Wild was wide awake, pacing in his dorm at the brink of dawn. His concerns over Princess Luna and what her words meant for him were pushed aside as he remembered.

Despite how hard it was for him to accept it sometimes, he was once but a simple child with simple dreams and fears. It seemed an eternity now, but barely a decade passed since this particular memory. He remembered sitting in the small living room of the apartment his family rented, deep in the evening. The apartment had just three rooms: a bedroom, a living room combined with the kitchen, and a combined bathroom. It wasn't much, but this was what they had to do with back then. He remembered when they were renting an entire house, living a decent life despite their background. However, trouble always managed to find his family: the crisis of 2008 swept them off their feet and forced them to drastically decrease their living quality just to survive.

However, that wasn't the focus of this memory. While his parents slept, he watched the TV, and it showed a documentary he would never forget. On that night, his childhood innocence was shattered, never to return. His eyes were open and unmoving from the screen as it showed one of the worst things to have ever happened in the history of humanity - World War 2. The documentary was anything but sugar-coated - it showed it all, be it death, destruction, or the numerous crimes against humanity. Despite how horrible it was, how heart-wrenching it felt, he couldn't look away for a second. Sweat appeared on his forehead, tears welled up in his wide gray eyes. First, he saw men in black uniforms proudly marching under a red banner, a circle of white inside it, and the black inverted swastika was on it. Rallying speeches in German sounded, angry and determined as the droning voice of the narrator translated them. It was propaganda of the highest sort - one that filled anyone with pride and devotion. This wasn't what made him cry.

What followed next was a true nightmare, one that wasn't confined to the uncertainties of the mind. Ruins of cities bombed to oblivion, centuries of history erased; men fighting and dying to bullets, bayonets, disease, and madness of the war; women and children, dead, dying, or crying in grief over their irrevocable, irreversible losses. The dusty air was filled with desolation, with the unending sorrow. And it was not all - a big part of the documentary was focused on the worst crime against humanity that had ever happened - the Holocaust. The clips about the concentration camps were brutal, hiding nothing. Men, women, old and young, were herded to their deaths, starved and beaten. No pleas reached the ears of the uniformed German men, no cries for help brought a savior. A black and white photo was shown - it was a vast field in Ivanhorod, Ukraine. A woman was shielding her child from a German who was aiming his rifle at her. Nearby, bodies of the already dead lay. Without a doubt, no mercy was shown - the woman and the child died. When liberation came, retribution came too - a famous photo of a Jewish man standing over a German with a shovel in his hand was shown. It was brutal, and it never stopped at that - mass killings, even mass rape of Germans followed. From justice, it turned into madness.

A dispassionate voice listed the statistics - millions died, millions were left without a home, and millions more suffered the aftermath of the terrible war. More than seventy million in total perished, a number the young boy couldn't believe, let alone understand.

Tear-filled, he run and woke up his parents. They comforted him and hugged him, never berating him for being up so late watching TV. They knew it wouldn't help his distress. Tears streamed down the face of the terrified boy as the documentary replayed the worst parts in his head again and again.

"Why... why were they so c-cruel?" the young boy begged in a hushed tone, choking back a sob, "W-why?"

"I'm sorry, my dear," his mother spoke softly. She was a simple Russian woman with an elegant face and brown hair. Her eyes were gray yet warm, completely unlike the steel-gray her son's would become, "Sometimes, people are just cruel."

There was no reason for this madness, Wild had known since then. Humans didn't need a reason to be awful to each other. To oppress, to kill, to decimate, to destroy - it was in their blood, and the two World Wars were just the worst of it, the most open and most vicious. Every single day, a human was murdered or raped or tortured, for one reason or another, or no reason at all. Out of thousands of years of human history, there was not a single one with true peace.

This nightmare he had reminded him of who he was - a human. Fallible, imperfect, emotional, illogical, unreasonable. He knew he was capable of cruelty - why, he had done it himself, using his own hands to do the unthinkable. To him, it didn't matter whether it was warranted or not - the fact was, he had done it. And, to his horror, he liked it, which only helped to solidify his opinion of himself and humanity at large.

Pain crushed his heart. He didn't want to be cruel, he didn't want this nightmare to become reality. In such a short time, this Equestria he appeared in became his home. The ponies had that carefree attitude he could never have, they were joyful and happy, and it reflected on him. It didn't show outwardly, but even he had to admit he felt better among the ponies. Of course, it wasn't all - he was cared for as well; he was fed, given shelter, provided entertainment and activities, and no one asked him anything in return. Among humans, he had to work hard for things he wanted, even if he simply wanted food. Without working, he would be dead long before thirst or starvation killed him. Here, he didn't have to work a single day, a single hour, not even a minute. He had his doubts, but one thing he couldn't deny - he could be thrown out, yet he was cared for. No one had any reason to take him in - especially not after he attacked those who helped him. But they still did, they showed him kindness.

No matter how much he wanted to suspect them, the two princesses had given him as much as his parents had once given. All without any expectations, without demanding or even asking anything in return.

He was convinced he didn't deserve it.

A few hours later after he calmed down, Wild made his way to the cafeteria. He entered it along with some other ponies and spotted Princess Luna right away. She was chatting pleasantly with her sister, who returned from the business in Canterlot. She was sitting facing the entrance of the cafeteria, and her eyes glanced at him. In that moment, Wild knew for certain it wasn't simply a dream he had - not the last part, at least. He didn't let the anxiety show on his face - instead, he calmly made his way to fetch his food and then sit down at his favorite place. He ate slowly as if nothing bothered him, but his eyes glanced often at the two princesses.

Today was his self-study day. Princess Luna was convinced he was ready to read by himself even if he often had to consult the dictionary. He didn't mind - spending time in peace and quiet was preferable to pretty much everything else to him. So, after eating, he immediately walked out of the cafeteria and returned to his dorm, not waiting for the princesses to approach him. He walked quickly but without hurrying, his stride long and purposeful. Today, he didn't want to deal with his past or what the princesses might think about him. He had had enough heartache for a week. He pushed down his emotions, locked his memories, emptied his mind of anything that didn't work towards his current purpose - learning.

A history book lay in front of him. A lot of the words were still foreign, but the edition was simplified for the foals. He got the gist of it - Equestria was born out of friendship, and it was the magic of friendship that kept the hateful cold of the Frozen North away. He snorted - of course, magic of friendship. It sounded like naive dreams young girls had, not the grim reality he was so accustomed to. Yet he couldn't deny it was, at least in some ways, the truth. Ponies were quite friendly, conflict between them was rarely if ever violent, and they easily got along with others. The worst they could do was ignore someone like they did with Wild. Even then, it wasn't precisely their choice - he simply never let others get too close to him. He continued reading, learning of the three ponies that brought the three pony tribes together in harmony. He couldn't help but snort again - the history was likely far more complicated than that. Of course, he'd have to wait until he got his proverbial hands on proper history books to learn the truth. He suspected it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows there.

Deciding to let history be, he switched to the book about magic. Magic fascinated him - it was a power unlike anything else. He read about it in some fantasy books, he knew some people even believed it was somehow real, but there was nothing. When he was a human, Wild tried many times to make magic work somehow, failing always. But now, magic was real, he could feel it coursing through his body, buzzing in the air, rumbling in the ground, whispering in the water. It penetrated and bound everything he could see in this world. He read of teleportation, of conjuration, transformation, potions, wards, charms, and all sorts of things magic could do or help with. The theory behind all the various spells was quite complex, written using many words Wild had yet to learn. However, he knew one thing - magic depended on his inner strength and on his will. Spells were patterns he could put the magic in to cast something specific. Many times, spells also required - to a certain extent - a spoken incantation. Because of his own limits, he had to spend more power on such spells than he would have to otherwise. However, the strength of his will compensated for his muteness.

He looked at a simple cube he found in his dorm. It was made of wood and featured a few symbols. He concentrated, his horn flared with magic, and then he willed for the cube to change. It creaked under his will and the force of magic, becoming longer and slimmer until it was a perfect cylinder. The volume, of course, remained the same, but the dimensions and shape changed to fit his desires. It was one of the simplest things he could do, but not the only one.

Wild learned to use his telekinesis to juggle and to hold many things at once, as much as twenty, all of various weight, size, and shape. He could make his aura into hands to interact with the physical world: to push, to pull, to squeeze, to twist, and all the other motions he could do with his hands. He had come to learn that the physical manifestation of his magical aura outside of combat spells was a difficult feat to achieve - for the most part, when unicorns used telekinesis, their aura was intangible, visible only as a translucent cloud of magical energy of one color or the other. Very few unicorns could make their aura take shape, let alone become physically solid.

After a few hours of studying, Wild grew restless and decided to go for a walk. Of course, only as long as he could avoid the princesses. He looked out the window and couldn't spot the starlit mane of Luna or the multi-colored mane of Celestia anywhere on the orphanage grounds. Deciding to take his chances, he headed out of his dorm.

Only to come across a pony he didn't expect to see, and she was walking straight at him.

Her name was Precision - after her talent in marksmanship, the one she picked herself. She was a unicorn of athletic build who was a part of the martial arts club. The two had crossed blades on quite a few occasions in sparring, and Wild always came out on top. Precision treated it as a personal rivalry, being the second best in the club herself now that Wild joined it. However, to her frustration, he seemed to be completely ignorant of it, never responding to her taunts or her attempts to one-up him whenever they fought.

"Swift Strike's getting the club together right now," she told him, "Come on, he's going to make an announcement."

Wild nodded slowly. If it helped him get out of speaking with the princesses, it would be a nice bonus. Although he did wonder why would the club assemble this day - it was supposed to be their day off to nurse some bruises and to rest.

Precision looked at Wild and noted his somewhat sunken eyes. She wondered whether he had poor sleep but shook it off - it didn't matter much. No matter how he looked, he always seemed in the best shape. And even if he wasn't, he never showed it.

She knew little of Wild, not much more than anyone else. She admitted he was somewhat intimidating, especially with those steel eyes of his that seemed to bore into the soul of anyone who dared to look into them. His torn ear and the nearby head scar was of note as well - it was a vicious injury even though it wasn't debilitating. His body was muscled underneath his short fur, and his movements were sharp and precise to a trained eye. Precision, however, refused to be intimidated; a few times, she got into a staring contest with Wild during their sparring sessions. To her dismay, there was never a definitive loss or victory - it was as if he didn't care at all. He wasn't issuing a challenge with his gaze, it simply went somewhere... further. It was intense and it did make her want to avoid looking into his eyes, but it was never quite aimed at her. Without a doubt, he was physically looking at her, but the immense concentration of them went elsewhere. However, it didn't stop him from emerging victorious from every duel the two had.

Precision fought not to roll her eyes and groan in frustration when someone she didn't exactly want to see yet strolled to the two as they walked, gathering a few other ponies from the club that were in the vicinity.

"I bet it's some sort of special challenge," he said unprompted. If there was an embodiment of an arrogant pegasus stereotype, Swingblade was it. Arrogant and, to Precision's mind, too stupid to actually be accomplished in anything but brawn. He was undoubtedly a good duelist - third place, right after her - but he seemingly had no talent at all for anything outside of it. And his name... every time Precision heard it, she snorted, much to the annoyance of Swingblade himself, who thought his name was cool. At the very least he wasn't mistaken with what his name meant - his special mark was that of a swooshing blade, and he was indeed quite proficient with swords.

"Could be," Precision had to admit. While she didn't exactly like him, he was tolerable when talking about the club, "Not the first time, that's for sure."

"He's going to make us fight each other," he said as if it was an axiom.

The mare offered a grunt to that, and the three continued on their way. Precision tuned out Swingblade as he went on about how he's eventually going to international tournaments, and it looked like Wild was never even tuned in. However, he did throw a glance his way, undecipherable to others. He was only glad he could knock the pegasus down a few pegs during sparring - it was only just to show the arrogant how weak they actually were. Wild was never the one to brag, after all.

Precision still wondered just where Wild came from. Some said he was raised by timberwolves. Considering his proficiency in fighting, it could be. Timberwolves were known to be vicious, although they were also pack animals - Wild was certainly not one for teamwork. A few ponies thought he was raised by werewolves. It was true no one saw him on the nights of the full moon, and he did express some aggression expected from werewolves, but nothing solid supported this theory. Others said he grew up in the Everfree all by himself, and it was a more likely possibility. Some even say he's possessed by some dark spirit, which was ludicrous. If he was possessed, at least one of the princesses would notice and take care of it.

"Seems like everyone's here," Swift Strike said once everyone assembled in front of the mansion, "To those who are unaware - today is Ponyville Annual Swordsmanship Tournament. Those who wanted to prepare for it, hopefully did so. To those who didn't or who weren't aware... well, your skills will soon be tested."

A few groans arose among the crowd.

"Yes, today our club is taking part in the tournament," the stallion declared, "All of us, and I expect you to give your very best. Yes, I'm perfectly aware it's your day off. A real fight could happen anytime, at any place, and you should fight well in any situation. Let's see how well you'll perform when you're not in your best shapes. Now, follow me, I'll make sure none of you try to sneak out. And even if you do, I'll know, and it will be worse then."

His warning heeded, the whole club followed him out of the orphanage and to Ponyville. Wild, along with Precision and Swingblade, were in the front, close to the trainer.

"Now, you three are the very best of ours," Swift Strike said, "I expect nothing less than excellence."

"Of course, sir," Swingblade puffed his chest proudly.

"We'll do our best," was the milder response of Precision.

Wild, ever silent, simply nodded, then his eyes glazed over as he thought, walking mechanically along the path. Precision noticed it - he often had that look as if he wasn't all there in the moment.

One of the fields next to Ponyville was taken by a fighting ring with seating around it. It was divided in two: one for Ponyville residents, another for the guests. This day, there were only two major groups: the Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club, and Ponyville Sunrise Club. There were a couple guests who once lived or wanted to live in Ponyville as well, all willing to prove their worth. Overall, there was at least a hundred ponies in attendance, both fighters and spectators.

"Gather round, gather round," an older unicorn stallion spoke up, standing in the middle of the fighting ring. His mane had silver streaks in it, his voice was coarse with age, yet his toned body made him seem much younger than he was, "Welcome everyone to Ponyville Annual Swordsmanship Tournament. To those who don't know me, I'm Steadfast Protector. Today, we're joined by the Royal Orphanage Martial Arts Club and their master Swift Strike. Let's welcome our guests."

The ponies stomped their approval as eyes aimed at the club. Swift Strike had a small smile on his face, his three best duelists at his side. Precision stood proudly, Swingblade even more so, but Wild took a visually relaxed pose, his eyes scanning the crowd. He immediately noticed a pegasus with an unusual coloration - she had cyan fur and rainbow-colored mane. She was looking at the newcomers with challenge, and she wore a gambeson that covered her belly and her front, leaving the back quite open; a bandana colored the same as her mane made sure no hair got in her eyes. He noted her as the most likely to give him trouble. Next to her, stood a nervous-looking lavender unicorn who was obviously a bit uncomfortable, although she was dressed in a full gambeson and had a helmet on her head. Perhaps she was a newcomer to the tournament. Around the two, there were four more mares, but none of them looked like they were taking part in the dueling. A support group?

"And these lovely ladies will provide music during the duels," Steadfast Protector introduced a trio: a cellist, a bassist, and a drummer, "We'll begin in ten minutes - there will be three qualifying rounds. Achieve two victories, and you move forward. Now, Swift Strike, let's see about the pairs."

The six mares noticed Wild looking at him and began whispering between themselves.

"Looks like he means business," Applejack commented, "If Ah'm certain of anything, he'll be trouble."

"He doesn't look like he's much more than twelve, maybe thirteen," Twilight was skeptical.

"That's what I think too," Rainbow Dash nodded, "No way he's gonna beat me."

"Well, you do have more experience than him, darling," Rarity said, "But his gaze gives me shivers."

"It's unsettling," Fluttershy added in a tiny voice, her eyes firmly on the ground.

Everyone agreed with that, feeling unease wash over them. Whoever he was, the young unicorn would certainly be trouble in one way or another. Rainbow Dash, however, wasn't too worried - she had been training almost since she could walk and fly, surely no upstart would be able to beat her.

Soon, they would see.

Author's Note

I think it's really time for me to introduce some other characters into the story to mix things up a bit.