Salvation | Rebirth

Wild's steps echoed inside his head as he paced around. His thoughts were a mess of... everything, if he was being honest, and he couldn't do even as little as pick up his journal and write them down. After all, if he tried that, then he would have to figure out how to sort through his thoughts, and he... couldn't do that. Not yet, at least. He needed to figure it all out, yes, but in some sort of different way.

The issue was, of course, Princess Luna, and how she had gone against him. It still stung, and it stung deep, even days later. It cut deep like betrayal would and smelled like a foul-burning fire.

Wild had thought she understood the truth of the dangers of humanity that he told her about, had understood him, and yet... Disappointment didn't even begin to cover what he was feeling. She had grabbed his thoughts, the truths he had held on to, and then mercilessly smashed them with a hammer.

As much as it pained him to admit it, however, she was right, and oh how it stung to even think it, and he could not muster enough strength to say it out loud.

It was true that his hatred for the species of his birth, as strong as it was, wasn't absolute. Good humans, despite what he thought and wanted to think, existed. Even if, he thought, in small amounts scattered across continents and beholden to vile and cruel rulers who cared naught for anyone but themselves and what would elevate them further upwards, no matter how many people they would have to step on and crush in order to get a single inch over the others.

Digging deep into his mind, into his memories, and examining them with a somewhat open mind, he could and would find examples of good humans, and plenty enough of them for his hatred to come into question.

Luna asked him if he would doom humanity, forsake them, abandon them to their own devices when someone could step in and help. He wanted to hate her for asking this question, but he couldn’t. He wanted to believe that she had betrayed him by questioning him, but if he were entirely honest with himself, he couldn’t do that either - it would be entirely unfair to her and, perhaps, to himself.

Luna told him that hatred ate people alive, and he wished to disagree. Hatred for his torturers was what had kept him alive and focused during his darkest days, it was what allowed him to survive and eventually kill them, delivering retribution for all that they've done to him. However, once it was all done, there was nothing left, and the emptiness inside of him quickly consumed him too, making him desire nothing but the embrace of death. For all that hatred had kept him alive, it had also, eventually, killed him.

Wild wondered what would have happened had he stayed, had he not shot himself through the heart. What would have happened then, when his revenge was done and he was left with nothing? Would he have been able to climb from the pit of despair and hurt, to make a life for himself despite the adversity he had faced? Would he, eventually, live a life he could not only accept but enjoy?

In all honesty, he did not think it likely. Even if the police never caught him for the 'crimes' he committed, he would have to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone to see him for who he was, discover what he had done, and then...

Whatever the case was, it didn't matter much, certainly not anymore. If he had decided to stay in that world, he would still be lacking in everything, be it food or water or shelter. His body was still a ruin then, and perhaps he would just catch an infection and die a painful death.

Wild knew it was useless to think of what would have been, considering how much better his life was now. Food and water available anytime he wished, roof over his head without conditions he would deem unacceptable, magic, a new body now devoid of scars of his old one, and even the ear of royalty. If he told his younger self that this would be his future, he would have been called a moron because such things simply never happened, certainly not to him.

A part of him whispered to let go of his hate, to move on from the hurt he experienced. That very part of him, in a voice of Luna, told him that the hatred he held onto only brought him harm, holding him back from living his life to the fullest. Wild was afraid to listen to that part and so tried his best to ignore it.

As days passed, he continued the simple routine of reading to pass the time between Luna’s visits to check on him and to help him expel the excess energy thrumming inside of him. He did not speak of their last conversation, and she likewise did not bring it up. He was grateful for it, not yet ready to talk about it. Perhaps he would never be ready, but he pushed the thought of that to the back of his mind.

He talked with his friends through the enchanted notebook, all without telling them of his issues, of course. He was weird enough without others knowing he came from a different world and hated his own species. The questions that would arise from those two facts alone were not questions that he wished to hear, let alone answer. None of them needed to know the full truth of who he was. Let them think that he was just weird and odd and... not very likable. He would deal with that.

Artful: Have you seen anything interesting while you’re in Canterlot? I know they must be keeping you for observation, but you’re not completely locked up, I hope?

Wild: I have to stay in one tower, but it’s not bad. I have books, I have a giant bathroom, and Princess Luna helps me with magic.

Precision: Are you gonna learn from her? Or will Princess Celestia accept you in her school now?

Wild shuddered at the thought of studying under Celestia. It was more of a residual, irrational fear that he disliked dealing with, but he couldn’t help it. It was true that she had apologized, and it was likewise true that she could be a great teacher for him, but he wasn’t ready to accept that kind of thing, not yet. Luna told him that he could easily get accepted into Celestia’ School for Gifted Unicorns - he had the power for it now, and he would certainly have even more in the future as he grew and as the Alicorn Amulet gave everything left in it to him. He would only need to demonstrate something sufficiently impressive to get accepted, and Luna had no doubt Wild would be able to manage it if he tried.

As much as it warmed him to hear Luna's confidence in him, Wild wasn't so sure. ‘Gifted’ was not a word that had ever been applied to him, and he certainly didn’t consider himself gifted now. His talent was unique, this much could be said, and he had great skill with a saber, but none of that was magically impressive. He had read about gifted unicorns throughout the ages, and he was far from the famous Star Swirl the Bearded, who had managed to magically eradicate sexually-transmitted diseases of his time as well as make ponies largely immune to them, all when he wasn’t that much older than Wild either physically or mentally. Neither was he King Sombra, the evil tyrant of Crystal Empire who wielded Dark Magic as easily as a regular unicorn wielded simple telekinesis. Wild was, as far as magical skill was concerned, unremarkable save for his ease of making his magic into a functional pair of hands, but that was more of a parlor trick than anything of note, in his opinion.

In the end, he replied that he would learn some things from Luna but didn’t know exactly what.

Wild: I am not great with magic, so I will learn something simple.

To his surprise, his friends disagreed.

Swingblade: No dude, your telekinesis is amazing!

Precision: Yeah, what he said. Everyone in the club says that too. The control you have, it’s like you were born with magic.

Swingblade: Everyone is born with magic.

Precision: Yes, but not with skill, that's what I mean. Wild, you are a natural at this.

Artful: I agree. Wild, from what I’ve seen, you’re great, and I bet you’re going to be really good if you try to learn more.

Wild couldn’t bring himself to disagree with his friends, knowing that they would do their best to convince him that he was good at magic. Sure, perhaps his telekinesis was better than the average, but it wouldn’t really translate into other things, even with the power that he now had. After all, it didn’t matter how strong someone could strike with a sword - if you had greater skill, you could still win, and would often win easily too. His skill in magic was like his skill with a sword when he had first picked up a tree branch and imagined himself a knight as a child. He could perhaps learn, and he would have some advantage, but he didn't think he would reach the heights his friends implied he could.

In the notebook, he could also exchange private words with any of the three of them. He didn’t know what truly drove him to it, but he messaged Artful separately.

Wild: After what happened with Trixie, I lost my scars. I don’t have scars anymore.

Artful: Is that a good thing?

Wild: Yes.

Artful: Then I am happy for you! I hope that your body is now the way that you want it to be.

Wild felt warmth inside his chest at Artful’s no doubt truthful words. He imagined Artful, out of everyone he was friends with, knew best what it meant to have a body that he wanted. Wild could not deny himself that he often looked at himself, using magic to trace where he remembered his scars were but feeling precisely nothing out of place, as if the scars had never been there in the first place. As difficult as things were, at least he no longer caught sight of his scars and was reminded of his past. His body was now entirely his, entirely new, and while the color of his eyes might have remained the same between both lives, it did not bring him grief.

Wild: How did you feel when your body became how you want it?

Artful: It felt amazing at first. It still feels good now, and I wake up every day knowing that my body is entirely my own, but it felt absolutely amazing when I first transitioned physically. The tone of my voice, the shape of things, my genitalia, everything became simply right. It all became me, reflecting who I am on the inside. There wasn’t any more disconnect between how I looked and who I was. I guess you’re asking because you feel something about your scars?

Wild: Yes. I feel good because my scars are gone. It is right.

Artful: Can’t wait to see how you look now.

Wild blushed, considering that he didn’t think he had ever had anyone truly looking forward to seeing him. He, of course, now was aware that Artful was physically attracted to him, and perhaps the lack of scars would help, although Artful had never indicated that he felt anything bad about the scars Wild had.

Wild was aware that plenty of people thought scars added a certain charm. As a kid, he thought so too, until his scars became reminders of tragedies. He had then grown to hate them, despite them, and he hated that his body couldn't simply get rid of them. Why was it that a human body could make an entirely new body in the span of nine months but could do nothing about scars? He knew they would fade somewhat, become less noticeable over time, but they would still be there, as if taunting him.

However, magic had solved that problem for him. Now that he was free of all his scars, it felt like a huge pressure was removed from him, like unseen expectations were lifted from him. He idly wondered if the magic of the Alicorn Amulet could return a limb or an eye, although he was glad he didn’t get to find out. Despite the hurt he had experienced, despite the harm that was inflicted on him, he had remained more or less physically whole throughout his first life. With his new body, he didn’t intend to lose any parts of it if he could help it.

When it came to body parts, Wild also briefly wondered whether he could ask Artful to, perhaps, share a moment with him... a sexual moment. The very thought of it brought heavy blush to Wild’s face, although he had yet to put it to paper. Artful was the only one he could truly trust to be safe with if the two ever did come together for pleasure, and Wild, both because of the influence of the now-fading Alicorn High and because of his own desires, could see himself having sex.

Instead of acting on those thoughts, instead of asking a question to Artful, he had retreated to the bathroom and fantasized. It was still safer that way, and he didn’t want to find out if his past would haunt him in moments of consensual pleasure. He didn’t know whether he would break down, and he certainly didn’t want to find out the result until he was certain which it would be. As it was now, he could see himself crying or flinching, and he knew it would only ruin Artful’s first time with him. No one, least of all Artful, deserved to experience that.

Wild, however, had a thought. Perhaps he didn’t even need to ask, certainly not yet, but he could, maybe... nudge things in a certain direction and see how it went from there. With no expectations to set, perhaps he would be able to avoid the hurt and the embarrassment of a possible accident. When he wrote in the communication notebook next, he addressed everyone.

Wild: When I am back, how about a sleepover?

Swingblade: I’m in! Where?

Precision: I’m in too.

Artful: I’d like to!

Wild tapped the end of the pen against the corner of his mouth in thought.

Wild: I don’t know where. Maybe the cabin?

Swingblade: The cabin? That’s a nice place for sure!

Precision: Yeah, that’s a nice place.

Artful: Would be nice to go there again.

Swingblade: Again?

Artful: I had Wild and someone else go with me there.

Swingblade: Did you two kiss?

Wild looked away, briefly remembering the moments when his face was so close to Artful’s he could feel his breath. If he went back in time, perhaps he would have leaned in a bit closer, just enough for him to meet him as well, and... Well, he didn’t know how a kiss felt like. Perhaps it wouldn’t feel like anything at all. Would it be any different than him putting his lips to an apple or some other fruit?

They didn’t kiss then, but Wild perhaps, maybe, kinda, sorta wished they did.

Wild: No.

Artful: No.

Wild could practically feel Artful’s thoughts on this. Despite Wild’s own misgivings about his own appearance, Artful did find him attractive and did call him perfect. Wild had no idea how in the world that happened, but perhaps it was a good thing, and maybe Artful’s thoughts on kissing mirrored his own.

Some time passed before another message appeared.

Precision: I reminded Swingblade not to get into other ponies’ personal lives. So, what’s the plan? What are we going to bring? I can get a board and knives for throwing. Or darts, that’s good too.

Wild was glad for the change of topic, although he didn’t exactly have anything to contribute.

Artful: Some board games.

Precision: Not OnO, please. I can smell the sweat.

Artful: The sweat?

Precision: Went to a OnO club once, and it really looked like they exchanged shower time for more OnO time. It was disgusting.

Artful: Ew.

Wild had no idea what OnO was supposed to be, but considering it was off the table anyway, he didn’t really care.

Artful: I have some simpler things. OnO is more of a full-day thing, maybe multi-day.

Precision: Probably about as long as those guys didn’t shower. That was definitely more than a day.

Wild left the planning to the two of them, and they ended up with some simple board games including backgammon, although he had no idea what that was either. However, since it was considered simple, he decided he would see what it was when the day came. Then there was also some planning for snacks, as well as finding out when they could take the cabin to make sure they would be the only ones there. It was still a popular spot, so it would be wise to take it in advance, put that to a schedule that others would know about and so wouldn’t try to take it.

In the end, they decided they would talk about it more in person once Wild was back, perhaps even invite some more people if everyone was alright with that, and that was that.. Wild closed the notebook and put it away, content with his decision to call for a sleepover. As long as Swingblade didn’t make too many suggestive comments, it would likely go well. Perhaps, by that point, Wild would also be even more comfortable with consensual touch, and then... who knew where it would lead.