The Grey Path of Arcane Gears

Two Years Before

Age 16

Arcane busied herself with setting out plates and arranging silverware. Her eyes ran over everything on the long dining room table vigilantly looking for anything that made this experience anything shy of perfect. On the table was a big chocolate cake she iced herself. Taking off the original message was difficult, but well worth it.

Welcome Home, Mom!

Dad came in from the side door which linked the kitchen to the back garden, hands covered in machine grease. Before Arcane could let out a protest, Ivar Gears raised her hands in surrender with her trademark smirk and made for the kitchen sink.

“Gremlin, you know this day was meant for you, right?”

Dad did her best to sound upbeat about this whole thing, but the air was thick with fear and anxiety. Arcane gave a tiny nod, her eyes flicking from the cake to the carrot-cheese cake, to the rosemary seared mushroom steaks. Everything had to be perfect, everything she loves. Everything that meant home.

She jumped when the table was nudged. A plate of cupcakes slid in place but, Thank Celestia, that was the only change. Arcane looked up with wild eyes, the lines under them deeper than ever before.

Ivar didn’t acknowledge her hip bumping into the table’s edge. Her only thought was curling arms around her foal and holding tight. Arcane returned the squeeze but held her tears in. She trembled instead.

“Will you look at that? My little Gremlin has grown up to my collar bone. Are you sure you’re not a Changeling?”

“It’s okay, Dad. My birthday, that is. I couldn’t imagine a better sweet sixteen.”

Ivar tilted her head. “So, not a changeling?”

Arcane gently slapped dad’s shoulder and pulled away. “Ha, if I were a changeling I’d be too busy impersonating the Queen or something. Anyway, what’s mom’s eta?”

“I’ll call the base.”

Ivar turned and walked towards the wide archway that divided the kitchen from the living room. Another heavy thud shook pictures as her shoulder careened hard with the separating wall. In a matter of seconds Ivar sucked in air and tensed. Her arm shot back before freezing. Her fist stopped just before she could plow a decent hole onto the plaster out of a sudden pain-born rage. Her body went slack. She patted the unharmed section of wall and continued towards the phone.

Dad tried to hide the damage but Arcane’s eyes saw it past her sweaters. Ivar’s wings flickered in ghostly form behind them, chunks of them missing. The team she trained came back scared, so she took it on herself to finish the mission. She came back like this. Flightless and instincts dulled.

The doorbell rang before Ivar could get to the phone. She rushed over and opened the front door. It was such a blur, but Mom was inside and embracing her Wife. It was so painful seeing Arcane Quill, her normally stoic mother blubbering and sobbing uncontrollably as they kissed.

“I thought they were going to kill us, Ivar.”, was the most cogent of her words.

Arcane felt a stabbing pain in her chest, sadness, rage. Mom’s beautiful horn was reduced to flickering bits where a horn should be. Her head was wrapped around in bandages, but Arcane already knew there was a raw scar drawn deep across her mark.

Later that night she talked to her mother. She had to repeat the same sentence three times. Quill’s focus was damaged along with her horn. It was a relief when both her parents retired to the bedroom.

It was two in the morning when Arcane was alone, but her decision couldn’t wait. She dialed a number she saw her dad dial several times in the past. It took four attempts, but he finally answered. That gravely smoker’s voice was made worse with fatigue.

“Who the buck is calling me… Ivar? Is that you?”

“I’m sorry, Commander. It’s her daughter, Arcane. I need to talk to you. It’s two years too soon, but I want to sign up.”

“Listen, I know you want revenge-“

Arcane drew in a breath to calm herself. Her heart was beating like a drum. Yes, she wanted to kill every dragon she saw right now, but something disturbingly calm in the back of her mind guided her in this moment. She had a tool the army needed, and she needed the army. Not once she was legally an adult, this had to begin now.

“Yes, but…. We have more important things to do first.”

Present

Age 18

“So, that’s why I’m here. We can heal the flesh, but not the marks. We don’t understand the connection between biology and magic, at least not fully. We know that magic grows in crystal form underground, and we know that odd mineral is abundant in our drinking water and every plant we eat. We know that it was far more abundant when you were alive. If I have any chance of isolating that factor, it’s with you.”

In her heart she knew that wasn’t the only reason. Her brow furrowed as the thoughts invaded the back of her mind. She wanted those bastards to pay for what they did, and she wanted the power to do it with her bare hands. They were terrible motivations, but she couldn’t tell which was stronger.

“Please forgive me.”

Arcane turned to Pudding Head’s sarcophagus and froze. She didn’t notice the arrow before. It was so thin but so bright. Leaning closer she realized it was made with magic like the runes of a spell.

“Hello there.”

The arrow pointed toward her. She looked past herself then looked down to see another. This arrow pointed her in the center of the room, between the five statues.

“Arrows only I can see…”

She walked between a frozen scene of the three chancellors, The old King, and the deceased Queen discussing some historical matter. From each of their feet extended an arrow. Each pointed to the exact center of the chamber floor. Below Arcane was a pattern of curved bricks forming concentric rings around a stone disk the size of a dinner plate.

Until now she could write this all off as coincidence, but what she saw next ended that. Drawn in that soft white light was a hollow gear with eight outer teeth and sixteen inner teeth. Her mouth fell open as she knelt down to touch that all-too familiar symbol and the stone disk it encircled. The moment her finger caps came in contact two smaller eight-toothed gears appeared and began to spin. The hollow gear made a full rotation before breaking apart in flecks of light, and in the same moment that disk popped out of place.

Her mind swam with questions as she pulled the disk aside to expose a hidden compartment. A basket caked in dust rested inside. After brushing the top clean she opened the frail wicker container to discover four clay jars. Between them was a folded sheet of rather tough vellum. Arcane felt a little sick when she recognized the skin sheet once belonged to a dragon. Nevertheless, this message was obviously for her.

“Hello, Arcane.

First off, don’t ask. It’s not time for this to make sense. Sometimes the answer isn’t worth the act needed to discover. I hope you realize that, but something tells me you will follow your path no matter where it leads.

In the four jars are hoof shavings from the chancellors and the Queen. I should know. The Queen is secretly a slob with terrible feet. Anyway, I ask you not to disturb their rest. You don’t want to know *that* path. Trust me.

The ‘me’ you know has returned to where she belongs, so don’t waste time trying to get that particular answer. Focus on your parents. I’ve seen your heart, Arcane, and I know it tugs you in two dangerous ways. Choose a new path. Ivar and Quill will need their daughter.

-Silent Brook”

She felt a little numb with shock after reading a letter that had been waiting for her for thousands of years, all because an Earth Pony she met once in her life knew where she would be at this very moment.

“You’re right. No time to waste.”