Sunset: Stranded

Chapters

Arrival
Fan Out
Scavenge
Thirst
Shelter
School
Learning
Decisions
Danger
Concealment
Departure
Distance
Surviving
Voices
Emergence
Ash
Weathering
Solitude
Desperation
Destiny(?)
Final Thoughts from the Author [Not a Chapter]
Flight
Lay of the Land
Outset

Arrival

Chapter Two - Arrival

She hit the ground in a tumble, rolling backward and letting out a short cry of pain as the back of her head slammed into something hard. Stars burst across her vision, and Sunset squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth against the pain even as she reached for her horn to dull the—

It was gone. Stunned, she froze for a moment before her mind caught up with things. Her horn was gone. She couldn’t feel it at all. Or her magic.

Which means … She took a slow breath as the pain in the back of her head began to subside. I’m … no longer a pony?

Starswirl’s spell had contained a transformation matrix. Another reason why it needed the forces of moons to function. Though it wasn’t a standard transmogrification spell, but rather something else entirely, something that scanned the destination world and then located a form suitable to the one traveling through it … And my head hurts, she thought, shoving her memory of the notes away. Spellwork later. Right now … She had a new form to adjust to.

But I still have a head, she thought. And … four primary limbs? And she was lying atop her … saddlebags? They were between her shoulder blades now. If they still were shoulder blades. They felt like it, though … different. And her forelegs felt strange as well. Plus, her back was arched in an odd, uncomfortable manner, her rear legs laid out on the ground. But they didn’t feel stretched.

Am I bipedal now? Like a minotaur? That would take some getting used too. She’d been a different species only once before, when Celestia had used a spell to turn her into a griffon for an afternoon just to—

She shoved the memory aside. No. She exiled you.

And she could follow you. Her eyes snapped open.

Blue sky, crossed by grey clouds, filled the air above her. And … Buildings?

She tilted her head down, eyes searching for the portal.

The first thing she saw was a … finger? Yes, a finger. That was what the minotaurs had called them. It was formed of what looked like tarnished, dirty bronze. As was the rest of the statue standing in front of her. The figure was pointing at the sky, a stern expression on their … muzzle? They didn’t really have one. What they did have was …

A lot of clothes, Sunset noted as her eyes continued downward. A uniform of some kind? It somewhat reminded her of the uniforms she’d seen some of the Royal Guard in for formal events, just … less showy. More … Simple.

But simple didn’t seem like the right word for it. Utilitarian, maybe. Was there a better word for something that was so … abrupt, with straight edges and minimal ornamentation?

Her eyes continued down, noting that only the creature’s hands and head were exposed. Even its hooves—or whatever it had in place of hooves—were covered.

Is that what I look like now? Like some squat, misshapen … minotaur?

She shoved the thought aside. Her new form—hideous or not—could wait. What mattered was the base the statue rested on.

And the silvery, faintly strange shimmer on the material facing her. She watched, ignoring the strange colors and contours of what she could see of her body, waiting, counting in her mind. Would Celestia follow? Would the Guard? Would they risk being stranded on … whatever world this was, for however long until the portal opened again? Or would they—

The prismatic shimmer faded, a final, somewhat muted flash rolling across the statue’s plinth, and then there was nothing to distinguish it from the material around it. She let out a faint sigh of relief.

She’d done it. She’d gotten away. Away from her former teacher, away from Equestria. She’d exiled herself.

I’m free. She let out a choked laugh. I made it. With my notes. And those books.

She dropped her head back, and was immediately reminded of her new situation as pain blossomed across the back of her skull once more.

Right, she thought, grimacing. New body. Okay … if I’m bipedal like a minotaur then I should be able to … push myself up into that weird sitting posture they have?

She pressed her forelegs down, her hind legs lifting by reflex as old instincts took over, but after a moment’s fidgeting, she was able to consciously override the old instincts and push her body up into a “sitting” position. It felt strange, like more of her hindquarters were on the ground than was normal, but felt … right … to her alien body.

The body knows, she thought. So … let’s look at … me.

Her first thought was either that her eyes had changed, or that her coat had become a hideous mishmash of colors. She caught the startled squeak that left her mouth halfway, however, as she remembered the statue. Slowly, she extended a … finger … and poked at a hind leg. Or rather leg. The digit met fabric. Rough, heavy fabric, before she felt that press against her leg. Her sense of momentary relief was stolen by another odd sensation however, and she frowned.

Have I been … shaved?

No, she could still feel her mane as she tossed her head, and as part of it fell over her eyes, she could see that the coloration was the same. So her eyes and vision were presumably an equivalent of sorts to what she’d had as a pony.

Hairless? she thought as she began poking more parts of her new form, frowning as she felt bare skin again and again. A close look at a foreleg—Arm, she reminded herself—showed that there were hairs, but very faint. Nothing like the beautiful amber coat she’d had, but.

I’m a shaved, slender minotaur, she thought, staring down at herself. And those must be … She stared down at the swelling on her chest.

Don’t tell me. Those aren’t …

They were. She scowled, then froze. Wait, that does mean I’m still …

She let out a sigh of relief as she confirmed that yes, despite the species change, she was still female.

Okay, everything looks … sort of okay. The … clothes were odd, and rugged, and her hooves, or whatever this species stood on still felt strange inside her … boots? Almost like they were hands, but not quite?

And she was … toned. No, not just toned, she felt … solid. She poked at her arm with her fingers. She’d been somewhat fit as a unicorn, but this … Is this what it feels like to be an earth pony? Her body felt, with a few exceptions she’d already noted, like it was made of rock.

It was completely alien.

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Okay Sunset, this was your choice. She denied you the mirror even though it was your destiny, and you took it anyway. You just need to figure out what that is now that you’re here. She said you weren’t ready. Prove her wrong.

She opened her eyes again. Now, you’re still alive, if a little freaky. That’s step one. Step two … Where are you?

She spread her fingers against the statue plinth, smirking in satisfaction when they didn’t slip through. I’ll have to study the lunar cycles and calculate how long it will be before the portal opens again, she thought, making a mental note. With the help of the plinth, she pushed herself up onto her hind legs. Or only legs now, I guess, she thought as she looked down at them. Now … where am I?

She turned, her back to the portal, and looked out around her surroundings. It was … a courtyard. A massive one full of stone walls and several levels accessed by stairs carved from thick, heavy stone of some kind. Beneath her the ground was patterned, paved in brick made from a similar material. A thick, low wall surrounded the space around the statue in a perfect circle, and past that she could see benches and rows of boxes filled with hedges. Green was everywhere, both in hedges and trees.

As was brown. Everything looked—no, was—dirty. The hedges were long overgrown. The stones were covered in dirt and debris. Tree roots had pushed up paving stones, mixed with grass. Cracks were everywhere, some of the benches broken and battered. And past that …

The buildings around her were like nothing she’d ever seen. And not just because of their heavy-set, ornate nature. But because they too were overgrown and decayed. She could see green, leafy vines winding their way across their surfaces, see cracked, dusty glass that hadn’t been cleaned in who knew how long.

What happened here? And where is everypo—everyone? She let out a faint cough and cleared her throat. Might as well see if I can still talk.

“He - hello?” The word came out a little strange through her new lips—Guess those still work right—but her voice sounded the same.

Nothing sounded back at her but wind rushing through the trees and bushes. There wasn’t even birdsong.

Well … that’s … creepy. She shook her head. “Focus Sunset. If the mirror was meant for you because of some prophecy Celestia had, then you would have come here regardless, right? Right!” She straightened, the movement feeling more natural already. Especially with the straps of her saddlebags hanging over her back. Did that make it a backpack now?

Starswirl’s spellwork is impressive, she thought, twisting her head to look back at her “pack.” No wonder he spent decades working on … Focus.

Still, the sound of her own voice had helped. “Okay,” she said aloud once more as she looked around. “This place looks abandoned. Either that, or they really don’t care about keeping it clean. Judging from what it probably looked like before, though, I don’t really see that. But it’s definitely a park or city square of some kind.” She turned around, looking up once again at the statue she’d arrived from.

“I think I may be standing in what was once a fountain,” she said as she eyed the massive finger pointing towards … the sky? It was hard to tell. Above where she’d fallen out of the stone, she could see writing on the plinth, but none of the letters looked familiar.

Strike one, Starswirl. “I can’t read what it says but …” Beneath the placard of text there was a small diagram of concentric circles that was … almost familiar. “Orbits? Maybe this is this world’s version of … Celestia?”

They didn’t look female. Maybe there was a wide array of diversion across the sexes. Or it was the male of the species. Assuming that, since she was female, there was a male.

A faint, creeping sense of unease was starting to crawl down her back. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

No. She ran her … hands … over the letters. “This is your destiny, wherever here … is. And at least this statue is readily identifiable. Unless … there are others like it.”

Working with her new “fingers” took a moment, and she almost fell over more than once as she figured out how her backpack worked. Her books, food and everything else were still in it, including …

“Yes!” A marker she’d used for making notes in her spellbooks. Working it with fingers it wasn’t easy, but she managed to get the cap off and … the mark the marker left was indistinguishable against the stone.

“Feathers.” Her fingers slipped as she tried to replace the cap, the top falling the stone and bouncing as she reached out with her magic and—

Nothing. The cap bounced across the stones, and she grimaced. No magic. I have no magic.

No, that hadn’t been one of the parameters she’d changed. There was supposed to be some magic here. I just need to harness it. Without a horn.

Again she pushed her thoughts away. “Focus, Sunset.” Carefully, placing one leg in front of the other, she moved across the stone to where the cap lay on the ground and, with only some minor windmilling from her arms, crouched and picked it up. Then she slipped the marker into a pocket on her clothing. At least there was some function to them outside of providing cover for her hairless form.

“Okay,” she said, rising. “So I just need to keep track of where I am so that I don’t …” Her words trailed off into silence. This close to the wall of the empty fountain, she could see what she hadn’t a moment earlier.

A skeleton was lying on the ground, shoulders and head propped up against the battered base of one of the hedge boxes. From its shape, and proportions, she was fairly certain that it was of the same species as the statue, though closer to her size. However long it had lain there, it had been long enough that the flesh on its bones had wasted away.

She fell back, landing on her hindquarters with a thump and almost crushing her backpack once again. Then she shook her head. “They’re just bones, Sunset.”

Bones of a once-living creature, her subconscious shot back. That somepony just left here.

Maybe the place had been abandoned because of a disease. An outbreak of some kind. Maybe that was it.

But then she peered back over the wall, took in the battered and holed attire the skeleton had been clad in when they’d died.

It was clearly armor. There was no other use she could think of, it and did resemble some of the armor she’d seen in her studies. Just … formed to what had once been the body of the figure.

It hadn’t done them enough good. She could see cleanly through it in a few places. Old, weathered gashes that looked suspiciously like claw marks sent a shiver down her spine.

So … not an outbreak. Something had stabbed them clean through in multiple places, and then they’d laid down … And died.

Still, that had happened a long time ago, judging by the grass growing through some of the bones and plates. And the evident weathering of the material—whatever it was. The blue shade was dusty, but not quite as clear as it could have been had someone been taking care of it.

There was a strange, boxy looking device lying on the ground near the bones of one hand, battered and dirty, but … almost familiar. Like a … Sunset’s eyes narrowed as she searched for the name. The minotaurs had them. Muskets? No, they had something newer, better now.

A firearm. She remembered the demonstration that the Princess had been shown, how the device could fire small pieces of metal across great distances, fueled by a chemical explosive. Is that what that is?

It looks very different … But then this is a different world, so …

The sense of creeping unease crawling down her back was growing. This person needed … that … to what? Protect themselves? And they had armor, and you have—

She took another deep breath. “Whatever they faced is long gone, Sunset. Maybe it was just another one of … whatever they are.”

She’d studied wars. She knew what they were. They happened. They still did: The Griffon Empire had gone through one right before she’d been born. Maybe that had happened here?

So why had no one come back? A glint of metal caught her eyes: A heavy blade affixed beneath what she guessed was the front of the weapon. One with a handle. And despite how long it had clearly lain there, the blade didn’t show a fleck of rust.

“A knife would be useful,” she said, looking around the overgrown park, her eyes fixing on every bush and hedge. “Just … for survival purposes even.” And in case there’s something dangerous around, since I don’t have my magic … or even my horn …

Each breath was starting to come at a quicker pace than the one before it, and she forced herself to slow. “Shape up, Sunset. You’re meant to be here.Now own it.”

First, she had to get over the wall of the fountain. Thankfully, the rough surface didn’t seem to scratch her clothing too much as she awkwardly rolled herself over the low wall, and nothing darted out of the nearby brush at her.

“Easy, Sunset,” she said quietly. “Just walk over and get the knife.” She took one, awkward step on her hind legs, then another, and another, crossing the space between her and the … body … bit by bit. Before long, she was standing beside it, looking down at the aged bones. How long have you laid here? she wondered. Were you a warrior of honor, like the griffons?

She reached down and grasped the handle of the knife with her fingers, pulling slightly. The weapon moved, and she froze as the cloth-wrapped bones around what she could now see as a grip for the firearm rasped against the ground.

Just … slow and easy. She moved to tug the weapon toward her once more—and then froze. What if it activates?

There was no telling how the machine worked. For all she knew, it used magic to operate. Or, it could use a small lever, like the ones the minotaurs had made. And if that’s the case, I don’t want to be in front of it. Or by it. She could remember the ones the delegation had demonstrated for … her former teacher. They’d been deafening.

Slowly, carefully, she slipped to one side and then lowered herself onto her … knees? The motion felt natural. Easy. She was acclimating to her body already. Two large clasps on either end of the knife’s handle held it in place. She’d need to undo both of them, and the mechanisms looked old and worn.

Magic? She reached inside herself, but felt nothing. Another problem to worry about. Later. If she couldn’t use her magic yet, she’d have to make do with tools until she found a way to recover it. Because there had to be some sort of magic in this world, or Starswirl’s spell never would have bonded to it.

She tilted the weapon slowly and spotted a lengthened bit on one of the clasps. There. The tips of two fingers fit over it, and she began to pull. Harder, and then harder, her new digits aching. Then with a squeak of metal—

The clasp popped free, and she rocked back, losing her balance and dragging the weapon partway with her. It hit the stones with a mechanical clatter as she fell back on her backback once more, books digging into her new spine.

At least she’d kept her head from striking against the bricks this time. She pushed herself up, frantically twisting her head and looking in all directions. Stupid ears, she thought, one hand prodding the fleshy appendages. They don’t move at all!

She grabbed the weapon, now free of its owner’s dead, rotting grasp. The limb lay in several pieces on the ground, still partially wrapped in the decaying cloth of its armor, other bones scattered.

“Sorry.” The word was all she could offer even as she snatched the weapon up, awkwardly locking it against her side with one foreleg—arm—and tugging at the remaining clasp with the other.

She let out a faint cry of joy when the second rusted clasp gave at last, after so long that her fingers ached. It fell to the stones with a sharp clatter. She lowered the firearm to the ground as quickly as she dared and snatched up the blade, letting out a sigh of relief as she wrapped her fingers around the hilt. The blade was almost as long as half of her forele— She caught herself. Arm. The metal was dull and flat, but it appeared to still be quite sharp.

She took another quick look around the courtyard park. The only movement her eyes caught was still that of the trees and bushes moving in the wind. There was now, however, a faint birdsong, and the sound made her relax a little.

“Well,” she said, eyeing her new “acquisition.” “It’s very nice, but I can’t walk around with the blade hanging out.” She turned her eyes toward the remains of the body. The Royal Guard had always sheathed their weapons … maybe there was one on the body? On the one hoof, it felt wrong to desecrate the remains of a once-living being, but on the other …

This is not what I planned. She’d assumed the portal would dump her out amid civilization. Not the abandoned ruins of one. It was gross but … If the body had anything she could use, she probably needed it.

Setting the knife nearby, she crawled on her … Hands. And knees. Over to the body once more. It had moved slightly when she’d pulled at its arm, and more of the cloth had come apart. There isn’t much I could make use of. And not without a good cleaning, she thought. Which I can’t do because I don’t have any magic.

Something glimmered on the stones as she leaned back, catching her attention. It looked like … a necklace. From a faint discoloration atop the chest of the armor, it had lain there until she’d jerked the body before sliding free down onto the stones.

But it wasn’t like any necklace she’d ever seen before. It was made of bands of what appeared to be metal for one. And at the bottom, where normally would have hung jewelry …

Twisting her new limbs carefully, she used the point of the knife to lift the necklace into the air, examining the two bits of metal the decoration threaded through. Both were identical to one another. Redundancy? She wondered, eyeing the twin shapes? Tools? Spare parts?

It was hard to determine why a warrior or guard of some kind would wear a necklace with two flattened, metal gears on it.

Maybe it was a mark of the owner’s station or calling. Like their cutie mark. If this species has one. She made a note to check her flank at the earliest opportunity. But perhaps that was what the necklace denoted. Maybe they’d been an engineer of some kind.

She set the necklace aside and continued to examine the bones.

Author's Note

As a reminder, if you've enjoyed my work here (regardless of my stance in the opening chapter, some still might) or want to see this writing taken to its prime, then I'd urge you to check out the rest of my work here on fimfic as well as my website, which is a springboard to a number of my published novels and epics you can enjoy.

Fan Out

Chapter Three - Fan Out

There hadn’t been much else of use amid the body of the warrior. Most of the cloth she’d been able to find was well on its way to rotting, and disturbing the bones of the fallen warrior had felt … wrong. Even though she’d never known their owner in life. In the end, she took the knife, and then the firearm. The former she’d kept for herself, while the latter she’d placed at the statue’s base as a marker and reminder to which side she’d fallen though. Just … in case she forgot.

Still, with a marker in place, there was nothing keeping her from staying by the statue. And I need to explore, she thought, eyeing the overgrown tops of buildings around the courtyard. Find somepony I can speak with, maybe learn what happened here.

Or maybe just a tent, she thought, her eyes turning to the sky. The sun wasn’t quite in the same place it had been when she’d arrived. That and the greenery around her said that there still had to be some sort of authority in place for at least managing the day-night cycle. Weather could manage itself if needed, but the sun? And the moons?

So there has to be somepony—or someone—out there capable of doing that, Sunset thought as she finished checking her bags, hiking them up around her shoulders once more. The feeling of the sudden weight so high up on her new form sent her reeling for a moment, but she recovered before tipping too far to one side. So, she thought as she stabilized. Whatever they were fighting over, there’s someone left who can move the sun and moons. That meant there was some sort of central authority, somepo—someone she could speak to.

Someplace she could embrace her destiny. Learn what she would need to become a ruler, and return to Equestria with the power and station she deserved.

She took a deep breath, pushed away the doubts that swam at the edges of her mind like curious fish, and gathered up her knife.

It would be a useful survival tool. And a weapon. If it came to that. She took another deep breath, wishing again for a moment that her new ears were as flexible and useful as her pony ears had been. She could hear birdsong from somewhere nearby, and the gentle sound was soothing … but she couldn’t quite tell what direction it was coming from.

Maybe with more practice, she thought, exhaling. Then she looked up at the statue, its finger pointing up at the sky. “Okay Sunset,” she said aloud. “You’re in unfamiliar territory, and alone. The first thing you should try to do is get up high and see if you can recognize any landmarks.” She bit back a nervous chuckle at the last bit of the statement. Not likely. “If nothing else, get a lay of the land.”

Prin—her former teacher had seen fit to give Sunset a well-rounded education, even when she’d resisted it. But the Guard had taken their duties very seriously. Now it seemed like the knowledge would be useful.

“So,” she said, looking around the courtyard. “First step, get out and up.” The courtyard sat in a depression, so it was hard to see much other than the rooftops of the buildings around her. Still … The ones on that side seem higher than the ones over there, she thought. And it’s as good a direction as any.

As a bonus, it happened to be in the same direction the statue was pointing. An omen, perhaps?

Get out, get up, get a look around. She began walking in the direction of the buildings, her pace slow as her unfamiliarity with her body kept getting in the way. Climbing over the wall of the fountain for the third time was easier than the first two, but she still was forced to set her knife down and use both hands.

Ugh … I feel so weird. Her hips kept wanting to sway back and forth. Not too dissimilar to when she had been a pony, but different enough that it kept throwing her off, forcing her to take smaller steps. She forced herself to pull her focus away from her changed form, to the path ahead across the cobblestones and toward the steps on the far side of the courtyard leading out and up.

“Figure out where you are first, Sunset,” she told herself. “Then worry about shelter.” Shelter and a place she could finally examine her new body closely. Part of her had wanted to strip off her new clothes right at the fountain … but her common sense had prevailed. Anypony that had wandered by would have found her in a very confusing situation, if the clothed status of the statue was anything to go by as well as the fact that she’d come through the portal wearing her new garments.

She hadn’t gone far when she spotted water. A small causeway had been left along the sides of the path she was on, a miniature canal choked with leaves and small twigs. Still, the bottom was full of water, if stagnant and green.

Nothing she would dare drink without a quick cleansing spell. Or a filter? She frowned as she remembered her lack of a horn.

Still, it meant that there was water enough for both the plants and the small drainage canal. Which means that even if I have to collect rainwater, I should be able to find something.

She continued onward, the coverings on her feet making small scuffing noises against the stones. Twice she tripped, almost falling on her face and once coming dangerously close to drawing her blade across her hand. Knees aching, she resolved to lift her … not-hooves … a bit higher with each step.

It was at the end of the next bush that she found the second body. Like the first, there was little left but bone, decaying cloth, and the scarred, damaged armor. A further sign of some sort of fighting. Unlike the first, however, there was no sign of a weapon. Or of a strange necklace to match the one she’d collected.

Did the necklace indicate a rank, perhaps? A position of power? All the better reason to hang onto the one she’d found. She prodded the bones with her knife. Grass had grown around them in a few places.

The next path over held three bodies, and Sunset took a deep breath, a chill running down her spine as she saw the stunted, misshapen nature of the third. It was lying face down, but something about it felt … wrong.

The armor was different, to start. It was darker and more crude, like someone had battered metal into a rough shape rather than coaxed it. The bones of the creature the armor covered looked strange too, the front limbs longer than the rear legs, the shoulders much wider. She tried to ignore the faint feeling of unease in her chest as she stepped past the two “normal” bodies to get a closer look at the third.

Whatever happened here happened a long time ago, she thought as she eyed the back of the thing’s skull. It’s long-since dead.

She spared a glance at the other pair of skeletons. Like the others, both were wearing armor. One’s head, however, was gone. The other had several holes through the plating atop its chest. She recognized the way that they’d fallen. The one with a head had an arm behind the one that was headless. Two more of the weapons like the one she’d found earlier lay at their feet.

Protecting their comrade, she thought, a faint chill running down her back. Maybe I should have never—

She shoved the thought away with a mental snarl and knelt by the smaller body. So much closer, it looked a lot more like the bones of a jungle monkey. A pet, maybe? She dismissed the thought quickly as it had come. No one armored a pet.

Well, maybe? But even then, the armor didn’t look remotely the same. And the way the bones were lying …

It almost looks like it was reaching for them, she thought, eyeing its long arms. And those look like … claws of some kind, at the end of its hands.

The back of the skull was to her, the creature’s face down. Slowly she reached out with the point of her knife and tipped it to the side.

A wide jaw, gaping with needle-sharp teeth leered up at her. A tendril of ice slid down her back as she stared at it. It was no pet. It was … a monster of some kind. A predator. Nothing else needed teeth like that.

Or dies with its claws outstretched like that, she thought, pulling her gaze away from the creature’s empty sockets. What would those teeth do to your skin? They looked razor sharp.

Suddenly her knife felt very insufficient.

It’s long dead, Sunset thought as she stood once more. It can’t hurt you.

No, her own voice echoed from the back of her mind. But others like it could. And something had killed the other two bodies. If there had only been one of the … things … then somebeing would have returned to take the place she was in back. Right?

Unless they all moved, or there were so few of them left that they consolidated their numbers. Or the monsters wiped everyone out and you’re the last—

She shook her head, taking another deep breath. “They’re just bodies, Sunset. There are a thousand reasons they might have been left behind. Besides, if the monsters won, then where are they?” Not that I want to find out, but … “For now, back to work.”

She moved past the bodies, heading for the steps at the end of the courtyard and fighting the urge to look behind her, skin crawling until she was a good distance away from the remains.

“All right, Sunset.” Her voice was loud against the quiet of the ruined park, but not so much so that the faint sounds of nothing but wind rushing through the trees was any better. “You were Pri—a very intelligent pony.” She eyed the steps as she neared them, eyes sliding up to the overgrown structures beyond. “You should be able to work out a little bit about the species that built this place.”

“First of all,” she said as she reached the bottom of the steps. “Everything is very ornate.” She paused, eyeing the steps and then the railing next to them. The steps looked old and worn, while the railing was carved with intricate patterns and designs. She placed one … hand … against it as she eyed the steps again. No wonder the minotaur delegates used to use them when they’d visit the palace, she thought as she took her first tentative step up the stairs. This is hard!

“So,” she continued as she took another step. “Whoever lived here intended to for a long time. You don’t make something that ornate and then just leave it.”

Another step. “Canterlot was similar,” she added as her eyes moved to the top of the stairs, where the railing ended in an ornate carving of … something. She wasn’t quite sure what. It looked like the statue she’d seen earlier, but more slender, like herself. And with wings.

Another species perhaps? Like pegasi? Or even moreso, a princess?

Her foot caught on a step, and she locked her fingers around the railing, arresting her fall. “Okay,” she said, recovering her balance. “Less staring, more concentrating.”

Still … the strength of her new fingers was impressive.

She made her way up the rest of the steps without incident. The top of the stairs led to a wide alley between two buildings, choked with rubble and glass. None of the damage looked recent, however, and there was still a clear path through it.

She paused and examined the small statued forms at the top of the railings first, comparing their form to her new one. Clearly she lacked the wings, but she could see plenty of similarities as well.

Is this what … she … saw? What I glimpsed? She couldn’t even remember it, the vision in her mind hazy and indistinct.

Focus. She made her way down the alleyway, eyeing the heavy-looking walls on either side of her. The sound of her steps echoed around her slightly, her boots catching a stone at one point and sending it skipping down the alley with a chorus of sharp cracks. It wasn’t hard to see where the rubble had come from. Part of the uppermost story of the building next to her had collapsed, the debris around her what had fallen outward instead of inward.

From the size of some of the pieces, her earlier theory that the place had been built to last seemed all the more sound.

The alley gave way to a street, and she slowed, taking a long look around.

It looks … kind of like Canterlot? The street was decently wide, though there were walkways on either side. Space for carriages … or whatever there were several of in the street. They were squat and mounted on four wheels, but made of metal, and she couldn’t see space for a harness anywhere.

They were also weathered and worn. Some of the wheels looked misshapen, like they’d melted.

Her eyes were drawn to the fronts of the buildings next. Many of them, again, looked similar to what she would have found in Canterlot. Simply … different. And dirty.

Okay, so there are stores. She didn’t recognize the script across some of the faded signs across what were clearly storefronts, but it was a script of some kind. Same as the statue. The levels above, what hadn’t seen the windows destroyed or been overgrown, certainly looked like habitations.

All right, so our worlds are that similar at least. She could see more of the strange metal carriages—or maybe they were caravans—as she ventured further out of the alley. The road was, again, made of patterned brick, much like the courtyard had been, but she could see gratings here and there for some sort of sewer system. All in all, still not too dissimilar from Canterlot.

Save for the dirtiness. And the debris. And the general aura of abandonment. Like the way some of the trees along the side of the street had died, while others had grown enough to push the paving stones aside. Or the grass growing in the dirt that had accumulated at the sides of the street. Or the broken windows in a few of the storefronts.

Still, nothing moved. Nothing with claws and teeth sent up a howl at her appearance. She stepped out of the alleyway, glancing at the nearby buildings in both directions. I need something tall, but stable … That might work!

A tower poked above the edges of the sky off to her right, a framework climbing up into the sky. It was an odd design, more of a latticework than anything else, but it was easily taller than the buildings around it.

“So …” Her voice echoed down the silent street. “I guess I just need to get there.”

She made her way down the street, pausing every so often to walk around some of the large metal carriages. Once or twice she looked inside them, but they were different than the carriages she was familiar with. The occupant’s seats all looked forward, for one.

The wheel on the inside, however, reminded her of the wheel on a ship. Maybe they used them to steer these carriages? But they’d need to be self-propelled.

She’d barely been in this new world for an hour, and already she had far more questions than she could answer. Some of which she desperately wanted to know the answers to, and others … Others that she wasn’t so sure about.

Like why the road ahead of her was cracked and broken, a wide depression scarring its surface like the ground itself had boiled up and then collapsed back inward again. The depression almost looked like a crater left by some kind of explosion, but none of the bricks were charred or blackened.

Her boots kicked something loose, sending it bouncing across the stones with a sharp ping that made her jerk to a halt. She brought the knife up, looking around in all directions before a small glimmer of brass caught her eye. One of several littering the ground around her feet.

“These are … odd …” She bent on one knee—the motion of her new body feeling more and more natural with each passing minute—and poked at one of the small bits of metal with the point of her knife. “Metal … cylinders?” But they weren’t just cylinders. They were open on one end, while the other was ringed by a lip and had a tiny circle in the center. And more of the alien writing.

There were several of them scattered across the street, most, she noted, near the edges, where they were partially buried in the dirt. The ones she had found had been caught in a crack in the stones.

“Just one more mystery,” she said, rising and choosing to walk around the strange depression in the ground. Something about it, despite the smoothness to the soil, just felt … off.

What happened to this place? She continued down the street, her eyes searching every window as they passed her by. Many were crusted with dirt and residue, the grime so thick she could hardly see through them. A few were broken, shattered into pieces that looked to have slowly broken down after … whatever … had broken them. The rooms behind the broken ones were always in worse shape than the others, the countertops and tables scattered and overgrown.

At least it’s all familiar, Sunset thought as the intersection ahead of her grew closer. It’s a city or town. That right there almost looks like a juice shop of some kind. Except that half the windows were missing, and the tables inside had long since toppled. Leafy green vines were growing over a few of them.

A blur of motion jerked in the corner of her eye, and she turned, bringing her knife up with wide eyes to see—

A bird, its feathers grey, winging away from an open window.

It was the first sign of life she’d seen. She lowered the knife, a hot flash of embarrassment making her cheeks burn. A bird, she thought as it darted out of sight. You just jumped at the sight of a bird.

“Still …” she said aloud, her voice filling the empty street. “At least there are birds.” Hearing one earlier had been one thing, but seeing one brought a measure of calm with it now that the initial shock was over. At least everything here isn’t dead.

She moved on, still walking down the street, her footsteps the only sound over the faint rush of a breeze through the vines and overgrown trees. She passed more carriages, some of them showing signs of what looked like damage. Those ones tended to have grey-colored bones sitting in the seats.

She gave them a wider berth after the first. Not as wide as she’d given the strange hole in the ground, but wide nonetheless. It just felt … wrong, for some reason. To disturb them, or even look at them. Thankfully, not all of them showed signs of having been the site of death, but the ones that did …

They were resting places. No matter how unfortunate.

And no one came back and buried them, Sunset thought as she stepped around a particularly large “carriage” with a smaller seating area but large rear space open to the elements. Like a wagon made for shipping, but so tall she couldn’t see over it. Why?

She gave her head a slight shake. First things first. Get up and get a look over everything nearby. Find water. Her throat itched and she slowed, carefully shucking her changed saddlebags and taking another drink from the canteen she’d brought with her. Already the movements were getting easier.

Of course they are. You’re meant to be here.

Ahead of her, the street ended in a wide intersection, meeting at a cross with another. More of the strange carriages were scattered about, doors open.

There were also … barriers … of some kind. Made of stone, or maybe cement, blocking off part of the intersection. Small bags shored up gaps in the line. Sandbags? Was there flooding? Many of the bags were partially deflated, small, weathered holes marking spots where sand had leaked out.

Large, faded red letters had been painted across one of the pieces of concrete, along with an arrow. What it meant she couldn’t say, the script still alien, but it clearly pointed toward a gap in the wall and down the street. She peered down the short street, but didn’t see anything that wasn’t more of the alien buildings.

A checkpoint of some kind? For an evacuation? During some kind of … battle?

A memory of the loud flash and smoke of the minotaur weapon darted through her mind once more, and she shivered. What would a battle with those be fought like?

She took a quick look at the fronts of the buildings around the intersection, her eyes picking out even more damage. Two were clearly corner shops of some kind, though what she couldn’t say. The doors had long since been torn aside, and the shelves were bare. One building had partially collapsed, the front nothing more than a pile of rubble. And down the connecting street opposite the barrier …

Another strange depression in the ground, a gaping hole where the brick that made up the road was just … gone, a smooth depression of dirt in its place. A crater grown with grass and other small plants, none of which were immediately familiar save in shape.

Was the city collapsing? The thought sent a pang of worry through her. But then … nothing had shifted since she’d arrived, and if that had been the case, why the weapons? And the armor? Infighting? Why had no one come back?

Maybe something like a diamond dog? Digging up out of the ground. A wild animal after everyone was gone?

Ugh! I need answers! She scowled, her eyes finding the tower once more and fixing on it. It was still ahead of her, the street widening and growing more expansive, the buildings taller, but not by much. And no less ornate.

She moved on, leaving the intersection with only a single backward glance to make sure she could retrace her steps if needed. One step at a time.

Around her, there were more signs that the city had been abandoned, and abandoned quickly. What looked like a child’s toy lay discarded near the base of some steps. Empty luggage lay abandoned in the street. Trees that had once likely been orderly and neat had overgrown, pushing up the paving stones.

At least their spreading branches offered shade. Her new body had started to sweat. The air was warmer than it had been in Canterlot, though not by much. But it was harder to feel the breeze with so much clothing over her body.

Part of her wanted to remove it, but without knowing how much of her new physique required covering and why …

The tower was close now. The buildings around her looked almost like the apartment buildings back in Canterlot. There might be some someplace I can stay in one of them. If … She eyed another partially collapsed building front, the insides visible to the world and clearly destroyed. If they’re sturdy enough.

The intersection ahead held the building that the tower sprouted from, a large, brightly colored building with a massive sign proclaiming … something. The image was worn and faded, but she could make out a massive smiling face.

Someone important? Even just locally? More of interest to her was the scrawled red paint that someone else had clearly added to it later in the shape that looked just like the flattened gear jewelry she’d found on the first body.

The rest of the intersection had at one point been wide, with cobbled bricks and paint lines that allowed for both foot and vehicle traffic. What looked to have been a fountain with a statue at its middle, much like the one she’d come through, had dominated the center.

Now the statue and fountain both were sunken and tilted, as if the ground beneath them had given way, the arm of the statue pointing up through a sludgy, algae-choked pond. The painted lines were faded, the once-smooth paved bricks twisted and tilted as if shoved up by giant roots.

An earthquake? Maybe it was some sort of earth magic, like the earth ponies had, to be so centralized. Still, the front of the building with the tower on it looked solid enough. And she could see a ladder running up the side of the metal tower.

The front door let out a loud, metal squeal as she shoved it open, the sound echoing back at her from across the intersection. Dust dropped from the ceiling, cascading across the entryway, and she let out a loud sneeze.

Well, if there’s anyone inside, they know I’m coming. The interior looked like a dusty cave, its insides lit only by the sunlight from the door. She stepped forward, into the darkness, reached for her magic—

And paused. It wasn’t there. She didn’t have a horn. How am I going to make light without a horn?

And how could my destiny lie on a world without magic?

Still, her eyes were adjusting, the vague shape of a lobby forming around her as the dark shadows became recognizable objects. There was more light coming through windows as well, just murky and dim.

She took a deep breath, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the dust in the air. “Come on, Sunset. You can do this. Just find your way up to the roof, and get a good look around.”

It seemed so simple when she said it. Just like everything else had before—

NO. There wasn’t time to think about it. “You’re here now,” she said, still holding her knife carefully. “Just … one step at a time.”

A hallway led deeper into the building, and she moved toward it, ignoring the decrepit reception area. There has to be a way up, she thought as her world grew darker. Some way of getting to that tower.

She found the stairs first, almost falling over them in the dim lighting. Thankfully, whoever had built the building had opted for open skylights. Not that they were very open anymore, the glass covered by the grime and debris of who knew how many years. But they let enough light in for her to find a way up the wide, metal stairway without falling.

“One floor down,” she said, the sound of her voice making the abandoned structure feel all the more empty. The stairs up to the next level let out an ominous creak as she began moving up them, and she froze, but when nothing happened she moved up the remainder of them without incident.

At the top she found another body. Or what was left of one. Maybe years ago the smell would have been horrendous, but all that was left now were decayed, desiccated remains stretched over bones.

Sunset swallowed. “It’s just like a Daring Do novel,” she told herself. “Just another ancient body.” Its clothes were more like hers.

She wasn’t sure what had killed it, though the shadowed stains beneath the body in the destroyed carpeting gave hints. Another one of the strange devices that was probably a weapon lay on the ground nearby, though it was different from the one she’d found her knife on.

The upstairs level was small, so small it didn’t take her long at all to find a large, heavy door with a crack of light showing through from outside. She put a hand against it, pushed, and—

The door stopped with a sudden metal-on-metal clang, a familiar cacophony of clicks following in its wake as she let off.

Someone had chained the door from the outside. She could just see the links through the small gap. They were rusted and worn.

Her first thought was to simply summon her magic and cut the links in half, but without a horn, that was impossible. Or at least past her current abilities at the moment.

I can’t stop now. I’m so close. I’m right— The glimmer of the large knife blade caught her eyes, and she hesitated only a moment before jamming the end of the blade between the links and yanking downward. The rusted metal began to creak, and she pulled harder, both forelegs straining—

With a loud pop the weakened links gave way, and she fell to the ground, knees slamming into the doorframe even as her body slammed into the heavy door. It flew open, and she barely managed to throw the knife away and catch herself, the skin on her new hands shrieking in pain as she skidded across the rough rooftop.

Still, she kept her face from striking the ground, and she could feel the breeze moving through her mane, a welcome cool after the hot, stifling, dust-laden air of the building. She pushed herself back up, sweeping a few loose strands of her mane back behind one strange ear … and saw the tower.

It was massive, climbing into the sky, a latticework of metal for what purpose she couldn’t begin to say. Here and there strange, round shapes had been grafted to it, their direction and design as alien as the rest of the spire.

But, she could see the mesh metal platforms around them. And the ladders that led up to them.

“Okay,” she said, rising to her … hooves? Her knife lay a few feet away on the rooftop, and she picked it up. “Now just to …” She eyed her alien fingers, and then the rungs of the ladder. “Figure out how to climb, I guess.” Were her fingers strong enough to grip the rungs? Or would she need to use her joints?

The ladder at least looked sturdy. Really sturdy. In fact, the whole tower looked like it could have withstood a good bucking from an earth pony without moving so much as an inch. At least I won’t have to worry about it falling down. She glanced at her fingers once more. Maybe I could …?

But no, a quick look at the rooftop around her told her that she couldn’t see what she needed to see. The building was only as tall as those around it, and though she could see what looked like green off in the distance past the rooftops, her angle was too low to make out any real detail.

A glance behind her showed that she could climb up atop the housing of the door she’d just exited, and in fact there was a metal stairway nearby probably just for that purpose but ...That’s a lot lower than the tower. She turned her eyes to the structure once more. She could make out two platforms, the lowest easily a good two dozen feet or more above the next-highest point of the building.

Okay Sunset. She took a deep breath. Just … climb. Your new body has been pretty good at adapting so far. She walked over to the base of the tower, her head tilting further and further back as she followed the ladder with her eyes.

And that’s … a long way up. She wasn’t sure how durable her new body was compared to her old one, but something told her that she really didn’t want to fall from so high above ground.

“First things first,” she said, setting the knife at the base of the ladder. Then, after a pause, she moved it around and behind it. “Just in case,” she said, her eyes sliding upward once more. Should I remove my pack? I might want to make a map or— She paused.

“I don’t know how to write anymore,” she said, staring down at her fingers. “Or draw.” Except with my mouth. But even that had changed. She’d seen griffons and minotaurs write with their fingers, but even the one time she’d been transformed into a griffon she’d never tried it herself.

One more thing to learn. She shucked her pack, almost dropping it but catching it and setting it on the ground at the last minute. Another quick gulp from her canteen—Find water—and she was ready.

It was slow going. She had to focus on each hand individually, and watch each … hoof? Maybe it was a paw? No, foot! She made her way up the ladder. The metal rungs were thankfully easy to grip and stand on, but they were also hot, heated by the bright overhead sun, and before she’d even made it a quarter of the way to the first platform she could feel sweat starting to run down her face.

Just … ignore how far away the roof is getting, she thought as she moved a boot up another rung. A breeze stirred, and she let out a faint sigh of relief. Thank … She caught herself. I don’t know. The wind, I guess. She unclenched her fingers and moved her hand another rung up. Around her more of the city was coming into view, but she pulled her eyes away, fixing them on the rungs above her. You can do this, Sunset. You can do this.

You were meant to do this.

The act of climbing was getting easier, the wind whipping her bright mane around her face as the first of the platforms grew closer and closer. She could pick out the pattern in the metal it was made from now, a sort of crisscrossed mesh that had let her through it. The bases of her hands were burning from the heat of the metal, not quite so hot that she was worried she was damaging them, but enough to be quite uncomfortable. She was only a few rungs away, then two, then one …

Then she was pulling herself up over the edge of the platform, one boot slipping and sending her heart leaping into her throat as her fingers locked tight. In a moment her boot … paw … whatever it was … was back on a rung, and she pushed herself the rest of the way up, dropping to her hands and knees on the hot metal.

She didn’t care. She was off of the ladder. She wasn’t even that bothered by both how unnatural and familiar at once the position she was currently in felt.

Sunset waited for her pounding heart to slow, staring down through the mesh of the platform, before looking up and rising at last. The wind had increased in force with every rung upward, and now that she was halfway up the tower, her mane was whipping around her head. She fiddled with it for a moment before blindly shoving what she could down into the neck of her jacket. A few strands had eluded pursuit, but they hardly felt important at the moment.

She could see.

The city, or rather town, stretched around her, easily mile or more in all directions. She could actually see the faint depression that marked the park she’d come out of … and a lot more besides that. What looked like businesses, stores, homes, and even structures she couldn’t identify were spread around her. Each looked solid and stocky, like they’d been built to withstand blows from giants.

But despite that, she could see damage everywhere she looked. One whole section of the city looked to have caught fire. Several more areas looked as though the ground beneath them had collapsed. She took several steps, working her way around the platform, her hands lightly grasping the safety railing, staring at the cityscape around her. Here a building had collapsed. There iIt looked as though several others had been blown apart, like a giant beam from a magnifying glass had somehow worked its way across the city. What looked like a small factory of some kind was half-gutted.

Still, there were buildings that didn’t look damaged, and she noted several of them before pulling her eyes to space past the town’s edge. She could see mountains on the horizon, as well as a massive, titanic road that was wide enough to be a river passing right through one corner of the town and winding across the landscape. And past the edge of the city …

Forests. And overgrown fields. Here and there her eyes were drawn to what looked like homes, even out toward the horizon. Structures of some kind, at least. Some with large, slowly rotating fans—windmills, if a little different looking and battered. What their purpose was she couldn’t say, but they poked above their surroundings, slowly spinning in the wind.

There were signs of damage and devastation out there as well. Charred sections of scarred trees where things had clearly burned some time ago. Gaping openings in the summer greenery that looked out of place. More of the strange carriages on the wide road.

But the thing that struck her most was how little movement she saw. Here and there she could see what looked like birds darting through the trees. But any more of … whatever she was? There was no sign.

Suddenly, she felt very alone.

Author's Note

Scavenge

Chapter Five - Scavenge

She found the Food Barn easily enough. Or at least, whatever the locals called it. But it was close enough to the larger “Food Barn” Barnyard Bargains store she’d seen back in Canterlot that her brain almost immediately galloped to the name.

It looked reasonably intact too. Sure, some of the large, sheet-glass windows across the front of the store had cracked, and there was one corner of the building that was sagging slightly, but it didn’t look that bad.

The same couldn’t be said of the lot out front for the carriages. From the look of things, it had been the site of several accidents during whatever … event … the city had suffered. Not only were there carriages that had simply been abandoned atop the strangely textured surface, but somehow several had been thrown up on their sides or upside down. A few had even smashed into one another, their metal sides warped and dented.

Some of the damage might have come from a titanic crater in the center of the lot, but it was hard to tell. Though grass and greenery had long-since sprouted across the gaping wound in the ground, it was both wide enough and deep enough that at first she almost had thought its cause some sort of explosion, a blast of some kind that had hurled the nearby carriages into the air.

Except … that would have shattered all the glass, Sunset thought as she neared the edge, slowing her steps. She wasn’t sure how far down it was—Being transformed without any point of reference is really strange—but it looked to at least drop down as two or even three times her own height.

Plus … that looks like more of the strange material the lot is made out of. She could see the pebbly texture where the stuff had crumbled. It was almost like glued-together gravel. Still, if it had been an explosion that made the crater in front of her, then it would have flung the material away.

Some sort of … collapsing spell? Again, there was something about the hole that put her on edge, even with all the grass growing up out of it. Something she couldn’t explain.

Maybe magic? She peered down into the crater for a moment longer, but as with the smaller ones she’d seen around the city, again she could see no reason why the strange landmark made her so nervous.

Other than it clearly being something that’s out of place. She turned to one side, skirting the edge of the hole and occasionally giving it quick glances. Really out of place. Ahead of her was one of the wrecks, two carriages crumpled where they had crashed into one another. A quick glance at the point of impact showed that there were no bones crushed between the two, further solidifying her theory that the carriages moved by some sort of magic power.

Maybe if I can figure out how to access my magic in this new body, I can get one of them working. It would sure beat walking. Her new … rear-hoof-replacement-things were already getting sore. As were her legs. It’s official, she noted as the front of the store neared. Two legs is definitely worse than four. The least this body could have is a pair of wings or something!

She scowled, only to pause as she neared close enough to the front entrance of the store to see that the front doors were already open.

No, worse, she thought, coming to a stop. Those have been forced open.

Somehow, the glass on both sets seemed to have survived whatever event the city had suffered. But a length of chain lying in the ground by the handles told the second half of the story. Someone had locked the doors tightly … only for someone else to have torn them open. Now that she was closer, she could see where the latch holding the door shut had been destroyed as well, the metal around it warped and twisted.

But also old. The bit of chain was so weathered she could hardly tell where it had been broken originally through the thick build up of dust and dirt around where it lay. And the battered metal of the door’s latch was equally aged.

Whoever had broken in had done so long ago. On the other hoof, they’d likely done so after the city had suffered its battle.

“Which means there are survivors,” Sunset said quietly. “Someone made it out.” And then had come back, though they hadn’t stayed. Or they had, and were watching her.

A shiver worked its way down her spine, strange bumps rising on her arms. She rubbed one of them for a moment until the chill passed.

Relax. No one’s watching you.

Still, the thought did make the motion of stepping through the half-open doors a bit more daunting. Especially as the light around her dimmed, the shadows inside growing as she realized exactly how dirty the windows had been.

“Get a grip, Sunset.” There was a second set of doors, and unlike the first, they were neither open nor locked. There were faint lines scraped in the dust where the last visitor had pulled the door aside, but they were faded and old. No one had come in or out in a long time.

Not that the inside looked that appealing. The inner glass of the vestibule was cleaner than the outer, but not by too much. Just enough for her to make out the dim shapes of what looked quite a lot like empty shelves.

The inner doors let out a loud, languid squawk as she pulled the handle, budging maybe an inch before grinding to a halt. She scowled and pulled again, the squeak ringing out once more but again terminating in a grinding rattle of metal as the door stopped. In frustration she tried the opposing handle, only for it to scrape to a halt just inches past the first.

“Fine.” She set her knife down, wrapping both hands around the handle of the first door and bracing herself with her legs, leaning back and putting her full weight on the handle as she pulled while trying not to give in to the feeling that she was falling over. The door rattled slightly but held, and her scowl deepened.

“Come on, you mangy hunk of metal …” She pulled herself up before dropping her weight back on her arms and pushing with her legs. The door rattled but didn’t give. Again. “Give …” She dropped and pulled, a grinding noise not unlike getting a mouthful of dirt coming from the hinges. “It …” Another drop. The gap between the doors widened by an inch. “U—”

The door let out a grinding rasp, giving way with a jerk before stopping just as abruptly as before. Her fingers slipped free of the handle, and she let out a shriek as she toppled back, landing abruptly on her hindquarters.

“Ow …” For a moment she sat there, hands splayed out behind her in the dust, eyes glaring at the door. The gap had widened … but not by much.

Something was digging into her behind. She leaned to one side, swaying slightly before the unfamiliar motion evened out, and probed with one hand. Hard, dulled brass looked up at her from the dust.

“Another brass tube,” she said, tossing the offending item at the partially open door. It hit the glass with a faint tick and bounced away. “How many of these am I going to find?”

At least she hadn’t landed on her knife. Her eyes dropped to the long blade and she shivered. I need to get that thing a sheath as soon as possible.

But the gap in the door was wider now … Maybe wide enough. She pushed herself up, dusting her palms off against one another and grimacing as she saw the dirt and soot stuck to them. I wonder what the likelihood of me finding a shower somewhere around here that still works is?

She pushed that thought out of her head quickly enough. Odds were it’d be baths in her future. Cold ones, unless she could figure out a way to heat some water.

At least I don’t have a coat anymore. Drying herself off would be a lot easier, she suspected, once she was out of her clothes. Though she’d need to wash those as well ...

She shook her head, mane whipping around her. Later. She picked up her knife once more and peered through the now widened gap. The inside of the store was dim, but it had definitely been a food market of some kind, not too dissimilar from Barnyard Bargains.

She gave the air a tentative sniff. It smelled dusty and dry, with a hint of earthiness to it. But there was no underlying sharpness of rot. Then again, who knew how many years it had been since the city was abandoned.

She twisted her body to one side, awkwardly trying to shuffle herself through the gap and letting out a yelp of discomfort as her pack snagged, jerking the top of her body and shoving her front against the metal.

“Ow …” she said, stepping back out of the gap and glaring down at her chest. “These things are sensitive.” What a stupid place for teats. Still there was nothing she could do about it at the moment. She shucked her pack from her back, setting it by the open gap.

“There.” It was still awkward fitting through the gap even without the pack, but she fit. She slid through, turned to pick up her pack—

And screamed, jumping back as she saw the large figure standing on one side of the door, clad in armor and looking right at her. She swiped wildly with the knife, but the figure didn’t even twitch as the blade whistled right past them.

Something collided with the backs of her legs, yanking her feet out from beneath her. She fell backward, landing in a display with a higher-pitched shriek. Fingers slipped over what felt like carpet as she pushed herself back, one hand bringing the knife up to point at her attacker. She was scrambling, sliding, mane falling around her face and—

“Get back!” She didn’t even know if the figure could understand her. What if it were one of those monsters she’d seen outside? But it was too tall to be one of them, and too …

She paused for a moment, still holding the knife out in one shaking hand. The figure was too flat.

She let out a shaky, nervous laugh as her eyes took in the abrupt edges to the figure’s form, the way the dim light played over their shape. Or rather, their lack of shape.

It was a cutout. Made of cardboard, probably. Placed right by the entrance. There was a faded box of something in the figure’s hand.

She let out another shakey laugh, turning her head but not taking her eyes off of the cardboard cutout. Yeah. Definitely cardboard. Nice job, Sunset. Some adventurer you are. You just got scared by an advertisement. And backed into a shelf and fell over.

She pushed herself off of the display case, noting with a twinge of disgust that she’d picked up even more dirt and grime. Some of which looked to have come from mummified fruits of some kind.

“Yuck.” She glared at the cutout. It’s positioning made sense but at the same time … she wanted to be angry at it.

At least no one was around to see me scream like a little filly.

Hopefully. The thought sent another faint chill crawling down her back, and she peered out at the rest of the store. Suddenly the dark, dry interior looked even less welcoming.

But … at least it was recognizable. She could see the wired shapes of shopping carts over to her right, next to row after row of places where ponies—or whatever this species was—paid for their goods. There were the display areas that she was in, all of which looked empty … and then there were the shelves. Row upon row of them.

Dark rows. She frowned.

I don’t have a horn I can light anymore. Worse, she didn’t have a magilight in her pack.

But I’m here now, and the door is open … She stepped up the entryway again, eyes still fixed on the cardboard cutout, even as she grasped with one hand and found the straps of her pack.

“Wow,” she said, still staring as she slid the pack back onto her shoulders. “Big, aren’t you?” She was fairly certain he was male, at least judging from the massive muscles on display. What she’d taken for as armor at first glance now looked a lot more like a sporting uniform of some kind. A sports star then, like hoofball. They were holding one hand out, thumb raised upwards. The other held a box of something that had … She lifted a hand and wiped a layer of dust away.

Yup, that’s him. A sponsor, then. Of what looked like a cereal of some kind.

She brought her gaze up to the cutout’s head. He was grinning, eyes alight with good cheer. There were streaks of paint of some kind on his face—again, similar to hoofball in a way—and his mane had been cropped so close he was almost bald. The tone of his skin was quite a bit darker than hers as well. Were skin colors like a pony’s coat, then? Or was hers out of the ordinary?

No, there had been a range in the pictures in the guard brochure too.

Still, she thought, staring up at the figure. If it was life-sized it was easily a head again taller than she was. Or more. He’s kind of attractive in a rugged sort of—AIIIE!

She jerked back, stepping away from the cutout and looking down at her hands in shock. Are you kidding me Star Swirl? Are you kidding me!? Are you—

She screwed her mouth up, holding back a scream. You went all the way?

Part of her knew it made sense. If you were going to use almost incomprehensible levels of magical power to fully change someone’s species, why go half measures? Especially if you were going to be going to an alien world where you might need some of the same reflexes and general instincts of whatever you became. Walking on two legs, for instance.

But that? Sunset let out a faint “blegh” and scowled at the cutout. If I ever get the chance, Star Swirl, I’m kicking your tail so hard it comes out your nose.

Right. New goal. No … going native. Not that far, anyway. You’re here for your destiny. For what you can become. Not that.

Not that there weren’t interspecies couples back in Equestria. They weren’t common, but—

“Nope.” She turned, not even noticing how well she’d spun on one heel. “Nope. We’re not dealing with that yet. Water and food first. Freaking out over new two-legged furless minotaur body later.”

She let out a final huff, then moved out past the empty display cases. If there had been anything left by whoever had been there before her, it had long since ended up as some sort of dried sludge.

The shelves were a bit more promising. At a distance, anyway. As she drew closer, eyes adjusting to the dark light, she could see how empty they were, and she felt her stomach sink. Here and there she could make out what looked like small boxes or packages of something … but as she reached out and touched one with her fingers, she could feel the lightness of it. Another sagged, the cardboard brittle and weathered.

A third felt promising … until the thin layer of plastic over it peeled away, exposing a faint whiff of stench that made her nose wrinkle. “Yuck.”

Still … she thought as she moved to another row. There are a lot of shelves. Not everything can be gone.

“Just … most of it,” she said as she caught sight of the empty rows of shelving. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.” I’ve got some food in my pack. I could find water. “Maybe I should have been focusing on shelter.”

But I’m here now, she reminded herself as she made her way back down the next aisle, eyes probing the shadows for any sign of useful items. A cylindrical shadow in the back of one shelf caught her eye, and she stepped closer, giving it a more thorough look before tentatively poking at it with her knife.

A metal can rolled out at her, the label faded and wrinkled. An image of a fruit was printed on it … but the side of the can was dented, rust faintly visible in the low light.

Horsefeathers. She shoved it back, trying not to start as it hit the back of the metal shelves with a metallic thud. “Rusted.”

Rusted cans were bad. She wasn’t sure who had taught her that, but she’d remembered the lesson. Someone from the castle kitchens, maybe. Or one of the Guard.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice quiet. “Not now.” She reached the front of the store and started forward again, walking in the center of the next aisle, panning her eyes back and forth, looking for any signs of something that had been left.

Whoever emptied this place was thorough, she thought. A faint bit of shadow caught her eyes, and she moved closer to one shelf. The tip of her knife probed into the black, and three plastic-wrapped boxes, each the size of her palm, slid out from the back end of the shelf.

That looks like … raisins? If they were, and the packing was still sealed … She tapped it with a finger. The material felt sound. Well, it’s something at least.

But three small boxes of raisins, if that was what they were, wouldn’t last her long. And I still need water.

She came to a stop as she reached the end of the row, glancing back at the distant doors. Maybe this was a waste of time. Someone, or a lot of someone’s maybe. But they definitely cleaned this place out.

That, and if I did find something substantial … She glanced back at her pack. Water is heavy, and I’m not on four legs anymore. Which means carrying water could be a lot more difficu—Ugh!

She started back down the next row, another scowl on her face. If Prince— If she had just let me embrace my destiny, maybe I wouldn’t be having this problem. She lashed out with a boot, kicking away a partially-torn box. It bounced off of one of the nearby shelves.

What if she succeeded. What if I’m not in the right place at all? She shook her head, slowing as the sudden motion played at her new balance.

“No,” she said aloud. “She had a vision. And those don’t lie.”

Unless she lied about that too.

But no, she hadn’t. What little she’d let slip … and her expression at doing so … Sunset had known her since she’d been a filly. She had been like a mother.

She hadn’t lied. She’d had a vision. A prophecy. And those did not lie.

“And that means I’m in the right place,” she said, wiping something hot and wet away from her cheek. She stared down at it in shock. When had that happened?

She blinked her eyes a few times, driving the dampness away and drying it on the sleeve of her jacket. “Forget it,” she said. “She didn’t believe in you. Don’t prove her right.” She scowled again, eyes narrowing as she turned to the next row. “Prove her wrong.”

Unfortunately, the next row didn’t have much in the way of her goal either. A single box of what she guessed was a baking mix of some kind that had stayed dry. She added it to her pack. A bit further on she found a pile on the ground of something, though she wasn’t sure what. The plastic bags had long since split, and as she neared the whole pile seemed to writhe as hundreds of bugs swarmed away.

She backtracked to the next aisle after that, only to be met with utensils and cooking implements. Which would be great … if I had a stove. Or any food to cook.

She moved on. Past rows of spatulas, forks, spoons …

She grabbed two each of the latter. She didn’t have any in her pack. And quite a few, judging from the disproportionate numbers, had already been taken.

But it wasn’t food. Or water.

The next aisle had something that was almost useful. Scented soaps of all kinds. Someone had knocked several off the shelves in the past, some of the plastic containers cracking and leaving a sticky residue on the floor. After one misstep, she avoided the others, one boot clinging slightly and coming free with a faint syrupy slurp for the remainder of the row.

This is it, she thought, turning onto the last aisle. The musky smell was stronger here. Against the wall of the food barn were shelves of a different kind, thicker and heavier looking. Whatever had graced their racks had long since rotted, leaving behind a dark sludge that looked quite a bit like the compost she’d seen around the castle gardens.

The shelving opposite them was bare.

So that’s it then. One box of … something … and some raisins. Maybe. Someone else, or rather a whole group, had already taken what they wanted from the place.

Maybe. There was still one place she could check. There had to be a back somewhere, right? A … she thought back on her lessons for a moment, trying to place the word. Receiving dock? The food on the shelves had to come from somewhere. The Palace had been home to several doors for such shipments, brought in regularly to stock the pantry. Pri— She had taught a lesson on it once. A brief switch from the more common lessons in magic.

Magic I can’t even access right now. A scowl graced her face. Some mage I turned out to be.

Focus, Sunset. Her mane whipped around her head as she shook it again. Later. You can examine this new body and figure out how to access your magic later. Right now, you need to prioritize. Focus on finding water. Then food and shelter. Or was it shelter first?

Ugh! Forget it! She lashed out with her boot without thinking, sending a stray clump of … something, she wasn’t sure what, skittering across the floor. It bounced off of the base of one of the shelves with a muted clunk.

Come on, Sunset. Her fingers were clenched so tightly they almost hurt. Just … check the back rooms or whatever, then start looking at the nearby stores. Maybe you’ll have more luck there.

“Yeah, maybe.” And now you’re talking to yourself? Some destined leader you turned out to be.

She scowled, but headed for the back of the store, boots kicking aside more clumps. I really need to find someplace to take off all this clothing and see what I look like underneath it. I definitely feel different. And come to think of it, the Palace had a laundry room for cleaning clothing as well as napkins and other stuff. She could already see smudges on her legs from climbing over some of the low walls and rubble outside. There was probably more on her back from falling so much. I might need to find some way of cleaning them. If I had my horn I could just use a few cleaning spells, but until then …

Her eyes drifted down to her hands. Manual labor? Like some magic-less thing? Ugh!

At the end of the row the heavy shelving turned, and she followed, moving along the back wall of the store. It was darker in the back, the few windows both high above in the ceiling and covered in dirt. As well as small. What little light they let in was enough for her to see basic shapes and the general decay of the place … but not enough to make out any fine detail.

She could also see that she’d been wrong about what the “back” of the store was when she’d walked through the aisles. What she’d taken for the back was actually a long series of glass countertops. Or at least, had been at one point. Most of them had been shattered, broken or otherwise destroyed. They must have held food, she thought as her eyes made out darker shapes behind them, stations and desks. Did someone smash the glass to get at it?

Still, it looked like there was plenty of open space behind the broken countertops. And she could see a path around them, if one that was a little convoluted. One that looked like it might lead to a doorway of sorts, though it was hard to tell through the darkness. She reached out for her magic out of pure reflex, only to frown when once again she felt … nothing.

This planet can’t be magicless. Maybe it’s just temporary. You’ve got to get used to the field here. Or the trip through the portal drained all your magic to help fuel the transformation spell. She slowed to a halt as she considered the last one. That … actually does make sense. True transformation magic is insanely powerful stuff otherwise. Alicorn-level. Maybe that’s how the portal does it.

Still it didn’t help her now. At the moment. Staring at what looked like a dark doorway in the back of a thoroughly wrecked location.

Let’s see … Venture into the dark alone, without a light? Or look for another way in that’s less rough and maybe a bit more well-lit?

Yeah, that’s not a hard decision. I’ve read a few horror books. And the remains of the thing she’d found in the courtyard had been just as eerie looking as the worst creature from any of them. Now I wish I’d read a few more. She kept to the far side of the aisle as she passed the smashed counters, knife at the ready and eyes on the ground in front of her, carefully poking her way among the shards of glass that had made it as far as she was.

Ahead of her the row of broken counters came to an end, the last one terminating in splintered and shattered glass that radiated out from jagged points of impact, like something a spell or a crossbow bolt would have left. She couldn’t see any sign of a bolt through the dim light, though. Another sign of their weapons?

She moved on, increasing her pace as she left the glass behind. There was more shelving now, and plenty of it, wrapping around the back wall. Just as barren as what she’d seen before too.

But there was a decent-sized depression near the far end. Certainly looks like a pair of doors. But that means I walked right past it earlier.

Then again, I was looking at the shelves. For all the good it had done her.

They were definitely doors. Large, taller than she was even in her new body, and wide, wide enough that perhaps one of the carriages she’d seen from outside could have driven through the pair of them had they been open.

Which they weren’t. They were closed, though she couldn’t tell how tightly in the faint light. As she drew closer, a faint, black band grew between the two sides. A gap, maybe a finger-width across.

And beyond it … nothing.

She swallowed, a faint, dry crawl moving down her spine as she came to a stop in front of the two doors. What I wouldn’t give for one of the magilights the guard have right now, she thought as she stared at the black line. Then she squared her shoulders, her throat giving her a faint itch of thirst as she lifted her blade once more. It probably wouldn’t do much, but … it was what she had.

She pressed her free hand up against the rightmost door and pushed.

It was … heavier … than she’d expected, barely moving as she leaned her body into it. But it was moving, she could feel that much. Just … not very much.

“Come on.” The band of black widened slightly as she pressed harder. “Open up.” The door rocked on its hinges, faint, quiet squeaks coming from the metal as they rocked back and forth. Did someone block this?

But no, it was rocking back and forth rather than stopping cold. It just wasn’t giving much. She pressed again, harder this time, then stepped forward and shoving the door again and again, each time with more force. The door rocked further with the third impact, the hinges letting out slightly louder squeaks and the black band growing slightly larger for a moment, but that was it.

Part of her wanted to turn back. To walk away and check somewhere else. But that would be admitting defeat.

And I didn’t come this far to be turned away because of a door! She pressed her whole forearm against the door, leaning her body into it. Again it gave only slightly, the squeak from the hinges louder and mixed with a faint grinding sound. There wasn’t enough light to make them out, but they had to be rusted and caked with dust. But if her body’s weight was what it took to make them move …

She shifted her weight, pressing her shoulder up against the door and making sure her free hand—the one with her knife—was pointed away so that she wouldn’t cut herself upon it. Then she reared back, rocking her whole body to and fro to slam into the stuck door. With a sudden, grinding screech it gave, the black gap widening by several inches. She pulled back and slammed her shoulder into the door again, pleased that the heavy, thudding impact didn’t seem to hurt that much. Once more the door gave, the black gap widening enough that she could have stuck her head through it.

She slammed her body into the door a final time, and with a grinding shriek the hinges gave, the door swinging most of the way open before coming to an abrupt halt so sudden she let out a cry of surprise as she smashed into it.

“Ow.” She pulled herself away from the partially open door, her free hand rubbing at her forehead. That might leave a mark. Thankfully, the rubbing motion seemed to help, much as it had in her old body. At least that stayed the same, she thought, peering into the now open gap. Now, let’s see what …

Her train of thought trailed off as she saw what lay past the now-open door. Its swing had come to a stop because of the mass of twisted metal behind it, a bent shelf that had fallen crosswise across the space behind the door … and then been crushed by part of what she guessed was the ceiling coming down on top of it. At least that explained which corner of the building she’d seen from outside was the sagging one.

But that wasn’t what had stolen her attention. Beneath the twisted mass of metal and what was probably a support beam, a vaguely bipedal figure had been pinned. A massive, bulky figure, larger than any of the bodies she’d seen so far, and clad in armor that looked far more … brutal. One arm was outstretched, as if it had been trying to pull itself free when it had expired, but it had been pinned. Though not, she suspected, crushed enough to die.

At least, not right away. Not judging from the etched scrawls left in the dusty tiles near its outstretched, bony hands. A shiver crawled down her spine.

Claw marks. With clawed tips to each of the boney fingers to match. Whatever this creature was, while it was similar in structure to the species she’d become, it was not the same.

She bent down on one knee, sidling her body to one side so as to block as little light as possible. The skull was lying on its side, facing her. The teeth were all in wicked-looking points. Like the bones of that creature I found earlier, she thought. Was that a juvenile? Is this what it becomes? She peered further back, trying to catch some sight of its lower half, but between the dark light and mass of metal pinning it down, she couldn’t make anything out.

Still, she thought, a fresh burst of fear welling inside her. She pushed it aside, forcing herself to look closer. I don’t think … No, this couldn’t be an adult version of the thing I found outside. The forelimbs were shaped completely wrong. Not without a very aggressive regrowth period. Which was possible, but … It does take a lot of energy.

The skull was shaped differently too. It’d be a lot of work. No, best to consider them seperate species, but possibly related. But unlike the thing she’d seen outside, which looked to have been outfitted in armor that was like something someone would put on a pet, this looked …

Well, like it was worn. She swallowed, her mouth dry as she took a closer look at the remains. The armor was rough and brutal, a lot like what she had seen in history books from the Burning Lands. But somehow even moreso, though she couldn’t quite put words to how. It just was.

Heavy, dense bone. Sharp teeth. Claws. Pouches on the armor. All hallmarks of intelligence. Another intelligent species at war with the ones I’ve become a part of? A spell gone wrong?

There was no way to tell. Not without more information. But at the moment, I can officially say … this thing gives me the creeps. It was almost a relief to pull back and stand once more. But as she did, she noticed something.

Lying against the back of the other door, the one she hadn’t opened, was another one of the weapons like the ones she’d seen outside. It was more rounded, and yet more … harsh … in its design. Almost like it had been made with an eye for functionality and then elegance, but an angry, harsh elegance.

And one of the creature’s outstretched hands had been reaching right for it, even as it had died. Definitely intelligence. And given that it was going for a weapon, even as it died …

She let another shiver slide down her back. What sort of a creature does that? Reaches for its weapon even as it’s dying? Unless … the armor had truly only pinned it, and it hadn’t been able to work its way free. But then … could it have, if given time?

There were gaps in the wreckage, black voids that led further back into the rear of the store. But suddenly she wanted to be as far from the store as possible. Swallowing again, the dryness in her throat protesting the very motion, she wrapped her fingers around the edge of the door and tugged. With a faint squeal, it gave, swinging shut once more and closing out her view of the creature’s bones.

She was shaking, her hands and arms trembling. She wasn’t sure when it had started. She just wanted to leave the store as quickly as possible and go somewhere—anywhere—else. To take her meager findings, the three boxes of what she hoped were raisins that she wasn’t even sure she could eat, and go.

She turned and headed back toward the front of the store, back down the empty aisles and toward the cardboard cutout of the grinning figure advertising his box of something. Back toward the dirty windows and the open doors and the beaming sun outside.

Maybe coming here was a mistake, she thought. And the worst of it was, as she made her back to the dusty doors, sparing a single glance at the wide grin of the cutout …

She couldn’t say where here was, the store or the world.

Author's Note

Thirst

Chapter Six - Thirst

After a few minutes in the sunlight, Sunset felt a bit better. Not by much, but enough that the cold, clammy chill of fear was no longer crawling down her back every time she thought of the creature whose remains she’d found smashed beneath the shelving in the food barn.

This, she thought, turning and looking up at the big sign over the place. Was a bust. Another faint shiver rolled down her arms as she thought of the creature’s claws, and worse, its weapon. And here I was carrying a knife. The blade glinted in the sun as she held it up, it’s dark surface almost seeming to mock her.

No. She pushed herself away from the carriage she’d been leaning on. It was what I found and what I had. There’s nothing to be ashamed of there. She brought the knife down in a wicked arc, and almost jerked in surprise when the tip embedded itself in the metal door of the carriage, sinking almost a full inch in with a sharp, metal squeal before coming to a stop.

She stared at it with wide eyes. “And that’s why I need a sheath.” Her voice almost seemed to be absorbed by the parking lot, sucked away into the city. She gave the knife a sharp tug and it slipped free with a squeak, leaving a bright mark in the metal of the carriage.

“And why it’s useful.” Though it couldn’t hurt to learn to use one of those other weapons. Maybe. Later. When I have time. Right now—

“I still need water.” That was her first problem. “And shelter.” Food was … pressing, but shelter would matter more if the weather turned on her. And though there was plenty of it around her, it was both abandoned and in questionable repair.

“My mistake was assuming that the Food Barn would have food and water, not thinking that everyone else would have checked that as well.” For all I know they might have taken the food with them when they left. “And what was left might not be good after …” She took another quick look around the lot. “However many years ago this place was abandoned.”

There had been water in that pit she’d circled around. Dirty water, but water nonetheless. “Which means I would want to clean it unless I was really desperate. Which means I would need … Camping equipment.”

She pressed her lower lip out for a moment, running the words through her mind. That would work, wouldn’t it? Camping equipment, from what she could remember from the Guard exercises or the times that Pri—that her teacher had sent her, was usually small and compact. With a heating element of some kind in case you couldn’t start a fire.

“Which I definitely can’t at the moment,” she thought, eyes crossing as she peered at the hornless space in front of her head. “Even if I figure out how magic works here, there’s no telling how it might be different.”

It would be a blow, but if it came to choosing between having some clean water to drink and, well, not having that, all because she didn’t have magic …

I’d rather have the water. So maybe what I need is … whatever sort of store would sell things for camping?

She turned in a circle, looking at the buildings around the giant lot. And … I have no idea what that would look like. And I can’t read any of the signs.

Again she pushed her lower lip out, pouting slightly. This is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. Some destiny.

Still there was nothing to do for it but … Look around? She turned a slow circle, taking in the buildings around the large and empty food store. They all look like businesses, I guess. Dirty, overgrown ones, but businesses.

“So …” she said aloud. “I guess I’ll start … there?” She looked at the dusty, overgrown storefront to the right of the market and frowned. “Looks big enough.” Whatever it had been, the sign over its door had long been overgrown, and like the rest of the city, the exposed windows were covered in who knew how many years of dusty build-up. More than enough to keep her from simply telling what it was at a glance.

She could feel sweat starting to run down her back and chest, soaking into her heavy clothing. The heat of the sun was mixing with the dust she’d picked up inside the store around the openings in the fabric, and she rubbed at her neck with one hand, grimacing as she felt the grime there. “And I’ve only been here a few hours.”

A shower—or better yet a bath—would feel incredible. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this dirty.

Her frown deepened. “Like I’ve got enough water for that right now.” She would simply have to, as some of the castle staff put it, “deal with it.”

She reached the store, gratefully stepping into what little shade the front provided as she wiped a hand across the glass, making it slightly less murky. Still, it was enough that she could peer through the gloom and make out a little bit of the inside.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t a store that would have what she’d hoped for. It looked more like an office lobby or something. She couldn’t really say for certain. Not without being able to read the faded writing on the wall. But the stuffy, oversized chairs and couches definitely made it look less like a store and more like some other place of business.

And while it was dusty, it did not, she noted, look ruined. She tugged at the handle on the door, not at all surprised when the door simply clicked and refused to move. Locked.

“Still not sure what to make of that …” she muttered as she gave the door a quick push, and then one final tug. It stalled both ways, barely moving. “This place is locked, the Food Barn was locked … Did they think they’d be coming back?”

And if they did think that, why didn’t they?

She shoved the thought aside. “Whatever the reason, that couch looks comfortable. Might be worth coming back if I need someplace to sleep. Unless one of those houses I passed on the way here is fine.”

If she needed it then. She pulled herself away from the glass, back out into the heat of the sun, and moved down the sidewalk toward the next storefront.

It really was a unique-looking city. Just imagining what it would look like unabandoned, or at the very least clean was an exercise, but it kept her mind amused as she passed one storefront, and then another, and then another.

She passed each one by, stopping only to take a drink from her canteen—which was already getting alarmingly low—and to cross the street, making her way down the other side of the square.

That could have been a drink shop. Too bad everything’s dusty. No idea what that one is. Bookstore? She rattled the door twice before moving on, but flagged it in her head. I should come back later! She couldn’t read them yet, but if she found water, food, and shelter, and suddenly had time on her … hands.

I’d need to find something simple and basic, but everypony has to start somewhere. She took another drink from her canteen, and winced at the sloshing sound it made when she lowered it. Almost out.

And she would only need more. All the walking was making her new body sweat all the more, her clothing feeling outright damp in some places. But I don’t want to take any off until I’m sure I know what I’m doing. And what I’m looking at.

No. No. No. She passed several more storefronts. Some were in disarray. Some were damaged.

None had what she was looking for.

Come on … Come on. Just … a filter. A tent! Something!

Unless these people didn’t have tents. Or camping. Then what am I going to do? Die of dehydration? Wait for it to rain? I don’t even—

Her train of thought abruptly stopped as she saw a familiar looking shape through a cracked windowfront, standing near a back wall behind several desks.

“A water cooler!”

Her grasping hands found the door handle and tugged, only to slip free the moment it resisted, answering her attempt with a sharp rattle. Locked. And chained; she could see the thick loops of tarnished metal through the glass of the front door.

But there was water on the other side of that door. She tugged at it again, hard enough that she pulled herself toward the door, boots sliding over the dusty stone with a light rasp.

“Okay, so that’s not going to work.” Didn’t mean it was the end. She could still see the cooler through the dusty windows. “Maybe there’s a second door, or …” She took a few steps back, acutely aware of how thirsty she was getting as she looked at both sides of the building. One was flush with the next building over, but the other was open to an alley … that ended about two feet down in a large, very tall metal fence. A spiked, metal fence, one she had no hope of climbing over even if she felt confident with her new body.

Besides, there was no door down that way that she could see anyway. She swallowed, her throat dry, and brought her gaze back to the front of the storefront. Or business. Or whatever it was. The sign didn’t really offer any clues.

But with the door locked, the front windows were rather large … She glanced down at the knife in her hand. How do I break a window?

She’d done it before once. Or twice. On accident, never on purpose. And with magic, not with her hooves.

But glass was fragile. At least, if struck properly. It was also incredibly sharp. “So,” she said, eyeing one of the large front windows. “If I hit one with the point of the knife …”

She swallowed again. Purposefully breaking a window?

Then again, she was the only sapient being for miles as far as she could tell. And the storefront clearly was abandoned. Oh, and if I don’t get water I’ll likely die. She wasn’t sure how quickly it would happen with her new form, but quickly enough if she was already thirsty and sweating so much.

Ugh. And I need to get clean. And find a safe place to actually look at this body. And … “One thing at a time.”

She moved her back up against the side of the building, checked her grip on the knife, and then plunged it into one of the large glass windows to her right.

It shattered, great chunks breaking free, and she pulled her arm back just as quickly, one of the large shards slipping by and smashing against the sill, breaking into smaller pieces that scattered across the sidewalk.

“Hah!” She stepped away from the wall, looking down at her handiwork as another piece of glass broke free, skipping off the sill and shattering against the pavement. “And it didn’t even—” There was a bright line across the sleeve of her jacket, lighter than the dark brown coloration around it. Not a red line, thankfully, but her eyes slid to the shattered bits of glass where they’d crashed against the sidewalk. It was pretty simple to see from the angle of the line that she hadn’t been as fast as she’d thought.

“Well … Good thing this jacket is so tough.” She wasn’t sure what it was made of, but she wasn’t bleeding.

But she couldn’t get through the window either. Half the glass was missing, but that left half the glass still in the frame. A start, at least.

She balled her hand up, and then on second thought opened it and grasped the end of her jacket sleeve, pulling it back and inside itself so her hands were protected. Then she threw a punch, one of the remaining bits of glass snapping right out of the frame and falling inside the store. She swept her arm back and forth—not without care—breaking more pieces free and prodding with the knife when she needed a bit more force. After half-a-minute’s worth of cascading crashes, the bottom of the sill was clear enough for her to crawl over. As long as I don’t put too much weight on it. In fact, I should probably cover it with something.

But not yet. There were still pieces hanging from the top and sides. And the last thing she wanted to do was have one of them fall while she was clambouring over the sill. She shuddered as she had a sudden mental image of one of the large panes falling and cutting into the back of her neck.

If I had access to my magic right now … She shook her head. Prin— Her teacher hadn’t trained her to give up that easily. Betrayed her and held her back, yes, but not taught her to back down from an obstacle as simple as not knowing how magic worked in her new form.

But I have hands, and there’s plenty of debris around …

It took her a few tries to hit her first bit of glass, chunks of brick and stone landing somewhere inside the building with faint thumps. Throwing, it turned out, was harder than it looked. Even with fingers. Which almost made things more difficult with the way they wanted to cling to whatever she was trying to fling.

Still, her fourth throw was rewarded with a tinkling crash as her chunk of brick smashed through one of the remaining pieces of glass, sending it crashing to the street and down inside the storefront. Two more chunks followed it without her input, smashing against the sill and breaking into hundreds of razor-edged shards.

Maybe … I can get the door open from the inside after I go in. There was a pretty large amount of glass spread across the sidewalk now. I hope these boots are tough. My … ends, whatever they are, feel … squishy.

She took aim and hurled another bit of brick, smiling with dry lips as it smashed through another piece of glass. Not the one she’d been aiming for, but she’d take it. There were only two shards left now.

Make that one, she thought as her next throw struck the frame above the glass but shook a piece free anyway. Thankfully, there was plenty of rock and brick to throw; something had blown a hole in the brickwork in front of a nearby store. What, she didn’t know, but it had been pretty energetic. And one more to go.

Her next throw went wide again—hitting the one she had may have been a fluke, but she blamed her fingers—smacking against the glass of the window next to it and eliciting a sharp crack, a jagged break cutting across it. But it didn’t shatter, the chunk of brick bouncing back to the sidewalk.

Her next throw went wide as well, sailing into the window as the first few she’d thrown had and hitting the floor with a distant thump. As did the one after it, and the one after that. The fourth hit the wall above, not even coming close to the window, and bounced back.

“Ponyfeathers!” Her eyes almost crossed as she tried to look at her own forehead. “Would it have killed this species to have a good horn!?” What good were fingers if they couldn’t do magic? Plus, they were getting filthy.

She hurled another stone upward, only to hear it rattle off of something inside as it flew just past the bit of glass she’d been aiming for. “Come on! Come on!” Another miss.

She scowled. Maybe I should have grabbed one of those weapons I saw. That could have … No. She shook her head. I remember the minotaur said aiming took practice. And he said that it “kicked” when you fired it. Which makes sense. It has to obey the laws of motion, everything does.

“None of that helps you right now, Sunset.” She sighed, then picked up another chunk of brick. “But this could take forever anywa—”

With a tinkle not unlike somepony dropping a fine piece of porcelain her brick clipped the side of the final bit of glass. For a moment the pane seemed to hang there, thin lines spreading across it, and then with a calamitous cacophony of cracks it broke apart, smashing down against the windowsill and splintering across the sidewalk. For a moment silence reigned in the wake of its crash, but then Sunset threw her hands up. “Yes!”

Her cry echoed down the empty streets, but at the moment she didn’t care. She had a way in! To water! She could almost taste it already, her parched throat begging for the cool relief.

Thankfully, after a few careful steps, glass popping beneath her boots, she determined that they were indeed tough enough to withstand the sharp shards scattered across the sidewalk. Nevertheless, she avoided the larger pieces as she walked up to the now gaping window.

There was still glass embedded in the sill, small bits and pieces sparkling in the sunlight. She swept the blade of her knife across the sill, knocking the worst of it away.

But not all of it. Right, so I need some sort of cover. She shucked her backpack from her shoulders, the movement surprisingly easy, and then leaned up against the sill, which came almost up to her shoulder. She lowered the pack over the window, not letting go until she felt the strap go slack, and then, for the first time since she’d come through the portal, slipped her jacket from her shoulders.

It wasn’t too hard. The central zipper on the front was clearly made to be grasped with fingers, and she was able to undo it, which did make the air feel a lot cooler. Maybe I should just leave it off when I’m done. Underneath it she was wearing more clothing: A plain black short-sleeved shirt, somewhat tight and form fitting. The lack of longer sleeves meant she could see the skin tone of her hands as it continued up her arms and likely across her whole body.

And I feel like there’s another layer beneath this shirt around my teats, Sunset thought with a scowl. How much protection do these creatures need?

She laid the coat carefully over the sill, its outer side against the parts that could still have glass, and then with a careful hop and push of her hands, swung her upper body up atop it—only to let out a slight “Eep!” as she almost pitched over the other side to land face-first inside—and atop the glass there.. Only jerking her legs straight out behind her arrested her momentum enough that her weight pitched back, and she landed on her feet outside the window.

“Okay,” she said. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribs like a hammer. “New body, different center of balance. Biped center of balance. That’s important.” She placed her hands atop the coat again. “So stop thinking like a pony, and think like a minotaur. If they couldn’t just jump over it, they’d get their hindquarters on it and then … swing their legs over?”

It seemed logical. But then again, so had her first attempt.

Either way, she needed water. Though she was cooler without the jacket on, she was still hot, and her throat felt drier with every passing minute.

If there’s a better way … maybe I’ll figure it out. When I’m not dropping onto glass. Her boots seemed tough enough, but she didn’t want at all to see what the glass would make of whatever ended her legs now. Or her fleshy … What’s the word for them again? Palms?

That sounded right. Maybe. Possibly. She shoved the question from her mind, focusing her gaze back on the windowsill. “All right, Sunset. You’ve just got to get your hindquarters onto that windowsill, then keep your balance while you bring your legs up and over. Easy, right?” She let out a nervous laugh. “And you’re talking to yourself,” she said as she walked up to the sill. A pane of glass crackled under her boot, making her flinch.

“Come on … You’ve got this.” She put her hands atop the jacket, checking the height, then turned, her back to the wall. “You’ve seen a minotaur do this.” Her hands found the sill once more, her new arms craned at an awkward angle behind her back. “They were just … a lot better at it.”

Talking aloud was making the dryness in her mouth all the more noticeable. She licked her lips and pushed.

Her boots rose from the ground, but with a grunt she dropped back a second later. This is harder than it looks. Then again, minotaurs had been fairly … developed, insofar as muscles went. Not that her new form wasn’t but … She pressed again, feeling her jacket slide with her, but again dropped with a grunt.

Okay, think. She let her arms drop. You’re not that weak, right? Maybe?

She looked down at the scattered glass around her boots. Or maybe you’re just not used to your new limbs … like your legs, Sunset! As much of your body as those take up, you’ve got to be able to get some leverage with them.

But … that would require hopping. Into a precarious position she already wasn’t very confident in.

The alternative was looking for water elsewhere. Or hoping for rain, since there didn’t appear to be any weather crews around. Nor many clouds, for that matter. Rain was … not a great bet.

And I don’t have anything to collect it with anyway, she thought, putting her back against the wall and craning her arms back. Which means—Deep breaths—that I just need to—

She pushed up, arms and legs working in concert, only to let out a short shriek of surprise as the wall behind her seemed to vanish, her body moving far quicker and more forcefully than she’d intended. By reflex she snapped her legs out again … and then she was balancing atop her jacket, eyes wide and arms outstretched as she teetered back and forth.

“Okay …” she managed to whisper. “So far … so good.” It felt like the most errant breeze would be enough to send her tipping one way or another. How do beings live like this!?

She kept her head as still as possible, eyes looking down as she began to slowly, carefully, move her arms down to the sill. The motion began to send her tilting backward, and she felt her abdominals contract, pulling her upper body up and bringing her back into balance.

Then her hands met the sill, and she sagged forward, legs resting against the wall. I did it! Sort of. More than likely the reflexive movement had been helped by the more instinctive bits of Starswirl’s spell. Because that definitely wasn’t all me. Not yet. This body is still too new.

She was atop the sill now, and that was what mattered. Carefully, ever mindful of the jacket she was sitting on, she pushed back, then brought one leg up and over the bottom of the window. There was a brief moment where the jacket slipped slightly, and she froze … But then her boot touched down on the glass-covered carpet inside the office, stability and solidarity returning.

Inside. She was inside. She leaned forward, swung her second leg in, and stood, glass crunching beneath her boots, even on the carpet.

And there, not two-dozen feet away, was the water cooler, up against the back wall but clearly visible in the dark light. She could taste it already, and she started across the lobby, not even bothering to reclaim her jacket.

Only to slow as she neared the cooler and got a better look at it, the flare of excitement in her chest whimpering and dying like a flame before a stiff breeze.

The water was … polluted. Green algae wreathed the water’s surface inside the container, feelers extending down toward the bottom of the jug and clouding the glass. Her eyes darted to the spout, only to see the dried remains of a tiny bed of moss that had grown beneath it and then, sometime later, died.

She couldn’t drink water with algae in it. Not without purifying it. She’d broken the window, clamoured over the windowsill, and for what?

Nothing, she thought, dropping onto a dirty couch with a dusty whump. The clouds rose about her, adding more dirt to her already filthy frame, but she didn’t care.

Maybe I could make a filter? She shook her head. No, who knows what’s gotten into that water. If there’s algae in it, there could be all sorts of other things, like diseases I’ve never been exposed to. It could kill me. “Augh!” She brought a fist down on the arm of the couch, kicking up more dust. If only it had been—

She paused. Sealed. These are sealed, right? Like canned food. And a business like this wouldn’t just have one. They’d have spares, wouldn’t they?

She pushed herself up, turning quickly as she looked around the lobby. So if so, where would they keep them?

She checked the lobby desks first, not finding anything but not too surprised by it. A flash of metal did catch her eyes however—a ring of keys. If one of them can unlock the front door, getting out will be easier than getting in. She checked the other, smaller desks next, but again, no luck.

Still, they hadn’t been the most likely place to store water. There had been a similar cooler in a few of the break rooms in the palace, and the water had always been kept nearby but out of sight. Like in a janitorial closet, or a broom closet. And though the lobby was dim, she could still see several doors against the back wall.

Naturally, they were locked, forcing her to flip through the keys one by one until she found one that worked. Handling things with her, well, hands, was getting easier and easier.

It still felt a little strange to be poking things with fingers and not a hoof. Or her magic. Still, as the lock let out a click, the first door opening, she had to admit they did seem to work rather well

And behind the first door was … An office?

At least it was a nice office. What bits of it she could see from the light coming in the doorway at least. And what made it through the completely overgrown rear windows. There was a large, almost massive desk with a few papers scattered across it, and a large, boxy device of some kind.

But no water. Nothing that looked remotely helpful. She closed it and moved on.

The next door wasn’t even locked, and was darker still than the office had been. Still, there was enough light for her to identify what was clearly a toilet of some kind, and a sink …

Well, one positive about not having enough water, she thought. I haven’t yet had to figure out how this new body relieves itself yet. Though the toilet looked fairly familiar, if not identical. Which probably meant—Think about it later.

She shut the door. But not without noticing the rolls of paper in a dispenser next to the toilet. That was familiar, if considered a frivolous expenditure even among the nobility.

And this doesn’t look like a noble’s office, she thought, glancing back at the rest of the lobby. It’s nice, but not that nice. Which meant … I should probably take one of those rolls before I go. Just in case.

She shoved down the mild feeling of discomfort as she moved to the next door. It was easy to do. It just needed to be buried next to her thirst, her unease at walking on two legs, and just about everything else she was trying to ignore, like leaving Prin—

Nope.

She cycled through the keys until she found one that fit the lock. The door opened with a faint squeak of old hinges, light spilling across … A supply closet. Nothing but a closet of shelving full of dried and dusty papers, notepads, what looked like writing utensils of some kind, paperclips, folders, and other items she couldn’t identify.

But no water. Not that she could see, anyway. And the door, annoyingly, was one of those ones that tried to close the moment you let go. She shoved it open a little wider, then reached for the writing utensils.

Strange … There’s no ink. She held one of them up. It looked like a fountain pen … save that it had an empty hole where the nub would have been.

Still, it was clearly a writing utensil of some kind, and there were a lot of them. She took several and tossed them on the floor behind her. Maybe later she could figure out how they worked.

If she didn’t die of thirst first. She stepped back, taking in the whole closet once more and frowning. But no, there was—

Wait.

The bottom of the closet was a cupboard. Or a smaller closet, inside a closet. Small doors, with handles, but … Just the height of the container on the top of the cooler.

Please, she thought, shoving the door back and then blocking it with her boot. Just please. The small metal handle was warm under her touch. Please please please …

She pulled it open, and let out a faint squeak.

Water, glorious water, sparkled under the light she’d just exposed it to. No fewer than four of the containers that sat inside the cabinet, and each one was as pure and clear as the last.

“Thank the Creator.” The words slipped free without a thought as she dropped down on the dusty carpet, staring at the bounty of water in front of her. At the moment, it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Carefully, one boot still holding the door back, she reached out and placed her hands against one of the containers. To her surprise, it didn’t feel like glass, but plastic. Strange. But as long as it was drinkable, that was all that mattered.

She wrapped her hands around it and tugged it out of the cabinet. It let out a faint, heavy thrum as it dropped to the floor. At the top of the narrow neck was more plastic and a small, thin tab that flexed when she prodded it with her finger.

Sealed. But that was what she had her knife for. The knife which was ...

Outside.

Still, she had a solution to that, too. Or a potential one, anyway, if the keys she’d left in the closet door were any good.

But first … She pulled out the second container—Jug?—of water and set it on the floor beside the first, before grinning and shoving it over to hold the door back once her boot was gone. The third dropped out of the cupboard with a heavy thrum like its sisters, followed by the fourth.

Then the cupboard was empty. Still it was far more water than she’d expected to find when she’d broken through the window. And she couldn’t wait to parch her throat with it.

I’ll need a tube of some kind, she thought as she left her bounty behind, heading for the front door. Set up a siphon so I spill as little as possible. And something to cover the hole I make after I’m done so that it doesn’t evaporate. Tape! There was tape in that closet! It would still work, right?

Would tape have chemicals in it she shouldn’t drink? I can improvise something.

The front lock resisted her efforts at first, as well as a few of the keys on the ring, but once she realized that the larger key near the end fit, the mechanism opened with a loud, grinding rasp. Much like the door, once she shoved it open.

How long has everything been left on its own? She collected her pack as well as her jacket, eyeing the open wound she’d left in the building’s exterior as she did so. She checked the jacket for shards of glass, brushed some dust from it, and then threw it atop her pack. The shirt she was wearing wasn’t exactly cool, but it wasn’t nearly as warm as the jacket had been. And even if she’d found water now, there was no sense in making herself sweat more and wasting it.

Think ahead. She moved back into the office, shutting the door behind her with another metal squeak and eyeing her knife. You don’t have anything to make a siphon with, unless you can find a length of hose here or a small bit of piping, but this doesn’t seem like the right place for it.

Food she was good with for at least another day or two. Shelter … well, as long as she was willing to break into someplace, she could manage for shelter. Assuming she didn’t mind a lot of dust. Or that a building didn’t fall down around her.

Which means food is indeed my next concern, she thought, dropping to her hindquarters in front of the jugs and using her knife to peel away the thin plastic around the neck. So close to her goal now, her throat felt drier than ever. I can stretch it out to two days if I have to, but I probably shouldn’t. Not with all the walking she was doing already. And while she didn’t feel hungry yet … Once I get some water in me, I might.

She could smell the subtle change in the air as the seal broke with a faint pop. Or at least, she thought so.

It didn’t matter, though, because she could see the faint, watery sheen of the surface just beneath it. Water. Plenty of it. How much she had no way of knowing, again not without references that fit her new body. But water all the same.

Okay, she thought, dropping the knife and pulling out her empty canteen. If I just pour this carefully …

Water sloshed over the side of her canteen, soaking the carpet, and she bit back a curse. More soaked her hands. But … most of it was getting into the canteen. And I have a lot of it, she thought as she tilted the jug up slightly. At which point water began running down the side of the jug, even when she placed the canteen right up against the neck. And now that I know what to look for, I might be able to find more.

The canteen was half full. Good enough. She let the jug fall back upright, not even waiting to see if it would tip the other way. The only thing that mattered was the water she was tipping toward her face.

Bliss. Pure bliss. Even the fact that the water was warm, almost hot, didn’t matter. It was wet, and her throat and lips had been dry.

Only when the canteen was empty did she come up for a breath, letting out a satisfied sigh and dropping the empty container to the carpet. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so thirsty.

Moving a bit more carefully, she filled the canteen halfway once more, this time paying more attention and spilling a little less. Her reward wasn’t quite as refreshing as the first had been, but it was certainly still appealing. Only after it was empty as well, her stomach sloshing slightly, did she lean back on her arms and look at her find.

I have water. Lots of it. Enough to last her days. No, maybe even a week.

Pure, clean, water.

With a sigh, she sank back even further, staring up at the lobby’s high ceiling. There was still a lot to do. I need food. Shelter. And something to learn the language with. And figure out where everyone went. What that … thing … in the food mart was. What kind of war they fought here.

And find my destiny. She smiled and took another sip of from her first victory. One hoofstep at a time.

Author's Note

Shelter

Chapter Seven - Shelter

In the end, the lobby yielded several other secrets in addition to the water. After a short rest—and a third drink, just for satisfaction’s sake—Sunset had checked around the rest of the small business for anything useful. The tape in the supply closet was still functional if a little sticky, but when combined with a tough chunk of plastic hacked from a folder with her knife was able to make a functional—if temporary—seal, so at least the first jug she’d opened wouldn’t evaporate that quickly.

Playing with the writing utensils she’d found and comparing them to another she found on a desk showed them to be unlike anything she’d ever seen in Canterlot. The tip was a small orb of some kind, held in place through means she couldn’t determine, and depositing ink as it rolled across the paper. Ink. Functional ink after who-knew how long.

For a moment she seriously considered simply returning to Canterlot with every one of the pens she could find. Whoever invented these would be rich within a year, she’d thought as she’d eyed the pile of utensils. No ink cartridge, even. No inkwell. And manufactured by the hundreds, if the fact that they’re in an office that isn’t that extravagant is any indication.

It didn’t take her long to cast the idea aside. For starters, there would be need to take apart a large number of the utensils to determine if Equestria even had the means to make them. In addition, becoming rich through an invention from another world didn’t sound at all like the destiny Pr—that her old mentor had foreseen.

Still, she contented herself with clearing out the supply closet of a dozen of its utensils. There was no telling how long any of them would last, and learning to write as a minotaur did was something she would need to practice with once she had other obligations taken care of.

Her continued search of the lobby eventually yielded a far more valuable find, however, almost as valuable as the water. A small, dusty cubby that had likely once been an employee break room. And in one of the tiny cabinets above the sink …

Sealed cans of nuts. Row upon row of them, fourteen in all. She’d cracked one of them open almost immediately, pulling off a plastic top and a thin metal seal to expose the crunchy, salty treats within. After the water and one of her sandwiches, the salty treat had been an explosion of flavor across her tongue. She wasn’t sure what kind of nuts the mixture contained, but each of them had been tasty.

She’d added thirteen of the cans to the floor next to her water, keeping the last one with her as she’d scoured the rest of the office, finding little that was useful.

Still, she thought as she examined her collection, this is a good haul. Especially the water.

The nuts were a good find as well. Nuts, from what she could remember, were a food that was good if you were going to be doing a lot of work or activity. Plus, the salt would be good for her as much as she was sweating. Assuming her new body had similar requirements to her old one. Though the presence of salted nuts, as well as how tasty her new form found them, suggested that there was at least some sort of reasonable need.

She’d taken a single notebook in addition to the collection of pens as well. The paper was old enough that it was stiff, but it would be perfectly fine to practice on. Or perhaps start a fire with if the need arose. There was also the tape, which she’d added two rolls of to her pile, and last but not least … the rolls of waste paper from the bathroom and an old, dried bar of soap.

In a moment of introspection she’d also taken several minutes in the bathroom with the door propped open to get a better look at some of the newer aspects of her physiology. It took a few minutes to figure out how her clothing was supposed to be removed—though it still boggled her that there were so many layers to it—but once she did she didn’t feel too awkward at the look she got. Unless this new species was vastly different in anatomy from her old one, she was definitely still female, and still had most of the same exterior elements. They were simply in new places. And adapted for two legs.

Which still felt weird, even if the spell had taken some of the edge off. She thought about pulling off her boots and checking to see what had become of her hind hooves, as they definitely felt squishy, and poking the sides of her boots and trying to flex whatever was inside of them seemed to suggest that she had some sort of vestigial fingers there … But she wasn’t certain she’d be able to get the boots laces tied up the way they were currently. And with the glass she’d scattered across the lobby and the state of the city, the protection was more important than seeing what her new hooves looked like. Though they definitely weren’t hooves. Paws?

A problem for another time, Sunset thought as she looked at her haul. Right now my problem is … how do I take all this stuff with me?

The pile sat in the front room, almost taunting her with its value yet how out of reach it was. She could lift one of the water jugs without too much difficulty—she’d already checked—but there were four. And none of them would fit in her pack. Not that she would have been able to carry them that way if they had. The pens and notebook she could fit in there, as well as the tape, but the nuts?

Figures. She stared down at the haul with her hands on her hips. The two most important things I’ve found here are water and food, and I can’t carry either.

And I don’t want to stay here either, she thought, glancing back at the window she’d shattered. The sun outside wasn’t quite overhead now, the time of day looking as though it was moving further into the afternoon, and the sky was a clear blue save for a few clouds … but that didn’t mean the weather couldn’t turn on her without a weather crew around. Wild weather, from what she remembered hearing from diplomats, could turn in an instant, unpredictable and, well, wild.

“So, Sunset,” she said, saying her name aloud. “You’ve got water. You’ve got food. Now you need shelter.”

“But what kind of shelter?” She dropped onto one of the couches, at this point almost desentized to the dust that wafted up off of it and coated more of her body. Almost. She did wave some of it away from her face. “I could just stay here, but …” She took another look at the office around her. “Probably better to look for someplace that was meant to be lived in.”

Or, like I was hoping earlier, find some camping equipment, maybe, and make it a bit more … liveable.

“But if I go somewhere else, I need to get the water there with me. And the food.” She frowned and sank back into the couch. “This was a lot easier when I had a dozen Royal Guard and a team of porters doing all the hard work.”

Hard work was right, too. She could feel soreness in her legs from all of her walking. And it wasn’t about to be over yet. She pushed herself up.

“Can’t rest. Not now. Shelter before dark.”

Yes, that was a good goal. Shelter before the sun went down. Or at least something close to it.

On the positive, as long as I don’t get lost, I can make my way back here for food and water. She pulled out the small map she’d found and glanced at it. Her location—or close to it, anyway—had already been marked with a small, inked “X.”

There was also the icon with the book on it, not too far away. But as much as she wanted to try and learn a little about the world she was in, there were more pressing issues.

Nothing on here that looks like it denotes shelter of any kind. Or someplace where I could find it.

Then again, it kind of made sense. The map had been made for visitors. Who— Wait, no, they’d need shelter too.

But probably not the kind of shelter I’d need, she added. That’d be like a hotel, or a bed and breakfast. Assuming they had those here.

She paused. And if they did, the second one would work. A hotel maybe as well.

Really, just anything with a bed and a door that wasn’t boarded up. But there weren’t any icons that looked like a bed she could recognize on her map. Which meant that either it was text somewhere on the sides, wasn’t present at all, or …

Maybe this species sleeps standing up or something equally strange. But that answer didn’t feel right, especially as she leaned back into the dusty couch, her new body feeling more relaxed with each passing moment. It felt like it enjoyed sitting down, or better yet, laying there for a moment.

But … She pushed herself up. There’s too much to do. I don’t know how long the day is going to last, and I should find some better shelter by the time the sun goes down. There’s no telling how different this place may look after dark.

Which meant leaving behind, however temporarily, her finds. For now. I can fit another tin of nuts in my pack, she thought. And I can take the notebook and the writing … pens. Plus I can refill my canteen.

The rest of it, however, would need to stay put. There was simply no way to take it with her.

But I can always find my way back. Especially with a map. That, and it would be hard to miss the freshly-broken window.

I suppose I can always sleep here on one of the couches, she thought as she peeled the tape back from the top of her opened water jug and refilled her canteen, once again spilling some of the liquid across her hand and wrist. As long as the weather’s good. And nothing sneaks in the window. Maybe there was a reason everything had been locked up when everypo—everyone had left.

Then again, she’d not seen any prints or tracks of any kind in the dirt. Not that I’ve really been looking, she thought as she sealed the jug once again. Or really even know what to look for.

Now I wish I’d taken up a few of the Guard on some of their offers for more outdoor training. At the time, it hadn’t seemed important. But now … Every basic thing they told me already seems vital. The canteen went back to its place on her pack, and she squared her shoulders. How much better prepared for my destiny would I have been had I realized how important it would be?

There was no sense in musing over it now. The decision had been made long ago. And I’ll just have to make do, one way or another. Her knife in her hand, she headed for the door.

She paused only for a moment once she was out in the sun again, checking to make sure that the door was, in fact, open, and that she had unlocked it. After a quick test, opening and shutting it a few times to ease her mind—I’d rather not crawl through that window again—she turned and headed down the street, picking the direction of the book symbol on her map almost subconsciously.

Though even as she realized it, it made sense. It wasn’t as though she had any other direction to go. And I can keep my eyes open for a hotel or a place to stay along the way. There’s got to be a store that sells stuff like that around here somewhere, right?

She moved through the streets, slowing at times to ponder at the architecture and ponder on the design behind them. Everything is so ornate, she thought as she passed by another crumbling building, one that could have been a good candidate for shelter if not for the fact that half the front brickwork was sagging in an alarming manner. These streets and sidewalks are made of brick or cobbled stone, all the steps and stair railings are carved stone or cement … Even with the damage and the lack of care, this place is … almost beautiful.

She changed course again, forced aside by a large blockade of rusted carriages and another one of the large sinkholes cutting across the street, so wide it had brought down two buildings. Strange that such beauty and detail would be built someplace that was so unstable.

Maybe that was the reason it had been abandoned. She turned down a wide alley, climbing over a barrier clearly meant to keep the carriages from using the passageway. Above her, leafy plants hung from an arched causeway of sorts between the two buildings on either side of her, dangling low enough to almost brush her mane.

That doesn’t make any sense, though, Sunset thought as she moved out of the alley and onto another street. This one was narrower, dirtier. Closer. But unlike the last, there wasn’t a gaping hole in it, nor a blockade of the metal carriages, and she could move forward in the direction of what she hoped was a library once more.

If the city were built on ground that suddenly became unstable, then they wouldn’t have abandoned their carriages. And how do the barricades and battles fall into this? Or those … creatures? Was the city stable until they began fighting? Maybe the collapses were intentional, to hold them back?

She shook her head, mane flipping around her face. I need more information. Were these creatures invaders from another kingdom or another nation? Maybe they weren’t connected at all? For all I know they’re scavengers from outside the cities, and they came in after almost everyone had left.

The last thought made a faint shiver run down her spine, and she slowed, checking the buildings around her and the position of the sun once more. The nearby structures looked like small homes or apartments. Or at least, that was what they had been at one point. Shoved tightly together, several homes to a unit. And all the doors were blocked, entrances and windows boarded.

She glanced down at her knife. Might be able to use that to pry some of them loose. Maybe. It’d take time, that much was certain.

I need to think about this rationally, she thought as she started down the street once more. I have some water now, and some food. But I’ll need more of both. And I need shelter. Shelter right now being the most important, since I’ve got food and clean water.

After that, she thought as she reached a T-junction. I’ll need materials to educate myself on this world. Which would mean shelter that could let her do just that. She paused for a moment, debating whether to go left or right, and then chose left. I guess I could just rip the boards down from one of these houses and see what it looks like on the inside. Which meant that shelter wasn’t a real problem as long as she was willing to do some work, but …

Should I really be staying inside a city everypony else has abandoned? Even if she couldn’t see a reason why outside of the sinkholes, surely they would have stayed if there had been any alternative. But then if I leave, where do I go? I don’t even know where here is. What if the world outside the city is even more dangerous? What if—?

“No.” She snapped her thoughts back, slowing to a halt and taking a deep breath. “That’s not helping. Don’t get distracted.”

She took another deep breath, closing her eyes as she let it out. Just relax. You’ve got water. You have food. Focus on shelter. A tent. Or, if you want to hole up in a building somewhere, a way to move all your stuff.

Work with what you have, not panic over what you don’t know. Ahead of her was a narrow intersection, partially blocked by one of the larger wagons. Its metal was black and charred, the glass long since gone. Parts of it looked as though they’d been violently torn away.

There didn’t appear to be anyone inside. Not that she felt like looking. Past it, the city looked … rougher. More battered. The cobblestones beneath her boots were cracked and dirty. The carriages broken or dented. Many of their windows were missing, and she could see divots against the sun-faded paint. And ahead of her, as she turned down another street in what she hoped was the direction of the library—

And a battered, worn-looking massive building rose a story or so about the others ahead of her, sitting opposite another plaza like the one she’d appeared in. Both bore signs of battle. One of the decorative pillars at the front of the building had been shattered by something, the heavy concrete lying askew in pieces across the steps and defensive barricades. A ruined statue at the foot of the steps had seen its upper body completely destroyed.

Then there were the barricades, made of cement, metal, and sandbags. Old and weathered ones, now, leaking sand at the seams and from numerous holes. They had been set up all over the stairs up to the large … Well, I hope that’s the library.

It made sense. Libraries, if they’re like those in Equestria, are a public location. Therefore an easy place to gather everyone for an evacuation.

Or a slaughter. She wasn’t nearly so far away as to miss the limp figures hanging over the defenses or spread across the steps. More blue armor, faded and dirty, around figures that were little more than bone.

But then her eyes moved to other figures, fallen among the fencing and barricades. Barricades that had probably been meant to guide evacuees, but then been crushed and trampled when the attack had come. Another shiver crawled down her back. The bodies were old, yes, and decaying, but there was no mistaking the look of the things that had boiled out of the park and attempted to storm the steps.

They’re like the thing I saw in the market.

Only the fact that they were motionless kept her moving forward. There were dozens of them, maybe hundreds. More than she wanted to count, or even consider. Little ones, like the creature she’d found first, their bones sitting in rusted armor. Larger frames, like the one she’d seen in the store, dried, hardened skin draped over bones and bits of sinew.

And larger ones still, bones so big their bodies would have crushed her when they’d fallen. All of them lying on the cobblestones, or atop the stairs leading up from the park ...

Hundreds, she thought, her stomach feeling weak. There was no doubt that whatever they were, the creatures had been involved in the evacuation of the city. She could see the path of destruction in her mind’s eye, the way the defense on the steps had been built first. The attackers had come from the direction of the park, overrunning the defensive barricades there before storming across the street and up the steps …

Did anyone make it out alive? She could feel tears in the corners of her eyes as she looked around the ancient battlefield. Bodies, everywhere she looked. Or did they kill everyone?

There were more of those strange craters in the ground too, both down in the park and in the street itself. As well as dozens of the projectile weapons, some entirely new to her but still clearly arms of some kind.

But … There was only one set of remains that wasn’t wearing any armor at all. And there weren’t any destroyed carriages nearby.

So where did the people go? Her eyes slipped up the steps.

The front doors were just barely open.

Slowly, methodically, she began climbing the steps, a nervous void in the center of her stomach growing. What if they’re still here? What if … they didn’t make it?

She had to know.

She slowed for a moment at the top of the steps, only to shake her head and push onward. The bodies around her were bones. Whatever had happened, it had happened long ago.

The doors were larger than she’d anticipated. The whole building was. Four, maybe five floors tall? she thought as she came to a stop glancing up at the overhanging over the door and trying to gauge if it looked stable or not. It definitely looked as though it had seen some damage, but … It hasn’t fallen yet.

She brought her eyes down, away from the weathered and cracked facade over the entrance to the doors themselves. They were just barely cracked open. Leaving little space to see through, but enough for her to see that there was light beyond them. Guess there are windows in this place that aren’t on the front.

“Okay, think about this for a moment.” The sudden sound of her voice, quiet as it was, resonating across the square, was almost unnerving. “The inside—what you can see, anyway—looks like more of the outside.” In other words, wrecked. Not that she could see much. “Do you really want to try and get through that gap?”

She already knew the answer, even as the sound of her voice faded into silence. I have to know. To know if anyone made it out, or if this city is still abandoned because … Well, not all of them, but maybe most of them never made it.

That, and she could feel some part of her mind pushing her to see what had become of the desperate holdout. Of the myriad bodies wearing blue armor scattered across the steps and street.

I could turn back, and go keep looking for shelter, she thought. Or …

She stepped forward, turned her body sideways, and tried to slide through the gap.

No dice, she thought as her pack caught against one of the heavy metal doors. She shucked it from her shoulders, dropping the straps into one hand and then holding it out in front of her as she pushed through the doors again.

They must have … shifted … after the attack, she thought as she once again found herself uncomfortably pressed up against both the large, heavy, slabs of metal. Who builds a door this thick for a library anyway? And why would a species have its mammaries here of all places!?

Worse, the metal was still warm from when it had been in the sun.

Maybe … She brought her free hands up. If I just widen this a little … Come on! She could feel the muscles in her forelegs—Arms!—quiver as she tried to move the heavy metal door just slightly outward.

“Come on …” The straps of her pack had slid down into the crook of her arm, and she pressed harder. “Come on …! No wonder they hid behind these—!”

With a faint squeak, the metal door shifted ever so slightly, her body slipping forward just a few inches. “That’s it!” She let out a grunt as she pulled harder, her fingers straining as she tried to force the door open. Come on! Just a little more! All she needed was just enough space to get her shoulder through, and the rest of her body could—

The door gave again with a sharp squeal, this time almost an inch, and she jerked forward, her shoulder through the gap. Yes! Just a little mo—

A sudden, sharp crack from above her brought her thoughts to a halt, and she tilted her head back, her body frozen.

A single, clear crack was winding its way out across the stonework from above the door, slowly but surely, widening with each passing second.

The door! The bottom fell out of her stomach. It was holding—

GO! At some point during her realization, her arms had begun pulling at the door for all it was worth, muscles straining and heaving with exertion! Go! The crack was widening, small flecks of stone falling free and bouncing off the ground. Or her shoulders. And her mane.

Give! Please, by all the love of the Creator just give! The cracking sound was growing louder now, the metal doors vibrating beneath her fingers as more dust and grit fell down from above, the split fracturing into several that fanned out across—

The door gave and she flew forward, flinging herself away from the door even as the first hoof-sized bits of stone began to fall, one of them bouncing off of her shoulder. She let out a cry of pain, and then she was on the ground, curling herself into a ball as a thunderous roar filled the world, crashing down in a near-deafening crescendo. Dust billowed across her, filling the inside of the library.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, however, the sound slowed, the constant crash of stone giving way to slower clicks and clacks as what few bits hadn’t fallen finally gave way. She uncurled herself from the floor, looking back and feeling her stomach give a lurch as she saw what had become of the entrance.

The gap she’d forced herself through was filled with bits of stone, some small, but others almost as large as she was. By pure luck, none of them had made it past the doors—though a few had tried. But the heavy metal doors, it seemed, had held.

However, her only way out was now blocked by a pile of collapsed stone as tall as she was.

A shiver rolled down her spine. Had I tried to move back, or just been a second slower, I’d have been …

The shiver moved into her shoulders, and then changed into a full blown quake. I would be …

Gone. Destiny or not.

I almost died. She pushed herself up onto her hindquarters, leaning forward on her knees, her whole body shaking. Dead. Gone. And what if I die here? Does my spirit find its way to the next life? From another world? Could it?

Is that why she didn’t want me to go?

The thought of her former mentor sent a shock of ice rushing through her, momentarily chasing away the shaking that had rolled through her just moments—Or was it minutes?—ago.

And still she couldn’t force herself not to think of it. I could have died. On an alien world? What would have happened then? Where would I go?

She could feel the corners of her eyes going damp.

No. She wiped the faint traces of tears away with one hand, speaking aloud as she did so. “No. Maybe this turned her away, and I won’t let it turn me away. So I almost died?” She pushed herself up, ignoring the ache in her arms and the way her balance felt a little less steady than normal. “Fine. Happens to ponies all the time. That’s just part of the risk if you want to earn your future.”

And I have earned it, she thought, turning to look for her knife and finding it a few feet away. I did everything I was asked, and more. And then she tried to take it away. She clenched her new hands tightly, ignoring the faint whimper of pain from her tired fingers and what was doubtlessly a growing bruise on one shoulder.

I will have my destiny. What I am owed. No matter what tries to kill me.

Her pack once again in place, she pulled her gaze away from the now-blocked door and, for the first time, got her look at the room she’d found herself in.

It had been beautiful. Once. Grand, and sweeping.

Now it … wasn’t. Oh, it was still overly spacious, yes. But that space was full of ruin.

Shelves had toppled over. Several looked burned. What could have been the front desk in any library in Equestria had been heavily fortified with more of the sandbag barriers … and then overrun. Bodies lay strewn across it, around it, and up the sweeping, once-grand staircases on either side. At least, until the right one terminated in an abrupt break, the rest of it missing and probably rubble on the ground behind it.

At least the place was still well lit. The upper walls were rowed with thick glass. At least most of the way. The back corner to her left had given way entirely, part of the building collapsing in—Might be a way out—and letting in a bunch of the plant-life. Which did explain the leafy vines growing over a good portion of the remaining shelves on that side of the library.

And the books … There might be something here worth saving, she thought as she took a step forward, still taking in the ruin of the library. But it wouldn’t be much. The exposure to the outside world would have seen to that. Maybe in the far back on the right side.

There had been glass display cases too, at one point. Whatever they’d held was long gone, as was the glass of the cases themselves, broken in pieces in the frames.

It wasn’t hard to see where the battle had gone, either. There was a clear line of the bodies of the … things, whatever they were, making their way up the stairs. At the top, shelves had been toppled over to form a temporary barricade. And then, from the look of it, blasted apart.

That was where she’d find an answer to whether or not anyone had gotten out, she suspected. But first, drawn almost by habit, she walked toward the front desk.

It was, like everything else, a wreck. Old, decayed bodies slumped over it. A larger weapon of some kind, like a scaled up version of the ones littering the ground, had been mounted atop the desk. Like a ballista, or a siege weapon, some part of her mind suggested. Though not.

It had been wrecked, the part of the weapon she assumed was pointed at the enemy little more than twisted metal scrap. A ruined set of armor shrouded in bone behind it told her what had become of the weapon’s operator.

She reached the desk and peered over the sandbag barricades atop it. She counted four bodies behind it: Three armored, one not. All had either died in horrific fashion, from the state of their remains, or been—she shivered again—brutalized after they were dead, in savage fashion.

What kind of monster would do that to somepony after they’d beaten them? That’s not victory, that’s just wanton cruelty. One’s skull had been crushed, another had their chest armor beaten in until it had doubtlessly collapsed their ribs. And the last … it was hard to say. The most accurate thing she could claim was that their limbs had been removed in violent fashion.

Torn apart. She felt a tinge of bile grace the back of her throat. There were instances of such things in her own world’s history, of course, usually tied to the breaking. The jackals, for instance, had made a sport of eating their conquered. But they’d been driven to madness by an immortal.

Maybe that’s what happened here? Sunset thought as she made her way around the edge of the desk, more flashes of metal catching her eyes. More of the blue tins the soldiers had stored their bullets in. A society that faced its own Breaking? Maybe that had been what the winged statues had been imitations of. Maybe a Breaking happens on every world?

Could that be why I’m here? To interfere with a Breaking? Is that my destiny?

She pulled her thoughts back. “Easy, Sunset. That might be a little past you right now.”

One of the bodies was still wearing their gear pendants around their neck. Curious, she leaned over the barricade and picked one of them up, eyeing them and then comparing them to the pair she’d already found.

The same shape, she thought. And the same shape as the logos on the brochure. A symbol of some kind? For them to rally behind? She held the two next to each other. Some of the lettering is the same, but some of it isn’t. Rank then? Names? Identification of importance or a role?

The new set came free with a swift tug, and she added them to her pack alongside the first pair she’d found. If they’re important, and if anyone’s still alive in this world to find, then they might be good for bargaining with. Or perhaps, if they were markers of importance as she suspected, to get people to listen to her.

Still, unless she was looking for old weapons, there didn’t appear to be much of use to her left behind the front desk. And the books are all ruined, she thought, glancing around the ruin of the library and taking in the decayed, volumes on what few shelves were still upright. Or at least, in terrible condition.

Which made the likelihood of finding a book that could help her understand the language low indeed. But … Faded bright colors caught her eyes. Maybe a foals’ section? The books would be smaller, yes, but also simpler. Meant for young minds.

However, before she’d even made it halfway toward the faded array of colors, she could see that there wouldn’t be much luck. Another one of the sinkholes had opened right under the shelves, knocking them astray. What few books she could see had been utterly destroyed, torn apart either by boots or by the nameless destruction wrought in the defense of the library.

Which was, she reflected, a little strange. It almost looked as though something had exploded near the section. And there were the remains of bodies of more of those small things, and …

Where did they come from? Teleportation spell, maybe? Was that how the defensive line at the desk had fallen? And what had caused the explosion? Teleportation magic was difficult to do right. It could explain the weird sinkhole on the floor as well, though …

She shook her head, mane bouncing on her shoulders. Too many questions, Sunset. You’re getting distracted. Her eyes went back to the front desk, and then to the remaining set of stairs leading upwards. Find out if anyone made it out of here.

The stairs themselves were carved out of marbled stone, the railings adorned with intricate detailing. At least, what she could see. Some of the leafy vines had made it far enough to twist up the railings or across the steps, and there they had flourished. They’d even grown across the dismantled barricade at the top.

There was another body there, half crushed by one of the shelves. She wasn’t sure if that had been the blow that had killed it or not, but the helmet, with skull still in it, was sitting a few dozen feet away, so it seemed that their head had been ripped from their body one way or another.

She shivered again. At least it wasn’t hard to see where the attackers had gone from there. A line of bodies—most of them the small ones like the ones she’d seen in the park, but there was a larger one here and there—stretched across the upper level of the library, past destroyed furniture and scorched shelves. They were lucky the whole building didn’t burn down. The bodies made a line toward a plain door on the far wall. A wall, Sunset noted, that was much closer to her than the back wall had been a floor below.

They went to the roof, she thought as she picked her way across the floor toward the distant exit. In a way, it made sense. Superior ground is more easily defensible, if harder to retreat from. But if you have a pegasus carriage to fly away with …

The door was, all things considered, fairly normal compared to the rest of what she’d seen in the library: A simple metal door with a push-bar across the middle, something that could have been right out of any library in Equestria. But then, that’s how the mirror portal was supposed to work, right? Find similar worlds?

She pressed the push bar, and to her surprise it worked, the door opening with a metallic squeal of disuse but still opening. Beyond it was a rooftop plaza. Or at least, what had been a rooftop plaza some time ago. Now, part of it had collapsed, probably at the same time as the wall below her at the back of the library had fallen in. And what was left was either overgrown with green from nearby planter boxes or just dusty and dirty.

Still, that wasn’t what she noticed first and foremost. First and foremost, there were no bodies. None. Not behind the stone benches and planter boxes as she walked forward, nor strewn across the stones. There were defenses, and even a few old dirty and dusty weapons like what she’d seen before.

“But no bodies.” Despite everything she’d seen already, she smiled. “Someone made it out.” On an airship, perhaps. Or a carriage. Or maybe there were people with wings and they’d simply flown their charges to safety.

But it wasn’t a massacre. There was no pile of bodies from people who hadn’t made it to safety.

And that means there may be more out there. People I can find and meet.

Not everyone had been subject to whatever savagery the attackers had planned. They’d escaped. Somehow.

Which means I need to find them. When I’m ready. Which right now … She took another look around at the rooftop plaza. “Back to work. Shelter. And maybe a way to move my supplies.” And more supplies. More food—I’ll get tired of nuts eventually—and more water. Though now that I know water coolers are a thing, I might be able to find more water inside other businesses.

She frowned as she turned and headed back toward the door. Breaking into one was tricky enough. At least moving in her new body felt fairly natural by now, though still slightly … off, like a fresh dress that she hadn’t quite gotten used to yet. But a lot of the places I’ve seen have been boarded up, and heavily.

Well, at least this place wasn’t, she thought as she opened the door into the library and stepped through it. Probably because this is where everyone came after they closed their homes and shops up.

Now … she thought as she looked down from the top of the stairs at the pile of rubble blocking the front door. To get out of this place.

For a moment she considered taking one of the weapons scattered around, but then dismissed the idea. I have no idea how to use one. And once I figure out how to access my magic in this body, I shouldn’t need one anyway. If I do decide I need one, I can always come back.

Finding an alternate exit was actually fairly easy. Near the back of the library was another door identical to the one on the upper floor, with a sign over it that she guessed read “exit” in its language. It didn’t open when pushed, even when she slammed her shoulders against it, something on the far side blocking it, but thankfully, it wasn’t a big deal.

After all, there was a fairly large hole in the nearby back wall, the rubble old and overgrown enough that she was fairly certain it wasn’t going to collapse on her before she could climb out. Nor did it, and as she dropped down onto a street once more on the back side of the library, she noted that she could probably use the same method to get back in if she needed to.

She could also see what had blocked the door she’d tried to use: Some of the rubble from the roof had fallen right in front of it. I’d need to be an earth pony to even have a hope of moving that, she thought, eyeing the massive chunks of concrete.

She took a quick look at the street around her. More of the same, really. Barricades. Abandoned carriages and wagons, some with the doors still open. Trees that had long since outgrown their place, the roots pushing the paving stones up and buckling the sidewalks.

“All right … now where, Sunset?” The sun was closer to the horizon than it had been … well, however long ago she’d left her water. And put a clock on the list of things it would be nice to find. Maybe a pocketwatch. “The library was a bust, so … back to looking for good shelter, food, and more water?”

At least the street she was on looked like a decent prospect for it. It was a bit tricky to see some of the building fronts due to the large, leafy trees blocking her view, but what little she could see looked like an equal mix of homes and small businesses.

Good a place as any, I guess, she thought, checking to make sure her pack was secure on her back once more and picking a direction at random to walk down the street. Already she could see that many of the entrances had been boarded over or chained up. Still, there didn’t seem to be that much damage. In fact, most of them looked fairly intact, as if the calamity that had impacted the library had missed the segment of the street she was on.

Mostly. Here and there were signs of violence. A broken window pane. A carriage with smashed windows.

The faint whistle of birdsong, however, made it easy enough to ignore the damage and boarded doors and just pretend, for a moment, that it was merely a shaded summer day.

She paused, almost tripping as her thoughts caught up with her. Wait, more birdsong? But there it was, echoing through the air. It took her a few moments to spot the source: Another small bird of some kind sitting on the branch of a tree across the street from her, whistling away.

Her smile widened. Again, if there’s still birds singing, it can’t be all bad. I wonder if this one is friendly at all or— She took a step in its direction, and the bird cut off its singing with a sudden tweet, darting down the street and vanishing into the branches of another tree.

Well, I guess not, she thought, eyes falling back to the space it had just vacated. Still, not all birds are friendly. There being birds is a good sign, so … Wait a minute.

Past the branch the bird had just vacated was another small storefront, much like the others up and down the street. A glass window, made of smaller panes rather than one larger sheet of glass, and covered in dust. But that wasn’t what had caught her eye. What had captured her attention was behind it. Is that …?

She stepped across the street, closing on the display window and stepping under the tree’s wide branches. “It is!”

There, in the front window, was a wagon.

And not just any wagon, but a big wagon. Sunset stepped up against the glass, wiping away the dust with her palm to get a better look. The wheels were large, round, and bulbous, made of the same rubber-like material on the carriages, only they were clearly filled with something and under pressure. The bed was so long she almost could have laid down on it, and wide enough that she could have laid on her back with space on both sides. The walls were solid for about half the length of her foreleg—Forearm—and then after that were made up of a metal mesh of some kind. But there was a bundled cloth clipped beneath it. A cover. So that the walls can be solid. Maybe even rolled over to make a top.

It was perfect. The wagon was high enough that it would easily traverse most of the rubble she’d walked over, and more than large enough to carry food, water, equipment … Everything I need!

She pulled back from the glass, glancing up at the sign over the door. “What kind of place would have a wagon like … Oh, that makes sense.” Above her, a faded sign bore language she couldn’t read … but a few images she was familiar with, if only in passing. Chief among them a garden hoe and a spade.

“A garden supply shop,” she said, peering back through the glass and into the darkened interior of the building. “And that could be … actually pretty helpful.” The packets of seeds and what looked like long-wilted and dead plants likely wouldn’t be useful, but past them, she could just make out the shadowed shapes of what looked like tools.

“And even if they aren’t useful …” Her eyes dropped down to what was right in front of her, through the glass. I need that wagon. Badly.

Naturally, the front door was locked. And chained. Guess I’m not getting in that way, she thought, staring at the wagon behind the glass. Now what? Break a lot of windows?

And wood. Assuming that isn’t reinforced. Which, from everything else she’d seen so far, from the chains to the boarded doors …

Wouldn’t be all that out of place, really, she thought, stepping back slightly and frowning. The next time somepony tells me I’m overdoing it, I’ll have a new example to give them.

Focus. I need that wagon. Maybe I can break the chain? She moved over and gave the metal links an experimental tug. They clinked against one another but held, shiny under the layer of dust she’d knocked off.

Nope. Not without my magic. Come on Sunset. Think! There was a small lock holding the links in their loop, but she didn’t have a key for it, and it didn’t look any less sturdy than the chain. Or the metal handles the whole assemblage had been looped through.

“And even if I get the chain off, the door’s still locked,” she said, scowling as she jiggled one of the handles. Somewhere up the street the bird had started tweeting once more, apparently unbothered by her voice or what she was busy with.

“So I can’t get in that way.” She stepped back, her eyes climbing upwards to the windows on the second level of the building. There were, it appeared, a few windows there as well.

But none of them were open. And the last thing she wanted to try doing was climbing in her new body. I was never very good at climbing in my old one, anyway.

“Maybe … a back entrance?” There had to be one, didn’t there? Another way into the shop? After all, most homes had several entrances, to say nothing of shops. She eased herself to one side, and then to the other.

“Hmm …” Not much space to squeeze through. The alley between the shop and its neighbors was so small as to be nonexistent. I’m not even sure a dog or a cat could squeeze down that. She, in her new form, was completely out of the question.

But there was a glimmer of light at the other end. The building definitely had a back side. She just needed to figure out how to get to it.

And get into the right one when I get there, she thought, looking up and down the street and spotting the nearest intersection. It was six storefronts down. So down that street, then six buildings this way?

Six buildings and another carriage, it turned out. Someone had left theirs in the middle of the narrow back alleyway, effectively blocking the end she’d approached from off and forcing her to scramble over it. More tests of my new form, she thought as she slid off the end of the carriage, arms flailing slightly to help with her balance. It’d be nice if it at least had a tail or something. Or some of those wings I saw on that statue.

Maybe once she got her magic back, that’d be something she could look into changing. As long as I don’t stand out too much, she thought, counting the backs of the buildings until she reached the sixth and then locking her eyes on the seventh. Just as she’d hoped, there was a door set against the back side. Simply painted, simply designed, with neatly paned glass, and best of all, not chained.

Though there was a dusty metal lock below the doorknob. Maybe she’d be in luck. Maybe it wouldn’t even be locked. Maybe—

The doorknob clicked beneath her hand and refused to budge.

Stupid lousy daughter of a moon-addled pig-keeper! She cranked the knob the other way and was met with the same clicking resistance. Why couldn’t they have just …? She let out a loud sigh.

Fine. It’s locked. Think. How else could I get in?

She took a step back first, looking up at the rest of the building. Once again there were windows up across the front. And once again, they had the same drawback as the windows from out front: Too high to climb to. Probably locked anyway.

She scowled, glancing around the rest of the slightly dim back street. The sun was getting lower, only the upper half of the shop getting light thanks to the other buildings around her. Eventually, the sun would be completely down, and night would fall.

And I really don’t want to be sleeping on a couch where I found my water when that happens, Sunset thought as she stepped up to the door again, peering through the glass. If I could just—

She almost winced as the answer jumped out at her. She could see the doorknob on the other side of the glass. Or at least, the inner half of it. Complete with a little metal tab on the end. Just like some of the door locks in Equestria. Like minotaur-make.

And the only thing keeping her fingers from twisting it the other way was one of the small panes of glass that made up the rear door’s window.

Thick glass, she realized after her first smack with the handle of her knife bounced back. Then the second. And the third. Really thick glass.

But glass has a weakness. It’s tough if you make it properly, but a sharp corner, or a knife, can break a pane easily!

She smiled as she opened her eyes, looking down at the knife in her hand. Just like the last one.

It still took a couple of taps with her blade for the pane to splinter and crack, but at long last it happened, the glass breaking into several pieces. A few more hits knocked them from the frame, back onto the floor, and then she was reaching through, carefully keeping her arm from the few pieces that were left, wrapping her fingers around the small metal tab on the doorknob, rolling it to one side and …

With a click, the lock gave, and she let out a triumphant shout as the doorknob twisted, turned … and gave before her, the door opening inward at last.

I am in! She stepped across the broken glass, her grin so wide it felt almost as if she could have seen it from the corners of her eyes. I’m in and now … Which way do I go?

She’d been so focused on getting in the door that she actually hadn’t paid much attention to what lay past it. Which was … a small cloak room, from the look of it, with a passage that led to what she assumed was the shop and a set of carpeted stairs on her left heading up. Dusty, but …

Carpeted, Sunset thought as her eyes followed them upward. They went around a corner, out of sight and shadowed. That could mean that the upstairs was the home of the one who owned this shop.

She took a quick sniff of the air. It smelled … dusty, like it looked. But that was it. Not musty, which would have implied water damage of some kind.

There might be a lot more here than just the wagon, she thought, taking a second to sweep the glass she’d broken over the doorframe and into the alley with her boot. Then a bit longer to shove it off to one side where it hopefully wouldn’t get in her way. Then she closed the door behind her.

Shop first. It was a straight shot in front of her toward another door, this one not just unlocked but not even latched. It was a free-swinging door, the kind one would find in a restaurant or a cafe, though minus the usual small window. She pressed it open.

It swung easily, the hinges not even squeaking as she stepped into what was clearly a small rear stockroom. Very small. But well-kept, like the door had been.

And dark, she thought, wishing once again that she had her horn, or at least that she’d found a way to use her magic. But it wasn’t too hard to simply hold the door open with one hand, and the stockroom itself wasn’t that large. There was truly only one row of shelves, right down the middle of the room, half-full of large boxes and other assorted bricabrac. It was flanked by similar shelves on either side of the room, and on the back wall, all holding a similar collection of odds and ends or packaged items that had yet to be removed from their boxes.

She took a moment to take them all in. Rows of flowerpots and planter boxes, still wrapped in plastic. Boxes with labels she couldn’t read, and no pictures to go with them. Bags of sod. At least, that’s what it smelled like they were.

That accounts for the dusty smell. Or at least, isn’t helping.

But there wasn’t anything too notable that she could see. Not that she wanted. And not that I’ll be able to check without some light to open those boxes by, she thought. A few on the lower shelves were particularly large. Could be worth checking out.

But later. If she came back. The front of the store … that was what mattered. And thankfully, the door forward was straight across from the one she was holding open, and similar in style. She let go, took several quick steps … and then she was pushing her way into the shadowed front of the shop.

It smelled even earthier there. It wasn’t hard to see why either. There were several shelves and rows of what had once been potted plants, but were now nothing more than dessicated, dried out stalks and bare earth. On the plus side, while there had been lights of some kind set above them, there hadn’t been fans. Otherwise that dirt would be everywhere.

The interior was dim, but there was enough light for her to see that the floor was clear all the way to her prize, and she practically ran over to it.

“It’s perfect.” The words slipped out without her even meaning to let them as she touched the wagon for the first time, running her fingers over the warm metal mesh walls. “Perfect!”

It was even better looking when she was right next to it. The tires were massive and knobbly, with plenty of clearance underneath them. The bed was, to her surprise, made of some sort of plastic rather than metal. “Must be really tough plastic,” she said absently as she pressed her fingers against it. The material didn’t give. The mesh walls, she could see, were removable, and the tarpaulin material she’d seen was indeed a cover that could be rolled over the walls and top and attached with metal clasps.

Even the handle was impressive. Not only was it coated in a sort of rubbery material and contoured to her grip, but large yet still light. Tabs on either side of it caught her eye, but after a moment she realized what they might be for.

“They’re for rope,” she said, looking at them. “So you could make a harness? Maybe?” Still, pulling a wagon with a harness sounded easier than pulling it with her hands.

“Or maybe …” There were a few small boxes in the bed of the wagon. She pulled her attention away from the handle, toward the boxes. None of them were sealed, and it only took her a few seconds’ worth of fumbling to pop one open and see what it held.

A … hitch of some kind? She wasn’t quite sure what the plastic-wrapped object was, but from the look of it, it was to … “Replace the handle?”

It was a hitch. Designed so that someone could replace the handle and use the wagon as a smaller wagon to the carriages she’d seen, perhaps. Or maybe even another wagon! She checked the back, and as she’d guessed there was an attachment there between the rear wheels.

“To connect more than one wagon,” she said, grinning despite herself. “That’s smart. And kind of fantastic. It’d be a wagon train.” She let out a snort of laughter as her words caught up with her.

It was perfect. And, since there was no one around to tell her otherwise, it was hers. Sure, it wasn’t shelter like she’d been looking for, but it was a way to lug her water with her. I could fit eight of those water jugs in here easily, she thought, looking down at the bed. And maybe …

It was tricky climbing into the wagon, especially as the wheels were free. But the floor was level, and in a moment she was lying on her side, legs tucked up slightly beneath her. It wasn’t comfortable, but it did work.

Except that the clasps for the cover were on the outside of the mesh, not the inside. “Still, I could make it work.” She sat up, took another look around at the wagon, and then climbed out.

“Well, I guess my library detour was worth it after all.” No shelter yet, but ... She eyed the boxes on the back of the wagon once more. Better, she decided, to leave them and check them out later.

After all, no one was going to complain if she simply tossed them on the side of the road. I can check each one later, she thought, grabbing the handle and looking at her route back to the rear entrance. And come to think of it … Why not check the rest of the shop for anything I need? The sun was getting lower, but it still didn’t look like evening yet.

I have time, she thought, peering back at the darker sections of the store floor. And I have a wagon if I find anything I need. There might not be food here, but there could be useful tools.

She moved to the back of the store, where she could see shadowed but faint rows of what looked like gardening implements arrayed along the back wall. The rear was dim enough she had to wait for her eyes to adjust, but once they did, she could at least make out what most items were with a bit of a squint.

“No … no … no,” she said as her gaze passed over rows of rakes, spades, and hoes in sequence. Then they stopped on a row of heavy-looking axes. “Okay, those could be useful.” Smaller hatchets were hanging behind them. Another useful item.

“Sledgehammers?” Her mind flashed to the chains hanging from the building’s front door. “Yes.” Trowels and other small earth-moving implements not so much. But an unfamiliar-looking saw, with the toothed blade strung between a bent bar of metal, almost like a bow? That could go in the wagon. Along with what looked like a whole selection of replacement blades behind it.

In fact … She backtracked, heading back to the front of the store once more, and grabbed the wagon’s handle. Why wait? This will fit down the aisles if I’m careful. And there weren’t many that she’d need to go down anyway. She wasn’t planning on looking at dead plants.

Back in the rear of the store, she began adding her finds to the wagonbed. An axe first, followed by two hatchets—no sense in not having a spare, and more than once the Guard had pointed out to her when camping with … her old mentor … that a hatchet was a useful tool in any excursion.

She added a third. Can’t be too careful. And what was a belt-harness of some kind for holding one. There were pictures on the label, so hopefully it’d be easy to figure out.

Which reminds me, she thought as she added a single sledgehammer and then one of the saws. What about a sheath for my knife? At the moment it was laying in the bottom of the wagon, within easy reach if she needed it, but carrying it with the blade out was … well, risky.

I was already lucky not to cut myself on it when I dove out of the way of that rubble in the library. She grimaced. Or when I climbed into that storefront and found my water.

She nodded. Definitely look for one before I go. It wasn’t that likely, but on the chance … Why not look?

Especially when this place has tools like these in it, she thought, collecting a crowbar from next to the saws. The heavy metal was cool against her palms, and she carefully added it to her growing selection.

Unfortunately, what else she could pick out along the back wall wasn’t of use to her at all. Apparently, she’d exhausted the supply of ‘other tools’ the shop had held, as once past the crowbars, it went right back into more traditional gardening implements. There was a selection of picks—probably for helping lever out rocks—but she decided to leave them alone.

Ultimately and unfortunately, after walking up and down the other aisles, she didn’t find a sheath for her knife. She did, however, find something just as useful near the front counter. Right below the register was a small shelf. And on it stood row after row of flashlights.

Working flashlights. Small ones. Big ones. Sizes in-between. All of them working, though how, she wasn’t certain. She pointed one at the back wall, impressed by both the brightness and the steadiness of the beam. Equestria is definitely behind on whatever technology this is. Flashlights there had been an uphill battle from day one, thanks to most unicorns knowing a way to make light with their horn. Pegasi and earth ponies had enjoyed them, but even then there were glow jars, lightning in a bottle, and any number of other competitors to something like a magilectric flashlight.

I guess that wasn’t a problem here, Sunset thought as she tried another flashlight. One click of the button turned it on, another made it brighter, and the last made it go dim. I wonder how these work? And how long they last? That was other issue with them in Equestria: they just didn’t last, not without regular use of magilectrics to recharge them.

She picked up several and turned toward her wagon, only to reconsider and take all three trays, setting them in the bottom. Better safe than sorry. For a moment she glanced at the items around the flashlights, but she wasn’t sure what any of them were, and with the shadows outside the shop starting to get longer …

Still, they looked interesting. And curious. Who would package up a whole array of metal cylinders? she wondered. They don’t look like the bullets I saw earlier. Unless they were a different kind of ammunition. But … In a garden shop? Next to flashlights?

The other items she couldn’t parse either. Some were obviously trinkets. But the whole array of small, wheel-and-switch-topped oval cylinders? She examined one for a moment, tapping the switch, but nothing happened.

A mystery for another time, I guess. She had the flashlights, she had the tools, and she had her wagon. She moved for the rear entrance, the wagon rolling along behind her and bumping against the two rear doors as she entered the cloak room once more. Now to …

She paused as her eyes slid to the stairs. What about the second floor?

Clearly it wasn’t part of the shop. She was almost certain it was a private residence. Or had been. But a private residence meant—

Food. Maybe even a bed. Supplies.

Shelter. After all, the rest of the building was in good shape. Dry. Sealed. She reached for one of the flashlights.

It felt … weird … to be walking up the steps, following in the path of her beam. Like she was intruding on someone else’s privacy.

“Relax,” she muttered under her breath. “There’s no one home.”

Or maybe there was. Or had been. And she’d find yet another body, dried and halfway to dust.

“No,” she said aloud as she neared the top of the steps, glad to see that the upper windows were letting in light, her flashlight not the only source. “If that were the case, they wouldn’t have locked the front door from the outside.”

Assured, she rounded the landing and got her first look at the upstairs.

It wasn’t occupied. In fact, whoever had originally owned it had gone so far as to put dust sheets over everything before leaving, like some of the old or unused rooms in the palace back in Canterlot.

And it looked … nice. Homey, and a little simple, but nice.

And warm. Stifling, actually. But that was because of lack of air flow. If I opened a few windows … Sunset shook her head. Wait. Not yet. Check the rest of the building first. Make sure there aren’t any … surprises.

And I left my knife in the wagon. She frowned. Not like I know how to use it. She paused for a moment, almost deciding to go back and get it, but then pushed on.

Kitchen. Okay. Might want to check the cupboards later. Dining room. Sitting room. Bathroom. Closet. And … bedroom.

All of it with furniture covered. She pulled one corner of the dust sheet back, exposing a bed that had been made who knew how long ago, still waiting for someone to find it.

“It’s a whole house,” she said aloud. “Ready for someone to come back.” A set of dressers lay open, most of the clothing gone. Pictures looked out of alignment, as if a few had been taken.

Taken by someone who’d never come back.

She moved back to the sitting room and looked out the front windows over the street. The sun was definitely lower. But if it got dark, well … “I have flashlights.” It wouldn’t take her that long to retrace her steps to her stash, wagon in tow, and load it up. Bring her food and her water back to the shop. It wouldn’t serve as a permanent place for her to stay, not unless the taps ran, which …

She paused for a moment and checked. They didn’t.

So it wasn’t a good place to get settled into. But it certainly wouldn’t hurt as a central location to operate out of. For day or so, at least. Maybe more. A location to gather more resources and to plan her next move.

She smiled. It had been a long, trying day. But she was making it work.

Water. Food. Shelter, she thought. She’d need more of the first and second soon enough. But with shelter to operate out of … It was a good start.

“I’m on my way,” she said, eyeing her reflection in the glass. Then she turned and moved across the room, back toward the rear steps. Best to get her things while she still had light.

On my way to my destiny.

Author's Note

School

Chapter 8 - School

Day One - New World

I am writing thiS in native Equestrian. Or as close as I can gEt with these fingers. These writing utensils work, and I will need the pRactice if I am to pass as one of whatever species I have become. It’s slow going, but on the positive side, only I cAn read it. Anyone else who finds it would see it as writing, but not a lanGuage they know. Hopefully there are enough languagEs in this world that no one wi— will question it.

Writing this way is hArd. But I have to try. I still cannot access my magic. I spent several houRs last night as the sun began to set trying. I can feel it. My magic is there. But I just can’t acceSs it for some reason. I—

Hopefully I can still read thIs later, despite my mistakes. The paper is old. I will write more carefully.

I’m calling this “day one.” Which would make the day I arrived “day zero.” I still don’t know where I am, what this planet iS called, or where everyone went. But at least I have shelteR. It was raining this morning when I woke up. It’s weird to see Rain cloudS without weather pegasi making sure everything is okay.

Still getting used to this body. ThIs morning I had to determine how to relieve myself. It wasn’t too hard to figure out, but it wasn’t fun either. At least the bathroom waS well Stocked.

Not that I could use it. I got a bucket from the store downstAirs and a bag of diRt. It’s gross, but I can put the bucket down in the shop and—cover it with dirt after taking care of my business. At least there’S plenty of dirt and buckets.

No running water, though. And no magic to make sure my hands are clean. I used some soap and some of my water and did the best I could.

I’m going through water faster than I thought I would. And I’ll need to find a way to clean myself. New clothes as well. There were some left here, but they don’t fit right. If I Am wearing them properly. But I’ve got a buffer. A few dayS, at least. Besides, I may be able to clean myself using the Rain water. It’s cold, but it should work. I’ve already set several buckets under the eaves to catch what I can. There are towels here.

Writing like this is getting—eAsier already. I don’t know whether to thank Starswirl or curse his name until his horn melts.

I did take a moment this morning to strip out of thEse clothes and get a look at my new body. It’s … weird. Definitely strange. Being bipedal is one thing, but the lack of a good coat of fur is strAnger. And my hind … paws? Feet? Feet sounds more accurate, if I’m honest. They have tiny fingers. Toes. For balance, I’m guessing, based on how they move when I stand.

It could be a lot worse, but it could be a lot better too. And there’s no sign of wings. No claws or fangs, either. At least, not like those creatures I found had.

So I’m, as near as I can guess, one of the species that built the city. Starswirl’s spell got that right.

Figuring out how to get dressed again almost made me want to stay nAked. But this body isn’t made for that. Without fur, I got cold quickly. Ugh.

I’m going to the school today. The one on my map. I have enough food and water for several days, though I am getting tired of nuts already.

But if I’m going to make any headway toward my destiny in this world, I need to know how to read its languages. A school should have educational materials, something designed for children that I can use. And though it is raining, the material my jacket is made of does seem to repel water, and it isn’t raining that hard. Anything I find I can fit in my backpack, I hope.

This would be a lot easier if I could figure out what’s blocking my magic.

* * *

Okay, Sunset thought as she moved down the street, cold wetness sliding down the back of her neck. I really should have thought about whether or not this jacket had a hood of some kind before I set out.

Still, it was too late to turn back now. Her mane was wet and soggy, hanging down around her shoulders in a damp, diminished curtain of dark red and gold. Turning back wouldn’t make it any drier. Nor would finding a cloak or some other implement to cover it with.

I should have checked the shop, she thought, scowling slightly. The coat was doing its job keeping her fairly warm, but with the top of her shirt growing damp beneath it, that warmth was slowly fading. Maybe looked for an umbrella. She couldn’t recall seeing one, but then again it hadn’t been an important item on her list.

The rain continued to come down on her. It wasn’t much, just a light drizzle, but over the last several dozen blocks, it had been more than enough to slowly weigh her down.

No turning back now. According to her map, she was only a few blocks away from the school. Assuming she hadn’t gotten lost along the way. Which is entirely possible, she thought, slowing and pulling the map out of her pocket.

That was one thing she liked about the coat. The pockets were most useful. And the map was coated in some sort of plastic, so it was waterproof. Or at least, resistant.

Let’s see … She looked back down the street she’d been following. I turned right there … and left there … She let one of her fingers slide over the map. And that was right here …

If I’m not lost, then the school should just be a few blocks … that way. Her head came up, looking down the street and to the left. Okay. Almost there.

Good. She folded the map back up and slipped it into her pocket. This place is genuinely creepy when it rains. A faint shiver crawled down her spine. Doesn’t help that this part of the city seems to have fared worse in whatever disaster and fighting befell this place.

Worse was almost an understatement. Already she’d had to turn aside several times, blocked by whole sections of the street that had caved in or collapsed. Buildings too, though in some cases it was less that they’d collapsed and more like they’d been destroyed. And then there were the posts …

Posts was the best name she could think of for them. Or maybe “checkpoint,” she thought as she continued up the street. Whole streets that had been blocked off by large cement barriers—how, she didn’t know—and large gates. Some of them had been left open. Others had been closed, forcing her to backtrack until she found a way around. And one … one had been destroyed, the gates smashed open, the defenders’ bodies still strewn around, little more than decayed bone and armor.

That had been the hardest one to pass, despite being completely open. She’d almost stopped and relieved another one of their weapons of its knife attachment, since she’d left hers at the shop. But with the rain and the cold, she’d simply passed on. She’d left it behind because she didn’t yet have a sheath for it. The hatchet currently strapped to her belt had a holster and a cover, so she didn’t have to worry about falling and cutting her palm open on it.

Besides, it was a little easier to use. Like a club. Sharp end toward what you need to cut. Much easier than a knife in her unfamiliar fingers.

The damage around her was getting worse as she drew closer to the school. Buildings had been gutted by fire, their insides torn apart. One had seen one of the carriages flung into it. Broken, sun-faded sandbags lay strewn in the street, scattered and torn. Marks of a battle long since over.

The slick of wetness over everything and the cold grey sky, however, made it feel far less ancient than it had the day before. Then, she’d felt as though she was disturbing old memorials.

Today it just felt like a graveyard.

Left, she thought as she reached the next intersection and made the turn. And cut it with the spooky thoughts. You’ve been to old battlefields before.

Just, you know, really old. Ancient. And this … Her eyes slid over another destroyed storefront. This is a lot more recent.

At least she was close. I should be able to see the school building after the next turn. In fact, that might even be part of it right there! After the nearest intersection, the buildings to her right gave way to a large, tall wall. Around the school grounds, maybe?

There was also another one of the checkpoints at the intersection, surrounded by more carriages.

A lot more.

Sunset slowed. Okay, I thought about this already. If it’s a big school, it’s natural that they’d want to use it as an evacuation point of some kind. And there are a lot of those carriages outside that gate. And, she noted, not all of them were sitting evenly. In fact, one of the strange craters that were everywhere was right in front of her.

She circled around it. It’s not too far from the edge of the city. Schools are big. They probably … They probably …

Sunset came to a stop, eyes fixed on the figure in front of her. What … is that?

It was larger than the thing she’d found in the Food Barn. Quite a bit larger. Even laying on the ground, the face of its skull down, the thing’s body, stretched out, was almost half again as long as she was tall. The bony hands were almost as large as her head, the tattered boots around its feet so big she could have easily stood in one pair.

I guess they get bigger still, she thought, frowning as she looked down at the hatchet. It seemed far smaller than it had when she’d strapped it in place that morning.

I’m just glad it’s dead. Still with the rain slipping down the thing’s bones it wasn’t hard to imagine it shifting and clicking together, getting back up to—

Focus! It’s just a corpse! And for all you know it’s an intelligent, gentle creature. Diamond dog skeletons look fearsome, and they can be scary, but they’re not monsters!

Still, it was hard not to shiver again as she passed by the outstretched, clawed hands and saw the hint of sharp teeth lined across the thing’s jaw. Maybe it was just the cold.

Maybe.

She continued forward, giving it a wide berth as she moved into the pack of carriages. It was slow going. Doors had been left open on many of them. Luggage had been scattered and left on the ground, the canvas wet and sun-faded.

And in more than a few cases, the occupants of the carriages themselves had fallen not too far away. They were attacked, Sunset thought as she saw the bones. There was a nervous feeling gnawing at her stomach now, like hunger but colder. She glanced down at another pair of bones, clad in a faded, half-rotted away set of clothing, damp with rain and clinging to every part of what was left.

Another day, in another world, perhaps, she would have been curious to see how the bones fit together. To guess at how they looked, or what their function was. Now she simply swallowed, another chill working its way past her shoulders.

How many didn’t make it? She changed directions again as in front of her two of the carriages converged, their bodies having arrowed into one another long ago.

This is going to take too long. The checkpoint wasn’t too far ahead now. It looked as though there had been a heavier, larger carriage partway through the gate which had suffered an attack of some kind. Maybe an explosion. Most of the rear wheels were a melted, broken mess of metal. That’s why the traffic piled up.

And made getting past the checkpoint a maze. She could see it in her mind. The people had panicked, started trying to shove their way through or out of their vehicles … There might not even be a route through this mess.

Fine then. I may not have magic to teleport past it, but I can still go over it. The nearest rear of one of the carriages was slick from the rain, but with a few careful checks to make she wasn’t about to lose her footing she was able to climb atop it, kneeling on the metal back, her palms resting on the rear window.

And … now my knees are wet, Sunset thought as she pushed herself up, one boot slipping slightly before catching again with a faint squeak. Great.

Hopefully the rain would let up and she’d be able to dry out her clothes. The last thing I want to do is try to go anywhere in this lousy body naked! It’s too exposed.

And if I could figure out how to use my magic maybe …

Except she’d never learned any spells related to clothing. Sunshades, rain shields, a few other utility spells. And that last one would come in really useful no—

Her foot went out from under her with a sharp, sudden squeak, and she dropped, twisting as she tried to get her arms out in time but still slamming down on her hindquarters atop the front of the carriage with a heavy, painful thud. She pushed herself up immediately—I really am getting the hang of this—but it was already too late. Not only did her rear—Or is it my midsection now? How does this species classify my butt?—hurt, but it was already going cold and wet.

This had better be worth it. Her foot threatened to slip again as she made her way down the next carriage’s sloped glass, and she shifted her weight forward, rolling with it and using the momentum to scale the back of the next vehicle it was pressed up against.

She was getting closer to the blocked checkpoint now. Well, not entirely blocked. The gate was wide enough on both sides that she’d be able to pass easily. And past it, around the walls she still couldn’t see over despite her position atop the carriages, she could see a titanic building that had to be the school.

It’s massive for a city of its size. I wonder if they taught all their students here? From across the whole city?

Even then, it almost looked bigger than she remembered the School for Gifted Unicorns being.

Though it’s kind of hard to tell, since I’m still not quite sure what my size was then compared to now. And since her saddlebags had changed with her … There’s no guarantee that anything in them stayed the same size either and didn’t become this world’s equivalent.

Even her sandwiches were suspect. And almost gone. Not that they’d tasted very good. Or been very filling past the bread. Still, it was likely the last bread she was going to get for a while.

She stepped over a shattered glass window, deliberately not looking inside. She didn’t want to see what had become of the occupants.

Almost there, Sunset. Just a few more carriages to go. So close to the gate a lot of them were showing more frequent signs of damage, though. Some had clearly been rammed into one another.

Two had a pile of cloth and bones pinned between them. She skipped around them, taking a circuitous route across several other carriages.

The wind picked up, and she slowed, catching her balance as the slick metal once again threatened her footing.

Whatever. I’m close enough now. She dropped off the front of the carriage she was on, bending her knees to keep her impact from being too jarring. At least I didn’t slip. Again. The stone roadway beneath her feet was muddy and wet, but uneven enough that her footing wasn’t too slippery.

Don’t step on any of those empty cylinders, Sunset thought, kicking a few of the strange hollow metal tubes out of her way. They were all over the ground around the gate, and as she stepped up into the gap, more of them littered the ground behind it.

Along with a few more bodies, these ones clad in armor. A few even had helmets on. Helmets with holes in them.

She stepped around each of them with care, the hollow pit in her stomach growing. This … might not be a good idea. These people died defending their own from whatever those … things … were. And you’re going to disturb their dead.

No. She shook her head, wet mane flipping around her face. A strand of it stuck to her cheek, wet and limp. You’re not disturbing them. You’re just passing by.

Still, she gave the bodies as wide a berth as she could as she moved past the large destroyed carriage, despite the part of her mind shouting loudly that there was no such thing as ghosts, and that the remains were just that: remains.

Still creepy, she thought as she worked her way past them and into the courtyard beyond the wall. Well, what had at one time been a courtyard. Now it was an old battlefield.

Once, it had clearly been a space for parents to drop off their students. There was a large, long parking area where carriages could be lined up. A large statue of some figure in the center of a road that let those carriages wrap around. An open space on either side of the building had been home to playground equipment and trees. The front of the school wasn’t nearly so ornate as the city administration building had been, but it was ornate enough. Or at least, had been.

Now it was an old battlefield. Barriers and sandbags had been erected all across the front steps and surrounding courtyard. A large carriage that was twice as long as the others she’d seen before had been burned, its blackened bones dominating a large segment of the courtyard. Bodies in blue armor were everywhere, as were more of the strange craters.

At least none of it was fresh. Most of the craters were full of small pools of muddy water from the rain, and grass had grown through most of the pavement beneath her feet. The front of the building was covered in more of the leafy green vines that were all over the city.

It made it look a little less like an old battlefield, but not by enough to take away the creeping sense of unease as she noted yet another body.

And something had utterly annihilated the gate at the other end of the street. Or whatever had been there. It was a gaping hole in the ground, the wall around it collapsed into so many piles of brick. The rear end of one of the large, long carriages stuck out of the hole and into the air, wheels far from the earth. It almost looked as though a giant had decided to make a strange sculpture out of it.

Almost. To her, it said something else. How did it end up like that? Did the ground drop out from beneath it? Surely whoever was in control of it wouldn’t have voluntarily guided it into the hole. And if something pulled it into the hole, would it have ended up with the back end stuck in the air like that?

More pieces to the puzzle. But there were a few theories starting to bubble inside her head.

But right now, I need to get inside that school, she thought, turning her gaze away from the upended carriage and toward the front of the massive, heavy-looking building. At least it won’t be hard. The front doors are wide op— Well, gone, actually. And even if they weren’t, the windows are all gone too. Well, save that one. Her eyes lingered on the one remaining bit of glass along the building’s front. The rest of the tall, vertical windows gaped open like missing teeth in a smile.

A boxer’s smile, Sunset thought as she made her way up the steps. One that’s taken a lot of hits. And probably not very good.

Bones littered the steps, along with what was left of armor and other equipment. Even weapons. Though she couldn’t help but note there were fewer of those than there were bodies.

But … that makes sense, she thought as she neared the front doors. In the middle of a fight, or even afterward, you’re going to want to gather what’s left. If you can. Picking over a battlefield was a time-honored tradition. So it makes sense I’m not seeing too many weapons here.

The ones she was seeing were a little confusing, however. Maybe there hadn’t been much time for whoever had won to comb over everything thoroughly?

“Or maybe they just didn’t care,” she said quietly. The Burning Lands had instances of that happening, where one army defeated another but took their equipment for scrap rather than use. It was possible that whoever had won here—and that looked quite a bit like the creatures—just hadn’t wanted what their foes left behind.

Then the front door was gaping before her like an open wound, a dark, ragged portal into the inside of the school. She chose her steps carefully as she moved inside, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness and taking her first look around.

It … wasn’t impressive. Years of neglect had taken their toll, as had the front doors being wide open. Or rather, gone. One of them was sitting on the floor in front of her, twisted and broken, dirt and water pooled in some of its crevices. The other had been torn from its frame and smashed into the wall, the glass broken out of it. A large impact of some kind, then, enough to shear it from its hinges.

There were a few bodies as well, strewn across the dirty tile floor. Little more than bones and armor, like their fellows outside. One was propped against the wall, a weapon still clutched in their hands.

They died defending the door. She took a few steps further inside. It was cold, and it was damp … but at least there wasn’t any rain falling down on her any longer.

A second set of doors directly ahead of her had been battered open as well, leading deeper into the school. She frowned.

Not very much light. But what about … She turned, glancing back at the entrance. Two sets of windows, a pair on either side of the door, looked back at her. But no more. So the other windows are to other rooms.

Well, at least they were an option if something further ahead blocked her path.

“All right, Sunset.” She slipped a hand into one of her pockets, pulling out one of the flashlights she’d found. There were two more in her pack, just in case whatever provided the power to the light ran dry. I need to open one of them up and see what the insides look like, but … Another time.

Still, the light was new, and its bright beam poked back into the dark depths of the school, illuminating the hallway beyond the second set of doors. It was … surprisingly droll. Almost disappointingly so.

Is this place just dirty? she wondered as she moved forward, plying her light over row after row of lockers. Or was it this drab and dull before it was a ruin?

Grey lockers. Plain tiled floors. Brown walls. A far cry from the bright, warm golds of Canterlot.

How … bland. She moved past the second set of doors, slowly plying the light over her surroundings. She was at an intersection, one that split to move down three identical hallways. I hope their classrooms were more interesting than this.

Three directions lay before her, but one was the most obvious. The path straight ahead was littered with debris and detritus. Her light played across papers and more discarded bags, as well as hundreds of the small metal cylinders left behind in the wake of the weapons.

There were stains on the floor too, old and rust-colored. Dried blood.

She glanced at the hallways to either side, but then shook her head. It would be best to see what had become of those that had retreated into the building.

Her footsteps echoed lightly on the tiles, bouncing off of the metal lockers and back at her. From somewhere she could hear water dripping down from above, hitting somewhere nearby with a faint, constant plink. Here and there she passed closed doors on both sides. Classrooms. She could check them later. Ahead of her the hallway diverged once more, stairs breaking off to her left and her right. One set went up, the other down. The light from her flashlight glimmered off of something reflective: The source of the dripping she’d been hearing. Water trickled down from somewhere above, pooling in a shallow slick across the top of the steps before running down deeper into the depths of the school.

She paused and shone the light down after them. The steps ended some distance below her, amid a stagnant pool of dirty looking water that filled the entirety of the lower level.

Sunset glanced at her boots. I should see if these are waterproof, and to how deep. Some other time. There was no way she was heading down the steps into the absolute dark all on her own.

It’s dark enough up here. And at least here my feet are dry. Even if a lot of her wasn’t.

And stagnant water like that could hold disease. Plus make a lot of noise.

She moved on, following the path of debris deeper into the school until she reached the next intersection and, from the look of it, her destination. T\wo identical hallways that split off to either side of her, but she ignored them, instead stepping up to a pair of heavy metal doors lying askew straight ahead, the beam of her flashlight sliding over over the gap between them and into the open space beyond.

Her stomach lurched. Corpses. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. Even now she could still smell the faint musty odor of so much death.

There had been barricades, but something had battered them aside. Forced the doors. Into what was clearly a gymnasium. Beams of dull light from small windows high along the walls mixed the one from her flashlight, illuminating rows of bleachers, a wooden floor …

And bodies. Bodies that had long since mostly given way to the march of time, but bodies all the same.

So, so many of them.

Sunset staggered back, yanking the light away as her stomach heaved. Away from the rows of cots, from the flashes of bright color that had been someone’s clothes, away from the—

The halls echoed with the sounds of her retching as she vomited up what was left of her breakfast, a salty, burning slurry that splattered against the tiles and over her boots.

They died. None of them made it.

This isn’t a school. It’s a mass grave. An involuntary mausoleum.

She slumped back against the wall, gasping for breath and wiping at her lips with the back of her hand. The smell of her bile mixed with the musty stink of so much death, and she felt her stomach lurch again.

It didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything left for it to give anyway. It could clench all it wanted.

Gradually, slowly, she got her breathing under control. It happened a long time ago, Sunset. In and out. A long time ago. No different than any history you read about in a book.

Except more vivid. More real, now that she was standing next to a mass grave of bodies. Gut-wrenchingly real.

Part of her wanted to just reach out and pull the doors closed. Forever. To seal their grave away and never disturb it again.

But she’d seen the cots. Cots meant that they’d been planning to be there for some time if needed. Which meant that there had to be supplies of some kind. Assuming they hadn’t run out. Or been taken.

She turned, lifting her light toward the door once more, and hesitated.

You have water. You have some food. Whatever supplies they have in there, you don’t need them right now. You can just come back later.

Except she likely never would. She already knew that, not that she wanted to admit it. The gym was a grave. One almost fresh. They deserved to be left alone.

But … Practicality won out. Taking a deep breath, she rounded the edge of the doors and looked over the massacre once more.

Bodies. Cots. Bodies. Dried blood. Armor. Bent, battered weapons. Bones and limbs that had been scattered far from any recognizable source.

Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it back down and took a few steps in. Come on, come on. If there were supplies, they’d probably be in a central location, in boxes like at the shop, wooden crates, or maybe even those blue-tinged sealed metal boxes like the ones the soldiers had kept their bullets in.

Nothing. She ran her light over the rest of the gym looking for any sign of— There!

A wooden pallet, occupied by what was left of a few shredded and scattered cardboard boxes. Whatever had been in them had been crushed or exposed to the air long ago.

Nothing. She turned and moved out of the gym, back to the doors. Then, she grabbed one of them with her free hand and pulled it closed. It let out a loud metal squeak that echoed through the empty halls of the school. Its sibling let out an answering shriek a moment later as she pulled it closed as well. Or at least, as close to together as the battered metal doors could be.

Still, it would have to do. Not a fitting tomb. But … as good as she could manage.

She paused for a moment and pulled out her canteen, washing her mouth out and spitting over the floor. She took a moment to wipe off her pant legs as well: the bile would only stink if she left it. Maybe the rain would wash it off later but … she didn’t want to search the school with the scent following her any more than it already was.

She took a moment to clear some of it out of her mane too, grimacing. Yuck. The water spilled across the tiles beneath her boots.

Yesterday you were living it high in Canterlot, she thought as she swished her mouth out again. Now … you’re cleaning your own vomit out of your mane, spitting on the floor, and trapped in an alien body.

So much for destiny.

Then again, a lot of greatness was preceded by trial. And this should definitely count. She took a sip from her canteen, her stomach unclenching slightly as she gave it something to work with, then put the canteen back into her pack.

So, we know what happened to the people who were left here. So … back to work.

She headed back down the way she’d come, away from the stink of death that still lingered at that gym and back toward the front of the building. I need classrooms. Not ones open to the environment. So maybe …

There was a door nearby, and she tried it. Locked. And heavy. Nothing her hatchet could get past either. Even the glass window in the middle of the door was reinforced with thick, heavy wire. The door’s opposite across the hall was locked as well.

On the one hoof, that meant they were likely untouched since however long ago. But without a set of keys.

Maybe if I could find an office, Sunset thought as she moved further back down the hall, checking each door as she went. Each one of them was locked. Or keys.

Even a janitorial closet would likely do. Someone had to get into each one of the rooms to clean them. Or at least, had at one point needed to. But they would have needed keys for that.

Which left her poking around in the dark, checking each—

A handle gave under her hand with a faint clack and she froze in surprise. Well … that was unexpected. She eased the door open, poking her flashlight in ahead of her.

Revealing … a classroom. One somewhat lit by covered windows along the back wall, and fairly ordinary. If a little bland. But then, that fit with what she’d seen so far.

Chairs, desks for students, chalkboard. A projector. So many items looked similar to those from her home.

One wall caught her focus, however. It was a bookshelf. Full.

She moved over to it but quickly slowed. They were thick books. Large and heavy. Not something that could help her learn the language. Unless one was a dictionary.

No, she thought, opening one of them and flipping through the pages. That’s not what this is. What is was, she couldn’t say. But it didn’t appear to be anything that could help her. There was nothing familiar within its pages. Just walls of text that she couldn’t read.

She picked another, from a different shelf. More text.

It wasn’t until the bottom shelf that she found something useful. This looks like a dictionary! The cover was blank save for a few lines of unreadable text, but the pages inside the book were familiar and recognizable, even if the text wasn’t. Words arranged in columns, bolded, with copies of themselves broken apart next to them followed by a short line or two.

If it’s not a dictionary, it’s close enough that it might be useful anyway, Sunset thought, sliding the book into her backpack. It was a fairly dense tome, but the weight wasn’t too bad once it was back on her shoulders. And she’d spent most of the prior day with several other books packed in it anyway.

Well, that’s one thing useful, she thought, playing the beam of her flashlight over the rest of the room. So let’s see what else we can find? A few cabinets revealed their contents to be school supplies for teaching and learning: reams of paper, sealed in plastic, pencils, more of the ink-filled writing utensils … but nothing useful to her current search.

What I need is a classroom for younger students. Sunset moved over to the teacher’s desk and began rummaging through its drawers, checking for anything useful. Children. That would be where books teaching language basics would be.

The bottom drawer yielded a result, a metallic skittering sound as she pulled it open. A large ring of metal keys glimmered under her flashlight, scattered amidst random bric-a-brac and papers.

“Spare keys,” Sunset whispered, the sound carrying through the room. “Perfect.” There were at least two-dozen of them on the ring. It was a lot of keys to try.

But if it gets me in a few of those other doors … She slipped the keys into her pocket, where they pressed against her side like a pointy metal ball.

And … that’s it, she thought, sliding the beam from her flashlight across the room for a second time. Not much else here except …

She walked over to the windows and pulled back the corner of one of the blinds, spilling a little bit more light into the room. Not much, however. The outside of the window was mostly covered by more of those climbing, leafy vines she’d seen everywhere else. Still, they let a little light in, and through the gaps she could make out a small courtyard playground. The faint tap-tap of rain hitting the metal surface of a merry-go-round was only faintly audible through the glass.

Those are foals’ toys. Or childrens’, I guess. Her eyes paused on a small, brightly colored pony-like creature attached to a giant spring. Weird. But they wouldn’t want children to walk far, would they? Which means that their classroom was probably near.

She moved to another window, checking for a different angle. If there’s a door to the courtyard somewhere, then … There! Several doors lead out into the courtyard … from almost exactly across from her current position.

Okay Sunset … she thought as she let the blinds drop. That looks like a good bet.

Now how do I get there? I entered this room through that door there, which was on that side of the hallway … She stood for a moment ruminating, working out where she was in relation to the front of the building and the courtyard across from her.

So that courtyard would have been to my left when I entered. Okay. So to get there, I can try the stairs outside the door, or head back toward the gym and try the hallway there … She shivered. Or not. I can go back to the front of the building and try the hall there.

It did have a better chance of leading her in the right direction. The stairs outside the door, for all she knew, didn’t connect with the other side of the building. Though … She peered out of the window once more. It did look as though the courtyard was surrounded on all sides by at least two levels of building on all sides.

So the stairs might connect. It would make sense for them to do so. And it would be shorter than walking back to the front of the building.

Okay, upper level it is. Go up, go around, back down, and see if those keys will let me into the classrooms for the foals.

Satisfied with her plan, she turned and made her way back through the rows of desks, the flashlight sending strange shadows across the front of the room.

And quickly, she added, another chill running down her clammy skin. This is just … creepy. Even without what I saw in the gym.

Plus, even though she was out of the rain she was still cold. Her wet clothing wasn’t going to dry anytime soon, and her wet underthings were riding up slightly.

Stupid body, Sunset thought as she left the room behind and continued down the hall toward the stairs. And its dumb lack of easy magic access.

She slowed for a moment, reaching inside herself at her well of magic and willing it to come out. Like before, she could feel it. And, just as before, she could feel it slip away from her grasp, like water that refused to be shaped.

It was there. She just couldn’t figure out how her new form accessed it.

Her huff of indignation slid down the hallway. Stupid body. What was Starswirl thinking?

Then again, he’d probably never come to whatever world she was now in. It was just like the overconfident oaf of a mage to build something as fantastical as the mirror and then never think about the greater ramifications. He’d been a marvel of magical theory, but as far as anything else went?

He was a crass, ego-inflated narcissist, Sunset thought as she reached the stairs. She paused for a moment, playing her beam over the path upward. There was more light on the second level, so that probably meant more windows. The steps themselves stopped halfway to the top for a short landing before continuing the rest of the way and wrapping around what looked like a large balcony, one that probably headed back toward a hall like the one she was in now. Just a smart one.

Well, here we go. She put her boot on the first step.

A loud metal clang echoed through the halls, and she froze, her eyes darting down to the steps beneath her feet.

Nothing. Whatever had made the sound, it hadn’t been her.

The clang echoed again, bouncing down the hall at her, echoing off of the metal lockers. Behind it came a metal-on-metal screech, and another, louder bang, as if someone had dropped something on the tile floor.

It was coming from the direction of the gym. Her fingers fumbled at the flashlight, killing it’s beam with a soft click as she found the button. Darkness fell across the stairwell.

The sound echoed again, this time a shorter, metallic crash, followed by another scrape.

It’s not the grave it’s not the grave it’s not the— She shook her head. Probably just a wild animal or something, right?

Right?

There was another sound too, so faint she could barely hear it. A snuffling sound? Was something breathing?

Ghosts wouldn’t breathe, she thought, then grimaced. And there’s no such thing as ghosts.

In Equestria. Who knows what this place might have? Equestria had hydras, and chimeras, and timber wolves, and there had once been windigos, which were kind of like a ghost, and …

She was moving up the stairs in the dim light, her boots thumping against the steps as she raced upward. From down the hall, there came a screech—not of metal being scraped over metal, but of something living. Something alive.

It sent shivers crawling down her back, some ancient, primal part of her reacting to the keening cry. It was a hunter. A predator. The cry of a creature that had found prey.

She didn’t stumble once as she raced up the steps, flinging herself around the corner of the balcony railing at the top and crouching behind the post, her heart pounding.

Not hard enough that she couldn’t hear the faint skitter of something making its way through the halls, scratching against the tile, followed by a faint, hissing breath.

Whatever it was, it was getting closer.

And I ran right up the stairs like an idiot. The faint skittering sound stopped, followed by another rasping breath. A loud, heavy idiot!

The skittering resumed, mixed now with a faint, rhythmic plodding sound. Whatever it was, it was moving on four legs rather than two. And with a strange gait as well.

But it was getting louder. And closer.

Okay, think. I ran up the stairs. Whatever it was probably heard me. If it’s smart, it’ll know that’s where I went. But if it’s not …

Very slowly, she pulled her pack from her back and unzipped one of the pouches. Her fingers met cool, slightly damp metal. One of her spare flashlights.

The skittering was getting closer. Slowly, she slid the pack back onto her back and rose, looking down the steps. The light was dim, but she could faintly make out the intersection below. She pulled her arm back …

And paused. What if the flashlight smells like me? It could lead whatever it is right to me.

She lowered her arm, then took several slow, quiet steps back, sinking into the shadow beneath the dim, overgrown windows at the back of the balcony.

The rhythmic sound was closer now, mixed with a hiss-like, raspy breathing sound. The strangeness of the gait was just wrong, like whatever was making the sound was bearing misshapen limbs.

Then with a lurching leap, it landed in the middle of the intersection, and Sunset’s breath caught in her throat.

She couldn’t quite make out any details of it, but whatever it was, it was slightly bipedal. Hunched, resting on its forelimbs almost like a diamond dog. The body was bulky, almost comically so compared to its thin arms and legs. Its head twisted this way and that, a faint, wet hiss echoing up the stairwell as it sniffed.

Then with a grunt that made her whole body tense, it jumped further down the hall, the odd rhythm to the sound of its steps obvious as it slapped its front limbs against the tiles slightly out of sync with one another.

Then it was out of sight, the sound of its passage echoing as it headed toward the front of the school.

Sunset stayed still, holding her breath until she felt like she would burst, and the sound of the thing’s movement had almost completely faded. What … was that?

One thing was clear: It wasn’t a member of whatever species she currently was. Which could mean that—

It could be one of those things that did this to this place, she thought, carefully pushing herself up as the sound of the creature’s passage faded. Or a wild animal.

Either way, it hadn’t sounded friendly. Or looked it, even from the vague shape she’d seen.

And now it’s between me and the front door. Great. At least she’d be able to hear it coming. The sound of its steps had been fairly distinct.

But she couldn’t head for the exit now. Carefully, slowly, she made her way down the balcony, waiting until she was around the corner and away from the stairs to light her flashlight once more.

Not that she entirely needed it. The upper level was better lit, small windows along the upper walls of the hall letting in a small bit of light. But the faint beam of the flashlight was, in its own way, reassuring.

Better yet, her prediction seemed to have been correct. The upstairs halls were a mirror of those below. She turned left, away from the front of the building, walking slowly and carefully to make as little noise as possible.

It seemed to take forever to reach the next intersection, the one that would have led to the gym had she been a level down, and take another left, wrapping around the back end of the building and, if her mental map was accurate, the courtyard.

Find the foals’ classrooms, get a few books to get me started, then get out.

Except now that there was something dangerous moving around the front of the building, she wasn’t quite sure how to do that. There have to be other exits, she thought as she reached the next intersection. Somewhere. Those front doors were wide, but not wide enough.

Problem was, without a map or any sense of the local language, she had no way to tell which direction any of those exits would be in. There were signs on the doors, even signs here and there around the halls, simple plastic things with text printed on them.

But I can’t read a single one, Sunset thought. So they’re pretty much useless.

The beam of her flashlight glimmered off of another set of balcony rails, and she felt a faint flutter of satisfaction rise out of the nervousness in her gut. Stairs. At least she’d been right in her guess about the layout.

She shut her flashlight off as she neared the top, then slowed and listened.

Nothing. No faint, raspy breathing. No mismatched patter of movement.

Wherever that thing was, it hopefully wasn’t nearby.

Still, she left the light off as she made her way down the steps, placing each boot with care in the dim light from the windows. As soon as she’d reached the ground floor, she moved for the nearest door on the side of the hall, stepping into its shallow alcove and trying the handle.

It didn’t give. Locked. Her hand slipped to her pocket, pulling the keys she’d found out with a faint jingle.

The sound made her freeze, if only for a moment. Had that thing heard it? But there was no answering cry.

She went back to work, picking a key at random and sliding it into the lock.

Nothing. It was as immoble as the doorhandle.

One down … two dozen to go. She slipped the next key into the lock, twisted it as well. It was as stiff as the first.

Out it came, and in went the next. And the next. And the one after that. Soon half the key ring was gone, and not one of the keys had worked.

Then she heard it. A faint pattering sound, irregular, but growing louder. The thing was coming in her direction.

Storms! She slipped the next key in, jiggling it harder and making a face when it was as immobile as the others. Come on!

She pulled it out as the sounds of the creature’s movement drew closer, shoved the next key in. Still the lock refused to turn. She pulled it out—and her fingers slipped, the key ring dropping to the ground with a faint cascade of metal pings.

The pattering stopped almost as suddenly as her heart. She didn’t dare move. A faint, keening whine echoed through the halls, and then the sound of its steps resumed once more.

Just quicker. More direct.

It had heard.

She scooped the keys up as quickly as she could, glancing down at the tangle of keys and then picking one at random to shove into the lock.

Come on … Another key. Come on! Yet another. Come on! The pattering was growing closer …

The key gave, twisting with a click beneath her hands, followed by the handle, and she jerked the door open, smacking her side, shoulder, and pack against the frame in her haste to get inside. The door closed with a heavy thump, and seconds later a snarling cry echoed from outside in the hall. Sunset’s trembling hands found the clasp to lock the door from the inside, and she turned it over, locking it behind her.

Then she stepped back, away from the door as the pattering sound of the creature’s steps drew close once more, then stopped right outside. For a moment, all was silent, and then she heard the thing let out another guttural sniff. There was a coughing bark … and it moved on, the sound of its steps slowly fading.

Sunset let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. It was gone. Again. Better yet, it had come from the front of the school. Her path was, for the moment, clear.

But she’d also made it to her original destination. She turned, bringing her flashlight to life once more … And her spirits jumped.

Bright colors. Large, simple letters. Blocks scattered across desks. It was a children’s classroom.

And there were books. Shelves of them. Narrow, large print books.

She hurried over to the shelves as quickly as she could, skimming over cover after cover and pausing here and there in surprise.

These topics look … interesting. She’d been expecting … Well, what passed for children’s books in Equestria. Myths and legends, maybe. Snippets of history. Or just regular foal topics like making friends, or learning to cast a spell, or … whatever.

And it looked as though there were a few of those. A picture book with children playing. Or going on what looked like an adventure of some kind.

Wearing headbands. Carrying knives. Around barbed wire.

What kind of culture was this? Another book had a picture that was clearly tended to be monstrous, exaggerated figures in unfamiliar green armor looming over blue armor ones like that which she’d already seen. The blue-armored figures, she noted, were protecting a bunch of scared children.

Propaganda? It looked like ancient war literature, the kind of stuff from the chaos after the Breaking. Just … More modern.

She flipped through the pages, then slipped it and several of its siblings into her pack. They were bulky but light. And they might give me some idea of what happened here. She continued shifting through the books, looking for the smaller, simpler titles but picking out a few others here and there.

That looks like a history book of some kind. And so does that one. Simplified history, certainly, but until she could get her hooves—hands—on something better that she could actually read.

And again, the pictures would be helpful. Still, she needed something even more basic. She moved down to the next row of shelves. The books here were even simpler, including—

“Yes!” She paused for a brief moment, cocking her head towards the door in case her hunter had heard anything, but even that possibility couldn’t stop her from feeling a sense of elation. In her hands was an alphabet book, just like one she could have found in Equestria. Each page was dedicated to a letter, and then showing that letter in various words next to pictures of what the thing was.

Which means that shape right there is an ‘A,’ she thought, looking at the picture of an apple and then the highlighted letter. I think? Maybe? The language might not be one-to-one.

She could still hope, though, based on Starswirl’s spell. The book went into her backpack, along with another one that had a picture of one of the winged beings she’d seen the statues of on the front. And a few others that looked like small histories, or at least informative books on various subjects, from the carriages all over the place to, disturbingly, a large amount of weapons.

Who would give such a book to foals? Or better yet, why would someone feel a need to? The nervous pit in the bottom of her stomach was back again, and it wasn’t just because she was hungry. What sort of world is this?

The book went into her pack, along with the others. Maybe in understanding what it was about, she’d find some answers to a few of those questions.

All right, that seems to be just about … What’s that? There was an odd book at the back of the shelf, one that was harder and thicker than the others. Made of plastic? She plucked it from the shelf and studied the cover. What’s that grating? Is that a speaker of some kind?

There was an array of buttons along the side, and she pressed one.

“The cow goes ‘moo.’”

She almost dropped the book in shock as the voice echoed through the room.

Words. And I understood them! She didn’t know if it was Starswirl’s spell or if the languages just happened to sound the same—and given the complicated way the portal worked, it could take her days of study to even say—but they were words. Understandable.

“The cow goes ‘moo,’” she repeated, flipping the book open. There, on one of the few pages, was a picture of a cow, though it wasn’t like any cow she’d ever seen. And a symbol that was likely a colored number, correlating to an identical symbol and color on the button she’d pressed.

And on the page, beneath the cow, were words. Words that she was very certain spelled out “The cow goes ‘moo’” even though she couldn’t read it yet.

She stuffed the book into her pack as quickly as she could. I need that one more than all the others. Not just words, but voice. Somehow, through some spell, it was speaking. It was ingenious.

And it’d definitely help her figure out what was going on.

All right. The pack went back across her shoulders—a lot heavier now, but still manageable. Now just to get out of here without attracting the attention of that thing.

A quick check of the door through the glass showed that there was nothing nearby, at least not that she could see in the dim light. The real question is do I head back to the front door, the way I came, or take an alternate route? I know the one way works, but—

A distant thump rolled through the room, faint but distinct, and she paused, one hand on the door’s lock. What was that?

There was another thump, this one a little louder. Followed by a rustling sound and a familiar, raspy sniff.

It was distant, but it was getting closer. And where is it? The sounds didn’t sound like they were coming from the hall, through the thick door. It almost sounds like it’s in the room. But how?

The sounds were getting louder, now. Closer. Filling the room. But from where? She played her light across the desks, the walls, the rear windows, a ventilation grill by the ceiling.

A shrill scream filled the room as her light slid across the metal. The vents! Seconds later the metal cover exploded outward, flying across the room as the thing from earlier crashed down into the desks, scattering them.

She didn’t wait to see what it was. The door’s lock gave way beneath her hand and she was out into the hall, pausing only to slam the door shut. A second later it quivered as the thing smashed into it with a growling howl.

It didn’t matter. The door held, and she turned and bolted down the hall, running as fast as her feet could take her, the beam from her flashlight bobbing wildly as her arms pumped.

Don’t trip don’t trip don’t trip— Behind her she could still hear the thing screaming. Her boots slipped and squeaked over the tiles as she rounded an intersection, heading for the front entrance of the school.

Another shrill scream echoed down the halls behind her, coaxing her forward just a little faster. She was running on instinct now, nothing else. She wasn’t even sure how she would stop, how she was staying upright. All that mattered was getting away from the thing behind her.

Her boots slipped as she tried to round the corner by the inner set of doors, and then went out from under her. She hit the floor on her side, sliding on the damp tiles, a grunt of pain forcing itself out before she was able to get her feet under her and scramble the rest of the way out of the vestibule.

She stopped at the top of the steps, rain pelting her face, and turned to face the open doors, her light in one hand, the other scrambling to pull her hatchet out and hold it at the ready.

Nothing. The entryway was silent, gaping like an undisturbed tomb.

Maybe it was territorial, Sunset thought as her breathing began to slow. Her hands, she noticed, were both shaking, the beam from her flashlight practically a blur. Maybe it just wanted me to leave. Slowly, as the seconds passed, she began to relax. It just didn’t want me—

With a scream, the thing launched itself out of one of the nearby windows, landing on the steps nearby and looking right at her. It threw its claw tipped arms out wide, its jaw opening to let out a shrill, ear-piercing cry—until she buried her hatchet solidly into its head, cutting the scream off with a sudden choked gurgle. The thing’s body went limp, slumping to the ground and almost taking her hatchet with it.

For a moment she stood there in shock. Her eyes slipped from the gaping wound in the creature’s skull to the bloody hatchet in her hand, and then back again. Slowly, ichor began to ooze out of the thing’s head and across the wet concrete steps, diluting under the rain.

I killed it. Her eyes moved back to the hatchet. The metal blade was wet with the creature’s blood, the red mixing with more rain and slowly dripping off of the curved edge. I killed it.

She took a slow, shaky breath. She wasn’t as innocent as to think that everything always had to live. She knew what the Rangers did, and the Guard. Sometimes to stop something, killing it was all you could do. Especially an animal. A non-sapient beast that couldn’t be reasoned with.

And this … thing … It hadn’t been sapient. There’d been no light of intelligence in its eyes when it had looked at her. It was an animal. A savage hunter, pure and simple.

Still … the shivers continued. I’ve never done anything like that before. Ever. Not in my training. Not in my schooling. Not …

Never.

But the claws at the end of its spindly hands, sharp and jagged, as well as the vicious looking teeth in its open mouth told her it had held no such reservations. It had meant to attack her.

Even more curious, it was wearing old, battered armor. In fact, it looked like—

The small remains I saw in the park. This must be what they look like when they’re alive.

Or close to it anyway. On closer examination, it did look slightly gaunt and thin, as if it hadn’t been eating well. Or maybe they always looked like that?

Maybe it was left after the attack. Which would mean it had been surviving on its own for who knew how long.

It was … hideous to look at. Even without the gaping wound in its skull. It’s skin was mottled and an ashen grey color. There were no cheeks, just long, razor-sharp teeth. Both its feet and its … hands? … were clawed, though strangely enough it only had three toes while it had four fingers and a thumb, much as her new body did.

That’s strange. She leaned it closer, eyeing the callouses in the thing’s skin around the openings in the armor that had been somewhat sloppily fitted over it.

That armor really was never meant to be removed, she thought, eyeing the welds. It’s sealed in.

It must not grow much larger. Otherwise it would suffocate and die.

Still, what sort of force would seal a living creature inside armor for the rest of its life? Unless they had a safe means of cutting it out. But somehow, she suspected that wasn’t the case.

A gust of wind pulled her focus away at last. Overhead, the clouds were getting darker, and the raindrops hitting her shoulders and back felt larger and heavier than they had been earlier.

You got what you came for. She dipped the head of her hatchet in a nearby puddle, swishing it back and forth and cleaning away the creature’s reddish blood. It stained the puddle pink, and revulsion made her already empty stomach twitch. A second puddle cleared the edge the rest of the way off, and she slipped the hatchet back into its sheath.

It would be a long walk across the city back to the shop. And she was certainly going to make sure all the doors were locked when she returned.

But she’d found what she needed. She turned and moved down the steps, starting the long journey back across the city beneath the rain.

She was still shaking when she arrived back at the garden shop.

Author's Note

Learning

Chapter 9 - Learning

Day Four - Holton

Sera. The world I’m on is named Sera.

The language is, thankfully, very similar to our own. Almost word for word, in many cases. The few that are different seem to be for items or concepts that we Equestrians have no need for. Or words that have taken on a new meaning.

A “lancer” for example. The closest term I can make of it from Equestrian is a somewhat rare definition for a style of armored combat. Here however … it stands for a very dangerous type of firearm. The ones I’ve been seeing across the city.

They have pictures of it in their childrens’ books. They teach these things to their foals.

Our language is so similar—spoken even sounds similar, though some of the accents and inflections are different. My own voice will sound strange, I think, to those I meet. Maybe.

Starswirl may have been a pompous, overbearing pain in everypony’s plot, but he was a genius. An incompetant one. Only he could make a portal to other worlds that would be so similar and yet so terrible.

They had a war here that lasted eighty of this world’s years. Eighty years. Four or five generations living and dying in a battle that consumed the whole planet. Like the Breaking. But with tools and methods most in Equestria couldn’t imagine.

Though it wasn’t their Breaking. I’m still rough with my translation, but some of the children’s books seem to reference a thousand years of war, conflict of the sword and shield so bloody they nearly wiped one another out.

Serans, they call themselves. After the world. I share a body with them now. That is what I am. That is what I’ve become. A seran.

A species that seems destined to war, like the griffons before the Empire was founded.

“The Coalition of Ordered Governments.” That’s where I am. They know their whole world, all of it mapped out in a childrens’ book. Split down two lines: The Coalition, or “COG,” as they refer to themselves often as, and the Union of Independent Republics, or “UIR.”

Two sides at war for so long they teach children war so that they can contribute to the war effort. When I first read this, my thought was that they lost. That’s why the city was evacuated. But … they didn’t. Unless these books lie—and in fairness, such lies exist, and any government as absolute as this “COG” seems to be likely wouldn’t hesitate to do so—they won. They won this “Pendulum War” with something called “The Hammer of Dawn.”

I don’t know what it is, save something similar to a solar flare. The picture shows a beam of light descending from the sky to annihilate their foes. Magic, perhaps? I’ve found only scant mention of magic in their history, so perhaps it is wielded only by those that rule? Their “chairman?”

At first I thought this … imulsion … they went to war with their foes was some form of magic. But no, it’s fuel, like the gel used in some steam boilers, only pumped up from deep within the ground. Everyone wanted it. So they fought over it. The COG won, at least according to every one of these books.

So why does it look like they lost?

Sunset let out a sigh as she put down her pen. It truly was a marvelous writing instrument, but her hands and fingers hurt after being cramped in such a difficult pose for so long.

You’re not used to it, she thought, pushing the journal back and glancing over at the pile of books next to her on the sofa. All of them were open to various pages. One of the most important ones was the book that spoke when a button was pressed. Not only was it invaluable in reminding her that their spoken languages were almost identical, it was nice to hear a voice other than her own.

She hadn’t left the building in two days.

Next to it was a child’s history book, the one that had filled her with alarm on almost every page. Currently it was open to a map of their entire world. Every ocean, sea, and continent. The pages beyond it were even more astounding: Views of Sera, their world, from space. And of its moons, with much more detail than any telescope in Equestria ever could have provided.

Cars. Trucks. Imulsion. Lancers. COG. UIR. Hundreds of new terms to learn and digest.

It was almost too much.

She popped the lid off of a can of nuts and ate a few more, though she was sick of the flavor. Learning to decipher their written language had given her a good idea of what she could eat from the home’s pantry, though it wasn’t much, and the nuts were still a good source of proteins and salts. Though I’m pretty sure I don’t need as much of those now. She didn’t seem to crave them the way she once had.

Thankfully, to help her with identifying each new term, the other book she had sitting out, a heavy, text-laden tome she’d found first at the school, had indeed turned out to be a dictionary. Any word she wasn’t certain of the meaning of, she could look up—slowly, as she was still getting used to the symbols in their alphabet—and identify.

Sunset let out another sigh and sank back against the cushions of the couch. Her hands hurt, and her head ached. Ached from two days of continuous study. But … she was already feeling like she had a passable grasp on their script. It was like learning code. The only thing slowing her down was the unfamiliar terms.

Lancer. Bayonet. Holton.

That last one was the name of the city she was in. Small city, really. More like a town. An agricultural stop in the middle of nowhere, from the world map she’d found. Not a large one either. Just … one of many.

And empty. Completely empty.

I need to go find more water tomorrow. The buckets of rainwater she’d collected were good for washing her hands and keeping clean, but she had already gone through two of the jugs of drinking water. I need to find more. Or find something that’ll let me clean the water I get from the roof.

Now that I can read, it’ll be a lot easier.

A pump would be nice too. Something to make getting water out of the jugs a little easier. With less spillage.

I should make a list. Things I need to find. Unfortunately, her map wasn’t detailed enough to tell her exactly where she would need to go to find some items. But there were a few places that were helpfully marked as stores and commercial districts. It’s a start.

Food was her biggest worry, now. Even though she could now identify a lot of what had been left in the pantry of the home she was staying in, much of it was no longer edible. Or required cooking tools she didn’t have access to.

Yet. I need a list. Plus new clothes. Hers were getting grimy. And … I need a plan. Or at least, the beginnings of one. A plan for what to do next.

She stared down at the words she’d written in her journal, before reaching out and adding another line: I need to find out what happened.

The line added, she sat back and closed her journal, staring at the cover where her own cutie mark gleamed up at her. This “COG” won the war. Did the UIR start it again? And then win? Did they have some way to negate this “Hammer of Dawn” the books talk of? She’d tried searching the dictionary she’d found for more information on the weapon, but not even the name had been inside its pages.

After eighty years, I suppose it’s possible the war could resume once more, she thought. However long their peace was, it clearly didn’t last. Some of the books she’d found spoke as if the war was still going, and they appeared older than the ones that claimed the COG had won. So long enough done that they still left out books about it.

And where did the monsters come from? While the images in the children’s books of UIR soldiers had been given artistic liberties to look monstrous, she was sure they were just that: Liberties. Actual pictures, some from the dictionary, as well as what history she’d been able to gather, painted them as serans, not monsters.

Maybe some side effect of the Hammer of Dawn magic?

She let out another sigh, blowing a bit of her greasy, limp mane away from her cheek. If it is magic. The dictionary says that magic is a myth, an imagined explanation for the powers of science.

Though to be fair, she thought, eyes slipping to the flashlights arrayed on one end of her table. They seem to have an explanation for how all these things work that doesn’t require any magic. Nothing past electricity and combustible materials anyway.

In fact, it was impressive what they’d accomplished without magic. Electricity combined with magic was a growing field of study in Equestria, but still young, though magilectric lights were rapidly expanding. Here however, the inhabitants had somehow used electricity to transmit sound and images through the sky, and make devices that could perform an impressive number of functions.

But I can still feel my magic. She sat up, closing her eyes and focusing her attention inward. There, deep inside her, she could feel her magic, just as she always had. Once more she pressed her will at it, pushing for the most basic of spells.

But nothing happened. Her magic slipped away from her like a soap bubble before wet hooves, sliding out from beneath her grasp and refusing to mold itself to her wishes.

Enough. She’d already spent an hour earlier that day trying to get her magic to do something—anything—to no avail. Without her horn to channel it …

Even as a griffon I could channel magic, she thought, scowling. It was just different. If this body has magic, then I can use it. I just need to figure out …

With a groan of frustration she pushed herself up from the couch. “Forget it, Sunset. You’ve got other things to do.” While there was still sunlight. After her encounter with that … thing … at the school, the last thing she wanted to do was be out after dark. She’d kept the blinds tightly closed once the sun had gone down too, and the doors locked. It was still possible for something to break in, as she had, but as lightly as she’d slept the last few days, she hoped not.

Right now, however, the blinds were open, and she wandered over to the windows, peering out and down at the street below. The day had been cloudy, with a bit of wind, but it hadn’t rained, and the upstairs of her temporary domicile was plenty warm, almost muggy.

Not even noon yet, Sunset thought, eyeing the position of the sun. Plenty of time for today’s excursion. She’d found, tucked against a back wall in the shop, a single pair of binoculars. Not good ones, and judging from the tag, for bird watching rather than serious distance observation … but that would do.

Today, she thought, eyeing her map sitting folded in one corner of the coffee table. Today I get a better idea of where I need to go in the city.

And then from there and with a little luck, she thought, where I need to go next. She picked up her hatchet from its place nearby—she never went far from it now, not even in her temporary shelter—and strapped it into place.

Markers, she thought as she gathered the items she was taking with her on her jaunt across the city. Map. Flashlights. Always two of those, since she still didn’t know when the power source would run out, only that it would at some point. But with some help from her language lessons, she at least knew how to swap out the power source for others in the shop, now. That had been the weird metal cylinders she’d found nearby. Batteries.

One can of nuts. Her canteen, full.

She peered out the window a second time, eyeing the clouds drifting in scattered clumps through the sky. It doesn’t look like it’s going to rain today, she thought. Across the street, some of the green vines were rustling in a faint breeze. But it is windy. Her eyes slipped to her jacket, lying on a nearby chair.

No, I’ll leave it. It’s warm enough out there, even with the wind. Satisfied that she’d packed everything she’d need for her excursion, she slipped the backpack onto her shoulders and headed for the stairs. A few moments’ work later, and she was out in the back street, her wagon empty behind her and the door locked once more. The missing pane of glass she’d knocked out had been replaced by several layers of tape, a quick attempt to seal the door once more. A precaution. Especially if another of those … things … comes looking, Sunset thought, one hand falling to the hatchet at her waist.

She kept her pack on her back as she walked through the streets, wagon rolling over the stones behind her. Even though the lack of airflow quickly made her back sweaty. If I have to run and leave the wagon, I don’t want to lose the pack too.

The city felt smaller now that she was starting to learn her way around. Being able to understand the map certainly helped, and she found her eyes drawn to the signs in front of businesses and homes as she walked, her mind struggling to match the symbols there with the ones she’d spent the last two days memorizing.

“Alfred’s Diner,” she said slowly, sounding out the letters as she passed a decrepit storefront. At one point, it had probably been colorful and charming, with large booth seating and huge paned-glass windows. Most of the glass had long-since shattered, the interior covered in dirt, dust, and the ever-present vines.

“Foot-wise Shoes?” she said as she passed another business, this one boarded up and sealed against the elements. Save for an upper window that was open just a crack. She glanced down at her own boots. “Probably won’t need to shop there anytime soon.”

“Azure Way?” She stopped as she looked up at the weathered street sign. “So then that would be where on the map?” The plastic-coated map crinkled as she unfolded it, the surface catching the sunlight and sending flashes of glare across her vision.

“Azure way … Azure way … Azure—There!” The tiny letters stared up at her, and she followed the line next to them with her eyes. It ran through a good chunk of the city. “All right, so if I’m here somewhere, then I need to find …” She turned her gaze up at the weathered sign once more, but the matching sign that would have been beneath it marking the other street was gone.

Well, not entirely gone. Part of it remained. But not even enough to give her a single letter to work off of.

Fine, Sunset thought, folding the map up once more but leaving it in her hand. Then we do this the hard way. She continued down Azure Way toward the next intersection, towing her wagon behind her.

There! The sign on the next street was still intact, if bent from a large impact of some kind. Of what had made it there was no sign, but the dent was old and dirty. It hadn’t been recent. Probably a carriage—I mean “car”—striking it during the evacuation, Sunset thought as she peered up at the still somewhat unfamiliar letters. “Okay … Gar … Gar-den … Garden Road?”

She glanced back down at her map, checking the intersecting streets. Garden Road … Garden … Garden … Garden … “Yes! Found it!” There, beneath her finger, was an intersection between the two streets. “Which means …” she said, glancing back the way she had come and counting the intersections as she pulled one of the markers from her pocket. “The garden shop is … here!” She glanced back once more to check before putting a simple circle around the section of the street her shelter was located on.

“And … okay, that’s not that far from where I want to go. Maybe … a mile?” She shook her head. “Assuming that even means anything anymore in this body.” There was a scale on the map, but like everything else it was hard to say how accurately it had matched with her limited knowledge of her new form.

“Okay, so I’m not that far from it,” she said, looking at her destination on the map. “And actually … that way actually looks like it might be quicker.” Though in fairness, I guess I did make a roundabout route to the garden shop the first time, since I would have been following these streets here, and … Yes. She pulled her gaze up, looking down the street. “If I go left ahead, instead of going straight …” I might even end up near that courtyard that brought me here in the first place.

A nervous shiver ran down her spine despite the heat. What if I do get near it, and she has sent Guard after me?

Then again, I can’t imagine they’d get very far here, she thought with a smirk. They’d probably leave the moment they saw those bones.

Or not … They are Guard. The smirk faded. They might have set up a camp of sorts, even. And could even be looking for me.

No. She shook her head again, her bedraggled mane flipping around her face. Be realistic. The portal was only going to be open for a few minutes, and she would have known that. She wouldn’t have sacrificed her Guard to keep me from my destiny, no matter her jealousy.

Still … There was a route she could see that would avoid all of the small, open courtyard spaces, and it wasn’t that convoluted. Just to be on the safe side.

She could go back and find the courtyard later. When she wasn’t busy. But for now. Right now I have something I need to do. She took another glance at the map then folded it and put it back in her pack. All right … That way!

Now that she was starting to understand the symbols and letters around her, she had to focus to keep her thoughts on the path to her destination. You’re getting the lay of the land all over again, she thought as she cut across an intersection, avoiding a nasty collection of blackened, twisted metal that looked to be the result of at least three or four vehicles striking one another directly.

Eyes on the destination, Sunset. There will be time enough to start looking at possible points of interest after you get to the tower. She could see it now, faintly poking here and there above the rooftops as she walked.

Before long she was standing in front of it once more, her mind drifting back to that first day when she’d been fresh out of the portal. Except then, she hadn’t been able to read the sign that hung out front, the numbers meaningless.

“C-W-T-9 Broadcast Station? What does that even mean?” A station? For what? Like a Guard station, but for “broadcasts?” What are broadcasts? Is that word similar to ours, or is one of the different ones. Broad means covering a wide area or scope, and cast is throwing … wide area throw? She tilted her head to one side as she looked up at the letters. That … doesn’t make any sense.

It must be a word without an Equestrian equivalent. The handle of the wagon clattered as she set it down on the steps. And what do those letters and that number mean?

Still, despite her confusion and curiosity as to what the building actually did, the entrance was identical to her memory of when she’d last left it, and she moved into the lobby with a sense of ease. At least no one else has been here. Not that I can see anyway, and— She stopped as she saw the letters written along one of the walls, sounding out the letters.

“Holton’s premiere ray-dee-eye-oo station?” If the rules of the grammar are similar, than that would be ... “Radio station? What in Equestria is ‘radio?’”

Whatever it was, it must have been important for them to build a whole building for it. It has to have something to do with the tower. Though what, she had no idea. Something to look up later in the dictionary.

Still, it was easy to retrace her steps from a few days earlier, especially with a flashlight to shine light over the imprints of her boots in the dust. Barely a minute later, she was back on the roof of the station once more, the ladder of the large metal tower before her.

And this time, once she reached the highest platform, her mane dragging in the breeze, she was ready. She set her pack carefully on the metal platform and pulled out the binoculars.

“All right, Sunset,” she said, standing up and holding the binoculars to her face. “Let’s see what we can find!”

This, she thought as the distant city around her leapt into sharp clarity with its rubble and vines, is a much better way to get a look around. Perfect, in fact!

I came up that street there, turned there, and … Well, I can’t see it, but the shop should be over there. And there’s the town hall at the city center. With the binoculars, she could even make out the signs of combat around the front entrance.

That would have been useful to know in advance, I suppose.

Still the goal of looking out across the city with the binoculars wasn’t to look at where she’d been. She pulled her gaze away, remembering the locations she’d picked out from the map and counting through the streets until she was looking at the rough area.

Carriage—I mean car—dealership, she thought, her eyes catching sight of the large, open space, still visible despite the buildings around it. Plenty of people in Equestria had caravans for traveling in, surely these people did … as … well … Hmm … She lowered the glasses for a moment. That doesn’t look great. Most of the dealership seemed to be consumed by a giant sinkhole.

Still, there are a few things left. Might be worth the trouble. Carefully, slowly, she lowered the glasses and sat down atop the tower platform, taking out her map and carefully putting a question mark next to the dealership on her map.

Okay, that’s that. What about food? She rose again, this time looking for what the map had identified as several other food stores.

Most, from what she could see now that she was looking out over the city, looked like old restaurants.Two did have the look of a more ordinary grocery, however, and she noted both of them on her map.

Warehouses all seem to be on … the south end of the city, she thought, noting the long, flat structures. Or at least, what would have been long and flat if most of them hadn’t collapsed. An industrial district, maybe. The map hadn’t labeled it, instead leaving everything unmarked and conspicuously wide and spread out.

No train lines though. I guess they used their carriages for that. Which meant … One of those could be a temporary holding location for food before it went to the stores. Possibly worth a look. She marked the location on her map with a question mark and went back to her search.

Now, where is that camp supply store? That was the one she was most interested in. The map had listed it as a good place to get camping supplies if one wanted to go camping at a nearby lake, and though it hadn’t offered any clues as to the location of the lake, it had marked the store on the map.

Let’s see … Green-covered buildings panned by beneath the binoculars, their surfaces almost a blur. No, that’s too far to the west. Back a bit. An intersection flashed by and she slowed. That’s … could that be that intersection right there, where the streets fork? A glance down at the map showed that there were two such intersections nearby … So it has to be close. The second, more north of the two intersections came into view a moment later.

That’s not that far from here. Maybe a half-hour’s walk or less if the streets are clear. And there might be similar stores nearby. Maybe.

The campstore was her primary concern. Water purifying tools if these people ever invented them, camping stoves, firestarters, tents, sleeping bags, outdoor wear.

Everything she would need if she were to leave Holton. Which she was already fairly certain she would need to. Unless my destiny is to wander around here like a hermit.

Even putting the mental image aside, the city didn’t feel safe. There was something … wrong … about a city with no inhabitants. It was eerie.

Especially when the only other inhabitant so far has been a monster that had tried to claw my face off. She shivered as the memory of the thing’s eerie, keening cry echoed through her mind.

And I had to kill it. Which was why she was now looking for one of the other two locations she’d wanted to find from the tower: a local police station, and a COG military outpost that was supposed to be near the edge of the city.

It was. Or rather, had been. The brief description she had gotten—from the pamphlet she had found about the military service, not the map—had described it as a hardened facility capable of withstanding even direct missile strikes.

Whatever the missile they had gauged that upon had clearly hadn’t been large enough, as the building now was a battered ruin, half of it gone. Even with however many years had passed since whatever calamity had gripped the town, she could still see the clear signs of devastation that had ripped the outpost apart.

Still … there might be something worth scavenging. The mark she gave the outpost on the map was a question mark. She wouldn’t skip it … But it sure doesn’t look like I’ll find much there of use. I might have better luck finding a weapon from one of the dead soldiers around the city.

That was another thing she needed to do: Learn how to use one of the weapons of the world. If another one of those things found her, using a gun instead of her hatchet would be a lot safer.

The police station looked as though it had suffered an attack as well, in addition to being one of the reinforced checkpoints she’d seen across the city … but it also didn’t appear nearly as damaged as the military outpost had been. It got a circle.

All right, that’s most of the obvious things taken care of. Making sure the map was thoroughly wedged under her backpack so the wind couldn’t carry it away, Sunset rose once more and held the binoculars to her eyes. Let’s see what else we can find …

Food. Water. Those were the two most vital things on her list. Even if the camp store had methods for acquiring both … It may not be reliable. I need to take advantage of whatever I can find.

Water, at least, there had to be some good supply of out across the city. Nopony would make something like the jugs she’d found and then not sell them to as many beings as possible. Especially with the mass-manufactured look the strange jugs had. All I need is to find more places that have water dispensers like the one I found, she thought, panning her gaze over the city. And … I can’t see that from up here.

But if there was a central location that most of the jugs came from … That I might be able to see from up here. Maybe.

Or perhaps once she got better with the alien language she could find a directory of some kind. A mass-produced water jug being brought to businesses all over the city would have to leave some kind of paper trail. Bills, schedules, addresses … I guess I could always go back to where I found the jugs in the first place and look there.

If so, it’d have to be soon. She still had half her water left, but it was a dwindling supply.

Food was her other pressing concern. She adjusted her view through the binoculars as she caught sight of a small, nearby storefront that had the look of having once been a grocery. Before damage to the street had collapsed half of it.

It’s only two streets over, and if the inside is intact there could be something sealed that’s survived.

Just hopefully not raisins. Her estimation of the single package she’d retrieved from the Food Barn had been accurate, but she’d quickly tired of the dry, sticky fruit, even if it was good for her.

Then again, I’m not likely to find fresh fruit anywhere inside this city unless it’s wild, she thought as she counted the streets and marked her map with another question mark. Dried fruit is probably the best I can hope for. Or canned foods. Those last for a long time.

Though how long it’s been since this place was abandoned … She pressed her teeth together, grimacing. What in Equestria happened here? They won the war! It was over, and they had their super sun-hammer thing to make sure it stayed that way. Another small storefront caught her eye. It looked like a streetside market, the kind where the proprietor brought out their wares on small tables and displayed them to passerbyers.

Except at some point during the evacuation one of the carriages—cars—had swerved off of the street and onto the sidewalk, crushing most of the tables and crashing against the front of the store.

Couldn’t have been going too fast though, Sunset thought as she eyed the scene. It didn’t go through the storefront, and those carriages look pretty tough.

Definitely one to check out. It only took her a few moments to gauge its position relative to the tower, and she circled its location on the map. Today, maybe. It’s close enough. I think both of them are.

Between those two and the campstore, that’s probably all I want to take the time to search today. She eyed the map, her eyes charting a path between the twin groceries and the camping store. A little roundabout, but doable as long as I keep an eye on where I am.

Well, let’s see what else I can find. She held the binoculars up once more. Let’s see … ruins … more of those odd sinkholes, a checkpoint, another checkpoint, more holes … Wow, that section of the city almost came apart. I wonder what did that? It looked as though several blocks had simply slumped into the earth.

Some kind of weapon maybe? She pulled the binoculars away, running them across rooftops … but noting that she was looking at buildings far enough away now that unless they were large, were completely unidentifiable.

Still, it didn’t mean she was completely at a loss. She marked the section of the city that was slumping, crossing it off on her map. Any place that’s literally sunken into the earth like that could be unstable. Whatever’s in there wouldn’t be worth the risk. And though what she’d seen of the construction of buildings so far had made them very solid, far past what Equestria would have considered standard … I’d rather not find out how far that durability extends the hard way.

Checkpoints went onto the map as well, since they were generally bottlenecks that slowed her down. Especially with the wagon. There were a few checkpoints that were realistically closed to her, the carriages—Cars—packed so tightly against one another that she would be unable to pull her wagon past.

That, she thought as she eyed her newest additions to the map, and if I can map the checkpoints out I might be able to find a pattern. Figure out where they everyone was going when they left the city.

Maybe I should stop inside one of the checkpoints, too, she thought as she lifted the binoculars once more and fixed on a particularly large one on what she was guessing was the south end of the city. It was at the bottom of the map, anyway. See if I can find orders. Maybe a pamphlet. Something to explain what happened here.

There was something … odd … about the checkpoint she was looking at, something strange she couldn’t quite put her hoof—Finger?—on. She stared at it, eyeing the heavy concrete barrier walls. There were layers of the walls, all clustered around what looked like weathered tents—though far too heavy to be of any use to her—and hastily erected towers.

Sunset frowned. Something about it was definitely off. And it’s not just that it looks like it didn’t see much fighting. It’s not like the others I’ve seen, but …

She lowered the glasses and shook her head. Maybe I’m just jumping at shado—No, there’s definitely something strange about it.

Pinning down what though was like trying to catch a dragon openly staring at the jewels on her m—she had worn during diplomatic meetings. Everyone knew that they did, but you had to look very closely to catch them doing it.

But there was something calling at her attention, something storming from the back of her mind … What am I missing? She panned the binoculars over it once more. Barriers, towers, tents, open space, towers, barriers … wait …

She panned back, then over it once more. No, I’m right.

This checkpoint is laid out to defend from an attack in either direction. Like they didn’t know where it was going to come from.

Could the COG have suffered a revolt? Maybe even a military coup?

It didn’t explain the monsters, however, unless … Some part of the rebelling element created them as a way to even the odds?

It was grim … but then again hadn’t Itzpapalotl done the same thing after The Breaking? If someone knew they’d lose against a larger foe, like the COG, could they have made monsters to fight for them?

UIR sympathisers maybe? She ran her view back over to one of the other, smaller checkpoints, eyeing its design and noting that once again, it was laid out so that those who’d been holding it were defended from both directions up and down the street.

No, that doesn’t make any sense. If there were enough people in the COG sympathetic to their enemies to force the evacuation of a whole city like this one … the UIR wouldn’t have lost, hammer or not.

Which left the other option that came to mind: A civil war. It didn’t explain the monsters—Maybe they were a COG weapon of some kind? One that had gotten out or been released?—but it would explain why the checkpoints had been designed to cover both … What had that old Guard veteran called it?

“Streets of approach?” It had been something like that anyway.

Almost all the checkpoints she could see from her vantage point showed signs of it, too, now that she knew what she was looking for. And I’ll bet if I were to go look at the other side of the school, I’d find signs of … Well …

Actually, no, I don’t want to do that. After what she’d seen of the gymnasium … I don’t want to see that at all.

Still, it was another clue in a building puzzle. If she could only find enough data …

A book would be nice. Unfortunately, this seemed to be one situation where books couldn’t help her. For someone to write a book about it, someone has to survive, she thought as she took a wider look over the city, noting a few more locations of possible interest but nothing that she was specifically looking for.

“Okay,” she said, mostly to hear the sound of a voice. “That’s pretty much everything that stands out in the city. So … let’s see what I can see outside Holton.” She changed her focus, lifting it to the rolling hills of the horizon.

“Farmland,” she said as she took in the rolling, almost golden fields. No … that was brown. “Untended, wild farmland.” Maybe it didn’t even count as farmland anymore. There were what looked like young trees growing here and there, and the plant life she could see certainly didn’t have the look of being cared for.

Atop one distant hill a titanic machine loomed. Probably farm equipment. And abandoned, like everything else. Some green had grown over it.

“And that dot is a house, maybe? Or an equipment shed?” The rolling fields seemed to go on for miles in all directions, broken up here and there by clusters of trees and the like large, spinning metal windmills she couldn’t see a purpose for.

Granted, they are pretty far away. Maybe they’re for pumping water or something? Odd number of blades, but then … different world, and their technology is far more advanced.

Why use wind then? Besides, some of them aren’t moving. Why not?

She continued turning, taking in the landscape around her. Far off to what she assumed was east she could see mountains, just poking above the horizon, while to the south the sky and land merged into a single line, miles upon miles of rolling hills and what had once been farmland stretching out before her.

To the west through … Is it just me, or does the world look … greyer? Maybe it was the towering clouds that seemed to fill that end of the sky, from a storm or just passing by she couldn’t say, but the land looked …

Wrong. The trees she could see through her binoculars were fine for a while, but as the horizon neared, the forests began to look … Ill was the best word for it. I’m not an earth pony, but … the horizon looks like it’s … dying.

The best comparison she could think of was if some painter had smeared ash all over the distant horizon, a dead, dying grey compared to the vibrancy of the world around her. A scar across and otherwise healthy palate.

There was more, too, though it was hard to make out. The binoculars she was using weren’t exactly the most powerful, and there was the inevitable curve of the horizon, though it was slight. But there was definitely something toward the middle of the grey, a darker, almost blackened, charred blur.

A wildfire, maybe? She lowered the glasses, shaking her head. “No … that’d look different.” She’d seen the aftereffects of a wildfire before. This was … something else. What, she couldn’t say, but … Something had marked the land to the west.

What’s to the west anyway? Her eyes dropped to her map, but it only included some of the features outside of the city, not the actual landscape. But there was a major road that went to the west. She frowned, then lifted the binoculars.

It wasn’t too hard to spot, now that she knew it was there. A winding ribbon of broken grey that was already being reclaimed by nature as it headed out of the city, winding through trees new and old … and right toward the grey horizon, where she lost track of it.

Well, that’s not a good sign, she thought, lowering the glasses and squinting at the distant, grey smear. Wouldn’t that road logically be heading to another inhabited place?

The thought left her with a growing pit in her stomach as she packed up the binoculars and her map and started back down the tower ladder. The metal rungs rang with each step, the sound echoing out across the silent city.

“I need more information,” she said as her boots met the roof at last. “Maybe I should give that library another shot.” The place had been a ruin … but there was bound to be something she could glean from it. Especially now that I can read. The door to the inside of the station opened with a faint squeal, and she took a moment to pull one of the flashlights from her backpack and flick it on. Her eyes would adjust; the interior of the station wasn’t that dark but ...

I never did take a close look at what this place did, she thought as the door swung shut behind her. In fact … they might have water! The thought hit her like a bolt of lightning, and she almost bolted down the stairs toward the second level, the beam from her flashlight leading the way.

I didn’t even think about it the last time I was here. But then again, she thought as reached the second floor, shining her flashlight up and down the small hall. Last time I was here I didn’t even know why there were bodies everywhere.

Okay, technically I still don’t, she thought as metal glimmered beneath the light of her flashlight. A door plaque, dusty but still legible. But I know a little bit more now … Okay, let’s see … That’s an L, and that’s a C … Custodial?

She turned away. Not what I’m looking for. There was another glimmer, this one further down the hall on the same side. There were three signs on this door, one plain but the other two in faint colors under their coating of dust. Red and yellow.

The first took her a moment to decipher and sound out. “Electrical?” Apparently it had something to do with an unfamiliar word, “Voltage” because the sign below it seemed to be a warning that whatever “Voltage” was it was “high.”

The lowest sign, the red one, simply read “Dangerous area: Safety equipment required.”

And … that’s my cue to look for a different door, Sunset thought, turning the flashlight to the other side of the hall. I doubt they’d keep their water jugs somewhere with “dangerous high voltage.”

Though they could be in the custodial, she thought as her flashlight hit another door, this one across from here and nearby. She stepped up to it and peered at the dusty letters.

Con … conference room? Yes! She stepped forward, her hand rattling the handle. It was unlocked. Let’s see what they— The door swung open and she paused. Oh.

The conference room was better-lit than the hallway outside, owing to two of its four walls being glass windows to the exterior. All of them were whole, if covered in dust, dirt, and in one pane’s case, a long, leafy vine. It almost overpowered the flashlight … but not enough that she was tempted to turn it off.

But what had made her stop was the absolute disarray of the room. Clearly it was a conference room, almost like any in Equestria. The center was occupied by a large table, elongated and with some sort of glass and metal boxes built into it. Chairs surrounded it as well, simple but elegant.

Or at least, had surrounded it. From the look of it, the room had been abandoned in a hurry, binders and folders scattered across the tabletop and floor, chairs upended as if someone had fallen over them. A paper cup lay flat on the floor, crushed beneath someone’s foot.

On the plus side, there was a dirty, dusty water dispenser at the far end of the room, with a algae-choked jug otherwise identical to the ones at the garden shop sitting atop it. The sight sent a surge of hope through her. Behind it against the back wall was a row of cabinets. Cabinets just large enough to hold more of the jugs. Her mouth suddenly dry, she stepped forward, the door swinging shut behind her. I may just grab those and call it a day.

Come on … The cabinets rattled at first as if locked, and she almost reached for her hatchet when one abruptly gave, opening outward to reveal a familiar shimmer.

“Yes!” Several jugs sat inside the cabinet. One, two, three … Well, three is good!

“Three’s very good,” she said aloud as she checked the other cabinets. They held empty boxes of paper. Useful, but not as useful as three more jugs of water. It does more than double my current supply.

Plus, there might be more downstairs. Now … She took another look around the room. It look like they all left in a hurry … I guess it would mean that if they evacuated, the call came quickly?

There was a stain on the table’s surface where someone had knocked over a cup of dark liquid and then just left it to soak into the wood. She picked up one of the binders and leafed through it but most of it was abbreviated enough that she didn’t want to spend time deciphering it. However, none of it looked like the kind of thing that would warrant a panicked rush from a room. The strangest thing she could see was the collection of metal and glass boxes built into the tabletop, and a strange raised slot in the middle.

With a slip of yellowed paper poking up out of one end. Is it … a printing machine of some kind?

Curious. But not helping solve the mystery. Still, there was water to add to her wagon and take home, and that was more than she’d expected when she’d set out. She stepped back into the hallway, shining her flashlight to check for any more doors.

There was one, right at the end of the hall. Next to a painting of a Seran figure she’d seen in one of the children’s books. The leader of the COG. Chairman Dalyell. In the painting, he looked stern, but not cold.

The door perpendicular to the end of the hall where the painting hung had a plaque that simply said “Manager.”

All right. The door was unlocked, and she pushed it open, her flashlight leading the way. So maybe—Sun above!

The manager, or what was left of them, was still sitting at their desk, their remains slumped over in their chair. One bony hand was resting atop the desk, a firearm still clutched between the fingers. The other held a yellowed slip of paper.

The top half of the figure’s skull was missing, the window behind them spiderwebbed with old cracks and covered in a long-since dry residue that could have only been the figure’s brains.

Her stomach heaved, and for a moment Sunset thought she was going to vomit. He … He killed himself. Why?

She crept forward, and with a frantic, darting movement, snatched the slip of paper from the figure’s decaying fingers. The answer was printed on one side of it, printed in plain, if faded, block text.

COALITION OF ORDERED GOVERNMENTS EMERGENCY BROADCAST TO BE AIRED IMMEDIATELY. MAINLAND LOST. CHAIRMAN PRESCOTT INVOKED FORTIFICATION ACT. ORDERED STRATEGIC DEPLOYMENT OF HAMMER OF DAWN GLOBALLY AGAINST ALL CITIES, BASES, INDUSTRIAL TARGETS IN THREE DAYS TIME. CITIZENS URGED TO MAKE FOR JACINTO PLATEAU.

Author's Note

Decisions

Chapter 10 - Decisions

Day Six
Holton

I—

Sunset pulled the pen away, staring down at the paper with red-rimmed eyes. I … What do I write?

She set the point against the aged paper, pushing it forward.

I want to go home.

The thought sent another ache through her chest, and she took a shuddering breath before continuing.

I want to go home. But I can’t. This— She stopped, shivered, then began again.

This is my destiny.

But I want to go home. Even if that meant leaving the palace, or Equestria.

It would have been better than this. I want to go home and I can’t. It almost hurt to put the words on paper.

This is all her fault. That much was true. If she’d just allowed me to embrace my destiny the way I should have, I wouldn’t be stuck here in an unfamiliar body, in this dying world, alone and ...

She paused before a choked, angry sob could escape her throat. Took another shuddering breath, eyes briefly turning to the scattered papers she’d gathered from the haul the night before. She’d made it back to the bookstore she’d noticed that first day at last, filling her wagon with as many relevant text, magazines, and old papers as she could.

She scribbled over the last line. I need to write this down. Just in case … A shiver rolled through her body. Just in case I don’t make it, but somepony comes looking.

This planet is called Sera. And the things that killed it … She paused. Well, I suppose they’re called Serans. But they did it to stop something called the Locust Horde.

Once more her eyes slipped to the images staring up at her from one of the faded and brittle paper she’d found at the bookstore. Sharp, vicious teeth. Thick, almost armored skin. Weapons held in clawed hands.

They’re like diamond dogs, she wrote at last. If diamond dogs were numbered in the hundreds of millions, were tougher than the toughest minotaur, and wanted to kill and destroy everything they found. They live underground--maybe did live underground, according to what the people here thought. Who knows how long, but they had technology beyond anything any of us have in Equestria.

So had the Serans, for that matter. She wrote on.

The Serans had technology too. Including a weapon called the Hammer of Dawn. Think of a giant magical cannon, firing a beam of pure energy … but in space, orbiting around their world.

They put weapons in space. Can you imagine that? Fired on chemical rockets that would put our science to shame.

First they used those weapons to beat their foes.

Then they turned them on themselves.

That’s why the horizon looks— Another shiver. —like ash. It IS ash. Millions of these “Locust” burst from the ground, overrunning city after city, killing everyone and taking what they found.

So their chairman, Prescott, gave the order. They evacuated everyone to a section of the continent built on the most solid rock they could find ... and they burned their world from orbit.

That’s why everyone left. That’s why no one ever came back.

They burned the world to ash to stop the horde.

She set the pen down, massaging her aching fingers and trying to keep herself from sobbing again. The paper had given her the numbers. Billions dead to the emergence of the Locust … and billions more would die when the strikes began. Numbers so large they barely seemed knowable.

Like burning a treeline to save a forest. Only in this case, they’d burned most of the world to try and save a small part of it.

It made her want to vomit. The destruction involved … Not even The Breaking killed so many. Millions died, but …

Over centuries. Sera had been home to billions.

All ash, burned and gone. She picked up the pen once more.

I don’t even know if it worked, she wrote. All I can find is information from before it happened. I’ve found signs that something did survive the evacuation of this city, that came back later, but …

At least now she knew why it looked like parts of the city had collapsed. They’d been tunneled into from below. Monsters emerging from the ground to kill everything they could find. To take the world as their own. Maybe.

They hadn’t even known what it was the Locust really wanted. There had been no communication. No warning. Just endless, horrible death.

I want to go home, but I can’t. I know that now.

She’d found an almanac, detailing the motions of the planet’s twin moons, charted their orbits.

The portal won’t open for at least another year and a half. By the seran reckoning.

She shivered again. It felt strange to be writing what amounted really to a note that was only to herself, but …

I can’t go home. Even if I could … I can’t.

She rolled her shoulders back, inhaling and exhaling once more.

She saw me here. This is why she didn’t want me to come. She was afraid of this world. That has to be it.

But I am stronger than she was. I’ll prove to her that this is my destiny.

Even if I don’t know exactly how to find it.

She sat back, running a hand down her face and setting the pen down atop the table once more. Outside the windows of her shelter it was raining again, heavy fat drops pelting the windows and running down the rooftops across the street.

Filling my buckets at least. She’d have water for a time yet, even if just to clean herself and her clothing with. And drink, though in small quantities.

I still don’t have a way to purify it. Rainwater was supposed to be fairly pure, but the rooftops weren’t exactly clean.

She sank back against her seat, staring up at the ceiling and trying to get the images she’d been looking at out of her mind. Her cheeks were still a little damp, but her breakdown had passed.

I haven’t cried like that in a long time.

In a way, it felt … right. There’d been so much to deal with over the last few days, from her rejection and exile, to the stress and terrors of the new world, to …

To realize I might never make it back. She swallowed the lump that was once again in her throat. What if that was the destiny she saw? Me dying, ripped apart, on some alien world?

But no … I saw a glimpse of it. And I was me. My real self, not this … weird Seran thing.

So I have to make it back, right? That’s how destiny works?

Except it wasn’t, a dark part of her mind pointed out. Not always. Cele—She had told her once that the glimpses of the future she was given seldom came to be the way she thought they did. They came true, yes, but the path wasn’t always a straight line. Nor did the result come the way one might have predicted.

She leaned forward once more, writing again.

I’m going to make a copy of my notes and leave it by the statue in a bag. Maybe if she comes looking for me she’ll find it. But after that …

She sighed again. I need to decide what to do. According to an atlas I found I’m hundreds of miles away from even the edge of the Jacinto Plateau, where everyone else was supposed to go. Over a thousand, actually. I don’t even have a good feel for how far a thousand miles is. I’ve got a way to figure it out, but … I don’t have any other means of getting there but walking.

I’m also defenseless and I’m running out of food, though I noticed a few places on my map that might have what I need.

I might be able to stay here and last until the portal opens— She pushed away the part of her mind that suggested that lonely wait was what Celestia might have seen. —but it would be a long eighteen months, and I don’t know how long the portal would stay open once it did activate. That would take more math then she’d been able to do at the moment.

I need to decide what I’m going to do. She paused, thought for a moment, and then scrawled again.

And I need protection. I need to learn more. There are “types” of these Locust, according to the paper. The little one I killed with my hatchet is one of the smallest. A “wretch.” The Locust use them like packs of hunting dogs.

The paper, at least, had included a nice diagram of the different dangerous Locusts and what to do. Mostly the instructions were “run.”

I need to decide what to do. Where I’m going to go, and how.

And … Again she paused. I need to figure out how these weapons the Serans made work. So I can use one. To defend myself.

Before I starve. She was already hungry, and her rations were getting low. And I have to eat more nuts.

She set the pen down, satisfied with her entry. Writing down her scattered thoughts felt good, like she’d been able to mostly gather them together. Plus I need to—

She picked up the pen once more, making a final note. And I need to find time to study Starswirl’s books. I chose a world that still had magic. I’m sure it’s here. I can feel it deep inside me. And there are hints of it in the writing of the Serans.

I just need time enough to find it.

“There,” she said, setting the pen down and blowing on the ink before shutting the notebook. She still felt a little wrung-out after her break-down but …

Who wouldn’t crack a little after realizing what happened here? Even thinking about thinking about it made her stomach cramp and her insides hurt. It’s … horrible.

“And somewhere here is my destiny.” Assuming she could figure out what it had to do with her wings.

She held her breath for a few seconds, then slowly exhaled, holding a hand to her chest and then pushing her worries away. Just like she’d seen Celes—her teacher do when she’d been unduly bothered by something. She’d taught it to her adopted niece.

But not to me. I guess she just assumed I knew it. She performed the exercise again, adding the recent thought to the ills she was pushing away. Now is not the time, Sunset. You’ve had your cry, you’ve let yourself worry. Now you need to act.

“Small, manageable problems,” she said aloud, pulling her hand back and repeating the motion for a third time. She felt a little better, like she’d pulled a weight off of her shoulders. And out of her mind. “And problem one is … food.”

Water was fine—she’d found another stash of the water jugs the day before when collecting the papers and magazines she’d gathered. Her food supplies, however, were quite low. And I’m tired of eating nuts. The raisins are already gone. I can last longer without water than I can without food, but right now I’m going to run out of food before I run out of water, and finding water is actually pretty easy now that I know where to look. In fact, she was fairly certain that if she simply took two wagons instead of one and spent a few hours, she could collect several week’s worth of water without much effort.

Especially if I can find out where it came from in Holton. Sunset stood, stretching as she rose above the table she’d been reading and writing at. Old papers and books stared up at her, all open to various pages that she’d referenced and read, each painting a slow but steady picture of the world she’d brought herself to.

So … food. She walked across the small living room, over to the windows so she could look down on the streets and watch as streams of water flowed past, heading for gutters that, for the most part, still worked. It was easy to tell where they didn’t.

Did Starswirl’s spell plan to give me waterproof boots? she wondered as she eyed one of the smaller pools created by the backed-up rains. Or was that just luck?

Still need to go over his notes. Another thing to put on her list. Which by now, needed to be a real list.

Watching the rain run down the eaves and gutters of the buildings across the street from her, however, felt good. Like she could imagine that it was washing away her own worries and concerns.

It was always nice when it rained like this in Canterlot, Sunset thought as the wind picked up, fat droplets splattering against the windows with heavy, wet splats. Half the city took a break and just let it happen, let the rain wash everything off, all the dirt and dust going into cisterns or down the mountain to the fields …

She pulled her thoughts back, though gently. Can’t do that here. You’ve got work to do if you want to eat. And you want to eat, don’t you? Her eyes drifted away from the windows, toward her dwindling stash of food and its few remaining cans of nuts. Besides nuts.

Food. She moved back to the table, this time taking a seat on the opposite end from her spread of books and papers. I need to find a source of food. And cooking equipment. The stove in her current shelter didn’t work, whatever fuel source it had used long-since cut off. Best place to check for both of those would probably be the camping store on my map. It might have been cleaned out when everyone left or … I might have gotten lucky.

“A camping store might carry food. But even if it doesn’t, they’d have a small camping stove of some kind, wouldn’t they?” She could remember the one the Guard had used when she’d been taken camping, a small portable thing for heating water—which could purify it—and preparing food. She rose for a second, grabbing her coat and pulling the map out of the city out of its pocket.

She thought back to her view from the tower as she spread the map on the table. It’s not far away, I think. “And there did look like there were similar stores nearby.” In Canterlot there had been pockets of different shopping areas, each with a bit of variety but also with a bit of a theme so they would attract the right customers.

At least, it had always seemed like it from those zoning meetings Cele—her mentor had required her to sit in on. Some sort of social “law.” Hotels’ law? There had been a name for it.

But it was a social law, not an actual one so … The same should hold true here. She found the campstore on her map, then compared that to the mark that represented her current position. It’s .. a bit of a walk, but nothing too bad. I’ll definitely get wet, though, she noted with a glance at the window. And this is wild weather, so it could last for days, or be gone in a few hours. So no point in waiting it out.

I hate it when my mane gets wet though. Almost on instinct she reached for the “bubble” of magic she could feel inside her, but once again it remained just as stubbornly out of reach, slipping out of her mental “grasp” like a bar of soap out of a foal’s hooves.

She let out an annoyed huff as she gave up. I will figure out how to access my magic. I will. For now, however, without a rain shield or even a quick-dry spell … I’ll have to use one of the umbrellas from downstairs.

It’s a tool, like the others. The thought helped her feel a little better, but still held a hint of having lost some part of herself. It’ll have to do.

Now for the real questions. First, what’s the best route from here to there? The map gave her a wide array of options, but … With all the damage this city has done, who knows how often I’ll have to backtrack to take a detour. Her journey for water the day before had led to her marking several of the massive sinkholes left by the invasion on her map, denoting areas where the damage was too severe for her to safely pass, or where the crashed carriages were too thick to easily pass through with her wagon. But that had been in a different direction than the one she would be heading in today.

“That route passes by a checkpoint,” she said aloud, just to hear her own voice. Almost without thinking she reached over and tapped one of the buttons on the children’s book she’d recovered from the school.

“The dog goes ‘woof,’” the tinny voice said. It wasn’t much, but it made the small living space feel less alone.

“I haven’t seen a dog,” she said aloud as she tracked several possible paths through the city streets. “Or anything other than the birds, actually. Not even mice.” A cold chill crept down her spine, nothing to do with the faint coolness of the room, and her mind slipped to the wretch she’d killed at the school.

That’s probably why. The feel of the hatchet at her hip was a comforting weight, even in her own shelter.

She laid out three primary ways to reach the shop before deciding it was good enough and moving onto her next question. “Do I bring one wagon? Or two?”

She realized she was looking at the children’s book again and scowled, shaking her head and stepping away from the table. “On the one hoof, I don’t know if I’m going to find anything worthwhile in the area. On the other … if I do, I’d rather bring as much of it back at once as possible with all this rain.”

She let out a low hum. “And the wagons have rain guards.” She’d not tested them yet, but surely they were more than decorative. “Making one trip in this weather would certainly be better than two …”

Another small gust of wind kicked fat drops of rain against the window, heavy splats sounding across the room and mixing with the faint drumming of the roof. Definitely better.

“Possible cons … I’ve never connected two wagons together.” It didn’t appear hard, certainly, but many things appeared easy until they were undertaken. “It’s morning, so I’ve got time … And the rain might stop.”

The last observation was what made the decision easy. Sunset turned for the steps, stopping only to gather her coat and her pack before she headed down the rear stairs. A precaution. Just in case. I’ll connect two of the trailers together, and if the rain’s let up by then, so much the better.

As it turned out, connecting the trailers together was easier than she’d even expected, the most difficult element of the entire project following instructions she could only passingly read. Still need more practice, Sunset thought as she locked the door to her temporary home behind her, rain already drumming against the umbrella she’d picked out and spilling over the edges. Maybe a few hours of study tonight. Or a day off. I could use a rest day. With actual rest.

“Once you have food,” she said, pausing as she turned away from the now-locked front door to check on her rain collection. She had half a dozen buckets set out now, carefully arranged so that each one spilled into the other as it filled, like some of the cascading, interconnected fountains in Canterlot. If … a lot simpler, and made of plastic, repurposed tubing, and tape.

Satisfied that the rain was filling them swiftly, she picked up the handle of the lead wagon and began to make her way down the street, the constant tap-tap of the rain against her umbrella merging with the faint scritching sound of the wagon train’s tires rolling over the paving stones and the wet, smacking thump of her boots.

Holton looked different under the rainfall. The slick of rain gave everything a gleam, like it was new, rather than old and run down. Except for the parts that were really run down, which the rain made somehow look all the more ancient.

It cleans everything off pretty nicely too, she noted, her boots splashing through a puddle of water cutting across the middle of the street. Ahead of her one of the divots left by the city’s attackers loomed, now a temporary pond, and she made her way around it, the wagons bumping and rattling behind her as their tires met the broken paving stones. This place will look different after the rain is gone and it dries out. Probably a lot more green.

Speaking—or thinking of which—I don’t even know what season it is. To her surprise, one of the things that had been made abundantly clear by the texts she’d found was that the inhabitants of Sera didn’t have even a rudimentary form of weather or seasonal control. They simply let their world do as it wanted.

Though the larger shock to her had been that no one controlled the sun or the moons here, a concept she still found herself struggling with. The sun for this world was massive, many times larger than the smaller sun that her homeworld had danced with. The moons simply freely spun, following orbits all on their own that they had kept for what the serans believed was millions of years.

Could we do that? She wondered. Simply coax the sun and moon into a stable rotation around our world’s gravity. Or is there a reason we don’t?

So many questions, and after only a few days of poring over a few books. How much more could I learn here?

Up ahead an intersection terminated in a massive sinkhole, tiny waterfalls cascading over the edges and down into whatever depths it held. Sunset stopped, tucking her umbrella into the crook of her arm so that she could use her hands to mark the obstruction on her map. One … two … three … four … she counted. Here. She scrawled the massive sinkhole on her map, eyes coming up to check for any signs of a way around it, but finding none. Not that she would risk traversing with her wagons, anyway. The sinkhole had taken half a building on one street corner with it, leaving a precarious, steep pile of rubble extending down into its depths. She could envision the brickwork sliding, taking her wagons down with it, and maybe even her.

Nope, let’s go … She eyed her map for a few moments, looking up to check her position. Left. Right there. The change wouldn’t put her too off of her course. I’ll just need to make sure to take a right … there. Six intersections down.

A gust of wind slipped down the street as she returned the marker to her pocket, jerking her umbrella back and sending droplets of rain spattering across her face. “Sunspots.”

She froze for just a bare instant as her mentor’s old curse slipped out of her mouth, then scowled, yanking the umbrella back into place and shielding her face as a second gust followed the first. Don’t think about it. Just … don’t.

The street that was her detour route had suffered some damage after the invasion—or attack, whichever it had technically been. It had been split into two by a narrow crevasse that ran almost perfectly down the middle, and she kept her distance from the bricks around the edge, instead working her way across the uneven bricks along the side of the street, the empty wagons bouncing along behind her.

Water damage. She’d seen something like it in Canterlot once. A pipe had burst during a heavy rainstorm, the water eating away at the ground around it until a portion of a street had caved inward. From the look of the water flowing off of rooftops and out of nearby ruined gutters, rushing down into depressions among the bricks, flowing to the center of the street where they vanished … Probably flowing into what’s left of that sinkhole back there and … wherever it goes. She glanced back at the hole, her eyes picking out shattered and overgrown street on the other side, but not any sign of the bottom.

I wonder how long that took? Thankfully the damage ended shortly before the street did, and she resumed her course, the wet slap of her boots against tiny puddles bounced back at her from the empty, blank buildings around her. How long has everyone been gone?

Yet another question she didn’t have an answer to. It’d be nice to know, but … Not essential.

She slowed. Ahead of her the street was partially cut off by another collection of barricades. But only on one side. The rest of the barricades extended into a small nearby parking lot. Another checkpoint, perhaps. Or a defensive position.

Tents of some kind had been set up in the “back” of the barricades, right up against a few of the buildings. They were weathered, the material faded and torn in places. She stopped, and she could hear the faint pats of rain striking them bounding down the street in time with the drops hitting her umbrella.

This wasn’t on my map. I must not have been able to see it from the tower. Like everything else, there were signs of battle and damage around it. One of the tents furthest from her position looked damaged, partially melted. As if it had been burned.

Once again she tucked her umbrella into the crook of her arm, carefully pulling her map out of her pocket and marking the checkpoint—or whatever it was exactly—for future reference.

The real question now is do I check it out now? Or later? She stared at the small checkpoint for a moment, running her eyes over the weathered concrete and sandbag barricades, then the worn, tattered tents. They weren’t cloth—not pure, anyway. The sound echoing from them as the rain drummed down was reminiscent of the same material that made up her umbrella. Some kind of plastic-based tarp, perhaps?

Her eyes shifted to the side of the street opposite, searching for a path through the transports there and finding a clear one. Or I could cut through the checkpoint itself, she noted, eyeing the clear openings in the barriers on both sides. Through them, she could make out what looked like low desks of some kind, or maybe seats, and she made her decision by stepping forward for a closer look.

Just pass through, she thought, the wagons rolling along behind her as she stepped closer to the odd checkpoint. In one side, out the other to get a better look, and then on the way back if there’s any … thing …

She slowed, and then stopped, her eyes fixed on the bones lying atop one of the small desks. Except it wasn’t a desk. It was a cloth cot, thinned and threadbare, half-rotted after who knew how long under the elements. Sunset’s eyes shifted back to the weathered tents, searching the faded coloring and finding a faint blue symbol on each one.

It wasn’t the omnipresent gear symbol their government loved so much. It was a different symbol, six thick blue lines arrayed in a manner that reminded her of an asterisk.

Between it and the bones arrayed around on cots, some of them next to metal arms that extended up above them like spindly metal trees, the connection was obvious. It’s a medical post. An emergency medical center.

But why here? Surely a city of this size had a hospital?

She pulled the map out once more, her mind suddenly itching. There, near the city center, was the same symbol on the side of the tents above a blocky building shape. She’d not gone back that direction since her foray to the town hall—or whatever it was called on Sera. One mystery solved, at least.

But probably not worth checking out. Well … maybe. A site like that would be a prime location for scavengers, and she hadn’t forgotten that the grocery store had clearly been picked clean.

A hospital would be a prime target, too. At least, if the Locust had been as violent and savage as the serans had claimed.

Her mind flashed back to the library, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool air rolled through her. Better to avoid the hospital if at all possible, then, and check smaller, more out of the way places—like the camping store—for supplies.

As welcome a distraction as the planning was, however, it didn’t get her any closer to completion. Not until you put one hoof in front of the other, Sunset thought, her eyes coming back to the bones as she slipped her map into her pocket. Cut through or …

She almost sighed as she stepped forward once more, her boot splashing down on the wet stone. I’ve already seen a lot of bodies around the city. It’s just a few more.

Somehow, it still felt different, though how exactly she couldn’t quite pin down. There were signs that the violence that had swept over the city had come to the station as well. Some of the cots had been scattered, knocked aside, aged brass tubes littering the ground around them.

The source was only a few feet away, slumped next to the burned and damaged tent. A ragged set of bones still clad in the familiar, if burnt, armor of the COG, their weapon still clutched in bony fingers. Had they been the only guard, expiring alone to defend the people in the tents? Or had they been one fallen and left to eternally defend that which they’d sacrificed for?

And would they approve of her picking through what they’d sacrificed themselves to defend for supplies? Her thoughts oscillated between approval and refusal. I doubt they’d mind if it saved my life, Sunset thought. But at the same time probably only as long as they knew I was seran.

At least very few of the records she’d read through so far had made reference to ghosts. It wasn’t likely then, that the soldiers spirit would rise from whatever great beyond the serans believed in and object to her presence. But even so …

She pushed on, exiting the other side of the medical station without a backward glance, leaving the fallen to their eternal vigil. The rain picked up, the drops coming faster and with more weight, the once-light impacts slowly but surely becoming more pronounced.

Three. She counted off the intersections as she passed them, ready to move back from her detour. She kept a loose focus on the buildings around her as well, searching for anything that was outrightly interesting, but many of them didn’t appear relevant to her purposes, or were barred and boarded anyway.

Not that that could stop her. Not anymore. There was a prybar in one of the wagons, and she had her hatchet as well. Both would make short work of mere boards, provided the payoff appeared worth it. Some of the chains she was seeing however … a little less so.

Five. She passed around a larger carriage—Car—noting the flattened wheels but also its massive empty rear bed. A thousand miles, whatever a mile is, sounds far. Maybe I could get one of those—

She dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it had come. A long shot. If they still worked, I’d still need to learn how one worked, and then find fuel. If it didn’t work, I’d have to learn how to fix it, and …

Realistically that might be what I have to do to achieve my destiny. Put in such a manner, it didn’t sound as daunting.

Six. She turned off the street, her path relatively clear, and once again found herself back on her original course. Not far to the camping store now. I really hope it hasn’t been hit. There was a knot of worry inside of her that she’d find there what she’d found at the grocery store: Rows of empty shelves, picked clean by evacuating citizens, scavengers, or maybe even the Locust. Though she couldn’t imagine the last having much to want from a camping center.

Not that the COG knew what the Locust wanted. At least, not from what I’ve found. Her eyes drifted over a dirty plate-glass window, a water cooler visible through it, and she made a mental note of another possible water source. Outside of just killing every seran they could get their hands on.

Focus. She was nearing the camp store now, her quick stride eating away at the distance. Moving on two feet rather than four hooves still didn’t quite feel right, though natural, but there was no denying that it was far more capable than she’d have expected based on her first few days. She was even adjusting for slips now, shifting her balance and her new body to even herself out without even thinking about it.

Thank the sun it wasn’t raining when I arrived, Sunset thought as one boot slipped to the side once more, forcing her to adjust her balance. The echoing rumble of her wagon train bouncing over the broken ground behind her reinforced that her slip hadn’t been through much fault of her own. Just another crack left behind by erosion or one of the nearby divots from the attack. I would have been miserable. And wet.

The street ahead of her was relatively clear once more, even of carriages, and she picked up speed, running her eyes along the storefronts. Not that one, not that one, no idea what that one is. Or was, I guess. The windows were barred in addition to having been boarded up, and the door had been chained shut, but someone or something had torn them away and smashed the windows. Through the dark holes she could make out empty shelves. Whatever it had been, the scavengers wanted it badly.

Her eyes darted to the signage, worried shooting through her that the battered store might have been her destination, but the faded lettering didn’t mark that at all. Gon … and … pown? No, p-a-w-n. Pawn! Like a hawker’s market! And that first one is—

Oh. Gun. That explained why the store had been raided, then. Scavengers, since it had happened after the place had been locked up. Looking for weapons. Or ammunition for the same.

Another reminder that she was walking around with only a hatchet. One thing at a time. Food first. She continued down the street, watching each storefront carefully on both sides.

As it turned out, her caution hadn’t been needed. The camping store was easy to spot, sitting right on the corner of an intersection with a small parking lot for the carriages next to it and giving it the appearance of jutting out even further than its neighbors.

Better yet, it looked completely untouched by the violence that had consumed the rest of the city. The single-story store’s windows were long and narrow, set just under the dripping eaves … but they were solid and in one piece. As well as thoroughly out of her reach without something like a ladder. The front door was still solid, and the rusted chains holding its lock in place still looked firm.

Only an issue if she planned on using a front door.

She headed for the open lot first, the wagons bouncing up onto the sidewalk behind her. The rain was coming down harder than ever now, to the point that her long-distance visibility was starting to become poor, and the occasional gust of wind was carrying fat droplets past her umbrella and into her front and sides. The parking lot, while open, wasn’t draining properly, making a shallow, square pond deep enough that the rain plopped against its surface.

Access door, Sunset thought as she strode through the shallow pond, grateful for the waterproofing of her boots. Employee access door. Most businesses had them. She just needed to find it.

But, at least from the lot, there wasn’t any visible entryway that she could see. Unless it’s hidden. There had been entrances like that in the castle and in some of the older homes of the nobility, holdovers from an earlier time and traditions held strong from Unicropolis and its kingdom.

Still, I don’t see any obvious lines or seams that would mark an entryway, Sunset thought, stepping up onto a small sidewalk that rimmed the side of the building. Or obvious marks on the pavement from one opening. That was one way to spot some of the older doors around the castle she’d noticed. Looking for marks of wear in the floor or carpet where the tight seam had slowly scraped away at things.

But there was no sign of that here. Maybe they only had the one entrance, she thought, glancing toward the front of the store. And I’ve got a pry bar, but those chains looked pretty tough despite the rust.

No, there’s got to be another way in. Rather than turn left toward the front of the store, she stepped off of the small sidewalk, her boots making splashes with each step as she headed right, toward where the back of the store met with the flat, featureless wall of another building.

Or at least, mostly featureless. There had once been a mural of some sort painted over it. But the paint had been blasted by wind, sun, and rain for so long that there was little left, and she couldn’t even make out the image of what it had once been. Just faint splashes of faded color here and there. An advertisement? A slogan? Just color and images, designed to elicit comfort and security?

Whatever it had been, all that was left for certain now was a grey wall made of something that looked like concrete and the crawling tendrils of green plant life snaking their way across it. They, at least, seemed to be enjoying the heavy rain.

But there was, Sunset saw as she drew closer to the back, a gap. A small space, just a little wider than her wagons, between the wall and the back of the store. An alleyway.

With a small ramp in the sidewalk leading up to it.

Gotcha. She smiled. Why have something like that by the gap unless the gap was meant to be used? There was even a small stream of water on the far side, running out from behind the shop along the base of the far wall. If there was an access door for the rear, that was where it was going to be.

Oh yeah. Her smile widened into a grin as she stepped up to the entrance to the back of the alley itself, rainwater swirling around her boots. This was meant to be used. The overhang from the roof extended a bit further back, shielding most of the alley from the rain and spitting a torrent of water out of two gutters, one at each end. The gap extended all the way to what she guessed was the next street, or at least the next building down in the line, but someone had erected a heavy chain-link fence across it, blocking the alley off.

Which might be a problem, she realized with a glance back at her wagons. The alley was barely wide enough for them as it was, and if she pulled them in after her … The only way out would be to back them up. Which is … tricky. Easier to do with hands than when she’d been a filly, but still difficult to do.

Right. She could leave the wagons outside of the alley for the time being. Checking to make sure neither was about to roll away on her, she flipped the handle back up over the first wagon’s rain cover before chiding herself.

Of course they aren’t going to roll away, she thought as she stepped into the alleyway, the drumming of the rain against her umbrella lessening. The lot is level. There’s no one else here. And if you come back and they have moved—

She cut the thought off with a quick, viscous mental chop. Nope. Not thinking about that in the abandoned city. Nope.

Thankfully, her distraction was in sight. Halfway down the length of the back of the structure the dull brown coloration gave way to something light and grey. The employee entrance! She picked up speed, her boots squelching through rotten leaves and mud. And … it’s locked. Of course it is. Someone had taken the time to secure the rear door with a latch and a large, heavy padlock, dirty and weathered, but still sporting a bit of shine under all the grime.

“Well great.” Her own voice was loud enough that she almost jerked as it echoed down the alleyway, and she lowered her voice. “Front door is chained up, and the back door is locked up.” A light rap of her knuckles elicited a solid clatter. Metal. And cold too. She pulled her hand back, eyes flicking to the heavy metal latch and padlock. The arch that made up the lock’s upper half was at least as thick as one of her fingers, maybe more. Didn’t anyone on this planet ever not overengineer something? The sight made her want to growl, and she settled for baring her teeth at it. Not exactly pony-like behavior but … Not currently a pony. And she’d growled a lot in her natural form too.

There’s no way my hatchet or my pry-bar are getting through that lock, she thought. Maybe with a good metal saw I could cut it, but …

“No,” she said aloud. “That’s the obvious route. Come on, Sunset. You’re Prince— You’re an exemplary student. Don’t look for the obvious. Look for the clever.” She reached out and lifted the lock in one hand, the chill of the metal almost stinging her fingertips. “The lock is solid, and so is the door … and that latch, but …”

She grinned again. “The wall it’s built into is wood.” She ran her fingertips across the back wall of the shop, feeling the rough surface. What kind of wood she wasn’t sure, and it had been painted or worked to the point of being as alien to her as the rest of the planet, but it was still wood.

And wood could be broken. She lifted the lock once more, looking at the latch beneath it. The plate, or whatever it was that held the matching loop the padlock had been set through, was completely covered by the metal latch. She couldn’t see what had secured it to the wall.

But she could see that it wasn’t flush. The metal stuck out. There was no gap—not yet, anyway—but whoever had installed it hadn’t bothered to sink the plate in.

Probably because anyone who bothered to break in would have made enough noise to draw all kinds of attention, Sunset thought as she stepped back and tugged her hatchet from its holster. Eyeing the latch, she flipped the tool around in one hand so that the flat, blunt square of the head was facing forward, then brought it down in a sharp swing against the top of the padlock.

Clink! The metal-on-metal sound it produced was almost deafening, and she winced. The lock bounced, but didn’t budge.

Come on. She raised the hatchet high above her head and swung it down once more. Clink! The shock of the impact resonated through the rubber handle and right up her arm, a jarring vibration that made her wince almost as much as the sound had.

The latch still looked solid. Her eyes narrowed, a sudden heat rushing out of her chest and into her limbs.

“This is my stupid destiny!” she said, setting her umbrella aside and grasping the handle of her hatchet with both hands. “And I will not let some stupid lock stand in my way!”

She brought the hatchet down in a double-handed, overhead blow, bringing every bit of muscle she could to bear. This time the ring of metal striking against metal echoed, the impact of her blow leaping up her arms and into her shoulders so abruptly she almost dropped the hatchet and cried out in surprise. Panting, she looked at the padlock. There was a nice, shiny new scratch on the top of the arch. The back of her hatchet, at a quick glance, looked the same.

“Huh,” she panted. “Tough little tool.”

Then her eyes flicked to the latch itself … and the very faint, black line of a gap her strike had left, tilting the upper side of the plate away from the wall. A warm laugh left her throat, and she lifted her slightly sore arms, flipping the hatchet around and then pressing the edge of the blade into the crack her efforts had created.

It fit, but just barely. And not by much. The bite was so shallow she couldn’t even let go of the hatchet for fear of it falling out of place. But it was all the opening she needed. Holstering the tool once more, she picked up her umbrella, shaking off the mud and dirt it had picked up as he walked back to the wagons. A minute later she was back by the door once more, the hatchet’s edge pressed up against the crack once more … and her pry-bar in her other hand. The gap was much too small for the larger tool’s bluntened edges, but that was all right.

I can make it wider, Sunset thought, bringing one end of the pry-bar down atop her hatchet like a crude hammer. The blow rang, but more importantly it shoved the head of the hatchet just a little further down. She swung again, the metal-on-metal ring reminding her of the sounds of the fresh Guard cadets beating their armor into shape.

Again. She brought the pry-bar down a third time, then a fourth and a fifth, each time driving the head of the hatchet a little deeper into the gap, driving it like a wedge. After her seventh hit, she let the handle go. To her satisfaction it stayed put, held by its bite between the latch-plate and the wall of the store.

Perfect. But … She eyed how much of the hatchet’s face was behind the plate. Probably not enough. She gave it another few blows with the pry-bar, then tugged at the handle. It didn’t budge.

There. Now to get some leverage. The blunt claws of the pry-bar wouldn’t fit into the gap she’d made, even widened. But they did fit into the space behind the hatchet’s handle, and its rubber coating would help it bite.

Using Archineighdes principles of levers to maximize my own effort, Sunset thought as she worked the claws behind the handle of the hatchet. I should be at least doubling the amount of force I’m putting on this plate. She braced one boot against the base of the wall, her other slightly back. Ready, and … pull!

She pulled the pry-bar outward … and it popped free, almost sending her staggering back. A few days earlier it would have. I’m getting better at this two-legs thing. She drove the bar back into place and pulled again.

This time both it and the hatchet popped free, the latter clattering to the ground and spattering mud around it. But Sunset smiled. The only reason the hatchet would have come free was if …

Yes! The gap between the wood and the latch was even wider now, though still not enough for the clawed head of the pry-bar. She shoved the hatchet back into place, wiped the mud on her hands on her pant leg, and then pushed the pry-bar in once more. This time the whole head slipped under the handle, and she grinned. Gotcha! A lock is no match for my knowledge! She heaved … and there was a telltale squeak as the plate behind the latch gave even further.

Again the hatchet fell, but she didn’t care. She left it lying in the dirt and mud, her focus on the now much-wider gap between the plate and the wall. The latter let out a heavy thunk as she drove the pry-bar against it, the blunt claws of its head slipping into the space her careful efforts had created.

“Yes!” She hauled back on the other end of the pry-bar, the heavy metal bar moving out but then stopping as it fought against the latch. “Come on! Give it up!” She began to tug against the bar with the weight of her body, almost bouncing on her feet with every pull. “Give!”

It was working. With each backwards bounce she could see and hear the screws giving way. She was doing decent damage to the wood of the wall as well, but given the state of the rest of the city, it wasn’t like there was anyone around to care.

One of the screws popped free with a loud squeak, the bar slipping and her shoulders slamming into the back wall of the alley. She pushed forward again in an instant, driving the pry-bar home as she sensed weakness. This time the head of the tool let out a faint clink as it connected with one of the screws, coming to a stop, and she yanked backwards once more.

Another squeak sounded, only fueling her enthusiasm, and she reset the bar, pulling for a third time—

And with a loud crunch of breaking wood the latch gave way, breaking away from the wall and swinging freely out into the alley.

“Yes!” Sunset cried, holding the pry-bar over her head and staring at the door. “That is how you open a locked door without magic!” She lowered the bar, almost feeling sheepish at the outburst, but then shoving the feeling away. Who’s around to hear you celebrate anyway? Nopony. She could feel a warmth surging in her chest—not magic, but a sense of pride at outwitting the heavy lock.

Nothing’s going to stop me now, she thought, stepping forward. I’m going to get into this store, find whatever equipment they have, and then I’ll be one step closer to—

The doorknob refused to give under her fingers, sticking in place with a faint, tinny click. It was locked.

“By Cele—!” Sunset caught herself as she almost let her former mentor’s name slip out. No, she thought. Not even as a curse. She settled for letting her frustration out in a long, drawn out growl as she eyed the door.

They had the padlock. Obviously they didn’t trust the lock on this door. It can’t be that bad. And you have a pry-bar.

A minute later, following an almost ear-piercing shriek that made her wish she could still fold her ears down, the second lock gave, and Sunset yanked the door open at last, letting out a triumphant cry.

“Finally!” The inside was dim, light just illuminating a small, open storage area, probably for unboxing shipments or collecting them before taking them out to the store floor.

But it was enough. She was inside. Or rather outside, looking in.

She picked her hatchet back up from where it was lying in the dirt of the alley and carefully wiped it off against her leg. A quick look at the edge showed that it hadn’t seemed to pick up any extra wear and tear from her rough usage against the lock, and she slipped the tool back into its holster. She didn’t clip it in place, however. Just a precaution.

All right, Sunset. You’re in. She took a moment to fold up her umbrella and nestle it the crook of one arm, her other hand going into her jacket pocket and coming out with a flashlight. Let’s see if it’s everything you’d hoped it would be.

The first thing she saw as the beam of light flickered out over the interior of the shop was a thick layer of dust, coating everything like a grey carpet. Not that there was much to coat. The back room was simple and straightforward, a bare space with a single set of empty shelves and a small workbench. Minus the dust, it could have been the back of any shop in Canterlot.

A wheeled moving tool of some kind—she actually wasn’t sure what it was called, but it looked similar to a tool she’d seen movers use where she’d come from—sat against the wall next to a workbench. There were two doors out of the room: One set next to the workbench, right near a corner in the wall and from the angle, she suspected, led further into the shop. The other was off to her right, and heading into what looked like another back room, one with dusty glass windows looking at where she was.

A break room, maybe. She took her first steps into the back, leaving boot-prints in the coating of dust, and scowled as she saw some of it swirl up into the air. Going to need to clean up after this if the whole store is like—

The door behind her slammed shut with a bang, and Sunset let out a shriek, instinctively reaching for both her hatchet and her magic. One of them she was able to grasp, and she spun, hatchet out and at the ready.

Only to find a blank metal door under the beam of her flashlight. Her eyes flicked to the small, folded metal arm at its top, and she let out a nervous laugh, belying the frantic pounding in her chest.

Really should have seen that coming, she thought, panning the beam from her flashlight along the floor by the door. There, just off to the side by her bootprints, was a large, sturdy brick, worn and chipped, and clearly there for only one reason.

Still, knowing that the door had pulled itself shut didn’t stop her heart from pounding as she slowly pushed it open once more. Nor from checking the alley to make sure she was alone before shifting the brick over to keep the thing open.

This time it didn’t slam shut, even when a faint gust of wind moved through the alley, and she let out a slow breath as she turned around, a shiver running down her back that had nothing to do with the cold.

Okay. Let’s try this again. Her flashlight beam fixed on the dusty windows to her right, to what she suspected was the break room, and she walked over to them, her boots making soft thumps against the dusty concrete. Closer, it was easy to see what lay behind them, and it was— Exactly what I expected, she thought. Under the light of her flashlight she could see a small table and a few chairs, along with two more doors, both open. One held a toilet—so the store bathroom—and the other a desk. A tiny office, then. For the owner or manager.

The light from her flashlight glimmered as she played it around the small break room, and she smiled. A stack of water bottles was arrayed along the back wall of the room, next to a small countertop. One of them looked empty—cracked, the floor beneath it warped from water damage—but she could see three others that looked intact.

Water and toiletries. She added both to her mental list of things to take, then shifted her beam to the other side of the room. A calendar on one wall, hanging from some faux-wood paneling. A faded poster of some kind extolling what looked like camping products. And a door, smaller and narrower than the one leading out of the back storage, but almost certainly leading into the same place.

The store. It was time to see if she’d found what she came for. Turning away from the window, she stepped up to the rear door, examined it for a moment, then reached out with one hand and pushed it open.

The door let out a faint squeak as it opened, the sound so sublimely simple and straightforward part of her nearly expected to see bright lights and ponies wandering the aisles.

But she didn’t. The beam of her flashlight played over dark shelves, dimly lit by dusty, dirty light. The shelves were, at least where she was, low enough that she could see over them, and ran all the way to the front door and what looked like a checkout register. Which was merely a continuation of a long, low glass countertop that ran almost the whole length of the store, her flashlight glinting off of dusty metal behind it.

But the thing that made her smile, her heart leaping in her chest, was that the shelves were stocked. What with, she couldn’t tell yet, but it hardly mattered. She plied her light over a canoe of some kind hanging from the ceiling and smiled. “It’s stocked!” she whispered, stepping further into the store, one hand still holding the door open. She moved the flashlight’s beam to the nearest shelf, taking in rows of small boxes and cylindrical glass jars. What they were she wasn’t certain—though the pictures on them gave her hints—but it didn’t matter.

Nothing in the store looked touched. The store could have opened for business if the dust had been cleared and the lights been working.

Stocked. Everything she could need. Sunset stepped forward, grinning as the rear door swung shut behind her, plying her light over the shelves. With each shelf and item her grin widened.

Tents. Camp stove. Walking sticks—probably. Canoes. Backpacks. Hiking gear. Climbing gear. Thermoses. Other things she couldn’t identify.

Bows. Arrows. Her flashlight moved to the space behind the counter.

Firearms. She recognized the long, boxy shapes. A few of them were almost identical to the weathered, battered weapons she’d seen clutched in the hands of dead soldiers.

I did want to get one eventually … I guess this would be as good a place as any.

But right now, there were more important things to look for. Where do I start?

Food was the obvious choice, assuming the store had any. But there are all these other shelves, and no labeling. Her smile shifted to a frown. You need a system, a … Got it!

She moved down the aisle directly in front of her, running her eyes carefully up and down each item on the shelf. Spices? She eyed the small glass jars. No, seasonings. For meat.

Then again, whatever this world had in place of cows didn’t appear to be sentient at all, so … Maybe. She reached out, picked a jar at random, and set it on top of the shelf, where it stood out at head-level.

She did the same as she moved down the entire length of the aisle, picking up any item that looked interesting and setting it atop the shelf where she could clearly see it, building her own set of markers. Cast-iron pans and skillets? She set one atop the shelving. Thermoses and utensils? They went atop a shelf as well.

A whole section of various water filtration systems? She sounded out the words, and then a box at random went atop the shelf without a second’s hesitation. She could pick through them later to find the one she needed.

Clothing for all manner of excursions? Boots? Her own was holding up nicely, and the stock was covered in dust, but even so … She continued onward, adding a sleeping bag in a small sack and a tent in a similar stack to the shelving … and then she turned onto an aisle that was nothing but plainly labeled boxes.

Labels she could read, however, with a little effort, and she sounded one out. “Dried … fruit mix! Food!”

She didn’t hesitate for a second. Boxes went up onto the top of the shelf without her even checking the label. Food. A whole aisle of it. She checked a few of the other labels. Instant soups. Canned beans. Jerky—dried meat, but she’d take it.

A whole aisle. Food enough to last her for weeks. Maybe longer.

Part of her wanted to open one of the boxes right away and dig in, to eat something other than nuts or raisins. To dig into a can of soup right there in the store.

No. She pushed the hunger away. Take everything back first. Get the items you need, load up the wagons. You can come back later and get more. And then …

She paused for a moment, standing still in the middle of the aisle. And then you’re going to need to make a decision.

The store would give her everything she needed to leave the relative safety of the city. Water purification, cookware. Firestarters, even, based on the pictures she’d seen in one aisle. To make up for her frustrating inability to access her magic.

Even weapons. Her eyes slipped to the wall behind the counter, where an array of firearms hung. Her eyes slipped further, toward the bows hanging nearby.

No. Her gaze slipped back. A bow wouldn’t stop one of those things I saw at the store. If there are still Locust out there, I’ll need something solid.

Because I can’t stay here. Not in Holton. For a little longer, maybe. Just to get my feet under me. In more ways than one.

But I won’t find my destiny in an empty city. I don’t know where it is for certain, but it’s not here. It just doesn’t feel right. I need to find … Jacinto.

Wiping a bit of dust from her face, she turned back to the shelves and got to work.

Author's Note

Danger

Chapter 11 - Danger

Sunset let out a relieved groan as she at last sank down into one of the apartment’s chairs, her body’s aches and pains lessening as she let herself relax. Resting with her chin tucked almost to the top of her chest, she let her eyes scan around the now-packed space, filled with boxes and items she’d liberated from the camping shop.

She smiled. Finally. It had been a busy three days, and she still wasn’t certain she was done with the shop. But for the moment … Everything I need is right here.

Her head dropped back, bouncing slightly against the chair’s padding as she let out a sigh. “Done,” she said to no one, her voice just barely filling the small apartment. “I got it all.”

Her body certainly felt like it. Despite the impressive physical qualities of her new form, and the fact that she’d never been what one would have considered out of shape back in Equestria, the work she’d done over the last few days had pushed her beyond what she’d expected.

Tough. That had been her driving motivation the morning after discovering the camp store, when she’d awoken to discover her back, sides, and arms were stiff and sore. Sore from bending and crouching, from lifting and rising, and just about everything else she’d done cataloguing every possibly helpful thing she could find by the beam of her flashlight. Which had turned out to be far, far more than she’d expected once she’d gotten started.

Though at least the discovery of a whole rack of portable lanterns had saved her from needing to use the flashlight. The batteries in the lanterns had been drained of their power, but like in the gardening store she was using as her base, she’d been able to find a whole selection of batteries nearby and get some of them going.

The ones that ran off of those, at least. There were others that ran off of fuel of some kind, something she had later found in the store. But there had been a smaller selection of lanterns claimed to draw power from the sun itself, which at first had seemed pointless until she’d reread the text and realized that what the device was meant to do was store the power of the sun for later. There were ways to do that with magic, of course, but nothing about the device had felt magical. Curious and more than a little skeptical, even though she doubted they would have been on shelves if they hadn’t been telling the truth, she’d unboxed a few and set them up in the lot outside to gather what light they could through the rain.

She’d wondered about the rain too, but according to the symbols on the packaging, the devices were protected against it. So she’d let them sit the whole of the day before bringing them back with her to her base that evening.

To her surprise they had worked, filling her apartment with a warm glow that did a far better job of illuminating things than her flashlights and whatever sunlight could slip through the windows.

And then that night was late, Sunset thought with a wry smile as she looked over at the windows. First because I could actually stay up past dark and read, and second when I realized that all that light was visible from the outside. The memory of her momentary slip did drive the smile from her face for just a moment. Shining against a whole city of dark.

After that realization, she’d spent a panicked minute dousing all the lights and then quietly shutting all the curtains as tightly as possible. With tape, in a few cases. And in a few places that didn’t have curtains or where they weren’t thick enough for her taste, making sure there was either a spare towel hung over the window or something else keeping any light from getting to it.

A panicked, late night, she noted, her smile returning. And then I forgot to take any of the curtains down before I went to sleep … Which meant that the next morning she’d woken well after sunrise, in the dark, feeling sore and achy … but also well-rested and more than a little confused.

But also well-fed and refreshed. In addition to the lanterns she’d brought back the first day, she’d filled both of her wagons with the two things that couldn’t wait: Food and water. Even cold—she hadn’t bothered with a campstove—the first can of soup she’d cracked open had been one of the best-tasting things she’d eaten in a week.

More than a week now. Another five days, and I’ll have been here for two. Assuming their weeks are made of seven like they are in Equestria.

Huh. And I’ve seen a few calendars, too. Just never bothered to check. Another thing she could put on the list.

And finding just about everything I need made that list all the longer, Sunset thought as she shifted slightly, sinking further into her seat. Even the allure of what was waiting for her in neat piles on the nearby kitchen table wasn’t quite enough of a temptation to pull her out of her comfort, however temporary that comfort was.

She closed her eyes, resting the back of her head against the cushioned chair once more as she ran over the last few days. After the late morning, the majority of her second day had been spent further categorizing and working to figure out what she’d set aside the first day. Thank the Creator I got those books at the school. Trying to figure out what everything was or how it worked from only pictures would have been maddening. At least a quarter of the items she’d set aside hadn’t been at all what she’d expected, the pictures betrayed by lettering that was far more benign. On the other hoof—hand—another quarter of the items had been so straightforward and to the point that she’d barely needed to check the text before determining that they were exactly what she wanted.

Of course, when it comes to pots and pans, that kind of thing is straightforward. Mostly. There had still been some reading. Mostly to check for durability and intended function. Something she’d had to repeat with a lot of the stock.

Dumb sleeping bags. One discovery she’d been less than thrilled to find was that there was more than one type—and the same went for the tents. Which in hindsight, made sense. There were, after all, more than a few kinds of blankets.

But discovering that sleeping bags and tents weren’t quite as simple as “grab one and go camping” had been a somewhat frustrating discovery. But then back when she would take me camping, everything was always picked out for us. I never had to worry about it.

Which meant that surviving now was just in one more way what pegasi would call a “crash course.” Except if I mess this up, I might freeze to death when winter hits. Or find myself either too hot or too cold in the summer. Or soaking wet when my tent isn’t waterproof …

Though why anyone even bothered making tents that weren’t waterproof felt like a valid question. Isn’t the whole point of camping to be outside? In nature? Where it rains? I guess our tents didn’t have to be in Equestria, but we controlled the weather. They didn’t do that here.

No, part of her brain suggested. They were much more concerned with figuring out how to build giant beams of death that could fire from space.

The thought sent a shiver through her, her comfortable seat suddenly not quite so comforting. Your destiny is here somewhere, Sunset, she reminded herself. You just need to find it.

At least her other discovery, in addition to everything else the shop had held, had more than made up for her inability to determine what sleeping bag or tent to take.

Books.

Just thinking about them made her smile. Not just because they’d been in near-perfect condition, covered only in a little dust and with some stale pages, but because of what they’d all been about. In retrospect, it made sense. Of course a store that specialized in all things camping would have books on hand teaching survival, campcraft, woodcraft or forestry, and just as important, detailing some of the best places to hike and camp across the whole country, complete with maps.

The only reasons she hadn’t piled her wagon high with books on the first day was twofold: Her hunger had been a more important issue at the moment, and that the rain hadn’t let up at all during her time in the shop. And while boxes and cans of food were somewhat water resistant, books were more susceptible without the right preservation spells … none of which she suspected were in place on anything in the store, given the total lack of magic she’d found so far.

She’d settled for securing a few of the most informative titles into her backpack instead. Which led to the late-night reading binge, and the late morning …

Alright, Sunset, you’ve been sitting here long enough. She pushed herself up, wincing slightly as her tired muscles made their presence felt. Quiet, all of you. I haven’t even had you long enough to know how to take care of you. Or even what I’d do.

Thankfully, there’d been a book about that too. It was currently sitting with the others over on the table. She’d definitely be giving it a look, since there was a tender spot on one foot after spending all day walking. At a guess, it was something to do with her trekking back and forth across the city for the last two days, but she wanted to be sure.

Also, if it was an injury, she wanted to know how to take care of it.

Set stepped past the table, over to the open, uncovered window. The breeze coming in through it felt refreshing, bringing with it a hint of the day’s sunny heat as well as the smell of thousands of flowers that had sprouted from the vines in the wake of two days of rain.

Even as a ruin, this city is kind of pretty. She took a deep sniff, wincing slightly as her own less-than-aromatic scent entered her nose. And I need to clean myself up.

At least I made a detour for that. During the day prior she’d spotted a glass-walled establishment that had turned out to be a laundromat. While none of the machines had been functional, there had been a number of machines selling soap to clean clothes with, and with a few applications of her trusty pry-bar …

The only problem is taking the time to clean everything, Sunset thought, leaning on the windowsill. But then as busy as I’ve been the last few days … She glanced back at the neat stacks of boxes and piles of material she’d filled the apartment with. I need a break. Equestria had a weekend, and I’ve spent nine days here now without stopping. I’ve been stressed, hungry, thirsty, lost … And while my destiny is out there somewhere, I just need a day to let everything relax.

“Plus,” she said aloud, looking out over the rooftops in the direction of the nearly-setting sun. “I can afford to take a break now.” And I’d spend it reading, so it’s not like it would be wasted.

And I do feel tired. Sunset turned away from the window, smiling slightly as the breeze passing through it played against her mane and the back of her neck. Maybe tonight … I wonder …

She stepped across the room toward one of the piles she’d collected, eyes hunting for a single image and finding it about halfway up the stack. Camping shower. Carefully, and ignoring the protest from her arms, she extricated the box from its place in the pile. The picture on the front of a very large male seran standing behind a barrier of some kind, clearly bereft of clothing from what it showed of his chest, but being showered by a hose hanging in the tree above him. Let’s see what kind of work you take to get functioning. “After nine days of wiping myself off with a wet, cold rag, I am ready for some real comforts.”

Provided it worked, she was taking the shower when she left Holton. Even if it meant leaving behind food.

* * *

Half an hour later, her abode still faintly lit by the setting sun, Sunset clasped her arms across her shivering, damp form. Well, it works, she thought. And I feel clean. Even smell a little better. But … She glanced down, making sure that the fluffy towel she’d wrapped around her body was still in place. Next time, I’m heating up that reservoir before I use it! In her excitement at setting the shower up and discovering how it worked—via a small but ingenious hoof-pump to push the water up and out over her—she’d neglected to consider exactly what effect pure, plain, unrestrained water would have on her hairless flesh. The slight shriek of surprise as the first spray of cool water had hit her face had been matched only by her determination to see her first shower she’d had since she’d arrived through to the end.

She shivered again, stepping over to the nearest window and ignoring the drips her mane was leaving on the dusty carpet. The distant low sun was beginning to paint the sky with swaths of pink and orange, but still high enough that she could feel the warmth of its rays on her face and neck. At least until another errant breeze swept by, and she shivered a little more.

Stupid lousy furless body! No coat. No coat at all. I’d better … She turned partway toward the chair she’d left her clothing on when she’d disrobed and paused.

I only have the one set of clothing. Which is dirty. She glanced down at her towel-wrapped form, past her still-strange legs and to her stranger-still feet, its odd toes kneading the dirty carpet.

I didn’t think this through at all. A groan slipped out of her mouth. “How could I be so foalish?”

She didn’t need to search for an answer. It came easily enough. You’re tired. It’s been a long nine days, nine days in which you’ve only done the most basic of washing and cleaned yourself with a wet rag while your clothes dried from being rinsed. And a shower sounded so nice …

She could wash her clothes. While naked. And then wait for them to dry. Overnight. And I couldn’t just lay them out somewhere inside. Well, I suppose I could leave them in the bathroom. Hanging over the tub. That might work. There were clothes in the dresser by the bed … something in there should fit. I just don’t want to be naked. What examination of her new body she’d made had made it quite clear that for its physical capabilities, the clothing worn by statues around the city and seen in images wasn’t just for show, like it usually was in Equestria. It was as much a requirement as safety equipment for a risky job.

She let out another sigh. I really didn’t think this through all the way. But now that she was clean, there was definitely something about putting on her dirty, sweaty, dust-caked clothing that made her hairless-skin crawl. Or maybe that was just the chill of the wind.

Either way, I’m stuck now. She sighed. I’ve got more water in the buckets by the backdoor. I can haul it up into the tub--the plumbing works still, at least so far. Odds were it ended up in a sinkhole somewhere under the city, but that wasn’t going to be her problem before she left. I can set up a lantern for light, scrub and rinse my clothes by hoo--hand. She looked down at her body. In a towel. Eugh. Not my best moment.

“But not that large of a mistake in the grand scheme of things,” she said aloud as a reminder. “And if my clothes aren’t dry by tomorrow, I can lay them out on the roof while I’m taking the day off. Reading.” And figuring out how that water filter I found works. And the camp stove, which I was going to do tonight, but …

Her stomach grumbled. Oh well. Granola bars are better than nuts.

Now clothes, and then laundry. One step at a time.

Turning, she walked out of the living room and toward her bed.

* * *

Day Ten - Holton

Today I took the day off. Sort of.

In fairness, I needed it. I’ve spent over a week here scavenging and not sure if the next day would be the one I died, whether from hunger, thirst, monsters, or something else.

Still haven’t run into any other monsters, though. Just the one. What I have been doing—

Sunset let out a yawn and set the pen aside for a moment, looking out the nearby window and watching faint lines of heat shimmer from the nearby ruined rooftops.

Reading, today, she thought with a smile. Real reading. The kind of thing that brings me closer to my destiny.

She thought about it for a moment, then picked up the pen once more.

—is getting ready. My expedition to the camping store was successful, moreso than I would have thought. I have food now, lots of it. More than I’ll be able to take with me. Equipment too, all of which I’ll need. I’ve already brought some of the most useful items back to the shop I’ve been staying in and added them to my supplies. Last night I had a shower. A real, honest to sunlight shower. It felt fantastic—if a little cold. And I didn’t even think about what I was going to wear afterwards. Starswirl’s spell was thorough, but I’m not so comfortable with being in this body that I’m ready to work on things without any protective covering. Thankfully, I was able to find some things that fit from the prior owner of this home, but I think in the next few days I’ll need to make a specific trip to find clothing that I can take with me when I leave Holton.

At that a scowl slipped across her face. This would be a lot easier if this species had a more sensible form. Even minotaurs have a good, tough coat. Thankfully, one of the books I found at the camp store is all about proper clothing and equipment for hiking and camping, including long-term journeys.

Which I know I’ll need to take. Thanks to a few other books, I now know more about what a mile is. Holton is several miles across. Four-point-three, to be exact, at least what would count as the “core” of the city on a map. Which I’ve crossed the inner part of several times now. So I have a rough idea of how long that is, now.

And Jacinto Plateau, where I need to be? Eleven-hundred miles away. West.

There’s a lot of ground between me and that plateau. And I’m going to have to walk it. Unless I can figure out how to get one of those carriages cars to work. I spotted what looked like a yard for working on them on one my trips to the camp store, so I should probably check that—

Sunset set the pen down, staring at what she’d written and then crossing the last sentence out. No rambling, she reminded herself in her mind. The diary isn’t the place for it.

I’ll check that out in a few days, she wrote instead. But there’s a more important stop I need to make first. She stared down at the ink-filled scratches she’d just left on the paper, letting out a long, slow breath before continuing. Somehow, even the anticipation of what she was about to write filled her with a measure of dread, a crawling shiver that slipped down her shoulders and back like a creeping, cloying miasma.

I’ve noticed something about Holton, she wrote, reflexively chewing on her lower lip before she caught herself. Something off. The books have pictures of rats and mice. Small, wild creatures. Except I’ve only seen birds here. Which means— She paused, suddenly feeling like she needed to wipe her face off. —there might be more things like the one that attacked me. Or something like it. Something is keeping the small creatures away. I haven’t even seen a squirrel in the city, and the books I got from the camp store claim they’re plentiful here. If a little weird.

Weird was right. Squirrels in Equestria hadn’t had saber-like fangs, just buck teeth. Though according to the wildlife guide, both accomplished the same thing, and the squirrels weren’t predators.

However, it didn’t account for the fact that she’d not seen any over the last ten days. The realization had been unsettling.

She turned back to her writing. Or maybe even preying on them, like that creature did with me. Which means— Another faint shiver crawled down her back. I need a better weapon than my hatchet.

I need a firearm.

She stared down at the text, the words seeming to echo and resonate in her head, producing an uncomfortable pang deep inside her chest. She was no stranger to the idea of violence. The Guard back in Equestria, as well as her own knowledge of history and even a few tussles as a filly, had given her an acknowledgement that such violence did exist. The Guard carried spears designed with the capacity to kill because it sometimes had been necessary, even if in Equestria’s past more than in the modern day. And outside Equestria there were definitely much more violent lands where it was kill or be killed, such as the Ocean of Endless Ice to the north.

I just never thought I’d be a pony that would need to have anything like that. She stared down at the words, unsure as to why she’d written them, and not even certain of what it was she’d said. Again she crossed the line out—there were a number of those in her current entry now—and rewrote it.

When I arrived here, I wouldn’t have thought that learning to defend myself in such a manner would have been part of my destiny. But this world— Again her thoughts drifted, and she glanced over at the stack of books she’d been poring through for the last few nights.

—is different, she finished. Here, they had a war that lasted generations. More wars than that. Only to be beaten back by something even tougher than they were. They used those weapons, and I’ve found the remains of their dead all over the Holton. They were still pushed back.

I’ve thought it over. A lot. If I don’t learn how to use them, I could die before I ever find my destiny.

There. She’d written it. The words stared up at her from the page. Almost like they were mocking her and her inability to harness her magic.

No destiny is set in stone, I think, she followed, ignoring the momentary flash of discontent. That’s why—She stumbled for a moment, pen sliding as her chest ached—she tried to stop me. She told me once that a destiny is just impressions, vague visions of what could be. Kind of like her a prophecy, in a way. Only more nebulous.

I need a firearm. I’m certain of it. So tomorrow—She glanced out the window, guessing from the location of the sun and shadows how much time she still had. —or maybe today, I’m going to get one. The camp store has a few, and ammunition. One of the books I grabbed is all about firearm safety and use. I’ve been reading it.

I’ll have to find someplace to practice with them. And work out how much ammunition I can carry with me, since I don’t know how much I’ll find out there.

It’s a lot to figure out. But I’ll do it. After all …

She stared down at the page, pushing back against the cascade of emotions moving through her, drowning them out.

It’s my destiny.

* * *

The walk to the clothing shop felt longer than it should have been, given the distance. Maybe it was the blister on her foot—which thankfully she’d been able to cover with some medical gauze, following the instructions in one of her books.

Or maybe, Sunset thought as she peered at another cracked and weathered stone barrier. It’s just that now that I know there’s supposed to be wildlife around, I keep looking for them. Every errant flutter of a nearby leaf, every twitch of a shadow, all had her jumping, jerking her head to the side with her free hand going to the hatchet at her waist.

At least her jumps were becoming smoother and less shaky. She was getting used to moving on two legs. Behind her one of the wagons clattered quietly as it bounced over a crack in the pavement, the fat tires not quite enough to soak up the drop from such a gap.

The street looked even worse ahead of her, and Sunset slowed, her eyes slipping over small chasms and rifts in the paving stones. Ahead the ground had buckled, whole sections of the street lifted up or sunken downward, creating a mixed tableau of rises and falls, now easily visible past the carriages that still littered the street.

As well as, she guessed based on the position, being the cause for a lot of the cars positioning. Though some were atop some of the cracks and ledges, and one larger one even had its forward half dangling over the edge. It wasn’t hard to work out that whatever had struck the underside of the road had caught the traffic by surprise, the vehicles coming close behind quickly piling up in a jam.

Something she definitely would have to lift the wagon over. And … that’s not worth it. Not when she would have to do it at least half a dozen times to make it through the mess, both forward and on the return trip.

The tip of her boot caught on a ridge in the pavement and she stumbled, catching herself on one of the nearby cars. The impact made her palm sting, but better it was better than landing on her knees.

“Right …” she said, her voice quiet against the stagnant air of the street. She wiped a film of sweat away from her forehead with one hand, tucking an errant bit of her mane back behind her ear as she did so. “This way’s out.” Once more the map came out of her pocket, spreading easily over the front surface of the carriage she’d caught herself on.

“Let’s see …” Her finger retraced her path across the map. “I left the square with the dead soldiers here and went north.” Or at least toward the top of the map. “Then I turned … here. Which means this street is …” She found the street she was on, a veritable canyon of three-story living spaces and scattered storefronts. “Here.” The marker came out, striking a black slash across the street that mirrored the many others she’d added over the last few days, marking off yet another barrier—natural or otherwise.

It didn’t take her long to find a detouring path. The buildings on either side of her were tightly packed, but as she’d learned the day before most of them had a small gap between them and the buildings from the next street over, usually a park or plaza or in one case a canal of some kind, all designed to give the occupants a little more space and light on the back of their homes. An opening appeared to her right, narrow but wide enough for her wagon to pass through. Or at least, wide enough that she could have passed through save for the small gate that blocked her path, held in place by a heavyset lock. She’d been thwarted by a few similar gates around the city when she’d tried to find a shorter path back from the camp store.

Which was why she now had a very specific tool sitting in the wagon. She slipped into the shadowed alley, out from the burning heat of the sun. The coolness swept over her like a blanket, the sweat on her skin suddenly cold and clammy. The metal of the padlock felt colder still beneath her fingers as she checked it from a few angles, deciding on the best angle to make her cut.

The sharp clink the lock made as her bolt cutters sheared through the metal brought a grin to her face. There, she thought as she tossed the now mangled lock aside. Now I can—

The gate let out an ear-piercing metal-on-metal squeal as she tugged at it, and she froze, her breath catching in her throat. She held perfectly still for several seconds, counting the time down in her head. One … two … three … Her ears strained for any sounds of shifting rubble, debris, or the tell-tale uneven pat of anything like the creature that had attacked her a few days ago.

Nothing.

She swallowed, tilting her head slightly and missing her old ears that could twist and turn in multiple directions. Her new ears felt lame by comparison, though she hadn’t given them a conclusive test. Not that they could be any better, right?

The seconds ticked past, and she let her breath out slowly, still straining to hear any sort of response to the sudden out-of-place shriek.

Nothing. Not even birdsong. Not that she blamed what few birds were in the city after that display. But she still needed to pass through the alley, and the gate wasn’t entirely all the way open yet, so …

She swung the gate the rest of the way open, clenching her teeth as the sharp shriek seemed to dig into her skull. Thankfully, the hinges seemed rusted enough that when she let go the gate stayed in place, not even quivering as she stepped back.

Well at least I don’t have to worry about opening or closing it again. She kept quiet as she placed the bolt cutters back into her wagon, still listening for any signs of life other than her moving through the city.

A birdsong echoed from nearby, and she relaxed slightly. If the birds were singing again then she was probably fine.

Probably. One hand had slipped to her hatchet in the silence, and she let it slide off as she grabbed the wagon handle, pulling once more.

A faint spasm ran up her arm, a reminder of the stiffness and soreness that had plagued her after her first day at the camp store. The alleyway was narrow enough that the wagon had to be directly behind her, forcing her arm to be at an angle that wasn’t quite comfortable. She couldn’t blame it on her body either, as it would have been uncomfortable enough for a pony as well.

A harness would fix that. Another thing she needed to get done before she left. The climbing harnesses she’d seen at the camp store would probably work, and would put the load across the whole of her upper body, rather than just one arm.

Thankfully, the alleyway was ending—at least for a moment, opening up ahead of her into a small, debris-filled plaza. She slowed, eyes picking at the deep shadows that obscured benches and low stone planter boxes. The green flowering plants that had crawled over so many of the buildings in the city were present here too, though not nearly so numerous. Despite the stillness of the air on the street outside, she could feel a faint breeze moving through the plaza, stirring the leaves ever so slightly and making the sheen of sweat on her skin feel that much cooler.

There were bodies too. Bones, really, shrouded in weathered scraps of cloth sitting atop one of the stone benches. One’s skull had slipped free, resting on the ground half-covered in leaves and grime. It’s empty sockets seemed to stare up at her as if questioning why she’d violated the sanctity of its final resting place.

What killed them? The two sets of bones had their arms draping over one another in a way that didn’t look violent. A weapon of some kind, another firearm, leaned against the bench by their boots, the dusty barrel pointing toward the sky, but it looked as if it had been placed there, rather than dropped after a moment of violence.

Regardless, the plaza was the pair’s final resting place. A faint shudder worked its way down her back, and she pulled her eyes away.

This is a city of corpses. Of the dead. For all you know, Jacinto is t—No!

She shook her head, pulling her wagon into the plaza and trying not to glance back at the skull as she passed it by. There was an old fountain to her right, and she fixed her eyes on it, noting the stagnant pool of water left by the recent rains inside it, slowly vanishing by evaporation.

Jacinto can’t be dead. If there’s no serans left on this planet, then what would my destiny be? To be a queen of dirt and decay?

She shook her head, ending with a toss to get her mane to fall behind her shoulders once more. No. There are people still in Jacinto, or somewhere, and I’m going to find them. She shoved the niggling doubts aside, pushing them into the back of her mind and compressing them until they quieted without a whimper. I will become what she saw and tried to deny me.

Better, even.

There was a matching gate to the one she’d passed through to gain entry to the plaza in the alleyway on the far side, along with a matching padlock through the latch. It took a bit more work to maneuver the jaws of the cutter through the gaps in the wrought iron to close around the lock, but in the end the metal clasp parted just as easily as its sibling had. Though I suppose I could have just cut the latch on this side, Sunset noted as she pulled the cutters back, one hand already attempting to free the lock from its place. It clattered across the dusty brick, and she shoved the gate open. The squeal it let out was less voluminous than the one its counterpart had let out, but still Sunset gritted her teeth as the sound echoed down the street, silencing the birdsong for several seconds.

As before however, the calls returned a few seconds later, and Sunset pulled her wagon past the gate, one side just grazing the post and tugging slightly.

She could see debris in the next street even before she left the alley, rubble left from a collapsed building that had spilled over the sidewalk and down across the street, not quite making it to the other side and exposing its interior to the elements. One of the cars had been crushed beneath the debris, its back end just poking out from beneath an avalanche of masonry.

I hope no one was inside that when it happened. The building or the carriage. Above tatters of carpet dangled, hanging in the air and swaying back and forth with a gentle, almost intangible breeze. The rest of the street wasn’t much better, the stones broken in long seams that crisscrossed the whole of it. Water ran across one of the cracks, a tiny creek coming out of the rubble of one building and vanishing into a gutter that somehow hadn’t been clogged over the years. Where the water came from she wasn’t sure, but the wagon splashed through the tiny barrier without slowing, and she pressed on.

She passed by the next intersection, the street down to her right still showing heavy signs of damage and fighting. One of the large armored carriages used by the soldiers had smashed through a shop of some kind on the corner, the building partially collapsing behind it, before slamming into the buildings further on, burying its forward half into what looked like a row of apartments.

There could be weapons there. She considered the possibility before discarding it. There are weapons at the camping store. Weapons she’d be more familiar with, thanks to the manuals she’d taken.

The next intersection was clear, and she turned to her right, getting herself back on course. The buildings around her were shrinking now, falling lower to the ground and spacing out. Empty windows—some gaping or cracked, but most not—stared down at her from second stories. A bird flitted through an opening, which did ease the faint fear that something was staring down at her from above.

The clothing store came into view ahead of her, its sign poking out over the sidewalk but hanging by only one of its two tethers, resting at an angle. She knew enough of the seran symbols to match the letters with her own knowledge of language now, though working out some of them through the years of weathering still took a bit of work. “Holton Outdoor Outfitters.” A quick look at the rest of the small shops on the street showed that it was by far the largest, and the only one that had anything to do with clothes.

The entryway was raised slightly above the sidewalk, a step up or a sideways slide up a small ramp, but the space in front of the door was far from wide enough for her wagon. She left it by the front step instead as she checked the front door, grasping the handle and tugging. It rattled, locked.

Figures. The door itself was mostly dirty glass, like many of the doors for businesses around the city, and for a moment she considered simply using her prybar or hatchet to shatter the bottom pane. Or a window, she thought with a glance to either side. But that would be pretty noisy. That, and there was probably a simpler way. She stepped off to the side of the building, checking for an employee entrance.

Or … not? The alley on one side was narrow and ended in a dead end, apparently little more than a storage for a bunch of garbage bins that had long since toppled. The other side of the building didn’t even have that, nearly flush against the building next to it with a gap so narrow Sunset doubted she’d fit into it sideways.

Which left the back of the building, wherever that was … Or breaking the door. Rather, the glass. There’s probably a latch or something on the inside I can undo, like on the door at the garden shop, so if I break the glass, I can reach it. And her boots were tough enough to make it across the broken glass without issue.

And even though the inside of the shop was somewhat dark, she could make out the shadows of rows and racks of clothing, all on display and ready for her to use. And I can finally get out of these clothes long enough to wash them, she thought as she looked down at her dirty, sweat-stained shirt. Maybe right now.

The prybar was right where she’d set it inside the wagon, next to two of the solar-powered lamps. She picked it up and hefted it a few times, feeling a faint burn run up and down her arms with each movement.

She swung the bar, driving the point at its tip into the corner of the upper pane. The glass fractured, breaking apart into dozens then hundreds of tiny shards, sunlight splintering and sparkling as the glass broke free. Sunset danced back as it cascaded down, crashing to the ground in a cascade of crystalline cracks.

Not all of it had landed before a new sound rose above it: A shrill, pulsing shriek, like a sound spell that had gone horribly wrong. Or—

An alarm spell! Well not spell, but—! There was a pulsing light coming from inside the store, faint but barely visible, flashing behind what had to be the front counter. Feathers! She darted forward, awkwardly juggling the prybar as she leaned through the opening she’d just made. Glass crunched under her boots, a sensation with no sound thanks to the shrill scream of the alarm. Her fingers found a latch, just like the one on the garden shop door, and with a click the door unlocked.

She swept it to the side in a rush, ignoring the glass the abrupt motion scattered all across the steps. The alarm was still shrieking, a cadence that rose and fell with each passing second. Sunset rushed through the entryway, heading for the small box on the wall behind the counter with its flashing red light. The alarm began to drop in pitch as she struggled over the counter, knocking small knickknacks to the floor and slamming her shin on the countertop. She slid off the other side, almost falling, lifted the prybar into the air as the pitch of the alarm got lower and slower …

Only to stop before she could smash the small box, the alarm cutting out with a faint pop like a spell gone bad. The red light stayed on, glowing steady for a few seconds before fading away.

Sunset let out a nervous laugh as she lowered her arms, staring at the small plastic box. “Okay, I guess that makes sense. A back-up.” She watched as the last glimmer of red light faded completely. “And now half of Holton knows something’s here.”

“Fine. Just going to have to do this fast. Great.” Just in case there is something out there.

There probably wasn’t. But just in case there was.

The door had stayed open, stuck either on bits of glass or rusted hinges, she really didn’t care. She rolled over the counter again, taking care not to slam her already throbbing shin against the countertop and muttering a faint curse over the placement of her body’s teats. A few quick strides to the door and she was outside once more, glancing up and down the street as she swapped her prybar for one of the lanterns.

Nothing. No movement. No strange, alien creatures. No birdsong either, though that wasn’t too surprising considering the shrill scream of the alarm. Anything that had been making any noise was probably winging its way well away from the store.

Or coming right for it. The thought sent a prickle of fear down her back, a cold claw atop the still-pounding near panic the alarm had elicited.

Maybe not, she countered. But she still found herself hurrying as she ducked back into the store.

Okay. The lantern blazed with light, spilling into the shop interior and making the shadows that much darker. Women’s clothing. Tough stuff. The flyer had made it sound like the shop had catered to those who wanted to be in the outdoors, the sign had backed it up, and now her first glimpse of heavy pants and boots confirmed it.

Sizes … Sizes … There’d been numbers on some of the clothing she’d “borrowed,” as well as on the clothes the spell had made for her when she’d appeared. How Starswirl had made that work was a mystery, though possibly some sort of adaptive—

There! She pushed her curiosity about the spell-matrix away as she spotted the image of a seran female similarly proportioned to herself hanging by a shelf of plastic-wrapped clothing. The transparent material crinkled as she grabbed it, still holding together despite the years spent inside the store. Dust rose into the light cast by her lamp, making the air smell even more musty than it already had and contributing to an itch inside her nose. Numbers … numbers … there! Too small.

She glanced to her left and then to her right, waving away dust as she checked the numbers on the clothing around her. Same numbers … different colors. And that’s different clothing. Up and down then? She moved down first, only for the numbers to grow smaller. Up then. There!

Shirts. Simple, plain. Like the one she was already wearing. Five to a bag. She grabbed three of them: One of the same size, and one higher and one lower. No one else is going to mind if I try a range. She could leave the ones she didn’t want behind when she left Holton.

Tucking the shirts into the crook of her arm, she moved down the aisle. More shirts, ones that buttoned up the front. She eyed them then moved on. Without her magic buttons had proven an exercise in frustration.

Pants. I need pants. Or … The aisle ended, stopping at a back wall of footwear. Yes.

There were sizes there too, though from what she’d gathered, like hoofshoes back in Equestria it was less “one-size-fits-all” and far more individual. She added four boxes to her load, then left the lantern as she turned to take her gains back to the wagon.

A minute later she was back, her arms empty once more, and she scooped four more boxes of the shoes into her arms, returning again to the wagon. “Pants …” she muttered as she returned. “Plus socks.” A spare coat would be good too, but the camp store had heavy weather gear, so that was covered. I just need the regular stuff.

Retrieving the lantern, she ducked around the back of the aisle to the other side of the shelves. The clothing on that side was different, but some of it she recognized, even if it was dusty and dry. Underthings.

Bleh. Why did my destiny have to be on a world with so much clothing? She ran through the numbers and sizes, then grabbed a whole row of the teat harnesses when half of the notations didn’t make sense. She tore open one of the shirt bags from the other aisle, dumping the shirts out on the floor, then stuffed the collection of underthings into the empty plastic. Further up the aisle, she noticed, the underthings became softer. More frilly. Covered in lace.

Eugh … It lined up with what she’d slowly been piecing together about the species. None of the books she’d gathered had much nudity save in the most clinical fashion, if at all. But even when a member of the species was naked, such as in the display picture for the shower, specific regions were covered.

What a weird place. Equestria had its sexualization, but it was different. Sort of. She turned away. I still need pants. At least one pair, anyway. She retraced her steps, going to the other side of the aisle she’d been on and spotting clothing almost identical to what she was wearing on her lower half.

Those are shorter, but still rugged, she thought, eyeing some of the display models. It took her a moment to find a few that were the right size, but then she grabbed several and took her load back to the wagon.

Okay, now just socks, she thought as she tossed the load into the wagon. It landed with a faint thump as she turned back toward the storefront. Just pants, then the camp store, and then—

Another thump sounded, and she froze.

What was that!?

The birdsong had gone. Had it ever come back? She swallowed, a nervous knot of fear working its way through her as she strained, listening. Another thump echoed from somewhere nearby, followed by a familiar, off-beat cadence. Something moving in a sideways lurch.

Where is it? Sunset spun, one hand yanking her hatchet free of its holster and holding the weapon at the ready. She glanced up and down the street, eyes hunting for any sign of movement, jumping to shadows or the occasional ripple of plant life.

The irregular pat of the thing’s steps stopped. Where is it!? she wondered again, turning and keeping her feet locked in place so she wouldn’t disturb the glass.

A low, rhythmic rumble echoed from somewhere nearby, not quite a growl, but almost like something clearing its throat. She let out a silent curse as the sound rolled down the street. But from where?

Then there was a snarl, loud enough to make her flinch, and her eyes slid upward. It’s on the rooftop!

That was why she couldn’t see it. Another faint rumble sounded, followed by a quiet but wet whisper. It’s sniffing. Slowly, moving as carefully as she dared—and thankful she’d knocked most of the glass off the entryway with the door—she took a step backwards, lifting her leg and balancing as she looked for a clear spot to set it down.

If it’s up above, and I can get inside, maybe I can keep it from realizing I’m here! She took another step back, freezing as the thing somewhere above her let out something halfway between a gurgle and a wet growl. She could almost picture the drool slipping out of its needle-like teeth as it sniffed the air for h—

No. Stay calm. Remember what the Guard taught you to do if a dangerous animal was around. Except that most of that had amounted to “let the Guard handle it” and the Guard had never allowed her to get too close to anything truly dangerous without her around.

Still, she remembered the basics. Keep out of sight. Keep downwind. Keep quiet. The first she could do, and she took another step back, ignoring more of the faint shuffling sounds coming from somewhere above her. Wind I can’t handle. Is there any wind? There had been a gentle breeze in the street, but she couldn’t feel one in the store. Unless … She slipped a finger into her mouth, wetting it, and held it up into the air.

Air’s moving into the store somehow, she thought as she felt the faint breeze. From outside the store there was another faint growl. Maybe there was a back door? She took another step back, carefully nestling her boot amid the shards of glass.

Step by silent step, she moved back into the shadows, out of the sunlight and deeper into the store. She moved with purpose, keeping as quiet as possible as the faint pat of the thing’s steps sounded again, alongside a familiar huffing noise that was chilling no matter how distant it was.

The lantern’s switch let out a faint click as she turned it off, and she sucked in a breath, her gaze turning upward. But the quiet thump of the thing’s movement didn’t change. I’m out of sight. I’m downwind. And I’m quiet. Still, she kept her hand on the hatchet.

She could tell where the thing was by the sound of its steps. The “wretch” was above her now, on the roof of the shop, moving from right to left across whatever surface was up there. She followed its vague path with her eyes. Hey. Socks. Her eyes fell on the shadowed stacks. She picked up the lantern, taking silent steps over to the aisle.

Above her the wretch let out a rough screech, almost like a keening cough, and she froze, staring up the at the roof of the store with its ducts and dust. Then the thing started moving again, the dull thumps of its weird walk moving toward one side.

Sunset toggled the beam on the lantern, bringing out a soft, directed glow rather than the blast that had lit the shelves earlier. The beam lit a row of soft, dust-covered, folded cloths. Socks, open to the elements but otherwise fine..

That was good. They’d be quieter without plastic. Get the socks, wait for that thing to leave, and get out of here! She could just make out the faint sizing marked on what looked like stickers, but they were the wrong letters. Too big.

Her own breath felt loud in her ears as she moved up the aisle, even though she knew she was making each rise and fall of her chest as smooth and silent as it could possibly be. A loud clang echoed throughout the store, and she jerked, looking up once more as something clattered across the roof.

A few seconds later there was a loud thud from above, much closer and louder than any of the sounds had been previously. Sunset froze, lifting her hatchet once more. What is that thing doing up—

One of the ducts rattled, dust drifting down as a familiar cadence of footsteps sounded inside it.

Oh Sunspots. Ducts. Air currents.

It can smell me.

A loud bang echoed from above, the whole of the ductwork shaking as the wretch jumped somewhere inside it. Dust fell as the patter of its steps started up again, each impact now producing an echoing bang that reverberated around the shop.

I can’t tell where it is, Sunset thought as she watched the whole duct assembly shake and rattle. The wet huff of the thing’s breath seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once—at least until she saw the shadows around a section of ductwork move, the thin metal bulging outward with another loud pop as the wretch moved through it.

Socks! She’d outrun the last one. And with the noise it was making there was no possible way it could hear her. She darted forward, running her eyes up and down the shelves.

There! Sunset reached out, grabbing several pairs that matched the sizing she had, tugging them off of the shelves and into the crook of one arm. Now just move for the door and—

With a bang, one of the duct vents broke free and crashed down to the ground, a large, shadowy shape riding atop it. It was out of sight almost immediately, landing somewhere several aisles over, but Sunset didn’t miss the sudden animalistic snarl that came with it.

It was in the store. A sudden chill rushed over her as she heard the thing sniff the air again. It knows I’m here.

And it was hunting her.

Faint scuffles sounded as the thing took a few steps, metal rattling as it stepped off of the vent cover. There was a pause as it sniffed the air again, followed by a loud grunt.

Lantern off. Her own breath was coming quick and fast now, slower only than the pounding of her heart as she deactivated the device. I have to get to the door. The thing moved again, not bothering to keep its motions quiet, and let out a snort.

She crept forward, one boot in front of the other on the thin carpet. The wretch was letting out faint low growls. Did that mean it knew she was nearby? Or was it just how the creature sounded when it was breathing?

The forward end of the aisle was closer, but there were still several trees of clothing past that before she could reach the exit. Another growl sounded, followed by a short grunt that reminder her of an angry timberwolf.

Come on … The thing was moving, but in which direction?She was almost at the end of the aisle, and she could hear the wretch moving back and forth, but which way was it going?

Go to the back, she thought, wishing she could will the thing toward the rear of the shop. Just go to the back.

The wretch let out a sudden gargling growl, the sound more toward the front than the rear. The exact opposite of what she wanted.

Come on … It had to only be a few aisles over. She glanced at the front door once more, trying to gauge how quickly she could move compared to the wretch and which of them would reach the door first. It isn’t that fast, but if it would just go toward the back of the store, that would give me a …

Her thoughts trailed off as her eyes alighted on the shelving next to her face. Or I could just give it a reason to go to the back. She slipped her hatchet back into its sheath as the wretch let out another growl. The clothing next to her was quite heavy, a vest or jacket of some kind made of the same material her pants were made of, a thick denim that was clearly designed to weather plenty of wear.

The extra weight would work perfectly for what she needed. Checking the top of the aisle to make sure no part of her would be above them—and perhaps visible—she turned, pulled her arm back, and threw the vest toward the back wall.

To her surprise it actually made it, hitting the back wall and knocking several of the shoeboxes on display over. They tumbled to the ground with a chorus of heavy thumps, the wretch letting out a shrill screech as the boxes continued to fall. Her first instinct was to bolt, but she waited, listening as the faint huff of the creature’s wet breaths worked its way back deeper into the store. Her throat felt dry, like she’d not drunk any water all morning though her canteen was half-empty.

A little more … A little more … The wretch let out another screech—

Sunset bolted, the screech behind her rising and going loud as her boots pounded across the carpet. The lantern slipped from her fingers, bouncing off her knee and skittering across the carpet, but she didn’t turn or change her course. She glanced back just in time to see her pursuer leap atop the shelving, scattering boxes with a low, growling roar as it rushed after her.

Her boots met the concrete of the steps, scattering glass as she whirled and slammed the door to the store shut. The wretch leapt down from the shelving onto the floor and into the sunlight, and Sunset’s throat seemed to seize up as she got her first clear look at it. Unlike the wretch she had faced in the school, this one seemed healthy and hale, its armor fitting tightly rather than loose, its skin tight. Two beady orange eyes fixed on her, needle-like teeth parting as it opened its jaws.

Then it screamed, throwing its arms back as it turned its head to the sky, emitting a shrill, piercing cry like a dying, wounded creature. The scream echoed all around her, so sharp she wanted to fold her ears back against her skull. She stumbled backward, almost tripping down the steps as she backed away.

The cry cut off, and again its eyes fixed on her, boring into her. It wasn’t the stare of a predator or a scavenger, or even of a creature that felt threatened. There was malice behind the gaze, a silent fury and rage that sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t hunting her because it was hungry or because she was on its territory.

It just wanted her dead.

With a howl the wretch launched itself forward, rushing toward her with its strange, sideways gait. Sunset spun, throwing the last of her load into the wagon and sweeping the handle up in one smooth motion. A split-second decision was all she needed to begin running back the way she had come, choosing the path she knew was clear over one she’d never traveled. Behind her she heard the door explode outward as the wretch threw its body against it. Was it smart enough to know how a door worked? Or had it thought the glass was an opening it could use?

There was no way to know. The thing let out another long, echoing screech, the sound painfully shrill to her ears as it refracted up and down the street. The wagon bounced, its contents jostling as she rolled it over cracks in the road, but there was no time to see if anything had fallen out.

There was only time to run. Maybe find someplace she could block the thing off or deter it. Except it had gotten atop the store somehow, and she’d seen it jump onto the shelves. Her mind was moving at high speed, galloping as quick as she was running, even as her subconscious screamed at her not to stumble.

The camp store. There were guns there. That would be an effective deterrent. It was that or take the thing on with her hatchet.

I did that once before. But she’d gotten lucky, and that wretch had been sick and tired. This one looked healthy and hale.

Where did it come from? Ahead was the turn that would lead her to the alley, and she risked a glance to the side as she turned. The wretch was still coming, leaping over the tops of the carriages and rushing toward her in a straight line.

Then another shrill scream echoed across the rooftops, and she almost tripped as her body nearly froze up.

The scream hadn’t come from the wretch following her.

It had come from others. There were more of them.

The alley. It was narrow and defensible. She could kill the one chasing her, then hope the rest couldn’t track her scent and make a break for the camp store. Her legs were burning now, molten flames licking at her calves, but she didn’t dare stop. She could still hear the wretch’s gurgling, slobbering growl over the sound of her own boots slapping the road. She turned again, the wagon bouncing and almost going up on two wheels. Careful! If she toppled it, everything in it was as good as gone.

She splashed through the small stream, nearing the entrance to the alley as the wagon bounced and jerked against her hand. Almost there!

The wagon leapt as she dragged the wagon up onto the sidewalk, jerking as she risked another look back. The wretch launched itself over the stream, landing on all fours and scrabbling after her, claws scratching at the pavement.

She bolted down the alley, letting out a grunt of pain as the wagon clipped the post by the gate, jerking her shoulder to one side.

Gate! Maybe she could slow it down. She spun, pivoting on one boot as she rushed into the plaza, letting the wagon roll past her to slam into the fountain with a bang, and darted back down the alley … Just as the wretch appeared around the corner, jaws open. It let out a snarl as it saw her, both of them rushing forward.

She reached the gate first, grabbing the bars and yanking it shut just as the wretch leaped. It’s body slammed into the bars, helping push it shut with a loud clang. A flash of pain tore down her forearm as the thing swiped, its claws leaving red tracks, and Sunset let out a gasp of pain, staggering back. The wretch swung again, its red-tipped claws groping for her and its armor rattling against the metal bars. But it didn’t press past them.

Okay, she thought, trying to ignore the pain in her arm as the wretch threw itself against the bars again and again, slathering. Not smart enough to open a gate. She backed away, back into the plaza. That’s good to—

Something slammed into her from the side, pain raking across her back as she crashed to the ground with a cry. Movement flashed in the corner of her eyes and she lashed out with one foot. A heavy thump sounded alongside a shrill cry as she knocked something back.

It was another wretch, almost identical to the first save that its armor was sporting a dent from where she’d kicked it. It threw its head back with a scream, and Sunset added a cry of her own as the sound seemed to pierce right through her skull. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she scrambled back on her hands and feet, trying to get away.

Her head slammed into something unyielding and she let out another cry of pain, slumping as her body went weak. What …? Empty eye sockets staring up at her from the dirt as her head lolled to one side.

The stone bench where the couple had been resting. She’d backed into it.

The wretch finished its scream. The world inside her head felt slippery, like her thoughts had been covered in oil. There had been something else by the bench, something important, but she couldn’t quite grasp what it was. She felt strangely detached at the sight of her own blood running down her right arm, as well as of the second wretch looking at her with its beady eyes. With another growl it lurched forward.

Hatchet. But she was on her side, the weapon pinned beneath her.

Weapon. Weapon!

Firearm.

Pain lanced up Sunset’s arm as she forced it out to the side, grasping blindly. There was the sensation of cool metal beneath her fingers, and she wrapped her hand around the coolness, pulling it close.

That end toward the target. She couldn’t remember what the end of the weapon was called, but she remembered the minotaur’s lecture. Back end against your shoulder. Aim at what you want to hit.

She shoved herself up, letting out another cry of pain as something dug into her back. The firearm felt like it weighed several tons, but she lifted it anyway, pointing the end at the oncoming wretch. It was almost upon her.

A sound like a thunderclap filled the plaza as she pulled the trigger, a burst that hit her already splitting head like a physical slap. The butt of the gun slammed into her gut as it tore itself free of her fingers, the impact knocking the wind out of her with a sudden gasp. The world was ringing like a bell … or maybe that was just her ears reeling from the blows.

The wretch let out a scream audible even above the ringing, falling back as blood appeared across its face and one arm. It howled, shaking like an animal trying to cast off fleas.

Again. She lifted the weapon, bracing the stock against her shoulder, and pulled the trigger. It refused to budge, stuck fast.

Wait. There was a foregrip running parallel to the weapon’s barrel, mounted on what looked like a slide. A mechanical process. The thoughts slipped through the haze of her mind like drops of wax through honey. Back. Then forward. With a click the front of the weapon snapped back, something spitting out of the side and bouncing across the ground.

Forward. It protested at first, but then gave—just as the wretch rushed for her, leaping into the air.

The thunderclap filled the plaza again as she fired, the blast from the weapon reducing the creature’s left arm to mist and throwing it to one side. Still it rose, shrieking with pain but trying to crawl toward her with its remaining limb, eyes burning with fury.

How dare it? Sunset snarled as she snapped the foregrip back once more, reloading the weapon. Fury bubbled up within her, overpowering her fear and pain as the thing continued to crawl toward her.

This time she braced herself properly, the kick pressing her back but not slamming her down. The wretch’s head evaporated into pulp and mush, and it dropped to the ground several feet from her, dead.

For a moment she laid there, the rage abating as quickly as it had come. I killed it.

Then another scream echoed from nearby, and she pushed herself to her feet, trying not to gasp as fresh waves of pain rolled across her back. The world was swimming, twisting from side to side, but after a second or too it seemed to stabilize. Event the ringing in her ears began to fade.

She couldn’t wait. The screams meant there were more coming. She needed to move.

“Thank you,” she half muttered, glancing down at the bones on the stone bench. They didn’t reply. She hefted the firearm, then stumbled over to her wagon, almost dropping the gun inside it. More screams sounded, the first wretch throwing itself against the gate once more with a crash of metal.

The camp store. It was her best bet. Grabbing the wagon handle in one hand, she began to run.

Author's Note

Concealment

Concealment

Three more sets of screams had joined the other two by the time Sunset reached the camp store. Her legs felt molten, seething with heat that burned down to the bone, while her boots felt like lead horseshoes that tugged against them with every step. Her arm throbbed, as if it would fall off at any moment, each bump the wagon hit sending a new wave of pain rolling up to her shoulder. But she couldn’t stop, and what food she’d brought was in the wagon.

Stupid. She’d already berated herself for not bringing her backpack and putting food in that. Now she couldn’t afford to leave the wagon in case she got stuck somewhere.

But the camp store was in sight, almost enough to distract from the pain in her side. Which she hoped was just from lack of breath and not actual injury, like those on her arm and back. Both of which were still bloody, though dried. So the haziness in her head probably wasn’t blood loss. Just pure, animal panic.

There! Sunset rushed up to the front door, yanking it open and throwing herself through. The wagon bounced once again as its tires hit the chain that had once held the entryway shut, jostling its load but not spilling it as it too rolled into the store. The chain just slipped slightly, not shifting from where she’d cast it after cutting it days earlier.

Now she wished she hadn’t done that. She crashed into the front shelves, scattering flashlights and other small items across the floor as her legs threatened to give out. The wagon slammed into her legs from behind, and this time she did fall, her kneecaps slamming into the display and eliciting another cry of pain.

There was no time to worry about the tears. She blinked them away, pulling herself back up and scattering small stuffed plush toys across the floor. Moving with a limp, her muscles threatening to seize up with every step, she crossed the space back to the front door, yanking it shut before it could swing closed on its own and clicking the latch lock over. Only then did she step back and sink slightly, her shoulders heaving as a sob tried to force its way out of her throat.

She wasn’t sure if it was out of relief or from the pain. But it didn’t matter. She didn’t have time to stop and figure out which it was.

Back door. The front door was thankfully reinforced, one reason why she’d opted to break in the back. By destroying the latch that holds the padlock in place, and then prying the latch lock out. She staggered for the rear of the shop, pausing only to grab the lantern out of the wagon, her legs knotting and refusing to bend properly. The glow of the noonday—Or was it afternoon?—sun was still enough to permeate through the small windows around the upper rim of the store, filling it with a dim glow of sunlight, but the back rooms and side entrance had no such access. She flicked the lantern on, the click of its switch melding with another faint scream from somewhere outside.

How many of those things are there? What few warning documents she’d found had indicated that the creatures traveled and hunted in packs, so to be wary if one was sighted and notify authorities immediately while getting to safety.

Shame the flyers hadn’t actually specified what safety was past “someplace defensible with guns.” Speaking of which ...

She’d dropped her borrowed firearm during her mad flight, though when she wasn’t quite certain. The door to the employee area slammed open with a crash as she half fell into it, striking the wall with a loud bang. So they can hear me that much easier, Sunset noted, though it didn’t stop her from staggering onward, past the empty cupboards she’d cleaned of supplies and toward the rear entrance. The latch was broken, but the wretch at the plaza hadn’t been smart enough to use the gate, only batter themselves against it.

What drives something to be so aggressive? The thought drifted out of her panic as she reached the rear door. Why would anything be so hostile?

Answers she’d not found scattered across her research into the “Locust.” The serans had never found any either. Not before they’d been forced to fire on their own cities.

Focus. The thoughts were keeping the pain at bay, but they weren’t helping her stay alive. The lock on the rear door was just as heavy as the one on the front door, and she shoved it into place with a satisfying thunk, sagging slightly as she stepped back. Hopefully it would hold despite the damage.

One of her legs was trying to cramp up under her. The other wasn’t far behind, but there was no time to rest. The wretches had to be getting close, and—

A thud from the front of the shop caught her attention, and she spun, limping back through the employee rest area and drawing her hatchet from its sheath. If this is the end … She almost couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought. The flyers warned that the wretches ate their victims.

Sometimes alive.

I won’t let that happen. Even if that meant turning her hatchet on herself, like some of the old griffon warriors had done in the clan wars, before the founding of the Empire. If she could.

The impact came again, and Sunset let out a faint whimper, both shocked at the sudden sound and surprised she could make it as dry as her throat felt.

Another thud, this one from above. She tracked the beam from the lantern up toward the ceiling, but it was simply tile. There were no air conditioning vents that she could see. She turned, looking back, but there were none in the break room either.

No vents. Only two doors. There was another thud from the front of the shop, and she fought back a choked gasp as a snarl echoed in the sound’s wake.

They know I’m here. The next thump of impact made the door shake, and then she heard the faint sound of the thing moving away, snarling as it moved around the building. Likely checking for another entrance.

Where did they come from? What if they find a way in? There were a million questions buzzing through her mind, but Sunset had attention enough for only a few. She staggered over to the store’s counter, where dusty rays of sunlight glimmered across the one section of the shop she’d not messed with yet.

Weapons.

That one. Her eyes fixed on a boxy, stubby looking firearm inside a glass case. There was a plaque next to it, designating the weapon’s martial history across decades of the “Pendulum Wars.” It had served three generations of soldiers before the war had ended, and then been put on display inside the family’s shop.

It was also was, from what she understood about the design, the best weapon of choice for her current situation. A “shotgun” like the one she’d used in the plaza, only far deadlier, designed and engineered for ease of use and maximum lethality.

The serans called it a “gnasher,” like the snapping of a predator’s teeth. It was simple, brutal, and violent.

Exactly what she needed.

She swung the hatcher with a yell, snapping the case’s simple display lock in two. Growls and barks rose from outside as the wretches reacted to the noise.

For the moment, she didn’t care. If one of them got inside the shop before she was ready, it would kill her. And everything, her destiny included, would end.

The gnasher was both lighter than it looked and heavier than expected. She stared down at the ancient metal for a moment, feeling the smooth, cool, oiled surface under her fingertips.

How many lives has this weapon already taken? She imagined she could feel the weight of each firing sliding out of the gun and up her arms. And how many has it saved?

Another thump from above shook her out of her reverie, and she ran her eyes over the components, matching each of them with her study of the firearm manuals she’d brought back to her hideout, one of which had detailed military-grade weaponry. Trigger. Safety. Lever for chambering another shell. The latter was currently back, and she pushed it forward with one hand, noting the resistance the firearm offered at first but then the smooth ease with which it snapped all the way forward once it had moved far enough. The chamber was open, bare, and there was no ammunition inside its “magazine.”

There were, however, several boxes below the case. She grabbed one and slammed it against the counter. The aged cardboard came apart under the impact, splitting like an overripe fruit. Shells scattered across the counter, rolling past her fingers, but she managed to clench several in one hand.

Load. The manual had made it look simple. Easy, even. Shiny part to the back. There was a proper name for it, but she couldn’t remember it at the moment. The first shell slipped through the opening but then slid back into her hand, bouncing off it and down to the floor. The barrel of the firearm needed to be down, or she needed to be faster.

She flipped the gnasher downward, and the next shell slid out of sight. As did the last. That’s two. The weapon would hold eight, according to what she’d read. There were still a few shells on the countertop that hadn’t rolled off of the edge, and she gathered them together and slid them into the gnasher. Five.

She broke another box open, heedless of the shells that rolled away. She could gather them later. If I live.

Another thump sounded, this time from behind her, and she turned as she dropped the last shell into place, her eyes searching the rear wall. The lever slid back, loading the weapon and pushing a shell into place. It was ready to fire. Something scrabbled across the roof, and she raised the weapon up. Safety? She probed with her thumb. There was a small metal lever she could just reach with it, but she wasn’t sure if it was on or off.

Now what? For a few seconds she stood there, the gnasher raised, waiting as the growls and barks outside the shop moved. Wait it out? She moved toward her wagon, her eyes slipping to the canteen sitting in the back and her small supply of food for the day. Another impact sounded from the rear of the shop, but again it sounded as ineffective as the others.

Maybe the things would give up. But that wouldn’t solve the problem. They’d still be in the city.

And they probably wouldn’t give up anyway. A Guard had once warned her about that, before one of their camping trips. An animal that was driving out of its territory would stop chasing you once you’d left, but if you stayed in its territory, stuck in a tree, it would wait. And if it wasn’t territorial but hungry … How long could you stay in the tree, and would it be worth it to the animal to look for anything else?

A shiver rolled down her back, bringing with it another sense of burning pain as the motion aggravated her wounds there. She’d seen the fury in their eyes. They had her trapped. They weren’t going to give up. Another bang sounded from outside the building as if to drive home the thought.

The water in her canteen was warm, but it felt like liquid gold as she poured it down her throat, soothing the raw edge brought about by her ragged escape. She drained it almost to the bottom, stopping at the last second and eyeing the dried blood on her arm.

I need to clean that. Her stomach twisted as her gulps of water hit it, writhing before forcing a faint burp out a moment later. An acid stink came with it, and she cringed.

Another thump came from the roof, but nothing yet that suggested the wretches had found a way inside. She gave it a glance before looking back down at her wagon. Everything she’d placed in it was scattered and in disarray after her run, but she’d not lost anything aside from the first of the lanterns she’d left in the clothing store. Better yet, the emergency medical kit was still there, and she pulled it out from beneath a pair of pants, wincing as the bending motion sent sharp pinpricks of pain up her back.

The longer you let your injuries sit without cleaning them, the deeper an infection can run. If—when—she made it back to Equestria, she’d need to thank the Guard for their instructions. But before that …

She lifted the shotgun, squinting at the lever just before the grip and casting her mind past the pain in her body to the manual. The lever was currently in a position that put it close to her thumb, which meant …

The safety is on. Push it forward, toward the enemy, to fire. Pull it back to engage the safety once more. The words floated through her mind like a leaf caught in the breeze, summoned by her thoughts. She remembered them because of her acknowledgement of what it had said about the weapon’s creators: it was easier to disengage the safety than it was to enable it.

At least it would be easy to disengage if something went wrong. She left it in place, still mindful of the faint thuds from the roof as her pursuers looked for a way in, and then slowly set the weapon atop the countertop, making sure that the handle was within quick, easy reach.

Okay, let’s clean this off. There was a bang from above that made her freeze in place for a second, the foil of the medical kit partway peeled back. The inner side of the foil was reflective, sending bouncing glints of brightness across the room as it caught the sunlight. For emergency signaling. The Guard had explained that to her as well, how a mirror or a piece of metal could be used to attract the eye of a search party if one’s magic was disabled.

At the time, she’d rolled her eyes, because when would she ever be without magic? And yet …

You don’t need it right now anyway. The only things looking for you already know where you are, and they aren’t looking to save you.

The medical print on the small packages inside the kit was large and clear, easy enough to read. She pulled out several sterile cleaning wipes, tearing the top off of one with a quick jerk of her hands. Her shaking hands. How much blood had she lost?

Another scream sounded from above her, dust falling from the ceiling, and she cringed. How many were out there now? Ten? Twenty? More? She tore her eyes away from the roof before the dust could reach her, forcing her focus back to the long, red slashes on her arm surrounded by dried blood. She swept the cleaning cloth over the injury—

And sucked in a hurried breath through clenched teeth as a fresh wave of stinging fire rolled up her arm. “Celestia’s tits that hurts!” Even the use of her name wasn’t enough to drive away the sudden sting of her injury. But there was still dried blood all around it, so she wiped a second time, only whimpering slightly as the pain rolled through her. By her third swipe most of the dried blood was gone, and she folded the cleaning cloth, balling it up a little to present a clean side at the three tracks of blood still left on her arm.

This time she let out a cry of pain, tears filling her eyes as she pushed the ball of cloth directly over the wound. Fresh blood began to pool in the wounds, and she grabbed a cotton ball, blinking away tears and trying to control the shaking in her limbs as she sopped up the blood.

Those look bad. Her mental “voice” stayed steady, even as another choked sob tried to force its way out of her throat. She could see three jagged tears in the flesh of her arm, the skin peeled back and loose in some places. The flesh below it—

Didn’t actually look that bad. She blinked, staring in mute shock. From the pain, she’d expected to see torn muscle and tendon. Instead, while the wound was bloody and definitely deeper than the surface, she couldn’t make out any obvious deep damage.

Still, it was deep enough that the flesh needed to be knitted back together. She bit at her lower lip, eyeing the three gashes. One of them was already coagulating once again, her body sealing the wound off at an impressive rate. But it would still scar and take time to heal if she didn’t press the sides together, but without her horn …

“Serans had to do this,” she muttered, tossing the bloody cotton ball aside and digging through the small medical kit. “Unless they really liked scars.”

It was possible, she noted as she dug through the small kit. They had just been in a multi-generation war. Scars were considered badges of combat among many of the Eyries of the Griffon Empire even in the modern day.

Then her searching fingers closed around a small, plastic clasp, one that opened and shut with a faint pinch of her fingers. There were several in the kit, at the bottom, attached to a container of—

“Medical glue?” she said aloud as she read the characters. “As in actual glue?” Actually, that sounds better than stitches. And it did make sense, since she didn’t have the slightest idea how to sew, especially on herself with fingers that she didn’t trust that much.

Five clasps, she noted, counting them out as she set them on the counter. I’m going to need at least three, maybe four for each gash—make that four for the middle gash, since it’s the deepest. All three had stopped bleeding already, but according to the instructions on the back of the glue packet, you didn’t want the injury to close up before you could apply the glue to it. Great. A bang from above made her jerk her eyes up for just an instant, but she still didn’t see any sign that the wretches were getting in.

I need more medical kits. Thankfully, there was a whole supply of them in the shop, and she’d taken only a few. Her legs felt weak as she forced herself over to the display, trembling and almost failing to lift, but somehow she made it with each shaky step. She grabbed two of the remaining kits, tucking one under her injured arm and peeling the other open. A few quick seconds worth of work later, and there were two more of the glue pouches sitting on the table, along with their collection of tiny plastic clasps.

The instructions were simple, marked out with small but basic pictograms: Clean the wound with a sterile cloth—she opened a new pouch, pulling out a fresh, unused square—then apply glue and use the clasps to force the edges together. Then let it sit for what looked to be an hour or so to harden, and remove the clasps. The actual time required was probably less, not that it mattered too much.

She scrubbed down with the fresh cloth, a new whimper of pain filling the shop as fire rolled up her arm. All three of the tracks began to bleed once more as she scrubbed, and she managed to move up and down twice more before tossing the now-bloody cloth aside. The trembling of her shoulders was so severe she almost dropped the first glue packet, but then she managed to peel the top away and—

That’s too much blood, she thought, eyeing the bleeding gashes in her arm once more as a small bubble of clear glue formed at the corner of the packet. She shifted the packet to the hand of her injured arm, freeing her good hand to pluck another cotton ball out of the medical kits and dab the excess blood away.

There! She dropped the ball of cotton and switched to the glue once more, squeezing the packet above the first of the wounds and watching as a thin strand of glue drizzled down into the long gash. To her surprise it didn’t hurt, but in fact a sort of soothing numbness began to settle over the injury, a sharp contrast to the burning pain that had enveloped it a moment before. Blood began to pool over and around it, and she squeezed the rest of the packet out, burying the red under layers of clear goo.

She tossed the spent packet aside and grabbed the nearest clasp. In a way it looked a bit like a mane-clip, just smaller and with nub-like teeth for it to grab at the skin.

There weren’t instructions on where to place the first clip, so she started at the top and worked her way down, wincing slightly as each clip went into place, pressing out a mix of clear glue and red blood. It took four clips, but the gash was sealed up, and she used one of the cotton balls to wipe away the excess blood and glue before it could harden. Or at least smear a thin layer of it over her arm.

She repeated the process—clean, glue, pinch, smear—with the other two gashes, the third and final only taking three clasps to seal. Sunset sagged as she tossed the last bloody cotton ball aside, looking at the mess she’d made of the countertop.

A positive toward the end of their world, she thought as she stared down at the mess, her breath still coming in what felt like too-large gasps. I don’t need to bother cleaning any of this.

Scattered growls were coming from the roof and around the shop now. At least four independent sources. Maybe five.

And she still had her back to look at. But for that, she needed a mirror.

Bathroom. There was a mirror there, at the back of the store. Dusty and long-since dry, but she didn’t need the plumbing.

Wretches continued to growl and move across the roof as she gathered the few things she’d need—spare medkits, a lantern for light, and most importantly the shotgun. Sunset swallowed, her eyes turning upward once more as she moved to the back of the store.

How long will they wait for me? she wondered as she moved down the aisles. The pain in her back had lessened, but she still felt shaky. She’d need to drink more water once she was done, fight off the queasiness brought about by her blood loss. Will they stay for hours? Days?

Or would they move on once they were certain she wasn’t coming out? Then again, as the door to the bathroom creaked open, light glimmering off the dirty mirror, she wasn’t sure that would be any better. At least atop the roof of the camp shop she knew where they were. If they leave, I don’t have that luxury.

Worse, what if they were smart enough to hide nearby and ambush her as she left? Were they intelligent enough to do something like that? Timberwolves could be, but how smart was a wretch by comparison.

I want to go—

She cut the thought off with a quick, vicious shake of her head. No. You can’t. And it’s not your destiny. The mirror was dusty from years of disuse, so she set the gnasher aside, wiping the glass with one hand. The light provided by her single lamp wasn’t spectacular, but it would have to do.

She twisted, standing with her back to the mirror and wobbling from side to side as her balance fought against the unfamiliar stance. Her mane was hanging over her injury, making it even harder to see—Stupid inflexible neck!—and she swept it over her shoulder with a quick wave of one arm. There were rust colored clumps holding some of the strands together, dark blights against her already dirty colors.

Dried blood. Her mane out of the way, she could see the source: Three neat red tracks along her back, framed by perfect slices through the thin cloth of her shirt.

So much for protection. But then her arm hadn’t been covered by a sleeve, and it had looked worse. The injury to her back, by comparison, almost appeared tame. There was a little blood staining the cloth around it, as well as dying her skin, but the injuries themselves didn’t actually look that bad.

She cracked the pouch of another sanitation pad, still eyeing the trio of shallow cuts. It had certainly hurt plenty. She clenched her teeth as she reached around behind her back—her balance wavering only once—only to be met by a faint stinging sensation as she pulled the cleaning wipe across her back.

Or rather, across her shirt, the cloth stretching slightly and pulling with the diagonal motion of her hand. She pulled back, bringing her other hand around to pull the back of her shirt up around her shoulders, and then wiped at the wound once more.

This time the stinging sensation was much more distinct, but it was nothing like the wave of burning flame that had rushed up her arm. It was more like a small stampede of pinpricks by comparison, rising up her back and into her shoulder blades. It set her teeth on edge, but it didn’t hurt the way her arm had.

A few seconds later she could see why. Through the dust on the mirror she could make out three clean, shallow cuts. Scratches, by comparison, to what had happened to her arm. Just enough to bleed, and bleed well.

Sunset let out a sigh, sagging slightly and leaning back against the edge of the sink. Lucky hit. It had just hurt a lot more than she had expected.

Still, it needed to be cleaned. She craned her neck back once more, twisting and rubbing the cleaning cloth over the trio of scratches. After several passes the dried, crusty blood had flaked away, leaving her skin marred only by the three red, angry lines, faintly shimmering as new blood welled out of the reopened cuts.

Good enough. There were gauze coverings in the medical kits, each varying in size and shape. She settled on a large pad almost as wide as the medical kit itself, and after a few moments working at one corner, slapped it down over her back.

I’m done. Sunset slumped against the sink, brushing away the paper backing from the bandage she’d stuck to her back. It fluttered down to the floor, and she stared at it for a moment before eyeing herself in the mirror.

She looked like a wreck. Dirt and leaves had gotten caught in her mane, probably from her tumble to the ground in the plaza, and her face was smudged with filth. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her tears had left pale tracks down her cheeks through the dirt. She stared at herself for several seconds, taking in the injuries on her arm and her general disheveled look.

Is this what she saw? Is this what she was afraid of?

The paleness to her face wasn’t great, she could admit that. Nor was the shakiness in her legs. How much blood had she lost?

It didn’t matter. She clenched one hand into a fist, glaring at the mare—woman—in the mirror. “You were a coward,” she said aloud, heedless of the sudden faint growl from the roof at the sound of her voice. “What? Did you think I couldn’t do this? Well you’re wrong. This is my destiny.” Heat began to bubble up from deep within her, a seething wave of anger. “You can’t keep me from it. And neither will they.” Her eyes shifted upward, looking up at the dark tiles of the ceiling.

I’m going to figure out what to do about them, and then I’m going to do it, she thought as she wrapped one hand around the grip of her shotgun. And then I’ll go back to where all my things are, finish getting ready, and leave Holton. Her arms were still trembling, but there was a faint steel beneath the muscles, a pressure brought about by the anger in her core. “I won’t stop now.”

She left the bathroom, her legs still trembling and weak but feeling better than she had. A gulp of warm water from her second canteen made her feel even better, washing the dryness out of her throat and hopefully bringing a bit of color back to her face. The quivering in her arms and legs faded, leaving behind a faint tiredness in its wake, but still preferable to her limbs feeling as though they would give out at any moment.

“All right,” she said as the last of the queasy feelings from her stomach faded. “Now, how to get out of here?”

The answer seemed obvious. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the store—though it certainly felt like it had been hours—but one thing was certain: The wretches didn’t appear to be giving up. The creatures were still making their way across the roof with their strange, irregular gait, growling and snarling just softly enough to hear.

Which doesn’t leave me with a lot of options. There are only two exits from the building. If I run, they’ll just chase me again, since they followed me all the way here. And the garden shop … Gooseflesh crawled down her arms at the thought of what the pack of wretches would do to the glass-walled shop or its upper floors.

Should have thought of that before I kept everything there. But there wasn’t much sense in regretting the action now. Either way, if they chase me, I end up in a much worse position. So I have to stay here … Until they’re dealt with.

The gnasher suddenly felt leaden in her arms, and she turned her eyes down at it, running her gaze across the smooth metal. So that means …

The trembling sensation was back now, along with the fluttering in her stomach. Maybe it hadn’t had anything to do with blood loss. Maybe it had just been fear.

Her fingers danced slightly against the gnasher’s foregrip. You already killed two of them, Sunset. And they’re trying to kill you. The Guard talked about that. It’s self defense.

Somehow it didn’t feel like it, though.

That … or you can stay in here and die of dehydration. Her meager supplies stared up at her from her wagon, woefully inadequate for the rest of the day, much less more than that. I can stay here and die of thirst. An inglorious end to her flight through the portal.

No. She squeezed the shotgun’s grip. I can’t do that. I won’t do that. I am Sunset Shimmer, and I have a destiny. I will not miss it.

She turned toward the front door, then shook her head. No. This room is too large. If they get inside, I’d be surrounded. The rear door’s entry was much more confined, with multiple doors to fall back to, like an old fortress or redoubt.

Granted, the interior doors didn’t look nearly as sturdy as the exterior doors, and the walls probably weren’t as solid either, but the back rooms would still be a bit of a choke point. Better than nothing if everything went wrong.

I’ll need a lure. A large campfire pan from one of the shelves would probably work to get the things’ attention. And after that … I just need to not miss.

She moved into the back, each step feeling like it crossed leagues. Her lantern sent shadows arching around the employee area, and she paused to block the doors to the rest of the store as well as to the side room with chairs, giving her a quick path of retreat if things went wrong. After what felt like minutes, but couldn’t have even been half of one, the rear door was in front of her, innocuous in its plain appearance.

Here goes. The lock gave with a faint click beneath her fingers. She paused, waiting, but no angry snarl or sudden growl came with it. So far, so good. She eased the door open, bright light spilling in the entryway and drowning out the glow of her lantern.

The rear alleyway was clear, the overhang above not nearly wide enough for one of the creatures to fit through it. A turn to the side, and the parking lot stretched in front of her, wide, flat, and empty. Bits of grass that had poked through cracks or grown in tiny patches of dirt waved in a faint breeze. Weathered, empty carriages sat in the street, silent.

That’ll work. Sunset hefted the frying pan by its handle, giving it a quick swing and feeling its weight. A snarl from nearby made her pause for a moment, waiting, but the shuffling sound that followed it was moving away, not nearer.

Now! She hurled the frying pan with all her might, watching as it flew out into the air … and crashed down with a loud bang, tumbling and spinning and not even coming close to the carriage she’d been aiming for. Still, the metal rang like a bell as it bounced, skittering and sliding until it slammed into the side of one of the carriages with a final clang.

Screams and snarls arose all around her, and she stepped back, yanking the door shut as quickly as she dared, only catching it from slamming into the wall the instant before it could add another bang to the still ringing pan. The irregular cadence of the wretches’ footsteps rolled by above her, followed by several heavy thumps from right outside as at least two of them landed in the lot.

Wait … She tightened her grip around the shotgun’s stock, listening to the odd barks and growls as what had to be several of the creatures came to inspect the noise. She could hear sniffles too, wet snorts as something sniffed at the air. Wait … The beat of their feet was slowing, the creatures coming to a stop. Any second now …

“Now!” Sunset shoved the door open with her shoulder, lifting the gnasher as she stepped out into the light. Three wretches turned their eyes toward her, the closest only a dozen feet away. It’s jaws opened, needle-sharp teeth on clear display—

The gnasher let out a quiet click, and all three wretches let out screams, turning their hunched bodies toward her.

The safety! She shoved her thumb forward, and suddenly the trigger gave, sinking back beneath her frantic clenching. With a boom that felt like a kick to her chest the gun fired—and the wretch closest to her let out a scream as a chunk of its arm evaporated, blood and gore spraying out across the parking lot. One of the carriages jerked as the rest of her shot buried itself in the metal, making fresh holes in the side of the vehicle.

She’d missed. One shot down. Seven left.

All three of the wretches began to rush toward her, including the one she’d wounded. Sunset backed up, squeezing the trigger but once again getting no result.

Lever! She shoved her rearward hand forward, a spent shell flying out of the side of the gun, and then snapped it back. The closest wretch let out a shriek, only a half-dozen feet away now, entering the alley.

Again she fired, the boom of the gun washing out the creatures’ cries as it swept down the alleyway. This time her shot was better, at least half of the pellets catching the thing and jerking it to one side. One pellet entered through its mouth, teeth shattering and the back of its head blowing out. It dropped to the ground, rolling and twitching.

Forward! Back! She stepped backwards as she fired again, her third shot striking at both of the oncoming wretches and slicing through flesh. Each stumbled, only to pull up seconds later and continue rushing at her heedless of the blood leaking from the massive gouges in their flesh. She fired a fourth time, her ears ringing from the blast. This time her shot struck the lead wretch dead on, and it came apart, the massive pellets slicing through one forelimb and the thing’s neck with equal, brutal efficiency. It crashed to the ground, blood oozing from gaping holes in its flesh and armor easily the size of Sunset’s fists.

Two. Forward! Back! The third skidded to a halt, throwing its head back to let out another scream … only for her fifth shot to turn its legs to paste, both of them giving out, the thing’s near scream transforming into a howl of pain.

Sunset stepped to the side and yanked the rear door closed, her ears ringing. That’s three of them. She’d guessed there were five. Now what? Wait for a minute and then try it again, see if I can lure the other ones? Or—? Her musings were cut off as several snarls sounded from outside the door, followed by another screech of pain from one of the wretches.

What? She eased the door open, sticking one eye up against the crack, and let out a gasp. Two other wretches had arrived, and they were eating their wounded comrades, digging into them with a violent relish that made her stomach churn.

Still, both of them had their backs to her as they tore into their fallen allies. She wouldn’t get a better shot. She leaned forward, pressing the door open and raising the gnasher.

She fired, and the nearest wretch came apart, shredded by the heavy pellets. As it dropped the remaining wretch spun, strings of flesh dangling from its teeth as it spotted her.

Bracing herself, Sunset fired for a final time. The shot knocked the wretch from its feet, the creature slamming into the pavement and twitching, letting out maddened rasps as its shattered limbs twitched and jerked.

Bile rose in Sunset’s throat. Now that it was down, she could see what had become of the wounded wretch behind it. The thing had clawed its pack-mate’s throat out.

Worse, it was still alive, barking and jerking, its limbs refusing to cooperate, but its jaws still opening and closing in her direction, blood-tinged flecks of drool shooting from its teeth.

Sunset stood there, silent, watching as the creature’s jerky motions slowed, coming in shorter and shorter gasps, before going still altogether.

Then she turned and vomited, clear bile splattering across the alleyway as she emptied the contents of her stomach out onto the pavement. The heaving continued long after her stomach was empty, her chest and insides kicking as they tried to void what she no longer had.

After what felt like an eternity the spasms stopped, and she sank back against the side of the building, a shudder running down her body. Bits and flecks of vomit and blood marred her pants and boots, and her mouth tasted like something had died in it.

But I’m alive. The thought brought a sort of smile to her face, even through the tremors running through her body, or the faint ringing in her ears. I did it. I killed them. And I’m still alive. She let out a nervous laugh, the sound almost alien as it rang out across the parking lot. “I’m alive!”

She closed her eyes and let her head tilt back, colliding against the wall of the shop with a quiet thunk. “I did it,” she gasped again. “I’m alive. I—”

The ground shook beneath her feet, and she froze. Did it just—? Another tremor bisected her thoughts, the ground beneath her boots quivering.

Elation fled as swiftly as a sparrow before an oncoming storm. There was no mistaking the sudden dance of nearby pebbles, or the scattering settling of debris. A third tremor rippled through the ground, faint but still perceptible. For a moment she simply stood there, shock and disbelief vying with fear inside her mind.

Then Sunset turned and began to run, even as a larger tremor rippled through the building. She knew what the vibration meant. Seen the alerts in papers and slapped up on posters around Holton.

The Locust Horde was coming.

Author's Note

Departure

Chapter 13 - Departure

Sunset could hear them hunting her.

She was back in the apartment above the gardening shop, her body curled into a chair, the gnasher clutched against her chest like a lifeline. The darkness was absolute, a cloying, suffocating black so thick she felt like she was breathing it in with each careful breath. She didn’t dare make a sound, she didn’t dare even move. She’d held the same position for the last several hours, ever since she’d heard the voices.

Voices that were clearly not seran.

Her bladder ached and her muscles had long since gone stiff, but still she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare shift. The slightest movement could give her away, and if that happened …

She swallowed, her throat dry and sticky. She didn’t really know what would happen. Just that it wouldn’t be good. Something along the lines of “lucky to die.”

She’d raced back to the garden shop in a frenzy, almost losing the wagon in her haste to get away from the shaking ground. The distant rumble of the ground opening up had been close enough to her for her to hear it, and she’d known right then and there that it was very likely something had heard her as well. She’d stashed the wagon in an alley and run the rest of the way without it, holding her shotgun like a ward against evil.

It was only after she’d reached the shop that she’d realized she still only had the one shot left in the shotgun, and that she’d left the camp store without taking any additional shells. Not that fighting had ever really been an option, but the lack of any other firepower meant that it truly wasn’t something she could consider.

All she could do was hide. She’d torn through the front of the shop, shoving all her stuff behind shelves and countertops so that it wasn’t visible from the street, collected her buckets from the back alley and hidden them inside, frantically worrying that each splash of spilled water would be the signal her pursuers would need to find her.

Then she’d rushed up the steps and closed every curtain she could—first the ones that had come with the home, and then the makeshift blackout curtains she’d made behind that. Light inside the apartment had shrunk to a dim glow.

Then she’d chosen a chair and waited, heart pounding, sweat sliding down her back and making her shirt stick to her skin like a wet, clingy coat. Gradually her breathing had slowed, heaving gasps brought about by panic and exhaustion giving way to slower, more methodical and quiet inhales and exhales. Her muscles, molten from her frantic sprint across the city, had settled into a sort of burning topor, like congealed jelly.

She’d almost been about to convince herself that it had all been for nothing when she’d heard the hooftsteps. Or footsteps—bootsteps, perhaps? Whatever the word for it in her new world, the sudden realization that she was hearing something bipedal—multiple things that were bipedal moving past the front of her abode was enough to steal all breath from her.

They’d moved slowly. Methodically. Here and there a piece of rubble had shifted as something had stood on it. Rock had skittered across the street, kicked by a wayward stride. A sudden bang as something had slammed against the side of a carriage had made her jerk in her seat, only pure, desperate fear keeping her from crying out in surprise. Guttural laughs and growls had sounded through the curtains over her windows, like rocks grinding against one another, muffled but clearly some sort of language. A language that wasn’t seran.

She’d said a silent prayer to the Creator, waiting with each heartbeat pounding in her ears for the door to the shop to be kicked in, for the group to rush up the stairs and do … whatever it was they did to captives. Probably nothing good, given the terrified alternatives people had taken across the city.

But they hadn’t. They’d moved past the front of the building, slowly but surely, and before long she hadn’t been able to hear them at all. They’d left, moved on to another street.

She’d stayed in the chair, her only light the faint cracks from around the edges of her curtains, not daring to move. Counted the seconds as they’d ticked past, even though there was nothing for her to time her count by. She hadn’t wanted to risk making a noise, risk doing something that would call her pursuers back.

But they’d come back anyway. That time she’d heard their guttural voices first, echoing down the street alongside a laugh that was almost a growl and had made her insides feel like water. She’d tried to keep her thoughts collected, tried to pull what she could from the sounds she could hear. At least two voices, maybe three or four sets of boots. A small patrol? Looking for their wayward pack of wretches?

Except that she’d slaughtered that pack, and she had no doubt that if they’d gone looking for it, they would have found it. Which meant that they weren’t looking for the wretches. They were looking for the one that had killed them.

Again the footsteps and rough speech had faded, leaving her alone in the apartment. Again she’d waited, not daring to move, or shift. And again, just as they had before, they’d returned.

This time they’d been slower. More methodical. Searching, maybe. The sound of their language had been more focused and precise. Like orders rather than idle chatter. There had been the crunch of a heavy tread on gravel just beneath the front windows, slow and plodding, and she had been able to envision the thing in her mind, dark and shadowy like some of the pictures in the papers she’d found, peering through the front windows of the shop, hunting for any sign of seran presence. She’d felt as though each terrified breath had sounded like a beacon, that at any moment the thing was going to hear her and it would all be over.

Then it had moved on, the sound of its heavy steps fading down the sidewalk as it inspected other buildings, and she’d almost sighed in relief, suddenly glad she’d broken in the back door rather than the front.

Still, she’d left signs elsewhere across the city. How good at tracking were they? Were they as good as some of the ponies in the Equestrian Rangers, who could see a woodland scene and tell you how many animals had passed through in the last day, and what kind? Or were they more like her?

She’d almost wet herself in fear when the next time she’d heard them pass by, the sound coming from the back alley rather than from the main street. Especially when she’d heard them again stop right below her, even if only for a moment.

But again they’d left, not disturbing the rear door or, apparently, seeing the buckets of water and earth she’d stashed just inside it.

Altogether, they’d made six passes by the time the sun had set. A seventh had followed soon after.

Now the room was darker than dark, wrapped in a black so all-encompassing it seemed endless. Her bladder ached, and her muscles had long since locked, so stiff they may as well have been cut from stone. Her fingers no longer wanted to move, cramped from so many hours of being clenched around her gnasher. Her neck felt like it was made of nothing but tightly-bound cords, stretched until they were almost about to break.

But she still didn’t move. She didn’t dare make a sound. She didn’t even dare sleep. Not when she was being hunted.

A long, low laugh echoed down the street, and Sunset tensed once again. They’re back. Again she strained for the sound of their steps, and again she was rewarded with the faint sound of boots treading down the street.

They have to suspect I’m nearby. Maybe they’d found the wagon. Or maybe some other sign that she hadn’t even thought of. Maybe that was why they were looping back, again and again right past the building where she’d made her habitation.

Maybe they even knew where she was. Maybe they were just toying with her. Playing a game by walking by every so often to see if she’d cracked yet, or if she’d panicked. It didn’t sound like anything she’d been able to scrounge up about the Locust … but then how much had the serans really learned before they’d all but lost their war?

Enough, the rational part of her mind supplied. Some of the things the papers had reported the Locust doing to civilians they’d caught had made her stomach churn. It had simply been barbarism, pure and simple. Worse, even. Evil.

Unless the government had lied. From the sound of things the Coalition of Ordered Governments had hardly been above that.

She and their leaders would have gotten along there, at least. But then again … I haven’t seen any signs that the Coalition needed to lie about what the Locust are like.

The patrol outside her window was getting close now, the rough low grumble of their language becoming clearer. Some of it sounded like coughs, but every so often it would change in pitch to something that almost sounded understandable. Signs that they’d picked up language from their enemy, perhaps?

Maybe they understand seran? It wasn’t the first time the thought had come to her. Maybe there’s a way to talk this out?

And if there wasn’t one? Her panic and fear had given rise to multiple discourses inside her head, each one arguing for or against the various ideas she’d had between each pass of the patrol. What then? Die, your destiny unfulfilled?

Maybe this was our destiny, another thought suggested. To die alone on this alien world. Maybe that’s why—

No. She took direct control, squashing out the thought like an errant insect. That wasn’t what she was afraid of. She was afraid of what I was going to become.

Not that I would die. She didn’t care enough about me for that.

Now her chest felt tight. Outside the patrol had begun to move past the apartment, the sounds of their passage now fading as they completed yet another cycle of the day. One of them said something, and two voices laughed in reply.

Three of them, then. At least. What were they laughing about? Were they laughing at the scared seran cowering above them?

No. That didn’t make sense. If they were playing with her, they’d played far too long for it to be worth the effort. The sun had been down for at least an hour now, maybe longer. Surely there was no way they’d draw it out for so long. Not if they knew where she was.

Which meant … I’m safe. For the moment.

She still had to pee terribly, however. Her bladder ached every time she took notice of it, which now felt like anytime she took a breath. Every part of her hurt and ached. She wanted to sleep, but what would happen if she made a noise in her sleep and alerted her hunters to where she was?

She couldn’t risk it. She needed to stay awake. To stay put.

The sounds of the latest patrol’s passing faded. She swallowed, her throat dry. Her insides felt like there was an overinflated balloon shoved up against her intestines. Where is the bathroom anyway? How would she even find it without a light?

Worse, she hadn’t brought a light with her to her current seat. There were solar-powered lanterns on the table, but that was … how many steps away?

Her bladder was getting worse, each pulse of urgency coming with her heartbeat. She needed to move. Needed to do something. Part of her just wanted to let it lose, to soil her clothing and her seat but stay right where she was.

But that would stink, as well as be unsanitary. And she wasn’t sure how good a sense of smell things hunting her had. They’d come from underground. Did scent matter there? She didn’t know.

But if she could smell it, there was a chance they would be able to. Which meant she needed to get to the bucket in her bathroom. Which also stunk, despite the earth she’d been putting over each of her leavings. It was lidded, but once it was open …

Give the patrol another five minutes. Long enough to be a few streets over, or to have made their presence known coming back up the alley. Even if every second of it felt like agony.

It beat dying.

There was little to do but listen to the silence left in the Locusts’ wake as she waited. The city was quiet as a grave, not a single bird tweeting, nor a single stone shifting. That alone made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. A forest only went silent when it was afraid. One of the Rangers had showed her that once, taken her deep out into the woods away from her watchful eyes and into the path of a migrating manticore. He’d secluded them in a safe position, then told her to pay attention to the sounds of the forest as the manticore had been coming near.

He’d been right. As the predator had approached, the forest had gone silent, everything hiding or going quiet as the massive beast had passed through. Only once it had safely passed them by had the forest come to life again.

Now the same thing was happening to Holton. Save that the sounds hadn’t come back yet. Which, if anything, meant that the Locust were even more dangerous than the manticore.

That has to have been five minutes! She couldn’t wait any longer; if she did she was going to explode. For the first time in hours, Sunset shifted, grimacing as her muscles stiffened and locked.

“Ow.” Even as quietly as the word slipped out of her mouth, it still sounded deafening. She froze, the sudden stop making even more of her body cramp up.

Nothing happened, and after a few tense seconds she relaxed. Or tried to. Parts of her body seemed to be having trouble getting the message, refusing to move properly or unknot. Her first step became more of a stumble, and her arms slammed into the side of the table. The gnasher clattered to the floor as she lost her grip on it. Again she froze, blinking back tears from the sudden pain radiating up her arms. One muscle knotted up, additional pain radiating out like a blossoming flame.

Don’t. Lose. Bladder. Control. She reached out with her good arm, poking gingerly across the tabletop and groping for one of the lanterns she’d left atop it.

Got it! Her stiff fingers closed around warm plastic, and a moment later a soft glow filled the room. Dim, but brilliant compared to the darkness that had preceded it.

She listened closely, but there was no cry of alarm from the street outside. Carefully, with every muscle in her body sending out protests, she scooped the lantern up and hobbled through the apartment, each thump of her boots or errant impact against the walls sending up a fresh cry of alarm in her head.

It wasn’t until she reached the bathroom itself that she realized her mistake. The room’s lone window was small but cracked open. Worse, it was blocked only by plain curtains, not by anything heavier. Sunset covered a side of the lamp with her hand, casting a shadow over the thin white cloth as she scanned the room. There has to be something I can use to—Aha! Towels!

She winced, her muscles protesting as she reached up to nestle the top of the towel over the curtains. Sitting in a single position for half a day will do that. Only once the curtains were covered with two towels, however, did she feel safe enough to turn to her bucket and take care of her business.

“Ooooooh.” The slip-up was automatic, and for a brief moment, she didn’t even care that the sound could have alerted the Locust. If I died now, it’d almost be worth it.

Almost.

It took a full minute for the process to be finished. She cleaned herself as best she was able with the limited light, then shoveled some fresh soil over the mess from a bag she’d brought up just for that purpose. She sealed the bucket off once more, cutting off the offensive odor that was emanating from it. With luck, the smell would be long gone by the time the patrol circled back.

I’m going to have to figure out how to do this on the move, she thought as she quickly cleaned her hands. I can’t be hauling a bucket of dirt and leavings across the country. Well, I could, but it wouldn’t be a good idea.

She kept one hand on the wall as she moved back to the living room, using it to keep her balance as her legs knotted and twitched. Now that her bladder was no longer screaming for attention, the aches and cramps from the rest of her body felt much more pronounced.

Where’s the gnasher? She stepped back into the living room, searching the dim light and locking on the smooth metal shape of the weapon, still lying where she’d dropped it on the floor.

You’re tired. You’re making mistakes. How long had it been since the sun went down?

Then again, there was only one shell left in the gnasher. One shot wouldn’t do her much good. Just make her ears ring once again. Which, according to the instructions she’d read, was something that given time would leave her with permanent hearing damage if she wasn’t careful.

Earplugs, she thought. There’d been some at the camp store, but she’d been a little too busy and panicked at the time to even think of grabbing them. I’ll need to get those. And a watch.

She settled back down into her chair, grimacing slightly as she felt the faint imprint of where she’d been sitting for most of the day. Her muscles protested the return to the familiar positions, twitching and threatening to lock, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. The lantern in her lap glowed like a star, a lone bright point that almost seemed to beg against the inevitable as she stared down at it … But she couldn’t risk its glow being spotted, even dim as it was. She flicked the switch, watching as the lantern died, light quickly fading to little more than an ember before disappearing entirely.

Then she was alone once more in the dark with only the silence of the city to keep her company. Time ticked by, measured only by the faint beating of her heart, until at last she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Day Eleven - Holton

I need to leave the city. Now. It’s not safe here. Yesterday I almost died. Wretches—the small, vicious things like the one that was in the school—found me. I don’t know if they were looking for me or if it was just chance. Maybe I’ve made too much noise too many vibrations. Maybe it was just routine. Maybe the Locust sweep old cities from time to time looking for survivors. The damaged locks I’ve found would indicate that there have been others.

Either way, the city isn’t safe anymore. I kILled them, and their handlers came. Hunting me, I think.

Can’t write more. I need to be out of the city by nightfall. They seem to be gone, but if they come back—

A nervous tremor ran through her, fear bubbling up like a cloud from deep within. Sunset closed her eyes, ignoring the sandy sensation that slipped across the inside of her eyelids. There hasn’t been a patrol all morning. They’re gone. You’re safe.

But she wouldn’t be if she stayed. Whatever I did to catch their attention, I might do it again, she wrote. I have to leave. Move west. Find the Jacinto Plateau.

She picked up her pen once more, making a final entry. Or at least by tonight, I need to be at the camp store. Sunset closed her journal, staring down at the worn cover. It was risky to go back to where she’d killed the wretches, but there were simply too many things she still needed to grab on her way out of the city.

I shouldn’t have counted on being able to come and go whenever I felt like it. Hopefully the mistake wouldn’t cost her.

She stared down at her journal for a moment before picking it up and moving it gently to her pack. Both were some of the last few things she had left from Equestria, and the pack had been changed by Starswirl’s spell. Her journal, her pack, Starswirl’s spellbooks, and her canteen.

The last one still had her symbol on the side. She’d not found the time to remove it yet.

And there definitely isn’t time today, she thought, flipping the canteen around to hide the offensive sunburst. I need to be moving.

She didn’t want to. She’d awoken in the early hours of the dawn, frantic with panic that she’d been found at last, only to be greeted by a body so stiff and sore it had been an effort to rise out of the chair, much less move around the room. There had been no sign that her hideout had been found during the night, and after several hours of waiting, there’d been no sign of the Locust passing by once more either.

They had gone. Or, at the very least, they had moved to another part of the city. She wasn’t sure which. But the birdsong was back, the faint sounds of nature a sign—at least as she chose to see it—that it was safe to emerge once more.

Emerge and go somewhere else, Sunset thought as she closed the pack and swung it over her shoulders. Her body immediately protested the sudden weight brought about by fully-loaded canteens, her journal, Starswirl’s books, and other important items, muscles twitching and threatening to make the faint headache behind her eyes all the worse.

Tough. The urge to leave the city now was more important than any other drive at the moment. She’d been in Holton for almost two weeks. Far too long.

And it’s not safe. She gave the tabletop a final look, memories of the hours she’d spent pouring over books running through her mind. A few of them were stacked on one end of the otherwise now-clear surface. Titles she’d decided to leave behind or already finished that weren’t worth the extra weight.

And I have plenty of that already. She gave the apartment that had been her home a final look, making sure that she wasn’t leaving anything else that she already hadn’t decided to leave. Her torn and bloody shirt from the day before was piled in a corner, along with a bunch of the clothes she’d grabbed during the prior day’s misadventure that hadn’t fit.

That had been a good way to work most of the kinks in her body out. Though she’d been a little slow at it.

She completed her circuit of the apartment. Aside from a few empty cans, boxes, and two large plastic jugs in the kitchen—also empty—it looked much as it had when she’d arrived. Just … dirtier.

Not much I can do about that. She wasn’t exactly clean herself, despite her best efforts and a change of clothes. I’ll shower once I’m out of the city.

On the sunny side, she was clean enough that her injuries hadn’t flared up. The gashes on her arm were tender and sore, but neither swollen nor shiny. Whatever anti-bacterial agents the COG used in their medical kits worked well despite how much they had stung.

That and this body is supposed to be tough. It didn’t feel like it at the moment. Anything but, as stiff and sore as she was. There were bruises all across her skin from the day before, and a tender spot on the back of her head.

But I’m still alive. Alive and … She gave the apartment a final look. Ready to go.

She didn’t want to leave. The garden shop still felt safe.

But I have to. She wasn’t going to find her destiny hiding in a ruin. It had to be out west. Near the Jacinto plateau. In Ephyra, the capital of the Coalition.

And I’ve waited too long already. She turned and strode for the stairs, leaving the room for the last time.

Down below, in the front space of the shop, she took in the results of her work. Three of the wagons were laid out in a line, the rear two hooked to the wagon ahead in a train. The rearmost wagon was empty, but the other two were occupied, organized and sorted. The first wagon—the one she’d be pulling directly—was the heaviest, loaded with no less than four of the water jugs as well as her entire supply of food, some of it inside buckets. A weather-proof covering protected the whole load, secured by stretchy straps. The second wagon was lighter, loaded with clothing, some of the books she still needed to make it through before disposing of, and cookware.

The last wagon was empty. It wasn’t exactly light, even with nothing in it, but there was still more she needed to collect from the camping store. Like a tent.

Sunset took a quick look around the front of the store. The sun was high in the sky, meaning it was noonday or possibly later. The air inside the shop was hot and still.

One last look. She moved through the aisles slowly, crossing items off a mental list as she confirmed that they were indeed in her wagons. Tools. Batteries. Lanterns.

Eventually, she’d made a full circuit of the shop, and there was only one thing left to do. She crouched, picked up the handle for the lead wagon, and began to pull. Even though she was using her right arm, rather than the left she’d used the day before, the muscles of her shoulder still protested and cried as she put the weight of the wagons on them.

There was little she could do about it, however. She had to leave. It had to be done.

And I can get the harness at the camp store, she thought as she began to move forward, toward the door of the shop. Take some of the weight off. The wagons started to roll a little easier as she shoved the door open, stepping out onto the street.

Some animal part of her brain shouted at her that it was all a mistake, that she was going to be found and killed in minutes, but she pushed it down. She stepped off of the sidewalk, the door trying to swing shut and banging against the second wagon. The first followed her off of the sidewalk, dropping with a heavy thump that jostled its load but didn’t disturb it.

So far so good. Now turn. She began pulling the wagon to one side, half-twisted so that she could watch the wagon train. The first wagon began to turn almost immediately, its front tires pivoting on its rack-and-pinion setup. As its rear began to turn, the tires of the wagon behind it reacted as well, turning slightly to the side as they followed their connection to the lead wagon.

Well, Sunset thought as the second wagon dropped down off of the sidewalk, just starting to turn. It works! The third wagon followed a moment later, making a much louder sound than its two loaded sisters. Sunset winced, but the noise didn’t drive away the birdsong echoing from nearby buildings.

One foot in front of the other, she began making her way down the street, following the map that existed both in her head and in one of her pockets. To the camp store, she thought. With one minor detour …

The plaza she’d arrived in looked much the same as the last time she’d seen it, if a little greener. She left the wagons at the top of the steps, descending down into the park, her shotgun held at the ready just in case. The statue was still there—an astronomer, she now knew, from the “Silver Era” of the world’s history.

She stared at the side of the plinth that had been the opening for the portal. There was no telling when it would open again, or for how long. She’d never gotten around to making a copy of her notes on the planet to leave behind either. But …

She pulled one of her markers from her pocket, stepping toward the smooth stone. She could still leave a warning. In Equestrian, not Seran. For anypony that came through the portal, telling them to go back. She began to write, her hand moving in broad strokes as she wrote out her warning on the stone. It was short, but to the point. She stepped back, admiring her handiwork.

“Leave,” the message read. “There is nothing here for you but death. Everything here is dead. The portal will close quickly. Do not come back.” For a moment she contemplated signing her name, but then discarded the idea with a shake of her head.

Better that anyone who came through never knew the identity of the writer of the message. Maybe they’d think Starswirl himself had left it and not risk staying.

Or maybe they’ll see my message as a challenge and stay. She frowned, then reached out and underlined the last bit of her message for emphasis.

If they do stay, it’s their own fault.

On the plus side, with what she’d gathered about the planet’s two moons, the portal wasn’t going to open anytime soon. They were on wildly different orbits—and being entirely free of any interference, much like the weather, little could change that. They were sealed for at least a year and a half.

Though worryingly, Starswirls notes had mentioned an aspect of time dilation across differing universes—

Sunset shoved the marker back into her pocket. “So long, science guy,” she said, looking up at the statue. “I probably won’t see you again for a really long time.”

She spun on one heel and walked out of the small park without looking back.

* * *

By the time she reached the camp store and managed to load everything she needed into her wagons the sun was setting, and she decided to spend the night inside the shop rather than risk someplace unfamiliar inside or outside of the city. The bodies of the wretches were still where they’d died, which left her with a little pause, but at least none of them showed any signs of something chewing on them, which meant there probably weren’t any more of the things around. The bodies stank and had already attracted flies, but from inside the store it was a lot harder to notice.

She’d gotten the harness working too, though it would probably still need some fine tuning. As well as stripped the store of every shotgun shell it had held. The weapon in question was now lying next to her sleeping bag, fully loaded once more, safety engaged. The sleeping bag was atop a small camping pad, rolled up next to one of the wagons with a tarp stretched over it for a small awning. If the weather was decent, it would be a lot easier of a setup than setting up a tent or sleeping in one of the wagons themselves. She was still taking a tent, of course. It was in the third wagon. But even the easiest of the tents she’d found took a little bit of work to set up.

Sunset laid her head back on the camping mat, a faint pounding echoing from somewhere inside her head. The interior of the shop was growing darker by the minute, and her whole body ached, both from the lack of sleep the night before and her newest journey across the city. On her wrist a watch glowed faintly against the dark, though how it still worked after so many years she didn’t know. She wasn’t certain the time was right either, but it had seemed to correctly guess when the sun was going down, based on her estimate of what some of the symbols meant.

That or it lined up really conveniently. The coat she was using as a pillow felt lumpy under her skull, but she didn’t care. Every part of her wanted to drift off into sleep, to let her body collapse into blissful quiet and healing.

Almost every part of her. Her mind, tired as it was, was still sorting through her lists, cataloguing every item she’d loaded aboard her wagons. Food. Firestarter. Signal flares. Gnasher shells. Ammunition for a rifle, one of the “lancers” that the COG soldiers used. She’d need to collect one and learn how to use it at some point on her journey. Just as … a precaution.

Just in case.

Medical kits. Water purification tablets and filters. Lighters. Matches, in case the lighters weren’t as durable as promised or ran out of fuel. Tools.

It’s probably too much. The wagons had been heavy enough on the way to the store. But then that had been without the harness, which would hopefully make things a lot easier. Though stopping might be a bit tricky.

Sunset rolled onto her side, curling slightly and awkwardly pinning her arm under her upper body. How do minotaurs sleep like this? Two legs are the worst! Ugh!

Stupid body. At least some of the books she’d managed to scrounge up had given her other information on her new body so she wasn’t going to be caught further off guard.

A sigh slipped past her lips. A thousand miles to Jacinto. I think. She didn’t know how long a mile was. Something to look at in the morning. She still had her atlas, and she knew where Holton was on a map.

However long or short it is, I doubt that it’s going to be easy. But the best things never are.

Her mind on maps and charts, she slowly began to drift off. It didn’t matter how far away Jacinto was, or how hard the journey was.

She was going to make it. She would find her destiny.

Nothing else mattered.

Author's Note

Distance

Chapter 15 - Distance

Day Twelve - Northeast of Holton.

Well, I have a much better idea how long four miles is now. Due to my new body, I can’t tell if it’s shorter or longer than pony miles. Judging based off of the size of my books, this body is larger, but with all of my other things having changed, for all I know Starswirl’s spell took care of them too and simply sized them based on this world.

Either way, a mile isn’t too long, but when there’s little else to occupy your mind, it soon becomes quite long. I’d guess that with my wagons, I managed to make about three of them in a hour, maybe a little more, since it was something like four miles to the first intersection and I made it there in a little over an hour, according to my watch.

I wonder if it’s accurate. With more than just the time, I mean. It says that it’s the late spring right now, but I have no way of knowing if it is. The sun keeps rising and falling here, and according to their books, it does so unassisted. Or rather, the planet spins unassisted. Relative difference really.

A memory flashed through Sunset’s mind, of her laughing the first time Sunset had made the joke. She grimaced, then turned back to her journal.

Regardless, if it is truly becoming summer, then I hopefully won’t need to worry about freezing to death anytime soon. Catching cold maybe, if the wild weather turns on me, but I came prepared for that.

She paused for a moment, leaning back against the massive tree roots she’d chosen to take shelter under. The bark was rough but thick and heavy, like the rest of the tree. A faint breeze was rustling through its branches, the sound soothing. She’d cleared the ground of leaves and spread out her camping pad. The larger one, from the third wagon. The wagons themselves were sitting a few feet away, in a nice neat line in case something came along that forced her to move quickly. Past them through a thick carpet of leaves and the occasional bit of grass was the highway, a dirty, grey snake winding its way to the north.

The wind picked up speed for a few seconds, the rustling sound rising and then falling like a wave on a shore. Sunset stared up at the leaves, watching them shift and slide. Here and there they parted, giving her a glimpse of a reddish sky that was sliding towards purple and then black.

If my calculations are correct based on the atlas and the number of farms I’ve passed, I made it almost forty miles today. My feet and my legs hurt, but hopefully I’ll be able to maintain the same pace tomorrow. If I don’t run into any hills or obstacles of any kind, and can keep that same pace, I should be able to make it to Jacinto in a little over thirty days.

I don’t think I’ll be that lucky.

There’s another city in another sixty-three miles. Passtil. Not sure how that’s pronounced. Supposed to be a little smaller than Holton, but at the base of a pass through the mountains to the east. A highway runs from there west, toward Jacinto, but not in a straight line. So really, I’m farther from it than thirty days.

According to my guidebook, most of what’s west of Passtil is farmland and forests for a hundred miles. Estates of some kind. Same as what’s north of Holton. Maybe tomorrow or in the next few days, I’ll stop at one and see about supplies. Water I can get from a creek, and I’ve got enough food for about a week or two of hard walking, but I’ll need to find more before I reach Jacinto.

Sunset paused, chewing on the end of her pen and staring down at her journal. The setting sun was almost gone; she’d need to fire up a lantern soon if she wanted to get any study done on either Starswirl’s books or the few books on Sera she still had.

For now, I’m glad I’ve left Holton behind, and I’m moving toward my future. Satisfied, she closed the journal and replaced it in her pack, swapping it out for another book at random.

Starswirl’s collected essays on dimensional spellcrafting, she noted as she saw the cover. I suppose I’ll start with that tonight. Read for a bit, and then sleep.

Tomorrow’s another long day of walking.

* * *

Day Thirteen. Same place.

Everything hurts.

* * *

Day Fourteen. A little north.

I made it a few miles today. Still sore. Trying some of the stretches from that first aid book seemed to help. This would be a lot easier if I were still a pony. Serans are terrible at walking.

* * *

Day Fifteen.

Sunset paused for a moment, staring down at the page before adding another note. Same place. Morning.

I’m not as stiff today. The stretches definitely helped. Going to have to remember to do them more often until my body gets used to all this walking.

Unfortunately I now have a new problem. It’s the morning of the fourth day, and I’ve traveled perhaps forty-five miles, with almost sixty left to Passtil. In four days. Two of which have mostly been trying to move, to be fair, but there’s another reason that’s bad.

She glanced over at her wagons, and the dwindling supply of water contained in the second. I’ve already gone through almost half of the water I brought for my trip, and I’m not even halfway there. I drank more than I expected the first day—and passed only a little of it, likely due to my exertions—but I haven’t stopped drinking the last two days either. Not that I could.

However, this presents me with a problem: By the time I reach Passtil, I’ll be on my last jug. And that’s assuming I don’t run into problems between here and there.

So, water’s a problem. Right now, the plan is to stop at one of the farm estates the guidebook talked about. They’re outside of the cities, but people lived there and they irrigated crops, so they had to have some method of collecting water, since the serans don’t have a weather team to just make it rain. I guess even if they did, they would still want to store drinking water, or have wells or something.

If I can’t find water there, I might have to start rationing myself. I’m sure there will be some in Passtil, but I have to get there first. Estate or not, I’d like to make it at least ten miles today. Maybe twenty.

Time waits for no mare. I need to get to it.

Sunset shut the journal with a snap, almost catching her fingers between the pages. “Come on,” she said, shoving the journal back into her pack. “We need to move. Movement will help.” She wasn’t sure if she believed her words, but saying them aloud did lend some credence to them, even if she winced as she stood up, her stiff legs complaining at the slight movement.

Her camp was spread out around her, dimly lit in the pre-dawn light, a simple arrangement, but far superior to how she’d slept the first night. After a heavy breeze on her second day, combined with her stiffness, she’d countered both by pulling her wagons into a tight crescent around her camp, allowing her to reach everything with a minimum of effort as well as blocking some of the breeze. She’d done the same the night before. A little breeze is nice, but some of those winds yesterday … Brrr!

Slowly she packed up, hoisting her pad back into the rear wagon and then shaking the dust off of the cover she’d laid down beneath it before rolling it up and placing it with the pad. Every so often one of the motions she was going through made a muscle twinge, reminding her that she still hadn’t recovered from her forced forty-mile hike a few days before.

Not recovered. Acclimated. It was an important reminder. Clearly serans were capable of marching forty or more miles in a day. It was just a bit harder for them than ponies, probably. And her body hadn’t gotten the message yet.

One more thing to plant her hooves in Starswirl’s gut for if she ever got the chance. Who makes such a complete transformation spell but then doesn’t add little improvements? I would! Who wouldn’t?

Her stomach let out a growl as she finished packing up her camp, a reminder that she still hadn’t eaten that morning. By design; the hiking book she’d gathered had suggested eating lightly while on the move when hiking to avoid overloading on food that could cramp the stomach.

Plus it’ll make up some time. Slipping into her pack and harness came with some protest, stiff muscles voicing their discomfort, but after a few minutes both were in place and settling into familiar grooves on her shirt.

Dirty grooves. That was another thing the extra water would be useful for: A shower. And a quick wash of clothing. After three days on the road—even if she’d really only done much travel for one of them—she could smell her unique bouquet of sweat and grime even with her far weaker seran nose.

She stretched, trying to sooth the muscles of her upper back and bring some life back to their tightened knots. Another growl rose from her stomach, a pang not quite as noticeable as her stiffness, but still doing its best to make itself known.

At least that pain was easy to deal with. She had plenty of high-calorie foods, including every box of granola bars she’d been able to find at the camp store. With a little water, they were decently filling, and tasty atop that. Especially the chocolate-coated ones.

“Sweet and crunchy,” Sunset said as she grabbed four of the bars from one of the open boxes, tucking three into her pockets and peeling the wrapper back on the last one. “Delicious.”

Then she paused, the wrapper halfway off the bar. “And you’re talking to yourself. Real good Sunset. Real good. Sun above I need to find some actual beings to talk to.”

Chewing on her breakfast, Sunset hooked the lead wagon to her harness and began to pull. Twigs snapped under her boots as she made her way back through the low brush to the highway. There was a slight rise before she was atop the road itself, much of it overgrown after who knew how many years of neglect, and she scrambled up it, legs burning as the weight of the wagons began to press against her. The moments just after she’d crested the rise were the most difficult, with two fully-loaded wagons both fighting slope she’d just passed, but she pressed onward, letting out faint grunts of exertion with each step.

At last the pressure on her body lessened, the first wagon rising over the embankment and rolling out onto the road. The second followed shortly thereafter, and Sunset turned north, the lead wagon obediently falling into place behind her. The last wagon rattled as it left the gravel, joining its siblings on the pavement, and Sunset let out a sigh.

“Here we go,” she said, eyeing the winding road ahead of her. She could make out a gentle rise and fall to its passage through the trees, an undulation that would no doubt be an annoyance going both up and down. The burn from her short climb had mostly faded, leaving a dull warmth drifting through both her legs. “Come on. It won’t be that bad.”

As before, she wasn’t sure if she believed her words, but she began moving forward nonetheless, moving north one step at a time.

Well … she thought as she finished off the last of her first granola bar. At least I have chocolate.

But if I come across a rest stop, I’m stealing every candy bar they have in sight.

* * *

In the end, neither a rest stop nor an estate had appeared by the time Sunset stopped for lunch. Her legs had settled to a dull burn, the muscles somewhere between the consistency of jelly and iron, a thixotropic substance that lost all strength when she tried to move. She could feel another blister forming on the bottom of one foot, a pain that she would tackle just as soon as she’d finished eating her lunch—whatever it was.

The box claimed it was a lasagna, or something close to it. Whatever it actually was, it did have noodles and a sauce of sorts. But compared to what a lasagna was supposed to taste like—and Sunset considered her palate quite experienced given she’d spent a lot of time around the Palace’s diplomatic corps and dinners—the best she could offer the meal was “close.” In a sense that both indeed had noodles and a form of a sauce.

She’d heard the Guard joke about the quality of deployment rations before. Sunset held up a forkful of the “meal,” watching as a limp noodle slipped free and dropped back down into the packet with a faint plop.

Maybe it’s just a universal constant, she thought as she stuck the rest of the fork into her mouth and chewed. Deployment rations will always be the best they can do for a cheap bit for soldiers that don’t really have a say in the matter.

Or maybe it was just because the box she was eating was past its sell-by date, a number stamped on the side of the package that seemed at odds with the “Good for fifty years!” block-text slogan printed nearby. Unless her watch was wrong about the date. Another reminder of how little she actually knew about where she was. Was it really late in the spring? Or would she awake the next morning to find the leaves changing and the weather cooler?

I’d be okay with that last bit, she thought as she captured the escaped noodle with her fork once more, dabbing it in sauce and then scarfing it down. It was still an uncertainty whether the sauce made the noodle more palatable—or the noodle the sauce—and her latest bite didn’t help her decide any, but she swallowed anyway. Around her the wind picked up again, a faint whoosh of air rushing down the roadway and making the top layers of the dust shift and slide. A crack ran across the paving material nearby, small strands of yellow grass poking their way through them toward the light of the sun and swaying in the breeze. Sunset stared, watching as the blades waved back and forth. Birdsong from the nearby trees mixed with the gentle buzz of insects and the flow of the wind through branches.

In a way, it’s beautiful. The breeze faded, the grass bending upright once more. I know it’s terrible, but even with everything that happened here, this place—this world—is beautiful.

Her stomach was nearing full, her meal packet only half eaten. Which, given its size, wasn’t unusual. Thankfully, whoever had designed it had given it a small adhesive tab so that it could be sealed for later … though there was a warning on the selfsame tab declaring that exposed food older than a few hours should simply be tossed.

But a few hours was plenty of time to cover another few miles and work up an additional appetite. She licked her fork clean before wrapping it under the seal, storing it and the other half of the lasagna for later. The cool, soothing breeze running across her shoulders cut off as she slipped her pack into place, followed by the harness. I’m going to end up with sweat sores if I’m not careful. The carabiner let out a loud snap as she clipped herself to the wagon, the sound echoing up and down the road like a miniature bolt of thunder. The birdsong shifted slightly, but then rebounded, and Sunset smiled. No Locust around.

A few seconds later she’d added her own sounds to the mix emanating from the forest around her, the tromp of her boots blending with the backing chorus of three wagons rolling in unison, rattling from time to time as they passed over a crack or bump in the road. The tightness in her muscles, built up from sitting for the duration of her lunch, began to fade, loosening like warmed taffy.

Step by step, the forest rolled past. One tree after another. One boot before the other. The road wound slightly right, a long, gradual turn that halfway through began to slope gently upward, putting more pressure on her shoulders. Before long her course wound back the other way, the road settling into a gentle downward slope that had the wagon handle pressed against her backpack, pushing her forward.

She was making progress. The forest around her had thickened over the last few miles, growing right up to the edge of the roadway and in a few places close enough that their roots had started to push the edge of the pavement back. The trees near the road itself were young, small by comparison to those beyond them, but also thickly clustered together, like young foals fighting for attention, for a moment in the sun.

That was me once, Sunset thought, scowling. I did everything for her. And in return … I was burned.

Was that how she saw us? Her eyes slipped to the massive trees growing further back, their mighty boughs towering over the smaller upstarts. A bunch of foals, eager for their moment to rise? Eventually, one of the trees would win out, rise above the others, each of them starving out or decaying in turn as the more suited among them basked in the most light.

It wasn’t a perfect comparison. None of the foals from Full Futures had starved after Sunset had left, despite her errant destruction of the stove. But none of them had been taken under her wing. None of them had been privately tutored by a living immortal. They’d all gone on to other things. Less important things. Sunset had been chosen because of what she would become.

Or rather, for my potential to become, she thought, her scowl deepening. And then she tried to take that away from me. I rose, only to find I’d been set up to fail.

A grim smile replaced her scowl. So I refused. Her brow wrinkled slightly as she followed the train of thought to its conclusion.

“And now I’m here, sweaty, smelly, and dirty, with no access to my magic. Great choice.” But there was a reason for it. She’d acted, taken measures to ensure she’d achieve the power and destiny she had refused to let her grasp for. It has to be here. I don’t know what it is, but I will find it, I will gain it, and then one day I’ll return, and she will know that she wasn’t able to deny me the future I worked so hard for.

The betrayal still hurt. Tears welled at the corners of Sunset’s eyes, the forest growing slightly blurry, and she blinked them away. I gave everything to you …

She blinked again, rubbing at her eyes and wiping away her tears, anger pushing past the hurt and pain, washing over it and burying it deep once more. And in return I got betrayal. Her eyes fixed on the young clusters of trees beside the road once more, narrowing. What fairness is that? Will the rest of the forest rise up and burn whichever of you young trees comes out on top? Out of spite? Or jealousy?

Her arms were shaking, her hands clenched so tightly into fists that her nails felt like they were claws. Her whole body felt weak and full of fire at the same time, like an explosion that was caught somewhere between ignition and complete collapse. The wagon train poked against her back, shoving her two stumbling steps forward. When had she stopped?

“Was nothing I ever did good enough for you!?” Her shout echoed across the empty roadway, swallowed up by the forest. “Was it!?” She wasn’t sure who she was shouting at, or even why, the words kept roaring out of her, like a flood tearing free of a dam. “I had nothing! I had you! All I wanted to do was make you proud! And you threw me away!”

She slumped as the sound of her outburst faded. “All I wanted to do was make you happy with me,” she said quietly, the words mussed by the sudden tightness in her throat. ‘And you wouldn’t … you wouldn’t …” She sank down, crouching back on her heels as tears began to pour out in a torrent.

“You wouldn’t even tell me why.”

The sound of her sobs filled the air, drowning out everything else as Sunset folded in on herself.

* * *

Eventually, the tears stopped, running dry like a well that had long been overused. Sunset sniffled, wiping her nose on her shirt and almost scowling at how little she cared about the filth.

It had been a long time since she’d cried in earnest. So long, in fact, that she wasn’t really certain when the last time before had been. There had been hot, angry tears when her mentor had shoved her aside, but then that anger had turned to action, not … whatever this had been.

Worse, she really didn’t feel any better. Isn’t that supposed to be the point of having a good cry? To just let it out and feel better? She wiped her eyes again. Because I don’t. I really don’t.

Instead, she felt wrung out. Exhausted, but only on the inside. Worse still, no answer had come to her while she was sobbing on the ground. Everything inside her still felt tied up in knots, like someone had severely messed up a come-to-life spell on a rope and ended up with a tight ball rather than something useful.

Knots or not, I need to start moving again. Pushing herself up was a little awkward, the wagon handling digging against her pack and forcing the wagon train to rock back and then forward when she didn’t give way. I just … She let her head hang to one side, cupping her forehead with one hand and letting her mane spill down over her face, not moving forward for the moment.

Her throat still hurt. “Stupid seran biology.” The words felt hollow, but even so she felt a little bit better for saying them. But they couldn’t drive away the twisted hollow inside her chest. Worse, she didn’t know what could.

She closed her eyes, wishing for just a moment that there was somepony—anypony—for her to talk to. Or better yet, to wrap their forelegs or arms or whatever they had around her and hold her tightly, letting her know that it was going to be all right, even if they didn’t know that.

But there was just her. Alone. In the middle of the road.

She let out a quiet, dry chuckle. Now would be the perfect time for someone to come along and find me. I must look like a mess. She straightened, throwing her head and mane back and blinking away the last of her tears. The awful, knotted feeling inside her was still there, like a weight dragging against her soul, but she couldn’t stay put.

I just … She didn’t want to start walking again, either. She needed to, but even looking down at her feet, she just couldn’t force them to start moving.

With a sigh, Sunset undid the clip from her harness, shucking it from her back. The pack followed a moment later, cool air spilling over her sore shoulders and siphoning away the sweat that had built up beneath the straps. The leftovers she’d had for lunch were right where she’d left them, and she opened the package, dropping down to sit atop the wagon as she dug in. The tasteless mixture mattered even less than it normally did, flavorful as ash as she ate without thinking.

What did I do wrong? Her fork struck plastic, most of her meal gone already. How long had she been sitting eating it? She adjusted its angle and stabbed again. Why?

Why? The thought echoed around her head like the tolling of a bell, circling back again and again. Was none of what I did good enough? Earlier, the thought would have brought more tears, but those were long-since spent. Didn’t she—? She shivered.

Didn’t she care about me?

The thought struck her insides like a whip, drawing a bleeding wound across her heart. Again she wanted to cry, but there weren’t any more tears to shed.

Fine. The lasagna was gone, the packet empty. She dumped it into a spare box she’d been using as a trashcan. Even with the whole of civilization collapsing and corroding back into the planet, it didn’t feel right to simply toss her garbage aside. Fine! Embers of anger flared in her chest, burning with heat. Fine! She swept them across the wound, searing it closed.

What do I care if she did or didn’t care? I cared. I cared a lot. She rose, stiff muscles once again making themselves known. I did everything she ever asked, and more! I never stopped!

Her pack and the harness were still lying on the road. She picked them up, slipping them across her shoulders one after the other. “And I won’t stop now. I’m beyond your control here, Celestia.” The word felt strange as it slipped out of her mouth, lacking the customary title in front of it. “You’ll see.”

She began to walk, the wagons falling in behind her once more. “You can’t stop me. And I …” She swallowed, her throat dry. Her heart still ached, but like everything else, she would push past it. The Locust, her new body, everything. She’d push past all of it. She’d made her decision the moment she’d stolen away for the portal.

“I won’t give up.”

“I can’t.”

* * *

The miles melted away beneath her feet much the way the hours did, the sun striding across the sky with a pace to match her own determined footsteps. The forest grew thicker and wilder, the trees older and more ancient. She passed a pair of abandoned carriages on the road, though why they’d been left she couldn’t say, only that there had been no sign of either damage or the occupants. The mountains off to the east seemed to swell as they drew nearer, their jagged, white-capped peaks rising into the sky and broken by belts of green.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking, aside from since she’d set out that morning, or how many miles she’d passed. Not since her impromptu overload had thrown off her focus. All she knew was that she hadn’t seen any sign of Passtil—though with as tall and thick as the trees were around her … It’d be hard to, unless it has an even taller tower than Holton did.

I do wish I knew what it looked like. Ahead of Sunset the road was winding once more, weaving to the right as if driving deeper toward the nearing peaks. If it does this for too much longer I’ll be in the mountains. Already the forest floor was beginning to look a little more rough, with faint rises and falls that the road’s engineers had clearly smoothed out.

I hope that means I’m close. The road began to wind left once more, moving back to its northerly track. Otherwise the road might start going up and down soon, and I’m already sore enou—Hey!

She came to a sudden stop, only to wobble forward as her wagon train shoved her from behind. She didn’t care. Is that …?

The bend in the road was straightening out, metamorphosing into a long, flat stretch, but that wasn’t what had caught her eye. What had was a low, leaf-covered stone wall that rose out of the ground on the left side of the road, running in a straight line alongside it for what had to be several hundred feet. And past that …

A road. A dirt and gravel road, jutting off from the pavement at a right angle. The forest beyond it was gone, the west side of the road instead filled by a rolling field of amber and green. There was a sign, too, hanging from a post. Though she was far too far away to read it.

She didn’t need to, however. She knew what it was. She’d passed two similar roads on her first day. A farm. Or an estate.

Either one meant the possibility of water to refill her stocks. Which, now that I think about it … She disconnected the harness and stepped back to the second wagon, readying both her long-since-empty canteens. The pump she’d attached to the top of her last jug took a second to prime, but once it had quickly filled both canteens. She drained half of one, pumping the jug again to fill it before turning back to the front of the wagons.

“Maybe they’ll have water,” she said as she began pulling the train forward once more. “And I can figure out how much farther I have to go.”

The letters on the sign expanded as she moved closer, forming recognizable lettering that she was, with a bit of effort, able to decipher. “Ramirez Estates? Huh.” The name sounded odd, and she wasn’t certain she was pronouncing it right. I hope they have a cistern I can borrow.

As she drew closer to the drive, more of the open fields on the other side of it came into view. They were broad, miles across and planted on gently rising and falling hills. They also were unmaintained, the golden coloration less from ripe, healthy stalks of what she guessed was grain and more from patches of bare soil or dried stalks. Grass had also begun to infest the field, and bushes and even a small sapling broke up the endless monotony of the rows.

There was a stone wall coming down the road from the other direction as well, mirroring the wall to the south in construction and wear. Both turned inward as they met the drive, flanking it. A wooden bar had at one point crossed the turnoff, blocking it to vehicle traffic, but at some point the hinges holding it in place had failed, the bar twisted with its far end down in the dirt.

Not that it would have blocked her anyway. From the height of the hinges, she and the wagon train would have easily been able to step under it. Now we’ll just go around. More of the fields were coming into view, with another of the tall windmills she’d seen from the Holton tower off in the distance. What are those for? she wondered as the drive neared. Maybe for pumping water? She’d seen a few small windmills for that purpose during a tour of the land around Appleloosa, except what she was looking at looked nothing like one of those.

Maybe it’s just overengineered? Even so, something about it didn’t look right. It would work, but as large as it was … If it were actually spinning, it’d be big enough to provide water to the whole estate.

It wasn’t, however. The fan vanes were motionless. Which made calling it a windmill even more questionable. But it did look like one.

So what is it? she wondered as the turn to the drive neared. It has to have some sort of purpose!

Maybe I should have looked up the word “windmill” in that dictionary before I left Holton to see what it said. That sun, unfortunately, had already set.

She turned off of the drive and onto the gravel and rock road, the rock popping and snapping under the wagon train’s rtires. Ahead of her the driveway—or maybe it was more of a road—extended off into the distance, rolling up and down alongside the fields. Faintly, off in the distance, she could see what had to be the roof of the estate itself. Nowhere close, but nothing she couldn’t reach with a little determination.

It’s massive, Sunset thought as she crested the first hill in the road, getting a better look at the estate. It has to be. It was built from more than a single building, with what could have been covered walkways or perhaps even enclosed pathways connecting the various structures, others standing alone. Really massive.

The drive was overgrown, but not terribly so. The twin ruts the cars were meant to pass down were still relatively clear, if a little eroded, but the wagons didn’t seem to be having too much trouble riding over it. Though she did have to pull a bit harder to keep pace due to the added resistance left by grass and small brush.

What must this estate looked like when it was occupied? she wondered as she rolled onward. Off to her right a massive piece of what she assumed was farm equipment sat languishing in the middle of a field, the metal worn and color faded. What it was for she wasn’t certain, even accounting for her limited knowledge of farm equipment, but it was massive, with wheels that appeared taller than she was. A glass-walled cockpit of sorts sat high in the air, the windows dusty and covered in grime.

What would that look like rolling up and down the fields? It was almost a rhetorical question, as she could imagine the massive machine rolling, but not what it did or was for. Did they have one of them? Or did they have more?

One of the wagons jostled, rattling as it bounced over a worn divot. With each passing step the sprawling complex at the end of the drive drew nearer. Or rather, she realized as she crested another small rise, the estate did. The drive appeared to continue onward, branching and splitting out of the estate across the property in all directions, including into the forest. A small shack broke the monotony of the stone wall to her left, formed of the same materials with a bit more mortar. What it had been for she couldn’t say, but its simple wooden door hung open. A quick look as she passed showed that it was mostly empty space with some unoccupied hooks along one wall. A tool-shed, perhaps?

Another rise, her legs burning slightly as she pulled her wagons up to the top. From its peak, she could see that she was much closer to the center of the estate, her eyes able to pick out details that separated the individual buildings from one another. The drive she was following crossed another smaller hill before rolling down into a large, square plaza between what were probably garages or workshops of some kind. She could see two roads leaving the plaza, one moving for the woods, the other heading away west toward more of the large, warehouse-like structures. Barns, most likely. Just much larger than any she’d seen in Equestria.

Though I guess I didn’t spend a lot of time in the breadbasket. The plaza itself appeared quite nice, made of worked brick that had only slightly been reclaimed by nature. A massive car, one of the ones with the large open back, sat on one side of the plaza, grass poking through gaps in the stone around its wheels. The brickwork had probably settled over the years, allowing more build up to occur and the grass to thrive.

To the north, the brick of the plaza gave way to terraced earth and the front grounds of the estate house itself. Some brickwork persisted in low walls that shored up the earth, in steps up and down the terrace from small pathways, and in a wide, sweeping paved drive that ran up to the front doors of the home itself before looping back around to join with the plaza once more. A stone fountain occupied the center of the grounds, its spire-like centerpiece reaching into the sky and managing almost as far as the second story of the manor. It was overgrown and long since dry, but still impressive.

Sunset picked up the pace as she rolled down into the last dip before the estate, keeping the momentum to aid in rising up the other side. The wagons bounced and rattled as they crossed over a particularly eroded gap at the road’s lowest point, sapping some of her speed but not all of it. She was close enough now that she could still see one wing of the massive manor from the dip. Which said things about how huge the place was.

How many ponies—I mean serans—must have lived here? Worked here? There was no disputing the size of the estate, especially now that she was so close. It was simply titanic.

And in poor repair, she noted as she reached the top of the last hill. She could see light glinting off of several large windows, as well as failing to bounce from panes that weren’t there. While there were wooden trellises along the front of the house, she highly doubted that the original builders or the most recent owners had wanted the greenery that was growing along it to have spread as far as it had. While the whole of the structure didn’t look as though it had been new in decades, maybe centuries, the years of abandonment certainly hadn’t helped.

The wagon train picked up speed once more, pushing Sunset to a jog as she ran down the last bit of the road toward the plaza. The ground leveled out beneath her, the extra speed bleeding out as the plaza brickwork neared. The stone walls that had flanked her on both sides gave way at last, replaced by brickwork structures with expansive arches, open on three sides to the elements. Covered parking, she guessed, though she wasn’t certain. The one on her right ended as the plaza neared, coming up against the backside of another extending off the plaza itself that appeared to be a workshop.

“Ooooo …” She slowed as the workbenches came into view, then let out a whistle. Though dusty and covered in cobwebs, she could still see that most of the benches were occupied with heavy-looking metal tools. Part of her wanted to check them immediately, but she could already see that a number looked completely unfamiliar to her.

“You’re here for water and food, Sunset. Not tools. You’ve got plenty already.” She pushed ahead, pulling the wagons the last bit of distance to the plaza. The plaza wasn’t quite level with the end of the road, leading to a slight bump up worn and battered brick edges. But suddenly pulling the wagon was far easier, like she’d cut one of the wagons loose.

Guess hauling it up and down that road was harder than I thought, she noted as she slowed to a stop, looking at the whole of the yard and trying to decide where to begin first. Which means it’ll be worse once I’ve got a bunch of water filling those empty jugs.

Better than dying of dehydration, I guess. Her throat tickled, and she took a long sip from one of her canteens. But hey, at least I’ll be able to camp someplace nice tonight. Even if she couldn’t get into the main house, there was plenty of cover.

Though she still had a few hours until the sun would set. Better not waste time. She moved to unclip the carabiner connecting her to the wagon train, then thought better of it and removed the harness instead, slipping it from her shoulders. Again as before the pack followed, but this time she set it atop the lead wagon and opened it up, grabbing a flashlight from its depths before sealing it tight and leaving it there.

She was half a step away when she paused, glancing back at the pack. If I have to run ...

But she could hear birdsong echoing from nearby, and she was outside any city. Plus, the estate didn’t look as though it had seen any desperate battles. Outside of the lack of care for the grounds and a few missing windows, it could have simply been abandoned not too many days earlier.

Well, she thought as she noted a few scattered branches across the plaza, probably blown from the forest after the last storm. It’s pretty dirty. Maybe a few weeks.

Either way … She debated for a moment, then shook her head and reached out for the pack, slipping it back onto her back. Just in case. She threaded her mane out from under the straps, then took another quick look around the plaza.

Workshop first. I want to see what those tools were. If that’s what they were. She retraced her steps, slowing only long enough to look up and make sure she wasn’t about to walk into something that looked unsafe. The workshop smelled of dust and grease when she stepped into it, the open-walled design not quite enough to pull the smells away. Heavy shelves filled the walls, laden with mechanical parts and pieces, some of which were so massive and solid she wondered how they’d moved them there in the first place. One was a dirty gear, the teeth almost as thick as her fist and the whole piece the size of her chest. Another was a metal shaft of some kind, longer than she was tall and easily as thick as one of her legs. The seran ones, not her pony legs.

Here and there among the benches were massive tools, some so large they were dividing the workspaces up. At least, I think that’s a tool, Sunset thought as she stepped up to one that was shaped like a giant crescent. That looks like a drill bit hanging down. I wonder what it’s for, outside of drilling?

There were other objects scattered across the workbenches as well, some recognizable—like the wrenches that could have come straight from one of the Palace workshops—and some that weren’t—like a pile of mechanical gears and rods that even after staring at for a minute, she couldn’t make heads or tails of.

The last item on the workbench she could understand, even the sight of it sent chills down her spine. It was a massive circular saw, like the one she’d seen construction ponies using when she had renovated one of the wings. Just … larger.

Much larger. That blade it has is wider than I am thick! Almost without thinking she reached out, wrapping her fingers around the handles. The heavy yellow saw shifted, rolling to one side as she tried to lift it.

“Oof …” The saw rose or just a moment, hanging over the workbench before dropping down with a heavy bang. “It’s not just big, it’s heavy too.” I wonder how it works? The saw that the construction ponies had been using had run off of magiletric technology, but the serans didn’t have that.

Batteries? No. She shook her head as she pushed the heavy saw up on one side, not missing the way the teeth of the blade dug into the wooden workbench. Those pipes there look like the “exhaust” pipe that book said the carriages have. Internal … what was it … explosion? No, combustion?

Whatever it is, it doesn’t help me find water. Still … She let the tool drop back down it its belly, then on a whim reached out and tapped the guard over the sawblade. It’s definitely both interesting and alarming to see something like that.

For a brief moment the image of what it would do to a wretch slipped through her mind, and she shuddered, shaking her head. Check the other buildings. Then the house.

Unfortunately, the rest of the structures around the plaza didn’t reveal much. Most were full of odds and ends, mechanical parts, or old, long-since decayed bales of what had probably been straw or hay before they had sat for too long. One held a bunch of farming implements, most designed to be pulled or pushed by some sort of cart by her guess, while another was locked up tight, the lock, chain, and the latch all secure and still in prime shape. A quick check didn’t show any other way intoo the structure, so she left it. The last shed was … empty.

Huh. Well, time to check the house. They had to have water somewhere around here.

She followed the nearest path up to the front of the estate house, winding around grounds that, while nothing compared to the palace gardens in Canterlot, would have still been decently impressive had they been cleaned and taken care of. As it was, everything from the ground to the boxes was a mix of overgrown or dying.

But even so, there was an aura of regality around the manor. She stared up at the walls, easily three stories high, the brickwork dirty, dusty and overgrown, but also resplendent with carvings and motifs of every kind. Each pillar and buttress bore carefully sculpted designs, patterns and whorls, like the building itself had been made a work of art. She glanced at the fountain, catching sight of similar carvings around each layer of its stone circumference, flowing spouts of water mixed with what appeared to be sea creatures and bipedal figures.

Even Canterlot isn’t this ornate, Sunset thought, stepping over to one brick arch and running her fingers over what looked like filigree etched in the mortar. It was weathered, but there was no doubt it had been the byproduct of design rather than chance. All this for a home? A big home, probably for some wealthy family, or maybe a whole collection of families, but still. This is a lot of work.

The front doors were just as ornate, huge twin edifices of wood twice her height and inlaid with decorative strips of metal. Bronze, I think, Sunset thought as she tapped one of the pieces. And the steps I’m standing on are … granite, maybe? She rapped the side of one boot against a step, feeling the solidity of the stone. Another rap against the door, this time with her knuckles. The resulting sound was solid, swallowed by the object’s mass. One solid piece of wood … or at least joined so carefully it doesn’t make a difference.

The handle was just as ornate as the rest of the door, made of dirty, tarnished bronze and evoking the image of a cloud sweeping over a mountain. Or maybe water over a rock. Something artistic, but with all the fine details buried under the tarnish it was hard to say what exactly. Sunset wrapped her hand around it and pushed. It gave for a brief instant, then stopped with a sudden click.

Locked. Of course. She glanced to her left and then to the right. A good idea, but …

She stepped down off the raised granite steps, boots sinking into the dry soil that filled the space between the estate windows and the brick drive. The bushes that had once filled the space were all but gone, only a few showing any signs of life while the rest languished as dried, spiny husks of bark and branch. Grass and other small plants grew up around their bases, as well as the choking trellis vines that had grown over a massive portion of the house. A small patch of red and yellow flowers had taken over one segment.

But it wasn’t the plant life she was interested in. It was the windows, the massive, multi-paned expanses of glass wide enough for her to have fit a wagon through sideways, each almost as tall as the doors.

Windows that were missing panes. So I don’t even have to break them. She stopped by the first hole, eyeing the gap left by the missing glass and catching her eye on several broken bits poking up from the bottom of the frame like tiny, frail knives.

The butt end of her flashlight took care of them, knocking them aside. A few bounced out onto the ground, but most of the shards fell inside, tinkling as they hit a hard floor. The glass gone, Sunset probed the gap left to make certain there wasn’t anything that was going to remain to cut her hands and then checked the whole of the gap in the frame. It was large enough for her to shimmy through, though her backpack was probably going to catch a bit on the upper half.

Leaning over the windowsill, Sunset poked her head into the manor itself. The window led to a dusty hall, the floor a mix of hardwood and carpet. The bits of glass she’d knocked out of the frame were resting atop much older pieces from when the window had first broken. Of what had done the actual deed there was no sign.

The insidelooked in many ways much like the interior of many of the manors the Canterlot nobility had espoused, though older and scaled for a bipedal species. Off to her left, she could see what had to be the entryway through a pair of partially closed doors, and to her right, the hallway continued down to an identical set of doors, though those were closed. On the far wall, opposite each window and illuminated by the late-day sun, were more doorways, each just as ornate and artistic as the front door had been, if smaller.

“Yep, definitely a manor,” Sunset said as she gripped the windowsill. “One big box with smaller boxes all fit inside it, half the time just to show how many smaller boxes you can have.” She hopped and pulled at the same time, her toes and legs pushing her up off of the ground while she pulled her upper body deeper into the manor. Abruptly her weight pitched forward, much quicker than she’d been prepared for, and she toppled, pivoting on her hips as they hit the empty frame and toppling forward. There was a loud crack as the back of one boot slammed into the window. Sunset caught herself on splayed hands, each just inches from the small pile of glass on the floor.

“Okay,” she said as her stomach settled back into its proper place. “That could have gone better.” She twisted, glancing back to see that the impact of her boot had cracked another pane. If I’d hit that harder, I’d have knocked glass down on top of me. The mental picture made her shiver. Or maybe that was a side effect from having her legs dangle in the air.

She began to work her way forward, rocking her hips side to side to slide them forward and “stepping” forward with her hands—away from the glass. After a few seconds, her knees slipped over the sill, and she tucked one leg close up to her chest, planting her boot on the floor. The broken glass let out a crunch as she transferred her weight to it, easing the pressure on her palms and letting her pull her other leg fully inside. A second crunch sounded as her other boot touched down, and then she stood, keeping her balance under control as she transferred her weight to the upright stance.

“Well, that probably looked humiliating,” she said, giving her hands a small shake. “But no one was around to see it, and I’m getting better at keeping my balance.” She wiped her hands on her pants and then looked up and down the hall before deciding to head for the entryway.

Dust billowed around her feet, rising from the carpet with each heavy thump from her boots. The partially-open doors to the entryway were covered in their own coating of the stuff. Ancient cobwebs tore as Sunset pushed the door open, a loud creak sounding through the manor and sending a chill down her spine. The double doors opened into the home’s entryway, the backside of the two front doors as heavily ornate as their outside. Another pair of doors opposite the ones Sunset had just opened seemed to lead into a similar external hallway, while to her right were coathooks and cubbies for boots. She turned in their direction, away from the front door, looking past the entryway into what was clearly the main hall, and nodded.

Yup. Just like a Canterlot noble’s home, she thought as she took in a large central staircase. It rose upwards to a landing that was looked down on by a faded painting, then split to the left and the right, moving upward to … She stepped forward, out into the main hall to get a better look.

Yup. Balcony. The second level was open to the first, ringing it like a bunch of box seats at the theater. Paintings and what looked like dust-covered busts made her want to march up the stairs straightaway, past dust-covered furniture that still looked quite comfy, and see what each represented. Or—as she turned to take in the full scope of the room—to get a better look at the massive horns and bits of skulls mounted around the rim of the balcony. Hunting trophies, most likely, and whether fake or legitimate many of them were quite large. And if I know what the thing is called, if they’re labeled, I can look it up and know what I might want to avoid.

But she held herself back. I came here with a job. Besides, the room was well lit thanks to light coming from the second floor windows, which she now realized made up the whole of the upper front wall. It just hadn’t looked like it from the front of the house due to the dirt and creeping vines—the latter of which were casting misshapen shadows across the steps and part of the room. Plenty of time to find what I want to find and then still take a look around.

There was space to either side of the central staircase, broad enough for furniture and even in one spot a fireplace. It was closed off, and she wondered if it had ever been used or if it were strictly decorative. Doors—smaller than the doubles doors from the hallway or at the front of the house, but still no less ornate with their carved designs and patterns—led to other rooms deeper in the house, and she eyed them for a moment, thinking hard on the manors she’d been to in Canterlot. For water, I want the kitchen. Which would be … where?

Ground level was most likely. Kitchens tended to be heavy. That and warm air rose, so a kitchen on a higher floor would waste the heat as well as become unbearable. She eyed the left and right doors to either side of the central staircase and picked at random, going left. The door wasn’t locked and opened with a faint creak, dust drifting down off it and landing in her mane. The room beyond was dark, and a sudden chill ran through Sunset, a memory of the half-starving wretch jumping to the forefront of her mind.

Her flashlight picked out what appeared to be some sort of sitting room, with small tables, cushy chairs, and a shelf full of books. Her eyes lingered on the last, but she pulled her focus back, forcing her gaze instead to two doors on the far side of the room, opposite the corner she’d just opened to. A quick glance behind the door she’d opened showed that there was a matching door there as well, small and unassuming. She opened it, only to be blinded by the beam from her own flashlight as it bounced back from a dirty mirror.

“Owww …” she said, blinking away spots and angling her flashlight to get a better view of the room. It was, as she’d suspected from the mirror, a bathroom. Rather small, but considering its location the size made sense. She stepped into inside, her boots leaving tracks in the dust, and spun one of the sink handles, twisting it first left, then right.

Nothing. The pipes were dry.

They had to get their water from somewhere. She turned, leaving the bathroom behind and heading for the two doors on the other side of the room. One opened up into what looked like a game room of some kind, with pool tables and other dust-covered entertainments. A grandfather clock sat against one wall, its hands and pendulum long-since stilled. The other door opened up into another hall, this one smaller and narrower than the side halls.

Don’t get lost. The hall probably bisected the middle of the house, at least from what she could see. Come on … show me a kitchen. She moved right, trying a door that by her best guess lay under the central staircase. It opened to prove her right, cool air wafting up at her from a set of downward steps that probably led to a wine or root cellar.

Could be food down there. She closed the door with a click anyway. There was no way she was going below ground without a better weapon than her hatchet.

She began checking the other doors one by one, easing them open and taking quick glances through the disturbed dust and cobwebs. One was a study of some kind, another an office; desk still festooned with loose papers. A third was locked. Another was a closet full of heavy blankets and sheets, all covered in a fine layer of dust.

On the sixth door she hit paydirt. Light glimmered from around its edges before she’d even opened it, a sign that something was letting it through on the far side. Like the others, it let out a long, lingering creak as it opened, revealing a kitchen that wouldn’t have been out of place in Canterlot Palace. Though a bit more rustic, with what looked like stone countertops made of massive slabs of slate. Long, wide windows across the back of the room were the source of the light, illuminating sinks, ovens, and racks of dangling pans.

Well, Sunset thought. That’s step one complete. Her eyes slipped to the sinks, but unless they were on a separate pipe system than the rest of the house …

Actually, that’s possible. Swinging her gaze across the rest of the kitchen, she moved through the door, her boots making echoing thumps. The sink was large and deep, deep enough she almost could have used it as a bathtub had she tucked her legs up.

It was also bone dry, and twisting the handle one way or another did nothing to change it.

Darn. It had been a long shot, but also— Now what?

She already knew the answer. A kitchen meant a pantry. And it’s not like a place this big would only have one source of water. Even a pond would allow her to use her filtration system. She shut the flashlight off with a click, its beam more an annoyance than an aid with the light streaming through the rear windows, and took another quick look around the kitchen.

There. Set against one of the side walls was a large door, not nearly so ornate as the others around the house. A glance at the floor showed a path worn in the hardwood heading toward it, visible even through the dust. Decades, maybe centuries of hooves—feet—wearing the wood down as they trekked back and forth. That much traffic had to mean whatever lay on the other side of the door was quite important to the function of the kitchen, and in Canterlot that had meant a well-stocked pantry.

Her nostrils twitched as she neared the door, a faint, familiar musty scent filling the air. Decay. She braced herself as she grasped the handle to the pantry, pulling it open … and still winced as the musty scent became overpowering.

It was the pantry all right, and she activated her flashlight once more, plying the beam across the dark, dusty shelves. The source of the smell wasn’t hard to locate: A number of the shelves were covered in decrepit, black husks of what had likely once been roots, vegetables, or some other form of perishable good. A few were even still somewhat recognizable as such, at least by the shape of the black goo they’d collapsed into, now long-since dried.

Yuck. Sunset stepped deeper inside, the door swinging shut behind her while she continued playing the flashlight beam over shelf after shelf. Metal glinted under the light, revealing a shelf of canned goods, the labels faded but legible.

“Well, it’s—” She snapped her jaw shut as the taste of the musty pantry flooded her mouth. “Eugh.” It’s something, she finished as she stepped forward, eyeing the cans. They looked disturbed, as if a number of them had been abruptly removed, leaving a few on their side or out of alignment with the rest. Probably taken when whoever lived here fled for Jacinto.

The labels were still legible, however. Cans of … soup? There were at least two-dozen left, and if the cans themselves were still sound, that was definitely something she could make use of.

But no water. She frowned, plying the flashlight beam over boxes of what looked like snack food. Not filling, but something she could check either way.

But no jugs or bottles. There were a few dusty imprints on the shelves that could have been that at one point, but whatever had made them was long since gone.

Her frown deepened, and she turned and left the pantry, waiting until the door had shut behind her to open her mouth and express her disappointment. “That was mostly a bust.” The food wasn’t bad, but … “I need water.”

Come on, she thought, turning and casting her beam around the kitchen once more. This is a farm estate. They had to have water somewhere.

She paused, the flashlight beam dipping down toward her feet as she chewed on her lower lip. Think it through. There’s no way this place got their water from Holton, which means they had to have some means of collecting it here and storing it. A cistern, or a water tower. They have sinks with faucets, so they had plumbing.

I could follow that plumbing back to the source, maybe. She ran her eyes down the rows of pots and pans hanging overhead, sliding her gaze across the room until she was looking out the rear windows at the backyard grounds. They were much more overgrown than the front grounds, with a lusher, greener aesthetic. But I’m not sure how I could do that. Go into the basement and follow the pipes, maybe? The thought of going underground made the room feel cold, though it was anything but.

Something about the view through the rear windows itched at the back of her mind, and she turned, moving toward the windows. Unlike those at the front of the manor, the rear windows were massive and single-paned, giving her a much less obstructed view of the rear grounds. Which were, to put it lightly, expansive. Brick walkways moved up and down terraced earth, grass poking out of the bricks and straining for the sun. Boxes of decorative flowers or bushes had long since overgrown, some to the point of blocking a good portion of the view. She could see steps leading downward, what looked like another fountain, several large trees, stone benches covered in dirt and debris …

Wait a minute. There was a lot of green on display across the rear grounds. Much more so than the front. Because the front was dry. So … where’s the water coming from?

Her eyes caught another detail. There was a rear door, mostly glass, leading out of the kitchen along a brick walkway toward a patio or covered area off to the right. Which looked quite nice, but it wasn’t what had caught her eyes. What had was a stone channel that flowed under a small bridge in the pathway, a v-shaped imprint in the grounds half-filled with dirt and other refuse.

That’s a drainage channel. Going where, exactly?

The door out of the kitchen was locked, and the latching mechanism was unfamiliar, taking her a few tries to figure out. But at last it relented with a sharp snap, the latch pulling to the side and the door sliding with it, rolling down rails that had been concealed in the frame. It was clever, as well as unexpected … but it also failed halfway along, the door refusing to open further as something in the track blocked its progress. She slipped out anyway, watching as the door rolled shut behind her. By design? Or had the frame merely settled so that it would roll that way if left alone?

She ignored the rear wings of the house, as well as the back patio, instead following the path made by the channel. There was no doubt as to what it was: A gutter from the roof led directly to it.

So where does it go? Grass tickled Sunset’s knees as she stepped off the pathway, following the straight line made by the channel. Here and there along its length she could see standing pools of moisture, blocked from progressing further by debris that had piled up from years of neglect. The channel moved past the end of one of the overgrown planter boxes, out of her view, and she stepped to the side, following it.

The grounds opened up in front of her, and despite everything Sunset let out a quiet gasp as the terraced nature of the rear grounds became clear in purpose. A pond filled the lowest part of the grounds, almost large enough to be a small lake. Directly ahead of her, the channel she’d been following slipped through a gap in a carved railing, dropping down to the next lower level. She followed its path, leaning against the railing and eyeing the drop downward.

Technically there was a fourth drop as well, but it led directly into the pond. Or maybe it was a pool? It was hard to say, since all of its sides were clearly manufactured, made of brick or stone rather than earth. A dock extended out into the water, a stone peninsula splitting the flat surface. A nearby gazebo provided cover from the elements for those who wanted to sit, and reeds and grass had sprouted all along the edges wherever they could find a place.

The pond wasn’t lifeless either. Small flies and insects buzzed around it, and the faint birdsong she’d heard from the front grounds was clearly coming from some of the large shade trees around the pond. Even overgrown, it looked idyllic.

I know where I’m camping tonight. But the idyllic scene before her wasn’t what had truly captured her attention. Off to her left, rising out of the waters of the pond, were pipes. Thick, heavy things probably bigger around than her head. They ran into a decorative stone box by the pond’s edge, and from there …

A rise in the ground, decorative stonework with grass growing over it moving away from the pond and off to the west, toward a large, somewhat distant structure.

Pipework and pumps, leading to a cistern.

Water.

Author's Note

Surviving

Chapter 16 - Surviving

Almost predictably, the door to the cistern was locked, secured by a simple padlock long-tinged with rust. Sunset gave it a quick look before pulling her prybar from her pack and driving it into the gap between the old wood and the latch holding the lock in place. A grunt escaped her lips as she heaved the end of the bar down, echoed a moment later by a quiet squeak from the wood as something began to give.

With a loud squeal the screws holding the latch in place separated, the latch breaking free of the door and the prybar dropping. She grinned, reaching out and swinging the now broken latch to one side.

“Gotcha.” Aged hinges squealed as she pulled the door to the cistern building open—or whatever it was. The pipes led right to it, so it was likely that’s what it was.

And I was right, she thought, playing the beam of her flashlight across the side of a giant metal cylinder. She stepped into the shack, rapping the end of her prybar against the metal. The sound that emanated from it was unmistakably a watery echo, long and drawn out. It was a water tank.

It was also largely empty, at least from the sound it had made “That could be a problem.” She could still fill her water jugs from the pond, of course, but the filtration would take time. Assuming the manor had been set up with a filtration system of its own, even if it was old it was bound to be much faster than her smaller system. But if there was no pre-filtered water in the tank, that meant either figuring out how to use that system … or using her own.

She took a quick look around the rest of the building, but it wasn’t much. Light was leaking in through gaps in the weathered boards, breaking the shadows up with bright lines. The pipes she’d followed up from the pond entered the shed near the door, angling upward as they neared the tank and entering it somewhere near the top. A small workbench lay nearby, its surface covered in dust and cobwebs. As was a lot of the structure, really. Hopefully whatever had made the webs wasn’t venomous. Or around in large numbers.

Still, there didn’t appear to be any obvious way to get into the tank, unless there was a ladder on the far side. She moved toward the pipes, only to stop as a glint of light caught her eye from the outer wall.

What is that? There was a sign of some kind hanging above the workbench, made of thinly-pressed metal with embossed letters. Sunset stepped up to the bench and wiped at it, sweeping a swath of dust and cobwebs away to get a better look at what was hidden beneath.

—pump system opera— She swept more of the dust away, her nose twitching and itching as it clouded the air. A second later she sneezed, the sound echoing inside the shack and stirring up even more dust. She waved it away with one hand, peering up at the cleared sign, translating the block text letter by letter.

“Pump system map,” she read aloud, the lines and arrows below the letter suddenly making sense. Then, a bit further down, in smaller print: “Pump system operation instructions!” The last word came out almost as a shout, and she pressed the point of a finger up against the first step listed below it.

“Activate source pump.” She glanced up at the chart of arrows, locating the box marked with that label and estimating its path back from the label marked “cistern.” As expected, the arrows matched the path of the pipes from the box by the lake. Which makes it the source pump, she thought, glancing at the rest of the instructions but then stepping back and moving for the door. Hopefully there are instructions there.

A minute’s walk later, she was no closer to finding out. Tiny waves lapped against the side of the pump box as she struggled with the lock securing it, but the box itself was made of concrete and metal, not wood, and the chain holding it shut was in much better shape than it looked. She gave her prybar another halfhearted pull, then sank back, frowning.

“Great,” she muttered quietly. “If I can’t get this thing open, then I can’t figure out if it’s usable.” She gave the chain around the access door a glare. “And there’s no way I’m going to pry that open. Or cut it with the bolt cutters.” Not with links thicker than my thumb. “If I had a saw maybe I could cut my way in, but it’d take … Wait a minute.”

As it turned out, it was four minutes. One to make her way back through the house—unlocking the front doors as she went—and to reach the workshop once more. Another minute to see if the saw there would start, which surprisingly enough it did at the touch of a button, growling and smoking as its internal combustion engine came to life. And the last two to haul the heavy thing back through the manor and down the the edge of the pond, still sputtering and rattling.

Okay … She lined the horizontal blade up with the heavy lock. Let’s see if this works. She squeezed the trigger on the grip down, and was rewarded with a deep throaty growl, the blade whining as it spun up to terrifying speeds. Here we go. A pad on the side of the machine was clearly for resting against her leg as leverage, and she leaned into it as she lowered the saw down toward the lock.

The whine became a shriek as the blade bit into the chain, kicking it to one side in a shower of sparks, then holding it there as the blade continued to chew through the metal. The spray of sparks bounced off the bricks at Sunset’s feet, winking out or hitting the surface of the pond with tiny puffs of steam. The scream of the chain being cut was ear-piercing, making her wish she could fold her stupid seran ears back and cut the sound out.

With a sharp ping the links parted, the chain jerking and flying to one side. She let go of the trigger immediately, the shrill hum of the saw winding down as the blade began to slow. There was a switch to kill the saw’s engine, and she flipped it, only for the saw to sputter back to life as the switch moved back to the “on” position.”

The second time she held it down until the motor died, and this time the engine stayed quiet when she moved her thumb away.

“Sun and moon,” she said as she got her first good look at what the saw’s teeth had done to the chain. And the door behind it. “Wish I’d had you in Holton.”

You could put in your third wagon, a voice in her head suggested. Take it with you.

“Fun idea,” she said as she crouched and grabbed hold of the chain, keeping her hands well away from the end she’d just cut. She could feel the heat coming from the links, and the ends she’d cut looked pretty hot. “But that thing is heavy.” Loading her wagon up with water would be weight enough, especially up and down the rises of the drive.

The chain slid to one side with a raspy series of clangs, its own weight assisting it in leaving the door behind. Sunset dropped it on the dock. Maybe in a few years someone would find it and piece together what had happened.

There! The door covering the source pump rolled roughly to one side, squeaking as it went. It stopped before opening fully, caught on something in its rollers, but she didn’t bother trying to force it the rest of the way. She could see well enough what was inside the box. A massive … Well, I guess that’s a pump. It didn’t look like most of the pumps she’d seen before, but in her defense, one didn’t see many as a student of— Well, in my position.

As with the cistern, there was a metal sign on the side of the box, held by screws and giving clear instructions for the operation of the pump.

Unfortunately, the first step called her thoughts to a halt. “Ensure the pump is adequately powered? Green for yes, red for no, yellow for faults?” There were two small lights on the pump’s side, right above an obvious control panel, but neither was glowing.

There was a substep. “Reset breaker?” What’s a breaker? There was a switch on the side of the machine, and she flipped it down and then back up.

Nothing. The lights stayed unlit. Sunset let out a sigh.

“Well great,” she said, letting a bit of irritation slip into her voice. “Just great. What a waste of my—”

She paused. There, below the instructions, lying at the base of the box and covered in dust, was a slip of paper. She picked it up, rubbing the dust from its faded surface. Someone had written on it, the faint scrawl almost illegible.

When batteries die, system switches to direct feed from windmill. Reset breaker twice to switch back to batteries after returning power. System will reboot.

I don’t know what some of those words mean … But I think this means it gets its power from batteries and the “windmill.” And if that is the windmill it’s talking about … She turned toward the nearest of the windmill structures, its blades immobile. Then that must be one method of generating power.

Which means I need to get that working before this works, and that’s only the first step in getting the water working. For a moment she sat there, debating simply giving up and just using her smaller, slower filter to fill the jugs one by one.

But this might still be quicker. Seran technology does seem fairly hardy, and I’m learning things about how it works. So … She rose, blood rushing into her legs. Windmill it is.

The windmill was further away than it looked, as well as taller, so it took her a few minutes more than she’d expected to end up beneath its blades. Once she’d arrived however, its function became all the more obvious, both from the breeze rippling the waist-high grass around it, and the large, if overgrown, box of what she suspected was equipment for managing the power output it delivered.

Electricity without a magic component. It seemed strange, but then it could be explained by most of the references to wizards and magic she’d found coming from the history of the planet’s most violent era. Maybe as a species they’d chosen to shun it, possibly with understandable reasons.

Maybe that’s my destiny here, Sunset thought as she walked around the base of the windmill. Figure out how the magic they’ve buried works and bring it back. A smile slipped across her face as she imagined it. Enlighten them and bring them everything they’ve forgotten. That would be a worthy destiny!

She’d almost completed a full circuit of the base of the windmill when she found what she was looking for. A massive lever switch currently in the down position, the grip between the two arms almost as long as her forelimb. Some of the crawling vines had partially grown over it and what looked to be block lettering below it, and she brushed the plant life away, feeling it give with small pops as tendrils tore.

“Blade lock,” Sunset read. A pair of arrows, one facing up and the other facing down, held more concealed text, and she peeled more of the crawling vines back, exposing what she’d already guessed at. “Down is locked, up is free. Right.”

She looked up at the blades once more. The windmill looked mostly operational, save for a few tendrils of the crawling vines growing over one of the lower blades, dangling leaves and feelers like some sort of green waterfall. “So I just … unlock the blades? It’s that easy?”

It can’t be. Sunset stepped over to the power box and took a handful of creeping vines in each hand, yanking the overgrowth away. The electric transformer—she wasn’t certain that was in fact what it was, but logic dictated it had to be close to a magilectric system—was largely unadorned, but a closer check did reveal a small metal door that flipped open to reveal small switches similar to the one on the source pump.

Breakers? Sunset’s forehead wrinkled as she read the block text printed on the inside of the metal door. “Oh! Breakers! Fuse switches!” Smaller and more compact by far than anything she’d ever seen in the Palace, but then again, the serans did seem to be quite a bit more technologically advanced in most areas.

I wonder what their airships look like? Her mind slipped back to the airships of the Canterlot docks, the biyearly airship shows and the constant bickering between the airship companies and the Equestrian Railway Service jockeying for price and convenience. Or for that matter, their trains? Without magilectrics, how efficient are they?

She shook her head, mane bouncing on her shoulders as she brought her thoughts back to the task at hand. You can worry about trains later. Keep your own train of thought on task. Although … She paused for a moment more. I should look into trains. I might not be able to pilot an airship, but if I could find a set of rails heading west, it might be a lot easier to travel.

Unless the Locust hit the trains too, she thought, her momentary sense of elation from the idea fading. With their tunneling ability, it’d be very easy to disrupt a rail network.

Still, it was an idea worth looking into. Later. Right now … Someone had left a note in black marker on the inside of the breaker door, likely the same someone that had left the note at the source pump. But even at a glance, it was an extremely helpful note. “To startup system …” Thank you!

Let’s see. All breakers down. Release blade lock, flip breakers in order, with a two second pause between each. If light does not turn green— She paused for a moment, locating the light. —or breaker refuses to activate, lock blades, bleed system, set all breakers down and repeat. After that, according to the note, a specialist had to be called.

“Okay …” she said slowly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Things here do seem built to last, so maybe I’ll get lucky?

Still, the first thing on the list was to check the breaker switches, and each one of them was already in the down position. So … She stepped over to the base of the windmill, right up the switch, and wrapped both hands around the handle.

Up we … go? She pushed upward, but the switch refused to budge. A second push brought about much the same result, her fingers slipping free without so much as a quiver from the switch.

She stepped back, wringing her hands slightly to press blood back into them. I didn’t miss a lock of some kind did I? A few vines still clung to the bottom of the switch, and she peeled them back, the plants giving off short pops as she pulled them away.

Nothing. No lock, and there’s nothing blocking the switch.

Maybe it just needs a bit more of a push. She gripped the lever again, this time bracing her whole body beneath it so that she could push up with her palms. And … push! Sunset shoved upward as hard as she could, arms and legs trembling as sore muscles quivered under the abuse. For a moment it seemed as though she was out of luck …

And then the switch gave with a heavy clunk, jerking upward with shocking suddenness. The stop was just as jarring, the impact slamming her palms and resonating down her arms, enough of a bump that she let out a slight yelp of surprise at the pain.

Her cry was drowned out, however, by the massive squeal from above as the fan blades began to move. Metal screeched, Sunset stepping back as turbines which hadn’t moved in who knew how many years slowly began to shift. For a few seconds it looked as though there wasn’t going to be enough wind for the machine to work, but then the vines across the lower blade began to tear loose, ripping away from the central shaft one by one, snapping as the fan-blades began to rotate. The loud squeal of unused mechanics began to fade as the blades completed their first spin, dying down to a faint metallic whine that clearly indicated the mill needed a bit of service, but hopefully didn’t suggest that it was a few rotations away from failing.

Sunset stepped back, watching as the blades completed a third rotation, and then a fourth. One of them was still trailing greenery from the vines that had grown over it, and as she watched a clump tore flee, flying away and fluttering to the ground. By about the seventh or eighth rotation the windmill seemed to have reached its top speed—or at least it wasn’t turning any faster with each successive rotation.

“Okay,” she said over the whoosh of the fan blades overhead. “Now for the transformer.” The light by the breakers was blinking, now, an on and off yellow. Caution, perhaps? She read through the instructions once more, squinting slightly as the shadows cast by the evening sun made it a bit harder to read. When had it become so late in the day?

One at a time, two second pause. She reached out, finger touching the warm plastic of the first switch. And … go! The switch clicked upward with a loud snap, so readily and easily that her finger had hardly moved.

One … two … She gave the second switch to the count of three to err on the safe side, then flipped it upward as well. The yellow light was blinking faster now, and she swallowed. I really hope that’s not a bad sign. Another three count passed, and she flipped the third switch up.

The light flicked yellow a final time, faded … and went green.

“Yes!” Sunset threw her hands up, rising and letting out a yell of triumph. “Take that!” She wasn’t sure who she was yelling at, or even to, but the outcry felt appropriate. “Step one down!”

She snapped the cover over the switches shut and left the windmill behind, blades gently spinning in the faint breeze. Retracing her steps back to the pond didn’t take long, and soon she was crouched by the pond’s edge once more. One of the lights on the pump, previously dark and lifeless, was blinking a slow, steady red.

That means … She checked the handwritten note, her forehead creasing. Inadequate power. Her heart sank. Is the windmill not providing enough? Is there something wrong with the cabling?

As she was fretting however, the light suddenly switched to green. Still blinking, but green.

Or it has batteries, and they just needed to reach a sufficient charge. Slightly chagrined at her overreaction, Sunset reached out and flipped the breaker.

With a whine the pump came to life, the light ceasing its blink and glowing steadily. A quick, rhythmic thumping followed within seconds as machinery inside the unit activated and—hopefully—began pumping water up to the cistern. Metal squealed as Sunset pulled the door closed, quieting the roar of the pump to a dull hum. A gleeful laugh slipped from her lips, bubbling out across the pond. I did it! Fresh water, here I come!

As she ran up the brick path toward the cistern, a new sound rose over the faint hum of the pump. Cascading water, the sound echoing and bouncing, crashing down into a pool. The pump was doing its job, and the cistern was being filled!

But there was another surprise as she yanked the cistern shed’s door open. Light spilled out over her, the inside aglow from several bright bulbs. The sight was so stunning she actually stopped, staring at the bare bulbs heedless of the spots they were going to leave in her vision.

The windmill didn’t just power the pump! she realized with a start. Slowly she turned and looked back toward the manor. There, glimmering out of one of the upper-story windows and just barely visible against the evening sun, was a light.

I didn’t just turn the power back on for the water. The thought rolled through her stunned mind like a storm through a flight camp. I turned it on for the whole estate!

There are lights! Not just solar-powered lanterns, but actual lights. A vision of the shelf full of books she’d passed by earlier flashed through her mind. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to stay here for a few days?

Again she shook her head. Hooves on the task in front of you. Or hands, I mean. She stepped into the shed, the door swinging closed behind her, and moved over to the metal sign above the workbench, looking for the next step.

“Okay … step two …” Sunset ran her eyes down the block lettering, past the parts she’d already done. “Check filter box and remove settled sediment?” She flicked her eyes to the map, looking for anything that was marked “filter box.”

It didn’t take her long to find it. It was inside the manor, right next to the manor pump that gave the house its water pressure. Activating that was step four, the final step after step three: open valve from cistern.

Okay, that makes sense. Check the filters before opening up the water and sending it down the pipes. Though there would probably be a bit of water dropping out when she checked the filters anyway, assuming a closed system without any leaks.

Nothing about what she was doing was alien or obscure. Just … different.

But straightforward enough, she thought as she checked the map. So I need to check the filters, then come back here and open the valve, which is— She glanced at the side of the cistern. On the other side. Then go back and fire up the pump in the house, which should have power now. Easy … Wait.

Something about the map was clashing with her mental outline of the manor. She stared at it for several seconds, trying to work out what it was, before the answer came to her.

If that line heads straight back … then that would put the pump almost in the kitchen. That can’t be right. Which means … The skin on the back of her neck prickled.

The basement. The pump and the filters both were in the basement. Which made logical sense, except …

The Locust come from underground.

And you’re acting like a scared foal. She ran over the instructions once more, making sure she wasn’t missing a step, then turned for the door. It’s just a basement. You got the power on, so it’ll be lit and everything.

I’m getting my firearm. The shotgun, instead of the rifle. It was fully loaded and ready to go, and it had made a mess of the last wretches she’d run into.

Having that at her side would go a long way to making the underground basement feel a little more secure.

She retraced her steps through the house, stopping only once to check to see if the lights in the kitchen worked. A few flicks of the switches by the door confirmed that they did, and she left a trail of light through the house, marking her path with warm glows. After that, she spent a minute moving the wagon train up to the front door itself, and then, appropriately armed, she headed for the basement.

Hall lights or not, the creak the basement door let out as it opened made her skin crawl. Plain wooden stairs rose out the darkness of the basement, rising through shadow until they reached the doorframe. Sunset checked the wall on either side and found a switch. At its flip, a single bare bulb came to life halfway down the steps, driving away the nearest shadows, but making those in the depths that much darker.

It’s just a basement. Everything else here has been fine.

Besides, if there were any Locust around, firing up that saw earlier probably would have caught their attention before this. The steps let out additional creaks as she moved down them, wooden planks settling under her weight. The basement smelled earthy but dry, a bit of a relief considering she was planning on activating the water system.

Dry means no leaks, at least not since anyone left. Or that there’s good drainage. Or both. The bottom of the steps loomed, the floor at the base made of bare, unadorned concrete. It was walled, but only for a few feet, opening up to black expanse that swallowed the light from the single bulb. The beam of her flashlight shifted back and forth across the walls, stopping as it lit on another switch.

I hope that’s for the lights in the basement. She let the beam move past the darkness at the end of the hall, catching glimpses of a wooden crosswork of some kind, covered in cobwebs and dust. I really hope that’s what it does. All the same, she tightened her grip on the gnasher as she reached for the switch.

Nothing jumped out of the darkness at her as she hit it. Instead the basement blazed with light. Dim light, by the comparison of the sun, but light all the same. Row after row of wine racks came into view, the bottles covered by thick layers of dust and cobwebs that were in some places so thick she wasn’t certain if there were bottles to be found beneath them at all.

Okay … that’s not so bad. She moved out of the stairway, getting a better view of the basement and taking a look at what she saw. All in all, it looked fairly normal, from the piles of unused furniture, to shelves that looked as though they held more canned goods—she filed their location away for later—and other assorted items that she couldn’t identify through the coats of dust, though some of them might have been iceboxes at some point.

And if I just turned the power back on … All four of the boxes were humming, lights glowing along their fronts. She gave them a wide berth. I don’t want to know what their insides look like if they’ve not been frozen for the last few years.

Locating the pump and the filters, it turned out, was easy. It wasn’t hard at all to spot the pump unit against the back wall, next to what at a guess was probably a storage tank of some kind for heated water, judging from the pops and clicks it was making.

I could have a hot shower. The thought almost distracted her from the next step in getting the water running. It wouldn’t be the same as having one with hooves, but a warm shower?

If her hopes were right, it was going to be hard to find a reason to convince herself to leave.

The filters were between the outer wall of the manor and the pump unit itself, and almost astonishing with their straightforwardness, to the degree that she likely would have been able to determine that they were clean even without the helpfully posted instructions. Though they did make it easier.

There. Water sloshed over her boots, joining the trickle for a nearby drain, and Sunset shoved the last filter back into place beside its fellows. All of them clean, and with spares nearby, no less.

Which sort of makes me wonder, she thought as she grabbed the gnasher from atop the pump and moved back across the basement. Why did they leave? Did they just not have enough food? Or was the manor too indefensible?

Actually, given the damage that was done to Holton, both of those last ones make sense. The Locust collapsed whole buildings and streets. This manor is large, but the Locust were an army. The only reason it’s not destroyed is likely because everyone left first, before the Locust had any reason to come here.

Of course, now that I’m here, and activating everything atop that, they might have that reason.

She gripped the gnasher a little tighter as she made her way back to the cistern. I need the water one way or another, and I’ve already come this far.

Valves open, she retraced her steps back to the basement, eying the light glowing from the top floor of the manor. It was glowing all the more brightly as the evening advanced. Once the sun sets, it’ll be like a beacon, and that might attract attention. I’ll have to check every room I can find and make sure all the lights are out. If they have windows, anyway.

Just one more thing to worry about. The pump in the basement was much like the one at the pond, and though the switch was in a different place, a few seconds after finding it the machine powered up with a whine, followed by a loud roar as it began to pump water into the manor’s pipes.

And now, Sunset thought as she rushed back into the kitchen, heading for the sink. The final test! She turned the faucet handle … and a blast of compressed air rushed out, hissing and popping. A spatter of water followed a moment later, and then—

“Water! Woooooooo! Filtered and everything! Take that, Princess. I got the water system here working. I—”

She ducked her head under the faucet, sucking up a deep mouthful of cool, clean water and swallowing it down. Was really thirsty, apparently.

She pulled her head out from under the facet, water running down her chin and neck. “I did it,” she gasped, the words sounding more ragged than she’d really meant them to. “I figured it out.” She ducked her head back under the facet, this time washing dust and grime off her face.

‘Sure, I had instructions,” she admitted as she pulled away, wiping at her face with both hands. The water was still sputtering down into the sink, bits of air probably clearing themselves from the lines after decades of being dry. A chunk of something brownish came after another blast of air, and her stomach flipped.

Don’t want to know, she decided after a moment. Probably just mud. I made sure the filters were working.

I really hope it’s just mud. The water looked clean enough now. She let it run. Her whole body felt fatigued and sore, everything she’d been dutifully not focusing on coming back with with interest now that the water was up and running.

After a few more seconds, she reached out and shut the tap, cutting off the flow. Better not waste anything. She sank back, leaning against the cookspace behind her and looking to her right out the rear windows. The sun was setting, the sky just catching its first tinges of red and orange.

I guess I could have spent the last hour or so sitting by the pond and watching water drip through that filter. Though in all likelihood she would have spent it examining the rest of the manor. But I would have to babysit the filter. Now I can just fill each jug in the sink and be done and ready to leave.

Tomorrow. After I check the house for anything useful. And get a full night’s sleep. And with the sun going down, I should probably check the rest of the manor and get any of those other lights turned off.

Somehow, the feeling of accomplishment from getting the water going had faded already, almost like it didn’t matter. Buried under all this other stuff I need to do to keep living, Sunset thought as she left the kitchen, heading for the main hall once more. Still, I did figure it out. Now I need to turn the lights off. Guess I’ll start at the top and work my way—

She froze, the door to the main hall halfway open under her splayed fingers. What was that? She’d heard something, she was certain of it. What, she wasn’t sure, but—

There it is again! A strange hissing noise, like steam being let out of a pipe, but … not. She almost couldn’t say what it resembled.

And there, partway through it, a familiar, faint, muffled sound.

Voices.

Author's Note

Voices

Chapter 17 - Voices

The world around Sunset seemed to narrow as the realization raced through her consciousness, her thoughts piling up like a carriage wreck with dozens of different avenues intersecting at once. Voices. The sound couldn’t be anything else.

Her thumb slipped to the gnasher’s safety as the collision of thoughts in her mind produced one early survivor: Locust. The safety started to give … but then she paused. More rational thoughts came to the forefront of her mind, emerging from the pileup around the same time she remembered to breathe.

The sound couldn’t be coming from Locusts. She’d heard their guttural, grinding voices, and this faint sound didn’t bear any similarity to that language. Furthermore, where would they have come from? The sound was coming from upstairs, and she could see that the front door was still shut. It was hard to imagine Locust sneaking in the front door, through the house, and up the stairs only to have what sounded like a muffled conversation.

So then who under a blazing sun is it? Breath had returned to her, but it was coming in short, audible gasps. She was panicking. Why am I panicking? Am I about to meet people? Her thoughts still felt like a pileup, a melee of opinions flooding through her.

Enough! She shut her eyes as tightly as she dared, forcing herself to calm, forcing herself to focus. To ignore the shaking in her arms that seemed to be spreading through her body.

Relax. Focus. Breathe. Calm. A momentary flare of anger flashed through her as she recalled the source of the words, and she shoved that aside too.

Maybe someone’s in the house? It seemed unlikely, because why would they have entered without calling out? Unless they’re as worried about drawing attention from Locust as I am.

Wait. Stop. A single look at the floor told her everything she needed to discount that theory. The signs of her passage back and forth across it, wearing a trail through the dust, were as clear as a horn on a unicorn. No one would have missed that, she thought as her eyes followed the trail through the dust. You’d have to be worse than blind.

The voices rose again, definitely more than one individual speaking. So where did they come from?

Magic? The thought fought its way to the top of the scramble inside her mind. Could they be magic users? Maybe they teleported in somehow?

But … somehow without even thinking further on it, the answer felt wrong. Like wishful thinking, more than logic. A world that doesn’t believe in magic anymore, or chose to reject it, and then what? Some secret society finds me? That’s not even destiny, that’s just coincidence on the highest level. And ridiculous.

This is ridiculous. Sunset straightened. Voices? Fine. It’s probably just a recording of something that was left running when the manor was abandoned. You brought the power back, and now it’s running again. A record, spinning in place.

A record of people talking? a quiet part of her mind questioned. It doesn’t sound like a speech.

An adventure serial then. She’d seen the records for sale in Canterlot, though she’d never quite gotten into them herself. Serialized stories, with sound effects and professionally read roles. They had plenty of talking.

Still, she kept quiet as she moved back into the main hall, settling each step onto the floor as carefully as she could to avoid making any undue noise. So that she could hear better, naturally. She crept forward, away from the nook to either side of the stairs, until she could see the steps themselves through the banisters.

Thought so. The dust on the steps was undisturbed, a solid blanket of uniform grey. A sharp contrast to the bootprints she’d left across the rest of the hall going to and from the kitchen poking through the dust like stains on a tablecloth.

So no one has gone up those stairs in a very long time.

Unless there are stairs in some other part of the house. And why wouldn’t there be?

She almost growled, but restrained herself to a grimace. Of course. Of course there would be other staircases! This manor is huge.

The voices were still talking, though once again she couldn’t help but notice the odd rushing sound that came with and around each one, rising and falling almost like … Breaking waves? Why would there be water rushing like that?

Maybe it was wind. Either way, she began making her way forward once more, one foot in front of the other, quietly as possible. She’d turned on the lights of the main hall during one of her previous passes, the chandelier and wall fixtures more than enough for her to see by. She took the first step as slowly as she could, cautious of the wood letting out some sort of squeak or hollow thump that could alert whoever was upstairs. If there was anyone at all to alert.

The voices quieted again, leaving nothing to fill the gap but the pounding of Sunset’s own heart. No serial would go quiet for so long. It was like a play just stopping and letting the audience wait without telling them there was an intermission. It wasn’t how entertainers worked.

Maybe seran entertainment is different? She slipped her thumb forward, the gnasher’s safety giving with a quiet click. The seemed almost deafening despite how innocuous it truly was. That’s still a long break for any form of entertainment. Her hands were starting to shake again, no matter how she tried to still them.

The landing was just as berift as any signs of passage as the steps had been, the dust undisturbed. Smiling faces, long since coated by time, looked down on her from the painting on the back wall of the landing. There was a plaque beneath them, probably identifying who each face belonged to, but it wasn’t hard to guess at their role. Founders of the estate, most likely. She turned left, heading up the rest of the stairs with slow, measured steps toward the balcony.

It was laid out much like the lower level of the main hall, with couches, chairs, and low tables arranged in little clumps around the overlooks and back of the room. There was no one for miles, though, she noted. So who used all this? Then again, the Canterlot nobility would travel to the coast for some of their parties. Maybe an estate farm had some sort of similar culture? Or they just liked having space for their farmhands?

As below, there were a number of doors departing the balcony, but one set held her attention, slightly open where the rest were closed. They were lit only dimly—she’d never turned the lights on for the upper level, leaving much of the second floor cast in shadows from below—the space beyond them black as night, but being open …

Another one of the faint, wavelike sounds she couldn’t identify echoed from the direction of the open doors, further cementing her first guess about what direction the voices had been coming from. The sound was almost a hiss, like a leaking pipe … but not. And with a sort of crackling to it, like a low campfire. What is it? Whatever it was, it seemed to be related to the voices. Why?

The question fled from her mind as one of the voices spoke again, faint, but not so quiet she couldn’t make it out. It sounded masculine. Deep. “Easy on that strut, Diego. There’s a lot of weight sitting above you.”

Again there was a hiss and a click, followed by another voice, this one higher-pitched. A mare’s, maybe? “Yeah, I know. I don’t need any reminders from you. Aren’t you supposed to be keeping watch?”

“For threats, yeah. And if you cut through that strut, they’re going to know we’re here. That makes you a threat.”

Am I “they?” Sunset began to move forward, almost sliding her boots over the floor in an effort to keep silent.

“You just can’t keep your eyes off of my ass, shithead. Worry about your job, I’ll worry about mine.”

Crude. She didn’t quite understand the terms, but the intent was obvious.

“Relax, people.” A third voice joined the conversation. There was an authoritative sense of command to the way they spoke, the tone and inflection firm. A superior maybe? “It’s an easy in-and-out. Diego’s right, though, Esca. Don’t make me send you out on patrol with the rest of Kappa.”

“Squad could use a mascot.”

That’s a Saddle Arabian number? Why do they have Saddle Arabian numbers? Was it more weird universal overlap, like the language? Or could they actually be from her universe?

They said they’re a squad. That means Guard, doesn’t it? Or at least, soldiers of some kind? Maybe they were Cogs?

They’d also mentioned a patrol. She felt a sudden urge to glance over her shoulder, but something still seemed off about everything. She simply couldn’t put her finger on it.

A chuckle sounded from down the hall. “Understood, captain.”

There was no doubt about it, they were military of some kind. And high-ranking as well. Though … maybe not. Captain was a high rank in Equestria, but not elsewhere, as she understood it.

“Kappa? How’s it looking out there?” Sunset swallowed as the third voice—the captain’s—spoke again.

“All quiet here, Gon. We’ll call if we see anything.”

“Or shoot,” a fifth voice cut in. How many were in the manor? Two in the hall keeping watch, and three inside one of the rooms?

She pressed herself up against the wall next to the partially open doors, running over her options. Maybe don’t step out into the hallway where someone already suggested shooting? Just … say something? Make contact. Her throat felt dry, her pulse erratic, her chest short of breath. With real beings.

“He—” Her voice almost cracked, and she cleared her throat. “Hello?” Her voice echoed down the hall, and she braced herself for shouts of alarm.

Instead, she got nothing. No cries of surprise, no loud reports of a firearm going off, nothing at all. Did they go quiet? Did I scare them?

“Almost through, captain. Just going to set up a support.”

“Any idea what the hell this thing is?”

Sunset twitched as the voices carried on without any acknowledgement of her greeting. She tried again, raising her voice slightly. “Hello? My name is—”

“Not really.” The reply was quiet, and carried on without any regard for her words. “Some sort of navigation chip they can’t make in Jacinto anymore. Not since Ephyra fell.”

“Got it!” came the woman’s voice again. Diego. A metallic scrape echoed beneath her words. “Working to power the safe now.”

“You sure that support is going to hold?” Another new voice.

“I’m counting on you to grab my legs if it doesn’t.”

What!? Were they ignoring her, or …? “Hello!” Her shout echoed across the main hall. “My name is Sunset Shimmer!”

“Got it! Cap, I need the code!”

“Six-nine-five-two-seven-five-nine-two-nine-five-one-two-nine.”

“Hey!” Her nervousness had abated somewhat, driven back by a rising tide of indignation. She stepped around the corner of the hallway. “Answer … me?” Where are the guards? The hallway, shadowed as it was, was empty, though a bit of light was coming from an open door a few dozen feet away.

“Got it!” The voice came from the same room as the light. “Packing it up.”

“Good work. Everyone, we’re moving. KR six-six, this Kappa Squad. We have the package and we’re ready for pickup.”

Yet another voice joined the collection in the room, and Sunset threw aside all pretense of stealth, racing down the hallway toward the door. “Copy that, Kappa. Swinging back. Light a flare when you’re at the elzee.”

“What are you—?” Sunset began as she threw the door to the room open, light spilling out over her, only to stop halfway through her shouted demand.

The room was empty, devoid of any other individuals, seran or otherwise. Her eyes darted back and forth, hunting for any sign of seran presence, cataloging everything they could in the otherwise small space. Bookshelves. A single chair in front of a desk. A map above the desk, of the estate from the look of it. Odd metal boxes and equipment atop the desk, dials and gauges glowing. What looked like … a microphone in a cradle sitting in front of it?

Did … I really just try to hold a conversation with a record that was playing? But none of the equipment on the desk looked like it was designed to play records. And the conversation hadn’t sounded like a serial at all. It had sounded … real.

The hissing sound came again, broken by faint splashes of sound that had been the crashing waves she’d heard. Both were coming from a speaker sitting atop the desk near the cradled microphone. “Everyone move to the courtyard.”

It was a recording then. Of some adventure serial, from the sound of it. Her body sagged as she relaxed slightly, but part of her heart went with it. It would have been nice to talk to someone else. A recording was nice to hear, and it did confirm that the spoken language sounded the same but—

“Uh, captain? We’ve got movement up here. A building in the financial district just crumbled.”

She frowned. Why are those dials moving when they speak? And what is this recorded on? Nothing on the desk looked as though it was designed to play records.

“Shit. Double time, people. The welcome wagon is on its way, and we don’t want to be here when it arrives.”

“Corpser?”

“Most likely. Probably heard the raven when we landed. Dump the cutting gear, no extra weight!”

Slowly Sunset stepped across the room, the chair squeaking as she sat down in it. A sense of dread mixed with excitement bubbled up from deep within her chest as she looked down at the metal boxes atop the desk, piecing together the words printed across each one above or below dials, switches and small holes that she quickly realized were plugs of some kind.

Dimmer? Tuning? Power reduction? What?

“Kappa squad, this is KR six-six, confirming visual on a corpser about a klick south of your position.”

This isn’t a recording, Sunset thought as she continued to run her eyes over the dials and glowing gauges. This is … Fine print leapt up at her, blocky and stark. Receiver. Frequency. It was the text written atop a large button at the base of the microphone, however, that brought it all together: Transmit.

Everything came together in a flash inside her head. It’s not a recorder.

It’s a communication device, like a telegraph machine. But wireless.

A long-range, wireless communication device. Her jaw dropped. This … This is incredible! There were spells and systems in Equestria set up to mimic what she was looking at, but they worked using line-of-sight, sending coded messages on flashes of light, or in some more advanced installations being experimented with, pulses of magilectrity along metal wires. This …

This is beyond anything we have. Which, the more she thought about it, suddenly made sense. How else would they send messages to the weapons they put in orbit? The realization made her eyes widen, and she glanced down at the microphone with a newfound horror.

But it’s just a tool. It’s how those soldiers are talking now. The parts of their previous conversation made sense, now. They weren’t near one another. They were a group, spread out and working to acquire a … navigation chip? What is a chip?

“Elzee” hadn’t been a word. It was slang. LZ: Landing zone. Which means they have an airship.

And I’m close enough to hear their transmitters.

Her fingers snapped down on the “Transmit” button, Sunset leaning forward as she spoke into the microphone. “Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?” One of the gauges on the machine spiked in time with her words. Hopefully it was a sign that she’d sent her voice out. She waited a moment longer before trying again. “Hello? Does anyone hear me? My name is Sunset Shimmer!”

She sat back, letting the switch up and waiting. The seconds passed, but the equipment was silent. There was no response from any of the soldiers.

She tried again. “Hello? Can you hear me? This is Sunset Shimmer, trying to contact Kappa Squad?”

With a hiss the voices returned as she let her fingers off the button, but their voices weren’t directed at her.

“KR six-six taking ground fire. We’ve got Locust in the streets, Kappa.”

“We noticed.” The sounds of firearms being used punctuated the captain’s response. “Your LZ is going to be hot.”

“Understood.”

She slammed the button down again. “Hello! Can anyone hear me!?” The chatter between the soldiers was back the moment she let it up again, shouts and yells mixing with gunfire as the soldiers clashed with Locust.

“They can’t hear me,” Sunset said, her words coming quick and increasingly frantic. “Why can’t they hear me!?” She slammed the transmit button down with enough force that the plastic let out a loud pop. “Hello! Can anyone hear me! I can hear you! I’m at an estate south of Passtil! Ramirez Estates!” But when she let go, there was no sign that any of the soldiers had heard her plea.

“Watch it, grubs on the left!”

“I see ‘em! I see ‘em! Fragging!”

“The roofs! The roofs!” An anguished cry sounded from the speakers.

“Diaz is down!”

“Eat this, you sacks of shit!”

“KR six-six, we’re arriving at the courtyard. Watch for smoke, but make it quick. We pissed them off!”

They can’t hear me. They’re close enough that I can hear them, but for some reason they can’t hear me! She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it, to lash out in some way—any way—but there was nothing. All she could do was keep transmitting and hope that they heard her.

“E-hole! E-hole! Get a nade in it!”

“How the hell did they get here so quickly!”

‘Sniper up top! At my two!”

“Hold tight Kappa,” came the voice of the pilot, calm and collected. “It’s about to get hot down there.”

“Oh shit! Everyone hunker!”

Booms echoed out of the speaker, faint and tinny compared to the calamity they no-doubt were. Seconds later the pilot’s voice echoed over all of them. “Hope you’re ready to leave, Kappa, because I’m coming down fast.”

Swallowing, Sunset reached out and tried one last time, this time directing her words toward the airship’s navigator. “KR six-six, this is a civilian at Ramirez Estates. Can you hear me?”

Her only reply was the sound of more firearms being used. “We’re aboard!” came the voice of the captain a moment later. “Go!”

“With pleasure. Thank you for choosing KR Air for your flight this evening. We apologize for the disturbance at the gate, and hope that your experience with us will be a smooth, Locust-free one.”

“I’ll drink to that,” one of the soldiers said.

“Cooper.” The captain was back. “How’s Diaz?”

“He’s dicey, sir, but I think he’ll be okay.”

“Diego, package?”

“Safe and secure, cap. Prescott wants his navigation chips, he’s got ‘em. Any idea what they’re going to do with them?”

Prescott. I know that name. It had been on the news brief she’d found in the news station. Which, she suddenly realized, probably worked the same way this does.

But that means he’s still around. The Cog are still around.

The captain laughed, though it sounded forced. “Wrong person to ask, Diego, but whatever it is, to spend this mu—it, it has to be—”

Something was wrong. The voices were fading, getting quieter and cutting out completely.

They’re getting further away! She slammed the button again, trying one last time. “KR six-six, this is Sunset Shimmer! I’m at an estate south of Passtil! I need rescue! Again, KR six-six, I am a civilian in need of rescue. Please say something! Can you hear me! Please hear me!”

She let off the trigger, but only a whisper of static came back at her. None of them had heard her. Not one.

She stared at the transmitter until the sun had long since set, waiting, hoping for any sign that someone had heard.

It never came.

* * *

Day Sixteen - Ramirez Estates

I’ve decided to stay at the estate manor for a few days. There’s a good supply of water and there’s plenty of food, as long as I don’t get tired of canned soup. Everything here still works, and there’s a bunch of books too. It’s safer than Holton, at least. As long as I don’t attract the Locust, I should be okay for a few days.

I … need to rest. I’ve been pushing myself ever since I arrived, and if I’m perfectly honest, I didn’t arrive under the best of circumstances. Not just physically, but mentally. Being betrayed by her hurt. It still does. I need to deal with that, and everything else that’s happened, like almost dying several times in Holton. The estate should be good for that.

It’s also a good place to learn about things. Like the transmitter I found last night. Or how to use my rifle. I’ll keep my gear ready to go, just in case, and I don’t plan to stay here, but it’s as good a place as any to do more research.

Having running water and a hot shower doesn’t hurt.

Day Seventeen - Same

Well, I know why the Cog soldiers I heard couldn’t hear me. The radio—that’s what they call it, and now I understand what the tower station in Holton was for—is old. An antique. Its transmission range is only a dozen miles or so, depending on the weather and how much power you put into it. If I understand how it works properly, a good receiver could pick it up at a longer range, but I don’t know how far away those soldiers were. The receiver, however, is newer, which is why I could hear them.

I think. There are a lot of wires.

I worry that they might have been in Passtil, but Passtil isn’t very large, and they were looking for a navigation chip. “Chip,” according to my books, is slang for an important part of a computer, a “central processing unit.” I’ll be honest, it went a bit over my head. Okay, a lot over my head. But a chip allows a machine to do everything a mechanical computer of gears—like we have in Equestria—does, but in something the size of one of the nails on my fingers.

It’s incredible. And a little scary.

To make them you need some complex equipment. Passtil isn’t supposed to be a place for manufacturing like that, so I doubt that’s where they were. In any case, they couldn’t hear me because the radio I was using doesn’t have the range.

But there are better, larger transmitters out there. Like the one the soldiers were using. If I can reach one of those, and find a way to power it, I might be able to call them the next time I hear them.

Today I plan to learn how to use my rifle. The bottles from the basement will make good targets. I’d try some of it, but the last thing I want to do is be drunk if a bunch of Locust show up, and I have no idea how this body handles its alcohol. Obviously it can, or there wouldn’t be wine, but I don’t want to risk it.

Supplemental: Shooting is harder than it looks.

Day Eighteen - Same

My shoulder still hurts, but the rest of me feels better than it has in days. I haven’t given in to the temptation to unpack, though part of me wants to. Eventually, either the Locust would find me or I’d run out of food. Or I’d have to learn to farm, and while I’m confident in my ability to do a lot of things, actually growing food isn’t one of them. I don’t even know what kind of food this farm was growing, or where their seeds were kept, or—

Reminder: I need to use the saw to see what’s in that locked shed.

Also, on an unrelated note reading more about radio and how it works—I hoped I might be able to amplify the signal from the radio here to reach the COG—finally answered the question of what the tower I was climbing on in Holton was for. I feel foalish for not putting that together sooner. It’s a transmitter antenna. The technology really is quite fascinating, very similar to a unicorn horn—

Sunset pulled her pen back before she could start writing everything that had gone through her head in the last few hours. Once she’d found the section on antennas in a book on radio taken from the manor’s libraries, it had been like a switch had flipped in her mind. The comparisons were obvious. Fascinating, even.

She crossed out the half-sentence she’d aborted and tried again. The antennas are like manufactured unicorn horns, even sharing design that appears similar to some of the pathways in my a horn’s keratin. While I’ve not seen any wands in my time here, it does make me wonder if perhaps some of the ancient wizards I’ve seen reference to figured out a manner to tap into magic using something similar to an antenna. Since I’m here, it can’t hurt to experiment a little.

She tapped the end of her pen against the pages of her journal, running over the rest of the day she’d experienced in her head. Her shoulder throbbed from the repeated impacts the rifle butt had given it, the skin bruised and sore. I have to be using it wrong. Or maybe she just wasn’t used to it. It was hard to say with no one else around to advise her.

My aim is getting better, though. That had been the one bright spot for her morning. At a distance of about a hundred feet—it was hard to be exact without precise measurements—she’d managed to shoot each and every one of the bottles she’d set up as targets. Eventually. And with about five times as many bullets. Though by the end,she’d not needed nearly as many shots.

I’ve gone through half my ammo. And if the manor had been home to some other supply or cache of weapons aside from an obviously cleared room in the main house, she hadn’t found it. There had been signs that the bunkhouse had been refitted to hold weapons, probably as numbers had declined with the advent of mechanization in the fields—something Equestria was beginning to face—but there hadn’t been anything there save a single dropped box of bullets that weren’t suitable for her rifle, but rather meant for a pistol of some kind. I guess if I run out, that’s less weight I’ll have to haul back to the road.

She tapped the page a few more times, considering her next lines, then wrote once more. I’ll likely only be here another few days. As much as I’d like to stay longer—and I am learning a lot—the longer I stay here, the more likely it is that I’ll be noticed. Memories of a night spent curled in a chair in pure darkness flitted through her mind, and she almost shivered. And not by the ones I want to be noticed by.

The radio books I’ve been reading have noted that radios became increasingly portable during the Pendulum Wars. That’s why each of the voices I heard appeared to have one. What I don’t know is why they were “broadcasting” on an open frequency. In the wars, they used encryption to hide what they were saying, or even avoided using radio at all. Otherwise anyone would have been able to listen in. According to what she’d read, in a few early battles, before radio had been miniaturized, a few commanders had done just that.

Do the Locust just not use radio? Or did that group of soldiers want them to know they were there? Was that how the locust found them? She stopped writing before she could waste any more ink on questions she didn’t have an answer to, but still they buzzed through her mind. If they had wanted the locust to engage them, then why?

Questions I won’t get an answer to unless I make it to Jacinto. She pondered for a moment, then wrote the thought down.

When I leave, I’m going to ration my walking more than I did on the way here. I was shortsighted—though in fairness, this body is still quite alien to me, and I assumed that due to the strength it already possessed, it would be able to handle a strenuous walk my old body could have.

Again she paused, wondering whether it was wise to admit she was having second thoughts about whether her old body would have been able to do it or not.

I would have had magic, so it wouldn’t have mattered. Anyway …

The scratch of the pen filled the room once more. I found another map. If I walk half the distance I did the first day, I should reach Passtil from here in three days. I’ll fill up on water and take the rest of the food before I go, and I know where to look for more water if I need it.

There are small towns heading west along the back roads until the road I plan to follow reaches a large city named Everen. I don’t know if it’s still there or not, but I’m going to find out.

Sunset put the pen down, stared at her words for a moment, then shut the book with a thud that resonated through the thick table it was sitting on. That’s that done, she thought after a few seconds, rising and stuffing the journal back into her pack. Now, before it gets too dark outside … She glanced out the window, noting the way the light had started to dim already. Not through an early sunset—in fact the sunset was later than it had been the previous day, or at least it was if it was keeping the trend of the last few days—but due to a large array of thick, grey clouds that had been sliding toward the estate for the last few hours. The wind had already picked up, the blades of the windmill spinning quicker than they normally did, while the trees around the pond shook and shifted in sudden gusts.

She wasn’t a weatherpony, but everything about the oncoming clouds screamed “storm.” And I’ve got work to do before it gets here.

The massive circular saw was where she’d left it in the main hall, resting atop one of the dust-covered chairs. Which probably wasn’t doing the fabric any favors, but she didn’t expect the owners to show up anytime soon and complain. They’d probably be more upset by the missing windows anyway, she thought as she gripped the saw, lifting it with a grunt.

Which reminds me, I need to pick a room without any missing windows tonight. And make sure the doors to those rooms—or halls—are closed.

She shoved the front doors to the manor open with one shoulder, the heavy saw resting awkwardly against her legs as she made her way across the grounds. The wind picked up, rising in a gust that sent her mane whipping around her face. It settled a moment later, but still she could hear it moving through the forests to the south, a slowly dying echo as it ran through the trees.

The massive metal carriage was still sitting where it had been when she’d arrived, tires sunken into the brick of the courtyard and deflated. She’d tried getting inside it the day before, her mind seeing the obvious connection between the machine’s large and empty rear bed and her own wagon train, only to be rebuffed by door latches that refused to give way. Locked, like the front doors had been. Only without an obvious opening to enter short of shattering one of the windows. And with her holding no knowledge of how the carriage operated or how to maintain it, leaving it be had seemed to be the smarter decision.

For all I know it never worked and that’s why they left it. Too much trouble to bother fixing.

Maybe what was in the locked shed wouldn’t be any more useful either. But it won’t take very long to check. She hefted the circular saw, leaning back slightly to keep her balance as she lifted the heavy device level with her shoulders. The touch of a button brought the saw’s gurgling growl to life, kicking and sputtering as she lined the blade up with the chain holding the shed closed.

I could probably just cut the latch off. The doorway was made of arched brick, much like the rest of the structure, but the saw likely would cut through it. But then I wouldn’t be able to close it. And maybe they wanted this door shut.

She had a brief moment to think of what would happen if a wretch or some other Locust trapped within leapt out at her, but then shoved that idea away as well, rolling her eyes. It’d have been stuck in there for years by now. And I’m holding a giant saw. She didn’t want to see what that saw would do to flesh, but she could picture it well enough. Or perhaps not realistically enough.

Hands away from the blade. The brief mental image made her skin crawl. Which was still a strange feeling without a fur coat.

Ugh. This body. She squeezed the trigger down, the gurgle of the engine becoming a roar as the sawblade spun up. Its whine became an ear-piercing shriek as she eased it forward, touching against the chain and showering the side of the shed in sparks. The pitch shifted as first one link failed, then another, and then with a loud ping a chunk of the chain bounced off of the blade guard and shot across the courtyard, the impact so sudden Sunset didn’t even flinch until it had already gone.

That could have been bad, she thought as she pulled the saw back, letting off of the trigger. The other half of the chain, along with the lock, was still hanging from the door, but ... She let the saw hang downward in one hand, leaning to compensate for the sudden weight at her side, and used her now-free hand to grab a few of the links. With a clatter the remains of the chain came free, the lock swinging with them. She dropped the whole mess, lock and chain letting out a series of clicks as they landed.

Okay, Sunset thought, shutting the saw off and then setting it on the ground. The door was one that slid to the side on rollers rather than swinging outward or inward, and she gripped the handle with both hands. It didn’t budge on her first tug, staying firm and stalwart, while her second tug only rocked it back and forth.

Rail is probably full of junk. A glance down confirmed that the metal path the door was supposed to move along was indeed packed with debris. None of it large, but enough to make moving the door along the rusty track a bit more of an effort.

Well, time to put having two legs to good use. If there was one thing that her new bipedal stance was good for, it was pulling something that had been grasped by her new hands. Having two feet made the grip a little less sure than four, but at the same time with the added flexibility of her new core, she also had a lot more leverage. Leverage that she could lean into, like she was doing now, her feet past the handle she was about to start pulling.

This time the door moved, rolling back with a rusty squeal but thankfully keeping its momentum as she stumbled with it. Her footing almost slipped from beneath her, but she didn’t fall, keeping herself upright. And there’s the downside.

Still, the door was halfway open now, its entrance shadowed but more than wide enough for her to step through. She let the heavy door roll to a stop—not that it took much encouragement—and stepped forward, eyes adjusting to the shadowed interior of the shed. Out of habit she sniffed, her weaker seran nose picking up the scent of dust and dirt as well as grease and … something else. An acrid odor that was wholly new but slightly familiar at the same time.

The interior of the shed wasn’t too different from that of the workshop, the walls bare save for a few shelves and a single small workbench by the door. Where it differed, however, was in two massive metal objects filling the shed’s center, both bolted to the floor. The one on the left was immediately familiar to her, a raised tank of some kind sitting just above the brick on heavy-looking metal struts, while on the right was a box that reminded her of the power transformer near the windmill, but clearly wasn’t identical, based on the fact that hoses from the tank were leading right to it.

After a moment’s staring, the answer came to her in a flash. It’s a boiler! Well, not a boiler, but an engine, like the ones in the cars or in the saw. Just much larger. Which made the tank a fuel tank of some kind. Which did explain the acrid odor slightly.

There was a light blinking on the side of the engine as well. No, not an engine. Not when it’s like this. This would be a generator, wouldn’t it? A big one.

But what was it for? Like elsewhere on the estate, someone had left instructions on the side of the generator for operation in easy-to-parse steps, though they were a bit more complicated than those on the windmill had been. Was it for heating the manor? But that wouldn’t have made sense, and she’d seen what looked like heating equipment in the basement of the manor, a more modern compliment to the ancient fireplaces in many of the rooms. Plus out here would be an odd place to put it. And why is that light blinking red?

She skimmed over the operation instructions, parsing them as quickly as she could. Behind her the wind picked up once more, rushing through the open door and tangling her mane around her face. She brushed it away, her focus fixated on the small metal sign.

Oh, she thought as she reached the end of the sign. It’s a backup. The last bit of instructions on the sign dealt with how to make sure the generator was prepped to automatically activate in the event the manor’s batteries got too low. In case there isn’t enough wind for the windmills.

In a way, it explained why it had been one of the few sheds locked up as well. The small generators at the campstore had been quite expensive from what she could gather from the numbers given. That, combined with a bunch of fuel, which you wouldn’t want someone messing with …

Interesting. She brushed a cobweb from the generator’s control panel, exposing more of the text written there. But probably not something I’ll need. As little of the house as she’d been using, it wasn’t likely that the manor’s stockpile of energy would run low.

Another gust of wind rolled through the inside of the shed, stirring the air and making the scent of the fuel all the more apparent. There was a faintly sweet odor buried beneath the acridness, almost cloying but not quite. It smelled nothing like the fuel oil used in most boilers.

But then it comes from deep underground, rather than being grown. There were fuel sources like that in Equestria, and in the other nations, but they were generally used as a surplus, rather than a necessity. But Sera doesn’t seem to have any modern magic, and we only developed fuel plants through use of biological magical engineering.

Interesting. Still, there was nothing in the shed that seemed to be immediately important. Just unique. She gave it a quick walkthrough anyway, checking to see if there was anything obviously useful but finding little other than some specialized tools that wouldn’t have served any useful purpose in her wagons. A faint tap echoed from the roof while she was taking a look at the fuel tank, followed by another, and then a third in quick succession. Dark splotches of color began to dot the plaza bricks outside, the wind picking up speed and carrying a few of the newly arrived raindrops inside to discolor the brick there.

Tank’s mostly full, Sunset noted with surprise as she looked first at its gauge, then up at the side of the massive container. There was a spout on a coiled hose hanging nearby, probably for refueling vehicles like the one sitting outside. If the cost was prohibitive, it would be no wonder this place was locked.

As it was, nothing inside the shed was immediately useful. Curious, definitely, but not useful.

Oh well. She stepped out into the rain, feeling the faint sting of the heavy drops as they slammed into her head and shoulders. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. With a heavy squeal but a little less effort than it had taken to get the door open she closed the shed, drops that would have been blown through the open door slamming into the wood like small missiles.

Ouch. The drops were increasing in frequency, and heavy enough to feel like small stones rather than water. When it rains here it really means it, doesn’t it? She collected the saw, then thought better of hauling its heavy weight back to the main hall and shuffled over to the workshop where she’d found it instead. By the time she hefted the heavy tool up onto the workbench, the rain was coming fast and furious enough to produce a steady, staccato drumbeat audible through the workshop’s roof.

Stupid lack of a horn, she groused as she ran back to the front door of the manor, shielding her head with her arms but feeling the impact from dozens of drops as they soaked through her shirt. The wind moaned as she closed the front door to the manor, rising and falling like the cry of the timberwolf.

Well, that scratches going outside unless I need to. She gave her shirt a flick, peeling the already wet bits away from her skin and shivering. The air had cooled with the arrival of the storm, a drop of several degrees that was probably enhanced by the rushing wind. Brr.

Still, there was plenty for her to do. It’d been a few days since she’d looked over Starswirl’s books, and there was still plenty of seran history to catch up on. And I need to close the doors to the rooms with broken windows. With a toss of her mane, she checked the doors to the hall on her right, making sure they were closed before heading deeper into the house.

Several hours later, Sunset let out a yawn, rubbing at her eyes as she looked away from one of the tomes she’d stolen from the Canterlot library. Though stolen felt like the wrong word.

Liberated, she corrected as she watched the trees in the rear grounds buck and sway under the influence of the storm. I didn’t steal them. I liberated them. The windmill was, to her surprise, still spinning, though an Equestrian windmill long ago would have locked to prevent the delicate internals from being damaged.

Then again … serans. A crack echoed through the air as the storm vented some fury, the windows vibrating in time with the sound—though they could have just as easily been shaking from the high gusts of wind. Or the droplets that slammed into them like hammers.

It was, she had to admit, an impressive storm. As well a bit daunting, seeing as it was wild. Canterlot had from time to time been party to some colossal storm events, usually when the weather patrol needed to let the local system “vent.”

But this … Another flash lit the kitchen, overwhelming the light from her lantern. The crack followed a moment later. Hopefully the strike hadn’t hit anything too close nearby.

The light outside was dim, but she could see water rushing down the gutter channels on the grounds, moving swiftly enough that little held the streams back. The pond was likely filling far past replacing what she’d added to the cistern. If storms like this come through often, they probably never had to worry about running out of water.

Another distant rumble echoed from nearby, the sound making her pulse spike even though she knew it was from the storm. Her head was full to the point of aching with theorems and magical diagrams, Starswirl’s notes as detailed as they were obtuse, but only in spurts, the ancient wizard not bothering to backfill details or notes that he had clearly felt were “obvious.”

And right now I can’t even do magic, so what’s the point? But she knew the answer even before she’d finished the thought.

Power. And destiny. Starswirl had happened upon something with his theorems, or she wouldn’t have hidden the books away, wouldn’t have tried to keep Sunset from accessing them. The pages were filled with notes about the magic behind cutie marks, as well as the mixture of earth pony, pegasi, and unicorn magic. Clearly the old fart had been studying alicorns and ascension, and for her to have hid his research away …

He must have found something. And she didn’t want me to find it because she knew what would happen.

And then she tried to keep me from the mirror because it was a catalyst. A theory, but based on what she was gleaning from Starswirl’s notes, it seemed to fit. Ascension, a rare occurrence, seemed to have specific requirements.

It was a shame that the former pegasus she had adopted had ascended without any witnesses or researchers around to learn from the experience. Sunset let out a scoff. Cadance. That primpy, prissy, stuck-up— She gave her head a quick shake. I never liked her.

She was jealous, and she knew it. Envious as well. The faint bit of guilt that came with acknowledging both aspects only made her less happy.

The answer is here. As thunder rumbled across the grounds, she turned her attention back to Starswirl’s books. It has to be.

I’ll find it. I’ll make her be proud of me.

The storm rattled on, oblivious to the maelstrom of equal proportions inside her heart.

Author's Note

Emergence

Chapter 18 - Emergence

Day Twenty - Ramirez Estates still

Not long now. I think I’ve gained about all I can here. Tomorrow morning I plan to leave. Yesterday’s storm has ended, but the weather still rains in fits and starts and the wind hasn’t lost much of its force. The extra day will give it time to settle down—I hope—as well as give me more time to study and learn about Sera.

I’ve been studying so much my head hurts. I can’t tell if that’s because I’m out of practice, or if it’s because I’m stuffing knowledge into my mind as fast as I can. More likely the latter.

One of the nice things about this estate is their library. They have books that are practical, concerned with immediate matters, such as engine repair or radio maintenance. Things that I need to understand and learn. The carriage they left behind is called a “truck,” for example. Knowing the various classes of vehicle will be important when I find other serans. I doubt any of them would believe my tale of being from another world. Worse, if they did, disaster would likely result.

Perhaps that’s one reason why she didn’t want me to come here. I suppose I can understand that. She might not have seen everything, but she might have known of the threat that could be posed to Equestria and the other nations if either the serans or the Locust came into possession of the portal and realized travel to other universes was possible.

And she didn’t trust me enough to not let that happen.

There was a knot forming in her stomach. She changed topics. Today I plan to do some more shooting practice, then do some last-minute reading of some history books I found. Starswirl’s theorems are all well and good to know, but I can’t replicate them if I can’t figure out how to access my magic! Last night I tried several methods to try and draw my agic out, from complex to the most basic, and still nothing! She wrote the last word with such force it was almost etched into the paper.

I even tried experimenting. I— She pulled the pen back, her thoughts flashing back to the night before. —disassembled part of the radio antenna to see if it would help, but achieved nothing. She left out the part where, out of desperation, she’d held one end against her forehead, hoping that just maybe it would act in a manner similar to her old horn.

Nothing. So today, after shooting, I’m going to go over some of the books I’ve found that look like they may discuss wizards or other parts of the history of this world. There has to be something I can find that answers my questions! They couldn’t just forget about magic! Even with such wonderful tools!

She tapped the page several more times with her pen before deciding on her closing line. I’m going to find it. It has to be here somewhere.

Sunset closed the journal, staring down at the imprint of her colorful cutie mark on the cover. It has to be here somewhere … right?

* * *

The hunting rifle let out another loud crack, kicking against her shoulder, and Sunset felt a sense of grim satisfaction as the next bottle of wine shattered, its contents spilling down over the distant brickwork.

“That’s five,” she said, letting her breath out slowly and shifting the weapon to the left. Five in seven shots. Better than a few days ago. She sighted along the barrel, lining up the small nub at its front with the notch near the rear and aligning both with the next bottle of wine.

Now! The rifle let out another crack, kicking against her shoulder, but the bottle didn’t break. Bits of brick flew as the bullet missed, shooting past and burying itself in the terrace.

Too hard. The instruction had been in the book she’d learned from. Don’t jerk it. She focused again, letting the bottle line up just right, then squeezed the trigger once more.

This time the crack of her rifle was answered in kind by tinkling of glass as the next wine bottle in line shattered into pieces, dark fluid spilling out across the bricks. SIx in nine. There were four bottles left, waiting to add the stain of their contents to the side of the pond.

Six shots later—and one reload—the last of the four bottles had met its end. Sunset stood, eyeing the glimmering glass on the far side of the lake. “Well,” she said aloud as she engaged the safety and swung the rifle up onto her shoulder. “Nothing to fear now. As long as my target is a bottle that stays in one place and lets me lie down to make the shot.” She blew a breath through pursed lips. It’s going to take a lot of practice before I’m good at this kind of thing.

She was improving. She could tell that much just by the number of shots she had left in her pockets. But I definitely don’t trust my ability to do so when something else is shooting back at me. The wind, still evident in the wake of the storm, kicked up again as she made her way toward the kitchen, making her mane dance around her face. Or a lot of somethings.

Ten bottles at a few hundred feet in fifteen shots is probably good, she reminded herself as she moved through the house. Especially for only a few days of shooting, right?

The wagon train was still where she’d placed it a few days before, in the middle of the main hall and ready to go if the need arose. The rifle was reloaded before being placed back in its harness, ready to be used should the need arise. The extra ammo from her pockets went back to the boxes she’d pulled it from, though there wasn’t much of either left.

Standing, of course, her shooting was a bit worse. Despite the muscle of her new body, holding and firing a firearm was both tiring and difficult.

The sound of her boot’s tread echoed as Sunset made her way through the halls, heading for the manor library. I’m better than I was the first day I tried, and that’s what counts. She was less sore as well, having learned to hold the rifle in a more proper manner. But even so …

I really hope I don’t need to use it, she thought as she entered the library, the door letting out a faint creak as it swung to one side. The room was cozy, almost cramped, and would have been a lot darker if not for the massive skylights that made up most of the roof. They were filthy, so they didn’t let in much light. But it was enough to illuminate the massive stacks of shelving winding around the room. She’d left a solar-powered lantern near one of the reading nooks anyway, though the nook itself had a window that looked out over the rear grounds.

All right … She slowed as she reached the center of the library, casting her eyes around at the dust-covered shelves. I need history. Detailed history. There has to be something here that can teach me about seran magic.

A half-hour later she settled into the nook, with branches wheeling and whirling outside the window and a stack of books almost as tall as she was to work her way through. The first four she discarded with little fanfare, their contents swiftly revealing themselves to be little more than summaries she’d already stumbled across with nothing new to add to the narrative. The fifth appeared promising, but turned out to be a collection of short stories. Fiction, rather than the cold hard facts she was hoping for.

The afternoon stretched on, languidly giving way to evening without a single gasp or protest. The pile of books grew smaller with each passing hour, histories, retellings, and fiction all joining the pile of rejectees. Rain came and went, came again, then departed leaving only lines in the dirty glass. Bit by bit, her frustration grew, book after book slipping away as it began treating the material as fantasy or discounting it entirely. Her stomach let out a growl, and she quieted it with some jerky from her pocket, not even willing to stop for a proper meal.

Fantasy. Histories—complete with attached theories and explanations for how the “magic” was performed. Suggestions ranging from men and women ahead of their time to chance to even “lost technology” from before the dark age—though that seemed to be a whole subject on its own, and not one she wanted to spend time researching. Historical fiction, of which there was a decent amount, seemed likewise invested in making magic out as a trick or advanced knowledge, and the few times it didn’t, the “magic” on display was doubtful at best, at worst completely at odds with everything else written and surely nonsensical.

If magic was as simple as speaking a few secret words, someone would have accidentally triggered a spell to end the world decades ago. It was true there were spells that contained verbal components, but they were for reasons of rote, not anything to do with the actual magic. Barring a few rare exceptions … none of which appeared to be the logic behind the books she found.

It was as if they were actual fiction, rather than any attempt to explain how magic worked. Glad there was no one else around to witness her, she even tried a few of the words written, trying to coax some form of shift in the magic buried deep within her.

It refused to budge, leaving her grateful that at least no one had been around to witness her making a fool of herself.

Early evening moved towards late, the shadow cast by her stack of books left to peruse growing larger and longer even as the stack itself shrank. No … No … No … She wanted to scream with each passing failure. No!

Where is it! Someone has to know!

Three books from the bottom of the stack, she finally found it. A book of historical essays on various figures throughout seran history, with a focus on myth and its practicality.

Section three was simply titled “Wizards and Other Magic Users.” She flipped to it immediately, recognizing the artwork that preceded the essay from several of the other books. A wizard, from an ancient hold called Fort Reval. Sources cited, building page upon page of history.

This is it. This has to be it. Ignoring the dryness in her throat and the still-present hunger in her gut, or even the trembling in her hands, she began to read.

Page by page, line by line, her hopes began to crumble. The book was methodical but well-reasoned. It dug into historical findings, records, archeological digs, tombs … everything. There was no angle the paper didn’t come at the man from.

By the end, there was only one conclusion the text had reached: The man had been ahead of his time, clever, well-educated, and likely brilliant. But he was no wizard.

Because Sera had no magic.

A shake seemed to roll through her, a physical shock as she flipped to the next essay, reading through it as well, eyes darting over sources and findings. The second essay, about a witch woman who had lived on the Vasgar coast, came to the same conclusion as the first.

There was no magic. It was brains, science, and cleverness.

It’s a cover up. It has to be. But by the third essay, even that seemed unlikely. What little she’d found of books supporting “magic” had either been slight of hand or so ridiculous as to clearly be fake.

Sera doesn’t have magic. There was nothing about reaching into one’s core, nothing about the most basic of magical law or usage.

But … No! I told the mirror to find someplace with magic! There is magic here.

Unless Starswirl was wrong. The thought made a tremor run through her. He wasn’t always right. I told the mirror to send me somewhere where magic was low. What if—

“No.” She spoke the word aloud, shaking her head as another tremor echoed by. “The mirror opened. I can feel my magic, even now.”

So why can’t I use it? Why can’t—Wait.

Another tremor, and like the last, it hadn’t come from her.

Her blood turned to ice. The ground was shaking. Already the motion was gone, but the terror that had come with it hadn’t faded.

They’re here.

She scrambled from her seat, knocking over a pile of books in her rush to escape the library and pausing only long enough to grab the collection of essays she’d been reading, taking it with her. The sound of her boots ringing against the wooden floors echoed through the mansion as she raced for the main hall, rebounding and making it sound as though there were more people around than just her.

What do I do? The ground shook again, a telltale vibration that made the glowing lights shake and shimmy.

Lights! She’d left the light in the library on. If the tremors were an emergence hole, and not just something tunneling past or the ground settling, the lights would draw the Locust’ attention like moths to a flame. She skidded to a halt, her boots slipping and sliding over the dusty carpet as she prepared to reverse course …

Stop! A moth that draws too close to a flame burns. Light a fire, draw attention away from your escape. Something to cover up her leaving until she could find a place to hide.

Burn the house down? She dismissed the idea almost instantly. She didn’t know the first thing about legitimate, non-magical arson. It wouldn’t be a very effective trap anyway.

But a better idea slipped through her mind. A surefire way to draw the attention of whatever was making the ground shake. She charged for the rear of the house, bashing one of the doors aside on her way to the kitchen, steps coalescing inside her head.

It’ll work. If the instructions left by the original inhabitants had been accurate, it had to. And it would work a lot better than simply setting fire to some of the books and hoping a flame was enough to draw their attention.

The door to the kitchen struck the back wall with a bang as she slammed through it, sliding to a halt as her eyes fixed on the view through the rear windows. The tremors had faded, but outside across the grounds one of the trees by the pond was shaking back and forth, reeling like a stallion who’d had too much to drink.

She was running out of time. Energy. That was the key. She raced to the iceboxes by the walls, pulling every door open and ignoring the musty, dry scent of rot that came with it. She hit every switch, every button, strange machines activating and whirring while the ovens beeped. She opened doors, exposing the heating coils so that the ovens would be fighting the cooling systems of the iceboxes. She turned on the water as well, hot and cold both. The pumps and heating activating was more energy the house would use.

All of it. She needed everything to be on for any of it to work. The smaller, more compact receiving radio above the sink. The device with a glass screen that was similar, but for pictures, not that she’d ever seen it show anything but a strange mesh of something called “static.” Anything that needed electricity.

She was inches from the main lightswitch for the room when the windmill near the end of the grounds abruptly tilted and dropped out of sight. Sparks flew as cables tore, the electrical box letting out a second spray a moment later as something inside broke or combusted. For a brief moment the sounds of everything around her dulled as the metallic scream of the vanishing windmill echoed across the grounds.

Then it was gone, the entire structure absent from the rise. Seconds later something—no, multiple somethings—began to rise into the air, long and spindly …

Legs. Sunset turned and ran, the lights still off. There were other switches to worry about. From behind her, an echoing scream sounded across the grounds as the corpser—there was little else it could be—announced its arrival on the surface.

Why, she couldn’t say. But the presence of a corpser meant one thing: the Locust had arrived.

She flew through the manor, hitting every light switch as she passed them and bathing the halls in a warm glow. Her wagon train was right where she left it, the harness lying atop the forward wagon. She threw it over her shoulders, but didn’t bother clipping in. There simply wasn’t time. One hand drew the gnasher from its holster, the other grasped for the lead wagon’s handle and caught hold.

The weight of the water slowed the train’s start almost to a crawl as she pulled, her boots slipping against the carpet, but step by step it began to roll forward, picking up speed. She swung the body of the gnasher at the light switches by the front door, flicking them up and using the momentum to turn and drive her shoulder against the wood at the same time. Lights inside and out sputtered to life as she crashed through the front doors, chasing back the twilight shadows. One boot caught on the doorframe and she stumbled, almost falling and tumbling down the single step to the circular brick drive.

The lead wagon dropped down the step behind her with a bang, its handle almost roughly shoving her forward. She turned, following the curve of the drive as behind her the other two wagons made similar drops, each one pushing her hand forward and letting similar crashing bangs.

A distant yell echoed from somewhere behind the house, a cross between a gravelly roar and a rallying cry. Another followed a second later, then a third joined in, all of them echoing across the estate. Loud cracks followed in their wake, in short, rapid bursts.

Gunfire. Her throat felt as though it had been sealed by something. More cracks sounded, and she waited for the explosion of pain that would signify she’d been struck.

It didn’t come.

Of course not! The chastisement rose out of her fear like an airship ascending from a morning fog. How could they see you already?

The house. They’re shooting at the house. Warning shots, like those that would loose arrows at a distant foe during a charge.

I still have time.

The wagon train was pushing her forward now, its immense mass gaining speed as it moved down the gentle slope toward the front plaza. As soon as she reached the bottom of the slope she slowed, pulling the handle back and letting the wagon move past her, its weight and mass fighting against hers. Her boots skidded and slipped slightly, but she didn’t fall. A fact she could appreciate later. If I live.

Once the wagon train had slowed enough she let go of it entirely, letting it roll on ahead past the front of the massive truck. She passed both quickly, heading for her ultimate goal: the generator shed.

I hope this works. The locust would find her if there wasn’t something else to keep them occupied. A moth in a flame.

She wrenched the door to the shed aside with a quick jerk, the rollers squealing. The shed was much as she’d left it, though dark. A moment’s quick glancing located a light switch, and the interior blazed to life.

Fast! The glow would be a beacon for any Locust that made it to the front of the house. She needed to move fast.

Sunset moved to the fuel tank first, grabbing every valve she could see and twisting them to one side. A strong, acrid odor filled the air as a yellowish, almost glowing fluid began to flow out of the open valves. Within seconds her lungs had begun to burn, the acrid fumes making her cough.

Not yet. She made certain that the valve on the hose leading to the generator was open, then turned and rushed for the massive machine. The instructions were still where she’d left them, and she wiped the dust off, nodding as she frantically read over every line.

Turn that switch to “standby.” Okay. Then set the primer switches to “automatic.” Plastic and metal clicked beneath her fingers as she followed the imprinted instructions. Confirm starter charge by holding “test” for three seconds.

Come on! More yells and gunfire echoed from the manor, followed by the sound of breaking glass. The Locust could be on her in moments. Come on!

The light by the button she was holding down went green, and she let it off with what was almost a cry of relief. The last step in the instructions was simply to wait. Generator will now automatically activate when signaled.

But she wasn’t done. There was one last step she needed to take. A moth is drawn to a light. But I don’t need a light.

I need flame.

One of the valves she opened led to a long, wound up hose with a nozzle at the end. For refueling the various vehicles used by the farm, most likely. Leaving her gnasher on the nearby workbench, she grabbed the nozzle in both hands and pointed it at the generator. There was a lever along one side, and she flipped it back.

Fuel gushed out of the nozzle end in an arcing stream, splashing across one side of the massive engine. She worked the stream across some of the larger metal parts she could see, then held her breath and lunged forward, jamming the nozzle into a gap in the metal. When she pulled back the hose stayed, still spewing the acrid fuel deep into the metal innards of the generator.

Now run! Sunset grabbed the shotgun and bolted out of the shed, gasping for untained air. The wagon train had stopped a few dozen feet away, near the edge of the plaza, and she raced toward it, still coughing. Another roar sounded from the manor, but much closer than the earlier cries. They had to be in the house.

Her shoulder felt as though it was being wrenched from her body as her momentum clashed with the stationary wagon train, but with her jerk the train began moving forward, rolling after her across the plaza. How long did she have? There was no way to tell. The only way she would “know” was when either the Locust caught her or her plan worked, whichever came first.

Her boots met sand-covered gravel at the edge of the plaza, the wagons rolling off the bricks behind her but thankfully not losing much speed. That came when the drive began to slope upward, the train slowing as gravity tugged at their combined mass.

But there was no time to slow, no time to stop and put on her pack or attach the harness. Get over the rise! She needed to move as quickly as she could, out of the light and into the shadows on the far side of the drive, by the forest. Or maybe to the north, where if she crouched both she and the wagons would vanish behind the stone wall. After a second’s consideration she shifted her course, heading toward the latter.

Come on … The only sounds from the manor still were guttural shouts and roars, along with the sounds of glass and other items being smashed. How long would it be before one of them looked out a window and saw her rushing away into the dark? The sun had fallen low enough now that there weren’t even shadows at her feet, the whole of the road covered in a quiet dark that made the world around her feel tinged in purple dimness.

She reached the top of the rise, the pressure on her arm instantly slacking as the wagon train began to follow her down the other side. In seconds she was sprinting, each stride carrying her for long leaps as the wagons’ weight took her place as the primary provider of momentum. Part of her wanted to slow, fearful that her boots would catch, and that she would tumble to the ground in the dark, the wagon train rolling over her in a spiteful insult before the Locust would find her battered body and do whatever horrible thing they would do to it.

But she didn’t slow and she didn’t trip, managing to reach the bottom of the dip in the drive without losing her footing. Again the roles reversed, the wagon train once again needing her efforts as she moved up the next hill.

Do I want to go up? The Locust had to be getting close to the front of the manor now. Were their eyes good enough to pick her out from a few hundred feet? Had she even made it that far?

If I stop, I lose all that momentum. She kept going, rushing up the second, larger rise and praying that a Locust wasn’t sighting a rifle on her back. By halfway she was struggling, the slope steeper and taller than the last one. She turned, tossing the gnasher atop the first wagon with her pack and grasping the train’s handle with both hands, moving backwards up the hill. The harness seemed to taunt her as it swung from her shoulders, a reminder that with just a few seconds’ time she could be moving with much more ease.

I don’t have a few seconds. She continued working her way backwards, fearing with each step that her boots would slip out from beneath her or that the ground wouldn’t be where she’d expected it to be. The wagons rattled as they rolled, the water in the jugs sloshing back and forth.

At least all my reinforcement held. That was one thing she could be proud of. Not a single thing looked out of place despite the drops down the step and the high-speed jostling the loads had been subject to so far. Even her pack had shifted but not fallen off.

A little farther. Once she cleared the hill, she could put it and the harness on. From someplace out of sight. Light makes it hard to see the dark, right? Her eyes slipped to the front grounds of the manor, lit by lights that now seemed brilliant against the night. If I’m out of the lights, am I safe? She twisted, glancing at the ground at her back. There was a shadow there, however faint.

I need to get further back. The slope beneath her was starting to level out, the top of the rise nearing, the wagon train easier to pull. Once she reached the top, she could duck down, slip her pack on and clip the harness, and escape into the dark.

Another roar echoed from the manor, a shadow flitting past one of the hall windows and blocking the light for a brief moment. For a brief moment Sunset froze, just long enough that she felt the wagon train jerk against her hands before she began to move again, its upward momentum spent in the brief instant she’d stopped.

They’re checking the manor. It won’t be long until—

The front doors swept to the sides, kicked out by what looked like a heavy boot. A massive bipedal figure strode out into the light, and Sunset’s stomach clenched in fear as she got her first look at one of the creatures that had brought down the planet..

It’s skin was mottled and grey, scaled in a way that reminded her more of a lizard than the smooth skin of a dragon. It wore nothing above the waist, its upper body bare and showing off masses of bulky muscle. There was a firearm in its hands—a gnasher, like her own—and it brandished the thing as it turned to the right and then the left. Her throat went dry as the thing began to turn in her direction …

But then with a sudden roar the generator in the shed caught at last, the draw from the manor finally having drained the batteries low enough for the failsafe to activate. The Locust’s head snapped toward the manor, one hand rising and pointing as it barked in its guttural language.

Sunset dropped, crouching and pressing herself up against the stone wall, blocking her view of the front grounds. Part one of her plan had worked—and just in time too. The generator was active and making plenty of noise to cover her escape. She continued moving backwards in a sort of crouched waddle, moving as quickly as she dared down the road and onto level ground. Down the drive a Locust came into view once more, the same one or another like it, rushing across the plaza with its shotgun at the ready and heading for the generator shed.

If it turned around it would be looking right at her. Once again she turned and pulled with one hand, the wagon train now again on level ground, moving in a crouch across the top of the rise. Just a little farther! Ahead the drive began to drop, the incline slight but more than enough once combined with the waist high grass and wall to hide her from any prying eyes. Long enough to get the harness clipped in, anyway.

Another roar from the manor sent ice sliding down her spine, and she almost shut her eyes, waiting for a shot, but none came. The drive dipped at last, a small depression stretching across its width laden with flat sand and silt from the recent rain.

Perfect. Sunset dropped to her knees, ignoring the shock of both wetness and pain from the impact, the soil harder than it had looked but still giving slightly. The wagon train rolled past her, its own momentum lasting a bit longer before stopping, and she crawled forward, grabbing the pack and swinging it into place.

Come on! She risked a glance back at the plaza, just visible through the grass. She was several hundred feet away now, the shape of the Locust at the generator shed’s door the size of the tip of her thumb .. but still clear enough silhouetted against the light that she could make out its motions as it looked left and then right before stepping into the shed.

Work! Her hands slipped, dropping a clasp from her harness as she waited for the generator to do what she’d hoped. The Locust silhouetted in the door stopped a few steps in, likely catching sight or smell of the puddle of fuel lying on the floor.

It’s not going to work. The figure turned, and Sunset shrank back as it looked in her direction. Don’t see me don’t see me don’t see me—! The figure cocked its head to one side, as if squinting at something, and her heart seemed to stop in her chest …

A flash of light, so bright it hurt to look at, erupted from the shed, followed by a heavy whump. The Locust spun around letting out a deep yell of what she could only assume was panic as it saw the white flames that had suddenly enveloped the generator. There was another, brighter flash as the fuel beneath the generator caught, a burst of light so vivid that Sunset shut her eyes, one arm coming up reflexively to block the flash … followed by a second, louder and deeper boom like the impact of a heavy bass drum. The fuel she’d sprayed all across the generator had caught, and that meant—

Down! Sunset twisted, throwing herself belly-first to the damp soil and cupping her hands over her ears. Any second no—

The world went white through her closed eyes, a roar so loud it seemed to consume everything else filling her skull and penetrating all the way down to her bones. Heat flared across her back, a hot wind lashing her mane around her face as the ground shook shook beneath her like a scolded puppy.

Almost as quickly as it had come, the roar of the blast faded, the sudden wind stilling and the ground quieting once more. Sunset lowered her hands, rolling onto her side and then pushing herself up to look back in the direction of the manor.

The shed was simply gone, a burning, smoke-filled crater filling the space where it had been as well as a chunk of the plaza. The truck was gone as well, and it took her still-reeling mind a second to catch sight of its rear poking above the stone wall by the front of the manor. The blast had flung it up on its side and into the grounds. Every remaining window left in the manor had shattered inward, and several of the lights she’d lit had been blown out by the force of the blast.

Shaking, Sunset pushed herself up, more of the manor grounds coming into view. A notch in the stone wall she was peering over caught her eye for a moment, until she saw the scrape in the stone. Something, likely a piece of brickwork from the shed, had hit it hard enough to knock some of the stone away.

The grounds looked as though a bomb had hit them … and in a way, one had. The plants were charred and scattered, the grass pressed-flat by the blast. A figure lay pressed up against the wall of the fountain, body twisted at an unnatural angle. Another Locust, since it couldn’t be the one that had been in the doorway. Likely it had been immolated completely.

Well, Sunset thought as she turned back toward the plaza. It worked. The rest of the sheds around the plaza had all collapsed, several of them burning where the wood that made up their roofs or doors had caught fire. And if there are any Locust left, it’ll give them something to look at. She turned, crawling forward across the silt until she’d reached the lead wagon once more. The carabiner slipped into place with a soft click. I just need to—

Another roar echoed from somewhere nearby, faint but loud enough to be heard over the fading ring in her ears. Her makeshift flame hadn’t gotten all of them. But maybe it would be enough of a distraction.

Hunching low, Sunset began to run, leaving the ruin of the estate behind her.

* * *

“Sunset. Sunset. Sunset!”

She spun as the voice loomed out of the smoky haze around her, her hooves clopping against the ground as she searched for the source of the voice. “Hello? Who’s there?”

“I am most disappointed in you Sunset.” The voice seemed to echo around her, resonating and seeming to sink into her flesh. “Very. Disappointed.”

“I … I don’t … What did I do?” She spun in a panic, again looking for the source of the voice, but all she could see was the same smokey, discolored haze. Except that it wasn’t smoke. It was dust, thick and cloying and sticking to her coat. “What did I do wrong?”

“You failed me, Sunset Shimmer.” The world around her began to brighten, something brilliant and terrifying glowing through the dust. “You weren’t good enough.”

She knew the voice. Knew who it belonged to. She began to back away, away from the growing fire rising out of the haze. Her legs felt leaden, like they weren’t functioning properly, as if the dust itself was sapping her strength.

“Please,” she said as the flames began to burn brighter, white-hot tongues licking out of the dust. “I didn’t! I tried! I did everything—”

“It wasn’t enough!” The last word came like the shout of a titan, driving the haze back and revealing the source of the fires. An elegant alabaster mare stood tall, wings spread wide, her horn rising toward the sky. Flames licked the edges of her body, dancing across primaries and seething along a long, graceful neck like a living, burning mane. “You failed me, Sunset, after everything I gave you!” Burning, blazing eyes stared down at her, filled with contempt and fury.

“No!” Her own voice sounded weak as she tried to step back. But something in the smoke gripped her, holding her tightly and pressing her forward. “I didn’t! I didn’t want to! I tried, Princess! I tried!”

“You did not.” Fire seeped from the edges of her mentor’s mouth, hissing at the air. “You know what this means, Sunset. You know the price of failure!” The words echoed and rolled around them, shoving the dust further back and revealing ruins. Crumbled brick and stone, grown over by dead, grey and brown life in all directions.

“No …”

Her mentor seemed to swell, filling the sky with a maw large enough to devour her whole. “You failed me, Sunset! You weren’t good enough! Your magic was weak! Your studies worthless!”

“No …” Tears were running down her cheeks, soaking her muzzle as she pleaded for her life. “Please, Princess Celes—”

“Do not speak my name!” The figure sneered at her. “I have no use for weak, magicless ponies such as yourself.”

The rubble began to shift around Sunset, sliding back behind her to form a familiar rectangular shape filled with broken glass.

“No!” The force was back, pulling now, drawing her hindquarters toward the gaping maw of the mirror. Through the broken glass she could see monstrous shadowed shapes with jaws full of teeth. “Please! I’m not magicless! I’m not!” Broken brick built around her hooves as she dug in, trying to fight her way forward. “I’m not! I just couldn’t—”

“Couldn’t what?” the burning figure asked, her entire form now wreathed in flames, dancing and burning. She let out a scoff, the hot air ruffling Sunset’s mane. “You were never good enough, Sunset.”

“No!” She pushed harder, fighting at the tendrils of whatever was pulling her back toward the mirror. “Please! I—!”

“I don’t want you anymore, Sunset. Go to your magicless world.” Sunset felt her rear hoof slip through the portal, howls emanating from the creatures on the other side. “It’s where you belong.”

“No!” She slipped again, the rubble beneath her hooves giving way. Clawed hands wrapped themselves around her rear legs, adding their pull to the suction drawing her in. “No! Please!” She reached for her magic, only for sparks to fly from the tip of her horn as magic itself deserted her.

“I suppose I’ll find another student,” her mentor said, her burning gaze almost detached. “One that won’t fail me.”

“No … Please … Princess!” More hands rose out of the mirror, grabbing her flanks and side, pulling her slowly but inexorably through. “No!” She kicked out, but she could already feel her hind legs changing, metamorphosing. “Please!”

“Goodbye, Sunset Shimmer.” Celestia’s burning face filled the world now, so hot that it burned. “Forever.”

“No!” Sunset jerked upright, her chest heaving. The real world came back to her with a sudden splash, like a spray of cold water, its realness aided by the cool sweat across her face that enhanced the late night chill. Around her was her small campsite, dimly lit by the twin moons of the night sky where they poked through the branches of the trees she’d curled up under.

With a shuddering breath, she relaxed, closing her eyes. “It was just a dream,” she said, her throat sore and aching. “Just … a dream. I chose to come here. I chose.”

The recognition didn’t stop the tears from coming, nor the deep sobs that began to rack her body as she curled into a small ball atop her sleeping pad. Eventually the world faded, drifting into darkness as she cried herself back to sleep.

She awoke sometime after sunrise, her body stiff and sore from the compacted position she’d curled up in and her face dry and sticky with the residue of her tears. Wordlessly she cleaned up, using a bit of water from her canteens to wash the signs of her sorrow away … but it didn’t drive away the hollow in her heart. Even knowing that she had never said those words, that she’d chosen to come to Sera in pursuit of her destiny didn’t ease the ache inside her chest.

It wasn’t real, she thought as she ate her breakfast, washing it down with more precious water. It was just a nightmare. A collection of all my stress and fear from the last few days coming to life in a dream.

She still felt a chill rush through her as her mind recalled the burning, warped version of her mentor that had shoved her through the mirror. Sunset had seen her angry before, but never … Never like that. Not at me.

And this world isn’t magicless, she thought as she broke camp. The familiar, comforting warmth that was her magic was there, same as always, inside her chest. I just haven’t figured out how to use it yet.

And I came here on my own. It was the other way around. She didn’t force me here. I came of my own free will. She tried to stop me. Because—

She didn’t finish the thought. That much in the dream, while exaggerated, had been—

No. Even nearing it threatened to bring the tears back, her throat growing tight. She backtracked, running her thoughts back toward other parts of the dream.

I chose to come here. It’s been dangerous, yes. Very much so.

But I’m surviving.

More than survived, really. I fought the Locust … and won. Sort of. It had been a trap, but all the same she’d managed to use what she’d learned to outwit them and get away, as well as …

Killed a few of them. The realization still made her feel a bit queasy, even after putting two nights of rest between herself and the deed. But it had to be done. There was no doubt that had any of them found her, they would have spared no guilt for killing her.

Another thing she didn’t really want to think about.

The wagons rolled along behind her, the road winding more and more frequently as it neared the eastern mountains and the town of Passtil. She couldn’t see it yet, but then much of the horizon was hidden now, blocked from her view by thick, wild growths of massive trees and rougher foothills that the road both cut through and wound around. But it had to be close. She could see the pass rising above the nearby forest, a massive opening in the towering mountain range, like the gap-toothed smile of a young foal that had lost a tooth.

Any minute now. The road continued its serpentine trek through the thick woods, oblivious to her passage and the lack of its designated clientele. Step by step miles vanished beneath her boots, the pass drawing closer with a slowness that was agonizing but sometimes sudden. The road dipped and rose, rising over the miles and making her legs burn. At one point she passed over a bridge, a massive, overwrought edifice that rose easily fifty feet over the churning whitewaters of a seething mountain creek.

Was this on my map? She’d glanced at her atlas the night before, trying to figure out how close to Passtil she was, and there had been blue lines running down from the mountain faces, but …

There was more than one. And she’d already passed crossings that were less bridges and more massive culverts or arches over slightly smaller watersheds, so it was hard to say which one of those the bridge counted as. If I’d been paying better attention …

She glanced at the watch on her wrist. It was almost eleven. Two hours to go until midday. So close to the mountains the air felt cooler, though still not cool enough to make her want to put on a coat. Her shirt, dirty as it was, was good enough. There was even a gentle breeze, not quite enough to drive back the heat of the sun overhead but still noticeable. Faint wisps of cloud occasionally drifted in front of the sun, shadowing her course. It wasn’t hot, but it certainly wasn’t cold.

After her nightmare the night before, somewhere in the middle felt preferable.

She passed another abandoned car on the side of the road, slowing only slightly to glance through its open doors and see if anyone had left anything inside. There was a bird’s nest on the seat, though it looked long-since abandoned, just as the vehicle did. She continued on.

There were other signs that the road hadn’t been used in many years. Parts of it had begun to crack, leading to wide gaps that the wagon wheels bounced over. In multiple places where the road had cut through the hillsides, rock rising to the left, right, or both, years of decay had settled in, forcing Sunset to detour around small slides or even boulders lying in the way. Trees too, had come down in some places, none of them covering the full width of the road, but still presenting the occasional obstacle that she had to maneuver around.

Would Equestria look like this if we all just vanished? Sunset wondered as she passed another wide crack in the road, already colonized by high-reaching grass. How long would it take for the wild world we hold at bay with our magic to simply cover everything we built? Years? Decades? Centuries? There were ruins that could be found across the world of ancient civilizations that had flourished and then fallen, of course, but often there wasn’t much left. Only the longest-lived elements tended to stand the test of time, such as stone.

And even stone can be buried or grown over. Otherwise ponies like Daring Do wouldn’t have a job.

There were ruins that were special cases, of course. Unicropolis, for one. The city had been frozen solid by the wendigos, turned into a magical ice-cube so thick that the region was still an eternal winter few ventured into. At one point, Sunset had been told by her, the massive city had been little more than a glacier with the ice-covered peak of Starswirl’s tower poking above it. Over the centuries the place had warmed, much of the upper levels finally thawing to the point of being covered in thick drifts of snow year-round. It was expected that the summer climate would be a mild winter in perhaps another decade, but even then few wanted to go back to the place.

Having seen what Holton was like, now I understand that a little better. At the time her mentor had explained things to her, she’d merely questioned why more ponies hadn’t returned to claim the ancient capital and, perhaps a bit brusquely, dismissed her explanations offered.

Unicropolis was like Holton. Worse, even. A lot of the unicorns that had lived there, convinced of their infallible nature, had refused to flee when the wendigos had approached. As many bodies as Holton had held … Unicropolis has a lot more. All sealed in ice.

No wonder no one wants to go back.

Ahead of her, around a bend in a road, another bridge came into sight, though not as large or ornate as the last one she’d passed. But past it …

At first she almost frowned, her eyes catching sight of the thick forest past the bridge where she’d expected the road to continue onward. But then she noted the change in the road itself past the bridge, the gaps in the trees to either side. The road hadn’t been blocked. It was an intersection!

“Yes!” Elation bubbled within her, rising above the pallor that had clouded her emotions all morning. “I know that spot!” The road became a gentle, downward slip as the curve ended, moving down the foothill toward its end. The wagon train pushed against her gently, and after a moment’s look at the long, straight stretch before her, she unclipped her harness from the wagon, then sat down atop the lead, the handle rising between her knees and her boots free to drag along the ground. She’d considered the maneuver earlier in the day but never gone for it. Now, with the intersection in sight, putting her just a little over a mile from Passtil and the slope ahead of her slow and straight, it felt like the perfect chance to test the idea out. At worst, she could drag her boots to keep the speed down.

Which she began doing almost immediately, the wagons picking up more speed than she’d expected on such a slight incline. Still, it was quicker than walking, and in a way, fun. A grin worked its way across her face as the wind began to tug at her mane, and she picked her boots up, letting the wagons gain even more speed. Her course began to deviate toward to the left, and she adjusted the handle, evening things out.

“Wooo!” She let the shout out without thinking about it, tension and stiffness melting away under the sensation of pure joy she got from flying down the hill. In less than half a minute she was at the bottom, the road leveling out and her speed slowly bleeding off. She was still going fast enough by the time she reached the bridge that she was over it in seconds, the wagons bouncing as they hit each end.

“Wooo!” She cheered again, the intersection nearing, and dropped her boots, the material making a double-rasp and kicking up off the ground until she forced them back down. Gradually the wind in her mane faded, bled away by the extra drag, the wagons slowing until they were moving at a quick job, then a fast walk, and then not at all, rolling to a stop just a few feet into the intersection. To her left the road extended off in a long, gradual curve, heading for the distant western horizon. To her right … was Passtil.

Or at least, some of it. She could see the pass clearly at last, the steep sides of the mountains separating just enough for habitation and civilization to have laid claim to it. It was still a ways off, but she could see homes and other buildings already, rising above cliff faces with blank, staring windows.

It’s like an eyrie, Sunset thought as she looked at it. Mixed with Canterlot. Except that rather than tunneling into the cliffs.the serans built atop them or on the sides. Even at a distance the town seemed to rise up into the pass on both sides, structures and what looked like covered bridges and steep staircases climbing hundreds of feet up the mountain flanks.

Woof. You’d get your exercise in just walking home each day, Sunset though. And I grew up in Canterlot! Granted, Canterlot had been built near the top of the mountain, near flat segments, and then later had grown out to have the majestic views, drops, and plazas that so many thought of when they pictured the city. Passtil, by comparison, looked like a city that had sprung up because of a convenience and then simply continued sprawling upward.

It’s probably fairly defensive as well, she added as she began walking once more, heading east toward the distant town. If the early eras of sera were as violent as the books said, then that probably was why they built up instead of out.

But did it help them against the Locust?

Her answer came as she moved nearer to the city. Even through the high treetops she could soon see scars on the cityscape, conspicuous gaps in the high-rising structures that, when squinting, revealed bases suspiciously like piles of rubble. A long chasm in the cliffside came into view to her right, what looked like the line left in a treeline after a landslide … save that this wound had been made in buildings, a whole line of them collapsing down on those below and taking most of the cliff face with them.

What must it have been like to be in those buildings? The thought made her shiver, and she pushed it away before it could settle in and take hold. She didn’t want to picture what it would be like to feel the floor tilt beneath her, or the sky flip outside the windows, the sudden lack of gravity as things began to plummet—

Nope. Don’t think about it. She could make out individual buildings now, just as ornate and artistic as those in Holton, but with more sheer edges to them, like the builders had tried to capture the essence of living on such drop offs. Even through the ruin and more of the vines that seemed to grow over everything, it was still visually striking. Birds flew from a greenish statue of some historical figure perched on the edge of what was probably a plaza, looking down over a steep drop off to the roofs below. She didn’t miss the empty plinth next to it, nor the shattered, warped roof of the structures below.

A break in the trees to her left caught her eyes, empty dark windows staring out at her from deep within the woods. A cabin, long since covered by moss and grass, with an overgrown lot in front of it. Apparently not everyone had lived inside Passtil.

Unsurprisingly the town had a wall around it, just like Holton, though a bit higher and more solid looking. And more modern, Sunset noted, her eyes slipping to the massive bits of metal that adorned it. Though I did leave through a smaller exit in Holton. Maybe the larger entrances were more recent? Regardless, the additions hadn’t done the town any good. The gate itself was wide open, twisted and scorched with long-faded scars of violence. The gatehouse on one side had been leveled, bare skeletal remains poking up at the sky like clawing fingers. Several cars and trucks—not carriages—had been smashed to one side, as broken and battered as the gate was. One of the military transport vehicles in the pamphlet she’d found sat just beyond the gate, its top battered in and tires at odd angles. Whatever had happened to it, it wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

Locust … Sunset moved to the gate, boots slipping over thousands of spent bullet casings that had long since been blown into piles or settled into the dirt. Sure enough, just past the wall she could see the familiar craters in the ground that marked old emergence holes, now filled with grass and the occasional swaying wildflower.

But the gate looks like it was hit from the outside. Maybe it was easier to emerge outside the town and then break their way in? Why have the holes inside?

Maybe that was for reinforcement after they had pushed past the gate. That would make sense. More signs of ancient combat littered the main road past the barrier, burned cars and trucks mixed with battered heavier vehicles she’d never seen before. Buildings and staircases had chunks missing from them, like bites taken by giants. There was even a massive, burnt-out hulk of a machine that was on treads and sporting a massive cannon—which was currently pointed skyward, as something had collapsed the ground beneath its rear, trapping it and exposing a chunk of its underbelly. Which looked heavily damaged, the armor twisted and ripped back.

That made her pause. The machine looked heavy and dangerous. What could do that to something so big? A corpser? But she’d seen the pictures, and corpsers had legs like a spider, striking from above.

What else had the locust had which could do so much damage? And what am I looking for in Passtil anyway?

That was the real question. Her walk to the town hadn’t taken long, and it still wasn’t even midday. But now that she could see the destruction wrought on the town’s main boulevard … What could I hope to find here? A radio?

That looked dubious at best. If there had been a large radio tower anywhere in Passtil, it had likely fallen to the invasion, since she couldn’t see any sign of one rising above what buildings were left.

I could find another jug of water. She glanced back at her wagon, eyeing the half-full jug she’d partially drained on her way from the Ramirez Estate. But … that could take some time. She’d need to find a business first, and from the look of the road past the entryway, that was a dubious proposition at—

Wait a minute … She moved forward once more, wagon wheels rolling past the remains of the large, tracked war machine as she quizzically took in what lay down the road. Is that …?

It was. Ahead of her the road diverged, the inner lanes entering a tunnel and then dropping down into the ground while the outer lanes merged, the road narrowing to move through the center of Passtil. So the traffic that needed to pass through could, while the more regular traffic could stay above. Clever.

Save that at some point the road beneath had collapsed, the road above sinking with it and leaving a water-filled chasm running right through the middle of the city. Why it hadn’t drained she couldn’t say. But there’s no way I’m going along the main road to find anything. Not without a boat. At the edge of the collapse she could see another of the armored, treaded vehicles sticking up into the air, its rear half submerged in the artificial lake.

Still a good idea, though. She could also make out still water inside the tunnel that had led to the lower level. When I return to Equestria, I’ll need to remember that.

However, it wasn’t immediately useful. Nor was it threatening, but useful it was not. Worse, unless I want to climb up to the edges of the city looking for stuff, I don’t think I’m going to find much. And those gaps between the buildings look narrow. Probably easy to get lost in. Unless I can spot a tower or something, I—What’s that?

Part of a familiar looking spoked wheel protruded from behind a nearby car. Is that … It is! Unclipping herself from the wagons, Sunset stepped around the edge of the battered, bullet-ridden vehicle, her eyes locked on the thin—and flat—tire, followed by what was connected to it. A warped metal frame, bent by some impact and missing its seat, but recognizable nonetheless.

A bicycleI They have bicycles here!

Of course they have bicycles here, she chastised herself. They can put weapons capable of wiping out cities into space. Why wouldn’t they have a bicycle?

Granted, it wasn’t much to look at. It still bore the marks of its makers, the overall design heavier and more straightforward than bicycles in Equestria had been, but that didn’t change the fact that its rear half had been squashed between the sidewalk and the carriage it was sitting behind. Hopefully the rider had gotten away to safety before … But no, she could see a lock of sorts around the front part of the frame, connected to a grill on the sidewalk. The machine had been left on the side, then become a casualty.

Still … A bicycle would be a helpful tool for getting around. Certainly faster than walking. If I could rig it up to my wagons properly, she thought with a glance back at the train she’d left in the middle of the street. Just … not this one.

For that matter, whoever owned the bike in question probably hadn’t lived higher up in Passtil. She gave the rising stairways and sheer cliffs above her a sideways glance before looking back at the bike once more. That or they carried this thing up a lot of stairs.

Still, a bicycle could be a useful tool. If I can find one.

Searching through Passtil, however, wasn’t looking to be worth the time. Half the routes up deeper into the town looked to be blocked by rubble or barriers both makeshift and official-looking, and as tall as some of the buildings were the whole place doubtlessly was a maze unless you knew where you were going. She turned to check the other side of the pass, light glinting off the artificial lake to her side, and checked the destruction evident.

It was more of the same, the gaps in buildings either rubble, barricades, or both. Even from below she could see winding streets and walkways twisting or making sudden, sharp angled cuts as they made their way back and forth up the sides of the mountain. I don’t even want to imagine pulling the wagons up those hills. Her gaze settled on a car that had gone off the road and crashed into the top of a building, breaking it open and bringing down part it, somehow leaving the third story hanging in the open air, suspended by a single wall.

She let out a slow sigh. Passtil was looking like a bust, though it had been a stop mostly of convenience anyway. Still, maybe there’s something left over from this fight …

Her thoughts slowed as she turned, another glimmer from the lake catching her eye. Except that it was a glimmer from a portion of the lake that was in shadow … So what’s doing that? Sunset took a few steps forward, moving closer to the lake and catching sight of other glimmers that she’d assumed earlier had been merely the sun reflecting off of the lake’s surface, except …

Sunlight isn’t that color. Nor does it glimmer from shadow. What is that?

The glimmer she was seeing wasn’t the only unusual thing about the lake either. Now that she was looking more closely, there was a sort of haze across some of its surface, faint but still noticeable. There was a golden-yellow tinge to it as well, matching that of the strange glow.

With a flash of realization, she placed it. Imulsion! There had been a picture of it in the dictionary she’d used to learn the seran’s written language, as well as a description. It has to be! The book had described it as having a yellow bioluminescent glow, as well as emitting fumes that glowed in a similar manner.

“But …” The sound of her own voice echoing out across the empty, shelled streets was almost as shocking as the hints of imulsion coming from the lake. She snapped her mouth shut, teeth almost clicking her jaw closed so fast. Imulsion is supposed to be deep underground? What’s it doing here on the surface of an artificial lake?

Maybe a fuel station had its tanks broken open? She shook her head even before the thought had finished. Even if a fuel station had split its tanks open, that wouldn’t change that it had happened years ago. And imulsion fuel wasn’t the same as pure, unrefined imulsion.

Maybe a fuel truck under the surface of the water? Sunset slipped her pack from her shoulders and dug through it for several seconds before finding her binoculars. The distant lake surface leapt into sharp clarity before her eyes, blurring for a second but then sharpening again as she adjusted the focus.

No … Whorls of faint mist rose before her eyes, rising from faint but distinctly glowing slicks on the surface of the water. Or maybe? A truck sitting on the bottom of the lake could be home to a large supply of the glowing imulsion, which if the leak was slow enough could take years but …

There’s been rain recently, and the lake level isn’t that high. The world blurred as she moved the glasses over to peer at the edge. So there must be an outflow somewhere. Probably into the river or creek that ran along the side of the main road from time to time, the same one that had passed under the last bridge she’d crossed. There were small trees by the water’s edge as well, dating the formation of the water-filled chasm.

Again she slid the binoculars across the distant water with its yellow, glowing slick. I know a little bit can go a long way when it comes to something like putting oil atop water. A faint memory flashed through her mind, of performing exactly that experiment with— She shoved it back. No. There’s no way a single truck could leak this much imulsion over all the years since this happened. And there were no signs along the edge of the lake, even on a second look, that showed that the water level had recently been lower. No flooded trees poking above the depths or sudden shifts in the color that could imply discolored shores recently overtaken.

Maybe there was a whole convoy on the lower level? It would explain why the town had been so heavily defended, and why the locust had attacked it. Not one truck, but a dozen maybe. On their way to the Jacinto Plateau to be part of the storage for the siege.

That answer made sense, and she lowered the glasses. Still … It was eerie the way the haze shimmered and shifted above the water. Breathing that can’t be healthy. The idea almost felt like common sense. Breathing anything that had so much energy it naturally glowed seemed like a bad idea.

Glow … Wait a moment. On a whim, she reached again for her magic, pushing and seeing if she could grasp it. Once again it slipped from her grasp like an errant soap bubble, tantalizing but sliding just out of reach.

Maybe if I had some imulsion— She dismissed the idea with a shake of her head. Just because it glows, doesn’t mean it’s magic. Does it? Maybe that was all the “lightmass” process was, a way of refining some form of natural magic into fuel that the serans understood and—

No. Magic doesn’t work like that.

In Equestria, another part of her suggested. Maybe all it takes is getting some of it in your hands.

It’s caustic. She knew that much from the dictionary, even if she didn’t know much else. You wouldn’t want to touch it with your bare hands.

Maybe if there was some in a container or stored in a way that was safe to handle. Maybe then.

But right now? She turned forcefully, pivoting on her heel and putting the lake at her back. Not here. Not now.

Still, she could feel the temptation calling to her, crying out to be heeded. I could do so much more if I had my magic.

And I still have it. She stuffed the binoculars back into her pack, maybe with a little more force than was necessary, but not hard enough that anything would be damaged. There’s nothing for me here. I wasted the wa—

A toppled truck caught her eye, and she paused. Maybe not nothing, exactly. The truck was one of the larger models, with a heavy blunt front and a bed that had at one time been covered in ribbled canvas. Most of the ribbing was bent and twisted now, along with part of the bed. Both probably from the same impact that had thrown the truck up onto its side. Most of the canvas was still intact, if looking a little worse for the wear, but what had caught her eye were the scattered, heavy-looking metal cases that had fallen out of the back.

Someone was going through those. Though dusty and dirty, it was clear that someone had at some point thrown the lids of the cases back, likely emptying them of anything useful.

Save one, half-protruding from the back of the vehicle bed. It’s lid was still closed. Lettering had at one point been stenciled across the side, but years of sun and weather had removed most of it, leaving only a few broken patches that were barely legible as letters, much less anything readable.

But if someone raided the other cases … Sunset walked over to the side of the truck, stepping around the scattered and already ransacked cases with only a partial glance. Their insides were empty save slats or mounts of some kind.

Someone definitely picked them clean, she thought as she came to a stop by the one still in the back of the truck. She moved to fold the canvas flaps around it aside, only for the thin, weakened cloth to tear slightly under her fingers. Handholds on the side of the metal case became apparent as light fell over them, and she wrapped her fingers around the metal. And … heave!

With a loud bang one end of the metal case dropped to the ground, the weight far heavier than she’d expected. She froze for a moment, waiting for any sort of outburst in response to the sudden noise, but only echoes of the impact bounced back at her. Bullet casings ground against the dirty pavement as she pulled the case further out, crushed by the metal box’s weight and creating a grinding rasp with each tug.

At last, with a final sharp jerk, the rear end of the case fell free, slamming down onto the pavement with another loud bang that echoed across the lake. The case was held shut by clasps just as thick and utilitarian as everything else the cog built, but they didn’t appear to be locked, and after a second’s fiddling the first of them gave with a sudden click. Its counterpart followed in quick succession, and Sunset threw the lid back, grunting at its surprisingly heavy weight. Didn’t these people ever build anything light!?

Identical rows of gleaming metal stared up at her from within the crate, a half-dozen identical metal shapes carefully cradled within. Familiar metal shapes.

“Lancers,” she said, the word a quiet whisper compared to the bang that had echoed seconds earlier. “Of course.” The weapons were still pristine despite however many years the crate had been abandoned lying in the back of the truck, along with row upon row of what had to be ammo magazines—What an odd homonym—filling the bottom half of the case, likely a good portion of the excess weight she’d felt. “Military truck, militant government … Of course it’s guns.”

Then again, everyone else has one. She reached down into the case, leaning up against its side, and took one of the firearms in her hands. Metal clasps held it firmly in place, though with no catches that she could see on either side, and she gave the weapon an experimental tug. It didn’t move. Was it just that heavy, or—?

With another, firmer tug the lancer popped free, the back-end flipping up and almost out of her hands, the front end with its wicked-looking bayonet diving thankfully down into the depths of the case.

I forgot how heavy these things are. Sunset flipped the weapon round, holding it by the handle giving it a few experimental hefts. She hadn’t lifted one since she’d removed the bayonet from the first one she’d seen.

It had been only a few weeks, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

There was a safety similar to the one on her gnasher by her thumb, and she eyed both it and the magazine placed just ahead of that. Then she frowned.

“It’s … loaded,” she stated, almost in awe. “Who stores and transports a loaded firearm?” Somewhat cautiously she reached out and pulled the bolt back, watching through the vent as a bullet slid smoothly into the waiting chamber. “Okay, it wasn’t loaded exactly, but …”

There was an unsettling implication to the design of a weapon that had been shipped ready to fire. Carefully, she pointed the front of the lancer out over the nearby lake and then gave the trigger a questioning pull.

Nothing happened. At least the safety was on. But who would store a weapon like ...

She glanced back at her own wagon train, gnasher and hunting rifle both holstered alongside the lead wagon, loaded and ready to go.

Okay, maybe they had a reason. But even so!

It took her a few seconds to work out how, but a moment later the magazine dropped out of the bottom of the lancer, clattering as it hit the pavement. She pulled the bolt back and ejected the unused round, clearing the gun once more. There. She shoved the magazine back into place. I don’t mind it having bullets at the ready, but until I’ve fired it, I’d rather not trust all its other parts to do their job, even if this thing is brand-new. Sort of.

Because I’m taking it. She almost hadn’t realized it, but the decision had been made. She set the rifle down atop its fellows in the case, then bent and picked up the unused round she’d ejected. It was much larger than the ammunition used by the hunting rifle, both in length and in girth. Probably hits a lot harder too. Designed to punch through heavy UIR armor, rather than just skin and bone.

For a moment she considered replacing the bullet in the rifle’s magazine, but with another glance at the amount of ammunition in the bottom of the case, she tossed both the idea and the bullet itself aside. There were what looked to be hundreds of magazines standing in neat little rows below the racked rifles. Far more than she would want to take with her. Saving a single bullet wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

The only question now was “How many should I take?” Followed by the slightly pressing question of how to safely store the large array of magazines.

The soldiers usually stored them inside those metal boxes. The airtight ones, which means they weren’t exposed to the weather. Sunset stared at the magazines for a few seconds before pushing herself away from the case, turning towards the wagons. But the cog really do make everything pretty tough and durable. I doubt their bullets would be bothered by a little water.

Besides, she thought as she began pulling the train over to the case. I have covers. And there was a small lopsided empty space on one side of the lead wagon left from the firing of so much of her rifle ammo. She flipped the cover back, exposing her carefully packed supplies, and began moving lancer magazines over from the case, at first one by one, but then in small clumps of three as she grew more confident in her actions. Don’t I already have two magazines somewhere else as well? She could remember packing a few from Holton, but more as a last resort than with intent to use them.

Until now. The steady clunk of each group as she dropped them into place in the wagon was almost soothing. Relaxing, in its own weird way. Dull, but at least different from the endless walking of the last few days. Walking I’ll be right back to as soon as I’ve got enough bullets.

She stalled for a moment, almost dropping her latest triplet of magazines. “Did I really just think that?” The magazines let out quiet clinks as she finished setting them in the bottom of the wagon. Only a few more, and they’d be flush with the remaining few boxes of hunting rifle bullets. But rather than moving to finish the job, she stared at the neat rows.

Is this who I am in just three weeks? A Sunset who thinks about bullets and whether or not I have enough? It was hard imagining the young mare that had come through the portal planning out how to best store bullets for a firearm.

Would I recognize myself now, after such a short time? She sat back, sitting atop the edge of the case, though whether it was just to think or because her legs suddenly felt tired, she wasn’t certain. Would I know me?

You know, outside of the weird seran body. She stared down at her fingers, wiggling them. They were, she had to admit, neat. But I still miss my hooves. And my horn. And my coat. Her throat suddenly felt scratchy, like she’d swallowed something that didn’t agree with it.

But … it can’t be helped. She shut her eyes, pulling in a long breath and letting it out slowly. Everypony changes as they grow. That’s part of— Her thoughts hitched as she recalled who she was quoting. Part of growing up.

Becoming better.

Her vision blurred. No! Sunset squeezed her eyes shut. Not right now. Not today. I have too much to do today. She pushed back at the storm of emotions that had surged out from deep within her, shoving them back down. Don’t think about it! You don’t have the time!

We all change. I came here in pursuit of that. She wiped one arm across her face, brushing away the brief tears that had entered her eyes.

But am I changing for the better? The thought echoed in her mind as she finished filling the wagon with lancer magazines. Change for the sake of change isn’t always good. There’s always a direction. Always. Is it the right one?

The thought echoed in her mind as she secured her new rifle in the rearmost wagon, and as she refilled her canteens and had a quick lunch. Even as she clipped herself to the train once more and set out, leaving Passtil behind her and heading west, it continued to slide back and forth across her mind, bringing with a feeling of unease she couldn’t shake.

Is it the right one?

Silently, Sunset headed west, following the old highway.

Author's Note

Ash

Chapter 19 - Ash

Day Twenty-five - East of what’s left of Tanover

I’ve reached Tanover. At least, I’m close to it, to what’s left of it.

Tanover sits in a low valley, with a river running through it. That’s how I can already see so much of it.

It’s why I can see what’s left.

I keep writing that, but it’s true. Tanover is a ruin. Far worse than Passtil or Holton.

It’s massive. Bigger than any city I’ve ever seen. I think I’m technically already in it, or some division of it. I’ve holed up in a house on the outskirts.

Manehatten would be smaller, maybe. It has tall buildings like Tanover—or like Tanover did at one point. I can see what’s left of them through the broken windows of where I’m taking shelter. But even destroyed, I think some of them are taller.

This world was massive.

The important thing, the reason I’m writing in here today, is because this is where I think the Cog were when I heard their voices over the radio at the Ramirez Estate. There’s a huge manufacturing center on the south side of the city, one that only took a partial hit from the hammer of dawn strikes—at least, I’m fairly certain that’s what toppled some of the larger buildings and created the massive craters in the ground. There’s a river that used to run through the city center. I write “used to” because it looks like the explosions changed its course, and the center of the city is just a big lake now with what’s left of the tallest buildings poking out of the water around it.

Anyway, the southern part of the city looks like a bunch of manufacturing complexes, and some of the destruction there looks, well, new. It’s hard to describe, and maybe it is just wishful thinking, but they were here, I’m sure of it!

Which also means that there are Locust here. Or nearby. Or ready to be here. The Cog arrived by air, and they were still attacked. So tonight I’m only using what light I get from the sun. No lanterns. I don’t want to draw any attention to the fact that I’m here. Tomorro—

The pen slipped, ruining the last letter of the word, and Sunset scowled. The waning light already made it hard to see inside the house she’d broken into. She needed to hurry while she could still see.

Tomorrow I’ll skirt the north end of the city. It’s a bit longer than cutting south, but if south is where the Cog was, I don’t want to risk running into any Locust that might still be hanging around.

The real problem is figuring out where to do that. The river running through Tanover isn’t small. My atlas does have a somewhat complete map of the city—yay for grabbing that book—complete with bridges that cross the east and west sides, but how many of those bridges are still up? How many of them were lost in the fighting? If I leave the city, it’s a good fifteen miles or so north to the nearest crossing. That’s a day’s travel up and back, assuming I don’t run into any problems.

The light was almost too dim to write by. She needed to wrap it up.

I’m doing all right with the travel. I practiced with the lancer out on the roa—

She stopped, squirting to see what she’d written and realizing that she’d deviated from the lines on the page. It was simply too dark to keep writing.

With a sigh, she snapped the journal shut and leaned back in the dusty chair she’d commandeered. Good enough, I guess. She’d twisted her seat so that it was pointed at the nearest window, trying to get as much of the last light of sunset as possible, but it was simply too late in the day for there to be much to work with, even facing directly at the western horizon. Stars had already begun to appear in the sky, along with one of the moons, providing enough dim light to make out the shape of the distant city, but not enough to illuminate detail.

Even in the twilight the ruins looked foreboding.. Moonlight glimmered off of the lake at the very center, a deep bowl ringed by the skeletal, blasted remains of buildings that, in Manehatten, would have been called skyscrapers. Not a single one of them had been left intact, though the ones further from the center of the city were in better shape than those at the middle of it.

Though not too much better. Most of them were still missing whole pieces. The streets were packed with rubble and debris, even at a distance. Sunset slipped her journal back into her pack and swapped it for her binoculars for a closer look. The world blurred as she looked through them, then jumped into sharp—if dark—focus.

The detail didn’t make the city look any better. More distinct, certainly, but there wasn’t much too that save more ruin.

And a lot of it. Gaping, empty windows stared back at Sunset, long devoid of any glass. Building fronts lay in shambles across streets, covered in a thick ashen mud that seemed to coat most of the city. Why hasn’t any of the rain washed that away? Is it just that heavy? Bits of rebar and other reinforcing poked above the rubble like the legs of dead insects, twisted and bent.

She panned her view across the city, alighting on old barricades and what had definitely been defensive locations like what she had seen in Holton and Passtil. Some even looked like they’d been formed from rubble, implying that there had at least been some fighting in the city after the hammer strikes had hit it.

Not that it did them any good. The city looked abandoned as everything else now, given over to the new rulers of Sera.

Locust. Sunset shifted her view away from the lake and toward the south end of the city, where she suspected the Cog airship had been. Though not actually an airship. According to her dictionary and an errant thought from the night before, a King Raven was a type of helicopter aircraft that utilized twin propellers spinning at incredible speeds to stay aloft. Such technology did exist in Equestria, but few had ever done anything with it. There airships ruled supreme thanks to liftgas, but on Sera … A check of the entry for “airship” had assured her that they did exist, but that they weren’t often utilized. A check of the term “liftgas” and equivalent terms suggested that no such thing existed. Equestrian airships, the question of the power supply aside, were likely much more capable than their seran counterparts.

Some of those buildings are huge, she thought as she swept her view across the south side of the city, taking in massive, gently sloping rooftops that were the size of several hoofball fields put together. Maybe even larger. You could fit the entire Guard training grounds in that one. Even with their capture the flag field! A few of the roofs had buckled over the years, with not one looking pristine, and those that were closer to the city center looked partially collapsed, but even so, the structures were impressively vast.

How many people must have worked in those?

Near the center of the complex, the buildings took on a less blocky look, more ornate and taller than the structures around them. That, combined with a road that led right to an open space that was probably a plaza, likely meant that the building was the center of the location.

What was more, the ash there wasn’t nearly as prevalent. Even through the binoculars, it was clear that something had disturbed the place. There were clear changes in the color of things, even visible under the dim, shadow-laden light provided by the moon. Places where the ash had given way in what looked like hard lines denoting—

Something moved, and Sunset flinched, dropping the binoculars. They were back up again in a second, the world blurring and shifting once more as her stomach clenched. Again she honed her gaze in on the distant center of the complex, still some ways off, but …

There was definitely movement around it. What, or who, she couldn’t tell. But she could guess.

Locust. This has to be where the Cog were! Looking for a computer chip, likely that had been held inside the very structure at the center of the complex.

So those buildings around it made computing devices then? She could only barely make out the windows on the massive building, what movement she could discern small faint twists and jerks of shadow. Anyone looking back in her direction would only see a dark window, since she was sitting well back from it, out of the moonlight.

All the more reason to go north tomorrow, though. If the Locust were still poking around the city, then it would be best to avoid them as much as possible.

Unless those aren’t Locust. They could be Cog. Back for another chip.

She tempered her excitement. If they are Cog, it’ll be pretty easy to find out. I’ll just have to wait until the Locust show up and start shooting.

Then the Cog would leave, and I’d be stuck here. I wouldn’t even have a way of getting their attention without bringing the Locust right to me.

Again, if they are Cog. It was far more likely than they were Locust. But if—?

No. She shook her head. They’re Locust. Who else could they be?

You could sneak down there and see. The tantalizing idea yawned at the edge of her mind, the last step to an abyss she could vanish into, never to be seen again. You could take your gnasher and give it a shot.

In the dark? The Locust were subterranean. Logically, then, she’d have a better chance sneaking around during the daylight then at night. Or if their eyes were decently adapted to the surface, just before dawn or in the early twilight.

A flash of something across the night sky caught her focus, and she whipped the binoculars back up as a trio of … things … dropped down to land in front of the complex center.

What are those? The distant shapes were so indistinct between the dark and her distance that it was all but impossible to make anything out. But they had been flying, that much was unmistakable. Nothing else could drop out of the sky like that unless it could fly.

But those aren’t ravens. She hadn’t gotten a great look at them, but even as distant shapes atop the ground they clearly lacked the same shape or structure as the picture in her dictionary.

Locust. It had to be. Something that could fly, like a pegasus. But how?

Regardless if they were poking around the complex …

She lowered the glasses once more, decision made. Definitely the north end of the city. As far north as I can go. Quietly. First thing tomorrow morning.

Which meant she needed to sleep. She ate her dinner quietly, the meal lit only by the dim light of the moon, her ears straining for every out-of-place sound as she picked her way through another bland box.

Gnasher close by her side, Sunset drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Rubble clattered beneath her boot and Sunset froze, just as she had the last few times she’d kicked an errant bit of brick. The sound echoed back at her from the nearby buildings, bouncing across shattered storefronts and broken steps, dropping down over the barrier wall at Sunset’s side and into a long-since drained canal now home to faint choked weeds and more of the grey ashen mud that seemed to coat everything, even this far from the city center.

There were no cries of alarm or alert, and she moved forward once more, heart jumping with every errant rattle of her wagons. She’d risen early that morning and used what spare clothing she had to stuff any gaps she could see that could produce motion, but she'd apparently not gotten all of them.

Easy, Sunset. She moved forward again, her boots making soft pats against the dried mud and stirring up the occasional faint dust cloud as she continued down the wrecked avenue. Or pathway—she wasn’t sure which it was. Walkway? Causeway? The only thing she could say for certain was that it clearly hadn’t been meant for vehicles, but for foot traffic.

The road might have been easier, she thought as she stepped around another bit of debris, what looked to be a half-melted bit of metal that had probably been thrown across the city from the center of the hammer strikes. Or not. The rear wagon bumped the large piece of metal, scraping along the side. The sound of its echoing rasp made her wince.

Keep cool. The gnasher was in her hands, had been since she’d set out that morning. Tanover was silent as a tomb—fitting, since it was one. Unlike Holton or Passtil however, there was little sign that life had returned to reclaim what had been burnt to charred nothingness. Trees shoved scraggly, charred branches into the sky from planters, the claws black and charred without a leaf in sight. No birdsong echoed along the empty canal beside her. No living plants waved in the breeze. Here and there along the canal bottom she’d seen tufts of grass, but they been sickly, unhealthy if alive at all, choked by the omnipresent grey ash and mud that coated almost every surface.

Worse still was the heat baking down on her. What little wind there was had come and gone as she’d wound her way through the city outskirts, alternately providing a brief blessed relief or abandoning her to the heat of the sun that baked the ashen mud underfoot. Dust had settled on her skin, turning to a slick, sticky clay as she’d started to sweat and making her itch.

Sunset wiped a hand across her forehead, leaving a grey smudge on her palm, and trudged onward. Ahead the pathway intersected with a road, a crashed car blocking the exit to the street, and she took the next bridge across the canal to the other side.

Still moving in the right direction, she thought as she crossed the wide street, following faded white lines in the pavement that had probably indicated a crosswalk for the hoof—foot—traffic to follow. A signpost that had probably signaled to both the traffic and the pedestrians had been warped by some impact, leaving its upper half bent at an angle out over the road, and she ducked as she stepped under it.

There were bones on a nearby sidewalk. Seran bones, coated in the same omnipresent grey clay. She averted her eyes, shifting them downward until she was back alongside the canal once again. Aged, weathered shards of glass glittered beneath her feet, sunken into the grey like tile in a noble’s washroom. She kept alert for any pieces that might be protruding, baring razor edges that could cut into her boots—or worse, puncture one of the wagon train’s thick, heavy tires—but years of weather seemed to have blown them all flat. The constant glittering from the array made it appear as though the path ahead of her was being forged by falling stars, though in truth she couldn’t think of a less-fitting comparison to her current situation.

Worse, the glass made her nervous, and she switched sides once more as soon as she was given the chance, the wagon train bumping and rolling over another bridge to the other side of the canal.

What must Tanover have looked like before it was a ruin? It was hard not to look at the buildings around her and try to imagine them in their prime, panes full of glass. Or with signs. Bursting with bright, vibrant color, the trees bearing boughs of brilliant green. The empty metal chairs and dusty tables she was passing clean and used by people, laughing and talking as they enjoyed their day.

How could anyone do this to their own home? She left the empty tables behind, eyes sliding to what looked like a destroyed bookstore, the shelving and interior charred and blackened by fire. She could see how it must have looked in her mind, though likely not exact. The welcoming steps, the twin, engraved pillars outside each door, the row after row of books offered on sale. Signs, perhaps, to warn of upcoming book releases or events.

She could picture roughly how it had transformed into its current state as well. The blast from the hammer, a shockwave of heat and sound, rushing through the city, scorching the stones and blasting the buildings apart. She could see the books catching fire in her mind, the heat scorching the shelves until they burst into flame. Someone screaming as their flesh began to melt—

She shook her head and pushed on, forcing herself to look away from a set of dusty bones even as a shudder worked its way through her shoulders and back. Don’t think about it. It’s awful, but you don’t have to think about it.

Thankfully, the next storefront had simply collapsed, what looked to be a half-melted car having slammed down atop it from above.

She hoped there hadn’t been anyone in it when it had happened. The vehicle or the building.

What a horrifying weapon. Is this what would happen if she had ever used the sun as a weapon?

She had before, Sunset knew that much. There were records of it from the Breaking, though sparse in detail.

Very sparse. She’d always wondered why. Now …

Ahead of her the pathway intersected with a main road once more, blending into a broad sidewalk of broken, uneven brick. Part of the road had dropped, collapsing over the canal and cutting it off, though whether the damage had been done during the hammer strike or the Locust invasion, Sunset couldn’t say. But the canal past the blockage glimmered under the sun, stagnant, brackish water baking in the heat. And past that …

Another blockage, and she sighed before she could help herself.. One of the taller buildings had collapsed, crashing down into the canal and across the paths on either side, blocking all off. Leaving her with only two choices. I can circle out, she thought, glancing to her right. Or I can cut in, closer to the city center.

The latter option was shorter, and she turned around, backtracking to the last bridge across the canal and putting herself on the correct side once more, heading deeper into the city when she reached the road. Now just to find another way to head north.

Time passed. The sun beat down across her shoulders, and she emptied one of her canteens. The center of the city grew closer with each step, the ashen mud taking on a blackened, charred shade, like the buildings around her. The air was stagnant, so dry it made her throat feel raw, and she refilled her canteen as she pushed deeper into the ruin, the towering frames around her taking on an increasingly skeletal appearance with each passing moment.

When she rounded the next corner and saw the figure standing in the middle of the road, she almost screamed. As it was she jumped back, almost tripping over her wagons and bouncing awkwardly off of the handle. Almost too late she remembered the gnasher in her hands, her thumb pressing up against the safety, ready to flick it off. As soon as she’d made sure the weapon wasn’t pointed at her feet, she gave it a push, ready to fire.

Her heart was hammering inside of her chest, pounding with so much force she felt as though it should have been visible through her shirt. Had the figure known she was coming? Was that why they were just standing in the middle of the street? She swallowed, her throat even drier than it had been minutes earlier, and then called out.

“He—hello?”

She waited as her voice resonated out around the street corner, quickly fading and swallowed by the ash. There was no reply. She tried again.

“Hello?” No reply echoed back at her. “I’m seran. I’m armed, but I won’t shoot if you don’t.” Not that she was certain she could shoot at the moment. Her hands were trembling, shaking. But strangely firm. For some reason she was staring at an oddly-shaped cluster of rubble across the street, pressed up against the side of a melted truck, and she jerked her focus back in the direction of the building corner. Why aren’t they saying anything?

It was up to her to take the initiative. “I’m coming out,” she said, hoping her voice sounded firmer than she felt. “Please don’t shoot?”

One foot in front of the other, she stepped around the corner, her gnasher held low but at the ready. The figure was still standing motionless in the middle of the street, their back to her.

“He—!” She didn’t even finish her yell as her mind caught up with what she was seeing. The figure hadn’t moved because it wasn’t a seran. Not a living, breathing on. It was a statue … but a very oddly positioned one. In the middle of the road? Looking right at the center of the city? The wide causeway she’d stepped out onto extended straight toward the city center, ending somewhere under the distant lake.

What in the world? She lowered the gnasher but kept her finger on the trigger. Why would someone build a statue like that? There wasn’t even a plinth beneath it. It was just … there. In the middle of the road.

It’s not alone either. She could see more statues nearby, posed on the sidewalks in strange positions, or crouched by cars next to—

No. She almost dropped the gnasher as her eyes set upon a small pile of ashen grey sticks next to one of the crouching figures. Great Creator no! Her stomach churned, and before she even fully processed what she’d seen she spun around, vomiting all over the ash-coated ground, acid and bile splattering across the street along with remnants of her breakfast.

They weren’t statues. They were bodies. Charred bodies. Every single one of them was—

She vomited again, purging the last remnants of her stomach out across her boots in a steaming, sickly mess.

Horrible. She looked again, unable not to. The lone figure standing in the middle of the road, preserved … how?

She had to know. She didn’t want to but at the same time had to. Wagons rolling along behind her, through the puddle of sick she’d left on the side of the road, she stepped up to the corpse.

Ash, she realized as she looked at it. It’s just … ash. The same color as … oh.

The same color as the dried clay she’d been walking through all morning. Her stomach heaved again, but there was nothing left for it to give. With mounting horror and revulsion, she reached out and touched the surface of the figure.

As she’d expected, it was hardened ash, stiffened into what was probably a hollow shell, or maybe a latticework of some kind. She kept behind the figure, not wanting to look at what was left of its face.

How long has it stood here? The other figures around it leapt out at her now in sharp resolve. It wasn’t melted rubble she was seeing crumbled by the side of one of the vehicles. What she’d taken for stones were backs, figures hunched by the carriage with the hope that it would protect them from what had been about to come.

It hadn’t.

She closed her eyes, a cold shiver rolling through her despite the heat. How many? She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to count, but she’d already glimpsed dozens of the ashen figures just in the immediate area. How many had died when the hammer had struck, frozen in their last moments?

It hadn’t escaped her notice how some of the figures were smaller than those around them.

“No.” The word was almost a whimper as she turned away from the horror in the middle of the street. She didn’t want to look at it. At any of it. There was an alley on the side of the road, and she moved for it, only wanting to get away—

There were bodies in the alley, some of them statues of ash, the others mostly bone or mummified by the thick layer of dust laying across them.

She turned again, looking for the nearest intersection that was further from the city center and finding it. She almost wasn’t aware that she’d broken into a run. All that mattered was getting away from what had happened to the people that had been caught by the blast.

How could someone do that!? She rounded the nearest corner, rushing down it, the wagons rattling behind her. How could someone make this happen knowing what it would do?

Because they had to. The answer echoed from the back of her mind, the rational part of her stating the obvious. They were likely dead anyway.

She wasn’t sure which sickened her more: The thought, or what had ultimately happened. She sank against a brick wall, away from the horror of the larger main road, willing her stomach to stop heaving.

It took a minute or two for her hands to stop shaking. Would she have been quivering this badly if she were still a pony? Probably so. Who wouldn’t be?

She rinsed her mouth out, spitting on the wall to get rid of the foul taste and shivering slightly as her spit dripped down onto the grey ash.

Slowly she began to calm. Her stomach still churned, and she wasn’t certain the horror of what she’d seen would ever leave her, but she couldn’t dwell on it.

“Get me out of this mausoleum.” Another swing of water helped drive some of the shaking away, along with the nausea in her stomach. “I want out.”

The long way around was better. Much better.

Engaging the safety on her gnasher once more, she began to move north.

* * *

The first bridge Sunset found across the river had collapsed. Maybe deliberately. It was hard to tell after so many years. But something had brought it down.

Maybe it had something to do with those legs, she thought as she eyed the armor, skeletal protrusions rising out of the water amid the rubble of the bridge. I guess that’s one way to kill one of those … corpsers?

What a revolting name. Who names something that?

Her stomach had settled over the last hour as she’d worked her way north, picking back and forth across the broken city. When she’d finally recovered enough to be hungry she’d eaten on the move, slowly chewing granola bars intermixed with the occasional drink of water. She was down to two jugs, now. It was tempting to consider using the river as a water source—even with what could be in it, the filter she’d acquired would be able to handle it—but the idea of sticking around in Tanover any longer than necessary made her skin crawl.

But this bridge won’t get me out. She kicked a bit of broken brick out of her path and over the edge. It hit the water with a faint plop that was swallowed up by the empty city.

Thankfully, she could see up the river from where she was, two more bridges in sight. Both looked whole, if maybe a little worse for the wear. But then again, what isn’t in this city? She was far enough north now that even if she’d been able to turn and cross at the ruin she was now passing, she wouldn’t have ended up back at the city center. Thankfully.

Better yet, some well-minded civic engineer had decided to make the space along the side of the river a plaza for pedestrians and small businesses, rather than another road. Which meant despite the debris and general ruin, she could already see almost the entire path to the next bridge. I’ll have to wind a bit to avoid those stairs, she noted, and that rubble, but otherwise it’s fairly straightforward.

With luck, the towering barricades someone had built on the next bridge would have a way past them, and she’d be one step closer to getting out of Tanover.

Out of this tomb. She’d not seen any more of the ashen statues in the last hour, but she hadn’t wanted to either.

She made her way along the promenade, winding back and forth to avoid the large, ornate staircases that led down to lower levels she had no interest in. Ruined stores and shops littered the building fronts to her right, windows open and gaping and the insides scattered messes. Some of them showed damage from fighting of one kind or another, bullet holes pocking countertops and brickwork. Someone had vandalized the structures as well, the first she’d seen of such an act, marking them with what looked like spraypaint of some kind.

Fairly bland work, though, she thought as she stared at a giant red “X” that had been put across the storefront. It’s basically just a—

Oh. It wasn’t vandalism. The marks had clearly been made after the ruin of the city, right over shattered brick and broken glass.

Markers, Sunset realized. Someone was marking what structures they’d been through. She almost felt like a fool for even taking a few seconds to figure it out. I did the same thing with my map of Holton.

She slowed. Could the people that made these marks still be around?

But no. The marks were old, the paint faded. More than likely they’d been rescued, moved out of the city, or—

Wiped out. As much as she hoped it wasn’t the last one, it did seem quite likely.

She was halfway to the next bridge now, the “structures” atop it clearly hoof—or hand—made from what looked like scrap and other debris. Vehicles flipped on end formed crude barricades, what looked like scrap metal and weathered wood affixed atop them to form crude paraphets. Glass-less windows that were closer to slits—to fire out of, she realized.

It’s a defensive emplacement. Made after the hammer strikes! Quite possibly after the “emergence” was over, as well. But how long after?

The logic of it she could see plainly now that she was close. Establishing the defensive refuge on a bridge meant that the locust couldn’t tunnel up beneath them without flooding their tunnels, and confined any ground assault to one of two directions. Defensive chokepoints. Funnel the foe into a location where they’re at your mercy.

That had clearly been the intent here, along with some other further precautions. From the look of the bridge something had taken massive chunks out of it, bare open holes gaping in the structure leaving only exposed structural beams or a single, jury-rigged looking drawbridge across the gaps.

So either whoever lived in that thing did it themselves, or they took advantage of the damage to the bridge to make an island. It was good thinking.

Unfortunately, it didn’t appear to have been enough. The front of the barricade was riddled with damage, some of the slits looking as though they had been blown out from within. One of the defensive paraphets had been blasted apart as well, the metal it had been formed from split down the middle. Like the rest of the city, the small fortress was silent and motionless. The real question was whether or not it offered a clear path across the bridge, or if she’d find herself blocked partway across.

Or worse, the wagons stuck, Sunset thought, glancing back at the three wagons behind her and coming to a stop in the middle of the road. She could see light and what looked like clear space through the opening on the other side of a drawbridge, but that was no proof that there would be enough room past the wall to maneuver the wagons around. Maybe I should check it out on foot first.

Or I could just go to the next bridge. She could see it—though not fully, thanks to a bend in the river. It was closer to the edge of the city, out of the higher structures, but …

No, that’s out. The bridge was distant, but even then she could see a clear gap, wide enough to make out the river beyond it. Maybe someone had come along after the fact and built a causeway across it, but leaving where she was on such a gamble didn’t seem wise.

Still, there was no way she was taking the wagons across blind. The metal drawbridge, which looked to have been assembled from sheets of metal scrapped from … Well, she wasn’t really sure. But the thing looked steady enough. It wasn’t swaying or shaking that she could see.

But then again, would it? She left the wagons by the edge of the river, disconnecting the harness before moving out on the surface of the bridge itself. It felt solid as stone beneath her, despite the craters and damage that had clearly been done to it.

There were more signs of battle everywhere as well, spent bullet casings being the most obvious. Her foot brushed against a pile, sending them skittering across the pavement and down an open hole in the bridge. A chorus of scattered plops sounded seconds later as the collection hit the water.

She could see bones, too, though seran or Locust she wasn’t certain. There wasn’t much left after however long it had been since the battle, and there were only a few left. But they were definitely bones. Empty magazines were scattered around as well, mostly the larger, curved ones that seemed to be favored by the Locust.

Another clue as to the ultimate fate of the holdout, not that there had been much doubt to begin with.

Sunset slowed as she neared the drawbridge, eyeing the rusted, worn metal. Even close it still looked sound. Crude pipe rails had been bent and welded into place to give those that passed over it something to hold on to, and the bridge itself was wide enough for the wagons to cross—in fact, some of the remaining paint even looked worn in way that suggested maybe its builders had done similar—but that still didn’t say much about how firm it was.

Her hands held out for balance and against a sudden need to throw herself backwards, she stepped out onto the drawbridge. The metal let out a shifting creak in response to her weight, but didn’t sag or give way unexpectedly. She did feel it bob up and down slightly as she made her way step by step to the middle, painfully aware of the long drop down to the river below her, but even at the halfway point the makeshift crossing held firm.

Even, to her surprise, when she jumped up and down slightly. The metal flexed, squeaking, but it didn’t tremble or give, and the squeaks it let out came from the ends, not from anywhere along its length.

Even after the world ended, they built things to last, Sunset thought, moving with more confidence to the far end of the drawbridge. There it rejoined the pavement once more, attached to the bridge by means of an assortment of heavy metal hinges that looked to have been cannibalized from widely different sources. The bolts were peppered with rust, but like the rest of the bridge, still appeared to be holding solid.

She stepped off of the drawbridge, through the opening in the barrier wall, and into what looked like a small, compact settlement. Large metal containers had been mixed with scrap metal and bits of debris to form what had clearly been a community. Fences surrounded churned earth that bore signs of having once been a garden of some kind, now dry and baked. Torn, worn tarps hung halfway over doorways, concealing private domiciles.

Figuring out what had happened to the occupants wasn’t difficult. Signs of violence were everywhere. Broken chairs littered the ground, coverings had been torn down and left to lie on the pavement. A splash of brown beneath a covered awning could only be blood, though holes below it through the corrugated metal made the cause more than a simple guess.

I wonder what the last straw was? Sunset thought as she moved through the camp. Here and there spent magazines or bullet casings littered the ground. Some of the structures showed signs of having caught fire, black marks still evident on their metal walls.

But there was a clear path through the chaos all the way to the other end of the bridge. Or rather, to the other end of the makeshift fort, where another barrier and drawbridge awaited her. Unlike the one she’d passed over earlier, however, this drawbridge was up, blocking the exit and held in place by two pulleys and a small crank with a latch.

It looked sound, however. She eyed the hinges at the base of the drawbridge, then rapped her knuckles against the metal itself, producing a faint ring. It appeared functional.

And it’s wide enough for the wagons, she thought, stepping over to the crank. So I guess I use this lever here to—

The lever leapt forward at her touch, snapping away for her palm. A shrill metal squeal echoed through the fort as the drawbridge dropped like a stone, slamming into the surface of the bridge a second later with a colossal bang that echoed down the river like a gunshot. For a few seconds Sunset stood frozen as the sound of the bridge crashing down echoed back at her …

Then she bolted back through the fort, boots slapping against the pavement and sliding over spent casings as she raced for her wagons, her eyes wide. What are the chances—?

She didn’t know, but she didn’t want to risk it either. If the Locust in the city’s southern part were on alert, if they had patrols paying attention to the rest of the city—

The drawbridge rang and bounced as she ran over it, but she didn’t have time to slow and take it steady. If any Locust had heard the crash she’d just made, they’d be running to see what had caused it.

I need to go now! She slid to a halt by her wagons, grabbing the carabiner clip on her harness and snapping it into place. Grunting against the new weight, she began moving back out over the water, boots sliding slightly as she tried to pick up speed.

Go go go go! The Locust had something that could fly, like a pegasus. How long would it take a pegasus to cross the city at full speed? A minute? Less? How long did it take a chariot to cross Canterlot?

Tanover is a lot bigger than Canterlot. The metal drawbridge rang out beneath her as she moved across it, the wagons following. The sound was a ringing drumbeat, each step a rhythm in a chaotic song that shouting to the world to listen.

The drawbridge flexed slightly beneath the weight of her and the combined load of the wagons, but only a little, and a moment later Sunset was moving up and into the fort, the wagons bouncing over the hinges and tugging her pace back.

Go. There was a chance that she was overreacting, and she knew it. But the risk was far too high to do otherwise. The wagons rattled as they rolled through the fort, the thick tires soaking up most of the debris but not all of it.

She was at the other bridge before she’d even realized it, stepping out onto the metal and suddenly realizing that she’d not had time to test the structure for soundness.

It didn’t matter. It had survived the fall without any obvious damage. It would have to do. She rushed down its length, the thud of her boots once again bouncing back from the water like beats from a drum. The wagons rolled after her, bouncing and tugging at her shoulders with every bump.

And then she was off the end, running across pavement once more until she’d cleared the bridge entirely, racing down the road amid abandoned vehicles with the promenade off to her right. She turned, angling her course toward the waterfront, then shook her head. It’d be in full view of the river. I need another intersection.

There was one ahead, parkway split by another road that moved across the city to the north, and she took it, slowing only when the last of the wagons was around the corner and out of sight from the fort. Gradually, Sunset bled off the wagon train’s momentum until she was at a complete stop. Her legs were burning, the sore muscles protesting the sudden run, and her face was wet with a new sheen of sweat.

But I made it. And I was probably overreacting, but—

A scream echoed across the city, a familiar screech that sent her mind racing back to Holton.

No. Not again. She couldn’t hear the familiar sideways pat of scuttling feet just yet, but the cry was sign enough.

Wretches.

She spun, hefting the gnasher and glancing at the nearby ruin. Nothing jumped out at her, but before she could relax another low cry echoed across the city.

Feathers! Even if the crash hadn’t caught the attention of the Locust, the cries of the wretches certainly would. They were like hunting dog baying out to its masters.

And Tanover was home to a Locust force big enough to send the Cog running for their lives.

Run! Gansher cradled in her hands she began to run once more, ignored the burning protests in her legs and back. Get above the city center, get around it, and make for the edge. Maybe she could find shelter in one of the buildings on the outskirts, like the home she’d stayed in the night before. She reached the end of the block and turned left, heading west, wagons bouncing as the rearmost tire of the train hit a curb.

Careful. The part of her that was screaming in panic tried to shout down the warning, but the logical part of her was right. She didn’t want to lose the wagons.

Go go go go! Her breath was coming in ragged gasps now, but at the same time the city center was now at her left rather than ahead, the buildings shifting with each passing step. She’d outrun wretches before without a harness, and now both her hands were free to use the gnasher. She rounded a military vehicle that had burned in the middle of the road, spotting a sinkhole in the pavement ahead and once again choosing a side street to move north on.

She was halfway down the street when something hot and bright shot by overhead with a whoosh, slamming into the front of a building some ways ahead. Sunset let out a shriek as the missile detonated, the shockwave rolling over her and making her bones vibrate. Bits of rubble picked at her flesh, stinging and raising welts or worse as they swept across her body. She stumbled but didn’t fall, her balance recovering as the wagons pushed her forward and helping her keep her feet under her.

One of the things she’d seen the night before swept by overhead, a bulbous body trailing a number tendrils of some kind behind it, like a flying, elongated octopus. It arced back into the sky, then spun around and spread its tentacle-like legs, dropping down onto the street a few hundred feet ahead of her.

How it flew she couldn’t say. At the moment however, it didn’t seem important given the three Locust on its back. One was astride a saddle of sorts, clearly the handler, with more ornate armor over its body and a helmet, while the other two looked more like the less armored Locust captured in pictures, sitting across from one another astride the creature’s back. All three looked straight in her direction, and the one at the front raised a hand, pointing in her direction.

“Die, hominid!”

With a puff of smoke another rocket flew from the front of the saddle, flying out in her direction and shooting past overhead to detonate somewhere behind with another loud boom that rattled her teeth. With a panicked scream she lifted the gnasher, shoving the safety forward and firing. The weapon kicked, barking as it fired … But either she missed or the shot was ineffective at such a long range, the massive thing the Locust were riding not even flinching.

What it did do instead was open a large maw below the rider, a maw she hadn’t even noticed under all the armor, and roar before scuttling forward like a spider, the three riders on its back swaying from side to side as it moved.

NOPE! Sunset turned, rushing for the nearest side street and turning off the road as another missile shot through the air. It detonated a second later, a bit more distant than the other strikes, but still close enough that bits of rubble rained down across her shoulders.

The street ahead of her was in poor shape, and the wagons rattled as they bounced over cracks and old emergence hole craters. She didn’t care. Even the burn in her legs was gone, replaced by the electric tingle of pure adrenaline as the thing stomped after her.

Ditch the wagons! Ditch the wagons! But she didn’t dare slow or try to turn to disconnect the carabiner clip. Doing so would be certain death.

She did glance back, however, just in time to see the flying thing scuttle around the corner of the street on its weird limbs, two Locust on its back half roaring as they raised weapons in her direction.

Bullets hummed past a moment later, flying wide but still enough to add a further sense of terror to her panic. Shots struck the nearby ground or battered cars with sharp pings, and she yelped as something cut the skin of cheek.

Smaller! Narrower! She needed someplace the thing couldn’t follow her, someplace with cover from the sky. There! There was a narrow alleyway off to her left. Maybe—

A missile shot by overhead, slamming into the brickwork around the alley and blasting it apart. One of the walls gave way, collapsing and burying the alley in brick and dust. Clearly they’d seen the same route she had.

With a sudden growl that made her insides turn to water, the thing chasing her shot past overhead, leaping and slamming down on the road at the next intersection. Sunset skidded to a halt as the monster turned to face her, but instead of shooting another missile, the two Locust on its back end simply slid down, dropping to the pavement and lifting their rifles.

The flying beast jumped, rising into the air once more as its two former passengers opened fire. Sunset shrieked, ducking as shots whizzed by with angry hums and throwing herself into the side of a car with a bang. Bullets cracked through the windows above her head, shattered bits of glass raining down on her shoulders. What do I do what do I do what do I—?

Focus! She snapped her head back, banging it against the side of the car and sending a stab of pain right through her panic. If you panic, you die. If you—if I wise up …

The gunfire slacked, and she poked her head up for a brief instant. The two Locust were moving down the street toward her at a walk, firing from the hip, and she ducked again as the shots collided with her cover.

And that thing? There was no sign of the flying monstrosity. Maybe it had simply dropped the pair off in the hope that they would deal with her? Or maybe it’s nearby waiting—

No. She didn’t know where it had gone, but at the moment the two Locust on the ground were the more pertinent threat. If they catch me …

They would kill her. How not to die? She almost giggled at the absurdity of the thought.

Running. Running seemed like the best option. The backpack was loaded, and she could leave the wagon behind.

But I’d be forced to scavenge again, and I’d be out of water in hours. And those Locust are getting closer. Think Sunset, think! No magic. One gnasher. The lancer is in the back. What do you do? What would the Guard do?

Wait … She knew what the Guard would do. She’d seen it before, the games they played. A guard that was outnumbered would try to find a position that was advantageous to them.

Close enough for the gnasher to hurt, but not for them to catch me. The wagons couldn’t make it into the alley the flying thing had shot, not with all the rubble in the way.

But I can. Or into any of the buildings around here. She glanced back down the street, hunting for the right building. There! A large, two-story hotel of some sort just a few buildings back, one of its front doors cracked open. She hadn’t considered it earlier because of the massive steps leading up to it, but now … With a click she disconnected the carabiner, the wagon handle falling to the ground. The Locust responded to the noise by firing again, bullets shooting past overhead.

Then came the most beautiful sound she’d heard in months. A simple click that signaled the end of a magazine, both guns falling silent.

Go! She bolted from behind the car, twin roars of surprise echoing after her as she sprinted for the hotel. Bob and weave, right? Bob and weave! The Guard had done something like it back in Canterlot to avoid spells. A sound echoed after her as she ducked from side to side, strange and haunting, yet familiar.

Are they … laughing? More shots blitzed past, and she yelped as something stung the side of her leg. Glass from one of the nearby carriages shattered. She spun, firing from the hip, her shot so wide she wasn’t even sure where it went. The sound of the gnasher barking in her hands was enough to make one of the Locust duck for cover, the other roaring and pointing its rifle in her direction.

Rubble slammed into the back of one foot—or rather the back of her foot slammed into it. Rushing backwards as she was despite having only been in her new body for a few weeks, Sunset toppled backwards, slamming down into the ground with a loud oof just as her attacker fired, the shots whipping by overhead with hot, angry hums. Like angry bees, though far deadlier.

They also ended their path in short, angry snaps, slamming into the stone facade of the hotel. She was almost there.

Go! Sunset rolled, pushing herself up but staying in a crouch and trying to keep as much debris as possible between them as the creature fired again, more hot bullets spitting past. Another spray joined the fray, though wider than the first, perhaps simply meant to keep her from poking her head up. She slowed as she neared the sidewalk, waiting for the lull between the bursts of shots …

Now! She raced up the steps, heart pounding as she waited for the sudden blaze of pain across her back that would mean she’d been hit. Shots rattled, snapping past her, and something slammed into her back like her pack had been punched, but there was no flash of pain with it, no searing burn across her shoulders. Was I even hit?

There was no time to worry about it. Her arms slammed into the heavy wooden door at the top of the steps, pain rolling up her arms from the impact, and she rolled around the heavy door through the gap left by its open companion. A moment later a cluster of impacts rang through the wood as gunfire struck against it.

“Advance!” The shout trailed into a guttural roar.

They were coming. She had to hide. Hide … Or fight.

She spun, eyes searching the front lobby of the hotel. It had been grand once, with a wide staircase and balconies on a second level. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, but only a few remained, their number again having broken free and crashed down to the ground some time in the past. The lighting was dim, but she could still make out one of the carts used by the bellhops to carry luggage to rooms. There was even luggage on it, though scattered, as though someone had slammed against it in a hurry. The floor underfoot was soft; plush carpet buried by a layer of dust so thick she couldn’t even make out an original color.

Hide. Her eyes scanned the lobby, looking for any alcoves or doors she could duck through, and she took two steps forward … only to stop.

The dust. A glance back was all it took to see that she would be leaving clear footprints wherever she went. Her pursuers, already close enough that she could hear their heavy tread, would easily track her through the building.

Hiding isn’t an option. Which means— Her eyes slipped the gnasher she still held in her hands.

Could I? The wretches were one thing, but the locust chasing her—

Are trying to kill me. And I already made this decision. A slow breath leaked out of her, like pressure leaving a heating flask. Every time I fired the hunting rifle, it was reinforced.

If they catch me, I will die.

That is not my end.

Her grip tightened, and she snapped the gnasher’s lever back, ejecting the spent shell and loading a fresh one. Six shots? Again she swept her eyes across the ruined lobby, eying the front desk, the furniture, even the ruin of the upstairs, this time with a more critical eye.

How can I use this to kill them?

It was like the world shifted before her eyes as she made her decision, every aspect taking on a new look. They’ll be coming up the steps blind. They may choose to enter through the windows, but have shown no caution so far.

They would come up the steps, as she had. Hunting prey.

She squeezed the gnasher grip tighter. I will not be prey.

Maybe it was her new body. Maybe she was losing her mind. Or maybe she just didn’t want to die.

Fire from a covered position as they enter the door. Close range was a gnasher’s strength. If it’s enough to stop one of them, or both of them, good. If not … Her eyes flicked to the chandeliers hanging above the door and the warped, broken boards of the ceiling. Fire upward. Create cover from falling debris to relocate.

Cover was the first step. The bellhop trolleys looked as though the bases were made of heavy metal, and she rushed toward one, sliding around it and ducking behind it. From outside came another roar as the heavy footsteps following her hit the steps.

The rest of her plan would have to wait. It’s like a surprise test. The thought flashed through her mind as she rested the barrel of the gnasher atop the toppled cart, and she smiled.

I always did well with those.

A scaly hand, tipped with claws, wrapped itself around the side of the door and threw it open, light spilling across the dim lobby in a bright beam. A massive humanoid shape stepped into the opening, its firearm held easily in one hand.

A Locust. Its skin was scaled, almost pebbly, and thick looking, like the bark of an old tree. It was wearing some sort of armored vest, like the bones of the one she’d found in the supermarket. Beady eyes stared out from beneath thick brows. The thing’s nose was flat, almost non-existent, the nostrils wide and reminding her more of the seran skulls she’d seen than her own form. Its lips were pulled back in a snarl, exposing mismatched, yellowed teeth.

She fired, the blast of the gnasher echoing through the lobby, and the creature’s top half seemed to come apart, head exploding like an overripe fruit and offal spewing from massive holes that erupted across its armor.

Her stomach seemed to clench as the remains of the body toppled to the side, fighting against revulsion—

She ducked as the barrel of a second firearm poked around the door, bullets spraying blindly across the lobby and shattering a sign atop the front desk that had somehow survived everything until now. It doesn’t even care, Sunset thought as the remaining Locust let out a roar and fired again. Bullets sprayed the lobby, striking the floor and walls with equal abandon. Did it even know where she was, or was it guessing? It’s just going to keep fighting.

Does it even feel anything at the fact that I just killed one of its own? She primed the gnasher, readying another shell. Again the Locust fired blindly—or perhaps not so blindly, since she felt the trolley shudder.

“Submit!” More fire poured across the lobby.

“Forget it!” She wasn’t sure if the thing had been looking for an answer or not. “How about you go your way and I go my way?” The words came, spilling out of her mouth without any forethought on her part. Maybe that was why her voice sounded so shaky.

A wordless roar was all she got in response. I knew it was a no anyway. Why did I even ask?

And why am I wasting time thinking about this? She leaned back, away from the trolley and trying not to flinch as another spray of bullets shot past overhead, grazing the upper lip of her cover. There was a single large chandelier right over the entrance, thick and heavy, the ceiling around it sagging. The gnasher’s heavy pellets ripped through the aged mortar and wood, shattering it like dry kindling, and a chunk of the ceiling gave way, crashing to the lobby carpet in a spray of dust and dirt and eliciting a yell of what she hoped was surprise from the remaining locust. Some of the debris fell on the body in the doorway, covering the remains with a layer of powdered plaster and molding.

The chandelier jerked but didn’t drop. Not good enough. She racked the lever back, spent shell arcing out through the air, and fired again.

Sparks flew as one of the pellets severed something vital in the cable holding the chandelier aloft. There was a loud creak, almost overwhelmed by the scattered crash of more bits of the ceiling falling in … And then with a loud snap the remaining fixings holding the chandelier up gave, the whole assembly dropping.

It hit with a mighty crash, but Sunset didn’t see it. She was already running for the lobby stairs, her feet slamming up the bottom steps as she climbed for all she was worth. From behind her came a yell, and she tensed, waiting for another spray of shots. But it never came. She reached the landing at the top of the steps, almost ran for a hallway directly ahead … but then spun, doubling back and rushing toward the front side of the balcony, where she could overlook the door. Part of the hotel had collapsed, the last third of the balcony before the outer wall a wreck she didn’t dare set foot in, and she ducked down behind a dusty couch instead, one with its back up against the balcony railing. It probably wouldn’t stop any bullets, but it would hide her for the moment.

She poked her head around the side of the couch, checking the results of her handiwork on the floor below, and grimaced. Dust hadn’t been the only thing the chandelier had kicked up. One of its arms had dropped down atop the locust body lying over the threshold and sliced—or smashed, she wasn’t sure which—through both its legs, severing them. The floor had fared little better, hardwood cracked and broken with some of the original boards poking up at odd angles.

That actually blocks the front door pretty well, she thought as she admired her handiwork. Maybe it’ll stop—

One of the lobby windows shattered as the other Locust threw its body through. Glass rained down on the carpet as the thing let out a howl, and Sunset stifled a yelp, ducking out of sight as the Locut’s beady eyes swept the lobby.

Now what? She could hear its breath, hot and raspy. And angry, though maybe that was just her pure panic seeping in. A faint thump sounded as the locust took a step, and then another. Stupid seran ears! Where is it? How am I supposed to tell? All she could make out was the sound of it moving about the room, but it was almost impossible to tell where.

A barking roar from below made her jerk. Now what? I’m concealed, and I’ve successfully beaten one of them. She couldn’t bring herself to think of it as “killed.” Not yet. But this one is definitely looking for me. There was a heavy thump followed by the sound of something bouncing across the floor. A kicked bag, maybe?

Maybe it’ll just leave? She’d barely had the thought when the Locust let out another bark, the thuds of its heavy tread picking up speed. A second later the pitch changed, and Sunset realized what she was hearing. It’s coming up the stairs!

In seconds it would be able to see her. She slipped around the side of the couch, the now-empty lobby coming into full view. Don’t make a sound, she thought as she pressed her back up against the arm of the couch, her legs tucked tightly up against her chest. How she wasn’t whimpering she wasn’t certain. Maybe it was because she wasn’t breathing. Or was she?

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the footsteps had stopped. Could it see her? She squeezed her eyes shut. Had she reloaded the gnasher? How many shots did she have left?

She could hear the Locust breathing, a rising and falling rasp. What was it doing?

Another quiet thump as it took another step. Then a second.

The landing! It stopped at the landing. It was deciding which way to go.

Did it see my footprints? Even she could see the disturbed trail she’d left in the dust in her haste to scoot around the side of the couch.

A growl. Then a wet, huffing sound. Sniffing for her scent.

Fight. It would smell her at any moment. At a thought, the layout of the upper level jumped back to the forefront of her mind, complete with her position … and several places where her attacker most likely stood based on the number of footsteps and its pause at the landing.

Once chance.

She snapped the gnasher level forward, the abrupt click as it ejected the last shell almost a gunshot in its own right. The sniffing of the Locust cut out at the sound, but she was already moving, sweeping the gnasher up and around as she rammed the lever back back. The balcony came into view, along with a scaly head and upper body that was just turning, arms lifting its own rifle in her direction—

She fired first, the crack of the gnasher ringing out as the weapon kicked painfully against her palm. The locust let out a yell of pain as the heavy pellets tore into its side, sending it stumbling to one side and spraying red mist across the balcony floor.

But it was wounded. Not defeated. Press! The gnasher let out a double clack as she chambered another round. Already the locust was recovering, turning its bloodied face toward her and trying to bring its firearm to bear.

The gnasher kicked again, pain shooting from her wrist as the weapon recoiled. This time her shot struck home, red craters appearing across the thing’s flesh and armored vest as the heavy pellets slammed into it. With a grunt it toppled backwards, twisting and falling.

Don’t stop. Sunset rose, another shell arcing away from the gnasher as she prepared to fire.

Only to stop. The Locust was on its hands and knees in the middle of the landing, its breathing strained. Red trickled around the edges of its armor, pooling and dripping to the floor where it puddled in the dust before seeping outward to make blackish mud. Shuddering, the thing looked up at her, hatred burning from its eyes as it let out a raspy, wet growl.

“I didn’t want to,” she said before she could stop herself. “I tried to avoid you.”

The Locust only coughed, the sound wet. She could see wounds across its body, deep rivulets carved through its scaly flesh and thick hide.

“I … I …” Again it glared up at her, the blood on its face still wet. Though around the wound … Is it … healing?

The locust growled again, this time with a deep timbre to its voice. Then it shifted, moving one leg beneath its body like it was preparing to rise. The flow of blood from its other injuries was slowing as well, its wounds clotting and the flow of blood slowing. She could see the creature’s muscles tightening, readying to stand once more. Eyes still fixed on her, one shaky hand reached out and clutched at the grip of its firearm.

The crack of her gnasher filled the lobby as Sunset fired again, her finger squeezing the trigger of its own violation. The upper quarter of the locust’s body, head included, evaporated and came apart, spraying the balcony behind it with flesh and gore. The thing slumped, collapsing atop the rifle and oozing gore across the fine carpet.

A cold chill settled over her, like all the warmth and light in the world had just disappeared. For a second or so Sunset simply stood there, staring down at the body as its blood oozed from its meaty bit. The acrid smell of her shots filled her nose, followed by a rankish scent a moment later that made her stomach churn.

Gore. The Locust’s.

Slowly she let the gnasher down. I did it.

I killed them. Both of them.

She could feel the flesh of her arms prickling as the rush of the last minute or so faded, replaced by a mounting sense of newer, different horror. I killed sapient beings.

It happened. She knew that. Even in the history of Equestria death, via direct application of force, was a thing.

I just never thought I would ever do it.

But you already did. The thought rose from the depths of her mind, pushing back the growing sense of revulsion and sickness. You set that trap at the estates. You know Locust died there.

This was just more direct.

Because they would have killed me otherwise. Her chest felt tight, like she hadn’t taken a breath in minutes, and she sucked air in with a greedy gasp, almost gagging as the scent of the dead thing became a taste.

I need to go. The large flying one could come back at any moment. And if its rider discovered that she’d killed its compatriots …

One second she was motionless, the next she was running past the still-hot corpse, boots almost slipping on the now-bloodsoaked steps. She ignored the corpse by the chandelier, tearing past both and only stopping when she was on the front steps of the hotel itself, outside under the hot sun and scanning the sky for any sign of the flying monstrosity that had started the whole mess to begin with.

But she didn’t see any, and a second later her boots were pounding down the pavement as she rushed for her wagons. They were right where she’d left them, mercifully untouched. Apparently the Locust hadn’t cared about her supplies.

Stick to alleys and the sides of buildings, she thought as she clipped the harness to the train once more and began moving. And run. If that thing comes back …

But it didn’t. Or at least, if it did, she didn’t see it. She reached the “edge” of Tanover an hour or so later, her chest heaving and her legs limp, so pained they were beyond feeling. Ahead of her the homes grew distant, giving way to more grey, ashen dead farmland that stretched on ahead until the horizon.

But Tanover was behind her, and she was alive. Head throbbing and her body shaking with exertion, she pushed onward, keeping to the edges of the road, so exhausted she could barely find it in her to look around from time to time.

Her sleep that night was blissfully dreamless.

Author's Note

Weathering

Chapter 20 - Weathering

It rained the next day, the air hot, wet, and muggy.

Sunset didn’t mind. It gave her an excuse to cut her travel short and collect rainwater. Her body still ached from the mad dash out of Tanover, and part of her was still worried that at any moment more of the flying beasts would drop from the sky, surround her small camp … and that would be the end of her story.

But they didn’t. Either the scant concealment offered by the scraggly, almost dead tree she’d taken shelter under was enough, or the Locust simply didn’t care about the fates of the two dead soldiers.

Neither thought was comforting.

She was bruised, too. Along her arms and wrist both. The first from her impact with the lobby door, the second from her twisted firing of the shotgun. Her wrist had been an ugly shade of ochre when she’d awoken, swollen and stiff, but nothing about it had felt broken. Some of the painkillers she’d brought with her had helped ease the sting, but she’d still found herself babying the hand by the time she’d called the day early and set up camp. Adding a wrap to it had helped, but now the bandage was wet, an extra weight she didn’t want to deal with but had to.

What a mess. The ground around her, bare and barren probably since whatever the hammer strike had done to it, had turned to sticky mud under the rain, leaving her with little place to sit but atop her own wagons. Hopefully the mud wouldn’t stick too badly to the tires when the time came to move on.

In a few hours, she thought, rain drumming down on her face as she looked up. Just a short rest, then we can move again. Every mile mattered.

She checked her collector, a sense of pride flaring in her chest as she eyed the small, carefully folded tarp. The Guard who taught me how to do that would be proud. What was his name? Eh, it doesn’t matter. What mattered was that even without magic she’d managed to use two of the wagons, some rain-cleaned rocks, rope, and a tarp to make a rain collector that was busily feeding water into her filter. Which was then slowly filtering that rain into one of her empty jugs. It wasn’t quite quick enough at it to avoid overspill, but she’d accounted for that too, making sure that none of it or any of the rain entered the neck of the jug. Rain it might be, but the condition of the land around her was enough to make her think twice about simply drinking it.

As for getting rained on myself … There wasn’t much she could do about that. The downpour was omnipresent enough that there was no hope of staying dry without having found or set up shelter within moments of it arriving. She’d just have to hope that whatever toxins had killed the soil for dozens of miles around the city had rained themselves out long ago.

Or that they won’t kill me from skin contact. Or that my filter can catch them. She leaned back, resting atop her backpack and shifting slightly to find a more comfortable position. Too much to worry about considering I have no control over it.

Her wrist let out a pang as she shifted on it without thinking, a spike of pain that almost drew out a hiss of discomfort. Definitely a sprain at the very least. One more thing to worry about as she journeyed onward. At least she could still write with her other hand.

She shifted, the faint drumming of the rain filling her mind as she closed her eyes, an organic, soothing rhythm. There was a warm bubble deep inside her, its gentle heat leaking out ...

A few minutes later she was asleep.

* * *

Day Thirty. Tyran Croplands.

It’s actually called that.

The wrist is feeling better, I’m relieved to be able to say. I don’t know if it was the medication or something else, but it seemed to heal quite quickly compared to what I would have expected from my pony body. Suspiciously quickly, actually. I should have paid more attention to it, but at the time all I wanted to do was get away from Tanover.

Nothing has come after me, thankfully. I’ve seen no sign of any Locust. I suppose they really don’t care about two of their comrades. That they could be so callous about their own … But it does seem in line with this world. I only hope the serans I encounter aren’t as cold.

Serans? Humans? I found the second entry in my dictionary. Apparently they are interchangeable. When I meet some at last I’ll need to watch what I say until I hear which term they use. I’m already going to be strange enough. The less suspicious I appear, the better.

Rain’s slacked off. Not much else to say, but at least it let me rest and refilled most of one of my water jugs.

Food’s starting to get low, though. I’ve decided to stop at the next estate or farmhouse I see and check it for supplies. I’ve still got enough for a good week or more, but I’d rather be prepared.

* * *

Day Thirty-three. Still in the Croplands.

As near as I can tell, the Croplands are a counterpart to the Golden Plains west of Canterlot. A breadbasket several hundred miles across.

It looks like the Locust knew this too. Earlier today I found a dairy farm of some kind—non sapient, if my books are to be believed—and it had clearly been hit by the horde. I know that destroying supplies in war is a valid tactic, but … It made me sick. I don’t think those that worked there had any idea what was happening. Or maybe they did. Either way, I don’t think they lived, and that’s all I want to write about that.

I did find some stored food that was still good, however. Nothing special, just dried pasta. It’ll work, though, even if it means it takes a bit longer to cook at night. It’s light and compact, so I’ll keep it. I’ll just wait to eat it. I still might find another stash of the boxed meals. They’re tasteless, but they’re easy.

I have a choice coming up. Her pen paused, tapping at the page.

If I keep on the road I’m on, I’ll reach a small city soon: Bendal. I’m guessing, based on its position in the middle of the Croplands and the number of roads leading to it, that it was a central agricultural site.

Specifically, it’s the railway lines that make me think this. Several lines intersect in the city. Including a few that go directly to the Jacinto Plateau.

The back roads go there too. And I don’t know how the wagons would handle the railways. I don’t actually know what the railway lines here look like up close.

But in Equestria, we had smaller train platforms—I think they were called pump cars, which now that I write it, could explain the seran road “car”—that one or two ponies could use to travel less-used railways when the trains weren’t running. On the edges of the network, or on old lines.

It’s a lot faster than walking. I could load up my wagons and supplies and use the rail line to travel a hundred miles in a day if they have that, rather than the ten to thirty I’ve been doing.

Again Sunset tapped her pen against the pages of her journal, pausing for a moment to think before writing more. This assumes such a thing exists, and that I can find one. And that I won’t attract Locust attention if they’re in the city. Though after Tanover—

Her pen slipped, leaving a long line up across the page and through some of the earlier text. “Feathers.” She rubbed at the ink, but it had already dried. Unsurprising, considering that her own hand hadn’t left a streak in the characters as it had passed over them while she’d been writing.

What was that? She glared at her hand, but it didn’t divulge the cause of her sudden twitch. She rolled her fingers, eyeing them anyway, then picked the pen back up and began writing once more.

—I’d rather avoid Locust if I can help it. I came very close to— Her whole arm seemed to stutter as she forced the next word out, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.

—dying there.

I got lucky. Yes, my smarts helped, but I got lucky.

When had she started shaking?

I’d rather not go through that again if I can help it. Not, at least, without better preparations.

She set the pen down before her writing could become too jittery, staring at her hands and forcing herself to slow her breathing. The seconds ticked past, the tremors fading, the pounding of her heart slowing back to something more normal.

What is wrong with me!? Already it almost felt as if nothing had happened, except ... Is that … because of what happened in Tanover?

This time the shaking didn’t come, nor the sudden shortness of breath. Just a sickly feeling of unease.

That’s not good. Her throat felt dry. That’s not good at all. She sat for a moment, carefully breathing in and out, before picking the pen back up.

As much as I don’t wish to admit it, that’s the truth. I was very lucky. If I ran into more—

Again she set the pen down as her body began to shake. The tremors passed quickly yet again, but they were not a good sign.

—it would be bad, she finished. Especially if the shaking panic I’m now experiencing whenever I think about it persists.

This time the trembling didn’t come. She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

Immediate point being that I’ll have to decide when I reach the city. Assuming it wasn’t entirely wiped out by hammer strikes.

I hope not. I got very tired of all that grey. Sunset looked up, away from her journal and toward the more alive bits greenery around her. Wild and untamed as it was, it was far preferable to the dead grey of ash.

If I can’t follow the railway, then I’ll need to keep walking. Or find another mode of transport. I’d estimate that by now, I’ve walked almost three hundred miles, but not in a straight line. Plus a hundred of that was from Holton to Passtil, which was northerly.

I’m still a long way from the plateau. And when I think about how many close calls I’ve had already—

A shudder worked its way through her, rolling from the top of her head all the way down to the tips of her toes, but it didn’t persist. A single, understandable, acceptable reaction, then. Unlike her earlier response.

—the sooner I stop having them, the better.

It only takes one mistake.

Tomorrow I’ll see what Bendal looks like.

* * *

That’s … smaller than I thought it would be, Sunset thought as she peered through her binoculars at the distant smudge on the horizon. But it’s definitely Bendal. The railway that the road she was following had passed over definitely had confirmed that. As did the faint, straight-lined gaps in the forest that converged on the city like the arms of a starfish.

Nothing’s really that tall, either. In fact, a lot of the city looked wide and spread out. Save a bunch of decently tall, squarish structures near the center. She gave them another look, though it was hard with the sun being so near to their backs. Grain towers, maybe? Impressive that they’re still standing after so long. I think?

Then again, the Cog do build things to last. The oft-echoed observation rang true once again. Or did, I guess. She lowered the binoculars, buildings turning into little but distant, far off smudges surrounded by greenery, then looked down.

At the ground. A good thirty or so feet below, which had seemed much smaller of a distance on the way up her current perch in the treetops.

“Okay Sunset. Now comes the fun part. Getting down.” Without taking the obvious quick and painful way. Slowly, with one hand still gripping the nearest branch, she placed the binoculars back into her pack, then wiggled that back around onto her shoulders.

“Can’t be too hard, right?” She eyed the nearest thick, heavy branch, a nervous flutter coming from somewhere inside her stomach. “After all, I got up here.” Thanks to some low-hanging but thick boughs. “I just do that in reverse to get down.”

Right? She poked out with one foot, probing for the next branch down while still holding tightly to the one behind her for balance. Was it really that far away when I climbed up? Her toes swept through empty air, infuriatingly far from their target.

I’ve climbed trees before. How did I get down—? “Oh.” Right. Teleport. And before I could do that … She felt her face flush. One of the Guard. It had been a game then, hiding and seeing how long it would take some of the Guard to look up. At which point they’d retrieved her with magic or wingpower.

Which isn’t going to help me now. She stared down at the distant branch. Wish I’d remembered that before I’d climbed up here.

I’m not going to drop, so … how to get down? She stared at the next branch down, trying to recall how she’d climbed from it.

I leaned into this branch that I’m on now, then swung my legs up. Which means ... She let out a groan. Great. Slowly, an inch at a time, Sunset lowered herself into a crouch, one hand held firmly against the trunk of the tree, the other tightly grasping the branch she was balanced on.

Carefully, and with a faint rasp against the bark, she let her feet slip off of the branch, dangling in the air until she was sitting on her hindquarters.

Sore hindquarters, not that she’d noticed until the curve of the branch was digging into them. One more reason to get down as swiftly—But safely!—as possible. She swung both her feet, but neither could reach the next branch down. Which meant …

Sunset grimaced, then twisted her body, her backside sliding over the bark much as her boots had. There was a moment of brief panic as she started to slide … and then her outstretched toes hit the next branch down, bringing her slide to a sudden halt.

So far, so good. With one foot on the branch, it was easy to bring the other over, followed by the rest of her body and her center of balance. Then it was just a matter of repeating the process with each successive branch along the trunk. Though it was easier when the branches were closer together.

She had almost reached the bottom when her foot slipped. There was a sudden lurch in her stomach as she clawed for anything to hang on too … and then she was plummeting down toward the ground, bouncing off of what felt like every branch in her path with successive yelps of pain. She still managed to land on her feet, if only by luck and briefly, as her balance was completely gone and a moment later crashed down atop her backpack, the impact painful but doing little more than driving the breath from her lungs and maybe adding a few new bruises in hard to reach places.

Still, she let out a groan as she rolled off of her pack and onto her side, the moss and grass tickling her face. “Ow.”

Well, I’m down.

“Shut up, me.” She let out another groan before rolling onto her stomach and pushing herself up, getting her feet under her.

But it could have been worse. That I’ll admit. She glanced back up at the towering branches above her, swaying gently as if they hadn’t just shaken her off.

“Let’s not climb a tree again anytime soon.” She swung her pack around to check for any signs of damage, finding nothing more than a bit of grass stuck in the tape she’d used to cover up the bullet hole the pack had gained in Tanover. Finding that had been alarming. Thankfully, the protective spells on Starswirl’s books had held, blocking the bullet fragments with the covers suffering only a minor dent.

Yay magic. The books would have survived the fall, but her binoculars … Had as well, and she let out a sigh of relief as she examined the glass lenses. Not even a scratch.

Okay. As scary as that last bit was, I think this was worth it. She stepped away from the base of the tree, swinging her pack back across her back as she retraced the path she’d beaten in the brush from the road. Much of the plant-life had already sprung back up, but it wasn’t hard at all to find the edge of the road, marked as it was by a clear break in both the brush and the trees. A moment later she was by her wagon train again, heat shimmering up at her from the aged pavement.

I’m going to need to stop at the next creek I find and filter some more water, Sunset thought as she hooked her harness back up. Or raid another store somewhere in Bendal. If there are any.

Of course there will be. The sound of her footsteps settled into a gentle rhythm as she followed the road through the woods, the path winding back and forth but almost never up and down. The wind picked up, rising and falling, a constant presence at her back. Another similarity to the Golden Plains, though there were weather crews to modulate and control the wind there, lest less desirable outcomes such as tornadoes occured.

Wait a minute. She’d nervously noted a scar on the land the day before, a long trench in the earth that at the time had made her suspect a hammer strike or something similar, though there hadn’t been any damage to the road where it had passed over it.

Maybe that’s what that was. I should have thought of that sooner.

Maybe it hadn’t been, however. There was no way for her to say for certain. The road wound on, heat baking at her from above and below regardless of the stiffness of the breeze at her back. A sign on the side of the road neared, weathered and tilted to one side at a steep angle. Bendal - Three miles. I’m close. Not long after she passed an overgrown driveway, the first she’d seen that day. She peered down it, but couldn’t make out anything through the trees. Soon she passed another, this one rockier and slightly less overgrown.

Shadows began to stretch across the pavement as the sun sank lower in the sky. I should stop soon. Another drive passed by, its destination somewhere deep within the forest and out of sight.

The next drive, however, did not wind out of sight, but stopped in front of a decent-sized cabin a few dozen feet back from the road. Sunset slowed, sizing the structure up through the trees and noting the intact windows.

Good enough. It might even have some water. There did appear to be a tank of some kind along one side. Fuel or water, it was likely something she could make use of. And it’s getting dark.

I can get to Bendal tomorrow. Rolling her shoulders, she turned off the road, ready to make camp.

* * *

She awoke early the next morning, the sun just barely rising over the horizon as she set out, ready to reach Bendal at last. The cabin had been sparser than she’d expected on the inside; either already the target of other scavengers like herself or initially owned by people that had taken most of their furniture with them when they’d evacuated. Thankfully they’d left a few beds with bare mattresses, but neither of them had been comfortable. She’d ended up spreading her camping mat on the floor and sleeping there instead.

Now she was nearing Bendal, anticipation building within her with every passing minute. Already she’d caught sight of the towering grain elevators through the trees. There were more and more residences on either side of the road, each closer and closer together. The trees were starting to thin as well, growing smaller and showing signs of having once been cultivated.

Then the road curved, and Bendal itself came into sight.

It actually didn’t appear to be much. Smaller even then Passtil, though in fairness that city had been crammed into a small valley. Here there was plenty of space. And with their carriages, why not spread out? The road she was following ran in a straight line through what looked like the middle of the town, dropping slightly before rising a bit near the town center. The buildings were more spread out as well, the intersections wide and each building standing apart from the others. A few were clearly homes or simple storefronts, while another was—to guess based on a large sign out front that rose high above the surroundings—some sort of restaurant.

She followed the road, listening as the wind whistled around her and through empty windows in the structures ahead. Brush and creeping vines—same as the ones she’d seen in Holton—grew over storefronts and wound around railings, or jutted from cracks in the pavement. There was one thing she didn’t see, however.

There’s no signs of damage. Not from combat, anyway. She neared the restaurant on the edge of the city. A massive sign sat opposite it, across the road and half-covered in leafy greens.

“Welcome to Bendal,” Sunset read as soon as she could pick out the letters through the carpet of cover. “From our heart and hands to your stomach.” A faded, cartoonish figure smiled and waved from the corner of the sign, and she smiled back. “Friendly.”

Early morning sunlight glinted off the glass windows of a few cars still left in front of the restaurant. Sunset slowed, for a moment. Why leave cars there? A home was one thing … But in front of a restaurant?

Actually … She peered up the street, noting the number of cars sitting on either side of its wide expanse. There are a lot of cars. More flashes of light glinted from a wide space between two buildings. A parking lot, full of cars and trucks in all shapes and sizes, from small to large.

Fencing too, though not like any kind she’d seen before, made of long horizontal bars. She walked faster, wagons rolling behind her as more of the lot came into view.

Oh! The answer came with sudden clarity, her mind stripping away the grass and occasional vines from what was clearly a chute of some kind.

Granted, the massive shape of a cog military vehicle sitting behind it, towering over the other vehicles, didn’t exactly make it hard. Nor did the direction the chute was heading in hurt, since it was clearly moving in the direction of the center of Bendal, where presumably the railway station was located.

Evacuation. It made sense. Why bother choking the roads when a major railway line—several, in fact—ran right through the middle of the town?

Looks pretty orderly, too, she thought as she followed the street. They must have left early, in advance.

Here and there she could see signs that things hadn’t been perfectly clean. A stray bit of cloth that might have once been a shirt, wrapped around a porch railing. A muddy stuffed animal of some kind, caked in mud.

Clumps of … dirt? Sunset frowned. Ahead of her the street—and, she noticed, the roofs of some of the cars—featured dozens of large clumps of dried dirt, marking a path from one open field between a tailor’s shop and some sort of sporting goods store across the road to another matching open field on the other side.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she eyed the clumps. What would leave clumps like that but something from underground?

Then again … they were old and dry looking. Whatever had done it had probably been gone for some time. Right?

Still, there was something strange about the clods of dirt. She began moving forward again, wagons rolling after her.

From nearby there was a loud snort. Sunset bit back a scream, instead spinning and yanking the gnasher from its holster. She had a round chambered in moments, the safety off and the weapon held up at the ready. Her heart was pounding, each breath already coming in short, quick gasps. Another snort sounded from somewhere off to her left, and the brush in the overgrown lot began to move, shaking back and forth.

Wretches? She lifted the gnasher. Could a wretch sound like that? This had sounded louder, deeper. Larger, though there was a chance that was just the fear talking.

Branches cracked and shifted, covering another chuffing sound. Whatever it was, it was getting closer. Through the brush a massive shape emerged, nearing with every second. She sighted down the gnasher, aimed at whatever it was as it drew closer.

Then with a rush of parting branches, a horse pranced out of the brush, and Sunset almost dropped her gnasher out of shock.

At least, it was sort of a horse. It reminded her of the delegates she’d met from Saddle Arabia, at least in general shape. But where they had been thin and graceful, this horse looked like … like …

Well, it looks like everything else on this planet, she thought as she lowered the gnasher. Like it could knock a wall down by walking into it. The thing was massive, rippling with thick layers of muscle. Even its neck looked thicker than her entire body. It was as if someone had taken the shape of a horse and then simply piled more and more muscle atop it until it resembled something more akin to a machine.

The muzzle was long and flat, eyes widely spaced. But the most arresting feature to her eyes were its horns. Two of them, jutting out of the creature’s muzzle about halfway down its long length and branching out to either side, coming to four wicked-looking points.

She was suddenly aware of how fixed the creature’s eyes were on her, and how all it would need to do is lower its head and charge …

Except it didn’t. The massive beast let out a loud snort and tossed its head back before stepping fully out onto the pavement. Sunset’s eyes slipped to its hooves, widening slightly as she saw that they were made up of three segments, almost like paws rather than horse or pony hooves. Like a kirin, maybe, she thought, though she’d never met any examples of the reclusive species. But with three rather than—And it’s very close!

The “horse” was closing on her, head held back, and she was acutely aware that the top of her head barely came up to its forward shoulders. A long, thick tail whipped back and forth in the air behind it, tipped by a tuft of fur.

It was too late to run—the thing looked fast, and she was still attached to her wagons. She tensed as the massive animal walked right up to her, stopping just a foot or so away … And then with another snort its head bent down, hot air brushing her shoulders as it gave her a quick sniff.

“Uh … hello?” The horse’s ears, similar in shape to the ones she’d once had, twitched, and it turned its head slightly to look at her. “Are you … sapient? Can you speak?”

The horse blew a sudden breath out, lips flapping under the blast forceful enough to make her mane whip around her shoulders.

“Is that a no?”

Instead of snorting again, the horse tossed its head, then nudged her shoulder with its large nose. Lightly, but still with force.

Less the behavior of a sapient being, and more the actions of—

A pet! She thumbed the safety on the gnasher back as the “horse” stared at her, letting the weapon hang in one hand while she held her other palm out toward the animal.

The reaction was immediate. The horse shoved its nose into her hand, lips tickling the middle of her palm. She’d seen the exact same behavior from some of the animals in the Canterlot gardens.

It was looking for a treat.

Sunset let out a nervous laugh. “Hey there, uh—” She glanced at the animal’s underside, feeling slightly dirty as she did so. “Girl?” The horse pulled back, snorting through its lips and looking at her. “Hungry?”

Before the word had even finished leaving her mouth the horse took a step forward, snorting and shoving its lips into her palm again. When no treat appeared, its head moved toward her other hand, sniffing along Sunset’s arm and the length of the gnasher before letting out a disappointed snort, staring at her again. The animal was, Sunset noticed, surprisingly conscious of its horns.

Still, while the massive creature was a little unnerving, it didn’t appear hostile. Just … Hungry. What do I have that a horse could—Nuts!

“Hang on girl,” she said, turning slowly as not to alarm the large animal and slipping the gnasher back into its holster on the side of the wagon. Then she disconnected the harness, leaving the lead wagon handle standing upright in the air.

The horse stepped after Sunset as she moved around the side of the wagon, either glad to have found someone that looked like her old owners after so long or clearly understanding the term “food,” watching and letting out another snort of heavy warm breath as Sunset peeled the cover back from her food supply.

“Ah, here we go,” she said, grabbing one of the last tins of nut mixtures she’d found. The horse reacted immediately, tossing its head and letting out a bizarre whinny. “Hungry huh?” The horse watched as Sunset peeled the lid back from the container, but thankfully didn’t lunge or try to stick her nose in it, like some animals from the gardens.

“Let’s see …” Sunset peered down into the tin, her eyes settling on several of the larger, more circular nuts. “How about these?” She plucked three of them up—fingers were, she had to admit, almost as useful as a horn at times—and held them out toward the horse.

Again the animal stuck its nose and lips into her palm, sniffing and then greedily slurping the nuts out of her hand. She heard them crunch, the horse chewing loudly, and a few seconds later it swallowed and let out another whiny, shaking its head.

“Good, huh?” It seemed happy, with its tail lashing back and forth and the tossing of its—her—head, but it was … weird … trying to read the horse’s body language.

The horse’s nose and lips coming back to her palm to slurp excess salt, however, followed by its thick tongue sliding over her palm as it licked her, was a fairly clear indication of its interest.

“Okay okay,” she said, laughing as the horse lifted its head up and looked at her, as if asking why there weren’t already more nuts on display. “I can give you a bit more.” Not wanting to stick her freshly-licked hand into the can, she settled for tilting the container on its side and shaking an assortment of the salty treats into her hand, offering an array instead.

The horse devoured them with gusto, thick lips pulling them up and into its teeth. “You know,” Sunset said, watching as the horse chowed down. “I’ll bet with how orderly this evacuation was, there could be some stores around here with snacks like this.” I could restock my supply. And maybe find some more treats for this hungry girl.

Another whinny echoed from nearby, and the horse before her turned, responding with a nicker that, like the other noises it made, both sounded and felt strange. Which … Really shouldn’t surprise me. I guess I should just be glad the mirror didn’t give me one of these bodies. I’d be able to run away faster … but that’s about it.

The brush on the side of the road was moving again, what sounded like multiple figures passing through it, and Sunset tensed almost out of reflex. Only for several more of the horses to appear, moving out of the brush and into the street.

A herd. Her throat suddenly felt tight. There were five in total stepping out of the brush, all of them smaller than the one she was feeding.

Those three are male, she noted with a faint sense of embarrassment. And … smaller? Hmm … Interesting sexual dimorphism. I wonder if that holds true across other species on Sera? The last two were smaller still, clearly juveniles of some kind, their horns little more than nubs.

None of the new arrivals seemed as keen to get close to her as the leader of the herd, however, holding their distance and looking at her with wide, wild eyes. Some of them might have been born after everyone left, she thought. Maybe … She stepped to one side, not moving toward the herd but moving away from her wagon, and found a clear spot on the street, away from what she now understood were dried droppings.

“Here,” she said, selecting a clear spot on the street and tipping the can up, sprinkling an array of nuts out onto the pavement and spreading them. “You can all have some.”

She stepped back, watching the lead mare to see what would happen. Unsurprisingly, the other horses didn’t seem too enthused about her offering, but the lead mare stepped right up to them, sniffing the unfamiliar nuts and then digging in. One of the stallions stepped forward—slowly, with quick glances at Sunset—and then gave the spread a quick nibble before digging in. The rest of the herd, foals included, moved forward, though not without nervous looks in her direction.

It was both gratifying and strange to watch the herd devour her meager offering, but the warm feeling in her chest felt far better and stronger than the sense of unease she got from seeing something so close to her old form. Though it definitely was strange. The herd’s tails whipped back and forth as they munched down, quickly chewing through the little pile. As the last nut vanished, the lead mare once again looked up at her.

“Sorry,” Sunset said, slipping the lid back into place with a faint pop. “But unless I can find more food, I need to keep what I have.” The mare let out a soft nicker, still staring.

Sunset turned away, placing the tin back in the wagon and pulling the cover over it once more. The faint clop of hooves sounded on the pavement behind her, followed by a warm whumf of air on the back of her neck, and suddenly her chest felt tight.

I’ve gone far too long without real contact. She knew it, but the thought came all the same. She ignored the begging horse, instead stepping forward and clipping her harness to her train. “You wouldn’t happen to know where a small market might be around here, would you?” she asked, looking at the mare. It stared back at her before again looking at the cover over the tin of nuts and letting out a snort.

“Didn’t think so.” One of the juvenile horses was examining the rear wagon, sniffing at the covering. She watched it nibble before shaking its head and letting out a snort of its own, apparently disgusted. “Well, I need to keep moving, so …” She adjusted the straps of her harness, then began to move forward, pulling the wagons.

A moment later, the sound of clopping hooves joined the thump of her boots and the rolling rattle of her wagons. The mare was matching Sunset’s pace, walking alongside her.

“Guess you’re coming along for a bit, huh?” Her mind ran through several possible interpretations of the action in quick succession, discarding all of them. “I guess you’re welcome to tag along. I won’t be sticking around though.” The only response was another gentle whumf of breath.

“Lonely, huh? I get that. You miss your owner? How long has it been?” The horse didn’t respond, but it felt good to talk to someone, anyone, aside from herself. Even if they were a non-sapient.

“Yeah, I miss— I miss some of the ponies I used to know too. Different, but the same.” The horse continued to follow her down the street, the rest of its herd trotting along behind—though still keeping their distance from her wagons, she noticed. One of them lifted its tail to add to the clumps in the road, and she felt a momentary sense of embarrassment, her face flushing as she looked away.

“Believe me,” she said, staring ahead and giving the lead mare a sideways glance. “This is really weird for me. It’d probably be just as weird for you if I were still in my original form.” A chuckle slipped out of her throat trying to imagine her pony self looking up at the herd of horses, and the equally perplexed herd looking down at her.

“Then again, you’ve got those horns,” she said, giving the mare another sideways glance. “Maybe I’d have just had to run.” The mare snorted but, as before, didn’t speak. Nor was there any sign that it really understood much of what Sunset was saying past general noise.

Sunset let out a sigh. “Still, it’s nice to know something’s still alive out here. I wonder if you’ve had to run from the Locust. She could see a few lighter marks on the mare’s coat that looked like scars. I’ve got a few of those now myself. Her arm had healed cleanly—and quickly—but she could still see where the cuts had been.

Then again, that Locust that I blasted the other day seemed to be healing quickly too. She could still see its furious, angry gaze looking up at her as it had reached for its rifle. Well, not healing, but recovering? Closing off?

Life here is tough I guess. She was getting closer to the center of the city, closer to the massive grain silos and towers that had to be adjacent to, if not at, the railway station at the heart of Bendal. The cars on both sides of the road were getting parked tighter and closer together, and she could see ahead that the street itself had been turned into a parking zone, right in front of what looked like another military barricade.

She could make out a large block letter painted on an aged sign above the checkpoint. The letter “A,” straightforward and basic. “Looks like they had multiple checkpoints and probably assigned everyone from the region one to go to,” she said to the mare. “Canterlot has a similar system for disasters. Your owner go to one of these?”

The horse, of course, said nothing, but did take a sniff of Sunset’s mane.

“Well, it’s going to make finding the railway easy. And unlike Holton, it looks like no one here panicked. Though, to be fair, Holton got attacked during its evacuation.” She still hadn’t seen a single sign of that here.

Which seems to have worked out for them. As tightly packed as the cars appeared up ahead, there was still a clear gap down the middle of the street, leading right up to the barricade wall. The barricade itself was made from what looked like stacked metal containers and concrete barriers. Repurposed, likely, from a farm. Sunset gave the mare another sideways glance. “Are you going to follow me all the … Hey!”

She slowed, the horse giving her a curious look. Off to the side of the road, past the massive body of the horse, was a familiar looking storefront consisting of empty, sloped, wooden tables.

A market. And better yet, the door was closed.

Food. And water. The front glass was dusty, and with the sun at the angle it was, she couldn’t see past it. But it was intact.

“Hang on there girl,” Sunset said as she unclipped her harness once more. The rear of the herd stopped by her wagon, one of them bending down and nipping the cover in its teeth. “And you stop that,” she said, waving a hand at the offending member of the herd. It snorted and stepped back, eyes wide. The mare, however, seemed indifferent to Sunset’s scolding. She’s probably seen it before.

“It’s not even the right wagon,” Sunset said, tapping the top of the foremost unit. “It’s this one. But if there’s food in that store, you can have it.”

She stepped around the mare, crossing the street and ducking between two of the parked vehicles to step onto the sidewalk. Up close there were even more signs that the place had once been a market. Likely a local one, if the basket-like setup of the front tables was anything to go by.

They were still in decent shape, though the covering at the bottom was coated by a thick layer of dirt that had probably initially been dust. The front windows and door were covered in more of the same, with cobwebs clustered around the eves, but up close she could still make out shelving inside.

Clunk. The door rattled as she gave it a quick tug. Locked.

But it’s all glass, Sunset thought, pulling her hatchet from her sheath. And since there’s no one else here but the horses …

The massive pane of glass shattered with a sharp crack as she drove the edge of the hatchet into it, breaking into dozens of pieces that dropped out of the frame and smashed atop the sidewalk or the interior’s linoleum floor. Two of the horses let out whinnies of shock and surprise, dancing back, and even the lead mare jumped slightly. More crashes filled the street as Sunset swept the hatchet around the upper frame, knocking loose bits of glass that hadn’t given way, then kicked those that were still stuck in the bottom free as well.

With the glass gone she could easily make out the interior of the shop, and as she’d guessed, it had the look of a small local market, though half of the shelves looked empty.

That was fine. What she had noticed was that the shelving that was occupied was laden with small boxes, tins, and cans.

“Jackpot.” She brushed glass to either side with her boot, shoving it away from the doorway and under the nearby tables in case any of the horses tried to follow her. Stepping through the now empty doorframe, she repeated the process on the far side, then turned her attention to the shelves.

A smile swelled on her face as she saw what was at the end of the closest row. “Perfect!” Plastic crinkled as she picked up several granola bars, and she turned toward the door.

“Here,” she said, shucking the plastic off and holding the small honey-granola bar out toward the lead mare.

No further urging was needed. Either the mare recognized the treat or the scent of it alone was enough to draw her in, but the mare darted past the cars onto the sidewalk, lips almost yanking the waiting bar from Sunset’s fingers and into its maw.

“You like these, huh?” Sunset reached out and gave the horse a quick pet along the side of her muzzle. It didn’t seem to mind the attention … though it also was busily crunching down the bar she’d given it. She peeled another bar open, holding the treat up as the other horses looked at her. “Any of you want one?”

The bar broke in half with a faint crunch beneath her fingers, and she tossed both halves over the roofs of the nearby cars. The horses shied back, but almost immediately stepped forward to nudge one of the bits. A second later it was gone, snapped up into eager jaws. The other half followed in quick succession.

“That’s what I thought.” She opened the rest of the bars and broke them apart before tossing them across as well. The mare nudged Sunset’s shoulder with a snort, and Sunset gave her the last bar.

“There you go, girl.” The mare let out a nicker of contentment. Her hands empty save for wrappers, Sunset stepped back into the store and took a closer look at the rest of the stock.

Well, she thought a minute later. Not all of this is useful … but the cans look good, and I can take the granola bars. There was a whole section of canned nuts as well, plus some jerky, though both offerings were light, as if they hadn’t been stocked in a while.

Which they probably weren’t. I’m lucky someone from the evacuation crowd didn’t clear this place out.

The real prize, however, was in the very back. Four large, dusty jugs of water, nearly identical to the ones in her wagon, sitting waiting on a lower shelf.

“Water and food! Even if I don’t find a fast way out of here, this stop was worth it!” She rummaged around through the rest of the shelves, but found little if interest past a few things of batteries, which she already had plenty of, and assorted knicknacks.

When she stepped back out of the store the horses were milling around in the street, not seeming overly concerned with what she was doing, but at the same time clearly not keen on wandering away, either. The lead mare in particular watched as Sunset loaded up the extra food, nudging her when she spotted the tins of nuts and earning another small scattering of what was left of the already empty can from the wagon to make room. She took all four jugs of water as well, loading them into the rear wagons. It would increase her load slightly, but she was doing fairly well so far, and the extra, empty jugs could be dumped later if she felt like it. Though having six might be a good idea.

Her work didn’t take long. She made a final check of the store to make sure she hadn’t missed anything useful, then stepped out into the sunshine once more, adjusted one of the covers where one of the younger horses had nipped at it, then clipped herself in and started forward.

“Oof.” With a clopping of hooves, the lead mare was next to her once more, the nudge of her nose suggesting that she wanted another granola bar. “Maybe seven full jugs is too many.”

The mare’s only answer was to blow a breath through her lips, making a raspberry.

“Well, if I get too tired, I can just drink more.” Sunset pulled one of her canteens up and shook it. “I should have filled these while I was stopped anyway. But I was too busy feeding you.”

Her tone had to have clued the mare in, because she let out another snort.

“You’re not sapient,” Sunset said. “But you’re not unintelligent, either, are you? You’d have to be to have survived out here on your own. Well, without serans, I mean.” She was nearing the packed cars, and to her surprise she noted faint lines drawn around the base of each one. Very organized. The gap that had been left in the middle was wide enough for her to get her wagons through, but …

If there’s a block later on, I’d have no room to maneuver and turn things around. Unless it opens up after that opening in the checkpoint. Unfortunately, a wall of sandbags, along with another of the large military vehicles, blocked her view of what lay past the barrier. She could still see buildings, however, including a large one that was either the town hall, the railway station, or—Maybe both.

“Well,” she said, looking at the mare. “You’re welcome to follow me, but I think I’ll be leaving my wagons here for a bit.” She glanced at the rest of the herd. “Hopefully your friends don’t try to eat them again.”

She disconnected the harness, but grabbed the gnasher just in case. The horses looked calm … But they can run faster than I can.

She was close enough to the grain elevators—That’s what they’re called! Not silos!—to see that they were less pristine than the distance had suggested. Green-leafed vines had wrapped around their lower portions, climbing towards the sun, and some of the catwalks that ran along the sides or top of the structures were sagging slightly. Which was probably something that would have been fixed if someone had been around to care.

But she was close enough to pick out details. Which means I have to be close to the station The mare was following her as she moved down the line of cars toward the checkpoint, the steady clop of her hooves almost soothing despite not being Sunset’s own.

“No signs of gunfire,” Sunset said as she neared the barricade wall. She glanced back at the horse. “Things here really did go well, didn’t they?” The horse didn’t answer, simply staring at Sunset over her horns.

“Wish I could have come out of the portal here,” Sunset said quietly as she began moving forward once again. Then again, that might have been worse in the long run. As terrible as Holton was, it put me on edge. This place wouldn’t have.

The barricade, as it turned out, was blocking off a village square that had been turned into a sort of processing station by more of the long, horizontal bars. Probably from the nearby farms, Sunset guessed as she stepped around the heavy, six-wheeled military machine that had been serving as a block to the rest of the square. Temporary tents had been set up on one side of the green and then abandoned before the weather had had its way with them, leaving two of them twisted, bent wrecks while the others simply had their tarps in tatters. There were tables scattered around as well, some still upright and others toppled.

The plaza itself showed clear signs of abandonment. Unlike the road, the square was made of brick and what looked like cobblestone rather than pavement, and as result there were tufts of waist-high grass almost everywhere Sunset looked. A statue in the middle of the square looked out over the checkpoint, a relief of a smiling woman with her arms folded across her chest. A founder of the town, maybe?

It wasn’t hard to locate the train station. One simply had to follow the flow of the “paths” that had been set up across the square. Her point of entry hadn’t been the only one, all the lines heading toward the left side of the plaza and into the tents. Tents that stretched across a massive lot probably meant parking before becoming part of the evacuation center.

Why the space had been given up wasn’t hard to make out. The building beyond it was clearly a public train station, similar in design and layout to some of the train stations in Canterlot—if a little less extravagant and more solid-looking—but definitely too small to hold the entirety of the town and its surrounding population.

And all their stuff, she noted, turning her focus toward a massive pile of abandoned baggage behind one of the tents. A number of the cases had split, spilling clothes across the rest of the pile, or in one case something that glittered almost like gold. Restrictions so that they could fit more people on the trains. The pile was old enough that not only had some of the creeping vines grown over it, but some of the clothes had grass growing out of them.

She could picture the scene in her head, despite the years. How many thousands of serans walked through these lanes? There would have been cog administrators or soldiers at the tables, instructing everyone to prepare to enter the station and board the train. The train itself had probably been longer than normal, using extra passenger or even cargo cars to fit people aboard. And everything had probably run on a strict schedule. This couldn’t have been the only place people were evacuating via trains from.

Or maybe it was. Maybe they’d had a train and simply decided to make the most of it.

She wound her way back and forth across the plaza, the gentle clop of her follower’s hooves still behind her as she followed the path. There’s the city hall, I guess. Don’t know what that building is.

But no Locust. Nor did she see any sign of cratered ground anywhere. I wonder why they didn’t bother. Was the town just too small? By the time it would have been worth it everyone was gone? She didn’t have an answer.

However, she could already see that there wasn’t really room for her wagon train to make each turn in the back-and-forth path laid out by the fencing. I’m going to have to take it all apart or find another way to reach the railway. If there even is anything there.

That’d be nice. I’m tired of walking.

She was moving through the tents when she saw the bodies. Four of them, all peacefully laid out on the pavement by the mound of baggage, little more than bones and scraps of cloth.

What—? Oh. “Accidents,” she said, looking back at the mare. The rest of the herd, she noticed, had finally followed, moving through the rows just as the mare had but pausing to graze at the tufts of grass. She turned back toward the bodies. “Most likely. It happens in Equestria too.” Though we’ve got ponies on hoof to deal with it. “You evacuate a city for safety reasons and somepony gets hurt. Or has a panic attack. Forgets a medicine they need. The same must have happened here.”

And they just laid them down in a row. A shiver rolled through her, fighting back against the heat of the plaza. I hope all of them were deceased when that happened.

Or that they didn’t make any of them deceased first. Another shiver followed the first, and she hurried past the remains. They wouldn’t do that, right?

Except that they used their own weapons on their own cities with their own people still in them.

Yup, not thinking about that anymore. She picked up the pace, moving out of the slim shade provided by the tents and back into the heat of the mid-morning sun. The parking lot was large, further divided by more barred fences into back-and-forth switchbacks. Sunset slipped through the bars at the end, skipping the roundabout path and stepping onto the station steps. Everything was dirty, covered in layers of dust and grime from years of abandonment, but without any damage it wasn’t hard to imagine what the place might have looked like in its prime as she made her way up toward the front doors.

Dozens, maybe hundreds of serans bustling around with things to do. What, she wasn’t certain. Jobs of some kind, probably. A tattered, faded banner hung above the open front doors of the station. Likely they had been instructions of some kind before the weather and sun had done their work. Someone had painted lines on the floor inside the station as well, dividing everything into colored lanes that moved through its small interior and toward the distant platform. And beyond that …

“Whoa, wait a minute.” She picked up speed, ignoring the clopping from behind her as her tag-along entered the station lobby. Past heavy, smooth-looking seats for waiting passengers, past the somewhat open and dirty doors to the platform itself was what had to be the railway … but it wasn’t anything like the railways on Equestria.

“That’s …” Sunset stepped out onto the platform, eyeing the gap between the deck she was standing on and the other side. The horse stepped up next to her, looking at the same gap and then turning to look at her as if asking what they were going to do next.

“That’s huge,” Sunset said, gesturing at the railway. “That’s … way wider than any trains we made in Equestria. How big were the trains here?”

As customary, the horse offered no answer, instead nickering and nudging Sunset’s hand with its nose once again, hunting for a treat.

‘I mean, we built some big trains back home,” Sunset continued, stepping toward the edge of the platform and eyeing the wide gap past it. “But they were still bound by the tracks. You could almost fit two of our railways between the tracks there!”

Maybe a little more, she thought as she looked out over the wide, heavy tracks. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Everything else here is built like it needed to last a thousand years. Why would the trains be any different?

And … She let out a sigh. “This probably means there isn’t something I can operate to ride along the rails,” she admitted. “It’d be huge, much bigger than what I was picturing.” She glanced down the tracks in both directions. To the east and her left, the tracks cut through the city, moving with a gentle curve until they bent out of sight. And to her right …

There’s the rail yard. Or what’s left of it. Was that a locust strike, or—? No. That looks self inflicted. The tracks were warped and twisted, what had been a turntable sitting at an odd angle and partially melted.

Again something she’d read about in history books back home. The Cog had denied the railway station, and likely any nearby junctions, by damaging them. Probably with explosives of some kind. Better than removing parts. Damaging them so that they’d have to be replaced if the Locust wanted to use them, making it a lot more work.

Which means even if there is something I could use at that train station, I probably couldn’t get it onto the tracks.

Great. She let out a sigh, only for a snort to throw hot air across the back of her neck.

“Well, at least this wasn’t entirely worthless,” she said, reaching up to pat the side of the horse’s neck. “I found some food. You got treats.” The mare tossed her head at the word treat, and Sunset laughed. “It’s too bad I can’t get you to pull my wagons, but I’m not sure you’d like that. Besides, it’d feel … weird. Don’t ask.”

The mare just snorted again, then nibbled at Sunset’s mane.

“Hey!” She batted her hair away from the mare’s teasing teeth. “I know it’s dirty, but it’s not that dirty.” The mare gave Sunset’s shoulder another nudge, clearly still caught on the word “treat” that had been uttered earlier.

“Fine,” she said, staring at the mare. “I’ll give you and your herd a little more when I get back to my wagons. But you can eat grass, and I can’t anymore. So just a little bit, all right?”

The mare tossed her head, and Sunset turned, retracing her path through the station and out onto the steps. The rest of the herd was milling around at the base, the older stallions nibbling on grass while the two younger members jumped in and out of the lane bars.

“The question now,” Sunset said as the animals looked up at her. “Is whether or not I want to check the rest of this place and see what I can find, or just get moving already.”

The mare nudged Sunset again, a gentle push with her nose between Sunset’s shoulders—and Sunset jerked, her body locking up. The mare let out a whinny of surprise, dancing back at the sudden movement.

“Sorry!” Sunset held up a hand to try and sooth the jumpy horse. “Sorry. I just …” Why did I do that? “You surprised me. It’s okay. It’s fine.” The rest of the herd was looking at the pair of them. “You just caught me off guard, and I didn’t want to fall down the steps.”

That’s it. Sure.

The mare was giving her an almost curious look, but after a moment’s urging stepped forward and sniffed Sunset’s palm once more.

“Right. I know. Treat.” She moved down the steps before the mare could start looking for the promised food. “Follow me.”

The herd parted as she neared, backing away and keeping their distance as she crossed the parking lot, returning to the tents and then heading back to the main plaza. A minute later she was back at her wagons, the herd clustering around her as she divided up three more granola bars for them to munch on. There were signs that the younger horses had nibbled at the coverings, but outside of a little stretching they didn’t appear to have done any damage.

Well, I guess if I go north and cut around the town center, I can follow the roads west and out of Bendal. There’s usually a road that runs parallel to the tracks for a little while, so that would be a nice straight line out of here.

Better than nothing. She checked the straps of her harness and then began to pull, turning and retracing her steps down the street until she reached another intersection.

Again the herd followed, the clatter of their hooves against the pavement almost relaxing. None but the lead mare dared get too close, but the juveniles almost appeared to make a game out of darting up at the tires and then ducking away. Around them Bendal appeared almost tranquil, asleep. As if the act of scrubbing away the dust and grime and trimming back the out of control plant life would be enough for citizens to appear and start living in it once more.

Though … not entirely. Here and there were signs of time and weather having done their job more than most. A broken window, the cause unknown, opening the inside of a small business to the elements. A bent signpost that, in fairness, could have been from before the evacuation. Two vehicles abandoned on the side of the street in what clearly had been a collision, though a minor one, doors left open as the occupants had clearly decided to go the last bit of distance on foot.

She passed by a fuel station, clearly designed for the cars and trucks to refuel their internal storage of imulsion gas. Did they pump that out too, she wondered. Or did they leave it to sit in those tanks?

She slowed. And if they did … couldn’t I just put that fuel in one of the abandoned cars around here and … pilot it?

A look at a nearby truck parked on the side of the street was enough to make her question the idea. I have no idea how to operate one of those things, but certainly it’s more difficult than it looks.

It would save a lot of time. If I didn’t end up wrecking the thing.

She slowed, her eyes flicking back to the fuel station. I could try it, couldn’t I? Except …

“I think,” she said, looking at the mare walking nearby, “I probably should try either try something tougher, or smaller. On second thought, a lot smaller. Anything big is going to make larger vibrations—especially with an engine—and that means more chance of attracting the Locust. What do you think?”

The mare let out a whinny, tossing her head as if to draw attention to the fact that Sunset hadn’t said the word treat.

“Yeah,” Sunset replied, as if the answer had been the one she’d wanted. “I agree. It’s a good idea. But … not something that big. Though I am really tired of walking.”

The buildings around her began to thin out as she neared the edge of Bendel, giving her glimpses of the massive railway off to her left, and before long the road she was following joining with it, flanking the heavy tracks and held back only by a heavy concrete barrier topped with a wire fence. A thick-wired fence.

She’d almost gone a mile when she noticed that the clopping had slowed. She slowed as well, and a second later the echo at her back stopped. The lead mare was no longer at Sunset’s side, instead hanging back and looking at her.

“What?” Her hand dropped to her hatchet. “Is something wrong? Did you hear something?” But the mare’s ears weren’t back. Or even whipping around wildly. It wasn’t something threatening, then. Probably.

“Is it something ahead?” She took a few steps forward, wagons rolling easily along behind her. None of the horses moved. “Is it something bad? Or …?”

Her smile faded. “Is this as far as you want to go outside of the city?” Or maybe they’ve had enough time hanging around the only seran today.

The mare snorted. I don’t want to go ahead if it’s dangerous. But I could check to see if it is. She reached into her pack and pulled out a granola bar, the whole herd perking as they heard the sound of the plastic crinkling. She peeled the granola bar out of its packing, held it up so the herd could see … and then spun and hurtled it down the road as hard as she could.

It didn’t go very far, but it didn’t seem to matter to the herd, each of them taking off with a rudeness that made her yelp, galloping past her to be the first to the treat. One of the stallions reached the bar fragments first, slowing and snapping them up as quickly as it could.

The mare’s nose bumped Sunset’s elbow before sniffing at her hand.

“I get it,” Sunset said, offering the other half of the bar she’d palmed. “You’ll follow me as long as I feed you, but that’s what you’re here for.”

The mare snorted, and Sunset let out a laugh. “Fine. Well, at least with you around I know the Locust aren’t nearby.” Another snort, and Sunset showed the mare her empty palms. “Nope, no more. Time to move again.”

The road followed the tracks out of the city, the woods growing thick around them once more before giving way to more open fields of estates. The younger horses began to run back and forth, jumping stone walls into overgrown fields and playing with one another. Midday came and went, Sunset eating more of her newfound supply of nuts and sharing some with her escort. A few hours later, however, the horses came to a stop once more, the lead mare tossing its head as Sunset turned to look at them.

“I know,” Sunset said. “I’m not exactly giving you a full meal. You can’t stick with me.” She left the wagons for a moment, the rest of the herd stepping back as she approached. “But it was nice to have somepony else to talk to for a little bit, even if you couldn’t talk back.” The mare blew into Sunset’s palm, her breath moist and warm, then pushed her nose in, giving Sunset’s hand a small nuzzle. “I get why you don’t want to leave, though, so … Good luck. May the sun smile fortune upon you, and the moon light your path at night.” It was an old, formal goodbye, but it felt right to say it considering the herd were equines.

The mare and the rest of her herd stayed in place while Sunset walked back over to her wagons and clipped herself back into place. When she began walking none of them moved to follow. Not long later, there was the sound of hooves striking the ground like thunder, and Sunset turned to see the whole herd leave the road, galloping into the trees.

A minute later they were gone, leaving her alone once more.

Well, it was nice while it lasted. The inside of her chest panged slightly as she began to walk once more, but there was little she could do for it.

I’m so lonely I’m missing a group of alien horses that would have given me nightmares a few months ago.

Still, I could hardly call that a waste, she mused as the miles began to pass. The road stayed alongside the railway, occasionally rising above or below it, but generally following the same course. I found some more water, and some more food, even if most of it is made up of snacks. At least they’re high-density.

Plus, it was nice to see that not everywhere was a disaster. Some people made it out, nice and orderly. They didn’t even get … Wait, what’s that?

There was a distant shadow across the road ahead of her, crossing both it and the railway. She slowed, reaching into her pack and pulling out her binoculars for a closer look. A few seconds later, she almost dropped them in shock, ice spilling through her veins.

“No …” The word came out like a mutter. “Please no!”

It was a train. Or what was left of one. Somehow it had jumped the rails, the cars pressed up against one another like the folds of an accordion. Huge scrapes and gouges had been marred in the pavement, the fence between the road and the tracks mangled and crushed.

She broke into a jog, picking up speed as the wreck grew closer and closer. Maybe it was just a rearguard action or whatever the Guard called it. Another delaying tactic to make the railway unusable.

Like the other devastation she’d seen, it had clearly happened long ago. Step by step she neared the wreck, the pieces of what had transpired becoming clear. The rear car was twisted and lying at an angle atop the road, almost on its side. It was massive compared to an Equestrian train car, almost a mobile building. She kept her distance from its shattered windows, moving all the way to the edge of the highway to get past it. Debris was everywhere, much of it rubble or broken glass. The rest of the train came into view as she rounded the rear car, a wreck that stretched for hundreds of yards down the road and alongside it.

No bodies. Just debris. The sudden fear in her chest began to abate. Given everything else that the Cog had clearly sacrificed to stop the Locust, a train was almost small potatoes, and they’d wrecked the tracks anyway.

They would do it, she thought as she moved down the road, stepping over aged bits of shattered glass. In a heartbeat.

But that’s all it is. Just an empty—

Dusty white protruded through a nearby broken window, and her heart froze, dread filling her like a cold, deathly fog. With a click that rang across the still wreck like the bang of a judge’s hoof, Sunset detached the harness and walked over to the nearby window, praying that she was wrong.

A single glance inside the window was all it took, and she jerked back with a cry. The inside of the train was full of bones.

None of the evacuees from Bendal had made it to the plateau.

Author's Note

Solitude

Chapter 21 - Solitude

Day Thirty-seven - East of Hovast Climb

I’ve left the Croplands behind me at last. Which is both good and bad.

The good was that I was able to make good time due to how flat they truly were. Thirty miles a day was a pace I could keep.

Now the terrain isn’t quite so flat. Things are getting rocky and rough again, and the builders of the roads here as often as not simply settled for going up and down instead of carving through hills or building bridges unless I’m lucky enough to use a major highway. But those are where a lot of the fighting was, and so half the time they’re in worse shape than the back roads. I almost lost my wagons the other day to a crater’s edge that collapsed. Had just one more set of tires gone over, I would have had to haul everything up and out by hand and repack it.

I’m tired. So tired. And alone. I miss home. Sometimes I feel like I just want to collapse and give up.

But I can’t. I can’t go back. Even if I did, the portal isn’t going to open again for some time. I’d probably starve before it did.

And if by some chance my math is wrong and it did open earlier than I except—entirely possible, I did have to make a number of assumptions—what would I do? Tell her that I give up? Prove that I’m the failure she thought I was?

I will not do that. I refuse. She threw me away. Plus, I’m pretty sure I assaulted a few Guard on my way out, so I wouldn’t exactly be going back to anything good. It’d be easier than here, but … What would I have if I went back?

Nothing. She would take Starswirl’s books from me. She’d throw me out—or into jail. Probably a work farm, but I’d be there a long time. And when I left …

I can’t go back anyway. I don’t know why I’m wasting ink writing about it. Because there’s no one else to tell, maybe. All I have are my own thoughts.

At least there’s wildlife out here. I saw something that looked like a deer yesterday. Not close, but similar. I wonder how it would taste?

I’m near a town named Hovast Climb. Weird name. I’m going to look for food there. The atlas I’m following says there’s a fort. Maybe it has more meal boxes. If not, I’ll just have to keep living off dried fruit and jerky.

I need to find more time to study Starswirl’s books too. I’ve been here almost a month and barely found time to look at them save a few nights. It doesn’t help that they’re dense as can be and written in barely legible old equish. Would it have killed him to hire an assistant? He had the whole coffers of Unicropolis at his disposal!

I’m tired. I need to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll check out Hovast Climb. If it looks like a good place to make a stop, maybe I’ll rest there for a day and do some studying.

For now, I hurt and want to stretch out on my mattress.

Haven’t seen any Locust for days.

* * *

Day Thirty-eight - Below Hovast

Well, it’s a fort all right. I could see it from miles away.

Also, my legs hurt. The atlas did not make clear that Hovast Climb is at the top of the biggest hill for miles.

I understand. There’s a fort, and clearly people lived all up and down what is clearly a small mountain. It’s defendable.

It’s also rubble. It might have worked as a defensible location a few hundred years ago, but I guess the Locust didn’t care.

Still going to check it out. There might not be much left, but I’ve made it halfway up the stupid thrice-cursed mini-mountain today to get to it. I’m not turning back now.

Okay, I cursed a lot more than that. These wagons are heavy. Especially the water, though I’m currently half-empty.

My legs are sore. I’m holed up beside some sort of armored fighting vehicle on four big tires with a gun of some kind. It’s a wreck, so it’s not going anywhere, but I’m out of the wind and I’m not going to be showing a light to anything down below or above with my tarp in the right spot.

I’m going to study Starswirl’s books and go to sleep.

Addendum to last entry: Starswirl was onto something. I’m sure of it. There are massive breakdowns here of unicorn, pegasus, and earth pony mogic. How he found them or got them I don’t know. And given where he lived, I’m not sure I want to know.

I’ve started with his breakdown of unicorn magic. I think that’s the entirety of one of the volumes I stole took. Some of it I already know. Some of it is just plain wrong—theory that has now been proven false.

But then there are parts of it that I’ve definitely only seen modern theories about. Magical questions about the deep nature of magic and its connection to the Creator, to ourselves.

I wanted to write for a minute just to let my head sort it out. I’m not certain I understand what he was after, but I’m pretty sure I know why.

He wanted to be more. Like I do. And he was on his way before he disappeared.

Did she have anything to do with that?

* * *

So … Sunset thought as she looked up at the shattered gates before her. This is Fort Hovast, huh? Ancient stone walls mixed with more modern metal reinforcement, but both had ultimately failed. The gates were twisted and broken, one lying on the ground, the other hanging from one warped hinge. Both were dented and scarred so heavily that even the passage of time couldn’t hide what they’d gone through. Beneath crawling vines she could see scars from explosions and other, more physical, impacts. What had once been a guardhouse had collapsed over the interior yard, brick, stone, mortar, and metal all lying haphazardly at steep angles. A bit of bone clad in cog armor poked out from under one of the stones.

Here goes. She lifted her gnasher and stepped atop the fallen gate, the heavy metal all but absorbing the impact of her boots with little effort. She’d left the wagons not far behind, in a nice clear park that didn’t appear to have seen too much damage since the town had been attacked. If the fort is safe, and I find something, I can go get them.

The interior space between the outer wall and main body of the fort itself was a wreck. Grass had long-since reclaimed much of the open ground, though there were still a few places that looked scorched by something, burned badly enough that the reclamation was stunted.

Still what had grown was just high enough that something could hide in it if they were small enough. And while none of the wretches she’d encountered so far had shown any sign of being close to patient enough to set an ambush … Their handlers clearly are. She kept the gnasher up and ready as she neared the edge of the massive metal door, eyes hunting the courtyard for any sign of movement amid the grass, or along any of the wreckage.

There was nothing. Nothing at—Wait!

She swept the gnasher around at a bit of motion, only to realize that it was a small bird, similar to a sparrow, darting out of the base of an overgrown bush by the base of the fort. And only the branch it had flown from was moving. Until at least a gust of wind swept through the open gate, rustling the grass and making the whole courtyard move.

But it all moved with the wind, not against it. So it’s probably okay.

The fort itself looked similar to those from Equestrian, Empire, and Plainsland antiquity. Stone and mortar walls shored up and reinforced by more modern metal alterations. Steep, wide stairwells that had been built with defensive positions in mind, then overlaid with decorative elements later, most of which hadn’t survived the battle. A lone statue looked out over the courtyard. Someone or something had ripped its head off.

There was a massive set of doors off to one side of the fort, in what had probably been a stable in olden times but then, from the vehicle parked in front of it, likely made into a storage or a vehicle shelter of some kind. But part of the roof above it had caved in. And there’s no way I’m lifting those doors even if I clear that rubble. Which left her with the main doors directly ahead.

She stepped off of the metal door and made her way to the steps leading into the fort proper. Signs of battle were everywhere, bones and spent ammunition casings mixed amid the craters and sandbags. She picked her way through the remains, taking care to avoid jostling any with her boots as she made her way up the steps.

Must have been a real heck of a fight.

The front doors to the fort were wide open, bent and shattered the way the gate had been. Something about the hinges and the frame appeared off, and after a moment’s observation Sunset realized it was because the doors were supposed to open outward. Not inward, as they currently lay.

Yikes. The interior of the fort was dark and clad in shadow, but she’d come prepared. It took a second or two’s fiddling with a small clip, but a moment later one of her lanterns was hanging from one of her belt loops. The glow it cast didn’t go far, especially as she stepped inside, but it did provide some illumination.

However, the flashlight she’d taped to the side of her gnasher provided a welcome, directed counterpoint to the lantern’s more broad glow, a brilliant beam that cut through the darkness like a knife. In tandem the two drove back the gloom of the interior as she made her first steps deeper into the fort. The inside was cool if still, the sudden calm almost shocking after the winds of the exterior city. The same mix of technological advancements appeared inside as well, stone walls reinforced by more modern-looking metal supports and rectangular lighting fixtures. The latter glimmered as she plied the flashlight beam over them, reflecting some of it back through dust-shrouded glass.

The small passageway she’d entered opened up into a larger hall lit from above by shafts of light—though intentional or not she wasn’t certain. A few of the edges looked a little ragged, so it was possible that it was the latter, but looking up showed that the ceiling had suffered damage along with everything else, making it hard to say.

The beam of her flashlight plied across bright, plastic-looking colors and symbols. Signage on a wall, damaged by the battle but still mostly legible. She stepped around what looked to have once been a sort-of bench, now a bullet-holed mess, and up to the signage, wiping away some of the dust with one hand.

“Command center,” she read, her eyes following the direction indicated by the arrow. Unsurprisingly it pointed at the other end of the hall where the fighting seemed to have been fiercest. At least at a guess from the barricades there, the amount of damage, and the remains she could pick out with her flashlight. “Nothing I want there.” She turned her attention back to the sign.

“Training range… Armory.” That could be useful. “Barracks … Mess hall!” That’s what I want to find first. She quickly ran through the rest of the list, skimming it but still noting anything else that looked useful. “Communications … That’s probably not going to do much.” She’d seen the radio tower and the wing of the fort that supported it on the way up … or at least what had been left of it. Communications wouldn’t do her much good assuming the rooms were even still standing. “Archives?” She thought about it for a moment before nodding. “Makes sense. Not really useful to me, though.” And given how paranoid the Cog are, they probably destroyed them when the attack started.

She ran down the rest of the list, but little about it stood out to her. The fort wasn’t that large, and she’d already found what had been her highest priority.

Where there’s a mess hall, there’s food. The arrow directed her toward the left side of the building. South. She let the flashlight beam lead the way, making her way across the main hall and in the direction indicated.

As before, the way had been blocked by a set of large, heavy-set metal doors, but she didn’t have to worry about opening them. Someone had beat her to it. Someone very large and powerful, Sunset thought as the metal glinted under the combined efforts of her lights, refracting off deep scratches that could only have been left by claws. Very powerful. One of the doors was almost as thick as her palm was wide, and it had been dented inward by whatever had struck it.

Worse, the actual center of the dent was large, but not that large. Whatever did it must have been maybe the size of my upper torso?

Hopefully whatever had done it wasn’t around any longer. Or if it was, it was as dead as the rest of the facility.

The sunlight faded once more as she left the hall behind, leaving her only with the pale white glow cast from her lantern and the beam from her flashlight. Which … Now that I’m in the dark, doesn’t seem like quite enough. The short hall she was following terminated in a wall, her path splitting in two directions. More signage offered directions, but the sign had been damaged by something, half of it ruined beyond her ability to understand.

Still, there are only two directions. Dust flaked away from the wall as she brushed her hand over it, thick enough to cast faint shadows against the light of her lantern. That’s an “Me” followed by an “al,” so that’s the mess hall I’d guess, and the arrow is … She turned in the direction indicated, wincing as the beam from her flashlight slid over another cog body, its armor crumpled and dented.

Something about the position of the body looked off, and she stopped, crouching near it and following its lines with her eyes.

They’re hunched, she realized after a moment. Like they took a blow. And the front of their armor was caved in.

But there’s debris on their shoulders, she thought, flicking a piece of rubble away with one finger. How’d that get there? She plied the flashlight beam up, exposing a cracked portion of the wall. The stone wall?

A shiver ran through her. Something hit them hard enough that they slammed into the wall with enough force to damage the rock. There was a rust-colored smear just above the center of the impact, and her eyes shifted to the back of the corpse’s skull. It was cracked and broken.

I hope it was quick. She spotted a loop of tiny chain around the body’s neck and shoulder bones. Clavicle? I really need to read up more on my new body. Carefully, she reached out and tugged at the chain. A jingling sound echoed through the hall.

Cog tags. Now that she had a better idea of what they were, her original reason for collecting some of them felt almost wrong. They were identification. And they were taken very seriously, from some of the literature she’d found.

Moving carefully as not to disturb the body, she collected the tags, sliding them into her pocket where they would keep until she could add them to her stash in the wagons.

I should probably collect more of them if I see them. That way at least someone would have a chance of finding out their fate. If there was anyone alive that even cared anymore.

Besides, it’ll be good leverage for when I do find the Cog. A slight pang resonated inside her chest at the thought, but she brushed it aside. I’ll need all the goodwill I can get. It’s a little disrespectful, but I need it.

As small as the fort was, it didn’t take her long to find the mess hall. And the surprise contained therein.

The place had been wrecked. Skylights had shattered, the bars protecting them bent and twisted. Tables had been flipped and thrown against walls. Ancient stone pillars had been pounded into gravel, the ceiling only still standing thanks to metal reinforcing that had been added at a later date.

Bodies were everywhere, most of them little more than bones amid piles of dried, blackened morass that had probably once been flesh. Smashed against walls and scattered amid empty trays and spent casings.

And in the middle of the room, the largest set of bones Sunset had seen yet. Humanoid, yet easily several times the size of any of the bodies around it. Scraps of flesh hung from the bones, dried and crusty yet still looking almost like the armor some of the seran figures were wearing.

Whatever it was, it had been massive. And done an incredible amount of damage to the mess before going down.

But it was dead. The Cog soldiers had killed it.

Her eyes locked on one bony hand, mind flashing back to the dent in the doors she’d seen earlier. A cold chill ran through her, an icy flush that added to the coolness of the fort interior. How strong was that thing? I’ve seen some pretty strong ponies, but I don’t think any of them would have been able to bend that door like that. Not without a spell augmenting them.

Could the Locust be using magic? Or are they just that tough? Though in fairness, the corpse of whatever the thing in the middle of the room had been was much larger than an earth pony.

A dragon could do it. Or maybe a big enough minotaur, once you had pumped enough magic at them.

Neither of which I’d want to face right now.

She checked a few of the bodies, but none of them had any more tags. Which was further evidence that the Cog had won the fight. At least where the mess hall was concerned.

All right, kitchens. The kitchens would be near the food storage, right? The flashlight beam swept back and forth across the ruin, picking up bits of broken glass and scattered cutlery before fixing on a large, waist high desk of sorts with glass over it. It looked just like the serving areas in some of the Guard quarters or the palace cafeteria.

A lot like them. Weird. But only about as weird as everything else that had been similar. Not even as weird as how identical the primary spoken language was.

Part of the serving area had been flattened, likely by the massive thing in the middle of the room, scattering warming trays and leaving exposed wires dangling that thankfully were no longer powered.

They’re lucky this place didn’t catch fire. Or maybe it had. That would account for some of the scorching she was seeing here and there on the walls. Though maybe explosions could have done that as well.

That must be the kitchens. The flashlight beam illuminated a rolling metal door that sported a few dents, some of them deep enough that she doubted the thing would ever roll up again. But there was a normal entryway next to it, the door propped half open by what was left of a chair. It opened with a loud squeak, and she stepped into what was left of a kitchen.

A skittering noise made her sweep the gnasher up. A thin, whip-like tail attached to something small and hairy went scurrying away from the beam.

A rat. A sigh escaped her, her shoulders sagging. That’s the first time I’ve seen a rat in this world. I guess they got eaten by the wretches in Holton? Or she’d just missed them at the estate. Or anywhere.

Creepy, but not dangerous. Unless it was a really aggressive rat.

The kitchen looked largely as she’d expected it to, if abandoned and dusty. There was a whole row of fridges along one side of the wall, and she cracked one at a distance, only to shove it shut as the miasma that rolled out of it was enough to make her eyes water and her stomach churn. Nope. Knives, forks, and other cutlery crunched beneath her boots, grinding against grit and grime as she moved down the row of heavy freezers.

No cupboards, at least not with anything useable left in them. She poked under a few of the food prep stations, but came up empty-handed. Plenty of pots, but I don’t need anything that large.

Come on … They had to have boxed meals somewhere! Sunset ran the beam around the room again, checking each of the walls. There’s got to be some—Aha!

There was a door on the side of the kitchen she’d missed with her first look, though in retrospect it was understandable. It was on the side of the kitchen that showed more damage than the others, right down to a heavy bit of stone rubble from the ceiling—Or was it concrete?—lying pressed against the bottom of said door. A small sign simply read “storage,” but it was her best bet.

And that door opens outward, Sunset thought, eying the hinge placement. So that rubble is going to have to move.

Up close, it was concrete, the breaks rough and jagged. Bits of metal stuck out of it at strange angles, likely from the break. But it was leaning up against the door, balanced on one end. If I can shift it to … the left, it’ll fall clear and I can open the door.

Time for the prybar. And maybe my gloves. She swung her pack from her back, picking through it and pulling both items out. And don’t let that thing fall right. If it did, it would be pressed up against the door and flat. At which point I’ll really have a rough time getting it open. If she could at all.

Gotta do this right, then. Bracing one boot against the wall, Sunset drove the prybar into a gap, metal scraping against both the concrete and the metal surface of the door. She gave it a few back-and-forth wiggles, making certain it was well and truly in place … Then she heaved, pulling and throwing her whole upper body into the motion.

The rubble shifted, grinding against the floor but not quite toppling out of the way. Sunset leaned back, her arms trembling … and with a sudden jerk the concrete began to move. Her elbow slammed against the door, and she let out a yelp as pain shot up her arm. The rubble crashed to the floor, heavy enough that she could feel the vibration through her boots … but toward the hinges, like she’d hoped. There was a sizable scrape and dent in the door, but with luck it would still open.

“Ow.” She rubbed at her elbow as she pushed herself away from the wall, shaking away the feeling of pins and needles that had run down the length of her arm toward her fingertips. “Guess the funny bone is still a thing.” She shook her hand in an effort to drive the tingling away, fingers flapping back and forth.

Still, the bizarre pins and needles sensation in her fingers couldn’t keep a smile from breaking across her face as she examined the results of her handiwork. “Now to see if it was worth it.” She reached out, fingertips still buzzing, and grasped the door’s heavy latch.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t budge. There wasn’t a lock—or rather there was, but it wasn’t engaged—but still the handle held firm. Probably seized after sitting for so long, Sunset thought.

“That’s fine.” With a heavy clunk, she stuck the end of the prybar into the gap between the door and its latch. “I’ve got tools.” A quick jerk prompted a sudden creak, and the latch shifted slightly. With a second, softer jerk it popped outward, the door following a second later. Sunset wrapped her fingers around the lip, holding it in place as she removed the prybar. Then she frowned, letting her hand move back and watching as the door tried to close.

“Well that’s not something I want to have happen while I’m in there.” A quick glance around the kitchen located a large pot within easy reach, and she opened the door further, slipping the pot up against the base. It let out a soft clang as the door swung into it, blocking the way.

Right. Now to see if this was worth it. She traded the prybar for her gnasher once more, the beam strapped to its barrel illuminating the edge of the doorway. She tugged the door the rest of the way open, the light spilling over a long, narrow room lined with shelves.

The shelves closest to her were mostly empty, but starting a few feet back they were filled with large cardboard boxes, sides covered in dust. She swept the beam around the rest of the storage area, but there didn’t appear to be anything else. Just floor to ceiling metal shelving and dust covered cargo.

So what’s in the boxes? She stepped over the lower lip of the door, turning back to make certain that it wasn’t about to push its stopgap out of the way and close on her. Though the gentle glow of her lantern did draw her eyes to a latch on the back side of the door. So I probably wouldn’t be stuck in here.

If there was anything worth gaining in the first place. She brushed a hand across the side of one of the boxes, the thick coating of dust clinging to her gloves like a fuzzy coat as she cleared a path across its side. There’s got to be some writing or something on here … Dust filled the air as she brushed the side several more times, tickling her nostrils. Faint letters appeared, and she rapped the side, kicking more dust into the air.

I should have covered my face, she thought as the itch in her nose grew worse. It quickly became unbearable, and a thunderous sneeze filled the interior of the storage room, blasting out of her with the force of a wonderbolt.

Which only served to stir up more dust, forcing her to sneeze again. And again. And again. She stumbled out of the storage room into the clear air of the kitchen, head snapping back every few seconds as her nostrils attempted to clear themselves. By the time they succeeded her eyes were watering and her vision full of spots. She shook her head, driving some of the disorientation away. A second later a final sneeze burst free of her nostrils, a thunderclap of noise that filled the kitchen and made her sniffles afterwards as she tried to get her nose under control almost quiet by comparison.

“Ugh.” Sunset placed a finger against the side of her nose, blowing the other out to clear what the sneeze hadn’t managed to remove. Something hit the ground with a wet slap. If only the Guard or palace staff could see me now, she thought as she switched sides, blowing again. Blowing snot onto the floor.

“Next time I’m definitely going to have to make a dust mask of some kind.” I should have thought of that before I came in here, but ...

At least she wasn’t hearing any approaching scratching sounds or oddly-paced footsteps. The fort was as dead as the city around it, empty save for her and what little wildlife she’d seen.

She wiped her nose across the back of her arm, clearing the last bit of snot away. Gross. But as dirty as she already was, it wouldn’t matter much. Let’s let the dust in that room settle down and then give it another shot.

And if there was nothing useful in it, then … Well, there’s still the armory. And I’ve only been in here for a few minutes. Plus I planned on spending the day here anyway. Even if this whole fort is a bust I can check somewhere else or look over Starswirl’s books again.

It’s a shame I didn’t grab a book on modern magical theory and its relation to anatomy before I left. That would have made figuring out some of what he’s talking about a bit easier. Mostly as some of what Starswirl proposed had been pure theory that she could check against more modern discovery and examination. And some of it, she was certain, was just plain wrong. Or rather, had been later disproven.

But there’s got to be more to it than that. He was studying ascension, and the books are about that … I think. Why else would they be shelved with other potentially dangerous magics?

So far, they aren’t living up to that.

There had to be a reason. And I’ll find it.

She opened the door to the storage room once more, watching as motes of dust glimmered under the sudden light. Still, it wasn’t enough to make her wrinkle her nose again. She slipped back inside, ready to duck out if pressed.

“Okay, let’s see what these are.” The lettering on the side of the box she’d brushed off was clear now, simple to read.

Even better, it was exactly what she’d been hoping to find. “Individually sealed ready-to-eat meal packets: Omelet Breakfast. One hundred and twenty. Yes!”

She moved over to the next box, grinning as she carefully wiped away the dust over the letters there. “Individually sealed ready-to-eat meal packets,” she read again. “Stroganoff.” Again, the box claimed to hold a hundred and twenty of the meals.

That’s food enough for months. Years. She ran the flashlight down the rows of shelves, counting dozens of boxes. I could live here.

“I can’t,” she said aloud. The Locust would find me. “But I could.”

More importantly, if she could figure out how to pack it, there was enough food in the boxes to easily last her the trip to the Jacinto Plateau. Twice over. Maybe more.

If it’s still good. She set her gnasher down atop one of the empty shelves, its light pointed at the nearest box. Carefully, trying not to disturb the dust, Sunset peeled the tape holding the box closed back, folding it out of the way and then opening the container itself.

Revealing rows of neat little prepackaged food boxes, identical to the ones in her wagon and standing on end like decks of cards. Two deep, she guessed as she counted out the top layer, first in one direction and then another, coming up with a multiplicative value of sixty.

“So that’s a hundred and twenty meals. At three meals a day, that’d be forty days worth of meals. Almost more days than I’ve been on Sera.”

This single box. She turned toward the vast array of other boxes on the shelves. More importantly still, each box was two layers deep on the shelf, or at least this one had been, as was the one next to it.

And different flavors too. There might be some in here that are actually edible! She would dump any of the lasagna she found, however. That deserved to stay behind.

On a whim she pulled one of the meal boxes up, eyeing the stylized gear symbol stamped on the front. Other than the emblem, the box looked identical to the ones she’d been eating from the camping store.

“Well at least something good came from climbing up here,” she said, letting go and then shoving the meal back in line with its siblings. “Two boxes of these, and I should have food for the rest of my trip.” Maybe three boxes if things got slow. I haven’t exactly covered a lot of ground the last few days.

The downside was that even one box was heavy. On the upside of things … I can pick and choose from all the options to make my own boxes. It’s not like anyone else is using this stuff.

Later. She shoved the box away and turned for the door. Right now, there was still one other location in the fort to check, clear on the other side of the building.

The armory.

Unsurprisingly, it had been hit harder than the mess hall. The hallway leading to it was littered with bodies and damage of all kinds, from dangling light fixtures to whole bits of ceiling that had collapsed. The trail continued through the fort, arriving at what looked like a desperate last stand with dozens of barricades and even heavier, mounted weapons that were now twisted and broken. Bodies had been—at least going off of their twisted positions—mutilated and butchered, the bones broken and scattered.

The door to the armory itself, however, was shut tight. It was a massive metal thing, more like the door to a bank vault. And just as secure, with scrapes, scratches, and even blast marks showing where the Locust attackers had tried to get in.

Only to give up, Sunset mused as she came to a stop in front of the massive door. I wonder why? She played the beam of the flashlight back and forth across the heavy-looking metal, eying its old scars. Why stop?

There was a wheel-style handle on one side of the door, clearly part of the mechanism for opening it. Only someone had wedged a massive piece of metal between the spokes of the wheel, effectively locking it.

Why didn’t the Locust just remove that? Sunset wondered as she plied the beam across the door once more. Are they just that unintelligent? Or—?

The answer came in a horrific, stomach-churning flash. Or did they decide to make sure whoever was inside could never get out?

She wrapped her hands around the metal bar and heaved, muscles straining. At first it refused to move, but then with a shift it slipped to one side. She adjusted her grip and heaved again, her muscles burning with the exertion of trying to lift so much weight. With a gentle rasp the bar began to rise, but her arms were already shaking.

She let it drop, the bar rattling slightly and ringing as it hit the ground. I need better leverage. So I can use my legs. Once it was high enough, she could let it fall to the side and it would be caught by the wheel itself. Then she could just drop it on the steps.

Heave! This time the bar moved a lot more readily, rising up into the air until it began to waver from side to side in her grip. She pushed to one side, the bar toppling … And with a loud clang as she let go, it caught itself against the spokes of the wheel, just as she’d hoped. A few hand-over-hand pulls with her tired arms, and the bar dropped to the ground with a ring that made her wish she could fold her ears back.

She stepped on the bar with her boot to help quiet the noise, then turned her attention to the wheel holding the armory door shut. Arrows inscribed on the metal made it clear which direction it needed to be turned in order to open or close it, and she wrapped her tired hands around the outer rim, squeezing down and twisting. At first the wheel held firm, and she put her whole weight into it. With a faint squeak it gave, her body jerking to the side before she compensated and relaxed her arms. Once moving, the wheel turned easily, and Sunset spun it, listening as there was a deep thunk from somewhere inside the door.

She pulled, and slowly the massive heavy door swung outward, bringing with it a dry, musty scent. As heavy as it was, it moved smoothly, swinging on massive but apparently well-cared for hinges. She backed up with it, not wanting to risk the door being even somewhat closed behind her. Not when it was so heavy.

Only when the door was almost at a ninety-degree angle did she stop pulling, letting it swing just a little bit further until it had run out of momentum. Thankfully, it didn’t seem inclined to swing back the way it had come, staying in place even when she gave it a slight push.

Good enough. She stepped around the edge, a musty, familiar scent entering her nostrils. She knew what it was even before the beam of her flashlight played over familiar armor and mummified figures.

Dead cogs. Starved maybe. Or run out of air or water. There were six of them, three of which were laid in repose, their mummified arms little more than dry sticks crossed across their chests. The other three were in various positions around the room, slumped in chairs or up against the walls.

They weren’t guarding anything, Sunset noted as she took in the most bare racks and walls. This must have been where they were pushed to.

And then the Locust sealed them inside.

A stack of cog tags sat atop a lone table, holding down several pieces of paper covered in writing. She stepped past the body closest to the door, noting the pistol still clutched in its dried fingers as she did so. Carefully, she slid the cog tags aside and looked at the first slip of paper. It was stiff and yellowed, but the writing was still legible.

Amy. If you’re still alive—

She pulled her eyes away, brushing the paper aside and looking at the next one.

Mom— The next.

Sofia—

She pressed her palm down over the stack of messages, blocking her eyes from reading any of the remaining text and closing her eyes. I don’t want to read these. It felt … wrong.

She opened her eyes again and gathered their tags, slipping them into her pocket, refusing to let her eyes slip to the pages again. If anyone asks …

Who am I kidding? With the state of everything, no one will.

The rest of the armory told the story itself. Scratch marks on the walls, both as markers for how many days they’d been inside the armory, and around some vents where they’d tried to find a way out. A pile of trash and empty meal boxes. A closed ammo case next to it that she almost reached for, only to realize it was likely another kind of waste.

Twelve days, she thought, counting the marks. They lasted twelve days.

What must that have been like? A shiver ran through her as she imagined sitting inside the armory, slowly waiting for the end to come.

Nope. Not thinking further on that.

She turned her attention to the mostly empty racks. She wasn’t actually sure what she was looking for. Certainly nothing specific. Even with the practice shots she’d taken with her lancer—which had jerked so hard it had almost hurt—she still had plenty of ammunition left over. She’d hardly used more than a few magazines. Likewise she still had plenty of ammunition for the gnasher left.

But what else could be in an armory? That had been the real question.

She played the light over the various racks. Most of them were empty. A few held weapons both familiar and unfamiliar, though in low numbers. One had a massive sight on it that reminded her of her binoculars. A sniper’s weapon, perhaps.

She moved to the next row, and her eyes fell upon something she’d not encountered yet. Not hanging in racks.

Armor. Several pieces of it. Resting in silent anticipation.

It wasn’t hard to see why it was still there, nor the pieces next to it. From the lettering stenciled beneath it in black text on bare metal it was a smaller size than the empty racks nearby.

Small enough to fit … me?

It did look like it. She set the gnasher aside and then reached out, lifting the chest piece from the hooks it was hanging on. It actually let out a click as it came free, as if it had disconnected from something. It was surprisingly lighter than it looked, though it was still quite heavy. I’d definitely feel it if I wore it all day.

But it was armor. It would be better than wearing nothing but cloth or her leather jacket. The inside was padded, the material giving somewhat as she poked it and then molding around her finger. She lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Well that’s interesting.” Certainly something the Guard in Canterlot would have liked to get their hooves on.

The openings looked to be the right size for her. The base certainly did, and the shoulders looked about the right width. I guess I’m lucky I’m small? She didn’t feel small, but apparently she was. And there were straps for adjustment, all of which were currently extended to their full length.

It was just a chest piece. There was no helmet, or even some of the shoulder armor that the other soldiers had. Maybe it attaches? Instead, it would be almost like wearing a vest.

And she was going to try it on. She set the armor down, noting that it held its shape standing, and shucked her backpack from her shoulders. That she set next to the gnasher before picking up the armor once more, eyeing the twin “circles” on the front and wondering what their purpose was before spinning the unit around and lifting it up over her head.

It took a bit of work to get her arms through first, the lower half the armor surprisingly snug as it passed by her shoulders, but then with a sudden drop the piece fell into place, the shift in weight almost staggering her back.

“Heavy,” she said aloud, twisting and feeling the armor shift and slide on her shoulders. Worse, it was almost uncomfortably pressed up against her front. Stupid teats. There was no way it was supposed to be sliding around, however, so she began cinching down straps, tightening the armor around her.

It took a minute or two to get it right, as clearly there was an order to it and her first few tries ended up with the armor feeling lopsided or off balance. But after a few false starts, she managed to figure out the proper order to tighten the armor down in—bottom, top, middle, rest of top—and once she did, the weight settled quite a bit more evenly across her whole torso.

“Huh.” She hopped up and down a few times on the balls of her feet. “It’s heavy … but not as bad as I’d expected. Definitely weighty, though.” And if I added more armor, it’d be even heavier. “And sturdy,” she noted, rapping her knuckles against the material.

But as dangerous as this world is … A brief memory of the flare of pain she’d felt across her back as the wretch in Holton had clawed her bubbled to the surface of her thoughts, and she shivered. I’ll get used to it. The rest of the armor … She eyed the other pieces sitting in the racks. I can try them. But if nothing else, I should keep this.

It was a bit awkward to fit the pack back over the armor until she let some length out in the straps, but it did fall into place. The added weight was even more on her shoulders … but at least for a short time it would be okay. Maybe she’d even get used to it.

She glanced at the mummified remains once more as she left the armory, a shiver running down her back. Some of the armor looked perfectly usable, but there wasn’t a chance she was going to touch it.

Corpses and a few jumps aside, her expedition to the fort had been a success. Time to get the wagons and load them up!

* * *

Day Forty - Fort Bendal

Found a bunch of food in the fort. Some armor too.

Took the day off after loading it all. Did some reading and got some shooting practice in, since the fort had a range for it.

I’ve got a long ways to go, but at least I can hit targets. As long as I only fire a shot or two. The lancer kicks like an earth pony trying to win one of those challenges at a fair.

At least the armor helps with that. Not because it makes my arms stronger. But because it gives the back end of the weapon something to hit that isn’t my shoulder.

Still, it’s got better range than the gnasher. I took some shots with that too, and it’s a bit easier to hit with. The spread helps with that. It’s easier to hit something when what you shoot sprays an area.

It comes with a trade-off though. I took some shots at a tree to compare the impact. The gnasher has the spread, but it’s sort of like spreading the weight out over a larger area: Easier to hit, but less overall impact unless you hit with a lot. Which means being close.

The lancer isn’t as easy to hit with, especially after the first shot, but that shot does incredible damage. I’ve compared the ammunition they both shoot, and while the pellets the gnasher fires are pretty sizeable, the bullets used by the lancer are as large as one of my fingers.

In other words: harder to hit, but more of an impact at range.

Now if I could actually hit something, but that’s what practice is for.

Starswirl’s theorems and notes on unicorns are giving me a headache. I’m going to study his book on earth pony magic tonight.

Addendum: Okay, I know the three were divided back then, but so much of this is just junk. Did Starswirl even talk to an earth pony? Clearly not.

* * *

Day Forty-three - Red Forest (Again, actually named that)

I’m getting better at hitting targets. Plenty of trees to shoot at here, and I haven’t attracted any unwanted attention yet.

I almost wish I would. Today I caught myself explaining Starswirl’s theorems to my hatchet. I like my hatchet. But it can’t talk back.

It would be nice if it would. I want to hear someone. Anyone.

Not a Locust. But anyone else.

There’s been a question on my mind the last few days, too. Ever since I left Bendal. I keep finding evidence that there were other people living out here. Outside of Bendal it was a fortified hotel I found along the road. Gardens, towers, the works.

All of it was abandoned when I found it. More emergence hole craters nearby.

The question is then: How long did they last? Clearly they were surviving like I am. But eventually the Locust came for them.

Every time I’ve stopped, the Locust have shown up as well. Is that what it’s like for everyone out here? Evidence so far would suggest yes. Which might also mean I’m the only one left out here, as aggressive as the Locust seem.

I wish I wasn’t.

I’m getting closer to Jacinto, though I’m still a long way off, but it’s closer than ever. I’m almost halfway there now, I think. Almost.

I think this forest is called the Red Forest because of the soil. There are a few pictures in the atlas, and it looks like I’m moving from a forested area to a drier, hotter climate.

I’m glad I grabbed those extra water jugs. The pictures show a lot of windswept rock and an environment that looks a lot like the edge of the Badlands. I don’t think it’s quite that, maybe more like the rocks of the San Palomino, or maybe some of the desert around Appleloosa, but I’m going to want to watch my water carefully.

It’s going to be a few-hundred miles to cross it. But once I do, I reach the reason there’s a desert there at all: The Hospar Mountains.

They’re massive, huge, and rocky. There are paths through them, but I’m guessing it won’t be easy. But they’re the last major obstacle between me and the Jacinto Plateau.

I’ve come so far, but I still have a long way to go. I wish I weren’t making this journey alone.

Sometimes I even miss her. She doesn’t deserve that, but I do anyway.

I shouldn’t.

Starswirl really should have at least talked with an earth pony before coming up with such ridiculous theories. No wonder his work fell off in his older years if this was the kind of weirdness he was working on. I thought these books were going to talk about ascension, or have stuff like his mirror spell or even something more advanced and powerful in them. Instead he’s talking about how earth pony hooves might be different from unicorn hooves?

Come on, Starswirl. I’m going to read about Sera tonight instead.

* * *

Day Forty-five - Red Forest

This forest is massive. And there’s actually wildlife.

None of it is friendly. I miss those weird horses.

* * *

Day Forty-nine - Edge of the forest

I’m calling it the edge. The forest has been thinning out and the trees are getting sparser. The land is opening up.

It’s hotter and drier too. The wind is getting dusty. I found a pair of goggles in a small tourist stop shop earlier today, and I took them, along with a dust scarf. They had some other stuff, but that looked the most useful.

Oh, and a map. Like the Holton map, but it’s of the desert, and it shows a bunch of common water locations. Given that I’m going to be following the road, it shouldn’t be that much of a problem, but just in case I have to take a detour, I’ll have it.

I’m camping tonight in an old diner called “Major Burger.” The sign still works, and almost gave me a heart attack when it lit up at sunset. Found the controls in the back and almost turned it off, but if it does this every night, turning it off might be suspicious. I’ll just sleep somewhere the glow doesn’t bother me.

The air feels drier. I’ve probably got another fifty or so miles to go before I’m in the desert proper, but the terrain has been in my favor.

* * *

Day Fifty-one - Esperanza Desert

Made good time today. Glad I didn’t follow the larger highway. I saw it on the horizon, with a big chunk taken out of it. This road might be dirty and cracked, but it’s on the ground and solid.

Almost stepped on a snake earlier today. Given how deadly everything else here is, I think I was justified in shooting it. Especially once it started chasing me.

Addendum: Shot another snake that was trying to approach my camp. A warning on the map says that I need to make noise, like a bell, to drive them away. It’s not great, but the warning says they’re deadly so … Great. Managed to make some wind chimes. I hope that works.

* * *

Day fifty-two - Same

Didn’t sleep well last night. Kept worrying about snakes. The chimes seemed to work though. Weird. I wonder why?

Road was downhill today. Made good time. In another Major Burger (I guess they really liked these things).

* * *

Day fifty-four - Same

I’m writing this after dark because I didn’t see the lights until after dark. But I see them now. There are lights.

I sound like an idiot.

Atlas and the map both say it’s an imulsion refinery. There could be people there. Why would the lights be on otherwise? I’m going to get closer tomorrow and see.

* * *

Day fifty-five - Still the desert

It was Locust. Locust were running the refinery. I managed to get away without them seeing me, but I’m not stopping tonight. I want distance between us in case they send out any patrols.

At least the land isn’t flat here. As much as the road winds between all this rolling rock, they’re not going to see me unless they’re right on top of me.

Same goes the other way.

* * *

Day fifty-seven - Desert

Still alive. Water’s getting low. I’ll have to stop soon and gather some more. There’s a stop on the road coming up soon, a small town called Derelict. Again, that’s the name.

I’d say it’s ridiculous, but we have Ponyville.

Anyway, small town at a road junction. A few hundred people around a water source. I hope the wells are still good.

* * *

Day fifty-eight - Derelict

I see why this place was named this. It really is the middle of nowhere.

Storm on the horizon. Huge wall of sand. Glad I made it to shelter. Going to wait it out.

* * *

Day fifty-nine - Derelict

Storm’s passed. I hope I don’t get caught in one of those. Sandstorm, to be more precise.

Found a well. Took some priming, which did make me worry since I had to sacrifice some of my remaining water, but the pump started working. There’s even a windmill so I don’t have to pump it myself if I don’t want to. I’m going slowly, filling a sacrificial jug and then filtering it into a normal one. It’s slow work, but it gives me plenty of time to read.

Starswirl’s books continue to puzzle me. I’ve moved to the one on pegasi now, and it is just as inaccurate as the one on earth ponies.

I mean, it gets some stuff right. The magic theory is decent, and close to the reality. But had he ever met a pegasus? I know he had to have—he was Princess Platinum’s personal advisor for a while. Had a tower in Unicropolis and everything. She spoke with the pegasus commanders. So then what is all this junk I’m finding? Pegasus magic is weakened by contact with the ground? It’s called being grounded, Starswirl, and that’s not true at all! And this bit about pegasi needing to copulate during a thunderstorm in order to “spark” their magic or giving birth to an earth pony is just ...

It’s so bad I wonder if it was deliberate. There’s bits of genius buried in there, but it’s buried. Maybe this is why the books were considered hazardous? Not because of what he was attempting to do—which I’m still not sure of, no apocalyptic spells here, nor does any of this seem to have much to do with alicorns—but because Starswirl was a bit of a bigot and most ponies forget that part?

But there are plenty of other records from small-minded ponies that are still out in the open. What makes these books special?

Starswirl was supposed to be smart. Surely he wasn’t this dense. Why was he wasting time on—?

Hmmm. I have an idea. Just an idea. I’ll need to get deeper in, though. And it’d be easier to check if I had access to Princess Platinum’s diaries. The parts about other ponies, not the other bits.

At least the seran books are interesting. I finished the book of essays on magic earlier today. Confirms my theory that if there is magic here, modern Sera doesn’t recognize it.

Which begs the question of why? I can feel magic inside of me. I’m not using it, but it’s not going away either. Clearly there’s something magical, or the portal wouldn’t have worked. But even digging through the essays, a number of the “wizards” didn’t even count themselves as such. It was an act.

Can they just not use it? Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to do here? Bring them magic? But if that’s the case, why can’t I use it? How can I bring something I can’t use? I can’t even tell what kind of magic it is, though that’s splitting tail-hairs pretty closely. We’ve got types of magic in Equestria, but it’s a science there.

That, and I’m not sure they need magic here. They have weapons orbiting the planet that can burn the surface to ash. Before the end of the Pendulum Wars, the Union of Independent Republics was working to send people to their moons. To walk on them. They did send people into space alongside their own satellites.

We’re a century at best from being able to do that in Equestria. If that. I’m pretty sure most ponies haven’t even ever considered it.

Oh, and those winged serans? It’s artistic and symbolic, I think. Related to their worship of the Creator. Or their Creator? That’s a question I’m not thinking too deeply on. I’ll just get a headache.

I’m here. Whatever happens, happens. I’m going to make the most of it.

It’d be nice to have an idea of what she was keeping me from.

Wind’s picking up, and I can see clouds on the horizon. If it’s a storm, I’m going to take shelter in one of the big trucks that was left here.

Addendum: Wild thunderstorms are terrifying.

* * *

Day Sixty-three - Desert.

Stopping at a vehicle rest station to rest up and drink some water. My skin is grimy and dry, and there’s dust everywhere. The wind just will not stop. I’m finding dust and sand everywhere. If I don’t eat in shelter it gets into my food. Why would anyone live out here?

I’m making good time at least. The land for the last day or two has been pretty flat, though still somewhat up and down.

Gets nice when I’m at the top of a hill though. I can sit on the lead wagon and ride until the ground levels out.

I think I’m getting used to the armor. Might be because I’m getting fitter. I’m pretty sure I’m more muscular than when I arrived.

Going to finish eating and then keep pushing on. Hopefully this wind lets up.

* * *

Dat Sixty-four - Desert

Made a sail from one of the tarps. Worked pretty well. A lot easier than walking.

* * *

Day Sixty-seven - Desert

I wish I had someone to talk to. I’m so lonely. This morning I felt happy when a lizard ran over my boot, because it was at least something.

I can see some foothills now. They’re a smear on the horizon, but they’re definitely the precursors to the Hospar Mountains.

My map says there’s another Major Burger ahead (seriously, the people here must have loved these) so if I can reach it by tonight I’ll make camp there.

Addendum: BIG spiderwebs all over it. Heard a creepy sound. Gnasher or not no way I’m sleeping there. Moved on.

* * *

Day Sixty-nine - East of the Hospar Range

These mountains are massive. Titanic. Not as tall as Mount Canter, but easily wider. More squat.

Heh. Kind of like the horses.

Anyway, I’m at another truck stop. I’m tired, I’m sore, and I’m dusty. But this place was abandoned with a full cistern.

Can I say “hot shower?” I could, but I’d have no one to say it to but myself. So I’ll write it.

I’m going to sleep in tomorrow. Shower tonight, wash my clothes, sleep for tomorrow. I’ve earned it.

I’ve looked at the math. In the last few weeks, almost sixty days, I’ve traveled almost eight hundred miles. About fourteen miles or day, give or take a little. Except I wasn’t going anywhere a few of those days. So it’s probably more like fifteen or sixteen miles a day.

Being able to ride or use the wind the last few days really helped. I’m still a long way from the plateau, with a whole mountain range to cross, but I’ve never been closer.

Tonight I’ll rest and look over the atlas. See if I can’t find the best, safest, quickest route across.

It’s going to have to be safe. If there are still people on the other side of these mountains … then there are probably Locust too. I’m going to need to be careful.

Oh, I discovered by accident that I can “attach” my lancer or my gnasher to the back of my armor. Did it by mistake and got stuck to the side of the wagons while I was eating lunch. I’m sick of being alone, but I’m kind of glad no one saw me struggling to figure that out. It must have looked humiliating.

Tomorrow I enter the foothills.

I’m close. Just a little further.

Author's Note

Desperation

Chapter 22 - Desperation

“Whew!” Sunset let out a sigh as she crested the most recent ridge, her legs burning with exertion. Behind her the wagons began to slide back, and she caught them with a jerk, letting out a second sigh as she took a few more steps forward atop the rise. “These hills! My legs are never going to feel right again!” That they feel “right” at all is a little weird.

The foothills of the Hospar Range were, she had decided, much worse than the small mountain Beldan had been built on. There it had been the highest point for miles in all directions.

Here, Beldan would just be another hill. The wagons rolled to a stop, no longer keen to heed the siren’s call of gravity.

She sat down on the lead wagon, letting her legs rest as the burn slowly seeped out. Ahead of her the road shifted into a gentle—and then steep downhill, winding back and forth for what looked like miles until it merged with a small town her map had labeled “Segulli.”

It wasn’t really a town. From what she could see, it was easily a small city at the minimum, big enough that it had covered the nearby foothills, sharp changes in elevation dividing it into several districts. Multiple roads crawled out of it toward the west like creeping fingers, extending all the way up to the foot of the Hospar mountains themselves.

Bare mountains. What had looked like an ugly brown smudge on the horizon had grown clearer and clearer as she’d neared the mountains themselves, until she’d finally taken a closer look with her binoculars and discovered that what she’d taken for strange shadows were instead massive black scars across the their faces.

Hammer strikes. Of the same power level that had wiped out Tanover. Or even larger. Whole peaks had been laid low, the land grey and brackish, sick, dead, or dying all the way down to the foothills.

She could only think of one reason why the mountains had been hit so hard: Locust. They had probably been striking from beneath the mountains, and the Cog had attempted to burn them out.

It was as good a guess as she had.

The burn in her legs had faded, but she didn’t feel like getting up. If there were Locust under those mountains, are they still there?

Should I even be going into Segulli?

Worse, the sun had dropped below the peak of the mountains. While it would grow darker still once it finally set, the long shadow cast by the range had already encompassed the entirety of the city.

It was dark down below, and only going to get darker. Plus, there could be Locust in the city. According to the atlas there was an imulsion field nearby which pumped the valuable fluid to a refinery to the north, and from there to the city itself. And she’d seen Locust at the refinery in the desert. So they consider it valuable. Unless …

She shifted her focus to the north and pulled her binoculars from her bag. Almost as she’d expected, the location of the refinery was a blackened crater. Another hammer strike, then. Denying the Locust assets for their war.

This train of thought is pointless, she thought, lowering the glasses. I have to go down there anyway, even if it’s just to skirt around the edge of the city and find the best way across the mountains. So sitting here is just—

There was something moving in the sky, a cluster of distant specs rising above the mountain. She snapped the binoculars up, trying to fix on the distant figures. They were tiny and blurred, but she was still able to make enough detail out to make a solid guess. Her blood turned to ice.

Those flying things.

She needed to get off the road. She stuffed the binoculars back into her pack, rising— But the faint dots seemed to be getting smaller, not larger.

Still she moved to the edge of the road, spotting more of the dots as she went. They seemed to be rising out of the mountain, but like the other dots, didn’t appear to be heading her way. There were, however, a lot of them.

What’s going on? Maybe there was a fight. A good sign for her if so. Something that could pull Locust attention elsewhere.

Unless that puts any remaining Locust on high alert. She pulled the binoculars back out, once again taking a look at the distant mountains. The flying things were definitely flying over them, but there was something else too.

A haze in the sky. At first she’d taken it for clouds, but it didn’t look like clouds. It was too low, for one. And it was darker, almost like ink splashed across a page.

Definitely lower. She could see the substance sliding over one of the distant mountaintops like a cloud. Some kind of alien weather she’d not experienced before? Or something else? Whatever it was, maybe the shadow of the setting sun wasn’t quite what she’d thought it was after all.

If it is a storm of some kind, some sort of weird low-lying clouds making it darker than it should be, then that means it’s going to be a real hammer of a storm, right? She turned her gaze back toward Segulli. I need to get moving then. If it’s going to really come down, I’ll want cover from it.

And if there are Locust in the city … she thought as she sat down atop the lead wagon, ready to let gravity carry her down the next hill. Then I’ll just have to find shelter somewhere else.

The wagons began rolling, picking up speed until Sunset used her “brake”—a small stick with a bit of rubber at one end she could angle against the tire—to slow things down, keeping the downhill ride from becoming too out of control. Even so the wind whipped at her mane, flipping it about her shoulders and face. If not for the dirt and sweat weighing it down, it probably would have been more of an annoyance than it was.

She was halfway down the hill when it occurred to her that if there was a radio transmitter inside Segulli—I might be able to contact the Cog!

One more reason to get as close into the city as I can. She braked again as the downward path went into a long, lazy turn. Down was down as long as she got there safely. But where would I find one?

The city was pretty spread out. Maybe a centralized radio station like the one in Holton? But a smaller one might work if there were repeaters, or even if its range were long enough.

But this is a city. The estate had a reason to need that radio equipment. Plenty of people in the city could use a receiver, but not a transmitter.

So where would I most likely find a transmitter? Jobs that could use a transmitter? There aren’t any farms here. Not that I can see anyway. The road leveled out before wending upwards once more, the speed of her little convoy bleeding away with each passing second.

But what jobs would benefit from having such communication? That felt like the proper question. Equestria didn’t have anything like the Cog radio technology, but there were definitely jobs that she could see benefitting from it.

Airships. The wagons slowed to a near stop and Sunset hopped off, grabbing the lead handle in one hand before the whole train could start heading back the other way. Airships would definitely benefit from radio communication. Both from the ground, and with one another. Currently the massive machines just used flags, or for some of the newer models blinking lights. Or if they were really old or had a particularly complicated message, a pegasus pony whose job was to fly the missive ahead or to a specific aircraft.

But the serans don’t have airships. Not that I’ve seen, anyway. There definitely isn’t an airfield dock anywhere that I noticed in Segullil. So that’s out.

But what else would fit? Transportation is an area where radios like what I’ve seen would be extremely useful across Equestria. Imagine being able to summon a coach or a cart when needed, and having them come right to you, instead of setting it up in advance, using some complicated spellwork that’s usually yes or no, or a flag station.

Carriages. Personal transport? She kicked a rock in her path across the road, skipping and clicking into the brush. They do have the really large vehicles I’ve seen, the ones that are like a train car on the road, with lots of seats? But they probably ran those on a schedule, like the trains. That would make the most sense.

But something small, like a taxi-carriage … Would it make sense for them to have a transmitter?

She turned her gaze skyward. There was definitely something weird going on above the mountains. It almost looked like some sort of smoke. Were the hammer strikes more recent? And if so, how did I not hear or see any of them? She reached the top of another rise, Segulli and the bottoms of the nearest mountains coming into view once more, and was again struck by the observation that there was something on the far side of the mountains in the air.

The sun was even getting darker, the shadow noticeably deeper. Sunset checked her watch. A full hour earlier than yesterday’s final sunset.

There was no way around it. Something strange was going on.

Nothing I can do about it now. She sat down atop the lead wagon, letting gravity carry her down once again. As she whizzed down the road she passed a driveway leading to a small cabin. More signs that she was nearing the edge of the city. Maybe in another hill I’ll be on the edge.

Contacting the Cog, though … Maybe a flare? No. She shook her head, pumping her brake and slowing the wagons slightly. Not with the mountains here. They’d have to be able to see it. No, I need a radio.

Could I just make one? The sudden thought almost made her laugh. You read a single breakdown of how radio worked. Doubtful.

But maybe. There were junior kits in Equestria that helped young ponies make miniature boilers and toy trains. Why not sell something similar here?

There are wavelengths, I remember that much. Too many signals means that they overlap one another. So if you were going to provide such a thing to children, you’d want it to be short-range or on a wavelength that wasn’t going to be shared, right?

Besides, I have enough trouble finding food. I’d have to find a store that sold such devices, then build one. All delaying my journey.

No then. Again the wagon reached the bottom of a hill. There were more houses around her now, scattered but growing thicker by the second. Did it count as Segulli? Or was it just still the outskirts?

Transport. Her thoughts circled back. No airships. But they have large ground trucks. Really large ground trucks. Trucks so large she’d taken shelter inside one along her journey and found an actual bed tucked behind the cockpit.

And I didn’t even think to look if it had a radio! She slowed for a second, wiping sweat away from her forehead and following up with sip of water from her canteen. She was familiar enough now with the weight of the wagons that she simply leaned against their pull while she stood there, letting the angle do some of the work.

As always, the water was lukewarm but tasted clear. She was careful not to gulp it, settling for smaller sips that wouldn’t hit her stomach with as much force and spreading the momentary cleansing feeling that came with drink over a longer period. Getting the wagons moving again was a bit of a trial, but nothing she wasn’t used to.

It was definitely getting darker, too. She stared up at the strange clouds beyond the mountains. Do the Locust have some form of weather control? But then what she was seeing still didn’t look like a cloud. It was more like thick smoke, or—

Ink … Again the comparison to spilt ink on a page came to mind, swept across the sky by some unseen brush.

Creepy. Maybe it was something the Locust could do. Maybe not. Either way, she needed to keep moving.

She was definitely passing into Segulli now, though she hadn’t seen an obvious wall or sign yet. But the top of the rise she was following met with an intersection, smaller roads breaking off to either direction in service to more nearby homes. Past that, following the path forward, she could see the beginnings of what looked like regular, if winding, streets and even a park and plaza combination.

All of it wrecked, scarred by cratered ground and burned buildings, something so common it would have been stranger for her to see it untouched. But it looked heavier than she’d expected. In fact … She pulled her binoculars out once more and passed them over some of the buildings at the base of the hill.

Destruction leapt into close relief. This place got hit hard, Sunset thought, picking her gaze over several now-familiar Cog defensive checkpoints. A long time ago, but there was definitely some major fighting here. At least six Cog military vehicles jumped out at her eyes, all of them long abandoned and in some state of disrepair and damage.

Those might have a way to communicate. Excitement bubbled within her, but it was followed a second later by crushing reality. If they still had anything that worked.

The Cog made things tough, though. She could see tents set up in a parking lot behind metal walls. A central location for command to have taken place maybe. Unlike Holton, Segulli didn’t seem to have many of the creeping vines that had been so prevalent back across the desert. Maybe they’re regional.

She flagged the command tent as a location to check. If there’s a radio, that’d be where it would serve best. And it does have a small tower behind it. And bodies. There were plenty of those.

They wouldn’t mind. They died protecting people. I’m not native, but I’m a person. They’d probably be glad to know that something in there might help me.

She picked out twin paths to the tent with her binoculars, committing both possible routes to memory, then stowed her gear and began moving forward once more.

The going was slower this time. This hill she was descending showed signs of combat, the ground cracked with craters and pockmarks. No emergence holes, but she wound her way back and forth all the same avoiding damage. At the bottom of the hill an intersection loomed, partially blocked by what almost appeared to be a deliberate barricade of cars. Something had smashed them from above, crushing a path through the obstruction.

I hope whatever did that isn’t still around, Sunset thought as she brought the wagons to a halt. One of the crushed indents was almost wider than she was tall. A corpser, maybe? But the impact looked spread out rather than pointed. It had to be big.

Moving around the barricade, she found her eyes drawn to the nearby homes. Signs of battle were everywhere across them, from bullet holes to weapons mounted and fixed on the walls of heavy stone porches.

A running retreat? It made sense. If the city was one of the entrances to the mountain passes, then a number of people looking to flee to the plateau would have needed to pass through it. And the Locust would have known that as well.

A hand hung over the edge of one of the stone bulwarks, little more than an armored glove filled with bone. She could see other bodies strewn along the walls of the barricade, or down the street.

It wasn’t hard to put together what had happened. Not when the old scars of emergence holes were clearly present and some of the twisted remains of mounted weapons had been turned to face them before being wrecked by successive gunfire.

What kind of explosion must that shield have taken to bend like that? she wondered, eyeing a thick metal over one of the guns, now bent back to the point it had pinned someone’s arm. The figure was still slumped against the scarred metal, helmet rolled to one side.

She didn’t want to get a better look. Instead she pressed on, following the path she’d traced out through the city. It wasn’t easy going. The wagon train’s large tires made it easier than it would have otherwise been, but much of her course was still uphill, making every bump or bit of rubble she rolled the train over a test.

It didn’t help that much of the city was in complete disrepair. Whole buildings had been leveled, little more than piles of beams and brick. Others had collapsed from the inside, leaving the walls standing with empty windows, sentinels watching over what had been lost. Like Holton, she noted. Just … Worse.

The first path to the command tent was blocked, intentionally or by accident Sunset couldn’t say. One of the larger trucks, the kind that pulled a massive trailer behind it, had flipped on its side, taking the trailer with it crosswise across an entire street. Buildings on either side had given way, crushing any hope of simply sneaking past opposing ends.

Backtracking, she followed the mental map she’d laid out for her other route, hoping that it wasn’t cut off as well. If it is I’ll have to guess, and who knows how long that will take? Especially as the command tent had been in a good, high location for looking over the nearby blocks. Without a map I’ll be guessing in the dark and stop thinking about it Sunset you need to focus!

She passed another checkpoint, this one scarred by lines and trenches that seemed to have been carved by the bit of some mighty drill poking out of the sky. She’d seen similar wounds before, but it was the first time she’d been forced to step over them. The gashes were wide enough to swallow the tires of her wagons, making them one more obstacle she had to pull them through.

What kind of weapon does that? Was it Cog? Some form of directed strike from … She paused, taking a quick look around and then crouching to check the shallow wound. It didn’t appear to have much of an angle to it, like … The carving was done straight from above? Some sort of aerial weapon maybe?

Or could it have been Locust? They have scary spider things that dig, wretches, and all other sorts of other nasty things like those flying things. Could they have something like a giant worm?

Not sure what it would be doing eating pavement in paths like this, but I guess it’s possible. She rose again, took a step—

And froze as a faint sound echoed back at her from the city. A faint clicking noise, distorted and slightly warped by what was probably distance and bouncing off of a dozen or more ruined walls, but still definitely something. It faded, and Sunset strained, listening further.

Nothing. Maybe it was just a bit of rubble settling. Still, she reached back and drew the gnasher from its sheath, resting her thumb against the safety. Just in case.

After all, if something else could make a rattle she could hear, then it could likely hear the racket her wagon train was making.

Come on … Step by step her destination neared, and she passed by a third checkpoint with a mounting sense of anticipation. So close! Just one more turn and—

She rounded the corner almost at a jog, attempting to stop but instead getting shoved forward by the wagons at her back. “Yes!” She bit back the cry as soon as it left her lips, but still it echoed back at her from the nearby ruins.

She didn’t care. Ahead of her was a large open plaza, walled and clearly some sort of memorial. Or at least, it had been before the Cog had set up tents and heavy barricades. Now it was a miniature fortress. A fallen one, but a fortress all the same.

The front “gate” was wide open, or rather had been battered open, slammed aside by some massive force. The same force, she guessed, that had crushed a military vehicle parked just inside the gate. The tents had been shredded by gunfire—or maybe just time—but they were still standing.

I wonder if anyone made it out? There was a largely clear space on the other side of the plaza, one where she could see something had flattened everything to make a space. Maybe they’d flown out? She stepped past bodies, heading into the plaza, her eyes fixed on the tent at the little fort’s center.

Well, that does look like an antenna, Sunset thought as she spotted a familiar if small assembly on the back of the tent. Just what’s left of one, anyway. The top had clearly been snapped off. And inside?

She let the barrel of the gnasher lead, peeling back a bit of tent cloth and getting a look at the inside of the tent. It had definitely been a command post: The interior was full of desks and even a few scattered chairs, all arrayed around a single large table with what looked like a blood-stained map of the city pinned atop it. Disconnecting herself from the wagons, she stepped in, her boot nudging against the skeletal remains of another body.

The light was too dim to make out much else, and she fiddled for a moment before activating the beam of her flashlight. That’s a map of Segulli all right, she thought as she glanced down at the table. The map glinted under the light, coated in plastic, which was probably the only reason it was still around. Faint colored lines and markings had been drawn over the plastic, most of it faded, but some still legible enough that she could make out arrows and boxes drawn atop streets.

Battle plans.

There was blood on the map as well, a dull, rust colored splash. From the remains she’d passed at the entrance?

But what about that radio? She pulled her gaze away from the map, pointing the flashlight further back into the tent. Light glinted off of glass dials, and her heart jumped.

That’s it! That has to be! A whole array of heavy equipment, boxed in stern-looking metal, had been set up at the rear of the tent. She could see dials, headphones of some kind, what looked like a keyboard, and even glass screens that had to be readouts.

Like the radio at the estate. Just more modern.

She rushed to the rear, map forgotten, playing the light over the dials and buttons and reading the blocky text beneath each of them. Relax. She was breathing hard and fast, her body almost tingling with excitement. You don’t even know if it works.

Power. The dials were dark.

Cog build things to last. There has to be a way to get power to these things. It was awkward poking the gnasher around the back and sides of the equipment, but it was the light she had. Wires poked out of the rear of the units, plugging into other boxes or heading out the underside of the tent.

The generator at the estate was outside of the house. Maybe it’s the same here? She tapped the back of the tent, the old fabric snapping under her rapid hits, but didn’t find any obvious exit. The wires just passed beneath it, like convicts digging their way out of a work camp.

Fine. She backtracked, ducking out of the tent and circling the outside wall. Spent shell casings scattered under her boots, skipping across the dirty plaza bricks. Outside the light from her flashlight they were black dots, like skittering bugs fleeing her approach.

This darkness is definitely not normal. She risked a glance up at the mountains. The miasma cloaking them had grown thicker still.

It sent a shiver down her spine. If it’s the Locust—and why wouldn’t it be—then what’s the objective? Could they control the weather with it? Or was it because they could see better in the darker light?

The last one made sense, but … If that’s the case, why not just wait until nightfall?

Because there was something going on that couldn’t wait until nightfall? She wrapped the flashlight beam around the back of the tent, shadows crawling across the ground as it silhouetted a large metal object similar to the one she’d seen at the estate.

Okay, I was right, she thought, enjoying the brief feeling of satisfaction. But … She plied the beam around the nearby ground, sweeping it back and forth. There’s no fuel tank.

Maybe it’s internal? She stepped up to the machine, intending to check … But then the beam illuminated a cut hose at the generator’s side, and she frowned.

Well that’s not a good sign. Maybe the Cog had taken the fuel with them. Or more likely the Locust had scavenged it for their own use. Third option: another scavenger like me.

But the Cog never do anything halfway. She ran the flashlight along the long side of the generator once more, pausing at any faint sign of text to see what it said.

Eme— Hang on. She brought one hand up, wiping years of grime and dust off away from a bit of the metal. It bent and flexed under her palm. Some sort of hatch?

Emergency power system? She pressed the center of the metal again, watching it flex and tracking outward to find the edges where it wasn’t moving. Her searching eyes caught a faint small latch inside a depression, and she shoved her thumb into it, first pulling, then pushing.

It gave with a faint click, the panel popping outward. She swung it to the side, wincing slightly as it smacked against the side of the generator with a loud clang that echoed across the plaza. Somewhere nearby a bird of some kind let out a squawk, the sudden sound almost as jarring. Sunset glanced around, for a second, trying to spot the bird amid the darkening gloom, but didn’t see anything.

Okay, let’s see what we’ve got. Colored glass glimmered under the beam of her flashlight, arrayed in straight lines above small buttons and switches. Like at the estate, there was a small plaque next to the various switches and buttons detailing step-by-step instructions in small, tiny print in two columns.

For emergency generator start-up … That’s not helpful. She jumped to the other column. Emergency battery power generation! Aha! For short-term use without fuel! Yes! Go Cog! Always ready for everything!

Except underground monsters, I guess. Anyway, let’s see … First, switch from “powered” to “manual.” She found the switch, big and chunky the way most Cog tech was. It was up, locked under text that read “powered.” At first it refused to move, and she put her weight into it, leaning back until it gave, a heavy clunk echoing from inside the generator as it did so. The switch was just as stubbornly difficult to snap into place at the bottom of its arc as well, taking pressure from both her hands but finally dropping into place with another heavy clunk.

“Whew.” Okay, step two: Press breaker switches in order. She followed the sequence, each button giving with a satisfying click beneath her thumb.

Step three: Deploy charging crank handle. That bit was easy, the metal handle folding out of the side of the machine. Step four: crank following that arrow? She eyed the instructions.

Yep. Until that light glows a steady green for minimum charge. For further charge, crank more. Got it!

The crank was surprisingly stiff and resistant to movement, and after a few tugs she set the gnasher down atop the generator so that she could use both hands to pull. The handle gave, though slowly at first, picking up speed with a faint, grinding hum. By the time she’d made it through three-quarters of a revolution, one of the lights on by the panel had begun glowing a faint red. She kept at it, bringing the handle around and up so that she could pull it down again and picking up speed. By the third turn the action had gotten a little easier, the momentum built, and by the fourth she was moving at a good pace.

Must be a flywheel inside it somewhere, Sunset thought as she kept spinning the crank. The red light switched to green, flashing, and she kept at it. Come on … come on … I don’t need that much power. Her arms, already tired from the day’s journey, were starting to burn, a simmering heat creeping up into her biceps.

The light went green and stayed green, the next one in sequence glowing red, then flashing green in quick succession.She kept at it, winding the handle around its course.

The second light became a steady green, and she let go of the handle. It stopped moving almost immediately, but she could still hear the grinding click of something mechanical inside the generator itself winding down.

She frowned as she retrieved the gnasher. The clicking was new. Well, I guess if it breaks it did its job already.

She returned to the tent, sweeping the cloth around the entrance aside and almost letting out a squee of glee as she saw a glowing light shining from the radio equipment. It works!

It only took a few seconds for her to identify the correct switches to power the rig up. Unlike the one at the estate, someone had turned this radio off before leaving. But the layout was similar, and she flicked the various switches up one by one, more and more of the lights coming to life and casting faint glows across the inside of the tent.

We’ve got power, but why am I not hearing anything? She spun the volume dial, a faint hiss filling the air, but from where?

The headset! She slipped the dusty apparatus down around her ears, the hiss suddenly painfully loud. A quick spin of a dial solved that problem, but it didn’t drive away the sound itself. That meant tuning.

Like adjusting a spell. Sort of. She found the right dial and began turning it to one side, watching as a needle above it marked the “frequency” on a display. Several times the headset popped and cracked in her ears, but pausing offered no other sign of activity on the “channel.”

Come on … there’s got to be something! She reached the end of the frequencies allotted on the dial, the needle vanishing and appearing on the other end of the display. Come on! I’m so close! The needle was almost back to where it had started. Come—

With a sudden pop a faint voice was in her ears, scratchy but understandable, and Sunset’s heart almost stopped. “—roof of—”

Then it was gone. She spun the dial back, needle moving, but there was nothing but the faint hiss.

No no no no no! She spun the dial left and then right again. I had it! I had it! Come on! Her heart was pounding. Did they stop talking? Why did they stop talking!

Relax. She leaned back, suddenly aware of how hunched over the equipment she’d been. Relax. They may have been giving someone instructions. Relax.

Use the small dial. Go back to the frequency, and then try to find it. Once again she moved the needle, her stomach feeling as if any moment she would burp up butterflies. It was there, she thought as the needle stopped. Right around there. I know it.

Hands shaking, she moved to the smaller dial, fine-tuning the needle back and forth. Come on … come on … Please say something. Say anything, please!

With a sudden buzz in her ears the voice was back again. “—wretches, four—ahead.” Almost! Sunset swallowed, shifting the dial slightly, trying to clear some of the static from the woman’s voice. Even hearing another person speak after so long was enough to make her breath catch. “—power—before they cut you loose!”

If there was a reply to the woman’s plea, she didn’t hear it. But the voice hadn’t faded due to a frequency shift. It’d just stopped speaking.

This is it! This is the channel! She reached for the transmit button but didn’t find it. Where …! The sudden sense of panic and worry swept through her once more. Where is it?

Relax. The clicking and popping from the headset wasn’t helping either. Relax.

“Where would be the smart place to put it?” she asked quietly. “I’m wearing the speakers on my head, and there’s a microphone by my mouth …” Her words trailed off as she crossed her eyes, looking down at the bit protruding along her jaw. There was a nub sticking out there, and she gripped it with her thumb, feeling as it gave way.

Of course. She pressed the switch down. “Hello? Can you hear me?” She waited, but there was no response. Just clicking and popping. She tried again. “Hello?”

Nothing. Maybe the transmitter was broken. Or she was hitting a mute button. She pulled the headset from her head, ignoring the quiet clicks of the frequency, and held it up to the light. “Transmit” was printed on the nub in tiny letters. That’s how I transmit all right.

“Hello?” she asked, trying again. “Can anyone hear me? I’m in Segu—”

“You’ve only got a few more seconds!” The return of the voice, sharp and earnest, made her jump despite the faint clicks and pops that came with it.

A second voice joined the channel, faint, quiet, and fairly broken up. The one she was speaking to, perhaps? “—pick yo—oon as—lant the—”

Another voice chimed in, though it was more of a broken yell, followed by a fourth that was even less distinct. Now was her chance. She hit the button.

“Hello? Can you hear me? My name is Sunset Shimmer, and I’m in Segulli. Can you hear me?”

Again there was no reply. She tried again, and then again.

Nothing.

“You’re approaching target. GPS shows that you’ve picked up speed. You don’t have much time!” The woman’s voice came quicker, with a greater sense of urgency.

She can’t hear me. None of them can. Her shoulders sank as the realization sunk in. Same as the estate. The signal isn’t strong enough, and I don’t know enough to boost it. But maybe—

“Marcus!” There was clear worry in the woman’s voice despite the pops and clicks of the frequency. “You’ve got to drop that data right now!”

And they do sound busy with something important. I need to find another transmitter. Sunset pulled the headset off and tossed it on the tabletop, already reaching for her gnasher. This antenna was damaged. If I check the map …

She was halfway to the central table when it caught up with her that she could still hear the faint clicking noise she’d assumed was coming from the headset.

A chill ran down her spine. What? In two steps she was by the radio once more, and she flicked the power switch down. The lights went out.

The clicking sound didn’t go away.

Something was outside the tent.

She could hear it now, shuffling and letting out that same odd clicking sound as it made its way around the back. Was it Locust? Or something else? She pressed her thumb against the gnasher’s safety switch, moving slowly and quietly for the front flaps.

With a screech, something low to the ground rushed at her from the shadows, skittering and scuttling across the ground on tiny, fast moving legs, the clicking noise picking up. She had a brief glimpse of something oblong with an armored back and strange, spindly, bug-like legs as it rushed through the beam of her flashlight toward her—and she lashed out with her boot, the heavy thump of impact rushing up her leg as her foot collided with something. There was a loud screech as the thing lifted from the ground, flashing through the light once more, tumbling and rolling through the air, and then it slammed into the ground, ticking and clicking and squirming in the dark.

What is that!? She leveled the gnasher on the strange creature. Some sort of hairless do—?

But it wasn’t. It was something entirely alien, a low-slung creature that was mostly a large, almost bulbous body with thick, heavy skin. The long, insect-like legs were thin but tight with visible muscle, and tipped—as almost everything Locust seemed to be—with long, spindly claws.

No eyes, Sunset noted as she stepped to the side, casting the beam of her flashlight over the creature’s face. There was a wide, lipless jaw with bony, flat teeth, almost like a rodent. But there were no visible eyes. But there was the same constant ticking and clicking sound coming from somewhere.

Echolocation. Like a bat. The thing shivered, and for a second she wondered if she had wounded it, but then with a screech it righted itself, claws scrabbling at the ground as it turned toward her.

Reflex took over and she fired. To her shock, the creature didn’t just come apart in a spray of gore—it exploded. A loud boom echoed across the plaza as the thing’s body blasted apart, effluents and chunks of flesh spraying in all directions. Something wet and horrid-tasting slapped Sunset across the mouth even as the force of the blast hammered her chest, and she stumbled back, gagging at the foul odor.

What … how …? It … blew up!?

The stench of the gore now on her finally caught up in full, and she recoiled, letting out a cry of shock and disgust that mingled with the echoing ring of the blast. Why did it do that?

“Ugh! Gross!” There was fluid in her mane, and little bits of flesh stuck all over her. The thing’s blood seemed mostly clear or brackish—or maybe those were fluids of some kind—but it was oozing down her front and her face.

She could feel faint stings as well, and she held her arm into the edge of the light, checking to see if she’d been cut by anything flung from the blast. But no, she couldn’t see any blood. Just a reddish welt.

The blast hadn’t been that powerful, then. Just concussive enough to throw her for a loop. Though I was a good dozen feet away. If it did that right next to me …

What kind of creature does that? I mean, Equestria has all sorts of weird creatures, as do the lands outside it, but one that blows up when killed? What sort of reason could it have for—

More ticking noises sounded out from nearby, faint but growing in volume. Unless it’s a pack hunter of some kind? No, that still didn’t make sense. A pack that sacrificed its own would quickly cease to exist. But a hive … There had been insects in Equestria that had sacrificial drones. She’d read about them.

Insects also swarm. Whether or not the strange thing she’d just killed followed the same pattern, there was no denying that she could hear multiple ticking noises now coming from several directions. She racked the gnasher lever back, chambering a new round as she backed toward the wagons.

I need to find a radio transmitter. The one in the tent was a bust, but there had been other tents marked on the map, both to the north and to the west. I just need to find one with a working radio transmitter. Or any kind of working radio transmitter.

She pulled a spare gnasher shell from her pocket as the ticking grew louder, feeding it into the shotgun to replace the shot she’d just expended. Or, at least, trying to. It slipped from her fingers as it caught on something, bouncing across the ground with a series of clicks that served as a chilling counterpoint to what she was hearing.

How many could there be? The clouded sun cast the plaza into a sort of shadowed twilight, and she spun left and right, wishing her eyes would adjust or that she was brave enough to turn off the single source of light she had. Come on … come on … The sound was refracting from all around her, bouncing off of stone walls and rubble. Come on … There!

One of the creatures scuttled over a pile of nearby rubble, moving almost absurdly fast, it’s thin legs a blur. Sunset fired, the gnasher kicking against her shoulder, and like the one before it, the creature simply came apart with a titanic clap, exploding.

What kind of biology causes that? Some sort of pressurized bladder? There was no time to dwell on it, more distinctive clicking sounds sliding through the echoes of the blast. She chambered a new round as she turned, suddenly thankful for the hours of practice she’d put into using the weapon.

More! Her beam found three of the quick creatures rushing across the plaza, and she fired again. Much of her shot missed—she could see the spray of dust the pellets kicked up as they bounced out of sight—but at least one hit the lead clicking thing, and the wound it gouged was enough to trigger whatever explosive reaction it had, blowing apart with a blast that launched the other two nearby away from it. Snapping the lever back and forth, she spun toward the one that had flown right, noting with surprise that it seemed stunned by the blast.

Good fortune for me. She fired, and it too blew apart. The third had just gotten its legs under it when she fired again, the crack of the gnasher mixing with the sound of the creature’s own self-destructive behavior.

Again she swept the flashlight beam across the plaza, hunting for any more signs of movement amid the shadows, but saw and heard nothing. No distant clicks echoing from somewhere nearby. She let out a slow, shaky breath.

I did it. Granted, they had gone down easily but … I did it! I didn’t panic—much—and I held my ground. I—

A familiar, chilling cry echoed from somewhere out among the city, her elation falling as swiftly as a balloon that had met the end of a pin. It was distant, but immediately identifiable.

Locust. And not more of the little creeping, ticking things either. One of the bipedal ones.

The kind that carried guns.

Go! Now! She sprinted back into the tent, pointing her gasher at the map in the middle of the table and searching for any nearby marked squares. If there was even a chance she could hit one of them and let someone know where she was …

Her finger snapped down on another square a good distance west. From the look of things it was also on a hill, in some sort of public plaza next to a … school?

It’ll have to do. Follow that road to the right west, down the hill, then up the next one to reach it. More roars echoed from the rest of the city, and she let out a curse.

I kicked a hornet’s nest, I think. She’d seen another student do that at Celestia’s school once. On a dare. It hadn’t ended well for any involved. Back outside the tent, the harness snapped into the handle of the wagon train, and she turned, pulling and rushing for the gate. She reloaded as she ran, filling the gnasher as further cries echoed across Segulli.

Not too fast. If she moved too fast, the wagons’ noise would be fully evident. Just a quick pace, down the street, keeping alert for anything out of the ordinary. None of those yells were close, and you don’t even know if it means they’re looking for you. It could just be like someone yelling at a dog, telling them to stop making noise. Or in this case, stop blowing up.

Except I shot all of them. That was pretty distinct.

Just move. Go. Now.

The first block passed without incident. She picked up speed, the road sloping downward. Cars blocked her path, as did debris, footing treacherous in the dark. But all she had to do was think of the leering face of a Locust to keep moving.

She reached the halfway mark, the road leveling out and then going into a gentle rise. There had been no more cries, but still her heart continued to pound.

The ground shook, and her pulse spiked. A second tremor followed a moment later.

Then something strange happened. The horizon began to glow. Sunset slowed, almost transfixed as an eerie, pale blue light began to fill the sky from beyond the mountains. Aurora … borealis? But whatever it was seemed to be rising from the earth, not descending from the sky. It almost looked like magic, but pale and cold.

The ground trembled again, tearing her eyes away from the strange bluish-white tendrils rising into the sky from the mountains. A nearby pebble leapt into the air as another, stronger shock rippled through the earth. There was a dull groan behind the trembling now, building into a deep roar that chilled her far more than the sound of any Locust. The shaking beneath her feet intensified, the roar building further as rubble and debris began to shift. Part of a building up the street collapsed, toppling to one side as the vibrating rumble upset it.

This isn’t Locust.

It’s an earthquake!

She went into a sprint immediately, her legs screaming at the sudden acceleration, but she didn’t care. Get away from the buildings!

More blue light glowed into the sky on the horizon, and then something even stranger happened.

Right before her eyes one of the tops of the mountains simply exploded, ripping apart with a force that drove back the thick clouds of miasma around it. Even agape a small part of her mind kept count, waiting for the sudden overwhelming sound of what had to be an active volcano erupting … except that when the massive boom arrived it wasn’t nearly as loud as she had already been bracing for. High in volume it was … but nothing to match what she had just seen.

So what blew the top of the mountain off?

Another mountaintop came apart in a blast of distant light, followed by another’s side. What?

Then, right before her eyes, one of the mountains began to sink, collapsing into the earth … and she understood.

It wasn’t an eruption. Or an earthquake. Not a natural one, anyway. It was a collapse.

An attack. It had to be. Some sort of strike at the Locust tunnels or underground fortifications.

A strike powerful enough that hollowed-out mountains were collapsing or giving way. It seemed impossible, but as the ground began to shake even more violently, another mountain falling in on itself, it was clear that if her sudden theory wasn’t right, that there was something even more terrible at work.

She stumbled as the ground kicked again, this time violently. The Locust have to be feeling this worse, she thought as she pushed herself up. They’re underground, and if this was an attack on them they’ll be—

The thrust of her thoughts caught up with her just as the ground shook again, a nearby section of pavement cracking and bulging as something beneath it pressed upwards.

“Feathers!” —coming up! She ran, ducking around the nearest corner as behind her the pavement continued to crack and shift, something rising from beneath the earth. The wagons bounced as they rolled over a curb, harness jerking against her chest hard enough that it felt like an impact against her armor, but she didn’t care. She needed to get away, in any direction, now.

The sounds of the pavement cracking apart echoed down the alley behind her, followed by a roar much too loud to have come from a regular, bipedal Locust. Something larger, then. A corpser, maybe. The rumble of the collapsing mountains was so loud now that she couldn’t hear the rattle of the train behind her, and she picked up speed, emboldened as both she and the wagons crashed through refuse and over debris.

A brick slammed down onto the alley floor a few feet away, shattering into bits of pulverized grit. Another followed it, and Sunset ducked out of the way as several more followed in quick succession, shielding her head with arms as the wall next to her began to come down. She felt tugs at her harness as several bits of falling rubble slammed into the wagons … and then she was out on a street once more, dust and debris filling the air behind her as the alley collapsed in on itself.

At least I’m not going to— A screech called an end to her thoughts, one of the strange clicking things she’d seen at the tents rushing out of the dark into the beam of her flashlight. She fired, the creature blowing apart with a bang that only added to the rumble of the collapsing mountain range.

More screeches echoed from nearby, and her light swept across a gaping hole in the side of one of the nearby building foundations, perfectly sized for one of the strange creatures to slip out.

North! She turned, nervous fingers trying to feed another shell into her gnasher as she ran. The rumbling began to settle, quieting for a moment before picking back up again with another faint flash of explosive light from the mountaintops.

She could hear multiple ticking noises coming from nearby, though. And the ground was starting to shake again, even worse than before. How far do I have to go? Another roar echoed over the crumbling rooftops.

Everything had gotten very dangerous very quickly. I need to hide. I need a transmitter, and I need to hide. The ticking off to her left grew louder, and she swept the gnasher in its direction, casting light over another of the ticking beasts rushing at her, its claws deftly picking over the rubble with far more agility than she would have expected from something that was blind. She fired, and the thing died like the others, blowing apart with a loud bang. The sound echoed up and down the street, but if anything it only intensified the clicking of the others, the sound coming from all around her.

I went one street left … She thought, running and trying to picture the map from the brief glances she’d given it. Come on Sunset, you were an amazing student. If you went left into that alley then—

Sun above! I went south! Which meant she either needed to cross half the city or go north. Turning back the way she’d come. Onto the street with the … well whatever had just emerged from beneath the ground.

The ticking faded, her pace clearly enough to leave it behind. But she didn’t dare slow. The hole she’d almost had open beneath her was bound not to be the only one erupting across the city. The rumble was quelling once again, but for how long there was no telling. She’d read about cave ins, and about earthquakes. Things settled, sometimes holding for minutes, or hours, and then shifting again as something finally gave, or a rumble shook something loose.

As if to emphasize her thoughts, one of the skeletal walls of a building ahead rocked to one side, falling inward with a titanic crash that threw dust up in a dark cloud. Brick and mortar scattered across the street, some bouncing so close she was almost able to kick them as she moved past. Perhaps something underneath the building had been trying to come out only to be crushed? Or maybe something had finally just given way amid the ruin.

A faint cry echoed across the city, familiar and close. Somewhere one of the armed, bipedal Locust had emerged. Maybe more than one.

I need to get out of the city. The place was about to become a deathtrap.

But she was already in it. And she needed the radio. She slowed, for a brief second considering turning south and running until she hit Segulli’s edge.

But then what? Segulli has a radius. It has command posts.

I didn’t get this far by not diving in. That’s what brought me through the mirror. That’s what got me here. She increased her pace once more, harness jerking with every bump and bit of rubble the wagons passed.

The rumble was growing again when she found a wide, expansive street to follow north. She remembered it from the map, a double-laned pathway that was twice as wide as many of the other streets and cut across the whole city. And right past one of the marked command posts. And there had been other marked points on the map that had likely been smaller checkpoints, maybe with radios of their own.

Her heart was pounding, and not just from the exertion of running with all three wagons behind her. Another mountaintop exploded, the sky lighting up with a yellow glow. The faint boom echoed across the city a moment later, followed by a rumble beneath her feet. From ahead there was the sound of glass shattering as something moved and shifted.

How many blocks? She glanced down to her right in the direction of the emergence hole that had driven her south as she passed the interconnecting street, but couldn’t make out anything through the darkness. Hopefully that meant whatever had surfaced couldn’t see her flashlight in return.

Another rumble rolled through the city, this one jolting enough that some of the abandoned cars ahead of her shook and swayed, bouncing on rusted springs. Rubble clattered and clicked as another pile near a crumbled building gave way, shaking down into the street.

How much worse is this going to get? The trembling was still there, deep and vibrant, like an ancient beast awaking from its slumber. Another flash lit the night, a distant boom following seconds later.

I could still run the other way. The wide parkway she was running up led out of the city, even if it narrowed in doing so. She could go south. I wouldn’t even need to run. The downhill would carry her all the way.

But the thought almost made her feel physical revulsion. She’d heard someone. I’m so close. I have to try. I’m so close.

The ground lurched, jerking so hard that she stumbled. She caught herself against the side of a massive truck, feet skidding and slipping as the momentum of her wagons shoved her forward. A titanic crackling sound filled the air, like something sizzling in the world’s largest pan of hot oil. Something shifted through the murky darkness, and she lifted her gnasher to reveal the facade of a nearby building—a bank of some kind—cracking and splintering as it passed some unspoken turning point. Glass shattered as the whole building front began to crumble, caving in on itself and sloughing off like a collapsing cliffside. Sunset ducked, covering her head with her hands as bits of rubble shot out across the street like bullets, bouncing off the truck with sharp bangs. Dust swept over her a moment later, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, burying her mouth and nose in her shirt and trying not to cough as the itchy, cloying substance filled her lungs.

The rumbles died down to a low groan, almost like Sugulli itself was letting out a cry of pain, and the sound of the collapsing bank front trickled into relative silence. Sunset rose, flecks of stone and concrete falling from her jacket and landing on the ground with faint clicks. The air was still filled with dust, the light from her own flashlight shining back at her from all directions, but she could make out several larger bits of rubble nearby that she hadn’t noticed before, some of them as large as her head. Or larger.

If I hadn’t stumbled … Though now she’d need to weave around the rubble. Through a dust cloud, no less.

Pick a line and follow it. The truck had been at an angle. If I find the sidewalk, follow it. She began moving, the soup of dust around her swallowing the sounds of her footsteps and the faint rattle of the train behind her. The ground trembled underfoot once again, a faint vibration that made her tense, but it didn’t seem to trigger any additional aftershocks.

She continued forward, coughing to clear her throat and then risking a quick sip of water from one of her canteens to wash the dust out of her mouth. Ahead the haze began to thin, revealing more of the wide avenue she’d been following.

Another tremor swept through the city, a rumble that was audible as well as forceful enough to cause her to slow. Around her she heard rubble shift and scatter as the newest aftershock rippled through the ruin. Followed by another Locust yell.

This one was closer. Were they tracking her? Or was it just coincidence? She picked up speed anyway, sweeping her flashlight left and right, looking for any sign of a Cog checkpoint.

She found a hole instead. Sunset skidded to a halt, her boots sliding over loose gravel and rubble as she came to a stop. Ahead of her the ground dropped into darkness, the surface of the road split as cleanly as if a giant had come along and simply scooped out a piece of the earth. Or rather pulled it under, judging from the broken pipes the edges of her beam illuminated, jutting out of the walls on the far side.

Collapsed from beneath. And it wasn’t hard to see why. She angled the beam downward over the edge, illuminating mangled Cog military equipment and broken concrete barriers. They didn’t bother fighting this checkpoint. They just sank it. White bone glimmered under her light. And everyone in it.

She moved her view to the left. The sinkhole terminated a few feet from the edge of the street, leaving the sidewalk and a little bit of pavement hanging over the edge. The ground shook again, a disquieting tremor rolling through the earth.

I just need a radio transmitter. That’s it! Then I can get out of this city. She moved along the edge of the sinkhole for the far side of the street, keeping her distance from the lip. That’s all I need.

Another Locust cry echoed from nearby. Was it closer than the last one? She couldn’t tell. Stupid human ears. Past the sinkhole, she picked up speed once more, wagons rattling and rolling through the dead city. If that was the first checkpoint, then there was one more mark on the map like that, and then there was the command post or whatever a few blocks to the north.

The sounds of more rubble shifting and sliding echoed from nearby, bouncing off of empty buildings and making it sound as though the whole city was cracking and shifting. Sunset felt her mind leap back to a book she’d read, about the team of explorers that had found the Ocean of Endless Ice and the sounds they had described it making as it had shifted and slipped.

Another flash lit the sky, followed by a faint boom and a deep rumble that she could feel in her gut. She turned her gaze upward, toward the nearest mountains just in time to see a whole chunk of one give way, sliding and shifting as it began to move down the face.

Landslides. Or rockslides, depending on the composition. One more thing to worry about.

Just get the radio. Get the radio and it’ll all be—

Something whistled past her head, glowing and angry. She heard the retort an instant later, just as the shots that had missed her slammed into the front of the building with angry, sharp cracks. She threw herself down and to the side as a second spray of gunfire whipped through the air where her head had been, the chatter of gunfire echoing over her a moment later.

Feathers! From somewhere behind her came a cry in seran, guttural words almost spat into the air.

“Hominid sighted!”

They had found her. And worse. They were behind her. Sunset rolled to the side, only for her harness to arrest the motion partway through. Another Locust roared, and more shots began flying up the street, skipping off the ground so close she almost saw the bullet bounce against the pavement.

The light! She snapped one hand over the end of her flashlight beam, gripping the barrel of the gnasher and trying to find the switch that triggered the beam even as she kicked herself backwards, the wagons again arresting her movement. The flashlight died a moment later, but the gunfire was already coming uncomfortably close. Sunset let the gnasher fall into her lap, scrambling backwards in an arc on her palms, trying to force herself to breath as more shots came close. Were they hunting her? Or had they just seen her light?

Does it matter? The shots lessened, and she froze, ears straining to hear over the faint rumble of the ground and the pounding of her own heart. Did they think they’d killed her?

If they did, they were doubtlessly going to check. Which meant …

I need to leave the wagons. Just for a short time. She could come back for them later. Double back, in fact. They wouldn’t be hard to find. Slowly she reached up, undoing the clasp in the middle of her armor and letting the harness fall from her shoulders. It hit the ground with a soft rattle that made her heart stop even if it wasn’t likely anything someone could have heard at more than a few yards. Her eyes were still adjusting to the hazy darkness, the nearest shadows little more than obscure shapes.

Grab what you can. Slowly, she slipped forward toward the lead wagon, pulling the lancer from its holster and exchanging it for her gnasher, which went on her back. It was awkward keeping her motions as close to the ground as possible while still getting the shotgun into place beside her pack. With luck they wouldn’t see her so low to the ground, despite the frantic motion The ammo she’d collected was hanging next to where the lancer had been, and she began sliding gnasher shells into her pockets along with several of boxy lancer magazines. They were large and heavy, but—

Footsteps. A faint but heavy tread was echoing from somewhere nearby. Numerous enough to be more than one set too. She swallowed, her throat dry.If they saw her …

She saw the muzzle flash just in time and threw herself down. The wagon train jerked as several shots slammed into it, and again a roar echoed down the avenue from her attackers. Sunset poked the gnasher into the air and fired a single shot completely blind. The retort was almost deafening, but the spray of shots that had swept over her went quiet. She caught a flash of movement from the other side of the sinkhole, at least one figure diving into cover.

She shoved herself up in an instant, twisting her upper body toward the wagons. If she could just grab a few more—

Another Locust cry echoed through the air, this time from another direction. It spoke a single word that sent a chill right through Sunset’s core.

“Grenade!”

She’d never heard the word spoken aloud, but she’d read it. She knew what it was. A thrown explosive, lobbed at a distance over cover to kill those behind it.

She was up and running even before she heard the telltale clink of something bouncing across the ground nearby, sprinting for all she was worth with no regard to what might see her. There was a curiously sharp beep from behind her—Then there was a massive crack that seemed to split the sky and her head at the same time, combined with a wave of force that seemed to sweep over her body like a crashing wave. Sharp, stinging pain erupted from the back of one of her legs and she stumbled, falling to the ground and barely catching herself with her hands. The lancer went bouncing across the pavement, torn from her hands.

Gunfire spat past nearby a second later, at more angles than could be accounted for by a single shooter. She scrambled forward on her hands and knees, ignoring the flash of pain as she bounced a bit of rubble off of her knee, ignoring the burning pain from the back of her rear leg, her only aim wrapping her fingers around the grip of her rifle once more.

Her fingers found cool metal and she spun, lifting the heavy weapon and looking back in the direction of her wagons.

Or what was left of them. The middle of her long companions had been split in two from below, broken and bent by the force of the blast they’d absorbed. Her water jugs were full of holes, bleeding their lifeblood out into the street. Meal boxes had been torn and shredded, or launched by the blast. Tires had gone flat.

For a moment she felt frozen as she stared at what had been done to so much of her hard work in an instant.

Then another spray of bullets fired through the air, far off from her immediate location, but still a reminder of what was waiting for her in the dark.

I can’t save it. Part of her wanted to shoot back, to defend her supplies as best she could.

There was only one end down that road, one way for that path to end. Another Locust roar echoed, shapes moving in the darkness.

Sunset turned, shoving herself up onto her feet and staggering slightly. Bullets whizzed out of the darkness at her as she began to run, tracers glowing as they shot past, but by a miracle none of them touched her. Multiple cries echoed from behind, the Locust giving chase. She was running blind now, her world barely illuminated by the dim light of one moon trying to make its way through the hazy cloud that obscured the sky. The ground rumbled again, trembling, only this time she saw rubble rising upward rather than downward from one of the nearby ruins. Spindly legs pointed into the sky a moment later, a massive, spider-like shape tearing free of the earth. It let out a roar … only for the side of the building next to it, already free-standing precariously, to shift and collapse atop it, smashing the creature back down into the ground with a pained scream.

The rumbling was getting worse. Whatever upset had been triggered under the mountain range, it had to be spreading outward from the epicenter. Segulli was right in its path. And under a mountain.

Shots flew past overhead, blind or simply badly aimed she couldn’t tell. But both were good motivators to keep moving.

Shadows blocked the street ahead of her, large and angular. They had to be the checkpoint; there wasn’t really anything else it could be. More roars sounded as she neared the barrier, echoing from all across the city. The Locust were closing in, calling to one another.

Or maybe they just liked screaming. She wasn’t sure.

There was an opening in the wall of the checkpoint and she raced through it. Something slammed against her toes, sending her stumbling forward as bits and pieces of dark shadow scattered around her. She recovered her balance, then glanced back to see a bit of dented, damaged Cog armor just identifiable in the dim light.

She’d kicked over a body. Great.

She could just make out the structure and shape of a tent. She was halfway to it when another tremor ran through the ground, followed by a distant but very alarming cracking sound. Slowly she turned her gaze skyward, watching as the mountain that loomed over the city shook, part of its peak crumbling inward. An image of the mountain when it had been lit by the sun leapt through her mind, craggy and scorched, with plenty of overhangs that could break free and roll down its slopes.

She ducked into the tent, sweeping aside old tattered cloth and almost immediately banging her shins on a low table. She tried to make sense of the dark shadows inside the tent’s depths, but without a light source it was meaningless

I should have put a flashlight on the lancer. Far too late now. It took her a second or two to successfully detach the gnasher from her back and illuminate the interior with its attached light, but the result was only disappointment. Whatever equipment had been in the room had been broken and scattered. The object she’d bashed her shins against was actually a toppled metal crate, its sides torn out. She was lucky she hadn’t cut herself on the jagged edges.

But there was nothing that resembled working radio equipment. Just smashed and twisted mechanical boxes. Almost like something had been eating them.

Another roar sounded from close nearby, so close she spun, catching herself at the last second before she could shine her light into the open air.

She could hear footsteps above the rumbling of the mountain. Her pursuers were close. Too close. Hide.

She gave the tent a single look before crossing it out. There was nothing in it left she could easily hide under, and with all the sharp metal edges it would likely end badly anyway. Maybe a back way out—?

Except that her pursuers would likely hear her if she ran. She needed to hide.

Immediately.

There was a massive, dark shape on the other side of the checkpoint, part of it jutting out into the air. One of their armored fighting vehicles, then.

They’re on tires. They have ground clearance. She was halfway across the checkpoint in seconds, sprinting for the heavy machine. From just outside the gate something yelled, and footsteps other than her own rose in cadence. Feathers!

The massive machine was one of the four-wheeled fighting vehicles she’d seen before, and she slipped between its massive tires. At the last second she grabbed a bit of rubble and chucked it hard at the back of the checkpoint. It hit the wall with a clatter, bouncing over the rear barricades and skipping over the ground.

The roar that sounded in response was almost right nearby, and Sunset shoved herself further under the massive machine, pressing herself down across the ground. A second later three massive figures ducked around the entrance of the checkpoint, weapons up and sweeping back and forth in an obvious searching maneuver. A fourth followed them, shouting something gutteral and harsh as it pointed at the tent. One of the figures rushed over two it and swept the cloth over the entrance aside before letting out a harsh bark. The other two ran toward the other side of the checkpoint, where she’d tossed the rock.

The one in back, clearly the leader, spoke again. All four of them spread out, clearly looking for something.

Me. She tried to make her breaths as quiet as possible, willing herself to sink down and blend in with the ground. The ringleader moved in her direction, its tread heavy enough that she likely would have felt its footsteps if not for the shaking of the ground. It let out a low, grinding growl as it came to a stop right in front of the machine she was hiding under.

Then it kicked one of the tires, letting out a snort, and moved on.

Only to stop. A moment later there was a wet shuffling noise, like the thing was breathing in heavily.

It was sniffing.

Oh please. Please no. It turned back in her direction, head shifting this way and that. Please …

The thing took a step in the direction of her hiding place. Then another. It sniffed again, features barely distinguishable in the dim light, just enough that she could make out its nostrils widening as it searched for her scent.

It took another step toward her, and she swallowed, tightening her grip on her gnasher. At such short range …

The ground jerked, shaking, and one of the Locust near the rear of the checkpoint let out a grunt, the leader twisting away. With an almost angry sounding snort, it turned toward its fellows, the four of them moving at a jog as they left the checkpoint.

Only once the sound of their boots had faded did Sunset realize that she’d been holding her breath, her lungs crying out for air. Her gasp came out mixed with faint tears.It had been looking right at her. If it had taken just another step closer …

But it didn’t. Her breathing began to slow, along with her pulse. She waited a few seconds longer, then moved out from under the heavy vehicle. Off in the distance came the sound of another building collapsing as the city continued to shake.

Now what? She wanted to cry. Her wagons were gone, wrecked, and with them most of her food and water.

She blinked back tears. I still have my pack. And she’d always kept food in it. There was water in her canteens. And I can find more. She sank back, leaning against the side of the disabled cog war machine. I can rebuild.

If Segulli doesn’t kill me first. Part of her felt angry for coming into the city in the first place. If I hadn’t been so determined to find a radio I’d—

She paused, a stray thought crossing her mind. She pushed off of the side of the vehicle, taking a step away and looking up at the massive machine.

Their soldiers have radios. Why wouldn’t this machine?

There were rungs on the side to climb, and reached out, grasping them and hauling herself up. The ground shook again, a louder rumble coming from the mountain that hung over the city. The vehicle shook beneath her, rocking slightly from side to side and making her cling to its side. Step by step, she pulled herself upward until she’d reached the top of the ladder, probing before finding another handle that was in a position to help herself rise atop the body. There was a hatch to enter the machine atop the weapon mounted at its peak, and carefully she proved her fingers around the lip, looking for a lock or latching mechanism. Thankfully her fingers found it without the need for a light.

A Locust call echoed through the city, distant but still enough to make her take a quick look around to make sure she wasn’t about to be shot at again. She didn’t see any obvious moving shadows … but neither had she moments before she’d been shot at.

Come on! Her fingers found a handle on the hatch and she heaved up, grunting slightly as its heavy weight was more than she’d expected. Still, it lifted, if only a few inches until she got her other hand on the handle as well. The metal let out a long, loud squeak as she swung it up, followed by a clang as it tipped backward, hitting some sort of stop before it could fall all the way to the vehicle’s side but still tearing free of her hands.

The loud sound was enough to make her pulse spike, and she clambered up atop the weapon mount, shoving her boots into the gaping hole as quickly as she could. Please don’t let the Locust have heard that. Her boots found waiting rungs, as well as something soft that was probably a seat, and she quickly lowered herself into the dark, dropping her rear down atop a thin cushion.

It was definitely a seat. And a tight one. Her elbows bumped against the walls as she reached for her gnasher … but then thought better of it and maneuvered her small pack off of her back.

This is all I have now, she thought as she opened one of the rear pockets, digging through it and hunting for a spare flashlight. If I can’t find a radio—

I’ll be fine. I started out with less once. And I survived that. How she would get through the mountains when they were collapsing in on themselves was another question, whether or not she had food and water. Worry about it later.

Her fingers closed on a smooth cylinder and she pulled it out, only to realize that it was a single emergency flare she’d stowed in her pack just in case. She shoved it back down, and a moment later her searching digits found the flashlight.

She angled it downward as she turned it on, cupping a hand around it so that as little light as possible would escape through the open hatch. Dials and controls glimmered back at her, but to her surprise the interior of the tank looked both undamaged and unoccupied. She’d half expected to find a body, or the interior ripped apart like the equipment in the tent had been.

Instead, the only thing that appeared out of the ordinary were a pair of cog tags hanging next to a picture by what she guessed was the driver’s seat. Sunset stepped down, deeper into the tight, cramped confines of the vehicle, trying not to bump anything as she neared the back of the seat and got a closer look at the photograph.

The picture was of a cog with her helmet off. Definitely a woman, though her mane was cut somewhat short. Probably so that it would fit under the helmet she was holding in one hand. She was smiling at the camera, and there was a faded note scrawled on the bottom of the photograph.

Victory at last! See you soon! After that came a heart and a name: Layna.

The same name Sunset could see imprinted on the dangling tags. She knew the story without having to ask a single question further. And somehow they both ended up left here. Maybe the vehicle she was sitting in had been the woman’s, but more likely it had been occupied by someone close to her. A family member, perhaps, or a lover. Reverently she reached out and took the picture and the tags, adding them to her pack. Maybe there was someone out there that wanted them, and if she made it to the Cog—

No, when I make it to the Cog. When. Not if. Then the tag and picture would likely be useful currency to get her into someone’s favor.

And it’s the right thing to do, she added quickly. I think.

There was a headset hanging next to the seat, connected to the rest of the vehicle by a wire, but when she slipped one side of it over her ears it was completely silent. As dead as the rest of the vehicle.

Radio equipment. I need to find radio equipment. She turned away from the driver’s seat, looking around the tightly-packed interior, light spilling over flat surfaces and dials that were all but meaningless.

What if it didn’t have a radio? Outside the tank the rumble built again, fresh tremors sweeping through the earth and rocking the machine back and forth. She swayed with it, one hand against the wall.

Why would they not have a radio? And wasn’t there …? She clicked the flashlight off, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom before carefully poking her head up toward the open hatch once more. Twin thin metal rods rose from the back of the vehicle. If they weren’t antennas for transmissions, then what purpose would they serve?

She descended back into the body of the vehicle, lighting her flashlight and looking around once more for any sign of radio equipment. She found it in the back, tucked against the rear wall next to a heavy-looking panel that read “engine access.” The lights and dials were different, but familiar enough that combined with the headset hanging next to it that figuring out that it was a transmitter of some kind was an obvious leap.

It was also unpowered, the lights dark.

But why would that stop the Cog? There had been a backup generation system on the generator. Why not for their radio in their vehicles? The flashlight flashed over metal as she ducked and crouched, her searching eyes and fingers finding a panel beneath the console labeled “emergency operation.” Yanking at the handle on the bottom pulled it off entirely, and she almost dropped it, catching it against the wall with a clang that sounded thunderous inside the tight confines, but was definitely quieter than simply letting it clatter to the floor. She froze for a few seconds, waiting for an answering cry to sound from somewhere in the city, but the only answer that came was another distant rumble that made the floor shake.

She set the panel aside and angled the flashlight upward, peering at what she’d uncovered. A handle, along with a set of dead lights and some printed text. To power communications equi—Yes! This is it! She twisted a bit further, angling her head to read the rest of the instructions.

It was simple and straightforward. Pulling the lever would spin a small flywheel, which would provide a charge to a small capacitor and battery bank. Not much of one, and the text warned that she would likely need to repeatedly keep the wheel going to keep transmitting or receiving.

But there were lights to tell her how much power she had. And a switch to flip the transmission equipment over to the backup power supply.

She hit that first, then wrapped her hand around the handle and tugged it down. It resisted each time, but she could hear something inside the unit moving, and a moment later a small light began glowing. Red, meaning there wasn’t enough power, but glowing all the same.

It was like stepping out of darkness into warm sunlight. Elation swept through her as she cranked the handle again and again, watching as the red light glowed brighter and brighter … and then became green.

She kept cranking, as badly as she yearned to grab the headset and start speaking, to hear another voice—any voice—that wasn’t trying to kill her. Her breaths were coming short and quick again, almost like she was panicking, but it wasn’t the same.

Nor did she care. All she cared about was the glow of the second light on the tiny console as it too began to glow green. Again and again she pulled the handle down, spinning the flywheel and giving the equipment more of the power it wanted. Only when the last light was glowing a bright, steady green did she turn her attention to the radio itself, running her eyes over unfamiliar dials and buttons far more compact than what she’d used before.

Lack of space, the analytical part of her noted as she found the button she was looking for. It was labeled “Power.”

She pushed it.

Glowing lights sprang into being, dim but as vibrant to her as the sun itself. She let out a quiet gasp, grabbing the headset, her hands trembling so badly and almost dropped it before she could get it over her head. She hunted for a transmit button but didn’t find one on the microphone. The control board didn’t seem to have one either, until she took a closer look at one of the displays and realized that it was no longer blank, but displaying text and indicators much in the way her watch did, only even more advanced.

That’s my frequency, she thought, connecting what was being displayed with the dials on the older radio she’d found at the estates. And that name … Those are the channels the book was talking about! And they’re named!

Currently, the radio was transmitting on “Band B,” while receiving from Bands B and D. She listened for a moment, but there was no sound from the headset.

I need every channel I can transmit on. Or get. That would probably take more power—the transmitting, at least. But if I can reach anyone it will be worth it. She prodded the screen a few times before figuring out which buttons did what.

The unit didn’t seem to want to let her transmit on more than one of the preset bands, but it would let her listen to more than one at a time. She keyed the unit until she was listening to every available channel, left her own transmissions on the original band, took a deep breath, and then spoke.

“Hello? Is anyone out there?” The world seemed to stop as she held her breath, waiting for a reply. Come on … Someone! Anyone! “Hello?”

The ground trembled with another aftershock, the vehicle swaying from side to side as its thick suspension creaked. She tried again. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

A few seconds passed and there was no reply. She swallowed, her mouth dry. Please. Someone else say something. Please!

She changed bands and repeated her message, her voice cracking partway through. Her eyes felt moist, and she wiped a bit of wetness away with her thumb. Someone has to answer. They have to. I just want to hear someone speak.

She switched bands again. “Hello? This is Sunset—”

“Unidentified individual on Cog military bands.” She gasped as the flat, almost bored voice filled her ears. “Violation of—”

“Can you hear me?” She almost shouted, catching herself at the last second. The voice continued unabated.

“—frequencies is a punishable offense. Remove yourself from this channel—”

One of the bands she’d selected to listen to was flashing. Band A. That was where she was getting the signal from. She flipped her outbound transmissions back to the same channel.

“You can hear me!” she said, cutting the voice off, her statement almost a question. A voice. A real voice! Her heart was fluttering, hands shaking as her breath came in short, excited gasps. The reply came almost instantly.

“Yes, and I shouldn’t be able to.” She barely registered the annoyance in the speaker’s voice. “This is a secure Cog military channel, so—”

“I’m in Segulli!”

“I don’t care … Wait, you’re where?”

This time she did let out a quick cry, one that she stifled almost immediately, covering her mouth, but she couldn’t help it. Her eyes were wet again, and she felt light headed. “Sun above it’s so good to hear another voice.”

“Who is this? Identify yourself! You said you were where?”

“My name is Sunset Shimmer. I’m a civilian in Segulli, east of the Haspor Mountains.” The words came out fast and furious, like she’d pulled a plug. Part of her felt as if the moment she stopped speaking the other voice would vanish, like an addled hallucination of a starved mind. “I’m inside an old military vehicle—I don’t know the name for it, but it’s on four big tires and has a large gun. I’m using the backup radio equipment to speak with—”

“You’re where? If this is some kind of joke—”

“It’s not!” She leaned toward the transmitter. “Please, it’s not. I’m in Segulli, I’ve been trying to get to the plateau and Ephyra for weeks. I—?”

“Ephyra? Ephyra’s gone, lady. Grubs rolled it over years ago.”

“But there’s still the Cog, right? You? You’re the Cog? And Jacinto?” She slammed an open palm against the wall by the radio. “Please don’t stop talking. I haven’t heard a voice in … in too long.” She caught herself just before she’d been about to say weeks.

“Shit girl, this is over my pay grade. Cog’s still here, though. We’re operating out of Jacinto, but … Look, you’re in Segulli? I’m just a motor tech, but that place is probably crawling with grubs—”

“They already almost got me. I stayed to find a radio. So I could talk to someone and get some help. Please.”

“Look, I’m just a radio tech in the motor pool. If you’re in Segulli, you’re in deep shit. We just bombed the hell out of those mountains with the lightmass bomb.” There was a pause, and Sunset checked the power readout under the console to make sure it hadn’t gone out. One light had, and she cranked the handle a few more times.

“Let me put you in touch with Control.”

Her heart leapt. Someone in charge? “Will I have to change channels? I’m not very good with this radio. It’s unfamiliar.”

“Uhh … No, we can work with that. You’re on an old frequency we don’t really use anymore.”

“Out of date?”

“No, we just don’t have that many armored … Look, I’ll put you in touch with Control, okay? Just … stay by your radio.”

“Will do.” Sunset wiped her eyes, letting out an almost half-sob.

I did it. I’m talking with someone. A real someone. Not just a voice in my head.

I hope.

The interior of the vehicle shook again, a loud tremor making itself known. This one was heavy enough that she felt the machine bob up and down, the creaking of its suspension mixing with a distant crashing roar of another ruin coming down.

The tremors are getting worse. Segulli is shaking itself apart. If I don’t get out soon this—

“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice, almost pleasant to listen to. “Are you still the—?”

“Yes!” Sunset surged upright once more. “I am! I’m here I’m here! I’m Sunset Shimmer. Who am I speaking with?” She winced as the sudden sense of politeness took over.

“Your name is what? Nevermind. My name is Anya Stroud. I’m a lieutenant in the Coalition. If what I’ve been told is correct, you’re transmitting from an old centaur tank in Segulli?”

Sunset did a small double-take at the name of the machine she was sitting in. Centaur? “Yes? If that’s what it’s called?”

“Segulli is crawling with Locust, Miss Shimmer. Worse, it’s in the Hospar Mountains, which we just hit with a lightmass bomb.”

“Well then that explains why I was being shot at and why the mountains are collapsing, I guess. Both seem bad.”

That sentence is crazy. And yet it makes perfect sense.

“Where are you in Segulli? We have KR units doing surveillance sweeps of the mountain range. We can reroute one of them to provide you with a pickup.”

“Thank you!” She almost sagged. “I—”

“Don’t thank me yet. They’ll need to find you. Where are you in Segulli?”

“I … I don’t know. The southern half of the city. Near … On one of the wider thoroughfares. I don’t know the name or the number. But it’s an old cog checkpoint. The second one up from the south end of the city!”

“That doesn’t give us a lot to go on, but I can pass it along. Have you been engaged by Locust forces?”

“You mean attacked? Yes. I lost all my supplies. It’s why I’m hiding in this—” She paused for a second, trying to remember the word the woman had used. “—tank. The whole city is shaking like it’s had an earthquake, and I think it’s driving some of them out of their tunnels.”

“We expected that.” The woman still sounded incredibly calm. Though if she was in “control” of the Cog, she probably dealt with far worse on a regular basis. “Are there any identifying landmarks KR-seven-zero can use to find you?”

“Ummm …” Panic swept through her like lightning, her mind racing … but then the contents of her pack came to her. “I have flares! Signal flares!”

“Excellent. Try to find a flat, open, clear space. A courtyard of some kind, at least fifty feet on a side. Light the flares as soon as you hear the raven. And be ready. The lightmass bomb may have taken out most of the Locust tunnels, but there will be plenty of stragglers that will head right for your flares.”

Sunset swallowed. “I understand. Just … don’t leave me.”

“We won’t. Lima squad is on that chopper. Give me a moment.”

“Okay.”

Her heart was pounding. This is really happening. They’re coming to get me!

Real people. People I can talk to.

A thread of worry wormed its way through her elation. I’ll have to be careful with my words.

“Miss Shimmer? KR-seven-zero has been rerouted toward your location. They’ll be there in a few minutes. Find them a landing zone. Then hunker down. The Locust won’t take kindly to that bird landing on top of their heads.”

“I understa—”

“Then you need to move now, and find them that LZ. Good luck.”

She didn’t want the conversion to end. Stepping away would be like peeling a bandage off and taking her old coat of fur with it. But it had to be done.

“Thank you.” She pulled the headset from her head and dropped it on the console, sagging back and letting out a wet, almost tearful moan. I did it.

The ground shook again, vibrating so intensely that the panel she’d dropped early buzzed, sliding across the metal decking. A second later the centaur—Strange name—lurched to one side, bouncing and not quite righting itself.

But I didn’t do it all yet! She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, then moved for the open hatch.

The night outside wasn’t as dark as it had been when she’d ducked inside the tank, the moon brighter and illuminating more of the city. Some of the haze had cleared.

It was the only thing about the city that looked better than it had earlier. The tank was sitting at an angle, now, the pavement of the road beneath it tilted and cracked.

Flashlight! She killed the light and shoved it into her pocket. She’d been so elated and preoccupied she’d almost forgotten that there were Locust all too happy to hunt her.

Open space … The top of the centaur, tilted as it was, made for a decent vantage point of the nearby city. Not that anything that was particularly open jumped out at her. Crumbling building-fronts exposed open space, but much of it was uneven and worse, unstable. The road itself was easily fifty feet across, but it wasn’t clear, and hunting back and forth to find a clear space was just as likely to come up with nothing as it would a possible space.

The ground shook again, the centaur swaying beneath her and tipping more to the side. She was running out of time.

Like a plaza. The next command post was supposed to be in a large plaza. And it wasn’t too far up the road from what she could remember of the map.

Except the Locust went that way.

The ground shifted again, pebbles mixing with shell casings and sliding as the center of the checkpoint seemed to dip another foot. She could hear the pavement cracking and breaking, like ice over a pond.

She was out of time to make her decision. Whatever was going on beneath her, it was getting worse by the second. She could either run south and hope … or move deeper into the city and find the plaza.

Another series of cracks echoed across the checkpoint, and she made her decision, swinging her body out onto the exterior of the tank. The vehicle’s pronounced lean made the descent down its side almost a fall, and she dropped the last few feet, stumbling but recovering her balance.

North. The cracking sound had slowed, but it was still there as she crossed the rest of the checkpoint, heading for the rear barriers. Some of them were tilting inward already, and as she watched another began to lean toward her.

Definitely time to go. This place is getting worse with each passing second. She couldn’t say what had caused it, perhaps past the—What had they called it? Lightfast?—attack.

She hurried away from the checkpoint, her eyes hunting every shadow in the road ahead of her, hunting for any sign of movement.

How long was I inside the tank? How far could those Locust have traveled? Maybe they gave up?

Or maybe they were just waiting up the road behind a burned out car, quietly anticipating the moment she would step in range of their rifles.

The thought made her uneasy, as did the realization that she was essentially standing in the middle of the road, clearly visible. She adjusted her course, heading for the left side of the avenue where she could be a bit closer to the wrecked and abandoned storefronts.

Just not too close, she thought as another tremor swept through the city. It was backed by a distant rumble and crash as another building somewhere nearby collapsed. A few seconds after that a louder sound from her back made her turn, just in time to see the checkpoint she’d been in, along with a good chunk of the surrounding street drop out of sight.

A faint shiver rolled through her even though she was well away. If someone hadn’t answered me—

She cast the thought aside. I’m smart enough to leave when things start tilting sideways. I wouldn’t have been in there.

Still, the thought of vanishing into the depths of the earth wasn’t comforting.

Another tremor shook the earth, this one more violent, and hot on its heels came a dull, grinding roar from somewhere ahead of her. At first Sunset looked to the city, but then she cast her gaze up. A titanic chunk of earth had slipped free from one of the mountains to the north and was sliding down the face, moving almost in slow motion as it smashed through outcroppings and forests.

But it wasn’t moving slowly. It was just massive. Maybe the size of Segulli or larger. The kind of thing the legends said had happened during the Breaking, before Equestria.

Her eyes slipped to the western mountain face, looming over the city. If the same thing happened …

Don’t think about it. She focused on the sound of her boots slapping against the pavement, on the shadowed, moonlit ruins of the city around her, on the wrecks and abandoned cars that seemed to be everywhere without rhyme or reason.

How long did she have until the helicopter arrived? How quickly could it move? If I don’t find a space in time for them to land, will they just assume I didn’t make it? What about—?

A new sound pricked at her ears, one she’d not heard before. A faint mechanical, clicking whine, almost like the winding of clockwork. She slowed, coming to a stop by another burned out vehicle, cursing her weak seran ears as she turned her head to try and source the odd sound.

Then there was a sudden snap as something buried itself in the far side of the car, sparking and sputtering. Sunset threw herself down and a second later the world was swept away by the loud roar of an explosion. It wasn’t quite as loud and all-consuming as the grenade had been, nor was it loud enough that the shout of her Locust attackers wasn’t almost immediately afterward, but it definitely was enough to pin the mechanical sound she’d heard as a warning sign.

Gunfire rattled off the body of the car before she’d even pushed herself up. A new voice came with it, wispy and almost a hiss through the dark. “Kill!”

No. Sunset reached over her shoulder, tugging the lancer free. No. It wasn’t a cry of terror, nor a mental plead to any that might be listening. It was simply a declaration. A fierce, hot anger swept through her as she chambered a round and shoved the rifle’s safety forward.

No.She waited as another barrage of shots soared by overhead, some of them sparking off of the car’s upper body. I didn’t let her stop me.

And I won’t let you stop me. How dare you even try? She leaned out around the back of her cover, holding the rifle just the way she’d practiced and peering along the iron sights. I am Sunset Shimmer. I was personally chosen to be the private student of the ruler of Equestria!

Faint explosions flashed from the other side of the street, briefly illuminating one of her attackers as it let loose another barrage of fire.

And when she rejected me, I followed my destiny. She set her finger on the trigger.

You will not deny me that.

She fired, the lancer kicking with its familiar violence, rapidly moving off target even before she’d let her finger off the trigger. Her shots streaked across the broad avenue and struck the locust in the chest, knocking it back with a howl and a spray of blood. She ducked back behind the car as the rest of its cohorts shifted their aim, spraying shots that bounced off of the pavement and rattled the burnt, thick metal of her cover.

One down. But she couldn’t stay and fight them all. She’d been lucky—her target had been standing, not expecting to be shot back. Already she could hear the mechanical clicking of whatever had launched the first explosive bolt at her, and there was no reason to believe it wasn’t about to fire another one. Her cover was likely being chewed apart—the vehicles were sturdy, but not invincible—and worse, not fully defensible, open to being easily flanked.

I need a better position, and space for the helicopter. She had to get to the command post; it was her best chance. Another spray of gunfire shredded itself against the roof of the car. The whine was almost at its peak.

Use it. A second later there was a sharp twang as the bolt fired and buried itself in the wall of a building on the edge of the street. She was up and running north before it detonated, gambling that the light and sound from the explosion would provide just the barest bit of distraction from her flight.

She was right. It took almost two full seconds for a spray of bullets to spit across her path, missing her flight but not by much. She shoved past the panic and fear, racing onward as more shots sounded from behind.

Then there came a chorus of yells, two, maybe three voices all crying out as she sprintedup the street. She was almost astonished at her own speed as she flew forward, boots slapping against the ground. After weeks of hauling the wagons everywhere and even running with them, running without the harness felt like freedom. Almost like what it might have felt like for a pegasus to fly for the first time.

Just with the added threat of certain death if she slowed or stumbled. Shots raced past her, but none of them came close to hitting her, and a second later she glanced back to see vague bipedal shapes emerging from the far side of the street to chase after her.

It didn’t make her heart pound any less, but at least they weren’t shooting anymore. Or at least, so she concluded until another sparking bolt snapped past her, streaking down the street and detonating against the side of a building. The explosion was enough to trigger a cascade of rubble and masonry from the already weakened front, and Sunset shielded her head with her arms as bits and pieces of the collapse were flung at her. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in her arm that almost made her cry out, but it was temporary, and she focused on keeping her grip on her lancer as she ran past.

The ground was shaking again. Violently, in short, angry tremors. That couldn’t be a good sign. Ahead she saw a familiar barrier wall, built around what looked like a wide, clear parking lot rather than the plaza she’d expected. The gate had been battered down, the old metal dull in the moonlight. But it was something she could take cover behind.

The ground jerked again, this time hard enough that she stumbled. Worse, a quick look at the nearby swaying ruins showed that it wasn’t just her that had felt it. All of Segulli seemed to have felt the impact of … Well, what it was, she wasn’t sure.

Another reason to get out! One of the ruined buildings nearby shifted, something pressing against it from beneath. A spray of glowing bullets shot by overhead, a reminder that her pursuers hadn’t given up.

She stumbled onward as the rumbling underfoot grew worse, almost swaying from side to side to keep her balance as she moved through the entrance to the command post. It was largely similar to the other she’d encountered, with tents and barricades set up, though there was also scaffolding and reinforced elevated positions, each strewn with bodies.

There was also, she noted, no way out but the one she’d just entered. What looked to have been an exit on the other side of the lot was a gaping hole in the earth, recent or ancient she couldn’t say.

A distant crackle swept over the city, and Sunset looked up to see a large chunk of the nearby mountain breaking free, cascading down its surface in a spray of kinetic violence. It had started from the lower slopes, so it only took a few seconds for the landslide to slam into the edge of the city. The impact threw up a massive plume of dust, the faint roar of whole sections of the city being rolled over echoing after it.

The destruction didn’t look as though it was going to reach her location, however, and she raced for one of the elevated defensive positions, leaping over a low concrete barrier and almost falling as she slipped on old spent shells and casings. Recovering, she jumped over another body and then up onto a lower platform before turning and grasping a ladder upward. She had just started to pull herself up once more when shots slammed into the metal right next to her. She let out a yelp and all but hurled herself upward, tossing the lancer ahead to land on the upper platform with a clatter. Something tugged at her armor—violently—as something hot and sharp drove across her back, calling forth another yelp of pain, and then she was atop the platform, sprawled out on still-warm concrete, yanking her legs back as more shots slammed into the heavy barriers.

Her back hurt, and it hurt even worse when she grabbed her lancer, but there wasn’t much else she could do. The ground was shaking beneath her, probably below the whole city. She all but ripped her pack from her back, tearing it open and desperately yanking the flare from its pouch. Brilliant reddish light lit the platform as she twisted the cap off, so bright it was blinding, filling her vision with spots. She flung the flare as hard as she could over the edge, trailing smoke and light and giving the whole of the command post a reddish glare.

That was it. She’d done it. Now all she needed to do was survive.

She gripped the lancer tightly in her hands, her back pressed up against the barrier. She swallowed, throat dry, and then rose, aiming her rifle back at the entrance to the command post.

Just in time to see a Locust attempt to pass through it. She fired, the shots quickly going wide but at least two of them landing close enough to the creature that it dove to the side, crawling over the ground to get behind the cover of the other side of the gate. Gunfire slapped back at her almost instantly, striking the lower part of her concealment and making it shake.

Or maybe that was just the ground shaking. There really wasn’t a way to tell anymore. She moved slightly to the side, then popped over the top and fired again, centering her rifle on another Locust that had started to pass through the gate. Her first shots hit it in the legs, but unlike its fellow it didn’t try to run away, instead firing back at her, the shot going wide even as it waded into her gunfire. Sunset worked the trigger several more times, each shot staggering the creature until it collapsed on its knees.

The rifle let out a click, the magazine empty. Sunset ducked back below her cover just a sharp click announced another explosive bolt driving itself into the other side. The boom of it detonating a moment later made her world shake, the blast vibrating the wall at her back.

She had the magazine ejected and was looking for a spare from her pack when she noticed that she wasn’t alone on the emplacement. A corpse was sitting across from her, hunched almost in a similar position, its helmet half-shattered and exposing a grinning jaw. Its tags were still hanging from the armor at the front of its chest.

It also wasn’t holding a weapon. Odd. Most of the cog corpses were, or had one close by. Maybe they were a lookout? So why would they be unarmed?

At the moment it didn’t matter. More gunfire was spraying at her. She slammed a fresh magazine into the bottom of the lancer, making sure it was seated properly before chambering a round once more. With a grimace, half expecting a shot from one of the Locust weapons to strike her in the face the moment she poked her head above cover, she rose once more.

The Locust she’d wounded was crawling back into cover, and she fired at it first, feeling not a shred of remorse as her shots finished it off. Bullets sprayed back at her, at least two more shooters taking cover out on the road and one still behind the gate—likely the one she’d scared into cover earlier. She focused on it first, trying not to flinch as bullets shot past—some quite close. The Locust at the gate ducked out for a quick look—and she squeezed the lancer’s trigger., her burst of gunfire cautching it right in the face. The thing’s head exploded, the body stiffening and then slumping over.

It was revolting … but in a way almost thrilling. A shot came close to hitting her, striking the top of the barrier she was pressed against and sending chips of concrete slashing across one side of her face. She ducked back down, took a few steps to the side, and rose once more.

Just in time to see a plume of earth erupt from the rubble on the other side of the street, more Locusts emerging out into the night, firing in the direction of the checkpoint as soon as they cleared the dust. Their shots were so wide it was clear they weren’t even shooting at her, just adding their fire to what was already lashing out.

It would only be a matter of time until they narrowed their focus, however. Some of them already were—especially when she returned fire, getting a single good shot into one’s chest but not knocking it down.

I’ve seen what these bullets can do. How tough are these things? She switched positions once more, ever alert for the telltale whine of the bolt-thrower as she poked her lancer around the edge of the opening she’d used on the side, giving her cover from half the street while still letting her fire at the entrance. Her first shots slipped off target, but the second struck a Locust square, causing it to stumble and fall. When it tried to get back up she fired again, emptying the magazine and reducing it to a motionless lump of flesh.

Something hot and angry grazed her arm and she ducked back with a hiss of pain, ejecting the spent magazine and accidentally kicking it over the side of the structure as she pushed herself back.

They’re coming. She could kill them, but not well. Not with efficiency. And as soon as they figured that out …

I’m going to die, she thought as she shoved another magazine into the rifle, staring at the body across from her in the tower. Just like that Cog. As soon as they— What’s that?

There was something she’d missed earlier, gripped in the dead soldier’s hand. A ball-like shape, bristling with knobs, at the end of a short, stiff assemblage of chain.

She recognized it, both from the brochures and the attack that had taken out her wagons. A grenade.

She almost dropped her lancer as she threw herself across the small platform, grabbing the explosive from the dead soldier’s hands. They must have been getting ready to use it when they were shot.

She’d have to make sure she didn’t share the same fate.

Priming the weapon wasn’t hard to figure out. There was a handle at the end of the chain that she was supposed to grip, likely to help her in throwing it, and a metal tab that was clearly meant to “break” and be pulled out. And then you just throw, right? There were similar devices that were made by the minotaurs and the griffons, and the Guard even used a similar tool, though it was non-lethal.

But even they said not to drop it. She gripped the handle in one hand, holding the tab with the fingers of her other. From the street there was a roar, followed by a single word she could decipher.

“Advance!” It was like they wanted her to know they were coming for her. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed, and yanked the tab out. When the world didn’t end, she cracked an eye open to see a glowing orange light at the end of the handle.

With a shout she rose above the top of the barrier, swinging the grenade out and letting it fly. Shots raced back at her, but she was already ducking into cover, conscious of the half-dozen or so Locust she’d seen just rushing through the gate.

There was a guttural cry of alarm as one of them shouted “Grenade” followed by a wet, almost muffled boom. The sound was puzzling—maybe the grenade had been old and not quite suitable—at least until she’d reloaded her rifle and poked her head out and saw the smoking wet, splattered remains of what had probably been one or two Locust that appeared to have been right in the center of the blast. Apparently her throw hadn’t quite reached the gate … but it had reduced an uncertain number of her attackers to shredded chunks of flesh, while those that had been at the gate itself were falling back with visible injury. She put a string of shots into one’s back, cutting it down.

The grenade had bought her some time. She ducked again as she heard the telltale whine of the bolt thrower, wishing she could track where those were coming from and force it back. Her cover shook and shuddered, dust rising into the night sky on the horizon as another part of the city skyline seemed to collapse.

I just need to keep them from coming through the gate. There was another grenade hanging from the dead cog’s belt, and she grabbed it, peering over the barrier but noting that none of the Locust seemed keen to rush through the gap now. They were just firing sporadic shots at her location, and she ducked down as a few came quite close.

I just have to hold out until the helicopter gets here. However long that takes. Just a little—

With a roar the ground across the street heaved, whole slabs of pavement rising up into the air and crashing to either side. Massive spindly legs rose from the depths, shoving aside rubble and debris as they cleared a path out of the depths. For a moment Sunset was seized with the horrible image of one of the creature’s legs sweeping her meager emplacement aside, but then the thing backed down the tunnel it had made, vanishing into the dark.

With combined roars more than a dozen new Locust rushed out of the opening, followed by something similar to all of them, but much larger.

“Boom!” Its voice was deep, almost resonating with the rumble of the earth. For a moment she wondered about its choice of phrase, but then the large gun it was holding spat out an arcing projectile that soares overhead past her tower, whistling the whole while. It slammed into the ground behind it, exploding with terrific force that made the world swim.

Great. She could barely feel any additional fear at the revelation. She was already numb. I throw a grenade, so they shoot one.

She popped off a few shots at the thing, but it was like shooting a wall. She saw the shots hit home, digging into its flesh even as returning fire forced her back down, but it was like the thing didn’t even acknowledge the pain. It shook its head and continued reloading its drum-like weapon, still looking in her direction.

Off to her left, inside the wall of the checkpoint, the ground began to crack and heave, spitting upward. Another emergence hole. Her magazine ran dry, and she ducked behind the wall, fumbling for the other grenade as more guinfire poured by overhead. There was another whump from down below, followed by the whistling sound of the large Locust’s explosive weapon as it barreled toward her—

And with a crack that made her ears ring and her vision blur it slammed into the concrete barrier she was crouched behind. The sound of the explosion swept over her like a wave, a crushing impact that seemed to suck the breath from her lungs and reduce the world to a painted smear. She dropped the grenade, clapping her hands over her ears. A cry of pain left her throat, but she almost couldn’t hear it.

The world came back quickly enough, the faint ringing in her ears fading and her field of view returning with each blink. Her head hurt, like she’d taken a hit but from all sides, and when she brushed a hand against her lip it came away wet with blood. When had she cut her lip?

A plume of rock and earth rose into the sky off to her … right? Somehow she’d gotten turned around. The plume was bad, she knew that much. Because it was a hole. A hole more Locust were now crawling out of.

Her thoughts felt hazy, like someone had slathered her brain in maple syrup. She let out a quiet, distorted laugh. “Sryup.” What a funny word. Princess Celestia had always let her have syrup.

She slid forward on her hands and knees, grabbing the grenade from where it had fallen on the floor. The world was getting clearer by the second, speeding up like a record player that had been rewound.

Seran biology, Sunset realized as hefted the grenade, glancing to her right at the new emergence hole. Tough.

One thing she could like about her new body. She yanked the tab from the bottom of the handle, wincing as a shot from one of the new arrivals almost parted her mane, and hurled the grenade toward the hole.

At least, she’d meant to throw it at the hole. Instead her throw went wild, the strange, flail-like weight living up to its name and falling wildly off target, not coming anywhere close to the hole. It detonated a moment later, showering her position with gravel.

One of the Locust laughed, mocking her throw. She shoved another magazine into her lancer. By her estimate, she only had one other left. Another tremor rippled through the city, the ground groaning in concert with a deep, rhythmic thumping sound. The large Locust fired again, the projectile whistling by overhead. A miss, but it really didn’t seem to matter. She didn’t even dare stick her head over the top of the barrier there were so many bullets coming at her now. Instead she fired out the opening on the side, not hitting anything but at least keeping the Locust inside the perimeter wall from taking return shots at her.

The magazine let out a click, the lancer dry. Another cry of “Boom” echoed from the street, another explosive detonating nearby.

“Advance!”

This is it. She loaded the last magazine, her throat suddenly tight. She was right.

I couldn’t do this. I’m going to die.

She took a long, slow, steadying breath, ignoring the pain in her head, in her back, across her arm, and a few other places that she almost hadn’t been aware were hurting. What happens if I die here? In this world? Do I get stuck in limbo? Or do I end up in whatever afterlife this world has? The inside of her chest felt like it was glowing with heat.

She yanked the lancer’s lever back, chambering a round. I guess I’ll find out. I wasn’t strong enough.

The heat swelled, a furious determination filling her and her pains lessening somewhat. But I can make sure I drag a few more of them with me.

“Boom!” She turned to the side and fired, cutting down a Locust that was just starting to climb up the same defensive emplacements she had. It was too close to do anything but whither under her fire, slumping as her shots bored right through its armor. Another blast from the weapon throwing explosives rattled her position, bulwarks shaking and the corpse slumping to one side.

She fired again and again, forcing her attackers to stay low, metering out the last few bullets in her magazine. Then the familiar figure of the larger Locust appeared through the opening in the side of her position, eyes fixed right at her. She aimed as it lifted its weapon, putting her last two bullets into its shoulder.

It didn’t even flinch, opening its jaw to speak once again. “Boo—!”

And it blew apart. One second it was there, the next gone as the roar of a massive explosion swept over the lot. Sunset’s jaw dropped as several of the nearest Locusts fell to the ground in the wake of the blast, some seeking cover a second before another explosion tore them to pieces, something striking the ground with a hot, angry hiss before ripping the surrounding area apart.

Gunfire followed a moment later. Not the short, sporadic bursts of bullets she’d come to expect from the Locusts’ weapons, but twin lines of death that descended out of the sky and cut one of the remaining attackers in half.

The rhythmic thumping she’d been hearing suddenly made sense as she followed the twin lines up into the sky. A helicopter—a king raven—hung in the air, its sides spitting fire, sweeping it back and forth across the Locust lines. Return fire was on it in an instant, the Locust switching targets and firing back. Sparks flew from the aircraft’s armored prow as it soaked up the shots, but the machine seemed to care as little for the ground fire as the large Locust had for Sunset’s own. There was a sharp hiss and another missile of some kind shot out from beneath the thing’s stubby wings, streaking down into the street. A titanic blast followed a second later, gravel bouncing off of Sunset’s position as the explosion ripped the street apart.

“Is anyone still alive down there?” The voice boomed across the war-torn parking lot, and Sunset almost let out a laugh of disbelief.

“Here!” she shouted, unsure if they could see her but rising and waving her arms. “He—!”

Something hot and angry slammed into her back and she stumbled forward, her cry morphing into one of pain. Stupid! she thought as she ducked once more. You stood!

But the spray of gunfire from the raven showed that it had seen her, and better yet the scream of pain from the street suggested that the Locust that had fired on her had been repaid in kind and by far more.

With another hiss the helicopter fired another missile, this one vanishing into the nearby emergence hole and detonating. Dust and rock rose into the sky as the hole collapsed in on itself.

“We’re coming down!” the projected voice exclaimed. “We’ll cover you, but—” The voice cut off as the aircraft juked to one side, another whistling explosive like the one used by the large locust shooting past and just barely missing it. “You need to move!” the voice finished.

With that, the aircraft began dropping out of the sky, far faster than any helicopter she’d ever seen in Equestria move. It was coming down to land, and quickly.

Which means I need to move! Her mind caught up only a second later, but the aircraft was already almost down by the time she’d risen to her feet once more.

The tags! She yanked the tags from around the corpse’s neck, grabbed her pack, and jumped from the platform, stumbling as she landed and slamming her knees into the concrete. It hurt, but it was just one more bit of pain atop everything else. More gunfire was flying through the air now, the Locust in the street redoubling their efforts to kill her, the helicopter, likely anyone.

The aircraft had landed by the time she made the last leap to the ground, stumbling again. When had her balance become so poor? A heavy-looking door on the side of the machine opened, and she saw several serans waving at her, motioning for her to run in their direction.

People.

Two of them were firing a rifle she’d never seen before back at the locust, spraying gunfire while shouting. At her, she realized as she ran. They were shouting at her. To hurry.

She swayed, though the ground beneath her hadn’t shifted. The world felt like it was sliding sideways, tipping out from under her. Step by step the raven neared, outstretched hands reaching for her. They couldn’t be real, maybe it was all just a hallucination as she bled out on the ground.

But she could feel their thick, calloused skin in hers as they grabbed her outstretched hands, pulling her roughly aboard the aircraft. Someone shouted “Go!” and her weight seemed to double as the ground rushed away, one foot still dangling out the side into open air. More hands grabbed her armor, yanking her in and all but tossing her to the deck.

“Medic!” A doctor sounded good. Maybe they hadn’t tossed her. Maybe her legs had just given out.

The world was swimming. She could feel the faint thump of the helicopter’s rotors through the deck, a soothing vibration that made her want to nod off.

But she couldn’t. Not yet. Several serans were huddled over her, their expressions hidden behind large helmets with glowing blue eyes. She smiled. Or tried to.

“Hi,” she said, the word coming out in a wheeze. “I’m really glad you came to get me.”

Closing her eyes, Sunset slept.

Author's Note

Destiny(?)

Chapter 23 - Destiny(?)

“I’m sorry Sunset, but my answer is final.”

“This isn’t fair!”

“Sometimes life is not. You’re not ready.”

“That’s not true! You saw something. I know you did!”

“I did, Sunset, but—”

“But what!? I spent my whole life preparing for this! For you! And now I’m not good enough?”

“Sunset, I—”

“You what?”

“I’m sorry. But I won’t speak of this further, and you shouldn’t either. What I saw … It’s not … Sunset!”

Her mentor’s voice echoed after her as she ran.

Sunset awoke with a gasp, halfway rising but then stopping as pain lanced through her. “Ow …” What …?

She was in a medical bed, that much was clear, though not like any medical bed she was familiar with. That it was thick and heavy was an immediate clue. And she was still seran, as evidenced from a quick look at her fingers. Gone was the pony from her dream, a long-lost memory that already felt years’ ancient.

The room was well-lit, if sparse and a bit lacking in familiar comforts. However, it was the figure sitting a few feet from the edge of her bed, eyes studying her, that caught her attention first. She recognized him from a few of the photos she’d seen, though he looked much older than he had then. How much she wasn’t sure—it was hard to judge seran faces with her almost nonexistent lack of exposure. But she was certain of his identity. Just … older. More tired. He had a small beard now, largely grey, and his black hair had thinned and receded somewhat.

He was giving her an analytical stare, one that reminded her of the piercing looks given by one of the old Griffon Empire diplomatic attaches, a look that spoke of pure analysis, of weighting and measuring all silently being carried out with each passing second. That the object of their focus was were a tool whose usefulness was still being determined, judged to await its proper place and position.

Fitting, given his position and what he’d done.

He saw that she was awake, too, and that she’d focused on him. When he spoke his voice was firm and steady. Controlled, but with a presence to his words. It was a tone she’d heard many times before, through most of her life. But the gaze it was coming from was steely, rather than warm.

“Do you know who I am?”

She nodded slowly, and then when he didn’t speak, gave an answer. “You’re Chairman Prescott. Leader of the Coalition of Ordered Governments. Or what’s left of it.” He nodded, but didn’t reply , simply gazing at her with an unreadable expression, so she continued. “You’re also the one who ordered the hammer of dawn attacks on your own cities.”

That did elicit a response from him. A nod, nothing more, but there was a solemnity to it. Regret, maybe?

“I ordered the most recent lightmass strike as well,” he added. “The one that you were very nearly a casualty of.” There was something to his tone that made her think that if she had been, it would have been measured as “acceptable.” Within the confines of his goals.

He clasped his hands together and leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the arms of his seat. His eyes seemed to bore into her, but she stared back. A lifetime spent under her mentor’s watchful gaze and surrounded by nobles and diplomats had exposed her to just as prying a gaze.

“Curious,” Prescott remarked after a few seconds, leaning back. She hadn’t “won” anything, she knew. He’d likely just grown bored. “You seem to have some mark of bearing and upbringing. Most stranded who meet me either won’t look me in the eyes or are eager to hurl something at me. You seem to be neither. It’s almost as curious as your unusual hair coloration, which the doctor assured me was natural despite their disbelief, and the collection of items that you carried with you.” He reached down beneath his chair, and Sunset’s eyes widened as he lifted up one of Starswirl’s books.

“You recognize them,” Prescott said. “I thought you would. Very curious, these books. At least a few decades old, I would gather, and obviously important to you. But not written in Tyran. Or in any other language recognizable to the Cog.”

She fought to keep her face flat. Expressionless. Prescott stared at her, then continued.

“Interestingly, there was a journal amongst your belongings as well.” His voice was almost dry, like he was bored and had already reached his conclusion. He bent down, and then her journal was added to the stack on his lap. “It bore a symbol similar to the patch on your backpack, and clearly has been written in recently. In the same language used by this book. Or perhaps not a language, but a code. A substitution cipher, of sorts?”

There was nothing she could say to him that felt like a safe answer. Then, to her surprise, he smiled.

“Imagine my surprise when our computers spat out an answer that read like something out of a fairytale. Wizards and magic and spells … Another world full of talking ponies, of all things.” He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at the books before giving her another smile. “I’m not one to begrudge a love of the fantastic given the state of the world we live in today, nor how important it might have been to someone who’s lived out in the worst of it. I’ve held onto a few trinkets myself like that.” One of his hands slipped to his wrist, rubbing at a watch there, the motion appearing unconscious. “Each of us has something important to us, that we lean on to give us the strength to keep going, I suppose. These books?” He lifted one of Starswirl’s journals, and she almost winced as he tossed it lightly. “A concocted fantasy, perhaps over decades by a family or a storyteller, now used as a refuge against the horrors of the world we live in.. Strange, yes, but …” He shrugged, then locked his eyes on her quickly.

“Are you from the UIR?” he asked, his tone suddenly quite insistent. “One of the satellites, perhaps? Did you walk all the way around the world to get here? The doctors tell me you look to be about fifteen or sixteen years of age, and I can’t disagree. You’re in good health for having made it that far, but you would have been only three or four when the hammer strikes hit. Who were you with all this time? Were these books theirs? What happened to them?”

“I …” She swallowed, then shook her head, breaking eye contact at last. Better to let him form his own conclusions.

“I see.” The chairman let out a sigh and lowered the book to his lap. “It is impressive that you made it this far, given what must have happened to you out there, and who you might have lost. And you almost didn’t make it; the doctors removed some bullet fragments from your shoulder—” She must have reacted, because he smiled. “Yes, you took quite a beating before Lima Squad was able to rescue you. And killed quite a few Locust from what I’ve heard.”

What little warm demeanor he’d held suddenly vanished, the room growing so cold it was as if someone had opened a window and let the heat out. The chairman leaned forward once again, his face stern and cold. A glint of metal caught her eyes: There was a gun in his hand, a pistol, though not pointed at her. Not yet. “I’m going to ask you several questions. Normally I wouldn’t do this, but between your hair—”

My mane? Surprise must have shown on her face, because the chairman slowed, one eyebrow cocking ever so slightly before he continued.

“—and these strange and well-thought-out, if harmless, books, I feel these questions are pertinent. And you’re going to answer me. Truthfully. If you lie, I will shoot you, and you will die. If I suspect you’re trying to lie, I will shoot you. If you ever mention to anyone what I’m about to say to you now, I will have you killed, do you understand?” Ice formed in her belly. “You can nod.”

She nodded quickly, eyes flicking to his pistol and back to his face, readying herself for questions about Equestria, or Starswirl, or—”

“Have you ever heard the name, perhaps mentioned by your parents or your guardians, of Miles Carver?”

What? Who? Baffled, she shook her head. It was a truthful answer as well, though that wasn’t a great stretch, given her true origins.

“No?” The barrel of the gun was still lazily trained in her general direction. “What about Reyna?”

Again she shook her head. “No. I’ve …” She swallowed, her voice firming. “I’ve never heard either of those names before.”

“Not from your parents? Or your family? The one who raised you, maybe?”

She let out a sharp, almost shocking laugh, Prescott recoiling slightly as if he was surprised. “My parents gave me to an orphanage.” In another world. But he didn’t need to know that bit. “I have never heard either of those names.”

For a moment Prescott stared at her. Then, as abruptly as he’d drawn it, the weapon was back in a holster by his hip, some of the sternness gone. “Very well,” he said. “I believe you.” He stood, setting her books atop the end of her bed. Then his gaze hardened once more. “Though I warn you: If you ever mention those names to anyone, ever … I will find out. And then we’ll both find out exactly how much you don’t know.” The menace slipped off of his voice like steam riding on a morning lake, so cold that she shivered despite herself. “Am I clear?”

“Yes sir.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Good. Then we understand one another. Welcome to the Cog, Miss … Shimmer, I believe you claimed? Enjoy your stay.” He gave her books a last glance. “And perhaps consider therapy if you can find it.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his steps crisp and precise. The door opened at his approach, a soldier clad in black armor just visible through the opening. She’d seen pictures of them before as well. Onyx Guard, the chairman’s personal armed fighting force.

“Anything chairman?” the guard asked, the blue glowing eyes of their helmet looking back at Sunset.

“No, corporal. There’s nothing here that warrants our attention.” The chairman glanced back at her. “Just some valued personal items and a troubled survivor of a young lady who came a long way to see the Cog, heritage be damned.”

Heritage? What about my heritage? The door slid shut without further comment, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

But only for a few seconds. Or maybe it was minutes. Her thoughts still felt rushed when the door opened again, and she looked up to see several silent, unfamiliar faces.

Silent only for a moment. As soon as she’d made eye contact, one of them spoke, a grin breaking out across their face.

“She’s up! See Domingez, I told you she’d be fine! Any girl that walks across the continent to get to Jacinto isn’t going to let a few questions from the chairman get to her.”

The group swept into her room, and she had to fight the inclination to shy back as they spread out around her bed. Who—?

“What was it about?” another armored figure asked her. A man, from his looks. Maybe Domigno? “It was the hair, right? I bet Emerez that it was the hair.”

My mane? Except Prescott had called it her “hair.” Dumbstruck by the sudden appearance of four armored strangers clustered around her bed, all she could do was grab a strand of her mane and look at it from the corner of her eyes. It was cleaner than it had been in weeks, back to its normal coloration.

“People, relax!” A stern voice filled the room, firm but not angry. “And back off. We don’t even know if she speaks Tyran yet.” The fourth and final figure, last to enter the room, stopped a foot shy of the end of her bed, helmet held under one arm. He was giving her a calm but almost silent smile, though it did go to his eyes.

“Right sir.” The three armored figures stepped back from her bedside, hands clasped behind their backs, almost like they were standing at attention.

Wait, she thought. Are they—

“Miss,” the man said, giving her a nod. “I’m Captain Emerez, commander of Lima Squad. We were—”

“You were the ones on the helicopter!” Sunset exclaimed, cutting the man off.

“Hah! She speaks Tyran,” one of the soldiers said, slugging the arm of the man standing next to her. “You owe me a drink, Barns.”

“We were,” the captain said, nodding again. Then his expression softened. “You really pissed them off, kid. I’m glad we got the call when we did. You were cutting it close.”

She couldn’t help it. Sunset sank back, letting out a long, almost manic laugh that quickly morphed into a sob.

“Uh …”

“Hey.” Someone’s hand wrapped around her own. One of the other Cogs, the woman. “It’s okay. You’re in Jacinto. You made it.”

“You killed a bunch of grubs too,” one of the others said. “You’re what? Fourteen? That’s pretty good.”

“Fifteen,” she managed to push out through her sudden sobs. “I’m fifteen.”

“Da-amn. She shoots better than you do Domingez.”

The soldiers let her cry, the tears only lasting a minute or so. Maybe longer, or less. It was hard to tell. But she choked them back at last, embarrassed at the outburst, wiping her eyes as she looked back up the expressions around her. “You’re the ones that saved me,” she repeated. “Thank you. My name is Sunset Shimmer.”

“No shit? That’s actually your name?” Both the captain and the woman holding her hand glared at the man, and he gave Sunset a halfway apologetic shrug. “I mean, you mumbled it to us after we picked you up, but we figured … It’s kind of a weird name, you know?”

“World’s a big place, Barnes,” the captain said. “She doesn’t need you making it small by telling her that her name’s weird.”

“Yeah,” the woman added. “You’re named after a building on a farm. Weirdo.”

“Yeah yeah, point conceded, Mirren.” The soldier flashed a symbol with his hand, probably something dirty, and Sunset let out a faint laugh.

“It’s nice to hear people talk again,” she said as the four soldiers looked at her.

“How long have you … been on your own?” Domingez asked. He looked young, bright eyes peering out from beneath a thick head of brown.

“Too long,” she said, not wanting to give them an actual answer. That would only lead to … questions. She’d need to invent a good cover story later, but for now … The group nodded, seemingly accepting her answer. “I’m just glad I’m here now. In … Jacinto?”

Again she got nods in return. “There’s not much left,” Emerez said after a moment. His own head had the mane cropped shorter than his fellows, but like two of them he looked young. The only one that looked decently aged was the woman holding her hand, Mirren, her mane silvered and her face wrinkled and scarred. “Tollen, Montevado, Jacinto … a few smaller towns. But we’re here.”

“We’re still fighting,” Barnes added.

“Damn grubs haven’t stopped us yet,” Domingez said. “And with the lightmass bombing …”

“You don’t need to tell her about it,” Mirren said, nodding at Sunset. “She was in it.”

“Shit. Right.”

“We went through your stuff,” the captain said. “Sorry, but we can’t be too careful these days. We found the tags you brought back with you. Thank you. I didn’t know any of them, but it’s good to have closure for those that did.”

He shifted, rising from a half-sitting position atop the arm of the chair. She hadn’t even noticed him sitting down. “Anyway, you’re probably tired. My squad just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.” He turned, and the squad moved to follow him, Mirren patting her hand reassuringly before turning away.

“Wait,” she said. All four of them stopped, turning back toward her. “I …” She felt as though millions of questions were running through her mind, all of them begging for an answer. Part of her just wanted to go back to sleep. But she had to know. “What … happens now?”

The three soldiers looked at the captain, and the man let out a sigh. “Nothing much, I’m afraid. For you, I mean. You’re with the Cog now. There’s work to be found, if you want it. A place to sleep and a ration chit. The Cog will get you patched up, and you might be able to argue you’ve got a case for therapy—”

“No.” The word seemed to surprise them as much as it surprised her. “I didn’t come all this way not to do something meaningful.” I came here to find my destiny.

“Well, there’s always something—”

“I want to fight.” Her statement cut him off. All four members of the squad stared at her, some with surprise, some with what looked like weary recognition.

“You sure?”

“I brought you those tags. Those people died for something important. I didn’t come here to hide.”

“She’s got spirit,” Barnes said.

“I want to learn how to fight. You said I’m a good shot. Partially in jest, I think, but I didn’t cower when those Locust attacked me. I fought. I killed. I can do it.” She could feel a fire to her words, and in her chest as well. A conviction. A soothing warmth that pressed aside the faint fear and uncertainty, almost like … Magic.

For a second or two the various squad members stood there, each of them turning toward the captain. Emerez nodded, then walked back over to her bedside, crouching on one knee so that he could look right at her.

“You want to fight?” he asked.

“I do.”

“Do you think you’re ready?”

His words seemed to echo in Sunset’s mind. A question she had never asked. She could feel the pain in her shoulder from where the bullet fragment had struck her, feel the stiffness of the bandages on her face. When she spoke, it wasn answer not just to the captain, but back across time, toward her.

“I’m ready,” she said.

Emerez smiled. “You’ve got spirit, kid. But you need to heal first. And train. Don’t worry,” he said, holding up his hands to stave off her near-protest. “It’s not a no. If you want to fight …” He let out a slight sigh. “The Cog needs every able body it can get. One way or another, if you want to fight, you will.”

“Unless you’re really crazy.”

“Domingez!”

“Sorry.”

“You should be. They let your sorry ass in, and now we have to deal with it.”

The captain ignored their words. “You’re young. But you did survive out there, past the line, for years. Alone or together that counts for something. So if you say you’re ready, well … then you’re ready, and the Cog isn’t going to say no. We need every body we can get, and it’s better when they’re people like you. Survivors. Ones who can fight.”

He stood and extended her a hand. She took it, shaking it, though she wasn’t positive if the shake was wishing her well with the idea or if she’d just volunteered. “I’ll let the doctors know to send you a recruiting officer as soon as we leave and you’re ready for it.” He gave her hand a final, firm shake, then let go.

“It’s early, Shimmer, but welcome to the Cog.”

The four of them said their goodbyes and left, closing the door behind them. Exhaustion hovered at the edge of her awareness, and Sunset closed her eyes, sleep returning with a vengeance.

But she was smiling as she drifted off. I did it. I made it.

And she was going to fight. The sounds of the hospital began to fade, falling away.

I’ll show her that she was wrong about me. One way, or another. This is my destiny, and I’ve found it.

Sleep buried the faint sense of unease in her heart.

END OF SUNSET: STRANDED

Author's Note

Well, and that's it. That's the end of Sunset: Stranded.

Okay, I know a lot of you have questions. Largely echoing along "How could you end it there?" Well, the answer is that originally when I conceived this idea, it was as a classic three-part journey, the first of which you just finished. The first would have been Sunset's flight through the mirror and her survival as a "stranded" in the world of Sera. The second would have been titled Sunset: Soldier and would have chronicled her experiences in the Cog (and, as many of you familiar with the series timeline might have guessed, Operation Hollow Storm). The third and last bit Survivor, would have been after the fall of Jacinto and the dissolution of the Cog as the lambent swarm Sera for the bitter end.

There were some hints of that forthcoming threat in this part of the story, such as haze on the lake.

The part that was hardest about this being a whiff is how much Sunset's character in this story isn't complete. I don't know how many of you noted her gradual instability and self-deception, but Sunset in this story is not at her best. She's angry, she's hurt, and after being on her own, has really started to pour concrete over a lot of her flaws and misconceptions, to the point that she does believe them. Which made her a uniquely flawed protagonist—and part of the experiment, as there was no one else around to draw attention to that.

As you might guess, if part 2 and 3 happened, we'd see that change. We'd see Sunset realize, though perhaps some rough, brutal, awful things, that she was and is wrong. Celestia wasn't exactly right either, and handled things poorly out of fear (and love) for Sunset, but that would be acknowledged if the story came to its conclusion.

So what did go wrong? Well, this story was written to experiment with isolation (a lone protag) and scenery gorn, plus a bit of a flawed protagonist with no one around to point it out. And it both failed and succeeded. Clearly, I went past the limits for the audience on how much isolation could be expected, and pushed a little too much scenery gorn ... but both were good practice for an upcoming fantasy trilogy I've got planned that, in fairness, touches more on the latter than the former, but will need both. But this story pushed both too hard, important lessons to use with that trilogy.

But hey, if you made it this far you likely saw the flaws but didn't care, so thank you, and I'm glad you enjoyed this story regardless of its structural difficulties.

Will there ever be those other two parts? Probably not. If enough people are curious, I can do a write-up covering what would have happened and Sunset's journey as a person over those two final parts, along with how things would have ended.

Anyway, thanks for reading even the duds, folks. Glad you stuck around. If you're new, drawn in by Gears of War, but haven't touched my other work, then you're in for a treat. This is the weak stuff. Check out my profile page for a lot of other (and better-written) content, or for the real grand-slam check out my website and pick up a paperback or two.

Final Thoughts from the Author [Not a Chapter]

Author's Note

So it occurred to me that those who find this story after the fact may wonder what became of things afterwards.

Well, I did a write up on it. Hit this link, and you'll see the story behind the ending of Sunset Stranded and what the other two entries would have been.

Thanks for reading.

Final Thoughts from the Author [Not a Chapter]

BROTHERS TO THE END

Flight

Author's Note

Well, here we go. I'm putting these notes at the top because, well, they're important.

See, here's the thing: This story was an experiment, and therefore may already be a bit of a dud. My Alpha Readers did not enjoy it, but for reasons that largely amounted to "We very literally may not be the audience for this?"

Why? Well, as I've said, this story was an experiment. There were a few things I wanted to try with it to see first how they would work and second if I could pull them off to the satisfaction of an audience. Clearly the audience for my usual work and my published novels wasn't enthralled by it, but that's why I do these tests. Better to try something new and risky with a fanfic than with a book that's going to end up on a store shelf.

So yes, this story was specifically written to challenge me with a few new things. I won't illuminate you all as to what they were here (but you're free to guess). However, personally? I think the story whiffed. Not all of it (in fact, I feel like some stuff worked too well, something to keep in mind when I take those exercises on to full fruition with the series I had in mind to practice them with.

But just because I felt that it whiffed doesn't mean you might. Well ... it's still pretty likely.
An author who can't tell a whiff from a decent product doesn't sell many books. But that said, it could be that for some of you, this story is exactly what you're looking for.

And even if not, hey it's free! Might as well give it a shot. Besides, it was a lot of fun to finally play in this setting.

So with that, I'll leave you. May you enjoy the story, swing-and-miss or hit aside.

Flight

Chapter One - Flight

What have I done?

The question echoed through Sunset’s mind as she galloped through the palace, her heart pounding in her chest. Each thud was like a gavel striking down. Or worse, the sound Princess Celestia’s hoof had made when she’d stamped it at the end of her proclamation.

What I had to do. She lowered her head, gritting her teeth as she galloped through the back hall. Any minute now, a member of the palace staff could discover what she’d done, come across the two members of the Royal Guard she’d stunned and shoved into a side closet. Or the stunning spell would wear off, and one of them would cry for help—

Focus! She galloped onward, hooves sliding against the stone as she took a tight corner. She had to be quick. Her escort would be discovered. It was only a matter of time. And when they were, Princess Celestia would know in moments.

She had to be gone before the Princess found out. Had to reach the mirror before anypony could stop her.

It was her destiny. A destiny the teacher she had loved had tried to keep from her. Out of fear? Out of jealousy? She didn’t know.

She didn’t want to know.

But it’s my destiny to choose! The staff passage widened, and from ahead she could smell the scent of the kitchens.

Perfect. She smashed through the door in a rush, startled kitchen staff looking up in surprise. One of the cooks dropped a pot, contents splashing across the floor.

“Sunset?” one of them asked. “Are you—?”

There was no time for finesse. Power rushed through Sunset’s horn, blasting out of her in a wave of opal light. The eyes of everypony in the kitchen rolled back, each of them collapsing like a puppeteer’s tools at the end of a show.

Puppets, she thought, a fresh wave of pain rolling through her chest. Like I was.

She darted through the room, eyes searching for anything she could grasp with her magic. A tray of sandwiches flew into a small sack, wrapped tightly and tied to her saddlebags. Dried fruits were swept along, packaged and added to the mix. She even raided the shelf kept for the ambassadorial meals. Dried meat was an acquired taste, but was high in protein. As were beans.

“Wha—What’s going on—?”

Sunset spun, firing another stunning spell from her horn and cutting down the unicorn server that had just opened the kitchen door. They collapsed without a sound.

Time to go. She might have overstayed her welcome already. She needed to flee, needed to be gone as quickly as possible. She wrenched another door open with her magic, eyes searching for the last item she’d wanted, alighting on a small, royal canteen hanging from the back of the pantry by a single strap. Her former teacher’s seal was printed on the side.

She’d remove it later. She might have already stayed too long as it was. She snagged the canteen in her magic, flinging it across the room to one of the large sinks, and filled it.

Good enough! Go! Were those shouts of alarm she was hearing, or was that just her imagination? She bolted from the kitchen, chest heaving as she raced down the hallways once more. Two servants startled as she rushed past, jumping out of the way, but there wasn’t time to stun them.

She had to get to the mirror. Had to.

It’s my destiny. She narrowed her eyes as she galloped, hooves pounding against the floor. Celestia had known. Known what awaited Sunset. And then she’d tried to deny it. Deny her.

My birthright. The mirror. Somehow they were connected. She wasn’t sure yet, but she’d seen something in the mirror. Something Celestia was trying to keep from her.

And for trying to find it, she exiled me. The hallway ahead took on a blurry look as tears welled in her eyes. Threw me out. Because—

She blinked, pushing the hot tears away. Well I won’t let her.

Her ears twitched as she began to hear cries echoing through the palace halls. Somepony had found what she’d done to the Guard. Or to the kitchen. Any minute now the Princess would know.

To her surprise, she could run faster.

She just had to make it to the mirror. Then she could get away, someplace Celestia wouldn’t find her. Couldn’t find her. She’d found Starswirl’s old notes in the library. His explanations for how the mirror worked. Celestia had wrested the notes back from her.

But she had not taken Sunset’s research journal. Into which Sunset had painstakingly copied the old mage’s formulas and diagrams for how the mirror worked. And she hadn’t checked to see what else Sunset had removed from the special collections in the palace library.

Come on … Ponies were definitely shouting now, the calls echoing through the halls. It didn’t matter; she was almost there. Just a little bit longer … She rounded a corner, the door to the room that held the crystal mirror just ahead.

Her mind was already racing forward, running over what she’d seen in Starswirl’s notes. She’d need to make … changes … to the way the mirror had been set up. According to her teacher—former—the control spells on the mirror hadn’t been altered in over a thousand years, not since Starswirl had settled on what his notes had referred to as a “convenient, almost magicless dumping ground” for him to dispose of “problems” into.

She didn’t want to go there. Not a magicless dump. Especially not one with a regularly opening portal. Even if it was open at the moment, that would simply mean her teacher—former teacher could follow her.

She needed someplace different.

“Sunset!”

A chill ran down her spine at the cry, and she snorted, sliding to a halt as she neared the door. After everything she said—

She cut the thought off, shoving the door open and rushing into the room that held the mirror. It was still there, sitting atop the plinth, its surface glistening and swirling, currently open. To the dumping ground.

“Sunset!”

She ignored the cry, jerking her thoughts back with a mental slap as she ran to the back of the mirror. The device was powered by the phases of the moon on both sides, both where she currently was and … wherever the end was. Whatever exit point the magic chose, the spell there would be powered by the position of the moon.

Or moons, she thought as she spied the mirror’s control spells. Her eyes flashed over the matrix, horn glowing as she searched for the parts of the spell that controlled the destination. If there’s more than one, then there’s either a greater or lesser chance of the portal being open as often. The old geezer’s notes had concluded that more moons probably meant less often. She’d have to take the gamble.

“Sunset!” The Princess’s voice was closer now. She had half a minute at most. Seconds, maybe.

There! Her probing senses found the part of the spell she’d been looking for, and she twisted it, altering the parameters. Why have one moon when you can have two? she thought as the spell took effect. And on a short window! The shimmering quality to the mirror faded, a bolt of panic rushing through her, but then she saw the magic for what it was. The spell on the mirror was searching for a destination, searching for something that fit the new criteria it had been given.

Now, if I could just tweak the magic parameters … Her horn began to glow again, but a cascade of galloping hooves from the hall pulled her attention away. She’d simply have to make do. The spell would make sure that whatever world she arrived on held everything she needed to stay alive.

She was on her way to her destiny. She would master Starswirl’s spells, master the notes she’d copied and books she’d stolen, no matter whatever almost magicless backwater she found herself in. Maybe she’d even be a ruler there.

Like I was meant to be, she thought standing with the mirror at her back and trying her best to put on a confident face as a quartet of Guard rushed around the doorway. They skidded to a halt as they saw her glowing horn.

“Prin—” They were Guard, but she had been the Princess’ student. The wave of energy rushed from her, blowing them back through the door and scattering them against the far wall. Black smoke sizzled from her horn.

“Sunset Shimmer!”

Her feeling of elation vanished as swiftly as a flame thrust into a bucket of ice water. Sunset glanced back at the mirror. It was still flat. Come on!

“Sunset!” The pleading tone to Celestia’s cry made her twitch. “Whatever you think you’re doing, please—”

Something inside her snapped, the shout bursting free of her like a tropical storm. “I’m claiming what you tried to deny me!” She glanced back just in time to see the surface of the mirror shimmer once more as the spell stabilized, its connection made once more.

She turned back, horn glowing with protective magic as she saw her former teacher appear around the door, wings spread and eyes wide with fear.

“And I will have it.” She threw herself back into the portal, and the world she knew vanished in a spray of prismatic color and sensation.

Lay of the Land

Chapter Four - Lay of the Land

Okay Sunset, just stay calm. A gust of wind swept by, tickling the bits of her mane that she hadn’t stuffed down her collar. The place looks abandoned, but that might not be entirely true. Ponies—or whatever they are—might just be … inside?

The reasoning felt hollow, and she gave her head a little shake, locking her fingers around the safety rail. Whatever. You can worry about that later. For now … water, food, shelter.

Food wasn’t as big a concern. She didn’t feel too hungry yet, and she’d grabbed a number of sandwiches and supplies from the kitchen. She’d eat the ones that could go bad early first. And even if this body needs more food, I’ve got enough for two or three days.

Besides which, with so many buildings around her, there had to be at least a few with some food in them that had weathered … well, whatever had happened.

She took a deep breath, drawing her eyes back to the courtyard down below and feeling a faint sense of exposure as the drop reminded her she was without a horn. “All right, Sunset. We’re up high,” she said, parroting the old Guard instructor. “So … what do we see?”

She ran her eyes over the city again, this time searching for details. “The buildings where I came out are closer together,” she said. “And the streets narrower. Looks like … a city center, maybe?” She brought one hand up, shading her eyes against the hot sun. “Everything around that starts to open up. So the city grew over time? Or town or whatever …” She gave her head another little shake. Focus, Sunset. Pick out some important buildings.

“So if that is the city center, then that’s probably the city hall,” she said, her eyes focusing on an ornate building flanked by a wide square. Large pillars dominated the front of the building, along with what looked like another park. It was the only wide, open space in the tightly-clustered center aside from the courtyard she’d found herself in that she could see. “Or some other important building.”

If it is a city hall, they might have an information booth somewhere, a small part of her suggested. With a map of the city, maybe.

And again, it wasn’t too far from where she had come out. There’s the road I followed, so if I head out of the courtyard opposite the way I left it ...

It’d get her close enough to be able to find her way there. The building did look fairly distinct.

Okay, that’s one place I need to stop. Who knows, there might be a way to contact someone there, too.

“Or maybe not,” she said as another gust of wind rolled over her. Some of her mane pulled free, trailing in the wind behind her. “So … what else can I see?” She moved her eyes on, searching for anything bright or distinct.

“That looks like a big store of some kind,” she said as her eyes fell on a large, squat building with tall front windows. A number of them looked to have been shattered, and she couldn’t read the sign, but the faded picture did look like a head of lettuce.

It was closer to the edge of the town, in a wide-open area that seemed to feature a lot of what she guessed were fountains and open spaces for the carriages. Though … the ground seemed damaged, like part of the open area had collapsed.

“A pair of binoculars would be nice right about now.” If there’d been more time to prepare, more time to gather what she could …

But no, Celestia had forced her out. Exiled her for merely trying to claim what was rightfully hers. What she had seen.

Why? Why would she—?

Sunset gave her head a harder shake, pulling the rest of her mane free of her collar and exposing it to the wind. There would be time for figuring out her former mentor’s exact jealousies later. Right now …

Right now I need to figure out where to go first. She pulled her canteen up and took another sip, giving it a small shake as she finished.

Halfway gone. She’d need to find a new source of water soon. Unfortunately ...

Given the state of the city, it was unlikely that the plumbing still worked. If they even had such. They have to though, right? part of her mind asked. But the buildings outside the city …

If they were anything like rural homes in Equestria, they often had their own, independent water supplies, either from rainwater, pumps, or nearby streams and creeks.

“Especially farms.” And the land outside the city did look like farmland. Except …

“If I leave the city, I leave the city.” Granted, she could always come back but …

Pros and cons. She brought her focus back to the large store she’d picked out, one hand corralling her mane.

If they were farms, and not just noble estates—also a possibility, and with the overgrowth and distance it was hard to tell which—then they would likely have useful tools in addition to independent setups. But some of those tools would have had to come from here.

Her eyes picked out a few more larger structures, though she couldn’t make out what they were. A few of them here and there across the city appeared to have been fortified for some reason, with what looked like hasty walls and fencing thrown up around them. Long ago, she noted, and unkempt. In some places the barriers had fallen over, leaving gaps.

One of them wasn’t too far from the storefront she’d spotted. At least, not that she could tell. It was hard to judge distances in her new body without a reference.

Unfortunately, it was also in the opposite direction from what she was guessing was the city hall. Which again … Could have a map.

She took another deep breath. Food and water are really important … but a map is really important too. And that building is the closest … She could already see a faint path to it, or at least one she could figure out. The “store” she’d spotted would be harder to get to, even with her knowing roughly where it was.

“All right, map first. If I can’t find one, then I’ll try to make my way over to the store.” If she was lucky, there would be other stores around it, just like in Canterlot, and she’d be able to find some useful things.

Like a tent. Or some lanterns. She eyed the position of the sun overhead. If it gets dark, I won’t have any light.

Or proper cover if it rained. There were clouds on the horizon. Then again, the inside of the building she was on had been dry ...

One thing at a time, Sunset. One thing at a time.

Getting down off of the tower was more difficult than it looked, but she managed to make it down without slipping and falling. Once at the bottom, she collected her pack and then the knife, took another quick look across the city, and made her way back into the dusty interior of the building.

What was this place? she wondered as she made her way back down the stairs, the metal creaking at every step. Faint pictures and bits of text framed on the walls told her nothing.

Metal was a conductor, wasn’t it? And there were those dishes. Maybe it had something to do with controlling the weather? She peered through an open door as she passed by, her eyes spotting some sort of console in the dim gloom. Maybe?

It was a relief to reach the lobby once more and step out onto the street, back into fresh air and away from the hot, muggy building interior. The breeze wasn’t as evident as it had been on the roof, but it was better than nothing.

She made her way back toward the courtyard, giving the buildings around her a closer look as she passed them. How long would it take for everything to look this overgrown and run down? Dusty, broken windows stared out at her as she passed what looked to have once been a home. Before the top floor had partially collapsed and nature had begun the process of reclamation. Still, she could make out what looked like old furniture: chairs, a small table, a lamp of some kind, bookshelves …

She stopped with a jerk. And on the bookshelves ... Books!

“Old books,” she said quietly, forcing herself to turn away. Mold and lichen had clearly spread across the spines. They’d likely fall apart at the slightest touch.

“Still,” she said softly, shaking her head as she continued back down the street. “Books are a good sign. If they have books, then there’s probably something like a dictionary I can find, teach myself their language.” It wouldn’t be easy, but she was Princess Celesti—a star student. She could do it.

The alleyway back to the courtyard was as empty as she left it, the only prints in the dust her own. Well, at least I’m not being followed by somepony. She increased her pace, reaching the top of the stairs once more, once again noting the strange, winged beings carved in stone that flanked the ste—

Movement.

She stumbled back, eyes going wide as she jerked the knife up to see … Another bird flitting between the branches of one of the trees. It landed on one of them, letting out a short whistle at her as if laughing.

“Sun above,” Sunset said, lowering the knife and letting out a long breath. “Great. Just great. That’s me …” She let out a weak laugh. “Sunset Shimmer: terrified of birds.”

The bird let out another whistle, cocking its head to one side.

“So,” she said, looking up at it. “I don’t suppose you’re intelligent enough to—” The bird let out another quick tweet and rocketed off through the trees, vanishing from sight.

“Guess not.” She blew back a lock of her mane that had slipped over her eyes. “Great. But on the positive side …” What was it that old crusty guard said about wildlife? Something about predators and prey? She paused for a moment, her new face wrinkling slightly as she tried to recall their words. Something about birds being a good sign, right? Animals avoiding a lot of noise? So most birds are a good sign there aren’t any timberwolves around?

Well … I’m not sure if this place has timberwolves, but he was probably right, right? “Which means if there was a bird here, or if I see other wildlife, it’s probably alright, right?”

The idea made her feel a little better. Carefully, she made her way down the stone steps into the courtyard, her boots scattering old, dried leaves and sticks, her hand scraping the handrail with her …

Palm? She paused as she neared the bottom of the steps. Sun above, I think that is why it’s called a handrail and not a hoofrail!

She let out a short, quick laugh as her mind caught up with the absurdity of the observation. “You’re exploring an alien city, Sunset, and you’re thinking about the handrails?”

She cut straight across the courtyard, moving with a bit more confidence and passing the bodies she’d found earlier by. Again she found her eyes drawn to the statue at the center, briefly wondering who the figure had been … and then she was in unfamiliar territory once more, steps rising before her and leading out of the park.

And onto what looked like a narrow footpath between the edge of the park and the nearest buildings. Not wide enough for one of the carriages she’d seen earlier, but certainly wide enough for hoof-traffic. Though it too had suffered the ravages of time like the rest of the city. Many of the bricks had been pushed up by tufts of grass, while others were covered by piles of rubble and debris that had broken free from the buildings around. To her left, a whole section of the path had collapsed into the park, erosion and likely water having done its job over who-knew how long.

At least the path ahead of me is clear. Sunset picked her way over the battered bricks. Well, mostly. From the look of the buildings around her, they had been apartment buildings once. Nice ones, probably. It was hard to tell with the vines and broken windows they now possessed.

This place must have been beautiful once, she thought as the alleyway ended, merging once more with a street much like the other she’d seen. Once.

The street to her right was dominated by a massive hole, as if a whole chunk of the earth beneath it had suddenly given way, dropping who knew how many feet. The collapse had taken some of the fronts of the closest buildings with it, little left of their walls but piles of debris and rubble.

Thankfully, the damage looked old, the bits and pieces she could see weathered and faded. Whatever had caused it had happened a long time ago.

Still, I can’t go that way unless I want to crawl over all that and … I really don’t. Instead, she turned left, following the road as it made its way … Well, wherever it goes. That big building I saw has to be somewhere around here, right? Somewhere … that way? Her gaze landed on another ruined building front. It was hard to tell what it had been originally, before one of the carriages had crashed into it.

Were they self propelled, maybe? She’d seen nobles hire unicorns to do the same with their own carriages. Some form of locomotive spell? Or maybe an engine of some kind?

Ahead of her the buildings on one side of the street stopped, and she slowed as the street widened, growing into a massive courtyard that at one point had probably been quite impressive.

Now it was home to more of those strange depressions. Boxes that had likely once held flowers or topiary had been smashed or broken apart. Wide steps were cracked and covered in more of the concrete barriers she’d seen earlier. They were chipped and broken.

Battle, she thought as she looked out over the courtyard. This was a battlefield.

And at the top of the steps, on the far side of the broken, battered courtyard, was the building with the large columns she’d seen from the tower, looking at once both regal and imposing despite the dirt, grime and damage across its face.

Another faint shiver of unease worked its way down her alien back as she took in the clear signs of some sort of battle. Not any form of battle she was familiar with … but battle all the same.

Except … I don’t see any bodies here, she thought as she moved into the massive courtyard. A faint bit of smudged blue caught her eyes, and she frowned. Well, almost. There were two behind one of the heavy barriers, slumped against the grey material, bone on clear display. She shivered again.

What if … there is no one left? Bits of cracked stone and dirt popped beneath her boots as she began to make her way up the long steps. What if everyone in this world is dead? What if I don’t find any water, or food? I can’t live off of the bits in my bag if there’s no one to sell them—

She shook her head, slowing her climb up the steps. “Easy, Sunset.” The sound of her own voice, quiet as it was, echoing across the open courtyard, was reassuring, the faint flutter of panic in her gut fading. “You’re here for a reason.” She grasped the straps of her pack with her … hands. “Ce— … She saw it.”

My destiny was through the mirror, she thought as she passed by another body. This one had slumped forward over some more of the tan sandbags, a smaller device that looked somewhat like the revolvers she remembered from the minotaur demonstration lying near the bony fingers of one hand. Her eyes stayed on it for just a moment, wondering whether or not it would be worth picking up … and then she moved on.

“Not yet,” she said as the front of the building neared. “You don’t know how to use it, you haven’t really seen anything dangerous yet—” Though there are plenty of signs that there were dangerous things. “—and you don’t even know how it works.”

Later. If she needed it, she could come back later.

The front of the building was in the lee of the sun, the entrance shadowed … as well as what were definitely a last ditch set of defenses. Defenses that, judging from the number of bodies, hadn’t held.

She’d been wrong in her earlier guess. There were bodies. And a lot of them.

Her stomach roiled as she took in the sight, but a small part of her was fascinated, drawing her eyes further across the tableau. It’s like “The Last Stand of the Spearspire Eyrie,” she thought, the famous painting coming to mind with its spread of dead griffons lying before the shattered barricades of their keep.

It hadn’t been a very popular painting. Even in the Griffon Empire. Which was probably why Prince—the Canterlot Museum had acquired it.

She pulled her gaze away from the corpses and their half-ruined protective walls, her eyes drawn to the massive, heavy doors behind them. Both were partially open, one moreso than the other. From the dust around each of them, neither had moved in a very long time.

“Well—” Her voice sounded abnormally loud reflected off the front of the building, especially among the number of long-dead bodies. It was like shouting in a mausoleum. She swallowed, lowering her voice before speaking again. “Well … at least there’s no sign that whatever did this is still around.”

She lifted one boot over the crumbling remains of a barrier, moving slowly around each of the bodies. Four … five … six … There were still more. At least a dozen beings died here, she thought as she counted each of the bodies. And yet, as she turned to look back …

There’s no sign of whatever did it to them. Was it more like that … thing … I found by the one body? Or something else?

Something skittered away from her boot, and she stopped surprise as it bounced off a nearby wall. Some sort of metal container? It was square and faded blue, about as wide and tall as one of her hands, maybe a little more, and about a third as thick. Stepping around another body, she knelt down and picked it up.

If it was food, it was heavy. But it didn’t feel like it. The metal was cool to the touch, and sturdy. It took her a moment to figure out how to undo the clasp on one end with her new fingers, but once she did …

Two smaller, boxy metal devices slid out of the box into her waiting hands. They were slightly oily, and smelled like metal and chemicals. Her nose wrinkled. One end of each of them was partially open, and inside were what looked like overlapping stacked rows of … Brass tubes?

Money maybe? No … She eyed the pointed tips. Some sort of weapon? Wait. Her eyes slid to one of the boxy weapons lying nearby.

What had that minotaur called them? Bulls, maybe? It was something like that, she was certain of it. And they did look like they’d fit in the barrel of the weapon … Maybe.

Whatever they are, I don’t have any use for them, she thought, setting the two smaller containers on the ground. The box, though …

She rose, still holding the larger container. It was a lot lighter now that it was empty, and she could see a rubber seal around the open top. Watertight, most likely. From the smell, maybe even airtight.

Useful. She swung her pack around, closed the container, and stuffed it inside. Definitely useful.

“Now,” she said, her voice still quiet. She eyed the dark gap between the two open doors. “Let’s see if there’s a map.”

She stepped inside, eyeing the heavy doors as she did so. It was good that they were already open, because they were truly massive. And thick. Not even the Canterlot Guard stations have doors so massive. Why? Was it a choice? Or was it something they simply had to do?

Either way, had they been shut, she wasn’t sure she could have opened them on her own.

Her eyes adjusted to the gloom inside to see a spacious lobby, now decrepit and aged. What had once been there however had clearly been impressive to behold. Large, ornate looking chairs with proud backs and heavy cushions, now dirty and sagging. Expansive desks with hardwood countertops burnt and scorched. Works of art on the walls shredded, punctured, or torn. Grand light fixtures smashed or dangling from broken wires.

Still, even in ruin there was a sense of almost regal beauty to it. Like an aged dancer who still held a glimmer of the pony they once were, standing tall beside the stage. This place must have looked amazing when it was new, Sunset thought as she walked further into the lobby, the coverings on her feet making soft thumps against—she glanced down. The flooring was marble.

Even with the poise of the lobby, however, it was the poise of the lost. Couches had been overturned or smashed into pieces. Bones littered the ground, the bodies long since gone but the skeletal remains persisting. But they were nowhere near as numerous as those outside.

That was the last stand, she thought. And this, the final slaughter.

But maybe not. She could see several ways further into the building, hallways and passageways that had been blocked by heavy doors, chains, or in one case what looked like a pile of heavy furniture and cabinets. None of them had been broken or battered down.

“Maybe they escaped?” The sound of her own voice echoing back at her made her flinch, almost dropping her knife. “Well … most of them.” She stepped around a set of bones, still heading for the main desk.

A faint shiver crawled down her back. It’s all right, Sunset. They’re just bones. Like in those old anatomy lessons you used to have to take. Just … old bones.

The desk was massive. Titanic, almost. The wooden top was charred and burned, and as she looked down she noted that her boots were leaving tracks in what looked like old soot or ash atop the stone floor. So someone set fire to the desk. She leaned over it on her arms, frowning as she noticed the soot staining her hands. Whatever had been behind the desk had been burned as well, though she spotted what looked like a wire rack of some kind lying near a strange, boxy device built into the desk.

That looks like something that might have held pamphlets, but if they all were burned, then I wasted my time coming … Wait!

The floor behind the desk was dirty and dusty, coated with what looked like other scattered patches of soot. But beneath that …

Pamphlets! Maybe.

Still, it was better than nothing. She made her way around the desk, wiping her palms on her … Pants, right? Soot and dirt crunched beneath her boots as she knelt down, dusting away several layers of grime and pulling up …

Well, it’s a pamphlet alright. Several of them. About … something. I wish I could read this language of theirs.

She moved books several slots up her mental list of objects to acquire.

None of these pamphlets look the same, either. She stared down at the faint images looking up at her. The images were faded and dirty, but one was … Hey, that’s that armor I saw those bodies wearing. Except it looked new. And the figure wearing it had a helmet that covered their face completely, save for two glowing eyes.

Do people’s eyes glow here? Or is that some sort of enchantment on the armor? The figure was holding one of the boxy weapons closer to their chest in a way that reminded her of how the Guard back home had held their spears. Formal and posed.

The next pamphlet had a less military look to it, the front nothing but text she couldn’t read. And the third … was identical to the first.

All right, well, that’s two. She ran her eyes over the floor. Maybe there are—Yes! Several more lay in the dust beneath a nearby chair, and as she followed their path, she could see even more under the desk itself.

Someone knocked over the wire holder, and they scattered them across the floor and somepony’s chair. Then when they got up, they pushed them under their desk. A print in the dirt across on pamphlet’s crumpled pages seemed to confirm her theory, and she sorted through the pile, pulling out any that were different than those she’d already found and discarding the rest.

Which left her with … five of the small leaflets. Better than nothing. She rose, her eyes going first to the faded, dusty windows along the upper rim of the room and then to the still-open door, the sunlight coming through it a golden beam of warmth and safety. And … I’m out of here. She moved across the lobby, stepping once more carefully over the bones and picking up speed as she neared the sunshine.

Breaking out into it once more felt like coming out of an icy tomb, a sigh of relief slipping out of her lips. She shaded her eyes for a moment, more than glad to trade the silent emptiness of the lobby for the warmth and wind of the outside world.

Still, can’t let myself get distracted. I need food. I need water. And … She peered upward checking the sky for signs of clouds. Shelter. Who knows how long this weather could last without anyone around to maintain it?

So … let’s see what we’ve got. She looked down at the clump of leaflets in her hand … and then her eyes slipped to the nearest body. Somewhere else.

Across the courtyard, away from the last stand, she spread the pamphlets across the front of one of the abandoned carriages, eyeing each of them in turn. She unfolded the one with the faded picture of the creature in armor first, the interior thankfully in one piece. She was rewarded with brightly colored images of … well, whatever the creatures called themselves, all jumping, firing weapons, scaling walls, and battling in forests. She couldn’t read the text, but the general layout and look was so familiar that she almost let out a laugh.

“It’s a recruitment brochure,” she said, shaking her head. “For their Guard.” And at the end of the brochure was a familiar symbol: a large, skinny, flat gear.

“Well, that sort of explains the necklace I found,” she said. “Some sort of symbol of rank, authority, or identity then.” Which meant … it was probably worth keeping. I might even be able to use it to convince someone to listen to me.

Though … that might count as impersonating a Guard. And that could go badly. She took one last look over the brochure, lifted her hand to toss it aside … and then paused. Might be useful later when I’ve got a better grasp on their language. She folded it back up.

The second pamphlet was … less useful. Nothing but text she couldn’t read. She folded it back up and kept it anyway. The third … was close to what she was looking for. Maybe. It was full of pictures of what looked like local landmarks. Historical details? Some sort of tourist guide?

The fourth, however, was exactly what she was looking for. Even as the aged, plastic-coated paper began to unfold, crinkling in the wind, she could see colored lines and squares that denoted streets and buildings, along with small print text and hexagonal symbols at what were probably various points of interest.

She let out a small sigh of relief as she saw the icons dotting the map. Thank the sun they chose iconography instead of text. If this is a map of the city, and I can just find a particular identifiable mark, I can—

“Aha!” The exclamation was out of her mouth before she’d realized it, echoing across the courtyard. But she didn’t care. Her eyes had spotted something she could identify: an icon of a familiar-looking gridwork tower, hovering above one corner of a building, block print of some kind beneath it.

She made a quick check over the rest of the map, her eyes hunting for any other signs of the same icon, but … Yes! That’s the only one! Which means … She craned her eyes skyward, peering over the ruined lip of the nearest building and just making out the tip of the tower from her angle.

“That has to be the same tower,” she said, a feeling of smug satisfaction filling her chest. This was going to work. No need to worry. Or panic. Or get scared. She had a map, and it was all going to work. “And that means … I’m right here.”

Next to an icon of several pillars. That lined up too. “Which means, for the store I saw over there …” She turned, peering down one of the nearby streets and glancing at the map, her mind split between her current location and the view from the tower. “I’d have to go … that way!”

It wasn’t on the map … but there was another icon after it, in the same spot she’d made out the large building. This one was of what looked like a book with spread pages. And a library! That meant books. Knowledge.

She smiled, peering down at the map once more, confidence flooding through her in a warm wave. It was going to work out. She’d find food of some kind, supplies, knowledge … It was all going to work out. She stuffed the extra pamphlets into her bag—no sense in getting rid of them, especially when they could be useful later—and after a moment’s hesitation, decided to carry her knife in one hand, since she still didn’t have a place to safely store it.

She double checked her new guide, eyed the street ahead of her, and set out. She had a guidepost now. She was on her way. The destiny she’d been almost denied was before her. She’d find food, shelter, and knowledge.

It was all going to work out.

Behind her, the wind whistled down the empty streets, and she tried not to shiver.

Author's Note

Outset

Chapter 14 - Outset

The first teasing rays of sunlight rising from the east woke Sunset from her slumber, caressing her eyes like a gentle whisper, but enough to pull her consciousness back to the real world. She let out a groan, rubbing at the side of her face and then tilting her head, stretching a tight muscle in her neck. When did—? she began to ask, only to pause as her waking mind caught up with where she was.

The camp store. Right. That’s why her bed was so hard: it wasn’t a bed at all, but a thin camping mat.

And a really thin one at that, Sunset thought as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. The soreness and stiffness she’d felt the day before was mostly gone, but in its place had come new sore spots, mostly from her somewhat uncomfortable sleeping position. She stretched again, feeling the muscles loosen slightly as she craned one arm over her head, knocking some of her mane over her face.

“Well,” she said, licking her lips and letting a faint, fake gag at her morning breath. “That settles that.” She stretched again, gritting her teeth as some of her sore muscles protested, fighting back as she tried to push them into a different position. There was a larger, heavier camp-pad on one of the shelves—more of a mattress, really—wrapped in watertight cloth covering. I’m putting that in the last wagon. I can cut it if it’s too heavy, but I’ll appreciate it if isn’t.

She let out a groan as she pushed herself onto her feet, ignoring the gritty feeling of having slept in her clothes. As gross as it felt, she was getting used to it. You can clean yourself and change when you find a spring or a creek or something along the way. Or when it rains. She glanced up at the windows ringing the camp store, spying the orange tinge to the eastern sky. Which doesn’t look like today. I’m okay with that.

She stretched again, arching her back and raising both arms over her head, letting out a contented sigh as some of the tight muscles finally gave way. “That’s it,” she said through a yawn. “That’s the right one.” Stretching as a seran was a strange, alien experience, but at least she’d figured out a few good motions to go through.

She went about her morning without much sense of urgency, taking care of her ablutions and then putting together a small breakfast from a few of the meal boxes in the camp store. It was surprisingly tasteless given the bright colors of the packaging, but then any food that was supposed to be able to last decades likely had to be just that or loaded with salt.

Though I do have plenty of that. Her wagons held can after can of nuts and trail mix in addition to other foods she’d found. It should be enough for quite a while. Packages of jerky filled a box as well. The dried meat was surprisingly tasty, perhaps to balance out the lack of flavor in the boxed meals.

Her stomach sated and her morning routine mostly taken care of, there was only one thing left to do. She collected the thin camping pad, rolling it up and placing it back in one of the wagons. Did I grab an all-weather jacket? A check showed that she had. Everything on her list from the night before had been taken care of.

Well, almost everything. Once everything else was secure on her train of carts, including a newer, thicker mattress pad, she moved back over to the display case she’d taken the gnasher from the day before. There, resting in the back of the case, almost innocuous compared to the clear focal point of the display itself, was a worn holster, the leather dry to the touch.

Her skin crawled slightly as she touched it. Leather wasn’t uncommon in Equestria, but it did have a bit of a negative connotation from the few times in history someone had made it from a sapient being. Still, it was far too useful to not have, and there were plenty of non-sapient sources. It was still a little unsettling, however.

“At least here, if it’s not seran or locust, it’s not sapient,” she said aloud as she picked the holster up. The words helped. A little. Then again, the aged feel of the leather wasn’t helping either. It felt grimy despite how dry it was.

She unfolded it, holding it out at arm’s length and examining the straps and buckles. “Maybe I should get something else …” she ventured, eyeing the worn material. After a second’s consideration, she took one of the straps in her hands and gave it a sharp tug, pulling her hands apart. With a faint pop the leather strap parted, snapping under the sudden force.

“Yeah,” Sunset said, frowning at the broken holster. “I’ll find something else.” She tossed the holster back into the empty case and moved on.

A minute later she’d found a holster that seemed like it would work. It was made of some plastic-like material, tough and woven but still flexible, and slipped over her shoulders easily enough, like a backpack. She clipped the straps together across her chest—above her still horribly-placed teats, thankfully—and was about to call it good when the question of where her backpack would go occurred to her.

“Sunspots,” she said, looking down at her shoulder straps. “That won’t work.” Leaving her backpack in the wagon was an option, but then that would mean extra time to grab it if she needed to leave the train behind for any reason.

She sighed, undoing the snap across her chest and shucking the holster, tossing it aside. It was a good idea, at least. There were a few other weapon holsters on display, but they didn’t seem designed to hold the type of firearm or weapon that the gnasher was.

She eyed the bows on the wall for a brief instant before shaking her head. “Not a chance, Sunset,” she said quietly. “Bows take a lot of practice, and you’ve never even used one as a unicorn.” Trying to figure out how they worked in her new body would be too much of a challenge to be worth it.

Besides, that had been the advantage of a firearm. At least, according to the demonstration the minotaur had given. A firearm was far less complex and difficult to learn or master.

What were their exact words? Sunset mused. The complexity is in the building, not the use? It had been something like that.

Though in fairness, the weapon he’d demonstrated felt pitful in comparison to the violent display put on by the gnasher. His firearm had been a miniaturized cannon, and required a somewhat complex reloading procedure. All the gnasher took was sweeping a lever back and forth.

For a brief moment, an idea teased at the corner of her mind. A single shell from that gnasher is probably a weapon advance far ahead of where the minotaurs are now. Or a bullet from one of those lancers. I could just figure out when the portal is going to open back up and take them through. Flee Equestria, sell them to an engineer in the Burning Lands, the Empire, or the Plainslands.

The idea made her frown. And then that would be my destiny? A weapons dealer?

No. She turned her eyes back to the display behind the counter, lighting over bows and coming to stop on one of the so-called “hunting rifles.” That’s not who I am. Or who I’m going to become. I don’t want to be some peddler of weapons.

I want to be what scared her.

Her eyes came back to the hunting rifle. It was—according to the card under it—low-powered, more for light hunts of rabbits than anything else. The stock was made of some sort of hard plastic, black and nonreflective, while the barrel was a gleaming silver.

Perfect, it appeared, for learning how to shoot something that required a bit more precision than a shotgun. Which, if her experience from the day before was any indication, she desperately needed.

Fine, she thought as she reached out and lifted the weapon from the rack it was resting on. “If I can’t have a holster, I’ll just take two guns.” The rifle felt heavy in her hands, heavier than the gnasher despite its near size. Maybe that’s for balance? The bolt—or at least what she thought was the bolt from her study of the safety manual—was open, the weapon unloaded. Like the gnasher, it appeared to have a small internal magazine.

“Ammunition …” she muttered quietly, eyeing the placard under where the weapon had hung and then the neatly-labeled drawers below that which started at waist height. “If that number is the caliber, and those letters the type …” One of the drawers was labeled with the same set in the same sequence, and she opened it to find rows of bullets standing at attention in some sort of plastic clip, each about the size of a finger.

“Okay … assuming these work …” She plucked one of the bullets up with her fingers, eyeing the dusty gleam of the metal. It slipped into the waiting opening on the rifle with ease, fitting perfectly and sliding into the internal magazine with only a little force. The weapon took a surprising number of them—twelve in all—before the internal magazine couldn’t take anymore. There were mechanisms to keep the bullets in place with the bolt open, so she left it open for the moment.

“Now I can use one of those holsters,” she said, eyeing the tough canvas holders across the top of the dresser the ammunition had been in. Each was lengthy, with long straps designed to be—

“Wait a minute,” Sunset said as her eyes caught a faded picture on a tag. “What’s that?” She set the rifle down, picking up the holster and eyeing the washed-out image. It was of a smiling masculine figure, broadly muscled, but that wasn’t what had caught her attention. Not fully, anyway—Curse that Starswirl! What had was what the figure was sitting on: A sort of two-wheeled machine, like a bicycle but much heavier and with wider tires. Furthermore, the holster the picture was advertising was attached to it in some manner, the weapon it was holding resting vertically.

It was obvious what the machine was and how it functioned, if not how it worked. “Where can I find one of those?” she asked aloud, her words filling the quiet interior of the empty shop. If I could find one and get it working it’d be a lot easier than walking all the way to Jacinto.

Assuming I could learn to control it. Drive it? Pilot it? What would they call it?

But there was something else to the image as well, an idea that coalesced as she turned her gaze from the holster to the slatted walls of her wagons. She grinned. Maybe I can have some holsters after all.

Twenty minutes later, Sunset stepped away from the lead wagon, examining her handiwork and baring another grin. “Now that’s more like it.” Both the rifle and the gnasher—she didn’t quite think of it as “hers” yet—were holstered along the sides of the wagon, tilted upwards as best she’d been able to manage them. The butt of each weapon, and therefore the end that she’d want to grab if things went wrong, was facing forward. In the event something went wrong, she could disconnect her harness, turn with a single step, and have a weapon.

And probably still die, since her chances of effectively using said weapon were still pretty low. But it was better than nothing at all, and having both weapons within reach did feel a lot better. She’d grabbed all the extra ammunition for the rifle as well, something she could practice with once she was outside the city and reasonably sure she wasn’t about to be attacked by more wretches.

The watch on her wrist said that she’d been awake for more than an hour now. The sun was high enough that the sky outside the windows was no longer orange but blue, and it wouldn’t be long before the sun itself would be able to poke directly through the windows and down into the store.

Sunset took a breath, holding it for a second or two before letting it out in a solid rush. “It’s time,” she said, speaking aloud for her own benefit. “Final checks.” She walked up and down the wagon train, running down a list both mental and physical as she checked each item over.

“That’s it,” she said as she rounded the third and final wagon. “That’s everything.” Everything except gear she hoped she could scavenge when she needed it.

She let out a slow, controlled breath as she turned toward the front door of the shop. “This is it, then.” It’s time to leave Holton.

Well, almost. She set her backpack on the counter, opening up one of the pouches and pulling out one of the more valuable books she’d found: A road atlas. It was barely a book—almost a pamphlet, really. And it wasn’t waterproof like her map of Holton was, so it needed to be kept safe and dry.

But it was easy to read. Which, combined with her surveillance of the city and the smaller map, was how she knew the best route out of the city was going to be through the smaller roads, rather than the main highways. Those were cluttered with carriages—Cars—to the point where trying to pick through them wouldn’t be worth it, at least this close to Holton. As well as showing signs of damage heavy enough that she’d been able to pick them out with her binoculars.

She let out a dry, mirthless chuckle as some of her old icons stared up at her from the map. Never did make it to that police station, she thought, looking down at the small symbols she’d marked on the map during her look at the city. How long ago did I do that? A week? Similarly, she’d never checked out the military armory or any of the warehouses either. Though after the run-ins she’d already had … Maybe that’s for the best.

She turned her attention back to the map. The nearest large human habitation was to the west—unfortunately the same direction as the swath of grey, dying land she’d seen from the tower. And now she knew what that was.

Death. From an orbit-based superweapon they turned on their own cities. Better avoided than explored.

Unfortunately, that’s the only nearby major city. The nearest to the east was over the mountains, same with to the north, the mountain range sliding westward in a sort of crescent arc. South of Holton lay hundreds of miles of farms, forests, and small towns. There were cities that way, but following the roads to them would keep her moving mostly straight to the south, where heading northerly would end up with the highway following the curve of the mountains.

To the west. And toward Jacinto. Which was both north and west of her current position.

So despite that I’ll be heading northeast initially, Sunset thought as she examined both the atlas and the map. If I can find this road here, and follow it, I’ll be heading the right direction eventually.

With luck, there would be signage of some kind along the way, and she could confirm that she was following the correct road. But until she reached that point …

The atlas snapped shut, and she slipped it back into her backpack. Shame I’ll be walking, but I do not want to wait around for those things to come back. One of those powered cycles would be nice. A carriage would be even better. Unless it got stuck. The cycle she could at least maneuver around some other stuck vehicles, but a full-sized carriage not so much.

It’d be a lot nicer if I could find one of them and figure out how it worked without having to worry about more Locust coming to look for me. A faint pinprick sensation crawled down her back as she topped off her canteen for the coming hike. For all I know, they’re already back in the city.

She swallowed. Then I’d better leave soon. It was the best she could do to answer the sudden fear. It was that or spend the rest of the day hiding in the camp store. And that … Wouldn’t be worth it.

Better to get out of Holton as quickly as possible, and start making for Jacinto.

Which starts … Sunset thought as she began putting on the climbing harness. Now. The carabiner clip closed around the lead wagon’s handle with a click, connecting her to it, and she took an experimental step forward. The weight hit her immediately, spreading across her shoulders and upper torso to tug her back. She adjusted her footing, checked to make sure her pack hadn’t caught on anything, and then stepped forward again, leaning into the motion.

The wagons began to move, following behind her with each step. She slowed as the front door neared, only to almost stumble as the mass of the combined wagons pushed against her from behind, the handle bumping her pack before sliding off and making the wagons turn to one side slightly.

Right. That’s a lot of mass for when I stop. Thankfully, she hadn’t been going fast, but … I’ll need to find a better way to stop. Especially if I’m going to go down a hill. A sudden image flitted through her mind, one of her frantically running down a slope trying to outrun the three wagons only to fall and send the whole mess crashing to one side. Potentially dragging her down the hill after them.

Okay … when it comes to going downhill, maybe disconnect and guide it from the side. Or ride on top.

Maybe she could figure out a better braking system later. Even the simplest carts and carriages often had something to slow them down, a brake or a lever that rubbed against a wheel or an axel. I could make something similar.

Later. She’d wasted enough time as it was. And the hills outside the city had looked fairly gentle.

Shifting her weight, she stepped forward once more, pushing the door to the shop open and stepping out onto the sidewalk. The wagons rolled after her, and she was forced to take an extra step as they dropped into the street, their combined weight pressing her forward. This is going to take getting used to.

On the other hoof however, both of her hands were free, and the weight of the wagons was across her whole upper body rather than one arm. Sunset picked up speed as she moved down the street, heading further toward the edge of the city than she’d ever been before, moving toward the rising sun.

This … works! A smile built on her face as each ruined building swept past. Ahead of her a pile of rubble loomed, broken brick and mortar strewn across the street, and she adjusted her course, moving to avoid the worst of it. One of the tires hit a brick, and she felt the sudden jerk of the impact through her harness, even as the fat tire rolled up and over it. Ahead of her the street had buckled, the paving material ripe with cracks and gaps, though none wide enough to swallow the tires. The train rolled past them with faint thumps, and her smile brightened.

Birdsong sounded from nearby, a pleasant whistle that echoed through the air before repeating several times in quick succession. It was a pleasant sound, warm and full of life. The air was cool yet, but not quite so cool that her pulling the wagons wasn’t starting to work up a thin sweat. Around her the buildings were beginning to thin out, the closely-packed structure of the city giving way to something a little more spacious, with wider alleys and broader paths between them. They were still made largely of brick and heavy-looking stones, but now there was distance between them, much of it overgrown with thick bushes or whole swaths of the green vines that seemed just as willing to grow over other plants as they were buildings.

Then, with a suddenness that was almost jarring, those too gave way, the street ahead of her terminating in another low brick home. She came to a stop, frowning slightly as she tried to match her current position with the streets as shown on the edge of the map, but failing. Past the building was a heavy-looking wall several feet taller than she was at the very least, extending out in both directions.

The city is walled? But even before the sense of surprise had faded from her, the observation made sense. This was a warlike society. Of course a lot of their cities would be walled. Still, what she was seeing didn’t match up with the map in her pocket. Sunset disconnected her harness from the wagons, leaving them behind as she moved toward the open passage between the home at the end of the street and its nearby fellows. The street itself had been rounded into a cul de sac, so getting the wagons out wouldn’t be an issue. Figuring out where she was, on the other hoof …

I thought this street ended in an intersection? Ahead of her, the path to the home’s backyard or plaza or whatever it was had been blocked by a wooden gate and a fence slightly taller than she was … Which now that she was closer meant that the wall around the city was even taller than she’d guessed. She pulled the map out of her pocket, peering down at it and trying to line up where she actually was.

I turned there, she noted, looking back at her wagons and the street behind them. And I haven’t changed since then. Which means ...

There was only one answer, given that she’d walked past an intersection only a minute before. The map is out of date. This must all have been new. Because I’m still on the right street. It just went further than the map says it does.

Great. She stared up at the expansive home once more. It did look a little less weathered than the rest of the city, though much of it was overgrown with the same creeping vines that were growing over everything else. The front door was massive and heavy, almost as wide as it was tall, and covered in reliefs.

Probably the wealthy section of town. I wonder if there’s a private way past that wall from the backyard?

Slipping the map back into her pocket, Sunset moved for the gate at the home’s side. It was set into the brick wall of the next home over, and wider that it was tall, reaching all the way across the gap between them. The path to it had once been gravel interspaced with stepping stones, but grass had long-since taken over most of the rock, the tall strands parting before her legs like the sea before the prow of a ship. The finely-ground rock crunched beneath her boots with every step, the faint scratching sound echoing off the brick to both sides.

The wood of the gate itself was dry and cracked, the paint parched and peeling beneath her fingertips. She pressed her palm against it, feeling the grain of the wood through the faded, weather-worn paint. How many years and storms would it take for the paint to be this bad? She could feel contours in the wood, cracks and rivulets that only came when the bare substance had been exposed to the weather without any sort of protective spells or coverings.

That was the one piece of the puzzle she didn’t have yet. How long had it been since the locust had emerged and pushed the serans back? Three years? Five? A dozen?

More? She pulled her hand away from the gate. The metal latch was warm despite being in the shade, but gave easily with only the faintest of squeaks. Whatever had become of the owners of the home, they’d clearly not seen fit to lock it before departing. It swung outward easily, though not without letting out a squeal from its rusty hinges. The sound made her wince as the nearby birdsong went quiet.

I really hope nopony heard that. No one. One. She shook her head, her mane bouncing around her eyes. Gotta use the right term when you do meet someone, or they’ll think you’re crazy.

The path beyond the gate was much like what had been in front of it, made of overgrown gravel with broad stepping stones making a sort of zig-zag pattern back and forth. Again the strands of grass parted before her like waves, each stepping stone a small island in greenish-yellow sea. Then the islands sank, vanishing as the gravel pathway gave way to a field of bushy green, a grass lawn that had long since been overgrown and flourished under the recent rains. A lawn furniture set had languished under the elements, once white and artful, but now dirty and overgrown, with flecks of rust on display where the paint had peeled back. A lone umbrella rose from the middle of a table like an ancient battlefield standard, its cloth tattered and torn, hanging in ragged strips, skeletal metal fingers still on display. The back of the home had a raised balcony made of brick and stone, with a set of wide, heavy steps leading up it. The rear doors were glass, dirty and covered in dust. For a brief instant, the shadowed interior of the home stole her attention, a siren’s call of possibility, but then she shoved the temptation aside.

I have what I need, she thought. Besides, there was something much more important in the backyard: An arch in the rear wall of Holton, small, but easily wide enough for her and her wagons. A metal barred gate blocked it off like a portcullis, and she moved through the wavy grass toward it.

Come on come on come on … She could see an open field through the bars, broken up by several trees that rose above the grass, spreading their leaves toward the sun. I’m so close! Her hands closed around the metal bars, and she tugged … Only to be rewarded with a harsh clank as the bars shook in place, rattling against a heavyset metal latch.

They locked this but not the inside gate? Her outrage dampened as she looked down at the latch and then the padlock on the other side of the bars. The gate had been locked from the other side, so … “Probably not their doing,” she said as she let go of the bars. “Drat. If I had my magic—”

But she didn’t. And even then, she’d never exactly learned any unlocking spells meant for purely physical locks. Not something she would have trained me for. It would have made me too capable. Opening magical locks, like those over certain tomes in the library, that had been easy enough to figure out. Well, not easy, but she was gifted.

But I could just teleport to the other side of the gate, she thought as she took a step back, the bars slipping from her fingers one by one. Or just heat the lock until it melted.

I can’t even cast a fire spell anymore. So much for my cutie mark in this world. What good is pure magical power if I can’t use it?

For a brief instant her mind ran backward through the years, back to the moment she’d gotten her cutie mark by offering to light a woodstove at the orphanage, only to be discouraged by the cook and told it was much too powerful a spell for a filly at her age to perform.

She smiled. “Showed him,” she muttered. And I melted that stove into slag, setting fire to the kitchen. But he shouldn’t have told me I couldn’t.

Just like she shouldn’t have tried to deny me my destiny. Bitter anger welled up inside her, and Sunset clenched her hands into fists, eyeing the bars that blocked her path and for a brief instant trying to use the anger to seize at her magic and show some scrap of spellwork.

Nothing. She blew a sigh out of her lips, scowling. Still nothing. But the books she’d found had mentioned wizards. She turned, retracing her steps through the tall grass toward the side gate. I will figure my magic out, and I will use it to secure my destiny. The one she tried to keep from me. Again her hands clenched into fists, muscles tightening. I will not be denied,

Still, her anger wasn’t aiding her at the current moment. She shoved the wooden gate open hard enough that it hit the brick wall with a crack, silencing the nearby birdsong for just an instant, then came to a stop and let out another slow sigh.

“Save it, Sunset,” she said aloud, staring at her collection of wagons. “For when you need it.”

Right now, she should be happy. She was almost out of the city, whether or not the gate was locked. Those bars are too narrow to fit the cutters through. So I just need to double back, head south, and in a few streets I’ll meet up with the road out.

Returning to her wagons, she clipped the carabiner into place once more and began to pull.

She’d just begun to work up a decent sweat once again when she reached the right road, pulling her wagon train around what looked like a multi-carriage—car—wreck and up onto the sidewalk. One of the cars had tried to use that as well to get around the accident, but had stopped before scraping up against the stone and metalwork fence on the other side of the street, leaving just enough of a gap for her wagons to squeeze through.

Why it had stopped, however, was fairly obvious as soon as she was able to see over the collection of wrecks. A whole section of the street had dropped completely away, broken like a piece of a foal’s playset. A massive chasm ran across the entire street, a yawning abyss that she couldn’t see the bottom of. Several of the carriages looked to be poking part of their body length out over the edge, dangerously balanced, if not for the dust and dirt that had collected on them showing that they were at least sturdy enough that a stiff breeze wasn’t going to push them over the edge.

Right. It wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened. That’s why they were flying people out at the library. The Locust cut off the major roads. She gave her connection to the wagon train a quick jerk with one hand to make sure the wagons weren’t going to roll off, then disconnected the carabiner. The sidewalk ahead of her had a chunk missing from it, but still looked mostly intact. Although there were a bunch of dirty, pale sticks scattered across—

Bile rose in her throat. Those are bones. She swallowed, her stomach flipping. Now that she was looking directly at them, she could clearly pick out scraps of sun-faded cloth clinging to them, covered in dust and grime. Bodies.

Apparently she wasn’t the only one that had decided to try and test the sidewalk. She took a few steps forward, past the nose of the carriage to her right, but then slowed before she could near the chasm’s edge. Think, Sunset. This might have happened years ago. Memories flashed through her mind, of an old geological presentation a student had given at the school on sinkholes and how they could continue to expand. The edges might be overhangs. Dangerous ones. Don’t just walk out onto the sidewalk. Get a better look at things.

“Of course, to do that, I still have to get close.” There was some open pavement past the front of the carriage, and she took a few careful steps forward, waiting for the warning crack of paving stones beneath her feet. Or whatever the serans used to pave their roads. Some sort of concrete gravel, maybe?

Whatever it was, it didn’t give as she neared the edge—though she did stop while still a good fifteen feet away. The bottom was still out of sight, even though the chasm was a good thirty or so feet across at its widest, and her stomach fluttered slightly as she imagined the paving material beneath her feet cracking and giving way—

“Nope. Just don’t jump up and down.” She forced herself to stop peering down and instead to look at the far ledge, first straight across, and then moving to the left, where the sidewalk was.

“Okay, that actually doesn’t look that bad.” The earth around the hole had crumbled, yes, but it didn’t look fresh. And the overhand didn’t appear to be that severe. “That’s either good foundational work, or whoever or whatever did the tunneling did a really good job at getting exactly what they wanted,” she mused. “Or both.”

“Still …” She stepped to her right, moving sideways and widening her view of the bit of the chasm that went under the sidewalk. There was a bit of an overhang, but from what she could see not by much.

She cast her eyes further to the left, to the small, fenced off lawns just past the sidewalk. Each of them was divided from their neighbors by more of the sturdy, heavy stone fences, each long overgrown. The plant life the tires could likely deal with, and she could scramble over each of the low walls. The wagon train, however, wouldn’t make it, and it would take all day to empty and move each wagon to the next lawn.

So the sidewalk it is, she thought with a slight frown, her focus slipping to a shattered pipe protruding out of the chasm wall beneath the sidewalk. Unless I want to take a detour across a chunk of the city. There were, according to the map, other roads heading east out of Holton. But only one was the same size, and all of them were further south. Which means more walking. She eyed the sidewalk a moment longer, then made her decision.

“I’ll try it once without the wagons.” If the sidewalk gives way, I can always grab the bars of the fence. It’s far enough away it shouldn’t collapse. She strode back over to the sidewalk, heart fluttering slightly as she was once again reminded that she still couldn’t see the bottom of the pit she was about to cross, and then began moving forward.

Easy, Sunset, she admonished as she noted the small size of her steps. You’re not even close to the edge yet. Still, the approaching drop off felt more real without her horn. She couldn’t teleport, couldn’t put up a shield … At least this body is tough. She gave her head a little shake. Focus on something else.

A look at the carriages that had piled up behind the wreck didn’t do any good. The rearward ones were empty, but she didn’t miss the bleached bones leaning against the interiors on a number of them—especially those that had been damaged or crumpled.

Neither did she miss the holes in some of the windows, the glass fracturing outwards around them like spiderwebs. Trapped by the chasm, with no way to get out or return rearward with some many carraiges—Cars, like a train—behind them. Then killed.

A shiver worked its way down her spine, a claw of trailing cold despite the heat of the sun. Reading about such acts, or seeing paintings, was one thing. But seeing the results … Her eyes danced back to the bones ahead of her lying on the sidewalk. One of the skulls had been shattered, its upper half missing, only the jaw and a bit of spine lying near the body.

This wasn’t even a battle. She slowed as the edge of the chasm drew closer. This was a slaughter. These beings were just … beings. They weren’t soldiers or warriors. At least, not when they were running with their families.

A series of smaller bones poked out from beneath one of the larger sets. A child’s hand. The larger figure had curled their body around it, trying to protect it.

Another shiver, along with a sudden awareness that she’d left the gnasher back with the wagons, made its way through her. The small finger bones were a reminder of why she’d avoided a lot of remains so far.

The Locust do not differentiate. As much had been said in some of the old newspapers she’d found, and she’d suspected, but seeing the proof right in front of her …

It was almost enough to take her mind off of the drop off she was nearing.

She could see the bottom now. Parts of it, anyway. The sinkhole was a drop of at least several carriage lengths, and she could make out shattered paving material and crumpled cars at the bottom. Some standing water as well, though the fact that the hole hadn’t become a lake suggested there was drainage for it to escape though. Which didn’t really make her feel any better, but it was a welcome distraction from the nearing bones.

As well from a nearing crack in the segments of the sidewalk. A small chunk of the walkway itself was missing, a triangular portion of concrete almost the size of her torso that had broken free and fallen into the chasm. And extending from its forwardmost point was an easily discernible crack, jagged and ominous, like a time-locked bolt of lightning frozen on a slate-grey sky. It extended almost halfway across the sidewalk, like a warning slash of how far might be too far.

Right … Let’s just ease up against the fence here ... Her jeans scraped against the rough brick exterior of the fencing, a faint, ragged rasp that let her know there was no moving over any further. And … go! With a series of quick steps, she was past the crack and half of the chasm, trying her best to ignore its yawning abyss, or the bones scattered around her boots, or— Her boot slipped, ankle rolling, and she grabbed the decorative bars atop the fence, heart pounding as she caught herself.

“Right …” She drew the word out with a nervous, and not entirely dishonest, laugh. “Watch your step, Sunset.” That never would have happened if I’d still been a pony. Well, probably not. Because she would have never needed to cross the sinkhole via her current route in the first place. I’d have been able to teleport across, like any sensible unicorn.

Maybe once she figured out how to access her magic, she could give herself wings, like the statues in the plaza she’d arrived in. Though she still wasn’t certain if the portrayal she’d seen in those had been artistic or not. And most of her studies had been confined to more immediately relevant information. Still …

Something to look into later. When I’m not in imminent danger of starving. Right now …

She let go of the fence at last, taking wider longer steps as she moved away from the sinkhole. Ahead of her the road was empty and clear save for one burned, charred carriage. And beyond that …

“Sera,” Sunset said as she stared out at the wide empty road. I passed what looked almost like a medieval gatehouse, though there was no gate to speak of and the two towers that rose on each side of the road weren’t connected. They didn’t even look like they’d ever been designed to be occupied … or at least one of them didn’t. The other had taken a blow of some kind and collapsed, so it was hard to say. But even the site of more bones lying in the roadway didn’t take away from what lay past the edge of the city: A wide, sweeping, dust-covered road, flanked on both sides by tall grass, that stretched out toward the horizon, but wound out of view long before reaching it. Broad-leaved trees rose up around it, enough to dapple the pavement with shade here and there.

I made it. I made it! “Hah!” Sunset spun, letting out a shout that echoed back from the nearby buildings. “I made it!” And that means the wagons can make it too.

Of course, that meant she had to cross back over the edge. But I already did it once!

The bones lying across her way did suck some of her sense of accomplishment away as she stepped back across the gap, but there wasn’t anything she could do for them. What happened here happened. A long time ago.

With a snap the carabiner clip connected her to the wagon train once more, binding their fates. “All right, Sunset, you’ve crossed it twice now. Just … straight ahead, and don’t slip on the bones.” Ew. Slowly the wagons began to roll forward, the harness taut across Sunset’s chest. Keep to the left … that’s it.

A sudden scrape came from behind her, combined with a tug on her harness that jerked her to a near stop. Only when she turned did she see her obvious error: She could draw closer to the fence than the wagons could, and the front corner of the lead wagon, led in a turn by her staying left, had swung into the fence.

Okay … Just … don’t get too close. She pushed herself away from the fence with one hand, keeping it braced against the decorative metalwork. From behind her there was a faint rasp as the wagons began to move again, parallel to the wall rather than into it.

“You’ve got this,” she muttered under her breath. “Just watch where you step, keep your pace, and don’t fall.” Her stomach clenched as the crack neared, and she held her breath as she stepped over it.

Nothing. So far so good. The wagons were pushing her now, and forcing her to step quickly to make up for her pause and step past the bones. Just a little more, and—

Behind her, the pavement let out a sudden crack, the ground shuddering.

Go! Sunset jumped forward, scattering bones before her as the ground began to tilt. Move! Gravel and debris shifted, cascading with a chorus of sharp pops down into the sinkhole. She raced ahead, feeling the train tug at her as the wheels hit the seran remains. Then with a jerk the tug became something much stronger,

“No!” Sunset reached out with both hands, grabbing hold of the bars atop the brick wall and grabbing tight. Behind her the ground let out a sudden groan, more cracks sounding. She risked a single look back, eyes going wide as she saw a while chunk of the sidewalk behind her begin to slide to one side, tipping toward the sinkhole as something below gave out—and dragging the third wagon with it.

With a desperate yell, Sunset pulled herself forward, boots sliding and slipping as the end of her wagon train began to drop out of sight. The last wagon hit the new edge of the widening hole with a bang, jumping upward under the impact … and then hung there, its rear end hanging out over the new edge. The ground shook as the chunk that had broken free slammed into the bottom of the sinkhole, a terrific crash echoing across the city, followed by a cloud of dust that rose into the sky.

Her harness was still tight against her shoulders, the two lead wagons trying to press backward as the ground beneath them buckled. With a wordless shout of fear, Sunset began pulling herself forward, pulling and fighting with all four limbs. In her mind she could see what would happen if she lost her grip, if the rearmost of the three wagons went over the edge. The other two would follow, all three of them dragging her with them, over the edge and into the pit.

“No!” Slowly but firmly, she began to move forward, her arms and legs screaming with protest. There was a faint thunk as the corner of the lead wagon hit the fence, followed by a rasp as she began dragging the wagon along it, but she didn’t care. It was better than sliding back. Each successive stride forward became easier and easier, especially as the front of the first wagon left the slant it was on. A rumbling sound was echoing in her ears, either from her own panicked exertions or more material falling into the sinkhole, she couldn’t say. All she could do was keep pulling herself forward, dragging the train one step at a time.

The first wagon cleared the edge of the slope, the strain on her shoulders lessening, and she continued forward. The front of the second wagon appeared a second later, the struggle again growing easier as its front tires cleared the new depression. Sunset began to pick up speed, moving faster and faster down the sidewalk, until the pressure on her torso released with a sudden “pop,” the last wagon rolling over the edge and across flat ground once more. She staggered forward a few more steps, bleeding off the sudden burst of speed she’d built, the wagons now pushing her instead of being pulled, and a few seconds later she stumbled to her knees.

She could feel the ground shaking beneath her as her hands hit the smooth pavement. Don’t stop. She pushed herself back up, stumbling forward once more. Don’t! She pushed herself into a jog, then a run as the roar behind her only increased. She ran down the street, thankful for its relative emptiness as she went. The sidewalk was coming to an end, and she dropped off the edge, each of the wagons landing with successive bangs behind her.

The city walls neared, and at last she began to slow. The rumbling from behind her was fading as well, but she waited until she’d come to a complete stop to risk looking. When she did, her stomach clenched, knotting itself into a tight ball.

The sidewalk she’d crossed was gone, dropped away like it had been sheared away by some titanic force. Gone as well was part of the brick wall she’d used to pull herself along, bits of brickwork still collapsing into the newly widened chasm with faint clinks. The decorative bars still bridged the gap, but bent downward, and even part of the lawn behind them had collapsed downward as well. The crossing she’d used just moments before looked as though some giant creature had taken a bite out of it from beneath the earth.

Why—? The thought cut off before it could truly begin, the answer already obvious. The wagons’ extra weight. Just enough to disturb whatever careful balance of support the sidewalk had held.

And it almost took me down with it. The faint clink and clatter of shifting debris was finally fading, leaving only a towering plume of dust as a marker to her perilous passage. That’s it then. There’s no way back. Not with the wagons, at least.

Letting out a weary breath, Sunset sat down on the pavement, drawing her canteen and taking a quick swig as she stared at the sinkhole. This is it. Goodbye Holton.

She sat there for several seconds, watching as the wind began to carry away the dust. I should figure out some sort of quick release for my harness, just in case something like this happens again.

She glanced down at the strap crossing her chest, catching sight of the snap there. Or I could have just undone that, I guess. Ugh.

“You’re alive, Sunset,” she said, using her voice to drive away the thoughts that trailed in her observation’s wake. “You’re alive, and you made it across without injury. That’s what matters.” She took a second swig from her canteen, then pushed herself up. “And now you’ve got four-something miles to go to get to that intersection. Whatever a mile is. A Holton-length.” She gave the wagons a quick look with her eyes. The third looked as though its contents had been given a good shaking, but nothing appeared to be missing. There were some good scrapes along the left side of the lead wagon, and on the butt of the shotgun she’d holstered there.

Meh. “It’s still usable.” Setting her canteen back on her belt, she turned her attention eastward once more.

“Goodbye Holton,” she said for a final time. Throwing her weight forward, Sunset began to walk past the city’s outer wall, one foot ahead of the other.

To Ephyra. And my destiny.