Hoof tapping irritability against the familiar old pocked marked stone beneath his stool, Orion scowled at the sheet of paper before him.

“Why is the math…not…not…mathing!?”

The quill in his hand trembled as he gripped it tightly in exasperation. It had already etched a line of black, creating a slight tear mark across the edge of the page. Evidence of his frustration at the formula in physical form. His other hand aimlessly tapped at his muzzle as he relentlessly sought an answer for his current predicament.

Head turning this way and that, he just could not puzzle what was wrong.

For one thing, he learned exactly why the Radar spell, more a program to his mind than anything else, had gone haywire and nearly blew up in his face. His original hypothesis had been wrong, somewhat.

Rangefinder did, in fact, pull code from Radar, that had been his correct assessment.

The mangled mess he had tried and failed to untangle was proof of that. Where the circuits were interconnected, he could see feedback loops that had been created to compensate for the increased load. They had not been in the original spell structure he had intended to create.

The reason was simple, however, only now in hindsight. Both spells mirrored some of their code with one another. That's where the fusion had happened and the loops had been created to accommodate the increased resistances that had formed due to the overlap.

This had surprised him somewhat and made him think that magic wasn't just a mindless thing after all. What should have happened is that a new brief sun should have appeared in place of the carriage Grace and he had ridden in on that summer day.

But that begged the question: “How?”

How had it known to ground itself immediately in what he could only assume was a higher dimensional layer of reality?

“Come to think of it, that's the same layer mana and supposed spirits and things like it exist on. Right?”

While it was true that mana existed in all life, rock and ore not to be excluded, it also primarily occupied a layer of reality above their existence. Or around them.

Mrs. Reflected Surface, last year's Magical Studies professor, had been a bit wonky on the details. He wasn't even sure if she herself knew exactly how it worked, but she made a point to at least appear the foremost authority on the subject while avoiding his questions on the matter. That, in turn, made him believe that her postulations were a lie, or at least not as accurate as she claimed.

In any case, mana actually used their layer of space-time to bleed through. Again, the reason was unknown, but the effect was interesting as far as life was concerned. By bleeding into their reality, it then, through conscious or unconscious use, bled back into the higher plane of existence, with creatures and such just existing or using their innate skills, expending the power, or force, back into the ether, creating a bond that cemented the two separate planes almost as one.

It seemed parasitical to Orion, but he couldn't see any ill effects from it so far on the planet.

“Perhaps that's why Earth didn't have magic. Never had a chance to form that bond.” It was an interesting line of thought, and if he weren't so frustrated with his current predicament, he'd likely chase it into the inevitable rabbit hole it would become.

Instead, he ground his teeth at the paper, the half-assed formula written there offending him with its stupid lack of mathing.

The black pony knew what he needed to do. Leave it alone. Take a break and come back with fresh eyes next week. Let it work over in his head some more, and maybe he could figure out the issue while neck-deep in other studies.

But that was the problem.

He would have to wait till next week before he could sneak back down into his makeshift lab and/or smithing hidey-hole. So even if he had a eureka moment, he couldn't risk writing it down in case someone went snooping where they ought not to be.

When he had first settled into the home of the Shipwrights, he had taken his time getting to know them. More importantly, know the family's routine. Not hard to do as the servants and family almost seemed locked into their habits.

Breakfast was at seven a.m. sharp. The parents were always gone by seven, at minimum. They typically got up near five or five thirty, depending on how rowdy the three got in their room. He only learned that because he had recently gotten the Radar back in working order and had used it to scan the whole building to learn just where everyone was. That had been embarrassing.

Breakfast eaten, the kids filed out to school between seven-thirty and seven forty-five depending on their school start time. Orion left at seven-thirty himself because he didn’t want a repeat of his first day back.

In the afternoon, they all began trickling in by three. The girls typically beat him home, as he had longer to travel. Dinner was solidly at six p.m. every night. Everyone was in bed by ten p.m. unless there was a party or some such nonsense, and that was only on the weekend.

Routine to a Tee.

Once the lights were out, that left him time to explore. He still hoped they never wondered what happened to the two earrings and small pouch of gold Emerald Bowspirit had left on the dining room table the second week he had begun living there. With the discovery of those items, he remade his Radar and began his search for a way into the sewers with vigor.

Fortunately, it did not take him long. Upon finding an old, worn-out grate in a derelict portion of the mansion’s northern cellar, he decided to explore his options the best he could in getting to his hidden workspace that was back on the second plate.

What those options ended up being was not what he had hoped for. Or expected.

Directly below his new home was a very clean, very orderly sewer system that was much bigger. It had almost canal-sized waterways in which one could and apparently did, have small boats go up and down them at all hours of the day and night. It was complete with several private cisterns, of which he did not doubt belonged to the ultra-wealthy, and maintenance rooms. His adopters had their own, in fact. Yet, fortunately, they had yet to position their own guards there.

This did not initially bother him; it was actually promising that he might be able to find a place to move his things closer to home, which would save him time.

What stopped those burgeoning plans and alarmed him was a minor population the size of a small town of workers and soldiers that managed the whole system. Seemingly twenty-four-seven. A complete change to the almost negligent workforce that managed the second and third plates.

Then, there were several units of private security forces that patrolled short distances from their designated zones.

He guessed it made sense, though he only admitted to that after he got over his fury at seeing his ideas dashed. With all the wealthy ponies in one location, they would want someone to guard against possible thieves. The problem he had with that was that they were a private force—not the City Guard or the EAF, either. Private, which meant they likely did not ask questions before the stabbing.

Their uniforms, armor with tabards of black and silver, were entirely different from the norm. Even that armor had been painted or lacquered a deep black and a small design on the breast, marking them out to a house they served under. What was the purpose of all that, though?

“What kinda illegal shit are they up to down here?”

The answer came in the form of contraband that he had spotted being shipped in one Tuesday evening. Specifically, something called the “Salt”, though there were others.

He had listened in on a pair of mercs cussing up a storm as they had to haul several boxes off a slim boat designed for canal work into the private cellar of whoever lived to the southeast, just outside the castle boundaries. Apparently, this salt weighed a ton, and while bigwigs were willing to spend big cash on it, the help got barely more than dregs, which left them grumbling and likely pinching some for their own stash.

Orion had to admit, the balls to do this in such close approximation of the castle, and more specifically Celestia herself, was downright impressive, if a little idiotic. Perhaps that was the brilliance in the plan. No one would suspect someone of being that crazy.

He had thought he might snag a little bit of the stuff for himself just to see what the fuss was about, but with the number of guards just standing around with nothing to do but pounce, it seemed better if he just sat his happy ass in the small overflow tunnel and continued to take notes.

There would be time to partake in illicit pony drugs later.

He also decided to steer clear of any canal systems that connected to the castle as well. There was absolutely no chance he was going to risk discovery by any of her Highness’s guards, who stuck to the areas around the palace like a tick on a dog.

There was also a cave system. He wasn't sure how deep or far it went, but the entrance was tiny. Oddly enough, there were crystals that hemmed the entrance and had staked a claim over a short portion of the sewer itself. The way those gems faintly glowed made him think he might have found a source for more ambitious projects.

Yet, of course, there was a force to protect the resource.

However, they were far and away, different from the other soldiers traipsing about down there.

Unlike the mercs, who dressed in utilitarian combat gear of dulled black and silver, or the city guard in their resplendent white, purple, and gold, these soldiers' armor was very different.

They wore plate armor of what looked to be black steel, just like the mercs. At first, they looked bulky to him, and their armor hid their features really well, to the point that their species was left undetermined. With so much metal weighing them down, he thought they were a waste in the sewer systems, no matter how static their position was.

Or, Orion thought that until he watched a small turf war that broke out between the mercs and these yet-identified soldiers.

The way they moved was frighteningly fast and was yet another reminder that his self-buffs barely put him ahead of others. It was so weird watching them fight. Like they were one body with multiple limbs, striking out and pulling down their foes.

In the end, the private forces fled with their wounded pride and their wounded ponies, those that survived or hadn’t gone missing in the tussle. Yet, questions for him still remained: who were these soldiers, and why did they never say a word to anyone? Not even each other. And why had no one outed them yet? Even the workers who went about patching and cleaning avoided their tunnels, almost like they had been ordered not to.

Another mystery that he would have to look into. If and when he had the time.

The real issue wasn't the patrols, though they were a hassle to avoid, yes. But for the most part, the castle guard was content with sticking near the territories of the palace itself. They never moved deeper into the canals and waterways, and whatever jurisdiction they worked out with the other groups seemed to have been long since established. The mercs patrolled near the cisterns of their individual clients, and the black armored figures that occupied the lone cavern in the place kept strictly to the cave territory, never crossing paths with any group save for the mercs.

“Those fuckin' guards just standing there are the real problem.”

A team of at least three guards was located at every byway and passage to the second plate. They were the City Guard, to be specific, dressed similarly to the Castle Guard themselves. From what he could tell, they rotated duty shifts every six hours and never let anyone in or out without official documentation.

That would include himself if he was dumb enough to try sauntering on as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Some deal had been made between the mercs and them, of course. He had seen the bag of bits change hands when they came through with whatever contraband they had aboard their slim boats, which begged another question. How in the hell did he never encounter them before now in the second plate sewer tunnels? It was obvious they were sticking strictly with the sewers for delivery. Yet, he had never stumbled upon or noticed their presence down on the second plate.

More questions for another time. There were far, far too many of those.

Unfortunately, there was no way to distract or trick them into leaving their post, either. When he tried to make a noise to pull their attention away from the entrance with a random sound loud enough to be alarming, they remained in place, instead calling in a force from above to go check it out.

He had briefly considered trying to start a turf war between all four factions. The maintenance teams would no doubt hightail it out of there, so he wasn't worried for their safety. But the only time anyone actually came into contact was always the mercs and the black armored mystery squad. Neither the City nor Castle Forces ever moved from their spots.

In the end, he was stuck with only one option, a surface trip on the weekends that looked like he was wandering aimlessly through Canterlot’s streets. And that meant he would be confined to weekend trips as the Shipwrights were very strict about when a colt, regardless of age or intelligence, could leave the residence. They didn't want him wandering after dark. They didn't want him to potentially get in any danger at all. Exactly what he had feared would happen should he have been adopted, and he had argued with them for hours, never getting anywhere.

Even Clipper, who he thought would at least champion his position, was firmly against him.

He had yet to bring up the fact that they had essentially lied to him that afternoon in Celestia’s stateroom. It was best not to use that ammunition just yet, as he didn't know when he might really need it.

He sighed, placing the quill in the catch on the table, and pushed away from his work. Turning, he glanced around at his workshop.

In just a couple of months and some change that he had been gone, his little hole in the wall had developed quite a collection of dust and mold while he had been away. The fungi had been especially trying as they had grown in the corners of the chamber and had been particularly resistant to being scrubbed out. The dust, well, it had been simple dust and thankfully been swept away with ease.

The small anvil had largely avoided any problems as he had wrapped it in cloth saturated with oil, keeping rust and moisture at bay. But the stump he had smuggled down had grown mushrooms and had to be burned out and retreated. Fortunately, he saved the wood before it got worse.

Standing, the stool he had been using wobbled noisily as his weight came off. He walked over to the bins holding his raw materials and did a quick assessment of how much was left. He’d have to fix that eventually.

“Shit. I'm running dangerously low on those gems. Fuck, gold too.”

The necklace he had stolen so long ago had been broken down, and the gold had melted, preparing him to take his first steps into what he now admitted might have been a mistake of judgment: Artification.

He tilted the box back, and three gems, a green and two blues, rolled towards him.

“Fuck, they're the worst ones too.” Letting the box go disappointedly, he sighed again. “I ain't stealing shit again. And there is no way in hell I'm robbing the Shipwrights a second time. For one thing, I'm pretty sure Emerald will eventually notice some of her jewelry has gone missing.”

Attending one of the many parties the family went to during the week and stealing from their hosts was also out of the question. Even at a physical glance, he had noticed that the security within those wealthy fools' homes was a bit zealous. It made him grateful that his adoptive family had limited their own security to just a few retired EAF members. Friendly, and with families of their own they were far more concerned about, they largely left him alone unless passing him by.

It was a miracle that they did not patrol the family cistern, either—or at least, not yet. All it would take is one idiot trying to sneak in.

With a groan, he realized his only source was going to be the Master Smith, Forager. In his old life, he would not have even batted an eyelash at taking advantage of another person. Now, as he contemplated what to do, he felt terrible just waltzing into the minotaur’s shop to ask for a handout again. It wasn't right.

Yet, without those materials, he was getting dangerously close to stalling out on his studies, and his recent class on Dark Magic had been eye-opening.

“Welp, there goes yet another weekend.” There was no choice. Perhaps seeing the old bull would give him options. Something he was not seeing that Forager Broadhammer could. Perhaps they could work out the old deal they had held to last time.

Forager sighed, hanging up his hammer on the well-anchored pair of pegs on the wall. It had been a good day's work, and his arms bore the comfortable soreness of his profession.

The old bull frowned and flexed his fingers a bit, and he found himself disgusted at the stiffness that had recently begun settling into the joints of his digits.

“Fires of the Forage, I thought I'd have a bit more time before that began to show.”

At eighty-eight, he considered himself to be in good health for a bull just entering his middle years. Yet, hammerhand had always been on the horizon for him since he first picked up the sledge. All smiths of iron and steel met this fate eventually.

“Still, I thought I'd have more time.” He lamented.

However, this was also a signal for the old bull. It was time to start looking for an apprentice in earnest. His daughter, Duula, had been his intended heir. But as she developed, perhaps in large part due to their location in Equestria, she had taken a different route from his own. Her intricate work in jewelry and delicate repair was second to none in the pony capital, but it also meant her deftness with a hammer drifted to the lighter instruments of her use, then to his more heavy-handed ones and the projects those involved.

Their talents had diverged, and while she was more than capable of taking on the heavier orders, her skill would just never be what he held.

“Father, the colt's back.” His daughter’s amused voice broke him from his thoughts, and he turned to see her lithe frame barely taking up the large entrance into his workshop.

“Might be high time we take a trip back to Minos.” If he were to see grandcalfs anytime soon, she would need to find a proper bull, one that would care for her and compliment her talents. Any less would shame him, and her passed mother.

Finding one out here was a gamble at best. Not many left their homeland willingly, and those who did were so spread out that it was hard to pinpoint their locations with any certainty, which was the intent.

Then there were the Nomads.

Bulls and Heifers who were shunned by Minos for various reasons. Alleged crimes mostly that had gone unproven by either a lack of evidence or paying off the right people. In either case, often, the ones caught in situations like that were “encouraged” to leave outright, never to return again. This was often done by the families themselves to avoid scandals. No one wanted that kind of stink soaked into their aprons.

It was not even due to the act that got them thrown into the light of public scrutiny, it was getting caught in general that prompted kin to turn their backs on their own. Such was the way of Minos and all of its citizens.

Still, Nomads were out of the question for his daughter, no matter how innocent the crime. She would have a proper Bull with the right connections to take her own business and talents higher.

“Father?” Duula asked softly, concern on her soft features.

Shaking his head, he gave her a worn smile.

“I'm sorry, little one. I fear I was lost in thought.” He shrugged. “Thinkin’ of the future and all that.” He chuckled.

“Oh…um, well, he is here.” There was no reason for her to explain further. The only “he” she spoke of in that way was Orion Falls.

That pony had been a source of many night's lost sleep. Ever since he had stepped into his forge and done the impossible, the smith had felt like a knife hung over his neck. Forager now and then feared he had made a grave mistake in attempting to embarrass the pony as he had done. It had backfired remarkably.

His duty, brought on by his Sire through family ties, urged him to report what had happened immediately to the Emperor. The only reason he had yet to do so was the foal’s own desire to remain undetected. This confused the old smith, as most with a unique skill or talent proudly boasted their abilities, and rather than do his duty, he chose to wait and see what Orion would do first, and damn be the consequences.

His growth in talent, untaught as it is, was something of a shock. His understanding of how and why spells worked the way they did once permanently placed in items was alarming. Each visit, each new item shown, only caused him to further second guess his own actions.

Yet, he held his hand from writing a missive that would have the pony vanish from Equestria.

For one, he was uncertain as to what fate would befall someone like him. There were rumors. Murder, theft of items, and outright disappearances, of course. Yet, if not death, was there a worse fate?

The second, possibly the worst reason, is that he liked the fiery little colt. His attitude was akin to one of his own, aggressive and stubborn, a personality he often missed being stuck outside his nation as he was. Orion was just a likable Bull in pony form to the smith.

“Send ‘im in.” He said, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against his old anvil, the same that shared a blood bond between the two. “I wonder what nonsense he's gonna bury my time with now.”

Nodding with a smirk, his daughter walked off and was soon replaced by the pony himself.

Forager took a measure of him and was startled somewhat by what he found.

Orion was taller now, almost capable of meeting him at eye level. The old Bull had never been a giant among his species, yet a pony, much less a unicorn, was rarely born that could meet his height. Yet here the colt stood, not needing to crane his neck up to meet his gaze as he once had.

He had let that silly goatee grow out more, now taking up a substantial portion of his jawline. Yet, now, as he took the rest of him in, his opinion on the extra facial fuzz might have been misplaced. It fit him somehow, now.

Though, that may have been due to the eyes that now met his own.

There was a hardness there that hadn't existed when they had last spoken in person, and they had already been pretty hard then, too.

The way the corners were tightened as if under stress. Orion’s eyes had always been stonier than most ponies he had met, but his gaze now seemed to have become steel.

“What ‘appened, colt?”

Forager stared hard at the pony who had just spilled possibly the strangest, and most unbelievable story he had ever heard.

“Though, if what he says is true, that explains the recent messages I've been getting.” The Bull thought.

His true leader, Emperor Ironblood, had been sending ambassadors and merchants out for the past few months. The change in Minos’s foreign diplomacy had been rumored for years, so it wasn't a huge surprise when it occurred early this very summer.

What had been was Ironblood's own journey from the capital to Griffonstone itself. A personal visit from the Minotaur Emperor to the Griffon King was beyond imagining, and left questions as to the importance of that meeting.

He wondered why, after the meeting, he had received a missive in the old cipher not to assist any griffons outside the norm. Now, with what Orion had told him about the state of Griffonia, this was likely to put pressure on Bloodbeak to yield to imperial desire.

However, the smith believed he had learned that the command was likely worthless at this point, considering what the colt had done.

Orion Falls had gone and helped the Griffonians with not only their farming techniques but also returned a lost skill to them that could only have been barred by the Princess in every measure. Though, that was just a rumor.

“I had thought I'd been clever in not explaining how tah make steel.” Apparently, it either wasn't enough, or the pony had figured it out early on and was using him to double-check his knowledge. In either case, Orion had effectively ruined Minos out of a potential alliance before the Emperor's plans could be put into motion.

Forager was at a loss for what to do. This was exactly what he was supposed to report on, and by all accounts and duties, he must.

Sighing, he stood and did the first thing that came to mind. Reaching over, he grabbed the pony across the table from him and punched him square in his jaw.

Orion flew out of his grip and crashed into the bare kitchen wall behind him.

Duula rushed in from the storefront, eyes wide. She looked between her father and the pony, now staring shocked at him.

“Duula, be a good calf and return tah managing the store. This don't concern you.” He growled. With a panicked jump, she fled. She knew better than to question him during times like this, but the events had always been so rare that he worried she would have forgotten.

She never did.

Rather than shout, Orion rubbed his jaw, eyes going from dumbfounded worry, to anger.

“What the fuck was that for, Asshole?” His voice was pitched low and dangerous, and Forager was suddenly reminded of the last time he struck the pony.

Shaking his head, he pushed on.

“I caen't believe ya’ve done this.” He calmly replied.

“What, you wanna see the scar too?” The colt snapped back.

“Nae. I don't need to see the bleedin’ scar. I don't doubt what ya did, I question yer sanity in doin’ it!”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Leave it the fuck alone, you idiot!” The Bulls' fists came down onto his table like a hammer on metal. The wooden furniture groaned warningly. “Ye couldn't just go ‘n enjoy yer vacation?”

“I went there, partly to make an improvement in their lives.” Orion pushed himself up to his hooves but didn't take a step forward. Certainly, he was a lot more put together than he had been when they had first met. “That was me enjoying my vacation.”

“And ya couldn't leave steel out of it?!” The smith snapped back.

Orion paused, considering his words, then looked away.

“After what I saw, and read, mostly from their own records, so that may be their bias leaking in, I…fuck man, I couldn't just sit there and let it go, their kids were starvin’! Was a good idea at the time, and I didn't think an asshole griffon and a bunch of fucking unicorns would come crash the party.”

“A good idea…? At the time?” His frown deepened. “And now?”

“Heh, still would have done it.” The cocky grin, undeterred by the swelling of his lip, returned in full force. “They had a right to their talents. I'm more than certain it had been taken from them, and ya can't convince me otherwise.”

“Likely so, aye. Yet, why you? Couldn't ya have left a note? ‘nd idea on how tah do everything?”

“Uh-huh.” Orion deadpanned. “And who would have read and, more importantly, considered it credible? Fuck man,” he cursed again, “they had to be shown the way!” Leaning over, he picked up his chair and righted it. Sitting down, he gestured to the big minotaur. “Ya gonna sit there and loom over me, or are we going to talk like civilized folks, and you can explain to me why you are suddenly so panicked.”

Forager’s eyes widened in surprise, and he numbly picked up his own seat that had been knocked over in his attempt to smack some intelligence into the fool foal.

“What makes ya think I'm panicky?” He asked once he had composed and settled himself into his seat.

“You have a track record of hitting me whenever you get worried over something you know that I don't.” He chuckled, a finger touching his lip, and he winced, his horn coming to life, and the swelling began to decrease.

“That was only one other time!”

“Uh huh, and the fact that you haven't denied it means that, in this case of correlation does, in fact, equal causation.” He tapped the table. “You know what I've done. Now, why are you so worried.”

Forager knew he should lie or outright deny him any information at all. However, if he did either, the colt was liable to see through it and shut him out of any further meetings, and he absolutely must maintain contact with the fool pony.

With a heavy sigh, he dropped his gaze to the table. “Now, why do I feel like the apprentice that broke the anvil?”

“I'm…not just a Smith, Orion.” He began. “My career here, my family's career here, wasn't a choice.”

“Ah, crap.” The colt groaned. “You're some kind of half-assed spy. Aren't you?”

“No half-assin’ about it, colt!” He snapped at him. “Though, I would say I'm more of a listenin’ post than an actual spy. I report once a year on everything I see and hear.”

Orion groaned, looking both irritated and worried at the same time. “I doubt you can tell me, but you're not likely the only one in the nation. Hell, in the city itself, are you.”

“Nae. I'm not.” He affirmed.

“So…what, you holding onto the Gate so long was a way to filter out actual artificers?”

“Kind of?” He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. “I think Celestia knows what I am, or at least, knew what my family's real job was. When she brought that infernal contraption to my grandsire, I think it was her way of marking us out and letting us know we was on notice.”

The pony laughed. “Yeah, that would be right up her alley.” Shaking his head, his expression turned serious. “Judging by how pissed you were, I assume you haven't told HQ or whatever about me, did you?”

Forager winced. “Way tah hit the nail with a sledge, colt.” He shook his head. “No, they don't. They git the same line that Celestia’s big white rump got. A mysterious stranger who didn't reveal who they were came and fixed the Gate, took their money, and left.”

“Dude,” he whispered, “you are doubly fucked.” Orion raised his hands to forestall any outburst on his side. “I am too, don't get me wrong. But you…damn.” He shook his head. “What would have happened if you'd have reported me?”

Again, the big Bull shrugged. “Donno. Specifics are beyond me, but I suspect you would have been…removed, one way or the other.”

“Sounds about right. Griffons got the same idea. Only they come right out and say they would kill anyone capable of what I can do. Kinda fucked, honestly, but I appreciate the forwardness of it all.”

Forager's eyes widened. “They know what ye are?!”

“I don’t…hmm.” Orion paused, shook his head, and chuckled darkly. “You know what, now that I think about it. They just might. I got a pair of them following me around now, though I've long given them the slip today. So they’re lost as far as where I went to.”

“W-why?”

“Keep an eye on me, it would seem. Whatever method of execution they have for me might have been rescinded for now.” The colt shrugged. “Their disguises are hilarious. And I've thought of winking at them just to let ‘em know I'm aware of them.”

“I think they've gotten the message if you lose them as much as ya claim.” Massive fingers came up to rub the bridge of his wide nose. “So, the birds know, I know, and no one else is aware. Yes?”

“Well, whoever sent that army of jackoffs likely knew or knows something.”

“Feck.” He drew out the word. “Likely the Church, they've been operatin’ in Griffon lands for generations.” He shook his head. “Mintelligencer likely knows more than me, but it's agreed that they are causing nothing but chaos up there.”

“Huh, Mintelligencers?”

“It's the Ministry of Intel back in Minos.” Orion just stared at him and then burst out laughing.

“Hahaha!” He guffawed. “Are you serious?! Y'all took M and put it on the front of Intelligencer?” He laughed uproariously.

“Aye, not a very good name, I know, but the Emperor came up with it years ago, and it stuck.”

“Heh, that's stupid, but whatever.” Leaning forward and trying to wipe the smile from his face, he regarded Forager seriously. “So, what now?”

“Well, fer one thing, I know ye didn't come here just tah tell me the shenanigans ya've gotten up to. What do ya want?”

It was Orion's turn to wince.

“I…shit, I'm…I'm running out of everything, boss. I was hoping to recreate our arrangement. Work for materials. Steel ain't much of a problem. It's the gems and gold I'm running out of the most.” He shrugged. “Was hoping you'd be interested.”

The smith rubbed at his jaw and considered. The pony's work had always been a bit more than passable. Most Canterlonians couldn't tell the difference between his work and the colt's. Those that could got the explanation that he was trying something new. No one batted an eye otherwise.

“It would make my workload a bit lighter, and more time tah find an actual…” His eyes widened, and he stared openly at Orion.

“Colt, ya say you've recently been adopted, yes?” He asked carefully.

“Yeah. Fucking Sunbitch wouldn't let me out of the castle if I didn't get tossed with someone.” He shrugged. “Shipwrights are alright. Just don't like me out after dark without a reason and all that.”

“Heh, not violating their rules?”

“Actually, for the most part, no.” He lamented. “But it's not for lack of trying. I live on the first plate now. And let me tell you, their sewer system up there is not only cleaner than ours, but guarded to high heaven. I can only get to my little workshop on the weekends. Really makes it hard to do any personal projects.” He frowned. “Not to mention the three fillies living there. They are far too fuckin' nosey. Took me three weeks just waiting for them to stop trying to peek in on me at night before I could find a way out of the house.” He snapped. “Not to mention their parents. Fuck me, a bunch of busybodies. Well-meaning, but damn if they don't question everything I do. And don't get me started on the servants.”

“Explains why ye waited so long tah come see me.” His palm lay on the table, fingers drumming away. “I may have a solution, though.” Orion's ears perked up. “Ya come work fer me.” He grinned at the pony's stunned expression.

“I told you I don't want to be your fuckin' apprentice. Why this shit aga-”

“Because it solves yers and mines problems.”

The black pony gave him a dubious look and pushed the tangled mess of his fiery mane off to the side.

“Explain.”

Sparks flew as Orion angrily beat at the glowing red ingot of steel, the scale flying off with each strike. His arms hurt, his hooves hurt, hell, even his back felt like it was going to give out as he hunched over to shove the lump of what would be yet another workman's knife back into the coals.

The billows, the only item the bastard Forager would allow him to work with his magic, pumped feverishly to push the full red of the metal up to the bright glow of the sun once more.

“How…in the hell,” he huffed sucking in lungfuls of air, “had that asshole talked me into this shit!” He vented, reaching into the fire with tongs to pry out the glowing hot steel once more.

“It's because you're desperate,” Duula said from her workbench across the forge. The pair were currently sharing the space as she worked on a set of ear cuffs from some rich upper-crust weirdo with a thing for hummingbirds, judging by the design he could see that was. “I'm not sure what it is that had you come back, but I suppose it was enough to land you into my father's tender mercies.” She giggled.

“Yeah, tender.” He smacked the metal again, causing sparks to fly. “Horseshit.” Orion spat.

The heifer simply giggled again and refocused on her own work.

This was the fifth knife he was forging, and for whatever odd reason, it was proving to be more difficult than the other four. For starters, there were more impurities in the ingot. Which was odd, because he had never seen the Bull with inferior metalwork in the time he had known him.

Even the scraps he had been given were of better quality than this.

The second issue was more biological. He was exhausted. His arms burned like they had been dropped into the coals and cooked for a while. His head was beginning to pound in time with his hammer strikes, and he was damn dry. His mouth felt like a desert.

He had to admit, though, that it was a solution he hadn't considered.

Work for the Old Bull, and not only did he get out of the mansion more than three times a week, but he could get to his workshop and study his real subject on a near-daily basis.

The real surprise had come from the Shipwrights themselves.

He had thought he would have to argue with Emerald Bowspirit at the very least, but instead, the whole family had been more than enthusiastic, especially after the brief meeting between them and Forager himself. Their learning that the colt had been visiting his shop off and on for years had actually assuaged their worries of stranger danger and all that.

“You know what holds a ship together, Orion?” Clipper had asked after the meeting was over, and the colt was questioning their agreeable attitude on the whole thing.

“Family?” He had sarcastically asked. That brought a chuckle from the older stallion.

“No.” He shook his head, a chuckle floating from his lips. “It's a foundation of steel and well-fitted wood. You learning this trade will help you understand the stresses metal undergoes when subjected to the whims of the sky.” Standing from the lounge sofa, he took a stance at the bay window, his back to the black pony in the lone chair that sat in a slightly less than gaudy room. “Not…directly, mind you. Bu,t like the foundation of a keel being laid, you can understand the foundation of metal and how it can be best forged. Honestly, this is a better result than I could have asked for.”He turned and gave Orion a grin. “And Master Broadhammer really seems to like you.”

“He's going to love torturing me, you mean.” He groused at the older pony, which got the stallion to shrug in acquiescence.

“Perhaps.” Clipper smiled warmly. “Though, and this is my own personal opinion, he is likely to treat you with the same level of hazing as I had received when I was Journyponing for my own position. Why, I remember-”

The rest of it was just him remarking on the pranks and lessons he had learned from those above him over the years as he grew in his talent, which had been line-making and rigging.

Hard teachings that taught him to beware of even the simplest of obstacles.

His hand rose, haft in hand and hammer raised high, and he paused.

Staring at the knife, he frowned.

“He wouldn't have, would he?” His frown turned into a glare as his eyes drifted over the heated lump of metal, noting the spots that seemed duller and darker than the rest.

“Forager,” he hissed, “you asshole!” Arm swinging back with the tongs, he threw the offending piece of steel back into the forge.

“That's “Master” tah you, Colt,” Forager said, coming into the workplace, his bulky size making the shops' already limited space even smaller.

“Uh huh, fuck you. Why in the hell did you give me a shitty ingot!?” He spat back.

“Ah, ya figured it out. ‘ere I was thinkin’ ya’d beat that rubbish all day!” He chuckled. “It was tah see if ya was payin’ attention to the metal. Tah learn what was good and bad.” He shook his head, a smirk gracing his face. “Proud of ya, though, most apprentices I know, take a week tah figure it out.” His smile turned into a grin. “And ya did it without relyin’ on no silly ‘corn magic.”

“I'm gonna beat you.” Orion hefted his hammer. “I'm gonna beat you to death, ya fuckin-”

A small hammer whizzed through the air and pelted him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for!?” He turned and glared at Duula, who now stood at her bench glaring back at him.

“My father is teaching you a valuable lesson, and you would threaten him?” Unlike Forager, who had a mix of Scottish and Southern drawl on his tongue, Duula Broadhammer was Canterlonian all the way. Making her tone somehow even more severe. “You will show your Master respect. It is not the student to question methods; only take the lessons those methods impart.” She hefted another hammer, one far larger than his own, with pitiful ease.

“But…” His glance took in both. The father, who stood by, his arms crossed, waiting, and the daughter, who stood poised to rush him with her own implement of destruction. “...fine.” He placed the sledge back on its pegs. She was right, and he was falling back into his old habits of being a jackass. “Fine. Just…fuck man, ya couldn't have given me a heads up at the least?”

“Lessons like that,” the bull gestured at the lump in the forge, “caen no be taught so simply. Trust me, Colt. Most don't remember the problem well enough if they simply be handed the solution.” He chuckled. “Though I have tah say, as I had said before, you're quicker than most.”

“Well, shit.” Rubbing at his sore bicep, he groaned. “Wasted all that energy on the useless thing. Now I need another.”

“No, ye don't.” Forager grinned. “I only needed four. I slipped the fifth in there as the lesson.” He shrugged. “Ya got lucky. Most either pick one like that up at the beginning, or in the middle. Caen waste a whole afternoon beating against shité and gettin’ naught but sore arms for it.”

“You ass.” Orion chuckled.

“That's “Master” to you, Colt.” He gestured at the set of four blades laid out on cloth. “They done?”

“For the most part. They still need to be worked over on the honing stones. They have a rough edge but are otherwise complete.” He shrugged. “And, of course, hafts have to be cut and shaped to fit the tangs for handles.”

Walking over, the master smith hefted one of the blades, scrutinizing the surface.

“Not bad. I see your vacation and studies haven't dulled your abilities too much; these’ll do.” He nodded. “Though I have to admit, I had believed since you used magic tah forge your own items, ya might not have been up tah standards physically. Glad I was wrong on that.”

“Not everything I worked on was with magic.” Orion snorted.

“Very good,” Forager replied simply. “It's Sunday. You git the rest of the day to recuperate. I caen sharpen these up. School and whatnot tah attend tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, Christ.” He moaned, taking off the heavy leather apron and placing it on a peg near the door. “It's physicals tomorrow. They do it every year, but this year,” he shuddered as he grabbed his cloak, “it's supposed to be a bit more invasive.”

“Ah, yewl get through it alright.” The smith chuckled. “Just remember to turn yer head and cough.”

“Oh, ah, ha. Funny.” Orion deadpanned. “See you in the afternoon tomorrow.” He paused at the door. “The hell you looking at,” he glanced at Duula, still giving him the stink eye and hefting her hammer meaningfully. He had forgotten again. “Uh, Master Broadhammer.”

He felt dirty.

Forager grinned but did not comment on the lapse. “We gonna be makin’ a fence together, protegé. The gate of one, at least. After that, ye caen do what ya want.”

The black colt thought for a minute. “Now that my reserves of gems have been restocked, perhaps it would be a good idea to return to the matter of R&R not working together properly.”

“Yeah, that'll work. I got some personal projects to work on that need a bit of trial and error.” He frowned. “Oh, and never again. Too weird. Duula, just kill me next time. I ain't calling no one nothing. Screw that!” He about-faced and marched out.

Duula snorted derisively and tossed her maul expertly onto its pegs.

“That colt is never going to change.”

“I wouldn't say that, my little hammer,” Forager said with a soft smile and a gentle pat on her shoulder. “Truth is, he has gone through a great transformation since the last time we've met.” Leaving her, he picked up one of the blades the pony had made. “For one, this is a lot better than some rank amateur smith with their first shop.” He handed it over to his daughter and watched her inspect the dull blade.

“I…if he had sharpened this…” She began.

“He could have submitted it tah me for his intermediate advancement and clear it.” The old Bull chuckled. “He has a steady hand. He nary made a mistake in his rhythm.”

“Has he…done this kind of work before, father?” Duula handed the blade back to him, and he walked over to the grinding wheel.

“Not that I'm aware, no. Though, he has spoken of private projects. Those didn't have someone to advise him. But, I think he might have been watching other smiths for a long time.” Sitting down, he placed his hooves onto the pedals. “His questions back then were a bit too accurate, and I was naive in thinkin’ he was just well-read.”

As he worked the grinding wheel, a comfortable silence filled the shop. Yet it did not last long, as his offspring broke it.

“Father, I'm not stupid, you understand, yes?”

Forager paused, giving his daughter a questioning glance.

“Father, I do the budgeting for the shop.” She deadpanned at him, and he chuckled.

“Aye, ye do.” Sighing, he rested his arms on the wheel. “I've worked out a deal with that pony. He needs those…materials, for his own research. And they don’t count fer much in the shop's overall budget.” She snorted at that. The cost was actually negligible; most of what he gave the pony was the leavings, and he was satisfied with that.

“Well, it's certainly not jewelry.” She replied thoughtfully, sitting back at her own station and snatching up the small hammer. She paused. “It's not something that'll get us in trouble, will it?” Duula glanced back up to her father.

“Nay. Not that I caen tell.” He shrugged uncomfortably under his daughter's gaze. “True. He does find trouble like a Brass hits his thumb, but I think we'll get fair warning before his next disaster.”

“I hope you're right, father.” Almost as one, they set to finishing their tasks. Though, Forager ruminated on his last comment.

“Perhaps we should make a trip home sooner rather than later.”

Author's Note

Wooo! Managed to get this update in!

Got some announcements to make. One really.

I am going in for retraining under a program my local government is providing. Its for Truck driving. I'm getting a CDL. Bad news is I am most likely going to be over the road trucking for the next couple of years. Pulling me away from my wife for all but maybe once or twice a month. That blows.

The good news for you, is I won't have video games as a distraction, so writing will be my only outlet. I won't have much for distraction anyway. So odds are I might actually get through most of my story, couple of books at least, in that amount of time. Huzzah as the blueberry honse would say.

I just wanted to keep you aware of what's going on, and what may account for delays in posting, as I am finally hitting the ground running on this.

As forever, and always, thank you for reading.

Peace.

P.S. I am absolutely livid that the Chiefs are going to the Superbowl. They do not deserve it, and Taylor Swift is mid af. Come fight me!