Author's Note

For ease of the translation and your reading, I have decided to split this chapter into two parts. The narrative allowed me to do so.

Chapter 25 - A King (Part 1)

Motley arrived with Lemon on Venture. The lemon-colored pony approaches us. She's without power armor, but wearing a warm coat. The expression on her pretty face seems ambiguous, radiating a whole range of different emotions, from genuine joy to righteous anger. Lemon herself doesn't seem to realize what she's supposed to be feeling at this moment.

She promised she'd hate me.

"I'm fucking mad at you. So mad I'm ready to strangle you!" she exclaims deafeningly, looking at me with wet green eyes filled with anger, sorrow, and frustration.

Her body feels like it's shaking from the violent fountain of emotions crushing her heart.

"Have you completely lost your mind?!"

She stomps her leg angrily, glaring at me sternly. She curves her lips, giving me a reproachful look, clearly trying to restrain her rage and desire to punish me for my reckless act.

"The Most... Stupid... Pony... In the world... The most foolish!"

Tears stream down her chubby yellow cheeks, her lips trembling. She rushes to hug me, embracing me tightly around the neck.

"Can you even imagine the smallest bit how worried Motley and I are about you? I hate you, but... I don't want to hate you."

I deserved those words.

"You've got hay instead of brains... I'm so glad you're alive!" she says cheerfully, breathing heavily and tightening her embrace. She opens them and with her front leg gently wipes her tears away.

"How can such a good stallion be such a jerk. I hope Motley gave you a good kicking."

"You can rest assured of that," the pegasus replies, nodding softly and grinning.

"That's good," Lemon utters slowly.

"I think this will smooth out my guilt a bit..."

I levitate the audio recording of Evening Star I've found. Lemon's interested and attentive gaze runs over the item.

"That's what you wanted to know about."

The earth pony's body shudders and her green eyes round; she takes the audio recording without a word, staring dumbly at the object in her hooves.

"I know... that they are not alive. And finally find out how they died?"

I nod.

"If you need support when you listen, you can call on us," I smile warmly. Motley nods in agreement.

"Thank you," Lemon looks at us appreciatively and smiles. Her gaze returns to the audio recording. "I'm much relieved to know that I can rely on you. But... I'll listen to it later. I've been through too much turmoil as it is. What... was there?"

She puts the audio recording inside her coat and looks at the cave entrance, littered with warning signs.

"I haven't fully figured it out myself yet, but it's safe in there now. There are no more threats. You can rest assured of that. I'll tell you later."

"You mean... it's safe to go in?"

"Yes."

"In that case, I need to quickly notify the nearest Steel Ranger post before someone from Vanhoover sets their eyes on the Stable. There's a lot of dead Steel Rangers and technology out there."

I nod.

Lemon is using Venture's equipment to communicate with the reconnaissance post. I hear skepticism and bewilderment in response. The Steels doesn't believe the 66 is safe, but accepts to follow orders.

"Where are you going?" Motley asks as I'm about to get out of the vertibuck.

"I came here on Bear, actually."

"And you're going to ride all the way to Heavenly Harbor on that wreck?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you ditch it?" the pegasus asks. Lemon, however, smiles understandingly.

"It has meaning to me. I'll tell you about its previous owner someday."

***

I return to Heavenly Harbor in the late afternoon. Almost the entire inhabitants come out to greet me and then shower me with a hail of questions. I promise to answer after I change and eat dinner.

"So are you finally going to tell me what happened to you in the Cursed Stable?" Ferris asks interestedly, taking a seat next to me in the dining room. "Don't keep me in suspense. I've heard a lot about this place since I was a very young fledgling!"

"And I'd like to see you as a fledgling," Lemon says casually, sitting down at a nearby dining table. Ferris responds with a frown. She only giggles lightheartedly, as if she's gotten the reaction she needs from him.

There is not a shadow of joy on the lemon pony's face, but I do not see any longing or sorrow either. Having entered the dining room a few minutes earlier, she gave me a welcoming smile. The pony radiates the humility and peace she has long sought. I've never seen her so... peaceful, so relaxed, it's like she's made of jelly that's about to spill all over the chair. She's finally learned how her parents died, and now she's at peace about it. Now she could go on with her life with a light heart.

"So?" the gray-coated griffon persists, looking at me again, his eyes blazing with interest. I can say with certainty that he won't let go of me until he gets answers.

My only and main interest at the moment is the huge plate of meat, sauce, and salad of crisp, fresh vegetables in front of me. The mere sight of this colorful, mostly green dish makes me drool.

Motley sits to my right.

"Can I finish it first?" I ask with my mouth full, without looking up, and without waiting for an answer, I continue crunching the fresh vegetables, savoring their wonderful flavor.

A thought flashes through my mind about the slave work that went into growing these vegetables in the fields and greenhouses of the Waterfall. I mentally give them thanks.

"Gee! Like a jackal on prey you're jumping on him with your questions, let him eat in peace!" the dark gray wingless pegasus cuts in, sitting down next to Lemon and sipping some sort of hot liquid. Probably tea.

Besides Lemon and Blaze in the dining room are Professor, Caroline in her main black and blue robotic body, and Nara. Simply put, everyone is gathered. Even Ferris's pet—he's lying quietly on the couch, and the little orange pony is carefully, with foal-like delight, stroking him with her front hoof. Edge, from her petting, coos quietly and peacefully.

"What are you like a kettle suddenly boiling over? He can eat, for heaven's sake," Ferris rises from his chair and heads for the kitchen. "I'm just wildly curious as to what was in there!"

"Everyone's curious," Blaze shouts after him.

"Absolutely," Lemon agrees, turning to him. Then her gaze drifts to a point. "Flow!" she exclaims in a possessive and joking tone.

"Yes?" anxiety is heard in the voice of the lady from the kitchen. Naturally, she doesn't understand Lemon's cheerful mood.

Blaze chuckles, covering his eyes, then stares thoughtfully into his cup. He, too, was once a slave, and he understands why Flow is alarmed.

Lemon, on the other hand, rolls her eyes, annoyed and sighing heavily. Her tone softens perceptibly and becomes habitually friendly, "Can you please get me something fresh too? I'm starving."

"I'll get it right away!" she replies.

"Would you deign to go to the kitchen and get yourself some breakfast, princess?" the griffon returns from the kitchen with a bottle of beer in his claws. He sits down beside me. "Quite lazy, aren't you?" he adds, casting a sly look at her and smiling impishly.

"You keep blurting out your opinions on my weight, I'll drown you in my teacup," she quips, nodding toward the cup held by the gray stallion.

Everyone chuckles merrily.

Still, he can't resist hinting at her weight, albeit so floridly.

Flow brings Lemon a plate of food, and then sits down on a vacant chair next to her and looks at me with interest. Why are you all so impatient?

"Thank you humbly," Lemon nods and begins to satisfy her stomach with fresh vegetables.

"Glad to serve," the pink pony with the lingonberry-colored mane replies appreciatively.

"What have you heard about this Stable since you're so eager to get the truth out about it?" the voice of Blaze comes up, addressing the question to the griffon. "Many rumors have passed through my ears, namely about how many skilled and capable ponies and griffons have gone there and not returned. Even Kings never came back. Not to mention the Steel Rangers," Blaze glances at Lemon. But she doesn't listen to him, munching away at her food with a nonchalant expression.

"Lots of things," Ferris looks up at the ceiling and thinks. "There were scare stories for the little ones... Among the memorable ones, even Silent Ghost was mentioned as the only survivor of the creepy-crawly Stable."

"Bullshit," Lemon pauses eating her breakfast for a moment.

"Someone said," the griffon continues, ignoring the Star Paladin's comment, "that there was some unusual hideous kind of monster in the Stable that couldn't be killed, but wouldn't leave the confines of the bunker—their nest."

"Any creature can be killed, incinerated, disintegrated," Professor inserts his comment. "Everyone is mortal to one degree or another, and every creature has a weakness, the only question remaining is the discovery of that very spot." Ferris rolls his eyes. He's obviously not happy about being interrupted time after time.

"Others have spoken of sadistic robots who love to watch their victims suffer," Ferris squints at Caroline absently.

"Actually," she begins slowly, rubbing her metal chin with a metal hoof, the way organic and mortal beings like us do when we think hard about something, "it's a wonderful and rather curious idea. I've always been interested in griffons. How durable they are... what their pain threshold is..." Caroline utters with an uncanny coldness, and her robotic eyes flash blue light threateningly.

The griffon's face distorts in horror. There is an awkward silence that seems to last forever. Everyone stares in surprise at the pony-like robotic body. Professor, looking at Caroline, only arches his eyebrow. He's the calm one. I think he's the only one who could still survive the horrors of the Stable.

A wild laughter erupts from Caroline's body speakers. Loud and... light-hearted, friendly.

"I still don't understand your fear of us, but your reaction amused me."

"I didn't know you were capable of jokes," I smile.

And for a moment I believed her, didn't I? Then I remember that she's eager to learn the tools of social interaction, and humor is a major part of it. I can tell she's learning it quite well. And she's already found a way to communicate with everyone in this place.

"The others said," Ferris continues through force, having gotten over her feelings and brought them to order, "that you could start a new life there, that's why no one ever came back from there."

"Complete nonsense," Professor remarks. His confident tone finally dispels the fear and doubt that Caroline had sown with her joke. "No one has ever returned from the Vanhoover region either: some died on the long journey here, and the other had no intention of returning, as the living conditions there are far superior to the rest of the Wastelands. Even the residents of Tenpony Tower would choke with envy. It has everything you need for a happy existence, but you can't draw a parallel to the Stable—more than a hundred ponies and griffons have gone there, not counting the Crater raiders who lived nearby and had the courage to go to this uncharted place. I'm more than sure there's no 'better life' there, as in the case of Vanhoover."

"I've also heard," the gray griffon adds, "that there is an entrance to that very legendary 'Dome'."

He slowly turns his head in my direction. All eyes except Nara and Edge's are on me. I've long since finished my breakfast and am just listening to the conversation.

"Nothin' like that," I state sharply and firmly. "It's all pretty... vague and unclear," I add with uncertainty. "Even though I've been there, I can't say with one hundred percent certainty what really went on in the 66."

"What are you saying?" the griffon asks, frowning. "So enlighten us: tell us with ninety-nine percent certainty."

Motley casts him a disgruntled look. Ferris only spreads his paws, and Lemon chuckles.

"Well... I only have two versions. It's an extremely powerful hallucination or it's really ghosts."

Everyone except Professor, Nara, and Edge look surprised. Is there anything to surprise Professor at all? Should I tell him my origins?

I'm recounting what happened to me in the Cursed Stable. I leave out the fact that I was aided by my other me, and that my non-Equestrian background played an important role, and I also leave out whose voice was on the Steel Ranger's audio recording. Lemon reports it herself. Everyone in the room looks at her with sympathy.

I'm not going to go into detail about what I felt and experienced. And no one was going to ask me about it in detail. Everyone is sympathetic, and Motley gives me a caring wing for most of the conversation. I'm just letting them know that everything in the Stable was based on fear as leverage over the victim's mind.

Almost everyone except Professor is naturally surprised to learn about the chip tracking the location of the six key cards for access to the Dome. Lemon is particularly impressed. After all, this greatly simplifies the search for the mythical pre-war facility, or rather, the keys to access it. To this day, it is still unknown where exactly it is needed to apply key cards to get there, but this fact does not greatly upset the Star Paladin.

The confidence in the mythical nature of the Dome has not been significantly shaken by anyone so far: the existence of key cards is no secret to anyone; there is no confirmation that they were created for it.

Professor's interest is ignited only at the mention of the strange crystal. The genetic scientist does not ask any questions, but interest and curiosity are clearly readable in his eyes.

Ferris is amazed that a crystal like the one that powered the entire Stable, that held ghosts or produced hallucinations, was also in the Apostle, which I was very, very, very lucky to bring with me. I doubt very much that I would have been able to leave the Stable without another crystal. What amazes the griffon the most, however, is when he hears how I destroyed the crystal with another, ruining the weapon.

"Wow, that's quite a story," a stunned Ferris stares dumbly into the empty bottle. "My childhood will never be the same. All the horror stories about this place I listened to as a fledgling have been mercilessly shattered. It's hard to believe, especially the ghosts and spirits. I'm more inclined to believe they're hallucinations—like the Rainbow Mine, where several of us were influenced by the Twilight Demon. Based on your story, that place was nothing like it. Still, it's a shame your Defender lost its cherry. Although your suspicions about the crystals made me think, because I found my Apostle in the same Rainbow Mine."

"And I'd like to take a look at the crystal in your Apostle, Ferris," Professor turns to the griffon enthusiastically.

"No problem," the latter smiles. He turns to me. "You made a big noise in Vanhoover, Danny. Practically solved the main mystery of the 66. But that doesn't matter. The important thing is that you came back from there on your own four. Prince ought to gold you for that."

"I remember the reward. Besides, he's the one who sent me to this place."

"That's what we figured," Motley cuts in. A look of displeasure and reproach spreads across her face. "You told me Prince sent you on a testing mission, didn't you? We had no idea it would turn out to be Stable 66!"

"Yes, Motley and Berry," the griffon smiles nervously, "were tearing up and throwing down. If it hadn't been for Caroline, they'd have gone full sail after you."

"I am most grateful to you," I turn to Caroline.

"I tried to hold them off as you asked," she nods. Motley pokes at me indignantly with a hoof, and Lemon throws me a reproachful look.

"It turned out well in the end, didn't it?" I smile innocently. "You heard from me yourself what was going on in there. You just wouldn't have survived there."

"That doesn't change the fact that you lied to everyone," Lemon says. "You don't do that to friends."

"That's why I kept my mouth shut. You wouldn't have let me go."

"Okay, forget it!" the griffon interjects with indignation. "Daniel has completed the special task—which means Prince will soon bestow upon him the King's mantle. You can imagine the possibilities. Reputation, ignoring paper laws, discounts! Imagine, Motley. Do you know what you could buy in the stores at a permanent discount?"

"They're not worth anyone's life," Motley glances sullenly in my direction.

"Cut it out already!" Ferris exclaims glumly, raising his front paws. "Don't start that record, Motley. I understand your affection for your stallion. But it's all passed. It's history now. It ended well, nothing to put wood in your stove of anger again. It's bad enough you and Berry almost burned us to the ground with your anger and resentment. You had Nara terrified, huddled somewhere in the bowels of the ventilation system." He sighs heavily. "I'm going to the workshop. I'd better do something useful," he glances at the crimson-red unicorn. "Come join me, Professor. Let's take a better look at this tiny crystal," the griffon leaves the dining room. The scientist briskly follows.

"You know," Lemon sits down in the seat next to me where Ferris just sat. "Thanks to you, I found out what happened to my parents. Thanks again. I won't stop being mad at you, though."

"You're welcome. I need to head to your bunker and have a word with the Elder."

Lemon frowns, concerned at my irritated tone.

"Is something wrong?" she clarifies carefully.

Motley also picks up on my subtle displeasure and looks at me interestedly. The others present are just watching our conversation, or they're chatting amongst themselves.

"We'll discuss it later. Tomorrow we're going on Venture to the Steel Rangers."

"I'm with you," the pegasus places a hoof on my shoulder. I smile weakly at her.

"You can't," Lemon interjects. "I can't take on a second pony under my responsibility, and someone else won't want to do it."

I hug the pegasus.

"Don't worry. We'll be quick."

She replies with a sad look. Apparently, after what happened, she doesn't want to leave. It's understandable.

Motley helps me take a shower, even though it's unnecessary. She doesn't take one herself. In bed, she snuggles up to me, hugs me and keeps holding me.

"You've got her worried. With our dangerous lives, you shouldn't have gotten involved with her."

I hear you, calm down. Let me enjoy the warmth of my pony.

***

2nd of the Month of Rain, Orangeday. Sixty-seventh day of my stay.

Before leaving for the Steel Rangers, I stop by the warehouse where the loot from the casino robbery is lying and pick up a stealth cloak, the second technology the head scribe needs for his project. I remember he promised me something special if I got both technologies.

We're landing near the base. Motley stays to keep an eye on the bird, and Lemon and I go to visit the Steel Rangers.

Lemon hasn't said a single word since the conversation in the dining room, only glancing at me worriedly at times and thinking deeply about something. Her chubby face showed concern. Apparently, she didn't like the tone in which I expressed my desire to talk to her Elder about something important to me.

Lemon still tries to elicit the topic of a future conversation with Largo Breeze.

"I keep wondering why you suddenly have so much cold unfriendliness towards our Elder?" Lemon asks timidly.

"Why didn't you inform me that you already have three key cards?" I ask bluntly.

The silence lasts for a few seconds. Her muzzle expresses genuine bewilderment.

"What?" she mutters quietly. "What are you talking about? You only found two key cards. And both of them were in the Stables."

"And the tracking chip in my spare PipBuck, obtained in the 66, informs me very clearly that you have three," I pause and show the computer screen: three small dots flickering on the Steel Ranger Headquarters marker.

"Uh..."

Her surprised gaze doesn't break away from the green screen of the PipBuck.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she mutters absent-mindedly. We step forward. "Maybe this is a mistake. I know for a fact that we only had two key cards. And I have no idea about the third one... probably recently obtained—but if that were the case, the Elder would have told me. Now I see why you sounded resentful and bitter. You probably assumed that the Elder had kept such an important thing from you, and assumed that you'd look like an idiot looking for the sixth keycard when we didn't need it. And the Rangers would have infiltrated the complex on their own."

I pause. How accurately she's voiced my thoughts.

"That was quick to guess what was on my mind," I remark, gaining my composure.

"I've danced around you long enough to know that you hate being circled or used like a rag for dirty work, to say the least... without your knowledge. Especially when something important is being kept from you."

"That's for sure," I say dryly and glumly.

"Well, you... take it easy. Chill out."

"Not even a piece of meat in me would go rotten in two hundred years—that's how calm and cool I am."

"I myself wonder why I, a Star Paladin who ranks right after the Elder and answers to no one but her, was not informed of such an important find."

It's quite possible that Lemon really hadn't heard that the Steel Rangers have one more keycard than they were supposed to. Or maybe she's not telling me something.

***

I wonder how Largo Breeze will explain herself for hiding the third key card. If she'll even agree to talk to me. I don't know whether she's doing it for personal reasons or in the interests of the Steel Rangers, but I'm in charge of finding those key cards, and I have a right to know everything that has to do with them. I'm inclined to think that she'll either push me out of her office or throw me out as a pile of ash.

I walk into the office.

"Oh, welcome back," the elderly muddy-yellow pony in a blue robe says without much affability, her face as somber, serious, businesslike, and joyless as ever. "So? How's the Northren Soul thing going? Convinced the ghouls to leave the base? It's been about two weeks since you assured me you would resolve the matter. That's the same amount of time left, and if nothing changes, we'll take the base by force. Or have you come to report on the progress about the key cards?"

"I haven't settled anything with Northern Soul yet," I say somewhat confused.

I'd forgotten that I had to somehow convince Captain and his ghoul pack to leave the base. But I pick myself up in time, thinking of something else.

"I'm here about the key cards."

"You brought another one?" she clarifies calmly, not even dignifying me with a glance, staring into the green terminal monitor with a busy look.

"I recall I only brought you two key cards. When did you discover the third?"

The Elder's eyes go wide, and even her mouth falls open. She slowly shifts her gaze to me, shakes her head, and returns her previous expression.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't need to bullshit me here. I'm aware that you have a third key card and you haven't even bothered to let me know about it."

Lemon just stands there and doesn't interfere with our conversation, looking timidly and uncertainly at me and Largo.

"So why didn't you?"

I am surprised at my own calmness. The Elder's gaze locks onto Lemon.

"I'm wondering why you didn't say anything to me, too," she utters, a little daring thanks to genuine interest.

Largo's gaze hardens sharply.

"I don't know what kind of sack you were hit over the head with that you imagined such a thing. I didn't expect you, Lemon, to believe a savage more than me!"

A look of confusion comes over Lemon's face, and she has no choice but to lower her gaze guiltily.

"I've spent my whole life looking out for you, supporting you, cheering you on, and caring for you. Tried to keep you in your position because you are worthy of it despite your illness. Do you really think I haven't been sincere with you?"

The Star Paladin remains silent, head lowered in shame. She saw it herself on PipBuck's screen: the chip is pointing exactly at the HQ marker. I realize that Lemon has feelings for me, but at the same time she's spent her entire life here, under Largo Breeze—she's like a stepmother to her.

"I suspected that Lemon would grow quite attached to you, savage," Largo Breeze says the last word with disgust. "She has spent too much time with you. Get out of my office now, or you'll leave it dead," two laser turrets emerge from the ceiling to confirm her words, pointing their barrels at me menacingly.

Largo Breeze is obviously hiding something. But I'm not going to give up so easily, and I decide, figuratively speaking, to take her by the sides. Lemon was right not to intervene so as not to get hurt—but it's clear that she wants to help one of us, but she's shackled by uncertainty. The tension in the air hovers so palpable that the poor lemon pony nearly chokes.

"Do you really think that by mere threats I can be made to run away, cowardly tucking my tail?" I say calmly. "Wrong!" I raise my voice slightly. "I can clearly see you fiercely resisting, thus proving the opposite. You try to get rid of me and you will make a fatal mistake."

"And what would that be?" Largo says venomously through gritted teeth, squinting.

"I wouldn't risk it," I reply in the same threatening manner, shaking my head slowly.

Lemon pivots back, unsure of how to handle the situation. The elderly Largo doesn't raise an eyebrow.

"I am not so easy to kill. I've been tried many times, but as you can see, those attempts failed miserably. I was even shot in the head once and thrown into a pit, covered with damp and cold earth."

"Those turrets won't leave a wet spot on you—there'll be nothing to bury!" Largo parries angrily.

Well, that's an argument.

"We no longer need your services, savage, I advise you to leave the territory now if your life is valuable to you!"

Largo's patience loudly cracks at the seams as the turrets buzz dangerously, putting the laser weapons on alert. Spotting, Lemon rests her butt against the concrete wall, practically squeezing herself in, hoping to find salvation there.

"If your turrets disintegrate me, you'll never be able to find the other three key cards again," I throw in indifferently, as if casually.

"You're on the cusp of death right now. How can you be so sure?" the cloudy yellow pony hisses, barely holding back from giving the turrets the order to execute me.

"I know those key cards are in places you wouldn't think to look. You remember Paladin Hugh reporting on that Stable recently fondled by the Vanhoover masters with the help of one of Kings. He said that there was no keycard there, but there was room for one. There was a similar situation in the Stable in Red Spark. You see, at least two key cards are no longer in their rightful place..." I explain in high spirits. She can't deny it.

There was no way Hugh could hide the discovery of the key card from me: Motley kept her eyes on him.

"Specifically, outside Vanhoover Wasteland," I add, and my lips stretch into a victorious grin. Doubt flickers in Largo's lavender eyes, and she immediately dismisses it as utterly useless.

"Proof?"

"My PipBuck has a tracking chip that points to the exact location of all six key cards. Disintegrate me and there's a good chance my PipBuck with that chip will turn to ash, as well as your dreams of the research complex."

There's a look of surprise on the pony's muzzle, which evaporates almost immediately, replaced by insight. Her anger subsides slightly.

"So that's it. That's expected," the pony grins skeptically. "It could very well be pointing to something else; or it could be giving off a glitch by detecting something in this location that emits the same radio signal or frequency as the object being tracked. Besides, how can it point to something outside Vanhoover Wasteland if, because of the Vanhoover Jammer Tower, let me remind you, no radio signal emanates from here as well as from outside. It's a kind of dome..."

"The Dome is a government project. That tower is clearly more than just a powerful pre-war relay that can be used to jam signals. It is likely that a special 'window' in the range is installed and well hidden there, automatically amplifying a signal operating on that frequency. Or it does not block absolutely all signals. Do you think Vanhoover's masters are so well versed in pre-war technology? They might not have noticed such a thing."

"Sounds like you pulled it out of your ass. That nonsense is pretty hard to believe. We'll just kill you, remove the chip and examine it ourselves and analyze how it works. What's the problem?"

"Like I said, are you sure you're going to take that risk? The turrets could accidentally incinerate me if their power is high—and it's high, I'm sure of it. Protecting the Elder is one of the Steel Rangers' top priorities, isn't it? And I'm not going to give you guys that easy. And yes, what a glitch, when the chip indicates as clearly as a ray of light in the darkness that there are three key cards here, exactly in your office." Largo's eyes opened wide. I smiled again. "Your reaction is a confirmation of that. I've played enough card games. I can see the slightest change in another player's reaction. So, as I said, you don't need to bullshit me. Tell me the truth. I don't care why you're hiding it: I've seen a lot of things in my life, and it's hard to surprise me."

The Elder is silent, her gaze lowered, and she looks deeply thoughtful. Lemon, who has suddenly come to her senses, steps uncertainly toward Largo's table.

"Can you at least tell me where another key card came from?" She, smiling softly, steps closer to the older pony. "I feel like there's really something fishy going on here. It just feels that way."

"I mean, he's an outsider. Despite what he's done for us. He's a stranger to us, and..."

"For me," Lemon gently interrupts her and continues quietly, "he's considerably closer than some of my 'brothers and sisters'." Danny is looking for the Dome, he needs answers if we are to find this complex. Yeah, he doesn't trust us, and neither do we. That's the norm in the Wasteland. However, compared to any other Vanhoover master, he can be trusted safely with even our own lives."

Wow... Lemon... You trust me that much?

Largo scrutinizes Lemon's face after which she turns to me. The expression on her face is a bit sad, wistful and depressed. The turrets disappear from sight, and the Elder sighs heavily.

"I hope said words never leave this room," she looks at me demurely and meaningfully, but then for some reason cautiously timidly looks around.

I nod understandingly and smile amicably, not paying much attention to her concern. The Elder's lips curve faintly into a smile, and his expression takes on a sad look again.

"I didn't expect anyone to know about this," she begins reluctantly, lowering her eyes bashfully. "Only three individuals knew, myself among them," she raises her gaze to me. "The Steel Rangers would have been killed here a long time ago," she adds suddenly without any preparation, as if carelessly throwing that fact in our faces.

I respond with only a perplexed look, and so does Lemon.

I have a bad feeling.

"Was it really that bad?" I ask.

"I'm curious... She probably suspects that you're also working for Vanhoover's interests. Intending to become a King. And that there's a definite possibility that you might give out some important information to Prince. Why is she so quickly willing to tell you the whole truth?"

A shadow of carefully concealed excitement was evident in her eyes. The elder looks away guiltily.

"This key card," her voice trembles, "was personally placed in my hooves by... Prince."

"And here comes the answer..."

"What?!" I exclaimed in unison with Lemon.

"It seems Prince is not as simple as he seems."

There is an awkward silence for the Elder; she doesn't want to see our—perhaps judgmental—faces. I've pulled back from my surprise, but I still don't fully comprehend what I've heard.

"Why did you make a deal with your sworn enemy?" Lemon asks shocked, having recovered from the shock. I can sense the disappointment and resentment in her voice.

"I just didn't have a choice," the pony replies quietly, then turns to us, trying to avoid direct eye contact. "It was... a long time ago, a year before I became Elder, and before..." she casts a brief and quick glance at Lemon, "took you under my care."

"What happened?"

Lemon's question sounds as if she doesn't believe her mentor's words. It's the same disbelief a child feels when he learns that his parents are never coming back. That's an odd comparison to make about Lemon.

She is in unimaginable confusion and highly distraught.

"Remember, Lemon, I told you what happened to my husband?"

"You told me then that he died with a unit near Vanhoover, and you were the only survivor of that unit. It was the masters of the city who took you by surprise."

"Yes, everyone knows that. But there was only one master of the city. And that was Prince himself. He figured out our location and wiped out an entire squad of five ponies in the blink of an eye. I was just lucky he chose me as the witness. Although, 'lucky' can be interpreted in many ways. That's when my husband and a few good friends died," the Elder sighs, interrupting her story for a moment. "With this he chose to remind us of himself, for we have begun to forget, once again meddling too openly and brazenly in Vanhoover's affairs."

You mean he allows their presence in the city?

"The reminder was presented in the same manner as when the Steel Rangers appeared in this region. That is. He stated that he could easily deal with us whenever he wanted. Then I saw with my own eyes the confirmation of the legends and stories that he had long ago been able to slay an entire Ranger squad by himself. That moment was the hardest of my life. My husband's death before my eyes, the fear and terror of facing Prince. My body trembled with the rush of emotion, and then I felt like I was suffocating, like this lord of the city had grabbed me by the throat. Everything seemed like some kind of horrible nightmare. Prince said he couldn't leave the city for a long time for certain reasons, so he waited until our squad was nearby. After destroying the squad, he said he was serious. Threatened that we shouldn't cross his path so we wouldn't openly go into Vanhoover."

"Did he say that? 'Openly'?"

"He is probably aware of our spies in the city," the Elder suggests. "He's come not only to remind us that he's in complete control, but to slip his spy into our ranks to make sure we don't break our word. If anything happens to this spy, the Steel Rangers will be in trouble. That's what he threatened me with."

"Yeah," I say absent-mindedly. "Really, that was bold and cocky of him."

"As a sign of 'trust'," the muddy-yellow elderly pony pronounces with a strangely squeamish irony, "he gave us the key card and said: 'You will be free to engage in your looting activities anywhere but Vanhoover, and not anywhere near the families' holdings outside of it. If we are the first to discover something, it is ours.' In the end, I'm the reason we're under the Prince's hoof... because of me. I had to choose the lesser of two evils. It was better to already agree to a deal with the White Demon and prepare than to let him crush us soon. Huh... As I said, only three ponies knew about this key card and what really happened: Prince, me, and the spy. It was pretty hard to infiltrate a mole into our ranks without anyone getting suspicious. No one here but myself and him knows about it. I am responsible for the fact that the Prince's spy lives among us."

"And who is this spy?" Lemon asks interestedly.

"I can't say. I hope I haven't crossed that line yet and put the Steel Rangers in danger by revealing this event. I don't know how far the mole has gotten: maybe even into my office."

Largo looks around apprehensively again.

"I realize you had no choice. But..." Lemon's speech is suddenly cut short.

She looks at Largo Breeze with disappointment—but with understanding and sympathy. The latter responds with a bitter smile.

"I'm sorry," she says remorsefully, her gaze lowering bashfully. "I tried to follow the Steel Rangers' code carefully and find and acquire as much technology as I could, the latter reason I sent an expedition to Stable 66 to eventually get stronger. I hoped to do all this so that the future Elder would not have to agree to a deal with Prince, and if anything, would be able to fight back. I wanted to ensure we had a better future as guardians of knowledge and technology from ignorants who could start another Great War or worse. We don't have to bow down to anyone the way I had to."

"You shouldn't-" the lemon earth pony begins, but the Elder interrupts her by swishing a hoof.

"You, as a Star Paladin wandering the Wastelands, represent all of us. So I rather apologize to all of you that I had to set you all up like this by hiding it. If all the Rangers find out. It's... I..." she mumbles something inaudibly, her voice shaking.

"I understand why you did it," Lemon walks around Largo Breeze's desk and hugs her. The latter is shocked. "I would do the same thing if I were you, just so long as the Steel Rangers existed." The Elder's eyes get wet.

I only smile softly.

Now I understand why she strictly follows the rules and doesn't show any positive emotions. The death of her husband, the forced betrayal of her own family, the failed expedition to Stable 66 that she initiated—all of it has made her so strict and constantly following the rules in an attempt to atone for her enormous violations and mistakes. And all the weight of guilt and remorse she has single-handedly carried for so many years: quietly, silently. That can't help but inspire respect. I'm impressed with the courage of this pony to get out of her chest in front of a stranger.

It's good to know that Lemon didn't stand by and support the Elder now because she was watching over the daughter of her dead friends. Even when the illness had taken its toll on Lemon's health, making her less fit, Largo hadn't been able to dismiss her. Not even if Lemon herself had wanted to.

"To follow the Steel Ranger Code... She couldn't enforce it on Lemon."

Things can't be unequivocal.

Lemon lets go of Largo, and the latter wipes away her tears a little embarrassed.

"I just got something in my eyes... An Elder is not allowed to give in to emotion, especially in front of his subordinates," she excuses herself, looking at me.

"I must remind you that I am not your subordinate, but rather a freelance mercenary who works for you," I smile warmly.

"Where did you get it?" Largo brings up the tracking chip.

"In the 66," Lemon calmly answers for me, smiling broadly.

"It's not surprising that a thing related to the Dome could be in the Stable... What?" the pony exhales, looking at the Star Paladin with wide-open eyes.

"Our freelance mercenary explored the bunker alone," she explains with a pleased and satisfied smile.

Largo looks at me with a shocked expression.

Oh, how I love to surprise others like that, to see those stunned and amazed looks. It's incredibly satisfying to my ego.

Yes, this result is pleasant, but dangerous. Every such trip could be the last.

"And yet this is our calling. How many things are in the ruins of the pre-war age... We love it, remember?"

It's just that I've met Motley, about whom my new calling may arise. A calling to be near her.

"And I doubt it, as far as you remember. Let her accept you first, love you with all her soul, and then you can safely claim it."

No matter what her answer is: I want her to be happy. Even with another pony.

"I can clearly sense the wild jealousy that these thoughts arouse in you. However, that you wish her happiness is undeniable. I am the only one who understands that. We felt the same way about Brisa."

"Lemon will tell you more about what happened there. Besides, she has her mother's latest audio recording with her as proof that I was there."

"I've already informed the nearest post near the 66 to pick up the bodies of the dead and a few other things of value along the way."

"You," Largo looks on with awe, "are indeed an unusual phenomenon among all sav... inhabitants of the Wasteland. Since receiving the key card, our affairs have taken a steep upward turn: finding two key cards to the mythical 'Dome' at once, securing two Stables, a combat vertibuck and blueprints, Enclave power armor, and information about the Enclave itself... Help with the Cursed Stable. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. And the Northern Soul. You can take your time evicting the ghouls. When it works out, so be it."

"Thank you," I gratefully lower my head in deference. "Now I need to deliver to your head scribe the last, second technology for his project."

Largo's lips stretch in a faint smile.

"Well, you're my beige blessing..."

She types something on the terminal; a small click is heard. Largo slides her front leg somewhere under the table and pulls out three key cards. The pink one from the first Stable I visited. The yellow one, taken from the Stable with the escaped slaves. The orange one the Elder got from Prince himself.

"One of them brought me nothing but pain and guilt."

"But why are you giving them to me?"

"Because the Dome is a myth. I no longer believe it exists. I used to, but... it seems to me it's some elaborate scheme of the pre-war government. I think you can figure it out if you have all the key cards. Good luck... and thanks for everything."

***

On the one hand, I find it disturbing that Prince has been able to keep all the Steel Rangers in check and use their desire and passion for technology—particularly the Dome—to his personal advantage without expending his own resources. On the other hand, I admire him, for he is a natural born lord, capable of handling any threat.Doesn't seem obsessed with power and wealth, quite an intelligent and adequate leader, carefully thinks and calculates his actions ahead and strives for his goals. He's doing everything for Vanhoover, for him to become the dominant force in the Wasteland.

However, I cannot fathom why he is hesitating? He could have gotten rid of the Steels at any time. Maybe because they are more adept at finding technology and are useful for that: you can come in at some point, like the reaper, and collect everything. Or he just does not want to play with fire and does not hurry, so as to properly prepare for the sake of achieving results with minimal losses. Or maybe it's something else entirely.

I don't like it.

I especially don't like the fact that a mole could have told Prince about my relationship with the Steel Rangers. So, from the very beginning, even before I showed up in Vanhoover, Prince could have already known about me, and that I could cooperate with the Steel Rangers. But... again, why doesn't he do anything about it? Why let me become a King if I'm making business with the Steel Rangers on the side and not always working in Vanhoover's favor? After all, according to Walnut, one of Kings with whom we cleared Nara's Stable of badgers, the Lieutenant before Redstone was doing business on the side, and was executed by Prince for it.

The Elder's revelation disturbed me, not only by reminding me that Prince is in control, but that he still wants me to take the title of a King, seeing some potential in me, and has some sort of plans for me.

I make my way to the main technical department. After a couple minutes I find a busy gray unicorn with a graying mane that still shows strands of its true black color. This pony is respected and honored here, and his name is Iron Willford.

He is busily and carefully digging into a component or part of some high-tech device, occasionally glancing at a drawing that shows it in detail in several projections. It appears to be part of a combat Vertibuck.

"Good day, Iron," I approach the busy unicorn with a smile. Seeing me, he smiles back affably and continues fiddling with the inside of the Vertibuck, scrutinizing it.

"Good day to you too, Daniel. What brings you here?"

"Just bringing you something interesting and fascinating..."

The unicorn gives me another glance, which then slides with bewilderment and curiosity to the object I'm holding in the glow of telekinesis. His eyes go wide and his mouth falls open. The next moment, his lips slowly spread into a smile. Keeping his admiring gaze on the stealth cloak, he placed the part he was studying on his workstation.

"Thunder struck me... A stealth cloak! You never cease to slip me more and more work, my dear friend," he says cheerfully.

"Ah, so it's my fault for not letting you live out your old age in peace?"

"You bet!" the head scribe of the Steel Rangers laughs. "I'm not going to live in tranquility!" I laugh merrily along with him. "Working and undamaged, I hope?" he asks already without a shadow of mirth.

"Absolutely. I checked it out the other day. What do you intend to do with this technology?"

"Well," he picks up the rare stealth cloak with his magic warmly, in a fatherly, gentle sort of way. "I will now research this material to integrate similar components and technology into a new and lighter version of the power armor I have already begun modifying based on the standard Steel Ranger version, replacing some components and slightly altering the design itself. Basically, I'll just be modifying the standard power armor models. No matter. There's plenty of work to be done! And we haven't quite figured out the Vertibuck yet. And the Enclave power armor, and now the stealth cloak... I believe I have a special reward for obtaining the second technology. You may, of course, continue to come to me for practice to develop your magical repair skills."

"I have already learned a useful spell that is cast on an item to temporarily protect it from physical wear and tear and other minor external damage. And I've already started practicing a spell that allows the opposite—incapacitate certain technologies. Definitely useful in combat or for sabotage. The enemy will be surprised when the weapon suddenly disintegrates into rubble. Not literally."

"Uh-oh... That's commendable. You're making rapid progress. Good for you! Something I forget is that we can expect anything from you. I hope you won't have to use this knowledge against my fellow brothers and sisters?"

His gaze becomes concerned, attentive and intense.

"Not likely. I seem to have a fairly normal relationship with your Elder."

"That's good," the gray unicorn exhales with barely perceptible relief. "Be right back."

A few minutes later, he returns while I examine a detail of the Vertibuck.

"Here's your reward," the head scribe of the Steel Rangers says expectantly, holding up some kind of wizened energy-magic weapon in his cloud of telekinesis.

The weapon is the same length as a regular model plasma rifle. Smooth streamlined forms, almost the entire body is gray, almost silver, but a few parts, certain buttons and glowing components are dark blue. The upper part of the case consists of a small transparent cylinder, in the center of which there is a blue beam of light, presented in the shape of a lightning bolt. In this way, the cylinder clearly shows the state and stability of the generated magical energy. Obviously, the weapon is now turned on. The barrel is short, it diverges into three symmetrically arranged pointed 'prongs' having the shape of a lightning bolt and being at a certain angle to the barrel and to each other. Along the barrel all the energy created in the main body is focused and stabilized, and in the center between these three 'prongs' it is released and strikes the target.

A quick glance doesn't give me any specific information about the type of energy-magic weapon. Definitely not laser or plasma. Maybe along the lines of a lightning rifle, a special kind of energy-magic weapon of this world, the mention of which has been seen here and there?

"What is it?" I wonder, looking at the rifle with admiration and burning curiosity.

It looks pretty impressive, and I imagine it could turn any enemy to ash in the blink of an eye.

"A modified version of a thunderbolt rifle, which I've named Illumination for simplicity's sake."

"I've never seen anything like it..."

"It's not surprising. Back in the days of my youth, I got my hands on this rifle after discovering it in one of the science centers when I was still on field trips. It's a prototype energy-magic weapon. According to the data, only a few units were produced. It's basically a second model of the standard lightning rifle, which in turn is also extremely rare."

"What's the difference?"

"The standard thunderbolt rifle uses much less energy to fire than its predecessor. It was in lousy condition, but in my spare minutes and hours I fixed it up from time to time and practiced shooting skills on it, and then I started modifying and refining it. Illumination does a lot of damage not only to organic targets, but also to spell matrixes, just like the lightning rifle. Depends on the power and type of shot. Not inferior in accuracy and rate of fire to laser rifle, slightly superior to plasma rifle. More economical than lightning rifle in terms of spark battery consumption. Useful against robots..."

Obviously, Iron wanted to report other targets, like power armor users, but chose to remain silent. Professor had also worked on his own weapons at one point.

It turns out that Illumination is a kind of tesla rifle. However, it needs to be studied in detail before a final verdict can be made.

"Sounds cool," I say to the unicorn.

"Of course it is! It's a powerful and deadly toy in the hooves of a unicorn engineer, in others it would only be a liability."

"Why?" I inquire, taking the weapon in my telekinesis.

I immediately feel its weight. It's heavy. Extremely.

"I see you noticed that..."

On the user's side, there is a special sensor on the body with a measuring scale. It currently reads exactly 100%.

"It is the latest advancement in the production of energy magical weapons and is highly advanced in technology and engineering. It is because of this positive fact that the not particularly high quality parts and components I used to repair and modify the weapon wear out rather quickly. Many times faster under special modes."

Iron and I get into a discussion about the rifle. He also brings his documentation, which he's going to give to me anyway, but he wants to point out the main points himself. Opening the folder on one of the vacant desks, the head scribe flips through the pages—some of them sloppily pasted together.

A creative mess.

His own drawings and markings are also there. He talks about the characteristics of the weapon, its design and construction, various features, condemning the notes in the documentation.

As Iron said, this is a thunderbolt rifle modified and finalized by him. Its ancestor is a lightning rifle, which I haven't seen in this world yet, but I've heard about it many times in conversations with Blaze and Motley. A thunderbolt rifle uses half as much energy as a lightning rifle, though it does slightly less damage than that one.

He researched and studied this energy-magic weapon, and when the specifications and blueprints for the rifle were compiled and entered into a shared database, it came into his personal use and he began to improve it. Even looking at the original drawings of the rifle before modification, I was amazed at the complexity of its design: it was simply impossible to understand it without documentation, and in that scientific center, according to my interlocutor, there was not a single bit of information about this prototype. Iron spent a lot of his free time in his youth researching this weapon. In fact, as he said, it was his study of it that made him stand out among the other scribes, after which his career in the Rangers skyrocketed. He was given the rifle because it was impossible to recreate such a weapon, as well as the power armor: it consisted of very rare components, parts and materials.

However, despite this, Iron was still able to modify it using rare parts from various models of plasma and laser weapons, using magic to adjust the necessary materials and parts to approximate compatibility with these weapons. This is the main reason why the rifle should be used by unicorn engineers. It wears out criminally fast, and the thunderbolt rifle cannot be repaired with just standard components from other energy-magic weapons, especially without the help of magical repair spells. All these flaws are compensated by good damage, accuracy and speed of fire, useful innovations, such as new firing modes. As well as the presence of an additional self-replenishing special battery. Of course, in a few years or decades it will run out, but until then it will be replenished.

Despite the built-in self-replenishing battery, Illumination can also use standard types of spark batteries. It is possible to switch between power sources using a special button on the weapon, but special firing modes cannot be activated when the self-replenishing battery is in use. This is due to the parts integrated by Iron, which are not designed for this rifle from the beginning and can only function when using normal replacement spark batteries. The use of special firing modes increases the intensity of physical wear and tear of the weapon. With each subsequent shot, the power of the shot will gradually decrease.

From the positive qualities can still be noted a kind of self-direction of lightning, about five to ten degrees from the original line of guidance: at the moment of firing the lightning slightly bends to hit the target. All thanks to sensors mounted on the prongs that detect the target. Partially utilized technology from PipBucks to point and identify friends and foes on the compas. If desired, this homing can be turned off, and the lightning strike will only point straight ahead. It is not recommended to turn on homing if there is a friendly target nearby, otherwise the lock-on detectors may randomly jump to it.

Simply put, it is not worth rescuing hostages with these detectors.

Special firing modes: boosted single, group, and ray. Each is selected by a corresponding switch on the rifle's body. A normal spark battery lasts for twenty-four shots. With the self-replenishing battery, it lasts for about twenty-seven, taking into consideration regeneration of energy. When fully depleted, it takes about three seconds to restore the amount of energy needed for a single shot. Again, special modes cannot be used with the self-replenishing battery on—only standard replaceable batteries.

Iron repeats this to me very often, so I'm sure I won't forget in the heat of battle. He says there's no 'foolproofing': I have to keep my eyes and ears on the weapon when it fires, or it'll blow the fuck up.

That would be the stupidest death in the Wasteland.

The boosted single-shot mode is much more useful against well-defended and large targets. The damage dealt is about three times that of a standard shot, but the rate of fire is slightly slower. Each shot uses up one-sixth of the battery, which is the same as four shots in standard mode. In this mode, you can fire about forty shots before this weapon completely shuts down and breaks down—and probably lights up like a Christmas tree on Hearth's Warming Eve and starts melting like butter on a griddle. Again, the fault is foreign parts that quickly overheat from the load. It depends on the intensity of the shots themselves when in use.

Such a mode would come in handy against Deathclaws. The skin of these huge creatures is so resistant to damage that only armor-piercing bullets, powerful energy weapons or high-quality explosives will penetrate it.

The group mode works on the principle of flipping lightning. Chain lightning, in other words. Useful against a group of opponents. The level of damage is the same as during a standard shot, but in this mode the lightning, having struck one target, hits the nearby ones with the same damage. Each shot uses up one-fourth of the battery, which is the same as six shots in standard mode. The weapon finally shuts down after about sixty shots.

This is useful against a horde of ghouls running after me: I can wipe out several of them in one fell swoop.

And the last mode is ray. It works on the principle of a constant directional ray in the form of lightning, and also locks onto the target, establishing contact with it. A bit like the impressive electric welding machines from the Divide, only the range of impact is virtually unlimited. Useful against agile and nimble targets that are difficult or nearly impossible to hit the first time—or even the tenth time. Due to the evenly released energy, the damage level is noticeably lower. Although the enemy is unlikely to retain his agility when he is hit by lightning. Within a second, the ray will use up as much energy as a shot in standard mode. About half a minute. It would take ten full batteries in a row for the weapon to shut down.

That would be useful against the Rainbow Mine's overgrown chameleon or the fucking cazadors. How I hate those fast creatures. The sting of those absurdly huge bees can pierce even strong armor like a needle through the ass, injecting their venom into the body and making it burn like a nuclear fire.

Despite the flaws of poor quality components, this weapon can serve well in the hooves of a unicorn engineer, especially with a spell that somehow slows down deterioration. At the same time, it would be good practice for magic in general and repairer skills in particular. For me, it's a good fit. I already know more or less how to wield magic, and I've mastered magical lockpicking, and when it comes to repairing technology, the subtlety of magic is as important and necessary as the air I breathe. Illumination with its energy replenishment function will be very useful to me in Canterlot. Although in this case I will have to give up teleportation and barriers and use these energy-consuming spells only when absolutely necessary.

Still, there was one important detail that remained unclear.

"Why are you giving me what you've been doing so hard for so many years?" I ask, putting the folder in my bag and the rifle hanging on my shoulder.

"I can't do it in open combat anymore: my shooting skills are incorrigibly rusty, and I'm not the same age. Besides, I've long since switched my focus to technology, and for a normal fighter, a rifle like this would be a burden because of the need for constant maintenance every minute of the battle. For example, I wouldn't give the rifle to my son, Hugh, because maintenance isn't even close to his specialty, and my daughter is already modifying her weapon using my schematics—the documentation and blueprints for this rifle are in the database. I put them in there, by the way. And my daughter doesn't want to deal with it. Let her learn to build something like this using her imagination and knowledge. What about you? You are constantly traveling, often engage in skirmishes and fights with dangerous opponents, and you know a lot about technology and know how to take care of them, so Illumination will be just right for you—and so it would be dusty and wildly bored on the shelf. Thanks to you, it will shock its victims. Take care of it, keep an eye on it. It's as dear to me as a memory."

"Absolutely. And... thank you so much, Iron," I hug him. "It is indeed a valuable gift. I'll keep a careful eye on this fragile beauty."

"I am most grateful. You fulfilled my last dream by getting me those two technologies, so this is the least I can do to repay you." I release the head scribe. The man smiles warmly at me. "Good luck on your adventure."

I don't want to go to Greenkeys, so I head back to where Venture landed. Motley and I are heading back to Heavenly Harbor.

***

I enter the armory. The griffon sits habitually at one of the tables and deals with our weapons, skillfully handling the tools in his clawed paws.

"What brings you here?" Ferris asks.

"How's the crystal examination going?" I look around the room for signs of research into this strange and bizarre material.

"No avail," Ferris Falcon sighs sadly and lowers his eyes guiltily. "You can check with Professor for more details. He knows more about this stuff than I do. And I've decided to be cautious about my Apostle: what if he influences me in some way? I might go crazy or something."

"That's unlikely. I've used Defender enough times and haven't noticed it having any effect on me," I reply skeptically. Ferris hesitates. I've wondered about it before and haven't detected any changes on me.

"Neither have I. Although... perhaps it's because of the crystal that you're acting more like a pony than a human. Eating their food... dating a member of their species."

"What was I coming to see you about," I continue, ignoring my other personality. "I'm not going to be using Whispering Night anytime soon. I've been thinking... I thought you said that once you get better materials for the modifications you created for your 'daughter'..."

"Oh, you've decided to improve my brainchild after all?"

"Yes. Anyway, I'll be using a different weapon temporarily. And at the same time, as my teacher said, it will be good practice for my skills and magical abilities."

"And what is this weapon this is?" the griffon smirks. "Is there really anything better than Whispering Night?"

"It's an energy-magic weapon. Illumination. A thunderbolt rifle."

"Uh-oh. Let me see," he casts an interested and enthusiastic look.

I hand him the rifle with magic. He examines it from various angles, flicking switches: the weapon hums, activating.

"Mm-hmm... Yes... Hmm..." the griffon mutters, unceremoniously pawing the rifle from all sides.

I have fears for the weapon, but then I remember that Ferris was almost the chief and gifted designer in the family that made weapons and ammunition.

"Are you going to kiss her?"

"I might. But! There's a lot of evidence that the weapon has had a lot of modifications, and they're of poor quality compared to the technological quality of the weapon itself. I'm not a big fan of energy-magic weapons, but I'm partly familiar with them. There are too many components and parts to keep an eye on. There's a whole mess of different parts and clever upgrades."

"Just like yours."

"Yeah, but mine have a better, smoother, more solid look."

"The owner of Illumination didn't care too much about looks, instead all his attention and knowledge was focused on power and capability. Admittedly, the quality of the parts leaves much to be desired. No additions were intended for this type of weapon, but the unicorn, my teacher and mentor, managed to improve it considerably."

"Agreed. Even though similar components of Illumination are not lying around and are additions and modifications, it feels, especially in terms of weight, that they were not originally designed for this rifle anyway."

"That's why they're quickly turning to melted cheese, and finding replacements isn't like puffing on a joint. And I can already repair weapons with thought and imagination, meaning magic, but depending on their condition, complexity of assembly and degree of damage. So this rifle is just right for me," I smile broadly.

"Whatever you say," Ferris smirks, turning the weapon off and returning it, tossing it in my direction.

Out of surprise, I barely catch it in time.

"Hey!" I exclaim indignantly. "Watch it!"

"Practice for your reaction," Ferris shrugs. I shake my head with a condescending smile and hand him Whispering Night. Without turning around, he grabs it with his claws and places it next to him. "I'll get to work on her a little later when I get the parts and materials I need," he explains. Without another word, I leave the weaponsmith alone with his work.

Before entering the firing range, I visit Professor to find out what the problem is with that crystal.

In the lab, Professor is busy with his project as usual. Reverse Transformation Serum. Curing any mutation in organisms. Sounds like something fantastic. This crimson unicorn has set himself an extremely difficult, impossible goal, but still, I can't help but admire him: so many years and effort spent on all this. Not everyone is capable of such a thing. Anyone else would probably have given up. Wouldn't you, my human?

"Absolutely."

"Am I interrupting?" I ask gently, so that from surprise the unicorn doesn't make a sudden movement and release the flasks of chemical compounds from his magic, sending us blasting to the moon. But Professor doesn't even move.

"'Yes, you're," he utters with a chuckle. Well, that makes sense. That's... "A stupid question," he adds in unison with my exact same thought. Some bewilderment overwhelms me at the realization.

"Alrighty," I say, absent-mindedly looking at the monitor where some wizened and complicated calculations are being made.

Caroline helps Professor with trivial and mundane calculation tasks from time to time.

"Now that I've interrupted you—what can you tell me about the crystal? Have you learned anything more about it?"

"We've only confirmed a few of the facts you mentioned this morning. Like its indestructibility. And that the magical connection to the item is also indestructible. Even if the crystal is physically separated from the object it's connected to, that bond between them remains stable. It acts remotely. Strangely, the weight of the crystal is exactly the same as the weight of Apostle. I can assume that the crystal in Stable 66 would be unlikely to move, since it was connected to those cylindrical platforms, which I'm sure had a lot of weight, or to the entire bunker. And even with telekinetic powers, mine included, they would have been beyond the reach. We have been unable to establish how much external energy it absorbs, or what type of energy, for that matter. Energy doesn't appear out of nowhere and disappear into nowhere, it just goes from one state to another. Neither Ferris nor I felt any of the depletion or effects that you did, and the instruments in the vicinity were working properly and without the slightest malfunction. Caroline confirmed that. Perhaps she doesn't have the proper sensors and detectors to register this energy, or more than one type of energy at once."

"Curious," I mutter, digesting the information.

It's not all that simple with that Stable and its crystal. It's understandable: it's quite different in size from the crystal in the Apostle.

"It's all rather strange and vague. I'm not an energy scientist, it's just not my field, so I can't say more than that, and Caroline, again, doesn't have the right equipment and sensors to detect everything with precision. Ferris will be more careful with his weapons now."

"Indeed. The power of the crystal really intimidated him," I chuckle. Then the smile slides off my face. "Tell me, were they ghosts?"

"There's a point... Every living thing definitely produces its own conventional energy. Not to be confused with standard magic. This energy can be manipulated, held and sealed into objects and used as a power source for magic spells cast, but it's extremely dangerous. One pre-war pony—I believe she was still a Ministry Mare—managed to split her energy into many parts. But that's just a rumor. When a creature dies, that energy dissipates, and what happens to it in the end is unknown. The accumulation of this energy in the body is sometimes called a 'soul'. However, it cannot influence the environment on its own, and even outside the body. It is a fairy tale that it acquires self-consciousness or form—in the form of the same ghost. So I have no idea whether those were ghosts in that sense," Professor pronounces. The existence of an 'energy soul' is something I've been aware of for quite some time. "All I can say is that there is definitely an influence of the crystal involved in all of this. Either it really did affect the souls of the dead, or it affected the victims directly. I don't have time to go into speculation, I need to go through old records, do some analysis, and so on."

"Okay," I say sadly and am about to turn around, but the scientist still has more to say. I stop, turning to him with expectation.

"When you can't tell if the horrors you saw were true or an induced illusion... If a deaf cannot hear, does that mean that sound does not exist for them? It is quite possible that we also cannot feel and understand something in the world around us because we do not have the senses to do so," he says calmly. He then hums thoughtfully, adding, "What senses do we lack to truly comprehend the world around us?"

Without saying a word, I leave the Professor's lab and ponder his words.

"The scientist's words make sense. I was reminded of Captain Steel Sun, whose senses are fine, but his brain interprets incoming information in its own way. Or, on the contrary, his senses are all wrong, but his brain is fine. Who knows..."

***

The first thing I do at the range is to open the documentation and read Iron Wilford's notes in more detail. As I had learned earlier, all these modifications are not intended for the thunderbolt rifle, because the parts and components are under great stress when using special modes.

For several hours I just sit at the range, studying Iron's technical documentation and his notes. I find out the characteristics of the components, the type of materials, the structure and assembly of the weapon itself, the principles of operation, repair methods and other joys and spices. Of course, those hours aren't enough to fully read all the documentation, let alone digest and comprehend it. I glance through and memorize the main information for myself regarding the Illumination. I don't go into the deep details—not yet. I need to absorb at least this information, and I will learn it, of course, in practice.

The first thing I do is to completely use up all the secondary power source of the rifle. The shot is mesmerizing, accompanied by a characteristic sharp sound. Indeed, as if a thunderbolt struck, though not so loudly, but the sound is definitely not quiet. It becomes clear that she is not even close to being suitable for stealthy missions and outings. Further replenishment of energy goes gradually, even despite the shooting at the moment.

I use a dozen spark batteries to try out all the modes.

Having mastered shooting and special modes of the rifle, I start to fix it. I learn that it doesn't matter whether I shot once in a special mode or five times—it is advisable to repair the rifle immediately if possible, so as not to exhaust it to the end and not to spend a lot of energy and magic for a full repair. It's also necessary to constantly maintain a spell that prevents rapid deterioration.

Yeah... This rifle in battle would only be a burden to the average pony who is not skilled in the repair and construction of energy-magic weapons. The normal firing mode is noticeably more powerful than a standard plasma rifle, judging by the recoil.

I return to my quarters rather depleted in terms of magical reserves. A complete overhaul of Vampire... I mean, Illumination sucked almost all the magic out of me: I'm not used to fixing energy and energy-magic weapons.

In the first room, I see Motley looking thoughtfully at the portrait of us hanging on the wall, given to us by the artist for rescuing her kidnapped husband. The radio is on in the room, and soft and quiet music is blasting from it, spreading throughout the room. Such pleasant and quiet music, a pegasus I am partial to... I am visited by a foreboding feeling of coziness, comfort and romance.

"It seems to me," Motley begins, noticing my presence, "that it's been a long time. However, if you think hard enough, counting the days, it turns out that the opposite is actually true."

"Exactly," I laugh, sitting down next to my beloved. I hug her with my front leg. She lays her head on my shoulder.

"I'm looking at this picture right here and remembering how I felt back then when you hugged me..."

"And how did you feel?" I ask, knowing the answer to the question.

"Warmth, comfort... And support. I feel good. And when you hug and kiss it feels even better," the pony snuggles her muzzle into my neck.

"And I also enjoy your company."

Motley giggles. Then she sighs dreamily and deeply. The music changes to something more dynamic, energetic—and familiar.

"Oh, I remember that dance at the restaurant."

"Me too. Shall we dance?"

"I thought you'd never suggest it. Just don't throw me."

"Will you," the pegasus chuckles, "keep reminding me of that?"

"Yes. Like you said, caution must be maintained, even with you."

"Good for you. Now..."

And we twirl again in a marvelous and unforgettable dance, as if our bodies are taking control of themselves, involuntarily repeating the same movements as then. But now the movements are unhurried and smooth: we walk in a soft circle on our hind legs, with one front leg holding the pony by the waist and the other around one of Motley's legs. She, in turn, puts the other behind my neck. The expression on her face takes on a peacefulness.

"How worried I was when I suggested you dance to that music..."

Her head is level with mine, our gazes never straying from each other.

"I was just as worried as you were, since I don't remember ever dancing at all in my life. And looking stupid and screwing up not only in your eyes, but also in the eyes of the audience was something I really didn't want to do."

The pony giggles softly. I don't think I should tell her about the storm of emotions that consumed me at that moment, the internal conflict that peaked. Which, as Sweetie Smiles from the Stable 66 said that my soul is like a twig that's not fully divided.

"You move well in the dance," the pony smiles softly and increases the pace as the music speeds up.

Motley goes through more complicated moves, arching backwards, I try to hold her, she frees herself and moves a little further away, twirling energetically around me and then falling back into my embrace.

The passionate dance turns to sex.

***

The 3rd of the Month of Rain, Yellowday. Sixty-eighth day of my stay.

The next day, I move out to see Prince. It's time to report on the task.

How will he react when the Steel Rangers are the first to take control of the Stable? It doesn't matter. He's got them under his hoof anyway. I remembered Elder Largo Breeze's revelation about that mole in the Steel Rangers' ranks. It's possible that Prince already knows that I know about it. Shit, it would look so funny if the situation wasn't so dangerous. Both parties are lying and both know it—but they don't show it.

I need to know who the mole is and clear it up with him myself.

"Prince, I have a report to make," I say as I enter his office.

Prince is looking at a portrait of the Queen of Vanhoover. In part, she reminds me of Eileen Softhooves. Aside from the shade of her mane, both have a firm and confident look, full of ambition and drive. It's no wonder, for the Queen, like her Softhooves ancestors, came from Stable 68, where arrogant and self-righteous mares were accustomed to luxury and absolute power. Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe Eileen really is a distant relative of the Queen.

"Vermilion Rose once managed to convince many ponies to unite for the common good. And those who resisted were forced to do so."

I wonder where he's going with this?

"She did a tremendous job rebuilding this town. Leading the ponies, teaching them to be responsible. Taught them to cooperate. Guided and mentored. She wanted her town, or rather our town, to be at the head of the whole new Equestria. For the last 100 years, progress has been slowed by a lack of gems and other problems. Your deeds have brought progress back to Vanhoover."

"And you, Danny, will be responsible for all of Equestria becoming like Vanhoover. Slavery everywhere."

Then there's Red Eye, the Enclave, the Steel Rangers. They'll stop his expansion.

"Red Eye will be dealt with by Littlepip. I hope so. Just make sure Prince doesn't team up with him."

"The weight of your merit can already be compared to the Queen's work," he adds. "You deserve your title as much as anyone. But first, tell me about Stable 66."

"How do you know I've been there before?"

"The scouts. They saw you go in. Too bad the Steel Rangers' scouts got there first."

I have the thought sitting smugly and importantly in my head, without leaving the seat, that Prince may have long been aware of my ties to these very Steel Rangers. I know he is aware of it. He is probably already aware that I am aware of it. Despite that, we pretend like we know nothing about it.

"Now my brain is going to explode."

He probably knows, but in that case, why give me the title of a King?

The Prince's white leg, wrapped in a stylish black outfit, points to a chair.

I am seized by a memory of my first visit to Vanhoover: sitting in this same chair then, and being told about the outer Equestrian Wasteland.

"I suspect what you saw didn't come easily to you, so you've been resting. And hopefully you can tell me all about it now."

I tell Prince the same story I told my friends in Heavenly Harbor, all the while keeping quiet about the true details and factors that helped me survive and leave the Stable. I put all my successes down to my experience in exploring such places, to the fact that hallucinations or ghosts acted differently on each victim, depending on superstition and will, and I was not as easily frightened as a kitten, nor as easily broken as some dry twig. That's not unreasonable, though, since everything was really based on fear.

"Not as easily frightened... no shit. You almost cried like a child abandoned in the Wastelands there."

Okay, I'll admit it.

Prince doesn't utter a single word during my story, listening intently and concentratedly to me with a hoof to his chin and squinting his eyes in thought. He nods occasionally, indicating that he's listening. He doesn't ask for details of what I experienced, which is a good thing: I hate thinking about it and remembering it.

"I still can't confirm one of two hypotheses with certainty. Either I was under the influence of powerful and unusual hallucinations induced by the crystal's magic, or I was actually dealing with ghosts."

"I see," Prince speaks for the first time since I began my story. "I agree that it is rash to confirm either hypothesis. And it's impossible to rule out either. My only regret is destroying the power source. I'm interested in it, and I'd like to see it for myself. In any case," he turns to me, his lips spreading into a soft, charming smile again, "the problem is fixed. The crystal is destroyed, but that means we'll never know the details of what happened. He was even able to distort the memories of being there to account for those hallucinations or ghosts."

"But I still completed the task, didn't I?" I ask calmly, though inwardly I hold my breath and tense up. What will his answer be?

"There is no point in making any speech in honor of awarding you the title of a King. I've already told you everything both today and three days ago. Daniel Evans is now a King of Vanhoover. Give me your passport. I know you have one or you wouldn't be able to own the casino."

I hold out my passport to him. The blue-colored magic of his telekinesis sparkles. He pulls an elegant pen from an inside pocket, opens the passport, and writes something there. He holds the passport back out.

"That's it for now. I'll notify Redstone to transfer a reward of one hundred thousand caps to your bank account for investigating the mystery of Stable 66."

I hold back a smile. Out of curiosity, I read the inscription on my passport. In elegant writing, it reads, "A King of Vanhoover since 10.1.1352"—and an ornate signature across the width of the page.

"You were officially made a King when you left the 66."

Just in time for the sixty-sixth day of my stay.

Prince levitates a gold-plated metal card from the inside pocket of his expensive jacket, engraved with my name in elegant black letters: "Daniel Evans"; below it is a stylized symbol of a King—a pony skull with a crown slightly off to the side. There was nothing else, nor was there anything else on the back. It's the same card I found on the body of the first King I saw, Blackwater.

"Just like that?" I inquire nonchalantly, but without a shadow of disappointment, accepting the 'ID' with a satisfied smile on my face and placing it in my inside pocket.

"This card is just a symbol, not cheap, though. If someone for some unknown reason is unaware that you are one of Kings, you simply show it to them along with your passport. That hardly ever happens—everyone in the city knows who a King is, thanks to the city's radio station, which confirms his special position in society on my behalf. Will you go there tonight?"

"Will I need any special attire for that?"

"Not necessarily. You can go in that same armor right now."

"And what else do I need to know about my newfound position and privileges? I know a certain amount of them..."

"Do what you did before. Work for the good of Vanhoover. Sometimes you have to break its own laws and rules to achieve the good. Sometimes you will receive specific assignments from me. Continue to be a responsible pony. You get discounts on everything. Oh, and the right to live in this Stable. Besides a nice apartment, the keys to which you'll get from Redstone, you can have fun here—we have a shooting range—and eat in the dining hall, enjoying the freshness and quality of the food, some of which is free, and just socialize with the other Kings. So... going to the interview today?"

"Yes."

"Good, I'll notify the radio station. Anyway, enjoy yourself."

I can barely keep from jumping for joy like a lunatic. Yes! Holy shit! Win! I'm one step closer to the Dome! The masters in the city might know something about this project, and with my title, they're unlikely to refuse me or hold back information.

A familiar gray unicorn with a red mane with a focused look is sitting at the table and actively typing something on the work terminal. Noticing my arrival, he gets distracted, moves away from the desk in his chair and stands up, holding out his hoof to me. I extend mine to him.

"Congratulations," he smiles weakly, shaking my hoof, keeping it still, then releases it. "You are now among Kings and the elite of Vanhoover. No one has ever achieved this title so swiftly. You are the third to receive a recommendation from the family and the first in history to receive two recommendations at once. You've made Vanhoover history, Daniel. And it's nice to be a part of it. I hope you don't end up like the last King."

"Who do you mean?" I ask.

"You found him dead. Blackwater."

Right. Prince had somehow reacted in a particular way to my suspicions about the incident. For what reason did the King turn off the road?

"Since I'm a King... I think I have the right to know why Prince reacted so unequally to the details of his death?"

Redstone rolls his eyes.

"No sooner had you become one, and already... Those rules don't apply to me, but I've already blabbed. I'm just saying, stay out of it."

Maybe I really should just stay out of the matter and not provoke Redstone.

"I just want to know if there's a threat to me as a King. Prince was concerned at the time."

"You won't be threatened by anything if you stay out of the way where you shouldn't. There is too much in the city that is questionable things."

"And Prince can't do anything about it?"

"Too little evidence. Lots of rumors. If Prince is immortal, that doesn't mean he can settle things by murder or demand whatever he wants without hard evidence. There will be chaos, though it will settle down after a while."

"How in the world can I act for the good of the city if-"

"You can pursue that interest if you wish, but don't involve me. If Prince tells you, fine."

"Alright. What, besides Blackwater's death, should I not be interested in?"

"Silent Ghost and the Falcon massacre."

"Silent Ghost is a legend, isn't it?"

"Yes. But whoever dug too deep into the case... they were found dead. Even the two Kings who investigated crimes supposedly connected to it."

"And Prince didn't do anything about it?"

"No. Because there was no evidence. They weren't just found murdered. Their bodies were left at the entrance to this Stable as a warning. No one saw anything. Though Prince is in no danger, he fears for the well-being of the city."

"Sounds like weakness."

It is. But I don't intend to risk the citizens of the city to manipulate him. On the other hand, it makes sense now why Prince isn't dealing with Silent Ghost.

"Do you think all these murders were committed by elusive Silent Ghost that Prince himself fears?"

I shouldn't rule out that possibility.

"I survived Stable 66," I begin. "I think I could intimidate anyone myself."

Redstone smiles.

"You're still mortal. And you obviously have loved ones. Be careful, if not for your own sake, at least for theirs."

My heart beats harder. The dead body of the beige pegasus appears before my eyes.

"What about the Falcons?"

"The matter was settled long ago. Just... the Falcon family doesn't really like to talk about internal affairs—actually, neither do the other four families—but these ones are more isolated. Especially after the family's betrayal by Ferris."

"What did he do?"

"Killed some of the family's blood relatives who claimed the head's 'nest', supposedly in this way he took out the competition. Not much is known about that. The Falcons don't like to talk about it, and it's an extremely sore subject for them. So don't ask them about it. You'll only make them angry: it's an embarrassment to them."

"I understand."

These things really shouldn't be meddled with. It's a good thing Redstone warned me.

"You'd better keep looking for the Dome. You know what? You better go celebrate. A hundred thousand caps. That's an unimaginably huge amount of money. I envy you, you have so many ways to spend it. Give me your bank account before I start dreaming."

I dictate the numbers to him, and afterward say goodbye to the Lieutenant. He also gives me the keys to my apartment in this bunker, which I now intend to inspect.

On my way past the doors to the other Kings' apartments, sweet moans of pleasure reach my ears.

Someone is having fun wildly. Apparently a King is fucking a slave. Kings have the right to bring someone else here, but no more than two individuals at a time. That's how Walnut once led me to Prince through the Stable. It was pretty much by the book.

I insert the electronic key into the reader near my apartment door, unlocking it. Once inside, I look around the apartment with interest. This Stable was once dominated by stallions, and mares were the main and important figures—the latter, accordingly, were assigned more prestigious and respectable apartments.

My apartment in the Stable consists of three rooms: the main room, a bedroom and a bathroom with a toilet. All the rooms are well cleaned and tidy in appearance. They have nice and soft furniture, matching the typical surroundings of such an underground bunker; decorative elements like paintings, rugs, and live plants; and a few metal cabinets and chests for storing personal belongings. In addition to all these amenities, the place is fragrant with the delicate smell of flowers. To my knowledge, the apartments are cleaned every day by a robotic janitor. Free of charge. What a service!

After closing the door, I head for the exit. There I am greeted and congratulated by several Kings, including the very same griffon Walnut. They ask if I'll throw a party to celebrate the occasion—after all, I've been rewarded for exploring Stable 66! I disappointed them by replying that I would spend the caps on more useful things. At this point, almost everyone leaves in disappointment, though Walnut tries to insist and persist, urging me to organize a party at some hot spot in town. Eventually he gives up and leaves, and I head for the radio station in the city. No need to keep them waiting.

On the way, I think for a moment that it would be worth throwing a party, at least among Kings, to win their favor and make a good impression on them. It would come in handy in the future... I guess. Though I'd rather spend that money on someone else's needs. Or for my friends and close acquaintances.

***

The radio station building is one of the tallest buildings in the city. It also houses the print shop, where the news papers with all the news and advertisements are published. The owner of the radio station—which is to be expected—is one of Kings.

In the spacious foyer, several masters sit in tedious anticipation, while guards in strong armor, with light machine guns in their battle saddles, keep watch. I walk first to the large table in the center. At the table, a pretty earth pony in a beautiful dress sits on a red armchair in a relaxed pose. She distracts herself from reading a beauty magazine, straightens up, and smiles at me with a businesslike affability.

To my surprise she guesses who I am and immediately points out where I should go. Without wasting any time, I head for the elevator.

I'm already starting to be recognized.

The security guard standing next to me lets me through, seeing that the receptionist has allowed me to pass.

I make my way up to the proper floor and loop around a few corners alone, passing busy ponies to later find myself in a neat and tidy office. An attractive pony in her mid-thirties in an elegant outfit is lying on a couch, looking at a few sheets of paper in front of her. When she sees me, she smiles, sighs in relief, and puts down her reading, standing up with the grace of a lady and walking softly toward me. She has a golden birch-colored coat and a pearly white luxurious and fluffy mane that matches the color of her clothes. She is wearing makeup—her eyelashes are lined—and she is perfumed with a lovely and, I understand, not inexpensive perfume. In short, a beauty by local standards.

"Oh, finally, I've been waiting for you," she says in a charming ringing voice, smiling welcomingly.

She looks at me with interest, squinting her eyes.

"So you are the Daniel Evans, the new King of Vanhoover?" she asks with some skepticism and doubt.

I can sense arrogance and a slight tinge of arrogance in her voice.

"I wouldn't be here otherwise."

"You don't like it here?" she glares unhappily, catching my less than respectful tone and gaze. She's observant...

"It's quite decent."

I glance around her office without much attention: shelves of blank books and rows of holotapes and audiotapes; decorations, and not inexpensive ones at that: a few paintings, pots of live plants, a soft rug, an elegant desk and a luxurious chair behind it, a couple of expensive and tricked-out musical devices. It was quite possible that this was where she practiced her voice. "But that's not why I'm here. I have a lot of things to do."

"You're such a busy pony," she whispers sarcastically.

I raise my eyes to the ceiling for a moment and struggle to keep from letting out a loud sigh.

"Oh come on," she regains her former affability. Clearly, she's heard from me more than once. "I'll have more questions for you in the interview."

"And I thought the interview was going to be conducted by Oscar himself, the star of your radio station."

A golden birch-colored unicorn with a pearly white mane laughs melodiously. Her laugh is as beautiful and resonant as her voice.

"Oscar is just a symbol, but I have to admit that the first DJ here was a charismatic pre-war pony with that sonorous name. There are quite a few surviving recordings of his charming and deep voice..." the pony says dreamily. Her tone reveals a certain passion for this individual. "So we use a magic spell to change our voice and try to maintain the manner and style of speech that our listeners love. We have three DJs. The radio station is open 26 hours a day, 7 days a week without interruptions, and... Oscar goes on the air every few hours. That's why there's more than one of us. That fact is no secret. Some know it, most just don't care. Oscar is just a recognizable voice with a certain personality. The masters like to hear his image."

"That's basically what one would expect, but it was better to be specific," I smile.

"No more questions?" the pony utters tiredly.

"Nope."

"Wonderful! Let's make our way to the studio, where we'll do the interview. If we get there in time, we'll run a recording of our conversation for the next newscast."

"What are we waiting for?" I step aside.

The pony stalks past me with a graceful and elegant gait, after which I follow her.

"I forgot to ask, what's your name?" I ask, following the unicorn.

"Magnolia Delavayi."

"It's an unusual but beautiful name. Plus it sounds nice with her voice."

The unicorn is taking me to the studio. It is divided into two parts. One is a small glass booth with a lot of microphones and recording equipment. The other is the main one, where the staff of the radio station is located, and where there is also a lot of equipment. There is also a small area with two soft sofas facing each other, and between them a low wooden table with a bottle of clean water and a few glasses, as well as an empty ashtray.

At the unicorn's instruction, I sit down on one of the couches; she sits down on the opposite one.

"So, our conversation will be recorded," Magnolia says in a mundane tone.

A pony approaches her with an oblong metal structure from which a microphone hangs. It is in close proximity to the lavender unicorn. A sound guy appears near me, too, with his microphone for me. Admittedly, I don't notice him right away.

"So..." the pony's horn shimmers white, and her neck appears in a magical cloud. "One... two... three..." each word she utters is spoken in a different timbre, to the point where her voice begins to resemble the charismatic and soft voice of a stallion. It's a voice I've heard repeatedly on the radio in Vanhoover.

"Great. The interview will begin in three... two... one. Record!" Delavayi announces in the audible voice of a stallion.

Her restrained gaze is fixed on me, radiating her usual indifference and professional fatigue. This is visible in the pony's eyes, which occasionally glance lazily to one side or the other. The pony takes on a more excited and lively look.

"Good day, masters of Vanhoover! With you is your favorite star in the night sky, illuminating your minds with fresh news in this surrounding fog of ignorance—DJ Oscar! Let's talk about our 'diamond' masters. Not so long ago our highly respected Prince graciously ordained the brave Blackwater as a King, who soon, unfortunately, disappeared while performing his sacred duty. We have already discussed this, and you are all well aware of it. It was not long before Prince had already granted the title of a King to one of Vanhoover's masters, a rising luminary of our city. Yes, yes! His name is Daniel Evans! And tonight we have him here in our humble studio. I have the great honor of speaking with this famous beige unicorn with the number 21 on his cape."

The golden birch-colored pony looks at me in a waiting manner.

"Hello, Oscar. Hello, Vanhoover," I say in a welcoming tone. Suddenly I remember my visit to DJ Pon-3 and my conversation with Littlepip and Homage.

"Some already know about this colorful and charming person, others don't. Today we will finally rectify that deficiency and everyone in the city will know about him!" Magnolia exclaims with energy.

She's a superb actor, it's hard to tell when she's acting and when she's conveying her true emotions. But in her lovely violet eyes sparkles a spark of genuine curiosity and self-interest. It's not every day one gets to have a conversation with an outside character, as strange as it may sound in my mind.

"Let's start, as usual, with the basics. Where are you from and what did you do before you came to Vanhoover?"

"Came from outside the Vanhoover Wasteland. Traveling the vastness of the lifeless environs, often just exploring various ruins and uncharted places, and until a while ago I did some part-time work in the courier craft—delivering various packages from one settlement to another. The Wasteland is a dangerous and unpredictable place, but despite that, I love traveling immensely."

"What brings you to our humble little town? For the journey here is not a short one, though, as you say, you are accustomed to such distant and lonely voyages. And there are enough superstitious rumors in Hoofland about our White Demon."

She laughs.

"Well... Here and there I've stumbled over mentions of a certain 'Dome'. When I heard that the likely location of this facility was near Vanhoover, I went there in a flash. Rumors don't bother me."

"You have my respect. As for the Dome... The masters of Vanhoover spent over a century searching for that mythical research facility. There were only a handful of seekers: only a few believed in its existence due to the lack of solid information about it, so we haven't made a hoof's worth of progress."

"Every myth has its grain of truth," I put in carefully.

"Quite possibly. Fortune might smile on you. We don't have to be super smart to figure out the purpose of your decision to become a King. Almost every master would want to be: reputation, fame, discounts and privileges. You swept like a meteor down this thorny path from zero to King, winning your prize of a prestigious title, and thus declaring that you are not to be trifled with. You proved your responsibility for the well-being of the city. Plus, two families believed in you at once! The third King with a recommendation and the first with two. Every King deserves to be recorded in history, but you... This is... Unbelievable."

I smile.

"What have you done for the Waterfalls and the Steelmanes? I know, but I'd like to hear it from your lips."

"For the Waterfalls, I sent the leader in the Crater to the other side of the world, relieving the hard-working ones of an impossible burden from systematic and well-organized attacks on their caravans. Assisted Sunny Waterfall in finding her counterpart in the depths of The Island. For the Steelmanes, I infiltrated the Northern Soul, obtained the blueprints for a Vertibuck and the Vertibuck itself. I also discovered the Rainbow Mine."

"And with that, you ended the city's energy crisis. My personal honor to you. Now the shiny and colorful pebbles will no longer be so unobtainable, expensive and inaccessible. Hear, my sweet listeners, it's all thanks to this earthquake-shaking gentlecolt!"

"It's also known that you have your own business, the Glass Key Casino. A pretty decent gambling establishment until it went into decline this year. But once it came under your caring and gentle wing, it immediately got a second wind."

"All that credit is not mine alone."

"We're aware of that. Still, you're a lantern in the dark for the companions. It shows you know how to work as a team and bring like-minded individuals into your hearth. A rare quality. Not everyone can be made to work together, especially Kings. I can see why Prince gave you the title! I can't wait to find out what kind of test assignment he's given you. It should be no less high-profile than what you've done so far."

"Exploring Stable 66,'" I answer simply and confidently, trying not to smile.

"Well, it should have..." the golden-birch pony is suddenly silent, and her purple eyes go wide, staring wildly at me.

There is a sepulchral silence in the studio, broken only by the barely audible hum of running equipment. I look around—everyone is staring at me, eyes wide, mouths ajar. The audience has grown considerably since I got here. Apparently, some of the not-so-busy employees have decided to watch the 'coronation': it's an extraordinary and nontrivial event. I guess Prince didn't tell them what I did. It is worth a lot of caps to see those expressions on so many faces. Of course it is. It's such a sensation!

"Well, well, well, well..." Magnolia comes to her senses. "If it was an assignment-test and Prince initiated you as a King, then that means..."

For the first time in the entire conversation, her voice is so unsure and gives off so much skepticism that it could easily squash the kazador like a fly.

"Yes, I have fully completed this mission. Prince knows, I've already reported to him," I smile vainly.

Well, I can afford a little pride at a time like this! After all, I've dealt with Vanhoover's most important lore!

"I've been to the 66, but this time alone. And, as it turns out, for good reason. Frankly, it's a creepy and extremely lousy place. There's a reason why there are so many rumors and legends about it."

Seeing the still remaining wild amazement on the pretty pony's face, I decide to continue.

"Not even the most experienced fighters and adventurers have ever returned from this Stable. It's not the equivalent of the stories about Vanhoover, a place no one ever came back from. It's just that... Oh, for fuck's sake! Even I don't know exactly what happened there! However, I don't believe in the existence of spirits and ghosts, so I'm inclined to believe that there was a special magical hallucination there that got stronger and stronger, it grew stronger depending on the fear of the victims, who ended up dying of heartbreak or committing suicide while going nuts. I realized the cause in time and managed to resist all the trials this place put me through. It is clear for sure that the research of a new energy source was to blame for these horrors, entailing such sad and disastrous consequences. According to the records, no one even suspected such an outcome. In addition to hallucinations there was a whole bunch of side effects within the bunker: the crystal absorbed the physical strength of all living creatures, causing weakness, and in unicorns instead depleted the reserves of magic, so that all spells were much more difficult and energy-consuming; it also caused various malfunctions in the work of technology and devices, working at the expense of its own power source. So there you go. Simply put, one had to go to the 66 without fear or superstition. This place was a kind of test of fortitude. It is safe there now, as I have completely gotten rid of the source of the hallucinations, but it has recently come to my attention that the Steel Rangers, unfortunately, have taken possession of the place right after me. So if any of you are thinking of going there, you'd better think again."

"Unbelievable..." the mare barely managed to say in a stallion's voice. "Just... Impossibly unbelievable. I really don't know what to say about it. Give me a little time to find and pick up my jaw that fell off and rolled somewhere..."

Magnolia's wide-open and shocked eyes make it abundantly clear her own confusion and the sincerity of the words spoken in Oscar's character.

"There's a hurricane going through my head right now. I'll just say one thing: you, unlike some and even the majority, truly deserve the title of a King. This is a massive, deafening event that has certainly shaken up everyone in this city, and its repercussions will echo through this city for weeks to come, ringing in my ears like the sound of a large-caliber machine gun firing! I can't get my head around it. And... well... I totally agree with you. I and the whole city regret that the damn techno-raiders, i.e., the Rangers, have put their greedy and ravenous hooves on the Stable. Damn them to hell! Has Prince given you your... astronomical reward yet?"

"Of course."

"Well, now you can roll around like a cheese in butter—Vanhoover's top jackpot is rightfully yours. That's all for now, hopefully we'll be able to get more details about this Stable from Prince—or we'll try to walk to this mythical place ourselves sometime. With you was DJ Oscar and the new King—Daniel Evans, from now on still known as the Fearless King," Magnolia Delavea speaks in Oscar's stallion voice, before her voice is replaced by her own, ringing and charming. "End of recording!" She calls out sharply and sighs in relief, sprawling out on the couch. "Well, I didn't expect that you survived Stable 66," she says, taking a breath and straightening up.

"The Fearless King?" I'm a little surprised.

"Almost all Kings have a second nickname they acquired during their lifetime. Most of them got their nickname, if I may say so, in battles in the Arena. Part of the inhabitants know and recognize better some of the Kings just by them. That is why I allowed myself, that is Oscar, to apply the most appropriate nickname—you have survived all the horrors of the Stable with dignity. Many, almost everyone in the city shivers with fear at the mention of that place, even some of the Kings, but despite that, you were not afraid to go there and complete the task, thus earning the title."

Magnolia hums, smiling. I suddenly remember Walnut: when he and I were slaying badgers in Nara's Stable, he told me about his nickname he'd acquired in the Arena. The Splitting Claw, I think.

"This seems to be the first time the word 'King' has been included in a nickname. However, I have no doubt whatsoever that you have every right to it."

"Thank you," I smile appreciatively.

"Yeah... So much pompousness in that nickname. I wish they'd just call it 'The Courier'. I miss that old nickname."

"If you don't mind... I just can't help but ask. Such an event! Is it possible to find out more details about what went on there?"

"I don't want to remember," I say with difficulty, and a cold shiver runs through my body. "You wouldn't wish such an experience on your sworn enemy. Let me just say that the more fear the victim feels, the stronger the hallucination—eventually the victim becomes more and more afraid. I'm not sure if this was pre-planned by Stable-Tec without the knowledge of the residents, including the Overmare, or if it was an unforeseen side effect of the energy source that caused the unfortunate outcome. Nothing that proves either of these theories I have, to my deep regret, found."

"I see... Then already on behalf of myself, congratulations on your title. All the best to you, Daniel Evans, and good luck."

The unicorn's attitude towards me had noticeably changed for the better from the moment she learned that I had survived Stable 66. A certain respect has emerged, she even smiles flirtatiously at my last words. Afterwards, Magnolia Delavayi goes off to discuss some important business with her staff.

I managed to impress her with this outspoken act. It shows that I didn't go to that horrible place for nothing and wasted my energy to achieve the title. I feel it will indeed be easier for me now to get information about the Dome and a better fate for the slaves.

I rise from the couch and head for the exit, passing by the radio station staff congratulating me. Standing just outside the exit is an earth pony in an austere—expensive and prestigious-looking—business suit, with a short tangerine-colored mane and the same shade of fur.

"Well, there's a new addition to our ranks. Congratulations on your promotion, the Fearless King," the earth pony grins oddly.

She's in her late forties. Doesn't spend much on makeup, which speaks to her busy and businesslike nature.

"Who are you?" I ask puzzled.

"You don't recognize other Kings?" She raises an eyebrow, casting me a sour look. "In your case, it's forgivable since you're relatively new to Vanhoover. I suggest you familiarize yourself with the list of Kings. You can find it in the special column of any newspaper—or ask Redstone for it. My name is Orange Rose, and I also own this radio station. I was, frankly, surprised to hear that you'd made it out of that Stable. It looks like Prince hasn't lost his knack for finding ponies with great potential, because after Blackwater I was disappointed to hear that he'd died. So—why don't I personally congratulate such a valuable addition to our elite 'squad'?"

"Much appreciated... and a pleasure to meet you," I smile in a friendly manner, extending my hoof for a formal greeting.

The earth pony looks at him with an impassive and thoughtful gaze.

"I'm glad too," she says with the same expression, raising her eyes to me. I lower my hoof. "You can bask in the shining glory of course, and you have every right to get a little cocky and snooty after coming back from that Stable, but I have business to attend to right now: if there's anything you want to tell me, or if you have any questions, then speak now," she says in a businesslike and unceremonious tone.

"No, no questions."

"Excellent. Then have a good day," she says and immediately, turning around vigorously, walks away.

Well, some Kings act with a decent amount of arrogance: she spoke of Prince as if he were some kind of boss, but she kept her cool, appreciating and taking note of the fact that I'd dealt with the 66.

Now Walnut looks like for me a little rude, considering himself a high-flying bird (in principle, he is), but quite normal griffon, actively going to dialog with anyone who addresses him. But not always politely.