Golden Reign

“Crimson…”

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~ Canterlot Castle, Celestia’s Quarters ~<
April 12th, Wednesday, 9:03

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“That cannot be done, Luna,” Celestia states severely as she writes into parchment. Both she and Luna are in her regal bedroom, where the sleepy-blue princess rests on her tummy upon her sister’s bed.

“Why not, sister?” Luna inquires, actively keeping a meek and unobtrusive tone.

"It simply cannot.”

“But why not, sister? What is the purpose of keeping him our enemy?”

“He committed murder.”

“But sister Celestia, the stallion he vanquished was harming your pupil. Thyself hast celebrated this fact. This does not mention the good he did during his time in the Guard.”

“Luna, let us not discuss this further. If what you say reaches the wrong ears, it would end terribly for the both of us. Canterlot is much too sensitive right now, so we must tread these murky waters carefully.”

“The only ears are ours now, sister. I have nothing to worry about, surely. I only ask, why expend the resources? He was once our ally."

“He was, Luna. But despite our grief, that is no longer the case.”

“We have the authority to pardon him.”

“Luna,” the white alicorn stops writing, glancing over her shoulder to her sister behind her, “I am already overstepping my bounds with Horis by rejecting the scouting parties he requested. Any further denials can destabilize our relationship.”

“But as you told me, sister. You are in debt to Crimson for saving Moonlight Wish from that wretched stallion. Surely this is the least we can do for his act of graciousness."

“There are many things I wish I could do to show him my eternal gratitude for saving Moonlight. But I know I am making the right choice.”

“I fail to see the legitimacy of holding onto Crimson’s bounty…”

Celestia returns her gaze to her parchment and continues writing. “I am not asking you to.”

Finding herself incapable of countering Celestia’s blunt statement, she gently exhales and sets down a new mental track. “You have yet to elaborate on the circumstance begotten by the Elite squadron.”

“This again, sister?” she stops her writing simply to give a condescending glance to the younger alicorn. “I would rather not repeat myself.”

“How could you say that you are repeating yourself when you have yet to explain the situation?”

Celestia critically looks forward at the wall in front of her. “I will explain this only once. I expect that you speak of this to nopony. Ever.”

“By my sign as Keeper of the Night, sister.”

The white alicorn sighs, letting her eyes wander to a candle that lights her workstation. “… Our current Captain of the Royal Guard, Snowfall Winter. She was… selected, by Horis himself to be the catalyst of his creation.”

“His creation?”

“A magic-based physical empowerment serum.”

Luna visibly ponders, drawing memories from hundreds of years ago. Once the correlation sparks, her front churns to a deep frown. “… Could this be the same vile concoction he brewed during the Great War?”

“… Yes. It is.”

“Sister,” she starts with careful urgency, “this serum caused the untimely fates of many ponies during its production. It is no exaggeration to say that this creation of Horis is an abomination.”

“There were many sacrifices during the serum’s development, it’s true, but I witnessed it with own eyes. He managed to perfect it before he injected his consciousness into the Hourglass. There are no safety or health concerns with the serum in its current state.”

“It has been almost four centuries, sister Celestia. Such a complex and vile substance has surely been lost to Horis’ remembrance.”

“He needs not remember so quickly, Luna. The Hallowed Demesne has a vast supply of vials stored away in the mansion’s cellar. By the time he has exhausted this supply, he would have perfected it several times over once again.”

“What!?” she whisper-cries. She sits up from her laying position, shooting her shrunken pupils to the back of Celestia’s head. “It was there all this time!?” The pink-maned princess simply nods at her parchment. “Why am I being informed barely now? How long did you plan to hide this!?”

“I hid nothing from you, Luna. Do not put me in such a light. There was simply no reason to tell you, and you never asked pertinent questions, as you’re doing now.”

“But, this… this cannot be. This means the vials are centuries old. They could be unstable! Or expired!”

“Do not be foolish, sister. Magic does not ‘expire.’ The secure containment of his serum will preserve it until the end of Equus itself.”

“But…” Luna starts, but realizes quickly that she has no suitable rebuttal. “… Th-Then, what does Horis contrive with our own Snowfall Winter?”

“He selected Captain Winter due to her social stature. She was supposed to accept the serum, though she declined. So now she is being replaced by another pony with equivalent social pull - a pony who did not turn down the serum.”

“Snowfall Winter is one of the most loyal subjects Canterlot has ever employed. Her career was prematurely stricken on the basis of Horis’ scheme. Why do you hang the future of Equestria on his word?”

“Have you forgotten what we’ve barely emerged from? Has twenty five years done away with your memory of the atrocities ponykind experienced due to the War?”

“… I have not forgotten.”

“Then keep every terrible happening during the War fresh in your mind when you think of Horis. His creation is the key to ensure we never suffer from another worldwide catastrophe again.”

“What does he hope we become? Monsters? Creatures who vaguely resemble what we once were? Does self-defense warrant everypony becoming a weapon of grand destruction?”

“If it is here we disagree, Luna, then we have nothing further to discuss. Because unlike yourself, I will not see my ponies suffer so greatly ever again. We will become self-sufficient. Ponykind will prosper. This is the only concept which concerns me.”

“I urge you to see this from another lens, sister. The Great War is over. We emerged victorious despite all of our losses. You are an incredible warrior, but now is not the time to fight. We have not needed large-scale combat in the last two decades. We must not rule Equestria as leaders of an army. We should instead rule it as a leaders of the common pony.”

“And how do you suppose Equestria was ruled before us? The Great War was allowed to happen.”

“Yes, but—"

“No ‘buts,’ Luna. Understand that I care too much for my subjects to let time decide whether or not we survive as a species. I must ensure it myself.”

Luna places a passionate hoof at her own breastplate. “But sister Celestia, we can! Even without the serum! You and I, we harness the power of the stars! The constellations! With how much we have learned and how far our magics have advanced, we can drive any foreign threat away from our soil!”

Celestia glances at Luna briefly, letting a quiet breeze through them. Though Luna was strong with her words, this heavy silence causes her to shrink. “… There is… another reason why I am allowing this to happen.”

“Prithee tell, sister.”

With narrowed eyes and lined lips does Celestia organize her thoughts before speaking. “… I have… seen what he and his creations are capable of. As you said, we possess the power of the constellations… but Horis… his knowledge has led him to attain a magic far more… vile. Something we may not even have the words to describe. Unlike you, I witnessed his power in its final stages before he relinquished his soul into the Hourglass. I will tell you this and only this… I would rather keep amicable relations with the weapon which won ponykind the Great War.”

Luna’s pupils shrink quickly.

Celestia keeps her wary gaze on Luna, digesting the mortification that sits on her sister’s face. Becoming too much to bear, she returns her attention to her scroll. “… I hope this answers why Captain Winter is being forced to step down from her position, and why First Lieutenant Banter is taking her place. The rally held yesterday by the General should have detailed this to our subjects. The change has already been made.”

“… What is it that you hope for with all of this, Celestia?”

“… A future for our ponies.”

The air becomes still. Luna hangs her gaze on Celestia for a moment longer, until it falls melancholically to the pristine red bedsheets she sits upon. “… I am afraid of what will become of us.”

Celestia looks back to Luna again, now holding a frown. A depressive hang is pulled over her head when she sees Luna squinting at the sheets. In an attempt to comfort her sister, she continues speaking. “Be not afraid, sister. I assure you that ponykind will always be as so. This is… simply a step in our evolution. We will continue to grow, just as we always have. Our founding fathers would be proud of the advancements we’ve achieved and the technologies we’ve created. As we continue to grow, you and I will persist in keeping our ponies happy and within a stable economy. This will never change.”

Luna lifts her eyes to sister but for a second, before letting them fall again. “I see that your trust in Horis is absolute. I hope you understand that I am not so firm.”

“I know, Luna. You have every right to be concerned. I only ask that you keep an open mind. Horis has extended his courtesies already. He wishes to be a valuable part of society once again. I am certain you’ve heard that I am preparing festivities for him.”

“Yes, a party in the Royal Ballroom…”

“Indeed. You are not required to attend… but… I will reserve a seat at my side for you. Even if you do not show.”

Squinting at the bedsheets, Luna follows up with nothing further and remains silent.

The tense muteness radiating off her sister causes Celestia to sets down her writing utensils. She places the quill into the inkwell before turning around. Coming off the chair, she walks to the bed and lounges next to Luna. She opens her wing and takes her in, holding her closely.

With closed eyes they rest together for what seems like only seconds. Minutes pass, until Celestia finally coos, “Please rest now, Luna.” She retracts her wing from around her sister. “My throne calls me.”

Luna halfheartedly rises from the bed and steps down. She proceeds to the door of the room, stuffing down the storm building in her heart. She exits, leaving Celestia to prepare for her shift.

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~ The Appaloosan Mountains, the Hallowed Demesne ~<
April 12th, Wednesday, 11:57

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Thunder rumbles over the southern mountains. The downpour has yet to let up.

The front doors to the Hallowed Demesne Mansion are opened by the steel-clad watchponies outside. A mare is revealed in the doorframe, one with every feature shaded over by a heavy hooded cloak, dark green and black in coloration. Nothing but her dark purple muzzle pokes out of the front of the hood. She dons hefty saddlebags with an extra pouch on each side, looking to all be filled to the brim.

She marches out of the mansion and through the metal gates that surround the property, where a carriage awaits her with two pegasus stallions to pilot it. These stallions also wear garbs similar to the mare, albeit more taught on their bodies meant for flying.

She promptly boards through the side door, the carriage rocking left and right under her weight when she mounts and sits. Boarded and ready, the stallions begin to sprint along the firm dirt until they take to the skies. The lengthy trail from the south begins, bound for Canterlot.

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~ Equestria, the Skies Above ~<
April 12th, Wednesday, 11:57

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Over the course of his flight, Crimson had ascended above and emerged from the chillingly cold clouds in intervals. He gauges his surroundings and hides himself in this fixed pattern until he finds the grassy plains of midland Equestria turn to woodlands, and eventually the forest of the Everfree.

He emerges from the rumbling skies again to look down upon miles and miles of dense greenery, if one can call it all green. Being directly above the forest with the grey world light of the storm details hints of jaded blues and some purples. The Everfree looks as surreal and intimidating as ever.

He catches the river which was nearby the cabin and uses it to orient himself. He angles downwards like a missile with his ethereal wings stiffened inwards, quickly plummeting towards the guiding body of water. Before hitting the ground, he flaps his wings once against his descent with a wind-breaking boom, stopping him instantly. The whiplash does nothing to his body, as if it was designed to take it in stride.

Stopping a few meters away from the floor of the forest, he falls the rest of the distance through tree leaves and lands peacefully. The canopy of forestry above him blocks out the rain fairly well, leaving him to begin drying off.

He sighs lightly, letting his Arch features twinkle away into nothing. He glances around, looking over his shoulder a few times to analyze his surroundings. He then focuses on the river itself, seeing the direction the water flows. He recalls it flowing south, and further north is where the cabin should be – not far from the protruding earth that has the temple door.

He begins to crunch grass and dirt under his feet until he locates the cabin.

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His resting expression lightens up when he catches a form outside of nature – something made of pressure treated wood in the form of rectangles and triangles. He is content to see he is on the correct side of the river, so he picks up the pace to jog over to the cabin in an attempt to avoid getting soaked again.

He ascends the small staircase at the front to reach the door. Standing before it, he halts for a moment to listen. He hears nothing from where he stands. He then puts his ear to the door. Still nothing. With some confidence, he takes the knob of the door and opens it.

He remains at the frame before entering, letting his eyes scan the insides. He cannot recall how the cabin was set before he and Dahlia left it vacant, but he does not suppose anything is out of the ordinary. He steps in and closes the door behind him.

Not spotting her in the living room or the kitchen, he begins searching for her in the few rooms in the hallway. The bedroom is empty, save for the dust bunnies that have made it theirs. The same goes for the bathroom and the storage room. He confirms the house is completely void of life.

Taking in a deep breath from his nose, he closes the door to the storage and returns to the living room. Finding that Dahlia is not here is discouraging, but he mentally notes that the cabin was largely undisturbed, if not completely untouched, during their absence. She may have not returned yet, so the possibility of her doing so is still plausible.

With some time to kill, he finds the stool he once sat on before and hunkers down. He crosses his arms on the island table and rests his head on them, letting his eyes come closed. He reaches into his own infinity – he can feel his soul stepping out of his body. The collar leaves him be, just as he had hoped. With nothing to stop him from setting foot into his Rift, his body loses consciousness as his soul shoots up into the far beyond.

…

His eyes break open. The weight of life’s mortal coils cease to weigh down on him.

While his eyes stare blankly forward into the forever expanding grey grassy hills, he remembers why he spent almost every night here instead of sleeping. Or failing to sleep. In this monochrome scape in between real and not, the tribulations which burden his body no longer exist. His spirit feels slightly more at ease.

He rises from sitting on the grass and cranes his head to the left, seeing that his recreated home still stands. While it is nice to see it again, it is not what he cares for. He walks towards it, comes up the stairs with quiet clacking of his boots upon the wooden porch, and opens the door.

It is quiet. There is no presence in the living room or kitchen. He does not feel life or warmth emanating from anywhere, like he normally would when she was close by. Even though he knows she is likely not here, he still takes it upon himself to check every room. And of course, he finds no one. The house is empty. Even the naturally occurring placidity the Rift creates is not enough to stave off his welling depression.

He stands alone in the middle of the living room, staring down at his boots. He lets his eyes close, and with a melancholic sigh, everything around begins to melt away…

… and his eyes come open again. He lifts his head from his crossed arms and stares idly forward at the sink of the cabin. He rests his elbows on the island table, placing his mouth against his clasped hands.

He hopes he does not have the same luck twice. He waits. He hopes she shows.

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~ Canterlot Castle, Snowfall’s Quarter’s ~<
Earlier
April 12th, Wednesday, 6:04

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Morning arrives too soon. The rising sun punches through Snowfall’s windows without restraint. Her eyelids paint her vision red, the exact emotion she feels in this moment.

Her eyes creek open slowly and somewhat unsteadily, now staring at the smooth grey ceiling above her. She continues to lie there for a few minutes, mixed between musing recent events and wanting to go back to sleep.

Knock, knock, knock…

So much for either. She forces herself to swiftly rise and reach for the drawer of her nightstand, obtaining a comb to quickly get her blonde mane settled and look somewhat presentable. She then moves to answer the door.

On the other side, Polly the receptionist stands with something suspended in her magic. She gives a courteous bow of her head and follows it with, “Good morning, captain Winter.”

“Morning, miss Posie.”

“I’m sorry to bother you so early,” she apologies as she presents what she holds in her ethereal grasp. A letter embroidered with gold trimmings and a snow white ribbon to tie it together.

Snowfall’s left brow raises, knowing exactly where this letter comes from before she even opens it. She reaches to accept the letter with her wing. “Was there anything else sent?”

“Nothing else for the moment.”

She nods in appreciation. “Thank you, miss Posie.”

“Of course, captain.”

Snowfall retreats and closes the door as Polly returns downstairs to her desk. The snowy pegasus trots to her desk, feeling a pressure building in her head. She sits down with a heavy exhale, preparing herself for whatever politics lie within the scroll. She unravels the string with her teeth and lets the parchment splay itself out on her desk. Using her hooves to keep it unraveled, she reads…

“To the Captain of the Royal Guard, Snowfall Winter

This is to inform you that your presence is requested immediately upon receipt of this letter. Report to the Roundtable with due haste.

From yours truly,

The Consortium Board”

“Straight to the point,” she whispers through a sigh. With a lack of motivation, she rises from her chair and marches to the sink and mirror on the adjacent corner of the room to her bed. She takes up her morning routine quickly, then moving to one of the pony mannequins which wears her dress blues. She abducts her clothes from it and fits them onto herself, making herself presentable before giving her presence to her superiors.

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Not ten minutes later, Snowfall has made her way through the Castle and into the offices found on the highest floor. She passes by many decorated doors and high-esteem ponies wearing clothing just as formal as hers. The ponies not working behind desks or behind closed doors are socializing and meandering, some which spot her and give her respected greetings. She gives them quick acknowledgements in return.

She makes it to the farthest door of the offices, or more appropriately, double doors. They are already opened and held this way by their stoppers. She can see into the grand room inside which houses an immense oval-shaped table where many ponies already sit. She enters the room, feeling the ambient temperature raise significantly and the scents of many different expensive colognes and perfumes mix.

She sees that over twenty of Canterlot’s Consortium board members are already here, with only three seats still vacant. Many ponies of older age, with varying decorations on their suits and dresses that overtly detail their accomplishments, sit at the table.

The present members appear to include First Lieutenant Banter and Princess Celestia, who are found on the farthest left end of the table. Celestia sits on the end chair, while Banter sits off to her right. He is wearing dress blues of his own, looking very professional and spiffy.

The vacant seat to the princess’ left is where Snowfall decides to take her seat. She sets her rump down on the cushioned spinning chair, placing both hooves close at her chest atop the massive oak table. She first glances to Banter who sits across, and they share a firm nod. She then glances to Celestia, who in turn looks at her. They share a small smile but say nothing to each other. The rest of the board members whisper and mingle amongst each other.

A few minutes pass by with nothing happening, leaving the contemplative Celestia and Snowfall to their own thoughts. With a stern front, Banter silently glances around at the other board members.

It is not until a presence makes himself known, a certain stallion of light green, yellow, and grey coloration with a white lab coat. His presence draws everyone’s attention, his less than extravagant choice of clothes makes him stick out sorely. Snowfall especially glares at this stallion, knowing in the back of her mind who he truly works for.

He uses his lime green magic to shut the two doors behind him. Not two seconds into trotting in cockily, he calls aloud, “Good morning, everypony! Apologies for being tardy, there were some important matters to deal with prior. Let us get right into this!”

Camaraderie between the Consortium members ceases. Doctor Ivy finds an empty seat right in the middle, allowing him to be heard and visible to ponies all across the grand table.

“So!” he begins with a smile. “I am grateful to you all for attending this meeting on such short notice, but it’s for a reason I feel we all agree is urgent. I should not need to say this, but what we will be speaking of today does not leave this room. Confidentiality and the likes, yes? This information will remain internal for the mean time, and we will make sure it spreads appropriately when called for. I will be speaking on concepts some of you may not be familiar with.” He seems to give a hint to Snowfall and Banter, giving them both a raised brow glance. “Feel free to ask questions.” He then looks to everyone else, scanning them equally. “To a different end, there is no doubt in my mind that you all have heard of our recent situation already, but allow me to recant regardless.”

His smile fades into a seriousness. His lime colored eyes bounce between every single member sitting across the table, but leaves his eyes lingering on Celestia for much longer than anyone else. “Three days ago, we had an intrusion at Canterlot Castle. A human had somehow snuck past our nightguard and our passive defenses, infiltrating the Head Researcher’s room. The human’s intentions are unknown, but the resulting trespassing ended with the death of one of our Scribes, Magnifying Glass. It was later revealed that this human was actually using an ingeniously simple disguise – a magical hair dye used by industry professionals. This small tweak had somehow concealed his identity. As with tradition to any Dungeon inmate, he was placed with a strong dispel to stop any potential magic use. The dye was eliminated due to the dispel. It turns out that this human terrorist was none of than Crimson, or as many of you know him as, the angel.”

Gasps are heard among the chair members, with grimaces coming from Snowfall and Celestia.

“The angel?” a mare sitting across from Ivy inquires with atheism.

“Indeed,” he confirms with a nod. “Although we do not know why or how he was able to come as far as he did, you can all rest assured that his punishment was appropriate. He was shipped to the Hallowed Demesne to be executed, and by now, he should be dead. For those who may not know, that is the home and stronghold of our benefactors – the Black Horseshoes.”

No one but Banter seems surprised at this revelation. Snowfall feels a pang in her chest, but keeps her face stagnant and uninviting.

"This is unacceptable,” a stallion next to the mare who spoke up earlier declares. “How could this be allowed to happen? The Wards installed by the Horseshoes must be defective if a human was able to simply walk past them.”

“Who says they malfunctioned?” Another board member speaks up, a different stallion who is on the younger side. “This is the angel we’re talking about here. What if he is capable of illusionary magic?”

Eyes are now directed to Snowfall and Banter, questioning and squinting.

“Captain, First Lieutenant,” Doctor Ivy begins, “would either of you care to give your input on this matter? You two of all ponies worked alongside him.”

The two of the Elite share a glance, a silent acknowledgment between them chalks Snowfall up to speak for them. “We did,” she confirms. “His ‘magic’ was nothing like we ponies have, so it’s difficult to describe what he’s capable of. But I can confirm that he isn’t able to use invisibility or cloaking spells like some of the high mages can. His magic was mostly passive, giving him a defensive and offensive edge. Nothing illusionary.”

“Similar to an earth stallion, then?” a mare from the bunch speaks up.

“Something to that effect. He can conjure weapons, but that was the superlative of his abilities. There were many potentials for him to use illusionary magic during our missions, but he never did. We can conclude he is unable to.”

“And what if he could, but decided against revealing it?” Another stallion plugs in his input.

“You’ve read the after action reports, mister York. Do you think he’d let himself nearly get killed if he could use illusionary magic?”

The room goes silent for a moment, taking in the facts presented. It is not until a mare on the other end of the table voices her thoughts. “I do not understand why the angel would do this. He was a great asset to Canterlot.” This causes critical eyes from Ivy to be directed her way, which brings immediate fear into her heart. “But!” She starts again. “He cannot be forgiven for this! Back to what Holland said – is there any proof the wards malfunctioned? Security Detail says they are still fully operational and have had no interruptions even to this very morning.”

“This is what concerns me the most,” Ivy speaks up, letting his biting glare ease up. “And the fact that there is no trail left behind draws great concern. We have yet to find whether he was working alone or with others, but our search will be endless. And fear not, as we have the short and long-term solution to our security prowess issue. ‘We’ being your gracious benefactors.”

All eyes look at him with deepening concern.

Ivy lets his eyes skim across everyone again, if only to add effect. “What if I told you all that our Brains have found a way to increase overall effectiveness of our troops by five-hundred and eighty three percent.” Brows furrow. Eyes squint. “… Per unit.” Eyes break open. Mouths fall. “You heard me. Each individual troop will be almost six times stronger, faster, intelligent, and perceptive. Each troop will be invaluable - a capable defender worthy of protecting us. The Castle. Canterlot.” He lowers his chin, smiling widely. “Equestria, even. Nothing would slip past them. Not even the breath of a fly.”

Unsullied attention is maintained on the doctor as he pauses for dramatic effect yet again.

“The method to this incredible efficiency is through magical empowerment.” Confusion becomes obvious in everyone around. “Indeed, I’ll say it once more. Magical. Empowerment. The source formula of this magic was extracted directly from the Artifacts of Aramani, those which we all know were sought for and turned into the Family. The essence of these majestic artifacts have been reverse engineered, tempered, and developed into a serum that is introduced to the body via injection. I will be transparent with you all and say that this was developed in very short notice. Overnight, as a matter of fact. But the testing was rigorous, a full laboratory of the brightest minds in Equestria squeezed the scientific method for all that it was worth. It still may need various tweaks to truly perfect, but our Brains, with the help of a certain… figure of importance, are certain it is ready for its initial phase-in. A mark one, per say, yet still stable enough for live production. The sooner we can put this power where it truly matters, the safer Canterlot will be. And I cannot think of a better first volunteer than the very pony who is responsible for the completion of its set.” He lets his gaze drift slyly to Snowfall, and everyone follows it with high scrutiny.

Snowfall resists the urge to let her surprise paint her face, still managing to keep a lackadaisical look.

“As you all know,” Ivy continues, “the Captain of the Royal Guard is also the Commander of the Elite Squadron. A highly proficient team of only Canterlot’s best, in which First Lieutenant is also apart of.” He looks now to Banter, and so does everyone else. The pegasus stallion returns the stare back at all eyes with hesitance. He is relieved from the weight when Ivy looks again to Snowfall. “Through her and her team’s efforts, the relics not already in the possession of the Family were obtained and relinquished. It is through the Elite that we have this incredible opportunity, and I would like to take a moment to give them a round of applause.”

The sinister looks from all ponies around turn to smiles and confidence. Everyone claps their hooves together for the two dressed in fine blues. Banter accepts the ovation with a small smirk. Snowfall remains expressionless, silently thankful that the doctor did not bring up anything potentially damning.

“Captain Winter,” Ivy calls to her directly. “Would you accept this high honor of being the first to achieve magical perfection? Be the usher of a new era of greatness? To strengthen your mind, body, and will for the betterment of Equestria and its ponies?”

Snowfall stares back at him, not speaking up immediately. Instead, visions of a horrible massacre fly through her mind. A stallion of dark and menacing green, one so powerful that he ended dozens of lives without a second glance. All of that destruction, responsible due to the same magic that is now being offered to her. None of the other board members know this. Banter does not know this. She thinks that even Celestia might not know this. Everything she witnessed through the throw-projector plays in her mind. She feels her body heat escaping, causing her to nearly shiver.

“Captain Winter?” Ivy calls for her again.

Only then does she realize that she has been silent for an uncomfortable length of time. She snaps herself out of her trance – lines of stress visibly present themselves under her eyes. She steels her resolve before saying something that she might terribly regret. “… Apologies, doctor. I will not volunteer.”

Some gasps and wide eyes are shot her way. Even Banter and Celestia are quite shocked at the denial. Despite this, Ivy keeps a smile on his front.

“I understand there may be some hesitation,” Ivy soothes, “but cast away your doubts. You have only the brightest minds working on this project, and even at this stage, it is completely stable and suitable for consumption. We made sure of it. As a matter of fact, we project that this magical empowerment method will extend the average lifespan of all ponies by twenty-three years. Likely more. By the end of the financial quarter, the serum is projected to be perfected – and you will be administered this perfected serum as well.”

“I understand, doctor. I still want to decline.”

Only now does his smile wane. “Do you not trust in what I say, captain?”

“This is not a matter of trust. I believe you when you say this serum is stable. But I am not comfortable with the idea of an altering magic being introduced into my body.”

“Captain Winter,” Ivy calls very seriously, bringing tension to everyone around. “I would like to emphasize again that I understand your concerns. But it is very important that you of all ponies accept this honor. You are a highly prestigious figure in the Consortium’s army. I would go as far as to say the most important. The General is loved and respected by all, but his old age makes him unsuitable for the initial roll-out. This is why we ask you now. With a pony such as yourself at the head of this marvelous frontier, morale for all troops will be raised. They will see you, a pinnacle of leadership and health, and be more accepting of the serum as well. I know this is a lot to take in a once, but you will not only receive this honor, but will also be compensated appropriately by the Family.”

“Captain!” Banter calls, inviting the attention of Snowfall quickly. They lock eyes, where Banter’s looks bright and hopeful against Snowfall’s bland, gloomy stare. “Why are you turning this down? You’re one of the most badass—erh,” he stops himself, looking around at the others at the table. They do not seem offput by his language, so he clears his throat and continues. “— The most combat-ready ponies I’ve seen in my life. Your skills are pretty much unmatched! Now times that by five! You’ll be the top of the top!”

“Your enthusiasm is appreciated, First Lieutenant,” Ivy comments with a smile.

“Who wouldn’t be enthusiastic about this? Heck! Captain! With this stuff, you’d be able to beat Crimson no sweat! Remember that spar?”

“You only bring it up every other day, First Lieutenant,” Snowfall jabs.

Some chuckles and snickers come from around the table. Banter does not seem to mind the quip as he continues. “Well yeah! We can’t let some foreign threat come in and step all over us! Like he did!”

“What are you referring to, First Lieutenant?” Ivy inquires with interest.

“Huh?” Banter raises his brows at him.

“Mind filling me in on this ‘spar?’”

“Ah, yeah. Sure thing, doc. A few months ago, way before this whole mess, that damn human showed up to Canterlot with the Head Researcher.”

“The Head Researcher, you say?”

“Yeah, he was her pet or servant or something like that before he started working for the Guard.”

Ivy and Celestia briefly share a glance, with the princess seeming slightly more sheepish. “… Interesting. Please, continue.”

“Uuh… right. So that human thought he was better than us. To settle things inside our legal reach, we had a spar in the field. You might have guessed it, but he beat both me and Snowfall by a longshot. Back to back. Real freaking embarrassing. You’d better believe we got some serious shi—erh, flak. We got some flak from the troops after that. Big time.”

Ivy smirks snidely, looking to Snowfall again. “Better reason than any to accept the serum. Wouldn’t you agree, captain? Not only will you pioneer this quintessential step for ponykind, but you’d also prevent another grand embarrassment in front of your battalion.”

“I know this may not be the most appropriate time to mention this,” a regal voice begins, garnering everyone’s attention instantly. All eyes go to Celestia, who coos to Snowfall. “But even Crimson has first-hoof experience with the greatness of Doctor Ivy’s medical staff. If you are still skeptical on the legitimacy of the serum, then I want you to know, Snowfall, that the same medical professionals who saved Crimson after the catastrophe at Yakyakistan are the same ponies who created the serum.”

“Ah, yes,” Ivy recalls. “Two doctors were relocated from Detrot to assist with his surgeries. His odds of surviving his wounds without their operating tools and methods were in the negatives. Only through their tedious care was that waste of life able to return to the living world and cause turmoil.”

“What I am trying to say, captain,” Celestia starts again, trying to hide the hurt she feels from Ivy’s words, “is that the Horseshoes are responsible for many miracles. That was one of them. Their understanding of magic and medicine knows no rival. I firmly believe that this project is another miracle waiting to happen. I cannot stress enough that you will be in good hooves should you accept this honor.”

Silence overtakes the room. Undivided attention pins Snowfall as she contemplates. The pressure in her head worsens. The formation of a headache is bound. She blinks once, tightening her eyes harshly.

“Well, captain?” Ivy pushes. “What say you now? Would you still decline?”

She keeps her eyes tightly closed, trying to banish some of the pressure. She takes in a deep breath… and lets it out calmly, opening her eyes at the same time. She directs a lazy stare to the doctor. “… I decline.”

The room dives into silence. A dense quietness so thick it could be cut with a knife engulfs them. Frowns are found on many faces, but none deeper than that of Ivy’s. The doctor closes his eyes briefly, almost repeating the actions Snowfall did. He exhales, his eyes open again. They stare directly at Celestia. “Princess,” he starts without a hint of mercy. “Revoke her of her title.”

“What?” Snowfall questions in shock.

“Yes, doctor,” Celestia acknowledges. She receives dilated eyes from Snowfall.

“First Lieutenant,” Ivy calls for the stallion who has his mouth agape. Banter looks over to him with fear. “You’ve demonstrated far more loyalty and willingness to cooperate than she has. Would you, then, care to take her place? If you accept, effective immediately, you will be the new Captain of the Royal Guard, along with the slew of benefits and duties the position entitles. Snowfall will enter… retirement. Am I correct, princess?”

Celestia nods once. “Indeed. Her relief papers will be signed and issued by noon. Snowfall,” she looks again to the mare who now shows her emotions of mortification very apparently. “You will be compensated for your services, and your grandfathered retirement plan will stay the same.”

“Pr-Princess, I—”

“You have only more chance to accept,” Ivy interrupts Snowfall. “Yes. Or no.”

Snowfall gives her unbelieving glare to him, seeing absolutely no signs of remorse behind his unenthused lime-colored eyes.

“I…” Attention breaks away from Snowfall when Banter begins something meekly. Once he sees that he has everyone’s attention, he assembles his confidence to speak up. “I accept. I’ll take the serum in Snowfall’s place.”

Everyone is still shocked. The only one who changes expression is Ivy, who takes on a satisfied smile. “… Excellent. Thank you again for your loyalty, Banter. It will not go unrewarded.” He faces Celestia grimly. “Get Snowfall’s release papers ready.”

“Right away,” she replies quickly.

Too stumped to even speak, Snowfall directs her stare to Banter. Once he feels her eyes upon him, the stallion’s prideful smile drops. He dares not look back at her. He keeps staring at Ivy, who continues to speak.

Ivy’s words sound like incoherent ramblings to Snowfall. She registers nothing that is said as she gazes regretfully at Banter.

‎

‎

~ The Everfree Forest, Dahlia’s Cabin ~<
April 12th, Wednesday, 15:44

‎

The monotony has set in. He knows he should break it, though he feels he could remain here for hours more without moving an inch.

He cannot keep track of time now, but the storm has raged on and no one has arrived to the cabin. He is still alone, sitting with his chin rest on his knuckles. He figures enough time has passed and he should move on. He will have to come back at a later date and continue searching other locations in the mean time.

For now, his sights are set on getting groceries. He hopes it is as painless a process as he made Moonlight believe. He could not tell what the locals’ reaction to his presence would be, especially since he is no longer playing the fool. He sets his mind straight in preparation for what is to come. Rising from the stool, he treks to the door and exits the cabin, returning to the rain outside.

The world around him feels eerie. The precipitation is now accompanied by a fairly dense fog which obscures vision past a few meters. He keeps his orientation west.

Once in the brush, the twisting blue-green trees shield him from the storm. He vaguely remembers the path he and Dahlia took to get to Dodge, and even if it is not followed perfectly, he ensures to keep the same general direction. It is not long before the vegetation loses density and the far off forms of the town can be seen amidst the mist and fog.

He stops behind a tall bush, using it as cover to peek at the town. As expected from this much rain, none of the townsfolk can be seen roaming about. Hesitation prevents him from walking forward for a moment, but he rids himself of it with a deep inhale.

Leaping over the bush, he kicks into a jog to arrive sooner. The jingle of the coin purses argue against the water that pelts the ground. He hops over the tracks and enters the town’s borders.

At this distance, details become clearer. The buildings shift from being silhouettes to their actual forms. Only now does he see that there are in fact ponies outside – quite a few of them. Maybe six or seven. They are standing outside of the grocery shop. He slows his jog to a walk, analyzing these figures he cannot fully make out. They may have not noticed him yet, but he could not be sure.

Closer and closer, he notices that these ponies seem to be dressed roughly the same - raggedy in appearance. Nothing uniform, but very similar. They are made out to be stallions, every one of them. Their manes are wet and hang long beyond their chins and necks. They also have…

“… Weapons,” Crimson murmurs to himself, halting completely. Thinking that they have yet to notice him, he comes down to a low crouch and remains still. His eyes shift quickly between them – it looks like they are guarding the building. He begins to assume these fellows are not locals, nor are they looking to shop for goods.

His eyes shift downwards to the mud when a discoloration in it catches his attention. His forehead wrinkles at seeing what it is – traces of weakly spreading red liquid which comes from a trail up ahead. He follows the trail up, seeing that the blood is coming from a different shop not too far away.

SLISH!

Crimson hops quickly onto his feet and jumps backwards when a steel bolt nearly impales his left foot. He glares briefly at the rod stuck in the mud, then up to the ones who fired it. The hazy forms of these stallions are looking his way, one scolding another for missing the shot. Now every one of them is aiming something at him.

“Hrrrh!” He grumbles aloud as he raises his left arm. His golden shield manifests in front of him, just in time for six projectiles to ‘clack’ off of it. Each bolt bounces and lands on the mud in front of him.

He figured it would not have been a clean venture getting groceries, but he certainly did not expect this. Already impatient with the situation, he grits his teeth and balls his right hand into a fist. He begins sprinting at them with his shield raised.

He hears them screaming profanities at each other. They enter a panic and begin to scramble. The ones who can fly do so. The ones stuck to the ground begin to evacuate the store.

As they try to march out, Crimson reaches them. He sprints into the porch rails and breaks them without care. He swipes his shield from right to left, simultaneously bashing three stallions trying to march out back into the store, having them collide with their comrades already inside. All of them grunt and shout, breaking stands of produce, causing food and goods to scatter all around.

The aggressors move to recover, but the three who took the brunt of the shield-swipe are completely motionless.

Crimson bolts into the store after them, ignoring those who flew or fled outside for the mean time. His right fist comes open - the inside of the dimly lit shop shines with his golden power. He analyzes the scene before him in the split second that he brings his sword into reality.

The ponies attacking the town look too similar to the stallions he encountered some time ago: Wildmanes. Judging by the blood on their coats and ragged clothes, they have been busy.

There are other ponies around as well, much less scraggly and menacing. They are the unfortunate townsfolk who decided to take a shopping trip before the attack. They are all mortified, including a certain fat stallion that is cowering in a corner near the destroyed and emptied register. The store owner gives Crimson a very peculiar glare of horror, one that illustrates a spark of remembrance.

The sword is formed. Crimson grips it and swiftly brings it down for a wide swipe to gash and bash two Wildmanes who were almost done standing up. They are slammed back down onto the ground with gaping wounds, too discombobulated to even cry or scream.

Crimson directs his golden gaze to the other Wildmanes, who are ogling at him in fear as they attempt to scamper backwards and load their crossbows. Some of the Wildmanes who do not carry a crossbow are too intimidated to approach the angel with their blades.

The angel’s dance commences, leaping between the scattered Wildmanes around the shop to butcher them in a flurry of broad, graceful strokes. Blood, screams, and broken wood scatter in the produce store.

Outside, one earth and four pegasus Wildmanes with bags of stolen goods thrown over their shoulders hold their positions in the muddy streets. They listen to the chaos happening inside the store. They glance at each other, shake their heads, and decide to escape with their lives. The five flee with what they have pillaged. The earth stallion cries frantically at his flying comrades, begging them not to leave him behind.

Inside the store, a deathly quietness now invades. Corpses of the Wildmanes lie scattered amongst the destroyed isles and scattered food items.

Weapon and shield dispersed, Crimson stands with his hands balled into fists. His radiant eyes glare down at those he killed with spite. The bystanders who were not killed by the Wildmanes, with backs against the walls and corners, in turn watch him in abject terror.

The angel removes his angered gaze from the bodies and instead bounces it between the bystanders. They all look at him like some sort of monster.

Proceeding to ignore them, he turns about-face and steps out of the store briefly. He looks up the grey skies, seeing the remaining Wildmanes have escaped and are fading into the fog. He scowls at them for a second before returning to the store.

He sees a rack of flattened brown bags to the right of the entrance. He takes it upon himself to grab four of them. He begins to step around the store, slowly and methodically, picking up any fruits, veggies, grains, and other produce that was not destroyed off the ground. The eyes of the surviving townsfolk follow him as he helps himself. Even the fat store owner says nothing to his taking.

Once he has four mostly-filled bags of produce, he assumes this is more than enough for a week. He walks to the partially destroyed, blood-covered counter that still holds the broken and empty register. He sets his bags down on a part of the countertop that is not stained with blood. He then takes out the two coin purses from the pockets of the robe around his waist and sets them down next to the register.

He throws a brief glance to the store owner. The rotund stallion only glares back at him with a trembling lower lip.

Crimson takes his four bags of groceries closely against his chest again. He uses his left forearm to hold them and his right hand to clamp them all at the top so nothing falls out. He takes his silent leave. As he walks out of the store, the bystanders slowly rise to their hooves and try to regain their composure.

Standing on the porch of store, Crimson takes one more glance around the fogged town of Dodge. It looks and feels nothing like he remembers it. He blames it on the broken windows and wood of the shops around, the rain and blood on the dirt roads, and the bodies strewn about – Wildmane and innocent alike. Over a dozen corpses litter the streets, making him realize he arrived on the aftermath of the festivities.

He spots two peculiar corpses lying at the front of a shop where he obtained his first set of shitty clothes. Both bodies are slumped over with backs against the front of the shop, both tacked with several bolts. Something on their clothes twinkles among the gloom, placed upon their vests. Star-shaped badges. The sheriff and the deputy.

Crimson looks up at the sky. His wings and halo manifest in a golden conflagration across his body. When they do, sharp inhalations come from the inside of the shop. He looks back one last time, seeing that the surviving ponies are now standing and watching him from inside.

He looks forward again, affirms his hold on his groceries, crouches down, and darts into the air with a powerful flap of his wings.

He soars high into the sky, punching the clouds and disappearing behind them. Many townsfolk remain watching the spot in the cloud he punctured through for quite some time.

‎

‎

‎

~ Canterlot Castle, Hidden Horseshoe Enclosure ~<
Earlier
April 12th, Wednesday, 13:57

‎ ‎

Dahlia’s inner thoughts race with everything she absorbed from her attendance of the Stadium’s rally. She theorizes and wonders, all while organizing her saddlebags.

As she gets her and Crimson’s items together in her bags, she notices that the thick manila folders which contain the fruits of her and his labor. She knows he would be pissed if he heard her say this, but she firmly believes these stupid papers were not worth their hardship, and inevitably, their separation.

She figures she might make herself useful and skim through now, then read through them thoroughly during her train ride. She hopes to take in their knowledge before she finds Crimson so she may divulge what their work amounted to once she finds him…

… if she ever does.

Now that the warmth and compassion that Strix provided is gone, the depression is setting in fast. She has no time to waste. She retrieves the folders and sets them out on the bed, picking off the group of stapled papers and giving them a disgusted glance. This same disgust soon churns into confusion. Then, frustration.

“What the fuck…?” she utters quietly to herself. “… What is this shit?”

She scans the words, or whatever these symbols are. It looks totally alien. It looks not like Ponish, Gryphic, or any other written language she knows. This text is all completely foreign to her.

A metaphorical steel ball sticks itself in her throat. Seeing this, these incomprehensible scribbles, fills her body with so much rage and sadness she could cry to the heavens right now. All of their work amounted to gibberish she does not understand, and Crimson will never know the reason for why he got himself incarcerated. The mystery he is trying so desperately to solve will remain just that. A mystery.

She cannot bear being in this forsaken bunker any longer, lest she succumbs to the urge to hurt herself, or even worse, find and pester Strix for further comfort. She slides the papers back into the folders and packs them into her bags reluctantly, wondering if it is even still worth it.

She then proceeds to pack Crimson’s unwillingly abandoned clothing. Though a little difficult, she manages to stuff his shirt and pants into her bags. Without any more space to stash anything else, she decides to wear his duster. She ravels and folds it so it does not hang off her body and drag on the ground. She uses his belt to sling his boots around her back, hold them tight against her body and keep the duster from unravelling. Feeling slightly encumbered, she takes a moment to examine herself. She feels ridiculous wearing such an oversized garb, but… it makes her heart race wearing his clothes. She lines her lips and quickly realizes she is fawning too much over him… but she cannot stop herself. The feelings filling her mind and spirit are so automatic that she is completely unable to control them, even if she wanted to.

She could not admit it to anyone, especially not him, but she actually does not want to control these emotions. These same sentiments are what got her out of bed, and they will carry her while she looks for him to the ends of Equestria. Maybe soon they will fade and she will give up, but that is something for her to contemplate later.

She moves to flip on her saddlebags. Ensuring the documents acquired from Kleid are in order, and there is at least some food for her to eat while traveling, she gets said bags over her lower back. The bags become neighbors with Crimson’s boots. She extends her wings, ensuring they have enough room to flap comfortably. The base of her wings push against the duster than runs across her back, but does not disrupt her motion. She deems it good enough.

With nothing else stopping her, she moves to exfiltrate and sneak away from the bunker for the second time today. Flying up to the slab of stone which blocks the room off, she heaves and puffs a breath to lift it off and exit.

To her fortune, the vast majority of Canterlot’s citizens are still parlaying around the Stadium. This leaves the Gardens desolate from the dozens which usually populate it.

Although a little clunky due to the items and weight she now bares, she hops out and begins her flightpath towards the Canterlot tram station.

‎

~~<

‎

Within the hour, Dalhia acquired a complimentary ‘event ticket’ for the first departing train headed south. The train had taken its leave with a cart full of ponies, including her.

She is grateful that no one is sitting next to her, as the other ponies in the cart are keeping to their own parties. Head rested on the window, she watches the foggy, barely visible passing scenes of Equestria through the window of the train cart. The further south she travels, the harder the rain showers have ramped up.

The anxious pegasus finds herself mildly comforted by the white noise of the weather hitting the train itself. The trip from Canterlot to Dodge has taken several hours, and her patience is forced. Still, with every passing minute, she is closer to her destination.

The train rumbles. Her body gently rocks. If it was not for the gnawing pit in her stomach, she would be finding this ride very peaceful.

Enough idle watching of Equestria’s landscapes puts her near her destination. Now, as the train approaches the upcoming station, she lifts her head from the window and sits up straight. The screeching wheels upon the track signals their stop. An attendant mare comes into their cart, posting herself at the door. Once fully halted, she gives some polite parting words and opens the door for anyone who is looking to leave. The only pony who does is Dahlia.

The tan pegasus comes off her seat and moves to exit, giving a quick nod to the attendant who smiles in return. Once she steps out, the attendant calls one last time for exits. Despite a cart full of posh, well-dressed ponies, but none else take up her offer. She then closes the door behind Dahlia.

Feeling the chill of the afternoon air, she silently appreciates the dark duster for keeping her body warm. She waits a moment before moving off of the station platform. She watches the train depart, and once it does, she moves for the stairs.

Her hooves squish mud. She did not anticipate rain, especially since Canterlot was clear skies. She kicks into a brisk trot, taking a quick glance to her right towards Dodge. She then halts.

She squints her eyes, seeing practically the entire town surrounding the grocery store and nowhere else. She also takes a moment to digest what she is seeing – a mound of something in the middle of town. She then witnesses two ponies taking another ‘something’ out of the store. She gasps lightly.

“A body?” she whispers under her breath. She continues watching, and the more she does, the further her suspicions are confirmed. She assumes that the town was raided recently, and judging from the size of the body mound, it was more than just messy.

Not wanting to think the worst, nor wanting to be in the rain for much longer, she turns and hops over the train tracks. She ventures into the Everfree, following the trail towards the cabin which she knows well.

In about half an hour does she reach the cabin. She ascends the staircase, cleaning her hooves on the porch and shaking some of the rain off. She opens the door with her wing and trots in, closing the door behind her.

She looks around the still, lifeless cabin. She finds that she cannot quite recall what the status of it was before she and Crimson left the first time, but it looks completely untouched. She explores it, room by room, to find nothing interesting or notable.

Defeated, she returns to the living room, ears fallen to her head. She sighs out some sadness and hunkers down on the largest couch in the living room. She sits in silence for several minutes, letting her mind wander.

One of these wayward thoughts strike an idea, one that gives her some sort of hope. She reaches into her saddlebags, acquiring a pencil and a small square sheet of tan paper.

She comes off the couch and sits on the ground before the coffee table. Paper on the table and pencil in her hoof, she begins to write…

‎

‎

‎

~ Equestria, Moonlight’s Home ~<
April 12th, Wednesday, 16:42

‎

Moonlight’s tongue sticks out slightly from between her teeth as she scrubs vigorously. Her magic handles a rough-bristle brush lathered in bleach and soap, using it to remove the dried blood from the inside of the bathtub. A bit of sweat beads from her forehead. She tirelessly rubs until every centimeter of the tub is crystal clean.

She has already dusted, organized, and cleaned every other room in the house, along with bagging all of the spoiled food from the pantry and fridge. The task of cleaning the fridge and scrubbing it down was tiresome by itself, and the tub is proving just as strenuous. Not that she minds it. In fact, all of this cleaning has completely taken her mind off of anything and everything.

She sighs lightly, levitating the brush into a plastic water bucket next to her. She wipes her forehead and examines her work, feeling quite satisfied with it. She uses her magic again to move the bucket safely into a corner of the bathroom so she can dump it later. In the mean time, she turns to face the bathroom mirror.

She examines herself, turning her face left and right. Something about her does not feel quite right. She pouts her lower lip in thought, wondering what it could be.

Only a few seconds later, she realizes what it is. Her horn glows with her pink essence as it takes ahold of her sharp locks of her hair at the sides of her face. She begins to twirl and tie them. Once finished, she examines herself the same way as before.

She smiles happily at herself. At least, until something batting heavy wind in the backyard scares her. Her coat raises like a startled cat as she throws her attention to the bathroom window which looks outside. She trots closer to it, peeking over trepidly. What she sees makes her heart flutter. The angel had descended and landed in her backyard, now standing up from a crouched positioned before walking towards the sliding door.

The ecstatic unicorn retrieves a towel from the rack next to the shower then trots out of the bathroom, running downstairs to meet him. She catches him opening the sliding door when she arrives at the living room. He stands at the threshold but does not enter yet.

“You’re back!” she calls happily.

“Well before schedule, too,” Crimson replies with a slight smile. He puffs out his chest to emphasize the bags held against them.

Moonlight gasps excitedly. “You did it! You got groceries!”

“Said I would, didn’t I?”

“Yh-You did,” she submits with the flopping of her ears, but still smiling from joy. “Thank you, love.” Crimson nods at her, his smile growing a little wider. He offers the bags to her, which she takes with her magic. They drip only slightly from the rain, though she still handles them quickly so they do not wet the carpet. She then levitates the towel to him. He takes it thankfully and dries himself off before setting foot inside the living room.

As he enters and shuts the door, Moonlight trots to the kitchen to organize everything. She glances at the clock. Four forty-five. Indeed well before his scheduled return time. Something about this wells her with guilt, feeling as if she was a bit too harsh with him and now he is taking his promise to her a bit too seriously. Not that she dislikes this fact as a whole – she wants him around every possibly second, but something inside her still feels some form of blame. She swallows a lump in her throat before speaking up. “Y-You still had a few hours left before you needed to come back.”

The man wraps the towel around his head, leaving just his nose and mouth visible. He walks onto the tile of the kitchen and idles on it, trying to keep his wetness off the carpet. “Yeah. Hope you don’t mind.”

“N-Not at all, I’m happy you’re back early.”

“You got that tone in yer voice. Somethin’ the matter?”

“Um… n… no?” Silence comes from the man, prompting her to stop organizing and look back at him. Even though she cannot see his eyes from under the towel, she feels very oppressed by his hidden gaze. She caves in quickly and looks forward again. “I-I mean… yes. I feel-- … mh, I feel like it’s my fault you came back early.”

“Darlin’, I promised you I’d be back ‘before’ sundown. Not at. Please don’t fret.” She takes in a breath to soak in his words. His encouragement along with organizing the groceries into the fridge and cupboards makes her feel much more at peace. “House looks ‘n smells incredible, by the way. Good thing cleanin’ products got one hell’uva shelf-life. You did an awesome job in a short time.”

“Thank you. It felt nice sprucing everything up again.”

“You got a place to dump those?” he points to the three filled black trash bags lined next to the pantry door.

“I do. The dirt road to Baltimare. The city limits have community disposals.”

“Ah,” he simply emits.

Moonlight smiles and turns to him again, knowing his intention by just the sound of his defeat. “Thank you, love, but I’ll throw them away. I don’t want to risk anything with... you know.”

“Yeah. ‘M sorry I can’t be more useful.”

“N-Nonsense! You brought us groceries! That was very dangerous by itself, but very thoughtful. I’m happy nothing happened to you while you were out. How was Dodge anyway? It’s been some time since I’ve visited.”

The ensuing silence brings no confidence in her. Again, she stops organizing and looks back to him.

Crimson reaches to take the towel off of his head, instead draping it across his neck and shoulders. “… I won’t lie to you ‘n say it was pretty, but I beg that you don’t lose yer composure when I tell you this.”

She shakes her head quickly. “W-Whatever it was, you’re here with me again. And you’re not hurt. That’s all that matters to me.”

He nods and smiles weakly at her supportive attitude. “Well… Dodge was attacked. By Wildmanes.”

“Oh my goodness!”

“Yeah. They did a number on the town. Killed both the sheriff and the deputy, but I think a good chunk of the townsfolk survived. Walked in durin’ the pillagin’ part of the raid.”

“You didn’t hide?”

“Couldn’t. Before I knew what I was up against, they were already shootin’ crossbows my way. Least it wasn’t a gun this time, right?”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad it wasn’t. … Did… did you k-… kill them?”

“The ones I could get my hands on, at least. Maybe a dozen of ‘em total. Was able to take down seven. Rest scrammed.”

She glazes her eyes across his form up and down several times. She notes that there is no sign that he was even in a fight, let alone a killing. “… I’m glad. I’m glad you ended the lives of those terrible ponies. And you took care of yourself.”

His knees almost buckle from surprise. “It-- … Huh.” His simper becomes completely genuine. “… Heh, well, I’m glad that you’re glad.” She nods twice, returning the smile. Seeing that she has organized everything already, he allows his impulse to take over. He steps to her and crouches down, unable to hold himself back from giving her a kiss.

His lips meet hers, and she melds in effortlessly. Learning from their initial experience, she tilts her head opposite of his direction. Their loving contact suctions lightly, sounding it off into the still kitchen. Crimson reaches his hand to her mane, feeling its silky self invade the space between his fingers. Moonlight’s breathing increases in pace a few seconds into their exchange.

"Hah~” the blushy Moonlight moans during an exhale when they come apart. Her eyes open halfway, gazing at him as he stand to his full height.

“Yer gettin’ better quick.”

“A-Am I?” she stutters amidts a forming haze in her mind.

“You’ll be teachin’ me a few things pretty soon.”

She giggles, feeling her insides becoming warm at his complimenting. The two of them make eye contact, a comfortable silence breezes through them as they do. She admires his face. His red hair. The shape of his nose and eyes. Every detail she can soak in past her glasses.

Crimson mirrors her, absorbing every portion of her precious face, how her spectacles gleam and her eyes glitter behind them.

They could not be sure how long they spend simply staring at each other. Their united trance is interrupted only when one of the trash bags behind Crimson tilts and falls on its side, startling the both of them.

Moonlight adjusts her glasses and inhales brokenly. “U-Uhm… I… I should take out the trash. N-Now. Before it gets too dark.”

Crimson nods in agreement, his cheeks warmer than usual. “Again, I wish I could do it for you.”

“It’s okay, love, really.” She trots to the hall and obtains a robe from the same drawer she did for him. She throws it over her head and wiggles her body so it sits comfortably. She dons the hood over her head using her magic and returns to the kitchen. The three bags float into the air when her pink essence takes ahold of them.

“How long’s the walk?”

“It’s about a mile away and a half away. It’s not terribly far.”

“Mm,” Crimson acknowledges. While he wishes it was a shorter walk, the distance is reminiscent of what he would have to walk to fetch water or throw trash back at Earth. He feels he could not complain even if he wanted to. “I’ll miss you while yer gone.” He says this mostly facetiously, but he knows that it holds truth.

Moonlight giggles again. “I’ll miss you too~ I’ll be back in a jiffy, okay?”

“Right. Come back quicker if somethin’ troubles you.”

“I will.” She turns and trots with the bags in tow, heading for the front door. Crimson watches her take off, up until she disappears into the hall. He hears the door come open – the sound of the storm raises in volume, then quiets down again once the door closes.

Left to his lonesome for a while, he ponders several things at once. He thinks where next to look for Dahlia, whether or not he should shower… and whether or not to maybe surprise Moonlight with something nice. He cannot think of something at the moment, but he marks it certain that once he does, he will do all that he can to find or make that thing.

Something he realizes is that they have yet to actually say with words that they are a couple now. This sort of just happened. He senses that this will not feel totally right until the golden words lock it in… yet, he feels he already knows why the subject has been skirted.

He stands in the kitchen doing nothing for far too long. Once he notices this, he shakes his head to snap himself out of his stillness. He supposes he should shower. He has been putting it off for a while now. Along with this decision, the next location he should search for her comes to mind. A place far west found under a dense, heavy smog.

‎

‎

~ The Everfree Forest, Dahlia’s Cabin ~<
April 12th, Wednesday, 17:27

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She nibbles at her feathers, occasionally removing one that is old or damaged. Dahlia has been entertaining herself by pruning her wings, but fears that she might be finished pretty soon. Once they are clipped and cleaned, she will have nothing else to do.

She begins to think what she should do next, both in terms of holding onto her sanity, and where to look for Crimson. She thinks where he could have gone. The mountains where the Doyens reside are in the far south of Equestria, so maybe he has not reached the midland yet. He may still be somewhere south. She ponders where south. There are a few places she could check, but she tries to objectively rule them out since Black Horseshoes are of high density in that region.

He could not be at Salt Lick, she feels. That would be a death sentence. Really, any location in that region would be. She lets out an agitated breath. Maybe he is not south after all. He is certainly not in the midlands, or else she might have seen him or a commotion he caused during the train ride. That, or he is hiding in some cave or a hole in the wall she could never find him in. But she finds that thought ridiculous. He would not shut himself in some place he could not be found, lest they never find each other ever again. She thinks back to what he said, the words she keeps close to heart.

“Nothin’ would stop me from comin’ back to you.”

Only now does she think deep on these words. Nothing would stop him from going back to her. Him… coming back… to me. Her brows line above her eyes.

Now she feels like she may have been taking the wrong approach. Maybe she should not go looking for him, but instead the other way around. That is what he said, after all.

She stops chewing at her wings, feeling satisfied with their current health. She now thinks where she should remain in order for him to find him the easiest. She immediately thinks about going back to Canterlot and waiting in the bunker, taking his words literally. But the more she entertains that idea, the dumber it seems. She makes an educated guess that he will likely be searching other places they know, are relatively safe, and have been to together. Not dive head-first back into the jaws of the enemy.

With this spur in her head, she contemplates her odds of success if she simply waits here in the cabin. But the idea sours quickly, as there is chaos happening not two miles off. Dodge was attacked by something, and the Consortium will likely send relief efforts and support for them to rebuild. They might secure the surrounding areas and keep a patrol going for some time. She knows she cannot stay here for long. “But if I can’t stay here, where else?”

Her eyes shift small distances in contemplation. The quiet, cold air of the cabin accompanied by the rain pelting the roof outside gives her passing chills. As they run across her back and haunches, they are suddenly banished by the warmth of a good idea. Her eyes expand and a small smile of hope puts itself on her lips. She knows exactly where to go – a place where it all began… or rather, resumed.

She thinks about the trip, how long it would take and how she might manage to the Slums. She definitely does not want to travel that way by hoof or flight, especially with the unrelenting storm pouring down on the world. She thinks she could take the train west, but that would mean she needs to wait until next morning. She also would need bits to actually buy the ticket, which she does not have.

And just then, it hits her like a brick. She does not have any physical currency on her. The work she did for the Horseshoes was all sent to her treasury – the same treasury she has not had time to pull funds out of. Due to the city-wide event at Canterlot giving her a complimentary ticket, she bothered not to consider this. “Idiot,” she scolds herself quietly. She curses herself further in her head, berating the fact that her thousands upon thousands of bits in her treasury are great, but the ticket clerk at the station can do very little with a treasury account number.

She shifts in agitation, trying to calm herself down to think rationally again. As she adjusts herself on the couch, the weight of everything she wears shifts left and right. Her heavy bags, Crimson’s boots and duster, and the clinking from inside the duster…

… the clinking from inside the duster.

She looks down at it, knowing that the pistol and the ammo boxes are seated inside the inner pockets, but something else has been jingling in an alluring way. She gasps, remembering that she is indeed incorrect. She indeed has money on her – Crimson’s money. The bag of coins he obtained for helping that crew out during the human show. She grabs the duster tail and brings it towards her. She then fishes through the left outer pocket, and there it is. A small brown coin purse tied with white string. Definitely more than enough for one ticket. “Yes!” she celebrates, hugging the coin purse close to her chest with both hooves.

She pockets it after her cheer, feeling much better about the situation. She looks at the note she was going to leave for him, the one rested on the coffee table in front of her. She reaches with her wing, her tongue sticking from her lips. She extends her little body so she does not have to get off the couch. She manages to grab it and bring it in without falling over. She looks it over briefly before pocketing it.

Her cheeks a little warmer at rereading the note. She is not sure if she is cringing at her own articulation and word choice, or about the idea in general. She starts to think hypercritically about writing such a thing to him, while simultaneously digesting the fact that the man is not even capable of reading Ponish. This letter would have been left here, and in the event he did somehow find it, he would have no idea what it even says.

She wants to bash her face with her hooves, but she stops herself. If she would let herself do it, she would make sure to break her own muzzle. She sighs angrily, feeling her emotions hodgepodge around into something she does not understand.

That is untruthful, she thinks. She knows what she is feeling and she hates it. Her entire mindset and heart are being ruined by this aggressive infatuation she finds herself having. She cannot get rid of these feelings. And the more she thinks on it, she does not want to - like an urge she wants to tame, an itch she wants to scratch. She wants this now. A forbidden treasure being kept away from her.

She attempts to suppress her excitement, her anger, her sadness, her congealed smorgasbord of emotions. She contains it all for now to get some rest and eat some of her provisions. She will need to be up early tomorrow to catch the morning train headed west.

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“Please…”