“Dinnae put it there, ya feckin’ eejit!”

Steel Hoof, a black-coated minotaur with a perpetual scowl etched on his face most of the time, flinched, stopping dead in his tracks. The heavy iron circular fire pit he was holding aloft made his biceps appear bigger than usual. “Bronco said next to the helm,” he countered, his scowl deepening further.

“I meant in line with the helm along the beam of the ship, not lengthways. Muppet,” said a third minotaur effortlessly hauling a huge heavy looking crate down the quarterdeck stairs. This one, like most of the minotaurs, had a two tone coat. Light grey above the waist, dark grey below.

Luke, thoughts still awash with all the bombshells of the previous evening, was barely paying attention. He hadn’t been able to catch a wink of sleep. Of course, it hadn’t helped that the ship was still vibrating at predictable intervals, a reality that everyone else still seemed blissfully unaware of. Even now, the distant intermittent rumblings made themselves known through the deck.

An early morning venture topside for some fresh air and contemplation had seemed like a good idea, but he’d emerged to find the ship packed with road crew and production staff hauling props on and off the ship, unloading cargo, and liaising with a small crowd of locals and news reporters that were gawking up in awe at Le Tesson from the dock.

All the activity might’ve been a dealbreaker, had it not been for one minotaur in particular. This dude really put into perspective how much of a hypocrite Luke had been being.

The aptly named ‘Tank’ was the managing director of Le Tesson’s entire staff. He was easily the biggest minotaur on the ship, with a two tone dark blue coat and horns that must have been about four feet long if straightened out. He looked, and sounded, like the gnarliest motherfucker one would ever have the misfortune to meet. Upon first spotting Luke emerging from the trapdoor, however, the minotaur had said just four words: “Fancy a brew, lad?”

Luke, one hand currently resting on a spoke of the golden helm—the other holding a particularly delicious cup of tea—raised a questioning eyebrow. “Guys, come on. People make mistakes. Give the guy a br-AHHHHHH, MOTHERFUCKER!”

Luke promptly dropped his tea.

Pain exploded through his big toe, which made sense, considering Steel Hoof had just dropped the fire pit on it. Luke grabbed his throbbing foot, falling to the deck and spewing forth several more swear words that made a passing set manager blush.

“Celestia’s flaming tits! Are you trynae get us all feckin’ murdered!” Tank roared, his booming tones bouncing off the mountains. Steel Hoof cowered like a little school filly, nearly tripping over the upturned fire pit. “It’s a good thing Fleur didnae see that! Ye’d have those fangs o’ hers sticking out ya feckin’ neck!”

Luke groaned. His toe felt like it had just been spaghettified. The trapdoor opened somewhere behind him. “How’d you know about those?” he managed to gasp, though no one appeared to be listening to him.

“What’s going on here?” said the voice of Photo Finish.

“This ass-backwards brisket dropped a fire pit on the rook’s hoof,” Bronco snorted, nodding toward Steel Hoof, who hastily retrieved it, his eyes sweeping the deck, features grim. The fucker didn’t bother himself to apologise.

Photo’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “Tank, getz him out of here! Jetzt!” Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, “Fleur will be here any minute!”

Tank wasted no time. “Ah’ll deal we’ yae later!” he shot a still-scowling Steel Hoof.

Strong arms scooped Luke from the deck as though he weighed about as much as a paperclip. Tank leapt down the quarterdeck stairs, Luke bouncing between bulging biceps like a pinball, before yeeting them both over the side of the ship. “The faaaack!”

Thankfully, they only fell about ten feet before Tank’s hooves slammed into a scaffold platform that had been assembled onto the side of the ship. Squeezing through a narrow entryway between two gun ports, Tank carried Luke along a small service corridor filled with old war cannons until they reached a small doorway at the end. Stooping low, they went inside.

They entered what appeared to be a communal dormitory. Several beds large enough to accommodate even a Tank-sized minotaur lined the walls, each with a small cabinet next to it. Posters, nic-nacs and other personal effects occupied each neatly-kept space.

Tank carried Luke to one of two small work desks at the very end of the room, swiftly depositing him into a chair in front of it. “Oww.”

“Sorry, lad. Gimmie a sec,” Tank grunted, rummaging around in the desk drawer. “It’s in here somewhere.” He pulled out several items. A golden compass, a small dagger, an amber spyglass. “Ah, here it is,” he said, holding up what appeared to be a small tube of jelly.

Luke raised his eyebrows, his toe giving a particularly painful throb.

Tank barked out a laugh. “Dinnae look so worried, lad. I dinnae fancy being turned into lasagne.” He pulled a small stool in front of Luke’s leg, patting the top. “Now, take off that boot. We best see the damage.”

Luke grimaced. “I don’t want to.” The boot was probably the only thing holding his toe together. Too bad steel toe caps weren’t a thing in Equestria.

Tank gave a comforting smile—quite the bizarre look for a minotaur the size of a small bull elephant. “Trust me, yer gonnae wannae take it off. This stuff’s magic, but you gottae be quick.”

Luke scrunched up his face, undoing the lace of his boot. With an almighty wrench, he yanked it off his foot—“fuck!”—quickly peeling the sock off as well.

“How bad is it?” Luke didn’t look, instead keeping his eyes glued to a large poster of a strange looking sea horse-like creature above one of the beds.

“Eeh… Ya dinnae need to know, lad. Just hold still.”

A cool liquid was deposited onto Luke’s toe. It burned like a motherfucker for about three seconds, then, nothing. Luke blinked, his eyes snapping to his toe. It looked completely normal. “What… how?”

“S’good, isnae?” Tank chuckled, screwing the cap back on the tube. “Yer not the first workplace incident a’ve had to deal wae. Just do me a favour, Luke,” he added, his face becoming a bit more serious. “Dinnae tell Fleur what happened. She’ll feckin murder him.”

Luke frowned. “No, she wouldn’t.”

“Ah hate tae say it, but he probably did tha’ on purpose, Luke. A’ve half a mind to fire him, but I know his mother’ll kick his arse out on the street if ah do. He’s gottae feckin deathwish, if ya ask me. Feckin’ about in a siren’s business. What a moron.”

Luke's eyes grew wide. “Wait… You know-”

“Of cours' ah know what Fleur is, Luke. She's an immortal tha' doesnae feckin' age, fer cryin' out loud. The greenhorns don’t know, but all of the veterans figure it out eventually. She's no' as careful as she thinks she is at times."

An involuntary frown crept onto Luke’s face. “Since when am I her business? I'm just the pilot.”

Tank raised an eyebrow. “You really wannae play dumb? Come on, Luke. It doesnae take a genius to figure out the boss is intae ya. It’s been makin’ ma whole crew green with envy,” he muttered, throwing the tube of magical healing jelly back into the desk drawer. “Bronco does nothin’ but sit at that desk and wish he was in your shoes all day. He’s gottae thing for sirens, that one.”

“But… I thought Fleur being a siren was a secret?” Luke half whispered, pulling his slightly bloodstained sock back on.

“Worst kept secret at J’adore,” Tank snorted, taking out a quill and a bottle of ink from another drawer. “Here, a’ll giyae this to sign. Accident report, even though the fucker more’n likely did it on purpose. My gaffer’ll do her nut if a dinnae hand one in,” he said, filling out a bit of parchment with questions and answer boxes on it.

“Thanks,” Luke said, taking the quill and parchment. “For fixing my toe.”

“Dinnae mention it. Just, like ah say, dinnae tell Fleur,” he pleaded, waving a large hand. It would have been quite ridiculous for a minotaur the size of Tank to be so worried by a unicorn, if said unicorn hadn’t been Fleur, of course.

“She’s not some mindless killer, y’know,” Luke challenged, signing the parchment.

“Ah know that, lad. Ah’ve worked for her for thirty years. Where yur’ concerned though,” he pointed a patchy finger at Luke, “she doesnae fuck around.”

Luke still gave Tank a look of forced skepticism, very nearly rolling his eyes.

“Now,” Tank boomed, sliding the accident report into the ‘out’ tray on his desk, “I best get back up to setting up for the shoot.”

Le Tesson’s beating heart rumbled beneath Fleur’s hooves—one of the few true constants in her life. It had not relented, not for thousands of years. Or, at least, that had been the case, up until the previous evening.

On most occasions, Fleur was very much aware when the siren took possession. A passenger in her own body. She could choose to fight, wrest back the reins of control with the mental acuity she had built up over several millennia, or let things run their course. Let the siren out to play. Trust her.

Last night, she had chosen that trust, and it had led to a revelation of such proportions she had never witnessed in her endless existence. With a single skip of that macabre beat, Le Tesson’s dirty little secret had done something no other of its kind ever had before.

“Preuve, il est notre égal, mon amie.”

He is not ready. Such power. It could ruin him.

Fleur shuddered. It could even ruin Equador.

“Fraulein! Are you even listening?”

Fleur blinked, coming to her senses. Everyone was looking at her. “Sorry, mon amie.”

The ship was packed with ponies and minotaurs—production crew, road crew, service staff. Photo had no less than six cameras pointed at Fleur, showcasing a rather ridiculous creation of one of the lesser known Manehattanite designers who had insisted on booking her line to this shoot. Fleur couldn’t even remember the mare’s name. All she knew was that the dress she was currently wearing had way too many frills on it.

Never had she wanted more to just drop out of a shoot and whisk Luke away to a private spa or restaurant booth so they could just… talk. If this wasn’t a location shoot, she may have just done that very thing, but the unique scene of Le Tesson’s pristine deck with the Unicorn Range in the background was too beautiful a setting to waste. That, and Photo would probably throw a tantrum if Fleur tried to leave.

Fleur struck a practiced pose, her fake smile a convincing enough facade to most ponies. She managed to steal a glance at Luke under the guise of sweeping her mane from her face with a hoof.

He stood just a few hooves away, one hand on the helm, as was so common for him. It was almost like he had found a new companion in the ship. Fleur knew the truth. The shard was calling to him, as it called to her. The beating never stopped. Given time, it would become so familiar to him he’d barely even notice it.

She still remembered the day the vilified Old Kingdom artifact chose her as its commandant. Equestria did not yet exist. Celestia and Luna had not yet gained power over the sun and the moon, and just about every living creature on Equador lived in fear of the godless beings that wielded these instruments of terror to enforce their apartheid rule. Fleur had been so lost to the influence of her darker half that she had immediately accepted control of the artifact and commanded it to do unspeakable things.

The siren let out a low hiss, and it echoed through Fleur’s mind like the long dead whispering wind of an ancient past she could never forget.

“Je regrette.”

Likewise, mon amie.

Another pose. Click, click, click. “Ja, Fraulein. Das ist better.”

“Nous devons trouver le traître.”

Fleur’s composure faltered, and a sigh escaped her maw. They will show themselves. They always do in the end.

Proditor. It was a warning that Fleur had received many times before. Though, this time, she had Luke to think about. She could no longer afford to be reckless.

Photo Finish stopped taking photos, clipping her camera onto a tripod and trotting up close to Fleur. “Is zeir something wrong, Fraulein? Zis dress is trash, but you are not! What has gotten into you?”

Fleur’s eyes darkened. She quietly cleared her throat, her ears dropping a shade. “Again, I am sorry, mon amie. I… I am just not feeling it tonight.”

Photo threw a glance to Luke, her eyes quickly flicking back to Fleur. “Hmm… Maybe it is something zat has not gotten into you.”

Fleur blinked. “P-Pardon?”

“Luke, get over here,” Photo instructed, grabbing her camera from the tripod.

Luke visibly flinched at the mention of his name. A few ponies, along with one or two minotaurs, threw him a glance. “Me?” he muttered, absentmindedly adjusting his tie and avoiding their gazes.

“You see any pony around here called Luke? Yes, colt, you!”

“Ahmm… What are you doing, mon amie?” Fleur hissed from the corner of her mouth.

Photo remained blissfully ignorant, it seemed. Luke slowly approached the earth pony, trying his best to ignore the sizeable portion of J’adore’s other staff that were still gawking at him. His hands kept fumbling with his tie.

“No, zere,” she pointed to Fleur. “Kneel, next to her.”

Luke stopped, his eyes growing wide, gaze flicking between Fleur and all of the production cameras. Fleur levelled Photo Finish with a look that may well have caused any other one of her employees to wet themselves where they stood.

Not Photo, though. Photo merely smiled. “Kneel, Luke, next to ze pretty pony. Sort zat tie for him, won’t you?” she added, nodding to one of the make up mares. “He’s made a pig’s arsch of it.”

Citrus Blush quickly trotted in front Luke with a smile. “C’mere, Luke,” she chirped with a wide smile, motioning with a hoof for him to kneel.

Luke looked uncertain, but ultimately did so after a moment. Citrus wasted no time in straightening his tie, flattening and shaping his mane with a heatwave manestyling spell and applying a small amount of beard oil that she conjured out of thin air to the fur on his jaw. Lastly, she lightly pressed her horn to his chest. Fleur’s eyes widened. That… That was extremely forward for a unicorn.

The siren let out an ungodly roar. Enlève ta putain de corne loin de lui, maintenant!

Fleur had to use every last drop of her practiced restraint to stop those words from spewing forth from her maw along with every last bit of the demonic rage that was intended to accompany them.

It is just a lint remover spell. Calm down! she scolded, but the siren bounced around her mind, fire spewing from her tainted soul. Fleur fought just as fiercely. Citrus was one of the best makeup artists that had worked at J’adore in a very long time. She was not about to alienate one of her most talented employees.

The little bit of moult clinging to Luke’s uniform vanished, though he hardly appeared to notice, his eyes glued to the business end of Citrus’ horn as though it might violate him. The spell finished, Citrus looked back up at Luke with a grin, before catching a glimpse of Fleur’s gaze.

The smaller unicorn nearly leapt out of her own coat. “S-Sorry, boss!” she squeaked, hastily backpedalling behind one of the fire pits so fast she may well have teleported.

“Good. Now—give me something I can vork with,” Photo cried, already testing out several different angles with her camera, click, click. She bounced from blazing fire pit to fire pit, helm to mast. “And for the love of Celestia take off that travesty of a dress,” she called, hanging from the rigging thirty hooves above the deck. Click, click.

Fleur’s horn flashed. The dress disappeared, but she couldn’t quite get rid of the murderous expression on her face. “Just… humour her, Luc. You know how ridicule she is.”

“This ain’t in my contract, boss,” he muttered, one elbow on his knee, one hand cupping his chin.

Fleur raised an eyebrow, finally cracking a small smile.

“Yes… Yes…” Photo crooned, drawing the words out, her tone positively dripping with glee. Her eyes swept the crowd in encouragement. “Quite ze dashing pair, ahh?” She leapt, and her hooves touched back down to the polished deck with a quick succession of thuds.

Everyone looked at the mare like she had a pair of steel balls hanging beneath her tail, but her grin was quick to vanish. “I said—zey look good! Are you ponies telling me I am wrong?” she all but yelled at the crowd, suddenly levelling them with murder eyes.

Yells and cheers erupted, hooves stomped on wood, minotaurs clapped loudly, piercing whistles complimenting the sudden din. Fleur shook her head, mane falling in front of her face, a loud snort escaping her lips.

“Christ… She’s nuts,” Luke chuckled, his palm hiding his face.

“Quite, mon amour.”

“Yes. Zat is more like it. Now,” Photo said, turning to Fleur and Luke, camera at the ready. “Give me ze magics!”

“I don’t think I have ze magics in me,” Luke replied, throwing jazz hands into the mix. “Not really model material, after all.”

“Nonsense, junges Hengstfohlen. Put your arm around her, like zis,” Photo grabbed Luke’s free arm, pulling it around Fleur, pressing his hand to her tuft.

Fleur felt the blood rush to her cheeks, her ears involuntarily flattening. The siren finally stopped grumbling idle threats to Citrus Blush through her mind. This… This was nice. All of the ponies and minotaurs gawking at the scene like it was the biggest scandal any soul had ever witnessed, however, was not.

“Photo, stop putting Luke on the spot,” Fleur chastised, in as stern a tone as she dared, but Photo merely leaned in close to the two of them.

“Luke, you don’t mind, do you?” she shot at him, spinning the camera on her hoof.

Luke considered Photo for a moment, his hand still on Fleur’s chest. Fleur could feel her heart beating just a little faster than usual. The siren let out a barely audible mewl in her head. “Well, I guess not. But these shots are hardly going to be useful, are they?” he muttered. “Fleur’s not even wearing a dress anymore, and I doubt our target audience is gonna wanna see this ugly mug,” he pointed to his own face, “on a fifty foot billboard.”

Fleur was about to argue with him, but Photo beat her to the punch with a loud snort. “You pull ze international billionaire supermodel Fleur de Lis like it’s a walk in ze park and you are still telling ponies you are ugly?” She shook her head and turned, hopping back to the tripod, clipping the camera back into position. “Idiot colt.”

Click. Click.

“Look into her eyes. Serenade her soul with your gaze! And Fleur, wrap your tail around his leg. Come on, filly—don’t be shy!”

Fleur’s eyelids lowered. Had it just been the three of them, she’d have done as requested in a heartbeat. She opened her mouth to remind Photo that she had not been a filly in a very long time, but was rudely interrupted by magic flowing involuntarily through her horn.

You… You dare use my own magic against my will?

Fleur’s tail, encompassed in pink aura, practically slithered up Luke’s leg, coiling itself tightly around him.

Mien.

Luke raised a questioning eyebrow, but only for a second.

“Das ist gut.” Click. Click. “Now, Luke. Lay on your side—Fleur, lay on your front just in front of him. Luke, hold yourself up with your elbow, no—a little higher. Das ist gut. Fleur, give me the sphinx! Horn high—you are a Göttin! Luke, put your hand on her back.”

Luke did just that, and the contact made Fleur’s fur stand on end, as though it was trying to rise up to meet his touch.

Click. “Now, Luke—straddle her back.”

Oui s'il vous plaît.

Non, you harlot!

“Nope. I ain’t doin’ that,” Luke flatly stated, his cheeks reddening.

“Luke, ze photographer knows best-”

“Ze photographer is about to get a Nikeron jammed up her arse.”

Photo’s eyelids lowered, and she slowly approached him once more. “Zere is no shame in riding a mare, Hengstfohlen. Here, let me… show you.”

Both Fleur and her dark counterpart watched in horror as Photo Finish somehow managed to wriggle her way under Luke and stand up with him sitting on her back, his legs dangling over the deck. Before he could stand up, Photo leapt up to the ship’s traffrail, tip-hoofing along it, Luke clinging to her.

“Put me down, you fucking nutjob!”

The crowd of employees broke out into crazed chattering, laughter and gasps of disbelief. Photo Finish leapt effortlessly over a flaming fire pit, following the intricately carved golden rail along the entire length of the ship. “Mind your language, ze boss is watching,” she chastised, throwing a wild grin to Fleur.

Fleur merely sat, mouth agape, her eyes following pony—and unwilling human screaming curses at pony—as they hopped right up to the bow of the ship. Photo’s hooves clipped the wooden rear of the unicorn figurehead, and she galloped her way back across the main deck, launching herself back up to the quarterdeck in one fell swoop. She turned, skidding to a halt in front of the helm.

Luke tumbled off her back, rolling a good twenty hooves and hitting the momentum arrest lever. It shifted forward with a loud clunk.

“Photo! C’est assez!” Fleur cried, the siren howling with laughter in her mind.

Luke steadily righted himself, glaring at Photo Finish. He snatched his first officer cap up off the deck, replacing it atop his head. “Where’s that camera? I’mma shove it so far up your plot hole you’ll be shitting negatives for a mon-”

The rest of Luke’s words were lost to several deafeningly loud whip-like cracks piercing the air. They were swiftly followed by a few short screams and the dull thuds of bodies hitting wood. The tattered remains of a thick mooring line, its diameter similar to that of an earth pony’s leg, ricocheted up onto the deck, smashing a barrel of cider to splinters. Its contents spilled out over the polished wood, soaking into the coat of a nearby minotaur.

“Merde!” Fleur gasped, almost falling over herself. The ship had just lurched forward, and was slowly but surely heading for the side of a mountain around a thousand hooves or so in front of the bow. Fleur let magic flow through her horn, generating the usual signal to communicate with the auxiliary crystal. To her horror, the crystal didn’t respond. At all.

“Vhat is zis? Why is my set moving?” Photo barked. Somehow, the earth mare had managed to stay upright.

Stop her! Stop Le Tesson! Fleur called to her siren. Technically, there was a failsafe—another way to do it herself—but she needed siren magic to interact with the shard. To get that, she would have to take it by force, which would reveal her true nature in front of her staff. Inacceptable.

The siren promptly ignored her, still much too busy laughing her flank off.

“Merde! Merde!” Fleur gasped, feeling absolutely helpless for the first time in thousands of years. She turned to Luke. “Luc! Say prohibere!”

Luke, who had fallen over again, merely gave her a worried look. “W-What? Why… Why are we moving?” he panicked, pulling the momentum arrest lever back again.

Nothing happened.

The ship smashed into something, the impact barely registering a tremor. Whatever it was that had been in the way crumpled like a hayburger wrapper, the sound of splintering wood emanating from beneath the bow of the ship. “Prohibere!” Fleur repeated, scrambling over the deck toward him. She captured his shoulders with her forhooves, her accent thickening. “Say eet!”

“Proy-berry?”

“Non! Prohibere!”

“Proy-bay-ree?”

“Non, Luc! Prohibere! Prohibere! Prohibere! Say eet right now or very bad things are about to ‘appen!” Several ponies screamed at the mounting panic in Fleur’s voice.

“W-What? Fuck! Uhh… Proy-berry! Prohy-berry!”

“Luc! We are going to crash!” Fleur squeaked. A splintered bow and ruptured helium chamber would be the very least of their worries if Le Tesson collided with that mountainside.

Now would be a good time to help us! she hissed at her darker half.

The siren had stopped laughing, but did not willingly lend Fleur her voice, or her magic. Instead, she merely waited.

Luke stared at the looming mountainside, now a lot closer than it had been, his eyes the size of dustbin lids.

“PROHIBERE!”

Le Tesson lurched for the second time in less than thirty seconds, coming to a rather violent halt thirty feet from the mountainside. The stop was so sudden the few ponies and minotaurs that had pulled themselves to their hooves were sent flying once more. Luke would have revelled in the fact that Steel Hoof was among their number, but he was so confused by the ship suddenly breaking free of the mooring lines he couldn’t quite manage it.

“What’s going on?” he gasped, daring to get to his feet. The momentum arrest lever was all the way back. Was that what had caused the ship to move? It shouldn’t have. Fleur hadn’t been powering it.

“Ah’d quite like to know tha’ mesel,” Tank muttered, shooting a look of exasperation at Fleur.

“How’d it even move? You weren’ powerin’ it!” Vert chimed in.

“Vhat is ze meaning of zis, Fraulein?”

Fleur’s ears dropped, her gaze flicking between pony and minotaur in blind panic. “I… uhh… Luc and I… We ‘ave been trying out a voice command system.”

“We have?” Luke asked. Had he missed something? Maybe she had just forgotten to tell him?

“It… It eez a work in progress,” Fleur said, forcing an unconvincing laugh and ignoring Luke altogether.

CRACK.

Vert, Tank and Photo stared at the deck where Fleur had been, their gazes simultaneously flicking to Luke instead.

“What’s goin’ on, lad?”

“Aye. She jus’ made yae say summat and it went and stopped the ship. How’d you do tha’?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Luke lied, the realisation of what had just happened finally hitting him. Holy fucking shit. For the first time ever, Luke had actually piloted the ship. Properly. On his own.

“Ah think I know where she went,” Vert said, absent-mindedly adjusting his ruffled feathers. “Come on. Let’s go have a little chat with the boss.”

As Vert suspected, Fleur had teleported to the engine room. Human, pegasus, earth pony and minotaur filed in through the open doorway to find her staring at the crystal. It was even dirtier than the night before, just as crooked… and cracked.

Fleur turned, and Vert and Tank froze, just as the door slammed closed behind them. Her eyes were streaming forth cerulean light, a few small wisps of barely visible condensation flowing from the glowing sapphire in her collar. Four fully extended fangs were clearly visible in her open maw. Luke was strongly reminded of a lioness stalking her prey.

Both pegasus and minotaur backed away, but Photo Finish trotted up to the crystal. “It’s cracked,” she observed, pulling out a small magnifying glass from her dress and inspecting it. “Somepony has struck zis. Crystals of zis calibre do not break on zeir own.”

“Non… not somepony,” Fleur breathed, the dual-tone malice of the words causing even Photo to flinch.

Tank gulped, but to his credit, stood his ground. “Ah hope you d-don’ suspect me-”

The siren gazed up absent-mindedly at the slightly trembling minotaur, around four times her size. Her tongue flicked briefly from her maw. “Non.”

Tank breathed a sigh of relief, which he quickly tried to disguise as a cough. Vert’s wings twitched at the sound, eyes darting to the minotaur for a split second.

Luke kneeled in front of Fleur, bringing them eye to eye. Before he could stop himself, he locked his curious gaze to the shimmering, endless depths contained within hers. “Do you… suspect anyone?” he asked, the questions already losing significance. He could stare into her eyes all day and it would probably be the best day of his life. “Anyone… Anyone we should keep an eye out for?”

Fleur tilted her head, the familiar curious look blanketing her face. “Zis crystal… It is useless to all but my own kind.”

“Anozzer siren?” Photo whispered, her eyes flicking from Fleur to the dirty rock clamped into the arcane device.

The words did nothing but annoy Fleur, it seemed. “Laisse nous!” she growled, her demonic voice suddenly dripping with rage.

Luke nearly had a heart attack. The Prench was lost on him, but the meaning was not. He made to get to his feet, but Fleur latched her fangs into his tie, pulling him right back down.

Vert’s wings flapped, several feathers escaping them. He bolted to the door and wrenched it open, disappearing down the corridor with nary a backwards glance.

“Tank. Ve go,” Photo barked, her voice bearing an uncharacteristic quiver Luke had never heard before. She held the door open for him, swiftly following the lumbering minotaur into the corridor.

“Good luck, lad,” Luke heard him croak.

The door closed. The siren pounced.

Luke was pinned in an instant, flat on his back, beautiful glowing eyes inches from his own. Holy shit. Her lithe, immortal body pressed against him, a burning fire in her eyes that hadn’t been present before.

“Stay away… from Citrus,” she rasped, fighting a battle Luke couldn’t see. Soft forehooves slid through his hair. It was as though she was struggling to get the words out. “I don’t want… to 'ave to… kill 'er.”

Luke’s hands instinctively flew to her sides. “No, don't do that! I-I, uh… I don't like her, but you don't have to kill her!” Luke panicked.

Her intoxicating scent, the warmth of her core, the chill of her sapphire, the glow from her eyes, the softness of her mane that had fallen against his cheek, the gentle weight of her heavenly form pressing him into the beating floor—all of it quickly overwhelmed his senses, causing his heart to beat as though he had just run a marathon.

“She dares to touch you with her horn… Moi seul peux faire ça!”

Luke drew in vast lungfuls of air, bolting upright as though emerging from a lake. Fleur’s hooves fell to his shoulders, her hind legs straddling his waist, tail coiling itself around his leg. Luke held her close out of reflex, trying in vain to ignore the butterflies bouncing around his chest and the burning in his face. He needed to focus, especially if the siren was tempted to murder a pony over something as innocent as a jab from a horn.

A distraction was needed. “Y-Yours is way better, look,” he managed to say, and Fleur’s eyes widened, spilling out even more light as they followed his hand up to the idly glowing appendage on her head.

His fingers closed around it, and like someone flicking a light switch, the siren was fucking gone.

A small shudder flowed through Fleur, but she otherwise sat frozen. Lilac eyes pointed to the hand grasping her horn, fangless mouth hung open, cheeks slowly turning the colour of Viola Terracotta's coat.

Luke felt something twitch down below.

Fleur’s horn was warm, and it very quickly became apparent he probably shouldn't have grabbed it.

Her eyes found him.

Luke quickly let go of her horn. “Sorry boss,” he muttered, his gaze flicking everywhere and anywhere but her.

Fleur cringed, closing her eyes momentarily. “Luc, I think we are perhaps past you calling me zat.”

“Yeah… probably.”

A short silence murdered the conversation. Fleur did not make any attempt to move. One of Luke’s arms still encompassed her back, and he didn’t know if he should move it or not.

“Well, I think you won the game of chicken you ‘ad going with ‘er,” she murmured, awkwardly getting to her hooves. Her snoot accidentally booped his nose, her tail perhaps flagging a little higher than normal. She backpedalled a few paces. Luke’s cheeks burned even more. “As… fun as zat was, I think we need to 'ave a talk, you and I, before zis… goes any further,” she said, quietly, avoiding his gaze.

Luke couldn’t help himself. “What do you mean?”

“I think you know what I mean, Luc, but zat can wait. I owe you a proper explanation of what just transpired on the deck.”

Fleur’s horn began to glow, but after only a second, the magical aura surrounding it fizzled out with a pop. She tried again, only to be met with the same result. “Merde.” Quickly rubbing the crystal with a forehoof, she bit down on it instead and pulled.

The crystal broke free of the clamps, slipping out of Fleur’s mouth as well. It hit the floor with a clunk. Fleur quickly scooped it up with a hoof and handed it to Luke.

Luke took it, giving her a look of confusion. It was nowhere near as hot as it had been the previous night. “What do I need this for?”

“We need it, Luc, in order to control the ship without ‘aving to resort to yelling commands in the dead, archaic language of the Old Kingdom.”

“So… It’s true? That… That was me controlling the shard?”

“Yes, Luc.” Fleur blushed, looking away again. “For, um… whatever reason, you are the second commandant of Le Tesson. Normally, a shard will only ever choose one.”

Luke swallowed, his eyes wandering to the arcane device sitting between the Star Drives. “But wait, don't the helm and the levers control the ship? Hasn’t Vert been flying this ship for fifty years?”

“Zat is where ze crystal is needed,” Fleur whispered, pointing to the cracked rock in Luke’s hand. “Zis crystal is not part of the shard. It is a product of my own creation. Usually, the shard does not respond to anything ozzer zan siren magic. Zis crystal acts as a proxy—It can respond to unicorn magic, and magical signals from the helm of the ship. I ‘ave trained the shard to follow its influence over the course of many years.”

“But… I thought you powered the ship?”

Fleur shook her head. “Me, powering zis ship? Zis is a lie. I cannot power the ship, no amount of magical power could, in fact. I merely pretend, so ponies don’t become suspicious of Le Tesson’s true nature.”

Luke stared at the rock in his hand. The crack had spread all the way down one side of it. “Is this why the ship was being such a handful on the way here?”

Fleur nodded. “More zan likely, oui.”

“How did it move when I rolled into the lever? Can anyone just hop on the helm and take control?”

“Non. I usually have to prompt the crystal to respond whenever Vert is at the helm. The shard is not some mindless machine, it is a lot more zan zat. I believe it responded to you without consulting me first because… you are a commandant.”

Luke stared at the crystal. “Huh… I guess I’m gonna have to be careful when Vert insists I polish the levers. If I accidentally knock the wrong one…”

Fleur grinned. “I daresay you are a competent pilot Luke. But if you ever panic, just remember: prohibere.”

“What does that mean, then?”

“Stop, of course,” Fleur replied, magic building in her horn. The crystal began to warm in Luke’s hand, and with a flash of blue, the crack disappeared. “We shall ‘ave to keep watch over zis crystal, Luc.” It floated from his hand, sliding back into the grasp of the jagged, blackened clamps. “I fear someone may be trying to steal it. I shall put the necessary measures in place.”

Fleur paused for a moment, slipping one of her forehooves into the hand the crystal had left. “Will you come to Helix Gap with me? Zere is something I’d like to show you.”

Luke smiled, giving her hoof a squeeze. “Of course.”

Author's Note

Shard commands, not unlike linux commands, are tricky and difficult to get right.