Entering our small kitchen, I spot Mom first, standing at the stove and magically stirring a pot of vegetable stew. Turning to my left, I see Dad at the table reading a book. I softly walk over to my mom and give her a quick hug.

“Hey,” I say, “smells good! I can’t wait.” As if to emphasize my point, my stomach growls loudly. Mom gives a soft chuckle and turns to hug me back. After breaking out of my mother’s embrace, I turn to my dad and wrap my forelegs around him. “Hi Dad, I saw Fabler on my way home. He looked pretty good for a stallion of his age on the streets.” I leave out Fabler’s drunken, dazed state.

My Dad turns to me. “I’m glad he hasn’t fallen prey to any of those dang gangs yet.” Then he snorts. “You do realize, Twi, that Fabler and I are the same age, don’t you? Are you saying I don’t look good for my age?” I break out in a smile, noticing the corners of his mouth twitching upwards too.

“Oh yeah, Dad. I most certainly do realize that.” Seeing my expression fall into a familiar smirk, Dad laughs and ruffles my forelock. He opens his mouth to respond, but Mom interrupts him.

“Sweetie, why don’t you go get cleaned up? Dinner’s almost ready.” I glance down, realizing I’m still wearing all my armor and am covered from horn to hoof in sand and a few drops of blood. I give a quick nod to Mom, who is watching me with a strained smile. She and Dad both have an idea of what I do to keep us alive, but while Dad doesn’t let it bother him, Mom struggles to come to terms with it.

I walk over to the only bathroom in the house. It’s cramped, but it functions, and that’s all that matters. I start the tub running with hot water and begin to strip down my armor. Pulling off the chest plate reveals a large bruise forming where Whirlwind hit me with his wing. It’s bad enough to show through fur, and I know it’s going to hurt in the morning.

With the bath full and my armor off, I slide in, groaning softly as the heat washes over my sore limbs. Washing sand off, I discover a small gash on the side of my upper right foreleg. I don’t have any idea as to when I got it, but it probably came from something sharp in the sand.

Ten minutes later, fully clean and dry with my armor clear of blood and grime, I head back to the kitchen. Mom is setting three bowls of stew on the table as I reenter and I sit in my usual seat. I grab a spoon with my magic, wait for Mom to sit, and start shoveling stew into my mouth. Left ravenous from the combat earlier, I clean my bowl in less than a minute. Heading over to the stove, I refill it, leaving enough for my parents.

A blinding flash and a loud whoosh makes my parents and I jump, all three of us sending stew everywhere. I spin around, catching my parents tense in the corner of my eye. I search the room for anything that might cause us danger. My eyes land on the fireplace as I see the last tongues of green flame twist off a letter now lying nestled in between two logs.

I relax, and my parents do too when they see I’m no longer tense. I trot forward, cursing Underground Illegal’s way of getting notices to fighters. Pulling the letter out of the fireplace via magic, I wonder what could be so important for a letter to be sent. Usually very little contact is made with anypony outside of the arenas.

Flipping the envelope over, I’m surprised to see my name written in dark purple swirly hoofwriting. I start to get nervous. Never has a letter ever been specifically addressed to any fighter; letters are always sent out en masse, never personalized. My breathing gets short and quick. I pull the sealed flap open, magenta magic carefully slicing the bond between paper and glue. My hooves quiver slightly, sending small shakes up my legs.

“Twilight, honey, are you ok? You’re shaking.” Mom’s hoof hits the floor as she gets up and takes a step towards me.

“I’m alright, Mom, j-just got a letter, and I’m not really sure what it is. And well, you know… these days it’s just better to be careful. Hehe.” I’m surprised at how little my voice shakes considering how terrified I feel, but Mom catches the small quiver in my voice and quickly comes over to put a hoof over my shoulders.

She doesn’t say anything, just lets the comfort of her hoof on my withers calm me down. My slight shaking stops, and I turn my attention back to the letter. The sight of the curling purple writing on the front of the paper almost makes me stop, but curiosity gets the better of me, and I flip open the flap, sliding out the paper inside.

It’s folded in thirds; straight creases unfold themselves as I open the letter. More curly purple writing covers the first half of the paper. The letter- more of a note- is really short, containing only a few sentences. I begin to read.

Dear Twilight,

You are quite the well-known fighter, taking down every opponent you go up against in the ring. I know flattery will get me nowhere, but I was still hoping it’d help. I’d like you to come down to the arena tomorrow to meet a very special guest that will be there. I know you want to know who that will be, but it would be better to save that as a surprise. Let’s just say that this may make you the most popular UI fighter around. Not to mention more bits.

Sincerely,

Announcer of ‘Ring Dragon Fire’

P.S.- Tell Mrs. Velvet and Mr. Light that their cooking is positively splendid, absolutely killer taste.

I drop to my haunches, Mom’s hoof sliding off my back. The shaking returns, and my breathing quickens again. Mom backs up a look of concern crossing her face, and Dad joins her watching me carefully.

“I... I gotta go.” I manage to make the words fall out of my mouth, fear enveloping me. I turn and quickly head up the stairs, bypassing my room and continuing on to the roof. My thoughts turn so fast I feel queasy.

They know who my parents are! That means they have to know where I live, how I get home, they know everything! I wasn’t careful enough! I SHOULD’VE BEEN MORE CAREFUL!

That’s when I pause. No! I shouldn’t beat myself up over this, it’s not my fault, they’re everywhere. I manage to at least stop pacing and get my thoughts under control. First things first, do I go to the arena tomorrow, or evacuate my home? I have to go, I can’t try and run. They’ll find me. They’ll find my parents, and then they’ll make me watch as they kill them slowly, and once they finish that, I’ll be tortured to death. I can’t run.

I still have the letter in my magical grasp, so I take another look at it, skipping over the beginning. Tomorrow, I have to go tomorrow. I have less than twelve hours to prepare. Special guest, no idea who that could be. Anypony with enough money or fighting skill is special to any announcer’s eyes.

The sincerely catches my eye as I skim the letter again. The announcer themselves sent the letter. Never have I seen a letter written by an announcer; it’s always written by his/her secretary. ‘Ring Dragon Fire’ comes as no surprise. Usually letters end with “Sincerely, Ring Dragon Fire.” At least for me they do. The ring I always fight at is known as Dragon Fire because that’s how they send notices and letters.

The announcer sent the letter. That means I’m at least important enough to warrant attention from somepony with some power. I glow a little with pride, even though I’m still totally and completely freaked out and dreading tomorrow.

Now that I have my thoughts organized and I know what I’m going to do, I relax. Even if it’s just for a little bit, I feel better knowing I have everything under control, sort of…

Well, now all I have to do is wait for tomorrow. Deciding the best course of action would be to reassure my parents that I’m okay and then check over my armor, I head back to the main level.

Walking back in, I hear a mumbling conversation stop as my hooves hit the stone floor of the kitchen. “Um, hey, Mom, Dad. I’m headed to bed now. Um, I’m okay, just the letter wasn’t what I was expecting.” My parents watch me carefully, and I watch them back, gauging their reaction. “I have to go somewhere tomorrow, and I probably won’t be home until late, so…” I trail off, seeing Mom’s frown deepen. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, just some business.” Leaving it at that, I give both of them a hug and turn to the stairs.

Mounting the first step, I turn when I hear Dad’s voice, “Be careful, alright, honey? I’m going to make hayburgers tomorrow night, your favorite, so you’d better be home by dinner.” The desperation I see in both of their eyes makes me want to take them both and run, but I know I can’t. I understand their concern: they don’t want to lose their filly like they lost their colt.

I just nod and turn back to the stairs. Taking them two at a time to make it look like I’m fine. Halfway up I remember my armor drying in the bathroom, I elect to just grab it with magic instead of going back downstairs. It soon floats up the stairs behind me, and I continue to my room.

Entering, I glance around the space barely large enough for a small bed and myself. Setting my armor on the floor, I leap on my bed and lay down. As much as I want to sleep right now, I have to repair my armor, checking for weaknesses that could get me killed tomorrow.

Pulling the set of light metal up to my face, I look it over carefully. The back and side plates are fine, only a few scratches added to the current collection. The leg braces tell a similar story, with a slightly deeper scratch that matches the gash on my front leg. The chest plate, though, is a different matter altogether. A huge dent sweeps across the front of the piece, exactly where Whirlwind hit me with his wing and right where the bruise on my chest is.

I need to remove the dent so the metal doesn’t press into my chest and restrict movement or limit protection. A strong burst of magic will easily fix it, and I’ve had plenty of experience. Charging my horn, I situate the armor in front of me so I can easily see what I’m doing. Focusing on the dent, I release my magic. Pain courses through my head, but it’s not so much that I can’t handle it. The dent pops out as the metal returns to its normal shape.

I set my armor down and dive under the covers of my bed, eager for a little rest. I extinguish the lamp that lights my room in a soft glow and hope against hope that tomorrow will turn out okay, especially since my head still throbs from the headaches earlier. I pull my hoof up and prod my horn. A spike of pain makes me jerk away. Sleep comes slowly.

Author's Note

This chapter has now been edited.