?”

The other girls nodded, and grabbed their instruments and joined Sunset on the stage. The boys backed away while they tuned and tested. Seeing that, so far, her friends’ instruments appeared to be working just fine, Sunset turned to Rainbow. “Ready?”

“Ready,” she said. “Let’s hit it!”

As Pinkie banged out the basic beat, Rainbow opened with a few guitar strums that rang sharp and true thanks to the speakers. Thesong began, loudly, pumping and pulling with the strength of a million horses. They worked together like a well-oiled machine; their voices combined into a uniquely beautiful harmony; and, for the guys in the room, it was truly a sight to behold, more so thanks to the girls all pony-ing up at the end and floating in the air.

The final notes played. With their ending pitch, the song ended. Yet the girls momentarily remained in their ponied-up forms. Sunset came back down to the ground, checking herself out. “Huh,” she said. “Still can’t believe that’s how we do that.”

“I quite agree,” said Rarity, glancing down at the long “tail” that extended from her waist. “I like music as much as the next person, but this seems a bit… cheesy.”

“Hey, if it lets you beat bad guys and turn them good,” said Soul, “then I say don’t question it.”

“At least it still works,” said Rainbow. “Even if it’s only for when we’re playing our music.”

Eventually, their “manes” and “tails” vanished into sparkling clouds of what amounted to dust. Sunset, as an afterthought, looked to the door, expecting to see some curious teacher, perhaps even another student, clumsily enter. It had happened before, with Flash, and then Soul; so why not someone else, she wondered, even if it was a far-flung, farfetched thought?

Surprisingly, just as the band began packing up and preparing for their classes, someone did.

“You guys sounded great!” Sonata exclaimed, bursting through the doors, a skip in her step. Behind her, Sunset saw, were her sisters, Aria and Adagio. The former appeared just as grumpy as ever; and the latter, to her confusion, seemed despondent. The way her chin was tucked down, and how her eyes seemed blank, suggested she was thinking deeply about something.

“Oh, well, thank you, Sonata,” said Fluttershy, twirling her hair behind a finger. “But, um, maybe it was the speakers that helped.”

“Oh! That explains why it was pretty loud.” She looked at the speakers in question. “Where’d you get those from?”

While Fluttershy patiently explained them to the girl, the other two ex-Sirens walked up to Sunset and Soul. Aria, of course, was frowning, and had her arms cross. “Hmph. Bet if we had these we would have won the Battle of the Bands.”

“Still hung up on that?” Sunset asked.

Aria glared at her. “Of course I am.”

“Just not as much, I’d imagine.”

“Oh, what do you know?”

Sunset turned to Adagio. “At least your sister’s okay. How about you?”

“Hmm?” Adagio gave a start, and rapidly blinked her eyes. “What do you mean, Sunset?”

“You don’t seem yourself,” Soul clarified. “Like, you’re less… forward today.”

Adagio smiled, but Sunset could already tell it was weak. “Why? Do you prefer me if I were more playful with my prey?”

Soul blushed. “That’s not—”

“Cut the act, Adagio,” Sunset interrupted. “You’re obviously upset about something. So why not tell us?”

Adagio regarded her with a set gaze. Her eyes drifted to the microphone, then back to the girl before her. She seemed to be suggesting something, silently, with only her eyes—sharp and cutting, yet equally pleading and sad—as any indication. For a moment, Sunset remained confused. Then it clicked.

She turned to Soul. “Hey, babe? Can you pack up my stuff for me?”

“Hmm? Sure. Why?”

“Adagio and I need to have a private talk.”

She ignored Soul’s confused look as Adagio led her back the way she came. The other girls and guys didn’t pay them much attention.

Sunset closed the music room’s doors behind her. She looked at Adagio with a frown. “So? What’s up?”

Adagio didn’t seem at all willing to talk at first. Her eyes were closed, her arms crossed. She leaned against one of the lockers, a slightly irritated expression crossing her features. Sunset took to the opposite wall and waited.

“How long has it been since the Battle of the Bands?” the ex-Siren suddenly asked.

“Not too long,” Sunset replied. “Maybe a year? Or a bit less than that?”

“That sounds about right. You and your friends blasted my sisters and I with a magical cannon of magic fired from some abstract horse entity made entirety out of music.”

“That… sounds about right.”

“We never stood a chance against that kind of power.”

“Adagio? You’re not also still mad about that, are you?”

Adagio’s eyes snapped open. “Wouldn’t you be? All of your goals crushed by mere mortals? Having your entire physiology altered from Siren to human?”

Sunset had expected there to be some old feelings of bitterness lingering in the ex-Siren. It was natural, and was something she and the others had initially been wary of once the three began re-integrating themselves into society. But this?

This was somehow less than she expected. Adagio sounded tired and bitter; not angry and bitter.

“So much changed since then,” Adagio continued, as if not bothered at all by Sunset’s perplexed look. “We became mortal humans like any other person. At first we were angry, bitter; all except Sonata, who wanted to try and do something good for once. She became good friends with you all, much to both, I’d imagine, of our surprises. She even almost worked up the guts to ask Soul out.” She looked pointedly at Sunset. “Of course, she wasn’t the only thing that changed. You did, too. You got a boyfriend, met with your parents, rectified old mistakes. You turned your reputation back around. You’re practically the heroine of Canterlot High.

“And Aria, too… she became a little less bitter. She found a job that she liked. It kept her mind off of other things, off of what we lost. And, in time… I guess I began to move on. I wasn’t necessarily forgetting what had happened—”

“Obviously.”

“Yes, indeed, obviously.” She laughed a dry laugh. “I was getting used to my new life. Trying to figure out if I could do something with it. So much like Sonata, I tried to be better.”

She fell silent, staring at the floor. Sunset waited again.

“It hasn’t been easy,” the ex-Siren said. “There’s still some bitterness left over. And sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to have beaten you. To have taken over the world and had an entire population of worshippers at my feet, groveling and begging like animals. And then…”

She looked back up at Sunset. “And then I think about Sonata. About how happy she is. It at first made me mad, but now… now it makes me happy, too, I think, seeing her like this. She’s… probably the best out of all three of us.”

Sunset quietly agreed.

“In a way, she makes me want to be like that. Of course, I can’t act like her, but I can try to be a better person for her.”

“Adagio? Where are you going with this?”

“I don’t know.”

At Sunset’s further perplexed expression, Adagio, this time, let out a true laugh. “I’m serious, Sunset. I don’t know where I’m going with this.”

“Then why’d you ask—sorry, imply—that you wanted me out here to talk?”

“Why’d you bother?”

“Because… I wanted to help.”

“Then maybe I needed your help.”

“That’s impossible. Adagio Dazzle doesn’t and hasn’t needed my help. Ever.”

“True. But things change, Sunset. Things always change. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn that quite quickly.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“No, it really doesn’t.”

Adagio sounded truly tired. Sunset looked a little closer. There were some bags under her eyes. “Adagio? How have you been sleeping?”

“Poorly,” she answered, surprisingly without any hesitation. “Coffee helps keep me up, but it isn’t always enough.”

“Maybe you should go to bed earlier.”

“It’s not the hour that matters, Sunset. It’s what’s done in that time between consciousness and unconsciousness.”

“Okay, you’ve lost me.”

Adagio sighed. “It’s… hard to explain. I don’t quite get it myself, and I’m not exactly sure why I’m coming to you. Maybe because I think you’ll understand—or at least are more likely to understand—where I’m coming from.”

Sunset glanced at the clock. There was still some time before the buses arrived and, thus, before school began. “Alright. So tell me.”

Adagio pinched the bridge of her nose. “Remember what I told you about a week ago? When I saw Artifex?”

“Yeah. He showed up at your apartment in the middle of the night thanks to his cat. What of it?”

“We talked for a good while. Eventually I tried to ask him what was going on with him.”

“Ooh. He didn’t respond too well, did he?”

“At first it seemed like he would have, actually. There was something in his eyes. He was desperate. Vulnerable. He looked like he wanted to tell me anything and everything.” Adagio sighed again. “In short, he looked like he was experiencing a deep and profound pain. It made me remember when we first met…”

“That’s behind you,” Sunset immediately said. “Besides, he said he forgave you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, that’s what he said. And I’d like to believe him. But…”

“But the way he acted towards you on that night made you think otherwise,” Sunset finished.

Adagio nodded. “He and I were having a pleasant conversation; and then he just walked away. I saw the pain in his eyes, Sunset; and then I saw anger. I saw a lot of it. And I thought: was it because of me?”

She held up a hand before Sunset could speak. “Yes, I know. The likelihood of that is fairly low, given what he’s said before and his insistence that we’re fine. But knowing that Artifex has changed so much, can you not say that it was understandable of me to assume that I was the reason for that change?”

Sunset could indeed not. “But that doesn’t strike as who Artifex is,” she argued. “I mean, sure, it makes sense for him to be mad at you. But for over a month? And then so suddenly, even when the two of you were having a nice talk? It strikes me as there being more to the story than just holding a simple grudge.”

“Which is also what I’m thinking.” Adagio rubbed her eyes. “And because of that, I spend more nights awake and wondering than I do actually sleeping.”

She looked back at Sunset. “And that makes me wonder more things. Primarily: why do I suddenly care so much for that boy? Why him? What about him makes me want to help?”

“Because you care about him.”

“But why?” She uncrossed her arms. “Sunset, you know me. I don’t help mostly anyone beyond my sisters. So why him? What about him makes him special enough to warrant my worry?”

Sunset opened her mouth to answer; then she closed it. Adagio nodded. “I thought so.”

“So you’re confused?”

“That and more, Sunset. Which is unlike me.”

“All because of Artifex?”

“So it seems.”

Sunset rubbed the back of her head. “I don’t know what to tell you, Adagio. It’s natural for people to worry about others. But I also get that Artifex is… different. More different than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I’m not expecting some magical, friendship answer, Sunset,” Adagio said. “But I think you know Artifex just as well as I do.”

“Yeah, I guess… Maybe after the Fall Hallows’ Eve Event, he’ll be better.”

“We can only hope.”

Sunset hesitated. Looking at Adagio, she saw that the ex-Siren truly was worse for wear. Not only did her eyes droop, but so did her hair. Where was that uniquely sinister sharpness? Had it left just as Artifex had left?

Sunset walked over and placed a hand on Adagio’s shoulder, surprising her. “If it’s any consolation, I think it’s great that you want to help Artifex. I think he needs all the help he can get, even if—”

“—he doesn’t seem to want it,” Adagio finished. “As cheesy as it will sound, I don’t intend on giving up on that boy just yet. He… he deserves a life without all that pain, wherever it stems from.”

“That, we can agree on.”

Suddenly, the bell rang. They heard the distant tremble of buses arriving on the school grounds. “Anyway, I’d better get my stuff,” Sunset said. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Let’s,” Adagio said. They walked back into the music room.

***

Some teachers and students had heard the band playing in the morning. As Sunset went to get her lunch, she was hailed by these few, and they complemented the music they had made. Hearing all this brought a small smile to her face. She grew more excited for the Event with each passing moment.

That did not mean, of course, that she was completely exempt of any stomach butterflies. There was still the fact that other schools would be there. Would their music impress them, or turn them away? Principal Celestia had also not specifically requested any type of music, so Rainbow told them all to go with what they usually played. What if one of the schools asked them to play some slow dance? Or some other style they were unfamiliar with? Plus, there was still the issue of apparently some Crystal Prep kids showing up. From what she had heard and gathered, the level of animosity between them and the Canterlot High students was toxic. And surprisingly so, over something as nice-sounding as “The Friendship Games.”

But she knew that she didn’t have butterflies just from those thoughts alone. Adagio’s words had continued to bother her throughout the morning. Now was no different. Combined with her previous worries over Artifex, they plagued her with worry.

What truly had changed, she sought to know. What made the boy act the way he did now? These were, of course, mere repetitions of questions she had asked and been asked. No answer was given; no answer was received.

Pondering over it yielded nothing; but not pondering over it somehow felt worse. What was that old saying? To not act was to act, but action moved the world, while inaction did not.

The tray in her hand shook under the weight of the cafeteria’s food. She walked over to her friends’ table, and saw that they all had sat down as well. She sat next to the open seat left by Soul.

“Well, now that we’re all here,” Rarity began, “how were everyone’s morning classes?”

“Fine” was the most common answer, with a little bit of explanation from each. Rainbow, surprisingly, was the most vocal. “Mr. Solil decided to expand our quote project to the day after the Fall Hallows’ Eve Event,” she said.

“Why is that?” Clyde asked.

“Something about it being bad luck to have to turn in something on an important day, I think.”

“How is your quote project going, by the way?” Sunset asked. “Were you able to find anything good?”

“A lot, actually,” Rainbow said. “But I’m having a hard time trying to pick which one to choose.”

“But you just need to pick one quote, right?” asked Swift.

“Not quite. We also have to interpret it, and explain the quote and our interpretation to the class.”

“That don’t sound too bad,” said Applejack. “But d’ya at least have some idea how to explain yer quotes, Rainbow?”

Rainbow shrugged. “A little. But, like I said, I still have to choose which one to use.”

“Maybe we can help?” suggested Clyde.

Rainbow took out her binder and turned to where she had her notes. As the others mulled over what she had written and offered their own insight, Sunset turned to the doors that were right next to their table. They opened, revealing Sonata and her sisters. Once Sunset had waved to them, they sat down at the table.

“We’re still allowed?” Aria asked.

Sunset offered a smile. “Well, you’re free to sit anywhere else if you want. No one’s stopping you.”

Their conversation drifted to something that had been on everyone’s minds since the beginning of the month: the Fall Hallows’ Eve Event. “Have you picked out any dresses yet?” Sonata asked the girls.

They all looked to Rarity, and she nodded. “Not to worry; I’ve got all of them covered. Yours, too, Sonata.” The ex-Siren squealed happily.

“Kind of disappointing that the principals didn’t make it a costume party,” Soul said. “You know, what with it being October 31st and all.”

“They probably wouldn’t mind if some of us did show up in a costume,” Sunset said. “I heard some freshmen say they’d do that.”

“Yeah, but they’re freshmen. Doing stupid things is kind of their whole deal.”

She sounded a little more bitter than she should have. At Sunset’s questioning look, Sonata said, “Don’t mind her. She got a bad grade in chemistry, while the freshman next to her got a better grade for telling a dumb joke on the front of the paper.”

Sunset took a bite of her food, then swallowed. “What about you, Adagio? How was your morning?”

She at least looked a bit more at peace, though her eyes were still that contrasting combination of sharpness and tiredness. “It was fine for the most part. History was boring, though.”

“Really? I’d thought you’d like it since, you know, you lived through it,” Soul said around a mouth of mashed potatoes.

Adagio smirked. “Trust me, when your teacher says the wrong things about Leonardo Da Vinci, it makes the class much harder than you’d think.”

She looked back at the couple. “So I’d imagine you two are going to the Fall Hallows’ Eve Event together, then.”

“Of course we are!” Soul exclaimed.

“Are you going to match up, then? Wear identical or similar outfits?”

“Well, I mean, that’s what I wanted to do, but Sunset wasn’t having it.”

Sunset lightly smacked his shoulder. “Soul, I told you. There is no way I’m wearing that chain bikini when it’s cold out.”

“See? She doesn’t want to have any fun.”

“Come now, Sunset,” Adagio said, “I’m sure it’d be interesting to at least wear something like that.”

“Now don’t you encourage him, too…”

“Besides, I’m sure you’d look absolutely… ravishing.” Adagio winked. Soul went red-faced while Sunset gave her a half-lidded stare.

“You’d like that sort of thing, wouldn’t you?”

Adagio didn’t immediately answer. She turned away, and Sunset could still see a lingering smile on her face. Well, at least she doesn’t seem as down as she did this morning.

Adagio’s face then turned downward. Her gaze sat upon the empty seat beside her. Then she turned back to Sunset. The two shared an understanding nod.

“What about the rest of you girls and guys?” Sonata asked. “What are you planning to do for the Event?”

Rainbow made a face. “You mean besides play the music? I dunno. Party, maybe, if we can. Hopefully Principal Celestia would allow us that.”

“I thought you liked playing, though.”

“Hey, I do. But I also like to do other things, too. Sure, I wouldn’t mind flaunting how awesome I am, especially to those Crystal Prep kids and the other schools, but it’d be nice to just dance and have fun.”

“I’m sure the principals will let us do that,” Fluttershy said. “Maybe we’ll be like the, um, what’s it called?”

“The opening act?” Rarity suggested.

“Yeah, that. Maybe that’s what we’ll be. We’ll play for a bit, and then maybe Vinyl will play some of her music and we’ll be able to take a break.”

“That would be pretty nice,” Applejack said. She sipped a bit of her juice. “Ah wouldn’t mind dancing to one of Vinyl’s new beats.”

“Preferably with a boy.”

“Consarn it, Rarity, Ah told you; Ah’ll date when Ah’ll date, and there ain’t no point in roping me in with some random guy!”

Rarity turned to Soul. “Soul? Tell Applejack that she should get a date.”

Soul shook his head. “No way! I don’t want to die.”

“Smart move, cousin,” Applejack murmured as Rarity let out a disgruntled groan.

Their conversation continued to be nice and light. In some sense, that was how it should have been. Girls and guys, heroes and former villains, all sitting at one table, talking about their day. Sunset briefly wondered if Twilight would be proud.

Then she looked to the empty seat and remembered what was missing. Or rather, who.

***

It didn’t last long; it being the emptiness, the missing seat, the sense that there was someone who belonged there but wasn’t.

The doors to the cafeteria opened. He stepped through them, wielding a simple, wooden, curved cane. He had taken the time to curl the back of his cut so that the ends of his hair no longer resembled straight daggers, but instead were like waves of ice. It seemed that was the only change on him; still did he wear that yellow, long-sleeved jacket, that black-and-white striped undershirt; still did he bear those hurting eyes, those pained expressions; still did he limp; and still did he appear colder.

Soul was the first to spot him, and immediately he poked Sunset in the arm. At her questioning, he pointed to the boy who stood there. She turned and saw him, stopping whatever conversation she was having with Sonata midway, and in turn the ex-Siren also turned and saw him. Then the others, noticing their gaping maws, turned and also saw him. It culminated with Adagio, who turned so slowly that Sunset might have thought she had hurt her neck. Her mouth didn’t open, but Sunset already knew that a silent question pressed against her lips.

The boy scanned the cafeteria. His eyes stopped on them, particularly on Sunset. While his mouth did not at all move, his lips twitched, and his gaze sharpened. He asked a silent question, one fraught with more emotion than he let on. Sunset answered with an equally silent answer, nodding her head.

The boy walked slowly over. His cane made light tap-tap-tap sounds against the floor, but to Sunset, they were like hammers banging against the wood. His limp, she saw, had worsened; each step resulted in a pained expression crossing his face, and he dragged his leg through it all like it was a wounded animal. His journey was slow; slow enough that they had enough time to all scooch over a little more to give him a little extra space.

No one dared speak. Even if they did, what would they have said? “Oh, hi, how are you? Where’ve you been? Why aren’t you saying anything?” Sunset knew these questions weren’t at all necessary. She figured he’d either answer them on his own, or not at all; it had proven pointless in the past to goad him.

He finally reached them. He hesitated, staring at the seat beside Adagio. The ex-Siren watched him, cautiously, warily, and her arm stretched out a little, as if beckoning him to sit down. He did not move. He did not speak. He did not yield.

Only when he shuffled a little forward and made a little groan and prop his cane against the side of the table did he finally and stiffly sit down. Shoulders slumping, he rolled his backpack down and onto the floor. He didn’t’ seem intent on eating anything.

They watched him in silence. He had his hands locked together, arms bent, face down and hidden beneath his shadow. It looked like he was praying; Sunset could have sworn she saw his lips move, even as no sound came out.

He tilted his head, just enough so that, with one eye, he could see everyone, but they still could not see his face. Through that cerulean gaze, he looked at them all. It might have seemed he was searching them, but to Sunset, it was more as if he was remembering something. He stopped at about equal time on each person, blinking like a lens, then moved on to the next. Then he lowered his head so that they couldn’t see his face anymore.

Adagio’s arm came back around to her body. She kept her gaze on him. Sunset knew she was feeling doubtful. She suspected they all were.

Aria was the first to clear the silence. “Well?”

The boy didn’t answer; he didn’t even give an indication that he had heard her. Aria huffed. She turned to the others, to her sisters. “So are you going to say something, or should I?”

“Now isn’t the time, Aria,” Adagio sternly said. Her voice was soft, yet scathing. It seemed to be enough for Aria, though, as she somberly clambered up.

The boy still said nothing. Adagio hesitantly raised her arm again, and made to place it on him, perhaps to rub his arm, as little comfort as that would provide. Just before she did, though, the boy raised his head again, this time all the way.

Sunset saw the complete opposite of what she’d been seeing for the past month. He looked tired. There were bags underneath his eyes that stuck out from his pale skin. While the back of his head had been stylized, his front was a mess, like not even a steamroller could have straightened it out. Judging by the redness that appeared in the corners, he had either not slept at all, or had been crying; either option felt somehow right. His lips seemed thinner, and his face seemed leaner, like he hadn’t been eating—a horrifying thought.

More surprising, still, was that he stared at Sunset blankly. He was seemingly in another world, an entirely different plane. Behind those eyes she couldn’t see his thoughts, but it was clear he was trying to understand something. The corners of his eyes slackened; she saw more exhaustion in them then she had ever seen in her life.

No, wait; that was wrong. She had seen them. In fact, she had felt them herself.

Suddenly Sunset knew one thing: she understood one part of Artifex that no one else here would. His eyes at first appeared blank, but now, as she stared at them, she realized she was seeing a sea of utter emotional turmoil, even if the waves were low, the tide non-existent. In his eyes, she saw it.

Guilt.

Memories flashed through Sunset’s mind. Memories of after the Fall Formal, and all that pain she felt, the guilt she had when she saw what she had done and almost done. It brought an unpleasant sensation to her body.

Her eyes glanced at Adagio and, surprisingly, she thought she saw something similar going on with her. She flinched like she’d been hit by something.

Then Sunset looked back at the boy. Her throat suddenly felt dry. She swallowed.

Finally, Adagio spoke up.

“Artifex?”

It was if someone had turned on the light in the boy’s head. He blinked; his eyes were no longer blank. He turned to Adagio and, while his movements were still stiff, managed a weak nod.

And when he spoke, it came out like he hadn’t used his voice in a lifetime; but the mere fact that he did speak was enough to momentarily quench Sunset’s fears.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

He turned away, murmuring again, “It’s me…”

No one made a move, not even Aria, who, to Sunset’s surprise, also stared at the boy. Sonata looked to her, making vague gestures. Sunset shrugged, at a loss for words.

Artifex’s hands trembled like he was shivering. Once or twice, he opened his mouth, probably to say more, but each time his voice simply would not form.

He really did look vulnerable. Broken, even, if Sunset stretched the definition of the word.

It truly was like looking into a mirror.

Adagio cleared her throat. “How… how are you?”

Sunset expected a terse answer, but he gave no such thing. Instead, heaving a sigh, he said softly, “Not well.”

“Not… well?” Adagio asked.

He shook his head, fists clenching and unclenching. “Nope.”

Sunset looked to the others. They had on her same look: one of uncertainty. She turned back to Artifex, frowning. “Do… do you want to talk about it?”

“N—”

He cut himself off with another sigh. He ran his hands through his hair, messing it up even further. He looked back up at Sunset, voice still small and fragile. “I… I don’t know.”

“Oh.” She looked away for a second, before forcing a smile. “Well, that’s okay. You don’t have to if you don’t want to—”

“No.”

“Um… what?”

He slipped his hands into his pockets. His shoulders shook. There was fire in his eyes, a cold, blue fire. But it didn’t seem directed at any of them. He muttered a curse under his breath, and his voice was hard and frustrated, filled with that anger, oozing with that anger; it was poisonous to hear, to see him rendered in such a sorry state.

“I don’t want to,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t. That doesn’t… that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t.”

Breath escaped out of his nose. “I don’t understand it myself. I don’t understand what’s going on, or why things are they are, or… or… well, you know. Or you don’t. I don’t know…”

Was he confused? Delirious, perhaps? He sounded deeply perturbed, deeply troubled. Sunset’s concern grew.

“Uh… Artifex?” Sonata asked. “Are… are you sure you want to talk about this? Because it sounds like you aren’t.”

“Of course I’m not sure,” he said, not even looking up. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m saying anything.”

“That…”

“Doesn’t make any sense? Of course it doesn’t. Not to you. Not to me. It’s not supposed to.”

Sunset stared at him. What was he even saying? It made no sense. She doubted there was an ounce of clarity in—

She paused, some faint recollection of a darker moment shimmering in her mind. Of a dark house, and the creaking sound of a door opening, and a friend showing up at the doorstep, and her mumbling and rambling about highs and lows, about pain, about trying to pick herself up.

Another point of understanding had been crossed. She nodded to herself.

“Try us,” she implored, leaning slightly forward. “Talk to us.”

He responded with a nod. Then, after a moment of collecting his scattered thoughts, he asked, “How much have I changed?”

“What do you mean?” Soul asked.

“From when we first met. From the first day. To now.”

They all looked between each other. Rainbow answered for them. “You’ve changed… a lot.”

“I know.” He sighed. “And… you’ve worried.”

Rarity also sighed. “That’s putting it mildly, darling. We were—”

“Super worried,” Pinkie put in. “Like, super-duper worried. It was like you were a completely different person!”

He didn’t say anything, but he did stare at Aria for several seconds, like he was expecting something from her. She huffed. “Or maybe it was like you had regressed.”

He nodded. “You wouldn’t be wrong.”

He looked away. “How would you… describe me back then?”

“Nice,” Fluttershy immediately said.

“Quiet,” said Clyde, and Swift said that, too.

“Contemplative,” Sunset added.

“And thoughtful,” Soul said.

“Intriguing,” Adagio muttered.

Each one expressed similar thoughts and ideas, but he didn’t smile at any one of them. He then asked: “And… how would you describe me now?”

“Different,” said Fluttershy.

“But how?”

“You’re… you’re—”

“Colder. Distant,” said Rainbow. She had a sour look on her face. “Altogether angrier, really.”

“Much different than when we first met,” added Applejack, pulling her Stetson down a little. “Or maybe more similar than Ah can imagine.”

Artifex nodded. “I… I have been angry. I’ve been… very angry. Angrier than I ever should be. Angrier than was reasonable.”

He sadly shook his head, adopting a familiar frown. “In turn, I turned that anger onto you all. I… I was rude. I was mean.”

“Oh, you weren’t that bad,” Fluttershy tried to reassure him, but he shook his head again.

“Doesn’t matter what you think. That’s how I feel. That’s how I am.”

He placed his head between his hands. “Point is,” he said, though his voice was obstructed by the angle, “I messed up. Badly. I pushed you away without thinking, without meaning to. All because I was angry.”

Adagio mumbled something, and Artifex shot his head up. “What was that?” he asked, turning to her.

She did not wilt under his harsh gaze. “I said that that begs the question: why were you so angry?” In a smaller voice she added, “Was it because of me?”

To her surprise and Sunset’s relief, Artifex almost immediately shook his head. “No. Not you. Not again.” Briefly he glanced at Sonata, then at Aria, as if including them in his answer. “It isn’t because of you,” he repeated.

Sunset asked what was all on their minds: “Then why were you mad in the first place?”

At this, he let out an annoyed grunt. “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? Why, indeed…”

He stared into empty space. “One day, you wake up and see that all other options are exhausted; the only one left is the one you wanted to choose the least. You look around and you see that everything has changed. You go to the bathroom and stare at the mirror and you can’t even recognize yourself anymore. And then you feel it: the resigned realization that not everything is okay, that everything isn’t as you wanted it to be. And then you’re left alone with your thoughts, and they swarm and badger you, and you can’t answer every question they raise without bringing two more. All of a sudden, you’re so confused that you can’t even properly think. You don’t even know why you are the way you are. All of a sudden, you don’t know anything anymore.”

“So… you’re confused,” Sonata said.

He glared at her, before his gaze dropped. “Yes, Sonata. I am confused.”

Tapping his finger on the table, he continued, “Maybe… maybe that’s why I’m back. I don’t want to be confused anymore, but I don’t know where to start.”

Sunset heard Rainbow heave a pent-up sigh. “Rainbow?” she called. “Is there something you want to add?”

“You’re damn right there is!” She leaned forward, glaring daggers into the boy. “Dude! Just tell us why you’re so angry!”

“That’s just it, Rainbow,” he said. His voice subdued her by a great deal. She flinched at the softness in it; if he didn’t sound tired before, he did now, and somehow more than ever. “I can’t.”

“Why? Why can’t you just tell us that?” she asked.

He turned to face her. “Because I don’t know why, Rainbow. I just don’t. I’ve been saying that for a while now. I don’t know at all.”

He waved an arm. “Don’t you see? I don’t understand what is going on with me. The only thing I understand is that I don’t understand, and that’s a paradox in it of itself. Don’t you see? No, of course you don’t. How could you? You’re not me. You’re nothing like this. None of you are.”

He nearly slammed his hands onto the table, but somehow he found the will inside to stop himself. “God, I’ve been so stupid… so idiotic. It was a mistake to come here without anything definitive.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Sorry for wasting your time. I’ve messed up, and… and I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know anything. I’m just a confused boy, nothing more. I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll go now.”

Once upon a time, Sunset would have let him go quite easily. It was his choice, after all, and she didn’t have a right to intrude nor infringe upon his decision. Once upon a time, she would have said “Alright” and waited for him to come to her, to them, in his own time, once he was ready.

This wasn’t one of those times. This was different.

“Artifex, wait.”

She didn’t grab his hand, but the way he reacted, she might have thought she had. He stiffened up, midway through his departure, one hand already reaching for his cane. With his face turned away, and his medium-length hair covering the sides, she couldn’t see the rest of him; but somehow, she knew that his eyes were trained on her, and that his lips were pressed into a tight frown.

Sunset considered her options. The words had flown out of her mouth like it was nothing. Instinct had driven her, nothing more, nothing less. She knew he was waiting for her to say something, and she knew she had something to say. But how best to phrase it?

She glanced at Soul, and he made an almost imperceptible nod. She thought about Twilight, about what she would do. Then she realized she already knew, because she’d been here before.

She stood up. Artifex flinched at the sudden movement. He was so caught up in his surprise that he didn’t think to move away as she walked over to his side and stood in front of him. She set a level gaze on him, determined not to sway underneath his sharp one. “Sunset,” he whispered. It was not a direct question, but it did carry with it an inquiry.

“Artifex. You’re confused.”

“Yes.”

“I get that.”

“Do you?”

“More than you can hope to know. But listen to me, Artifex. You don’t have to be confused alone.”

“Confusion is better left that way, I thought.”

“In some cases, maybe. This isn’t one of them. Or, it doesn’t have to be one of them.”

He didn’t respond. Sunset stared into his eyes. “Arty. We want to help. You know that, right?”

Surprisingly not bothering to correct her, he nodded. “But I’m not sure you know how,” he murmured.

“I don’t know if we know exactly, either,” she admitted. “I mean, you said it yourself: this doesn’t make much sense. But pain usually doesn’t.”

“Pain?”

“You’re in pain, Artifex.” She looked at his cane, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t try to deny it; you know it’s true.”

“Alright, so I’m in pain. And?”

“People, when they’re in pain, seek a remedy. Sometimes they go to the doctor for that prescription.”

“You’re no doctor, Sunset.”

“Believe me, I know. But we can help you, Artifex.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Maybe I don’t. But you don’t either. That’s why you bothered showing up at our table, isn’t it? You wanted to know if it was possible for you to get better.”

He didn’t answer.

“So you’re here now. And so are we.” She placed a hand on Artifex’s shoulder. “Let us try to help you, Artifex.”

“And if you can’t?”

“Then we can’t. It’s a nice thought, thinking we can solve anything we put our minds to, but I think you, I, and several others know that that isn’t always the case. But we won’t know,” she added, looking directly into the boy’s eyes, “unless we try.”

Her hand slipped away. “We’re friends, Artifex. We’ve been for a good while, now. And I think I can safely speak for all of us that we will not abandon you even if you want to slip away. We’ve pestered you for a month—” At that, the barest hint of a smile, so faint that Sunset almost missed it, appeared on his face; “—and, if we have to, we’ll pester you for another month. Because friends want to help each other out, Artifex. They’ll be there for you at your best and at your worst.” She looked at the others. She smiled. “Take it from me; they’ll be with you always.”

She stepped away. “I’m not going to force you into doing anything you don’t want to. But just know that I think this is what you want, deep down. I think you should take it.”

She walked back around to her seat and sat down, and she watched Artifex carefully. Still the boy did not answer; still the boy did not move.

He suddenly turned to look at them all. His cerulean eyes were bright once more. It was a welcome sight to see, even if it was a small one. He didn’t say anything, but Sunset knew that he was thinking it through. They stared back, expectant.

“Let us help,” Adagio whispered.

He heard her, somehow. They may have been the same words that Sunset had used, but they spoke to him on a different level. He nodded.

Artifex sat down again, and set his cane down, and his backpack, and, after some moments had passed, took out his lunch and tried to at least look like he had been there the whole time.

The bell rang only minutes after, but that didn’t matter. Artifex was with them now. Sunset hoped he’d be there for a long time.

35) Day Fifty-Nine: Preparations

“The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.”
Emily Dickinson

***

It was quiet in Blueblood’s house, somewhat to his surprise. Oz was busy at work outside, tending to one of the many gardens that surrounded the property, and aside from the hose being turned on, he didn’t make a sound. Both the bottom floor and top floors were filled with that same silence; it would have unnerved him had he not been concentrating on something else.

Blueblood sat in his room, pooling over his laptop. It vibrated and hummed at a low intensity, not enough to interrupt his thoughts. His backpack, along with his books, binders, and school supplies, lay beside him on the bed, finished and placed aside. He had opened a web page and currently was scrolling through its contents, reading what it posted thoroughly. He frowned. The information was very new to him, yet he couldn’t help but think it was almost familiar. He couldn’t place exactly why, and kept reading.

Interesting… so that’s her? And that’s him? Odd; I feel like there would be more to it than this…

He moved the curser over to the “back” button and was about to click it, when the silence of the mansion was cut by a clear, yet quiet call.

“Blueblood?”

His ears perked up. Aurora. Looking over his laptop, he saw her standing in his doorway, her face bright-red. With the door halfway closed, that was the only thing visible. Hiding behind doorways… he recalled that that had been a habit of hers since she was little; she obviously had yet to break it.

“What is it, Aurora?” he asked. “Come to annoy me again?”

“Actually, I need your advice.”

“Can’t it wait? I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

“None of your business. You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, it can’t wait. It’s… kind of important.”

“Do I have to give it while you stand behind the door?”

“No…”

Blueblood sighed. “Aurora, please. We’re cousins, and while we may not always get along, I promise that I won’t bite.”

“I know, Blue-Blue… it’s just a bit embarrassing, that’s all.”

“If it’s so embarrassing, then maybe you should ask someone else. Like Oz, or—” He paused. “Or my mother or father. Or perhaps your aunt.”

“It’s too late for that,” she said with a shake of her head. “And, no offense to Ozzy, but I don’t think he’d quite understand.”

“Fair enough. Fine. What is it?”

She hesitated for a second, before finally pushing the door fully open. Her face somehow managed to turn a shade darker. In her hands, she held up two dresses that were placed between clear, plastic baggage. In her left was a light-blue one, almost a teal color, and it was very plain and simple. In her other hand was one dress of a similar color scheme as her Winnipiac school uniform, though it was one solid color—navy—all the way down.

“I, uh, picked these out when I went shopping a few days ago,” she said, still blushing. “They were… kind of expensive.”

“Not to worry; we’ve the money.”

She nodded, but still looked nervous. “And, uh, I… I can’t decide which one I should wear.”

“Really?” He looked at both the dresses. “I know I wear a lot of fancy clothes, Aurora, but am I really the person you want to be asking? I’m not expert in fashion, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. But you’re the most honest person I know!”

That stung, and Blueblood visibly cringed. Winnipiac, as incredibly diverse as it was, was not free of the natural corruption that schools often bred. Already there had been several rumors and allegations going around that ranged from fantastically plausible to fantastically… well, fantastic. Sure, it was a good school, but if Aurora had to use Blueblood, of all people, as a comparison for honesty, then perhaps it wasn’t as good as he had believed.

He cleared his throat. “You may think that, Aurora, but what good would that do if I don’t know what I’m talking about?”

She tilted her head. “Well, for one, if you think they’re both awful, you won’t hold back.”

“True, but those are the only dresses you have, aren’t they?”

Aurora hung her head and heaved a heavy sigh. “Yeah, they are… I know you can’t really help me, Blue-Blue, but… you’re really the only one here I can turn to.”

She turned to leave, but Blueblood closed his laptop and stood up. “Hold on for a moment, Aurora,” he said. “At least let me look at the dresses again, would you?”

She turned back around and nodded. She moved a little closer, letting Blueblood get a better look. Rubbing his chin in a manner similar to a certain friend, he examined each and every part of the dress to the best of his ability. They were the same size, but of different material, though what specifically he couldn’t decipher. The light-blue one was also much lighter; if she went out in just that, she might catch a cold. The navy dress, meanwhile, was of a heavier sort, likely due to the different in material. Both suffered from being more plain-looking.

“Any particular reason why you chose these two?” he asked, looking up.

“Um… besides I liked the way they looked?”

“But you’ve worn more vibrant dresses in the past. And, if you’re twelfth birthday was any indication, you usually like wearing something with more pizzaz.” He raised an eyebrow. “So why choose—not that I’m judging you, because there’s something objectively pleasant about the simple—clothing like this?”

Inwardly, Blueblood wondered why clothes that were indeed this simple were still expensive. While he’d never wandered into a thrift store before, he wondered if these were the kinds of clothes you’d find there.

“It’s, um… complicated.”

“Really?” He took the light-blue dress and held it out, pulling at the sleeves. “A complicated reason for non-complicated clothing? Are you a poet, Aurora?”

“I’d like to be; you know that.”

“Right.”

“But it is complicated. I don’t know if you’d understand.”

“Try me.”

She hesitated, again. Only when he had given back the dress did she finally speak up. “Okay. Um… you know how, when you meet people, you want to give a certain kind of first impression?”

“Of course I do, Aurora. I was raised to provide the best kind of first impression.”

“And usually that’s done so that people like you, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Well… I want someone to like me. And I want to give a good first impression. So it’s got to be right. And it’s… it’s gotta be something that the person would like. At least, what I think they’d like… does that make sense?”

Blueblood nodded. “In other words, you want to impress someone.”

Her blush only grew more ferocious, and she giggled nervously. He smiled. “Then the next logical question is, of course, who is this person that you oh-so-badly want to impress?”

She hid behind the dresses, and Blueblood could still see her red face. “U-uh… it’s… it’s nobody you’d know…”

“Alright, let me guess; that kid you met on the street while shopping yesterday? What was his name, Tickle Taps?”

“Tender Taps. But it’s not him…”

“No? Hmm… how about one of your classmates?”

“No…”

“Me?”

“Ew, Blueblood. Of course not. It’s… it’s actually someone you would know…”

His smile widened. “Oh? So you were lying. Okay.” He proceeded to list off a bunch of random names, all of which were familiar to him, none of which were familiar to her. At least half were just a mishmash of two people’s names that he threw in as a joke.

Judging by her nervous laughter that kept increasing in pitch, Aurora was quickly waning. “No, it’s none of them!”

“Are you sure? Then let me list off another thirty—”

“Blue… you know who it is already.”

He sighed, still smiling. “Of course I do, Aurora. You’re not much of a liar; you’re too transparent, too easy to read.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She gently placed the dresses onto one side of the bed, before plopping down next to her cousin. He let out another pensive sigh. “So it is No Clue. Hmm. Do you really think he’d like those dresses?”

She shrugged. “He doesn’t strike me as someone who likes the rich things, like we do. So… I figured it was worth taking that risk.”

“And you came to me because you thought I knew Clue the best, and would be able to verify that risk, didn’t you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Transparent as a silvery veil, am I?”

“Come now, Aurora. The Borealis is anything but transparent.” He meant it as a joke, but she did not smile. “Oh, don’t be so moody, cousin mine. You know I meant it as a jest.”

“I know, Blue… but this isn’t something I want to joke about.” She turned to him, eyes shimmering; was she about to cry? “I know it’s a bit weird for me to act this way, but… I’ve never had a crush before. And Clue just seems… he just seems right.”

He raised an eyebrow, then looked away. “So you are indeed serious about going to the Hallows’ Eve Event,” he said.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“A small part of me thought that you were going because you wanted to annoy me.”

“No! Well, actually… okay, maybe that’s part of it. But—”

“But you want to go because you want to see him,” he finished. “And perhaps to swoon him over, and then to have him carry you into the sunset?”

She blushed heavily once again. “I-I was just thinking of… trying to dance with him, that’s all!”

Blueblood laughed. “Oh, I know. Aurora, you are far too pure to consider such things. You’ve probably never read a romance novel ever, have you?”

“Only one, I think…”

“Thus you are not caught up in some misguided fantasy about what love is and what love demands. You should count yourself lucky; not everyone can be free of such a storybook mindset.”

Blueblood briefly looked away, remembering Rarity. He meant what he said not as scorn, but as words derived from experience. Based on the fact that she and Clyde were together and had been together for a good amount of time, perhaps they, too, had escaped that fantasy.

He tapped the dresses beside him. “You’ve good taste, Aurora. And though I don’t know No Clue’s personal fashion biases, I think it is safe to say that he’ll like either.”

“I sense a ‘but,’ there, Blue.”

“But I personally think you’d look more complete in this navy one.” He turned to her and winked. “It’ll bring out your hair.”

Aurora finally smiled; it made Blueblood’s heart soar. “You… you really think he’ll like this one, then?” she asked, indicating the navy dress.

Blueblood looked back at the dress. “Clue is an interesting person, Aurora. Choosing to live by a moniker that, out of context, sounds mocking, yet being willing to embrace it; coming from a much higher-standard family, much like ourselves, but willing to live like a commoner; yes, Aurora. I think he’ll very much like this.”

“Enough that he might actually want to dance with me?”

“Of course he—”

The boy paused. He grimaced; he’d completely forgotten! Clue was already planning on dancing with someone; namely, Rainbow Dash. And, if his mannerisms had suggested anything, he wanted to dance with her for a good while.

Aurora, seeing his grimace, asked, “What’s wrong, Blueblood?”

“Er, nothing. Just a bit of a stomach bug, that’s all.” He cleared his throat. How best to rectify this? “Um… Aurora. No Clue is…” He searched for the perfect half-truth. “He’s… on the popular side. So… there’s a good chance he’ll be… busy during the dance.”

She blinked. “Busy? Like, making out with all the girls?”

“What? Of course not! Clue’s not—he’d never—” Blueblood suddenly had the image of the boy attempting to swap spit with someone else. “Ugh. No, Aurora, of course not. He’s more tame than that.”

“Oh…”

“What I mean is, he’ll… probably be dancing a lot. With others. Girls,” he clarified. Awkwardly rubbing the back of his head, he continued, “So… don’t expect to get front row seats with Clue, okay?”

To his surprise, Aurora let out a dismissive “pfft.” “I’m not that desperate, Blue. Even if it’s just once dance…” She sighed dreamily. “It’ll be enough.”

Blueblood looked at her. Her eyes were sharp and filled with intelligence, and despite her occasional klutziness, he knew deep down that she was the kind of kid who’d go far in life if she put her mind to it. A soft smile grew on his face, and she noticed.

“What are you smiling about?”

Blueblood reached around and grabbed her across the shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. “Nothing. It’s just… you’re growing up, Aurora. And despite our differences, I don’t think I’d be any prouder.”

She squirmed. “Geez, Blue; when you’d get so sentimental and sappy?”

“Must be from my friends.”

They hugged it out for a good while; long enough for the sun to noticeably shift, and the shadows that crossed Blueblood’s floor grew more slanted. But the hug was nice and warm and comforting. It reminded Blueblood of being a young boy and his only friend had been Aurora. How fitting, he mused, that we’d be here together once again.

He grabbed his laptop and opened it. He clicked the “back” button and waited as the cursor generated and began to circulate.

“What about you?” Aurora suddenly asked.

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

She flicked her head up, pushing aside her pink bangs and looking at Blueblood somewhat sleepily. “Who are you going with? You never told me?”

He chuckled. “Must have slipped my mind. I’ll be going with Blossomforth. Nice girl, honestly.”

“Got a suit?”

“The best-pressed tuxedo that money can buy. Of course, Canterlot is a bit limited in selection, but I think it’ll, as you say, ‘be enough.’”

“You’re gonna dance?”

“Obviously.”

“Can you still dance?”

“Of course I can, Aurora. I taught you a few moves, you know.”

“Funny,” she replied, slipping out of the hug and adopting a decidedly-Bluebloodian smirk. “I seem to recall that I taught you a few things, too.”

He scoffed. “Aurora Veil, are you implying that you are a better dancer than I am?”

“Maybe I am. After all, you haven’t practiced in a good while.”

“Oh, that’s it!” Blueblood pushed the laptop aside, standing up. “You and me, dear cousin mine. Downstairs, in the living room. Dance-off.”

She grinned. “You’re on! Last one down is a rotten egg!”

She and he dashed out of the room, laughing and goading each other as they went. Blueblood’s laptop let out a soft ping just as he was out of the room. More results could be seen, and among them was a dated article about one certain Frost family…

***

Mrs. Sweets Clue wiped away a tear. “Oh… my boy is growing up so fast!”

Mr. Hickory Clue nodded as well. “They never truly stay children for long, don’t they?”

No Clue rubbed the back of his head. “Um… Mom, Dad. Don’t you save the crying for, you know, the actual day of the event? Why are you having me try on this stuff now?”

“Because it doesn’t hurt to be prepared,” Mrs. Clue said through her tears. She held up her phone. “Besides, you look so dashing in that suit, dear! And I wanted to take the pictures as soon as I could!”

She darted side-to-side, her phone snapping and flashing with each step. Clue had to squint every time the flash went off; the redness on his face became a full-scale blush. Tempted as he was to wave his mom away, though, he could do little else but stand and try to save whatever bit of dignity he had left in him, for as long as that would take.

“Ooh! Do that little raised eyebrow that you always do!”

“Mom! Come on, isn’t it enough I’m already posing for you?”

“What if you threw your hair to the side a little? Or maybe if you got off of the fireplace and sat on the sofa? Yeah, do that; there’s better lighting over here anyway!”

No Clue begrudgingly walked over to the sofa and sat down. He tried to refuse to pose any further, but his mother was surprisingly strong. She managed to untangle his arms and place them right where she wanted them; then, she took some more pictures, oohing and ahhing with each new set.

I wonder if anyone else’s moms are like this? he wondered.

He looked to his dad, voice gone but eyes pleading. His dad still kept on laughing.

Eventually, though, Mrs. Clue had to take a break. “Aw, that stinks!” she pouted, holding up her phone with a frown. “My battery’s going to die. Dear, do you mind if I use yours?”

No Clue’s eyes widened, and he fiercely shook his head.

“I think we should allow our son a moment of respite, Sweets,” responded Hickory. He then winked. “We’ll pester him tomorrow.”

Sweets huffed. “Oh, all right, fine. Have it your way. I’ll just upload these now.”

Just as she turned away, No Clue summoned his strength and leapt off of the couch. In a mad dash, he went for his room, ignoring his mom’s startled cries and his father’s roaring laughter. He quickly slammed the door and locked it.

It wasn’t that he minded his parents’ antics. It was just that he was so nervous. He could not keep still for a moment, knowing that the night—the night—was just around the corner. He could barely get through the day without daydreaming about Friday. And from he had heard from other students, that was the case for a majority of them. In some classes, it had gotten so distracting that several teachers had banned just talking about it until further notice.

He took in a deep breath, then turned to face the vertical mirror that hung on his side of the door, taking a quick look at himself. Admittedly, it wasn’t too fancy of a suit. Striped with thin, faint, white lines, it wasn’t really a suit at all, but more of a vest—a brown one at that. He checked the cuffs and the cream sleeves, then ran his hands down the front, attempting to remove any creases. No doubt that his mother would throw a fit if he, tomorrow, showed up at the school with a wrinkled outfit.

He ran a shaking hand through his hair. While the posing itself had done nothing, being propped up against the couch had made it filled with static and dust; he’d need to wash it out soon. He made a mental note to, after school tomorrow, immediately take a shower and try not to mess up his hair. He considered stylizing it. But he didn’t know any particular styles, and Rainbow—awesome as she was to him—didn’t seem like someone who’d care about that.

He wondered what Rainbow would wear, but then he pushed the thought away; it seemed more invasive and a bit creepy to think about that.

“Ooh, this one! He’s so cute in this one!” he heard his mother exclaim.

“Dear, I think the flash was getting to him,” his father replied.

“Aw! I forgot he had such a cute, little nose! And such pinchable cheeks!”

No Clue blushed and tried to block out their voices. If his mother was this bad the day before, he shuddered to think what she’d be like tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Somehow, he always kept returning to that word, that frame of time. How had it caught up so fast? It seemed like a week ago that he’d even remotely heard of the Fall Hallows’ Eve Event. Now, all of a sudden, the school had truly been turned on its head (at least that’s what he saw). He hadn’t heard much of what the event would actually consist of, beyond the usual. He wasn’t even sure where the event would be held, though presumably it’d be the gym since it was the largest room in the school.

But that was still tomorrow. Hours away, even. Yet it felt like it was just on the next page in the metaphorical book of No Clue’s life, and he was so tempted to both slam the book shut or turn to that page. He couldn’t decide what was worse: the anxiety before the event itself, or the event itself and all of its prospects.

And what prospects were there. His parents had been ecstatic when he’d told them he’d actually gotten invited to the dance, and his father had teased about how this was the first step before romance truly blossomed. Remembering this, No Clue blushed and physically turned away. That was another issue that kept propping up: how would he go about confessing his feelings? Should he? Wouldn’t the dance itself be confession enough?

He considered asking Blueblood or Brutos for advice. His hand reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, and after a few taps, he arrived at their contact information. But he hesitated. As much as he wanted his friends’ help, he wondered if they even could. Maybe it was best if just winged it? After all, he’d probably get so nervous that he’d mess up any plan he’d come up with and absolutely flub even dancing with Rainbow—

He slapped himself in the head, hard, gasping while wincing in pain. That was another thing he’d forgotten: what dance they’d do? It was more likely that the school would play some of that electric-techno stuff, perhaps a bit of disco. He could probably dance to that; it took little effort to swing your arms to the beat. But on the off chance they began to play something slow…

No Clue wasn’t an expert in everything. Sure, he’d tried to learn a few moves from online videos, but there hadn’t been enough time to practice to perfection. One step, two step, three step, four; that was all he knew. What came next was a mystery.

So, if the school did play slow music and had all the couples (could he even call himself and Rainbow a couple?) come out onto the dance floor, there was a huge chance he’d make an absolute mess of himself.

With Rainbow watching.

And Blueblood and Brutos probably laughing all the while.

Yep; tomorrow wasn’t looking at all promising.

No Clue sighed, and tried to take several deep breaths. He needed to calm himself down; he could not afford to psyche himself out the day before he ought to be psyched out.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would worry. For now—

He didn’t complete that thought, as he suddenly felt his phone vibrate. He tapped on the Messages icon.

“Nervous?”

No Clue rolled his eyes. Perhaps his friend had some insanely good sense of intuition; or he really was psychic. He texted back: “Of course I’m nervous! Tomorrow’s the biggest night of our lives!”

“Come now, my friend. There are far bigger nights to come. High school graduation, college graduation, your 21st birthday… perhaps wedding nights, if you get lucky.”

“Dude, this is STILL a pretty big deal.”

“Of course it is.”

Blueblood paused there. In the meantime No Clue went over to his bed and sat down. He could still hear his parents in the living room, going over the pictures. Any second now, he expected to get an embarrassing text of praise from an older relative.

His friend returned sometime later: “How nervous ARE you, though?”

He sighed. “Very nervous. I’m afraid I’ll mess up.”

“Don’t be. You’ll probably mess up either way.”

“Gee. How encouraging.”

“It IS encouraging! What’s the point of worrying over messing up? Everyone messes up. You should focus on doing something right, not what you might possibly do wrong.”

“Are you sure your Public Speaking class is working out at all for you? Maybe you should take some lessons on how to attempt to sound inspirational.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Blueblood sent an emoji with rolling eyes. “In all seriousness, though, I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’re a good person, No Clue. She’ll appreciate you for who you are, I think; Rainbow isn’t, aside from personal exceptions, one to judge you for clumsiness.”

Clue managed to smile. “Maybe you’re right, Blueblood.”

“Or she, like myself, will laugh her ass off if you slip in some punch.”

“Hey, as long as you don’t spill it.”

“Ooh, low blow. But a good one; I’ll give you that.”

“What about you? Ready for the dance?”

“Of course I am. I’ve had my dress pressed and tailored. Blossomforth will have the time of her life!”

“Don’t let her dad hear that.”

“Come now, Clue, you know I’d never suggest something that vulgar.”

“Well, I hope you two do have a fun time. Maybe you’ll hook up in the end?”

“Who knows? Anything can happen at this point. And hey, if we’re lucky, you’ll be seeing some magic tonight.”

Before Clue could respond with a confused text, Blueblood sent a follow-up: “And I mean that literally. As in: actual magic. Not whatever the hell you were thinking. For a goody-two shoes, you sure have your mind in the gutter a lot, don’t you?”

“Hey! I go to a public school! Of course my mind would be somewhat in the gutter!”

Clue paused, then texted: “Wait… actual magic? Like that stuff from that Battle of the Bands?”

“Obviously. But don’t worry; if Sunset’s word is anything (which, by the way, is a lot of things, even I can attest to that), it’ll be pretty… well, pretty, but also benign. Nothing harmful, hopefully.”

“Hopefully?!”

“Yes, hopefully. Though, do try not to stare too long. We don’t want to create too much of a scene for anyone, right?”

“Er… right. If you say so…”

“I can sense your skepticism. Prepare to be amazed.”

No Clue’s mind drifted to Rainbow Dash, and tomorrow. He texted back: “Well, if all goes well, I WILL be amazed—in more ways than just one.”

“That’s the spirit!”

There was a ding, and No Clue received an image of a guy with two hands in thumbs-up position. He grimaced. Blueblood had an odd sense of picture humor.

There was another bit of vibration. “Hey, this is going to sound sudden, but you remember my cousin, right?”

Clue smiled. “Of course! How could I forget Aurora Veil?”

“She’ll be going to the Event as well. And I was wondering if, you know…”

“If I could help keep an eye on her?”

“Yes, in a way. Could you?”

“Sure thing, Blue. What are friends for?”

“Awesome, thanks. See you tomorrow, Clue.”

Once he saw that the conversation was over, Clue pocketed his phone. He raised his arms over his head, stretching, careful not to pull apart his outfit.

He noticed, suddenly, how quiet it had gotten in the house.

Then he heard footsteps approach; they stopped at his door. Someone knocked. “No Clue?”

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure. It’s open.”

The doorknob turned and the door swung slowly, allowing Mrs. Clue to enter. She didn’t have her phone on her. Behind the rimmed-glasses, she looked a bit hesitant to move any further.

Clue raised an eyebrow. “What’s up, Mom?”

“You know your father and I were just teasing around, right?”

“Of course I do. It’s just… I don’t want to get nervous before I should get nervous.”

She nodded, then walked over to Clue’s bed and sat down beside him. “You’re a junior in high school, dear. That’s a big year for you; you know that. You have to focus on your grades, colleges, letters of recommendation… but so far you’ve been handling all of it pretty well.” She offered a smile. “By all accounts and purposes, you’re handling yourself quite responsibly.”

“Aw, Mom,” Clue replied, rubbing the back of his head, “I’m just trying to be smart, that’s all.”

She looked straight at him. “But this dance… do you know how important it is?”

“Well, it’s pretty important, but not really in the grand scheme of things.”

“Really? Do you think so?”

“Well, Mom, to be fair, it is just a dance.”

“I suppose it is just a dance in a way.” She sighed. “But it’s more than that, I think. It’s a symbol. A sign.”

“A sign? Really?”

“Yes, Nostradamus. It’s a sign that you’re growing up. That you’re maturing. Facing a new day, and with every moment your thread between us and yourself grows more and more thin. You’re becoming your own person.”

No Clue paused. “Mom. It’s not like I’m going to forget either you or Dad or what you guys taught me all my life.”

She giggled. “Of course you won’t, dear. You’re far too smart for that.” She herself paused. “I guess what I’m saying is, when we take those pictures, it isn’t to embarrass you. We want to have a memory of before you grew up. Before you became your own man. Do you understand?”

He smiled. “Yeah. I think I do, Mom. We should enjoy the moment while it lasts, right?”

She nodded, giving her own smile. “Yes, that’s right, Nostradamus.” She looked at the clock. “Goodness! It’s getting close to dinner time, and I’ve still got to prepare the food.” She got up. “I’d better go do that, then. And you’d better change out of your vest, dear.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because I don’t want to risk having you spill your food on it.”

“Alright, Mom, I’ll do that.”

Mrs. Clue left the room, leaving No Clue by himself.

He gazed at the door; then at the window; then, taking his phone out, at the screen. It was blank. Blueblood hadn’t texted back. He looked back at the window. Then he got up and stared through it. Outside, the sky was a great splash of blue, and the grass was a vibrant green, and the sun was a brilliant shade of yellow and orange. The world looked so pure, so full, so ready.

Tomorrow was another day.

***

It was dark. The evening had come and gone, and night had settled in. But it was a clear dark, the kind with a clear sky and shining stars and a gleaming moon that, were it not for the oncoming black sky, would surely have substituted for daylight. It was dark, but not too dark.

There was a certain beauty in that observation. Dark and light had come together in a unique harmony. With the day’s passing came night’s entrance yet, as evidenced by the thin line of creamy pink that stretched from one side of the horizon to another, it had not truly given in. Night was no different, pushing and prodding along that edge, blending its color with day’s to make an inky sky. Clouds might as well have acted as barriers between the two. They circled all around, slightly transparent but still echoing a faint whiteness, receding from the moon and stars and the waning sun. Eyes drew upward; they focused on the bright objects above. Brightness had no true distinction at this time. Whether it came from the moon, or the stars, or the sun, you could not argue that it was not bright; you could not argue that that definition of brightness was not the same everywhere.

The two lived in that harmony, sharing each other’s space. One would peek out, as would the other. This was a truth of the world; night would follow day, day would follow night. Each defined the sky in their own way. It was useless to consider them enemies if they both worked for that same goal.

Artifex Frost was not much of an observer of the heavens, but even he could not deny that truth. The world had a rich layer above it; who would he be if he did not try and appreciate it?

Without his jacket (surprisingly, he had opted to take it off for tonight), the world felt cool upon his skin as the gentle call of the wind whispered in his ear and touched his arms. The ache in his wrists began to recede, and the pain in his left leg began to subside. He breathed in and out, feeling that cool, autumn air rush through him like a rollercoaster of nature. It exhilarated him, and that was odd, for he had not felt exhilarated in seemingly a long time.

It was the same wind, the same voice, that had sang to him on his first day; and it sang of the same thing: glorious hymns, and new beginnings. Faint as it was, he tried to listen to it as best he could. He tried to open his mind and let the song surround and overcome him. He tried to feel that truth in his heart. He tried to fill this hole in his soul.

But he still felt empty. Welcomed, yes, but still empty. He was missing something, and whether it was that truth or something else, he did not know.

Bzzt.

He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He had to squint because the screen was so bright, but after a few seconds it auto-adjusted to a dimmer light. Sunset had texted him. He opened the message menu and read it.

“You okay?”

Lightly tapping the screen, he replied, “Yeah.”

“You still going to go to the Event?”

“Yes.”

He looked up once the message had sent. The wind had begun to die down.

“All right,” she replied a few moments later. “Soul and I—as well as everyone else—will be there, so if you need anything, let us know.”

“Thank you, Sunset.”

“No problem, Artifex. What are friends for?”

He bid her goodnight with another text, and she replied in kind, before the messages ceased. He momentarily pocked the phone, and looked at the sky. It was late. He would need to sleep soon.

His phone vibrated again and, to his surprise, as he took it out, he saw that it was Adagio. When had I given her my number? Oh, right—at lunch.

It was a short message. He had thought she would send more, much more, given her personality and insatiable need to tease. But she had mellowed out as of late. Perhaps that was because of him, or because she had matured.

“See you tomorrow.”

His lips twitched. He didn’t answer.

Artifex pocketed his phone once again. He took a slow, deep breath. The wind whispered a little more. It carried with it the scent of snowdrops. It was a familiar and comforting scent, reminding him of better days.

With any luck, it would spur him on to better tomorrows.

He turned and went back inside. The wind lingered for a moment, before doing a loop and racing upwards towards the endless sky.

36) Day Sixty: The Fall Hallows' Eve Event, Part I - Rebirth

“Change is growth. For me it has been a very spiritual and musical rebirth.”
Lenny Kravitz

***

No one cared for the school day. Not the students, not the teachers, not the janitor. As far as they were concerned, the day was a useless distraction, dragging out the show for mere timestamps. Everyone had gotten their tickets and had been seated, but they still had to contend with watching dry adults ramble on about imaginary numbers. These “first acts” would not be missed.

School ended, then, in a much more excited fervor than when it began. A battalion of students, armed with heavy backpacks, wearing emblems of excitement and anticipation, rolled out of the stained-glass double-doors. Some marched home, heads held high; others surged into their cars and took off for some last-minute preparations. War might as well have been coming—if one considered this battle against time war enough.

“Goodbye, students!” Principal Celestia called after them; though few turned to offer similar sentiments. “And don’t forget,” she added, “the Event begins at 5:30 tonight!”

Vice Principal Luna walked up beside her. “You’re excited, I see.”

“Of course I am. Aren’t you?”

“Indeed I am,” she replied. “We’ve had many an exciting dance at our school, but I hope that this one turns out to be one of the best.”

“As do I, Luna.”

Some students still lingered. They went up to the principals and asked for a little more information: if they needed to bring food, some sort of ID, whatever. “Food will be provided by Sugarcube Corner,” Celestia explained. “As for identification, you should bring your school ID. You’ll come in through the front, where someone will meet you and check you in.”

Once they had walked off, Luna asked, “Who will be the meet-and-greet, then? Miss Roseluck, perhaps?”

“Actually, Raven volunteered. Something about ‘not having anything better to do.’”

“Besides paperwork, of course.”

“Of course.”

They walked back inside the school. “Nurse Redheart will also be on duty,” said Celestia. “Though, hopefully, her services won’t be needed.”

“And the other teachers?”

“Most have gone home for the day. Maybe they’ll turn up, maybe they won’t.” She smiled. “I’d imagine that you’d want Mr. Solil to come, won’t you?”

Luna raised an eyebrow, but failed to hide the growing blush. “S-sister? What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing, dear Lulu. I do admit, he’s a fine man. I wonder if he can dance just as well as he can teach?”

Luna let out a groan. “You and your insistent teasing. I swear, Celly, that you just have it out for me.”

“Nonsense, Luna. I care for you very much. And that means a little teasing every now and then.”

Luna groaned again. “It was just a college fling, that’s all!”

“Was it? I thought you two were cute together!”

“That’s not—hang on. You thought that?”

Celestia smirked victoriously. “Oh, so now you’re suddenly interested.”

They kept walking, with the principal teasing her younger sister along the way. Eventually they reached the gym. Celestia pulled opened the doors and they entered.

With the bleachers pushed all the way, it was now more spacious than ever before; just enough room for a large dance center, a stage for the music, and an area to the side for the food. Besides that, there were some students from the Party Planning Committee, all busy at work putting up the decorations, the balloons, the stickers, and even adjusting the lights.

Cheese Sandwich looked up from where he had been painting a large banner. “Oh, hey, Principal Celestia and Vice Principal Luna!”

He got up and walked over to them, giving a little salute. “Hello to you, too, Cheese,” Luna greeted. “I take it that your Committee is almost done.”

“Yep!” he responded. “Thanks for letting use our time after school to get things rolling; without it, we might never have finished.”

“It’s quite impressive what you’ve done so far,” Celestia said. “Do you have an estimate of how long it’ll take to finish decorating?”

“About another hour, I think. That should be time enough, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Celestia nodded. “Well, we just wanted to check in on you all, make sure you were all working. We’ll leave you be, then.”

“Got it, ma’am!” Cheese did another salute and marched back to his station. Celestia and Luna walked out of the gym.

“Still nervous?” Celestia asked her sister.

“For a different reason altogether, Celestia. What will the other schools think?”

“I’m sure they’ll like what we have set up, Luna.”

“That may be true for schools like Canter Academy and Strident High School, but what about Crystal Prep?”

“Principal Cinch is an… interesting woman,” Celestia said after a moment of silence. “I don’t doubt her school’s students and their academic prowess. No doubt they still consider us… less than equals.”

“And do you think this dance will change that?”

“It is doubtful. The Friendship Games are coming up, after all. I’m hoping then that we’ll have bridged this gap between our schools. But think of this dance in this way, Luna: it’s a mingling of not students, but of people. A quick and fun way to demonstrate that deep down, we’re all the same, really. That we all can dance and eat and have fun.”

Luna was silent for several moments as they walked back to their office. This did not escape Celestia’s attention as they entered. “If you have some concerns,” she started, before trailing off.

Her sister shook her head. “No, Celly. It’s just… hmm. What is it, indeed?” She crossed her arms and blew her hair out of her face. “This is a big event, Celestia. And that means that there are many things that can go wrong.”

“I suppose that is a risk—”

“It’s not something you can suppose, Celestia. It’s a constant factor. Need I bring up the Fall Formal and the Battle of the Bands?”

Celestia offered a begrudging nod. “But that doesn’t mean,” she said, “that something bad will happen. Who knows; maybe something good will happen.”

“I guess you’re right. Maybe I’m nervous over nothing.”

“I beg to differ, sister. You worry over the most important things, in case I miss them.” She smiled. “That doesn’t make your concerns any less valid.”

Luna gave her own smile. “Thanks, Celestia.”

“Of course, sister.” She sighed. “Sadly, that’s all the help I’ll be able to give you for now. I’ve a ton of paperwork I have to fill out.”

“That’s fine, Celestia. I suppose I’ll head home, then?”

“If you want.”

Luna grabbed her belongings from her desk and got up. She went for the door. Just as she opened it, Celestia cleared her throat. “Actually… there’s one other piece of advice I can give to you.”

“Oh? Let’s hear it.”

“Wear the black, slinky dress. You’ll look good in it.”

Celestia tried not to giggle as her sister erupted into a full-on blush. Her mirth was cut short, however, as the door slammed shut, blowing away a stack of papers. She sighed.

“You win this time, Lulu.”

***

By the time night had fallen on the fair city and town of Canterlot, and by the time the stars had cast aside their blue shields and shined down upon the world, the need for their nightly illumination had been disregarded. Already, cars drove slowly up and down the roads as they headed for Canterlot High. With them lined up and their lights on, entire blocks were lit up in a copper glow.

Some students still walked, though. Those unable to secure a ride, or those who just wanted to be in the company of their friends, took to the sidewalks like moths to a flame. Though it now proved unnecessary, most carried colorful glowsticks that they stuck out of their pockets. Combined with the copper glow, if one were to stare from the height of the clouds at the world beneath, they might have mistaken them all for a large migration of fireflies all heading up a western pathway.

From that same height, one would not have been able to distinguish from which schools did each student originate from. While most, obviously, came from Canterlot High, the fact that they had chosen no uniform to wear and strode in dresses, skirts, suits, and tuxedoes alike made identifying them even harder; it did not help that none wore the symbol of their school on their sleeves. The other schools that were to come and their students were much the same. Perhaps one or two had a dress similar in color scheme to their patron school, but other than that, the distinction was mostly needless; some were even lucky enough to meet up with these Canterlot high schoolers, assimilating into their groups and already establishing the foundations of friendship over distances and time.

This assimilation, paradoxical as it may sound, both highlighted and hindered Celestia’s goal. Highlighted, in that most had already said hello to each other and were fast on the way of becoming friends; hindered, in that some did not properly assimilate. Some remained in their own school pockets; and some remained in even smaller groups, with their only company being themselves.

Even then, there were distinctions to be found.

His, for example, was the shock of white hair with raven highlights that contrasted his natural-blue skin. In the multicolored and artificial glow in front and around him, his eyes gleamed like golden nuggets. This brought more attention to his attire. The slate, open suit and dark-blue jeans were the perfect blend of casualness and formalness which, to his knowledge, was exactly what this dance was all about. Onward did he strive, and in silence, too. And while he walked with an air of formality, it seemed stiff; it had been taught, not inherited; it was artificial, different.

He looked around him, noticing that he was actually walking alone. Geez… am I really the only Crystal Prep kid here? That’s kind of embarrassing. He shrugged. Ah, well. I guess that makes sense, considering how I’m the only Crystal Prep to have even cared for what was happening at Canterlot High.

Wise words from a wiser Miss Red Rose came to him in a flash. “Always, Lone Wolf, look on the bright side of life.”

Well, I guess it’s not so bad. Lone Wolf stared at the ground. It’s not too cold out, and even if the temperature does drop, this suit should be heavy enough to keep me warm. And Canterlot High, while a long ways away from Crystal Prep, isn’t too far… though, it would have been nice if I had been able to drive there.

Suddenly, he saw a copper glow around him; it was slowly growing smaller, like it was being focused through a laser pointer. He heard some tires screeching against the pavement, and the loud, blaring music from some car racing up the road. Looking back, he saw it approach, the driver ignoring his rambunctious passengers. Lone’s eyes widened as he realized that the driver was about to splash into a large puddle.

Lone immediately dove to the side just as the car hit the puddle. The water splashed outward, landing on the wall that had been just beside him a moment before. But the puddle had actually been a pothole, too, so when the car hit it, it careened off and went flying. Somehow, the driver managed to regain control, jerking his wheel to the side and forcing the car back onto the road, music, kids, and muddied wheels in tow.

After a moment, Lone got up. He patted himself down; nothing seemed to be wet, and his suit was only a might bit dusty from the fall. Well… that could have been much worse.

The sounds of strangled breaths and a painful moan pierced his ears, sharply and suddenly; they came from behind him. Did someone else get hit?

He whirled around, and gasped. “Oh, geez!”

Without any cars behind him, his only source of light was the small, pink glowstick in his pocket. Taking it out, he could now more clearly see the source of the noise. It was a boy, about his age, with a disarmingly similar color of hair. His suit was the color of the twilight sky—a rich variant of navy—with a flower tucked into the front pocket. He was on his bottom, nursing his left leg, eyes scrunched up as he breathed shortly through his nose. Lone noticed that there was a cane sitting beside him.

He approached. “Hey, you okay?”

The boy’s eyes shot open; they were a brilliant, cerulean-blue. He murmured something incomprehensible. Lone ignored this and got closer. “Damn, did you jump, too?”

“Had to,” the boy murmured. “Car was coming.”

“Yep. Did something hit you, then?”

“No… I fell. Leg… hurts.”

“Here, let me help.”

The other boy made to protest, eyes becoming pinpricks and his other hand coming up. Lone stopped. “That was a pretty nasty fall.”

“It wasn’t… as bad,” he grunted, shuffling a bit so that his back now propped itself against the fence behind him. He took a few deep breaths. Then, he, grabbing his cane, slowly pushed himself up. Lone stood up as well.

The boy teetered for a moment, and Lone quickly moved and caught him. “Easy there, man. Don’t force yourself if you can’t.”

“I can walk,” he replied.

Lone shook his head. “Not over that next hill you can’t. Here, let me help.”

The other boy might have tried to slip out from under him, perhaps even going so far as to whack him with his cane, but the problem lay in their height difference; Lone was a good two inches taller than the boy, making it somewhat awkward to carry him over one shoulder without accidentally lifting him up. Eventually, though, the boy did relent to Lone. He let out a sigh. “Fine. Let’s just go.”

Together, they shuffled up the road. Aside from the distant rumbling of car engines and the other boy’s difficult breathing, Lone heard nothing else; the boy’s breathing soon corrected, becoming regular, calmer, even as they trudged up the hill in stomps.

“Huh. You sound better already,” Lone commented.

The boy shrugged the other off his shoulder, taking a few, cautious steps with his cane. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“So you can walk now?”

“Hopefully.”

“… You don’t talk much, do you?”

The other boy turned to look to him; to Lone’s surprise, they were filled with tiredness. “Do you?”

“Ha, I guess I don’t. At least, compared to others.”

The other boy nodded. He pointed with his cane. “You’re going to the Fall Hallows’ Eve Event, aren’t you?”

Lone blinked. “Hey, yeah. How’d you guess?”

“It’s Friday, and you’re dressed up for some fancy occasion.” He shrugged. “Not too farfetched of a guess, if you ask me.”

“When you put it that way, I guess it isn’t.”

“You’re not wearing some sort of insignia, though. And I haven’t seen you before…” In the pink glow from the glowstick, the boy adopted a slightly pensive look. “You don’t go to Canterlot High like I do, do you?”

Lone shuffled on his feet, looking away. “W-well, no…”

“Another school, then. Winnipiac?”

“No…”

“Strident? Canter?”

“Those… are a little closer, but no.”

The boy crossed his arms. “Where else, then?”

“Uh… you probably don’t want to know.”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “It can’t be that bad.”

Lone sighed. “Look, as long as you don’t start screaming your head off, I’ll tell you, alright?”

“Go ahead, then.”

“I’m from Crystal Prep.”

“Oh, really? That’s neat.”

“And I know you probably hate me for it—wait, what?”

The other boy cocked his head. “Sorry; hate you for it?”

“Well, wouldn’t you? I mean, I’m from Crystal Prep, and you’re from Canterlot High…”

“Yeah, and?”

“W-well, don’t you guys hate us or something?”

“Do we? I wasn’t even aware of that. Canterlot seemed too… sunny for that.”

“But—the Friendship Games!”

“Those aren’t until a few more months.”

“And our schools’ history!”

“I didn’t even know until now there was a history between us.”

Lone paused, as the gears in his head began to whirl and click into place. “Are you… new?”

“I’ve been in Canterlot High for… two months now. So I wouldn’t call myself ‘new’ per se. But… I guess I am still the ‘new kid’ around here.”

“O-oh! Well, that’s a relief. At least you aren’t mad at me for going to Crystal Prep!”

“Not at all. Crystal Prep, from what I hear, is a fine school in it of itself.”

Lone sighed. “Yeah, well, if you only count the academics. Everything else is… eh.”

“Hmm… if you say so.”

The other boy turned on his cane and limped forward. Lone followed after him. “If you’re from Crystal Prep,” he asked, “then where are the other students?”

“They didn’t want to come. Because—”

“Of our schools’ bitter rivalry, apparently?”

“That’s part of it.” Lone let out a dry chuckle. “The principal—Principal Abacus Cinch—didn’t want a lot of kids to go in the first place. Not that there were many who were willing to sacrifice their studying time just to go to a ‘dumb dance.’ Their words, not mine,” he quickly added.

“No offense taken.”

They kept walking. With the boy’s limp, they were nowhere closer to the other students, but Lone didn’t mind. Soon, Canterlot High lay in sight.

“You can go on without me, you know,” said the other boy.

Lone shook his head. “That’d be rude of me. Besides, you look like you could use the company.”

The other boy turned to look at him. Lone could have sworn his eyes shimmered. Were they filled with emotion, or with tears? Or both? Or was it just the trick of the light? “Yeah… maybe.”

They walked a little further, before Lone cleared his throat. “I forgot to introduce myself, didn’t I? I’m Lone Wolf.”

They stopped in front of one of the many houses on the side of the road. Lone extended a hand, which the boy, after a careful moment of eyeing it, took and shook. “Pleasure to meet you, Lone Wolf. I’m Artifex. Artifex Frost.”

“Artifex? That’s a strange name.”

“About as strange as yours, or as Soul’s, or Sunset’s, or anyone, for that matter.”

Lone blinked, and then smiled. “Yeah, I guess it is. It’s good to meet you, too, Artifex.”

They walked a little more. It grew a little colder. As they got closer to the school, Lone could see flashing lights coming from inside.

“By the way,” he said, “what does Artifex mean? It sounds foreign.”

For some odd reason, Artifex’s lips almost quirked upward. “Well, let me tell you…”

***

The first thing that Artifex noticed when he walked inside of the school was the line. Filled with students, all wearing some manner of dress, suit, or uniform, it was a colorful parade of people, most of whom he did not or could not recognize. Some had already split off into splinter groups of their own. These were either large or small, and they were all chatty and loud. Few were actually left on their own, and none seemed to bother checking their phones or other devices.

Because the line was so long, he and the newly-met Lone had to stand at the way back. They were among the last to arrive, but Lone told him that he suspected they weren’t the last ones coming. “On my way here, I saw a bunch of people piling into cars or getting ready to leave their homes,” he had said as they had walked through the front entrance.

“None, of course, were from any Crystal Prep students’ house,” Artifex had responded.

Lone had sighed. “Nope. Of course not.”

So they stood in the back and waited. As they waited, they got to talking with each other again. Lone was a pleasant boy through and through. He may have been taller than Artifex, but not once did he talk down to him, both in the literal sense and in the metaphorical sense. When he did talk, Artifex could tell that he was not a native to this country; after a bit of questioning, he found that he was actually Belgian by birth, and had moved here some time ago. All very impressive, considering his age; he reminded Artifex of a bit of Soul, and a bit of Swift, and a bit of Clyde, with a good amount of charm that was unique to him and him alone.

“Hey, I’m just a guy like any other,” Lone insisted. “I have my ups and my downs.”

“If you didn’t, I’d genuinely be concerned,” Artifex responded, and he almost smirked.

The line moved up, and they did, too, though their flanks remained uncovered. Artifex could hear the wind blowing against the building, though not too fiercely, and the windows creaked and rattled like bones against concrete.

He shivered; where had that analogy come from? Perhaps it was because it was Halloween, after all.

“Are you going to go trick-or-treating later?” Lone asked.

Artifex raised an eyebrow. “I’m here right now; I don’t think I’ll be leaving any time soon.”

“Fair point.”

Just as the line moved up again, there was the sound of glass doors swinging open. Artifex glanced behind him; another group of kids had arrived. At first, he didn’t recognize them; but, as they grew closer and the orange-skinned one’s eyes lit up upon seeing him, he suddenly hit a stroke of realization.

“Hey! You’re that Artifex dude, right?” the orange-skinned girl asked, her voice just a touch raspy. “You and my brother are, like, really good friends!”

“I am. You’re… Scootaloo, aren’t you? Swift’s sister.”

“That’s Artifex?” the white-skinned girl to her side asked, though not with any offense to her voice. “He’s shorter than I thought.”

“He can hear ya, Sweetie Belle,” said the yellow-skinned one. She looked at Artifex. “Sorry ‘bout this, Artifex.”

“It’s fine,” he said with a wave of his arm. “But how do you know about me?”

“Easy! Ah’m Applejack’s sister, Apple Bloom! And she’s told me a lot about you!”

“And I’m Sweetie Belle,” said the other girl. “Rarity’s sister.”

Artifex nodded. “Well, it’s nice to formally meet you three.”

“Same to you,” Apple Bloom said. “So Ah take it that yer here for the dance, then? And you brought a friend.” She squinted at Lone. “Don’t think Ah’ve seen you around before, Mistah. What’s your name?”

“Oh, I’m, uh, Lone Wolf,” he stuttered. “I don’t… go to Canterlot High.”

The three girls moved up behind them as the line again shifted. “Really?” Sweetie Belle asked. “Where do you go, then?”

Lone broke it to them hesitantly. None, however, seemed offended that he went to Crystal Prep. “Eh. You don’t seem like a Crystal Prep kind of person,” said Scootaloo.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re not a stuck-up like they are. You’re more naïve, I guess.”

“Oh. Uh… thanks, I think?”

Around five people were left in line, not including Artifex and the four people behind him. As he got closer, he could hear music playing from somewhere distant, presumably the gym; it was loud enough to echo off of the walls and be heard all the way to the entrance.

“Whoa. That’s a pretty good disc jockey,” Lone commented. “Did you guys hire a professional or something?”

“Don’t think so,” Apple Bloom said. “It’s probably just Vinyl Scratch.”

“Vinyl Scratch?”

“Yeah. She goes to our school.”

“You mean you have your own, personal DJ? That’s so cool!”

Artifex probably would have chuckled, but he was busy focusing on the dwindling line. He gripped his cane a little tightly. The line continued to shorten; the music grew louder with each step; the girls and Lone kept talking. It was too noisy; he couldn’t escape his anxious feelings by falling into his many thoughts.

Greeting them was a dark-haired woman. It took Artifex a moment to recognize her; it took her just as long to recognize him. She spoke first, lips split into a welcoming smile. “Ah, Artifex. Here for the Event, then?”

He nodded. “That I am, Miss Raven. Here’s my ID.” She nodded and took it, checking his name down. She then handed it back, and he stepped forward. “Next, please. Ah, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Different school?”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Lone. Then, in a quieter tone: “Crystal Prep, actually.”

Raven merely smiled. “I see. May I have your ID, then?”

Lone handed it to her. On another list, she wrote down his name as well as his patron school, then handed the card back to him. “Off you go, then. Next?”

“You guys go on ahead,” said Apple Bloom to the boys. “We’ll catch up in the gym!”

Lone and he walked down the hallway, heading towards the gym. After they had taken several steps, the other boy commented, “Those girls seemed very nice.”

“It was my first time meeting them, but yeah, they do seem nice.”

“Are all Canterlot High kids like that?”

“I guess.”

“Hmm. So then they wouldn’t mind if I said that I was from Crystal Prep?”

Artifex momentarily paused. “That… might not be a good idea. Sure, those girls are okay, but if our schools’ history—not that I’m aware of it—is a sign of anything, it’s that you might risk being, at worst, thrown out before the night’s over.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“To be fair, it’s probably a low possibility. But,” he added, glancing at Lone, “if I were you, I’d still not divulge that information.”

“Well, all right. That seems smart enough.” He rubbed the back of his head. “But, um, while I still can, I want to say thanks.”

“Thanks?” They both stopped walking, with Artifex turning to face Lone. “For what?”

“For, you know. Being cool about me being from Crystal Prep and all that. I didn’t want to forget to let you know that, especially if I do somehow get thrown out.”

He said the last part with a good-natured smile. It was met with a neutral expression from Artifex, but he at least nodded. “It’s no big deal,” he said. “Just doing what… what I was taught.”

They kept walking; Lone didn’t seem insistent on clarifying just who or what had taught him, and for that Artifex was grateful.

They passed the hall with windows that looked into the courtyard. Artifex looked through them, and still saw that snowdrop flower that Sonata had planted a month ago. How it had managed to survive so long without either he or Sonata taking proper care of it amazed him. He only was briefly shocked when, for a second, he saw a patch of red float up to the flower and water it. When he blinked it was gone.

He shrugged it off as nothing even though he knew, deep down, it was something.

Upon finally reaching the gym, Lone let out an impressed whistle.

Canterlot High had pulled out all the stops; this, even Artifex could admit. While the lights had been turned off, someone had rigged a reflective disco ball on the ceiling, emitting light and spinning every once in a while. Besides the decorated tables, the Party Planning Committee had set up several games all around the gym. Artifex saw several kids at each, laughing and cheering on their other students. The stage had been cleared of old props. Resting upon it, right in the center, was Vinyl Scratch and her famed DJ kit, blasting music left and right. The loud wubs did not deter anyone’s spirit.

The rest of the students present stood at the sides and in the center, snacking on whatever Sugarcube Corner had brought. Some were actually in the middle, though no serious dancing had occurred. Artifex counted several familiar faces, including Soarin, who was blushing as his date for the night—Spitfire, he guessed, based on her fiery-red hair—said something and laughed.

“Holy crap,” Lone near-whispered. “I admit, didn’t think you Canterlot High people had it in you.”

“Neither did I,” Artifex replied. He kept looking around, searching for some more familiar faces. He noted that the ex-Sirens were present, though they had yet to see him. Sonata was at the Pin-The-Tail-On-The-Donkey game (he wondered if she’d be offended; then he remembered that she wasn’t actually an equine) while her sisters looked on, their heads turned away from him.

There was a sudden dash of pink moving from behind the tables; a moment later, Pinkie Pie stood before him, a wide smile on her face. “Hey! Arty! You came!”

She immediately bounced in and gave him a tight hug, one that, after a moment, he returned. “Heya, Pinkie,” he said.

She pulled back from the hug, giving him a once-over. “Ooh, you look snazzy! I like the navy suit you’re rocking! Ooh, and cool flower!”

“Thanks. I’d… wanted to try something slightly different.” He quickly took note of her outfit. “Rarity made that?” he asked.

“Yepperoni! Pink and blue, just the way I wanted it!” She did a little twirl, then stopped on her tippy-toes, blinking at the boy. “Think I look cute?”

“That’s for Swift to say, Pinkie. But if it really matters that much, you look pretty good yourself.”

“Sweet!”

She hugged him again, only to suddenly pull away and (loudly) gasp. “Ohmigosh! Who’s that behind you?”

Turning, he saw Lone shift on his feet. Artifex glanced back at the enthusiastic party girl. “Right, you two haven’t met. Pinkie, this is Lone Wolf. Lone, this is Pinkie Pie.”

Lone held out a hand. “Er, hi—”

He was unable to get another word in as Pinkie took his hand and vigorously shook, somehow managing to bounce him up and down without a problem. “Hi, Lone! It’s really nice to meet you! I’m Pinkie Pie, but, well, Arty already told you that, so you already know! I don’t think I’ve seen you around before, so you probably don’t go to Canterlot High! But that’s okay because I already met some other kids from other schools and they’re really, really nice so I bet you’ll be the same! And Lone Wolf? That’s a cool name! It just screams coolness, like this: ‘Coolness!’ Yeah! I’m gonna shout that again! ‘Coolness! Coolness! Cool—‘”

“Pinkie!”

Artifex pulled the girl away from the befuddled (and most definitely bewildered) boy. “You’re gonna yell his ear off if you keep that up.”

Pinkie giggled. “Sorry! I just get really excited when I meet someone new!”

He rolled his eyes. “What else is new?”

“Well, did you hear about Flash and Ga—”

“I was being sarcastic, Pinkie.” An image of a blue-haired boy flashed in his mind, but he couldn’t put a face to the other person.

“Oops! Sorry!” She beamed, undeterred. “Well, anyway, I gotta help the Cakes with the food. Why don’t you guys go see the rest of our friends?”

Bouncing off far faster than what was considered normal, Pinkie left the two standing there. Artifex was unfazed, but Lone looked a bit shaken. He sort of stumbled over to Artifex. “Is she… always like that?”

“You have no idea. But you get used to it after some time.”

Artifex took a deep breath. Remember… try to act positive. “Right. So… I guess we should go say hello to everyone, huh?”

“Yup. Should we start with anyone in particular?”

Artifex gazed all around, still not seeing anyone else familiar besides the Sirens. “I know of three,” he said.

They walked over to the Donkey corner. Sonata was still up, dizzy and teetering on her feet. Her tongue hung limply out of her mouth, and she giggled. “Whoa, this is so weird!”

Lone raised an eyebrow. Artifex motioned for him to be quiet for the moment.

The Sirens still hadn’t noticed them. Sonata took a shaky step forward, and nearly fell. She giggled again. “H-hey! Dagi, Ari! Little help?”

“You’re supposed to figure it out on your own, Sonata,” Adagio said. Artifex caught the second siren’s look; she seemed to have eaten something awful, as her face was scrunched up.

Sonata nodded. “R-right! Um… How about…” She took a few more steps, until she was right in front of the wall. “Here!” she shouted as she slammed the tail into it.

Artifex had to suppress a whistle as Sonata peeled off the blindfold; she’d managed to pin the tail right where it should have been. The ex-Siren let out a delighted squeal. Adagio clapped, while Aria—much to his surprise—let out a soft chuckle.

He couldn’t resist, even though he knew it would probably result in him getting punched. He leaned in and said, “Enjoying yourself?”

Aria let out an uncharacteristically high-pitched screech and jumped into Adagio, knocking the two down. “Gah! What the—”

Her eyes, with frightening intensity, focused on the boy in front of her. “You!”

Artifex stopped himself from smirking, choosing instead to rest comfortably on his cane. Lone came up beside him, wearing a confused expression.

Before Aria could put in another word—likely an expletive—Adagio pushed her off. She smiled, way more warmly than she normally did. “Well, well, well. Artifex Frost, in the flesh.”

Aria got up, huffing madly, while Adagio remained on the floor. After a moment, Artifex stepped forward and offered a hand, which she gratefully took. “Adagio,” he greeted simply.

Something nearly toppled him over; it was Sonata, who, deciding words weren’t enough, had gone and hugged him tightly to her. She squealed into his shoulder as he awkwardly pat her back.

He looked over at Aria and nodded. She fumed, but, at the very least, didn’t seem intent on punching him. “Jerk,” he heard her mutter. He rolled his eyes.

Once Sonata pulled away, Adagio said, “And I see you’ve brought a friend with you.”

“Yes. Lone Wolf, meet Adagio Dazzle, Aria Blaze, and Sonata Dusk.”

Lone walked over and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you. You’re all friends with Artifex?”

Adagio smirked, ignoring the hand and drawing intimately close to Lone. “You could say that. Mm… you’ve great taste in men, Artifex. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Artifex resisted the urge to snort—which was hard to do under Adagio’s flirtatious eyes and Lone’s growing blush. “Ever the tease,” he said.

“Er, ah, um,” Lone could only stutter.

The former villain laughed and moved away, allowing Sonata and Aria to extend their own greetings. She turned to Artifex, the smile becoming small, but still apparent. “So you really did show up,” she said.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“You never responded to my text. I thought you weren’t sure.”

He looked again around the gym, at the decorations, the people. He smelled the food, heard the beating and blaring music. “Maybe I’m a little more sure now than I was before,” he murmured.

Adagio nodded and, alarmingly, reached out with both hands and set them on Artifex’s shoulders. Her smile returned warm. She looked nice with it. “That’s a good thing,” she said.

“Where is everyone else?” he asked her.

“Hmm? Oh, you mean the girls and the guys?” She pointed somewhere back stage. “The band is in the back, getting their stuff together. I think the others are helping them, though—” She paused, smirking, “—I think that there might be more than just ‘help’ going on back there.”

Artifex remained unfazed. She had to chuckle at that, but it was a dry chuckle, and there was trace amounts of tiredness in it. “Of course you wouldn’t laugh at that. But can you blame me for trying?”

“No, I can’t.”

She looked back at him. There was a twinkle in her eyes. She smiled again. “Thank goodness for that, I suppose.”

Sonata handed back the blindfold to the person who was in charge, all while still talking with Lone. “So you go to Crystal Prep? Neat!”

“You’re not bothered by that?”

“Why would I? I tried to take over the world once; rival schools don’t have anything against that!”

Lone, flabbergasted, stuttered. Artifex and Adagio were quick to the rescue. “She’s just joking,” they said in unison, then looked at each other in surprise.

“Huh? Why’d you two cut me off like that—mmph!” Sonata was silenced by Aria reaching around and placing a hand over her mouth. The tough ex-Siren attempted a smile, but it was more of a grimace.

“She’s had a little too much sugar, that’s all,” she said, even as Sonata squirmed.

Lone blinked. “Er… okay.”

Artifex saw Adagio’s head turn. “Looks like they’ve finished setting up,” she said. He turned as well and saw Soul, Swift, and Clyde walk out from behind the curtain. He raised an eyebrow when he saw that Clyde looked like he’d been through the wringer. Adagio giggled. “Guess I was right after all.”

“What? Why?” Lone asked.

“Never mind that,” Artifex said. “Let’s go greet them.” He turned back to Adagio. “It was good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Artifex Frost.”

As they were walking away, Lone asked him, “So… was she your girlfriend?”

Artifex shot him a narrow look. “No. What makes you think that?”

“Because you and she got along pretty well. Was it one of the other girls there, then?”

“None of them are my girlfriends. But they are friends.” He looked away. “Besides, enough people already think Sonata and I are a couple. I don’t need that amount of shipping in my life.”

“You get shipped?”

“By a select few, thank goodness. What about you? Got any special someones?”

“N-no?”

Artifex gave him an incredulous look, then shook his head. “Well, if you say so. I bet she’s nice, though.”

The other boy blushed and sighed. Artifex tried not to laugh. He could already hear Adagio’s voice in the back of his mind. And you say I’m the teaser…

They got closer. None of the three guys appeared to see them, so Artifex attempted to call out. The loud music from Vinyl’s equipment, however, prevented them from hearing him. He tried again; a blaring, earth-shaking blurb cut him off.

Just as they were close enough to be within the guys’ lines of sight—

“Whoa, Soul! Did you get mad lip game with Sunset while you were back there?”

Soul scrunched up his nose. “What? No, of course not. That’d be distracting!”

“But you were tempted!”

“Only a little…”

Artifex had to do a double-take. The boy who had spoken wore some sort of costume, made of various parts and pieces, all in varying shades of blue. His head was covered by a rounded helmet, and when he turned slightly to laugh, Artifex saw that in the middle was a red gem. More alarming was the fact that the boy wielded what Artifex could only describe as an “arm cannon” of some sort, though he doubted (hopefully) that it was nothing more than a prop.

As they grew a little bit closer, he saw that beside the boy was another person: a girl. She had not, like the boy beside her, taken up costume-wearing. Instead, she wore a sparkling, red dress. Her red hair had been set into tight pigtails, without a trace of an accessory in them. She looked absolutely uncomfortable in it; she kept pulling at the skirt, like she wanted to rip it off. A more odd observation was that she was quite shorter; way shorter than the boy beside her.

“Hey!” the girl suddenly cried. “Quit describing me like that!”

Artifex raised an eyebrow. Who was she talking to?

“You know who I’m talking to!”

Me?

“Easy there, Gaige,” the boy beside her said. “We did just get introduced into this story, after all.”

Soul frowned. “Okay, seriously; who are you two talking to?”

“Well, if my Treble Sense is correct, the person we’re talking to is way up there.” The boy pointed up. “But, I bet that the next best thing is just around the corner—aha! There!”

Coincidentally, Artifex and Lone had arrived, and both were surprised to find the boy’s finger pointing towards them. He had a wickedly sly grin on. “Heh, look at that? I’ve still got it.”

“W-what?” Lone stuttered.

“Oh, hey! It’s that new character that Jarvy was talking about introducing some time ago!” the boy exclaimed. “And…” He looked at Artifex. “That must mean you’re that author’s original character, right?”

He could only stare, at a complete loss for words. Gaige, meanwhile, stared at Lone, drooling ever so slightly.

She slurped up the drool. “Ah! I wasn’t staring!”

You totally were.

“Oh, so now you decide to talk to us!”

Soul finally looked over, and his face split into a wide grin. “Hey! Artifex! You’re here!” Both Clyde and Swift looked up, and they also smiled.

Extending a hand while keeping the other on his cane, Artifex nodded as Soul came over and shook it. “Indeed I am, Soul,” he said. “Hello to you, too, Clyde, Swift.”

Clyde whistled. “Nice suit, dude. Fits you.”

“Thanks. Yours as well.”

“What about mine?” Swift asked.

“Yours is good, too, Swift, don’t worry,” Artifex said with a slight eye-roll. “By the way, Pinkie sends her regards.”

He then gestured to the boy next to him. “This is Lone Wolf. He’s not from Canterlot High, but he is here for the party tonight. Lone, please meet Soul Writer, Clyde, and Swift Justice.”

They all shook hands, extending their pleasantries. “Belgian?” Clyde guessed.

Lone brightened. “Hey, yeah! That’s so cool how you recognized that!”

As they continued talking, Artifex turned back to Soul. “Those two over there… friends of yours?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. That’s Treble and Gaige Mix. Treble and I go way back—”

“Years, actually,” Treble interrupted with a grin. “I mean, sure, I’m only a few months younger compared to Soul’s story, but I’m getting a reboot and everything so—”

Soul gave him a half-lidded look. “Treble. You’re not making any sense.”

“Do I ever?”

Artifex wanted to smack himself in the face. “I see… Well, Treble and Gaige, it’s nice to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Artifex Frost.”

“Hey! Real nice to meet you, Frosty!” Treble took his hand and vigorously shook it. “You know, your name reminds me of that one author who’s also from Belgium!”

“Georges Simenon?”

“Who? No, I meant FrostGuardian! You should read his story sometime. Lone’s in it!”

As they released hands, Artifex regarded Treble with a bemused expression. “What are you talking about? Lone’s over there. Are you saying he’s part of some dude’s—” He searched for the correct word; “—fanfiction?”

Treble gasped. “Wait! Are you a fourth-wall-breaker, too?!”

Before Artifex could even begin to ask what that meant, Pinkie suddenly popped out of a nearby trashcan. “No, he isn’t! He’s just really smart and perceptive like that!” She popped back into the trash and appeared back at the tables behind them.

“Oh, okay!” said Treble. “Don’t worry, Artifex. You’re still cool on my book.”

Artifex’s eyebrow twitched, and his grip on his cane tightened—not out of anger or frustration, but mild annoyance. “And… the costume?”

“What, this thing?” Treble tapped his helmet. “Well, it is a Halloween dance, so I figured why not? Besides, I’m wearing my suit underneath for when that smooth jazz comes on!”

“Right.” Artifex turned to Gaige. “He’s your brother?”

“Yeah…”

“Is he always this—”

“Odd? Crazy? Insane?”

“I was going to say way…”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re all like that.” Gaige suddenly looked up. “Isn’t that right, Jarvy?”

“Okay, seriously. Who are you talking to?”

“The author, baka. Who else?”

Artifex stared at her for far longer than he should have. His eyes blanked over several times before becoming narrow pinpricks. “What. The. Hell.”

Gaige regarded him with a somewhat bored look. “What? It’s not that hard to understand, Frosty—”

“Artifex.”

“Artsy.”

“You still got it wrong.”

“Whatever, Arfrosty. You baka.”

Artifex pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Then he turned to Soul. “Okay, you explain.”

The boy could only shrug. “They’ve always been like this, as far as I know. And Gaige just moved her from Japan.”

“Japan?”

“You know,” said Treble. “Land of the kawaii emojis, those weird products with even weirder goals, anime, hentai—”

“BAKA! Shut up, bro!”

“Aw, come on, sis! It’s just some innocent tentacle foreplay.” They began to argue, temporarily ignoring the others.

“Oh, God,” Artifex murmured.

“Hey, it’s okay to be confused. I still am about them. I just learned to live with it.” Soul paused. “Er, not that confusion is something you should accept and—”

“I get it, Soul. Don’t worry.”

Artifex looked at the Mixes, than at the others that were behind and next to him. “We’ve a pretty interesting friend group, don’t we?” he noted.

Soul nodded. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Guess it should be an equally interesting night, then.”

“Should be. But hey! I’m sure it’ll be a fun one. It’ll take your mind off of… things.”

Artifex nodded. “Yeah. I think I could use that.”

They looked back at Treble and Gaige, and saw that they were still arguing. Artifex felt a familiar sense of emptiness just looking at them.

“Geez, Gaige, you’re getting really heated about this. Almost as heated up as you are about Flash Sentry—”

“Sh-shut up!” Gaige swung an arm, but Treble dodged it, laughing.

Soul and Artifex exchanged glances, with the latter letting out another short breath.

Then, the door to the gym’s exit opened up, revealing a certain yellow-skinned, blue-haired jock. He looked about as befuddled as Artifex felt. “Uh, did someone say my name?” His eyes widened. “Wait. Did Gaige say my name?”

Gaige yelped, her face flashing a deep crimson. She pushed past Treble, Soul, and Artifex, and somehow managed to hide herself (in retrospect, given her height, it wasn’t that hard) behind Lone. She held him a bit too tightly around the waist, burying her face into his back. “Agh… don’t let him see me, please, don’t let me see me!”

“Uh… wha?” Lone asked.

Artifex and Soul looked at each other once again. “Maybe interesting is a mild way to put it,” said Soul, rubbing the back of his head.

Artifex actually snorted. “Yeah, maybe…”

All further thoughts and confusions halted when they heard the music begin to die down. Vinyl stepped off from the equipment and walked over to the side of the stage. She barely flinched upon seeing Treble’s ridiculous get-up.

“It’s not ridiculous! It’s stylish!”

“Talking to the sky again, babe?” Vinyl said.

“Heh, you know it, Vin! Awesome music, by the way.”

“Thanks, babe.” She bent down and quickly kissed him.

“But why’d you stop?”

Vinyl smirked. “Because we’re moving on to the main event.”

They all turned to see Principal Celestia standing on stage, wearing an immaculate, white dress. She held a microphone up to her mouth. “Good evening, everyone! Welcome to our first ever Fall Hallows’ Eve Event! I trust you are all enjoying yourselves?”

A good portion of the student body present let out excited and enthusiastic cheers. Celestia smiled. “Well, that is very good to hear. But the night has just begun, and I am sure that you will find that tonight’s commodities will be to your liking.”

She extended an arm. “And now, to truly start this night off correctly, I invite each and every one of you to a live performance by our own school’s band: the Rainbooms!”

As she left the stage, the curtain spread, revealing the girls. “All right!” Rainbow shouted into her mic. “Let’s hit it!”

They began to play. It was a tune unfamiliar to Artifex, but it made him want to dance even with his ailing limp. His cane tapped against the floor. He became distracted by the music; so much so, that he didn’t notice Adagio saunter up to him, didn’t feel the slow, creeping sensation of a smile growing across his face.

The Fall Hallows’ Eve Event had begun.

37) Day Sixty: The Fall Hallows' Eve Event, Part II - Renewal

“At best, the renewal of broken relations is a nervous matter.”

Henry Adams

***

Streams of neon blue, seafoam green, and gummy red shot through the windows. Outside, the music could be heard. It sounded with the intensity of a drum orchestra, rich and powerful, and it had the speed of gazelles leaping across fields of everlasting gold. In contrast to the Halloween night, the school was an absolute beacon on an otherwise dark map.

More than ever, No Clue wanted to enter.

After giving his mom a hasty goodbye kiss (“Bye, son!” she shouted after him. “Have fun!”) No Clue bounded up the sidewalk and into the school grounds. Other cars passed him by, and he saw other students pile on out. One was familiar; he walked over with a smile.

“Brutos!” he greeted.

The tall boy looked up and nodded, his smile faint. Wearing an evergreen tuxedo, he looked quite sharp, and for a moment Clue thought himself inadequate in comparison. “Looks like we’ve arrived at the same time,” he said.

Clue nodded. “Blueblood texted me. He’s already inside with Blossomforth.” They both turned to look at the building once again. “Though I don’t think they’re dancing quite yet.”

“They’re pretty good, don’t you think?” Brutos asked as they walked up the steps.

“Who?”

“The Rainbooms. Our school’s signature band. Pretty much our only band, at this point, though you don’t hear many complaining.”

No Clue listened again. Not much for rock nor much against it, he could only dumbly nod his head. At least it sounded like it was playing well.

“Why’s it named the Rainbooms?” he thought to ask.

At that, Brutos smirked. “Well, it’s named after their main guitarist and vocalist. You may have heard of her. Rainbow Dash?”

Yep, that certainly did sound like her. Clue smiled a little. If the band was as good as their namesake… well, then he had some high hopes at the very least.

They went up the steps and through the stairs and saw before them a fairly long line. A lot of the people there recognized the pair and were quick to greet them. No Clue and Brutos exchanged their own greetings, and the former was eager to ask how the dance was going so far.

“Pretty good,” said one of the students there. “No incidents yet.”

“Incidents?”

“Every time we’ve had some sort of dance or competition,” explained the tall boy beside him, “it seems something… weird would go down. First Sunset Shimmer tried to take over, then the Sirens.” He smirked. “I half-expect the Friendship Games to hold some magical catastrophe at some point.”

“Don’t say that!” hissed another girl, about a year younger than Clue. “You’ll jinx it!”

“I’d say it’s already jinxed,” said her date. “Ow! What was that for?”

She recoiled her arm, fist still clenched. “Don’t get smart with me, Jay!”

The line continued moving. Soon, Clue and Brutos were up front. The greeter—Miss Raven—signed them in, and then let them pass. Surprised at the ease at which they were allowed in, Clue barely stopped to look at what the school had become, with all of the decorations that the PPC had set up and all of the walls and ceilings highly decorated.

Excited as they were, they walked at a brisk pace down the hallway. The music grew louder, louder; and then, just as they rounded the corner and were about to enter the gym, it stopped.

Clue skidded to a halt. “Oh, no… did we miss it?”

“I think they just finished the first song,” Brutos said, pointing through the doors. “But we did miss something.”

Clue peeked around him, and his jaw fell to the floor.

He’d heard stories about this, but seeing it up close was a different matter altogether. The seven girls who had once stood on center stage floated above it. A giant and wide beam of energy raced between them and down, flashing in multiple colors. Wings sprouted from Rainbow, Fluttershy, and Sunset Shimmer; the others, while devoid of wings, had their hair elongated to the point where they touched down at their heels. Their instruments somehow managed to float alongside them, and each sparked and crackled with what could only be described as “magic.” No other word in Clue’s vocabulary could suffice.

“Better pick up that mouth of yours before you trip on it,” Brutos said with a chuckle.

He closed his mouth and swallowed hard. “Brutos? I’m not seeing things, am I?”

“Nope, you’re definitely not. Say hello to Canterlot High’s biggest secret.”

The girls gradually floated down, but the wings and longer hair remained. They all did grand, less-than-modest bow; the crowd, in response, broke into applause and whistles.

“Amazed, I take it?” a familiar, smug voice called from their side.

There stood the ever arrogant, ever cunning, and ever knowing Blueblood. Dressed in a seamless, creamy-white suit with black insides and a rose tucked in the front pocket, he, compared to the more (No Clue had to borrow some of the other boy’s vocabulary) common peasants, stood out like a candle in the darkness. At the very least, he did not seem particularly wanting to exalt himself above everyone else, if that smile, normally thin and refined, now wide and enjoyable, was any indication.

They walked over. “Uh, I mean,” Clue said, “yeah, uh… wow. Just… wow.”

Blueblood nodded. “I expected you would be.” He gazed back at the stage; he didn’t seem bitter or judgmental. “I remember the first time I saw that. It was at the Fall Formal, actually, that these transformations—and others of that sort—really began. Just like you, I was transfixed by it. Utterly transfixed.”

He looked back. “To think that our school is privy to a concept colloquially called ‘magic.’ Perhaps we are the lucky ones indeed. We’ll have to thank that Twilight girl for this.”

No Clue was about to ask who, but thought better of it. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

“Not too long, in all honesty. About ten minutes or so. I arrived with Blossomforth, actually, along with Aurora.”

“Where are they now?” Brutos asked.

Blueblood pointed to the other side of the gym. “Getting some punch, if I’m not mistaken.” He cast a knowing look at the two, a shark’s grin crossing his lips. “You ought to stick around for a bit before you go dancing.”

Unsure why Blueblood had looked at him in that way, No Clue nodded. “Uh, okay, sure.”

He searched the other side of the gym where all the food was, but he couldn’t see either of the girls. Granted, he doubted he’d recognize Blossomforth immediately, but a part of him thought he’d be able to tell where Aurora Veil was based on hair color alone. Not many people in the school had that kind of pink hair, surprisingly, and he wasn’t counting the girl on the stage as part of that group.

No trace showed up, as another swarm of students entered and blocked his view. He turned back to Blueblood.

“Hey, awesome!” Rainbow’s scratchy voice rang out. “More people! You guys want to hear another song?”

No Clue, along with the rest of the audience, replied with resounding cheers. “All right, you asked for it! This one’s even better than the last!”

Once they began to play, the ground vibrated under the intense and rapid music. No Clue almost tapped his foot along, but he was still caught up in the on-stage display. More beams and streams and arcs—any shape imaginable—appeared, circling around the group like arcane halos. The explanation that this was magic—no, that this was common magic—did nothing to make it any less enthralling. He heard Blueblood and Brutos chuckle at his expense; he ignored them.

Some sweat gathered on his brow. Here he was, at a school, about to dance with a literally magical girl. He didn’t need to be a romance expert to know he was absolutely out of his league. A childish thought came to him; maybe he could use some of that magic himself? But how? He hadn’t an instrument to conduct it and, as far as he could tell, that was the only way the magic would form. His hands shook, as did his legs. Partial panic fought with partial exhilaration.

It’s a dance, it’s a dance, it’s a dance, like any other…

He felt a hand land on his shoulder. Turning, he saw that it was Blueblood. The other boy provided a surprisingly gracious and understanding smile. “Don’t worry so much, my friend,” he said, “or else you’ll miss out on the moment.”

Swallowing his fear, Clue nodded in response. Okay, maybe Blueblood can keep me centered.

There was movement coming from the other side of the gum. The crowd before them dispersed and split like waves, while two people swam through them holding plastic cups of a tangy liquid. Clue recognized Blossomforth immediately. Her pink-and-green hair had been braided, and she resembled an ancient goddess with her white gown and golden earrings. Beside her was Aurora, wearing a stunning navy dress that complemented her rouge-pink hair.

She… actually looks kind of cute. Clue blinked, then blushed. He hadn’t said that out loud, had he? Did Blueblood notice? Where had that come from? Oh, crap, did he actually think that?

Blossomforth actually gave him a concerned look, before turning to Blueblood. “What’s with Clue?” she asked as she handed over the punch drink.

The rich boy took the cup and drank a little. “You could say he’s a little overwhelmed by, well, everything,” he said. He winked knowingly. “And I do mean everything.”

Aurora’s face was downcast. Even as he fought his own blush into submission, he could tell that one was rising on her face. She barely peeked at him, muttered something incomprehensible and quiet, and gave him one of the cups in her hands.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat. “I mean, thanks, Aurora. Um… you look good tonight.”

“R-really?” Her head perked up. The blush had transcended the realm of red; now it was like someone had applied a hot rod to her face.

“Y-yeah,” he said, nodding. “I like your dress. Seems to suit you.”

“Th-thank you,” she stuttered. “I wore it for you…”

He coughed. “Um, what?”

She gave him a wide-eyed, panicky look, one that he didn’t quite understand, before scampering over to Blueblood and hiding behind him. The other boy rolled his eyes but said nothing about it, while Blossomforth and Brutos chuckled lightly.

Clue rubbed the back of his head, drink in hand. He took a sip. It was sweet to taste.

“By the way, Brutos,” Blossomforth said, “I can’t help but notice that you’ve no date with you tonight. Do you need help finding one?”

The question was asked with a light giggle, to which Blueblood snickered and Brutos groaned. “That again… did it occur to any of you that I’m not interested in just hooking up with anyone?”

“Even for a dance as incredible as this?” Blossomforth asked. “I’d say you’re missing out, big guy.”

The “big guy” glowered. “Look, I’ll probably just dance with anyone who comes our way. Nothing wrong with that.”

The girl shrugged. “I guess not. Still… if you need some pointers, I’d be willing to help.”

Aurora shifted behind Blueblood. He looked back, raising an eyebrow, before nodding. He leaned down and whispered something that Clue couldn’t hear. It seemed to calm his cousin down just enough.

The cousin and the boy with the strange name locked eyes; the former sharply turned away into Blueblood’s sleeve, while the latter remained just as confused as to the reason behind her behavior. He attempted to search Blueblood in silence for answers, but the other boy did not yield to his questioning stare. If anything, his smirk only agonizingly grew.

***

“Hey, hey, you’ve all been a great audience! Really enthusiastic and everything! You know, this reminds me of something that happened some time ago. About a few months ago, actually. See, my team, the Wondercolts, were losing the football game by nearly twenty-one points! It looked like we were never gonna catch up and even the score, but luckily—”

“Rainbow! This ain’t the time for speech-making or reminiscing.”

“Oh, right! Sorry about that. Anyway, I’d like to turn the speakers back over to Vinyl Scratch once more. Vinyl?”

“Sure thing, Dash. Hey, people! While the band rests their fingers and voices for a bit, song requests are now open! Come up here and let me know what track you want me to play!”

There was a flurry of movement as a good number of students swam through the crowd and up to the acclaimed DJ herself. Excited voices rang out. Some remained at the tables and sides, but it was clear they were talking about the music that had been playing. Their expressions were clear; they had loved the band.

The band itself, now, took itself off of the stage. Their wings and long-hair had vanished. The specks of magic, though, continued to fade in and out of existence, dancing off of their instruments even as they packed them up, casting a “shield” of dust around their side of the stage. In a way, this shield was like a spotlight that shone on them.

Watching the girls and the dust filled No Clue with a feeling of exhilaration, but also with a sense of dread. Could he do this? Sure, Rainbow had asked him, but could he man up and go up there and follow through with the request? He was just some ordinary guy, the new kid; she was one of the most popular girls in the school. There was no way he’d have a chance to—

“Cold feet?”

Brutos’s voice sounded like a reverberating, deep drum that shook him from the cobwebs of his thoughts. Jittery, he almost spilled his drink on Blossomforth, to whom he quickly apologized through nervous stutters. She simply laughed at his plight. “Come on, Clue,” she said, “go get ‘em!”

“Get what, though?” he moaned. “I… I don’t know if I can do this! I—”

Blueblood loudly coughed. “Clue. You’re just going to request a music track for now. Dancing comes later.”

“Ah, right.”

“Have you an idea for a song, then?”

Clue whispered it in Blueblood’s ear. The rich boy gave an approving nod. “Mmm. Not bad. Better hurry, then, before the line grows any longer.”

He eyed the line with a worried frown. It was getting long. He could just barely see the blue fringes of the DJ’s signature hairdo. He placed the fruit punch onto the table next to him.

“Can’t I wait?” he asked weakly to no one in particular.

Brutos and Blueblood immediately got behind Clue and pushed him into the line. Before he could protest—much less think about running back—more people showed up behind him, blocking the way. Whatever frustration he felt boiled away into a misty sense of anticipation. He couldn’t see either boy, but somehow he knew they were smirking all the while.

Gee, thanks, friends.

In time, the line shrank, and soon he was at the front, behind one last person. His mind went blank. He tried to recall the song he had wanted; what was it? It couldn’t be cheesy; she wouldn’t like that. It had to be… fun? Rambunctious? Maybe classical? No, she probably would like something rock-n’-rolling. Did he know how to dance to that, though? No, he didn’t. Well, couldn’t he just figure it out along the way? He supposed he could. But then again—

“Next up! Hey, you’re that new kid, aren’t ya?!”

Why everyone constantly interrupted his thoughts was a mystery—one that he didn’t have time to go over. Clue nodded. “Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

Vinyl’s special swirly-goggles blocked her eyes, but somehow he could tell she winked. “What’s the matter, dude? Nervous?”

“Uh… a little.”

“Why? Aren’t you having fun?”

“I am! I mean, I am.” He chanced a look behind, but could not see his friends. “It’s just… you know, dances and… stuff.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Okay? That doesn’t really explain anything.”

Clue sighed. “No, it doesn’t, huh?” Several song titles raced through his mind, but he couldn’t remember which one he had wanted. They all could work; but he didn’t know if they would.

“You gonna tell me what you wanna hear? Or ya gonna hold up the rest of the line?”

His mouth fumbled for words that he could not bring himself to speak. She stared at him for a little bit—then, a smirk grew on her face. “Oh. Oooh. Oh, wait. I get it. Got someone special in mind, d’ya?”

Face shooting bright-red, Clue tried to shake his head.

“Oh, don’t look so embarrassed, dude. Everyone wants to lock lips with that certain someone eventually.” She let her glasses slip a bit, revealing magenta eyes. She winked. “Tell ya what. I’m not much of a classical dancer, but I have a feeling that there’s a lot more people who’d like some slow music to dance to sometime later. My friend, Tavi, lent me this pretty cool track, even if it’s a little stuffy for my tastes. Instead of having you make the decision, I’ll just play it; how’s that sound?”

“Er, ah, yes!” He paused. “I mean, yes,” he said, a little less loudly. “That would be… good. Yeah. Um…”

“No problem, compañero. Just say thanks.”

“Uh… thanks.”

She gave him a thumbs-up. After a moment, he realized that his time was up, so he left the line, allowing the others to put in their requests.

He made his way back to the group. They all (save for Aurora, who hid still behind Blueblood) wore teasing smiles. Before any of them could speak, he grabbed his drink and downed it all. He wasn’t even that much of a fruit punch fan to begin with.

“Attaboy, Clue,” Blueblood said. “The first step has been complete!”

“Felt like the hardest step,” he mumbled, glumly staring at his empty cup. His throat, previously quenched, now felt dry again.

“Um, I’ll go get you another!” Aurora deftly stole the cup out of his hand and dashed over to the punch table. He looked at his now empty hand, then at the distant Aurora, and then back to the others.

Brutos rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t let up now. The hardest part is going to be the actual dance.”

He grunted as Blossomforth punched him in the shoulder. “Way to motivate the poor guy, you brute.”

“I’m just being realistic—”

“Crude as his point may be,” Blueblood interrupted, “Brutos still makes a valid argument. No doubt you’re still nervous.”

“No, really?”

“You’ll be fine, Clue.” He brought a finger to his chin. “What’s that old saying? ‘Be yourself?’ I suggest you follow that sound advice.”

If being myself means being a mockery of… no! I shouldn’t think like that!

He gulped. “W-well, on the bright side, that won’t happen until much later. So I’ve some time to prepare.”

Blueblood nodded. “I suppose you do.” He smiled. “Perhaps a little practice wouldn’t hurt?”

“Huh? Practice? With who, Blossomforth?”

Aurora came back with two cups; she’d apparently finished hers and had gotten herself another. While Clue’s eyes remained trained on her cousin, the others’ had theirs set on her. She frowned.

“What?”

***

“Since you lost Dance Dance Revolution against me,” Blueblood said as he propped Aurora’s quivering left arm on Clue’s shoulder, “consider this a chance to practice further!”

Clue and Brutos stared at the boy; the latter was the first to speak. “You play DDR?”

“Of course. It is very good for the legs. Highly aerobic. You should try it; maybe it’ll help in football.”

He turned back to the two. “Now, I know that the music isn’t quite so fitting, but this’ll do you both some good.”

“Um, okay,” Clue said. “But isn’t it a little late for this?”

“Better late than never,” Blossomforth said. “Hold on a second. Clue, you have to bring your arm around more.”

“I already have it at her hip!”

“You need to have your hand pressed against her back.”

“All right, fine… how’s this?”

Hand now against Aurora’s navy dress, he looked at Blossomforth for approval. Instead, he got Blueblood’s, in the form of clapping. “Wonderful! You’re not as hopeless as I thought you were!”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t tease him, Blue,” Aurora murmured. She was doing her best not to look at Clue at all. Her face was an incredibly heated red. He was afraid her head might pop.

“Of course, cousin mine,” Blueblood said. “Now, do you two remember the steps?”

They both nodded.

“Of course you do. Well, go on, then!”

“Blueblood,” Clue said, “we don’t have the music.”

“You don’t need the music.”

“We need the beat, at least! Something like that—”

The vibrations from the stage interrupted his voice. It was hard to be heard over it, and even harder to hear Blueblood’s frustrated words. “Look, just, imagine it in your head! You can do it; it’s such a simple tune!”

Clue gulped. He had forgotten how commanding (and pushy) Blueblood could be when his patience wore thin. Desperately, so as not to incur his wrath, he tried to think of an easy beat.

He hadn’t been to too many dances before, and not many had had slow dancing music, so he didn’t need to search for long for one. It was something from a wedding where he had been the ring bearer. Somehow it had stuck in his head ever since. He could feel the music in his head race down his limbs. It was like being gently ushered by a singing wind that only he could hear. Looking at Aurora, though, it seemed like she had something similar in mind.

“Got it?” Blueblood asked; then, before either could answer, he added, “Then get going!”

They began to dance.

With each step, the floor shook; but it wasn’t because of them, but because of Vinyl’s playing. It became harder and harder to concentrate on that inner music that should have been guiding them. Their rhythm faltered. Visibly confused and uncertain, they stopped after only a few steps.

Clue explained the predicament to the others. “Maybe we could get some earplugs,” suggested Brutos. “Though, I wouldn’t know anyone who’d bring any.”

“No, we shouldn’t do that,” Blueblood said. “They need to be able to hear their breathing. It’ll keep the rhythm.”

Blossomforth cupped her chin. “Maybe…”

“Hmm? Got something, Blossom?”

“Actually, I just might.”

She stepped forward and—far harder than she should have—grabbed No Clue’s head and twisted it so that it faced Aurora’s. “Okay. Here’s what you two need to do,” she said. “Don’t focus on anything else but each other. Let everything else fade away. Concentrate on ‘hearing’ each other’s hearts, ‘feeling’ the other’s rhythm, and match it.”

“But—”

“No buts, Aurora Veil,” Blueblood said, smiling wickedly. “Trust me. You’ll be thanking me by the end of this ordeal.”

Blossomforth then looked back at No Clue. “Ready?”

He swallowed any protests he had, and nodded. “Y-yeah.”

“All right. Let’s try this again, you two.”

Clue remembered the tune and, with the slight prompt of his foot, they began once again to dance.

This time, the music came clearly. The notes didn’t falter nor fade; it was like it had been seared into his mind, engraved in stone, neatly prepared for this very moment. As Clue looked into Aurora’s eyes, the music became louder and louder, until he couldn’t hear even the jerking thumps from Vinyl’s music. Aurora’s eyes were a sapphire-blue sea that contrasted her rosy cheeks; but, with each beat and each slow, methodical step, that rosiness began to fade.

They settled into a comfortable rhythm. Step, touch. Step, touch. Each step-touch combo brought them to one side; then the top; then the other side; then the bottom. Soon they had made a circular path. They managed not to trip over each other despite not being able to look down; even if they were able to, there was nothing that would pull them from the other’s gaze. Step, touch. Step, touch. One set complete.

Clue decided to take a chance and raised Aurora’s hand. She understood immediately. He brought her arm up; she stepped under; and spun, before their hands found the other’s hip and their slow dance resumed.

He was vaguely aware of someone gasping; in the beautiful opera that played in his mind, he couldn’t distinguish if it came from Blueblood, Brutos, or Blossomforth.

Aurora blinked. Her eyelids drooped ever slightly, like she was falling into a dream. A cute smile grew on her face, one that Clue found himself mirroring. He was enjoying himself more than he thought he would. This was how he pictured it; dancing with someone he enjoyed being with, with her purple hair and bespectacled eyes and—

He paused. He was supposed to be thinking of Rainbow, not Aurora. But he didn’t feel bad thinking this way.

“—ey, hey! You two!”

With the pace of a sloth, Clue became aware that they had stopped dancing. He blinked, finding himself face-to-face with—and alarmingly close to—Aurora Veil. The voice came from Blossomforth; her fingers were next to his face, snapping furiously.

“You two okay? You sort of zoned out there,” she said.

“Um… yeah. We’re… well, I’m fine. Uh, are you fine, Aurora?”

“H-huh? Uh… I mean, yeah! Yeah, I’m… I’m fine.”

They awkwardly separated. It took longer than it should have. Without Aurora’s hand on his shoulder and hip, those areas suddenly felt alarmingly cold. The girl herself gripped her own shoulder like she was missing something. She caught his gaze, gasped, and looked away. She seemed embarrassed.

“So, uh… how were we?” Clue weakly asked.

Blossomforth let out a gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. “You two were absolutely incredible! It was like you were made for each other!”

Blueblood’s date’s eyes twinkled. “You just danced so fluidly, like you knew how the other would move beforehand! Blueblood, you said Aurora couldn’t beat you in DDR? With those moves, that’s hard to believe!”

He harrumphed. “I admit; you two performed spectacularly. Almost like professionals, give or take a few years’ difference.”

Clue rubbed the back of his head. “Gee, really?” He looked back at Aurora. “I mean… I guess we were pretty good, despite being first-time dance partners. What do you think, Aurora?”

She surprisingly raised her head. “I… I think we were pretty good, too, Clue.” She offered a tiny smile.

Blueblood clapped his hands. “Splendid! Seems I don’t have to teach you everything from the ground up, after all. Less work to soil my hands with.”

“Wow, Blueblood. Your praise is staggering.”

Brutos was the only one who hadn’t said anything, so the boy turned to him and asked, “What about you, Brutos? What did you think?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, his mouth covered by his hand, his eyes turned away from him. It seemed that he hadn’t heard him.

Clue raised an eyebrow. “Er, Brutos?”

“You were good, Clue,” he suddenly said. He still did not look at him. “Real good. You can trust me on that.”

Clue stopped, then smiled. “Yeah, I guess I can.”

Vinyl’s track ended, and a new one began. She suddenly lowered the volume. “Listen up, people,” she said into a microphone. “There are a few more tracks before tonight’s slow dance segment! So send in your song requests if you have any!”

At once, that cold steel spike drove itself through Clue’s stomach and impaled his very heart. A thousand memories and thoughts became a tornado in his mind. The world spun, twirled, danced sporadically, like some horrifically nauseating merry-go-round, and he thought he might fall—

But he didn’t.

He swallowed, hard. He turned away from the stage and faced his friends, forcing a terrified—but also terrific—smile. “No way out of this anymore, is there?” he asked.

Blueblood and Brutos both shook their heads. Aurora remained in a dream-state, while Blossomforth giggled.

“Of course there isn’t.” He took a deep breath. “Well… one more dance. One more dance until we find out—until I find out—well, if I find out anything.”

He grabbed his drink off the table and took a sip. It was still cold and refreshing.

***

Artifex’s drink was warm, but he drank it anyway. The punch table was a short distance away but he didn’t feel like walking over there and getting a new drink. Besides, the bowl was probably warm, too, what with all the people scooping out the drink and putting it in their cups. The bubbles burst against his tongue like splashes of flavor. He didn’t find the fizzy taste at all appealing, but he drank it anyway.

Standing at the sidelines near the stage with the others, he listened to the music play and watched the other students dance. Swift and Pinkie were among them, alongside Gaige and Flash—the latter of whom he’d been briefly and quickly introduced. Gaige’s face was red, though, just as much as Swift’s; perhaps it had something to do with their particular dates. The other couples and groups that danced along with them looked like they were having just as much fun, if not more.

He may not have understood what this dubstep music exactly was, but he knew it was kind of appealing. It helped that Treble was busy cheering on his girlfriend; his enthusiasm, while annoying at times, was contagious.

His gaze drifted. He took another sip and absentmindedly tapped his cane against the floor with a soft thud. There was still quite a queue line. It stretched from Vinyl’s setup to the double-doors to the gym. If he craned his head, he saw that the line split into people entering the gym and people becoming a part of the line. He saw at least one person with a list of tracks they wanted Vinyl to play. He wondered if they would even last the night.

“Not going to dance?”

That voice. It was smooth, and soft, yet teasing. He didn’t have to guess who it was. He shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Adagio.”

She sauntered up beside him, her own fruit punch drink in her hand. They both watched the line grow. “Why is that?” she asked.

In response, he swung his cane out. “This thing. Can’t dance with a bad leg, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunate is right. I’m sure Sonata would have loved to partner with you.”

They looked to the end of the line, where, right next to it, Lone and Sonata participated in a sort-of group dance session. Neither really looked like they knew what they were doing, but they had on smiles. Even Aria, who kept a close eye on her sister, managed a tiny grin.

Artifex grunted. “You think so?”

“Sure. The poor girl finds you an absolute delight.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He said this while looking out of the corner of his eye, gauging her response.

She took a sip. “Take it as you will.” He nodded.

“It would be nice,” he admitted. “Sonata’s not a bad girl. A bit on the odd side, but then again, oddness is the norm around here.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. And besides, aren’t we all a bit odd?”

“I just watched six of my friends turn into anthropomorphic humans with wings and ‘manes.’ And I’m standing here next to an ex-Siren from another world, drinking fruit punch.” He looked at her pointedly. “I think ‘odd’ is fairly a weak word.”

She hummed, intrigued. “I suppose you’re right. Would peculiar suffice?”

“Mm. Not quite. Perturbed, perhaps?”

“Not all of us are weak in the mind, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then perhaps we ought to call ourselves simply weird.”

“A paradox?”

“Yes, Adagio, a paradox,” he said. “It seems fitting.”

She finished her drink and crumpled the cup, before tossing it into the trashcan behind her. “Yes, it does.”

The first song ended with a sudden drop. There was a pause of about ten seconds. Then the second song began with a sudden leap. Everyone’s movements resumed.

“You know,” Adagio mused. “I don’t think I would have minded it, either.”

“Hmm?” Artifex turned to her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean dancing. With you.” She winked at him. “I don’t think it would have been awful, regardless of your leg’s condition.”

He stared at her like she had three heads. Then he turned away, and his voice slipped from its stiff tone to a more vulnerable pitch. “Do you mean that?”

“Certainly.” She cupped her chin and tilted her head. “Though, it might be… simply weird.”

He found himself letting out a low chuckle—the first one of tonight, the first one in forever—and rolled his eyes. “Oh, ha, ha, Adagio. Real clever.”

“Mm. Thank you. I was waiting for a good time for some return wordplay.”

He looked back at her; her eyes softened. “But I do mean it,” she said. “Every bit of it. You, I think, would have been a thrilling dance partner. Something in your eyes tells me that.”

“Mm-hmm…” He rocked a little bit on his cane. “Well, I’m flattered that you think that, Dagi.” Rubbing the back of his head, he continued, “And if I could dance… well, you’d probably be high on my list of who I dance with first.”

That catty grin returned. “Glad to know I rank so highly, then.”

“Trust me, I’ve given this a ton of thought in the last thirteen seconds.”

They both laughed. It was a good laugh. It was the kind of laugh that flowed with his blood to his heart and to his head; the kind that made his limbs tingle; his eyes water; and his body cry out for more.

“If you’re done being unnecessarily eloquent in your description,” said Treble, “do you guys mind if I go hang out over there with my buddy Soul?”

Artifex was once again confused by what the boy said, but Adagio recovered faster. “You don’t need our permission,” she said.

“Thanks, not-quite-best-ex-Siren!”

Once he was gone (and once Adagio’s brief spike in anger had faded), it was just he and the former villain standing at their corner. The others had relocated to other places. But Artifex didn’t mind. Adagio’s company was pleasant all on its own. He hadn’t realized how much he missed their little back-and-forths.

Perhaps that was why, all alone with her, he felt strangely comfortable, like it was just natural.

He returned to that familiar line of description: it was “simply weird.”

But, as was the constant in his life, it was fitting.

He and Adagio suddenly turned to each other, and both smiled; somehow he knew they’d been thinking the same thing.

Adagio raised her cup and drank the rest of the juice. She looked back at him. “I’m gonna go get another drink. Want one?”

“The punch is probably warm,” he said.

“Maybe. But I could always use the company.”

“A highly convincing argument. Let’s go.”

They walked over to the punch table, around which several students crowded. Adagio took two paper cups. She dunked them into the punch bowl and brought them out, then handed one to Artifex.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise.”

The voice wasn’t Adagio’s, and she was equally surprised as he was to hear it. Turning, they saw a tall, blue-skinned woman in a slinky, black dress right next to them, holding her own cup.

“Vice Principal Luna,” Artifex greeted.

She nodded. “Hello, Artifex. And Adagio,” she added, nodding as well to the Siren. Adagio replied in an even tone. “I trust you are finding tonight’s commodities satisfactory?”

“They are,” Artifex said.

“Yes,” added Adagio. “It’s certainly a step above the previous dances.”

“Thank you. Sister will be most pleased.” She took a sip, but looked like she wanted to say more, so Artifex asked her what else was there to say. “It’s what I said before; this is a surprise.”

“What do you mean?”

“Seeing you here, Artifex.” She cast a level gaze at him. “Forgive me, but we had assumed you were not willing to come.”

He shrugged. “To be fair, I’m not much of a party person in the first place. But, well, one: the rules said I had to come, and two: I didn’t exactly have much else planned.”

Luna nodded again. “I see. And you are enjoying yourself?”

He briefly glanced back at Adagio, then back to Luna. “Surprisingly, yes.”

“Tis good to hear.” She took a sip.

“I’m sorry, Vice Principal Luna, but did you say ‘we?’”

“Yes, that is correct. Myself and—”

A man came up beside her, wearing a copper-brown vest and dark chinos. “Myself,” he finished. There was a grin on his face, but it fell back into a neutral frown once he saw them. He also had a drink in his hands, but it was already half-empty.

Artifex flinched. “Mr. Solil?”

“Indeed,” he said with a nod.

“What are you doing here?”

He raised the cup. “Drinking something uniquely sweet, of course.”

Artifex couldn’t help but smile. “Of course. But why are you here at the dance? Shouldn’t you be home resting or something?”

“Hmm. Wouldn’t that be a nice thought?” He tapped his chin and turned to Luna. “What do you think, Luna?”

She punched his shoulder, presumably playfully, but it looked a little painful. “I think that since you’re here now, you ought to appreciate it. That’s another Manehattan saying, isn’t it?”

“Appreciate the present when you have it. So you did remember.”

Their behavior was odd. These weren’t fellow workers in the workplace. They resembled friends; no, somehow closer than friends.

Adagio reached the conclusion a moment before he did. “You’re here together,” she said. “As a couple!”

Both of them ceased their little argument, and turned to her, mouths slightly open. Luna was the first to recover. A light tinge of red adorned her blue cheeks. “Y-yes, w-well, that is… you see—”

Mr. Solil coughed. “That is… correct, Adagio, though I wouldn’t quite put it like… that.”

“Our sister,” explained Luna, “said it would be a good idea. N-not going with Carter, I mean, Mr. Solil; I mean, staying for the dance. Plus, we can’t just let her alone; not when there’s cake to be found, eaten, and hidden in the mini fridge for a few days.”

Artifex sensed there was a story behind that.

Mr. Solil asked him a few more questions. How goes the quote project? Oh, it goes real good. Really? Found a quote, then? Several, actually. Working on the analysis part at the moment. (This was a lie; he hadn’t yet decided on a quote. Not that Mr. Solil had to know.) Yes, that seems to generally be where the rest of the class is. Quote project, asked Luna. What is that? Well, you see…

Mr. Solil explained it quickly. Luna and Adagio were both interested in the idea. “Perhaps,” mused the Vice Principal, “we could put up the best quotes on the front entrance’s bulletin board?”

The conversation drifted to more general things. How long they—Adagio and Artifex, and Mr. Solil and Luna—planned to stay, with both saying they’d be here until the night had ended. What they thought of the music; it had been good so far. The Rainbooms were excellent. Yes, definitely. Even Adagio agreed to that. This was fun; they ought to do it again next year, perhaps with an even larger audience. Yes, that was a good idea. No, Artifex wouldn’t mind another dance like this in his senior year.

But the conversation suddenly became more personal. Mr. Solil turned to Artifex, and his eyes flashed with a hidden pain and deep worry. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Me? I’m fine.”

“Are you all right?”

Artifex opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. It was the same question so many people had been asking. He looked at Mr. Solil, then at Luna, searching their eyes for any reason. All they told him was that they were worried. He glanced back at Adagio. Then he looked all around the gym, at the stage, at the girls, the guys, all of his friends.

He looked back at Mr. Solil, smiled a little, and said, “I’m getting better.”

He seemed satisfied—even relieved—at that. “That’s good to hear, Artifex. Good to hear.”

Artifex felt Adagio slip her hand around his and squeeze. He could already sense her smile. He squeezed her back reassuringly.

***

Eventually, Luna and Mr. Solil had to leave. They bid them both a good night and walked away. Once they were gone, Artifex looked around the room.

He recognized the boy before the boy recognized him. His heart jumped a beat.

He stood in a small group of people, one of whom Artifex recognized as Blossomforth. The other three, he assumed, were the boy’s friends. They looked only somewhat familiar. They looked like they were having their back turned, their smiles wide, their attention turned away from him.

There was movement as another group stopped in front, giving Artifex a moment to pause. He wasn’t sure what to think. They were there, yes, but that was it. That’s all there was. Yet suddenly, inexplicably, he was filled with a desire to go over there and talk. It was a deep and pulling urge, too; and it felt like he had to, like it was necessary.

He honestly couldn’t explain it, so strange it was.

The group split up, allowing him to see the boy again. Still his back was turned. He raised his head and drank; Artifex felt an urge to do the same.

He frowned. He was being weird. If he really wanted, he could go over there and indeed talk to the boy; but his legs failed to move. Another group passed by, obstructing the view. He craned his neck, trying to see over them, but found he couldn’t. The boy became a memory as more people arrived.

“Hmm. Zoned out again?”

Adagio’s voice was a comforting presence, and he stepped a bit closer out of instinct. “I suppose you could say that,” he said with a slight nod.

She frowned at him. “You saw something, didn’t you?” When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “Of course you did. Look. If you feel uncomfortable, I can at least help you outside—”

“No.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “No. Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” He took a sip, not once breaking contact with the opposite wall. “I’ll have to face this eventually.”

She nodded. “I’m going to check up on my sisters. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t.”

The crowd parted again. The boy had gone, but one of his friends had turned his head and saw Artifex standing there. The other boy frowned, put down his cup, and, in short, refined steps, approached. Artifex put down his cup and waited.

***

Vinyl’s track had ended. There was a moment of odd silence for everyone. Then, the unmistakable sound of a cello began to play through the speakers. People parted and left the center. Others joined and took to the middle with great gusto.

The beat and rhythm was eerily similar to what Clue had imagined in his head. Whoever this friend of Vinyl’s was, it was clear she had well-crafted tastes. It started with one string instrument, but gradually became two, then three, and then a whole quartet. Then a piano joined in, and the tune became upbeat, lively, yet still retained that graceful air and attitude.

His hands escaped into his pockets as he walked. He tried to reassure himself. All he had to do was ask, and then they’d dance, and then they’d be on their merry way. Well, if he was lucky, they’d be on their merry way, only to do this all over again. Besides, it wasn’t like she’d forgotten about this particular arrangement, right?

Right?

The thought sent nervous shivers all throughout his body. He began to push, desperate to get through the crowd, heading to where he had last seen the girl. He couldn’t lose this chance; he couldn’t; he wouldn’t.

Now or never, Clue. It’s now or never. Now or never—

He yelped as his foot caught on someone’s leg. Falling forward, he held up his hands, and was able to prevent his face from becoming mush. But in that split second, the crowd had parted, and when he looked up, he found not one, but three girls looking down at him. Their expressions were that of shock and surprise.

“Oh my gosh! Clue, are you okay?” Rainbow asked. She knelt down and helped him up while the others—he recognized them as Sunset and Pinkie—watched them.

He let out a groan, covered his mouth, and turned it into a sigh. “Y-yeah, I’m fine! Um… how are you?”

“You sure? That was almost a nasty fall. Man, you sure are a klutz!”

That stung a little, but he forced a smile. “H-hehe, yep, that’s me, all right.”

“What are you doing over here?” Sunset asked. “Weren’t you with your friends?”

“They’re over there.” He pointed behind him. “Doing, um… things…”

They gave him a weird look—save for Pinkie, who nodded, somehow understanding through the mess.

He cleared his throat. Don’t butcher this! “U-uh, a-anyway, uh, I, uh, that is… I mean…” He loudly coughed. “Geez, is it hot in here, or is it just me? Ehehehe… Sorry, that was a bad joke. Let me start over. U-uh, my name is N-No C-Clue—no, wait, you already know that. I, uh… ehehe. I’m not very good at this.”

Sunset offered a smile. “Hey, it’s okay. Just go at your own pace.”

He nodded and closed his eyes, and tried to speak slower. “… Rainbow.”

“Yeah?”

“Um… since this is, um, the slow dance section of tonight, and since you invited me to this dance in the first place… would you… um… like… to… dance…?”

He rubbed the back of his head, deeply embarrassed. Way to go, Casablanca.

Rainbow looked a bit red. “U-uh, sure. I mean, sure! Yeah. Let’s… let’s go do that.”

She gingerly took his hand. She turned her face away so that it hid behind her prismatic bangs. Clue looked over at the other girls. Sunset offered an encouraging, if slightly confused, nod, while Pinkie grinned from ear-to-ear and looked like she might explode for sheer excitement.

They walked away, and No Clue couldn’t help but think that that could have gone a little bit better.

The slow music was still playing, thankfully, and it looked like everyone was starting to settle in. He took his position some feet away from another couple, and looked to Rainbow expectantly.

“You okay?”

She was blushing heavily. “Um… I’m not really good at this.”

“That’s okay. I can teach you on the go!” I hope!

“Well… okay.” She came around and stood in front of him. He helped her position her arms in the right way. He told her to follow his beat, and she nodded, though she still looked deeply worried.

There was a pause, then the music started up again. The couples around them began to move. Clue and Rainbow tried to follow.

She stepped on his toes. She tugged too tightly on his clothes. He would have made a joke, but his face was heating up way too much to concentrate. They did a few steps in the right direction, then their rhythm faltered; Clue stepped a little too far, forcing Rainbow to speed up, and they almost collided with another couple. Somehow, they managed to keep up with everyone else, if a bit choppily. When the first set ended, both were out of breath.

“You really haven’t done this before?” he asked through his panting.

She shook her head. “No… I took lessons a long time ago, but I kind of forgot. And… um…” She looked away. “I almost forgot that you were here…”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “It’s okay. Um… w-we just need to practice a little bit, that’s all. Uh… here!”

He suddenly grabbed her and they fell back into position just as the second movement began. “Just follow my lead as best you can,” he whispered.

The knowledge that came from their previous mistakes helped them greatly. Their movements became rather fluid, and their steps became even. Soon they weren’t fumbling about; they were actually dancing. A slow and steady smile grew on Rainbow’s face.

But the movement was still stiff. Clue couldn’t get the connection; it was there, but very faint, and he found it hard to find and use. Their individual beats were just the slightest bit off. Yet he tried for a brave smile, pushing through, and for the most part, they almost synched up, even if Rainbow did step on his feet every once in a while—she muttered several apologies.

She was beautiful in her own way, tough in everything else. Similar to Aurora, in that sense. She moved with her own kind of grace, one that came from years of athleticism and finesse.

The music picked up its pace, becoming a swinging tune, and their pace picked up just the same. Now Clue no longer led; Rainbow did. She laughed and he laughed a little quieter and they swung and danced and jollily stepped over each other’s feet. The other couples joined in. They nearly tripped once or twice, but Rainbow kept going. Clue found he couldn’t quite keep up.

Then the swinging slowed back down to a step-touch beat, and Rainbow once again became a befuddled and frustrated mess. But they kept going, kept dancing. Clue tried for that connection once again, and thought he felt something, but it felt incomplete and alien to him.

His smile was about as forced-looking as it could get, even as his heart thumped and he was filled with energy.

“Hey, hey! Let’s give it up for our amazing couples!” Vinyl called once the music ended. “Now, while we give these folks a short rest, how about we see some new faces on the dance floor?”

They were out of breath. Clue had to lean over on his knees. Rainbow threw back some of her bangs. He came over, tried to make a comment, and failed, instead only able to let out tired breaths.

“We gotta get you into shape, Clue!” she exclaimed with a laugh.

Other couples came out, giving him a chance to breathe. “Y-yeah. That might be a good idea.”

Looking around, he saw that everyone else’s attention was on the couples in front of them. Effectively, he was alone in a crowd with Rainbow Dash. He gulped; this probably was his last and only chance to muster up the courage to say something. I’d better think this through; don’t want to risk getting tongue-tied—

“What’s the matter, dude? You look a little sick. You’re not gonna vomit on me, are ya?”

“Gah!” He jumped a little. “Rainbow!”

“What?”

He turned to her, intending to tell her off; but then his voice cut out. She stared at him through those magenta eyes. He felt trapped; cornered. Those eyes and that gaze held him in place like iron chains.

At least I can’t run away. Not from this. Now or never.

He gulped. “Hey, look, Rainbow.”

“Yeah?” she asked. “What is it?”

His throat felt dry, but he powered through it, trying to ignore the urge to lick his lips. “Um, did you, y’know… like what just happened just now?”

“You mean dancing? I mean, it’s not my cup of tea or anything.”

“Oh…”

“But I did like it. You’re not a bad dancer, Clue.”

She winked, and his heart nearly burst. He chuckled weakly. “Th-thanks.”

“Why’d you bring it up, though, man? Not feeling insecure or anything about your footwork, are ya?”

“O-oh! W-well, you see…”

Suddenly it seemed like his heart had leapt into his throat. He couldn’t talk. His mouth moved but no words came out. His eyes shrank into panicked pinpricks as Rainbow gazed at him worriedly. “Clue? You okay?”

“Y-yeah, it’s just… it’s just…”

“Dude. Come on. Just tell me what’s up.”

“I… I…”

He sighed; it came out long. “I… it’s hard to say, I guess.”

“Hey, man.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “You can tell me. No one’s gonna hear in this loud of a crowd.”

Somehow that thought didn’t reassure him. His hands felt cold in his pockets.

But… she said he could tell him.

He suddenly heard Blueblood’s reassuring voice in the back of his head. Then he heard the stoic voice of Brutos, encouraging him. He couldn’t back down; not here, not now. This was his moment.

Swallowing so hard that his heart finally fell back into its proper position, he said, “O-Okay. Um… promise not to laugh?”

“Unless you tell a joke. I promise.”

He took his hands out of his pockets and nervously tapped the fingers together. “U-uh, s-so… the d-dance. This dance, I mean. Um… would… I mean—would… well, huh, how do I—”

He stopped and took a deep breath. Just get the words out, Clue.

“The dance…”

“Clue?”

“W-would…”

“Yeah?”

“W-would you… c-consider… doing it… a-again?”

He had clenched his eyes shut so tightly that it hurt, and he had spoken so softly that, for several moments, he thought he hadn’t been heard. Rainbow didn’t say anything. He was afraid of giving her even a curious glance.

He felt her hand slip from his shoulder. His eyes slowly opened. He blinked. “R-Rainbow?”

She still didn’t say anything. He took a deep breath and turned to face her.

Her blue cheeks had gone completely red. Her eyes had widened. Her lips trembled. She looked petrified, terrified, stupefied.

Then her voice came out in a whisper only he could hear: “Clue…”

He gulped.

“Did… did I hear you right?”

He could only nod.

“… You’re serious?”

“Yes.” He’d found his voice again. “I’m… really, really serious, Rainbow. I…” He looked away, clenched his fists so hard the knuckles turned white. “I’m not good with words… so I’ll try and make it brief and clear. I… I sorta have a… crush… on you.”

He sucked in a breath and continued before Rainbow could interrupt him. “A-and, I know that… that it’s pretty sudden, and that this isn’t really the best time or place to tell you all this, but I think it’s best that I get it over with as soon as I can and—and I’m rambling again, sorry, sorry!”

“You have a crush?” she asked. “On me?”

“Y-y-yeah. H-had one since the day we f-first met… sad, I know…”

“Why?”

His hands found themselves back in his pockets. “I just… I don’t know… I fell for you. Really hard. Maybe it was just because of the situation.”

“The situation?”

Here, his voice strengthened. “I was the new kid, in a new town, starting a new day! It was… daunting. I was afraid I’d mess up or something, get called out, get called weird. But then you showed up and you were really nice and it was super cool and you were super cool and I just… I couldn’t help it.”

He sighed, voice faltering. “I guess I’m saying that you were the first good thing to happen to me after I had started all over. And… things just happened. Things just rolled into place.”

Even as he said these words, a sense of hollowness began to grow, starting in his stomach and slowly widening.

He looked back at her. “I’m... I’m sorry for thrusting this all on you. I probably ruined your night and everything. I… I…”

“Clue.”

Her steady gaze stopped him. “Listen to me,” she said. “I don’t mind knowing that you had a crush on me. If anything, I’m flattered!” She offered a devilish grin. “And I can’t say I blame ya. I mean, look at me. I’m me.”

He laughed a little. “That you are.”

“And I don’t think it’s really weird that this happened. And, hey, at least you were cool about it, or at least as cool as you could manage. You didn’t try to do something spectacular, or try to impress me, or, I don’t know, hire a pilot to write in the sky for you or something. You just kept on going through the days. Even if… even if I didn’t see you for most of that time.”

Both of their smiles fell. “It is what it is,” he simply said.

“Yeah, I guess so.” She breathed in, breathed out. “Point is, No Clue, you’re nowhere in the wrong here. It takes guts to admit something as big as a crush to someone.”

“R-really? You think so?”

She vigorously nodded. “Of course! Besides, this isn’t the first time I’ve of this sort of thing happening. I mean, look who I hang out with. Soul took his sweet time telling Sunset how he felt, as did Clyde for Rarity. Don’t get me started on how long it took Swift! And Gaige and Flash? Pfft! They took seemingly forever!” She laughed. “So don’t worry, Clue. You haven’t ruined my night at all.”

She smiled at him. “You’re a good guy, Nostradamus Clue. You’ll make someone very happy one day.”

At first, the words warmed his heart. But as the sense of hollowness completely enveloped his body, they pierced it instead. “W-wait. I’ll ‘make someone very happy one day?’ D-does that mean…”

Her smile fell. She looked away. “Y-yeah… I’m really sorry, Clue. You’re a good guy. A good friend by all accounts. But…”

Now it was her turn to become tongue-tied, and for all the reasons that Clue feared. “I… don’t… see you in that way.”

His heart stopped. All he could manage to say was a defeated “Oh…”

Somehow, in all the shouting, the loud music, the cheers, and the dancing, an awkward silence fell between them. Neither knew what to say; neither knew if they even should say anything.

Then, slowly, the hollowness in Clue’s body began to recede. Feeling returned to his hands and legs. He felt a rush of warm relief wash through him like waters of healing.

He giggled. Then he chuckled. Then he chortled. Then he laughed, and he laughed, and he laughed until he was too tired to laugh, and it felt good and right. She didn’t join in, but she did tilt her head, and her nervous look was replaced with one of curiosity.

“S-sorry,” he said once his mirth had petered out. “It’s just… wow. Rainbow Dash thinks I’m a good guy!”

“Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know.”

He paused, then said it again, excited. “I don’t know!”

“Clue?”

“I guess… I guess because it’s over. All that dread, that fear, that anticipation… it’s no longer there. It’s like a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I don’t have to worry about… this… anymore.”

He positively beamed. “Just saying it, to you; saying that I have a crush on you… maybe that’s all I ever really needed or wanted. Just to let you know, even if it would ruin things between us.”

“Come on, Clue,” she chided. “Nothing like that is gonna ruin our friendship! You’d have to do some pretty serious stuff to do that! Not that,” she added with a smirk, “you look the type to cause trouble.”

“Ha! Is that a challenge?”

“It is if you want it to be!”

They both laughed, drawing a few odd looks from the surrounding students. Clue wiped a tear from his eye. “But… yeah. It’s just a relief knowing that it’s over.”

She looked at him. “But now that it’s over… how do you feel?”

“I feel good, Rainbow. I mean, sure, it kind of hurts… but it also kind of doesn’t. You know what I’m saying?”

“You know what? I think I actually do.”

They both smiled. They were good smiles. Wide and honest. The moment was joyous and happy—

—until it was broken by the gut-wrenching screeching of a broken man.

“My sister’s dead!”

***

It took Clue a good two seconds to figure out who that had been, even as all the other students around him stopped and tried to figure that out. He exchanged glances with Rainbow. He noted she looked absolutely worried.

“Was that Artifex?” he asked her.

“Yeah, I think so. Gosh, why’d he sound so angry?”

“I think it came from over there,” Clue said. “By the fruit punch table. Should we…?”

“We should. Come on.”

They walked over there. It was hard; a crowd had gathered, blocking the way. They had to push past several students, some a bit roughly than others. They had formed a circle around someone, and Clue at first couldn’t see who it was.

Once he could, he gasped. “Oh my God! Blueblood!”

The boy was on the floor, looking bewildered. His face was covered with blood that leaked out of his nose. He didn’t seem to be in pain; just in a state of shock. He looked up when he heard Clue’s voice.

He knelt down and pulled out a handkerchief from his suit’s pocket. “Here. Put this around your nose.”

Blueblood nodded gratefully. He pinched his nose and winced; now the pain began to set in.

Rainbow, despite her misgivings, did look concerned. “Geez, Blueblood. What happened? Who’d you piss off this time?”

The attempt at dry humor fell on deaf ears. Blueblood turned to her. His eyes were wide, and when he spoke, his voice sounded frail and afraid.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry… I didn’t know…”

“What? Didn’t know what?” Clue asked.

“His sister… I didn’t know about his sister…”

Clue didn’t understand, but Rainbow obviously did. She gasped and shrank back. “N-No. You didn’t—”

“I didn’t know!” Blueblood exclaimed. “I swear to you, Rainbow, even I wouldn’t dare joke about something like this!”

“Hang on,” Clue said. “I’m still confused. What happened? What about a sister? What’s going on?”

Suddenly, he heard doors being slammed. He stood up quickly, and saw from behind the doors the unmistakable and furious silhouette of someone limping away. Something clicked; he had to do something, and he knew exactly what.

“Rainbow. Stay here and help Blueblood.”

“Huh? No, you should; you’re his friend—”

“Rainbow, please. I… I have to do this. I can’t explain it; I just have to.”

Nonetheless, he looked back at Blueblood, asking him a silent question. After a moment, the rich boy nodded.

“Go,” he said.

Clue nodded his thanks. He heard more people shuffling through the crowd; he recognized Sunset and Pinkie, and their faces were just as concerned as Rainbow’s. He left the girl there with Blueblood, and made his way to the double-doors. He threw them open and pursued the silhouette into the night.

38) Day Sixty: The Fall Hallows' Eve Event, Part III - Reconciliation

“The practice of peace and reconciliation is one of the most vital and artistic of human actions.”

Nhat Hanh

***

October’s wind blew through his hair, hissing and screeching like a wyvern. The noise that it made sent terrific shivers down his spine and ran marathons down his arms and legs. He regretted not bringing a coat with him; the suit only protected and warmed so much.

It was dark, too. The clouds had rolled in and had blocked the moon and stars. Only the light from the school provided a small amount of illumination. Fog drifted across the ground. It rose and fell in tendrils of mist, like bony fingers that crept and crawled and clawed at the air. Artifex thought it fitting weather, considering the holiday.

That did not mean that he particularly liked it. The cold marble of the equestrian statue only increased his shivers. The fingers that rose from the fog he kicked away, not wanting to be seized by them. The breath that escaped his lips was warm and fleeting. But the pain?

The pain was incredible.

Against the sensation of cold, the pain proved stronger. His wrists felt like someone had poured acid on them; his leg felt like someone had taken a hammer and smashed the kneecap. His vision swam; he thought he saw himself in a pool of blood. Before him, in the fog, was a ghostly body of a young woman, also in a pool of blood. In the distance, he heard a scream, and it sounded so little and so familiar.

He blinked, and the body and cry and pain were still there.

He blinked again; only the pain remained.

Artifex flung his head against the marble with a groan. He wanted to run; wanted to get away. He desperately tried to push himself up on his cane, but only succeeded in sliding further against the statue.

Through it all, one thought pierced his mind: What was I thinking?

Memories flashed. The boy had come up to talk to him. He’d introduced himself as Blueblood, and Artifex recognized the name from an older conversation with Rarity. They did talk, though it was probably for far shorter than it felt. Blueblood had been pushy, confrontational. Without his friends beside him, Artifex had felt more and more alone and threatened. It didn’t help that the rich boy had a sneer even a mother could kill; nor was it helpful that his voice was snotty, arrogant, far too posh to be right.

How No Clue had tolerated him, least of all become his friend, was beyond Artifex.

He clenched his fists as his vision blinked red. His hand still hurt from the boy’s sharp nose. God, if he hadn’t been so hasty—

Did that fog just… jump?

Right where the phantom body had been stood a person. He was certain he was seeing things; the person seemed to float just above the ground, pale feet dangling beneath a casual outfit. Red hair that matched his red vision cascaded from the head. It seemed confused, perturbed. Then, all at once, it set its gaze on him, and hissed, before suddenly surging forward in a primal charge.

He flinched. The thing seemed to disappear for a moment, before returning back to its spot, still hissing.

Then he heard it vibrate. Oh, God, what the hell is—

Wait. That’s not it. That vibration is coming from—right next to me?!

Scrambling to get up, Artifex managed to glance back at the statute. He saw a swirl of prismatic colors form, and a cone of light shone out from it. Then he saw two things shoot out of it. The first was a dog, and the second was a high school girl.

“Oof!” the girl exclaimed. “We really should start bringing a mattress with us, Spike!”

“Yeah, that does sound like a good idea,” the dog replied.

Artifex started. Did that dog just talk?!

Then another thought cut through: I should help her.

Fighting against his cynicism and confusion, he got up and limped over to the other side.

They were both purple. The girl wore a light-blue uniform that looked slightly out of place, like it had been thrown on her suddenly. She rubbed her head. “Gosh… is it just me, or did the ground get harder?”

She noticed him standing nearby, and she let out a quick gasp. “Oh! I didn’t know you were going to meet me, Soul! How’s Sunset?”

Artifex frowned. “Sunset’s… fine. So is Soul.”

“So is Soul? What do you mean?”

He tapped his cane on the ground twice, letting out a sigh. “I’m not Soul is what I mean.”

“You’re not?” The girl squinted her eyes; then they shot wide-open. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry; you looked so similar to him!”

He grunted and offered a hand. She took it and he pulled her up. “S-sorry!” she said again. “I guess the portal messed with my head more than I wanted it to.”

“Portal?” He looked back at the statue.

“Yeah, the portal to Equestria—wait. You’re… probably not supposed to know that…”

He shook his head in a dismissive matter. “Eh, it’s fine. Sunset told me about it anyway.”

“Oh? So that means you go to Canterlot High, too?”

He looked back at the school. “Yeah. I do.”

There was a moment of silence. It was broken by the girl’s gasp. “Shoot! I should introduce myself! I’m Twilight Sparkle, and this is Spike.”

“I’m a dragon!” Spike said.

Artifex blinked. “You just talked.”

“You just saw us fall out of that statue. Are you really going to question me speaking?”

“… fair point.” He looked at Twilight with curious stare. “So you’re the friend that Sunset has talked about.”

“Yep!”

“From Equestria. As a princess.”

“That’s right.”

“… should I kneel or bow?”

Twilight giggled. “You don’t need to do either! Honestly, I’m just an ordinary pony like anypony else.” Seeing Artifex’s confused look, she added, “I-I mean, ordinary person like anybody else.”

He nodded. Then, suddenly remembering, he held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Princess Twilight. I’m Artifex Frost.”

“You don’t have to call me princess.” She took his hand. They shook. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Artifex.” She stepped back and tilted her head. “Sharp suit. Looks good on you. And you’ve even got a galanthus flower in your pocket! You’ve definitely got taste, Artifex.”

The sudden barrage of compliments momentarily startled him, but he recovered and said, “Thanks. The dance required some amount of formal wear.”

She looked at the school. “Oh! The dance already started?”

“Yeah. It’s still going, though. You haven’t missed much.”

“That’s good.” She turned back to him. “What about you? Are you going?”

Refusing to meet her gaze, he gruffly said, “I already went.”

“Really? But it’s not over!”

“No, it’s not.”

Twilight gave him a confused look. “Then what are you doing out here?”

He looked down the road. The wind blew through his hair, and he shivered. “It’s a nice night out,” he said, though it wasn’t meant as a conversation starter. “You can see all the stars and the moon and the clouds.”

“Yeah, it is,” Spike said. “You a stargazer?”

He shook his head. “It’s so nice out. So peaceful. So… odd.”

“You lost me,” Spike said, but then Twilight shushed him.

She came closer and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Somehow that made her seem a little older. “It sounds like you could use a friend to talk to.”

He glanced at her. “We just met. We’re hardly friends.”

She winced, retracting her hand. “T-true… but now’s as much of a good time to start as any, right?”

He stared at her for a very long time, not blinking even once. The music seemed to fade away. So did the lights, the stars, the moon, the sky. It was just them and the statue. Whoever this Twilight was, she seemed pure and earnest. And considering how she was friends with Sunset, he doubted she’d mean to do him harm.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fog take form of the red-haired girl again. He resisted the urge to gulp.

He sighed. “Maybe it’s a good idea. Maybe I do need someone to talk to.”

“Here. Why don’t we sit against this statue and you can tell me all about it? There’s still time, right?”

“More than you know.”

They sat against the statue, and even though it was a bit uncomfortable, none of them complained. Spike sat on Twilight’s lap while Artifex sat some distance from her. They faced each other. She motioned for him to speak.

He didn’t. His leg still hurt and his cane sat awkwardly next to him.

“Artifex?” Twilight called. “Please, you can talk to me. I promise.”

He shifted around, not knowing where to start. There were so many avenues, so many paths. The fog drew nearer, as did that mysterious figure in the distance that snarled and growled at him in a voice only he could hear.

Twilight was looking at him expectantly. He sighed. “Fine. I punched a kid.”

She blinked. Then she gasped. “You… punched someone—”

“And he deserved it!” he spat angrily. Seeing Twilight and Spike flinch, he grew morose. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout…”

“It’s okay, Artifex. Just tell me what happened, okay?”

He took a deep breath, and began.

***

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

Artifex regarded the other boy with a slightly confused gaze. “Have we? I don’t quite recall.”

“Well,” said the other boy, “it was quite brief, all things considered. I don’t suppose you’d remember it unless I specifically pointed it out to you.”

He had blonde hair and his eyes were just as sharp, if not sharper, as Artifex’s. They, too, were a cool blue. But whereas his ever so slightly rolled out at the edges and softened, this boy’s eyes were sharp all around. He was an aristocrat, born and raised; he walked and spoke and stared with all the vigor and refinery of the groomed higher class.

But those actions, those aspects, betrayed his tone. He may have spoken with calmness and neutrality, but Artifex could tell by the quick wobbling of his jaw and the shaking of his lower lip that he was mad.

For his sake, he didn’t point it out.

The boy didn’t offer a hand, but he did pat himself on the chest. “I’m Blueblood,” he said, and he said it like that was all the explanation he needed to give.

“I suppose you are,” Artifex responded, crossing his arms.

“We’ve a mutual friend, actually.”

“Do we? I wasn’t aware.”

“You shouldn’t be, I suppose.” He took a sip; it was sharp and quick, and Artifex suddenly felt a need to join him so as to not be left out. He didn’t. He set his cup on the table.

“But I believe his name should be familiar,” said Blueblood, lowering his cup. “Tell me: do you know a certain ‘Nostradamus Clue?’”

Some of the juice spilled out of Artifex’s cup and spilled onto the table, leaving behind large, red circles that stained the white, satin cloth.

“He’s a good friend of mine,” Blueblood continued.

“Is he now?”

“Yes, he is.”

Artifex stared at Blueblood, and Blueblood stared back, and neither said a word for some time. The music kept blaring and people kept dancing. Adagio didn’t seem like she’d be back for a good while.

“I don’t suppose you’ve a good memory,” Blueblood said.

“I don’t suppose you’ve any evidence to that claim,” Artifex replied.

Both were cold.

“Need I remind you of what happened four days ago?”

“I woke up, for one. I also went to school and did school stuff. Really, that time frame is so general that I could name you any number of events and be correct.”

“Certainly, you could.” Blueblood swallowed the rest of his punch, crumpled the cup, and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. “But I don’t suppose you’d remember something in particular, would you?”

Artifex narrowed his eyes. “Get to the point.”

His tone dripped with acidic menace; it was clear he was quickly losing his patience. But Blueblood seemed unaffected by his crackling stare. “I met you that day. For the first time in two months, actually. Rather strange; I wasn’t even aware there was a new kid in school. Well,” he added, wringing his hands in front, “besides No Clue, of course.”

“It’s a fairly large school. I don’t think two months is long enough for you to know who’s new and who isn’t.”

“A veritable conclusion, if nuanced and presumptuous.” Blueblood sniffed. “Nonetheless, when we first met, it was not under the best of circumstances.”

He racked his brain for what the boy was talking about. Four days ago… had he met Blueblood that day?

He remembered seeing No Clue. He remembered feeling angry.

He nodded slowly. “Yes… I think I remember now. No Clue and I. We’d bumped into each other. And… you’d apologized?”

Blueblood offered a dry chuckle. “Yes, I know. It seems out-of-character of me.”

There was another moment of silence. Artifex’s throat felt dry. He would have taken his cup and drank from it had he not wanted to not break his gaze. He wasn’t sure where Blueblood was going with this, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t like it.

This boy was cold, just like him. It was almost like standing in front of a mirror. He could read him quite well, and Artifex somehow knew that Blueblood could do the same for him.

Blueblood suddenly sighed. “Well, we didn’t exactly exchange kind words. Or words at all, for that matter. Yes, I’d apologized, but you?” He closed one eye and tilted his head. “You didn’t.”

“Was I supposed to?”

“Please. Apologetic actions are more often done on both sides. I think you know this.”

“Maybe.”

Blueblood sniffed. It was a short and anxious sniff. It began to annoy Artifex, but he didn’t say anything. “You are as frigid as your last name suggest.”

Artifex raised an eyebrow. “Throwing insults won’t earn you much respect.”

“Neither will callously handling others, but I suppose you don’t care about that, do you?”

Artifex took an aggressive step forward. It was a fast movement for him, and it caught Blueblood off guard and made him step back. “If all you are going to do is insult me,” Artifex said, “then I suggest you leave. If not, then tell me what the hell you want.”

Blueblood recovered his lofty demeanor, and he sneered. “Come now, Artifex. This is hardly neighborly.”

“We aren’t neighbors. Get to the point.”

He wrung his hands and shrugged. “What can I say? I’m loyal.”

“You? Loyal?”

“Yes, me, loyal. I don’t know if you know the meaning of the word, so let me spell it out for you. L-O-Y-A-L. Loyal. Showing firm allegiance, usually towards someone important.” Blueblood took a step forward; they were inches apart. Artifex realized that they were actually the same height. “And I’ll have you know that I consider my friends very important.”

Artifex didn’t flinch. The rest of the gym suddenly seemed to go silent. He wasn’t sure how many eyes were trained upon them, if any.

“I want to treat those who are my friends well, because anyone who can find it in themselves to befriend someone as superb and—yes, I’ll say it—snotty as me ought to be treated well.”

“So you take care of your friends. And?”

“Not just take care of them. I try to right any wrongs done to them. When they are insulted by someone, I’ll take that someone and teach them a few things about who they are allowed to insult. If they are bullied, the bully will stop being a problem if they want any chance at succeeding in anything in the future. My family has a certain level of prestige and reputation that allows me to even minutely control even the most rambunctious of barbarians.” He paused, glancing to the side. “In a way, that makes me similar to how Sunset Shimmer used to act. Amazing we weren’t allies back then.”

He looked back at Artifex, and his gaze narrowed. “Wrongs are meant to be righted in the end. And when it comes to my friends, if they are handled poorly, then may God have mercy on the perpetrator.”

“Cut the dramatics,” Artifex said. His grip on his cane tightened. “I don’t care about how you view friendship. Tell me what you want or I will walk away.”

“I want to know why.”

The statement momentarily missed its mark. Artifex blew out an angry breath and turned away, but then stopped.

Why.

Why “why?”

He turned and asked Blueblood what he meant. “I want to know,” he repeated, “why you are so angry.”

He didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Better yet, why you seem to hold a grudge against No Clue of all people. Why not against the Sirens? Oh, yes, I know what happened. I’ve heard things. How Adagio teased and taunted you. How Aria threatened to punch you. If anything, they’d be more likely to earn your ire than your respect or tolerance; yet here you are, and there you were, standing next to one of them, like you were friends.”

“That’s—”

“Bar the fact that those three have a history of trying to take over the school, you’ve still a trio of girls who have tried to hurt you. Yet you forgave them.”

“I forgave them,” he said with gritted teeth, “because it was the right thing to do. Because they were earnest and honest and they felt bad and—”

“If it’s the right thing to do, then why haven’t you forgiven No Clue yet?”

“There’s nothing to forgive!”

“Well, I don’t know that, and neither does he!”

Blueblood pointed to the dance floor. Artifex now could hear the light notes of a simple waltz. He couldn’t see who he pointed to, but he had a good guess. “Listen to me. I don’t know what your relationship with my friend has been. I don’t know if it’s been good, or bad, or absolutely toxic. But it’s been eating him inside and I don’t know why. I don’t know why he’d ever be bothered by the fact that an asshole like you hasn’t given him the time of day, but then again, maybe that’s why he’s bothered giving me a similar chance.”

“I’m not mad at Clue,” Artifex protested. To him the words felt hollow; he knew they weren’t quite true. “How can I be?”

“That’s what I’m asking,” Blueblood replied. “And that’s what you’re not answering.”

“I…”

What could he say? What could he say that hadn’t already been said? What could he say that would be satisfactory? Filled with confusion and doubt, all he could do was stutter fragments of words and phrases. Normally articulate, here and now he was nothing more than a blubbering oaf.

Blueblood rubbed his temples. “If you aren’t going to answer, then at least allow me the pleasantry—” He said this with incredible disdain, as if the word was poison; “—of providing some theories.”

Artifex didn’t answer or nod. Blueblood took that as a prompt.

“Perhaps it is because you are green. Envious. Jealous of Nostradamus. Perhaps you’ve seen his grades, seen how he far excels some of the brightest in our school. Perhaps you find that infuriating. Perhaps you think that there is an insane gap between your level of skill and his. Perhaps you are resentful of that fact.”

Looking up, he saw Artifex regard him with an unamused frown. “That’s idiotic,” he simply said.

Surprisingly, Blueblood nodded. “I thought so, too, but I couldn’t just rule it out based on gut feelings.”

“Gut feelings?”

“Certainly. I don’t know you very well, Artifex, but I can tell you’re fairly smart. You aren’t stupid. You carry yourself as someone who knows more than he lets on. An admirable quality, in it of itself, I must say.”

Unsure how to take the compliment, Artifex shrugged.

“But, of course, there are other possibilities. For instance, perhaps you were just having a bad day?”

“Perhaps—”

“I was joking. You and I both know it was more than that.”

He sniffed again. Artifex’s hand tightened around his cane.

He was silent. He regarded Artifex with a careful, unreadable stare. He seemed hesitant to continue, as if he was trying to gauge Artifex’s lack of a verbal response.

“We,” Blueblood started. Then he faltered. He visibly swallowed, hard, like there was something lodged in his throat. “W-we… w-we all have our problems. And sometimes those problems are rather… personal.”

Now there was a lump in Artifex’s own throat. He couldn’t explain why.

The boy in front of him, previously so confident and holding on to a cold anger, now seemed subdued and nervous. He rubbed the back of his head. “I doubt you’d care, but… I understand a little bit.”

Understand?

“My parents haven’t the best relationship. They fight just as much as they don’t. It used to be pretty bad. I’d have to lock myself in my room as I heard my mother storm out and heard my dad drink himself half to death.”

Even Artifex had to sympathetically wince. Marriage was just as lovely as it was painful. But what did that have to do with him?

“Families are… strange, aren’t they?” At this, Blueblood offered a light chuckle, but there wasn’t any heart in it. “You go from loving them to despising them after only a moment or two. Sometimes it’s what they do that makes you want to throttle their necks.”

Where are you going with this?

“You’re the youngest of your family. You’d want all the attention; I get that. But you probably didn’t get much, did you?”

The cane wobbled. Artifex clenched his jaw.

“No. Instead, the attention was diverted to someone else. Someone else outshined you at every turn. There isn’t a single article on the internet about your accomplishments—”

“You looked me up?”

Blueblood ignored him—at least, he seemed to do so. “And that must have dug into you. It would dig into a lot of other people. And being so young, you wouldn’t really know how to… handle it. ”

The boy shrugged. “Perhaps you’d become resentful to that someone. Perhaps you’d feel angry. Maybe, just maybe, you’d feel that your family had betrayed you, had purposely ignored you, raising one child up while lowering the other. Perhaps that is what kept that anger inside of you for so long.”

He paused. “I don’t have any siblings, but I can only imagine your frustration with your older sister.”

Artifex stopped breathing. A splotch of red appeared in the corner of his vision, and it began to grow and grow until the entire world was bathed in a raging crimson.

“I get it, though,” Blueblood said. “Sometimes we need some sort of release. So we turn to less-than-noble means. Bullying, roughhousing… the worst of us do even worse things, but you get the picture.” He crossed his arms. “Nonetheless, just because I understand, doesn’t mean I can condone this, Artifex.”

Does… does he really think—

“You’re hurting. I get that. You’re probably still hurting. Maybe you hold some resentment still over what happened all those years ago. Maybe you can’t find it in yourself to confront your family over it. Tell me, have you seen a therapist? No, probably not. Can’t say I blame you; they’re wholly unreliable anyway.” He breathed in, and then he breathed out. “Still, pain is pain. And when you direct that pain towards people I care about, you shouldn’t expect not to be reprimanded for it. I didn’t take you to be that dumb…”

Blueblood was saying more, but Artifex had stopped caring mere moments ago. He gripped his cane so tightly that he heard it crack a little. All other sounds faded away. There was a roar in the back of his mind, and it spread to the front and all around until his head was filled with nothing but that roar. The red before him flickered in and out of existence. He saw the flames, the steel, the monstrous iron behemoth. He saw the crash, the burn. He saw the red in front of him and behind him and beneath him. There was blood, so much blood. His body trembled. His hands clenched into fists.

“Do you really think,” he practically snarled, “that this is all because of that?”

Blueblood paused mid-speech, and regarded Artifex carefully. “Well, it relies on several assumptions, but out of all of the theories, that one is the one that I find most credible.”

“You really think that this is because of my family? After everything I’ve lost?”

His voice kept rising while Blueblood’s began to shrink. “You really think that I’ve been so mentally scarred by supposed jealousy? Over such infantile reasons?”

“W-well, I—”

“And do you really think that it’s because of my sister?!”

“I—”

The red exploded. Artifex was no longer a part of his body. He felt himself drift away, but he saw his body surge forward. He saw the raised fist; saw Blueblood’s shocked and scared eyes.

And then he heard himself scream three desperate, bloody words—

***

Twilight was silent when he had finished. His cane had slipped away, and he absentmindedly tapped a finger against his left leg. He felt exhausted even though it had only been a few minutes.

He could feel her gaze on him. She was thinking deeply. Spike wasn’t saying anything, either; Artifex found that rather odd, and he found that finding it odd at all was also odd. He couldn’t find it in himself to face her. Instead, he looked down the lonely, concrete path that led out to the street. He followed it down to the city.

It grew colder. The wind picked up. The fog swirled and reflected multi-colored light. Still the apparition drew nearer. It looked like it had changed form. Now its hair resembled coiling pythons. Its hands extended into claws, and from its mouth, fangs protruded.

He blinked. It was still there. It wouldn’t go away. Why wouldn’t it go away? Why did it linger? Why did it watch him?

He felt Twilight touch him on his shoulder. He looked at her; her eyes were wide and sad. She suddenly moved forward and wrapped her arms around him and held him close to her. She was warm and comforting. After an initial moment of hesitation, he found it in himself to hug her—albeit lightly—back.

They separated. “I’m so sorry,” Twilight murmured. “That must have hurt a lot.”

He nodded, then looked away. “It’s not every day some stranger decides to open up old wounds.” Adding on to his point, he rubbed his left leg and winced. “It’s also not every day I punch someone…”

Twilight scrunched up her nose. “Yeah… punching someone…”

“Sounds like you and he got off to a rough start,” Spike said.

Artifex snorted. “You could say that.”

“Do any of your friends know?”

“I doubt it. I pretty much got out of there as fast as I could.” He threw his hands up in the air. “For all I know, they could all still be dancing and having fun without me.”

“Does that make you angry?” Twilight asked.

Artifex paused, considering that question. “No,” he finally said, sighing, “I don’t think so. They shouldn’t not have fun because of me. They deserve that chance, that opportunity.”

They sat there for a little bit, and Artifex felt the wind rush through him and up his sleeves. It touched his scars. It tickled.

“But…”

Twilight’s voice was pensive, thoughtful. He didn’t quite like her tone. It was like she was suggesting that he was in the wrong. He knew he was in the wrong. No matter Blueblood’s character, punching him was unjustifiable. He knew that. Why was he being reminded?

“I still think that punching him was wrong.”

Yes, Twilight, that much is obvious. What else are you going to say: that the sky is blue? Water is wet? He bit his tongue and tasted something bitter.

“And running away from the problem won’t help either of you.”

Does it ever?

She was looking at him. He could practically feel her gaze. She was just dripping with sympathy and compassion. It felt like his body was on fire. He couldn’t stand to have someone be a friend to him right now.

She must have understood that, because she suddenly let out a soft “ah.” She fell silent. Spike looked between the two, still not understanding.

Artifex looked at Twilight. She looked hurt and lost. No matter. They weren’t friends. What did he care what she felt?

What would she say? Would she be disappointed in you? Mad? Or would she turn cold and lock you out of her heart?

The phantasm from afar now sat just in front of his feet. No one else but he noticed it. It looked up at him and bared its teeth, but other than that it advanced no further. It looked like it was waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Artifex,” Twilight suddenly said, “do you want to go back inside anytime soon?”

He shook his head.

“Do you want to continue the dance?”

Again, he shook his head.

“Well, what do you want to do?”

Hearing this, he grit his teeth, turned to her, and stated in a cold, barely-controlled tone of voice, “I want to be left alone.”

“Is that really what you want?”

He didn’t answer. He stared at the phantom that only he could see.

Twilight let out a sigh. She opened her mouth as if to say more, but no words came out. Spike sadly shook his head.

There was the sound of someone fast approaching, and they all looked up. Artifex was the most surprised of them all.

“Where the heck is he—oh! There you are!” Nostradamus Clue exclaimed, coming to a stop right in front of them. He cocked his head and looked at Twilight. “Um… who are you?”

***

After some brief introductions, Twilight decided to leave. She got up and dusted her dress off. “I’m gonna head inside,” she said to no one in particular. Artifex acknowledged her with a grunt, while Clue said “okay.”

She looked between them carefully, like she was worried at any moment they’d be at each other’s throats. Artifex thought that was foolish; he was much too tired, and Clue didn’t look like he’d handle himself well in a fight.

Suddenly she walked up to Artifex and took his hand in both of hers. She held it tightly. Artifex felt her fingers run up and down his scars, but if she meant that on purpose, she didn’t say so. Her lips were closed and her eyes were soft and sincere. “Your friends and I will be waiting,” she murmured. She then offered a smile; he didn’t return one.

She let go of his hand, stepped back, then offered a curtsy. “It was nice to meet you both,” she said.

“Yeah, it was nice to meet you, too,” Clue said.

When she and Spike had walked away and had entered the school, he turned to Artifex and asked, “So… who was that?”

“Princess Twilight Sparkle,” he replied curtly.

“Oh. Wait, ‘princess?’ This school has a princess?”

“No.”

He made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Clue clambered up almost immediately.

Artifex stood up, positioning himself over his cane. He stared past Clue, at the double doors of the school.

Clue scuffed a foot on the ground. “So…”

“Mm.”

“You mind telling me what happened?”

“I talked to that girl.”

“I meant inside.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Well, yeah, but I want to hear it from you.”

“Why?”

“Because I do.”

Artifex turned his gaze and looked at No Clue without a hint of emotion. To his credit, the boy did not falter. If anything, under that gaze, he looked more determined than ever.

“What happened?” he asked again.

“Blueblood and I talked,” Artifex said.

“What did you talk about?”

“Private things.”

“You punched him.” Clue crossed his arms. “The least you could do is tell me why.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“No, you don’t.” Clue shook his head. “But I get the feeling that you wouldn’t like not saying anything, either.”

“What gave you that idea?”

Clue paused, and Artifex first assumed he was at a loss for words. But when he spoke, it was with resigned confidence: “Because you’re Artifex Frost.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re Artifex Frost. You don’t do anything unless there’s a point to it. That’s just who you are.”

He narrowed his gaze. “How would you know?”

Clue shrugged. “Am I right or am I wrong?”

“… let’s say you are right.”

“Great.”

“Where do we go from here?”

“We talk about why you gave my friend a bloody nose.”

“How can he be your friend, Nostradamus? He’s an arrogant cad. A jerk. An asshole.”

“Yeah, he is, but he’s also someone who cares deeply for me and Brutos.”

“The other boy, I assume?”

“Huh. So you do remember.”

“Barely. So he cares. He deserved to be punched.”

Clue sighed. “Maybe so, but I want to know why.”

“That’s for me to know—”

“Why do you hate me?”

That threw Artifex for a loop. His thoughts came to a grinding and harsh halt. Whirling around and looking like Clue had struck him, he asked, “What?”

“I asked: why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you!”

“Then why the cold shoulder? I mean, I get that I can be a bit naïve and all, but if anything, you should hate Blueblood! Do you hate Blueblood? No offense taken if you do.”

“What—I—”

“But still! Me being naïve, I think, doesn’t warrant you hating me! At least, I don’t think it does. I mean, it’s not like this is something I’m really familiar with. Do people hate people for being too… what’s the word, ‘green?’ Yeah, that’s the word.” Clue gulped, and his voice grew an octave. “I-I mean, maybe that’s why I don’t have that many friends? Or is it something else? I-I guess, now that I think about it, you can hate me for being the way I am. It is pretty stupid. And, uh, wh-who names themselves after some dead prophet dude! Am I right? Ha ha ha, yeah, hate me all you want and—”

“I do not hate you!” Artifex shouted. No Clue opened his mouth to say more, but Artifex interrupted him; “Listen! I. Do not. Hate you. At all! Why the hell would I hate you, of all people?!”

“I don’t know!” Clue shouted back. “Maybe it’s because whenever we meet in the hall, you always give me a look like you want to burn a hole in my head!”

“That’s not—”

“What? It isn’t true? Then why don’t you explain right here, right now, why the hell are you so angry with me!”

Artifex grit his teeth so hard that he could feel his jaw screaming in pain. “I wasn’t—that’s not…” His locked jaw suddenly became slack. The anger, the frustration, it all flowed out of him like a dam had been opened. “I…” He wobbled.

Even Clue’s anger seemed to dissipate. He stepped forward. “Whoa, hey. Dude. Are you gonna faint or something?”

“No, it’s…” He took a breath. “It’s… I don’t know. Give me a second, please.”

“Uh, okay.”

Clue stepped back and Artifex readjusted his grip on his cane. It was hard to do, like all of the strength in his arms and legs had just up and left. Still wobbling upon that short, curved staff, he managed to ask, “What do you know already?”

“Not much,” Clue said after a moment. “Just that you punched Blueblood. Oh, and that you said something about your sister. Did you punch Blueblood over that, then? I get that he can be an asshole, but still.”

He ignored the feeling of his blood running cold. “Clue. Did you hear what I said? What I said specifically?”

He tilted his head. “That… your sister is… dead?” His eyes widened. “Oh… oh, no…”

Artifex sadly nodded.

“Then that means—”

“Yes.”

“Oh, God.” Clue facepalmed, hard. “Damn. I knew Blueblood had a runny mouth, but still. I can’t believe he’d stoop so low—”

“It’s not his fault,” Artifex replied, surprisingly calm. “It’s not your fault, either.”

“I didn’t say it was—”

“But you were thinking it.” At this, Artifex offered a tiny, satisfied grin. “I know you pretty well myself.”

He shook his head. “Besides. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

No Clue was silent. They both were. But it wasn’t the tense silence from before. It was as tired as Artifex, resigned like Clue. It was both of them combined.

The silence was broken by Artifex releasing a heavy sigh. “I don’t hate you, No Clue. I never did. The only person in this world I’d ever hate is already locked behind bars and won’t be released until I’m well in my thirties.”

“Then why were you so angry whenever we’d meet in the hallways?”

The sigh was repeated. “Honestly, I’ve little idea. Perhaps I was stressed out over possibly being late to class, far-fetched as that may sound. Or…” He fell silent for a moment.

“Or maybe I was never mad at you, but at someone else.”

“Someone else? Who?”

An answer arrived in the blink of an eye. It struck down all other possibilities. It made sense; so much sense that he doubted it could ever be considered wrong.

“Me.”

Clue reeled back. “W-what? Why would you be mad at yourself?”

Artifex ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t answer immediately.

“Did I hurt you?” he suddenly asked.

“Huh?”

“All those times we met in the hallways. Did it hurt? Not just physically, I mean. Did it dig deep? Drive nails into your hands, stake you out on a piece of wood?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Clue admitted, “but, yeah, it still hurt a good amount.”

“… I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

More silence followed. Neither quite knew how to continue the conversation.

Finally, Artifex had had enough. He looked Clue right in the eye. “Do you remember when we first met, and when you saw my journal?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember what I said?”

“That… you wouldn’t let me see it because you didn’t know me well enough?”

Artifex didn’t say anything for a good while. The wind picked up. The apparition nearby took some steps back and watched them.

“I think you deserve to know the truth,” he suddenly said.

Clue regarded him with a confused look. “The truth?”

“About why I’m angry, about what was in the journal. They’re… connected.”

His discomfort was visible. He awkwardly shifted around on his cane. No Clue took notice of this and said, “Artifex, you don’t have to tell me anything you’re uncomfortable about—”

“No, it’s okay.” His cane slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground with a dull thud. Yet he remained standing. He ignored the discomfort in his leg, the pain in his wrists, the nervousness that electrified his heart. “I’m done hiding it anyway. You deserve the truth, Clue.”

Clue slowly nodded.

Artifex sighed. “It’s a long story, though.”

“I’ve time. Take as long as you need.”

Artifex looked back at the school, and he saw the doors were still closed. He wondered if anyone else noticed he was gone. He wondered if they would come out and search for him as Clue did.

***

“He’s outside?” Sunset asked.

Twilight nodded. “Yeah. Someone else came outside and that’s when I left to get you guys.”

“That must be No Clue,” Rainbow said. “He said he’d go after him.”

“How’s Blueblood?”

“Right ober here,” the rich boy said with a wave, his nose still held between Clue’s hankerchief.

Twilight gave him a disapproving stare. “You know, I had almost hoped that you wouldn’t be as bad here as you are back in my home world.”

“Trust me, Princess,” Brutos said gruffly, “he’s at least trying to be better.”

They were all standing right next to the table where Artifex had punched Blueblood. The crowd had long dispersed, but now all of their friends had gathered.

“Did you really have to antagonize him, Blueblood?” Rarity asked. “Surely you knew that it would be a bad idea.”

“Mebe so,” Blueblood said, “but the way he’d been treating No Clue was unacceptable.”

Sunset pursed her lips. “He must have felt pretty bad if he ran off like that.”

“He did sound pretty regretful,” Twilight said. She looked at her fellow Equestrian. “I know I don’t know him as well as you guys did, but I think that you guys should at least go outside and talk to him. He could use some friends.”

“What makes you think we weren’t?” Adagio said, causing everyone to turn to her. “Artifex is our friend. We’re here to have a good time, and he’s feeling pretty bad. We are obligated to cheer him up.”

“Dagi’s right,” said Sonata. “Where is he, again?”

“Right by the statue.”

“Got it! C’mon, guys, let’s go!”

She took the lead, with everyone else—Blueblood and his group included—following.

“Are we really needed?” Treble asked. “I mean, we did just get introduced.”

“You said it, bro,” Gaige said, looking up at the sky. “But, I mean, this chapter is supposed to be pretty meaningful, so everyone has to go. Even if we only get a few lines to say.”

Lone looked at the two of them with narrowed eyes. “Seriously? You guys are trying to act funny in a situation like this?”

“Let them be,” Soul said. “We’ve got a friend that needs us.”

They all went through the gym doors and down the hallway, pushing past the long line of people still attempting to enter the gym. Crossing the corner, they headed down the main hallway and reached the double doors that led outside. Sonata and Sunset pushed them open, and they all filed out.

“Look!” Pinkie called, pointing a finger. “There they are!”

“What are they doing?” Swift asked.

Sunset squinted. “It looks like they’re just… talking.”

“What about?” Soul asked.

Sunset strained her ears, leaning forward. Artifex’s voice was faint, but clear and strong. It was filled with confidence, intelligence, sorrow, and hope. It was a cornucopia of emotions, spilling out of him.

Then she finally heard him say: “It all started in a hospital…”

39) Day Sixty: The Fall Hallows' Eve Event, Part IV - Revelations

Author's Note

This chapter will dive into some darker topics. For this reason, as of posting this chapter, this story will be given the Dark tag. You have been warned.

39) Day Sixty: The Fall Hallows' Eve Event, Part IV - Revelations

“I love my past, I love my present. I am not ashamed of what I have had, and I am not sad because I no longer have it.”

Sidonie Gabrielle Colette

“Loved … Death does not stop that love at all.”

Ken Kesey

***

The hospital was a large, white building, at least twenty floors high and a cavernous basement below. Pure-white light fixtures adorned the ceiling, and they reflected glaringly off of the meticulously scrubbed floor. Most rooms were empty, so it was quiet aside from the occasional beeping of some unseen machinery.

The bench was cold, but she didn’t think it wise to complain. Daddy and Mommy were inside one of the rooms. Waiting here, she counted the dots on the floor, then on the ceiling, squinting under the harsh light. There were a lot of them, and they were blue and purple and there were even a few that looked to be either green or yellow. It was kind of exciting at first—she always did like counting things. But then boredom settled in. The bench was still cold. It had probably always been cold, ever since this morning.

This morning.

She remembered this morning. Mommy had been preparing breakfast when she started groaning. Then she said some bad words and Daddy rushed in and Mommy said that she felt her water break—which didn’t make sense because how could waters break? Wasn’t water a liquid?—and she said she had to go to the hospital and Daddy agreed. Then Daddy had told her to quickly grab a snack and her stuffed elephant and head to the garage. She did so because she was scared because Mommy was still yelling and saying bad words and it seemed like she was being mean and Daddy looked not mad, not sad, but nervous.

Daddy carried Mommy down the stairs into the garage and she followed after him. They all got into the car and drove off and it was weird because she got to sit up front while Mommy sat in the back which was where she usually sat but she guessed that today wasn’t a usual day.

By then, Mommy’s bad wording had stopped, and she was breathing heavily like she had been running around a playground. Daddy kept telling her to breathe while they sped down the highway and Mommy told him to be quiet and let her groan in peace. She asked Daddy what was going on; was Mommy going to be okay? And Daddy looked at her and gave her a small smile and said that Mommy’s baby was coming.

So that brought her here, on the cold bench, waiting for Mommy and Daddy to come out.

She didn’t mind it too much. The hospital staff were nice and all. One of them gave her a lollipop, and even though it was still morning and she wasn’t allowed to have candies until dinner, she decided that after she ate all of her raisins she’d eat that lollipop. But she was a slow eater; her raisin box was still halfway full. The lollipop was stuck in her pocket.

There wasn’t anyone else in the hall. It was kind of weird but, then again, it was early. Maybe they were all asleep? She didn’t understand that. Why would people want to sleep more than normal? Then there was less time to do things!

On the other hand, this was Manehattan, and her dad had told her that it was the city that never slept. If she concentrated, she could hear the unmistakable honking of hundreds of cars—that was a really big number!—blaring past.

All of that, though, didn’t quite outweigh her boredom. She tried counting the dots again but that was also boring and she didn’t really like that. She wondered if she could find a toy room but this was a hospital and they probably didn’t have any. That, and she didn’t want to wander too far because Mommy and Daddy were almost done and she didn’t want to miss them.

There was a sudden creaking that caught her off guard. She turned and saw that the door had opened. A tall man in a white outfit walked outside, and he was smiling kindly.

“Honey?” he called.

“My name’s not ‘Honey,’” she interrupted. “It’s Ruby. Ruby Frost! And I’m seven years old!” she added proudly.

“Oh, my mistake,” the man replied. “It’s just that your mother and father said you were the sweetest thing. And honey is pretty sweet.”

“Yep, it definitely is!”

“Well, then, Ruby, your mother and father are ready for you now. Would you like to come in?”

She hopped off of the bench and grabbed her stuffed elephant and carton of raisins. “Is everything okay?” she asked the man.

“Everything is okay,” he said.

They walked inside the room. It was bright and cold and Ruby shivered because it was cold. She wondered if she should have brought a jacket. She saw Daddy standing right by a big bed. The bed had Mommy on it, and she had what looked like a small bundle of clothes in her hands, and she was cooing ever so softly. Both Mommy and Daddy looked up when they saw she and the tall, white-outfitted man enter.

“Over there,” the man said. “There they are.”

She tentatively walked to them, gripping her elephant and raisins. “Mommy? Daddy?” she called. There was a question on her lips but she couldn’t find it in her to say it.

Daddy spoke first. “Hey, sweetie. You doing okay?”

“Uh-huh. Is Mommy okay, too?”

“Mommy is okay,” Mommy said. She sounded tired.

“Really? Because I heard screaming but the hospital staff told me it was okay and then the screaming stopped and—”

Mommy let out a laugh. “Mommy’s fine, Ruby. It was painful but it’s over.”

“Ruby,” Daddy said softly, leaning down to her, “Mommy has a new baby boy. Would you like to see him?”

Ruby’s eyes widened, and she excitedly nodded. Daddy lifted her up and plopped her on the bed. Mommy tilted the bundle so that she could see what lay inside.

It was pale and bald and its eyes were closed but it was definitely a boy—after all, it was about as ugly as one. It was breathing softly. Its nose was small and its cheeks were kind of chunky. Ruby scrunched up her face. “That’s my brother?”

The hospital staff laughed, and Daddy laughed, and so did Mommy. “Yes, Ruby,” she said, “that’s your new, baby brother.”

“He’s ugly. He looks like an egg.”

Mommy let out a gasp. “Ruby!... Although, now that you mention it… hmmm.”

Ruby tilted her head. “But, I guess he’s kinda cute. Ugly-cute. Uglute? Cugly?”

The baby opened his eyes, and Ruby gasped. They were a brilliant and bright shade of blue—later she’d hear Mommy describe them as being cerulean—and they looked at her with curiosity. “Yes,” Mommy cooed to the baby, “that’s your sister. That’s your sister, Ruby! And over there behind her is Daddy! And I’m Mommy!”

The baby babbled something incoherent. It suddenly smiled. The staff and Mommy and Daddy all collectively “aw’d.”

The tall man in the white outfit came over. “Looks like the birth was a success, Mrs. Frost.”

Mommy nodded. “Yes, that does look like it.”

“And now you’ve a darling boy to add to your family,” he said, smiling down at Ruby. “You must be excited! You’re going to be his older sister. That means you have to take care of him, too.”

She nodded fiercely. “I mean, he’s ugly, but I’ll still love him.”

The doctor nodded. “Don’t worry. I’m sure in time he’ll grow into a handsome young man. But for the moment, could you give him here, Mrs. Frost?”

A nurse came over with an ink pad. Mommy took off part of the blanket and presented the baby’s foot. The man lightly placed it in the ink. Then, another nurse came over with a piece of paper, and the man took the foot and placed it on the paper, leaving behind a small imprint.

“Now all that’s left is for you to decide his name,” he said.

Mommy and Daddy looked between each other. They smiled. “Artifex,” Daddy said. “Artifex Frost.”

The man took out a pen and wrote it down on the paper. “Quite an exotic-sounding name,” he said. “What does it mean?”

“Author,” Ruby answered, surprising him. She gave him a pointed look. “What? Mommy and Daddy already explained to me what it means.”

“You were planning.” The man nodded, then presented the paper to Mommy and Daddy. Daddy took it. “And now for the final touch,” he said. He flicked his wrist and a man came out wearing a suit. He had a camera in his hands. “Smile!”

Ruby barely had enough time to smile. The flash went off; Artifex began to cry. Mommy cooed him into silence while Daddy rubbed the back of his head.

“Oops,” the man in the suit said with a sheepish grin.

Ruby looked back at the bundle. Artifex had some tears in his eyes, but they made them twinkle and shine even more. He looked at her through the tears and seemed to calm down. Her smile widened, and she let out an excited squeal.

She was a sister now!

***

“Uguh.”

“No, that’s a block. Say block.”

“Bwa.”

Ruby sighed and tossed some of her red hair out of her face. “Come on, Artifex, you can do this. It’s really easy! It’s only one syllable!”

The baby stared at her with those alarmingly rich, cerulean eyes, then made the same sound again. Ruby’s mother poked her head in. There was a phone in her hand. “Ruby? Still trying to teach Artifex how to talk?”

She looked back at her mother. “Yup! But, I don’t think he gets it yet.”

“Well, you can’t force a baby to say his first word until he suddenly says it. Your first word, I believe, was no, and that was over whether or not you’d eat your green beans.”

Ruby made a face. “I’ll still say no. Beans are gross!”

Her mother laughed. “Well, wait until you’re Grandma’s age. Then you’ll think they’re pretty cool.”

She walked away. Ruby heard her dial someone—another client, presumably—and soon the kitchen was filled with the sounds of chatter.

It had been nearly nine months since Artifex had been born. They’d spent a majority of those months settling the baby into their cozy Manehattan apartment. The boxes that had once housed several baby products and toys lay in front of the door; Ruby’s father would have to put them out eventually. In those nine months, the seasons had changed thrice. In place of summer-blue-sky blankets and pillows, now, thanks to the influence of the father, the apartment had been decorated with numerous Christmas memorabilia. The sofas were red with green pillows and blankets. A large tree had been brought in, and was to be decorated tomorrow.

It was warm in the apartment. Ruby stopped paying attention to her brother and climbed one of the sofas. She looked outside. Snow covered the ground, and under the late Manehattan lights, it had a coppery-tint. She saw some people walking by, hunkered down under numerous layers. The wind was fierce and blew against the window and made a wailing noise.

“Oogh,” she groaned as she watched some snow drop off of a tree. “Mr. Foster isn’t gonna like shoveling that up.”

She jumped off of the couch and landed back in front of her brother. He had one of the wooden cubes that had come with a toy set in his hands, but when he saw her sister, he dropped it and happily clapped and giggled. She couldn’t help but smile. Artifex had stopped looking so ugly a few months ago. His smile was small and cute, and it made her heart soar.

“Who’s a cutie-tootie-pie? You are! You are!” She playfully grabbed his cheeks and tugged them. Artifex giggled and drooled. She wiped his drool onto her skirt, but she still smiled. “You are just too adorable to get mad at, Arty,” she said, and she hugged him.

The boy babbled incomprehensibly. It sounded kind of like a faucet running, which made Ruby laugh even more.

She tried to get him to talk some more, or at least to say something that resembled words, but all he did was babble and gaggle like a… well, like a baby. She sighed. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she couldn’t rush things. If Artifex was going to talk, he was going to talk, and he’d choose what that first word would be.

Grrgle.

She looked down. “Oh. Guess I’m hungry.” She looked at Artifex with her head half-tilted. “What about you, little guy? Hungry, too?”

He, instead of babbling, raised his arms and pointed them at her. “What? Do you want to be picked up?”

“R-r-r—”

“Hmm? Red? Well, yeah, that’s the color of my hair. Want to play with it?”

She leaned forward, thinking he wanted to grab a string or two. But he instead touched her face, touched her cheeks and nose. “Roobee,” he said.

She blinked. “H-huh?”

“Roobee,” he said again. “Roobee!”

“‘Roobee?’ Wait, do you mean ‘Ruby?’ As in, me?”

In answer, he smiled at her. He clapped his hands again.

Ruby began to back up. Slowly, a smile creeped across her face. “Ohmigosh, ohmigosh! Mom! Mom!”

She heard her mother suddenly drop her phone and rush into the room. “What? What is it? What happened?”

“Arty said his first word! He said my name! He said my name!”

She didn’t notice her mother regard her with a bewildered look and turn to Artifex like she expected for him to provide an explanation. He simply smiled, pointed at his sister, and said, “Roobee.”

In the cold, December night, it became considerably warmer in the apartment.

***

The door was covered with various drawings and signs, warning anyone who did not have explicit permission to enter. Its brown coat was contrasted by the number of yellow and red caution signs. There had been a bronze hanger that used to hang Christmas ornaments, but it had long since broken off, and while a nail would have sufficed, in her father’s words, “that would be ugly.”

Ruby stood in front of the door, arms crossed. Her lips were pressed into a tight frown. She’d come out of the shower and changed quickly when she heard the front door slam, so her hair was still relatively wet and smelled like lime. Her concern, however, was on what lay beyond the door.

Tilting her head, she listened. The sound coming from inside broke her heart. It was the sound of a young boy in pain, crying, whimpering, weeping for the unanswerable why’s of the world. It was soft, quiet. It was just like him, she realized; refined, held back even when unleashed. She had heard him cry when he was a baby, yet here he was, unwilling to let that dam explode.

She considered her options. Something told her that he did not want to talk at all. But something else told her that maybe he needed someone to talk to.

Being fourteen, she doubted she could provide anything remotely comforting. She was still contending with a bad breakup, homework, and the typical drama that came with the age, but there—right there, damn it!—behind the door was the person that needed her the most. No amount of doubt could mask that truth.

She took a deep breath, raised a hand, and knocked twice.

The crying stopped.

“Artifex?” she called. “Are you in there?”

It was an obvious question with an obvious answer, meant to slowly bring the boy out. “Y-yeah,” he said, and he said it so softly that she had to lean her head against the door.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah…”

They both knew that was a lie. Ruby sighed.

“Artifex,” she said, “what happened today?”

“N-nothing. Go away.” Please help.

“Do you really want me to go away?” I will, just let me in.

“Yes, please.” Please, I need help.

“Well, I’m not leaving anytime soon. Not until you let me in and tell me what’s wrong.” I know, I’m trying.

“Go away, Ruby,” he said. His voice was uncharacteristically hard. “I don’t want to talk to you. You wouldn’t understand.” I need someone. I need you.

“Try me.” Let me help you. I can help you.

There was silence for several moments. Ruby almost thought that Artifex had fallen asleep. Then she heard shuffling, like some cloth object was being moved.

She heard him sniff. “O-okay… you can come in.” Thank you.

She twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

A sorrowful sight greeted her.

Artifex Frost, sitting on his bed, was hunched over. His white hair was a mess; he’d probably been pulling at it. His face was strewn with tears that dripped down into his lap. His bed was a mess. While he had taken measures to at least make the pillows look fluffy, the blankets had been thrown all over, and she saw visible wet marks in the fuzzy cloth.

His backpack lay against his bed, zippers pulled open, books spilling out. It was still wet from the rain. She wondered why he hadn’t bothered bringing an umbrella. She could see what looked like pieces of paper crumpled in one of the pockets.

She grabbed the nearby tissue box and walked over, and placed the box on the bed beside the boy. He didn’t respond. She sat down next to him. She heard a large truck rumble past their apartment, and she smelled gasoline leak through the open window. She heard some pigeons flap their wings and chirp and swoop by them. Even though the clouds above masked the sun and made it dark, the city was alive and well.

She looked at Artifex. He seemed to be tilting his head away from her, like he was hiding something—no. No, that couldn’t be—

“Oh my God, Artifex, what happened?” she exclaimed, suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. He turned to face her, and she could more clearly see the mark that speared across his thin, pale cheeks.

It was a bruise. Dark and menacing, it looked absolutely painful. An immature part of her wondered if it really did hurt and was tempted to poke it. Artifex tried to move away, but she held him in place. She examined the bruise thoroughly.

“Who did this?” she asked.

“I-it doesn’t matter—”

“Who did this?!” she shouted. She clenched her fists. “I swear, if it was that Hoity kid—”

“No, it wasn’t him!” Artifex shouted, shocking her. He suddenly appeared excited, vibrant; then, just as suddenly, he became morose and despondent. “I-I mean—nothing happened, honest.”

“Artifex. Who hit you.”

He couldn’t hide from her piercing gaze. “It… it was another kid. You wouldn’t know him…”

“What’s his name?”

Artifex told her. She nodded. “Don’t worry, Artifex. We’ll make sure that he gets his rightful punishment.”

“No!” Suddenly gripping her sleeve, he pled with her, “You can’t do that!”

“Artifex! You’ve been hit!” she replied. “We have to take action or it’ll happen again—”

“It won’t happen again,” Artifex insisted. “I-I promise, it won’t! I’ll—I’ll do better, really! It—it won’t happen again.”

“Do better? Artifex, what do you mean?”

He gulped, momentarily falling silent. “It’s true that I was hit… but…”

“But?”

“But I made sure he knew that I didn’t like that, but I didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened and—”

“Artifex, slow down!” She held him by the shoulders again. “Please. Just tell me what happened.”

He did, and it came out in sobs and anguished tones. It was the story of a boy driven to tears by the mere words of his peers. It was the story of one peer taking the leap and inflicting further injury upon him. It was the story of a cornered prey, with a sudden surge of strength and anger, lashing out and catching the hunter by surprise and knocking them to the ground. It was the story of that prey subsiding into a crying child, terrified by and repentant for what he had done. It was the story of one who had been hurt, had hurt someone, and still remained in pain.

When he was done, his face was soaked with tears. Ruby’s heart fell. She reached over to the tissue box and wiped the tears away. His cries became sniffles. He leaned against her and soaked her shirt but she didn’t push him away. She held him close.

They stayed like that in silence for many minutes. There were no trucks rushing by; no gasoline wafting through the windows; no birds that chirped or flew on past their apartment. The world maintained a respectful silence for the two children who needed it the most.

Eventually, she had to ask, “Did you knock him out?”

“No… it hurt, too…”

She held his hand. It was scraped and bleeding. She covered it in another tissue. “It should. You punched with the flat of your fingers, not the knuckles. You might have broken them if you hadn’t been so lucky.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Why were they bothering you in the first place?”

In answer, he pointed to his backpack. Ruby picked it up and set in on her lap. She found some books—not textbooks—in there. They were large and thick; novels, fiction and nonfiction. She flipped through some of them. There were several bookmarks and dog ears at the corners; some parts were underlined in a dull, black pen. The pages were worn; they’d been read over and over and over again, deeply loved, deeply coveted, safely guarded.

She set the books to the side and dug into the pockets of Artifex’s backpack. She felt for the crumpled notes and took them out and unraveled them. Reading them, her eyes widened, and her hands shook. Her mouth tightened into a furious frown. There were mean words and insults and jabs and more; some had gotten notoriously creative.

She looked at Artifex. He wasn’t looking anywhere but down. Tempted to tear the papers apart, she forced herself to let out a cathartic sigh and put the papers aside. There would be no need to discuss such words. They spoke for themselves. Ruby doubted she could convince Artifex to think otherwise anyway.

“They said I’m a bookworm,” Artifex said. “That I’ll never get any friends by burying myself in some dusty, old novel. They said that I’ll never get a girlfriend. They said so many things, sis… it all hurt. It all hurt so much.”

He fell against her, his voice falling soft. “And… I wonder if they’re right?”

“Artifex!”

He went on. “I mean, I don’t have a lot of friends anyway… maybe none at all. And when I’m around people who want to talk, I get tongue-tied and I don’t have much to say… and then they look at me like I’m weird.”

He shifted around and looked at Ruby. “Ruby, am I weird?”

She considered saying “of course not,” but a part of her knew that Artifex wasn’t really asking a question so much as confirming a sneaking suspicion. She sighed and said, “Everyone’s weird in their own way, Arty. We all are.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s what I keep thinking. Doesn’t stop it from hurting.”

She didn’t say anything for a good while. Neither did he.

She ran her fingers through his hair and sighed again. “Oh, Arty… I’m so sorry you have to deal with all of that.”

He looked at her. “Ruby… what should I do? I can’t just go to school tomorrow. I’m gonna get hurt again!”

She looked at him. “Artifex,” she said, “are you sorry?”

“Yes!”

“Really sorry?”

“Really sorry.” He looked away. “I… I shouldn’t have punched him. Not even he deserves to be hurt.”

Ruby regarded her brother with surprise. He’d been verbally attacked, and physically assaulted—and still he was sorry he had thrown a punch at all. A part of her thought that the perpetrator deserved it; but another part of her saw something in Artifex, something strong, stronger than anything that would want him to hurt people back.

He was the sweetest person she had ever known—and she knew that would make him a victim for a good while. People just picked on people who cared too much. There was no easy way out of this.

But that didn’t mean it had no end.

She cupped his head in her hands. “You can do something, Artifex.”

“What’s that?”

“Move.”

“Move?”

She nodded. “You have to move, Artifex. You have to keep moving. You can’t let this get to you.”

“But, Ruby, they’ll just keep coming after me. They’ll just keep thinking I’m weird.”

“Then use that to your advantage. What do they think makes you weird?”

He thought about it. “I dunno… I guess I know a lot more than other kids my age? Some of the teachers say that I’m really smart for my age.”

“Then there you go. You can use that.”

“How?”

“You said that you never had anything interesting to say? Maybe you can pull something smart out of that big brain of yours and say it in an interesting manner.”

“But, Ruby, I can’t just say facts—”

“Then don’t say facts. Say it—say it like it’s a story that you want to tell.” She offered a smile. “I mean, that’s what you like to do, right? Tell stories?”

“Maybe.” He sounded still unsure. “I mean, I know my name means ‘author,’ but that doesn’t mean I can tell a story.”

“Could you try? For me?”

He considered it. “… Okay,” he said in a quiet voice.

“There’ll be times that it’ll look bleak,” she continued. “You’ll look outside and it’ll look dark. You won’t see any light. You might even think you’re alone, that you’re on your own. But trust me when I say this, Arty: the light is never so far away. You just have to keep moving, keep traveling, keep pushing on, and you’ll find it.”

“Are you sure, Ruby? It’s… it’s still scary to me to go back there, to school. What if the other kids don’t like me still?”

“You can’t make everyone like you,” Ruby admitted. “But that shouldn’t stop you from trying to make friends.”

“Ruby—”

“Please listen, Artifex. Okay? A lot of people may seem mean, but not all people are. Some watch because they don’t know what to do. They only see one side of you and they don’t see or know of the other. Maybe some might want to really be your friend; maybe they just need to see who you really are.”

Artifex looked confused; he didn’t quite understand. Ruby tried again. “Picture it like a book, right? You read a book from usually one character’s point of view. You don’t deviate from that view. But throughout the book, the main character sees and meets other characters along the way. If the character tries hard enough, those characters will love them for being them, and they will become friends.”

“That seems highly selective.”

Ruby let out a little chuckle. “Always so perceptive and disbelieving. Have a little faith, won’t you?”

She sighed—that was becoming a bad habit. “Artifex. If you put your best self out there, people will respond positively. Trust me; I know from experience. Maybe some people will say some bad words, but more likely, people will say nice things, kind things. Be yourself and be confident in yourself.”

He was silent for a moment, before asking, “So… you’re saying I have to believe in who I am in order for people to like me?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“But… what if they don’t?”

She looked at him and saw that he looked completely empty, and her heart fell further into her stomach. He needed something to bring him back from the brink.

“People,” she said, “are inherently good, Artifex. Their desire to do good is stronger than their desire to do bad. When it counts, they’ll side with you, because they’ll see that you’re a good person to love and admire.”

“Maybe…”

“Friendship is a funny thing, Artifex. You can’t predict where it’ll show up.”

He was silent at that. Ruby combed her fingers through his hair. She listened for the city and heard nothing but a peaceful street.

“Ruby?” he asked.

“Yeah, Arty?”

“How do you know any of that?”

She smiled down at him. The answer was obvious. “Because you’re my brother, and I know that you’re a good person who’s going to do good things with his life. I love you very much, Artifex. And I know you’ve the strength to shine through this dark day.”

Words failed him. He wrapped his arms around his older sister and hugged her, and she held him back and said nothing.

They stayed like that for a good while.

“Ruby?”

“Mmhmm?”

“… I’m gonna try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

The city then suddenly became alive again.

***

Artifex Frost closed the front door shut, but he did so quickly. He pushed past the boxes that littered the entrance and walked over to the closet. He took off his jacket and hung it on one of the hangers.

His parents weren’t home. That was a normal occurrence here. But that was okay. Someone else was home; the most important “someone.”

He heard Ruby walk in from the dining room. He turned to face her. She was frowning. “Artifex?” she asked. “Everything okay?”

He smiled brightly, knowing his answer would surprise her. “Even better!”

And so he explained.

The puncher had been repentant, much to his surprise. Somehow, getting knocked around by the victim was enough to jar his senses. The puncher’s group was also repentant, though they had to get a stern lecture from the teacher and serve detention. Artifex had been a little upset at that, but there was one girl who had convinced him that it was okay. It had been strange; neither had spoken to each other, but the girl spoke as if she knew exactly how he felt.

“Who was this girl?” Ruby interrupted.

“Something Sparkle, I think? We didn’t talk long.”

He’d made a few friends, too. Someone had seen him carrying one of his books and asked him what it was about. They’d mutually bonded over a suddenly revealed love of literature. Another person had said that they felt bad for not helping Artifex when they should have. He had told them it was okay. They talked and agreed to sit with each other during lunch. Artifex told Ruby his name. She smiled and nodded, saying that Mom and Dad knew the family, and that they’re kid was a nice one.

Some people still had jeered at him, and he could see Ruby’s frown already develop before he had finished. He was quick to tell her that he tried his best to ignore them. It helped that he had some friends to back him up. Friendship was an amazing thing, he had realized; its strength should not be underestimated. So the jeers came and went; and they didn’t hurt as much as they used to. He hadn’t gotten any crumpled papers in his backpack, either. For that, he was grateful.

It had rained again. One of his new friends had offered to hold an umbrella for the two of them, and he had smiled and said “Sure!” They walked home together.

“Who was that?” Ruby asked.

“Moondancer,” he replied. “The one with the glasses and sweater.”

“Oh, yes, her. She’s a quiet one. And a cute one, too.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind, Artifex.” Ruby smiled. “Well, it seems like today went well, then.”

“You said it.”

“I’m glad, Arty, I’m glad.”

She came over and knelt down, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But if there are any future problems, you can tell me anytime, okay?”

He smiled back and hugged her tightly. “As long as you never leave me alone.”

“Oh, Artifex. I would never leave you alone. I love you too much.”

“I know, sis. And I love you, too. Thanks for helping me.”

“I’ll always be here. I promise.”

***

“Arty, could you put your plate away?”

Artifex made a face, but did so anyway. He came back shortly after. “Come on, Mom. Can’t you call me something different? That name is so childish.”

“Maybe so, but you’re still my child. I can call you whatever you want.”

“Bar, of course, insults and the like.”

His mother offered him an even glare, before breaking out into smiles. “Ah, there you go again with that sharp wit. At least you inherited that from me.”

Artifex rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Sitting around their dining room table, they’d had a nice, filling breakfast only minutes before. The plates had been plucked clean; little more than scraps remained. Ruby had made pancakes while their mother had made waffles and bacon. Artifex felt full.

“Enjoyed it, I guess?” his father asked with a knowing smile. Artifex nodded, and his father chuckled. “I don’t think any of us could ever say no to either of your cooking, dears.”

Ruby giggled. “Aw, Dad, you’re just saying that.”

“I’m serious! Have you considered being a cook?”

“A little bit. But I want to pursue this botany major.”

“Hey, why not pursue both? You could grow your own food and then cook it!”

“Maybe it’ll be a minor degree, Dad.”

“Well, never mind that,” said Artifex’s mother. “We’ve something special to celebrate, don’t we?”

Ruby clapped her hands. “Oh! Of course! Here, let’s clear the table first.”

While she and their parents put the plates away, Artifex remained at the table. They weren’t being particularly subtle. Ruby was too excited, and he’d already seen his parents’ gift boxes. He knew they knew he knew. Still, when Ruby smiled so brightly that the new dining room ceiling light looked dull and faded, he couldn’t help but have one of his own. Even if he already knew, he could still be excited for it.

The table was cleared. His parents came back and put their gifts onto the table. There were two, medium-sized. They were wrapped in red paper—his favorite color—and were tied up by a yellow ribbon. There were cards attached to the boxes.

Artifex’s mother winked. “I see you’ve already figured out what today is.”

“Mom, I’ve a calendar. And we’ve celebrated this nine times, six of which I remember clearly.”

“That’s our Artifex,” Ruby said, putting her own gift—a small box, also wrapped in red paper and tied up with a golden ribbon—on the table. “We can’t keep any secrets from him.”

They sat back down. Ruby gestured to all of the boxes. “So? Open them up, bro!”

He picked his father’s first. He took the card off and read it and thanked his dad. He shook it; from the inside of the box came a metal ting. He tore the papers off, revealing a simple, brown box. He tore that open, too, albeit gingerly and only one side, and dumped the object into his hand.

It was a metal bird; a pin, actually, that could be reconfigured and readjusted to the owner’s wants and needs. He grinned and stuck it to his chest. He thanked his dad again.

Next up was his mother. Her box, the same size, did not let out a metal ting when he lightly shook it. Whatever was inside sounded thick and sturdy. His mind wandered; he pictured a block of wood. It certainly was in line with his mother’s sense of humor. He read the card and frowned; his mother had made a corny joke, and while she and Ruby laughed, he heaved a sigh. He ripped the paper off and found another cardboard box before him. He took the tape off of one end and shook the box. Something about an inch or so thick dropped out through the opening.

Holding it up before him, he saw that it was a book. It was a paperback, with the sides laced in green, depicting a bronze-skinned woman swinging on a vine across an infinitely black and deep pit of snakes and crocodiles. “Daring Do and the Temple of Terracosta,” he read aloud.

He looked at his mother. “This is A. K. Yearling’s newest book?”

His mother nodded. “Yep. Hot off the presses. Do you like it?”

He smiled. “Of course! It’s better than that Sherlock Hooves stuff my teacher recommended.”

He set the book down, though not before flipping to the front cover and reading the short synopsis. His mother took a quick picture.

“Okay, mine next!” Ruby exclaimed. She suddenly pulled something from her lap and pushed it towards Artifex.

It was also a medium-sized box, but the paper was simple and yellow. There was no ribbon attaching a card to it, and in cursive handwriting the name “Artifex” was written. He supposed this was fitting; Ruby was a simple gift-giver.

It was a bit difficult to get the package open, but once he had done so, he found a white flip box taped shut. He pulled off the tape and opened the smaller box. Placed on top of white wrapping paper was a notebook. It was golden, like the kind of gold he’d read about in fairy tales and stories of myth and magic, and its pages were brand new, and there was neither a shred of dust nor dirt nor wear nor tear.

He ran his fingers across its cover. It was smooth and clean and he could feel its crisp newness.

“Open it,” Ruby said.

He flipped open the front cover. He saw Ruby’s handwriting on the first page, neat and curly, written in a blue pen.

“To Artifex Frost, brother mine,

“This is for you. It may seem like a simple notebook, but think of it as a tool for you to fully embrace your creative spirit. Within these blank pages, you will find the opportunity to completely express who you are.

“I’d like for you to write about your life in here. I’d like for you to write about your day, about whatever happens. I’d like you to write about both the good and bad. Words are powerful, Artifex, and if used correctly, they can be the musical instruments to heal the very soul!

“Remember, dear brother, that life isn’t just something you live; it’s a story for you to chronicle. And that no matter how long or short it is, it’s a story that you have to tell.

“Love always, sister yours,

“Ruby Frost”

There was something else in the box. He shifted around some of the wrapping paper. There, just as pristine as the notebook, lay a blue ink pen. The cap was untouched; he experimentally took it off and touched a finger to the tip, and found that the ink was still fresh and strong.

He looked up and smiled at his older sister. “Thank you so much, Ruby.”

She got out of her seat, walked over to him, and hugged him. He hugged her back. Their parents awed and cooed. It was a good morning.

***

When Artifex went to bed that night, he could not fall asleep immediately. His eyes danced across the ceiling and he imagined sheep jumping over his head; he could not count them all.

Everyone else was asleep, but he still felt awake and excited. He reached over and turned on his bed lamp, and the room lit up in its coppery glow. He stared up at the ceiling still. He tried to breathe slowly, to seduce sleep and fall into his dreams, but he could not. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the days’ events before him. They were bright and colorful and filled with love.

His fingers itched, and he remembered Ruby’s words.

He rolled out of bed and walked over to his desk, where the notebook lay. He sat down with a groan. He picked up the pen and turned to the first unwritten page. The blankness was intimidating and invigorating. He wondered what to write first.

Taking the pen to the paper, he scribbled out, “Dear Journal.”

The ink came out strong and would remain so no matter what happened.

***

In Manehattan, sirens weren’t uncommon. As large and tightly packed as it was, crashes were frequent, especially given the number of drivers that could be on the road at any given time. Compared to the honks from cars, the blares from trucks, and the whistles from the trolleys that crossed on rails laden between streets, sirens were just as much a part of the make-up of the city just as much as any of the former sounds were, or indeed as any person who lived there.

They were hardly welcome.

Though sirens most often meant that help was on the way—and in many a lucky case, the help was already present—they were the harbingers of doom, the messengers of the damned. Apartments were the primary victims. Neighbors who lived there for years were awfully close; when one was met with a knock at the door and two people in blue uniforms, the whole floor would feel their pain.

The sirens were manipulative of many a citizens’ emotions. When they were heard, the usual order and tidiness fell away, replaced with anxiety and worry. If the sirens personally came to someone to deliver bad news, those emotions were replaced more often than not with anger. There were many instances where, when confronted by officers, the victims’ closest would lash out and attack. Assaults were common. Jail cells, reserved the day before for one, could double overnight.

Little could be done to help any of those involved. Officers’ bruises healed but their hearts tore continually. Rooms emptied as people either were thrown in jail or fled of their own accord. Bit by bit, an apartment complex lost members. Some floors, if they were struck with a particular brand of bad luck, became empty playgrounds of broken memories.

Some tried to hold on to them nonetheless. Rooms were scarcely left with any sign of the previous owners. Memories were tied to belongings and thus taken with them during these exoduses. Rooms were made bare; they were clean slates, upon which new memories could be made, and new lives could be born.

Just the same, they were places where sirens brought life and ended life. No one liked the sirens. No one. But that did not mean that no one could forgive them for what they wrought.

When they heard the door being knocked, the Frost parents got out of their seats. Their hands shook and were unsteady. Sweat dropped from the father’s forehead, while the mother gripped her hair with frightening strength. Their faces were pale. Their worry was visible in their creased brows and tight frowns.

The father was the first to open the door. He saw the two officers, one a big, burly man with a heavy mustache, the other being younger, blonde, clean-shaven. They bore identical expressions, filled entirely by wary frowns. Their badges glinted in the hall’s light.

“Mr. and Mrs. Frost?” the big, burly officer asked.

“Yes, that’s us,” the father said.

The two officers exchanged glances. “You are the parents of Ruby and Artifex Frost?” the man asked.

“Yes, that is correct,” the mother replied, her hands coming down and clasping together, almost as if in prayer. She looked like she wanted to say more, to ask more, but she could not speak. Her eyes, as they darted from one officer to the other, did all the talking.

The younger officer took off his hat and placed it across his chest. “May we come in?”

They needn’t permission. The father dully let them in while the mother remained still. They took a seat on one of the sofas while the parents sat opposite of them. There was a tense moment of silence.

The younger officer placed his hat on his lap and sighed. The other man had not lost his frown.

They heard sirens race past the apartment, down the street, to the hospital. They heard the clamors of people gathered outside. The mother and father felt their hearts crack.

The officer who had spoken last leaned forward and took a deep breath. “Mr. and Mrs. Frost. There’s no easy way to say this. I’m sorry, but…”

With his next few words, their world died.

***

The seat of the ambulance was cold. He could feel the cold steel through his torn pants. It helped to block the pain.

He heard the sirens but could not figure out why they were here. He saw more ambulances and more police cars emerge from around the corner but he did not know what they hoped to do. A crowd of officers and EMTs blocked some of his view of the crosswalk, but if he raised his head, he could still see her arm lying across the way, pale and limp and gone.

Someone spoke to him. The pain medication made it hard to hear, or to find the will to listen. He slowly turned his head and blinked. The person was garbed in a blue jumpsuit, and she had her hands set around his left leg. He couldn’t feel her hands, though; this pain medication was great. She asked again, and he shook his head, showing he couldn’t understand what she was saying.

There was ringing in his ears. He stared at the ground even as the worker tried asking again. The ringing became the sound of crashing cymbals. Then it erupted into a roar that blocked everything out, and all he could see was her, and all he could hear was the roar, and all he could smell was the burning gasoline, and all he could taste was the memory of a mousse cake eaten months prior, and all he could feel—all he could feel—

The worker asked again, and this time he heard her: “Where does it hurt?”

That was the funny thing. It wasn’t that funny but he couldn’t think of a better statement. He didn’t hurt. His leg didn’t hurt, his arm didn’t hurt, his head didn’t hurt. That wasn’t to say he felt good, because he didn’t think he felt that, and it was just weird to feel that he wasn’t in pain even though he knew he should have and—

The worker didn’t ask again. She took something white out of her bag and applied it to his leg. Still he felt no pain. A part of him told him he should have at least winced. Perhaps he should have screamed. But still, no pain.

The worker finished wrapping the white thing around his leg. She looked over to the side, at the crowd of officers and EMTs. Suddenly her lip quivered. She shook her head, rose up, and hugged him. He somehow knew she whispered “I’m so sorry” in his ear.

But he didn’t understand. What was there to understand? He didn’t want this stranger touching him, trying to comfort him, apologizing for something that she hadn’t done.

Where was his sister? She would take him away from this stranger, away from this cold ambulance, away from whoever lay on the ground in the middle of the street in a pool of their own blood. She’d take him away and comfort him and tell him that the day was still good and that it wasn’t lost. She’d tell him this and he’d believe her and they’d go on and live their lives like nothing had happened.

Where was she? Couldn’t she see that he needed her? Couldn’t she tell that he was scared? Couldn’t she tell that he didn’t know what to do? Why wasn’t she here? Why wasn’t she next to him and hugging him? Didn’t she say she’d always be there for him? Didn’t she say that she’d always love and care for him no matter what? Why now did she turn her back on him? Why now did she decide to leave him alone?

The roaring suddenly ceased. He heard a car pull up; it was another police car. Out stepped a mother and a father. They didn’t make it three steps before both collapsed to the ground. The wail that the mother let out was deafening, and it quickly took over the previous roaring in his mind. He clutched his head and tried to block it out. Then the pain hit and he felt his leg explode and his heart give out and all of a sudden he was screaming and crying and his face felt wet and the worker was over him, trying to keep him calm, but he couldn’t stay calm and it hurt and it hurt and it hurt and it hurt and why won’t it stop please Ruby please help me I don’t want to hurt anymore you said I wouldn’t have to be hurt anymore if I tried so why am I hurting Ruby please tell me please help me please—

The wail became another siren. It echoed throughout the entire city and everything was silent under it. But just under that siren, under that noise, there was the sound of a child left abandoned, screaming into the ensuing abyss, hoping in vain that it was all a dream, that when he opened his eyes he’d be in the arms of the one who loved him the most and whom he loved the most. But this was no dream.

This was his nightmare.

***

Dark clouds gathered. They formed into a massive swirl, resembling an eye. Other clouds, lower and lighter, formed beneath it, into a large trail that dripped down and down below the horizon. The sun tried in vain to shine from behind those dark clouds, but all it did was light up the center.

The weatherman had said there would be rain. So far, that seemed likely. Those who had gathered for this day had brought umbrellas and raincoats, and these were also dark, matching perfectly the sky above.

Artifex was dressed in a dark tuxedo, much like the other men. He hated it. His hands became angry and frustrated fists in his trouser pockets. He had already threatened to tear the damn thing off and run, but it was only by his mother’s strong and sad hand did he stay.

He stood at the side with his parents as the processions filtered out. Six volunteers carried a wooden tomb above their shoulders. Their faces were hidden beneath hats and veils. Their hands were dutifully covered in gloves, like they couldn’t bear to touch the wood lest they be contaminated. One of them, a woman whom Artifex did not recognize, even had the gall to appear tearful. He knew she wasn’t really sad; she was just putting on an act. They all were.

The carriers brought the coffin before a giant maw that lay in the ground. From it, Artifex could hear the voices of the deceased calling out for her. Tendrils that only he could see eked out from the depths and beckoned with their long, ghastly fingers. He wanted to break free of his mother’s hold on his shoulder. He wanted to climb the backs of the volunteers and guard her tomb. He wanted to raise his fists against those tendrils, knock them away, tell them no, no, now wasn’t her time, they weren’t welcome here, she wasn’t gone, she wasn’t, she couldn’t be—

But his parents stayed his hand. He could only watch as, like sloths, the people lowered the tomb down into the earth.

He recalled something he’d learned in school. According to some cultures, humans had come from the earth, and that when a human left the land of the living, they’d return to the earth. Hence why there were burials. But the earth was dirty and yucky. She wouldn’t like that. But then again, did anyone? Being buried in the dark confines of what amounted to an elongated crate whilst also being buried in the mud and soil where worms pooped and the dead crawled; who could like that?

It took longer than it reasonably should have to place the whole coffin down into the maw. But they didn’t bother burying it or even throwing a speck of dirt onto it. A man came out, dressed in a long, dark robe. In his hand was a small, thick book. His features were sharp and refined and without true sympathy, and he looked down at the pages of the book through narrow spectacles and raised eyebrows.

Artifex already didn’t like him.

The man said some things. Artifex tuned him out. They were unimportant and he’d heard most of those things already from others. A lot of the people who had gathered here replied when prompted, including his parents, but Artifex remained quiet. The man raised an arm, said a few more words, brought his arm down, said something along the lines of “ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” and beckoned for another, younger man to come forth with some water.

The robed figure took the water and splashed the crowd with it. Artifex felt his face drip with an excess amount. He felt dirty and the water, though cold, burned his skin. The robed man turned and splashed the water on the coffin. This Artifex found dumb. It wasn’t a plant. It didn’t need to be watered. How dare this man treat her like she was less than a human?

He looked up and saw his father covering his face and shaking, and he saw his mother wiping her face with a light piece of cloth. He looked back at the coffin. His eyes traced over the edges, across the wreath that hung on the end, and the white lettering inscribed on the top. He knew he should be crying, but no tears came; the only water present was the burning water that dripped down onto the ground.

Now did they begin to cover the coffin. Pile after pile of dirt was shoveled on, clunking hard against the top of the coffin. The wreath vanished beneath a storm of mud. Then so did the lettering. Minutes passed. The clouds refused to part. The maw began to grow full and it let out a near-satisfied gurgle.

Soon, far too soon, the coffin lay beneath a pile of brown. The carriers stepped away, heads bowed, hands clasped behind their back, like they were unworthy of even looking at it. It was such a plain pile. It was ugly and sad. No queen should be buried so simply.

There was a sudden clap of thunder: loud, booming, monstrous. Then there was another. Then another. Then there was silence. The sky opened up and the rain began to fall.

Umbrellas opened. They pulled their hoods up. The rain was cold and it brought an even colder wind. Beneath his mother’s open umbrella, Artifex shivered.

Some more words were said by more people, none of whom Artifex really recognized. He crossed his arms in an attempt to generate warmth. But this coldness came not from the wind around him, but from the wind that howled inside of him. He shivered and shook. The coldness inside swelled.

A few people—relatives, presumably—came up and expressed their condolences. None felt earnest enough; none felt real enough. Artifex ignored them all. They noticed this and sadly shook their heads, before all walking away, leaving he and his parents behind.

The robed man was the last to go. He placed a hand on Artifex’s father’s shoulder and said something. Artifex’s father nodded, and the robed man went away.

They stared at the mound of earth in dead silence. His parents squeezed his shoulders. The rain grew heavy. The sky grew darker. In the distance, Artifex heard sirens. He clenched his jaw. There had been too many sirens. Too many.

He tried to think of something positive. In the end, she had chosen her final resting place. Having expressed a desire to go to the schools in this city and take their botany classes, it had been decided that here would be where she lay. At the very least, she was closer to her dreams here. Manehattan was too painful of a memory; it would do no one any good to send her off there.

That was the only positive. Artifex raised his head. He looked at the stone that lay across the mound. It was fresh, and so was what was written on it. His fists clenched even tighter.

Suddenly, he spun around and ran. He ignored the calls of his parents. He ignored the rain and the mud that splashed around him and soaked his pants and dripped icily down his shirt and back. He ignored the humongous pain in his shattered left leg. He slipped on the cobblestone, got up, and kept running, leaving his cane behind. There was water on his face, but this time it felt warm. He ran—ran past the other graves, the other people, past the sign that read “Canterlot Cemetery.” He ran all the way to the car. He fell upon it.

It was then that he finally, finally cried.

***

Steel was his friend.

It was the one thing that reminded him of what it was like to be alive.

In the dimness of the bathroom, it whispered soft and comforting things into his ear. It sang and danced and even kissed him lightly. He let it touch him and caress him gently as one would caress their lover. It had a nice touch, a calm touch.

He let it touch him again, and he hissed and bit his lip. He felt his lip crack and he tasted metal. There was some pain. But Steel lightly kissed him again and again and again, and soon the pain melted away.

Again.

He tried to remember how many times he’d let Steel do this. Or maybe it was Steel who let him do this. He couldn’t really tell. They had such a nice relationship. Steel gave him all the control he needed, and in return, he fed Steel. It really was nice, really. He couldn’t ask for a better friend, for a better lover.

Steel whispered again. It told him things about his sister and about himself and about his family. It told him of the life outside, of the life inside. He nodded at its words and let it run along his fingers, lightly biting the knuckles, grazing the bone and the flesh and giving little nips here and there—nothing too damaging.

The dimness of the bathroom began to recede with each aching touch that Steel brought. He could see the four, tiled walls. He could see the tub that he sat in, and the water that touched his naked body. Steel touched him and he felt electricity shoot through his body and up to his head. He saw a burst of light; he gasped. Steel kissed him.

He asked Steel how long they’d been here. “I don’t know,” Steel replied. “Not that it matters. We’re together. That’s all that matters.” He agreed.

Steel stopped for a moment, allowing Artifex to breathe. The water looked a little darker, but he couldn’t quite make out the color; his vision was a bit fuzzy. That was okay, he thought. Just another reminder that he was imperfect, that he was human, that he made mistakes. That was okay. It had to be okay. Why else would it have happened? Yes, that was right; that was okay.

He nodded and leaned his head back against the wall, breathing slowly. He creaked open one eye. The shower curtain was still at the side, bunched together. If anyone came in, they’d see him and Steel in a compromising situation. But it was as Steel said; that didn’t matter.

Steel brought another kiss to his body, and he hissed as it touched a nerve. Oh, God, that was amazing. He could feel all of his tendons bend and snap, all of his muscles burn. He could feel Steel inside of him, deep and cold, contrasting the warmness of the water. His vision swam. Steel’s voice sounded distant and faint. His touches became less frequent and less intense. He begged for more. He needed more. He needed more reminders, more evidence.

His body lurched. He remembered the massive truck as it barreled down the street. He felt Steel dig deeper, trying to stave off the memory, but he still saw it coming towards him. He still saw himself not knowing how to react. He saw himself get pushed aside, saved, one leg irrevocably damaged beyond complete repair. Steel whispered in his hear, telling him things he already knew. There was a coldness in his stomach and it grew with each word.

Tears welled in his eyes, but he smiled anyway. Steel was here. He wasn’t alone. He didn’t have to be alone. He wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

He was drowning in this ecstasy. Steel was everywhere, and he could feel everything and nothing. The bathroom became darker and darker until he could no longer see the tar gathered between the tiles. His head fell back. Steel leaned away and looked down at him, satisfied that his work was done. The water felt a little warmer.

He closed his eyes.

The darkness loomed. He felt it gather around him and scoop him up. Oh, yes, he wasn’t alone. He had Steel, and this darkness—it seemed friendly enough. He wanted to hug it and let it take him away, to someplace different, someplace where he wouldn’t have to remember those things, someplace where he’d see her again. Yes, Darkness, yes, take me away, yes, please—

Something opened the door a crack. A hesitant voice, female, called his name. He did not answer. The door was thrust open, and the brightness from the apartment banished the darkness away. He tried to hold up an arm, to beg it to come back, but it would not return, and his arm would not rise. Steel slinked away, and fell into the water with a brief splash.

Someone screamed, and it was probably loud, but it couldn’t pierce this smoky veil inside his head. His eyes were still closed, even as he felt another pair of hands rush over and run over his arms and his wrists. He heard the person scream again. He heard her—she sounded awfully familiar—cry out to whatever deity was listening, cry out for another person. He became dimly aware of another person entering the bathroom. There was beeping. Frantic voices. Whisperings, not from Steel, but from the first person, the female.

He couldn’t open his eyes. He wouldn’t. He wanted to be left alone, in this tub, with Steel, with Darkness. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to see her again. He was lonely, so lonely, so terribly lonely…

“It’s okay,” he heard Steel whisper in his mind. “It’ll all be over soon.”

***

“Artifex?”

Artifex didn’t look up from where he sat. His arms remained crossed, tucked away in a long-sleeve jacket.

“Look at me, Artifex. Please.”

He gave her a smoldering glare. It would have rendered any other person silent under its intensity, but this lady didn’t care for it. She merely sighed.

“I understand that the memory still hurts. But… talking about it will help the pain go away.”

He maintained his gaze and said nothing. She sighed again.

“You’ve seen some terrible things, Artifex. Things someone your age should never see. And you’ve tried some things, too. Things that nobody should ever do.”

If she was trying to guilt-trip him, she wasn’t needed. The cold pit in his heart and the bandages that still were wrapped round his wrist were all the reminders he needed.

“Your parents are scared for you, Artifex.”

Of course they were. But they were too busy working all the time to show it. He supposed that made sense. They had to at least work to keep one of their children live and well.

“They’re worried that you’ll try again, and that you’ll succeed. Your mother had told me that she’s caught you eyeing the knives. Your father won’t let you shave without supervision.”

His gaze faltered. He looked away. Suddenly that fake plant in that ugly, porcelain vase looked very interesting.

The woman leaned forward. “Artifex… do you still blame yourself for what happened two years ago?”

No answer was given; no vocalization was needed.

“Does it make you feel… satisfied, knowing that the man who did this is behind bars?”

Again, no answer was given; and no vocalization of any was needed.

“Artifex, please, talk to me.”

She wanted him to talk?

He whipped his head around and glared icy daggers. “I want to go,” was all he said.

She stared at him for a moment, before shaking her head. “Very well. You may go.”

He got up off of the couch and walked to the door. He pulled it open.

“Talking will help,” the woman implored before he stepped out. “It’s what she’d want.”

She was met with the sound of the door slamming shut. She shook her head again. “We will continue this conversation next week,” she muttered.

The door opened again, but Artifex didn’t enter. Two weary folks did; his parents. “Not well, I take it?” the father asked.

The woman shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Frost. Artifex still refuses to open up about anything.” Seeing their despondent looks, she said, “It’s to be expected. After seeing something like that, and being indirectly the reason for his sister’s death… well, I can only imagine what he’s been going through for all these years.”

She shifted through the papers on her clipboard. There were a lot of them. Several were hospital reports, some were newspaper clippings, and the rest were little notes she had made throughout the interviews.

“Has this helped him?” his mother spoke in a quiet and subdued voice.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. She heard the mother bite back a whimper. “Artifex is hurting. I’ve worked with him for years, now, but even I don’t know how he’ll be able to move on from this.”

“So you’re saying he’ll never get better?”

She looked out the window. She’d planted a garden recently, hoping that would elicit his interest, though it presented nothing more than a passing glance. But there was at least one flower blooming in that garden.

It was a snowdrop flower; a galanthus, as Artifex had called it. She had a faint feeling of where he’d heard of it.

“I’m saying it’ll take time,” she said, looking back at the parents. “Maybe a while. People work through their pain through many different ways. Sometimes all you can do is be there for them while they sort things out in their own way.”

“But how can we be sure he will sort things out?”

“Have faith, Mrs. Frost. Have faith. That is all you can give right now. And right now, that might be what he needs.”

Mr. Frost waited a moment, before asking, “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“How old is he?”

“Thirteen.”

“Thirteen, right.” She exhaled through her nose. “Perhaps what you all need is a change in scenery.”

“A change? What do you mean?” the mother asked.

“Artifex needs to complete his final junior high school years, doesn’t he? Have him do that. Then he can…” She trailed off, searching for the words. “… try out a few years at the actual high school. But I doubt he’ll stay for more than two years.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Manehattan used to be a bright place for him, Mrs. Frost. But now? Now, it’s just a place of bad memories. For all of us.”

She put her clipboard down. “I might have some idea of where you should go. There are some schools down south that have a particularly sunny atmosphere. It might be good for him.”

“We’ll consider it,” said Mr. Frost. “In the meantime… can we keep these appointments going?”

“Already have him booked for next week.”

“Thank you for everything, Miss Velvet.”

She removed her glasses and looked them both in the eye. “Don’t worry; we’ll figure something out.”

Outside, on that garden sill, the snowdrop flower raised its petals to the sky and smiled.

***

That, journal, has been my recounting of my first day here. I have to say: it was the most surprising and enlightening day I’ve had in a long time. It’s taken a long time for me to write all this. According to my clock, it’s nearing 12 at night; I’ve been writing since 8.

I intend to transfer all of this to my laptop as soon as it is done charging. I haven’t used it much, especially since this journal means a lot to me, considering Ruby gave to me. But I have a feeling, as I said before, that mine is a story that needs to be shared. Once I’m done writing, I’ll type it on the laptop, maybe post it to one of those writing forums online. I wonder if any of my friends will read it? For now, I suppose, it’ll remain here. Once I am truly ready, I will tell the others. But now is not that time for that; plus, well, my friends are sleeping, and I wouldn’t want to wake them.

Friends. Hmm. How strange a word that is, now that I think about it. Growing up, I didn’t have that many friends, did I? I had Ruby, and that was enough. But with her gone, my connection to others had grown dim. Here, though, as a student of Canterlot High, I’ve been graced with the chance to make new friends, new memories.

It’s a chance I won’t waste. This I promise you, Ruby.

Anyway, I think it’s time I turn in for the night. I’ve got to get some sleep for tomorrow. Principal Celestia has requested that my parents sign all the papers I need to officially enroll in the school. I… I think I’m ready to start anew

Oop, scratch that. There’s just one more thing I need to do. I’ll tell you all about it later, journal.

Goodnight.

40) Day Sixty: The Fall Hallows' Eve Event, Part V - Redemption

“Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future.”

Lewis B. Smedes

***

Where had the wind gone?

As a war cry, it had entered; and as a whimper, it had left.

Artifex didn’t hear any leaves rustle. The fog beneath him didn’t so much as move. The figure in the distance with the red hair drifted away on its own accord, as if bored with him, before suddenly simply disappearing into the night. The lights from the school were no longer as bright. The rest of the world, down the street to the city, around the neighborhood and the suburb, inside the houses and homes that crowded round the road, were dark and lonely.

So was he, he supposed.

The memories of the present still had done little to ease the pain that came with bringing up the memories of the past. He could still, if he closed his eyes, see Ruby’s body in a pool of her blood. He could recall the cold rain that fell from the sky on the day of her funeral. And the blade that struck his skin? He remembered that all too vividly, and he knew he’d carry that mistake with him for a very long time.

They hurt—the memories, that is. And because they hurt, they silenced his voice, and all he could do was reflect on them and remember.

Risking a quick glance up, he saw that Clue’s gaze was hidden beneath a clump of his blue hair. He felt a light tickling in his chest. Looking down, he saw that the flower—the snowdrop—had fallen slightly over. He lifted it with a finger, stroked its petals, and tried to help it stand.

No Clue took a deep breath, and he raised his head, looking at Artifex directly. His mouth opened; he struggled to find the words. Artifex waited on his cane.

Finally, the boy found his words and his nerve. “How long,” he began, “has it been?”

“Since?” Artifex replied.

“Since your sister…”

He needed no more. “Six years,” he said. The number felt meaningless at this point.

Clue nodded.

More silence. Artifex didn’t find it at all surprising. Here and now, words had to fail; they couldn’t describe everything, could they?

Clue gulped. “Artifex,” he said. “Artifex…”

“Yes? What is it?”

“… I’m sorry.”

He tilted his head. “What for?”

“I… I didn’t know—”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I mean—”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Artifex held up his free hand. “How could you have known? I didn’t tell you. Don’t feel guilty on my behalf.”

He looked away. “That is my burden, anyway.”

Then he looked at Clue, adopting a harsher stare. “And besides. We weren’t exactly friends. We still aren’t.”

Clue returned with an even softer one. “Why aren’t we?”

Artifex didn’t answer.

Neither of them did. Neither of them could. Neither of them knew how.

But neither of them didn’t want to not try.

“Artifex, I…” Clue stopped himself and took a deep breath. “Okay. Um. I don’t have any words that could even remotely match what you’ve just said in terms of intensity and meaning.”

“No. I don’t imagine many would.”

“And…” He licked his lips. “I… appreciate you telling me this.”

“It was… bound to be discovered.”

“I just have one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Clue rubbed the back of his head. “I mean, it’s like you said. We’re not exactly friends. Not enemies, but not really on good terms. So why tell me anything? You could have gone all night without even telling me this. Heck, you could have ignored me, or punched me, or just left.” He gestured with his arm and shrugged. “So… why?”

“Because you asked.”

“It’s more than that, and you know it.”

Artifex regarded him with a quiet gaze. Suddenly he regretted not talking to Clue all that much. Clearly he was perceptive, rational. He had a feeling he would have enjoyed many a debate with him.

More importantly, he was right.

Artifex rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Because… you deserved to know.”

Clue was quick to express his bewilderment.

“Look.” Artifex took a deep breath and let it out. “Ruby’s taught me a lot, No Clue. And I’ve tried to live my life by what she’s taught. I mean, I feel like I owe her at least that much.”

He paused. “She taught me to be brave, to be smart, to be honest in what I say and in what I do. She taught me how to forgive, how to trust that deep down, everyone was good, that everyone had some common decency, and that all you had to do was show that you believed in that, and they would respond in kind.”

He threw his hands up and down. “And, and, she taught me more practical things, like how to make my bed, or that the reason soda cans have that little stopper thing on top is so that you can turn it around and put your straw in it, or how to fold my laundry, or how to take care of a certain cat, or how important it was that you don’t lose yourself in the spectacle of your surroundings and instead focus on what happens now. And…”

His voice fell. He felt his throat constrict, and tears welled up in his eyes. “The one time I didn’t listen… cost me her.”

He swallowed hard. “If I didn’t listen to her in life, then I… I’ll listen to her in death.”

Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Clue. I was never mad at you. I was mad at myself, and that’s because I was betraying what my sister had wanted me to be.” He threw his hand down against his one good leg.

“You could have told me—”

“That’s the worst part,” Artifex interrupted. “I didn’t want to tell you anything. I felt angry, even though at the time I didn’t know at who or for what reason. Maybe I would have told you during week, or the month, or at the party—”

Clue slowly realized where he was going. “But I never showed up.”

“No, you didn’t!” Artifex shouted. He couldn’t stop his voice from cracking, nor could he stop his eyes from overflowing. “You didn’t, and you know what the worst part about that whole stupid thing is? I understand why you didn’t!”

He rubbed his eyes. “Everyone else whom you’d met on your first day—they’d welcomed you. Rainbow did, Sunset did, Mr. Solil did. You were the new kid, like me. But whereas they let you in, I pushed you away! I didn’t tell you anything about myself, about my past, because I didn’t know you that well, but instead of giving you the time and day, instead of really trying to get to know you, the real you, what did I do?” He let out a laugh, filled with sorrow. “I ignored you and pushed you away! And in response, you did the same thing to me! You didn’t show up because you felt you weren’t wanted.”

Sniffling, he said between broken breaths, “But that just makes me feel even guiltier. I wanted you to come, Clue. I wanted you to have fun. I wanted to let you in, become your friend. Maybe even help you eventually get with Rainbow if I could. But it was all in selfish abandon. I wanted what I wanted, but I didn’t care for what you wanted.”

His voice became soft and beaten. “All you wanted… was a friend.”

“Artifex—”

“And Ruby told me that that was very important. Having a friend. Having someone to confide in. Having someone you could trust. Having someone who’d love you for who you are. And I couldn’t even give you that!”

Through the tears that gathered in his cerulean eyes, he looked at Clue. “What kind of person does that make me, Clue? What kind of person does that to someone who’s never done him wrong? This guilt inside; it’s tearing me apart just even thinking about it!”

The tears dripped off of his face and onto the concrete sidewalk. “I was never mad at you,” he repeated. “I was mad at me… because I was no longer living by what was right. By what my sister taught me.”

Artifex’s entire body trembled. He fell down against his cane, covering his face with his arm. All the bad memories, the dreams, the nightmares, the anger, the sadness, the pain and frustration and sorrow and guilt, washed out of him like a great, flowing river.

“She taught me how to live, how to learn, how to love,” he whispered. “And I didn’t listen.”

He fell into a deep silence. He sat on the ground, hunched over, knees tucked to his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the other boy.

Thus he didn’t notice until it was too late that the other boy walked over to where he was and sat down right next to him.

For Artifex, the amount of time that passed was uncountable. Gradually, his eyes dried. His sleeve, while soaked with his tears, slipped away. He sniffled. His eyes stung. But he was calmer, quieter, and his mind felt slightly more at ease. The tearing in his heart stopped, and he felt he could breathe normally again.

The silence that was shared between them was just as loud and just as heavy as the one that they had started out with—only, this time, after a few seconds, it was broken by the sound of clamoring feet clashing against hard steps. Artifex dared to look up. His eyes widened.

All of them?

Indeed, all of them: Sunset, Soul, Clyde, Rarity, Swift, Pinkie, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, Princess Twilight (surprisingly), Lone Wolf, Treble, Gaige, Sonata, Aria, and Adagio. They all walked down the school’s steps, and they looked worried and nervous. Behind them was another group, a smaller group, and Artifex recognized them from where No Clue had stood.

Clue, next to him, gasped. “Blueblood’s coming out, too?”

Rapidly, they stood, with Artifex wobbling on his cane. Unsure of how to act—if they should step forward to greet them—they reached their decision too late, for Artifex’s group reached them.

Adagio suddenly appeared in the front. Her expression had changed; she was more animated. She pushed past Sunset and Twilight without care, and marched straight up to Artifex. He almost instinctively stepped back.

She looked like she was about to hit him. She raised her fist, and Artifex was sure she would.

Only when her fist came down and around his shoulder and her arm pulled him close did he realize he was wrong.

“Adagio?”

“Are you okay?”

“Adagio—”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, Adagio—”

She stepped back, glaring at him. “You don’t look fine. Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?” She whipped her head and glared at Clue. “Is this your fault?”

Before he could answer, Artifex interrupted, “Dagi, calm down. It’s no one’s fault but my own.”

She looked back at him. Her gaze softened. “You keep saying that. Why do you keep saying that?”

She didn’t give him a chance to answer. Suddenly she held him close again. He could smell her hair; it was tangerine-scented. “You just so suddenly ran off,” she murmured.

Artifex blinked. Then he closed his eyes and let himself hug her back.

They only separated when Rarity let out an awkward cough. Artifex was lightly blushing, while Adagio was still frowning.

Another girl broke through the crowd. Her rouge-pink hair was tied back into a bun, and she was a little shorter than everyone else. Instead of going for Artifex, though, she rushed into No Clue and wrapped him up in a tight hug. “Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay!”

“Gah! Aurora, I’m fine, really!”

“Are you sure? Did you get punched?” She gasped, then glared at Artifex. “Did he punch you?”

“Why would he have punched me?”

“He punched Blueblood!”

“Okay, you’ve got him there… but that doesn’t mean that he’d punch me!”

Artifex’s eyes darted back to the group. In the way back, he could see the long, blonde locks of Blueblood. At the moment, he seemed intent on avoiding Artifex’s gaze.

“Okay, wait.” He heard Aurora step away from Clue and march over to him. She put a finger on his chest. “Listen here, uh…” She tilted her head, embarrassed. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Artifex.”

“Right! Listen here, Artifex, I don’t appreciate you punching my cousin.” She suddenly paused. “Even if he is Blueblood and he has a face that anyone could punch. I mean, I guess if he pissed me off, I’d punch him.”

“Love you, too, cousin,” Blueblood called from the back.

“But that doesn’t make it right. Satisfying, maybe, but not right.” She jabbed the finger further into his chest. “So I want you to apologize, mister, and if I have to beat that apology out of you—”

“I’m sorry.”

“—then I will shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll taste the grime on by boots and whoa, wait, what?”

As entertaining as her little threat was, Artifex didn’t laugh. “I said, I’m sorry.”

She blinked. “Just… just like that?”

“You’re right. This can’t be justified.”

“I… huh.” She blinked. Artifex suddenly got the feeling that she probably wore glasses. “You know, I didn’t think you’d be this reasonable.”

Artifex sighed. “To be honest, I don’t think I’ve been reasonable as of late.”

“Did anyone just feel a huge tonal shift?” Treble asked. “Or is it just me?”

“No, I felt it, too, bro,” Gaige said. “But that’s just because—”

“Quiet, you two!” Pinkie whispered. “We’re having a moment!”

A loud clambering broke out. Everyone wanted to know how they were, what had happened, and why they were out here. Artifex and Clue tried to answer their questions as best as they each could, but even then, there remained a level of tension between them. Not everything had been resolved. Not everything had been discussed. In between the questions, they glanced at each other, a question riding in their eyes, but no answer forming in their mouths.

Insistent as their friends were, though, one broke through the most. Still holding the hankerchief to his nose, Blueblood parted them all to the side. He walked with refined dignity, doing his best to ignore the tickling sensation of the cloth. Artifex heard Rarity let out a disgruntled huff. Blueblood paused, then let out a sigh. It sounded almost remorseful.

The others quieted when they saw him reach Artifex. They stood at equal height with one another. Blueblood slowly lowered the cloth from his face, and Artifex was able to see that it was swollen right where he had punched him. He winced sympathetically. The action was not lost on Blueblood, and he shrugged.

Clue watched them, as did everyone else.

“I’m sorry.”

Two pairs of blue eyes blinked. “Did we just…”

Blueblood gestured at him. “You first.”

Artifex sighed. “It should be obvious, Blueblood. I’m sorry for punching you. That was wrong of me.”

Blueblood tried for a haughty sniff, but with his badly injured nose, it sounded more like a defeated whistle. “Yes, it surely was. My word, I had never imagined you capable of such barbaric actions.” His attitude quickly diminished, though, and he himself sighed as well. “But I do owe you an apology, Artifex. I shouldn’t have egged you on like I did.”

He looked at him carefully. “Just so we’re clear. What you said about your sister—”

“It’s true.”

“Ah. Please excuse me while I feel even worse.”

Blueblood had been looking away, but once he had made that comment, he looked back at Artifex and offered a tiny, albeit cautious grin. Artifex, for his part, returned a small one of his own.

Then Blueblood turned to No Clue, and his face became rigid once more. “Nostradamus,” he said, “I trust that you are all right?”

“Yeah, I am,” he replied. “Artifex and I, we… we were just talking.”

“It did not look very pleasant.”

“It wasn’t,” Artifex said. “And it shouldn’t have been said so late.”

Blueblood, of course, didn’t understand. That much was evident by the way he regarded Artifex, confused and a bit wary. But he nodded anyway. “Very well. I shall… leave you to it.”

He turned to leave, but was stopped by Clue calling out his name. “Yes? What is it?”

“… thanks for being a friend, Blueblood,” he said. “Even if you do get under everyone’s nerves.”

Rarity scoffed again, but Blueblood was smiling. “What kind of Blueblood would I be if I didn’t?”

So it was that he and his group left them, with Aurora visibly the most hesitant of the bunch. After some quiet reassurance from the other girl in their party, though—her name was Blossomforth, Artifex recalled—she, too, left.

Artifex’s turned back to him. Sunset walked up to him and placed a worried hand on his shoulder. “You gonna be okay?” she asked.

He looked at her with tired eyes, cheeks drawn down. In the moonlight, he seemed like a phantom himself. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I can try.”

She let go. “Well, then let’s head back in, then,” she said. “Unless… are you planning on leaving early?”

He shook his head. “No… I can’t just run away, can I?” He rolled his shoulders, and tapped his cane on the ground. “I’m sorry to have caused such a disturbance, though.”

“It’s no problem, Artifex,” Sunset said with a smile. “We’ll be there when you need us no matter what. That’s what friends do.”

He glanced at Clue. “I suppose you are right. You guys go on ahead. I’ll meet up with you all inside.”

It wasn’t a particularly popular request, and it was met with their worried murmurs, but they nonetheless turned and walk away without protest. Artifex gathered himself and took a deep breath. He still felt a bit cold, and more obvious was the fact that he felt empty.

He fell into line at the rear. Clue was quick to join him. They walked in relative silence, with the noise coming from the school growing louder and louder with each step.

They followed the others and went back inside the school, where it was still loud and bright and there were more people than they’d ever meet and there was food and warmth and all good things and where it was alive and well. The doors closed behind them.

***

When the doors opened again, it was not to welcome any more students who were arriving, but rather to see them all leave. In great droves, they filed out, a colorful sea of tired but satisfied young men and women. Excited murmurs rose from the crowd. They talked with their friends about the events of the evening. Some had hooked up; others had simply danced. All said they had had a good time.

Because there were so many students, leaving was a hassle. Sidewalks became crowded, but they at least were lit up. The streets became backed up with non-walkers’ parents’ cars. Moreover, it was loud, and you could not walk a single foot before you heard some girl squealing, some guy bragging, or some parent wondering if their kid was the same person as they had been when they had first entered.

Traffic was thus long. So it came as no surprise when a number of students stayed back, both to wait for the numbers to thin and for their parents to arrive. They hung out in the hallways and cafeteria. The talks and conversations nonetheless continued. They all sounded relatively the same.

The gym, however, was still somewhat full. Stragglers were here and there, loitering about, their hands gripping red, plastic cups like they were holy chalices. They stood in the corners, looking incredibly guilty yet nervously excited. A rumor spread; had So-And-So hooked up with Student B and done the dirty in the bathroom?

So-And-So and Student B were the first to leave once the rumors began flying. They were stopped by their respective parents and taken into custody. Something that the others found quite funny.

Not all were of that variety. While the stragglers sat in their corners, still others came back to help out. There was much trash to be found, and they had to wheel in three garbage bins to clean up everything. Paper cups, plates, and streamers were the most common. Someone brought in a ladder from the storage room, so they could unscrew and unfasten some of the lights. Pinkie managed to procure plastic containers (“Emergency Plastic Container Stash Number Four-Four-Three,” she had breezily explained in regards to location) for the food leftover. But thankfully, there wasn’t much; Sugar Cube Corner’s Party Platter had been an obvious hit.

Thank goodness for that. Pleasant as this school was, for No Clue, a night of rampant partying was a night best spent in the company of friends, not spent in the aftermath of a harrowing argument. Sweeping the floors with a broom, he could not help but fall back on what he and Artifex had talked about.

Could they be friends after all this? He certainly hoped so. And something told him that, finally, Artifex was willing to at least try. Maybe that’s all he could hope for. Maybe he ought to be content with just that—

“Oof!”

He bumped into someone, and he heard something drop. Whirling around, he saw one of the light fixtures on the ground, shattered into glass fragments. “Oh, geez!” he gasped. “I am so sorry for that—Aurora?!”

Aurora Veil turned around and gasped as well. “Clue? Gosh, I’m sorry to have bumped in to you! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. But your lightbulb isn’t.”

She looked at the mess and sighed. “Yeah, I guess it isn’t. Oh, well. Pinkie said she still has extra, so it probably isn’t all that bad.”

“Here, let me sweep that up for you.”

Aurora stepped away, allowing him to swiftly start to push all the pieces into a pile. Someone came by and saw the mess, and volunteered to get him a bag.

As he swept, he and Aurora kept talking.

“Did you enjoy it here?” he asked her. “At Canterlot High, I mean.”

“Oh, definitely! It’s smaller than Winnipiac, that’s for sure, but it’s definitely boatloads of fun!”

He nodded. “Yep, you said it. It’s definitely got its surprises, that’s for sure.” He looked all around him, at the walls, at the tables, and most especially, at all of the people he’d met. “More than I could ever have thought.”

“It really is a magical place.”

“What tipped you off, the flying girls?”

She giggled. “Not quite, Clue. I was thinking of it in a more… sentimental light.”

“Sentimental? Man, you really are Blueblood’s cousin.”

They laughed together. The person came back with a bag, and Clue swept all of the shards into it, careful not to leave a single piece out in the open. Then he tossed the bag into one of the larger garbage bins. “Well, that takes care of that,” he said. He turned to find Aurora staring at him oddly. “… What? Is there something on my face?”

“Actually, yes. Hold still, would you?”

He did, surprisingly. She reached out, picked something out of his hair, and held it in front of him. It was a strand of one of the party streamers, pink and thin. “Huh. How’d they get in there?”

Aurora giggled; it was a nice giggle. “I guess they just like your personality.”

They laughed again, but then their laughter died away. When it was gone, though, their smiles did not leave. Aurora looked at him with those sapphire eyes, and despite his exhaustion, he felt his heart flutter at the sight, and he felt like he’d been granted a huge energy boost.

She twirled a lock of her hair shyly between two fingers. “Hey, Clue…”

“What is it?”

“Um… I really enjoyed my time here. At the Fall Hallows’ Eve Event. And… with you, even if it was kinda short.”

“Really?” He, embarrassed, rubbed the back of his head. “W-well… I enjoyed dancing with you, too, Aurora.”

They kept talking, and soon Clue felt a bit more at ease. The tension drained out of his body.

Meanwhile, over at another part of the gym, Rainbow watched the two talk. She crossed her arms. A smile covered her face.

“Cute, isn’t it?” she heard someone call out to her.

She didn’t turn around. “I think you should keep that tissue on your face, Blueblood. It’s definitely an improvement.”

“Har har har, Rainbow Dash. Your sense of humor knows no bounds.”

He walked up to her. She didn’t walk away, nor push him aside. They just stood there, watching No Clue and Aurora Veil.

“What did you mean by ‘cute?’” she asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He looked at her and gestured blindly towards the other pair. “Look at my cousin and our mutual friend. See how they’re acting?”

“They’re just talking.”

“Perhaps, but it might be more.”

“You think?”

“Look again.”

She did. They were actually kind of close. With light coming from the ceiling and reflecting on Aurora’s face, her eyes absolutely glowed, and they were wide and set on No Clue without once looking away.

Rainbow knew she wasn’t an expert on love, but she’d had enough experience being party to several blossoming couples. And maybe it was just those experiences rubbing off on her, but the first word that came to mind as she and Blueblood continued to watch the pair talk was “romantic.”

“You know what, Blueblood?” she said. “You might be on to something.”

***

Adagio would not leave his side. Had it been any other day, Artifex would have found this humorous and a bit embarrassing, but at the moment, he was too focused on cleaning up to shoo her away. Besides, together they covered more ground; though, he didn’t exactly think she’d have it in her to stay behind and help.

“Let’s just say I’ve changed quite a lot over these past few months of being an ex-villain,” she said when he had mentioned this, and she had said this without a hint of offense. It seemed she was just content to be working alongside Artifex. He had to admit that he felt the same way.

“We’ve all changed,” he himself said, though it was mostly to himself.

Adagio offered a nod. “And hopefully for the better?”

“And hopefully for the better.”

They tossed the paper table covers into a nearby trash bin, then set to work putting the food into the plastic containers that Pinkie had bought. It was messy work. Artifex had to resist the urge to wipe his hands on his suit, and Adagio was careful not to let any of the cake’s frosting within a foot of her dress. Soon, they had several neat packages of desserts in those packages.

“I didn’t eat any of this stuff,” Artifex murmured.

“Do you want to try one?”

“No, I think I’ll pass.”

“Shame. I’ve heard that this Super Scrumptious Fruity Fruit Cake is quite a delight.”

“Is that its real name?”

“Might not be. But you’d fitting if you tasted it.”

“Mmm.”

He could feel her gaze burning into him. He sighed. “Okay, what is it?”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m not, Adagio. I’ll never be okay.” He turned to meet her gaze. “But I have to try, don’t I?”

She put down one of the containers and sauntered up to him. There wasn’t a trace of malice in her eyes. Just concern. Just deep, deep concern. “You shouldn’t think of it as a burden.”

“I don’t. It’s just a hard fact that being ‘okay’ is a far-off possibility.”

“You aren’t obligated to be okay, Artifex. If you want to get better, you have to take that step forward. Don’t do it just because we want you to get better. Do it because you want to get better.”

He raised an eyebrow. He still felt a bit empty. “Are you speaking from experience?”

“Only a little,” she admitted with a sigh.

The last of the food was piled away, and they were left standing by the table. The others saw them and they had some conversations, but the talk was brief and they had to go back to whatever they had been doing before. Throughout it all, Artifex did not feel himself grow any colder, but he didn’t feel himself grow any warmer or any fuller. He frowned, unsure what to make of himself.

Then, to his surprise, Nostradamus Clue walked over to him.

He tried not to show it, but seeing him brought up a whole bunch of… messy emotions. Namely, nervousness, anxiety, and a heavy amount of awkwardness and uncertainty. They’d already talked; what was he doing over here? Weren’t they done?

“Um… hey.”

Artifex blinked, then said, “Hey yourself.”

“You done?”

“For now. Food’s all gone. Why; do you need any help?”

Clue shook his head. “No. Aurora and I just finished cleaning up as well. And… I guess I figured I ought to come over here since you’re here.”

Artifex saw Adagio smile, and he shot her a questioning look. She ignored him, and focused on Clue. “If you don’t need our help, what do you need?”

He shuffled on his feet. “Uh… I just want to talk, that’s all. To Artifex.” He blinked, then shot his head straight up. “Uh, not that I don’t want to talk with you—I’m sure you’re a nice person and all and we’ve never really met before but I don’t want to make it sound like I’m discriminating or anything—”

Adagio’s laugh cut him off. “Ah, calm down, Nostradamus,” she said with a grin. “You and Artifex are just so easy to tease.”

“Uh…”

She flipped her hair. “But I understand what you’re saying. And while at the moment I wouldn’t want to leave this fool by himself—” She pointedly looked at Artifex, and he made it a point to glare back (not that she seemed to mind); “—I believe that you and he won’t be at each other’s throats.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “After all, you’re both so kind, aren’t you two?”

They’re responses were the same: confused “Uh’s.” She laughed again. Artifex’s lips twitched. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to it, then,” she said.

Before she left them, she walked over to Clue and leaned in so that her mouth was next to his ear. Artifex couldn’t hear her, but whatever she said made Clue freeze up and his face became deeply heated. She let out another one of her coquettish laughs, and this time, seeing Clue’s blush and hearing her laugh and laugh, Artifex had to grin.

Ever the tease...

Once she was gone, the silence returned. Clue chuckled to break the silence, but it sounded so obviously forced. Artifex kept silent, leaning slightly onto his cane, peering at Clue with an intense gaze.

“Uh, hey.”

“Hey… again.”

“Yeah… heh, heh. Sorry. You can probably tell I’m awful at small talk.”

He offered a smile; it seemed like the right thing to do. “Well, we’ve at least something in common.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Clue paused. He looked directly at Artifex like he was searching for something. Then he took a deep breath. “Listen, Artifex. Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“… can we start over?”

He blinked; had he heard him right? “I’m… sorry? Did you say ‘start over?’”

“Y-yeah.” Clue’s gaze faltered. “Start over. Start anew. Fix… things between us.”

The next word out of Artifex’s mouth was not the one he expected: “Why?”

It came out harsher and harder than he’d wanted, and Clue visibly cringed at his tone. He tried to salvage the situation: “I mean, a-aren’t we already on neutral terms?”

“We are.” Clue sighed. “But… I don’t know. Aurora was talking to me and we just started talking about what happened earlier. And she said that I should try to talk to you over it. Like really talk to you. One on one.”

Artifex’s brow furrowed. “So you’re here not of your own accord.”

“Don’t say that.” Clue’s tone was strong, affirmative. “Maybe on any other day I’d just be here because Aurora said I should, but it’s not like that, Artifex. I’m here because I think this is something I have to do.”

“Clue—”

“Look. I know we haven’t had the best relationship. We started off strong, and then we petered out, to both of our faults. And that’s not right. You know it and I know it. We drifted and we shouldn’t have.”

“What’s done is done.”

“Maybe, but then again, does that mean we allow it to just be as it is?” Clue regarded him with a careful stare. “What’s that one saying: that the one constant of the universe is change? Maybe we shouldn’t accept things for how they are. If there’s an opportunity to not only change things, but to change things for the better, maybe we should take it.”

Artifex pursed his lips, and straightened out, coming off of his cane. “And do you really think that fixing… this… will change things for this perceived better?”

Clue’s shaking of his head was swift. “I don’t know. But I have to try. I owe you that much.”

“Owe me? If anything, I owe you after all the needless suffering I put unto you.”

Again, Clue shook his head. “Deep down, Artifex, I think you’re a good guy. I don’t think you meant to hurt anyone, ever. It will hurt what you did, but like anything, it’ll fade in time. Everything changes eventually.”

“So it seems.”

Artifex looked away from Clue, at all of his friends and all of the students who remained. What changes would come their way? Would they be all the stronger because of them? He hoped so. They were a hardier bunch than he ever could be.

“And because it seems that way,” Clue said, drawing his attention back to him, “then I forgive you for whatever you’ve done. And I hope you can forgive me for whatever pain I might have caused you.”

He spoke eloquently, like it was a well-rehearsed speech. But Artifex could feel his honesty, his strength, his commitment through his words. Something splashed into his stomach and spread all throughout his body. It was warm.

“And,” Clue added, offering a shaky smile, “it’s what… Ruby would have thought was right, right?”

Artifex didn’t respond at first, and he saw Clue’s smile slowly slip off of his face.

If they’d been friends before, perhaps they would have had similar conversations. Perhaps they could have talked about their do’s and don’t’s of their worlds. Perhaps they could have talked about life and death or something like that or nothing at all like that. They could have talked; and Artifex knew he would have enjoyed it.

But they weren’t friends, were they? They’d drifted apart. They’d fallen apart. Little remained between them other than mild animosity and a chasm of guilt. What exactly was Clue offering other than a hopeful hand that barely stretched across that vast distance?

But his words…

His words. They rang true, like big church bells that told one not just of the end of a life, but the beginning of another. Clue’s arm was short, but his reach was long. Maybe, just beyond that reach, beyond that chasm, he’d find her again.

Was it really that, though? It couldn’t be something more. It was just Clue reaching out and hoping that there was a connection, that things could still be saved. That he could still be saved—

He stopped.

Did he need saving? Hadn’t he already been saved? Hadn’t his friends on his first day at Canterlot High saved him from a life of monotony and sadness? They had, hadn’t they?

Did he really need more saving?

Unless…

Unless this wasn’t about saving anymore.

This was about continuing. Restarting the game, the life, his life. Maybe that was what it was all about.

But he didn’t know, did he? No, he didn’t. He couldn’t. Clue’s reach stretched far enough to reach him, but he couldn’t see all the way past him. He couldn’t see where this line stemmed from. He couldn’t see where it led him.

But Clue’s words rang again in his heart. It was what Ruby would have thought was right.

He recalled one of her lessons, something that had always struck him as odd, because it wasn’t one of hers but someone else’s. “Do unto others what you would have unto you, Artifex.”

If he were in Clue’s position, confronted with the things he knew, would he still reach out and tell Artifex that he was willing to try again?

Artifex thought back to his first day, how he encountered everyone, how he’d responded. He thought about what had happened, with himself, the others, the Sirens, the collapse, the release, the party. He remembered it all. All of it, in fact. He remembered what he’d felt that day.

The warmth in his body grew. Clue… perhaps Clue was feeling something similar.

Either way, they both needed an answer. And luckily for the both of them, Artifex had found one.

He put his cane to one side. “To start over… I’d like that very much.”

Clue’s smile was as wide and warm and fulfilling as his. His arm now came out, palm facing inside. “I’m Nostradamus Clue, but you can call me No Clue if you want.”

Artifex took the hand in his. “I’m Artifex Frost, but you can call me Arty or Chronicler if you want.”

They shook. It was a strong action.

“Nice to meet you finally, Artifex.”

“Likewise, No Clue. Likewise.”

***

When Artifex Frost returned home, Francis was waiting for him. The cat saw him coming and met him halfway down the driveway, purring and meowing all the way. He did not expect Artifex to bend down and affectionately rub his cat, nor did he expect Artifex to grab him by his torso and carry him in his arms.

They approached the door. Artifex took out his keys. The large, red jewel that stuck out was nice and warm. He inserted the key into the door and turned it. He heard a click, and he pushed the door to enter inside.

“Artifex?” he heard his mother call. She and his father emerged from the kitchen, wearing frowns. “Oh, there you are. It’s rather late.”

“Are you okay?” his father asked. “Did you enjoy the party?”

He put Francis down. He walked over to his parents and hugged them both. They were hesitant at first, but they hugged him back, and they hugged him warmly and completely. He thought he heard his mother sniffle, but he chose not to question it.

“I’m fine,” he said with a smile when they broke the hug. “And I did. Very much.” He turned and looked back through the window. “I learned a lot, actually. Today was a good day.”

Later on, once he had taken a shower, changed, brushed his teeth, and bid his parents both a good night and a better tomorrow, Artifex quietly slid into his bed, and in no time at all, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. He would dream, finally, and it would not be a nightmare, but a slumbering utopia of his thoughts. He would see Ruby and his friends, hand-in-hand. He would see all of them.

He would no longer be alone.

41) Day Sixty-Two: The New Day

“With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts.”

Eleanor Roosevelt

***

It had drizzled in the early morning, and so a light mist now covered the ground. Little beads of dew adorned the blades of grass that sat in a field of stone. It was good November weather, a sign that there would be much precipitation but that it wouldn’t snow until at least early December. It was very pretty to see; the sun would reflect off of the dew beads and the whole field would look like it was covered in liquid glass.

In another way, the field was a fitting ground for spirits to wander. When the sun dipped at just the right angle, the mist looked more like a thick and dense fog, and one might have thought that this was a continuation of Halloween weather. If the mind was bored and the eye perceptive enough, the mist would seem to form into a ghostly apparition. The gleam from the sun would provide a poltergeist’s glow. It would be immaterial but it would still look at least slightly terrifying.

But the mind had a habit—it was a good habit—of rejecting such outlandish thoughts when in the comforting company of peers. One would not need to fear what lay beyond if one was surrounded by those he’d call at the furthest, allies, and at the closest, friends.

All that this dew did was wet his shoes and the ends of his pants. And the sun, while bright and glaring, was warm and did not blind him at all. He reveled in its entirety.

He crouched down at the face of one of the stones, his cane by him on the ground. The stone was smooth, but had some inscriptions on it that he knew by heart. There was a light rustling as the wind blew past, and the longer blades of grass wiggled and tickled his ankles.

Beside him, on his left and right respectively, were a young boy and a somewhat older-looking girl. The boy was smiling, while the girl looked on. None said a word. The girl found it in herself to place a hand on his shoulder. She squeezed gently.

There was a cat nearby. Coated in orange, it approached the girl and rubbed up against her leg. Then it sat down on its haunches next to her and looked at the stone before them.

He reached into his yellow jacket and took out a golden notebook. It was worn around the edges. The pages were old and some curled at the corners. A blue pen was tucked in the front pocket. It had several indentations, signs of being bitten at the cap several times over the years.

And there, sitting on that stone, cross-legged, visible only to him, was a ruby-haired young woman, who was just as happy to see him.

On his face was the warmest smile he had ever had. He opened to one of the latest entries. At the very top read Day Sixty-Two. “Ruby,” he said, “have I got a story for you.”

THE END

Author's Note

Final Thoughts

42) Day One-Hundred-Fifteen: Holiday Special

“The best way to pay for a lovely moment is to enjoy it.”

Richard Bach

***

In Manehattan, during the winter, the city was a festival of bright, blue lights that gleamed over snow and sleet. It commercialized the whole appeal of a cold evening, and in every window you could see the newest trendy item on sale, whether that be a scarf or a handlebag. People would litter the streets in great droves wearing anything from parkas to down coats to T-shirts if they were from further up north. Most wore smiles. The streets and sidewalks were always clear, and one would only find piles of snow on either the corners or the Grand Central Park.

Manehattan’s biggest attraction was always the humongous tree that stood there year-by-year. Artificial and covered in tinfoil decorations and thin beads of light, it could light up seven blocks with the amount of illumination it provided, meaning that virtually most of the streetlights that regularly turned on were largely unnecessary. Ultimately, though, it was the sentiment of seeing a tree, even a fake one such as that, light up and provide a beacon for the residents, that made it the one of the most cherished object for tourists to see.

Manehattan was a city of splendor; this, Artifex knew well. He’d spent many winters admiring the neatness of the streets, the crowds of people all gathered around to partake in the holiday festivities regardless of belief. Truly it was the melting pot of the world.

But here and now, somehow, someway, Canterlot had his former city beat.

He’d never noticed how pretty snow was under a simple, copper lantern, how it sparkled and glinted like little stars on the ground. Without so many lights around, he could actually see the wintry sky, grey and magnificent, gently releasing its bountiful storage of snow. Without the screeching of tires, the blaring of horns, and without the white noise of thousands of strangers, he could actually enjoy the act of simply walking and breathing in the cool, night air. It was crisp and cleaner than Manehattan’s, and rejuvenated his spirit. Something about it smelled of new beginnings, of new stories, of better days and even better moments.

It helped that he was in the company of some of his best friends.

“Artifex, aren’t you even the slightest bit cold?” the boy next to him asked. Artifex turned to him. He had taken measures to ensure he would not freeze to death, wearing a bright-blue, woolly jacket that made him look much larger than he actually was. Even as he spoke, Artifex saw his lips tremble. Not from emotion, but from the (admittedly) frigid air.

He nonchalantly shrugged. “Eh. It’s almost as cold as Manehattan’s air, Clue. I’m rather used to that kind of temperature.” He offered a smirk. “Besides, coldness is in my name, isn’t it?”

No Clue frowned at that, though he seemed more worried than displeased. “Are you sure? That’s a pretty thin coat you’re wearing. I could lend you my hat. I mean, you’re not even wearing something to cover your head!”

“Or my mittens,” a female voice behind them chirped up. It was Sunset Shimmer, wrapped in a scarf and brown coat. She let out a breath of cold air. “Brrr. Though, to be fair, I’d be hesitant to part with them. What about you, Soul?”

Soul Writer, her boyfriend and among the first people Artifex had met, could only shake his head. Looking back, Artifex saw that the poor boy could not stop shivering. “I-I w-would g-give y-you s-something, Arty,” he stuttered between clattering teeth, “b-but I th-think I might d-drop them in th-the s-snow before y-you’d g-get them. Achoo!” He covered his face and turned away.

Artifex offered a well-meaning shrug and a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. You guys need it more than me.”

Sunset remained unconvinced. “Are you really sure? Even Francis looks cold.”

Looking down, Artifex saw his apricot-coated pet was indeed shivering. His face had scrunched up, and snow coated his whiskers. Fluttershy had offered once to knit him a hat, which he now wore without shame, but even then he looked absolutely miserable.

Francis looked up and saw Artifex peering. He meowed, and Artifex nodded. He bent over. “All right, come here.” Placing an arm under the cat’s body, he scooped him up and cradled him neatly in his arm. “There you go. Man, I spoil the heck out of you, don’t I?”

The display got the others to warmly laugh, and he joined in with them.

His foot caught on an uprooted section of sidewalk. Falling forward with a sharp gasp, he managed to stop himself by throwing his cane out and landing on it. “They’ve really got to flatten that thing,” he said. “That’s got to be the fifteenth time this year!”

He meant that as a joke, but then he winced; he’d put an unwelcome amount of pressure on his left leg. Sunset was quick to notice. “Do you need to lean on someone?” she asked.

He graciously shook his head. “No, I’m good. It’s just the cold makes it more susceptible to pain.”

She nodded, though he could tell that neither she nor the others were quite willing to let him go that easily. He would have rolled his eyes at their extravagant display of care.

But then again, it was a welcome burden compared to the years of loneliness and silent anger he’d had to endure.

No Clue puffed out a few more clouds of white air. “Man, how far away is Treble’s house? I don’t think I can keep walking in this weather!”

Artifex smirked and turned to him. “Eager to see Aurora again, are you?”

The boy’s resulting blush was enough to thaw the ice crystals that formed around his eyelashes. “H-hey! We’re just really good friends!”

“Aww, but that’s how all relationships start out,” Sunset said with a smile. “That’s how ours did, anyway. Right, Soul?”

“You said it, babe.” Soul then squinted at Clue. “And no offense, No Clue, but your crush is pretty obvious. When are you going to ask her out?”

“Wh-what? C-crush? What are you talking about?” He let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t have one of those!”

“You’ve got a present addressed to Aurora Veil in your bag,” Artifex pointed out. At Clue’s surprised look, he added, “I saw when you were packing.”

“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his head. “W-well, maybe it’s just a friendly gift, that’s all.”

“Sure it is, big guy.” Sunset giggled. “Don’t worry. I hear Treble’s gonna put up a whole bunch of mistletoe around the house.”

Here, Clue’s face turned bright red. Artifex glanced back at Sunset. “In that case, I’ll be sure to avoid any arches that might come into view.”

She smirked. “Why? Trying to avoid kissing a certain someone?”

“Trying to avoid getting kissed by certain someones. Sometimes I feel like Sonata just really, really wants to make me flustered.”

“Maybe she likes you.”

“She’s been eyeing that Warhawk fella. I’m pretty sure she’s just teasing me at this point.” He sighed. “Ex-sirens.”

Francis purred into his sleeve. He sounded needy. Artifex rolled his eyes and said, “Yes, yes, we’re almost there, Francis. I promise. It’s just up the next hill.” He then shot a glance at Clue and whispered, “Probably.” The other boy groaned.

Minutes passed. The next hill approached. They quickly ascended it, boots stomping into the snow. When they reached the top, they finally saw it.

It stood high, founded on brick pillars, and was as large as Canterlot High. They could see multicolored lights beam through the wide windows. Rows of trees ran alongside a cobblestone path, and they were blanketed in not just snow but colorful lights and tinfoil trinkets.

Clue let out a whistle. “Dang! It’s about as big as Blueblood’s!”

“Better not let him know that,” Soul said. “He might get mad.”

From their point on the path, they saw several other people walking towards the massive doors. At first, they didn’t recognize any of them, but as two stopped in the middle to exchange a quick kiss, Sunset quickly realized who they were.

“Hey, Rarity!” she shouted, cupping her hands over her mouth.

They weren’t that far away, so the girl easily heard her. She turned, and Artifex saw her signature, violet hair bobble. “Oh my gosh! Sunset, darling!” Rarity cried with a gasp.

She and her companion stopped while the others caught up. Closing the distance between them, Artifex then saw that it was Clyde that was next to Rarity. The boy greeted the other with a calm smile. “Hey, Artifex, Soul, Clue. How you doing?”

“C-cold,” Soul stuttered.

“F-freezing,” Clue said.

“So we’re fine,” Artifex snarked. “Though it’s a bit cold.”

“I see you’ve got your presents,” Sunset said, nodding towards the cubic packages in Rarity’s arms. “So you’re ready for the Secret Santa exchange?”

“But of course!” Rarity tossed her hair, throwing some snow into Clyde’s face. “Oops, sorry!”

“It’s okay, Boo.” He jiggled his own presents. “Got mine, too. Hope they like it.”

“What about you, Sunset, dear? Who’s your recipient?”

“Come on, Rarity. You know I can’t tell you that. It’s a ‘Secret Santa,’ remember?”

Rarity pouted. “You’re not even going to give me a hint?”

“Maybe once we’re inside,” Sunset replied with a giggle. “And we should get inside real soon. I don’t want Soul freezing to death out here!”

After exchanging a few more words, they all formed a large group and headed towards the doors. Artifex noted with a bit of awe that the lights on the surrounding trees became brighter when they were next to them. His gaze circumvented around. Even the bushes and the fountain were decorated in Christmas-themed items, and he saw a few snowmen built in the fields.

They reached the massive doors, which were made of solid mahogany. They could hear music—likely Vinyl’s—playing. Rarity pressed the doorbell.

“Wait,” Clue said between chattering teeth. “Do you think they can hear over the noise?”

His question was answered by the sound of someone rushing down the stairs. A moment later, the door was thrust open, and there stood before them a girl with reddish pigtails. Her eyes widened when she saw them. “Oh, hey! You guys are here; awesome!”

“Hello, Gaige, dear,” Rarity said. “We’re not late, are we?”

“Nah, you’re good. The author just decided to have you guys show up at the perfect time.” Seeing Rarity’s confused look. Gaige sighed. “Nevermind. Just come on in!”

The couple went first, followed by Clue (who Gaige teased by saying, “Don’t got gunning after Aurora immediately; at least wait till after eggnog!”), and then Soul and Sunset. When Artifex was about to enter, Gaige’s eyes narrowed. “Oh. It’s Artemis.”

“Hello to you, too, Tool,” he dryly replied. That got a little smile out of her, though it was brief and was quickly replaced with a frown. “Yes, I was invited. Surprise, surprise.”

“Ah, whatever. I guess you can come in.”

“Truly, your hospitality knows no bounds, oh-girl-named-after-a-valve-piece.”

“Baka.”

He walked in, then set Francis down. The cat shook himself to get rid of the snow, then let out a content meow.

It was warm inside the mansion. The others stood in front of him, taking off their boots, scarves, and coats. They put the boots near the door and hung their coats and scarves in a closet.

Noticing that Artifex had only a simple jacket, Rarity asked, “Did you walk here just in that?”

He shrugged. “I’ve had colder springs in Manehattan. But the snow’s at least prettier here than up there.”

Francis meowed, and Artifex let out a light chuckle. “All right. I’ll take your word for it.”

“What did he say?” Rarity asked.

“That the snow here is thicker.”

Behind him, Gaige huffed. “I still can’t get over the fact that you can somehow talk to your cat.”

“Don’t you talk to your robot?”

“Yeah, but that’s normal.”

He paused. “You sure about that?”

“Dude. We all go to a school that has to fight magic crap. Not to mention, we’re all fictional characters. I’m pretty sure me talking to my robot is the most normal thing of all.”

Ignoring her odd comment, he replied, “Well, I’d argue that talking and understanding my cat is not as strange as magical anomalies every year, Gaige. There are probably more people in this world who have a pet and can understand them than there are people with giant, floating, killer toasters.”

“Deathtrap is not a toaster, you baka!”

“You keep saying that and I still don’t understand what it means!”

Soul interrupted their arguing. “Um, where should we put our gifts?”

“Oh, right!” Gaige walked away. “Here, follow me. We’ll put them under the tree.”

Artifex was about to join them, when Francis meowed. He peered down at his cat. “What do you mean you like her?!”

The cat meowed again, and he had a somehow-cheeky look on his face. Artifex sighed. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I’m not one to talk…”

A moment passed. “Artifex? You coming?” Clue asked from around the corner.

“Yep.” He looked around at the mansion, then at the door. He didn’t know how many others would arrive. Another moment passed; then he followed after them.

***

It had been a long time since Artifex had forgotten to keep track of the time. Presumably, much time passed; yet he cared not for the seconds nor the minutes nor the hours. He was living a golden experience, here in Treble’s mansion. His vision was quick to become dotted by numerous shapes and colors, and his ears were filled with the laughs and songs from friends and strangers alike. All of the sensations pooled in front of him and fell into a singularity. With each blaring of Vinyl’s DJ machine, they all jumped out in prismatic delight, and they danced and spun and whirled around him like a beautiful symphony.

He ate eggnog and fried cookies. He drank cold milk and hot chocolate. Cinnamon tickled his nose and warmed his stomach. Flashes of red ribbon sometimes trailed across his vision, jumping from banister to banister, railing to railing, even table to table. Green complimented them and went even further, jutting from the space between the rails and hanging from the fireplace. Some hung from the walls in circular, decorative wreaths that had little holiday sayings on them (Pinkie’s idea, not Gaige’s or Treble’s).

On occasion, he saw combinations of red-and-green, and these were small and dangled from arches and doorframes. He made good on his word and did his best to avoid them. To this, Sonata visibly deflated. “Don’t you want some of this?” she had asked, forming a V with her arms and pointing down. He did not, and politely told Sonata that she was a good friend. “But I wanna tease you!” she said. He told her that that was someone else’s job but that she was almost good at it.

She’d attempted to follow him wherever he went, and he’d almost been trapped beneath one mistletoe, but somehow he’d been lucky enough to avoid getting a sapphire-smack to the lips. Poor girl needed to get a boyfriend fast. Artifex didn’t know how long he could keep her at bay, even if it was for a little joke.

He’d seen other couples beneath the mistletoe. Soul and Sunset had a quick kiss, but they were virtually the only ones. Rarity and Clyde had a long kiss, while Pinkie and Swift entered into a highly passionate state—Treble had made it clear that the room upstairs was free and could be locked from the inside. Fluttershy had gotten a quick peck from a dark-skinned boy whom Artifex did not know, and Applejack had even gotten a kiss and a blush from a taller, grey-skinned teen. Clue and Aurora were definitely the shyest and had on the most intense of blushes, but they nonetheless managed to join in the festivities with a brief, though cute, one of their own. Only Gaige was the other person to successfully avoid getting caught beneath that plant; as Flash had closed in, she’d picked up a wandering Francis, threw him at the boy, and made a break for it.

Using his cat as a weapon annoyed Artifex, but Francis didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t like Flash, either. Poor kid.

Now Artifex stood at a table, a red paper cup in one hand, while the other absentmindedly stroked a snowdrop tucked in his chest pocket. The flower had been placed by his mother, while his father had helped him with his suit. It brought the family together quite nicely, now that he thought about it. Inside the cup was some sort of juice; though, to be honest, he didn’t feel like drinking.

In front of him was a group of people playing Pin The Tail On Deathtrap. Originally, it’d been Pin The Tail On The Donkey, and several people had gone already, but then Treble got the brilliant idea to roll out a killer death robot, dress him up with makeshift donkey ears, and then prop him right in the middle of the room and have someone attempt to place a leathered item on its back. While Treble laughed at his idea, Sunset and another girl—Hazel, Artifex would later learn—had to hold Gaige back.

He put the cup down and crossed his arms, smirking as he watched Sonata, now up, get spun around several times. Her eyes were covered with a blindfold. The ex-Siren let out a nervous giggle when they stopped spinning her. “Haha, he won’t shoot me, right?” she asked.

“Only if you piss him off,” Treble said. “But don’t worry! Deathtrap is as cool as ice. Or as frosty as our two frosty boys over there!” He pointed to Artifex and Lone. They exchanged confused looks.

“It makes sense for you, but what about for me?” Lone asked.

“If I knew, I would have told you a long time ago,” Artifex replied. They turned back to the game.

“O-okay,” Sonata said. “Umm… Deathtrap? Please don’t shoot me, and I’ll… feed you some raisin cookies later, okay?”

The robot beeped affirmatively (at least, it sounded affirmative in nature), even though Gaige protested, “YOU IDIOT! HE HATES RAISIN COOKIES! THEY’RE LIKE COOKED LIES!”

“Gaige!” Sunset scolded. “If you keep shouting, Deathtrap might turn hostile and shoot Sonata!”

“SO?!”

“Then you’ll go to jail for assisted murder and then you won’t be able to see Flash again and then my ship will sink into the bottomless ocean!” Hazel answered breathlessly.

“WHO GIVES A F*CK?!”

“IT’S MY SHIP, GAIGE! I REFUSE TO LET IT SINK!”

… I wonder if they’re friends?

“H-here I go,” Sonata said. She took a tentative step forward.

Aria was next to Artifex. “If you get shot,” she huffed, “I’m not cleaning up after you.”

He gave her a half-lidded look. “Way to be supportive.”

“Shut up, Frosty.”

“Ouch. Where’s your holiday spirit?”

“Back home, under warm covers. Now shut up and let me watch my sister fail.”

“You are just the epitome of supportive siblings.”

“Why don’t you banter with someone who actually cares? Like Adagio.”

He looked away, both because he was interested in seeing how Sonata fared, and because Aria’s words made him pause. Adagio caring… who would have thought?

And speaking of Adagio, where was she? He hadn’t seen her so far, but Sonata had said she was around. Perhaps she was just lurking.

His gaze returned back to the game. Sonata had not moved from her spot, and Deathtrap was visibly impatient. He let out another beep that made her jump. “Eep! Okay, okay!”

Her slow steps returned. Gradually approaching the robot, she audibly gulped. She was just about to pin the item onto Deathtrap, when:

Pinkie suddenly gasped. “SONATA, NO!”

Sonata shrieked and dropped the tail. She dove to the side and curled up in a ball. “AAGH! PLEASE DON’T SHOOT, MR. DEATHTRAP!”

“Pinkie!” Rarity scolded. “Why did you shout?”

“She was going too far to the right! She would have missed!”

“So for that you had to scare her?!”

“It was a crisis!”

As they were arguing and Sonata remained on the ground, petrified, Artifex looked back to Aria. “Shouldn’t you go comfort her?”

She sighed. “Fine. If you’re so insistent… twerp.”

She put down her cup (Was that beer? Where’d she get that?) and stepped over the others, making her way over to Sonata. “Sonata,” she called, only to be met with whimpering. She sighed. “Sonata!”

“Agh!” Sonata sat up and bumped her forehead against Aria’s face, causing the other ex-Siren to fall back. “OH GOD PLEASE DON’T SHOOT—mmph!”

Her voice was cut off by Aria’s hand covering her mouth. A red spot was forming right over her eye. “Shut. Up.”

She took a deep breath, bent down, and grabbed the leather tail. “Here,” she said, pressing it into the blindfolded girl’s hand. “Get up.”

She got up, slowly, and Aria helped her to her feet. She set her right in front of Deathtrap. “Now walk,” she ordered.

“A-Aria? Are you sure about this—”

Aria suddenly pushed her, causing Sonata to let out another “Eep!” “Just get going!” she shouted.

As Sonata began the slow plod back over to Deathtrap, Aria returned to where she had stood before. She sat on the table and sighed. “Satisfied?” she asked Artifex, giving him a glare.

He offered a submissive chuckle. “Hey, if it works, it isn’t stupid.”

“Oh, screw you.”

Though she was being dismissive of the situation, Artifex noticed that Aria’s gaze was firmly set on her sister, and her hands had clenched into tight fists. There was no doubt that if something happened, she’d be the first on the scene.

Sonata stretched out an arm, biting her teeth and letting out another nervous whimper. “Come on, Sonata!” Clue cheered from the far left. “You got this!”

The others began to join in, and this seemed to calm her down. She gulped, then resumed her walk.

She inched forward, slowly, until her arm was only mere centimeters from Deathtrap’s body. She wavered; her arm shifted left, then right, then up, just barely missing the robot’s shoulder. She paused and gulped. Her arm fell. She pressed forward. “Oh please oh please oh please oh please—”

When Deathtrap let out an affirmative, squeaky beep, she jumped back. But the belt wasn’t in her hand.

“You did it!” Pinkie cried. “Nice job, Nata!”

“Huh?”

Pinkie came over and undid the blindfold, allowing the ex-Siren to see. Sure enough, there, pinned to Deathtrap’s back, was the leather item itself.

The weight of what had just transpired finally began to sink in, and Sonata rocketed up, laughing and crying with relief. The room broke out into more cheers. Aria looked particularly happy, though Artifex refrained from mentioning it.

Throughout those gathered, he recognized the playful cackle of Adagio. He looked around, at first not seeing her; then she appeared from around the corner, holding Francis, scratching his chin. The cat appeared content and sleepy. She saw Artifex looking, and nodded and smiled at him; he returned the gesture.

The game went on without interruption. Each time his friends went up, Artifex was there to cheer them on. When it was his turn, they all cheered as well, and it made him feel warm and tingly inside. He’d missed the holidays and spending it among people he loved.

But it—the game—had to end eventually. Deathtrap was moved to the side, near Gaige (at her insistence), and the space was cleared. The presents and gifts they each had brought were placed on the ground. They came in an assortment of greens and reds and whites and blues; on each was the recipient’s name, but not the giver’s.

“All right, readers and authors!” Treble addressed. “Now that we’ve come to the crux of this bonus chapter, it’s time for our Secret Santa Gift Exchange!”

“Readers?” Swift asked.

“Authors?” Lone asked.

“Hey, are you questioning my sanity again? What did I tell about questioning my sanity?”

“Uh… you didn’t tell us anything—”

“That’s right, OC of Frost Guardian! You don’t question my sanity!”

As Lone’s head visibly rolled, Soul cleared his throat. “Anyway… I guess we should get started. How is this going to work, Treble?”

“Glad you asked, Soul!” He cracked his fingers, adopting an eerily sinister grin. “We each take turns looking for our gift and taking it back to our spots. Once everyone has their gifts, we take a guess on who gave us them based on the package itself! Then we go in a circle and open the gifts and see if we guessed right.”

“That seems surprisingly tame, babe,” Vinyl said from somewhere to Artifex’s side.

“Eh. The author didn’t think it was a good idea to turn Christmas into a chainsaw massacre or something like that.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind that. Anyway, let’s get gift-getting!”

They moved quickly. Each person, even the newcomers, received a neatly wrapped package. Artifex’s was among the smallest, much to his surprise but not disappointment, while Pinkie’s was the largest. He gave his an experimental shake; it didn’t rustle. Pinkie, meanwhile, was busy peering at her gift from every corner. Somehow she managed to shake the huge thing so hard that the ribbon around it partially slipped.

Eventually, they all had their gifts. Treble clapped his hands. “Everyone ready? Good! Then let’s get started!”

He picked his up—it was a cube shape, and seemed a bit heavy. Yet he was able to easily spin it on one of its vertices atop his finger. “Hey, author! Wanna help me out here?”

No.

“No?” He growled. “Fine! I don’t need your help anyway! I bet it’s Rainbow’s!”

He stopped spinning it, then placed a finger on his chin. “Hmm. Or maybe it’s Gaige. Or it could be Soul or Lone, actually. Hmm. Hmmm. Hmmmmmmm—”

“Treble, quit humming!” Soul exclaimed, rubbing his temples. He then picked up his own gift. “Well… usually I’d like to get a gift from Sunset, but… I think it’s Pinkie who got me something.” He looked expectantly at the pink-haired girl.

She giggled, but revealed nothing, and he sighed. “Then again, I’ve been wrong before.”

It went much like that for the rest of the exchange. Pinkie guessed Vinyl; Vinyl guessed Sunset; Sunset guessed Rarity; Rarity guessed Applejack; Applejack guessed Clyde; Clyde guessed Swift; Swift guessed Hazel; Hazel guessed Gaige; Gaige guessed Artifex; Artifex guessed Sonata; Sonata guessed Aria. Aria let out an annoyed huffed and guessed, begrudgingly, Adagio.

“You wish,” Adagio muttered. She cleared her throat, then looked to the dark-skinned boy who was next to Fluttershy. She gave a sultry smile. “Well, I think my guess is obvious…”

The boy blushed. Artifex still didn’t know who he was, but judging by the way he and Fluttershy exchanged embarrassed glances… well, he could certainly make an educated guess regarding who he was to her.

The boy then guessed that his gift came from Aurora; then Aurora guessed her gift came from Clue (predictable, though Artifex admitted it was kind of cute). Clue frowned and looked around. “Well… I guess Treble, then.”

Treble snorted. “Ha! You wish! … Actually, I forget who mine is—I mean, ha! You wish!”

“You already said that,” Aurora said quietly.

“Sorry, who are you?”

“Ouch.”

“Settle down, guys,” Applejack advised. “Now, since we’ve each guessed our gifter, Ah guess it’s high-time we get to unwrapping these, ain’t that right?”

With a flurry of arms, much like the snow flurries outside, paper was thrown and shredded. Boxes were torn open, by hand or by gently slicing the tape, and packages were peeled of their coverings. Soon, the floor was littered in snowflake-covered greens and reds and ribbons and papers hung across the sofas’ arms.

Rarity was the first to scream. “AAAAH! Is this Coloratura’s Prismatic Perfume?” She looked at the card that was attached and opened it. Her eyes went wide. “Wait… Applejack?”

The farm girl chuckled. Something in her eye twinkled. “Would you believe that Rara and I are still pretty close after all this time?”

“You’re friends with a celebrity? Oh, I feel faint…”

“That makes one of us right,” Clyde said, before opening his gift. “Huh. New basketball shoes, a jersey… wow, thanks, Pinkie!”

“Teehee! No problem, Clyde!”

One by one, their gifts were revealed, and while most were wrong, their joy was felt and was as true as any other truth. Artifex saw his friends’ gifts and did not, sadly, recognize all of what they were; he had not known them long enough to understand the strange, laser-sworded figuring given to Soul by Fluttershy, nor did he get the significance of the nun outfit given to Treble by Vinyl, or why the boy’s face became deathly pale. But it was clear that all their knick-knacks, their memorabilia, meant much to them, and he could not deny that, strange as some of the gifts were, he felt the same.

He opened his gift and frowned. It was a box of what seemed to be pens. There was a post-it note, addressed to one “Baka,” and he instantly looked up. “Um… Gaige?”

“Just read the label, baka,” she said, holding up a miniature figure that resembled a robot; Artifex somehow remembered it was a gundam. “Huh. Not bad, Soul. At least it isn’t that dweeby Star Wars stuff.”

“Hey!”

Artifex read the label. The pens were no ordinary pens. The ink they spewed came in black and blue and red, and when they touched the paper, they could come out as a 3D pipe-like structure, like wiring. The picture on the package showed someone doing caligrophy with it, and the signature looked incredibly stunning.

As an experiment, he grabbed one of the wrapping papers and signed his name. Artifex Frost came out as a deep blue, and with a flourish of his wrist, he brought the “ost” out and about, so that it was poised in the air and hung like a leaf from a tree.

He smiled. “Awesome,” he said, nodding to Gaige. She, surprisingly, offered him a tolerant smile. They weren’t the best of friends, but they were by no means the worst of enemies.

“We’re not?”

Quiet, Gaige.

Artifex looked over, to where Sunset stood. She had opened her gift and was now reading the card taped to it. Her mouth was moving up and down as she read it to herself. Her brow furrowed, as did his. Was something wrong? Did she not like the gift?

She looked up and saw him watching, and he looked away out of mild embarrassment. Amidst the throng, he heard her approach, and when he turned to look at her, he found her smiling at him.

“Hello, Sunset,” he said.

“Hello, Artifex. Thanks for the gift.”

“How’d you guess? I didn’t sign the card.”

She held the card up. “I recognize a wordsmith when I see one, you know.”

Now he was blushing, and he turned away. “Ha, well, I had a lot to say. Think of it as… a thank-you letter. For, you know, being my first friend and all.”

“And it was a very kind letter,” she said. “You certainly live up to your namesake.”

She stood next to him, holding his gift, and he took this chance to look at it. It was a leather-bound notebook, simply made, with minimal craftsmanship or design to it. Its pages were the color of aged wax. He remembered picking it up in a general goods store while he was with a inky-haired friend and thinking it was a good place to write in.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this,” Sunset said, holding it in front of him, “but I already have a notebook.”

He nodded. “That’s true. But this is for something different.”

“Really? What for?”

He gestured for her to give it to him, and she did, and he opened up to a random page. It was blank. “I know that that journal you have. It’s for talking with that Princess Twilight, right? Inter-dimensional communications.” He searched for the word, again. “A ‘phonebook.’”

She giggled. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“And I’d imagine— correct me if I’m wrong— that you’d use that journal to write to Princess Twilight for advice.” He looked pointedly at her. “Like, for example, if you need to find out a way to defeat a baddie, or for more personal comfort.”

The last point made her visibly wince, but she nodded. “Yeah, that’s right, too.”

He shook the notebook now in his hand. “Well, I thought that there might be a chance that there would be things that you didn’t want even Princess Twilight to know. Things you’d want to work out on your own.” He paused, hesitant. “After all… you said you understood a lot of where I’m coming from.”

She did understand, and she nodded, and he did not need to explain that point further. “So,” he continued, “I figured, maybe it’s a good idea to have a private place, all to yourself, where you can figure out things the way you see fit. Granted, I doubt you’re much of a writer, but you’ve got a story to tell. And it might bring you solace. Who knows?”

He rubbed the back of his head. “And I know, it’s a bit weird and all, and it might have been cooler to get you a flaming sun decal for you car—”

He was interrupted by her squeezing hug. “It’s fine, Artifex. I get it. Thank you very much; it’s a very thoughtful gift.” She was smiling. “It’s very much like you, and that’s the best kind of gift; the kind that comes from a person, not from a store.”

“Technically, I got it from a store—”

“Just appreciate the adage, Artifex.”

He smiled, too. “I will, Sunset.”

That was when Treble released the second surprise of the evening: “All right! Now who wants some birthday cake?”

Artifex, Lone, Clue, and Aurora looked up, confused. “Birthday cake?” Lone asked. “Don’t you mean, Christmas cake?”

“Well, I guess it’s the same thing at this point,” said Treble. He was grinning; why did that look different? “I mean, her birthday is on Christmas and all.”

“Whose birthday?”

Artifex noted a deep, deep red coming off the side. Following it, he found Gaige, her face lit up into the color of her hair. He began to connect the dots. “Gaige—”

“It’s Gaige’s! My little sister!” Treble shouted over him. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, dear sister! You knew this was gonna happen!”

Gaige squeaked and tried to cover her face. “Baka! It’s just a birthday, no big deal!”

“No big deal?” Lone asked, turning to her with a serene smile. “I think it’s a pretty big deal.” At that, Gaige’s face immediately flushed crimson.

“Save the flirting for later,” Treble said. “For now, let’s cut the cake!”

***

It was much later, when the sky was the color of raspberries and the light that came from the house only shined so far into the night and the streetlights were all turned on with a coppery glow that melted the snow that landed on top, when Artifex stepped outside into the backyard. The moon cast a long shadow behind him.

He was full. Not just of delicious food and cake, but of happiness and contentment. His hair had been ruffled by numerous hugs and by Sonata, and he could still feel her sloppy lips plant themselves on his cheek. She was resilient, he gave her that. His cane was in his hand.

He could hear everyone else inside, still enjoying the festivities. And while he wasn’t not enjoying them, he felt he needed a little bit of space to himself, and out here, with the moon as his only company, he felt that was a good space. Inside, they were singing a familiar Christmas carol, with Vinyl’s wubs turned off and the radio playing Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire. They’d previously been sharing some holiday stories. He hummed a little, but didn’t really sing along.

It was a bit cold, and for some reason, the air smelled faintly of peppermint. He breathed in and out. The air invigorated him, kept him awake. His breath came out as nebulous piles of gas that quickly evaporated and vanished. He absentmindedly tried to follow them up, into the light of the moon, but they only went up so far before he could no longer see them.

The singing inside stopped. Laughter followed. Several more holiday stories were shared. He was tempted to join them, but he liked it out here. After all, he didn’t have many stories to tell…

No, that was wrong. There were always stories to tell, that he knew, that he’d been taught. But he felt okay out here, and he figured that was okay, too. A break wouldn’t hurt, ironically enough.

He wondered if he should have brought a drink with him. But he wasn’t thirsty, and his throat was clear.

The singing resumed. Francis was probably inside as well. Artifex briefly imagined him trying to sing along. He’d had too much punch to drink, that silly cat.

Would anyone join him out there? It was so nice out, and he couldn’t imagine everyone could stay inside and avoid the view. He liked the snow as it sparkled beneath the moon, and he liked the little wind that blew through his hair, and he liked the loud silence out here.

His question, he knew, would be answered soon; and soon came quickly, in the form of a familiar form creaking open the wooden door and stepping out.

“Not cold?” she asked. It was such a natural question. She didn’t need to greet him or introduce herself or set up a pretense, and he liked that.

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

“Hmm. It isn’t too cold, I suppose.”

Adagio walked up next to him. Together they looked to the great, big world beyond.

“It’s a beautiful night out,” Adagio said.

“Yes. It is.”

“Reminds me of Equestria.”

“How so?”

She swept an arm across the horizon. “The moon… it’s the same as the one back there. And the stars and the clouds. They may not be powered by magic, but they still look the same and act the same.”

“Do you ever miss home?”

“As a fish might miss the open sea.”

“Sirens are fish?”

“We’re more related to seaponies.”

“I bet your laugh comes out as a neigh.”

She laughed, and it didn’t, and he smiled. “And I bet you’ve got ice in your blood, Artifex.”

“Maybe. But it melts over time.”

Another song came on, but somehow, their friends voices sounded fainter. Adagio hummed a little bit.

“You still sing?” he asked her.

“On the occasion. Like Sonata, I’ve been practicing. It’s strange, not having to rely on my amulet to do that, but I suppose there’s more satisfaction to be found in doing something on your own.” She looked at Artifex, smirking. “Though, there’s nothing quite the rush I get when I completely overpower someone’s will.”

He didn’t shy away from that, retorting, “Oh, wow, that sounds so not bad or anything, Adagio. Really. Why don’t you rob a bank while you’re at it?”

“Banks are no fun. They get easy and predictable after a while.”

“You really are an ex-supervillain.”

“One of my more endearing qualities. Many like it. Do you like it?”

“Of course.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

She then looked at his chest, at his pocket. “Gallanthus,” she said.

“Snowdrop,” he replied.

“We’re both right. Brought it yourself?”

“Of course.”

“Going to plant it?”

“Maybe later.” It was a nice conversation, he thought; very simple.

They returned to looking outside. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some lights turn on. The fountains were off and covered, but they were still decorated in yellow orbs that stretched around their bases.

“Four months,” Adagio suddenly said.

“Hmm?”

“Four months since we first met,” she clarified, turning to him. “Can you believe that?”

“I think I can; I was there, all throughout.”

“Funny. Four months, Artifex, since we first met, since I first hurt you. And now, here we are, standing side-by-side, looking up at a full moon.”

“First of all, it’s not a full moon. It’s slightly waning. And secondly,” he added, growing a bit serious, “there was never a first time. There was an only time. Nothing after that.”

She nodded, but appeared a bit grim. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

He sighed. “I guess so.”

She looked down at her nails. “It’s strange, don’t you think? This… thing we have.”

“This friendship?”

“You could call it that.”

“It is a bit strange. An ex-Siren and an ordinary human, as friends.”

She shook her head. “You are no ordinary human, Artifex. Across all my years, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”

“I don’t know if I should be glad or worried.”

She laughed a little. “There you go again, so witty when the situation doesn’t demand it. You are a strange man, Artifex Frost.”

He laughed with her. “And you are a strange woman, Adagio Dazzle.”

They laughed and stood there and looked at the moon and the stars and the heavens, all the while listening to their friends sing and talk in the background, their voices becoming indistinguishable from one another, and eventually fading into someplace far beyond consciousness.

The radio’s song changed.

Now it played a tune unfamiliar to Artifex. It didn’t sound Christmas-related, but it was soft and melodic.

His foot lightly tapped against the wide, concrete sidewalk. He followed the tune with his head and his eyes, bobbing ever so slightly, listening for the changes. He looked at Adagio, and saw that she had her eyes closed, and she was also bobbing to the gentle beat.

Something deep within him called out, something strong, something overpowering. And he knew he should listen to it. It was his heart, telling him another truth.

As her eyes opened and turned to him, he held out his hand, palm facing upward. A smile crossed his lips.

“Your leg,” she said.

The cane fell away, and it hit the ground with a soft thud. It was then that she took his hand, a smile of her own forming on her face.

Together, they moved and breathed and stepped. They did so, slowly, but with all the passion and fire of a salsa. Adagio was right; Artifex was a good dance partner. He knew all the moves, how to swing, how to rotate. And Adagio knew how not only how to follow along, but also how to take the lead and push him in a new direction he’d never gone for. They had little practice; they moved on the first take, like seasoned veterans, bending and spinning and twirling seamlessly like two snowflakes in the wind.

Artifex stared into Adagio’s eyes; and she into his; and their hearts, their very beings, were intertwined. Their faces were inches apart. The flower in his chest seemed to blossom.

And if one squinted hard enough, at the shadows that they cast, they’d have seen the two merge into one for the first, and far from the last, time.