An arc of lightning traced a menacing fork through the night sky, briefly illuminating the snow capped peaks of the Unicorn Range. The deep rumbling boom of thunder was quick to follow, reverberating against the vast underside of Le Tesson's helium chamber. Luke felt as though his fingers had frozen solid to the golden helm of the airship, which was currently doing its best to pull his arms out of their sockets. The lumbering vessel swayed violently in gale-force winds, the usually gleaming decks taking a thorough rinse from horizontal rain lashing in from the starboard side.

"Hard to port, colt! We need to be downrange of Vanity Point," Vert yelled over the creaking of the ship. "We're too far east!"

Luke swore aloud, squinting through the rain-lashed sky. His uniform was soaked. The ship was pitching up and down in the wind so much that he only had a few seconds of visual on the horizon before it slipped out of view again. A deep, bellowing wretch emanated from somewhere behind him, followed by the unmistakable sound of a thick liquid hitting varnished wood.

"Fifty bits. Pay up," grunted one of the minotaur road crew. Several other baritone voices cheered in triumph and commiseration.

Luke scowled, wrenching the helm to the left. Le Tesson slowly began to list to starboard in protest, which made absolutely no sense for an airship. It was quickly becoming apparent that this particular airship was often prone to the odd mood swing.

“Thanks Rook,” sneered a deep voice from somewhere behind him.

Those. Fucking. Minotaurs. They were one of the reasons Luke had been dreading his first location shoot. He’d bet his annual salary none of them could fly even a normal sized airship level in a thunderstorm. Le Tesson, however, was on par with the largest cruise liners of the Bon Voyage fleet.

Fleur, usually so prim, proper and collected, had her forehooves hooked over the gold-trimmed quarterdeck railing next to Luke. Her rain-soaked mane and tail whipped wildly back and forth in the wind. She was grinning into the maelstrom like a mare utterly content, her horn glowing so hot it was turning the rain into steam.

It had only been a few days since Celestia had hit Luke with the knowledge of what he truly was to Fleur, and he hadn’t a clue how to bring the subject up in conversation. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to. How do you tell someone you’re their only option?

Fleur caught him staring, and she flashed him a smile that barely hid her half extended fangs. Clearly, Little Miss Water Demon was enjoying the weather. Either that, or the potential for the ship to plough into a mountain.

“That’s it, that’s it. Bring her down steady now,” Vert called, pulling a lever to Luke’s left.

Le Tesson lurched downwards with a fair bit more haste than normal. Pony and minotaur alike made their discomfort known via a diverse plethora of colourful language. Luke himself would have been lifted off his feet if he hadn’t been gripping the helm. He scowled yet again. The ship had done nothing but misbehave ever since they had left Canterlot just over an hour ago. It was as though it had a mind of its own.

“Set her down here, Luke,” Vert yelled, motioning a hoof to a small plateau of open grassland just off the starboard side. A makeshift dock had been constructed off to one side of the clearing, with several large concrete anchor points dotted around the edge. A small mountain hamlet lay just a little further up into the valley between the two largest peaks—Helix Gap.

Luke yanked the momentum-arrest lever before Vert had even finished speaking, then immediately had a mini heart attack as the ship completely ignored the input and ploughed into the sodden grass regardless. The resulting lurch sent one of the minotaurs bouncing down the quarterdeck stairs onto the main deck. His face hit the rain-soaked wood with a wet thud.

Vert slapped a wing over Luke’s shoulders, forehooves clutching the railing. “Good… That’s good, colt,” he praised over the sound of several minotaurs laughing at their fallen comrade.

“No it wasn’t. What the hell is up with the controls?” Luke countered, just as the fallen minotaur pulled himself to his hooves and shot him a look of barely contained rage. It was only when the beast spotted Fleur’s gaze that he dropped his own to his hooves, quickly trotting back to his station to help his crewmates unravel the thick mooring lines..

Vert waved a dismissive wing. “Le Tesson is an old ship, Luke. She’s allowed a few quirks.”

“Quirks?” Luke half-yelled over the din of the rain and the loud whine of the ship powering down. “I told her to stop and she ignored me! That’s a bit more than just a quirk.”

Vert finally folded his wings. He paused for contemplation. “Heh… maybe you’re right. That was a fair bit o’ delay. I should probably check on that crystal again. It does keep coming loose,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “You best come with me. Might as well learn how to troubleshoot it yersel’.”

“Zat can wait, mon ami,” Fleur interjected, dropping her forehooves down from the railing. She whipped her waterlogged mane out of her face. Luke was pelted with heavy droplets of strawberry scented water, and he held his hands up in mock exasperation. “It’s late, and I think everypony deserves a break.” She beamed at Luke. “Especially Luc.”

“I don’t care what we do. I just want to be dry again.”

The grand lounge, by far the largest of Le Tesson’s many rooms, was packed with a variety of very well dressed ponies. As was customary for location shoots, the J’adore corporation always threw a noble’s ball on the illustrious airship on the first night. To be invited to such an event meant that you were considered a very important pony.

Luke did not feel like a very important pony, and not just because he wasn’t a pony.

He was, of course, the only human in the room, sitting on a golden-trimmed, red velvet studded chaise lounge—just one of the many pieces of opulent furniture contained within. It was accompanied by various tall-backed armchairs, golden-legged hoofrests and large imposing display cabinets showcasing various trinkets and curiosities. The dark oak wood-panelled walls hosted several priceless works of art, and there were multiple ornate chandeliers hanging from the raftered ceiling.

A roaring fire crackled merrily in a solid marble fireplace at one end of the room. Priceless ornamental figures of the many creatures of Equestria sat either side of it. One of them was a one to one hundredth scale ursa minor, which still managed to completely fill one corner all by itself. Its glittering constellations reminded Luke of a Christmas tree.

At the other end of the room was a large stage, complete with a drum set, full-size grand piano and a small ensemble of musicians that were currently playing an oddly familiar song. One of them in particular was a very pretty grey-coated earth mare, her talented forehooves causing the cello she was playing to sing like no other could.

Quite possibly the best dressed stallion in the room was singing into a magically powered condenser microphone. He was wearing the pony equivalent of a tuxedo, and a freakin’ monocle, of all things. Luke had seen him more than a few times at the J’adore headquarters. His name was rather fitting—Fancy Pants.

His eyes never strayed from Fleur as he sang.

Luke slowly shook his head. Poor bastard had probably been trying to get her attention for years. It wasn’t easy to miss the desire in his eyes. She wasn’t even looking at him, instead engrossed in a conversation with a group of supermodels that were hanging onto her every word just off the large dance floor. As though she could sense Luke’s gaze, Fleur’s eyes found his, and she flashed him a smile, waving a forehoof.

Luke’s heart did its usual backflip, and he flashed a smile back at her before she turned back to Viola Terracotta. Fleur was wearing a short cyan dress that gently sparkled in the warm light cast by the chandeliers. It was nothing special, really, but that didn’t mean Fleur wasn’t by far the prettiest mare in the room. Nopony else even came close.

Her instructions were clear: sit, and they shall come. They being stallions, of course. Apparently, there was a certain ritual of the noble class that Luke had never known, or even remotely gave a shit about before Fleur had enlightened him. Stallions were expected to congregate around the most popular of their gender and exchange pleasantries. Luke hadn’t a clue how he was supposed to be the most popular stallion. He didn’t have any male friends, other than Vert perhaps, but Vert had ignored his invitation as per usual. As for the noble stallions—most of them turned their noses up at him, and the ones that didn’t often had schedules too hectic to socialise with extraterrestrial anomalies.

“Chardonnay, First Officer Nona?”

Pulled abruptly from his thoughts, Luke carefully took the offered glass of wine from the silver tray expertly balanced on the waiter pony’s back. “Thanks, Chop.”

The stallion gave a small wink, quickly disappearing between a couple of extremely pretty supermodels. One of them had a coat of cerulean blue, with a bleached white mane that flowed like a glossy river over her back. She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

Luke grinned. “Hello, Sky,” he said, raising his glass and clinking it with the one levitating in her cerulean aura. “Silver Shield still think I’m a rusher?”

Sky Swan gave a musical chuckle. “No. He’s still jealous of your pull with Fleur though.”

Luke held up his free hand with a smile. “What can I say? I guess I just have that… animal magnetism.”

For once, this wasn’t really all that much of an exaggeration. Being a close personal friend—though much more, in retrospect—to the most influential supermodel in Equestria had its perks, after all. Luke was currently better dressed than he had ever been in his life. He wore an expertly tailored pinstripe vest suit over top of an expensive dress shirt. A swanky bow tie and brand new pair of dress shoes completed the ensemble, all courtesy of the Element of Generosity herself. Speak of the devil…

Rarity, dressed in a sparkling sequin creation that made her look like a fairytale princess, emerged from the crowd and deftly took a seat next to Luke. She took a carefully measured sip of her champagne, her eyes finding him from behind a masquerade intricately decorated with diamonds and exotic feathers. “You still look positively dashing, my dear,” she praised, bumping her forehooves together in delight.

Luke let out a short laugh. “Thanks. I mean that, as well,” he added, thinking back to the clothes he’d worn to the derby. “I never thought I’d be able to fit into a setting like this, but these clothes stop me standing out like a sore thumb, at least.”

“Nonsense, darling. You look like you belong. I daresay you are the stallion of honour this evening, being so far into the good graces of Fleur de Lis.”

“Heh… Um… What do you mean?”

Rarity gave him a look positively dripping with skepticism, before taking a slightly larger sip of her champagne. “Why, from what I hear, she’s finally found a fitting consort in you-”

CRACK.

The glass Luke was holding shattered, spilling wine onto the thick red carpet. “How’d you know that? Who told you?” he shot at her, his voice barely a whisper. Thankfully, none of the other ponies in the room appeared to have heard her.

Rarity appeared taken aback, her ears drooping. “I just thought the two of you appeared to be getting along rather well, is all. I didn’t mean to offend-”

“No, no. It’s fine,” Luke quickly said, cursing himself for being such a moron. “You’re right, we’re… we’re pretty close, I guess.” This was Rarity. The word ‘consort’ was just a common part of her vocabulary.

“Are you okay, dear?” Rarity asked, her magical aura collecting the pieces of broken glass from the floor. They flew back together in an instant, leaving an intact, empty wine glass.

“I’m fine. Just got a strong grip,” Luke quickly said with a forced chuckle, grabbing the floating glass. On top of his game as always, Chop reappeared with his silver tray, allowing Luke to exchange his drink. “Thanks again, Chop.”

The waiter pony gave his usual wink, disappearing around the side of another couple of stallions who had just emerged. Luke blinked, his eyes flicking back to Rarity, silently begging her to say something as a diversion.

Rarity, however, appeared oblivious. “Well, I’ll leave you colts to chat then, shall I? I’m sure you’ve much to gossip about,” she said, positively beaming at him.

Luke shot her a pleading look, but she had already begun making her way over to a gaggle of mares hailing her from the dance floor, the nearly-empty glass of champagne bobbing along beside her.

“Ah, First Officer Luke!” exclaimed one of the stallions. “It is quite the pleasure to see you, young colt! Do you mind?” He gestured to Rarity’s vacant spot, sitting down before Luke had so much as spoken a word. “Come, Fancy,” he added, motioning for the other stallion to join them.

Fancy Pants, having finished his sorry serenade to Fleur’s deaf ears, sat down on Luke’s other side. “Evening, Luke.” His tone was pleasant enough, and his smile appeared genuine.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Luke muttered, elbows to knees, idly gazing at the stitching in his new shoes. Of all the ponies he could have been talking to at this particular moment in time, Luke certainly wouldn’t have picked these two. In all fairness, Fancy Pants was pleasant enough. Hoity Toity, on the other hand…

“Gentlemen? Ha, you really are an odd fellow, Luke,” he exclaimed rather loudly, flamboyantly sweeping his long purple velvet robe behind him and taking a sip of his champagne with a practiced forehoof. The action caught the eye of more than a few supermodels, their gazes barely concealing the hunger in their hearts.

Hoity Toity lowered his purple designer shades, leaning in so close that Luke was wafted with an alluring cloud of Parfum D’etalon. “So, Luke, my tall, bipedal friend. I must ask, for curiosity simply drives me—what is the, ahem… situation between you and our most gracious hostess?”

Luke looked up from his shoes and leveled the stallion, barely inches from his face, with a raised eyebrow. “We’re colleagues. Friends, some might even say…”

Hoity took another sip of champagne. Luke took a swig of wine.

“It pains me to probe, my dear colt, it really does, but I think you may have a rather modest evaluation of your relationship with Fleur. You see, I have lived in the city of Canterlot for many years, and never once in all of that time have I seen the illustrious icon that is Fleur de Lis take such an interest in a stallion.”

Luke, rather pointedly, grinned. This motherfucker right here. “Oh, Hoity. You have a keen eye, my friend. But, I think on this occasion, you are sadly mistaken,” Luke countered, taking another large gulp of wine. This one hit a bit different, the creeping buzz of alcohol making its presence known. Hmm, not bad. “I’m a human, and I think Fleur merely finds me fascinating. A curiosity of sorts, perhaps. That really is the long and short of it, truth be told,” Luke wildly bullshitted.

Hoity returned a grin of his own, placing an expertly hooficured foreleg on Luke’s shoulder. “Well, I happen to hear through various contacts of mine that you visited Fleur’s estate recently. Is that correct?”

“Oh, do give it a rest, Hoity. Let the man enjoy himself, won’t you?” Fancy Pants admonished.

Hoity merely smiled, taking another sip of his champagne.

Luke flashed Fancy a look of thanks, feeling a newfound sense of comradery for the stallion. “Who is that?” he asked, nodding to a charcoal-coated mare who had taken Fancy’s place behind the microphone. Her jet black mane had a white stripe running through it, and the emerald-green dress and scarf combo she was wearing set her perfect figure aflame.

“That’s Ræven. Group-C modelling recruit. Pretty, but a bit of an oddball,” Fancy answered. “She’s popular, though. That’s why I hired her,” he added, observing the mare with a smile. She had the rapt attention of most of the ponies in the room, it seemed. Her song, like Fancy’s, was quite familiar.

“You work in Pony Resources?” Luke mused. The thought of a stallion such as Fancy sitting behind a desk pushing paper seemed ill-fitting, considering he practically looked like a model himself.

“I’m the head of PR, Luke. I thought you knew this?” he chuckled, taking a sip of his telekinetically hovering amber drink.

“Huh, I guess I just assumed you were talent,” Luke pondered aloud. “Hey, is that whiskey?”

“Marecallan Lalique Six Pillars, of course,” Fancy said, blushing slightly. "Would you like to try some?”

“Please.”

Chop appeared before Fancy even had a chance to request service. “I’ll make a note of your preference, First Officer Nona.”

“Put it on my tab, Chop,” Hoity instructed, flashing a smile to the mares still stealing glances at him.

“Thanks,” Luke muttered, a little confused. This was mostly a J’adore exclusive event, with only a few exceptions. Whilst Hoity didn’t technically work for J’adore, any and all drinks were on the company dime, employee or not, even the expensive ones.

Hoity graciously waved a hoof. “Don’t mention it, Luke. Besides, I bet you’re used to such fine liqueurs, being in the company of the head honcho so much.”

Luke rolled his eyes, taking a sip of the whiskey. The smooth liquid left a satisfying burn in his throat. Ahh, that’s the stuff. “Hoity, the only reason Fleur spends so much time around me is because she has to be there for my training. If any other pony was capable of powering this ship then-”

Luke faltered. His heart began thumping violently in his chest. He was suddenly hyper aware of it, as though it had always been a constant familiarity, yet he was only just hearing it for the very first time. Everything blurred out of focus, the glass slipping out of his hand. Had someone poisoned his fucking drink? The sounds of the ball grew muted, tinnitus suddenly blasting his eardrums.

“P̵͕͔̻̱̦̠͖̭̉̄̑̃̍̕r̴͓̤̱͔̝̔̀ȯ̴̢̪̹̩̖̩̜̺̓d̴͙͌͆͑̚í̶͎̣́͋̏͜ẗ̵̨̘͙̙͚̎͘͜o̵̤͈̅̂͘͝r̵̨̃̌̿͝.̶̡̣͓̺̩̞̂̔̋̒̈́̿͒̚ͅ”

CRACK.

A flash of blue light momentarily lit the room.

“Who said that?” Luke gasped, taking in lungfuls of air as though he had just ran a marathon. His senses returned to full capacity in an instant. He felt completely normal again, other than a little tipsy. Both Fancy Pants and Hoity Toity were giving him looks of confusion.

Ræven, ever the performer, was still singing her tune as though a voice laced with the blackest fire from the deepest, darkest reaches of hell hadn’t just blasted through the room.

“Said what?” Fancy queried, perplexed.

“Are you okay, Luke? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Hoity added, his hoof back on Luke’s shoulder.

“I heard…” But Luke didn’t know what the hell he had just heard. It sounded like an ancient language of some sort, spoken by the voice of a demon. “You guys… You guys didn’t hear that?” None of the other ponies in the room were even remotely paying any attention to them. The idle chatter of conversation and laughter continued, perhaps a little bit rowdier than it had been at the start of the evening.

“Maybe you should retire for the evening, my friend. I think you may have mixed one too many drinks-” Fancy began, but Luke cut him off.

“I’m not drunk. Something… Something just happened. I need to find Fleur.”

Luke jumped to his feet, Fancy and Hoity’s protests falling on deaf ears as he carefully shimmied around the partygoers to the grand double doors leading off to the hallway. Fleur appeared to have teleported—she was no longer entertaining her guests, at least—but Luke had a feeling she hadn’t gone far.

He made his way down into the lower levels of the ship via the spiral staircases connecting the floors, becoming increasingly aware of a rhythmic throbbing beneath his feet. The ship appeared to be shuddering at regular intervals, almost like the predictable thumping of a heartbeat.

"The fuck…" he whispered, clutching the walls for support.

After wandering blindly for a few minutes, stooping low to avoid hitting his head on the ceilings, Luke reached the engineering level. The sound of hushed whispers emerged from behind a small door that was ajar a little ways along the narrow corridor. They were quickly followed by Fleur’s voice.

“‘As anypony been in the engine room recently?”

“Yeah. Vert went in there a little while ago,” replied a deep, baritone voice. “Said the ship was acting up.”

“He wasnae wrong, eh?” another deep voice chimed in. Luke frowned. This one had a ridiculously thick Scottish accent. “D’you see Steel Hoof twat the deck earlier on? Nae wonder he hasnae got many teeth left.”

“Nah, I reckon it was the rook. Did himrealgood.”

The booming tones of several minotaurs laughing filled the hallway, Fleur having to raise her voice to be heard.

“‘As anyone else been in zere, no?”

“Nah, boss. Y’know we’re not workaholics like him.”

“Yeah, he practically lives on this ol’ bucket o’ splinters, doesnae? Always fixin’ ‘er up, he is.”

More booming laughter filled the hallway. Luke stopped just short of the doorway, opting not to go inside. Call it prejudice, but minotaurs rubbed him up the wrong way. He hadn’t a clue why they were laughing and joking. Between the creepy voice and the continued rhythmic shuddering of the ship, he thought they might’ve been a little more concerned.

“Well, let me know if you see anything suspicious.”

Thankfully, Fleur did not teleport again, instead walking straight through the door. It swung closed behind her. Luke leaned against the corridor wall, levelling her with a look of concern.

Fleur gave a start, a few locks of her pretty mane falling in front of her eyes. She deftly swept them back with a forehoof. “What are you doing down ‘ere, mon amour?”

“Something… weird happened before. I… I heard a voice.”

Fleur’s face fell, ears flattening to her mane instantly. “What did it say?” she whispered.

Luke drew in a breath, the deathly voice playing over in his mind. “Proditor.”

Fleur’s mouth fell agape. She fell to her haunches, tiny half-extended fangs suddenly visible. Her eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them. “You… You ‘eard zat?”

“So… It’s not just me then? Fancy and Hoity heard nothing! Nor did anyone else, at least, I don’t think they did.”

Fleur's face appeared whiter than usual. She visibly swallowed. “You feel it, don’t you?” she whispered.

“I… What?”

“Ze beating rhythm of Le Tesson.”

The thumping beneath Luke’s feet had still not relented. “Yes.”

Fleur gave him an incredulous look. “Zis… does not make any sense. Only a siren can hear the call of a…” she trailed off, appearing to catch herself. “How… How is zis possible?”

“Of a what?” Luke prompted, dropping to his knees in front of her, his voice a mere whisper. He had to know. "What am I hearing, Fleur?"

Fleur just looked at him, her ears still flattened. “You are not a siren.”

“No, I'm not,” Luke said with an air of stating the obvious.

“It makes no sense.”

“This has been established,” Luke deadpanned.

Fleur considered him for a moment. She grimaced. “Ahh, Luc. I… I cannot tell you.” The tension was cut somewhat by the muffled booming tones of minotaur laughter from the other side of the door. “We should not be discussing zis here. Somepony may-”

Luke scowled, cutting her off. “Aren't both of you the same person?”

Fleur’s horn flared, the sound-lock spell isolating the corridor. A deathly silence deadened the air. “For ze most part, yes. In matters concerning zat voice, though, non. We are worlds apart,” she said, rather ominously.

“Oh, for fuck's sake Fleur! This sounds very much like something I should probably know about, considering we're the only ones that can hear it. I'm starting to get real sick of you keeping me out of the loop.”

Fleur’s eyes narrowed. “Luc, it is not ze case zat I don’t want you to know. It’s just…” she trailed off, beginning a slow trot down the corridor. “Zis is something zat has to come from 'er.”

“Why?” Luke retorted, following her toward the engine room. “Do you just not wanna tell me? That’s become somewhat of a running theme, as of late.”

Fleur let out a sigh of exasperation, her ears flicking against her mane. “Luc. Zat voice is an ancient remnant of my past I’d rather forget. She keeps it in check at my insistence.” Fleur turned to face Luke once more. “I ‘ave no idea ‘ow you can ‘ear it. There are certain ponies zat know I am a siren, but there is nopony—absolutely nopony—zat knows about zatvoice. Not Photo, not even Celestia.” She gave a shudder, looking up at Luke with wide eyes and flat ears. “Zis voice is no joke, Luc. I am terrified zat you are able to ‘ear it.”

A deeply ingrained feeling of unease swept through Luke at her words. She hadn’t even told Celestia about whatever the hell this was? “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he shot at her, dropping to his knees again. The low ceiling was becoming a literal pain in the neck.

“Zis goes far beyond the realm of my understanding. If what I suspect is true, you and I, we are pushing the boundaries of siren magic further zan any other 'as ever dared,” she whispered, gently placing a forehoof to his chest.

“Me? But, I don’t have magic!”

“Yes, Luc. Maybe you didn’t ‘ave magic before, but you do now. You ‘ear the voice. You feel its presence. You are very much a part of zis.”

Luke steeled himself, feigning a bravery he didn’t feel. He slid a hand up the side of Fleur’s neck, into her mane, closing the distance between them. “Fleur… Just. Tell. Me.”

Fleur drew in a breath, the contact catching her completely off guard, it seemed. Her mouth flew open, eyes widening. A pause. “Fine,” she growled, the dual-layered, demonic voice catapulting a shockwave through Luke’s spine. The sound-lock spell audibly failed with a POP.

Fleur’s irises slowly expanded, their colour morphing, shimmering depths of deepest cerulean engulfing lilac, and eventually white as well. Pristine fangs emerged into view from her open mouth. Luke blanched. He was certain—beyond all shadow of a doubt—that the beautiful killer before him was utterly incapable of harming him, but that didn’t stop his heart beating like a drum in his chest. It didn’t stop an ungodly shudder flowing through his frame that had nothing to do with the predictable vibrations of the ship. Gods… The true nature of the siren was utterly breathtaking.

Luke stared. He stared unapologetically into the endless void of her eyes. His beating heart did not relent. This beautiful sight—that he was so easily able to peruse at leisure—was probably the last thing many a creature had ever seen before they bit the dust. There was a chaotic serenity deep in those glowing blue orbs that seemed to draw him in. He couldn’t look away if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to. The voice… It was nothing but a distant memory. Who even gave a solitary fuck about some disembodied voice? Not him. Not Luke.

The siren, completely untethered by her counterpart’s usual restraint, tilted her head, apparently observing Luke with just as much enthusiasm. It was as though she was surprised she was being allowed to be completely untethered in his presence, and didn’t really know what to do with the opportunity.

Alas, it was only for a moment.

“Suis-moi, mon amour,” she hissed, forked tongue flicking over fangs.

She turned, but not before giving his palm a quick lick. Her tongue was hot. knife-like. It sent a jolt of electricity flowing down his arm. The door of the engine room swung open without prompt, and she disappeared through it.

Luke sat frozen, his arm still hanging in the air where her mane had been. “Fuck me…” His heart was still beating like a drum.

“Sortez.”

The demonesque growl was quickly followed by the sound of wings flapping very hard. “Sure thing, boss,” croaked a very panicky Vert.

“Fuck. Vert!” Luke cringed, launching himself towards the doorway. Vert beat him to it—the captain came barrelling out of the room like someone had lit his tail on fire, bouncing off the doorframe and slamming into Luke’s leg.

Eyes still spinning, Vert held up his forehooves. “Ah… Luke! Fleur’s having one of her episodes, colt. Don’t go in there,” he gasped.

“Luc. Viens ici.”

Vert shook his head, throwing panicked glances to the open doorway. “You work at J’adore long enough, Luke—you learn to avoid Fleur when she has the glowies-” Vert began, but stopped mid-sentence, his eyes suddenly glazed, ears flat as pancakes.

Fleur, siren still completely untethered, had appeared in the doorway, a positively murderous expression on her face.

“Vert. Go. Now.”

Luke sidestepped the stallion, stooping through the doorway of the engine room and kicking it shut, holding it closed with a palm for good measure. The receding sound of hooves on wood told him Vert had taken his advice.

Most of the engine room was occupied by two very large, long metal cylinders called Star Drives. Luke didn’t know how they worked, but they were standard for airships of Le Tesson’s tonnage. The device sitting in between them however, was the only one of its kind—a unicorn-adaptation unit, according to Vert, anyway. It was a little smaller, but perhaps couldn’t be more different to the Star Drives in terms of substance. It was constructed of a glossy jet black stone-like material, but had a lot more jagged edges and strange geometric contours and textures than anything else in the engine room. Like the Star Drives, it was cylindrical in nature, but it had a set of six elongated pyramid-shaped clamps made of the same jagged material at the end. The clamps, along with various other parts of the peculiar contraption, appeared to have characters from unfamiliar runic alphabets engraved into them.

Held in these clamps was a slightly dirty, clear transparent diamond-shaped crystal. It looked like it should have been pointing straight out towards the wooden wall of the engine room, but it was noticeably crooked.

“Tu entends la voix du tesson.”

The dual-tone rasp cut into Luke’s very soul. Don’t look in her eyes. Don’t look in her eyes. Fuck. He really wanted to, but he still needed answers. He also needed to care about finding these answers, something that wasn’t going to happen if he lost himself in the deep blue abyss of her gaze.

“I… I don’t understand,” Luke whispered, trying to keep his composure. His palm was still on the door, but his eyes were on the dirty crystal. “I can’t speak Prench.”

The siren turned her glowing orbs to the crystal. Deftly lifting a hoof, she paused, throwing Luke a curious look that made him want to hold her close. Luke subconsciously held his breath. How could something so deadly be so unbelievably pretty?

Her hoof made contact with the gem, and the strange contraption whirred into life. The familiar roar of the powerful machine tore through the ship, though this time it was orders of magnitude louder as Luke was standing right next to it. His hands flew to his ears. Fleur’s horn was not glowing. No, it was only her eyes, along with the big shiny rock in her collar that were glowing.

The clamps suddenly broke apart completely from the machine, half of their number beginning to spin methodical circles around the gem—which itself had begun to float—the other half spinning equally calculated circles in the opposite direction. Their motion seemed to mimic the rhythmic vibrations of the ship, ebbing and flowing with the unnatural beat, stopping dead in the air at every absence. Luke gasped, his eyes following the arcane revolutions as several creepy looking glyphs appeared out of thin air, their burning orange silhouettes flashing in and out of existence around the floating crystal at irregular intervals.

There was still not a lick of magic flowing through Fleur’s horn.

Deftly cradling the crystal with a forehoof, the siren gently scooped it away from its orbiting clamps and sent it spinning on a path toward Luke.

Time appeared to slow. The crystal drew nearer and nearer, and with it, a sense of terror the likes of which Luke had never felt before in his life. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this contraption, whatever the fuck it was, was steeped in a malice so unmistakably evil that it seemed to be infecting everything around it. The areas of the pristine metal Star Drives closest to it appeared blackened and tarnished, as though the thing sitting between them had corrupted their very structure.

The crystal spun ever closer, glinting in the deadly glow cast by the siren’s eyes. She clearly intended for him to catch it. What would become of him if he did?

His eyes found hers. He didn’t even have to think about it. The dirty rock hit his outstretched palm, his fingers closing around it. It burned hot in his grip.

For a second, one solitary beat perhaps, the vibrations of the ship halted.

Luke fell to his knees, steadying himself with his free hand. He gripped the rock so hard his forearm was beginning to go numb, the jagged edges leaving imprints on his flesh.

Nothing else happened.

The siren smiled.

She approached, the clamps and glyphs still spinning and flashing behind her. She sat on her haunches in front of him, fur mere inches from cloth-laden skin. One of her forehooves found his chest, the other hooked around his fist clenching the gem, pulling it to her chest. Her tail swished rhythmically from side to side in tandem with the beating of the ship. She spoke, and for the first time, it was not Prench that spilled from her lips.

“You… are… mine.”

“I… am… yours.”

“Ze shard… is ours.”

Luke couldn’t say anything. He sat, shellshocked, the inexplicable music still ringing through his mind. So much weird shit had happened all at once, he didn’t really have a clue where to begin. The siren… She seemed so… different. Luke felt like he was only truly meeting her for the very first time. “W-What… What do I call you?”

“Je suis Fleur de Lis,” she hissed, forked tongue flicking from fanged maw. Her eyes were upon him again. Luke was drawn into them like a moth to a flame, like he was standing in the path of a motherfucking freight train and it was bearing down on him with the speed of a bullet. His very soul was encapsulated by her fiery gaze. Her forehoof, soft as always, pressed against his heart, the other tight around his fist.

“Wait… I need… answers… What’s… What’s a shard?” Luke rasped, fighting furiously against her influence, the rock in his fist still uncomfortably hot. Still, he did not relinquish it.

Fleur, or the mysterious siren counterpart, at least, lowered her eyelids, the deathly blast of light streaming from her eyes dimming somewhat. “Artifact… of ze Old Kingdom… We must keep hidden… We must keep safe…”

Luke fought for control, gazing defiantly into her eyes. “W-Why can I hear it?” he whispered.

The siren drew closer still, pinning Luke to the wall, her devastatingly pretty face mere inches away. All he could see was the endless ocean in her eyes. “Because it chose me… and you are mine… so it chooses you also…”

As though someone had hit a play button, Celestia’s words rang like a bell through his mind. “You are the counterpart to Fleur de Lis. You are her consort, and now you must make a choice.” The true gravity of those words fell upon his shoulders.

Heat radiated from the siren’s forked tongue, his lips craving the contact, a stark contrast to the icy chill of the sapphire below. “What was it saying? What does p-proditor mean?”

“It means zere are traitors among us,” she purred, her hoof beginning to trace delicate circles over his heart, her lips a hair away from his. Luke’s heart thundered in his chest. He could practically taste her breath. It was sweet. Warm. Delectable. “We shall find zem, mon amour… We shall collect zeir fucking heads.”

Luke felt his blood go cold, his jaw quivering. She just told him she was going to kill, and he wholeheartedly believed her.

Fleur’s deathly gaze finally faltered. “Non!” she gasped, voice noticeably absent of demonic undertones. She backpedalled a fair few paces, her eyes tightly shut, mane suddenly obscuring half of her face. The gem in her collar deluminated.

A frown slowly crept onto Luke’s face, a joy he hadn’t realised was present disappearing from his heart in the blink of an eye. He couldn’t help feeling like a part of Fleur was suddenly muted—locked away in a cage, even—and it left one hell of a noticeable emptiness. If he was truly honest with himself, he mourned its absence.

Fleur gazed at him through lilac eyes, the dread contained within them all too apparent. “Luc… I am so sorry… I…” she choked, her eyes welling up with tears. “I let ‘er go too far. I promise you, I will do my utmost to keep ‘er in check from now on-”

“Don’t,” Luke interrupted.

Fleur levelled him with a peculiar look, as though she was trying to figure out his meaning. “I… Don’t what?”

“Don’t lock her away, like you always do.”

Fleur just looked at him, ears flat, stray tears causing her makeup to run. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. It was a long time before she spoke again.

“You can’t change ‘er, Luc.”

Luke closed his eyes, the relentless blast of the siren’s gaze burned into his memory resurfacing instantaneously. With the memory came a resolution: he would do just about anything for the joy that filled his heart when the beautiful creature that was Fleur de Lis stared into his soul. He needed her. All of her.

“I think… I have to try.”

Author's Note

Man, I fucking love that Architects interlude.