Youngblood

Chapters

Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three

Prologue

The necromancer hurriedly trotted up the cold, stone staircase toward his master’s chamber. He had been summoned with great haste; a report was due. The clattering of his hooves against the hard floor echoed throughout the tower, ominously lit by a series of candles suspended in the air like orange, glowing spirits of the dead.

Draped along the walls like tanned leather, great banners of black and jade lined the staircase, each one bearing the symbol of Necrodoria; the darkest place known to Ponykind. The harsh wind carried through the hollow structure, arousing the banners from their state of idleness. His presence, The Dark Lord, glided like a liquid shadow across the walls.

The necromancer looked up at the fluttering banners, noticing their eerily flowing movements. He froze in place, the sound of the wind penetrating his ears as the presence slipped its way up the tower. His face turned pale beneath his mottled coat of light brown, his brow became sodden with a heavy sweat, and his hooves failed him at the last few steps.

The unicorn tripped up, jaw coming into swift contact with the floor. He was completely stiff, unable to cry out in pain. The icy-cold floor stabbed through his fur and implanted itself within his bones, the feeling locking him in place for a few seconds.

He rose to his hooves groggily, his mind filled with daemonic laughter and whisperings from the many voices that haunted him. Then he looked up, straight into the eyes of a rigid guard. Suddenly, he jerked back. The necromancer lost his hoofing, yielding a few of the stone steps to his own fear. His blood was frozen and his eyes were locked onto the once-pony.

It kept a rigid face; it being the focus of that observation. The conjuration was staring out into the distance through its glowing green voids, not shifting in the slightest at this newcomer. The necromancer managed to regain his composure; he had seen worse.

His black cloak was caught in a second flowing of wind, sending it sailing aside. He quivered at this, the unexpected gust catching him with his guard down. This was not the first time that he had ascended the stairs to his master, but this time he knew exactly why he was here.

He struggled to open his mouth; the muscles had become a solid ice in his terrific fear. He managed to speak, his jaw not quite moving as well as intended and his voice a feeble whimper in the wake of the silently screaming guard.

“By the… honoured spirits that guide us all, the one I seek is behind yonder door. My request is… is humble and my intentions are well, I request to be guest of the Lord of Hell.” The guard did not move, its black, metallic cladding shining in the faint orange glow of the many candles. It never blinked nor moved and its mouth remained sealed by the two stakes driven through its jaw, each wound encrusted with partially-dried ichor.

Seconds passed like minutes as the necromancer shifted uncomfortably, eyes hesitantly scanning the guard. Had he done something wrong? He decided to repeat his words.

“By the hon-,” he was cut off. A great voice filled his skull, the vibrations stirring his soul like the ferocious roar of an elder dragon.

“SERVANT, BE SILENT IN THE PRESENCE OF THE DARK LORD! HE IS PRESENT WITHIN HIS CHAMBER AND BENEVOLENTLY GRANTS YOU ACCESS. GUARD!” At once the statuette guard rose from its sitting position, hooves smoking gently as it stood up.

The necromancer watched as the guard began walking up to the great wooden doors behind it. The oak wood was of old age and bore signs of much wear and tear. Adorning it like savage teeth, great iron hinges and trusses held onto the door with a seemingly forced grip and in the centre, a two-foot wide figure-head protruded with a frightful life-likeness.

The figure head was distinguishable as pony-like, though its unicorn horn seemed slightly serrated and draping over it, the heavy hood sank over its brow. The guard approached it, the only sounds being its glass-on-slate hoofsteps and the gentle hissing of its smoking horseshoes. The smoke seemed unnatural; as if painted by an artist on a canvas made solely of water, curling up at its legs and lingering for an eternity before dissipating into nothing.

Placing itself beneath the ten-foot door, the guard lowered its head. It bowed before the iron bust, eyes flaring brighter as it lowered its shadow-like head. The stone floor trembled, sending shards of fear racing up the necromancer’s spine, each one punctuated with a lingering feeling of awe.

The figure-head animated itself, bowing toward the guard before resting its horn upon the conjuration. At once the air ignited, exploding in flames of un-earthly green and yellow. The flames burned not of heat, but of a cold, dry emotion and they enveloped the guard.

Its hide now non-existent and its armour now a mere vapour in the liquid air, the guard ceased to exist. What physical form it once held now gases within the necromancer’s lungs. This quickly became apparent to the unicorn, resulting in a flurry of violent spluttering. The smell of ozone, dust and smoke became a solid form within the tower, preventing easy breathing.

Once the dust had settled, the necromancer peered fourth. The door still locked in place, unchanged with the bust now returned to its original form. It all seemed to be mocking the unicorn’s attempts at even considering a presence with his master.

Then a groan sounded from behind the great wooden structure. It’s tone deep yet hollow, echoed throughout the tower. Then the groan was replaced with a mechanical click. Then another. The door shifted backward a few inches before returning and from the centre, it began to fold inward.

As if it had been pre-folded by an ethereal origami artist, sections of equally-sized squares began folding behind the door. The odd click became lost in a sea of them, impersonating a clockwork device as square upon square folded and disappeared. The unicorn instantly became mesmerised, transpired by the ominous clicking and folding. Once the silence returned, the door had gone.

Beyond the gaping mouth of the doorframe, a void stretched for seven eternities, the darkness swallowing any attempts to light the way. Despite the familiarity he had of this, the necromancer could only imagine what lurked on the other side of the shadows. They whispered out to him, beckoning him into their midst; the shadows, The Dark Lord.

“ENTER!”

The necromancer complied purely out of fear, sparing only a second glance at the place where the guard once stood. The ground there was charred, with the exception of four circular clearings where its hooves had once been.

He trotted through the opening, the wooden frame engulfing the unicorn in its shadow. Five steps in, nothing but darkness; ten steps in, still nothing but darkness; fifteen steps, again only darkness; twenty steps, still… wait no.

The darkness spanning the room began dissolving. The treacly thick shadows started draining away into the corners of a small chamber. The pony glanced behind him; the doorframe had lost its definition as it dissolved too into the walls of the new room.

After a mere ten seconds, the darkness had been replaced with a gothic throne room-style chamber. Lit by the same candles from the staircase, the room had an eerie, orange glow. Each of the five walls was made from the same stone as the tower, each bearing the same banners of Nercrodoria and sporting years of candlewax. The ceiling was made entirely of sandstone, reaching up in the centre to form a spire, decorated with scenes of daemons chasing ponies of all races.

At the far corner, a podium stood looking over the chamber, much like an altar in a church. However, there were no seats. In the centre of the room, a four foot stone goblet glowed an ethereal orange, its contents appearing to cast the light from the candles upward into the ceiling, causing the images to dance.

There was silence, the wind was unheard and the single window of the room showed nothing but the twisted purple clouds of the night sky. There was no movement, the clouds appeared frozen in time and the dancing of the images was much too subtle to notice.

Normally, The Dark Lord would have been waiting here for his servant, in plain view. This disturbed the pony greatly, where was he? His voice had spoken of his presence here.

Then a flash of lightning enveloped the room, its potency causing the unicorn to back-peddle. The crack of thunder shook the room, and its volume swirled the water in its goblet.

The Necromancer stopped. He stopped not through his own will; not because he had recovered from his shock. He had stopped because he had nowhere to move. It could not have been the wall, that was much too far behind him. It was as cold as the wall, but it had a strange…

He laughed, not the necromancer, but the mysterious figure behind him. His laugh echoed through the air and vibrated the walls, causing the dust on each stone to fall to the ground. The necromancer gasped, throwing himself forward and turning about. It was him.

“Greatest apologies, My Lord!” he gasped.

“Accepted, Servant. Come, you must be thirsty from your ascending.” The Dark Lord approached the goblet, using his magic to raise two golden cups from the wide rim of the great container.

“You are most benevolent, My Lord.” The Dark pony smirked, facing away from his servant, yet his sly smile could have been heard a mile away.

“I know, I know. Here, enjoy,” he was relishing his power of the situation, he always did. After all, he was The Lord of Hell. “What brings you here?” he paused, allowing the servant to hold his glass in his telekinesis and begin talking. But he cut in, answering his own question, “Ah, yes! The report,” he dragged the last word out for many yards.

The servant was taken aback, startled slightly by his master’s way of words. As The Dark Lord turned to face him, the unicorn got his first proper sight of his master from the front.

He was the same size as the necromancer, but held a certain quality which created an illusion, granting him extra volume. He wore a great flowing robe, black as night and as liquid as the shadows that once lined the room; his hooves were hidden beneath. His hood, much like the unicorn’s but hung much lower over his brow obscured the entirety of his face, the only visible features being the tip of his lean muzzle and the candle-glow of his eyes, green and bright. At the edges of his cloak, the torn ends flayed up into the heavens, casting warped, pointed shadows as they flowed similarly to the manes of the two princesses. And from under each turned-up piece of fabric, small spiral wisps of black smoke curled up and followed the contours of the fabric, caressing the shape of its owner. And protruding from the being, the serrated horn of the dark lord creased the fabric of the hood, the edges of the raises set alight by the orange light.

The necromancer quickly composed himself, taking a semi-confident sip of the strong liquid, “Must be that absinthe,” he thought.

“Yes, Sire. Lord Capital’s forces at Point Redrock have been totally annihilated. As expected, we met little resistance, just the odd militia of rookie imperial guards. As a result, the entire keep is under our control and defences are currently being erected as ordered.”

The dark pony raised his glass in a suggestive manner, “Excellent! And the Stone of Silverlight?”

“Secured, My Lord.” He joined his master in the raising of glasses, before the duo indulged in another sip of the potent liquid.

“You have impressed me, Archimedes. Your commitment has shown me that even the lowest of vagabonds can in fact, be of great use and aptitude.” The Dark Lord’s tone had become much lower and personal.

“My thanks, Lord.” He took another sip, savouring the burning sensation inflicted by the alcohol.

The Dark Lord continued, “And you have also given me a rather nice opportunity to… trial… one of my new dark powers…”

The unicorn was taken aback. It was not expected that one should come close to any of The Dark Lord’s studies. He took them very seriously, spending weeks upon weeks alone in his arcane chambers.

“Trial, Sire?” He questioned between mouthfuls of the absinthe. It was not like anything the unicorn had consumed before; it was intoxicating (in every way possible).

The Dark Lord gave a grin, gesturing toward the podium. He turned around and began float toward it, carried by his deathly cloak. The necromancer followed, though taking the more traditional route across the floor. His robe was, sadly not quite so equipped.

The Dark Lord continued facing the window just beyond the podium, his gaze fixated upon the twisted clouds that clung to the dark skies. To the ordinary folk, they would appear both evil and blood-freezing; to him, they were a fantastic display of beauty. Noticing his fixation, the necromancer stopped and took to his cup again, it was empty. He stared for a second, lost in amazement. Had it really been that good?

“Here, my trusted friend.” Friend? What was this? An honour? A threat? A sarcastic attempt to throw him off? The unicorn’s empty cup was carried away by the sickly-green aura of The Lord’s telekinesis, when it returned it bore more of the liquid. It glinted in the orange light, the shining as fiery as its effect.

He took the cup and with a quick word of thanks, drank deeply. His vision, surprisingly, remained quite stable.

“Your service over the years of your life has proven loyal, useful and above all, very commendable.” He turned to face the heartily drinking pony, who instantly looked up at him from his indulgence, eyes wide with embarrassment. The Dark Lord merely chuckled, “Worry not, I wish for you to take pleasure.” He continued, “You are well aware that I do not wish to plague the minds of… senior… citizens of Necrodoria with the added stress of stewardship?”

The pony nodded a little too enthusiastically, small splashes of liquid leaving his mouth as his head rose and fell. He quickly finished the drink in one swift gulp.

“Do help yourself to anymore,” the dark pony invited, breaking tone.

The pony needed no more encouragement, leaping for the great goblet. He hit the floor a yard short but quickly jumped to his hooves and plunged his head straight into the bowl of beverage. He began snorting at the substance, addicted to its taste and burning sensation like a… crazed drunk.

The Lord of Hell continued as he ravaged at the absinthe, “Therefore, I wish for you to live out the rest of your days well away from the hassle of a servant’s life.” Said pony did not hear any of it, for the liquid was well above his ears as he drank greedily, not even considering the need for oxygen. “Arise!” He commanded.

The drinking pony froze, raised his head and looked toward the dark splodge, his cheeks flustered with red beneath his coat, dripping with liquid. His vision had finally blurred, The Dark Lord appearing even more as a shadow than previous, his glowing eyes reaching out to him through the orange haze of the room.

“You are hereby graced with the title of Elder, wear it with pride and live the rest of your life as merrily as you please. You have deserved it, friend.”

The drunken pony smiled pathetically before realising the pictures adorning the ceiling were much closer than they were a few seconds ago. He was right above the goblet, held high by the telekinesis of The Dark Lord. He remained there for a few seconds, the arcane mad-pony chanting words up to him that did not register through the alcoholic barricade across his mind.

Without warning, he was thrown downward. He plummeted down toward the goblet as it erupted in the same green flame that destroyed the guardpony. He hit the inferno, the flames engulfing him.

Then the shadows returned.

Chapter One

The streets of Canterlot were alive. Equestria’s capital bustled with activity. Ponies exchanged goods on the streets, their stalls lined along the cobble-stone roads like an endless chain of wood and fabric. Each of the stalls selling pretty much the same produce with the odd variation between each of the many streets. The average pony went about their daily business as the crowds surged within the cramped alleyways of the city from one stall to the next. This was common throughout the entire lower district.

Above the ground, stood the strong whitewash buildings that helped to create ‘The Crystal City’s name, each one square and adorned with intricately designed roof work. Occasionally, a puff of ash would emerge from one the countless chimneys as young colts and fillies earned their keep at the orphanage. And across the whole of the lower district, they ran free like mice in a field of stonework.

The middle district held onto what dignity it could possibly acquire, as the occupants continuously tried and outdo each other as to make a good impression on those in the upper district. It was quite literally an uphill struggle, as ponies who attempted such a feat, quickly found themselves in poverty. Still, the residents kept their pleasant way of life for themselves and away from the ‘scum’ of the lower district.

As expected, the grand air of the upper district held its nobility against the keep of the royal palace. Each structure was as well dressed as their residents; clean and jewelled. Fine carriages carried noble figures to and from easily trotted locations as the refined streets sold their gems and other trinkets deemed essential by the most famous of the upper classes.

And rising above it all, the great towering palace at the centre of the bustling city shone like the sun. Canterlot Castle stood proud, the sparkling crystal-white walls maintained by troops of unicorns, reflected the glorious sun like a serine lake at the peak of summer. The many towers rose to the heavens like graceful geysers of stone, each one capped by a royal-blue tiled cone.

And emerging from the inner keep, the royal quarters rose from the mountainside. The entire structure was the same white as the walls and gleamed in the sun just the same. It also sported the tallest of the towers: one had an external staircase and was topped with the extensive royal library, its books dating back to the times before the city itself; one rose to a platform, with no stairs, it would be impossible for any creature that could not fly to ascend up to its summit (which was notably higher than that of the library); and finally, between the two, the princesses’ chambers, containing the two young monarchs that had the power to raise and lower the sun and the moon. All of this overlooked the grand gardens and courtyard, as the most noble of ponies went about their leisurely morning strolls.

All the while, a particularly curious blue unicorn cautiously peered from around the corner of one of the display cases in castle’s museum. The stone floor had been heated by the midday sunshine and graced the pony’s knees with a pleasant warmth. He scanned the room. An imperial guard stood facing rigidly toward him at the entrance to the next exhibit hall. He would not see the unicorn roll over to the next display case; the heat and the knowledge that the day’s work was far from over dwelled in the guard’s mind as he stared out into oblivion.

The room was completely silent; no noise could be heard except for the melodic twittering of the songbirds nested in the expansive gardens bellow. The wooden ceiling blocked all of the sunlight from above, but the great, tall windows allowed their shapes to be cast the breadth of the hall.

He would have to avoid disturbing the cast shadows and remain in the shade. The guard was easily fifteen metres away, still silently staring outward. Despite this advantage, the archway He guarded was no more than a few yards wide, and that meant that the guard would definitely see him if he attempted to sneak through it without distraction first.

The blue unicorn remained under the display case for a few seconds before stealthily crawling under the next. He repeated the action until he was no more than seven metres away and off to the left-hoof side of the archway. Again he halted, he would need that distraction.

From this distance he could easily pick out the many features of the guard: the fixated eyes; quivering from the intense glare of the sun, the dead-pan expression worn by every guard on duty in the castle, the glistening white coat drenched in the sweat of hours of sentry work in the heat and the finely cast breast plate of silver with its decorative designs and freshly polished sheen. And against his shoulder, a long, ornate spear struck upward, the head as if the beak of an attacking eagle who had confused the ground with the sky.

“The usual,” the unicorn thought to himself.

He glanced rightward, looking for any means of distracting the guard. The floor provided no stones or clutter (with thanks to the OCD governed castle cleaners), the wall held no loose material or shelves lined with easily dropped books and the ceiling was… well, a ceiling.

The unicorn’s face dropped a few emotional levels at this discovery until his eyes fell upon one of the cleaning trollies used by the staff at the castle. It was left in the corner of the room and was just out of sight from the guard. The trolley contained an assortment of brooms and other cleaning equipment, plus a doorstop of some kind; possibly a spare.

A plan quickly formulated in the young unicorn’s mind, a simple, but quite possibly a very effective plan. He shifted beneath the display case, readying his magic. There were many objects in the space between him and the trolley and each one provided a distraction to his concentration. Carefully hiding his horn underneath his improvised bunker, the unicorn reached out with his telekinesis.

It took him a few seconds to finally reach the trolley, which started to glow with the same silvery-blue aura as his horn. Then, with a gentle tug, two of the brooms came free, along with the doorstop.

He carefully lowered the edge of the broom handles to the floor as not to make any sound and kept the doorstop hidden behind the trolley. Then he took a silent breath as he readied for the next stage of the plan. Mimicking the hoofsteps of a slowly trotting pony, he began tapping the floor with the broomsticks. He started very quietly, simulating the virtual pony’s distance.

The guard did not budge for a few seconds, eye still locked in place. However, as the noise became less ambient to the guard, his suspicions arose. He had seen nopony enter the exhibit hall from neither his or the opposing side. Therefore, those hoofsteps must have been from…

The guard instantly broke his stance, spear held in jaw as he scanned the room. The blue unicorn winced from closed eyes as he heard the guard become aroused. He was safe, however, as the guard had turned toward the locations of the sound.

He opened his eyes, realising the guard was approaching his Fantasia re-enactment. He stepped up the volume of the broomsticks. The guard now a mere three display cases away; he would be able to see the brooms as soon as he reached the third.

The unicorn stood poised, the guard stood ready and both of their hairs stood on end. Two display cases left, the unicorn felt for the doorstop. “Just a few more yards and…”

Last display case… The unicorn flared his horn, swinging the doorstop from behind the trolley and sending it on a collision course with the guard’s head. Just as the eyes of the guard met the dancing brooms and a “Wha-?” escaped the guard’s mouth, iron met steel as the sound of the collision chimed through the open air of the exhibit hall.

The guard hit the floor like a sack of manure, out cold. The young unicorn smiled in glee as his plan succeeded. Now it was a home run through the archway and into the next hall. He cantered out of his hideout, releasing his magic and leaning against the white stone of the archway, feeling the grooves of the pillar-like supports against his fur.

He peered around the corner. This time, there was no guard to watch the hall. He steeped from around the corner, scanning the room for his target. There. Right in the centre of the far wall, encased in a glass box and mounted on a wooden set of legs lay Arcane Objects and Artefacts.

The book had a faded green cover; turning yellow at the edges, a red ribbon; old but not frayed and solid silver icon on the front cover; a five-pointed star surrounded by a regal reef. It had a majesty quite indescribable to our blue unicorn.

The book was mentioned in the library as being a full guide to every object of archaic importance, however it had become increasingly limited in copies over the centuries and the last accessible copy known to the librarian had been in the Canterlot Castle museum. The problem his curiosity faced was getting into the museum, as then rules stated that no young colt or filly was permitted to enter the museum under any circumstances.

But this was Youngblood; he was no stranger to evading the authority and had developed an increasing reputation amongst the lords and ladies of the castle as the ‘Little Trouble Maker’. The title was used both endearingly and not so by different members. Using what he had learned from his band of street urchins after his parents were killed, he had been able to sneak into the museum unnoticed. However, his taking up of residence within the castle signalled the end of his days as a stealthy scavenger. Now, he longed for adventure, and this book would give him just that.

He was in the clear. He failed to contain his excitement as he galloped full speed into the hall and past the many display cases, much like the previous evasion. He reached the glass box containing the tome. He could hear the knowledge within its ancient pages call out to him, resonating through the glass and the air around him, each leaf of the book singing a single note in the harmony of the entire literature. It was purely magnificent.

Pressing his face against the glass for a second, he gazed with the eyes of a curious colt at the majesty of the book, every detail singing out into the room. This was it. The case lay before him. All he had to do was open it and… He tried the glass box again, again and again. Nothing, it would not open. He quizzically inspected the box, brow furrowed and eyes squinted.

Then he spied it, the lock. It held the lid together with the base, made solely of steel and bolted tight. The easy option would have been to smash the glass, but no. Not only would the sound attract countless guards but it may damage the book. He would have to go through the lock to reach his prize.

Being of vagabond and thief origin, Youngblood held the skills he would need to pick the lock, having been presented with the obstacle many times in the past. This lock was little different from the ones he had beaten previously, only it looked much nicer with its artistic engravings. It released its vice-grip and fell instantly after a few precise movements of the tumblers, his telekinesis serving him yet again.

Now the book was his!

He lifted the glass lid with excited forehooves, the book feeling the fresh air for the first time in decades. Relishing the moment, he lifted the tome from the case and instantly fell to his haunches. He sat in pure awe, the power resonating from the book within his hooves.

He could see his reflection in the silver symbol. His well-kept, brown mane swept over his fore head above his emerald eyes, sweeping across his fur like a wave in a calm pool. His face also bore a single scar down his right cheek; a result of his previous life as a vagabond. His exceptional grin stretched across his muzzle, a bridge between both sides of his beaming face. And his blue coat, the same colour as the summer sky, was highlighted by Celestia’s warm sun.

He felt the power, the warmth, the feeling of achievement and the pat on the back from adventure himself. Wait… pat on the back? More like the sure grip around his left shoulder.

His head darted around to face a stern captain of the guard. His eyes locked in an angry stare with those of the young pony.

“Master Youngblood,” he said; his voice a stern monotone, “you had better come with me.”

Youngblood gulped and allowed himself to be carried out of the archway he had just entered through. The book had been yanked from his hooves by the captain’s magic and now rested in his green, magical aura.

He was lead passed the guard he had knocked out. He was being attended to by two nurses, each with damp towels in their hooves, dabbing at the fallen guard’s forehead.

“You have assaulted a member of the guard, stolen property of his majesty and quite frankly, insulted my very purpose.” He spoke sternly, catching the nurses’ attention as each turned their heads towards the scolding, holding expressions of annoyance and pity for the young colt. “You’re lucky that it was me who found you and not Lord Capital himself! He loves this book more than-” he was cut off.

“More than what, Captain?” A regally dressed pony stepped through the door into the exhibit hall, his purple cloak adorning his perfectly white hide.

“Uhh... Sire, I…”

“That will be all, Captain. Be gone, I shall deal with this perpetrator.”

The captain bowed in acknowledgement and left with great haste, the book levitating away from him, now within the regal’s magical grip. He stood with pride, his head upright and his forelegs completely straight.

He inspected the tome for damage, his purple eyes scanning it over several times before concluding that the book was unscaved. He turned and did the same with Youngblood, though looking more at his terrible posture and sorry face.

“With me young one!” he commanded.

Youngblood complied without voice, following Lord Capital out of the same door he entered. Just as they left he heard the guard wake up and curse him; Youngblood was in for it, he just knew it.

***

“You know, Youngblood, this book means more to me than you’ll ever imagine. However, it holds little importance and so I do not fear for its safety all too much, you understand?”

“Yes, Sire”

“But you must also understand that it is also not an opportunity for you to go on a little mission and disrupt its security, without reason!”

“But, Sire”

“No questions, young colt! I have spoken. You will remain here for the duration of the day; I wish to discuss this manner further with you in due course.”

“Yes, Sire,” he gave up.

“Hmph… Thank you Quill, leave us.”

The beige unicorn stopped scribbling, bowed to his king, and left without a word. Now, it was just him and the Lord Capital. It always ended like this, being sent to the big man after the rant with whoever had caught him. It was silent, the regal pony sat on his council chair staring straight at him, his eyes filled with the cool, disciplinary sharpness expected by such a great figure at times like these.

“I think he’s gone now.”

Youngblood looked behind him; the wooden doors had closed just before the king made his assumption. “You’re right, sir.”

“Are you sure? He could be eavesdropping, you know.”

Youngblood turned to face his king again, his tone partially sarcastic, “I don’t the guards would let him.”

The king laughed heartily, “You’re very good, Youngblood; too good if I may add. Go on then, how did you do it?”

“Do what, Sire?” He joked.

“Seriously, how did you? It’s not every day a guard is taken off duty injured due to the actions of a young colt such as yourself.”

He explained his actions; how he had knocked out the guard with the doorstop before sneaking through. “It was quite simple really.”

The king gave him a look of sarcastic questioning, his left eyebrow almost touching the ceiling. He always loved it when Youngblood pulled off his antics, despite his position and the views of the other castle residents. The truth was that Lord Capital had felt sympathy for the young colt when he discovered him as merely a street urchin. He had tried to swipe some of the king’s food from beneath a table during a street party in the upper district. He was caught, disciplined and brought before the king who ordered that he be locked in prison. Obviously, the king had other ideas and had dismissed the guards to talk to him once he was thrown in captivity. On discovery of his origins, parents’ death and of his talents, he took him in, raising him up as a pony born and bred in luxury. This had left the media in a spin but it was ordered by the king that he had his reasons. And those reasons were very soon to be revealed to Youngblood.

“Well then, that must be seen to; can’t be having… untrusted… criminals breaking in!”

Youngblood chuckled. He loved Lord Capital much like a father, but not in the same way he had loved his real father. One could call it some form of brotherhood they shared. But it was, again, different. In all the time he had spent with the king, he could never begin to describe it, even with the aid of the lessons designed to better his speaking ability, which he never paid any real attention to anyway.

He was of late teen age now, and all he wanted was adventure; adventure into the unknown, the uncharted, the unimaginable. This the king knew, it was clearly evident in Youngblood’s frequent antics, insistence on taking the classroom into the field and his constant nagging for it. Adventure was what fuelled Youngblood’s existence, it the reason why he lived. However, Lord Capital knew well that a life in the castle could not provide that.

Despite this fact, the king just could not bring himself to send his adopted… relative… into any kind of danger. He treated him much like his two children he had already, Celestia and Luna, and the lords and ladies of the castle always referred to Youngblood as his son.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed your little telling off! And if you wouldn’t mind, do tell Luna and Celestia that the banquette is a ‘go’ for tonight. ”

“Yes, Sire. But wasn’t I to remain here?” He turned to leave the room, a grin plastered on his muzzle.

“Don’t tell me that sneaking out would be too hard for you! I’ll tell Quill something to go in his records don’t you worry. Oh, and do take this.” The book was hovered over to him from the great, smirking alicorn.

“Thank you, Sire.” He looked back at the smirking face of Lord Capital, his own grin growing at the receiving of the book and the pure sight of the king’s expression.

As he left, the king began pondering, questions leaping into his mind like gaseous tigers. What had he wanted with that book? Why go to all the trouble? The questions Youngblood left him could only further excite the king, he would just have to wait and see what the unicorn came up with.

Chapter Two

The trot back to his own chambers gave him a great opportunity to quickly scan through the book; the anticipation almost driving him to the point of squealing. He even passed the captain of the guard, who gave him one of the most shocked expressions he had ever seen made. Despite this, and the odd glances from the existent literature enthusiasts of the castle, Youngblood managed to reach the goliath staircase leading up to the princess’ quarters without trouble. Having taken up residence himself, he was given a room near the two alicorn sisters in order to keep the royal ‘siblings’ together.

He was eternally grateful for this, but he could not help but not treat said sisters- as sisters. He found that they had naturally settled as best friends of sorts, but harbouring a deeper connection. This helped to overcome the problem with the life spans of alicorns being much greater compared to that of regular ponyfolk. It would make much more sense for the group to share a friendship rather than siblinghood; plus it could be explained much easier during formal introductions. Where the little brother became the big brother in a merely in a matter of years would present questions as to their parents fidelity, a friendship would be considered much more innocent to describe their relationships.

When he was accepted into the royal family, he had been little more than a foal and the sisters treated him so, much to his playful distaste. However, it was only now that the slowly aging alicorns had been caught up by their mortal brother.

The ascension of the stairs took little over a minute and a half; his legs would have strongly disagreed, however. The lobby-like landing between the sisters’ rooms shone brightly with the summer’s sun, beating gloriously through the windows from the right side, each beam illuminating part of the circular landing in wide, open streaks of yellow. The tiled floor of coal and pearl contrasted with the blue walls, the colour mimicking both the deep blue of midday and the cool sky of later hours.

He kept flicking through the pages as he finished the last few steps of the great ascension, his muzzle mere inches away from the yellowed pages of the book. His mind was entrenched within each paragraph, sampling and evaluating each letter of every word he read. So engrossed was he, that he failed to notice the galloping form of Princess Celestia careering down the hall; her multi-tone mane caught in the invisible, undetectable solar wind.

The clattering of her hooves reached his ears much too late as he was assaulted with a playful hug; the book becoming rather compressed between him and the giggling alicorn.

“What have you been up to this time? Have you not yet found anything else to do but cause trouble?” Her voice was full of glee as she hugged her only real friend.

Youngblood grimaced at the physical contact, though he caught on and eventually returned the affection. “I can’t help it, honestly there’s nothing else to do around here.”

Breaking the hug, Celestia looked down at the book, her eyes widening slightly. “Is that?” A curious hoof rose, aimed at the book now deposited on the floor having been knocked from Youngblood’s telekinesis by the sudden impact..

“Arcane Objects and Artefacts,” he recited, “yes, it is.”

She stared at him for a moment, brow slightly furrowed. “I am not going to ask!” She mocked him before leading the way into her sister’s room. Youngblood swiftly snatched up the book with his magic and cantered after the white alicorn; he could not keep down the smile forming on his face. Every day he reminded himself of the freedom he once had on the streets, but also he reminded himself of what he never had back then.

The two entered the nightly-themed room of Princess Luna, Celestia’s younger sister and visual opposite. The dark, flowing shapes painted upon the walls of the room emulated the image of its occupant. The Princess of the Night sat upon her bed, abacus in hoof. Her dark blue coat almost a perfect camouflage against her bedspread and her much less extravagant, but none the less elegant mane flowed from her head like a mythical river, glimmering in the starry presence of the night.

“Sister, he’s been at it again!” Celestia beamed.

The navy monarch merely regarded her extravagant sister’s jovial nature before placing her abacus down with a heavy sigh. Why do some ponies ever have to be so… loud?

“Hush Sister, your voice is audible enough I assure thee. As to what has our Youngblood accomplished?”

Celestia turned about to look at the unicorn. She rolled her eyes in indication toward her sister, raising her head to emphasise. She was always more extravagant and energetic than her sister, for better or worse.

Youngblood approached the laying filly, book in tow in his telekinesis. He stood before the princess, her eyes widening before closing gently. Princess Luna instantly began chuckling, her feminine yet somewhat low voice filling the room.

“We are amused, Youngblood. Thou simply must recall the events that occurred in the retrieval of this literature!” She said between odd bursts of gentle laughter.

Youngblood gave the story, adding features of a fictional nature to captivate his exclusive audience. He shared Luna’s passion of literature and tales of heroism, her reactions appreciative yet excitable. On the contrary, Celestia’s reactions teetered on the fine edge of becoming totally awestruck and ecstatic. Such behaviour as Youngblood’s was frowned upon in their lives of etiquette, professionalism and table manners; hearing the unicorn’s tales were like something out of a fantasy novel.

He concluded with the meeting with their father, eliciting snorts of laughter and suggestive looks from the pair. “And, the banquette is on apparently”.

The two faced each other, staring for a couple of seconds before returning to their bandit in residence. Luna was the first to speak:

“Thy father must believe that great things lie within you, he doth not loan this book’s contents freely.”

“Yes, he must have his reasons.” Celestia agreed.

Youngblood thought for a moment; he had not really considered why he had been given the book, only that he had been given it. Did Lord Capital’s reasoning extend further than simply satisfying Youngblood’s hunger for discovery, to keep him from breaking out of the window at night and abseiling down the castle via a long chain of bedclothes?

“Still the fact remains; thou hast a book of great interest to us. Thou must simply share its spoils with your princess for the sake of curiosity!” Luna interrupted his thinking.

“You can, ‘hast a look at thy book of great internal-est greatness of thy divines’ or whatever, just don’t expect me to take any interest. Besides, I need to prepare for tonight’s event.” And with that, The Princess of the Sun trotted out of the room, head high in a comical pout.

The two shades of blue watched as the white one left their presence, following her form as she disappeared from sight.

“Hither Youngblood,” she indicated with the removal of her abacus, “sit with us, we shall study yonder text.”

He mounted the bed beside his royal friend, the book between them. The two could not help but smile as they savoured the anticipation of discovery; a quick glance at each other signalled the start of their study as the pair began reading in earnest.

***

After several hours of continuous delving into the arcane, a meal sounded right up Youngblood’s street. The banqueting hall was full of ponies, all noble and almost every one of them a unicorn with the exception of the three royals and a select few. The tables were stacked high with savouries, sweets and sophisticated samples of luxurious cuisine. At the rear of the hall and in the centre of the horizontal table sat Lord Capital and his daughters, to their right sat close friends of nobility; each dressed in the finest of attire, and to their left were seated the royal advisors and the castle mage; all dressed uniformly with the mage’s staff in tight against her chair.

Two tables came off at right-angles, forming the main arch of the seated nobles with a table placed between the two flanks, detached from the head table, seating the many students of law and other doctrines as they aspired to become the next greatest figure of Canterlot and to raise their families from the middle-district.

Youngblood found himself sat amongst the many youthful nobles (or ‘snobs’, as he dubbed them). His disposition toward them was quite neutral in respects, however much need not be said about certain individuals.

Across from him, in all his masculine glory and over-groomed, sapphire mane, sat none other than Money Tucker; the cream-coloured alpha male. Ever since Youngblood had been accepted into the royal family’s midst, Money had shown a discontent for him quite unmatched by that of any other. In fact, Money had even boasted rather publicly that it was he who had the desire to ‘take the little rat by his tail and catapult him back into the world of squalor he deserves to rot in’. This merely had the effect of entertaining a few of his clan and even Youngblood himself. That pompous pony was nothing but hot gas, and for all Youngblood could care, the snobbish unicorn could stuff his over-sized head up his own derrière and listen out for nature’s call if he dared as much try and lay a hoof on him.

“I’ve heard that your latest mission ended rather unsuccessfully earlier today, Youngblood. Would you care to enlighten us as to how this happened?” The large stallion asked in a mockingly polite fashion, between the delicate dabs of a napkin.

This little request earned Youngblood numerous pairs of eyes from the three of Money Tucker’s goons as well as from the many mares that followed Money everywhere, swooning in his wake with a puppet-like fashion. The targeted unicorn had barely eaten anything as of presently, yet his stomach felt closer and closer to bursting each time the merciless pig excreted the rhythmic detritus from his gaping maw. And quite frankly, Youngblood was not in the mood for wasting his comparatively pleasant vomit on such a wretched sample of multi-cellular organism.

“Well?” All that aggression he was mentally exerting must have stalled Youngblood’s formulation of a response. You know what, let’s just stay silent and watch him squirm.

It was a well-known fact that Tucker despised being ignored and constantly demanded attention in any form possible as a result. Being denied this had serious consequences that had and would be the nightmares of nobles and servants alike for a lifetime.

Youngblood remained perfectly statuette, eyes locked in a glassy stare. He would drive this coot over the edge and damn-well enjoy every second of it! He judged that it was about that time of the month anyway; this particular activity became much of a routine for Youngblood as the years passed in the presence of this aimless fruit.

“Are you ignoring me, shrew? Did you ever learn that it is impolite to do such things? Oh, sorry! Of course, that sort of thing is rather unheard off at street-level.”

This was followed by a volley of spiteful laughter; ammunition that lacked the penetrating factor required to harm Youngblood’s mind. His armour may have saved him from the wounds, but he still felt them impact as he began to dampen at the brow; a result of the assault and the many eyes regarding him, scanning his social hide for the smallest signs of structural damage.

“Ah! We too afraid to form a rebuttal, urchin? Or did you just lose your tongue whilst cleaning that chimney?”

He held his ground, the sweat threatening to make itself visible to those seated near him.

“You’re driving my patience, Master Youngblood.”

In response, the blue unicorn reached over with his magic to pick up a wedge of bread from the wicker basket between the two rivals. He kept his gaze solid, his eyes frozen in place like soldiers. All the while, he slowly floated the foodstuff over to his mouth, taking care not to contaminate it with the bugger’s breath, and took a slow, dramatic bite. It wouldn’t be long now…

“Attention! Attention all!” The call was followed by four successive knocks on the table and the entire hall fell silent. It was Lord Capital.

“It looks like Money will have to wait.”

“Attention; stallions, mares, fillies and gentlecolts! Now that I have the attention of you all, I would first like to welcome you to this evening’s gathering. I do hope that everything has been satisfactory with regards to the feast prepared by the castle staff?”

A chorus of agreement echoed throughout the hall, Canterlot was known for many things, its abundance of culinary genius for one.

“Excellent, now down to the business at hand. Present with us this evening, we have General Butterscotch of the Canterlot Infantry and General Steelbolt of the Cloudsdale Pegasai Rangers. They have been pulled from the frontlines at extremely short notice and I expect much to the disruption of their subordinates, therefore I have every confidence that one will pay their closest attention to the news they bring. If you please, Generals.” The king indicated for them to stand.

A short applause of respect accompanied the two as they rose from their chairs. The infantry general was a large, stocky earth pony, dressed in a formal military officer’s attire with his peak rested upon the table before him. His orange coat was adorned with a symbol comprising of a collection of chess pieces upon his flanks, symbolising his strategic prowess. To his left-hoof side rose an athletic pegasus, adorned in an exceptionally well-kept piece of light combat armour, made of polished steel and toughened fabric, that hid her cutie mark. She even had her hoofblades strapped on her front ankles, the black holsters contrasting with her cyan coat and multi-coloured mane.

The earth pony began in his Appleoosan accent, “Thank you, Sire. It is mah greatest regret that I must inform you of the events that have occurred as of recent. Three days ago, our forces were attacked by those of Necrodoria at Point Redrock. The keep held for mere hours before the hordes of daemons made their push into the central chambers. What troops we had there formed a last stand within the labyrinths below the surface,” he paused for a moment, “they fought down to the last pony.”

This was followed by a barrage of gasps and nods of heads, even some prayers from those so inclined. The news had been totally unexpected. Necrodoria had remained relatively quiet for the past decade and only now, and in such force, had they come out of hiding in the shadows.

He continued, “And that last pony is with us here today. He managed to escape whilst the daemons descended deeper with some unknown intent.” A pony solemnly raised a hoof, seated right next to the general.

Then the pegasus spoke up, not sporting quite the same accent as the other general. “A squad of my rangers saw him outside of the castle grounds; we had not seen the attack and the effects of the siege were hardly visible. The squad had been sent on recon to determine the outcome; they stumbled upon the soldier purely by chance. He was in no shape to hoof it back here, so they carried him back to the hospital in Manechester where we were based at the time.”

Numerous heads turned to regard the said soldier, eyes full of sympathy for him. He was visibly shaken and sported many feature of a restless mind.

“He also has some important information to share with us this evening; go on, suhn.” The earth pony announced, leaning over to and shaking the shoulder of the distraught soldier in encouragement.

The soldier stood up, all eyes were on his. He was not used to this kind of public display, let alone in front of the upper classes. He was sweating from head to hoof, shaking minutely out of nervousness.

“They… the-they managed to break our last line so we went down into the- the underground corridors. There were… fifteen of us. The sergeant was dead and so we were…” He stopped speaking in his braking voice, his head falling to face the table.

The expansive hall was utterly silent, not a sound. All gazes were fixed upon the foot soldier, his mind falling to pieces.

Then his hoof impacted upon the table, sending a heavy rattle of metal-on-wood across a yard radius. He exploded, “Lightwind turned! He turned right there, right in front of me! He was just standing there one minute, and then the next he was something else! His eyes burned out ofhis skull and he attacked Coppertail, he ripped his limbs off with his teeth… His teeth! We had to kill the both of them…” He calmed slightly, “It was the daemons. They must have gotten into him somehow. Anyway, they came through and slaughtered us. They left me though. They just carried on down and into the main chamber, where the stone was.”

“The Stone of Starlight? They have it?” The king was flabbergasted. The power of the stone were greater than that of any to have existed in the past and the daemons of Necrodoria would surely use them for something utterly evil.

“Apologies, Sire. We tried, but…” The soldier begged.

“Fret not, soldier. We fully realise the ordeal you have been through. But it must be made clear; did they definitely come for the stone?” The king punctuated each word with a strike of his hoof against the table.

The soldier looked up at his ruler, his eyes a violent scarlet. “Yes, Sire; if their chanting was of any truth.” He half spat his last words, his emotions were in turmoil.

The room descended into a haze of mutterings and voices of concern. Lord Capital frantically began thinking of what could possibly happen if the daemons accessed the great power contained within the stone and used it upon his people.

He finally spoke up, “Are they held at Point Redrock? If so, we could send an army to retake the keep and recover the stone.”

The pegasus responded, “They are, Sire. However we cannot be sure of the stone’s location and even with the entire forces of Equestria united, we would not be able to rival our enemy. We simply do not have the numbers to match a force of that size.”

“What size?”

The pegasus looked at the general next to her. He nodded his head before answering the king in a grave tone. “We estimate the force to be of over nahn-hundred-thousand strong, Sire.”

Another wave of voices filled the hall, rendering any attempt of understanding one another near impossible. Some began to panic, others boiled with anger and Lord Capital turned completely pale. His daughters were terrified, looking to each other for support.

Youngblood was awestruck. The images of such sized forces echoed throughout his mind along with the nagging feeling of knowing something or other about a certain Stone of Starlight. The ponies around him showed signs of terrible concern. Money just sneered and made it clear that he was not intimidated in the slightest.

The banquette was quickly dismissed, much of the fine food going to waste. All around Youngblood, herds of ponies began hurriedly leaving the hall, each internally sharing the thoughts and feelings of individual members. Youngblood too rose from his chair but was called out after by none other than Money:

“Where are we off to now, Youngblood. Going to go crying on home to mummy and daddy? Oh wait, they’re dead aren’t they.”

Youngblood froze. His left hoof was suspended in the air mid-step and his facial expression remained completely solid with the exception of his flickering eyelid. He slowly turned about to face the offending unicorn, staring sharp daggers into his eyes from his own. This elicited a few ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s from the group of ponies he had sat with mere minutes ago. All of a sudden, Money Tucker looked a lot uglier than he had previously.

Youngblood had had enough. Years of retribution going to be released in a matter of seconds until from behind him, he heard Celestia call out. They were both there, his royal sisters, just a few yards behind him; both displaying heavy signs of concern for their brother and the situation at hoof as they approached the scene.

“Youngblood, is everything alright?”

“Oh he’s fine, he’s just a bit touchy. Seems like some ponies just fail to comprehend matters of a humourous nature.”

Youngblood responded sharply between clenched teeth, “The only matter of humour here will be the mess I make of your pretty face on the floor!”

The royal sisters quickly acknowledged the nature of the scene and stepped in to retrieve their brother.

“Come, Youngblood. Such insensitivity and spite doth not deserve the attention of one such as thyself.”

Youngblood turned to face Luna, his eyes an icy glare. Luna took one look at him before placing a hoof on his shoulder, her face sincere and overflowing with a great concern for his well-being. Celestia stood before Money, much to his delight.

“Have you not reconsidered my offer, your highness? I was hoping for a swifter response.”

She glared at him, straight at his smirking face, an invisible curtain enclosing the group of ponies as they stared each other down.

“Not in the slightest, Master Tucker. And I will remind you that it is proper etiquette for one to be standing whilst addressing a pony of royalty.”

“With pleasure, your highness,” he rose to his hooves, “however I cannot help but notice how differently your sister thinks of such regulations.”

“What is your point, Money?”

“Well, you just ordered my standing did you not? And here before us, your sister is physically attaching herself to a pony of a low social standing with no thought for formalities whatsoever.”

The princess was outraged, “How dare you insult a member of the royal family! Youngblood has every right to be in the company of my sister. He is a royal figure and you shall treat him as such!”

Money scoffed at this, his eyes rolling at Youngblood and his company. He directed his words to the ponies behind him, though his volume allowed it to be heard by the entire group. “Did you hear that? This retarded little orphan is a member of the royal family? Oh, I bet his parents are ever so proud of him!”

Youngblood snapped around to face the pompous prick, aggression radiating from his form. “They will be now.”

He leapt from Luna’s embrace and charged head-long at the laughing stallion, who failed to notice his clattering hooves. With his head low he tackled the pony, gripping him with his forehooves.

The pair flew back three yards before descending onto the table top where they had once ate. The wind was taken out of Money’s chest and his shoulder caught the prongs of a stray fork. He whelped in pain as best he could, his lungs failing to re-inflate. Youngblood struck him with his forehooves, burying them within his wide-eyed face.

The monarchs staggered back at the clattering sound caused by the two wrestling males. Luna had shed a tear as her brother was wrenched from her by his own rage and was now cowering behind her mane. Celestia had been narrowly missed by the blue torpedo, her eyes wide with shock as she gazed at her brother’s explosion.

It was clear that Money had never fought in the past as he tried to cover his bleeding face with his forelegs, the unrelenting torrent of impacts near freezing him with fear. His goons had fled along with the platoon of mares, leaving him unaided and exposed to Youngblood’s attacks.

Ponies were now crowded around the two and a pair of guards were alerted. They arrived on the scene just in time to save most of Money’s face. Youngblood was prised off the paralyzed snob with great difficulty as he was attended to by a nurse. The blue unicorn could just about make out the odd words of insanity escaping the detritus-ridden noble, resembling ‘crazy’, ‘assault’ and ‘insane’.

They were both carried off, Youngblood followed by his sisters and a furious Lord Capital. Misbehaving was one thing, but assaulting the son of a royal advisor was another. Youngblood did not care for a single solitary second, justice had been done, and for the first time in his life, his enemy’s blood graced his hooves like golden paint.

He felt dizzy from the adrenaline and the passion within his heart. But slowly, he felt other emotions spill into his aggression-filed conscience. He realised what pain he may have caused to others, not to Money though, he was a noble prick.

More precisely, what pain had he inflicted upon his family?

Chapter Three

Lord Capital was like a father to Youngblood. He was the one who supported him in times of need, kept him financially stable, advised him on life issues, made sacrifices for his benefit and dedicated what he could of his life to him and his sisters. He also made sure that when Youngblood was scolded, he would never get to say a word in defence.

“The odd misbehaviour is one thing, young sir; assaulting the son of a royal adviser is another thing entirely!” Where had he heard this before? “I hope you have a bloody good reason to explain yourself, for your own sake!”

“Sire, I…”

“What could have possibly caused you to do such a thing? Just felt like a little bit of adventure did we?”

“Look, just…”

“Don’t you ‘look’ me, son!” The royal alicorn loomed over the unicorn, “That pony’s face is in tatters, his parents are on my plot and your sisters haven’t stopped the waterworks since you first made the move on him!”

“…”

“What have you got to say for yourself?”

Youngblood sighed heavily, rubbing his hoof against his right eye in defeat. Now he had a window to talk.

“You know how Money’s been with me? Well let’s just say he it took it a bit far this time.”

“To the point where you assaulted him?” he bellowed in disbelief. “I feel the same way about my staff sometimes, I manage to stay half sane!”

“No, it’s not like that. He just…” Youngblood began to see how deep he was within the category of wrong-doing. He had assaulted somepony, hurt them, their family and his own too. But surely such words about his parents were excuse enough to punch his lights out?

“What? What did he do then?” The king was losing his patience faster than he was losing his hair.

It all came crashing down on Youngblood and the emotional turmoil quickly caught up with him. He fell to his haunches, the carpet on the wooden floor doing little to dull the pain of the impact. Now it was his turn to be hurt. By now, Lord Capital was expecting a confession, not what was about to hit his ears.

Between sniffles, Youngblood managed to mutter, “My parents…” which then set off a short stream of tears. Each drop carving a path through his blue coat, using its colour and becoming a sky blue river.

The anger tumbled out of the king’s face, his white coat falling slightly as the tension was released. Still, he grimaced as he gave his adopted son a fatherly hug. He felt Youngblood’s heavy breathing against his chest and heard every chime of the silence emanating from beneath him.

After a minute passed, the embrace was loosened and Youngblood lowered his head to stare at the floor. Lord Capital apologised, his voice low and sympathetic:

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. But was it absolutely necessary to hit him?”

Youngblood failed to answer the king’s question. He was too lost within his own grief to begin speaking. Then, as quiet as a shadow, the single door opened from behind Youngblood and two mares made themselves visible to their father.

“We heard everything, father, every word.”

“That we did; in our opinion Youngblood had every right to damage that cretin.” Luna’s voice was harsh, yet contained.

The king looked at them in disappointment for a second; they had disobeyed his instructions for them to remain outside. Having contemplated their words however, he smiled and invited them to join the embrace. The entire royal family; all together, all in grief.

The fire within the room cast its final auras of soft light as the embers began to dwindle. The night grew darker and Luna’s moon rose as Celestia’s sun sank beneath the waves of mountains. How they had managed to do so without him noticing, Youngblood would never know.

They remained there for a good few minutes, though time seemed to slow in Youngblood’s mind, and they were each told to bed down for the night. The trio left their father, walking together out of the room and into the cold air of the vast castle corridors.

***

Youngblood’s bed was a welcomed friend as he entered his room. He took in the sight of his luxury: the poster bed, the grand dresser, even the lampshades in their modest colours. His room was much similar to that of Luna’s, although the colours and shapes were of a much more generalist theme. The colours however, had been put to a peaceful, blue-tinted rest by the night’s lack of substantial light and Youngblood did not feeling like disturbing their slumber. Besides, he loved the night. It seemed much more adventurous and mysterious.

He and his sisters had spoken little on the long journey to their quarters. Only the odd apology from himself for his behaviour and from the princesses for the situation he was in at the time. He was alone now. He was alone when he approached his bed and sat on the covers thoughtfully. He was alone when he let his head rest on a forehoof and thought of the day’s events. He was alone when he hit the mattress and he was alone when he drew up the covers. Though through it all, Youngblood knew that he would never be totally alone.

He drifted into a warm, cosy sleep. The turmoil of the evening spilled away into the welcoming darkness.

***

The dragon’s roar shook the shadows of the world as it disappeared from sight behind the ruins of the ancient pillared palace. The harsh dusk sun ignited the cracked ground from beneath Youngblood’s hooves, each fault seeming to deepen for miles in their shadows. He was in the open, the mighty hall that once stood for over a thousand years now lacking its high walls and the ceiling lay scattered across the grey stone floor.

He was gulping air like a fish in water, his sweat filling his partially open mouth; the sword’s leather hilt tasting of blood, salt and grime. Youngblood felt the sound of the dragon’s wings beating as it flew somewhere completely out of sight. Youngblood was poised, his head low and rump high in the air; a tiger before the pounce on its prey, only that it was he who was being hunted.

A great ‘thwomping’ sound caught him off guard and he spun around to meet its source. However, the wing beat yielded nothing but a vibrant orange cloud cover, stretching into the far beyond. Then the glare of the sun was lifted from his hide as a mighty shadow crossed the unicorn.

The ground was impacted and waves of stone raced up toward the pivoting pony, the solid floor now nothing but a liquid. Youngblood was sent cascading away from the seismic epicentre, head over hoof into a piece of long collapsed ceiling. The pain shot through his back as he impacted upon the hard, crumbled stone blocks.

The sword was released from his grip and lay six feet away to his right. To his front, the golden scales of the elder dragon gleamed similar to gemstones in water, though much tougher and imperfect and littered with deep scars. The beast stood at least three stories high and brandished colossal wings of gold and tan, they remained splayed out with its fore-claws steadying itself against the ground.

Its horned head lowered, bowing in a seemingly impossible grace of a creature that size. Youngblood scrambled to his hooves and half-vaulted, half-rolled over the fallen stone, narrowly missing the screaming jet of golden beams of fire as they hit the other side. Youngblood had tucked himself in, drawing his hooves into his body. His teeth clenched as the heat reached his nerves.

After five long seconds the blinding inferno ceased, Youngblood peered around the side of the now semi-molten stone block to find his sword. What was left anyway; the intense heat had burned the leather to an ash and the only remaining steel was of that that had lain in a small pothole; the remainder of the tip had melted away.

The dragon stomped its way toward him, its claws making dusty custard of the disturbed stone floor. It gave a signifying roar as it picked up speed and charged toward the prone pony. Youngblood had little time to spare; fumbling with the glowing hot steel held in his teeth, what flesh of his touched the blade was singed and scalded, he managed to steady the blade. He mounted the stone rubble, reassuming his tiger-like posture. His eyes narrowed and snarled in the dragon’s sight.

“Come on you big bastard! Come get me!”

The mighty beast opened its gaping maw, displaying rows of serrated daggers. Its eyes lit with a fire of their own, a fire that existed only within the dragon’s rage. The final metres diminished in seconds, Youngblood raised his head to meet the gigantic head. His blade slipped from his teeth and scalded his lower lips. His eyes widened, his vision filled with a great, reptilian throat.

***

He woke with a start. Celestia’s sun shone straight through the window to his right and blinded his eyes. He was sweating, or had been, substantially and he panted heavily. One might have mistaken his appearance for something entirely other than a bad dream.

He never gave them that name though. And not all of his dreams had ended that badly anyway. They were adventures, not real, but none the less they excited him. He wiped his forehead with a hoof as he sat up and adjusted to the morning light. He looked over at the large clock across the room; eight o’clock, “Bang on!”

His morning routine passed as normal, the only real difference being how he had got soap in his eyes. He would wash every day; however he disliked the idea of maids and other staff that his sisters received. He could take care of himself, mostly. Celestia would have been awake for a while now, having raised the sun at six as per usual. Luna would probably be asleep, she normally remained asleep all day but occasionally she woke around midday as to not seem totally outcast.

With that in mind, Youngblood found himself skipping breakfast in order to seek out his other sister. Celestia would normally spend her mornings schooling, however today was a start of a short break from education and so she would most likely be in the castle gardens. He had loved the gardens as a younger pony, but now that all the mysteries and hiding places had been discovered, it was no longer a place of interest so he seldom ventured out into the vast, topiary paradise.

The caretakers were mid-shift in their morning tasks and paid little attention to him as he strode out and onto the cobblestone path. He did not mind their lack of attention to him; after all he was no major noble. It was a whole ten minutes before he discovered the white alicorn. She had been sat in the secluded cover of a large tree in the company of some of her friends, three of them. Youngblood instantly recognised two of them as some of the same mares that had been sat near him at the banquette. “This is going to be interesting…”

He caught a few wisps of light conversation, though he could not care less as to the topic at hoof. His presence went unnoticed until he was just a few yards away when he spoke up, “Morning, Celestia.”

She turned her head sharply, slightly startled. The three others mirrored her surprised expression, turning in unison to face the blue intruder. Each was also a unicorn, with the exception of a pegasus whom Youngblood did not recognise.

“Whoa! Dear me, Youngblood. Please don’t do that.” She stopped to exhale, composing herself, “Are you feeling any better?”

Youngblood grimaced at the question, surrounded by the very bystanders that had snickered at him the previous evening. In fact, why was Celestia even with these ponies? He took a quick glance at each face before answering in a monotone, “I am, thank you. What about you?”

She smiled awkwardly up at Youngblood, giving a quick nod in response. “These are…”

“I know. Good morning, m’ladies.” He forced a pleasant smile; perhaps he could get some dirt on that noble prick. Heck, he does not even deserve such a compassionate title!

Each displayed very unique signs of fear, except for the stranger. The reply came out of modesty and fear, rather than true compassion, the stranger again out of suite; she seemed a little more, friendly? Who was she? Had they met?

“I hope you can find it within your heart to forgive us for last night’s… complications.”

“Indeed, Youngblood. We are truly apologetic, you simple must…” She stopped, catching her tongue before she recited the entire works of Foal Dahl. Her name was Parchment, Quill’s daughter and book worm. She was quite a small mare, much smaller than Youngblood and her mane was always kept short, to her father’s distaste, though it never lacked the graceful shape of her companion’s.

Youngblood raised a hoof, “Accepted; even I have apologies to make”. “Even if they are for the wrong bloody reasons!” He turned his gaze over at the second mare. She had the flowing mane of Luna herself, though it was a very light pink and lacking the starry quality of the princess. She was of her companion’s age, though she seemed at least two years older. She went by the name of Rose, though the mark on her flank depicted her of much less a floral character; it was a pair of crossed pikes, though she made the careful effort to hide them from sight.

“Nonsense; he was being outrageous. Not only that, but I doubt he’s awake for you to apologise after that show you gave him!” The pink maned pony giggled and was joined in chorus by Celestia and the rest of them. Youngblood remained silent, though failed to keep down a huge smirk.

“It was that wine I tell you! Father lets me only a single glass on the occasion…”

The conversation drifted to the more pleasant and humourous aspects of the night of yester. The boundaries were lifted and the group descended further into laughter and confessions of particular behaviour. This pleased Youngblood. He seldom had the chance to talk to the ponies that practically resided with him and these mares none the less. It occurred to him that he lacked a single colt or stallion that he regarded so friendly; which was probably the cause of the banter he faced on a daily basis with certain individuals (yet is it really such a bad thing?).

After they had exhausted the final jokes and remarks of last night, Youngblood stepped in with a burning question. “Tell me, what is it that Money wants out of all of this?”

The two just stared at each other, exchanging nervous glances like two sisters in trouble. Parchment spoke up, “Oh, I bet he’s just a bit bored or jealous…” she said warily, as if Money was standing right over them.

The blue unicorn was not convinced. “You’re hiding something, what is it?” He calmly demanded.

For the second time, they paused. Parchment spoke again, trying to force a joking tone, “Well, he does have a liking for your sister.”

“Tell me about it! It’s like I’m a parent who keeps refusing him a sweet or something,” Celestia cut in. This elicited more spouts of laughter, but Youngblood was persistent. He stared at Rose, his eyes a steel of questioning.

She faltered under his gaze, squirming and avoiding eye contact. Looking aimlessly at the floor beneath her, “He… uh… said once that it was something about you being…” She paused, “I don’t want to be impolite…”

“It… it’s fine, what did he say?” He struggled to interrupt.

She hesitated, “About you being… low and… unworthy or something,” she cringed at the words. It came as little surprise, but the confirmation of his suspicions relieved him somewhat. “But please know that it is he alone who believes such things. Personally, I think it’s marvellous that you reside here with us.”

Youngblood nodded, “Thanks, Rose. And I understand well enough who is to blame, don’t you worry.” He drew out the last few words, his tone of voice a lot less friendly than expected from the blue unicorn.

“Perhaps that’s not the answer. Perhaps, oh I don’t know… just… Why even fight if it leads to even more fights? Can’t you forgive him or something and just be on with it?” Celestia was never one for conflict, though she knew hardly any alternative to it. He had had this talk many-a-time in the past and so Youngblood began to lose his patience rather quickly.

“No! He’s a right pri…” A white, shoed hoof silenced him in the mouth. It’s owner looking rather stern. The eyes of his sister said it all, “Speak, and be banished to the moon! Or something…”

He released his breath, removing the foreleg from his personal space. This gave him some time to think. Perhaps she was right, or talking sense. Youngblood’s issue was that any problem or threat he encountered, the direct solution seemed to him the only one to exist (and it usually ended up with injuries or tears either way), though with the coaxing from the white alicorn, he began to consider the path of forgiveness.

He reluctantly agreed, exciting another one of Celestia’s suggestive trademark facial expressions. He left them at that, bidding farewell and trotting away towards the open courtyard where arms training took place. What stress he had built up could easily be relieved via some cold steel. If he was still breathing, Youngblood could settle the score with Tucker. “That is, if he doesn’t mind getting his face ploughed in again!”

Glorious images of a particular failing noble filled his mind. He saw him fall flat on his plot having received one of Youngblood’s favourite disarming techniques that he learnt on the street. Money would get so red that his particularly ornate armour would ignite on the interior and vaporise his sweat that always graced his noble hide. Fantasies like this came quite rarely as Money’s position and father often swayed the actions of their instructor.

He found himself taking the scenic route, using the florally decorated path around the armoury block rather than the quick trot though the great doors that lead directly into the courtyard from the gardens. It was a quiet, scarcely used area of the castle that entitled Youngblood with a sense of ownership. It was his little pathway in a maze of bustling servants and staff. So caught up in this tranquil spot was he, that he failed to notice the swooping pegasus just above him.

She stopped with a practiced skid across the cobblestones, coming to rest on the right hoof-side of the path under the shadow of a summery sycamore tree. It was Youngblood’s turn to be startled. It was her, the third of Celestia’s friends.

“Youngblood, ain’t it?” She asked over her shoulder before turning to face him and offering a hoof. “Name’s Sharp Wind.”

“Finally, one accent that doesn’t reek of practiced mumbo-jumbo.” He quickly regained himself from his mental gratitude, shaking her hoof. “I thought I didn’t recognise you. You’re one of Celestia’s friends?”

“Nah… not really, yet I mean,” tilting her head. “I’m actually Parchment’s cousin. She introduced me to her yesterday whilst she was gearing up for the ban-ker-wet.”

Youngblood drew a hoof to his chin, considering her comical pronunciation. “Were you there last night? I didn’t see you.” He could vividly remember Rose and Parchment plus some of the others, but not this Sharp Wind.

“Yeah, I was sat on the middle table, y’know with the ‘hopefuls’,” she rolled her eyes at the word.

Youngblood chuckled out of sympathy, “Nothing to be ashamed of surely.”

“As you say,” she sighed. “Where you headed to anyway?”

“The courtyard, arms training,” he said proudly. “What’s it to you?”

The pegasus stifled a giggle, ignoring his question. “No offence, but you don’t look much of a fighter.”

It was true. He was perhaps the leanest, most fragile looking male in Canterlot and had the hair of a pampered prince. He looked hardly the formidable foe in the face and lacked any noticeable muscle. But this was his weapon; lacking in the body, but not in the mind. He was smart, not all-knowing but he had a notable intelligence; one that quickly made decisions in order to suppress his foes, that is.

“Is that so? Well, then I guess you’ve yet to see me out there then.” He jested.

Sharp winked at him before taking to the sky again, “We’ll see.” And so she left him puff of dust and wind. He couldn’t help his stupid grin and he couldn’t help but splutter into the thick wall of dust leaping at him through his displayed teeth.

Then, remembering where he was going, Youngblood set out to regain the lost minutes he should never have lost in the first place. He was sure that Sharp would be watching.