She could not quite tell if the bells were still ringing, or if the sound was just stuck in her head.

A changeling servant had filled the tub with steaming hot water and scrubbed her head to claw, until her skin glowed pink. After trimming her claws and hooves, they brushed and curled her cornflower mane into soft ringlets, all before they brought her a dozen perfumes to peruse through. She chose a sharp, sweet fragrance with a hint of lemon, one that had belonged to the former changeling queen, Chrysalis, and had remained in fashion.

The changeling princess, Elytra, had come to supervise the scene, as an array of buzzing seamstresses and servants flocked about, comparing fabrics and taking measurements. Elytra was a quiet and sullen girl, who, just like her father, never seemed at ease.

With industrious haste, the changelings required only a few hours to prepare the gown, which was ivory silk, lace, and lined with silvery satin. The points of the long dagged sleeves almost touched the ground when her forelegs were lowered, the skirts were long and full, and the waist was so tight that Silver had to hold her breath as they laced her into it. They brought her new shoes as well, slippers of soft grey that hugged her hooves and claws. “You look very beautiful, princess,” the seamstress said when she finished.

“I do, don’t I?” Silver said, wanting to giggle for a moment at the sheer absurdity of her situation. She had dreamt of this day her entire life. She had pictured Sandbar waiting at the altar, or Gallus sometimes, or Hydrangea, but never Malthos. This was some cruel twist on what was supposed to be her perfect day. Elytra studied her critically. “A few gems, I think. The moonstones Malthos gave her.”

“At once,” replied the maid.

When the moonstones were hung from Silver’s ears and around her neck, the princess nodded. “It seems almost obscene to squander such a sweet girl on the gargoyle I call a brother..."

Silver’s claw went to her throat. She would have torn the dress off of her if she had dared.

“You’re prettier with your mouth closed, Silver,” Elytra told her, “I understand how you feel. I would rip my mane out, if I were in your place. Malthos is a loathsome little imp, no doubt of it, but marry him you shall.”

“You can’t make me do this,” Silver managed.

“We can and we must,” Elytra said, “My marriage has been arranged too, you know, to a pony I've never even met. You can come along quietly and say your vows as befits a princess, or you can struggle and scream and make a spectacle, but you will end up wedded all the same.”

Silver recalled what Rainbow had told her. You must be brave. She took a deep breath. I can be brave. All of the changelings in the room were looking at her, the way they had looked at her the day she had first been dragged through the town hall doors.

“Get out,” Silver commanded, finding some courage somewhere inside of her, “All of you. Get out.”

The maids all hesitated, waiting for Elytra’s reaction. But Elytra seemed to pity Silver, and she turned to leave. The maids all followed, and Silver could enjoy her first moment alone in days.

She glanced out through the sash bars of her window. The bars of her cage, rather. Outside was Aquila, a cozy winter town, under the joint occupation of the changeling kingdom and the Crystal Empire. A portion of the Northern army was camped out near the town, led by a Crystal Pony called Onyx and Primrose, the mother of the Frost Prince.

Lavender, the Lady of Silkwood, had been in town for a while, but had never paid Silver a visit, and did not care to stick around for the wedding. Lavender had traveled up north to the Crystal City to serve as Shining Armor’s regent and Lady Protector of the Empire. Silver made sure to know all these things, with the hopes of scouting out potential allies.

But as far as she could tell, she was entirely on her own. The only creatures she knew she could trust was her family, and even then, she sometimes had her doubts. Her mother was a prisoner now in Canterlot, as punishment for the hippogriffs' change in allegiance. Serves her right for what she did. This was all her fault. She wanted to sell me off, and she got her wish.

Her father, meanwhile, was fighting in the North Lunar Sea for the Empire, and her brother on the opposing side, fighting for Twilight Sparkle in the North. She pictured Terramar's face, and her blood began to boil. Idiot, she thought, He should never have left home. He should never have gotten involved. Terramar was not a soldier. And I’m not a princess. She had always been stubborn about the title. It was her cousin Skystar who had been raised like a lady, to curtsy and giggle and dance in the coral ballrooms of Seaquestria. It should be her here instead of me, She quickly regretted thinking such a thing.

Why am I such a coward?

Then came the very last creature Silver wanted to lay eyes on.

Malthos’ exoskeleton was a dull turquoise, and his eyes glowed deep purple. His wings were the only bright thing about him, vivid amaranth. The two had not spoken since departing Canterlot; Malthos seemed to be weary of her hateful gaze, and had given up his fruitless attempts at conversation. Until now, apparently.

Silver might have been about to stand up and go shut the door in his face, until she realized he had not come alone.

“...Silver?” the companion said, meekly stepping out from behind Malthos, who lingered by the door as Silver sprang up to her claws.

“Ocellus!” Silver cried, practically bursting into tears at the sight, lunging off the bed.

They met in the middle, embracing, while Malthos twitched by the door.

“Silver! Th-they didn’t hurt you, did they?” Ocellus asked.

“No,” Silver said, wiping her eyes, squeezing the air out of Ocellus’ lungs.

“Silver, I’m sorry….I tried, I really did….But they found me out,” Ocellus said.

Silver held her in her grasp, and glanced down at her.

“You’re the bestest friend I could’ve ever asked for. What you did for me, I….I couldn’t leave you on your own. This is what I wanted, to be back with you. We’ve got each other again, so we’re gonna be OK, I know it. OK?” Silver said.

Ocellus sniffled and glanced over her shoulder at Malthos, whose eyes were fixed to the ground. Silver frowned.

“Why?” Silver asked.

“Why what?” Malthos asked, under his breath.

“You brought her here, what for?” Silver demanded.

Malthos glared at her.

“I never wanted you to be miserable,” Malthos said, “She’s your friend. She makes you happy.”

Silver felt a pressure building in her chest.

“...You know this is all wrong,” Silver said, “Malthos. Listen to me. You can end this. You can make this right.”

Malthos’ face became twisted.

“My father-”

“Forget about your father,” Silver said, “You have more power than you think, so stand up for yourself and put a stop to this. And if you really care about me, if you really want to be my friend, then stand up for me.”

Malthos glowered, his beady eyes tracing the edges of the room.

Without a word, he grumbled something under his breath and skulked off, leaving the two together as the bells began ringing again.

Yona arrived in the workshop to the sound of bickering, courtesy of the engineer, Gibbs, and Quasar, the apprentice. Beside them on the stone slab lay Princess Luna, who was dizzily muttering to herself. Battered in black ashy bruises and blazing abrasions, the princess of the night was hardly recognizable.

Luna had been restless, since the very first day they arrived here. She would speak in different voices, sometimes soft like a child, sometimes loud like a furious god. She would laugh one moment, and cry the next. ”Starlight. She’s dead. I killed her. Why did I kill her?” Luna would mutter to herself, between gasps for breath. Star Swirl’s healing ointments were uniquely effective, but not at all pleasant for the victim. But the princess was no stranger to pain. The damage to her body could be healed. The damage to her mind, Yona was not so sure of.

Though Luna spent hours a day reliving her confrontation with Starlight, and her foe’s supposed demise, Yona was more skeptical of the battle’s true result. Gibbs, Quasar, or Yona herself all had not been able to locate Starlight’s body, before Star Swirl recalled them all back to the flaming ruins of his mountain cottage. We cannot stay here, the wizard had said, or else their plans would surely be discovered.

Yona had not been glad about the move. She much preferred the cold of the North, to the autumn heat of the northwest coast. Star Swirl's hall of learning in Seaward Shoals was a dusty, cluttered mess, just as much as his now-destroyed residence in the Crystal Mountains.

Staying out of Star Swirl’s way was in her best interest; the wizard was perpetually irritable these days, even by his standards. She could not blame him, entirely. He had spent over a year toiling over the Witch’s Wand, only for it to be stolen right under his nose. “My prized work,” he growled often, “Taken by that devil-spawn draconequus and that scheming earth pony ... They know not what power they toy with.”

Yona had not been able to do much to stop Discord from making off with the wand, while the others were all busy with Luna and Starlight’s confrontation. She had tried to stop them, she had insisted, but Star Swirl did not find that to be sufficient. Now, her attention was focused solely on keeping an eye on Luna, whose wounds were healing, slowly.

“Thank you,” Luna said, when Yona had finished replacing her bandages. Star Swirl entered not long after, stroking his beard and grumbling under his breath.

“I know this place,” Luna said, peering out the window at the city and the bay beyond. She listened to the distant sounds of waves crashing against sandstone, and the seabirds’ endless chatter. “Here was where I last saw her. My sister. And all this time I’ve spent waiting for her to come back, she had been lying dead in the ground in that frozen hell."

“We all end up in the ground, princess” Star Swirl said, grimly, “Does it really matter which ground?”

Luna glared at him, while the wizard was busy organizing the scattered vials and parchments cluttering the room.

“I should not have lost control like that….I…” Luna said, and her eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment, “There was a better way to deal with Starlight Glimmer. What I did was wrong.”

“Starlight Glimmer possesses a unique talent for provocation,” Star Swirl said, sipping from his tea, “Twilight Sparkle knows very well how you feel.”

“Twilight,” Luna muttered, hesitantly, “You expect me to join her.”

“You said as much before,” Star Swirl said.

Luna choked on her own breath. She sat up on the bed.

“I….I cannot. I’m not fit to take part in Twilight’s war. Not if I cannot control myself. Whatever’s been done to me, has made me feel a way I haven’t in a long….a long time,” Luna said, “A time where fury eclipsed the light in my heart, and even my own name was lost to me.”

Nightmare Moon, Yona thought to herself. Had Twilight Sparkle fallen down a similar path?

Star Swirl grunted, recognizing Luna’s apprehension.

“I can offer you another choice,” Star Swirl said, glancing from Luna to Quasar, and back to Luna, “One in which you needn’t ally yourself with Twilight, but you still have a chance to avenge your sister, and defend Equestria.”

Luna raised an eyebrow.

“Speak it, then,” Luna commanded.

“It was not madness alone fanning the flames that engulfed this land. It was fear. Fear, most of all. Your sister’s fear, was the very first spark - fear of an ancient foe left in exile to gather its strength and have its vengeance. You know of whom I speak,” Star Swirl said.

Yona glanced at Luna, whose eyes had gone wide.

“Powers of the unseen world are to be unleashed, and prophecies fulfilled. The redeemer and the destroyer will confront each other, and the victor will have in their grasp the ultimate power. Control of the three shards, of dark, of light, and of the balance between them. Those ancient seeds, those brilliant jewels. He who wields them will reign, forever.”

When the wizard had finished, Yona felt a strange feeling then, as if the air had gone colder and she had entered into another room.

“It's my belief that Twilight Sparkle is the chosen one, the redeemer of this land,” Star Swirl said, “And the exile, who shares your blood, is the one who will bring the doom.”

“I know the prophecy,” Luna snapped, “Celestia would never let me forget it. It was her obsession, once. But you are mistaken, wizard. It is not one who brings the doom - it is the meeting of the two that is the doom….the devastation of such a battle is what will result in Equestria’s annihilation.”

“You could be right,” Star Swirl said, to Luna’s surprise, “Which is why both of them must be dealt with before their battle can take place.”

“Dealt with?” came Quasar, “Ponies have been trying to deal with Twilight Sparkle for two years now. It’s not possible to contain her.”

“The boy is right. And even if I could, I won’t,” Luna said, “She is like family to me, I couldn’t…”

“I know,” Star Swirl said, “I wouldn’t ask you to confront Twilight. Instead, you and the boy here will go across the sea, to pursue the exile. Defeat her, and you’ll have prevented the doom.”

Yona saw Quasar go pale. He seemed terrified of this exile, almost as terrified as he was of Luna. Luna too seemed a bit unnerved.

“This would be our first meeting,” Luna said, quietly, “Though I feel as though we’re acquainted already, for all of Celestia’s warnings.”

“Celestia would rather retire than have to face the exile,” Quasar pointed out, “And you expect us to handle it?”

“I expect you to try. For Equestria’s sake, if it happens to concern you,” Star Swirl said, bluntly, “You’ll go with them, Yona.”

“Yona?” Yona stammered.

“Yes. Yona,” Star Swirl said.

“And where will you be?” Quasar demanded.

“The exile must be tested, but so must Twilight Sparkle. I have to make sure she’s ready for the perils ahead. Starlight proved a challenge, but for us to be sure, Twilight will have to face an enemy who truly wants to kill her. And I have two candidates in mind. But you will leave that to me. Princess, you have your own task ahead of you.”

Luna rose to her hooves, taking a deep inhale as pain coursed through her body.

Quasar, albeit nervously, straightened up beside the princess. Luna’s eyes darted over to Star Swirl.

“I’ll do it.”

Beyond the bay of turquoise came the slow steady beat of drums and the soft swish of oars from the galleys. Through a crack in the ship hull, Bandolier could make out the cooking fires dotting the darkening beach. The boats rounding the distant corner of the cove could be seen to change course frequently as they kept to the darker blue water on their way in from the open sea to the great city beyond. The colossal cog groaned in their wake, heavy lines of ropes stretched taut between the Kraken’s sails hung limp, dangling forlorn from the masts.

Most of the ships were already moored for the night, out in the harbor or at the wharf, or, for some of the smaller craft, dragged right up onto the white sands. There on the beach was where the shanty towns had been raised in the shadow of the great city further inland, raised up on a ridge of volcanic rock, in view of the deserts and jungles beyond.

Bandolier watched the sunrise at sea from his lonely perch behind that crack in the hull, where the salt breeze kissed his lips and the fog rolled back with the tide. He did not sleep so easily anymore. Waking cold and thirsty and trembling, and afraid, he could never remember what troubled him in his dreams. Only dead memories and some unfamiliar sting in his spine. It was this ship, he had decided. He would hear strange sounds through the woodwork, all throughout the day and night, like a faraway beating or humming or poor attempt at a song. And though he savored his sliver of light from outside the crack in the hull, there were days the light seemed to dwindle too long, or worse, take too long to return.

The captain never visited below deck. Only the mongrel crewmembers came, who seemed to walk and move not by their own accord, as if they were walking while asleep, or under some sort of trance. Days at sea felt like weeks, before at last Bandolier caught sight of the bay. He withheld himself from celebrating. He wondered if he would come to miss his damp little home and the crack in the hull.

It was Left-Hoof Luster and Three-Tooth who came to retrieve him, some time after the Kraken made port. Up the staircase to the main deck, Bandolier winced as the sunlight blinded him in both eyes.

“For Luna’s sake. I miss the brig already, at least there I didn’t have to get a good look at you two,” Bandolier said. Luster’s reply was a scowl and a shove.

Up on the deck, the Captain was still nowhere to be found. While down below all Bandolier knew of the port was its buzzing and bustling of sailors, merchants, and dock workers, up under the sun’s gaze he could catch a glimpse of the port in all its glory, and the great city itself.

Beyond the port, creatures beat drums to herald the captain’s coming, while others blew curious horns that wrapped around their bodies like great snakes of bronze and gold. Columns of camels had emerged from the Jade Gates to greet the captain; they wore scaled copper armor and snouted helms with copper tusks and great purple plumes. And on their backs were blankets of a hundred different hues.

“Nautilus. The greatest city that ever was or will be,” Scurvy had told him, some weeks ago one night at sea. “The true center of the world, ancient beyond memory, so magnificent that Astrolabus the Wise tore out his own eyes after first gazing upon it, for he knew every other sight thereafter would seem dull and ugly in comparison.”

Bandolier had taken Scurvy’s words with some salt, as he did with most of Scurvy’s stories, though the splendor of the city could not be denied.

The great stone walls that surrounded the city on land stood fifty-feet high, built mostly of red and gold sandstone. Engraved in the walls were depictions of animals: slithering snakes, soaring dragons and swimming fish, all arranged in a strange dance along with wolves, raptors, and monstrous elephants. The walls were banded with copper, iron, and in some places studded with golden jewels.

Nautilus was a fantastical fever dream of rose, violet, and umber. Near the port there was a bronze arch fashioned to resemble two snakes coiled around each other; their scales were shards of jade, obsidian, and lapis lazuli. Further on, tall towers loomed, and down every square there were elaborate fountains made in the likeness of griffins, dragons, and manticores.

Taller than any other building was the Royal Palace at the center of the city, a pyramid bearing lush hanging gardens and golden adornments fixed to every terrace, bridge, and archway. But what had stolen Bandolier’s attention was not the palace in all its magnificence, but rather what stood beside it. A relic of antiquity, the amphitheater was elliptical, made of travertine limestone, volcanic rock, and Equian concrete, and was colossal enough to seat 80,000 at most. Flags stood along the top edge of the whole ellipsis.

“You’ll get a closer look soon,” laughed Pinchface Forlorn, the Kraken’s first mate. He nodded for Bandolier to be thrown down alongside the other prisoners, a sorry sight of haggard, hoary, half-dead sailors. Humble Pie was trembling alongside Silver Spar, next to the Half Nurse, Hickey, Rust Bucket, Doodle, and a few others. Cloudy was the only one who seemed to notice Bandolier’s arrival, and he seemed surprised.

“Thought you were dead,” Cloudy said, dryly.

“Save your tears,” Bandolier smirked.

“I was, in fact. Saving ‘em for meself,” Cloudy said.

At the end of the row was a pony Bandolier did not recognize - the withered old stallion’s beard had begun to go white, his skin hung loose upon his bones, and his eyes seemed to have sunk deep into his skull, two purple pits of pulp. Bandolier’s eyes narrowed, and then he realized - Scurvy. He looked twice as old!

Scurvy twitched when he saw Bandolier’s face, and leaned over to get a better look at him.

“What’ve they done to you?” Bandolier said, horrified.

Scurvy spat something onto the deck.

“When we set sail, I prayed to the Nymphs to see us reach this city, however they see fit. Now, I wish I had been a bit more specific.”

Bandolier grinned.

“I didn’t think you’d crack,” Bandolier said.

“Crack? A long time since that, lad. Har!” Scurvy bellowed, before coughing and shrinking in his chains.

The deck got quiet then, and the prisoners’ heads all went down, save for Bandolier, whose attention was seized by the deck ladder shaking under the boots of its newest arrivals.

The first two creatures Bandolier recognized - more of the captain’s ghouls, the red-bearded kirin called Kǒngbù, and the broad-shouldered diamond dog, Butch.

The third was a stranger, a rotund, sun-stained reddish-pink stallion with a beard of deep rose. He smelled of cinnamon and ginger. He wore a robe of deep crimson, lined with gold satin. His eyes passed over the row of prisoners, like a predator inspecting its prey. He bit on the pipe in his mouth, anxiously. There were other ponies lingering back on the dock, soldiers of some kind, presumably in the stallion’s employ.

“Ambrosius, my friend,” came a voice from over Bandolier’s shoulder. The captain had appeared out of his cabin, that candlelit crypt where none of the crew were allowed to enter.

Ursus Valentine wore a shirt of iron scales and a cloak of blood-red silk. His smiling eyes glowed red in the sunlight, though Bandolier had recalled they had once seemed blue.

Ambrosius, the fat pony in the fancy robe, lifted his lips off his pipeweed to speak.

“My lord Morning Star,” Ambrosius grunted, “...You’ve picked a most inauspicious time to visit.”

“Strange, you say that every time I arrive on these shores,” Ursus replied, “I wasn’t sure you’d agree to meet.”

Ambrosius scoffed and set his pipe down.

“I never pass up on potential, even if it comes from you. The Games are mere days away. I’ll buy out the street rats if I think they can turn a profit.” he reasoned, glancing back at the row of prisoners, “But I see you’ve brought rats of your own.”

“Word reached me that your Reds have not been faring so well this year,” Ursus said, “I’ve come to deliver aid.”

Ambrosius muttered some curses under his breath.

“My best racers are crippled. My best fighters are dead. The palace favors the Blues this year, and so many a pony have put a considerable stake against me and mine. Subterfuge, sabotage, and delinquency - this city is lost,” Ambrosius growled.

“One must wonder if your enemies just so happen to train the better warriors,” Ursus wondered.

Ambrosius began huffing and coughing and fuming from the ears.

“Ah. Well. If you thought so, Morning Star, why would you have come to me?” he laughed. Ursus grinned.

The fat pony trotted up closer to the prisoners, and his eyes lingered on each of them for a few seconds, before passing onto the next. Bandolier avoided the pony’s gaze.

“Do any of them fight?” Ambrosius asked.

“You need ponies for fighting and for dying,” Ursus reminded, “Here I have both.”

“No foals,” Ambrosius said, waving off the colts, “You may delight in depravity, Morning Star, but the Conqueror does not. Away with them.” The colts were promptly marched away by some of Ursus’ underlings, and Ambrosius continued down the line. “The greybeard looks to have one hoof in the grave already,” Ambrosius said, glancing at Scurvy, “Not much sport to be had there.”

Ambrosius arrived at Bandolier. He felt around Bandolier’s shoulder muscle, his thighs and chest and hooves.

Ambrosius glared at him, and glanced briefly at Cloudy, the last ponies left in the row.

“I’ll take these two, for one thousand.”

Bandolier and Cloudy glanced at each other, while Ursus’ smile faded.

“One unicorn alone is worth two thousand,” Ursus said.

“These slaves are rotten,” Ambrosius dismissed, waving them off with his hoof, “Not that I would expect any less. I’ll give you three thousand for both.”

Bandolier glanced at Ursus, whose smile gradually came back to his lips.

“Very well, my friend,” Ursus nodded, “May they bring us both good fortune.”

Ambrosius glared up at Ursus, before turning to his companions down on the dock, yelling at them in some foreign language.

“They’re sending us to the pit,” Cloudy realized, “Well….At least my manner of death will be interesting.”

Bandolier glanced back at Ursus, only to find the captain had already returned back to his cabin. There in his place was Clover, dressed in a black and grey gown. He was not sure whether to feel relieved or not to see her; he was glad to know she was alive, though he did not want her last memory of him winding up as whatever gruesome fate awaited him here in this city. He smiled, though his eyes must have betrayed his fear, as Clover could not bring herself to look down on him any longer. Her gaze fell away towards the sea, and her eyes seemed to have reddened just as she spun around.

Ambrosius’ soldiers had a hold of Bandolier and Cloudy, and as they were being marched away, Bandolier found Scurvy’s gaze back on the deck.

“I’ll be back for you, Captain,” Bandolier assured.

Scurvy grinned through some missing teeth, and gave an empty laugh, as he struggled to keep himself upright on his knees.

Ambrosius traveled in a palanquin of red silks fixed with golden rods, propped on the backs of four ponies. Bandolier and Cloudy lagged behind in chains, surrounded on every side by Ambrosius’ personal guards.

Clusters of ponies selling sweetbreads and honey treats and sour wines milled about by merchant posts and archway bridges. The city rose and fell across several layers of groundwork, down causeways and stairwells. Rivers wound through the city and fed into huge fountains at the center of various squares, where fire-breathing warlocks and theater troupes put on demonstrations for passerbys. Most of the ponies Bandolier saw were Erisian, and spoke Old Equian, as opposed to the Equestrians’ Equish. The language was smooth and was spoken quickly, and all around the sandstone dwellings and marketplace spectacles there were ponies chattering and selling their wares. Such a frenzy it was, that Bandolier could hardly keep up with Ambrosius’ caravan, hypnotized by the colors of the banners and buildings and exotic smells. Around every corner there were great stone statues of various crowned animals - tigers, dragons, eagles, and lions, each of whom represented the Conqueror, in all their glory.

Bandolier eventually caught up to Cloudy, and the noise around them was so great that Ambrosius’ guards could not overhear them.

“This place is quite lovely. Might not mind staying,” Cloudy said.

“Your stay will be permanent, if we don’t find a way out of this,” Bandolier reminded.

“I made peace with all sixteen sea gods on the voyage here,” Cloudy said, “So unless I forgot one, my soul should be safe.”

“For Luna’s sake, there’s a way to get through this, and save the others, too,” Bandolier said, “...We just need some friends in our corner. Or, really, one friend in particular.”

Cloudy followed his eyes towards the statue of a crowned tiger.

“The Conqueror….” Cloudy considered, “...You want to see the Conqueror? How?”

Bandolier’s gaze ascended towards the Pit, that calamitous coliseum.

“We’re going to win the Games.”

The march began at first light, when the column of gold and white came trudging out from the gates of Haverford like a steel serpent from its nest.

Each knight had their squires, servants, and pony-at-arms. Behind them came armorers, cooks, ranks of spearponies, axeponies, and archers; grizzled veterans and green boys off to fight their first. Before them marched the spellcasters clad in furs and boiled leather and old mail.

Back of the main column the baggage train followed, and last was the rear guard, the heavy lancers and outriders following half-hidden at the vantages to make certain no foe could steal up on them unexpectedly.

And at the top of the column was Snowfall Glitter, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion as they neared the thickest part of the woods that lay ahead. She had hardly slept at all last night, or the one before.

On the third day out, the Wolfswood pressed close around them, and the rutted roads dwindled down to game trails that soon proved too narrow for their larger wagons. Here and there Snowfall saw familiar landmarks from old adventures; the further they traveled north, the more she recognized. A half-frozen waterfall, a natural stone arch bearded with grey-green moss, she knew them all. Her old home seemed more distant than it ever had before, as if the North itself had spurned her. And why shouldn’t it, she wondered, when she arrives back not as a daughter of the Empire but as an invader, an enemy. No, her home was already lost to her, by Twilight’s command. Her only home now was her armor, her helmet, her sword and shield.

When dusk fell that day, Snowfall chose a clearing in the woods as the site for their camp, near a stream that led up to the Silent River a few miles further.

Her tent’s damp walls of heavy yellow canvas were badly faded, stained by mud and rainwater, with spots of mildew showing. Atop its center pole flew the royal standard.

Taking her seat at the officers’ table, Snowfall could not help but let her gaze linger on where Redshift would have been sitting. Weeks ago, it had been Redshift who had convinced her to march on Haverford rather than try to rout Broadwing’s scattered forces. Snowfall and her army of 3,400 strong had smashed the Highlanders at Farrier Field, though Honeycomb, the Highlander general, had escaped, and had fled south to rally with Hardball, whose army was marching northeast from Tall Tale.

They had won Haverford, but were left trapped in the center of the Highlands, surrounded by Shining Armor’s army approaching from the north and Hardball’s from the south. As far as Snowfall could tell, the only way out was to secure their defenses, and to do so they needed Hellebore’s Fort, a castle fortress several miles northwest of Haverford, past the Wolfswood. She could not leave Haverford completely undefended, however, and so the garrison was given to Saving Grace, one of Snowfall’s most trusted captains.

Snowfall had meant for Redshift to join her on the march, until the courier from Canterlot had arrived with new orders from Marius Moonshine. The changeling wedding was soon to be underway, according to royal intelligence. Moonshine needed somepony to infiltrate the ceremony, rescue the hippogriff princess, and take out as many of the high-profile rebel attendants as possible. Maybe Twilight’s finally run out of assassins.

While Snowfall’s attention was devoted solely to her campaign, Redshift was far more enthusiastic about the mission.

“Twilight thinks of me as weak,” Redshift had said to her, “I failed her in Manehattan. I won’t fail her again. Snowfall. If you were ever my friend, then let me do this. Please...”

In all the time Snowfall had known Redshift, she had never heard her say the word please before. Snowfall gave her leave, but regrettably so, as now she was without yet another of her captains, and all of Redshift’s troops, too.

Prince Terramar had remained at Snowfall’s side, and though he lacked military experience, he was reliable, and had yet to let his fear get the better of him.

Her other captains, Bravo and Sparkshower, were both reliable and good-of-heart, though increasingly prickly and anxious the longer they spent marching through the frozen woods. Days on end, the sun was barely visible beyond the hazy veil of murky grey, and the black shadows of the dead, twisted trees that creaked and groaned with each sharp, shuddering breeze.

Then there was Styles. The bronze fury, the soldiers had started calling him, a far more flattering nickname than Snowfall’s, Twilight’s Dog. She hated nothing more than that name.

Styles, Sparkshower and the ragged remains of their units had all joined Snowfall’s column early on in the march, following their retreat from Starhaven.

“Each time I leave you, I almost wind up dead,” Styles had said to her.

“Best not to stray far then,” Snowfall had replied. She caught herself smiling as the memory looped in her mind. Styles spent his nights with the infantry-ponies now, instead of the officers. He had not bothered to ask her for permission, though she supposed he would do well to help the battalion’s morale, while she was distracted with strategizing and keeping the camp in order.

Like most nights on the road, Snowfall kept herself up by the light of a few scattered candles, hunched over a table of maps and diagrams depicting troop movements in the area. She had studied the map forwards and backwards, and she knew the terrain well, though so did her enemy.

After examining the ration reports a second time, Snowfall sighed, recognizing how their supplies would not last them much longer. All they have to do is give us a chase, and they’ll starve us out before we even get a chance to fight. They desperately needed to pick up the pace, Snowfall decided; they needed that fort in order to stand a chance, whenever the rebels finally reached them.

Snowfall yawned, and she knew she should probably try and get some rest. She set her helmet and her armor down on a rack, grunting as she rubbed at the marks the cold metal had left on her flesh. She supposed she could use another swig of whiskey to help her go to bed. But before she could turn around to dig through her chest, she froze.

An aura of magic had wrapped itself around her neck, and her horn, all too fast for her to anticipate. Her hooves were locked together too, and her lips were suddenly sealed shut. Panic overcame her. What is this?! Was this some rebel trick? She groaned and buckled hard and fought with all her might to cast a spell, all to no avail. Styles! She wanted to scream, Help!! There was nopony in the room with her, as far as she could tell. She gave a muffled shriek through her tightly-shut lips, and struggled relentlessly, completely immobilized.

“You remember me, don’t you?”

The voice came from behind her, from somewhere in the dark. Snowfall felt her heart sink in her chest, and she stopped struggling at once. It’s not possible….

Starlight Glimmer stepped out from behind her, her horn alight. Snowfall’s eyes widened in horror, and she tried her hardest to cast her own spell. But Glimmer’s magic was far too powerful, and Snowfall went slack, helpless. It could not be a changeling, Snowfall thought, no changeling was this powerful.

“I’m going to let you speak, and when I do you’re not going to scream, OK? I just want to talk,” Starlight said, coldly, “Call for help or try to escape, and you’ll regret it.”

Snowfall narrowed her eyes. She did not trust this pony. But she nodded her head, slowly.

Snowfall felt the pressure on her lips disappear.

“You’re alive!” Snowfall whispered, shocked, “Twilight, she…”

“Didn’t care to finish me off. Unlucky for you,” Starlight said, coldly. Snowfall felt like fainting. She's going to kill me! She could hardly cough out a reply, too overcome by shock. She struggled again, as she felt her heart begin beating right out of her chest.

“...Brave as ever, sneaking up on me like that,” Snowfall finally said, through gritted teeth, “Do what you want to me, just don’t hurt any of the others.”

“I’m not here for them. Just you,” Starlight sighed, “...I need your help.”

Snowfall’s brow furrowed, perplexed.

“Help? You’re a traitor! You’re a murderer!”

“I’ve never murdered anypony,” Starlight snapped, “Twilight’s been lying to you. You’re the one leading a few thousand creatures to their deaths.”

Snowfall was speechless for a moment, struggling to collect herself after so many sleepless nights.

“I swore an oath to defend and obey my princess,” Snowfall said, “So that’s what I'm going to do. I have my honor and you have yours.”

“This has gone too far. You know it has.” Starlight stammered, “This isn’t honor. This is blind trust of a pony who’s shown her true colors over and over. You’re walking into a massacre, all for the sake of pride, not honor.”

“What choice do I have?” Snowfall asked.

“Twilight’s getting away with everything because ponies like you are afraid to stand up to her. If you really were brave, you’d do what you know is right, not what she tells you is right.”

“All I know is what I swore to do,” Snowfall said, “Neither of us want anypony to die, I can see that. But I won’t bend, Glimmer. If you want this to end, then go find Shining Armor and tell him to lay down his arms.

Starlight sighed.

“I thought maybe you could be reasoned with,” Starlight said, “Fine. If it’s war you want, go have it. But I’m not finished with you yet.”

Snowfall fidgeted in her magical restraints.

“You want help. Right. What do you want from me?” Snowfall asked, nervously.

“My friends. Do you have any idea where they are?” Starlight asked.

Snowfall hesitated, and for a moment it seemed as though she planned on keeping her mouth shut, but she eventually lowered her head and relented.

“All I know is that they’ve been in Canterlot for months now,” Snowfall said, “But I doubt they’re still there.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because that city’s about to go up in flames," Snowfall said, "I’d wager they didn’t go south, or they’d run right into the dragons."

“So north then,” Starlight determined.

“Probably. I saw Wallflower Blush at the gala the night Silver Stream was ponynapped. There's a chance she'll be at the wedding too. I could be wrong. Either way, it’d be good for you to pay a visit. That hippogriff girl’s life is in danger. If you really do care about saving lives, then there’s your chance to prove it.”

Starlight felt her heart twist in her chest. She released Snowfall, but kept her horn glowing.

“Thanks,” Starlight said, as she turned to leave.

“Wait, Starlight…” Snowfall said, fumbling with her words, “I’m…I'm sorry. I wish….I wish things hadn’t ended up this way,”

“You have the power to end this,” Starlight urged, "Surrender to Shining, Snowfall. Do it. Then maybe I’ll believe you.”

Starlight approached the tent flap, before disappearing in a flash of light.

Snowfall’s eyes fell to the floor. She bit her lip, and hung her head, conflicted.

Her trembling breath was visible in the frigid air, in the cold dead quiet of the winter wood.

Wallflower shuffled her hooves in the snow, leaning against Lightning for warmth. Scampers the rat was scurrying by their hooves, nibbling on some dead leaves he had found in the snow. Suri wasn’t far off, bundled up in three jackets. Sunset and Moon Dancer, meanwhile, were backing away from the parked carriage, which now appeared invisible.

“Nifty,” Lightning chirped, admiring their work. The concealment spell had taken twenty minutes to perfect, though with Moon Dancer and Sunset’s combined efforts, they seemed to have finally figured it out.

At least, they all thought as much, until a gust of wind tossed a tuft of snow off a tree limb up in the forest canopy. The snow landed on where the carriage happened to be, and, upon impact, the spell short-circuited, and the carriage became visible once again.

“How many unicorns does it take to get a spell right?” Suri smirked. Sunset was cursing under her breath.

“We don’t have time for twenty more tries. Moon Dancer, you’re gonna have to stay here and guard the carriage. We’ll go on without you,” Sunset said.

“Fine by me,” Moon Dancer assured, “It's nice and warm in there."

“Just keep a low profile and be ready to pick us up. If there’s fireworks, we’re gonna need a fast exit,” Sunset said.

Behind them, Lightning, Suri, and Wallflower had begun picking up their duffel bags of supplies and making for the backwoods road where they had come from. But Sunset waited to join them, glancing back at Moon Dancer.

“Don’t leave without us,” Sunset said, warily.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don't forget we’re doing this to save the kid.” Moon Dancer said.

“I didn’t forget the tycoon’s niece. I won’t forget Scootaloo either,” Sunset said. Moon Dancer hesitated.

“Why did you save that girl?” Moon Dancer asked.

“Because I could,” Sunset said, “You keep telling yourself I’m the devil, and you’ll think of every right thing I do as a wrong in disguise.”

“Don’t fuck this up and maybe I’ll believe you,” Moon Dancer said.

Sunset smirked and nodded her head, and turned to rejoin the others.

Further on and beyond the road were thick banks of snow, and further still was the town in the distance.

Aquila appeared three times as large as it really was, having been surrounded on three sides by great brigades of Imperials and changelings, whose camps were kept at a delicate distance from one another. Sunset, Lightning, Wallflower and Suri crawled up the bank beside each other. Lightning retrieved a pair of binoculars from her bag, lifting them up to gaze through.

“What do you see?” Sunset asked, after checking over their shoulder to make sure the road behind them was clear.

“It’s….It’s huge!” Lightning exclaimed. “H-How are we that close?!”

Wallflower sighed and adjusted the binoculars on Lightning’s snout, flipping them the other way.

“Oh. Sorry,” Lightning said.

“Idiot. Give me those,” Suri said, snagging the binoculars, “....The imperials are on the north side, the changelings in the south. They’ve built a barricade around the town, there’s more than one gate…..Droves of creatures coming in, some are getting searched….Unicorns. It’s the unicorns getting searched.”

“There’s probably a firewall spell in place,” Sunset realized, “To prevent unicorns from teleporting themselves inside.”

“Guess you’ll have to keep Moon Dancer company, Sunset,” Lightning grinned, “No biggie. Me and these two knuckleheads can make it on our own.”

“Um, no, we can’t, ‘kay? I’m not going in there without Sunset,” Suri said, hesitantly.

“They’re bound to be using a fusion generator to power the spell,” Sunset said, “You three will have to sneak in, find it, and disable it long enough for me to teleport inside.”

“Just the three of us?” Suri asked.

“The faster you get it done, the faster I’ll be able to join you,” Sunset said.

“One of us can distract the guards at the quietest entrance, and the other two can slip inside and take the spell down,” Wallflower said.

“Distract them how?” Suri asked.

“They’re bound to be stallions. How do you think?” Lightning laughed.

Wallflower, Lightning, and Sunset all glanced at Suri, who began playing with her mane.

“Me?” Suri asked, pretending to be humble, “Like, stop, ‘kay…”

“When they see you they’ll drop dead,” Wallflower smiled.

“That would be ideal,” Sunset said, “Wallflower, help her get ready. Lightning, let’s go get a closer look.”

Suri twirled her hoof in her mane, which was tied up in three buns with her front curling over her forehead.

She had splintered off from the caravan of new arrivals, wandering around the town barricade until she found the target gate, which was, as Sunset had preferred, sparsely guarded. There were no creatures marching up on the battlements, and by the gates stood two shivering young boys in silver armor clutching their spears.

Suri trotted right up towards the two guards, who were each a few years younger, swinging her hips as she went and yawning with tired eyes. The soldiers were hunched and miserable, but both seemed to straighten up when Suri came waltzing on over.

“Gentlecolts. What in Luna’s name has made you want to spend a cold horrible day like this standing out in the snow?”

The guards shared a look, skeptically.

“Not exactly up to us, is it?” asked one.

“I could think of a better use for you both,” Suri said, “...I’ve come for the ceremony, but my carriage is stuck in the mud back there on the road. I had hoped for some big strong stallions to help me, but if duty demands you stay here, then….”

“...I don’t know, ma’am, we-” said one, nervously.

“I would pay you both, as well. But, if it’s all the same, ‘kay, I can think of a better form of gratitude suitable for warming each of you up.”

The guards shared a look again, but this time, the beginnings of a grin were curling up on each of their faces.

The pair ditched their spears and followed after Suri, who winked at a pair of bushes near the edge of the bank, as she passed by with the giddy pair of guards.

And from those bushes emerged Lightning and Wallflower, the latter of whom had leaves all stuck in her mane.

“You ready?” Lightning asked. Wallflower was too afraid to reply, but she followed after Lightning anyway, as they made for the unsupervised gate.

Inside the camp, miniature light bulbs dangled from strings stretching from tent to tent, to the barricade and back and all the way into the town itself. There were ponies bustling by in droves, and, to Wallflower’s relief, they had an easy time blending in, what with the cover of the snow and the denseness of the crowds.

“You don’t suppose they’ll have a sign pointing us in the right direction, do ya?” Lightning muttered.

“If Sunset’s right about this generator, it’ll be under guard. Keep an eye out,” Wallflower advised.

The Northern guests had gathered from all over, Wallflower quickly discovered, and each of them had been smart enough to bring their own detail of guards with them. Lady Ophelia and her sister Amulette of Starhaven were present, surrounded by soldiers in purple armor, the few that had survived that terrible battle there just a week or two prior.

Hollyhock and White Tea Rose, the mayors of Amapola and Capricorn respectively, were present too, having taken up a whole corner of the camp to make room for the small army they brought with them. The changelings mostly lingered on the other side of the camp, though Wallflower saw a drone every now and then, flitting the snow off their wings and gnawing at the freezing air.

The changelings and the ponies in the North had long fought each other as mortal enemies, and now they sat together at the same tables, in anticipation of a wedding that would indirectly resolve centuries of battle and bloodshed. The hippogriffs, whose princess was the fulcrum of the alliance plot, were nowhere to be seen however. Most of their forces were still in the North Lunar Sea, picking off the scattered royal fleet, and the rest were with Prince Terramar, fighting on the royals’ side. None of them would make it here in time, Wallflower thought. None of them would save the princess. Maybe we can.

“Hey, check it out,” Lightning said, grinding to a halt and grabbing Wallflower by the shoulder. Wallflower followed Lightning’s gaze over towards a large tent a few yards off, surrounded on every side by imperial guards.

“Jackpot,” Lightning grinned, “C’mon. Let’s do this.”

“Wait, let’s think this through first,” Wallflower suggested.

“Let’s not,” Lightning laughed.

“Wait, what are you-” Wallflower attempted, but Lightning had already begun darting off.

“I’ve got this!” she said.

“Lightning!” Wallflower whispered, as loudly as she could manage. She bit at her hoof and followed after a few feet behind, nervously.

“Halt!” bellowed one of the guards at the tent, dashing the butt of his spear into the snow, “You will go no further, civilian.”

“Right. Ha ha, very funny,” Lightning said, without missing a beat. Wallflower, meanwhile, opted to begin making her way towards the edge of the tent, “You think I’m happy to have to be sent down here? I just want to get this over with.”

The guards glanced at each other, confused.

“Huh?” said one.

“Are you slow or something, buddy? I have to make a status report on the generator. It’s only got so much juice in it, don't you know that? I’m supposed to take a look and see how soon to get the spellbinder down here to charge it back up,” Lightning said.

“Do you have authorization?” asked one of the guards, dryly.

“Uh…yeah, of course, I…” Lightning said, before she noticed Wallflower lingering by the edge of the crowd near the tent out of the corner of her eyes. A smile curled onto Lightning’s lips, “Yeah! Here, take a look.”

One of the guards stepped forward, as Lightning began digging through her jacket pocket. Her hoof emerged, empty, but swinging, colliding into the guard’s face with an audible crack. The guard fell backwards, unconscious, and the other guards around the tent all sprang alert, darting towards her.

With their attention diverted, Wallflower took a great deep breath and began shuffling nervously towards the tent opening. They won’t see me. They won’t see me.

She watched on as Lightning was lost to the scrum, a cavalcade of clanging metal and hooves and snow. Wallflower knew she’d have to hurry before more guards arrived, and so she stopped her dawdling, slipping inside the tent.

The tent was spacious, but deserted, lit by ground-bound torches and occupied only by tables blanketed in parchment.

At the end of the tent, she saw what could only be the generator Sunset had described - a glowing pink jewel fixed to a golden mount, ornate and sturdy and as large as a full-grown pony.

Wallflower approached the jewel, mesmerized, before the sound of Lightning’s struggling outside reminded her to hasten herself.

Wallflower knocked gently on the jewel, which began to vibrate in its mount. Wallflower retracted her hoof, terrified of provoking some alarm system, but nothing came.

Wallflower sighed and bit her lip, before shoving the mount over into the snow. But, to her horror, the jewel kept glowing, and nothing seemed to change.

Wallflower yelped when the tent flap burst open, and Lightning came stumbling in, bruised with a black-eye, and bloodied across her foreleg.

“How’s it coming?” she asked, wiping blood from her snout, "Dude. I think my nose is broken."

Two guards rushed in after her, tackling her to the ground and beating on her with mailed hooves. Wallflower winced at the sounds they made.

“Uhhhh, Lightning it won’t break!” Wallflower said, as she began stomping on the jewel, to no avail.

Lightning grunted and kicked at a guard, tossing teeth through the air and staining the snow red. Lightning grabbed the other by his throat and threw his head into one of the table legs nearby, and then again a second time, until she felt him go limp in her grasp, unconscious. Lightning tore off his helmet and tossed it over her head towards Wallflower.

“Use that!” Lightning yelled, before the other guard’s hoof caught her in the gut.

Wallflower watched the helmet land in the snow in front of her. She felt her heart sink at the sight. I can’t do this!

“Oh please, take your time!” Lightning yelled, throttling the guard as he kept on swinging his hoof into her face, over and over.

Wallflower scooped up the helmet and knelt down in front of the jewel. She raised it up in the air and swung down, as hard as she could. She thought she heard a crack, but after taking a closer look she found the jewel unmarked.

“C’mon!” Wallflower groaned. She mustered up another swing and threw the helmet down again, this time partially denting its rim. But this time she was sure she heard a crack, and, glancing down, she saw the beginnings of a splinter in its top-facing facet. Grinning, Wallflower swung down again, and again, and again, harder and faster and with all the fury she could muster. And on the seventh swing, the jewel had nearly snapped in half, and its glow cut out like a shattered bulb.

“Lightning! I did it! I think! Lightning!” Wallflower cried, but Lightning did not answer. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lightning lying in the snow, with five spears pointed at her neck. Rows upon rows of guards were filing into the room, all with their weapons drawn.

Wallflower dropped the helmet into the snow, as her eyes went wide.

“Take her,” growled one of the guards, as they all began to advance forwards.

Wallflower thought about running, or fighting, but she found herself stuck in place instead, frozen, as still as a pane of glass.

She shut her eyes, and when she opened them she expected to be thrown down to the ground and put in chains. But instead she felt the frozen air draw back, and a strange sort of heat rushed through her, and when she opened her eyes she saw the beginnings of a golden glow, a flash of lightning inside the tent. She was blinded for a moment, and when her vision returned she saw two ponies had arrived in front of her, standing over an ashy blotch in the snow.

Sunset Shimmer’s horn dimmed as she glanced over at Wallflower, and meanwhile Suri beside her shot Lightning a disapproving glare.

“Is that Suns-” attempted one of the guards, as he and the others all began to back away in terror. But it was too late; Sunset’s horn was already alight.

“Sunset! Don’t hurt them,” Wallflower yelled.

Sunset ignored her, as her horn began burning brighter.

“Don’t!” Wallflower begged.

Lightning shut her eyes and braced herself, hoping she wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire of whatever spell Sunset was conjuring.

But the blast never came, nor the fire, nor the screams. Instead the guards all dropped their spears all at once, and their eyes seemed to glaze over.

Sunset’s horn was still glowing, as she eyed them all down.

“You’ll remember nothing of the past thirty minutes,” Sunset said, “You’ll assume all is well and carry about your day as normal.”

Some of the guards repeated her commands verbatim then, while others seemed so affected by Sunset’s mind magic that they could only manage to babble and drool.

Sunset left them as they were, before she turned back towards the jewel. She ignited her horn again, and Wallflower watched her hard work was all undone, and the jewel was instantly repaired and restored to its former luster.

“Nice job,” Sunset smiled, “All of you.”

Suri trotted over to help Lightning up to her hooves.

“Why is it you only know how to solve problems with your hooves?” Suri asked, dryly.

“It worked, kinda, didn’t it?” Lightning smiled, wiping the blood off her mouth, “How do I look?”

Suri eyed her up and down.

“It’s an improvement.”

The tent flap flipped open, and all four tensed up, facing their new arrival ready for a fight.

But it was not a royal guard, they quickly discovered, but rather a pony dressed in a black coat and tie.

Sunset switched her horn off, while Wallflower sighed in relief.

“Erased?” Sunset asked.

“Bingo,” replied the blackcoat. He was a stallion, an earth pony with a tan coat and dark brown mane. He was rather dull looking, Wallflower thought, which she supposed was optimal for a spy.

“I’m Lackluster,” he introduced, “We were hoping to catch you outside and help you get in here, but I guess you guys like to do it your way.”

“Get used to it. You’ve got a place we can stay?” Sunset asked.

“Yeah, I’ll take you there. We’ve got a layout plan of the mansion they’re holding the ceremony at, and we’re setting up surveillance now. We don’t have much time to prepare. Only until tomorrow night,” he said, before glancing at the still-frozen squadron of royal guards, “These guys aren’t going to be problems, are they?”

“They’ll be fine. Let’s not wait around here for more trouble,” Sunset suggested.

Lackluster nodded, gesturing for them to follow him.

On their way out, Lightning could not help herself from shoving one of the frozen guards over, satisfied with herself for taking revenge.

Trotting through the camp and towards the town proper, Wallflower hung back with Sunset, who took extra care to hide her face under the hood of a blue winter coat.

“Thanks for the save,” Wallflower said.

“Don’t mention it,” Sunset said.

“...You’re nervous?” Wallflower noticed. Sunset tensed up, but smiled a little, amused by how easily Wallflower seemed able to read her.

“There’s more ponies here than I thought there’d be,” Sunset said, quietly so that only Wallflower could hear, “I don’t…I don’t want things to get out of hoof. Like in Ponyville.”

Wallflower felt her lips tighten.

“I told myself I wouldn’t let that happen again,” Sunset said, “No matter how good it felt to get back at Twilight. No matter how easy it was to lose control. I told myself I’d be stronger, that I could save what scraps of who I used to be, that I still had left. But you saw the way those guards looked at me, just today. What I tell myself doesn’t matter. What I am is what matters. Some things you can’t come back from. Not everypony gets to be saved.”

“Maybe,” Wallflower said, “But that’s up to you, nopony else. I know who you are, you're our friend. Me and Suri and Lightning and Bon Bon and Kicks and Scootaloo, we want to help you. But you need to help yourself, too.”

“I want to try,” Sunset said, “I do. But I get reminded of Twilight, and that’s when I fuck up. If Redshift really does show up tomorrow, I’m afraid the same thing will happen. But we’ve beaten her once. I can do it again.”

“We had Starlight with us, last time,” Wallflower recalled, hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Sunset said, “So this time there won’t be anypony holding me back.”

“You have to be the one to do that,” Wallflower said, “You can control yourself. I know you can. You’re not finished until you’re finished.”

Sunset glanced at her, and nodded, as her breath began to quicken.

“We came here for Scootaloo. Fight for her,” Wallflower said, “Fight for us.”

The red brick manor was baking in the sun, and against the sand he felt the heat run through his hooves. The sky was a merciless blue, without a wisp of cloud in sight. Bandolier rubbed some dirt into his hooves, and eyed the six gladiators waiting there in the sandpit.

Ambrosius’ arena paled in comparison to the mighty Pit where the Great Games were to be had, though the warriors inside it were fearsome enough of a sight on their own.

The first was a zebra stallion, a muscled beast with a mane cut short and a pair of sad eyes, called Shujaa. The zebra was all hard muscle, yet he appeared small standing next to the might of the hulking Blacklander brute called Krieger, clean shaven and with a short head of navy-blue hair over his coat of faint, pale blue. Then there was the barbarian mare, Amalza, who hardly spoke any language other than her own. She wore a pale bronze coat and a long, curly black mane that touched her shoulders, and she had brown eyes. She wore a tight black leather skirt and a woven brown cloth crop-top, and wielded a huge spear.

The other three were all Erisian gutter rats, sharp-toothed and feral, and eager to tear into the fresh meat.

Us, Bandolier meant. He glanced at Cloudy beside him, who was looking to Ambrosius nearby for the signal. This was only meant to be practice, Bandolier reminded himself, to size up the new recruits. They were all meant to work together when the real games began. Strength is the only thing they’ll respond to, he thought.

Ambrosius, who was sitting nearby a pair of servants fanning him off with palm-tree leaves, gave a nod, and Cloudy took the first step forward. Bandolier rushed ahead of him, and it was him who first ignited his horn to cast a shockwave towards the three Erisians, who had sprung out from the line like hunting hounds. The ensuing concussive blasts knocked all three back into the dirt, and Krieger gave a mighty laugh then, kicking one of the squirming Erisians out of his way. They were slow to get up, and so Amalza opted to step forward next.

She arrived quicker than Bandolier had expected, and he did not have time to cast a spell before her spear was tearing through the air towards his throat. Darting to the side, he cast a shield spell to block her following strike, and then threw himself back as Krieger ran towards him. The brute tackled him to the ground, though Bandolier was able to throw him off with another spell. He heard Amalza’s spear whistle through the air towards the back of his skull, and, concentrating as hard as he could, he was able to grasp the shaft mid-air in an aura of magic. He swung it around so hard the barbarian hardly understood what was happening, when the end of the shaft slammed into her cheekbone, knocking her into the dust.

Bandolier turned back to Krieger, who promptly grabbed him by the throat, lifting him up and throwing him into the ground.

“Puny Equestrian,” he laughed. Before he could stomp in his face, Bandolier brightened his horn to cast a second sun, blinding the brute and sending him teetering away. Krieger landed on his back, hard, roaring and raging and holding a hoof to his eyes.

Bandolier turned to Shujaa, who had Cloudy beaten and on the ground. But, unlike the others, Shujaa had no intention of killing his opponent outright, offering instead a hoof up. Shujaa glanced at Bandolier, who was filthy, sweaty, and out of breath, and Bandolier swore he saw the zebra almost smile and nod in approval.

“Dirty unicorn tricks,” roared Krieger, who was still rubbing at his eyes, “Equestrian dog.” He spat at the ground and stormed off, while Amalza nearby pulled herself up to her hooves, rubbing her cheek.

“You fight well,” she admitted, eyeing him.

And finally there was Ambrosius in his chair, whose lips had curled into a smile.

Bandolier had been invited to join the fat lord for dinner that night, alone in his third-story chamber that oversaw the pit below and the rest of his redstone manse. The city and the sea glowed gold in the dusk.

There were other servants in the chamber with them, which was flooded with the evening sunlight, stained red and pink from the sea-breeze-blown curtains. But they were so stony and silent that they were virtually invisible.

“My champions,” Ambrosius said, from one end of the table where he sliced into the roasted vegetable pie, “Made fools of by an Equestrian castaway, sold to me as a slave. Ours was no chance meeting.”

Bandolier bit a chunk off a bread roll; he had eaten nothing but raw fish and mold during the voyage on Ursus’ ship, and the taste of real food was both a relief and a cause for a new knot in his gut.

“I imagine the real competition won’t be quite the same,” Bandolier said.

“If I had the resources to train twenty more like I've trained those three, creatures would be waving red from the jade gates to the mountains of the moon. But the palace spurns me, and so I must rely on the lord of gifts.”

“The only gift he’s given me is dead friends,” Bandolier said, “I saw him murder foals.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect.” Ambrosius smiled. “Greater peril awaits you. In my business, life is cheap, and it is neither wise nor profitable to invest too much in any one slave. But my venture rests on your shoulders, it would seem, and so I’ll ask what I should not … what is it you want?”

“It wasn’t my choice to be sold like a dog,” Bandolier said.

“No, but I see the gleam in your eyes, the spark of ambition….To do what, I ask? To fight?” Ambrosius asked, “To survive?”

“My whole life has been fighting,” Bandolier said, “Fighting for what ponies told me to fight for. But none of that seems right anymore. I fought for friendship, and my friends left me to die. I fought for my country, and now it’s fallen into the hooves of killers and crooks. I wanted to try to do what I could, but to do it alone, it….It just seemed pointless. The Equestria I wanted to fight for was gone. That place that’s left -- I didn’t belong there anymore.”

Ambrosius sighed and rose from the dinner table, before trotting over the window. The sea breeze passed by the red pillars, and over the front tower gates Ambrosius could see the entirety of the city, its streets a myriad of torchlights and music.

“There, anypony can belong,” Ambrosius said, gazing through the window. “The Pit of Zababa.” He spoke the name with cautious reverence. His eyes ascended up to scale the massive walls of the pit, which loomed only a few miles away. “80,000 Nautileans watching you, watching your every movement, every decision, every risk. They fall silent the moment before you strike, and then when it’s done, they rise….they rise up like a wave against the harbor, bursting apart to cry out your name.”

“You fought,” Bandolier presumed.

Ambrosius paused.

“Yes,” he answered quickly. His lips quivered as a thousand memories overcame him, and he turned around then, while Bandolier glanced at the floor.

“You fought your way to freedom,” Bandolier continued.

“A long time ago,” Ambrosius said, “The Conqueror, not long after she first came to power, she…she summoned me to her, and she touched me on the shoulder. You must understand, for a high-born to touch a slave…It was unheard of. Now all of us are free, thanks to her, all but the unlucky few. This pit is all that remains of the old world, here, the Games. The powers of the West bent to her every whim, but for one exception. The Games, they crave too much.”

Bandolier laughed.

“You know the Conqueror?” Bandolier bellowed.

“She touched me once, is all,” Ambrosius snapped.

“You asked me what I want,” Bandolier said, approaching him, “I want to stand before the Conqueror, as you did.”

“Then listen to me,” Ambrosius said, “I wasn’t the best because I was the strongest, or quickest, or that I craved it the most. I was the best because I won the crowd. You can win ninety-nine battles in that pit only to die in the hundredth, but win the hearts of the crowd in your first fight, and you might go free the very next day.”

“You make it sound simple,” Bandolier said.

“It’s simple to say, not to do,” Ambrosius said, “In the pit, creatures can only think about survival. But a champion is there to entertain, not only survive. Do both, and you might just earn your chance.”

Bandolier hesitated, and let out a breath.

“I’ll win the crowd. I’ll give them something they’ve never seen before,” Bandolier said.

Ambrosius laughed.

“Very well, Equestrian, then we go off to battle together,” Ambrosius grinned.

His cigarette left a swirl of smoke in the air, before it landed in the snow, to be promptly trampled under his hoof. Blondie scratched at his stubble and checked over his shoulder. He had to glance twice back at Rainbow Dash, whose blonde-dyed mane made for such an efficient disguise that even he was fooled for a moment. Salt Shaker walked beside him, with flakes of snow trapped in the silver streaks of his wooly beard. The giant did not seem to feel the cold, Blondie noticed, enviously.

They had arrived in Aquila that morning. Salt had spent most of the bits they had brought on bribing the guards at the barricade. A small price to pay for what fortune awaited them, Salt had assured.

The town was nowhere near large enough to support this many creatures, Blondie thought. There were soldiers building rudimentary shelters to take care of the overdraft, though in the meantime lines had sprouted out all throughout the town and the camp that surrounded it. Blondie did not mind the company; they would have a much easier time going unnoticed. There was safety in numbers too, to the relief of all present. Everypony here seemed to have their own reason to be afraid.

Salt seemed to know exactly where to lead them, as Blondie and Rainbow trotted on after, stealing a glance up at the great mansion up on the pine-tree hill where the ceremony was surely going to be held. Blondie wondered how many in this crowd were liars like himself, and how many of them had their sights set on the same prize, the briefcase. He thought of Brandy, too, who was sure to be here somewhere, keeping herself safe and out of sight. He was glad for that. The sooner she was rid of that case, the sooner she would be safe. He almost wanted to laugh at the thought; he knew it well by now, that there was no safety. Nowhere to run to.

Salt brought the trio to the door of a tavern in the middle of the town, an old shanty place of frost-bitten wood and tile, where a leather sign hung over the doorpost, and inscribed upon it was The Captain’s Daughter.

Inside, the tavern was a bustling uproar of music, ale, and firelight; great chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, a hundred lights in all, casting a golden glow on all who entered past the hazy veil of sweat and booze and singing. The band in the corner were all smiles, plucking and blowing and banging away, but the patrons themselves matched them in volume, hollering at each other from across the room, crowding around leg-wrestles and drinking contests, or dancing in the center floor in a shambly embrace.

But when the first few pairs of eyes landed on the giant, the music began to wither, and the laughter died off. And the drinks were all set down, the cigarettes were ripped out of mouths, and even the creaking of the chandeliers seemed to wind down to a whisper.

Blondie shot a nervous look at Rainbow, while Salt Shaker hardly batted an eye. He even cracked a grin, glancing around the room like an old pony looking upon his grandchildren.

“My dear friends!”

The crowd returned to its uproar then, with all those present rushing towards Salt by the doors.

“I’m buying you a drink you old fucker.”

“Luna be good. We thought’d you’d been killed.”

“You look like shit, boss. For Celestia’s sake.”

Blondie and Rainbow lingered back by the doors while Salt was swept away and the music returned in full swing.

“I’ll buy you something,” Blondie offered.

“I don’t know. I think I might need a clear head,” Rainbow said.

“I feel exactly the opposite,” Blondie said, taking Rainbow by the hoof and leading her off to join Salt at a table near the bar.

While Blondie had to buy the pair drinks, Salt had already been accommodated, handsomely, by his host of friends.

“All of my friends from Manehattan,” Salt explained, “Blondie will remember some from the Black Hoof, all those boys who ran off with me away from poor dead Crozer."

“And Undergrounders too,” Blondie said, warily, noticing a few familiar faces by the bar.

“Yes. Isn’t it marvelous? A year ago all these ponies wanted nothing more than to kill each other. Now they’ve seen the error of their ways, and want to kill other ponies instead. It’s rather beautiful, I think,” Salt laughed, “Crozer and Trench led by fear. The loyalty they earned was begrudging, and it got both of them killed. Crozer, Trench, they woke up every day to a grim grey world and let it get the better of them. But it did not have to be that way. Look around, and you’ll see the beginning of something new. A life full of risk still, yes, but risk that pays off with music and laughter and joy. That’s why we’re here, my friends.”

“You seem confident,” Blondie said, “You hardly spoke the whole way up here. I was beginning to think your nerves were finally getting the better of you.”

Salt laughed and waved him off.

“If you stare at the sun too long, you may go blind,” Salt said, “But if you never open your eyes, you’ll never know any light. I’ve been living in the dark so long I forgot this kind of feeling, Blondie. The rush, the fear, it’s….Rejuvenating, I dare say. Give them the world, you said once, yes? Here, now, this is just a taste.”

“That’s good to hear. I’d hate for you to crack a hip while we’re making off with the briefcase and the seven million,” Blondie chuckled.

Salt’s smile faded.

“My friends," Salt said, "I won't be going in alone, as you can see. There's no need for you to join me tomorrow night."

“I thought you liked our chances?” Rainbow asked.

“I do,” Salt said, “I like them quite a bit, in fact. If everything goes as I’ve planned, Jet Set will wind up with nothing and watch as I take his entire empire for myself. But I’ve been in this business a great many years, and I cannot say I can’t fathom something going wrong. Believe it or not, even I am capable of error. I’ll be quicker on my hooves without having to worry about the two of you.”

“It’s sweet of you, Salt,” Rainbow smiled, “But I think you’re gonna need us. And I’ve got to be there to see that smug fuck’s shit-eating grin get wiped off his face. Once you have your money, the briefcase goes with me, got it?"

"After tomorrow night, all the bits it's worth will be laid out plain," Salt said, "I came for the fortune, my dear. The case is yours."

"What will you do with it?" Blondie asked.

"Get it as far from Equestria as possible," Rainbow said, "Whatever's in there, it can't be good."

"You don't need to go yourself," Salt said, "Truly. I'm asking you not to. I'll bring you the case after, I'll keep my word."

"That's not what I'm afraid of," Rainbow said, "I'm afraid of you screwing up somehow and getting yourself killed."

“We’re partners, Salt,” Blondie said in agreement, “You need us."

Salt sighed and finished his drink.

“Then for Luna’s sake, drink with me. It may very well be our last chance.”

Specks of dust danced in the light of his lantern, before settling onto the old yellow parchment maps and road-weary letters he was examining.

Two weeks had passed since High Water, and still the dragon lord’s mark had not healed. Razer. That was his name. Vertigo felt his stomach churn as the pain returned in his forehead and around his horn, which had turned black with corruption. Since a few days ago, he could hardly cast even the simplest of spells.

Dodge City had taken longer than he’d have liked. They’d have won in half the time if he had been out there leading the charge himself, but Delphi was adamant that he kept himself out of the front lines, to prevent his wound from worsening. Vertigo gritted his teeth, as his head began to swell again. What kind of captain was he if he could not lead his own ponies?

The garrison at Dodge City had belonged to Captain Whiskey Barrel, who took his orders from Hawkbit, that sniveling runt whose meager attempt at a defensive front had collapsed almost as soon as Ember’s army arrived to test them.

Whatever loyalty Whiskey had once owed Hawkbit, the moment he saw Vertigo and the Greens arrive over the hills, he struck down his royal banners and raised the green flag instead. Vertigo had never been fond of Whiskey Barrel. A drunken, lecherous fool. But the city loves him, and so I must, too.

Most of the dragons’ strength remained with their empress, Cinder, as Vertigo had quickly learned; Dodge City and High Water seemed more like distractions meant to keep him preoccupied. Was I a fool to take her bait? No, he told himself. He had saved both cities, and thousands of ponies’ lives. For weeks these ponies’ pleas had gone unanswered, until one reply came, and a captain who still cared.

There had been three dragon lords in command of the siege at Dodge City, and only one left alive after the siege had been broken. Sear was reported to have been speared through the throat, and Sawtooth had been trampled to death. Revel, Chief of the Moon Brothers, had been kept alive, and Vertigo had tasked three of Whiskey Barrel’s more competent lieutenants, Felicity, Pepperjack, and Caliber Cage, to handle the interrogations. Whiskey, meanwhile, was tasked to begin hosting the celebratory feasts, as suggested by Delphi. Vertigo had not meant to attend, though Delphi had convinced him. “The city needs to see you. They need to see your face. They need to know who it is that saved them.”

And so they had; when the captain’s chariot rolled through during the parade, the whole of the city was calling his name, waving banners of green and stretching out their hooves towards him. But for all the faces he had seen in those crowds, the only one that lingered in his mind was Delphi’s. It was some devilry, he thought, how she had bewitched him, how she consumed his every thought.

Growling and setting his maps down, he leapt up and out of his tent. He did not feel in control of himself then, stumbling out through the camp, ignoring his soldiers’ bows and salutes.

He found Delphi in her tent, a magnificent palisade of purple silks. To his horror, she was not alone. He recognized a few creatures right away - various aristocrats of Dodge City, along with Hydrangea, Whiskey Barrel, and his own lieutenant, Drake Destrier. The small crowd all turned their attention towards him when he entered, though his eyes never left Delphi.

“Vertigo!” Delphi exclaimed, before her guests moved aside for her to prance up to him and greet him with a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s a bit late for company, no?” Vertigo asked her, under his breath.

“Then why pay me a visit?” Delphi smirked.

“Captain,” came a voice from behind the crowd. Vertigo’s eyes darted up away from Delphi, what was once an impossible task, as he recognized the pony who spoke. The yellow-green earth pony was tall enough to peer over the crowd.

“Featherglass?” Vertigo said, aghast. Vertigo smiled; he had always been fond of the royal treasurer, though he could not help but be suspicious. He hardly trusted anypony anymore, anyways. Not even his own lieutenants. Nopony, nopony except for Delphi and himself.

“Forgive me, I didn’t think we’d get to meet until tomorrow,” Featherglass said. Vertigo noticed Featherglass’ gaze shift up towards his horn, before just as subtly retreating back to eye level.

Vertigo felt his face harden, and he flinched. I cannot appear weak.

“I hadn’t been expecting you,” Vertigo said, glancing at Hydrangea, “If you’ve come for the boy, I regret to tell you he’s chosen his country over his princess.”

Featherglass raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, well, his princess will be most grieved to hear that, given what peril awaits her and her ivory city,” Featherglass said, “...I should congratulate you. You’ve won twice where nopony thought you would. Still, Twilight underestimates you.”

“And she overestimates herself,” Vertigo said, “Why have you come here? To pick up a spear and join me?”

Featherglass smiled.

“A spear would be wasted on me. But consider instead, I could offer you ten thousand spears.”

The small crowd began snickering in amusement at such a proposition. But Vertigo did not laugh, and neither did Delphi, who stood near him, her foreleg wrapped around his. Featherglass’s smile never left his face, not for a moment.

“Canterlot is weak,” Featherglass said, allowing his words to hang for a moment, “The dragons are on the march, and as things stand now, they will lay siege to the city and raze it to ruin. It’s my belief that you and only you can change that.”

Delphi glanced at Vertigo, who nodded his head.

“We’ll do what we can,” Vertigo said, “My task is not finished until all the dragons have left these lands alone. And I will not let the Dragon Queen escape justice for all the blood she’s spilled.”

“It’s not your courage I came here to question,” Featherglass said, “Or your determination. It’s your ambition.”

“I’m a soldier, not a politician. You learned to have ambition, but I learned duty. I live for nothing else,” Vertigo said.

“Then prove it,” Featherglass said, “Twilight Sparkle’s grasp on the throne is far more tenuous than you might think. Her mind is scattered, her allies are turning against her, and her armies are stretched thin. Regardless of what you believe happened to Bronze Beam and all those poor dead souls at Ponyville….it is not beyond reason to question if our princess is the right pony to lead us onward. Ponies can scarcely remember what it was like to live in peace, when harmony endured in this land. But I’ve seen harmony again, in this city, here. And it was your doing, Captain. So maybe Equestria does still have a chance - not under the reign of a wicked dragon queen, or a mad princess. But a captain. A king.”

Grave silence fell upon the tent. Vertigo did not notice Delphi staring up at him with wide eyes.

“....Mad or not. I'm no match for Twilight Sparkle,” Vertigo said, quietly, “My horn, it’s….And even so, I….What you ask is…I have no right.”

“Might makes right. A window has opened for you,” Featherglass said, “At the height of the chaos, then and only then can you do what is right. Your duty does not end with the dragons' defeat. It ends with the throne.”

“You’re mad. March with my army alone? Against the dragons and Twilight?” Vertigo stammered.

“And my spears, don’t forget them,” Featherglass grinned.

“Whose spears?” Delphi demanded.

“March on Canterlot, and I’ll show you,” Featherglass said.

Vertigo sighed, and glanced at the ground.

“We’ll discuss this more tomorrow. My friends, I would have a moment with Delphi, alone,” Vertigo said.

The ponies all went about setting their drinks down and making for the exit, whispering to each other. Featherglass remained, briefly, before trotting out with the hints of a grin on his face.

When they were gone, Vertigo let out a gasp for air, and collapsed into one of the seats, exhausted.

Delphi eyed him, and he noticed some contempt buried in her gaze.

“What is it?” he asked, weakly.

“We’ve come all this way,” Delphi said, “And since your first step on the road to war I’ve believed in you. Was I wrong? Was this all a mistake?”

“Don’t speak riddles,” Vertigo grunted, “I never said I wouldn’t march.”

“You can have your victory, you can have a hundred more, what will any of it be worth if you abandon your chance to destroy our true enemy?”

Vertigo rose from his seat, suddenly.

“Cinder is my true enemy. I have no love for Twilight, but if we can make common cause against Cinder, then-”

Delphi smacked him across the face.

“Listen to yourself. Common cause? With the treacherous witch whose machinations have brought the world to the edge of ruin? The dragons would never have thirsted for ponies’ blood if not for Twilight Sparkle taking their empress’s head to begin with.Nothing is made right until both of them are destroyed. I know the road ahead seems uncertain, but listen to your heart, and listen to me.”

“Destroy them both?” Vertigo laughed, “We are lucky we even took this city, if you want the truth. I might have killed Razer, but he's far from finished with me….His mark's cut deep. My magic is gone. I can't destroy them. I can't save the city, either.”

“I’ve fallen in love with a coward, I see now,” Delphi sighed, “Equestria’s fate lies in your hooves, Vertigo. It’s late, and you’re tired, I know. You’ve saved thousands of ponies, but there are tens of thousands more who still need you. Will you abandon them?”

Vertigo did not answer, glancing over at the flames of a nearby torch.

Delphi scoffed.

“I expect an answer in the morning,” she scoffed, before storming out of the room.

Vertigo sighed under his breath and watched her leave, before sitting himself down in one of the chairs by the torch. He sat back and shut his eyes, exhausted. While his eyes were closed, he heard the tent flaps rustle again.

“What is it now?” he growled.

But it was not Delphi who had emerged from the black of night, but rather a pony he did not recognize.

The stranger was a unicorn, draped in a muddy black cloak, and half-obscured underneath his hood. He had a great white and grey beard, and golden eyes.

“Who are you?” Vertigo demanded. The unicorn was old, and seemingly no threat, though his presence here was inexplicable, “How did you get in here?”

“On my own four legs, of course,” the strange old pony replied, “We have never met, have we?”

“...No,” Vertigo said, no he felt a strange sense of familiarity in the old pony’s face. Vertigo nervously rose up to his hooves. He hardly posed much of a threat with his corrupted horn, but the old pony did not have to know that.

“You’re afraid, Captain. Don’t be. I come as a friend,” the old pony said in a low voice.

“You come as a stranger,” Vertigo said, “Or as an assassin, yes? I didn’t think I’d have gotten so deep under Twilight’s skin so quickly.”

The old pony laughed, in a low, gravelly bellow.

“You’re mistaken,” the old pony said, “I have seen you in the flames, Vertigo. You come armed and armored, stern and fierce, your horn dripping blood, blind to the black strings that grasp you at ankle and neck, that make you dance.”

“Dance?” Vertigo bristled, “Your flames lied. I was not made for dancing, and I am no pony’s puppet.” He pulled some of gauze away from his scalp and revealed his horn. “Here. Is this what you wanted?” The new bandages were already discolored by blood and pus.

The old pony approached, stroking his beard and eyeing the rot at the base of Vertigo’s horn, and the blackened, congealed blood that was oozing from where Razer’s ax had struck.

“If you allow me, I will heal this,” the old pony said,

“The doctors have done all they can. Why should I think a wandering wizard can do better?” Vertigo laughed. The old pony ignored him.

“I will need a blade. Silver would be best, but iron will serve. A fire as well. There will be pain. Terrible pain, such as you have never known. But when we are done, your horn will be returned to you.”

Vertigo wavered. His horn was all he needed, Vertigo considered. All that would be left was Canterlot. Twilight. The throne.

Vertigo grinned, as if he had heard a joke only he could understand the meaning of.

“I laugh at pain. You'll have what you require … but if you fail, and if my horn isn't healed, I'll kill you myself.”

The old pony bowed, his golden eyes shining. “So be it.”

The captain was not seen again that night, or the day after, but as the hours passed the soldiers of his Green Army reported hearing the sound of wild laughter coming from the captain’s tent, laughter deep and dark and mad, and when Nebulous Gale and Drake Destrier tried to find the entrance they found it had disappeared. Later singing was heard, a strange high wailing song in a tongue nopony knew. That was when the rats fled the camp, screeching as they hurried out into the city streets beyond. Whiskey Barrel had mustered up some swords to investigate, while Delphi withdrew herself to her own tent, believing Vertigo to have gone mad.

Come sunset, as the swollen sun turned the sky a deep and bloody red, Vertigo came back outside. He wore no clothes, and his entire face was red with blood. Whiskey and Gale and Drake were all there, staring on in horror. And as the other soldiers all gathered, whispering and trading glances, Vertigo lifted his head to reveal a charred and blackened horn, where wisps of smoke drew out into the air.

Vertigo’s eyes passed over them all. The soldiers all seemed to quiver and wince before his gaze, as if they were staring right into the sun. Some fell to their knees, some ran off sick to their stomachs, but most just stared with wide eyes and tight grips on their spears.

Vertigo breathed in a mouthful of dust. There was a power in him he had never known before. The old pony emerged next and stood at his side. He stroked his beard and eyed Vertigo from a distance, before glancing back at the crowd of soldiers.

Vertigo took a step forward, and most of the soldiers stepped back in terror. Delphi had appeared by the edge of the crowd, holding a hoof to her mouth, on the verge of tears. Featherglass was beside her, holding a curious look on his face.

Vertigo’s eyes twitched, and his jaw was locked for a moment before he could first speak.

“You all here with me,” Vertigo said, quietly at first, “You who stormed the breach at High Water and fell upon the walls of that great city there. You who followed me through mountains and deserts and forests and rivers and the great battles of our lives … Did so for the memory of a land that once was. A land that’s been lost to tyrants and killers and thieves. That land is not gone. Not yet. Where we march, that land is born again. The rot that has brought Equestria to flame and ruin began in one place, and there is where it must end. There is where our mission is complete. Our victory will not be earned by strength in numbers - we don’t have it. It will not be earned through tricks or deception. It will be earned through the courage of ponies, which will not fail, not this time.”

The crowd began to stir then, as more and more soldiers gathered from all over the camp.

“March with me, and we will see this land free of the dragons’ wrath, and I will take the Empress’ head myself,” Vertigo exclaimed.

The crowd roared in reply, while Vertigo’s horn ignited, brighter and hotter than it ever had before. And all those there were in awe of it, while Vertigo’s heart began beating faster.

“March with me, and we will see the tyrant Twilight Sparkle’s crown struck off her head,” Vertigo declared. The soldiers all roared again in reply, this time igniting their horns or spreading their wings or raising their weapons into the air.

“Our fight will be hard. And I will not look upon anypony any differently, if they should decide to remain here. But me, I am restless for revenge. Revenge for Equestria. For the sons and daughters sent to die in Twilight Sparkle’s war. For all those ravaged and killed and made to live in fear for the dragons’ wrath. My friends….I have no right to ask this of you, but I must. Will you follow me one final time?”

The crowd, almost unanimously, gave a raucous cheer, again waving their weapons in the air. Delphi was beaming ear to ear, and so was Featherglass, nodding his head in approval.

The old pony beside him laughed, as did Vertigo, who could hardly contain himself as he belted out once more.

“We march to Canterlot!” the captain roared, “We march for the throne!”

Bon Bon leaned against the gun-metal railing. Her hangover had lasted for days, and she wanted nothing more than to find a bed to call her new home.

Her host suffered a similar affliction; Alias was an old stallion, thin but not exactly frail, with a greying, tannish mane that had receded up his scalp. He appeared twenty years older since their last meeting, the day Bon Bon resigned from the agency.

None of the Erased agents seemed pleased to see her, their ex-colleague. Ponies in the Erased were expected to serve for life, but Bon Bon’s cover lived a better life than she ever had, and so she opted to slip right in, leave everything behind, and live as ‘Bon Bon’ forever, together with Lyra.

Maybe if she had stayed on board and abandoned that chance, then Lyra would never have been killed. I chose to love her. And she died for it.

She had not been glad to have been stuck on babysitting duty, but Sunset had insisted that the Erased take care of Gilded Lily, and Kickstart was in no condition to leave the city.

It was Slick who had led them to the Erased’s Headquarters, a labyrinthine compound buried several stories underground. When Bon Bon had first arrived, carrying Kickstart on a makeshift cot behind her, none of the sleep-deprived agents seemed to be able to take their eyes off him. The monster that had escaped, she heard them whisper, #67. That’s #67.

Bon Bon had focused most of her attention on keeping Kickstart safe. He woke up intermittently, panicked and in agony, before he fell under again, never aware that he had been brought back to the place he had fought for years to escape from. The doctors said they would do what they could, though Bon Bon insisted she would never leave his side. It was these ponies who did this to him, as Lightning Dust had reminded her forty times already, and she could not leave him unsupervised.

A skeleton crew of agents was all that remained here; most agents had been deployed to start building and renovating safehouses and underground bunkers all over Equestria, for the purpose of housing refugees fleeing the war.

Through the video feed on the titanic projector that consumed an entire wall facing the command center, Bon Bon watched the grave procession, the death march of six thousand strong, that fearsome host belonging to the dragon queen, Cinder, whose wrath had swept through the South. Behind the march, the southern sky was black with smoke, from the dragons’ second assault of Ashford. Commander Hawkbit had committed himself there, him and his Red Regiment. The battle lasted three days, and it was said that Hawkbit suffered a grave injury on the second, scorched by dragonfire such that part of his face was left grossly disfigured.

Cinder had not wasted time pursuing the scattered remnants of Hawkbit’s defeated forces; her eyes were fixed on just one thing, the prize worth more than all of the other victories put together.

Canterlot.

Bon Bon had sat herself down on one of the spinny chairs to watch the live feed, as she munched on a bag of potato chips, with Kickstart’s unconscious body propped up beside her. Every now and then she would reach over to stick a chip in Kickstart’s mouth, though he did not wake. The Erased had stabilized him, though he could not be left outside of the operating room for longer than an hour.

Few they may have been, the agents left in the capital were, for the most part, those who Alias seemed to trust the most. He had sent some agents, Foxtrot and Scorn, to head down the Royal Road and, in addition to the spiked barricades set by the army rangers, they were to go about burying three-hundred landmines, from Ponyville to the mountain rise.

Alias himself seemed to hardly sleep, or even leave the command center. His efforts these past weeks had been largely committed to helping the many refugees of the south, though now all he could focus on was Canterlot.

"You could lend a hoof, instead of just sitting there."

Bon Bon practically jumped out of her chair, when Alias' voice revealed itself behind her.

"You're not my boss anymore, chief," Bon Bon chirped, "My friends, did they get out of the city?"

"They did," Alias confirmed, "I'm putting my trust in them. Does that make me a fool?"

"No, but staying here in this city does," Bon Bon said, "You can't do anything about the dragons once they get here. You don't have an army."

"We can still help," Alias said.

"For every pony you help, you hurt another," Bon Bon said, glancing at Kickstart, "You want him dead still, don't you?"

Alias walked up to lean over the railing.

"I did," Alias said, "Not anymore."

"Why?" Bon Bon demanded, "What changed?"

"Because maybe we don't deserve to get off that easy," Alias said, "Because an unstable lab rat he might be, you and your friends seem to be able to control him, somehow."

"Maybe because we treat him like a pony. You should try it sometime," Bon Bon said.

Alias glared at her.

"You were one our best, it's true," Alias said, "But there were some things you never understood. Things you still don't. You think you can have anything you want. A promotion. A distraction. Lyra Heartstrings. Revenge. Being the good guy. We can either be the good guys, or we can be the ponies who save the world. We can't be both."

"What you did to him, that's saving the world?" Bon Bon asked.

Alias lowered his head.

"I wish we didn't have to," Alias said, "But we did. Twilight Sparkle, Ember, Thorax, Novo, Celestia...If we put all our trust in the ponies we think want to protect us, we're leaving ourselves vulnerable. But I trust us to fight for the ponies of Equestria, only, to do that means showing strength that few ponies possess. So we had to invent our own."

Bon Bon glanced down at Kickstart, who was twitching in his sleep.

"He was the only subject to survive," Alias said, "Though it seems like his time is running out, too."

"There must be something you can do," Bon Bon said.

Alias shook his head.

"We can put him out of his misery. That was I first thought, when he ran off," Alias said, "But now..." His eyes drifted up towards the screen. "Gore said the war was inevitable once. I fought to prove him wrong. I tortured those ponies, I killed friends of mine, all for nothing."

Bon Bon studied Alias, as he leaned in further past the railing.

"But I'll keep trying," Alias said, "Because Equestria still needs us. And I'll be fighting for Equestria, until Twilight Sparkle pays her debts." He glanced down at Kickstart, who twitched again. "Or until I pay my own."

Ten thousand voices echoed all the way across the bay, and there at the base of the Pit was where they roared the loudest. Atop the arena, flags waved in the wind, bearing the banners of Nautilus’ esteemed, noble families. And below in the surrounding streets, creatures of all kinds were flooding into the stadium entrance. There were royal legionnaires in grey armor and red capes parading around the perimeter, and huge elephants trumpeting as they were led through the crowds.

All around the Pit were ancient structures of antiquity, columned temples and huge statues, ornate behemoths that made the creatures in the crowds look like ants.

An iron gate led into a walled-off area adjacent to the Pit; the inscription on the stone archway read LVDVS MAGNVS.

From the bars of the cage that sat in the back of the carriage, Bandolier watched as the iron gate closed behind them. When the carriage had come to a stop, he backed away from the rear door of the cage, where one of Ambrosius’ guards had promptly arrived to release the padlock keeping him trapped.

There were ten others there with him in the cage. Shujaa the zebra had sat across from Bandolier, keeping a watchful eye, while Cloudy had sat beside him. And at the other end was Krieger and Amalza, and all the other slaves that made up Ambrosius’ collection of prime-stock warriors.

“Out!” barked the guard outside, punctuated by the ringing of a bell. The walled-off area was cluttered with passing caravans of rival gladiator teams, racing teams, and other attractions.

Bandolier stepped out into the shadow of the Pit, that loomed overhead like some dark god.

“I never thought creatures could build such things,” Shujaa remarked, marveling at the arena as if it was his first time laying eyes on it. A flock of birds darted up the five stories of sun-baked stone, while storm-clouds lingered up above.

The guards began rushing the ten slaves along through the crowds that had gathered up by the arena gate. One mare had rushed out from the crowd to kiss Bandolier on his cheek, three times in all. An act of pity, Bandolier thought, but he only laughed and continued along.

When they came upon the interior gate, Ambrosius was waiting for them already, and beside him was a pony Bandolier did not recognize, a portly pony with a curly wig and a jowly face. In the entrance area of the arena was where the crowd was thickest, with creatures gathering around betting boards, pointing and waving and throwing their hooves in the air.

“The Conqueror wants real contests,” Ambrosius said to the jowly pony, “And these are my best fighters.”

“The crowd wants spectacle,” the jowly pony corrected, “So the Conqueror gives them spectacle. Massacre counts as spectacle.”

“I won’t send my best fighters out to die at the hands of some supernatural abominations.” Ambrosius growled, before waving to a pony he recognized in the crowd, “You send beggars and thieves to fight the Titans.”

“We’ve done that,” the jowly pony replied.

“If you’re so eager to waste the greatest gladiators in the kingdom, then I want double the rates,” Ambrosius demanded.

“You’ll get what you agreed you’d get,” the jowly pony scolded, “You don’t like it? Then you can crawl back down the sewer drain you popped out of.”

The jowly pony left him with a smirk, while Ambrosius gritted his teeth and muttered some curses under his breath. Only then did he notice that Bandolier and the others had arrived.

“Who exactly are we fighting?” Bandolier asked, warily. Ambrosius glared at him.

“Nevermind who. Come with me, it’s almost time,” Ambrosius said.

Bandolier glanced at Cloudy, hesitantly, but proceeded after Ambrosius.

They were led deeper into the innards of the arena, where tunnels weaved underground, supported by wooden fixtures. In one area they came across the armory, which included bizarre-looking helmets and exotic weaponry.

The armor Ambrosius had given him fit snugly enough, tied with leather straps around his back. The vambraces on his forelegs were lightweight, and he could dart around easily enough as without them. The iron and boiled leather were poor quality, he deduced, and he could not count on any of these gifts to save his life. The horned helmet he had been given was the heaviest piece of equipment, and the noseguard obscured much of his face. His vision was not impaired, though he did have difficulty squeezing his horn into the forehead slot.

The games had begun earlier that day, and so the stadium was already filled to the brim. Or at least, Bandolier thought as much from underground, based on how loud the cheers were.

Bandolier and the other ten slaves were marched towards the wooden elevator, but first they were made to line up on either wall. Ambrosius stood between them all.

“Listen,” he said, as soft as a whisper. And the sound of the crowds seemed to grow louder in response then, “Defeat your enemy. And they will applaud and love you for that. We are all already dead. We cannot choose how we end, but we can choose how we meet it. So that we are remembered for who we are, not how we died.”

Bandolier’s eyes flickered to the ground. He found his resolve then, a course back to the fight he had sought back home. He would fight for the chance to see Equestria restored, someday, somehow. And he needed the Conqueror to do that. He needed to win.

Guards on either side began shouting commands, ushering the ten slaves into the wooden elevator. Bandolier caught one last look from Ambrosius, before the glare of the sun from overhead blinded him.

The elevator ascended.

The arena smelled of roast onions, wine, figs, melons, pecans, peppers, and honeyed locusts. Tens of thousands of ponies’ faces were all peering down on them, as the ten slaves emerged from the elevator platform and began walking towards the center of the Pit.

Across the pit the royal High Priestesses sat in flowing robes of many colors, cluttered around the royal palanquin. The Nautilean elites occupied red and orange benches. The mares were all veiled, and the stallions had brushed and lacquered their manes into horns and spikes. They wore indigo and lilac and purple, or pink and white. The envoys from Saddle Arabia wore gold and orange and filled the box alongside the king and queen, each of them with their servants. Nautileans of lesser birth crowded the upper tiers, more distant from the carnage. Beneath them were the freed ponies and common folk, and sellswords too.

And by the king and queen sat another pony, atop a platform straight ahead from where the slaves had risen out of the ground.

She was larger than an ordinary pony, slender and graceful. Her eyes were violet, her mane like a river current of pink, purple, and blue stardust. Her coat was a deep pink; she was fair of face and youthful. Most bizarrely, her horn was of greater size than any unicorn he had seen before. Her gown was dark purple satin overtop pink silks, billowing out from a plum corset. She seemed to glow in the sunlight, radiant and unmistakable even from a distance. Bandolier knew at once that this was the Conqueror, the empress of the West.

The Conqueror did not sit alone. To her left was the King and Queen of Maretonia, Kyrippos II and Ice Mirror, and to her right, the Caliph of Saddle Arabia, Haakim, and his wife, Amira, and the Zebra Queen, Jahari. And nearby the Conqueror was a pegasus pony, armed as a legionnaire, in silver armor with a deep red crest and cloak. His coat was gold, and Bandolier thought he might have been able to recognize him, if he could have had a closer look.

And near the legionnaire, bent over the mare’s shoulder was Ursus Valentine, still draped in his shirt of iron scales and cloak of blood red silk. Clover was not with him. Ursus had not wasted time earning the Conqueror’s favor, he thought.

But Bandolier could not focus on Ursus; his eyes were drawn only to the Conqueror. With wondrous art her face with all its delicate pallor was suffused with a deep pink. Her eyes were so bright they seemed like two stars. She was made to be looked at, Bandolier thought, for in her one could have seen himself as in a mirror.

“We fight and die for your honor,” came all of the slaves in unison, raising their blades up towards the Conqueror. All except for Cloudy and Bandolier, who were not familiar with the procedure.

There was a new rumbling in the arena, and Bandolier knew at once that their enemy was approaching.

Trumpets blared, then came the drums. Up in the pulpit in the eastern corner of the arena, the jowly pony emerged, approaching a microphone awaiting him.

“Good citizens of Nautilus!” the pony boomed, to the thunderous cheers of the crowd, “...Today we look back to the past. To bring you a recreation of the second fall of mighty Istanbull. On the sands of Midilli stood an invincible army of ferocious mercenaries and warriors from brute nations, bent on merciless destruction and conquest. The Conqueror is pleased to give you - the Warriors of Istanbull!”

Cheers came pouring out from the crowd, but mostly jeers.

“Whatever comes out those gates,” Bandolier said, “Keep close. Keep quick. We survive if we stay together."

Krieger scoffed, while Cloudy kept himself firmly fixed at Bandolier’s side.

“And the Conqueror is pleased to give you - the Titans of Terrostia!”

The circle of slaves shifted to face the first door that opened, and the stampede of armored warriors that followed, their faces all painted blue.

Among the Blues was a harpy, who had the upper half of a pony, with wings for forelegs, and the lower half of a bird. Her eyes were thin slits and golden, and she made a horrible screeching sound when she spoke. She took flight right away, and behind her came the one called Tavius the Tyrant, a brutish, freakishly huge unicorn painted from head to hoof in blue, who rode a flying chariot pulled by an albino dragon, who was called the White Worm.

The Harpy reached the circle first, darting down in line with the sun to blind them all, before she could sink her claws into one of the gutter rats. He left the ground screaming, as the Harpy lifted him up and up before ripping into his neck with her fanged teeth. The crowd erupted in cheers as the pony’s remains came spilling back down to earth.

“Together!” Bandolier yelled, “Watch the sky! Spears ready!”

More doors opened and more Blues emerged, enclosing them on all sides.

The Harpy was circling them from far up in the air, while Tavius and his chariot kept a greater distance, circling them from the edges of the arena. Tavius’ horn was alight, and the first bolt of magic came so quickly Bandolier hardly even glimpsed it. But he did see it meet its mark, when one of the slaves caught the bolt in the chest, flying off his hooves as his armor and flesh were incinerated.

“Keep your shields up!” Bandolier commanded.

The circle had already come undone; Krieger had rushed off towards the charging Blues. He had been quick enough to dodge one lance and bash in the skull of another with his face, before using his warhammer to smash in a third’s chestplate. Then an arrow ran through his hind leg, and he nearly fell to his knees, before rising again to meet another Blue. When the Blue’s spear lunged towards him, Krieger swung up with his hammer to smash the spear into splinters, before swinging around to deck the Blue in the face, spinning his neck around and sending the Blue collapsing into the dust.

But Krieger did not see the chariot that had rounded the edge of the arena, rushing towards him. Bandolier arrived first, however, tackling Krieger to the ground just as the chariot ran towards them.

Bandolier returned to the circle, while Krieger grunted in pain in the dust.

The Harpy had descended back down, fending off the spears of Amalza and two more of the slaves. The Harpy slid through the spearpoints and slashes at the neck of one of the slaves, and nearly did the same to Amalza, before Bandolier’s horn ignited from afar, and a blast of magic burned a hot red hole through the Harpy’s wings.

The crowd roared in shock and horror as the Harpy shrieked and spiraled into the dust. One of the slaves tried to spear her while she was down, but the Harpy’s claw found him first, closing in around his throat, puncturing his flesh on either side before tossing him into some of the others.

Amalza took a step back as the Harpy found her footing, grunting and hissing.

Amalza readied her spear, but the Harpy was quicker, lunging straight for Amalza’s throat.

But her teeth never landed, before Bandolier had fired a second shot, and a third, and a fourth, poking the Harpy full of holes until the creature finally croaked and fell dead, feathers jetting out in the air.

The crowd was ecstatic now; nobody had ever beaten the Harpy before.

The center of the arena had turned into a mad melee of slaves, Red and Blue. Another of the Red slaves had been killed, as Bandolier discovered after nearly tripping over the stallion’s corpse.

“Bandolier!” cried Shujaa, Bandolier glanced, and saw that Shujaa was aiming a spear at him. Instinctively, Bandolier ducked, and Shujaa threw his spear. Bandolier missed the blade just barely, before it tore through the chest of the Blue who had been charging him from behind.

Bandolier glanced back at Shujaa, and nodded his head in gratitude.

“The dragon - it’s sensitive to light!” Bandolier told him.

“Did the dragon tell you that?” Cloudy joked from nearby, dodging a stray blast from the circling Tyrant.

“Light? How do you know?” Shujaa demanded.

Bandolier thought of Alias, and the Erased, who had taught him all there was to know about foreign species and their peculiarities. This dragon appeared to be partly a groundwyrm, a species who spent most of their time burrowing under the earth.

“Just trust me,” Bandolier said, “Reform the line! We’ll lure him in close! When I give the signal, pull up, as one.”

“As one,” Shujaa replied, nodding with a smile.

Bandolier left them as Krieger stumbled back to rejoin them, having snapped the shaft of the arrow that had been stuck in his calf.

Bandolier began firing shots at the chariot, while Krieger took care of the remaining legionnaires.

The chariot turned to face him, and he began jogging back towards the line. Tavius kept on firing shot after shot, though the new shield wall was strong. Another of the slaves was not so lucky, however, when one blast was strong enough to bury through his shield and into his chest.

“Ready!” Bandolier yelled, watching steadily as the chariot charged forwards. The crowd was rumbling again, as the meager wall of five now stood surrounded by a sea of bodies.

“Now! As one!” Bandolier yelled, igniting his horn. The light that followed was so bright, that the White Worm lost all of its momentum in an instant, jerking backwards in fear. But the speed of the chariot was too great already, and as they came barreling on forwards, the shield wall lunged against the wheels, throwing the chariot off-kilter. The worm was being strangled in the harness, thrown about into the sands, while Tavius the Tyrant was tossed out of the chariot, landing so hard in the ground the crowd all winced in unison.

Shujaa moved for the White Worm, who was strung up in her own ropes, squealing and still blinded. Shujaa tore off his helmet and dashed it against the white worm’s skull, cracking it open like an egg.

Bandolier made for Tavius, joined by Amalza, Krieger, and Cloudy.

Tavius rose from the ground to the cheers of the crowd, and Bandolier could finally get a proper look at him. The unicorn stallion stood a whole head taller than Krieger, who was a brute himself. He had huge iron shoulder armor, and straps of leather wrapped in an x-formation around his chest. He wore a great helm of solid steel, where his monstrous, twisted horn protruded.

Amalza shrieked as she ran towards the Tyrant, with Cloudy reluctantly tagging along behind her. The Tyrant's horn glowed, and both Amalza and Cloudy lost their footing in the sand, spinning onto their backs so hard that all the wind escaped their lungs. Krieger came next, quick for his size, dragging his wounded leg behind him. The Tyrant's blast came so swiftly that not even Bandolier had seen it, when two teeth came springing out from Krieger's broken jaw. Krieger fell to his knees in the sand, toppling over in agony.

Bandolier caught his breath and wiped his snout, before charging past the others with his horn ablaze, laughing as he ran, wondering if it could have ever occurred to him that this was how he would meet his end. The smile on his face sent the crowd into an uproar - some were amused, some were insulted, most were too stunned to think.

Bandolier did not see the Tyrant's strike, before he was blinded and knocked off his hooves. His helmet had been torn off his head, and he fell into the dirt flat on his back.

Tavius raised his hooves into the air, celebrating as if he had already won. The crowds seemed to think as much, chanting his name and rising to their hooves to join in his triumph.

But Bandolier was quick to find his hooves again, and the crowds' cheers shrunk somewhat, reduced to murmurs.

“Equestrian!” Tavius bellowed. Part of him seemed relieved, as if he had not wanted the fight to have ended so soon. Bandolier's snout was crushed and leaking blood. At least I've got all my teeth. That was more than Krieger could say.

Tavius ignited his horn, spraying a wave of molten fire towards Bandolier, who dodged the incoming inferno and cast his own spell to repel the following blunt strike that would have sliced his neck open.

Tavius laughed, relentless, as his next beam of magic shot across the sky towards Bandolier’s skull. Bandolier ducked down to his knees, as the creatures in the crowds gasped and jeered and leaned over the railing, having first believed Tavius to have made his mark.

Bandolier emerged from the smoke to charge the Tyrant, who did not expect Bandolier to have recovered so quickly. Bandolier, with a mailed hoof, swung so hard against the Tyrant's cheek that there came an audible pop, and with it came his chance to reach up and grab the Tyrant by his horn. Tavius growled and struggled against Bandolier, who, though smaller, was able to keep himself steady on the ground as he fought against Tavius’ weight. They struggled there, locked with one another as they wrestled hoof-to-hoof, all while the crowds were thundering in approval.

Tavius found the upper hoof, however, leveraging all his weight to break free of Bandolier’s grip. Tavius slammed his own skull into Bandolier’s, knocking him back into the dust.

After shaking his head back and forth like a mangy dog, Tavius volleyed a beam of magic straight for Bandolier’s chest, but Bandolier caught the impact with a spell of his own, casting a wide, flat, purple shield to absorb the ensuing burst of fire. Bandolier dragged the blast away from him, incinerating a patch of the sand and nearly searing off Cloudy's tail on the ground, before providing his response, a quick concussive blast to knock Tavius a few feet back away from him. Bandolier gasped for breath and cast a wave of magic to put more distance between them.

Tavius laughed as he adjusted his hooves, and the two began to walk in circles around each other, as the crowd grew louder and louder. Bandolier’s face was twisted with rage. Tavius licked at the blood on his lips, and he readied his next spell, but Bandolier had already propelled himself forward, tumbling headfirst into the ground to avoid Tavius' laser, somersaulting to arrive at the Tyrant's hooves. Once upright, Bandolier lifted his head to blast Tavius right in the face at point-blank range. Tavius' smoky laser short-circuited the moment the impact came, and the crowd exploded then, as Tavius fell on his back in a black heap. His nose was crushed and his face was all purple pulp, but he was alive and breathing. The blood and blue paint mixed to make a dark plum color, staining the sand.

Amalza, Krieger, and Cloudy had all returned to their hooves, all wounded and exhausted but alive, and victorious. They rejoined with Shujaa, who was pumping his hooves in the air, high on the thrill of battle as the crowds rejoiced with them. The arena was full with the stamping of the hooves and the celebratory screams of all those many creatures, and the name Equestrian was at the tips of ten thousand tongues.

Bandolier stood over his defeated foe, and he ignited his horn again, but before he cast any spell he looked to the Conqueror above. She had been staring down at him for some time now, he realized. He locked eyes with her for a few heartbeats, and all the pain in his head and chest and legs was quickly forgotten. Her eyes were all that mattered.

Then her horn began to glow, a fiery shade of red, and the crowd erupted once again.

“Red means dead,” Tavius croaked from the ground, “She’s spoken. End it, Equestrian.”

Bandolier glanced down at Tavius, and back up to the Conqueror. With shaky breath, he wiped the sweat out of his eyes.

He stepped back, and glanced back up at the Conqueror, with a heavy glare that seemed to make all of the nobles surrounding her especially uneasy.

“It’s over,” Bandolier said, glancing at a dumbstruck Tavius at his hooves.

Tavius himself seemed enraged at having been spared, but before he could rise to challenge Bandolier again, he fell to the ground, exhausted and blinded with blood.

In the crowd, the same creatures who had been cheering for him just moments ago suddenly turned to murmurs, confused and terrified. Creatures were arguing, cheering, taunting, and all up on their hooves, all nervously eyeing the Conqueror up on her palanquin.

Bandolier could not make out the look on the Conqueror’s face, for she was still too high up. But he did see her whisper something to one of her guards beside her, before several of her guards began fleeing the royal pavilion and rushing down some other corridor.

Bandolier backed away, back towards Shujaa and Amalza and Krieger and Cloudy, who stuck by him, albeit begrudgingly.

“If you were so eager to die, why fight at all?” Krieger grunted, gently rubbing his aching jaw.

"You cannot do what you have done," Shujaa urged. Amalza seemed too terrified to speak.

"Some plan, that," Cloudy grumbled, "She's sure to like you, now."

"I don't need her to like me, yet," Bandolier corrected, "I need her to see me."

A low rumbling came then, and from the surrounding gates, praetorians flooded the arena in orderly rows, filing out of the gates fixed along the edges of the pit. All of them were armed with spears or glowing horns. The crowd began stirring once more.

The praetorians quickly encircled them in the pit, and one, the golden-coated legionnaire, stepped forward alone to approach them. Bandolier knew his face, but he was too exhausted to recall, yet.

“Lay down your weapons,” the legionnaire commanded.

“If the Conqueror wants blood, let her have mine, not theirs,” Bandolier said.

“Lay down your weapons,” the legionnaire commanded.

Amalza obeyed, hesitantly, as did Krieger and Shujaa.

“You’re all coming with me,” he said, “...The Conqueror wishes to meet you.”

Author's Note

Happy Thanksgiving! Part 2 will be out next Thursday!
Thank you so much for reading!