Operation Firework

Chapters

Prologue: A Royal Offer
Part 1: Gold is the new Dark Indigo
Part 2: Deployment via Nice Empty Train
Part 3: Investigation, Invigoration
Part 4: Your Answer (Mature)
Part 5: Bring Me The Horizon... Pretty Please
Part 6: Infiltration
Part 7: Shackled
Part 8: A Tempest Rocks the Boat
Part 9: The Mare with Two Ghosts
Part 10: Operation Fire-Worked
Part 11: Sweet Coffee (Mature)

Prologue: A Royal Offer

The city of Canterlot is attacked by villains quite often. The Storm King and his armada would be the most recent example to join the conga-line of failed attempts. Not for lack of trying, you understand, but for lack of foresight. When you have no friends, sure, it means you don't have to depend on anyone. But that also means, when you fall, there's no one to catch you. Ask the Storm King about that.

A month has passed since that day, and like many other attempts at the royal city, Canterlot has recovered as quickly as ever. It's almost like nothing happened. Sun rises in the morning. Moon rises at night. Rich ponies fritter away in their lavish abodes.

"Help! Somepony, anypony, please help me!"

"Ugh, shut up!"

And selfish creatures hide away from the moonlight.

The mugger, a gruff mule with a face to match his manners, takes one last tug at the elderly mare's purse, prying it from her tired old hooves. With a triumphant scoff towards his sobbing victim, he turns on his hooves and flees the scene.

Behind him, he hears the sound of hoof-steps drawing closer. Metal on cobblestone. The pursuer's wearing metal horseshoes, probably a Canterlot guard!

The mugger takes a quick turn down a nearby alley in an attempt to shake off his pursuer. A few sharp, winding turns later and he finds himself onto a different street, deserted and silent. Looks like he managed to lose them.

"I'm not one for fashion," a mare's voice, as silky as flowing water, hisses from behind the mule. "But that purse doesn't suit you."

"Wh- what the-!?"

Despite every nerve in his body telling him not to turn around, he does so anyway. There, he finds himself face-to-face with a pair of piercing blue-green eyes, and the remains of a horn that cackles with unsuppressed energy. Before the mugger can even draw breath for a curse, a jolt of electrical magic erupts forth, causing him to drop the purse and fall to the floor in a fit of convulsion. A metal-clad hoof, as swift as an autumn leaf in a hurricane, presses against his prone neck.

"N-no! I know wh-who you are! Everyone does! P-please! J-just take it back and leave me alone! I- I-"

The mugger's begging is reduced to a whimper by the mare's stare alone. "Here's what we're going to do," she commands without raising a single note in her voice. "I'm going to return this property to its rightful owner. You're going to come with me, and wait for the guards to retrieve you. Is that clear?"

"I- if you try that," the mugger unconvincingly attempts to snarl, "I'll just g-get up and r-run. Y-you can't make me lie around a-and let some guards-"

SMACK!

The mare's armoured hoof, almost too quick to be seen, drives itself into the criminal's forehead. His skull bounces off the cobblestone pavement, and with a confused squeal, he falls unconscious.

"Yes," replies the vigilante, "I can make you do just that." And on that note, she grabs an unresponsive limb, hoists him over her back, and starts walking.

*******

If there's one thing Tempest Shadow, former commander of the Storm King's army, hasn't gotten used to yet, it's the praise. Watching this elderly mare thank her over and over again for helping in her time of need, calling her such things as "a wonderful dear", "a hero" and even "a guardian angel" is surreal to her.

This time last month, Tempest Shadow would never have even thought about helping other ponies. Worse, if this old lady had gotten in the way of her during the invasion, she would have trampled all over her, and anyone else.

Together, Tempest and the senior citizen approach the nearest group of guards they could find: three of them flying alongside each other, patrolling the city. Closer inspection reveals that the three guards each had the leathery wings of a bat. After a short exchange of words between Tempest and them, with the elderly mare backing up her statement, the three guards set about their business: one offered to walk the victim home, another zipped off with the unconscious mugger, and the third...

"Gimme a second," the bat-guard explains. "The boss asked me to do this if we ever saw ya." And then, he places a forehoof up to his mouth, and blows.

The whistling is almost imperceivable, save for a strange ringing sensation. Many ponies in their nearby homes would never have paid it any mind. The dark figure that suddenly blots out the moonlight from above, however, takes notice.

Gently, the mysterious shadow floats toward the ground, the street lights revealing her as none other than Princess Luna, one half of the two Royal Sisters. Without a word, the remaining bat-guard bows and takes his leave.

"My, you've certainly been busy this past month," she muses. Tempest's eyes narrow, if just by a little.

"If you know that much about me, you know that I've not been hurting anyone who doesn't deserve it."

"I'm aware, and for the sake of clarification, you're not in any trouble," the nightly princess pauses. "Save for the fact you're making my night guards seem rather incompetent at this point."

"Tell them to get better at being guards," Tempest jibes before walking away. It takes a moment for Luna to realise she's just been brushed off.

"Hey, wait just a moment!" a scuttle of royal hooves on the pavement later, and she's trotting alongside the ex-commander, "As I mentioned, I know what you've been doing this past month - sleeping in cheap accommodation by day, and being some kind of vigilante by night - and I also know why you're doing it."

"Humour me, then."

"You're trying to redeem yourself, Tempest Shadow. You suppose if you save enough lives during your time here, you'll balance out all the lives you ruined."

"Great observation, princess. Now I see where the bat-guards get their deduction skills from."

"Ignoring that insult," Luna says, without clenching her teeth that much, "what if We offered you a way to save many lives at once? That way you wouldn't have to aimlessly wander the streets like a lost soul, just waiting for a chance to save one pony at a time-"

"If you're asking me to become a Royal Guard," Tempest cuts her off, "I'm not interested; silently standing around royalty for hours on end isn't my idea of saving lives."

"A Royal Guard?" Luna parrots back at her, "No, Tempest, we're not asking you of that. Not in the traditional sense at least; your skills would be wasted loitering around a throne room."

"Then why are you here?" the unicorn scowls. A flicker of energy sparks out from her broken horn.

"I'm here to offer you a much more suitable role on behalf of both myself and my sister. Perhaps you'd feel more useful with a small contingent of operatives that work all over Equestria, on much higher stakes than the occasional ruffian."

Tempest stops in her tracks. "How much higher?"

"Potentially preventing disasters."

"And how many others will I have to work with?"

"Between one and ten, depending on the severity or secrecy of the task."

Tempest's eyes look to the starry skies above. The unicorn remembers the lights, the music, and the rare feeling of genuine acceptance she felt one month ago. She remembers the fateful night that set her on the first right path in years. "Princess Twilight did say more friends were definitely merrier, didn't she?"

Finally, she turns to the Princess of the Night. "Tell me more about these... operatives."

Part 1: Gold is the new Dark Indigo

The doors to the Canterlot Royal Hall yawn open, a guard dutifully standing motionless at each side of them. You nod to them in acknowledgement as you pass; you were in their horseshoes once.

Three slender mares can be seen by the main throne - two sitting, one standing. Out of respect for the Diarchy present, you remove your ornate helmet, taking care not to scrape your horn as you’re taking it off: as protective as your armour is, it is rather awkward when it comes to the ease of dressing.

The two sitting alicorns bow their heads to you as you approach, allowing you some time to bow to them in return. The third figure notices all the bowing that’s going on, and dips her head too, as if she knew what etiquette was.

“Greetings, my loyal Elite Operative,” says the tallest of the three, otherwise known as your boss of all bosses: Princess Celestia of the Sun, bringer of the Day and its light. “I’m glad you were able to arrive so quickly after I’d sent for you.”

“I would never leave my Princess waiting, your Highness,” you rise from your bow. “Please, tell me what you need of me.”

Whatever she’s about to ask of you, Celestia has made sure you’re the right choice for it: For years, you’ve been climbing the ranks within the Canterlot Royal Guard, combining your natural talent - the ability to cast a teleportation spell on yourself quicker than most ponies can even think - with lightning-fast close quarters combat. No enemy of Equestria has led a horde without suffering a few broken bones at your leisure.

Of course, being such a secretive branch meant you don’t have quite the same rewards as most other heroes do. Twilight and her entourage spring to mind. That meant no (public) parties in your honour, nor any statues in the Canterlot gardens. Luckily, you prefer it that way.

“We are glad you’re so willing to help,” says Princess Luna of the Moon, bringer of the Night and its dreams. “Perhaps you could help us with a personal favour?”

“Anything, my Princesses,” you nod.

That’s when the third slim mare steps forward.

“My Elite,” Celestia asks, “are you familiar with this mare?”

Your eyes flick towards the third one: she’s a unicorn, thin of body, yet by no means malnourished. In fact, body-wise you’d consider her to be akin to a healthy athlete. A broken horn sits above two penetrating, bluish-green eyes that stand out against her dark violet coat. Her mane is a wild shock of fuchsia, as if a surreal fire rages behind her. The right side of her face bares a thin, long-healed scar over one eye. If Princess Celestia is often compared to a swan, the pony before you would be compared to a raven.

She’s wearing a pitch-black jumpsuit that covers her chest and flank, ending near the top of her legs. Above that, she wears an unfamiliar armour, until you recognise it as the armour set of the Storm King. Said armour - Storm King insignia and all - is painted over in liquid gold, like that of a Canterlot Royal Guard’s.

“Yes, your Highness,” you say, not taking your eyes of her for a moment. “That’s Fizzlepop Berrytwist, otherwise known as Tempest Shadow, former commander of the Storm King’s army and co-perpetrator of the Friendship Festival attacks a month ago. Everypony in Equestria knows her by now.”

Throughout the entirety of your description of her, the broken unicorn doesn’t move an inch. She just stares at you. A lesser pony would have been unnerved by this, but you’re an Elite Operative.

“That is correct,” Celestia confirms, “however, she has requested to be permanently regarded as Tempest Shadow, rather than her fillyhood name. After all, Elite Operatives perform best under a confident alias.”

You nod, thinking back to your old partner, Fatal Flintlock. That poor stallion. You didn’t know what was worse, seeing him perish in the Storm King’s attack, or learning that his name was actually Humble Honeydew by reading his gravestone.

Wait, what did Celestia just say!?

“Forgive me, Princess,” you say hastily, “but did you just refer to Fizz- uh, Tempest as an Elite Operative?”

“That I did, my subject. More-so, I have specifically hoof-picked you, among the rest of my Elite, to be her partner in the lines of duty.”

“What!? Why!? W-” you stop yourself before you raise your voice any higher, and promptly lower yourself into another bow, “With all due respect my Princess, I was under the impression that being an Elite took years of service. How did she become one so quickly? We’ve barely known of her for a month. Why not start her out, perhaps, as one of Luna’s Shadow Guard? That sounds like something Tempest would fit in with...”

“We thought of that, the idea was preposterous,” Luna waves a hoof to dispel the suggestion. “She is not of the bat-winged species required to join those elusive ranks. Do you expect my other guardsponies to carry her everywhere I send them? Also, we’re quite certain she can’t see in the dark, nor hear and speak their high-pitched language required for secrecy.”

“B-but an Elite? So soon for her? Really?”

“I know it’s unorthodox, my subject,” Celestia’s voice is as serene as ever. “But the four of us - myself, Luna, Twilight Sparkle and even Cadance - have spent a lot of time watching and discussing Tempest. She wishes to pay for her past transgressions, and her impressive combat experience would be wasted at any lower rank. Also, we are aware you still haven’t found a replacement partner yet.”

“For Flintlock!? Of course I haven’t! Not since she came along with her army of Storm Creatures, and they struck him down!” you jab an accusatory hoof towards the violet mare. While Tempest had been silent and still for the majority of the meeting, just as you jab your hoof towards her, she ever-so-slightly flinches. You’d like to think you’re unnerving her, but chances are she was just resisting the urge to lunge at you.

Celestia raises a hoof to call for silence. You pretend not to notice.

“And now we’re just giving her that poor stallion’s job on a silver platter!? That’s an insult to his memory! That’s an insult to all the work we Elites had to do to reach this point! That’s an insult to-”

”That is enough!” Celestia bellows, her hoof smacking on the ground with an echo. The sound causes you to take the most instinctive position: bowing to your princess in apology.

“While I am aware of your concerns as an Elite among my court,” (oh no, Celestia’s doing her official-decree voice) “Tempest must atone for her past deeds, including the attack on Canterlot. Need I remind you that Equestria is a kingdom that prides itself on bringing the best out of all beings, pony and otherwise? That we are a kingdom that takes reformation over banishment and execution, from the misunderstood pony to the Spirit of Chaos?”

“Princess,” the dark unicorn finally spoke, “If I may?”

Celestia says nothing, but gestures for Tempest to go ahead. The violet mare slowly takes a few steps towards you, until she’s within touching distance. From there, she looks you right in the eyes.

“I’m sorry for your friend,” she says, with a tone you’d never expect from one such as her. “But if I’m to make it up to you, to him, to all of Equestria, I have to work for it. And I can’t do that if I’m just twiddling my hooves on guard duty or getting into scuffles with the local riff-raff. That’s why Celestia personally offered me the role as your partner. I want to amend what I’ve done. Please.”

Personally, you’ve regarded Tempest Shadow in a negative light since you learned of her existence. Her cruel disposition as a Storm King Commander. Her vicious attack on Canterlot, their civilians and those working for the royal crown alike. And yet here she is, in the flesh. Not raising her voice to you, but apologising. Reasoning. Talking and breathing like a normal pony. Are you really angry at her, or simply her unusual circumstances? Can you even blame her for that?

It didn’t help that, despite the naturally frazzled mane, jagged remains of her horn and the long slit of a scar across her face, she still looks bizarrely enchanting. Pretty, even. You’ve seen many fine mares in your time, but this one is special.

“I am not without my sense of fairness, however,” Celestia says. “If you don’t think she’s a suitable partner, simply say the word, and we can assign her to another post instead. It’s your choice, my subject.”

You feel a knot form in your stomach. It sickens you to think that she could just stroll into such a hard-earned position you spent years building up to. But, if you just refuse her help, you’ll be turning down one of the strongest ponies on record. She’d be wasted in any other position and you know it. And then how would she make it up to Equestria? How would she feel, having her chance for redemption cast aside by somepony she’s just met? How would you feel in denying your homeland a potential hero?

“One mission,” you finally decide. “Make her my partner for one trial mission, and we’ll see if she’s suitable for a permanent role.”

To your surprise, Tempest herself breathes a sigh of relief, and salutes you.

“Thank you, sir,” she says like a thirsty pony finding an oasis. “I will be glad to help however I can.”

“That’s very noble of you, my Elite,” Celestia smiles at you. “I knew I made the right choice in sending her to you. And since you just mentioned having her for one mission...”

You give all your attention to your Princess. Tempest breaks her salute, and stands alongside you, following suit.

“You’re both required to join me in the briefing room, post-haste. We have a task that could use your talents. Tempest, your trial mission starts immediately.”

And with a flicker of her horn and a flash of light, Celestia disappears. She’s no doubt gone to the briefing room to arrange the required documents. While you could also teleport there yourself - that’s your speciality, after all - it doesn’t look like your new partner can teleport with her broken horn, and teleporting more than yourself long distances can be very tiring.

You leave the Royal Hall with your new partner in tow, and your mind buzzing. Tempest Shadow was the biggest recent threat to Equestria about one month ago. And now she’s practically your equal in the Canterlot’s Royal Elite.

Part 2: Deployment via Nice Empty Train

The Canterlot briefing room is rather large, to say the least, but it certainly made use of the space; it's chock-full of different maps of different lands, shelves holding books and scrolls detailing every mission that was ever briefed within said room. At the centre of the room was a well-built, square wooden table, with a map containing a zoomed-in section of North-West Equestria. You recognise Vanhoover and its surrounding cities, with the North Luna Ocean on one side, and Unicorn Range on the other.

Celestia is already there, as expected, sitting calmly at one end of the table. Without skipping a beat, you take a seat at the opposing end. Tempest looks around the room before following your lead. Two lower-rank guardsponies close the doors behind you, giving the three of you the required privacy.

"Judging by the fact we're the only two Elites here," you say, feeling a bitter taste in your mouth for referring to Tempest with such a title, "I get the impression this will be a smaller-scale mission, your Highness?"

"As glad as I am that I won't be overwhelmed with other distractions," the violet unicorn raises a hoof. "This briefing room looks rather... devoid of other Operatives. For a task important enough for the Princess of the Sun to be telling us what to do, I mean."

Was that a dig at the Princess' importance!?

You give Tempest a sideways glance, but otherwise hold your tongue.

"You will be co-operating with larger groups, in time," the Princess assures her, "but as I understand, you are quite capable of performing tasks with little to no assistance. With a single partner to start with, you'll be able to adapt to our way of handling missions. As for why I'm the one giving the briefing, it would be prudent to treat any missions you partake in as high priority, on account of your... career history."

Tempest likes to think that she's still a stoic warrior, but the subtle bite to her bottom lip suggested otherwise; Celestia was talking about her shameful past as the Storm King's commander.

"I mean no offence by saying that," Celestia adds quickly. She must've picked up on it too. "But you did wish to have your skills used as a force for good, and this is the ideal time for it."

The unicorn looks down at nothing in particular. "That's alright, Princess. I welcome the chance to do this."

The Princess of the Sun smiles, and without further ado, she begins the mission briefing. She traces the city of Vanhoover with a single feather from her wing.

"We've been getting reports from Vanhoover regarding a massive robbery on their local fireworks factory during the night. As you know, that factory produces the most fireworks per year in the kingdom. And just this morning, we've received word that every last firework has been stolen from there by perpetrators unknown."

"Wait, I thought we were special defenders of Equestria," she pipes up again. What insolence. "Why would Vanhoover need Elites to track down a few fireworks thieves?"

You take this opportunity to show her how it's done: "Obviously they wouldn't raid such a large factory just for fun."

Your new partner's face is one not of contemplation, but of expectation. You indulge her.

"Think about it, Tempest. They wouldn't steal fireworks just to set them off; that would be getting yourself arrested. So chances are they're using the stolen cargo for something other than their intended use."

The mare leans forward, her eyes connecting the dots. "They weren't after the fireworks. They were after the gunpowder in them!"

Honestly, she got to that conclusion much faster than you thought she would. Good on her.

"Very astute, Tempest Shadow," the Princess shifts into her oddly maternal phase. "You'll make a fine Elite Operative."

Your eye twitches involuntarily at Celestia's words. Tempest has only just been accepted as one of your kind, and she's already showing you up. You'd be more mad if she wasn't so pretty.

"According to our sources in Vanhoover, the thieves escaped with enough fireworks to fill ten to fifteen kegs worth of gunpowder. Enough to cause untold destruction among our citizens," Celestia's expression turns to steel. "Your orders are to find out who stole those fireworks, what they intend to do with them, and bring them to justice. Can you do that?"

"Yes, your Highness!" you and Tempest exclaim in unison. Well, at least she's got that part down.

*******

Operation Firework. The mission is called Operation Firework.

Mind you, there's a village near Canterlot that's full of ponies called Ponyville, so there are probably more important things to worry about rather than names.

You finish glancing through the mission details of Operation Firework. In short, there's a huge hole in the side of the factory and a distinct lack of explosive, joy-bringing bangers. Maybe when you and Tempest inspect the crime-scene yourselves, you'll have more clues.

You look across the empty train carriage's plastic, four-seated table to your partner. She's wordlessly taking in the midday sun as the train chugs by, admiring Cloudsdale which can be seen in the distant skies above. Soon she'll be able to see Galloping Gorge, and by the early evening, you'll have arrived in Vanhoover.

She probably hasn't seen much of Equestria since she left so long ago. Her face doesn't know any signs of emotion, but her eyes, flicking between Cloudsdale and the world below it, betray a sense of clandestine wonder.

Once this mission is done, and if she does a well enough job, you're sure the Princesses would treat her to a trip around Equestria. Perhaps you'd like to join her. You mean, not in a dating way. You mean, not that you wouldn't mind it. She holds a beauty that you've never seen in any other pony before.

"It's the scars, isn't it?"

What the..?

Her eyes are no longer looking out the window. Instead they seem to be staring you down, not out of malice but out of weariness. Perhaps you shouldn't have been looking at her for quite so long. Not that you could help it.

"You were staring at my scars," she says, gesturing to the upper-right portion of her face; the rather decorative eye-wound and her infamous broken horn. "It's fine, I'm used to it," she lies with either a feeble or a fake smile. You couldn't tell.

You know what? You've been giving her too much of a hard time. Celestia tasked you with being her partner, and failing to be a good partner to her would be failing the Princess.

"Heck, there's nothing wrong with scars, Tempest. Especially not in the Elite Ops," you try to cheer her up. "Can you imagine a pony going through their whole life without getting a scar of any kind? That life would be so... boring!"

She gives you a casual inspection. "You aren't scarred that much. There's a few scratches on you, but nothing capable of turning heads." Her eyes drift lower. "Unless there's anything under your armour worth seeing."

You put on your flirtatious, well-hello-there kinda voice. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Pursing her lips and pretending there's no blush on her cheeks, she turns back to the window. You've still got it! Hah.

You wait a few more minutes before starting up another conversation; "Hey. Tempest."

She blinks one more time at the passing cloud-city, then turns to face you with a face that attempts to be friendly.

"I know you've probably had a lot of experience, but if you're nervous about this being your first mission-"

"Snrrrk!" she stifles a thoughtless laugh.

"Hey, I'm being serious!" you protest, "I saw the way your were admiring Cloudsdale; it's a different world out there for you, a different life! I know it's sometimes hard to let go of your old one, but-"

"Just in case you're worried," Tempest interrupts, "I don't miss the Storm King. I hated the jerk when I was serving him, and I hated him when he betrayed me. And take note of that; he betrayed me. I stick to whoever I'm loyal to. And I made an oath to be loyal to the princesses, so I serve them now. Does that make you feel better?"

"You still wear Storm King armour, though."

Tempest's eyes seem to flash in irritation. She gives you the sort of look somepony would give a queue-jumper.

"What, you thought a gold coat of paint would change that?" you add.

"I'll have you know," she rolls her eyes, "the princesses gave me permission to keep using this armour, on the condition it shows Royal Guard colours. That, and it's custom-built, and one-of-a-kind, seeing as I was the only pony in the Storm King's army. Much better protection for me than the pretty ceremonial drivel that you're wearing."

You almost choke on your own disbelief. "Oh, is that so!?"

"I'll prove it. Here."

She quickly stands up from the train's table, getting her bearings of the train's movement, and starts undoing one of the straps on her armour. Honestly, you thought you'd be waiting a lot longer before she'd start doing this sort of thing around you.

And you're staring again. Stop that.

"Here," she finally drops a metallic plate at your hooves. "Pass me your helmet. Try to dent my armour, and I'll try to dent yours."

"Are you crazy?" you raise an eyebrow.

"Aw, are you afraid I'll break your pretty helmet?" Tempest coos mockingly, giving you a half-lidded gaze that, well, let's leave it at that. Damn she's attractive when she wants to be.

Accepting her challenge, you throw your helmet to the floor, landing it right by her. You position yourself over her discarded armour plate.

"Ladies first", Tempest jests.

You grunt nothing in particular back to her in response, and drive your hooves as hard as you can into her gold-painted, Storm King brand armour. Nothing. Not even a scratch.

You try four more strikes, getting more and more furious with each blow. Still nothing. Picking the plate up, you realise just how heavy that single plate is; the whole armour set must be crushing Tempest, but she hardly shows it!

You turn to her, just in time to hear a tin can being crumpled. Oh wait, that was your helmet being destroyed by the ex-commander's hoof.

"What the heck, Tempest!?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she tilts her head in mock-apology. "Did you want to put your head in there first?"

"I- whuh?" you shake your head and change the subject before things get too weird. "How do you even wear that thing without it weighing you down?"

"You get used to it," she says nonchalantly, strapping the undamaged armour plate back into place. "The fact remains though, this armour's better."

"Okay, you win that one," you admit. "But did you crush that helmet because you were strong, or because the helmet itself was weak?"

"Care to find out?" she bares her teeth just a little, placing her foreleg on the table in a hoof-wrestling position. You oblige her... and on the count of three you get trounced. Okay, she's definitely stronger than you as well.

"Is that two-to-nothing, partner?" she says, clearly enjoying this. "Or would you like me to beat you one more time in something else? Riddles? A race? Tiddlywinks?"

This time it's your turn to scoff; "Oh, you'd never beat me in a race, Tempest, even without that armour weighing you down."

"Why's that?"

In the blink of an eye and a flicker of your horn, you demonstrate your special talent; teleportation. Before Tempest could even comprehend your sudden disappearance, you reappear two tables away from her. Then back in front of her. Then on the ceiling. Now the luggage compartment. Now back to Tempest.

"That's why," you gloat. "I can use the teleportation spell in a fraction of the time any other unicorn can. It's why I'm so good at my job. I can mop up several troublemakers at once before they even know I'm there. Let's see you cast that."

To seal the deal, you cockily teleport from your current seat - the one opposite Tempest's seat at the table - to the one right next to her. You lean on the table and raise an eyebrow in a show-offy, whaddya think sort of way, only to be met with a look of wrath personified.

She's staring at your face with such emotional intensity that, if looks could kill, she would've been able to wipe out the population of Manehattan with nothing but her face and a large screen.

"Move," she hisses. Her broken horn spits a few threatening sparks at you. You oblige, blinking back to your old spot opposite her. She silently - but by no means calmly - goes back to looking out of the window.

"Um, Tempest? Are you okay?"

Tempest Shadow looks back at you in disgust before turning back to the world racing by. She doesn't respond. Why in Equestria is she so angry over you showing off some magic?

A couple more sparks descend from her broken, imprecise horn. Now you understand.

"Aw geez, Tempest! I didn't mean it like that! I was-"

"Save it," her tongue cuts you down to size. "Just save it. We have a job to do."

For the rest of the journey, she doesn't make eye-contact with you out of spite. You don't make eye-contact with her out of self-preservation.

Part 3: Investigation, Invigoration

The sky had a few telltale signs of orange by the time you both alighted at the Vanhoover station. Glancing around and spotting a street sign, Tempest Shadow turns to you and beckons you over.

"C'mon, the fireworks factory is this way."

Well, she's talking to you again! That's something. The walk to the factory itself was uneventful, though. You decide to save your apology and explanation until later tonight, when neither of you are on the job.

The factory manager, a rather irritable pegasus, was all too keen to let you pass once he saw your credentials. He even guides you to the scene of the crime - the brick wall of the factory's storage facility, all but torn asunder by something powerful. A wrecking ball? A killing machine? A monster of unfathomable tooth and claw?

"Are you're telling me nopony saw the culprit?" you interrogate - you mean interview - the manager as Tempest strolls right past and starts inspecting the damage.

"Sorry," he insists, "they struck at night, and we don't have night shifts! Especially during nights where rain is scheduled from the Weather Ponies."

Your Elite Operative's intuition tells you that the manager's speaking the truth, but you catch Tempest's equine ear flick when he mentioned the scheduled rain.

"Hey," she calls you over, "You're gonna want to see this."

You'd usually teleport right there, but since that seems to be a tender nerve with your partner, you decide to trot briskly instead. The manager hovers behind you, clueless, yet determined to prove he's somehow an important part of the investigation. Just inside the factory wall's gaping tear, you find Tempest Shadow and... and..!

"That's a pile of crumbly bricks in a puddle of water," you say dumbly.

And so it is. At the southern wall of the firework factory, there's a large, gaping hole, nearly eight feet in height and six in width. The bricks themselves are piled haphazardly, with half of them inside the building, and the other half outside. Some of them are kicked aside, as if a path was made through them. The ones at the bottom of the pile sit wet, surrounded by at least half an inch of clear water. Some are shattered. Others seemed like they just fell apart by themselves.

"Yeah, It is," Tempest switches her gaze to the manager. "Tell me, did any of the staff manage to get this far into the building?"

"Nope. I saw the damage and told everypony not to come in today," he declared. Again, you don't hear any hint of a lie from him. "And I made a point not to enter the place just in case it interfered with evidence." It's rare, but always nice when civilian ponies are considerate enough to stay out of an Operative's business.

"So," Tempest gives the manager a look that locks him in place, "why is there a pile of crumbled bricks, in a large puddle of water, in the middle of a firework factory floor?"

"W-well, like I said," he mumbles, "it was raining last night. Obviously the rain got in here after the wall broke."

"You think so?" she says flatly, "If that's true, why didn't my partner and I find any puddles in the streets on the way here?"

You cast your mind back to the walk here; Tempest is right!

"They dried, I guess?" the manager shrugs. "A whole day's past since the rain."

"Why isn't this puddle dry, then?"

"I- I don't know!" he recoils just a little, "It just dried slower, I guess? Why are you asking all these-?"

"And how do you make water dry slower?"

"I don't know!" the manager repeats, louder this time. "You're the ones investigating this, I was under the impression this sorta thinking was your job!"

"There's no need to grill him, Tempest," you decide to step in before things get out-of-hoof. "I can tell he's telling us everything he knows. There's no need to play hot-and-cold with him."

"Hot and...?" she hangs onto the last word there, expecting you to finish it.

"I said hot and..." your eyes drift to the soggy mess of bricks and water. "Cold." Finally, the penny drops.

"They didn't break the wall with force," you realise. "They did it with magic. A freezing spell, probably. It was raining, so the bricks were already wet. Then they froze the rainwater, causing the droplets between the cracks to expand into ice, and eventually crumble the whole wall. Years of ice-erosion in a matter of seconds. From there, they took the fireworks, threw them into a loading van and left, leaving just a pile of destroyed bricks and the melting ice."

"Bingo," the violet unicorn gives you a sly smile. "You got there eventually. So we know the culprit not only uses powerful ice-magic, but also has several friends in on the steal too. How else would they have hauled away all those fireworks in one night?"

"How would you organise a raid so effectively?" you ask. "You'd have to be really well-prepared for that sort of thing."

As she's thinking about the next step to take, Tempest's eyes suddenly light up. You have to admit, it's somehow cute when she gets an epiphany like that.

"The Vanhoover harbour," she exclaims. "Ponies are always lugging things around there, and where better a place to hide something other than a moving boat?"

You whistle in awe. "Strong, smart and beautiful. You're the whole package, aren't you?"

Her eyes widen, almost for as long as a blink, when you tell her that. You could've sworn the tiniest spark escaped her horn, too. After she recollects herself, she simply says "The harbour", and makes her exit.

You give thanks to the manager for what little trouble he was, and trot off towards the west side of town.

*******

The last hurrah of the orange sunset ripples on the waters of the Vanhoover docks. One or two ships are already circling the harbour, waiting to be docked and secured to the bollards for the night. The North Luna Ocean stretches onward, blanketed by a cloud of frosty mist that rolls in the distance.

Many boats were already docked there, currently being unloaded by hooves of all shapes and sizes. Occasionally some hoofless species could be seen taking their inventory, ready to peddle their homeland wares in Equestria for a tidy profit the next day. Surrounding the harbour itself are a few cafés, with awnings decorated with lamps to ensure business even after the sun had set. The moon and stars over the North Luna Ocean are known to bring in tourists of all kinds just because of the sky's clarity.

But despite the co-operation of nearly everyone you spoke to, not a single hint of a missing firework could be found.

"That was a waste of time," Tempest Shadow slumped in her seat, dejectedly flicking through the notes of various interviewees. "And we were doing so well with the clues from the factory."

"None of these so-called witness statements are going to help at all," you wrinkle your nose at your own notes, "Nopony has seen a thing to do with missing fireworks, or gunpowder, for that matter. And all the sailors do is complain about how chilly and misty the North Luna Ocean has gotten."

"That, or they try to flirt with you," the dark-violet unicorn adds.

"You didn't have to sock him right in the eye though."

Tempest laughs. It's hard to tell how wholesome that laugh is. "Yes, I did."

The two of you had decided to rest and regroup your thoughts via a stop at one of the harbour's café tables. Perhaps after organising your thoughts and perking yourself up with coffee, you'd be able to make another plan of action. You order your preferred beverage (you know the one) and Tempest, to your surprise, orders a sweet affogato mocha, complete with a thin layer of chocolate powder sprinkled on top of the cream in the shape of a love-heart.

"What, you thought I'd order a bitter, black coffee or something?" she teases before taking a sip. When she puts the mug back down, you notice a thin layer of cream remaining on her upper lip.

"You, uh, have a little something there," you gesture towards the offending dairy.

"I know," she replies.

With a sultry, half-lidded gaze that seems to pry into your very thoughts, Tempest licks the cream off her lips. Slowly. Deliberately. Never breaking eye contact with you. Her tongue slides across her lips with the calm, calculated dexterity one would expect from an exotic dancer. And all the more fun to watch.

You take a sip of your own drink in an attempt to hide your reddening blush.

"Can I ask you an honest question?" Tempest finally says once she'd finished enjoying your discomfort.

"Shoot."

"Do you hate me? For what I did under the Storm King's banner?"

Your eyes flick down towards your beverage, trying to avoid staring down such an awkward question. "Dunno what you mean."

"When we first met, you were mad about me replacing one of your lost friends, right?" Oh geez. You were bound to be asked about this sooner or later.

"Flintlock, yeah," you mutter. "He... perished in the Storm King's invasion of Canterlot. Celestia's not a fool, Tempest; as Elite Operatives, we knew there was a planned invasion coming two days before the attack. We just didn't know who, or where from. As such, she posted half of her Royal guard on the outskirts of Canterlot, hoping to intercept, and the other half disguised as regular ponies during the Friendship Festival."

You take a long draught of your drink before continuing. "Needless to say, the enemy slipped right past the guards outside of Canterlot thanks to that little storm cloud trick, and the other guards were unable to rally under any princesses due to most of them being turned to stone."

"Sorry."

You finally look up from your drink. Tempest's jaded expression makes her look so tired. Perhaps not a physical tiredness, but being tired of the guilt.

"Don't do that," you reply. "You already paid your dues when you took out that tyrant, and then again when you joined up with us. And if you really want to compensate for your past that much, helping me stop these firework thieves before they do something drastic will more than make up for that too."

The drinks had cooled down a little bit more. Both you and Tempest take a mutual swig from your respective mugs.

"To answer your question," you say finally. "I don't hate you. In fact, I'm surprised how much I do like you, considering how little we've known each other. You're smart, you're powerful, you're everything an Elite Operative should be."

"I'm also beautiful," Tempest adds. "At least, that's what you told me back at the factory. You called the mare with a scarred face and a broken horn beautiful."

"So did the sailor back there."

"No, he wolf-whistled at me from behind, then recoiled when he noticed my eye and horn. You called me beautiful. On the train, your little speech made me feel good about my scars."

"Good," you reassure her. "And I stand by that. Besides, I caught that flirty licking-your-lips thing. You already know you're hot, scars or no." Tempest's eyes look you up and down, as if carefully weighing your words. You take another swig of your drink to punctuate your point.

"Wanna have sex?"

"HRK!" You just barely manage to swallow your drink in order to avoid a spit-take. "A-whuh!?"

"You heard me. I know we haven't known each other for very long, but let's face it. You think I'm beautiful, I think you're... good enough."

"Wow. Thanks."

"And the longer we're in this mission, the more the sexual tension is gonna distract us both. So I suggest, since we're in a dry patch with the investigation, and there's a hotel nearby, we could, you know. Spend the night there. Share a room. Share a bed."

You never once imagined that she'd just straight-up ask to sleep with you in such a way. "Are you sure?"

Her eyes pierce yours again. Her tone becomes less flirtatious and more, well, commanding.

"Listen. The hotel is two minutes away. We spend another minute picking a room in the lobby, and another one getting to said room. In less than five minutes from right now, we could be doing it. If you really don't wanna go through with it, that's fine, but that's what I'm offering. I know I'm up for it; have been for the past two hours."

She calmly drops a few bits on the table to pay for the drinks, and pulls herself out of her seat.

"I'll say it once more," she extends a hoof. "Do you want to sleep with me tonight? Yes or no."

Part 4: Your Answer (Mature)

The door into your hotel room slams shut. You push a blushing, panting Tempest Shadow up against the door and begin barraging her soft, slender neck with one kiss after another. Your lips feel the vibration of her vocal chords as she moans through her heavy breathing, a short sizzle of blue light flickering from her broken horn. Your hooves are stroking every inch of her wildly, desperate to get under that gold-painted armour of hers.

Tempest pushes back from the door, leaving you both in the middle of the room standing bipedal, with each other's fore-hooves wrapped around each other for support.

You stop kissing her neck, and move hungrily on to her lips. She ferociously kisses back, driving her tongue into your mouth. Your own tongue wrestles with the intruder, the uncanny sensation of sweet berries and a subtle, almost electrical tang on your tastebuds as each passing moment of lustful licking excites you more and more. The rough kissing slowly becomes a dance of tongues, mutually rubbing and massaging each other to a silent song.

You both break the kiss, just so you had a moment to breathe, and you involuntarily release a sigh of pure arousal from the sheer heat forming between you.

Tempest starts unfastening the various knot and buckles on your Canterlot Elite armour, panting as fast as her own racing heartbeat. In turn, you try to undo the unfamiliar straps on her gold-painted Storm King armour. After one, two, three times to undo it, you moan involuntarily, your throbbing loins begging you to hurry up, breaking your concentration.

"Oh, to Tartarus with it!" you curse, channelling a much faster solution via your horn.

At a moment's notice, you teleport you and your partner's armour - Tempest's black jumpsuit and all - several feet to the side. In a frenzy, you shove the now-nude mare onto the bed, just as both sets of armour hit the hotel room floor, with a clatter and a thud respectively.

When you first met Tempest in the Canterlot throne room, you remember thinking her body looks like a healthy athletes'. Now that you see her stripped bare of her armour, you realise that was an understatement. Every inch of her under the dark violet fur is toned to perfection, from her robust chest, to her slim belly, to her alluring rear. It's as if Celestia herself had taken a block of dark-orchid marble and carved the most perfect body from it.

Tempest herself looks around in bemusement, trying to figure out why she's suddenly naked. She looks between the armour on the floor, up to you kneeling over her on the bed, and down to your teasing, twitching cock.

"Couldn't get the gear off fast enough," you explain.

"Shut up and lie down!" With lightning-fast reflexes, Tempest tackles you to the mattress, pinning you down by her naked form that presses oh-so-temptingly against your body. You can feel her heartbeat on your chest as she leans in and sternly whispers: "I don't remember giving you permission to use that spell."

You don't remember her banning you from that to begin with, but there is simply no way to argue with the single sexiest mare you've ever seen pressing against you like that. You disguise an aroused moan as clearing your throat.

"Aaahh... hem, sorry if that took you by surprise, I was just so eager to-"

Her hoof silkily presses against your mouth to cut you off. You playfully pucker your lips into a kiss as she does so. "Yes, you are eager," she breathes into your ear. "Almost as much as me. But I can't have you just magic us straight into the action like that."

With that, you feel her hot tongue slowly lick the side of your neck, her warm sigh sending shivers through you. You'd like to believe a lesser stallion would've burst from arousal right there and then, but you're better than that. "I think you need to take it a little slower," she teases, taking note that you're still flirtatiously kissing her hoof. "If you really want to please me that badly, I can think of the perfect place for you to kiss."

She presses a hoof into your chest, keeping you down on the bed. From there, she amorously turns around, positioning herself so her luscious labia is hovering over your face. Another godlike part of Tempest's body; you already hunger for it.

Slowly, she lowers herself onto you. You barely contain a moan of delight as your lips press against, well, hers. Your tongue explores its new playground, taking notes of every spot that causes her to sigh, or gasp, or giggle, or shiver. It doesn't take long at all to feel a few droplets of her secretion dripping over your mouth. The very feeling is amazing, her arousal only helping to build your own.

Determined to join in on the pleasure, the pressure in your cock starts to build. As you continue caressing Tempest's wet insides with your tongue, you seize your shaft, rubbing it until- Ow!

Tempest's hoof sharply slaps your own, causing you to let go of, well, yourself. "Going too quickly again, I think," she pants. "There's plenty of - aaaahh... other things to grab than yourself."

Seeing as her perfect backside is within easy reach, your hooves clamp onto them as your tongue circles her sweet clit. Soon, she goes from dripping to damn near gushing. Her hot moaning stokes the fire in your loins even more.

Without thinking, your hips start to thrust by themselves, desperate for some action. As one more rush of sexual release squirts from Tempest's delicious vagina, you feel your willpower falter, just slightly; a single droplet of precum trails down your shaft, causing you to shudder in anticipation.

"Ah," Tempest smiles, "I think you're just about ready."

She lifts herself off your face, allowing you to breathe again. You start to miss kissing her there already, but you know much better experiences are about to follow.

She repositions herself so you're face-to-face again. Her tongue dives back into your mouth, and you both moan in ecstasy as your sweat and saliva intermingle. Her horn is not just sparking anymore; now it's a steady glow that burns within the core of the horn's breaking point, like a small volcano of blue light.

Her hips begin to teasingly rub against yours. Your fore-hooves caress Tempest's body tenderly, starting at her shoulders, working down past her torso, to her waist, and finally to her smooth, firm flank. Her own hooves slither seductively around you, her left hoof holding the back of your head, pulling you closer into the embrace of her kiss, while her right hoof starts making its way tantalizingly south, towards your erection. Another wave of arousal takes hold as you feel her hoof stroking you, confident and irresistible, just like her.

You can feel the hot, wet dripping from her marehood on your crotch. Among the writhing of sweat and heat, Tempest lowers herself over you, her dripping entrance slowly enveloping your member in soft, wet flesh. You suppress the urge to burst right there and then, but fail to hold back a muffled cry of sexual bliss behind the continuing kiss.

Tempest herself seems to be entranced in her own arousing thrill, rhythmically thrusting faster and faster, until her gasps become so frequent she can no longer focus on kissing you anymore. Her hoof pushes against your chest, and without missing a single thrust of the hips, she continues to ravage you sitting upright instead of parallel.

You grip her flank tighter, taking two silky hoof-fulls of her toned, shapely backside as she continues to slide up and down your cock. You start thrusting your hips to compliment hers, feeling all thought and reason fall away, and be replaced with pure lust.

She's no longer gasping at this point, instead going for soft, panting moans. Over time, her moans grow louder and faster, her voice the audio equivalent of hot syrup. It quickly becomes too much to take.

"I... I'm gonna..."

"No," she demands, "Hold on, I'm almost-"

She's unable to finish her words among the rising cries of pleasure that start to grip her mind. The pressure in your tip is screaming for release, but you bite your bottom lip - almost hard enough to draw blood - in an attempt to hold yourself back from the brink.

Just as you're about to lose the last of your control, Tempest's cries cease, instead becoming such a long, drawn out moan of gratification that she turns her head upwards, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, and her tongue limply hanging out. Her broken horn goes haywire, releasing magic, not as a projectile burst like you expected, but a constant stream of sparks and light that cascade down her naked body like a river. As a sudden wave of Tempest's hot, wet secretion washes over your tip, your fortitude finally breaks. Pulse after pulse of your orgasm shakes your whole body as you feel yourself releasing inside her over and over again.

The magic pouring from her horn flickers off like a faulty switch. With a satisfied sigh, Tempest rolls off your body and lands next to you on the bed as your shaft continues to spurt forth a few more times. And then it's over, your hearts still racing as you both stare at the ceiling in a state of dizzying content. Neither of you have the breath, nor mental cohesion to talk. And so you just lie there with her, staring upwards, listening to her chest rise and fall as she catches her breath.

"See?" whispers Tempest finally, "I told you we had sexual tension."

You agree in the form of dreamy, wordless vocalisations.

Part 5: Bring Me The Horizon... Pretty Please

You don't know how long time ticks by. You don't care. You just lie there, one foreleg embracing Tempest Shadow on the bed, and one of hers embracing you. No post-sex kissing or pillow talk, just enjoying each other's company. It's surreal, how quickly you went from knowing each other as a two-pony team, to just throwing it all aside and letting both of your wise libidos guide you to bliss for one night. Surreal, but welcome.

Her eyes are shut. Serene. For the first time, you can actually see Tempest in a perfect state of rest. No-one to fight, interrogate or chase. No orders to follow. Just peace and quiet. She's no longer panting, Instead, she breathes with a steady rhythm that would suggest being half-asleep. She shifts a little closer to you, trying to take advantage of sharing body heat. You curl up with her in response, a sudden shiver making you keenly aware of how chilly the room has gotten. You remember the very obvious fact that you're both lying on top of a bed naked.

"Wanna curl up inside the covers?" you ask her.

She yawns happily, stretching her athletic form both sexily and adorably. "Sure. It is getting kinda cold."

Suddenly, all the relaxation dissipates from her face. Her eyes snap open, her face a picture of shock and realisation. A moment later, she bolts upright in the bed.

"Tempest?" your stomach just found itself a new knot to worry about. "Are you okay?"

She looks you dead in the eye. "Cold," she says dumbly.

"What?"

She crawls out of bed with a sense of urgency, and roots around the discarded armour and gear on the floor, left untouched since your passionate little teleportation trick. Finally, she finds the notepad you were jotting statements from earlier.

"Tempest, I should let you know that I'm usually a very hard guy to scare, but the way you're acting right now..."

"No! Don't you get it!?" she snaps at you, throwing the notepad onto the bed "All of the sailors around here were complaining about how cold the North Luna Ocean was getting. And sure, it's autumn, but it's not supposed to be winter cold yet, mist and all. Who do we know has a knack for making things cold?"

It takes you a solid five seconds to realise she was talking about the case of the missing fireworks. So much for a quiet night with her. You can take the mare out of the mission, but you can't take the mission out of the mare.

"Don't tell me," you raise a hoof. "The freezing weather outside and the factory raid are connected because they both involve the cold?"

"Supernatural cold," she corrects. "Ice and mist that isn't supposed to be there."

"So you think our potential suspects are somewhere in the North Luna Ocean? That they're making the sea too cold for others to sail on purpose?"

"If you want to be left alone, go somewhere no-one else is comfortable going. Plus, it adds up with our theory that they'd have a crew to help with the factory job, and a boat to stash the fireworks on," Tempest reasons, squeezing back into her tight, black jumpsuit (and ignoring your inquisitive gaze as she does so). "But before we jump to any conclusions, we need to make sure."

She beckons you out of bed as she snaps her gold-painted Storm King armour back on, piece by piece. You don't like where this is going.

*******

You don't like where this went.

It's now officially night. It's dark. It's cold. And Tempest Shadow is marching up and down Vanhoover harbour, eyeing anything and everything that moves. You're just trying not to think of the chill. Your Canterlot Elite armour is more suited to combat than cosiness.

You already wish you were back in bed with her.

Your look up towards the night sky. The tourist were right; the moon and stars do shine brighter in this part of Equestria. Below the moon is a pitch-black, endless void that stretches seemingly forever. You know the North Luna Ocean is there, however. You can hear its choppy waves crash against the dock.

"Over here!" Tempest's voice snaps you back into reality. "I found something!"

You gallop over to her - the movement should warm your blood - and look towards the patch of ocean that's illuminated by Luna's moon. There's a black silhouette of a small thing bobbing amidst the waves.

"Could you, uh, levitate that out for me?" she asks quickly. It's night, but you can tell she's scowling. "I don't wanna risk damaging it."

You oblige, plucking the floating thing - feels light, maybe plastic or cardboard - out of the water.

It was a small, red firework. Wet. Unused. Unburnt. No signs of heat damage at all, but a large tear is prominent near its fuse.

Both of you check the firework's innards. As suspected, the gunpowder had been removed.

While illumination magic is certainly not your forte, you concentrate a wide cone of light from your horn to the black, light-less ocean, revealing a sight that even causes Tempest to blink in surprise.

Fireworks. Thousands of them. All drained of their gunpowder and left to float aimlessly on the water.

"Guess we were right," you mutter, "they really do want to blow something up."

"The tide must have brought these firework cases back here, after the thieves poured out what they needed and threw the rest overboard," the violet unicorn muses. "Which means we were right about them using a boat too."

Try as you might, you can't get your glowing beam to reach far enough to see anything else. Just white stars above and black waters below. And some kind of flickering, yellowish star on the horizon.

Oh wait, that's the lantern of a boat. Sailing by itself. At night. In the cold. Presumably loaded with stolen gunpowder.

"There you are," Tempest's eyes narrow, locked on her distant target. Her eyebrows dip in concentration. This is the Tempest Shadow you heard about during the Storm King crisis; she's seen the target, and now she's on the hunt. With a smirk that thirsts for action, she clamps a hoof on your shoulder. "Let's go. I'm ready."

A pregnant pause. Two seconds of just the waves crashing against the harbour, and Tempest's hoof awkwardly attached to you.

"What?" you finally ask.

She looks at you awkwardly. "Well, you can teleport, right? That's your whole shtick. The boat's all the way out to sea. Teleport us! I want to crack some skulls."

You look towards the boat in the distance, then back to Tempest. "I can't."

"Why not!? You did it with our armour, no problem!"

"It's easy to teleport nearby inanimate objects," you explain. "And I'm used to teleporting solo, and at short range. But two ponies at once? To a boat that far away? It's like asking a sprinter in the Equestria Games to run a marathon! Carrying another pony!"

Tempest Shadow's face doesn't move as she considers your excuse. She takes a deep sigh, trying to find the best best way to put it. Eventually, she settles on the following: "Look, you're my partner, so I'm gonna play it straight with you."

Suddenly, her hooves reach out and grab you by the scuff of your armour. For a brief moment, you think she's going to get excessively rough with you, but instead, she simply holds you still so her face is caught in the light of your still-illuminating horn. You're treated to seeing her pretty, pleading face and glistening green-blue eyes in perfect detail.

"If we don't get to that boat, they'll escape, and something terrible might happen." There's a faint quiver in her voice. Her face bears no hint of worry. But you can hear it. "They could hurt innocents. They could hurt the Princesses we made an oath to serve. They could hurt all of Equestria. We could find a row-boat and get there the old fashioned way, but it'd take too long, and we'd be too late. I'm almost certain that boat is chock-full of dangerous explosive powder, but there's no way I can get to it alone. Not with this horn. Please. You have to get us there."

As you watch Tempest - ex-commander of the ruthless Storm King army and strongest, smartest mare you've ever met - stand here begging and beseeching, you realise that she's not just worried about losing her shot at redemption. She's terrified of causing even more damage through inaction.

If you refuse and something bad truly does happen, you don't think she'll ever forgive herself. She'll be lost to the personal demons of her remorse forever. And you refuse to let that happen.

You gaze towards the distant light of the suspected boat. "I could try, but it'll take a lot out of me. I'm not sure if I'd be able to make it back again."

"We'll find a way," Tempest promises. "I have no idea how, but we'll take care of it."

That's all the reassurance you need. If she has your back, you can do it.

The light in the distance is still flickering. It's hard to tell if it's even moving at all. Tempest's hoof clamps back onto your shoulder. She braces herself.

Teleportation is either very easy or very hard, depending on the many factors that go into it. How far away your destination is, whether or not you can accurately visualize said destination, and who or what you are teleporting in the first place, are three pretty important ones.

Teleporting short distances are obviously easy, and long distances hard. That's a given. If you've never seen - nor been to - the place you hope to teleport to, this makes things a whole lot more tedious. Instead of telling your magic "I would like to go to this exact place I'm visualizing in my head, please!", you now have to tell it "I would like to go roughly this far in front of me, at this kinda-sorta angle, and please do not make me accidentally reappear halfway through a wall, please". In short, you're mentally flinging yourself with all the grace of a disobedient colt flinging a brussels-sprout from his plate.

Add a second pony, with both clad in suits of metal armour, and we're just adding to the load. And the mere suggestion of blindly teleporting yourself to an unknown vessel, with a group of potential criminals as a crew, in the middle of a dark ocean without wearing armour? That's just silly. You have some brains. Even if this brain is about to do something colossally stupid.

You grit your teeth, close your eyes... and teleport.

Part 6: Infiltration

Most ponies, when they see a unicorn teleport, witness a bright flash of light. You're no exception to that.

The flash of light you can handle. The flash of pain behind your eyes, however, is a lot less tolerable. Serves you right for overexerting yourself.

The world around you jolts, and your head feels like somepony thumped you with a hoof from the inside out. Suddenly, you're no longer in the harbour. Now, you're in the dark.

You bring both hooves to your temple, trying to settle the thundering pain. You can't even see, but you can feel the world spin under you. It's sickening.

It takes a moment to realise how hard you're breathing. You're already using all of your effort not to cry out from the throbbing. Sneakily teleporting onto a potentially villainous boat would be pointless if you just gave away your position by yelling.

A firm, supportive hoof touches your back, caressing up and down your spine to ease the pain away. You feel her presence beside you. Tempest Shadow whispers in your ear.

"Thank you."

It worked. You managed to safely teleport yourself over to, er, wherever you are. The boat's interior? You can taste the sea air, but it's stale. There's an ever-present, rhythmic creaking from the wooden walls and floorboards. Your hooves are wet. There's no light at all, not even a candle.

You try to cast a quick illumination spell. Instead, you get a stabbing pain ripple through your head for your efforts.

"Tempest," you ask. "I know I'm asking a lot, but could you make a light? Out of your... magic? Please, I'm probably not gonna be able to make one for a while."

The hoof rubbing your back stops at the word "magic".

"If you can send us across the horizon at a second's thought with your magic," she whispers slowly, "the least I can do is give you a little light to see. But if you laugh, I swear to Celestia I'll start swinging."

A low fizz of energy, similar to that of a matchstick being lit, sputters beside you. The smallest spark flickers through the darkness, before many more sparks congregate towards a single point, nestling in the shattered remains of Tempest's horn. Eventually, the sparks writhe and twist into a glowing, light-blue sphere. Thanks to this, Tempest Shadow's pretty, gaunt face is lit up against the black backdrop.

"That's... amazing," you say. Nothing wrong with complimenting Tempest.

"The mission," she hisses through gritted teeth. Only then do you realise just how much concentration it's costing her to keep that pseudo-lightbulb going. Short electrical bursts and magic fireworks are one thing, a steady stream of constant magical energy just to take advantage of its light is something else.

Not wanting to exert her any longer than she needs to be, you take a quick scan of your surroundings. It's a reasonably sized ship, probably a frigate. You're definitely inside the interior, at it's lowest possible level. The whole room dips in the center, with a greyish-green, opaque pool of stagnant seawater, about two foot deep, sloshing along with the ship itself. You remember reading something about this with ships: the water's there intentionally to weigh the ship down, acting as a ballast during uncooperative weather.

A few bags of grain and oats, perhaps just rations, are slumped in a corner. A few spare chairs and boxes are stacked against a wall. There are two hooks near the room's only door; presumably, this is where you'd put a lit lantern if you had any. But why aren't there any in this room?

That's when you notice the smallish barrels. Twelve of them, grouped together and securely fastened to the floorboards, preventing them from toppling over in the frigate's rocking. You have a good idea on what they could be. Trying not to cause any undue creaking in the floorboards, you gingerly make your way over to the barrels, unlatching one of them for your scrutiny. Undoing the top of the barrel, you open the lid and confirm exactly what you suspected; the sight and smell of gunpowder. The culprit is here.

Also, you've just realized you're holding an open keg full of gunpowder right next to Tempest, who's currently firing off thousands of sparks per second just so you can see. This is a thing you Elite Operatives like to call "a really gods-damn stupid thing to do". You immediately clip the lid back on and return the keg back where you found it.

You're just about to reattach it to the other barrels, when the whole ship lurches. Tempest only just manages to retain balance, costing her a small bit of her concentration; her light-sphere goes a little bit dimmer. You, on the other hoof, fall to your side. The loose barrel topples over with a wooden clatter, the lid thankfully stopping the spill of explosive powder.

"What was THAT!?" the muffled orders came from right above you. "A rogue wave!? Brothers! I will check the cargo, and make sure it's still secured. Keep the boat on-course! We're too close to risk any setbacks now."

A slow, heavy tapping of hoof-steps plod across the ceiling, followed by the creaking of a cabin door. Those same hoof-falls now start descending a staircase, drawing nearer.

You and Tempest exchange wide-eyed looks. You quickly hunt for somewhere, anywhere, to hide. Behind the barrels? That's a death-wish. Teleport away? You can't. You're still hurting from that, and will be for a while. That only leaves one choice left...

Tempest knows it too. She kills the improvised light-show just as the doorknob turns with a click.

*******

Creaaaak.

The hooded figure, garbed in robes of foggy grey, stands in the doorway. A pale hoof grasps at a lantern, which waves back and forth through the pitch-black room. A solitary keg of gunpowder rolls across the floorboards, stopping just short of the door itself.

The hooded equine carefully places the lantern down, safely away from the explosive. He scoops up the barrel and slowly trots toward the rest of them. With a steady hoof, he slowly reattaches the keg to its latch on the floor. What a tragedy it would be, to have an errant wave result in setting those off, so close to their ultimate goal.

Wait, what was that?

His head whips toward the pool of seawater ballast in the middle of the cargo hold. The lantern is still by the door, so it's not perfect visibility, but did the hooded one just see a hint of movement within the opaque ballast?

He stares into the liquid murk for the longest time. Waiting. If there truly was anything in that water, how long would it be able to hold its breath, he wonders?

Uttering a few ancient syllables in Old Ponish, he waves his hoof. The surface of the water turns to thick, colourless ice.

He waits. No struggling, or hooves banging against the frozen sheet.

Hmm. Perhaps it was nothing.

The hooded figure turns around to leave, just in time to see two armoured unicorns pile on top of him.

*******

Tempest Shadow leaps ahead of you, like a tiger pouncing on its prey. Her hoof covers the figure's mouth before he can scream for help, and by the time he's wrestled to the ground, he's completely silent and helpless in a sleeper hold.

You pin down any loose, flailing limbs of your suspect, while carefully trying to shut the cargo hold's door with magic; too much noise could attract more of them. It still stings a little to use magic, but the adrenaline rush stops you from caring.

"Did this guy really think we were hiding in that gross water?" you quietly muse to your partner. "Hiding behind the door was so much easier."

The robed, ice-magic using culprit's struggling ceases, as his eyelids drift shut. You think, perhaps, he's just given up.

Suddenly, the figure's eyes flick open. Two bright pinpricks of light shimmer behind two pools of blackness. Slowly, you feel the hooves pinning him down start to go cold and numb. Painfully numb. The icy sting starts to creep up your forelegs, but you try to persevere. The longer you keep holding him down, the further the relentless icy touch travels. Once the cold reaches your shoulders, you start to falter.

Tempest still has the culprit in her sleeper hold, her teeth bared and eyes scrunched in pain. She has more physical contact with him than you do, and every second you spend trying to hold him down is more aching bitterness. You can't even imagine what she's going through.

"L-let go of him. I've g-got this." You try to shiver as little as possible, putting on a brave face.

Tempest Shadow can't even respond with words. She simply shakes her head in denial, and squeezes the hold tighter. The culprit almost looks like he's about to pass out. Almost.

The magic behind his eyes intensify. A new shock-wave of ice shoot straight through you, from hoof to horn. Ever-so-briefly, you even find yourself losing vision.

You can't take it anymore! You step off the unnatural equine's limbs, no longer able to bear the frost. Tempest still won't release her grip, despite the shivering that wrecks through her whole body. At this point, you're certain he has a grip on her.

"Please! Just drop him, it's not worth it!" you plead. You attempt to pry Tempest off, but to no avail - she's just as cold as him.

Though the pain, her eyes meet yours. Tempest tries to say something, anything, or scream... but it all comes out as silent, misty breath. Her vocal chords are shocked from the cold. In her last gasping moment, her eyes glaze over. Her forelegs drop from their hold. She stops shivering. Her whole body goes limp.

The robed, hooded thing calmly picks himself up from the floor. Tempest remains motionless. Damning the consequences of rushing past the cold demon that stands between you and her, you rush to the poor mare's side. Strangely, he doesn't stop you. Perhaps he knows you can't touch him without meeting a similar fate.

You cradle Tempest's bitterly chilled form in your hooves. She's so icy, but you can just barely feel a pulse. You know she's breathing too - her body is so cold, there's a thin trail of condensation coming from her blue lips whenever she exhales.

You close your eyes as tightly as possible, and visualize Vanhoover harbour in your mind. Try as you might, you're still too weak to teleport. Too weak. Too far. Too soon after your last attempt. Cursing, you beg, in Celestia's name, for the power to bring you both to safety. Your prayers go unanswered.

The icy fiend doesn't seem to care. "Brothers!" he calls out. Almost immediately, the unnatural sounds of hoofsteps can be heard from above. "Polish our most extravagant shackles!" The figure turns to face you, his very eyes visible from under his hood giving you a sense of frost-burn. Cold mist seeps between his teeth, jagged like icicles. "We have unexpected guests."

Part 7: Shackled

At least the top deck is well-lit, you think to yourself. Lanterns are hanging at almost every corner. This must be why you were able to see it from the harbour.

It's been about an hour since you surrendered without a fight. They've had you chained to the top deck, in front of the ship's fo'c'sle, ever since. The shackles holding you down are thick, but rusted. Not that you'd try to break out. What would be the point? You could fight. In fact, no, scratch that. It didn't work last time, when both you and Tempest were facing just one of them. Alone against a whole crew would be madness. You could teleport, but not far. And if you could escape, there's no way in Tartarus that you're leaving your partner behind.

You look to your left. Tempest Shadow is slumped against the fo'c'sle walls right next to you, still unconscious. Her lips are no longer blue-cold, however, and from where you're sitting, she's clearly still breathing. That has to count for something.

You look to your right. Aside from the utterly unnatural crew members walking by and ignoring you, there's a small, wooden row-boat that hangs over the edge of the ship itself, ready to drop into the water below at a moment's notice. If you could just cut that boat down, save Tempest, and row away, you could make it out alive. All of that's assuming, of course, that none of the crew touch you in that time.

All of them seem to have the same condition as the cold assailant from earlier. They all freeze on touch.

All of them seem to be ponies of round the same size. All of them seem draped in similar grey cloth. It's entirely possible that this group is some form of cult, given the unnatural freezing magic and matching robes that conceal most of the body and face.

Without warning, the pale form of Tempest blots upright and screams a short, panicked yelp, like one would do waking up from a nightmare. An Elite Operative such as yourself does not usually flinch, but this was one of the few exceptions. Your partner's mind starts catching up to her body. She looks around at the ship, the apathetic crew, her shackles, then finally you. The look on her face when she notices your own chains is one of dismay, followed by disgust.

"I thought I told you to escape," she snarls.

"No," you reply. "You didn't."

Her loathing subsides, however briefly. "Really?"

"That ice-using... thing made you too cold to talk," you explain. "I couldn't hear anything. Then you passed out."

"For how long?"

"About an hour."

"So why didn't you escape then!?" Tempest scolds you.

"I- what? I tried! I couldn't teleport us both back."

The conversation pauses as another hooded cultist trots by, probably to inform the head honcho that Tempest had awoken. While you are shackled down, the chains themselves allow for some movement. You shift as close to Tempest as your chains will allow. She does the same.

"This is gonna sound strange coming from me," Tempest whispers, "but is your horn feeling any better?"

Yeah, that did give way to a moment of awkwardness.

"Wha?"

"As in, can you teleport now?" she asks. "Even if it's just a short distance? It was an hour since you last tried."

You quickly close your eyes and gauge how much your head had recovered from the mental exhaustion earlier. "I can probably teleport short range once, maybe twice, but any more and I might pass out."

Tempest is silent for the longest moment you've ever experienced. As if she's making peace with something, or somepony, in her mind.

"That's good," she finally says. "Short range is all you need for what I've got planned."

"Let's hear it."

"See that boat over there?" she nods towards the wooden row-boat you saw earlier. "When the time is right, I'm going to break these cuffs; they're rusted, it'll be no problem for me. When that happens, I want you to teleport out of your own cuffs, and make it to the boat. Cut it down, then row away. I'll keep the crazies distracted during that time."

"What about the gunpowder, though?" you ask. "Even if we do make it out, they'll still have that stuff."

"They won't," Tempest retorts. "I'll take care of that while you row to a safe distance."

"Take care of the gunpowder? How?"

The dark violet unicorn says nothing. The small flicker of energy from her broken horn, however, tells you everything.

"Tempest, no!"

"Why not!?" Both of you had given up whispering at this point. Tempest especially.

"How in Tartarus would you escape the-" you catch yourself talking loudly about potentially blowing the whole ship up, and hastily lower your voice to ease the still-not-listening cultists. "How would you escape the blast?"

Tempest hesitates for just a second more than you'd like. "I'd delay it somehow. Pour some gunpowder on the floor as some kinda fuse, light it, and run."

"All by yourself?"

"So long are you make it back to Canterlot alive, you can report the mission as a success as soon as you see me blow this rig up." Now you know why she was making peace with herself earlier. She's genuinely serious about going through with that plan alone. But not out of selfishness, as she would have used to. Out of responsibility. She's the one who convinced you to teleport here, after all.

You just glare at her. It's your attempt at that same glare she gave you back on the train to Vanhoover; the don't-even-entertain-that-thought kind of glare.

Tempest notices. "Oh, so you hated me replacing your old dead buddy, but since we rutted in a hotel room earlier you're suddenly supposed to care?"

"I wouldn't approve of you getting yourself killed, even if I still hated you," you argue. "Which I don't."

"There's no way I can convince you to leave me behind, is there?" she sneers.

"Call me clingy, but no."

"Okay, fine," she rolls her eyes. "When I break the chains, you teleport, but not towards the boat this time. I'll distract them while y-"

The door to the fo'c'sle slams open. She wisely stops talking, but you give Tempest a knowledgeable glance. You get the gist.

The leader of the group - the one you and Tempest failed to subdue earlier, strangely enough - trots out. Just as the hooded excuse for a pony opens its mouth to greet us, Tempest gets the first word in.

"Here's how this is going to work," she orders. Like the flick of a switch, Tempest adopts the same sadistic persona that haunted her through her career with the Storm King. Commanding. Intimidating. Almost daring her opponent for an excuse to fight. "Tell me what you plan to do with the gunpowder you stole, and I will hurt you."

The hooded leader froze - figuratively this time. "Don't you mean OR I will hurt you?"

"I know what I said."

Kudos to Tempest on that insult; you actually see the equine figure flinch before remembering the shackles holding her down.

"Moving on," he slowly asserts, "it's good to see you awake, Tempest Shadow, No doubt your sidekick has filled you in on how he surrendered as soon as you lost consciousness."

Wait, what's that about a sidekick!?

"How did you know my name?" your partner demands. Slowly, more and more fiendish robed figures start to appear, be it from inside the fo'c'sle, or simply moving into position on the top deck. You count six, including the leader.

"Oh please, I'm adept at hiding among my former kind in Vanhoover," the leader scoffs, a chilling mist pouring from his maw. "I've read the news - every pony worth their salt knows who you are, ex-commander. But all you seem interested in is our gunpowder. For your information, we're just trying to save Equestria with it. We're not the villains here."

Yeah, as if that was easy to believe.

"What do you mean, saving Equestria?" you order, clearly not trying to compensate for being called a sidekick. "How's twelve barrels of boom gonna help with that!?"

The leader's gaze shifts toward you. You shake off the cold feeling in your gut.

"Tell me," he impassively drones, "are you familiar with the story behind Hearth's Warming Eve?"

"Who isn't?" you resist the urge to shrug at your evil captor. "The three pony races, the Windigos, the Fire of Friendship, it's all basic storybook stuff."

"So you say," he utters in a condescending tone. He turns between you and Tempest. "Can either of you tell me where the Windigos went after the Fire of Friendship did away with them?"

That question sounded so easy until you realise the story didn't cover that part.

"They went to sleep," the cultist declares. "In a last-ditch effort to keep cool, the Windigos retreated to an ancient ocean to the north, built a huge iceberg with their frost-magic, and slept within it."

"You're wasting our time," Tempest spits at him. "The gunpowder. Tell us about that."

"I'm getting to that, you impatient harlot!" the hooded fiend bares his icicle-teeth. Callously, he treads his freezing hoof on Tempest's shoulder. She gasps from the biting cold. "Need I remind you who's wearing the shackles here!?"

Seeing the frost work its way from her shoulder to her neck, you yell the only thing that comes to mind; "Let her go!"

The leader ignores you, pressing his hoof deeper into her skin. "As you can probably gather by now, we found that very iceberg. We studied it. Learned how to harness the Windigo's magic for ourselves. And as you now witness, it changed us in ways you could never imagine. So as thanks for our new powers, we've decided to set them free, and in the process, save Equestria."

With that, he releases his bitter grip on Tempest. She instinctively retreats backwards, pressing her back against the fo'c'sle walls.

The cultist leans forward, mockingly invading Tempest's personal space. "That's what your precious gunpowder is being used for, Little Miss Hornless! We're going to blow the iceberg-prison right up! Boom! Freeing the Windigos once and for all! And sure, they'll leave Equestria well enough alone because the Fire of Friendship is still burning! So where will they go!? Anywhere else!"

The cultist's maniacal rambling rises with each statement: "There's no Fire in the Storm King's Realm, dear! They're falling in on themselves since he died - power-vacuums do that! There's no Fire in the land of the Hippogriffs, either! They never needed one, the cowards! Those colourful changelings are learning about friendship, but they're slow at it; we'll just freeze the hive before they figure it out! Klugetown, Griffonstone, the Dragonlands, they don't even know what friendship is half the time!"

As the insane pony continues to divulge his plans, a trait surprisingly common among the villainous population, you exchange glances with Tempest. She nods, bracing herself for just the right time.

By this point, his mad rambling is almost incoherent; "And once the Windigos have turned all of those lands to ice, Equestria will be protected! Right in the middle of a ring of impenetrable, frosty death! No more invasions! No more wars! No more risking the lives of citizen and princess alike! Celestia would never allow such an extreme solution, the weak fool, but this is for her own good! We're going to be gods! We're going to freeze the world and all who oppose our mighty land, and the Windigos will be our deadly herald! WE! WILL! SAVE! EQUESTR-"

C-CRACK!

The mad cultist never finished that - in one swift movement, Tempest brakes the rusty shackles holding her down, and flings a horseshoe-clad fore-hoof, with all her strength, into his jaw. His body is sent absolutely careening through the air, until he lands almost on the other side of the ship. The other five cultists scramble to get their beloved leader back on his hooves.

He stands there, grasping his jaw in agony. His hood is down, revealing eyes that are little more than dark, empty holes with a pinprick of light in each socket. His ears are permanently in a turned-down position, one of them chipped like an icicle. His mane is dark and slick, as if it were dampened down and subsequently frozen solid. He has no horn upon his head; an Earth Pony. Further confirmation that his magic was by no means natural.

His jaw, wounded by Tempest's punch, is grotesque; dangling half-shattered from his face. There's no blood. Only ice and mist.

Fixing a chilling scowl upon Tempest, he presses his jaw back into place. It rapidly freezes at the wound, sealing all cracks, until there's no evidence of a strike there at all. Then he points a hoof straight at you both, and shrieks.

"Brothers! Kill!"

Part 8: A Tempest Rocks the Boat

"Look out!" Tempest yells, "Quickly!"

Five unthinking ice-fiends lunge forward, three at Tempest, two at yourself. You have the good foresight to wait until they're in mid-leap before casting your Teleportation spell.

With a flash, you disappear just as they collide with the wall where you were once bound by shackles. The last you see of Tempest Shadow is her driving her rear hooves into two of her own assailants.

Your teleport spell was not focused on the row-boat. Of course it wasn't. Instead, you reappear in the cargo hold, complete with the still-frozen ballast and twelve quite dangerous barrels. Your mind protests with a pang of pain, causing you to stumble to the ground in disorientation; that long-range jump from earlier must have taken its toll a lot more than you thought. After a few more seconds of breathing to calm yourself, you try to get your head back into gear. Ignore that pain. Try to avoid teleporting for now, there's only so much stress a unicorn can take.

The sounds of havoc can be heard above; you silently pray that Tempest is alright. Without wasting a second more, you tear off the latch holding one of the gunpowder kegs down with your teeth, remove the lid and begin throwing it over the other eleven explosives. Then you start to pour the powder on the floor in a thin line. The longer the line, the better; it will serve as a rudimentary fuse.

Kicking the cargo hold's door open, you carefully run the powder up the staircase, tracing the skirting-board to keep the fuse connected. When you're ready, you proceed to burst through the door leading back outside.

*******

"Look out!" Tempest yells, "Quickly!"

Five unthinking ice-fiends - ponies once, but no longer - lunge forward, three at Tempest, two at her Elite Operative partner. Tempest readies her rear hooves, and bucks two of her lunging attackers squarely in their faces. The two that leapt for her partner clumsily collide with the wall behind him; he's already gone in a flash.

The third icy cultist to pounce at Tempest wraps its bitter hooves around her. She feels the burn of the cold against her skin, and retaliates with a burn of her own; an almighty blast of unrefined magical energy from her broken horn. The creature release its grip and howls like an animal as it stumbles backward, robes singed. Water drips forth from under its clothes. Was it melting!?

No time to know for sure; one of her partners' original attackers had picked itself back up. It tries to swipe for Tempest's legs, perhaps to get her on the ground for an easy target, but she deftly evades the attempt. Now, she grasps that same attacker's flailing hoof, ignoring the cold on touch, and flings it towards the recently-burnt minion. With a thunderous crash, they collide. Shards of ice spread over the deck as the latter is utterly destroyed. The former shrieks like ice on a chalkboard; from under the robes, it's clear that everything below its spine was reduced to diamond dust. Nevertheless, it mindlessly starts dragging itself across the floor with its two remaining limbs.

Before the other assailants can regroup for their strike, Tempest charges the wounded one, slamming her hoof with startling strength against its skull. The head shatters in a cloud of mist and cold debris, the former living thing falling to the ground with a ghostly sigh.

While the madness of battle unfolds, the leader just stands calmly to the side, muttering an ancient incantation.

Tempest leaps across the deck to avoid the three remaining cultists charging her all at once. Leading them towards one of the corners of the ship, complete with one of the many lanterns dotted around, she feigns getting herself cornered. In truth, this was just to give the others overconfidence. It works; they abandon simultaneous attacks and heedlessly charge in one at a time.

Tempest's reflexes are faster; she strikes the first enemy swiftly, shattering not its head, but its face. It tries to scream in rage as it thrashes around, but it ultimately becomes lost in the confusion, with no eyes to guide it. One of its errant hooves make a close-enough estimate to where Tempest is, thumping her across the cheek. She grunts as a hot flash of pain assaults her vision.

The second attacker doesn't fair much better than the first, getting launched with another blast of magic courtesy of her broken horn. It stumbles back in shock, tripping over the now-faceless monster, landing them both in a half-melted heap. As the third one gallops in for the tackle, Tempest swipes the nearby lantern and swings it with full-force over the fiend's head, igniting the robes, hood and all.

As it shrieks from the heat, flailing around the deck in a fit of melting panic, the door to the fo'c'sle bursts open.

*******

The door to the fo'c'sle bursts open as you rejoin the deck, pouring out the last of the gunpowder. You're instantly met with a view of the carnage; shards of ice that were once living ponies are scattered over the wooden floorboards. Discarded robes, some even burnt, lie where some of them fell. Tempest is in a melee by the corner, where you see two more cultists swept off their hooves and one of them even on fire. Did she do all of this by herself!? You knew she was strong, but that's something special.

"Tempest! Get ready with the fuse, I'll cut the boat down!" you call out, propping the now-empty barrel against the door to keep the line of powder connected. One of the cultists - its face a horrifying visage of shattered ice and little more - hears your voice and instinctively shambles towards you. Despite the numb pain that still courses through your horn, you teleport behind it in a flash and sweep its legs from below. As soon as it hits the floorboards, you bring your rear hooves down upon its head, which shatters on impact. Its whole body twitches a little, before moving no more.

All the while, the leader of the cult's voice starts to build to a crescendo in its Old Ponish chanting. Your partner moves in to finish the second-to-last cultist with ease - the one not thrashing around while on fire, at least - as you rush to the small row-boat, still suspended over the side. Leaping up to it, you start cutting it free from its ropes, levitating a piece of glass from a nearby lantern that was recently shattered in the fight.

The flaming minion's aimless panicking sends it hurtling towards the line of gunpowder on the ground. Just before it gets close enough to set it off, Tempest blasts it with a jolt of unrefined magic power. The creature, already half-melted, collapses into a pile of wet mush. She knew you needed more time to cut the row-boat loose. Only two more cuts left to make...

The leader, and only living - if one could call it that - cultist left completes his strange incantation. With a menacing grin, claws and flat screens of ice take form over him, twisting his form into something truly unlike the Earth Pony he used to be. Soon he becomes a formless demon; gnashing jaws and teeth at every side of him, and too many limbs made from ice, as sharp as any hoof-made weapon.

Tempest doesn't wait for it; she charges with all her wits and might, ducking and bobbing between the various maws and claws before striking is hard over what was once its face. The demon recoils in pain. You slash away at the ropes as fast as you can; one more cut left to make.

Amidst the combat, Tempest continues to swiftly swoop between every hideous bite and grasping claw, until a limb blind-sides her from out of nowhere. That one strike was all it took for Tempest to be sent hurtling towards the side of the boat, the momentum carrying her overboard against her will. In her last moment, she lets loose a flare of raw magic, her half-horn spitting it towards the line of gunpowder. The gunpowder lights, hissing down the path you set for it.

Tempest Shadow falls into the inky-black ocean. With a heart-stopping splash, she disappears beneath the waves.

"Tempest!" you scream, the horror of her falling into the water gripping your heart; she's still clad in that heavy Storm King armour. The many-limbed monstrosity turns its attention towards you.

You've fought monsters before. But this terrifying beast is something that would usually be far out of your league. In short; you're terrified, though you'd never admit it. But you have to stop the monster before trying to save your partner. With a last triumphant slice, the row-boat is cut away from its ropes. It falls into the water without issue, floating atop the churning sea. You keep holding tightly to the ropes as the demon tries to swipe at you with its cold, horrible limbs. You have an idea; a stupid one, but you have no choice. There's no time to actually fight this thing. You just need it to be unable to escape the impending blast.

From the ropes above, you swing directly above the beast. A full second that feels like eternity passes as you let go, dropping down on top of it. The instant you make contact with it, you ignore the common sense in your mind telling you not to overexert yourself, and teleport. Not yourself, but the monster.

In a flash, you send it exactly two feet downwards. The very attempt to cast this spell feels like someone has broken something sharp and jagged over your head. You ignore your own scream. You need to stop teleporting in this condition.

The abomination reappears, stuck halfway in the floorboards of the ship's deck. No way to properly attack. No way to escape from the ship. It tries to thrash at you, but the majority of its limbs are trapped by the teleportation error. You easily jump past the few loose ones. It cries in a primal, wordless rage as you gallop towards the spot where you saw Tempest fall. In a single bound, you clear the wooden bulwark and dive overboard.

Part 9: The Mare with Two Ghosts

When you hit the water, it doesn't sound like a splash. Doesn't sound like anything.

You witness the black waters of the North Luna Ocean rush towards you, and past you. It happens so fast; the next thing you know, you're underwater. Strange; you expected the sea to be much colder. Perhaps it's just warmer than the Windigo-worshipping cult by comparison. The cool water feels so relaxing, washing over the stress and struggles of the past battle. You could drift here forever if you really wanted to.

Tempest.

You open your eyes in realisation; you haven't seen her since she fell in before you. Where is she!? The night sky above the surface is too dark. There's no way to see. No way to tell.

In your panic to find her, any hint of her, you loose a small string of bubbles from your snout. You don't want to get to the surface yet. Not until you know she's safe.

Tempest! Tempest, where are you!? Please... I need to find her.

As if your prayers had finally been answered, the surface ignites in a bright, brilliant orange; the gunpowder barrels had finally gone off, sending that accursed ship of the frozen fiends to oblivion. The deep, almost unending ocean lights up as the frigate becomes a huge, floating bonfire above. Almost no fish or corals are present; just water and more water. But one thing stands out in the depths far, too far, below...

There's a familiar glint of golden metal that reflects the raging fires above. Tempest!

Wasting no time, you swim after her. She's trying desperately to swim up, yet still sinking. Though your eyes aren't perfect underwater, you understand what's happening; her gold-painted Storm King armour. It's too heavy. She's already discarded her horseshoes in an attempt to make herself lighter, but it's not enough.

You keep swimming downwards, until you feel your lungs burn and your limbs ache. The only thing pushing you to carry on is that she's been underwater for much longer than you. And if she can handle it...

But she can't. Even from this far away, you can tell she's no longer trying to swim upwards. Instead, her hooves start scrambling with whatever has her armour locked as she sinks deeper and deeper. Her rear legs kick in frustration - or was it panic - as a short torrent of bubbles burst forth from her lips.

You need to get to her now! But she's too far away.

You could teleport to her.

Yes. Yes you could! But there's no guarantee you'd be able to teleport back to the surface. Heck, there's no guarantee that you won't pass out from the overexertion just by reaching her that way; you've been teleporting far too much, and in such a short time.

But she's drowning. She's drowning and she needs you.

Get to her.

Trying to conserve what little magical energies you have remaining, your pained, airless mind estimates exactly how far down you need to go. Preparing yourself for the pain you're about to endure, you reach out to your partner, and teleport.

You make sure to leave your ornate Elite Guard armour behind as you do it; whatever lightens the load at this point. In a flash that lights up more of the dark, wet world all around, you reappear just in front of Tempest's panicked face. Her hooves reach out to grab you instantly, and your hooves grab hers. Suddenly, the disorienting pain comes back. Serves you right for teleporting.

You can't hold back the screams as your mind as assaulted by the worst overexertion pains a unicorn has ever had to endure. Tempest can only look on helplessly as the excruciating pain wrecks your head. The strain is so intense, you could swear you were going blind behind one eye. You fight your natural instinct to breathe in after that scream; now your lungs hurt too.

Through your clouded vision, you see what Tempest was trying to do; one of the latches on her armour had become frozen solid; it's why she couldn't undo it. Must've been when that sick cultist put his hoof on her.

You know you don't stand a chance of undoing the latch yourself, either. Tempest's pleading eyes are telling you to teleport her out. You know that would mean the death of you; the spell you just cast was the last one in you. Teleporting anything else at this point would make you pass out, and in this case, certainly drown.

You decide it's worth it. For Tempest Shadow.

Your horn lights up again; you give your magic one request: up. Send her up. She needs air. Send her up for air.

And then you telep-

Huh? Nothing happens.

And then you tele-

Nothing!

You try a third time! You can't teleport her! It's not working! You're both too far from the surface for the spell to take her where you want it to. Even if you're sending her up by herself, you couldn't teleport a pony more than a few feet at most. Your chest tightens even more, burning for air. You push it out of your mind for as long as you can.

Tempest's lips quiver, as if she's trying to mouth something to you. But before you can figure it out, another burst of bubbles spew forth from her. One of her hooves let go of you just to cover her mouth in sheer desperation, her eyes wide with fear. Poor girl. She doesn't deserve this.

"Well, you can teleport, right? That's your whole shtick. The boat's all the way out to sea. Teleport us! I want to crack some skulls."

You look towards the boat in the distance, then back to Tempest. "I can't."

"Why not!? You did it with our armour, no problem!"

"It's easy to teleport nearby inanimate objects," you explain.

That's it. If you don't have the power to teleport Tempest, perhaps you could just shift the armour that's dragging her down! She'd still have to swim up to safety, though. And you still might die from the strain. In fact, at this point, it's almost certain.

Oh, to Tartarus with it!

Your horn glows. You grasp Tempest's gold-painted armour, look her right in the eyes, mouth goodbye, then cast your spell.

The armour flashes a few feet to the side, then promptly sinks. You decided not to teleport her jumpsuit this time; it could make for less water resistance for her on the way up. You take one last look in her face just as the overexertion takes you. Her beautiful eyes. Her proud scars. Her fuchsia mane that dances like fire in the water. Her broken horn that, despite how much she hates it, is perfect for her. To die looking at her, knowing you may very well have saved her, is a fine end for an Elite Operative.

Strange. You were expecting the last rush of mental pain to be more painful. Instead, your senses cut to black with a merciful snap.

*******

Is he dead? A voice inside Tempest Shadow's head whispers. Did you just witness him die? No! Nonononono! You have to save him!

It's a lost cause, another voice said. If you don't swim up for air right now, you're done for. Go! Now!

You... no! You can't just leave him here!

You'll never make it back up if you take him. Go it alone. It's how we've always done it.

The two voices that argue within Tempest Shadow's mind are all too familiar. In one side of her mind, Commander Tempest of the Storm King's Legion demands she leave her partner for the fish. In the other side of her mind, a quiet, innocent pony by the name of Fizzlepop Berrytwist pleads and beseeches her to save him.

A third, voiceless thought is there too. Her lungs, repeating the same word over and over, for every passing heartbeat.

Air. Air. Air.

The whole exchange takes place within a split-second of her partner passing out. Already, she makes up her mind.

Tempest wraps her hooves around her unconscious partner's waist, and kicks her back legs as hard as she can, straight for the surface. Since her hooves are busy pulling the Operative along, there's nothing to stop more precious air escaping from her snout. She grits her teeth in defiance. More air escapes.

It's not too late to drop him, you know, coos the Commander's voice.

Just push forward! Please! He did it for you! begs Fizzlepop's voice.

Air. Air. Air!

The surface seems so far away, but she's only just started. Tempest quickly rearranged her limbs, one foreleg hooked around the Operative this time, her other free foreleg being used to swim faster. The more she moves, however, the more desperate she becomes.

It's not worth it, girl. You can always get another partner if you miss this one.

He's done so much for you! He accepted you even though he knew who you were! He made you feel comfortable with your scars! He called you beautiful! He fought alongside you! He sacrificed his own chance of survival for you!

Air! Air! AIR!

Tempest's back legs are starting to tire. She simply kicks faster and harder. Her chest twitches and convulses out of sheer urgency; even if there's no air, it just wants to TRY breathing! She's at least halfway there, right? Right!?

Listen to me! If you don't ditch him right now, you'll BOTH die! Is that what you want? You want his sacrifice to be worth NOTHING!?

It's not a sacrifice if we both make it. It's a rescue. It's a successful mission. It's a better life for everyone.

AIR! AIR! AIR!

Her lungs have reached their limit; all she can do is tell her limbs to keep kicking. She's almost at the surface! She can feel the heat of the burning ship above! But there's nothing she can do to stop the unending stream of bubbles, her precious air, from pouring out between her lips. In her oxygen-deprived mind, she figures if she can't stop the air from leaving, she might as well use it to scream.

Hey, it's your funeral, me. Your burial-at-sea. I just wanted to make this clear: When I said "The best way to survive is all alone"... I was right.

You're going to make it. You've survived much worse than this and you know it! Please...

AIR! AIR! AIR!

She's so close now, but her legs aren't kicking anymore. Can she even feel them!? Jarring her limbs into working again, she convulses one limb at a time to push her those last few feet. Her stinging lungs now completely empty, her impulsions override her dwindling senses, and she starts to breathe in water. She can only cough and writhe against it as the surface slowly crawls within hoof's reach... and despite the bright, glowing fires above, her vision only grows darker.

Air! Air. Air...

Part 10: Operation Fire-Worked

Somewhere in the North Luna Ocean, a fire rages. A frigate was blown asunder by, not one or two, but twelve barrels of explosive gunpowder. Almost every bit of debris is ablaze, the occasional sinking scraps hissing as they go under. Nothing - and no one - survived the fiery destruction, save for a single row-boat that managed to float out of range. All that can be heard is the raging fire, and the churning ocean.

From the dark below, Tempest Shadow's head breaks the water's surface with a long, desperate gasp. Coughing up the salt water from her lungs, she thinks of nothing else but sucking in more sweet, precious air. She made it.

She rearranges herself, trying to keep the other unconscious pony's head above water. She looks around for the row-boat, silently thanking the powers that be when she finds it close by, and unharmed by the blast. Once the feeling had returned to her legs, she kicks her way towards the boat in a semi-backstroke. Finally, she hurls her partner - no, her friend - onto the small craft, before pulling herself aboard and collapsing in fatigue.

Still gasping and wheezing from her close call, Tempest turns to get a good look at her friend for the first time. He isn't breathing.

She jabs him hard with a hoof. Nothing. She shakes him. Nothing.

"Wake up," she whispers, her voice shaking. "Wake up, please..."

She lays him across the wooden boards of the small vessel and places her ear against his chest. The true scope of her horror is realised when she doesn't hear a heartbeat.

"No," she holds back a cry of despair, "No, no, no! I joined you to save lives, not to ruin more! Not to ruin you!"

Immediately, she places two hooves across his chest and starts compressing. After thirty compressions, she tilts his unresponsive head, breathes in, seals her mouth around his, and exhales sharply. She does this one more time before going back to compressions. Then breathing. Then compressions.

Throughout the whole ordeal, she starts to lose control of her wits. She's shaking her head in denial, telling him to wake up as if he can hear. Her mutterings slowly devolve into whimpering. The salt water covering his unmoving body mixes with the water from her tears.

"Please don't do this to me," she sobs, "I can't go back alone. I can't! Not without you. Come on, wake up..."

She can't remember how long she's been compressing, breathing, compressing, breathing. It's not working. She finally relents, looking into his still, unmoving face, watching his life slip away between her hooves.

Amidst the tears, she slowly shakes her head in disbelief. Soon, that feeling becomes a gaping pit of sorrow in her chest. Sorrow so great, she can no longer stand. She breaks down over her lost friend, her sobs raising to a wail. Instead of compressions, she simply starts hopelessly pounding on his chest in frustration, cursing and howling. And nothing she tries brings him back.

She can't think anymore. She can't do anything. She's sick of feeling alone. She starts to feel nothing but pure anger towards herself. A spark starts to flicker from her broken horn. That spark starts to build, eventually becoming a whirling light of wretched rage. Finally, Tempest Shadow breathes in, and screams. Her pain, her misery, her fury sounds for miles, but on the empty ocean, there's no-one to hear it. Tempest releases her electrical charge that pulses through the small boat, through the waters, through her partner.

His foreleg twitches slightly.

The mare notices. Did her eyes deceive her!? She places a hoof on his chest; still no pulse. She charges up one more spell, letting the magic resonate in her horn for just the right amount of time, before aiming it straight for his dormant heart.

*******

A zap of burning electrical energy shocks you to your very core. The sudden sting of it causes you to clench at your heart and gasp, but your lungs disagree. Out of impulse, you turn over and vomit; pure seawater pours out of your stomach and lungs as you heave and cough. Despite the nearby stench of the burning frigate, the air tastes so very good.

Once you finally feel yourself breathing regularly again, you notice the mare wordlessly standing over you, lit up against the black, lightless night by the cackling inferno behind you. Tempest survived; better yet, she managed to pull you out as well!

Her mane is heavy and wet, her face like she's seen a ghost. Her eyes are bloodshot with sorrow, and wide open with disbelief. Her bottom lips starts quivering. You were half-expecting her, at any moment, to throw her forelegs around you and weep with joy at your survival.

You weren't expecting her to thump you right across the cheek. Okay, maybe you were. A little.

"You stupid son-of-a-mule!" she roars, readying another swing. Your Elite Operative senses kick in and you easily block the hoof with your foreleg. Now your foreleg really, really frickin' hurts, I mean geez she's strong. "Why did you jump in after me!?"

"Because there's no way I'd let you die on your first mission," you bite back. "Can you imagine what the princesses would think?" you add with a cheeky grin.

"Not! Funny!" she growls. "I thought I lost you!"

"Well if I hadn't followed you overboard, I certainly would've lost you."

She opens her mouth to argue, but doesn't think of anything to say in return. Instead, she just runs a hoof through her still-damp mane and sighs in exasperation.

You turn to look at the enormous fire still floating on the waves; there's zero chance for anypony to survive that much carnage, even less so if those ponies happened to be partially made of ice-magic. Or whatever the heck they were.

"At least it's over, right?" you finally say. "Mystery solved. Your first mission a great success."

"You think so?" Tempest looks at you quizzically.

You playfully wrap a foreleg around her shoulders. She doesn't protest to it. "Absolutely."

And there it is; the earnest smile of Tempest Shadow. At last, she finds a place among her kind. And it's a most exciting place, to boot.

"I, uh, know now's probably not the best time to say this," you blush, "but for what it's worth, I'm sorry about when we first met. You know, when I was a jerk to you in front of the princesses."

"It's alright. I'm sorry for being a jerk on the train on the way here. I thought you were insulting my horn, when you weren't. Guess I took it the wrong way."

Oh no, you're not losing this apology-off. "And I'm sorry for being inconsiderate about your horn in the first place, I wasn't thinking right when I said that."

"And I'm sorry for making you teleport all the way out here," she replies. Wow, she's good at this. "Messed up using your teleporting powers for the rest of the night."

"And I'm sorry for, uh..." C'mon, think! "...teleporting your armour while we were underwater. I know it was a one-of-a-kind custom piece that you liked."

"That's okay," she smirks. "You can dive back down there and get it."

"Pfft. Heck no."

That last one turns Tempest's smile into a laugh. "Guess I'll just have to get used to the fancy Canterlot armour then."

You look at the shoreline, almost invisible in the blackness. "So, uh, this row-boat doesn't have any paddles to row with," you say.

"I know," she replies. "I've already thought about that. You might wanna cover your eyes."

With that, Tempest closes her own eyes. You take her advice. You hear the telltale signs of energy gathering within the crevice of her horn. A second later, an almighty fwoosh sounds off, and travels upward. You open your eyes and notice the bright flare that flies higher and higher, flashing and shimmering like a firework, lighting up the whole sky. If the Vanhoover coastguards hadn't seen the twelve-keg explosion from land, they'd certainly see the bright guiding light that hangs above you now.

Tempest sighs in exhaustion and collapses on the boat's floor.

"Oh my gosh!" you exclaim. "Did the spell hurt!?"

"Nah," she mumbles. "Just tired now."

She's right; now that the adrenaline had worn off, nearly every part of your body feels heavy. Especially your eyelids.

"Well then," you say, lying down next to her. "Don't mind if I join you."

"Hey, I know we screwed earlier," she says, "but if you wanna sleep with me, you could at least take me on a date first."

"Good to know," you quip. "There's a cafe in Vanhoover that does great coffee."

The banter goes on for a short while longer, but eventually the gentle rolls of the ocean and sweet presence of one another lulls you both into a gentle slumber. Soon, the coast guard will be here, and once you're back to shore safely, you can pick up the belongings you left at the hotel and hop on the train straight back to Canterlot. In the meantime, enjoy the swaying silence, the salty breeze, and Luna's moon in the sky.

*******

Celestia's afternoon sun shines through the window of the briefing room, illuminating the parchment as she reads through your report for the third time. Two Elite Operatives sit patiently waiting for their boss to finish. Guess who they are?

"So," Princess Celestia finally says, looking up from the desk. "Windigos."

Roughly a day had passed since you and Tempest blew an evil ship of ice and madness clean out of the water. The report was written with plenty of time to spare on the train ride back, which was otherwise uneventful. You did notice, however, that Tempest spent a lot less time staring out of the train window, and more time starting into your eyes. You didn't mind.

"Not exactly, your highness," you explain. "Windigo-worshipping cultists. They seemed bent on using the stolen gunpowder to free the Windigos themselves from the iceberg they were trapped in, and using them to wage war on neighbouring kingdoms that hadn't yet discovered the Fire of Friendship. The dragons, the griffons, the changelings, even the hippogriffs."

"Are you certain of this?"

"Their leader did an evil gloating monologue and everything," Tempest says. Celestia gives her a disapproving look... until the notices that, yes, you'd covered that in the report as well.

"I see. The results of the Windigos being released could have been catastrophic for everyone, and everypony." Celestia gets up from her seat. You and Tempest follow suit. "We've been working so long to make peace with most of these other lands. If they got attacked by monsters of pony origin - while said monsters were leaving Equestria alone, no less - they would've started pointing hooves, claws and fingers alike our way. We'd have been looking at anything between destabilisation of alliances and peace-treaties to all-out war, and even that's before accounting for the massacre the Windigos themselves would inflict on them."

"Those cultists must have been mad to think such a plan would ever help Equestria," Tempest shakes her head.

"Indeed. We'll have the matter looked into with one of our other branches, perhaps we can prevent other unfortunate ponies from stumbling upon the Windigos and their iceberg in the future. We'll also contact our armour-smiths, see if they can replace the armour sets that were lost in the ocean. In the meantime, I'd say you two have more than earned some rest and relaxation." the princess dips her head in respect to the two Elites. Just as you turn to go, however, she asks stops you again.

"Oh, but just one more thing, my Elite; since it's been one trial mission, would you say Tempest is suitable for a permanent role as your partner?"

Of course! You'd forgotten about that. You clear your throat. "I would say she's suitable for a permanent role as my partner, and then some. It's truly astonishing how much she's changed my life in such a short time. And I happily embrace that change."

Tempest gives you the eyes; you know, the wait-until-we-get-back-to-your-place eyes. Blushing, you return her gaze in kind. To say Celestia picks up on that would be an understatement.

"Glad to hear that, my Subject. As for you, Tempest Shadow, I officially welcome you to the Elite Operative's branch of the Equestrian Royal Guard."

Wordless, you and Tempest both bow to your princess, turn around, and trot out of the room side by side. Celestia also notices your tails intertwined as you walk out. The door closes behind you, leaving the princess alone in the briefing room. She tucks away the report, and all other documents related to the incident, and stashes them in the right spot on the shelves, muttering to herself.

"Tch, I suppose I owe Cadance five hundred bits now; they really do make a cute couple. Why, oh why, do I always make romance-related wagers against the Princess of Love?"

Part 11: Sweet Coffee (Mature)

It's still a sunny afternoon by the time you're wandering home. Canterlot's always been a big city, but it's far more rural than, say, Manehattan. As such, it's a much nicer walk back to your place. But as far as you care, the prettiest view in the city is right next to you, talking, joking and laughing. It's strange, but as soon as you and Tempest left the princess' presence, she just... changed.

At first, you thought this was just her while she was off-duty. Then you remember why she became your partner in the first place. To save as many lives as she felt she ruined at the manipulative fingertips of the Storm King. Ever since Celestia confirmed that, not only did she save more lives, but the lives of several neighbouring kingdoms as well, she's finally felt... free. Could this be the "Fizzlepop Berrytwist" side of her?

Eventually, you come across the front door to your lavish apartments, and twist your key in the lock. Being an Elite Operative pays extraordinarily well, unsurprisingly, but you never did like the idea of having an entire house to yourself. As such, you outright bought this luxury apartment and kept the money saved. Cheaper than a Canterlot house, there's plenty of noise cancellation between each living space, and there's no need to compete with your neighbours over who has the better garden. And since Canterlot's on a mountainside, you can easily draw your curtains in the morning and see as far as Appleloosa.

You stand in the apartment's door-frame. "So, want to stop by for a while? We can have coffee."

Nothing gets by Tempest's watchful eyes. Her beautiful, enchanting, half-lidded, watchful eyes. "Do you mean coffee the drink, or coffee the sex euphemism?"

"We serve both here," you flirt, pulling the door all the way open. "With a smile."

Tempest's face remains calm and stoic as she takes a slow step through the doorway. You're expecting her to, the moment the door closes, fling herself at you like she did back at the hotel in Vanhoover. She pushes the door behind her with a rear hoof, until she hears a click.

From there, she gently wraps her forelegs around you, and embraces you in a warm, firm hug, nestling her beautiful face in the crook of your shoulder. You decide that's fine too, returning the hug in kind.

"I know last time felt... spur-of-the-moment. But this is going to be my first night as a free mare," she whispers. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to take my time with this one."

"We have the whole evening," you stroke her soft, yet wild mane. "And the entire night beyond that."

She raises her head from your shoulder, until she's face-to-face with you. Your snouts touch in that adorable way ponies do when they're in love.

Her eyelids softly close, as if they're made of orchid velvet. Her warm breath mingles with yours as you both part lips. Last time, the kisses were rushed. Frenzied. This time, she can finally rest and savour every last minute of you. And you her. And that's exactly what you do.

Your lips lock in a sweet kiss, the taste of berries and the tang of electricity teasing you even before your tongues meet. Her own tongue is welcomed into your mouth, greeted with soft licks and massages. This moment alone is perfect, just you and her, enjoying each other.

While you both lost your armour in the North Luna Ocean, Tempest was able to escape with her body-hugging, pitch-black jumpsuit intact. Working your hooves down her body, and resting at her hips, you feel a stirring in your loins awaken as she faintly moans; barely audible, but you can feel the vibrations through her kiss. Soon enough, a shiver runs through her. She breaks the kiss to bask in the feeling.

The teasing swish of her tail tells you everything you need to know; wordlessly, you take her by the hoof and lead her to your bedroom.

As you're about to lie her down on the bed, she stops you; "You get on the bed first," she says silkily. "I still need to undress."

You happily oblige. In return, she treats you to a slow, satisfying striptease. She turns at an angle, granting you the perfect view of both her whole body, and her firm backside. Smoothly, she starts to tug on the sexy, sexy jumpsuit, pulling on its hidden zipper, then letting it slowly slide down her as she reveals more and more of her toned, goddess-like body. Finally, it hits the floor. She steps out from the leg-holes of the suit, then to top it off, blows you a playful kiss and a wink.

You just sit there, watching the entire time. "Wow," is all you can manage from that. Tempest is surprised to see how well that striptease worked; you'd already precum just by watching her do that.

"Looks like I've found your on-button," she giggles - she actually giggles - cantering over to your bed. Now she's already on it, assertively crawling all over you.

"You might have," you shrug. letting her come closer, "I'll never tell. But I think I know what you like as well."

"Oh, is that so?" she finds herself face to face with you again, "Indulge me then."

Stealing another kiss from her, your turn her over so you're the one on top, and she's on her back. From there, you start kissing her slender neck. Then her proud chest. Then her athletic belly, and from there...

Tempest's eyes - and her rear legs - widen as your lips make contact with her labia. With a few short, deft licks, you're able to make her roll her head all the way back, stretching her whole body in contentment. One of her hooves wrap around your head, pushing you further into her as she derives more pleasure. The other hoof elegantly strokes your mane. Already, you can feel her juices start to flow; you were right about her own preferences.

Her own juices start to dribble onto the bed as your tongue massages her favourite spot. Her own arousal spills over to you as you moan, and once again precum, in return. Tempest takes notice.

The hoof holding your head down lifts you back up, giving you a brief moment of eye contact with her. She rolls over onto her belly, presenting her back and more importantly, her supple, yet perky round flank. She invitingly swishes her tail, raising it and giving you a nice, clear view of the place your tongue was just pleasuring. She doesn't need to tell you what she's offering this time.

With your shaft already throbbing with anticipation, you clamber up to her and carefully ready yourself over her in the traditional equine mating position. From there, you hungrily push yourself in. She lets loose a short cry of satisfaction as your slide into her dripping wet hole; the amazing feeling drives you wild. You rest your body over her back, thrusting passionately, your head close to hers as your exchange sweet kisses and sighs in higher and hotter tones. As more of her secretion washes over your cock, you feel the pressure becoming too much to withstand.

"Tempest, I'm... I'm gonna cum..."

"Go for it."

With her blessing, you drive yourself in just a little deeper and harder, letting your body take its natural course, until you feel yourself gush forth in ecstasy, pumping her full of your hot seed. Dizzy from the release, you clamber off her, lying down on the bed to catch your breath. Tempest takes advantage of your prone moment to dive in for another kiss, her lips and tongue doing more to reinvigorate you than any real cup of coffee.

"I know you're spent," she sighs between brief pecks, "But there's the rest of the night to go, and... well..."

"Don't worry," you assure her. In a long, slow, seductive stroke, you run your fore-hoof from her face, to her shoulder, over her back and finally to her flank. There, you experiment with a caressing hoof, fondling her entrance and enjoying the slippery feeling within. You think you're doing well, appreciating the colour of Tempest's blushing cheeks as she pants in sync with your slick rubbing, until she stops you.

"Wait."

You stop, and calmly give her your full attention.

"This is going to sound strange, and I just wanna do this once... but..." it's hard to tell, but you may have just seen her aroused blush turn into an embarrassed one, "Could you do it... with... your magic? I just want to know how it feels."

Your eyes flick to her broken horn, but you quickly tear them away in case you offend her. Of course she never had the chance to use her horn that way.

Without another word, you focus your magic into the tangible force, and focus it over Tempest's clit like a shapeless, shifting mass.

Almost instantly, she starts to glaze over as her senses reaps the feast of activity going on below. Your magic is never still, yet never thrusting, making it feel to her like an endless ethereal massage to her crotch. Without thinking, she grabs you in a tight hug as she exhales, forgetting her own strength. You kinda like it.

You decide to be more playful, spreading the magic from just the clit, making it explore her insides like a smooth, formless plasma rather than anything solid, creeping deeper into her without her feeling any actual penetration.

Her breathing quickly becomes moaning, and from there, cries of pure titillation. You'd complain about her forelegs nearly crushing you as her voice reaches a higher and higher pitch, but you're a tough stallion anyway. More so, there's no way you would ever complain about her body pressing up against yours so very robustly; in fact, you feel your recently-spent loins starting to reawaken.

At last, she convulses as her secretion pours from between her legs. Releasing her vice-like grip on you, her whole body relaxes, just as your body - or at least your cock - starts to tense.

Climbing over her, preparing yourself for another sexual position, you suggestively rest your warm meat upon her shapely waist. Her eyes reopen, drifting from your shaft to your face.

"Do you have enough in you for one more time?" you ask hopefully.

She pulls you in closer to her beautiful face. "I have enough in me for the whole night."

*******

You're completely and utterly empty.

By the time Celestia's sun started shining from behind your closed curtains, you'd lost count of the many different positions you tried, and the amount of times you'd both climaxed. Tempest's long, drawn out lust had finally run dry.

She hasn't opened her eyes in quite a while. Instead, she's spread out in complete relaxation on her side of the bed (or at least, it's her side now). She's lying on her back, her head resting peacefully on one of your pillows. Her strapping body is still on display for you to enjoy looking at. You still do, even though you've done far, far more than just looking.

You watch her chest rise and fall as she sleeps, thinking back to the close call you both had deep below the North Luna Ocean. If you hadn't saved Tempest, those lungs wouldn't be breathing right now. If she hadn't saved you in return, neither would yours. Perhaps you owe one another your lives. Perhaps being each other's partner is more than enough.

You breathe in deeply, exhale a half-sigh, half-yawn, and close your eyes. There's only a few hours of rest to go before you're both called in to take measurements for your replacement armour sets to be assigned, and from there's you're probably going to be given a fresh new mission.

As you drift off to sleep, you know you're not worried. You're an Elite Operative, and you're fighting alongside Tempest Shadow until the end.