In the mountain moondust, the city was a jewel fixed to the rocky ridge, a dying star guarded by locks of blue mist. The sky was a deep purple, stained black with the bleeding trail of steam that the Friendship Express left in its wake. The rolling blue hills trembled before the squealing machine, tirelessly trudging into the black. Over moors and valley bridges, green towns and wasteland wonders, the grumbling beast made haste by starlight, as if spooked by some unseen pursuer.

Trixie Lulamoon felt a similar dread, poking her head from the gangway to inspect the train’s exterior for any nightbound stowaways.

Her mane fell victim to the wily winds, as she held onto one of the iron posts by the car door corridor. She could not stay long; the others would be wondering where she had gone.

But she was held captive for the moment, as her gaze ascended, past the shifting car roofs.

The stars, fixed, faint, and far away, seemed to never change. Many and more there were; but though in that portrait they appeared mere inches from one another, each stood trillions of miles apart, solitary sentinels in the sky.

Likewise, Trixie too thought herself suited for isolation. Friendship seemed to come easily to the ponies of Equestria, except for the unlucky few, Trixie among them. Trixie scowled to herself, as that dreadful voice in the back of her head began to shame her and hold her to task, though she was not sure why right then. You’re pathetic. You’re horrible. You’re evil, and rotten, and don’t deserve what they all have. She felt her teeth chattering, but for lack of a chill, and, after one last glance around the train’s broadside, she slipped back through the car door.

Inside the compartment, on either side were rows of cushioned benches and dusky lanterns. The train had been sparsely populated, on account of their wartorn destination, though Trixie’s company were not the only occupants. There was a mare with pearls and earrings and a tan trenchcoat sleeping with her face pressed against the window glass, and further back there were two stallions, one in grey and one in blue, dozing off beside each other. And finally there was a family of four, near the front of the train car. The foals had already fallen asleep, though the mother and father were wide awake, anxiously eyeing each other and twitching every time the floors creaked.

Trixie found Heartburn, Amber, and Starbuck in the middle of the car.

Starbuck’s crystal glimmer had long since faded, weakening with every moment he spent away from the Crystal Heart. The whole way to the train station, Trixie found him to be somewhat of a liability, frequently getting distracted by imagined threats, or worse, the aromatic allure of market treats. She had almost lost him at one point, only for him to reappear with four cinnamon pastries, one for each of their group. Trixie would have throttled him for running off like that, though the pastry was a sufficient act of penance.

If Starbuck was like a bubbly little brother, Amber was in turn a bratty little sister. She ravaged through three cigarettes by the time a train attendant reminded her of the no-smoking policy, and then another three after the attendant had gone. Trixie had assumed that, given the degree of composure a professional thief would surely require, Amber would do well under pressure, though the girl seemed to be constantly looking over her shoulder, paranoid as if some monster was lurking permanently in the edges of her vision. After that incident with Twilight’s changeling minion, Amber had needed further reassurance that the rewards of this expedition would make up for the risks. More gold than you can imagine. The gratitude of an alicorn princess, Still, Trixie wondered how quickly Amber would tuck tail and run, once Twilight’s wrath eventually caught up to them. Of that eventuality, Trixie was certain. Part of her regretted having left that changeling survive to tell Twilight all he knew, though she found it unthinkable to do what Heartburn had demanded of her, to silence the creature for good, even though that wretch would have no qualms if the roles were reversed.

Starbuck and Amber had fallen asleep beside each other on the left side of the car; Trixie found Heartburn across the aisle, sitting alone by the lantern light, gazing out the window at his own reflection.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked; it was a task to keep his booming voice to a low volume, for fear of waking up the train car.

“We can rest easy tonight,” Trixie assured.

Trixie sat down across from him, sighing in exhaustion.

Heartburn’s beard had grown a bit thicker since their first encounter in the Crystal Empire, and there were haggard lines on his face, and crow’s feet by his eyes. He had a gentle, easy smile, but a gruff haunch and a tired laugh. The way he laughed, the way he winced and grunted and glowed up any room he was in, all of it painted a familiar image, one she had trouble reckoning with. She had not laid eyes on her father, Jackpot, in many years after all, but for better or worse it seemed he had reappeared, in the vessel of this stranger, this mad scientist of sorts. The thought made her heart sink, and she wondered where Jackpot was now, whether he knew what had become of her, whether her fate concerned him much at all anymore.

Her thoughts drifted back to her very first performance, the opening act prior to her father’s weekly 9 p.m. show at Gladmane’s Resort in Las Pegasus. Even at age eight, Trixie had a knack for working a crowd, despite her clumsiness on stage and her difficulty pulling off the tricks. If she had stuck around in Las Pegasus, she could have followed in her father’s hoofsteps, learning the trade as she went. But although they shared a love for staged spectacle and the thrill of live performance, they never shared the same ambitions, not exactly.

Jackpot’s idea of success was to straddle along his cult-like following of easily-pleased peasants, whose hard-earned bits would exclusively fund his lavish Las Pegasus lifestyle. Trixie had never cared for wealth and luxury, despite what she liked to claim to others. All that she had ever really wanted was to entertain. She had proven as much after starting her own enterprise, a traveling show that would dart around from town to town; not once did she charge a dime for admission. She survived off of odd-jobs, bartering, and selling what parts of her she could.

But as much as she had convinced herself that she was not her father, she had to consider what exactly her real goals had always been. Despite her efforts, in the back of her mind she knew the truth, that she didn’t just want ponies to laugh at her; she needed them to. She needed them to talk about her, to think about her, to love her, to hate her. It was obscurity that terrified her, and to that end every choice she had made since fleeing Las Pegasus was to serve a singular purpose: make her mark on the world. Live forever. And she had tried to do just that, only to suffer failure after failure, all while telling herself that another chance would come. Only after Twilight Sparkle threw her off the edge of ruin could she see herself for what she was, a hapless idiot chasing a dream she had thrown away years ago.

Twilight. The name made her heart beat faster in her chest. Trixie had never gotten the chance to study at some fancy Canterlot academy, nor study under the tutelage of an alicorn princess. Everything Twilight had, her entire life, had been handed to her - favor with Celestia, a pair of wings, and finally a crown. Twilight thought of herself as some genius, as some sorceress supreme, when in reality she was just Celestia’s pet project, and a poor imitation at best. Still, Trixie could not stand a chance against her alone. With Starlight at her side, maybe, but now? She needed help. She needed Cadance. Together they would destroy Twilight once and for all.

Trixie bit her lip. She was not sure if it was jealousy, hatred, or some other kind of obsession she felt, but whatever it was, Twilight Sparkle was on her mind too much for her own liking.

She glanced back at Heartburn, and, seeing her father’s eyes in his, she imagined what Jackpot would think of her now. Of how she lived in the shadow of a pony who had gotten the better of her at every turn. Of how she had abandoned her family to start her own career, a career that crumbled completely within a matter of years. Of how she had failed the few friends she had, and was now embarking on one last-ditch quest to do some good for once, to leave her mark on the world, but without her great and powerful signature attached. She had never considered that she could affect anything but to reduce and subtract and project and distract. At the end of this train ride, she would find out for herself the matter of her worth, the purpose of her survival, the result of all the retribution she endured.

She shut her eyes to the thought of tomorrow, when they would finally reach Appleloosa. And from there, to Cadance. To justice. To revenge.

“Sixty ships!” Veto’s greying mane was tousled in the torchlight, and his eyes seemed to glow with fury in the dark. “Your grace, this must be answered fiercely!” His last word rang off the rafters, echoing through the throne room.

Must, Twilight thought, He dares say “must” to me.

The barbed shadow of the throne reached halfway to the marble doors; the far end of the hall was lost in darkness. The shadows seemed to be closing in around her, Twilight thought. My enemies are everywhere and my friends are all useless. She had only to glance over at her councilors to know that; only Bone Marrow and Featherglass seemed awake. The others had been roused from bed by Veto’s messengers pounding on their bedchamber doors, and they stood there rumpled and confused. The stained glass windows of the hall were speckled with rain, which made a low murmur as the castle and city slept. Venger and Prickly Pear seemed to be sleeping too, albeit on their hooves.

Twilight had amended her plan to remove Veto from power; instead of sending Wedge to catch Venger making her advances on that miserable bag of bones, she had sent the servants of Cassandra, the palace’s own high priestess and the closest thing to a leader belonging to that fanatical cult called the Children of the Sun. The public outrage that followed was precisely as Twilight had planned, however Veto, in all his stubbornness, refused to step down from his position. He had picked his friends in the Senate carefully, and the vote for his removal had not gone through. So she was stuck with him for now, even while that gaggle of tribalistic zealots filled the streets with their religious fervor.

Venger had not wished to be seen with him again in public, after the scandal, though these summons had taken everypony by surprise.

“Sixty ships?” Marius Moonshine was wheezing. “Surely not. That’s almost half of our fleet.”

“Some frightened fool has counted double,” Wedge Ward agreed.

“Sixty ships,” Veto barked, “While our enemy has only lost twenty. They have three hundred more scouring the sea for what’s left of our fleet, scattered and scant of supplies.”

“We will not beat the Empire at sea, not while the hippogriffs fight beside them,” Twilight sighed, “Admiral Mooring must rethink his strategy if we’re to gain any ground in the North Lunar Sea. We have to simplify our objectives, focus on smaller ports we can use to establish toeholds on land.”

“There are too many,” Veto said, shaking his head, “Too many. Snowfall’s forces have prevailed so far, but they are soon to be surrounded on all sides, trapped right in the heart of the Highlands. And what support can we offer her? Everypony else is needed here, to defend this city. And even if we do somehow defeat the dragons, the Empire will be quick to finish us off. It’s hopeless.”

Twilight rose from her seat suddenly, and her eyes flashed red. The room was silent then, but Veto stood unflinching, too consumed by rage to know to be afraid.

“All of you are where you are now because ponies entrusted you to protect them in such times as these, when our enemies surround us and hope dwindles. You are welcome to follow after that coward Archangel, or Hawkbit, and keep yourself safe at the cost of the ponies you swore to protect. But if you feel that way, have the courage at least to make that plain, right here. Or perhaps you are too craven to do even that.”

Veto’s face twisted with rage.

“I am not going anywhere,” Veto snarled, “If this city falls, then so do I.”

With that, he turned for the doors, and was followed by Grey Wick, Prickly, and Wedge Ward, the latter of whom probably hoped to smooth things over somehow.

Dawn was still several hours away when Twilight slipped through the Queen’s door behind the marble throne. Venger went before her with a torch, and Bone Marrow strolled along beside her. Marius had lingered in the throne room, to pace about, pensively.

“The Nine are spread thin,” Bone Marrow said, as they crossed over the spiked moat that led to the inner keep, “If any of them should fall in the battles to come … your grace will need to find another worthy for the honor.”

“Who do you have in mind?” Twilight asked, hoping to get to the point.

Bone Marrow’s smile was unnerving, a twisted grin that made Venger’s skin crawl.

“What he lacks in gallantry, he’ll give you tenfold in his devotion. He will protect your loved ones, kill your enemies, and keep your secrets. No living creature will be able to withstand him.”

“So you say,” Twilight grumbled, “When the hour comes, you may produce this monster of yours, and we’ll see if he’s all you’ve promised.”

“The dragons will turn around at the very sight of him,” Bone Marrow assured, “Might I ask about the armor?”

“I placed your order. The armorers all think I’m mad. They insisted no creature could be strong enough to move and fight under such weight.” Twilight gave the witch doctor a wary look, “Attempt to deceive me, and you’ll die screaming. You are aware of that, I trust?”

“More than most, your grace,” Bone Marrow smiled.

“Good. Say no more of this.”

“The walls do have ears,” Bone Marrow said.

“So they do.” Twilight often heard soft sounds at night, even in her own chambers. Mice in the walls, she would say to herself, nothing more.

The candle was burning by her bedside, but the hearth had turned to smoke and there was no other light; the room was cold. Venger lingered outside to stand guard, yawning.

But before Twilight could find any rest, somepony hammered at the door.

What now? The urgency of the rapping made her shiver. She slipped into a bedrobe and rose to see who it was.

“Forgive me for the disturbance, your grace,” Venger said from outside, “But Bubblegum Bliss is below, begging an audience.”

“At this hour?” Twilight snapped, “Has she gone mad? Tell her I’m abed. Tell her that the ponies in the Highlands and South are being slaughtered. Tell her that I have been awake for half the night, and I will see her on the morrow.”

Venger hesitated.

“Your grace….She said it was an emergency.”

Twilight frowned. She had assumed Bubblegum was here to tell her that Archangel was dead. “Very well. Take her to my solar and have her wait.”

Bubblegum Bliss’ face was bruised and swollen, her eyes red with tears. Her lower lip was bloody pulp, her clothing soiled and torn.

“What’s happened?” Twilight said, aghast at the sight of the miserable mage. Venger stood outside, shutting the door.

Bubblegum did not seem to hear the question. “He killed him,” she quavered, “Celestia save us, he….he…” She broke down sobbing, her whole body trembling.

Twilight poured a cup of wine and took it to Bubblegum, who was a quivering mess.

“Drink this, it will calm you. That’s it, a little more now. Stop crying and tell me what’s happened,” Twilight said.

It took the rest of the flagon before the princess was finally able to coax the whole sad tale out of Bubblegum Bliss. Once she had, she did not know whether to laugh or fly into a fit of rage.

“A duel,” she repeated. Is there no one in all of Equestria I can rely on? Am I the only one with a pinch of wits? “You are telling me that Chevalier challenged Archangel to a duel?”

“H-He thought it was the honorable thing to do,” Bubblegum reminded, “That’s what Chevalier said. He said it would be s-s-simple.”

Archangel may have been as sharp as a marble, but nopony could deny he was a formidable knight. A battle-hardened killer, even. The cretin Chevalier wrote his own death warrant. “A splendid plan. May I ask how it went awry?”

“....Archangel…He drove his lance through Chevalier’s chest. He screamed so piteously. When I tried to run to Chevalier, Archangel, he, he, he struck me in the face. He made Chevalier c-c-confess.”

“Confess?” Twilight did not like that word, “I trust our brave Chevalier held his tongue.”

“Archangel put a dagger in his eye, and told me I had best be gone from Saddleopolis before the sun went down, or I’d get the same.” Bubblegum clutched the princess’ hoof. “Goddess, you must give me knights. A hundred knights!”

Twilight pulled her hoof free of the mare’s grasp. “I asked you to snuff out a candle to protect Equestria. Instead you heaved a gallon of gasoline onto it. Did your witless Chevalier bring my name into this? Tell me he didn’t.”

Bubblegum’s lips were quivering.

“He….He was in pain. He….He…” Bubblegum pulled at her mane, as her breath began to hasten, “You must help me, Goddess. What should I do?”

Twilight forced a smile.

“You will stay here with us, until such a time it is safe for you to show your face again. Let me pour you another cup of wine, it will help you sleep. My poor dear Bubblegum. That’s it, drink up.”

As her guest was working on the flagon, Twilight went to the door and called her maids. She had Honey Bee find Bone Marrow and bring him here at once.

Bone Marrow arrived by Bubblegum’s third cup. By then, she was beginning to nod off, though from time to time she would rouse and weep some more. The princess took Bone Marrow aside and informed him of Chevalier’s folly. “I cannot have her spreading false tales around the city, about my role in the attempt on Archangel’s life. Her grief has made her witless. Do you still need ponies for your … work?”

“Always, your grace,” Bone Marrow smiled.

“She’s yours, then,” Twilight smiled, “Sweet Bubblegum, Dr. Bone Marrow’s here. He’ll help you rest.”

“Oh,” Bubblegum said, vaguely, “Oh, good.”

When the door closed behind them Twilight poured herself the last of the wine. Imbeciles, she thought to herself, I am surrounded by imbeciles and traitors. If only she had the means to do everything herself.

The sky outside was already beginning to lighten. It would be morning soon, and all of this would be forgotten.

It had never happened.

Moon Dancer had lived in Canterlot her entire life, not once had she ever dared to visit the Orange Light District by her lonesome. There was a first time for everything, she thought.

She sighed to herself, glancing past the steering wheel of her carriage at the street ahead of her.

They should have been here, by now, she thought. Lightning and Kickstart were not ones to dawdle, usually, though then again, the entire city had gone into full panic mode, so they might have been held up sneaking back in from wherever they wound up after the Cloudsdale fiasco. They had best hurry. Every newscolt and harbinger was raving about the dragons, how they were only a few days away, or mere hours. Nopony slept easily in Canterlot anymore. Not the wealthy aristocrats in the Marble Mire apartments, nor the downtrodden District-dwellers. Everypony everywhere counted their breaths, always listening, always watching. The previous night, some ponies in Soapy Suds’ tavern had mistook a shattered glass as a gunshot, inciting a stampede of panicked patrons that resulted in twelve injuries and one near-death.

The government had not remained silent all this time; there were reassurances made, and promises and petitions, most of which fell on ears too terrified to listen. The only news that ponies paid much attention to was what confirmed their fears or created entirely new objects of dread. The Ministry of Education had begun pinning posters and fliers all around the city, all bearing variations of the same message. Trust in Twilight Sparkle. Have hope. Have courage. Twilight Sparkle will protect us.

Moon Dancer always had trouble buying into all the rumors about Twilight, and she could hardly stomach the ones about Celestia. She was Celestia’s student her entire childhood, right alongside Twilight. Neither of them would not be half the sorceress they each were without Celestia’s guidance. The foundational years of her life were built upon those two ponies, and so she could never despise Twilight, not truly.

Celestia spent a thousand years burying all of her dirty laundry, and as soon as it was all unearthed, Twilight was given the crown, the fallout, and the blame for everything. Moon Dancer wished she could have helped her somehow, before things got so out of hoof, before there was blood on her hooves, but it was too late now. Twilight had been thrown into Celestia’s open grave, and for some reason opted to dig herself deeper. Now all Moon Dancer could do was stop her from dragging anymore ponies down with her.

Consorting with Sunset Shimmer and her friends was not her ideal method of doing that, but she supposed they were the best bet she had. It wasn’t just Twilight who needed to be defeated, after all, but all of the corruption that supported her, as well. The criminals in power in Manehattan and Canterlot and Vanhoover and Baltimare. The soldiers who raped and murdered and raided with impunity, who were only ever punished with a slap to the hoof. Celestia had let Equestria rot from within, and be left vulnerable to attack after attack. Nightmare Moon, Tirek, Cozy Glow, Chrysalis. Celestia could not contain any of them. Twilight could, for all her faults, and so Moon Dancer had hoped that the pony she once called a friend was not completely gone, that she could be restored somehow.

She had retrieved Bon Bon, Sunset, Wallflower, Suri, and their newest companion, Gilded Lily, a few hours prior, though only Moon Dancer had been able to stay awake as the night began to drag on. She was relieved to see Sunset had successfully rescued the girl, Lily. Perhaps she had treated Sunset too harshly, but that horrible business in Ponyville was hard to forget, or forgive.

They wouldn’t be staying in Canterlot for long. Sunset had made a deal with Jet Set, and Bon Bon had found out more details about the project that seemed to have involved the entirety of the Canterlot underworld. A superweapon, Sunset had called it, shortly before falling asleep with a smile on her face, doubtlessly dreaming about what fortune awaited them. Suri insisted that the project would be enough to get Scootaloo back, pay off Mandola, and buy their way to true freedom. Wallflower, meanwhile, had dreaded that the case might wind up in the hooves of the wrong pony, though if Moon Dancer had dared to speak up, she’d have mentioned that Sunset Shimmer would certainly top the list of the wrong ponies.

Moon Dancer would much sooner return home and put this vigilante business behind her. But she could not stay idle while Equestria tore itself apart.

“Lyra, forget all about that,” muttered Bon Bon from the rear compartment of the carriage. Moon Dancer had picked her up earlier that night outside the Belly of the Whale, blackout drunk, soaked in sweat, and with somepony’s lipstick all over her face.

Bon Bon had stirred awake so abruptly that Moon Dancer nearly jumped out of her chair. “I heard something.”

A knock on the rear door of the carriage shook Moon Dancer alert.

She ignited her horn, unsure what she would find on the other side.

“Open the door!!”

Moon Dancer recognized the voice on the other side, and rushed out of the driver’s seat.

Scooting past the workbench in the rear compartment as the others all roused themselves, Moon Dancer threw open the rear door with her magic, while Bon Bon lay slumped against the wall, giggling to herself.

Lightning Dust was gasping for breath on the other side, with Kickstart half-slung over her shoulder.

“Moon Dancer!” Lightning managed a smile, climbing up into the carriage, dragging Kickstart alongside her.

“What the hell happened to you two?” Moon Dancer stammered, checking outside and closing the doors as soon as they were safely inside.

Sunset was up at once, as was Wallflower, who rushed over to hug Lightning.

“You’re OK!” Wallflower cried out.

Sunset wiped at her brow, sighing in relief. Suri lifted herself to the tips of her hooves to get a glimpse at the pair, while Bon Bon dizzily lost her balance by the wall.

Lightning hugged Wallflower back, burying her head in Wallflower’s green curls. Scampers the rat was tugging at her hooves from the floor. Suri had come next, eyeing Lightning up and down.

“You’re a mess,” Suri said, flatly.

Lightning smiled, trotting over to embrace Suri, who shrunk in her grasp, reluctantly returning the gesture.

“Sunset,” Lightning said, while helping Kickstart sit up. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I…I screwed everything up. I-”

Sunset approached Lightning, who flinched, though Sunset’s glare had softened, and she offered Lightning a hoof to the shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” Sunset said, firmly, “I’m just glad you two are OK. Now I need you to keep your head on straight, got it?”

Lightning sucked the snot back up her snout, and wiped at her eyes, before nodding her head.

"OK. Yeah. Sorry," Lightning said, "He blacked out a few hours ago..."

They all glanced down at Kickstart, who was unconscious, whose eyes were glowing a dim red. Moon Dancer could see his veins glowing from underneath his skin, lighting up his entire body like a christmas tree. His nerves were twitching and his heart was palpitating, and all the while he was short of breath.

Moon Dancer helped him over to her workbench.

“What’s that face? Don’t make that face. Is he dying?” Lightning asked, pale in the face.

“His heart rate is a bit fast, but he seems stable. He should rest,” Moon Dancer said, after pressing her ear to his chest, “What happened?”

“He teleported,” Lightning said, “We were with Scootaloo, and he….Did you find her? Is she OK?”

“She’s alright, but….Did you say teleported?” Moon Dancer said, skeptically.

“Moon Dancer, get this hunk of junk moving, we’ve gotta get out of this city before they lock down every exit,” Sunset insisted.

Moon Dancer acquiesced, not wanting to spend a moment longer in this neighborhood than necessary.

“Wait, wait, we have to get Kicks to a hospital,” Lightning said.

“Hospital? No-can-do. Moon Dancer can take care of him.”

“I can?” came Moon Dancer from the driver’s compartment.

“You want Scootaloo back, right? Then we don’t have time for pit-stops,” Sunset continued.

Lightning crossed her hind legs and bit her lip. She glanced down at Kickstart, who did not stir, except for his hoof, which found hers reaching out to him. Lightning felt herself trembling, but tightened her grip around him, squeezing his hoof.

“Alright, OK, so how do we get her back? What do we do?” Lightning stammered.

“You do what I say,” Sunset said, “What’s the fastest way out of here?”

“The Royal Road,” Suri suggested, “But we’d have to travel with all the commoners, which I absolutely cannot do, ‘kay….There’s also Tumbledown Tunnel.”

“No way, Tumbledown’s right next to the garrison barracks! We’ll be spotted, we can’t risk it!” Wallflower winced, “The Boneway. We have to take the Boneway!”

“Boneway’s closed. The airways are all on lockdown, and the ground exits are all under guard,” Moon Dancer said up ahead as she turned on the engine, “Unless you plan on fighting your way out, we’re trapped here.”

“Trapped?” Wallflower said, horrified.

“Fight our way out! Of course!” Lightning grinned.

“Idiot. Did you land on your head after they threw you out of the Wonderbolt Academy?” Suri chirped, “There’s still thousands of soldiers posted all around the city.”

“So that’s it? We’re stuck here?” Wallflower asked.

“Wait!” Bon Bon yelled. The others’ eyes all darted over to her.

“I….I….” Bon Bon began, drunkenly slurring her words. Wallflower winced, while Sunset sighed, and Suri buried her face in her hooves. “I know a way out…but….I would need to…”

“Need to what?” said Lightning, grabbing Bon Bon by the shoulders, shaking her awake, “Bon Bon! Need to what?”

“Need to….see some,” Bon Bon began laughing, “Old friends.”

Each night was colder than the last.

Torchlight warped around the ancient iron bars, while the back half of the cell remained drenched in gloom. There was a murkiness there as well, as to be expected in the dank depths of the Heart of Equestria, that lonely peak where the ivory city of Canterlot sat. The Crescendo river began there at the mountain, and the murmur of its current could be heard through the dense black stone. And there were rats, as many as any prison could expect to have, and a few more besides.

Rarity had fallen ill when they first brought her here. She recalled the look that Twilight had given her before ordering her to be taken away, and the twist in her stomach that followed. A fever had begun to take hold of her, and her lips were battered with blood blisters. I’m going to die, she remembered thinking. I’m going to die soon, here in the dark.

But she had found she was wrong about that, as about so much else. Dimly, she remembered gentle hooves and a soft voice, that of the royal physician Bone Marrow, who frequented the underground labyrinth beneath the palace. He had given her hot garlic broth to drink, and painkillers to take away her aches and shivers. The drugs had put her to sleep, and while she slept he had stuck leeches on her flesh to drain out the bad blood. Or so she surmised, by the marks on her forelegs. Before long, the physician’s drug cocktails had done the job; her cough had vanished, her blisters too.

The jailer who tended her was broad and squat, a hunchback, with thick shoulders and huge strong legs. She had attempted to reason with him many a time, but the brute paid her no notice.

Neither sun nor moon shone in the dungeons. Rarity marked the passage of the days by the number of meals the hunchback brought, and by the changing of the torches outside her cell.

Her only relief from her stifling routine was the occasional visit by Dr. Bone Marrow. The witch doctor, as he was called behind his back, liked to frequent the dungeons, despite the fear he seemed to instill in its occupants. Prisoners would rush to the shadows to escape his gaze, though Rarity never fled. She had played all of her cards already, lost one of her best friends at the cost of defending the truth, and now she thought there was little that could phase her.

Her bravery, however, had the unintended consequence of drawing the witch doctor’s notice. He was a slightly stooped stallion, she thought, not particularly handsome but not particularly hideous. His yellow coat was faded, as was his black mane cut short. He had wrinkles around his eyes, which seemed blue sometimes, and other times warm brown. He had a lean frame, and looked almost fatherly.

It was Bone Marrow who allowed her the occasional respite from her dungeon cell, using her as his assistant to push carts to and from his laboratory, as well as copy letters by candlelight.

Rarity rarely spoke out of turn, hoping to gain the stallion’s trust enough to buy some opportunity of escape further down the line. It would take time for the right chance to come, she thought, but she could be patient. Perhaps too patient, she feared. She had seen ponies arrive one day and disappear the next, without any cry for alarm or ceremony. One of them claimed his name was Touchdown, the Senate Minister of Culture and Media, though Rarity did not believe him. These cells could drive anypony mad with enough time, no matter their constitution.

No, rather than probe the witch doctor for potential avenues of escape, Rarity was instead content to listen and learn, and complete her tasks as efficiently as possible. Bone Marrow seemed to yearn for somepony to talk to, in fact. These tunnels were lonely for him as well, she figured.

Bone Marrow’s laboratory was a cluttered place; potions of toxic green, fluorescent purple, and glittering gold bubbled by the burning hearth. Nearby, there were bell-shaped cages of three-eyed bats and two-headed snakes, and a spider the size of a cat Bone Marrow had named Poppy. Rarity hated nothing more than the sound the creature made, a wet clicking that might have been laughter, or a plea for food, or perhaps a threat.

Their arrangement had lasted for weeks. She knew she could not endure through this new routine without end, however, though all it would take was one mistake, and Bone Marrow would throw her back into her cell to rot. She had to be bold, but when and how and where were all uncertainties.

Such a venture seemed to be increasingly risky; Bone Marrow’s disposition seemed to be souring with each passing day. Serving under Twilight Sparkle would have such an effect, Rarity figured. His eyes were black pits of exhaustion, and he moved with a haggard limp in his step.

“I want to show you something,” he said one day, catching Rarity in the middle of her letterwork. Rarity set down her quill and ink, glancing up at him with the curious beginnings of a smirk. Be playful. Be harmless. She could not break from the plan, not until her chance came.

Bone Marrow led her to his laboratory. Another experiment, Rarity figured, though the doctor trotted right past his worktable. A new mixture, maybe, she told herself, but the doctor ignored his potion rack. He made instead for the steel-bolted door in the back, unlocking it with a simple spell. Rarity hesitated at the door. She had never been allowed behind the door before. Nopony was, as far as she knew.

The door led into another tunnel, a nightmare of lightless paths that weaved around in such a way that only Bone Marrow himself could navigate it easily.

Rarity followed close behind. She heard scurrying; despite how narrow the walls were, the sounds seemed to come from far away.

Deeper still, she saw the silhouette of a pony in the dark, propped up in a nook in the tunnel wall. The pony, a mare, must have been a corpse, for the horrible sight of her was so alien that Rarity could hardly believe it was once a pony at all. Her coat had been shaved off, as had her mane, and so the pony could scarcely be identified. Rarity thought to interrogate the thing, to ascertain who or what it was. But the creature could not have answered anyway, in the dark Rarity could not see that it lacked a mouth, or eyes, or ears.

“This way,” Bone Marrow said.

He led her at last to a larger chamber at the end of the tunnel, a smaller laboratory, packed to the brim with strange wooden equipment, mingling with tubes and wires and levers, connected to cannisters of strange black liquid, dense like tar.

At the center of the room was a large slab of steel, with some creature strapped down to it, draped in a grey cloth.

“Twilight has need of me,” Bone Marrow said, “The time has come for me to unveil my contribution to the war effort.”

Rarity felt her throat close up. The creature was three times the size of any pony, with strange shapes jutting jaggedly every which way.

“I’ll need your help for the final preparations,” Bone Marrow said, “...I thought it would be fitting that you be here for this. He was your friend, after all.”

Rarity flinched, disarmed by the remark. Bone Marrow dragged the tarp away, wrenching it free from the slab and revealing the creature underneath in all its foul fury.

There was a silence that followed, interrupted only by the creature’s low breathing. Bone Marrow watched Rarity closely, and his eyes lit up once Rarity’s lips began quivering. Frozen in place, her eyes were locked onto the slab and the creature who sat upon it.

“No,” Rarity whispered, feeling her heart sink in her chest, “No, no, no! Oh!”

Rarity’s knees gave out, as Bone Marrow stood solemnly near the workbench. And upright on the bench, strapped in iron restraints was the leathery figure, three times the size he had arrived as.

“It could not suffice to merely bring him back,” Bone Marrow said, “His growth had to be accelerated. This is only the beginning. The strength of our enemy, but with the loyalty we need. Yes. A dragon of our own.”

Spike did not seem to recognize Rarity, who hardly had the stomach to acknowledge that this indeed was Spike, albeit seemingly several years older. A hulking brute of purple and green scales, he was seven feet or more, with wide, unblinking eyes, and rows of knives for teeth. His veins ran black under his skin, and his breath seemed stunted and unsteady.

“What have you done!?!” Rarity screamed, desperately throwing herself away from Bone Marrow on the ground. The doctor glanced at the beast once called Spike, marveling at his own work.

“You did not know he’d been killed,” Bone Marrow sighed. He spoke with a cold indifference. “Be grateful, then. You had no need to grieve. Here he is, Alive.”

“That isn’t Spike!” Rarity roared, “And that isn’t alive!”

“Ah,” Bone Marrow waved her off, “He is, in the ways that matter. I have made the soul material, isolated it, studied it. And here, I have restored it. Ten thousand spellbinders for ten thousand years have searched in vain for the antidote to death. You are the first to witness the pony who’s vindicated them all. He lives. He lives!”

Rarity screamed. She screamed and screamed and tore at her mane, spinning around to face the doorway of the tunnel. She could not look any longer, she could listen to Spike’s ragged little breaths.

Behind her, Bone Marrow sighed.

“You will help me, one way or another,” Bone Marrow said, “I see you are in no condition to continue alongside me. No matter. I will find use for you, yet. Tomorrow. You will see. There are some final trials I need to perform. Trials that require a…test subject.”

Rarity gasped and spun around, only to catch Bone Marrow’s wrench to the face. She fell backwards onto the cold stone, too terrified this time to even scream. The cold took her first, and then the dark.

Glancing over her shoulder, Juno watched the lone galley break across the bay, far off in the distance, riding west toward the sea. From the head of the valley, the green sycamores guarded pockets of scattered stones and wild berry bushes. There were old buildings there too, tucked away in the ridgeside shade. Most were abandoned, and all were withered and worn from the elements.

Further down the valley, a small town stood at the edge of the water, that of Mapleville, with its lonely windmill and coppertop homes and spires of stone. Up on the ridge there were behemoth boulders, cylindrical almost and wearing manes of moss.

The trio was traveling North, along the rutted farm road away from the lake, across the torn fields and through the woods and streams. Juno had taken the lead, racing ahead in a heedless trot until the trees closed in around her. Behind her, Poundcake waddled and Tails sauntered, following as best they could.

Juno heard the howling of wolves from far away, and Poundcake’s heavy breathing. For miles, none of them dared to speak aloud, lest they be overheard by some traveling troop of bandits, or worse, royal soldiers seeking to return them back to the Ruins of Wisteria, where the Surgeon would make certain they paid dearly for their successful escape.

They would be pursued, she knew it. Somepony would find all the guards she had drugged, and then the hue and cry would go up. They would wake the Surgeon and search the castle from crenel to cellar, and when they did they would find a map and dagger missing, along with a sword from the armory, bread and cheese from the kitchens, a baker’s boy, a laborer, and the Surgeon’s own cupbearer. The Surgeon would not come after them himself. Dagger might lead the hunt, or the one they called Duchess, or Chisel, who she loathed the most. No, not them. Coda, she thought, They’ll send Captain Coda. He knew their faces the best, and they were Coda’s prisoners originally, anyway. If the Surgeon catches us, he’ll cut off our hooves and our tongues, Juno thought, and then peel the skin off us.

She was still dressed in her filthy brown blouse; the skirt was torn around her left hip, and she was missing two buttons. She scratched at her stubbly head, and wished she had a hat of some kind to cover herself with.

When they crossed the first stream past Mapleville, Juno led them off the road, following the winding waters for half-a-mile before scrambling out and up a stony bank. If the hunters brought dogs, that might throw them off the scent, Juno thought. They could not stay on the road, she told herself, there was death on the road. Tails and Poundcake did not question her decision. She had the map, after all, and Poundcake was so terrified of being caught that he obeyed her without any thought, as if she too scared him. It was good that he’s scared of me, she thought. That way he’ll do what I say, instead of something stupid.

She should be more frightened herself, she knew. She was only ten, a skinny girl wearing rags and bruises, with a dark forest ahead of her and ponies on her trail who would gladly cut off her hooves.

The rain would start and stop again and start once more, but they had good cloaks to keep dry under. Juno kept them moving at a steady pace. It was too dark beneath the tree canopy to go too fast; the soft broken ground was treacherous, with its half-buried roots and hidden stones.

Up and down the rolling hills she took them, through brambles and briars and tangles of brush, along the bottoms of narrow gullies where wet leaves of green and red fell off heavy branches into the water and mud below.

In time they passed through the White Tail Woods, and through the green valley of the Smoky Mountains. She could feel the air turn colder with each step, as they left the south behind.

They passed through a burned village, threading their way carefully between the ashy hovels, past the bones of a dozen dead ponies hanging from a row of trees. Royal Scum read the sign hanging around one’s neck. When Poundcake saw them he began to pray, a thin plea for mercy. Juno gazed up at the corpses, with their damp, rotting clothes, and she said her own prayer, one for revenge. Her heart hardened as she looked upon each of their faces, briefly, and she saw her mother and father in their stead, dead and dangling. And she heard the corpses speak, or scream, rather - a haunting, lonely sound that only she seemed able to hear. She picked up an apple from below where the dead ponies swung. It was overripe, soft and brown for the most part, but she ate it anyway.

“No more games,” Tails said, after they had left the village, “Where exactly are we going?” Juno had avoided the question for days and days, though she supposed now she would have to be earnest with them both.

“North,” Juno replied, between bites of some wild onions she had foraged for a few days ago.

Poundcake’s eyes darted around. “Which way is north?”

“That way,” Juno said, using her onion to point.

“But there’s no sun,” Poundcake said, “How do you know?”

“Moss,” Juno said, “It mostly grows on the north side of trees.” Her father had told her that.

“The way it’s raining, we’ll have moss growing out of our ears soon,” Tails said.

“Only from the north ear,” Juno said, stubbornly. There was no use trying to convince Tails of anything. Still, he was the only true friend she had, him and Poundcake.

“What’s so great about north, anyway?” Tails wanted to know.

“The Crystal Empire’s in the North,” Juno unrolled her stolen map to show them, “We’re halfway there already. The Northerners are no friends of the royals. We’ll be safe with them.” She declined to mention her plan to find Sunset Shimmer. They were not quite ready to hear that part yet.

“The Empire,” Tails considered, “...You’re sure?”

“We’ll be safe there. Trust me,” Juno said. Princess Cadance had been kind to her, and so she thought they all must be kind in the North.

“Alright,” Tails said, “We’ll go for it.”

Juno smiled, and glanced at Poundcake, who was anxiously pawing at his foreleg.

“I won’t make it much longer eating berries and grass,” Poundcake said, “But I’m coming.”

“Good,” Juno said, rolling up the map and stowing it away in her cloak.

“Could we sleep first, at least?” Poundcake asked, “My hooves are sore. I think they’ve got cracks.”

“You’ll get worse than that if we stop for too long,” Juno pointed out, “We’ve got to keep going. We’ve got to.”

Juno found her own exhaustion weighing heavy on her. She needed sleep as much as Poundcake did. But if they slept, they might open their eyes to find the Surgeon standing over them with Chisel and Dagger and Duchess and Raccoon and all his other monsters.

Yet after a while, she found her eyes growing heavy. She let them close as she trotted on, just for an instant, then snapped them wide again. I can’t go to sleep, she screamed at herself silently. I can’t, I can’t. She could not sustain pace, and it was only a few moments before her eyes closed a second time. This time they did not open so quickly.

When they did, she found herself lying in the grass off the side of the road, propped nearby a boulder. Tails was beside her, his gaze fixed towards the road. He noticed her stir. “You fell asleep,” he said.

“I was just resting my eyes.”

“You were resting them a long while, then. You were gonna fall right on your face, if I hadn’t caught you. Poundcake’s just as bad, he fell asleep and ran right into a tree limb. You should’ve heard him yell. Even that didn’t wake you up. You need to stop and sleep.”

“I can keep going as long as you can,” Juno yawned.

“Liar,” Tails said, “You keep going if you want to be stupid, but I’m stopping. I’ll take the first watch. You sleep.”

“What about Poundcake?” Juno asked,

Tails pointed. Poundcake was already on the ground, curled up beneath his cloak on a bed of damp leaves and snoring softly. He had a big wedge of cheese in one hoof, but it looked as though he had fallen asleep between bites.

Juno supposed Tails had the right of it. The Surgeon’s ponies would need to sleep too, she told herself. She hoped so, at least. The ground was hard and damp. She wondered how long it would be before she could sleep in a bed again, with hot food and a fire to warm her. The last thing she did before closing her eyes was try and picture her mother’s face. But the image did not come easily, and she quickly abandoned the task, deciding instead to give into her exhaustion and fall away into the black.

A fistful of frozen rain lashed against Orion’s face as he spurred across the swollen stream. Beside him, Captain Corvus Clash gave the hood of his cloak a tug, muttering curses in the wind. His pet raven sat on his shoulder, feathers ruffled, as soaked and irritable as the Old Crow himself.

Reflections glimmered off the frozen edges of the Giant’s Stair, where every crack and crevice glittered pale blue.

Orion scraped the frost off of his horn; he had not forgotten all the stories Captain Clash liked to tell about horns freezing over and snapping off in the cold. He had not believed as much at first, having spent his entire life in the Frozen North. But up in the Crystal Mountains where the rangers roamed, the cold was unlike anything he had ever suffered, and it was a lucky day to be anywhere close to freezing.

Rain stabbed at his eyes, and as he shut them his thoughts turned to Rhinefrost miles away, to home. The melting ice would be mingling with the rain to feed the frozen rivers. Bellflower and Broadwing would be sitting near the fire in the Great Hall, drinking cups of mulled wine before their supper. Uncle Blackburn would be telling his stories in his old leather chair that only he found to be comfortable. And Boreas and Primrose would be by the window, watching the rain, savoring the quiet. He had found it a strange custom when he was little, and now he found it unthinkable. His wet wool clung to him sodden and itching, his neck and shoulders ached from the weight of his mail, and he was sick from a month’s diet of hard cheese and sawdust bread.

It was Primrose who had sentenced him to this fate, to wander the mountains with this troop of convicts and castaways. Each time the courier paid them a visit, he would clamber to the front of the line, desperate for news of his brother’s war. Defeated at the Galloping Gorge. Unaccounted for. That was the last missive, short in length but enough to give Orion three nights without sleep. I should have been beside him. I should have died, not him.

He had long withheld himself from loathing Primrose the way she seemed to loathe him, though to know that it was her who parted the brothers in such a dire hour, where their lives could be easily forfeit, tested his resolve.

The look she would give him had never changed, not since the moment she laid eyes on him, not since the doctors all fell silent, when the second-born son of Prince Boreas emerged a unicorn, despite being the son of two pegasi. Recessive genes, some of the doctors insisted, but ponies seemed to favor an alternative explanation, one in which they could deride his mother Primrose as a faithless adulterer, who shared a bed with another pony. There had not been a unicorn in either family for generations, after all, and so such an outcome dared to defy any rationality. Primrose had long maintained that she had never betrayed Boreas, that Orion’s birth was some genetic anomaly, though nopony was ever convinced. Even Boreas, who had loved her so, turned cold towards her and everypony else for years to come, and to Orion most of all. A walking, breathing reminder of Primrose’s alleged infidelity, who still had to be raised as the son of a prince.

“Would that I could prove that you are not mine,” was what Boreas had told him once, and Orion could hardly forget it. There were days he felt relief to know his father was dead, and other days where he even fantasized about Broadwing dying as well, so that he could claim the throne for himself. If only father could see that. He would curse himself for such wicked thoughts. He loved his brother of course, and his sister and mother and father too, in a strange way.

Up ahead a hunting horn sounded a trembling note, drowning in the downpour.

“Buckwell’s horn,” the Old Crow barked, “Luna be good. We’ve made it.”

His raven gave a single flap of his wings, croaked “Luna,” and ruffled his feathers again.

Orion had often heard the rangers tell tales of Star Swirl and his cottage at the Crown of Thorns. Now he would see it with his own eyes. Perhaps the Old Crow would get his answers. No matter what, we’ll be out of the rain.

Black Bastion swore that Star Swirl was a friend to the rangers, despite his unsavory reputation. “He’s half-mad,” he said to the Old Crow, “But you’d be the same if you spent your days up here in these cursed mountains. Even so, he’s never turned a ranger away from his fire. He’ll give us good counsel.”

Captain Clash had not been glad to have to seek out Star Swirl, though he had been left with no other choice. The twelve deserters that had fled the Crystal City were scattered across the mountains, and the rangers had been tasked to find them and bring them to justice. But these deserters were resourceful in the wilderness, and except for the two they had found buried in the snow, they had eluded capture for days on end.

So long as Star Swirl gives us a hot meal and a chance to dry our clothes, I’ll be happy, Orion thought. Dirk said Star Swirl was a murderer, a liar, and a craven, and even hinted that he trafficked with slavers and demons from other realms. “And worse,” Dirk had added, “There’s a cold smell to him, there is.”

“Orion,” Captain Clash commanded, “Ride back along the column and spread the word.”

“Captain,” Orion nodded, turning around back the way he’d come. He was glad to have the rain out of his face. Everypony he passed seemed to be weeping. The march stretched through half a mile of the woods, that climbed up the snowy slopes toward the top of the stair, where Star Swirl’s cottage sat out of view.

In the midst of the baggage train, Orion passed Fuchs, slumped and sauntering.

“You’re going the wrong way, Orion,” Fuchs growled. The pony was rumored to have been a guard at Hellhatch before joining the rangers, though Orion had his doubts. With all the stories he had heard about that place, he struggled to picture the usually-good-natured Fuchs serving such a wicked role.

“We’ve made it, just up there,” Orion said, “Need a rest?”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Fuchs said, “Mully says Star Swirl is a demon-worshiping warlock. That he obeys no laws but those he makes himself. And Dirk told Rudge he’s got black blood in his veins. That he was some abomination, unnatural.”

“I know the feeling,” Orion said, “We’ll talk later.”

Orion carried the word back to Tatters, plodding along with the rear guard. A small prune-faced pony of an age with Clash, Tatters always looked tired.

On his way back, Orion swung wide of the column’s march and took a shorter path through the thick of the wood. Soon all he could hear was the steady rain against leaf and tree and rock. It was mid-afternoon, yet the forest was as dark as dusk. Orion wove a path between rocks and puddles, past great oaks, grey-green giants, and black-barked corpses. Passing a husk of a tree blasted by lightning, he heard something rustle in the underbrush.

Orion’s horn ignited, instinctively, but it was only Florence who emerged from the ferns, and young Rudge. The Old Crow had deployed outriders to either side of the main column, to screen their march and warn of any approaching enemies. Bandits were the most common, though they had to look out for royal insurgents now, too.

“Ah, it’s just you,” Florence smiled, “Thought me and the boy had one of them windigos to deal with. Lost, princeling?”

“Shortcut,” Orion replied, curtly. Florence was the only mare in the rangers, and while some mares may have found that a cause for discomfort, she happened to love being fawned over. She was formidable as well, a strong-enough fighter to have been named First Scout two years in a row. Very rarely did any stallion make any attempt on her, and when they did they almost always came up short.

“The best thing about rain like this, it saves me from having to shower,” Florence laughed.

“Buckwell’s found Star Swirl,” Orion told her.

“Had he lost him?” Florence snickered, “See that you young bucks don’t go nosing about that wizard’s trinkets, y’hear?”

Orion smiled. “Want them all for yourself, Florence?”

Florence grinned. “Might be I do, princeling. Star Swirl’s brain has been freezing up here for years. I’d be surprised if he remembers what it is he’s even got. C’mon then, let’s move.”

Orion had pictured some sort of cozy winter cottage. What they found instead was a smoking heap, where the fires had done their worst. The study and living chambers may have escaped the inferno, though the workshop was all but a ruin. There was a dreadful silence that came with the snowfall, as the blackened wreckage of stone and wood was buried. Shattered, warped equipment came poking out from the snow like branches of fallen trees.

The cottage was left a lonely place, when the sun had set on some terrible battle, and fewer there were to breathe in the wretched air that reeked of fresh blood and sulfur.

Forsaken and festering in the black, three tallow candles stood upon the collapsed windowsill, and four more sat by the dusty tomes, stacked haphazardly and spilling out of the shelves. No sign of life remained, nothing but faded hoofsteps in the snow.

“What the hell happened here?” asked Mad Axe Mully.

“Luna be good. It’s destroyed,” Captain Clash growled.

“The deserters couldn’t have done this,” came the Ratcatcher, picking at his teeth and leaning on his spear, “And Star Swirl’s gone. Look at the tracks.”

Orion followed the others’ gaze towards the tracks in the snow. There were ashy blasts that stained parts of the snow grey, and elsewhere prints that led away towards the southern descent down the stair.

Captain Clash growled.

“Florence,” the Old Crow said, “Take two and search the forest for any signs of what happened. The rest of you, scour this wreck, look for clues. He might be out there, somewhere. Or what’s left of him.”

Orion leapt to begin searching the ruin of Star Swirl’s cottage, though a hoof caught him by the collar first.

“Not so fast,” came Florence, “You’re with me, princeling. We might need one of your shortcuts coming back.” Fuchs was beside her, grabbing at his aching back.

The three of them set out into the woods, horn and sword and shield at the ready.

“Some spell mishap, I’d wager,” Fuchs offered.

“There were signs of a struggle,” Orion pointed out.

“Who’d want to pick a fight with him?” Fuchs asked.

“Wait,” Florence said, catching the attention of the other two, “Over there….You see that?”

Orion followed Florence’s hoof further off into the snow, stained a deep blue under the canopy of skeletal branches.

Narrowing his eyes, he saw it. A shape in the snow, buried in blue light.

“What is that?” Fuchs asked.

“By Luna, it’s a pony,” Orion realized, throwing his bag to the ground, trudging over to take a closer look.

Approaching the pony, he saw she was half-buried in the snow, bruised and battered but intact, and breathing.

“She’s alive,” Orion assured, glancing over to Fuchs and Florence as they approached.

She was a unicorn, with a coat of pink and a mane of purple and turquoise.

Orion reached down towards her, and touched her by the shoulder.

She sprang to life, twitching and gasping and darting back against the tree she had been thrown up against.

“Orion,” Florence said, motioning for him to get back.

“Celestia be damned,” Fuchs muttered. Orion glanced at him, “Keep back…”

Florence had her wing resting over the hilt of her sword.

“I know her,” Fuchs said, his voice thin and hollow. He reached for Florence’s hoof, prompting her to draw back her blade.

“That’s Starlight Glimmer!”

Below the streets of Starhaven, buried under snow and stone, the prince watched his scrapes freeze over in the dark, sitting up against the wooden boards of the basement.

“Take it,” Broadwing said, dangling the blanket in the air.

“I’m fine,” replied Windchill from the dark.

“You’re shivering,” Broadwing grunted, “Take it.”

Windchill’s eyes darted past the candle’s flame. She growled something and accepted the offer, wrapping herself in the blanket and sighing in relief.

Broadwing watched her shut her eyes, bundling herself up to conserve as much warmth as she could. She was the last remnant of his army, for all he knew. Six thousand creatures had marched beside him into the Galloping Gorge, and now only one remained at his side.

The prince’s attempt to retreat north to Seaguard had failed. The royals, led by Styles and his company called the War Boys, had pursued the Imperials into the Northern Highlands, scattering them across the countryside. Broadwing and a few hundred of his soldiers had made the grueling march to Starhaven. He had been ready to fight for their right to quarter, but thankfully Lady Ophelia had received them with open arms. Styles had arrived only a day later, but by then the Imperials had hidden themselves away in the attics and basements of the Starhaven inhabitants. Broadwing and Windchill had found themselves in the basement of Peach’s, a tavern, where Ophelia would pay them a daily visit.

“He’s going door to door,” Ophelia reported earlier that day, “He’s put ponies in crow cages. We’ve done our part, but I cannot watch on as my ponies bleed. Please tell me Shining Armor won’t be long.”

“He’ll be here soon, if the message got through,” Broadwing assured. If. The letters he had managed to send out were as specific as he could be. Starhaven. No time. Styles is coming.

All day and all night, all he could do was wait. He could not beat Styles, not with his meager force of starved survivors. Part of him thought he had nothing to lose anymore. He had disgraced himself in battle, leading thousands of ponies to their deaths. And now he was cowering underground like some rat.

“I have to go up there,” Broadwing said aloud, when at last he had grown so restless he was itching to jump up and run for the passage above ground. Windchill glared at him.

“Don’t be stupid. Shining will be here soon,” Windchill said.

“Ponies are dying up there,” Broadwing said.

“If you die, all of this will have been in vain,” Windchill reminded, “They don’t blame you for anything.”

“They should. It's my fault we're here,” Broadwing said, “We took too long to get through the gorge.”

“You did all you could,” Windchill said, “It could’ve been worse. They could’ve captured you, or killed you. There're more battles to come. You've got to keep your head on straight and focus on what’s ahead. Ponies depend on you.”

Broadwing sat back against the dirt wall. “My father always said, the great leaders lead without any effort. They are born, not made, he said. I'm afraid he might've been right.”

Windchill’s eyes fell to the ground.

“So many ponies dread becoming their parents,” Broadwing said, “But my father, he was everything I wanted to be. He would attend to every member of the household at Rhinefrost, no matter how low their station. He’d invite the castle staff to dine with us each night. He’d visit his liege lords wide and far, and knew how to keep a budget and plan for the future. It was him who ruled the North before the Crystal Empire returned, and it was him who bent his knee to Princess Cadance and convinced all the other Northern kingdoms to do the same. They loved him. Everypony did. He was kind, but just, he was merciful, but strong. He would let me learn at his side, take me to council and court and learn from him every step of the way. I’ve failed him. If he had lived but a year longer, he could have fought this war in my place, and done what I can't.”

“You speak as though the war is over,” Windchill said, “You’re alive, and so am I, and so the war is not over. When you stood before the high lords at that council table, you spoke of honor and duty and glory. Have you forgotten? Our princess still needs us. We have to fight for her.”

Broadwing eyed her.

“Honor, duty, glory,” he repeated, staring off into space, “...I left home to fight a war. But this war is not just of swords and spells, it’s of marriage pacts and letters and plots. I'm out of my depth. My own betrothed was decided for me by my prince without me knowing. My own brother was forced away from me to appease my mother. Where I am supposed to have power, I falter, or else my fate is decided for me. They say I am a prince, but I am toothless.”

“Many and more are still loyal to you,” Windchill said, “You are our prince. Whatever you want, you should take.”

Broadwing eyed her, and noticed her eyes were locked onto him from across the room. He smirked, and Windchill laughed silently to herself, glancing at the ground.

“It would be unbecoming,” he said, gently, “I’ve told you before. And now I’m engaged, it would be….It would not be right.”

Windchill glared at him, sulking and crossing her forelegs.

“Perhaps you are toothless,” she said, “I’ve seen the way you look at me, since we were foals. You’re still just a scared little boy. Do I frighten you so much, my prince?”

“First you scold me about my honor, now you tempt me to abandon it,” Broadwing growled, waving her off.

“To abandon an agreement you never wanted, nor consented to,” Windchill said, “You never got the chance to sign that letter.”

Broadwing had forgotten that, and his brow unfurrowed.

Windchill smiled, suspecting she had won some ground.

“If you are so eager to die, my prince,” Windchill said, “Perhaps attempt to live, first.”

Broadwing eyed her, and he had almost forgotten to breathe then, when Windchill sat herself up, gazing over at him beyond the candle flame.

He had made it to his knees when Windchill slipped out of the blanket to crawl over towards him. Their lips met before Broadwing’s hoof reached the candle, snuffing the flame.

He had never wanted a squire.

Wedge Ward was moving slower than he used to, dragging his hooves under the weight of his armor, as he stalked the corridors of the Canterlot palace, returning salutes and forcing a smile. He was not glad to have received the summons, but Twilight was not a pony he could keep waiting.

He had only just finished assigning a unit to keep Queen Ocean Flow’s quarters under night-and-day guard. She had sworn she had no knowledge of her husband’s treachery, and was not consulted in regard to the hippogriffs’ change of sides, but that did not matter to Twilight. She would make a valuable hostage, she thought, and Wedge was inclined to agree. She had rarely left her room anyways, so it would not be much of an adjustment.

The boy had been waiting for him outside the great doors of carved marble guarding the throne room beyond. Wedge recognized him, not by his armor or rank, but by the feathers he wore in place of a coat, a golden beak for a mouth, and those curved talons that scraped at the floor.

“Private Gallus,” Wedge grunted, alarmed to see him on duty outside the throne room, when such a role was typically reserved only for a member of the Nine. The Nine are stretched thin, he recalled, but this was no less strange. “What are you doing here?”

“Orders came from upstairs. Well, actually this floor, I guess. We are at the top, right?,” Gallus smirked, “I was waiting for you to show up, waiting with bated breath. Wasn’t sure those knees of yours could survive the climb up those stairs.”

“Waiting. Why?” Wedge asked, hesitantly.

“Princess Twilight thought you needed some help around here,” Gallus said, bowing his head, “So….Guess I’m at your service, Captain.”

Wedge frowned. He already had enough problems to deal with. A squire following him around was the last thing he needed. He could very well be a spy for Twilight. Working day and night to spare this city from annihilation was apparently not enough to convince her of his loyalty. Breathe down my neck all you like. I won’t break like all the others.

“Alright. C’mon then,” Wedge said, moving for the doors. Gallus nodded, and Wedge saw the boy’s smirk slip off his face, as he glanced back at the doors. Twilight had that effect, Wedge supposed.

Wedge opened the doors in an aura of orange magic. His eyes immediately locked onto Twilight at the other end of the hall, clinging onto her throne as if she feared it was going to run away.

She was not alone - Prickly Pear and Grey Wick were stationed by the throne, while Featherglass stood near the throne steps, lurching over like a bird inspecting its prey. Wedge was glad not to see Anatole - the Belsavic naval admiral had lingered in the palace far longer than he should’ve. Wedge would often catch the smirking worm slithering out from Twilight’s quarters late in the evening, always on account of some ‘private negotiations.’

“Captain, you’re early,” Twilight said, adjusting her gaze away from Featherglass. Featherglass was all sharp features, with a piercing pair of green-gray eyes, like a cat’s eyes. He must have just been telling a joke, as he was still winding down from laughter. But when he laughed, his eyes did not.

“I pray I’m not interrupting,” Wedge said.

“Not at all. We’re almost finished here. I see you’ve met Gallus,” Twilight smiled, “I hope it’s not a bother, Captain. I only thought you could use some extra support.”

Wedge forced a smile. “I’m very grateful, your grace."

“What do you have to report?”

“In three days, Cinder and her army will be at our gates. She’s just been through Appleloosa and Red Rock. Hawkbit has repelled the dragons at Ashford and Everfree, but Bull’s Bluff is vulnerable, and Dodge City too. If any one section of the front fails, the dragons will move for Canterlot next. I’ve given the order to evacuate Ponyville, just in case. Here, the city gates will remain open for as long as possible, but any refugees who need asylum need to make haste.”

“Asylum?” Featherglass smirked, “They won’t find it here, for all your efforts, Captain. No matter what tricks you have planned, the numbers make things plain. As things are, the dragons will take this city, and kill all who defend it.”

Wedge meant to give his rebuttal, though Twilight raised a hoof to silence him.

“He’s right, Wedge,” Twilight admitted, “All we have is half of one division. We won’t be able to withstand the dragons, not for long … We must call for aid.”

“And who will come?” Wedge laughed, knowingly risking Twilight’s ire, “We have no friends left to bail us out, your grace. The changelings, hippogriffs, and Imperials have joined together. The griffons refuse to get involved. No one else has an army large enough to make a difference.”

“Your former pupil does,” Twilight corrected.

Wedge’s face became twisted. Gallus shot him a cautious look.

“Vertigo has kept our envoy as a hostage. He’ll betray us,” Wedge reminded.

“Perhaps he picked up his stubborn insolence from his mentor. But I believe that our goals still align. He’s won the hearts of the southron, and has collected hundreds of scattered soldiers all across the Great Plains. We have more of a chance at reasoning with him than we ever would with my brother or Pharynx. He’s close enough in distance that he can still reach the city before it’s overwhelmed, but we must be quick in sending a messenger.”

Wedge’s eyes darted over toward Featherglass, and he immediately drew a dreadful conclusion.

“Him?” Wedge gawked. Featherglass may have known much about coin and commerce, but war negotiations were hardly his arena. “You’d put the fate of Equestria in his hooves?”

“He has yet to fail me, which is more than I can say for you,” Twilight said, coldly, recalling Silver Stream’s abduction.

“You’re aware you’re putting your life on the line to do this,” Wedge remarked to Featherglass, presuming some ulterior motive.

“Her grace has graciously offered to appoint me as Lord Protector of the Lowlands, should I successfully broker the alliance with your rebellious protege,” Featherglass said, “A rather persuasive offer.”

“Your grace might recall you already offered that title to Hydrangea,” Wedge reminded, skeptically.

“And the Greens will keep thinking that, for now. We need to entice them if they are to lend us their support. Once the dust is settled, Lady Azimuth can be content to see her daughter wed to Prince Heirloom. That’s enough of a reward to satiate her, that wrinkled little crone.” Twilight said.

“False promises bring false triumphs,” Wedge said, “The Greens are dangerous ponies to cross, your grace.”

“Everything they hope to have, they will only get through me. They gain nothing from the dragons succeeding and slaughtering us all,” Twilight said.

“Fine. Say we succeed, and Lady Delphi takes a royal husband, this boy Heirloom, a foal mind you … What will Vertigo have to say about that?” Wedge said, “From every account I’ve heard, he and Delphi are….thoroughly involved with one another.”

Twilight shrugged.

“I offered her a prince. If the girl would rather wed a rebel brigand, so be it. Azimuth is not the fool her daughter seems to be, though, so I think they will act in the family’s interest. Now, be good and escort Featherglass to his carriage. We have no time to waste.”

Wedge held in his sigh and stepped out of the way to follow after Featherglass, who gave a proper bow before trotting off back towards the doors.

Gallus skipped to keep up with Wedge, glancing back at Twilight as he followed Wedge.

“My lord treasurer,” Wedge said, once the three of them had exited out the throne room doors, “Is it wise for you to travel alone? I could have Gallus here accompany you.”

“I’ll move faster alone, Captain,” Featherglass said, “The next time we meet, I’ll have an army behind me. You can thank me in advance for the rescue.”

Wedge watched Featherglass slither off, while Gallus raised an eyebrow.

“Trying to get rid of me already?” Gallus grinned, “Why’s she sending him? It would be a bad look for the city to fall a week after I get promoted.”

Wedge glanced at him.

“He might bring help. He might not. This city isn’t safe either way,” Wedge said, “The Greens have the numbers to take this city, just as much as the dragons do. Twilight thinks we’re all on the same page, but I’m not so sure.”

“So what are you saying? We’re screwed no matter what?”

Wedge glared at him, and put his hoof back on his scabbard.

“Not as long as we do our job,” he said, “We have work to do, boy. Let’s move.”

Juno was digging through the dead pony’s garden when she first heard the singing.

She stiffened, still as stone, and had completely forgotten about the discolored carrots dangling out of her mouth.

She thought of the Surgeon and the Traveling Circus, and a chill ran down her spine. It’s not fair, not when we thought we were almost safe.

Only, why would the Surgeon’s ponies be singing?

The song came drifting up the river from somewhere beyond the hill. Over by the cabbages, Poundcake had heard it too, at least by the look on his face.

She thought she had heard a lyre too, beneath the soft susurrus of the river. The woods nearby were thin and scattered, where Tails had gone off to rest while the others went foraging.

“Do you hear that?” Poundcake whispered, as he hugged the cabbages, “Somepony’s coming!”

“Go wake Tails,” Juno ordered, “Just shake him by the shoulder, don’t make a lot of noise.”

Tails was easy to wake, unlike Poundcake, who needed to be kicked and shouted at.

Poundcake went, and Juno dropped her carrots and drew her stolen sword from over her shoulder. She had strapped the sheath across her back. It was too heavy for her, but it was a sword and she could kill with it, and that was enough.

She crept over to the willow tree that grew beside the bend in the road, and went to her knees in the grass and mud, behind a veil of bushes and branches. Poundcake and Tails had darted around behind the broken grey brick wall by the river’s edge, and she could not see them anymore from her vantage.

The song grew louder as clopping hooves came in stride down the dirt road. Then the song broke off suddenly. He’s heard us, Juno knew, But maybe he’s alone, or if he’s not, maybe they’ll be as scared of us as we are of them.

“Do you hear that?” a stallion’s voice said, “Behind that wall.”

“Hm,” replied a second voice, a mare’s, “What could it be?”

Two, then. Juno bit her lip. She could not see them from where she knelt, on account of the tree. But she could hear.

“Could be a wolf. Or a deer. Or a bug? A beast? A bandit?” came a third voice, or perhaps the first one again.

“No way of knowing. What do you mean to do with all those arrows?”

“Send a few shafts over the wall. Whatever’s hiding back there will come out quick enough, just watch.”

“What if it’s some honest pony?”

“An honest pony would come out and show us his face. Only an outlaw would skulk and keep out of sight.”

“Hm. Alright. Go on and loose your shafts, then.”

Juno sprang to her hooves. “No!” She brought up her sword, but only briefly, before she lost against its weight and dropped it to the ground. There were three, she saw. One mare and two stallions.

They were soldiers-at-arms, travel-stained and mud-speckled. She knew the singer by the lyre he had latched at his side.

The mare was a purplish-white unicorn with a short, black mane and deep purple eyes. The taller of the two stallions, the archer, had a fiery red mane, a face full of freckles, and pale gold coat, and the shorter, the singer, was a pale mossy green, with a curly mane of green and dark blue. All of them wore white armor. White. Did royals wear white? Or did the Northerners?

The three soldiers looked at her, standing there in the road with her blade in hoof. Then the singer idly plucked a string.

“Boy,” the mare said, “Drop the sword, unless you want to get hurt.”

“It’s too big for you, anyways. And Sunburn here could shoot you full of holes before you could hope to reach us,” the singer added.

“He could not,” Juno countered, “And I’m a girl.”

“Pardon me,” the singer bowed.

“You go on down the road, back the way you came. Keep singing that song, so we know where you are. Go away and leave us be and I won’t kill you.”

The freckled archer laughed.

“Girl,” said the singer, “Put the sword down and we’ll take you to a safe place and get some food in you. These lands are no place for a little girl to be wandering alone.”

“She’s not alone.” Tails had appeared from behind the broken wall, and behind him Poundcake.

“Do as she said, and go away,” Tails warned.

“Ah. Is that all of you?” the singer counted, “Would you tell us your names, like good honest ponies?”

“I’m Poundcake,” Poundcake replied at once.

Tails scowled. “Why should I tell you my name? You haven’t given us yours.”

“I’m Treble Clef,” the singer introduced, “These are my friends, Sunburn and Echo.” Echo, the mare, had her eyes fixed on Juno.

“That’s an army sword you’re wielding,” Echo noticed. She had become uneasy, and so had Juno.

“They’re just foals,” Treble Clef said, his grin fading.

“Foals with a stolen sword,” Echo said, “We should take them back with us.”

“We’re not going with you,” Juno said.

Echo’s horn ignited.

“If you’re not spies, then you have nothing to fear from us,” Echo said, “Come with us. We’ll get you fed and cleaned.”

Juno tried to lift up the sword, but Echo was quicker. Her spell sent the sword flying out of Juno’s hooves.

“Run!” Juno yelled at the others, but Sunburn had his bow drawn, the arrow held between his teeth.

Echo had her horn pointed at Juno, who could do nothing but stare up with her mouth agape.

They had been spared chains and fetters, a marked improvement from their time as prisoners of the Surgeon. The whole journey with the soldiers was spent to the tune of Treble’s songs and Sunburn’s jokes. Echo, who must have been the commanding officer, seemed to be more anxious than the other two. I should run for it, Juno thought, but they were heading north anyway, and she was still not sure whose side these ponies were even on.

When they came to the soldiers’ war camp, they saw it went on for miles and miles, over the edge of the ridge and on and on without end.

The sky glowed orange and red over the bank, for all of the lanterns and torches fixed about the camp.

“Take those two to the armorer,” Echo instructed, “I’ll handle this one.”

“Wait,” Juno said, unwilling to let them be separated.

But Tails and Poundcake were led away, while she was stuck with Echo, who dragged her through the camp.

Echo brought her to the tent at the center of the camp, a modest structure guarded at every entrance by pairs of soldiers.

Inside the tent, they came upon a mare, a unicorn, with a wavy platinum blonde mane tied up in a ponytail, snow white coat, and icy blue eyes. Juno froze the instant she saw the horn. Another unicorn. Could this be Sunset Shimmer? It was too soon, she wasn't ready yet. She needed her friends. She needed a weapon. She needed help.

“You’re back,” the snow white mare smiled, “Any sign of Hardball?”

“His forces are on the march,” Echo reported, “We found this one on the way back. Had a royal sword with her.”

“This little girl?” the snow white mare asked. “Echo. She’s a foal.”

“And a spy too, maybe. I wouldn’t put it past the Northerners, commander.” Echo said.

The commander seemed tired. She waved for Echo to leave the tent, and the lieutenant complied.

As soon as Echo had left, the commander took a step closer. Juno panicked and darted across the room, only for the pony to catch her in an aura of magic.

“Let me go!” Juno screamed. All she could think about then was Hask. I need to move. I need to get free. Don't touch me. Let go. Let go. Let go! She screamed again and felt herself begin to cry, suspended in the air. For all the times she had envisioned confronting Sunset Shimmer, now she knew was a fool she was, a foolish little girl sobbing and thrashing about helplessly.

“Tails!” she yelled, “Poundcake!” Where were they when she needed them?

She felt herself touch down again, but was so terrified she could hardly move.

“Stop! I’m sorry!” she said, “I didn’t mean to - Please, don’t touch me!”

Juno flinched when the unicorn approached. The unicorn stopped, and she seemed close to tears herself.

“I-I’m not going to hurt you,” the unicorn said, horrified with herself for having scared Juno so much. She knelt in front of Juno, before slowly raising her hoof towards Juno’s face. Juno darted back away from the unicorn’s hoof, frantic like a cornered animal.

“Who are you?” the commander asked, softly. Juno wiped at her eyes.

“I’m Juno,” Juno introduced, “I-I-I’m…”

“It’s OK. You’re safe. You’re safe. What happened to you?” the pony said, her voice thin and rasped, “I’m Snowfall Glitter. How did you get here?”

“We’re just trying to get North,” Juno explained, backing away from Snowfall.

Snowfall’s glare softened. “Let me get you some food.”

Juno said nothing, watching with wide eyes as Snowfall rose up and telekinetically lifted over a bowl of fruit from one of the tables near the edges of the tent.

She set the bowl down in front of Juno, and kept her distance.

Juno sniffed at the fruit and picked at it. Overwhelmed by the allure of fresh produce, she glanced up at Snowfall and back at the bowl, before tearing into the feast as Snowfall watched on, hesitantly.

“You’re filthy. Let me get you cleaned up, and get you some fresh clothes,” Snowfall said, kneeling down again.

Only then did Juno take a good look at the unicorn. Her face did not seem cruel, not like Duchess or how she remembered Sunset Shimmer. She was pretty, with a soft blonde wavy mane and a snow white face. Her eyes were icy blue, cold, tired, and disarming.

She could not trust this pony, not really, not yet. But she could give her a chance, and the offer of a bath and fresh clothes was a tempting one. Juno’s entire coat was caked in dirt, and so she looked to be the color grey rather than her usual creamy tan.

Snowfall drew a bath using pails of water from outside, while Juno lingered in the tent, examining the scratches on Snowfall’s white armor hanging on a rack. There was one ashy dent right on the upper plate, right around where the heart would be.

Once Snowfall had drawn the bath, Juno climbed out of her filthy brown garb and eagerly climbed inside.

Snowfall was even gentler than her mother had ever been, scrubbing her down with soap, staining the water black from all the dirt. Juno missed the feeling of her mane getting wet, and wondered how long it would take for it to grow back. Snowfall took extra care not to scrub too hard at her scalp, which was particularly sensitive ever since Dagger’s knife sliced off all of her mane. Juno was glad that Snowfall had not remarked on her missing mane.

When Juno was finally clean, she climbed out of the tub and allowed Snowfall to dry her off with a towel. Overcome by relief at the sight of the color of her coat, Juno almost felt like crying, and part of her wanted to run into Snowfall's arms and never leave, but she controlled herself, remembering that she had trusted Hask and Coda, only for them to betray her later. Snowfall fetched her something to wear to keep her warm, a page’s tunic that belonged to her former squire.

“...I’ll arrange for an armed escort to take you and your friends to somewhere safe. Baltimare, maybe,” Snowfall said, struggling to think of anywhere she could definitely call safe.

“No,” Juno said, “North. I have to go North!”

Juno held her tongue before she said too much about her true task, to find and kill Sunset Shimmer.

“The war is in the North. It isn’t safe,” Snowfall said.

“Then, maybe, I…I can stay with you,” Juno said, deciding on the plan on the spot.

Snowfall hesitated.

“With me is the last place you should be,” Snowfall said, “I won’t have foals running around in my camp.”

“I won’t run around. I’ll be good, I promise!” Juno said, eagerly, “Please. I want to help. I…I could be your cupbearer!” She thought she had made a good cupbearer back at Wisteria, even if the Surgeon never told her as much.

Snowfall sighed, shaking her head.

“Cupbearer?” she considered.

“Please, I have nowhere else to go,” Juno said. If Snowfall’s troops took her away, she would be set back weeks. She had to stay, and wait to find a chance to escape north.

“...Alright. But only until we take Haverford,” Snowfall said, curtly.

Juno approached Snowfall, unsure how to express her gratitude. She knelt down and lowered her head.

“Thank you, Commander,” Juno said.

Snowfall smiled, and quickly bent down to help Juno up to her hooves.

“And…my friends?” Juno asked.

“I’ll make sure they’re taken good care of,” Snowfall said, “OK, soldier. You can sleep in my bed tonight, until I can find you some suitable quarters. I’ll be right out here if you need anything.”

“Really?” Juno asked, still suspicious.

Snowfall nodded, sitting down right in the dirt, leaning beside her chest.

Juno beamed. She was practically out of breath, overcome by relief. And she thought of home then, not of how it had been taken from her, but of how it once was. She found Snowfall’s bed in the other chamber of the tent, and for the first time in days, she could sleep soundly.

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

Starlight Glimmer tore into the bag of rations the ranger had given her. He was the only one brave enough to get anywhere near her. But it was Fuchs who had spoken, gripping his spear with two hooves. She had not thought to find him in such a place, adrift on this snowy mountain slope. She recalled throwing him off the catwalk back at Hellhatch, and all the nights she had spent wondering if he had survived. He had been kind to her, and so she had regretted what she had done, and was glad to see him alive.

Her head was still pounding from the blow that had sent her tumbling off the ridge, tossing through brush, rock, and snow. She had lost consciousness to the sound of a thundering crack, what she had thought was her head splitting open, but it was only her foreleg snapping. She did not mind the pain; her encounter with Twilight had been worse, after all. She must have been the first pony in all of Equestria to survive two fights with an alicorn.

She could not recall much of what had happened, only that the battle had taken an hour or more, wreaking such devastation that the mountain itself seemed to shudder and quake, and the surrounding woods had been set ablaze.

Starlight had only begun to rouse when the rangers, this motley trio of crystal soldiers, found her. She would have to be careful here; there could be more lurking nearby.

“Thank you,” she said at last, grateful for the food the black-haired ranger had given her.

“I’m Orion,” he introduced, “This is Florence, and Fuchs, and….you’re….you’re…”

“Starlight,” she sighed, exhausted, “Don’t look so terrified. I’ve had enough fighting for one day, if you couldn’t tell.”

“What happened? What are you doing out here?” Florence demanded, “And how are you alive?”

Starlight was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to hear what Florence had said. Star Swirl, she thought, where has he gone? The wand, does he have it? And then there was Discord, that duplicitous draconequus; he had fled the scene shortly after the first blaze of fire, and had escaped with both Eight Ball and the Witch’s Wand, Star Swirl’s prized invention. As for the wizard, she was not sure what had become of him.

“You’ve been to Star Swirl’s cottage?” Starlight stammered.

“What’s left of it,” Orion replied, hesitantly, “The wizard. Where’s he gone?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Starlight said. She had hoped to learn more from him. “It’s not him you should be worrying about. It’s Luna. She’s out here somewhere.”

“Luna? Princess Luna?” Fuchs replied, laughing off the suggestion, “Maybe it’s true what they say. You have gone mad.”

Starlight winced as she tried to sit up; her body was battered with bruises, and everything everywhere stung. Orion knelt before her and offered her his canteen.

“You fought her,” Orion presumed. Starlight was relieved there was at least one who would take her seriously, “And….you survived?”

She could see the fear take hold in him.

“If she’s not here, Star Swirl might have found her first,” Starlight posited, “And Discord…He’d have gone after the Orb. I have to get to it first.”

“Orb?” came Florence.

“Discord?” followed Fuchs.

“We have to take her to the Old Crow,” Orion said.

“Just leave her be, or she’ll kill us,” Florence said.

“She’s not a killer,” Fuchs said, dryly, and even Starlight was surprised to hear him come to her defense, “I knew that the day I saw you get dragged into that prison, and I know it now. You don’t need to try and scare us. Your enemies are ours now, too, y’know.”

Starlight’s eyes softened. She sighed, and sat back against the tree.

“The war’s begun?” Starlight figured.

“There’s fighting in the Highlands and the South. The dragons march on Canterlot. The hippogriffs and changelings fight for us now. Snowfall Glitter sits trapped near Haverford, while our forces close in around her,” Orion said.

“Snowfall Glitter?” Starlight repeated. She remembered the unicorn as one of Twilight’s enforcers, who had pursued her across the Crystal Empire shortly after her escape from Hellhatch.

“She’ll be dead soon,” Florence snarled, “Serves her right, the traitor.”

“She’s still one of us,” Orion reminded.

While the three rangers began arguing over what was to be done about Snowfall Glitter, Starlight’s thoughts turned to Discord, and Star Swirl, and Luna, and where they all might have gone. Luna must have thought she had killed Starlight, or else why would she have fled? Could Starlight have killed her, after all? Their battle was only a blur, now.

Star Swirl’s mind was twisted by the same prophetic delusions that had plagued Twilight and Celestia. Starlight did not care for the visions and portents and plans, she only cared about the ponies who suffered as a result. But now she knew of the means to truly challenge Twilight, the weapon by which she could rid the land of its tormentors, and restore peace and harmony. She needed the Orb.

But first, she needed her friends. Trixie. Sunset. Lightning. Suri. Wallflower. She needed their help. She had tried against Twilight alone, to her detriment, and again alongside Discord, who only ever served his own ends. It was friendship that had won Twilight all her victories, and so there remained at least one of Twilight’s lessons that Starlight could still believe in. I might be strong. But with my friends at my side, I’m stronger.

Finding out where they were was a considerable task, but luckily a name was already on her mind, of one who could possibly help.

“Snowfall Glitter,” Starlight said, “Where is she?”

“Snowfall?” Orion repeated, silencing the other two, who had still been bickering, “West of Haverford, we’ve been told. Farrier Field. If they are Haverford, they're bound to march north, through the Wolfswood."

Starlight beamed. The Wolfswood was only a day’s journey away, perhaps less if she hurried.

“What do you want with her?” Florence asked, suspiciously.

“Information,” Starlight replied.

“You won’t get to her easily,” Fuchs said, “She has a few thousand ponies at her back. Most of them won’t live to see the next full moon, not with Shining Armor’s army heading their way."

Starlight flinched. If she could find a way to sue for peace, there would be no need for a battle, no need for so much death. But she would have to reach Snowfall quickly. She would have to leave, now.

Starlight scrambled up to her hooves, sending the three rangers backing up, nervously.

“Thanks again for the food,” Starlight said, eyeing Fuchs, “It was good to see you, Fuchs.”

“Yeah, you too,” Fuchs said, begrudgingly, “We won’t tell our captain about this.”

“We won’t?” Florence asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If she thinks she can bring Snowfall to heel, then I say let her try,” Orion said.

Starlight smiled at him, before glancing over her shoulder. The sun was setting, and the sky had turned to a deep blue as the drizzle turned to snow.

“I hope we’ll meet again, someday,” Starlight said, eyeing Orion. The boy reddened, and Florence narrowed her eyes, irritated.

“Go on, Starlight Glimmer. Before we change our minds,” Florence said.

Orion opened his mouth to speak, but was too flustered to find the words.

Starlight smiled at him one last time, before nodding again toward the others and turning around to face the wind. Her horn ignited, as she cast a series of spells to repair the gravest of her injuries.

The snow stung at her eyes, as she dug hoof after hoof up the slope. She would have to move quickly if she was to find Snowfall, find her friends, and find the Orb, all before Discord or Twilight or Luna found it first.

Trapped in moonglass cages, candles glowed gold along the edges of the room, cluttered with yellowing parchment, vials of ink, and jars of spice. A great yellow snake dangled off one of the rafters, buckling in the air to inspect the newest arrivals to this curious abode.

Wallflower reached for her nose, struggling to make sense of the strange exotic scents that battled and bounced about the foyer.

The rotten little shack shook with each distant gunshot or scream or fit of laughter, there in Canterlot’s shanty town called Eden, where Bon Bon had brought them. The dwellings here were all packed together and on top of one another, a labyrinth of wavering wooden boards and rusty nails.

The shack itself, a tavern of sorts, was owned by a long-maned mare called Aurora Borealis, whose eyes were brilliant purple like amethysts, and whose coat was a softer purple. Her mane was a monster of black curls and untameable tendrils.

But it was not Aurora who Bon Bon had intended to meet, but rather another pony who she knew to frequent the establishment.

“Slick,” Bon Bon grinned, when she came face-to-face with the stallion with the dark mossy mane, after six knocks and a scratch on the door.

“Special Agent Sweetie Drops,” Slick said. He had a hesitant smile on his face, that was until his eyes passed over Sunset Shimmer, “...Y-You…You’re…”

“Here to talk,” Sunset said, “Can we come in?”

Slick glanced over his shoulder. There were a handful of patrons inside, two of which were also Erased agents, called Foxtrot and Scorn.

Sunset led the others inside, wrinkling her nose and adjusting her eyes to the dim firelight. Gilded Lily had been left in the carriage with Kickstart; Sunset was not concerned about the girl running off. That brat wouldn't be caught dead walking alone in this part of town.

Aurora’s shack proved to be an ideal location to meet, Sunset thought. The noise outside provided decent enough protection against any eavesdroppers, and the locale itself was as remote as one could find in Canterlot. They were safe here, she thought. As safe as they could get.

As of Slick and his companions, Sunset was less sure of.

“Just by talking to you, I could be disavowed,” Slick growled, as he led the group to a table in the far back, where he sat himself down, “Alias had a feeling you’d turn up eventually.”

“And yet he’s never bothered lending us any help,” Sunset said.

“He has enough reckless agents in his employ,” Slick retorted, “After that stunt you pulled in Ponyville, he wants nothing to do with you. Just what the hell do you think you’re doing showing up in this part of town? Don’t you have enough enemies already?”

Sunset had noticed Wallflower’s shortness of breath, and had slipped a hoof towards her to gently try and calm her down, without drawing attention to the scene. She was less worried about Lightning and Suri, who sat down to her left, cautiously following her lead and inspecting the safehouse.

“I came to you. Not Alias,” Bon Bon said, “We need a small favor.”

Slick raised an eyebrow.

“Access to the tunnels. No?” Slick said, “You’ll be needing a carriage, too. Unless you plan on hiking up the whole way to Aquila.”

Sunset narrowed her eyes.

“You know about the wedding?” Sunset asked.

“It’s our job to know,” Slick reminded, “We know about the offer Jet Set has made you, too. The case in exchange for your friend, your debts paid off, and freedom. That’s considerable. But you’re not fools. Criminals, yes, but not fools. So you must know that Jet Set is not a pony who keeps his promises.”

“And who said I’ll keep mine?” Sunset asked.

“They have Scootaloo,” Lightning reminded, “I don’t care about the money. Whatever we have to do to get her back, we’re doing it.”

“Even if you do succeed, he won’t give her back,” Slick said, waving her off, “Your friend’s as good as dead.”

Lightning frowned, and she refused to believe him.

“There’s more planned for this wedding than you know,” Slick said, softly, “Twilight Sparkle has tasked a portion of the 2nd Division to leave the front and infiltrate the wedding, to rescue Silver Stream before she’s married off to Prince Malthos. Our intel claims that the company will be led by Redshift. Your old friend.”

“Redshift?” Sunset recalled.

“And as Bon Bon can tell you,” Slick continued, “Jet Set has pitted the entire criminal underworld against itself, and the ceremony is serving as the battleground. The Black Hoof from Manehattan….The remnants of the Underground who now follow some giant silver-haired stallion and his friends, and Canterlot’s own Diamond Dazzle, the Debutante, a friend of our dear Bon Bon. All of them will be there, and all of them will try to destroy each other, until only one will be left to claim the case off of Prince Malthos and hand it over to Jet Set.”

Sunset glanced at Bon Bon, who nodded her head to confirm the validity of Slick's tale.

“But,” Slick said, “Alias isn’t particularly thrilled about gangsters and cutthroats potentially ending up with the most powerful artifact in all of Equestria, and Jet Set least of all.”

Sunset grinned, catching on before the others.

“Then I guess it’s in his interests if we’re the ones to walk away with it,” Sunset said.

Slick nodded, satisfied with Sunset’s conclusion.

“As I said, Chief knew you’d come seeking us out,” Slick said, “He’s allowed me to give you access to all the resources we have at our disposal. Access to the tunnels, agents, equipment, transportation, intel, it’s all yours."

“Even if we do get it, so what?” Suri asked, “The project is too powerful, volatile, that’s what Jet Set said. It can’t be controlled.”

“We have a plan for that,” Slick assured, “We're working on a way to develop the tool, a wand, to wield the weapon inside that case. With that, we’ll at last have the ultimate power in Equestria.”

“It seems we can help each other, then,” Sunset said, “We’ll get the case, and you’ll get the wand. Together we take Twilight Sparkle down.”

“Forget this. You’re the ponies who tortured our friend,” Lightning said, gesturing towards the carriage outside where Kickstart lay, unconscious, “Why should we trust you?”

Sunset glared at Slick.

“There were times when we took…drastic measures to defend Equestria. Some of these plans, we’ve come to regret. Your friend is one of them,” Slick acknowledged.

“He’s sick,” Sunset said, “You must know how to help him. So do it, and maybe we’ll consider this partnership you want so badly.”

Slick frowned.

“He’s becoming unstable,” Slick said, “His nervous system was infused with raw alicorn magic. With most of the test subjects, the magic strain proved too much for their bodies to bear, and they disintegrated, or rotted from within, or were driven completely mad. Subject 67 was the only survivor.”

“You’re all monsters,” Lightning said, “Sunset! We’re not working with these ponies. They’re insane!”

“We were desperate to level the playing field,” Slick said, “It’s no excuse, I know. But we had to make a hard choice - risk the lives of a few unfortunate foals with no friends or family in order to create a super soldier, or leave Equestria vulnerable to the wrath of the alicorns, should their hearts ever turn black. Twilight turned quicker than we were ready for. Only alicorn magic can contest her, we know that now. If any unicorn could have beaten her, it would’ve been Starlight.”

“Starlight was holding back,” Sunset said, or at least she believed so. If Starlight could not beat Twilight, then odds are neither could Sunset, and that was a thought she did not want to consider,

“...First things first, we have to get the damned thing, and that means beating out all these other lowlives who think they stand a chance,” Sunset said.

“Give me a few hours, I’ll get you what you need,” Slick said, “You can sleep here tonight, Aurora won’t mind as long as you eat her cooking and don’t complain.”

“This is a bad idea,” Moon Dancer said, glaring at the others.

“That should be our team motto,” Wallflower mumbled.

“Bon Bon, tell them, you know these ponies are dangerous. They’ll kill all of us as soon as they decide we’re a liability,” Moon Dancer said.

“Then let’s show them what we’re made of,” Sunset said, “He’s got a point about Jet Set. Even if we do get the case, you really think that bloodsucking crook is gonna play fair and just hand her over, no strings attached? We need some backup if we want to get the kid back in one piece, and these ponies are the ones to do that. Yeah. They’re no saints. Are any of you? These other ponies are gonna play dirty too, so what’s stopping us from doing the same?”

“The case is our only bargaining chip,” Suri reminded.

“We need it to get Scootaloo back,” Lightning added.

Moon Dancer frowned, unconvinced.

“You’ve all got a death wish,” Moon Dancer grunted.

“We don’t need you to be happy about it,” Sunset said, “But we do need your carriage.”

Trixie’s first glimpse of Appleloosa was the clocktower, that broken, lonely wreck, a grey beacon peering out from the clouds of dust.

Competing with the shriek of the engines and whistles and wheels of the Friendship Express, there were clamorous crowds gathered around the Appleloosa train station, a hundred or more, stumbling over one another, crying out and barking commands and holding their ground. The wood-panel station area was a sea of bodies, a trembling herd of ponies and buffalo. They wore uniforms of black and blue bruises and bloody sores, and pinkish-red burns and tattered clothes. Some cried out in relief at the sight of the train, and others in fear, and more in rage, for how long they had to wait for somepony, anypony, to arrive.

Loudspeakers were shouting out instructions, though none of it could be heard over the roaring of the crowds.

When the train finally came to a stop, Trixie heard the infants at the other end of the train car burst into tears. Already, she could smell the sulfuric stench of dragonfire.

There was a long wait before the doors opened, as soldiers in silver and green moved about outside, trying their best to manage the crowds. From inside the train car, Trixie could see little of the town through the thick clouds of smoke that permeated through the desert.

Rows of soldiers stood guard at the station, struggling to keep the crowds at bay.

Emerging through the doors, Trixie drowned in the smoke, stumbling past pony after pony as the crowd grew restless, battling one another for space. She held out her hoof for Starbuck to hold onto, and behind him came Amber, and Heartburn last.

“Let’s move, all of you, c’mon now,” came the voice of a soldier from somewhere in the smoke.

The sun set against a blood red sky, while the lingering fires stained the clouds of smoke red and orange and pink. The birds’ feathers were all colored black, circling the town to scavenge the ruins. There were buildings that still stood, though they had all been abandoned; ponies flocked instead to the city of tents that had been raised up beside the wreckage. The soldiers here did not fly the royal flag, however, but rather a field of solid green.

All those survivors who could manage to walk had all fled to the train station, desperate to find refuge somewhere else; the soldiers’ provisions here could not sustain them all, not indefinitely. Trixie wondered where they thought to go next. Canterlot would soon suffer a similar fate, as would Ponyville. Nowhere in the south was safe, nor north, nor west, nor east.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Heartburn grunted, when he emerged from the crowds behind Trixie. She shot a glance at Starbuck and Amber, who were both speechless. You have to be brave, she wanted to say.

While Trixie tried her best to avoid staring too long at the disfigured survivors and encampments full of wounded, Heartburn could not pull his gaze away. His eyes were red from the smoke, and there was a pressure in his chest that made him shrink up.

“We can’t draw attention to ourselves,” Trixie reminded, trying her best to stay focused on the task at hoof, “We have to find out any info we can on Cadance, and find a way out of here.”

Heartburn hesitated to reply. He glanced at her, wide-eyed and in pain.

“You go find what you can. I’ll be here.”

“There’s no time,” Trixie said, softly.

“I can help,” he insisted, “So I’m helping.”

“Doc, you can’t-” Starbuck attempted, before Heartburn began trotting off towards the tents, past rows and rows of bloody cots.

“Go with him,” Trixie told Starbuck, sighing, “We won’t be long. Stay out of trouble, OK?”

Starbuck could barely breathe, but nodded his head and ran off to join Heartburn.

“We shouldn’t be splitting up,” Amber said.

“We need to move, c’mon,” Trixie said, taking Amber by the hoof and leading her away. Amber seemed alarmed by the gesture, but followed along, glancing over her shoulder every other step.

The streets were flooded with lakes of blood, gasoline, and mud. Trixie steered them through the town outskirts towards the other end of the tent city, where more survivors had gathered.

Passing through the ruins of the town, Trixie saw Amber’s eyes wander by the broken-in windows and demolished remnants, scouring for anything shiny.

“We’re not here to scavenge,” Trixie said, eyeing Amber.

“It won’t be missed,” Amber said, “I’m going to go check out this way. I’ll find you.”

“Wait, Amber, come back,” Trixie called, but Amber had already begun trotting off down another path by the tents.

Trixie sighed. She would have to be quick, before somepony recognized her or any of the others.

She kept to the outskirts, slowly making her way deeper into the tent city to search for anypony who might know anything about Cadance.

Near the center of the camp, she saw a crowd was gathering. Shuffling through, she saw they had come to witness the final hours of the buffalo chief, a huge burly beast, once a proud warrior, now a living corpse. He had half his face scalded off by dragonflame, and his lungs were severely injured. He was surrounded by ponies and buffalo alike, and one, a young buffalo girl with a band around her head, was kneeling in a puddle of tears at his side.

Trixie felt her heart sink at the scene, and was so captivated she did not notice the pony approaching her from behind.

She glanced over her shoulder when he arrived beside her, leaning against one of the tent stakes. He was slightly older than her, with a coat of pale gold and a mane of brilliant gamboge and amber. He was handsome and lean, but the exhaustion was plain in his eyes.

“You came on the train?” the pony asked.

Trixie quickly thought of a crafty lie, but decided the truth could not hurt her, yet.

“Just an hour ago,” Trixie replied, before glancing back to the dying buffalo, “Who was he?”

“His name was Thunderhooves,” the pony said, “We never exactly got along, but….He saved a lot of ponies’ lives. He was brave, and his buffalo would have followed him to their deaths. His daughter there, Strongheart, she’s leading the herd now.”

“Her?” Trixie asked; the buffalo girl seemed hardly older than a child, “Is that a good idea?”

The pony laughed.

“That’s what the buffalo said when the ponies chose me to replace Silverstar,” the pony said, “A good idea? I suppose we’ll find out. I’m Braeburn.”

Only then did Trixie notice the sheriff’s star pinned on Braeburn’s jacket, and she suddenly felt her stomach twist into a knot.

“It’s a miracle any of you survived,” Trixie said, bluntly.

“The dragons didn’t care about holding this town,” Braeburn said, “All they care about is spilling blood. Burning and raiding and….damn them, damn all of them. The buffalo and us had to work together to hold them off. We’re lucky to have saved as many as we did. Red Rock had it even worse.”

“These soldiers,” Trixie said, “They couldn’t have made it here sooner?”

“The royals abandoned us,” Braeburn said, “Hawkbit, that little runt, stayed where it was safe and watched from a distance as our lands were put to the torch. The Greens came as soon as they could. They defeated one dragon army at High Water, and now mean to defeat a second at Dodge City.”

Trixie paused to consider that. We might have a mutual enemy.

“Can you trust them?” Trixie asked.

“They came when nopony else would,” Braeburn said, “I don’t care about the war. I just care about the ponies and buffalo here.”

The tent opened then to reveal another pony’s face, a snow-white stallion with a curly black mane and a rough, short beard, stained darker from all the ash. He wore silver armor fixed with moonglass, black boots, and a black coat. His eyes passed over Trixie on his way to greet Braeburn. He came to an abrupt stop then, his eyes locked onto Trixie, and at once she began planning some escape.

“Ah, Captain,” Braeburn said, “Captain Kit, I’d like to introduce you to….Luna’s sake, I never asked your name.”

Trixie opened her mouth to speak, but the captain interjected.

“Her name is Trixie,” Kit said. Trixie felt her heart stop. Braeburn’s smile dropped off his face. Kit’s grip on his scabbard tightened.

“And she’s coming with me.”

Bells, bells, the bells all rang, from each tower and stable and barricade.

Shining Armor gritted his teeth as he charged against Starhaven, a sea of Northerners and changelings crashing over Hackamore Hill behind him. Ophelia had meant to warn the townsponies to stay indoors, though the bells served just as well as a battle cry for the approaching imperial host, roaring and riding beneath gleaming mail.

Shining Armor led the van, clad in his purple and gold armor, a glimmering aura of pale rose lighting the charge. Blackburn, the General of the Spearheads, was at the prince’s side, and behind them came the reindeer led by Prince Ivan the Elder, and Prince Vitreum of Selva, and Prince Sweyn of Novador, and Prince Rutger of the Yaks. And to the right came Captain Star Shock with the Diamondbacks, and to the left, Captain Rusty Reaver of the Collaterals.

Styles and his ponies fought back fiercely in the streets, outnumbered and trapped in a bind. They fought in the alleys and rooftops, in living rooms and causeways.

And Bittersteel, Lord of Hellebore’s Fort, had joined the fight from the south, with his army of Highlanders. He had thought to have been felled by Styles, though the grizzled old stallion had only suffered a wound, his bleeding, cursing form guarded by six of his soldiers near a pile of hay.

Styles had, however, claimed the life of Prince Ivan the Younger, the heir to the Reindeer throne.

Broadwing had emerged from Peach’s right as the bells began ringing. He managed to slay six ponies, but did not find Styles on the field, despite his efforts.

Styles’ subordinates accepted the battle was lost long before he ever did; it took four royal soldiers to pull him back from the battle to retreat. So driven with battlelust was he, that he had nearly killed three of his own soldiers in rage, refusing to retreat so meekly.

Shining Armor did not pursue the fleeing force, deciding instead to remain in Starhaven and organize Broadwing’s scattered forces into his own host.

The princes found each other in the town square, where bodies lay strewn about, both royal and Imperial. The Northerners were celebrating in the streets, still to the tune of the ringing bells.

“We would be dead if not for you,” Broadwing said, embracing Shining like a lost dog come home. Shining was glad to see the young prince alive, albeit soiled in blood and dirt.

“We’d gotten bad reports. They said you’d been killed,” Shining.

“If you’d been a day later, they’d be right,” Broadwing replied, “Styles. Did we catch him?”

“He escaped,” Shining said, grimly, “He’s running back to Snowfall, who’s just beaten Honeycomb and taken Haverford, we’re told. It was Redshift who put the idea in her head.”

“That won’t matter. We have her outnumbered three times over,” Broadwing said.

“We have to be careful,” Shining said, “One wrong move and she could put Haverford to the torch.”

Broadwing hesitated.

“No, Snowfall wouldn’t do that. She-”

“After everything that’s happened, you should know better than to assume anypony is as they once seemed. My own sister should be proof enough for that,” Shining said.

Shining’s attention was seized by a crowd of rowdy Imperials, laughing and cheering down the street. They were dragging a pony behind them, fixed with a rope leash and iron fetters.

“Styles?” Broadwing asked, joining Shining as they approached the crowd.

“No. A War Boy, maybe,” Shining Armor said. The crowd made way for the princes, who trotted into the center where the prisoner had fallen to the ground.

“Not a War Boy. A War Girl,” laughed Flash Sentry, roughly lifting the prisoner up by her curly red-orange mane.

“Firecracker,” Shining Armor said, recognizing the mare. She wore the bronze armor that all of the War Boys wore, following the example of their commander.

“Your grace,” Firecracker said, politely, but with venom in her voice. She was covered in bruises and blood, and had been dragged across a mile of snow and dirt, a trophy to parade through the town. “Styles wants to wish your daughter a belated happy birthday. He hopes you’re doing well.”

Shining Armor cracked a grin. Styles had been something of a friend, all those years ago, and it was Shining Armor who appointed Styles to the Nine, shortly before Shining’s engagement to Cadance.

“I would be glad to hear it from him in person,” Shining Armor said, “Where has he gone?”

Firecracker spat at the ground in front of Shining’s hooves.

“I won’t betray my captain,” she said, forgoing her prior respectful demeanor, “Torture me all you want, I won’t talk.”

Shining glanced over at Vitreum, Prince of the Selvites, whose armor was drenched in blood, “We had another one, but he tried to resist. He drew a hidden knife, so the others put him down. This one’s the only officer left.”

Firecracker’s face turned pale.

“Put her in irons. We’ll take her with us.” Shining demanded; Firecracker was trembling, and trying her hardest to be brave.

“Traitor filth! You’ll get what’s coming to you, you’ll all g-ow!” Firecracker cried, when a soldier’s staff rammed into her skull. She fell into the forelegs of another soldier, who began wrapping a band of cloth around her mouth and locking her hooves in chains.

“Keep the other prisoners here with the garrison. Have Ophelia make sure they’re all fed and patched up, and kept under guard,” Shining commanded.

“Yes, sir,” came Flash, who left with the crowd of soldiers, eager to break open the kegs of victory wine and enjoy the night after battle.

Broadwing lingered, his left wing resting on his sword scabbard.

“Has there been any word on my brother? My mother?” he asked.

“I’ve had no word on your brother. I left Primrose with the reserves in Aquila. She’ll be representing me at Malthos’ wedding to the hippogriff girl.”

“Sir, I…My actions, if they’ve jeopardized the campaign in any way, I’m sorry,” Broadwing said, “I…If you think I'm unfit to continue in command, I’ll understand.”

Shining glanced at him, and stuck his hoof on the boy’s shoulder.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Shining said, “I don’t hold you responsible for what happened. Your actions won us Seaguard, and the Smoky Shore, and by extension Vanhoover, Tall Tale, and soon Haverford.”

“We’ve taken the Smoky Shore?” Broadwing asked, as hope returned to his heart.

Shining grinned.

“Snowfall has Haverford, but she’s cut off from her supply lines and is trapped on all sides now,” Shining Armor said, “Our next move is to march on Haverford, and confront her.”

Broadwing gulped down his fears.

“Styles will have reached her first,” Broadwing despaired, “Once they’re together, nopony will be able to beat them.”

“You and I together,” Shining smiled, grabbing Broadwing by the foreleg, “Together, we can.”

Raindrops slipped past ribbons of gold, where Aurora Borealis’ collection of candles buckled wildly in the nighttime tempest. Suri sat there by the window sill, pawing at her eyelids. She had watched as the rain sent all of Eden’s inhabitants dashing back indoors, washing away the clutter and rabble, and leaving only the soft cracks of distant thunder and the thin patter of rain on cobblestone.

Suri had volunteered to take the first watch; despite Slick’s assurances that this place was safe, Sunset did not want to take any chances. Suri didn’t mind. She never slept well, anyway.

The others were all in Aurora’s shanty lounge, even Gilded Lily, that snot-nosed little brat, who had insisted she not sleep alone in the carriage outside. Sprawled out over couches, old chairs, and, in Lightning Dust’s case, the floor, all of them hardly moved as they slept, exhausted.

At least, that was the case for a little while. Lightning must have been nightmares again; she was kicking and wincing and twitching as she often did, and so Suri got up to drape another blanket over her. Idiot, she thought, There’s enough to worry about while you’re awake.

Returning to her spot by the sill, Suri winced as some rain fell into her eyes.

“You’re still awake?”

Wallflower Blush had just arrived from the kitchen with a cup of water in her hoof.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Suri grumbled.

“Sorry,” Wallflower said, “You should get some rest for tomorrow.”

“We’re not safe here,” Suri said, dryly, “And I need to make myself useful, so…”

“I thought you’d be glad to have a chance to catch your breath,” Wallflower said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the window sill, to Suri’s annoyance, “What’s got you down?”

“What’s it to you?” Suri snapped.

“If I can help at all, I want to,” Wallflower said, “I’m worried about you.”

“I don’t need you to worry about me,” Suri sighed.

Wallflower shut her mouth and glanced at the ground. Suri stared daggers at her, and sighed.

“I didn’t think I’d still be doing this,” Suri said, “Here, I mean. With all of you. This isn’t what I was supposed to be doing. This isn’t right.” Suri’s face began to twist. “Because I was never right. I came close once. Growing up in Manehattan, in the shadow of the buildings I wanted to work in, ponies keep their heads down so they don’t have to look up too high. But I couldn’t look away. Those ponies, I wanted to be like them. I learned how they talked, how they dressed, and I learned the trade in and out. I got my chance once, to run my own boutique, my own brand, at a Manehattan convention a few years back. Pret-a-Porter was the host. Rarity had the nerve to show her face then, even after she beat me to win Prim Hemline’s Fashion Week just a few months before. The night after the convention my agent comes to my dressing room and says this isn’t your night. ‘We’re going for the design by the Ponyville girl, Rarity.’ This isn’t your night! My night! I could’ve taken Rarity apart! So what happens? Rarity gets the title spotlight at Hoity Toity’s showcase in Canterlot, and what do I get? A one-way ticket to nobodyville. And I never had anypony looking out for me. Nopony in my corner, except for Coco, who turned against me the second she got a better offer. And sure, I still saw some bits, but…You don’t get it. I could’ve had class. I could’ve been a contender. I could’ve been somepony! Somepony, instead of this, instead of what I am. A rat on the run.”

“What do you want to hear?” Wallflower asked, softly, “You want me to tell you that everything’s going to go back to how it was? It won’t. You lost out then, but you lost out for good when you got yourself thrown in Hellhatch. We’ve all screwed up, Suri.”

“Except you’ve all given up,” Suri said, “Sunset and you and Lightning Dust, all happy living like gutter rats. Why should I be? A screwball stunt flier and an outcast gardener, what kind of chances did you ever have to begin with? I had a career. I had a life.”

Wallflower felt her chest tighten, and she glanced over towards the others in the nearby room. Suri shut her mouth,

“I didn’t mean that,” Suri said, “Wallflower. I know you had a life too. I just…Part of me wants to think that I had something special. That I still do. It had to be that way, where I grew up. I had to shoot big. I had to convince myself that me and only me could do it. If I’m not that pony, then…my entire life is just going to be a footnote in somepony’s else’s.”

“Maybe it was, once,” Wallflower said, “But you didn’t lose everything when you lost Manehattan. And I didn’t lose everything when I lost my village. Everypony dreams. At least you got close. Really close.”

“Close doesn’t count for shit,” Suri grunted.

“What do you care about now, Suri? What you could have done? What you could have been? What about what you can be?” Wallflower asked.

Suri rolled her eyes. “A fucking criminal?”

“A friend,” Wallflower corrected, “My friend. Their friend. We’ve been in a bad spot for a while, but we’re gonna get out, one day. And we need you to do that. Just…for Celestia’s sake, Suri, we care about you. I care about you. You give us a hard enough time already.” Wallflower snickered. “At least go easy on yourself.”

Suri watched Wallflower saunter back to the other room. Suri glanced back out at the rain outside, which had begun to pour harder, and harder.

Trixie took a bite of the peach, which was hovering in the air in an aura of magic. She glanced over at the captain, who was lean and dour with a long face. Solemn and guarded, he glared at Trixie as she ate. He had not given her leave to eat from his fruit bowl.

“You know who I am?” Trixie asked, between bites.

Kit nodded.

“I’m Kit Carina,” introduced the stallion, “You picked a very strange time to visit, Trixie Lulamoon.”

“I don’t plan on staying here long,” Trixie explained, “And I don’t want any trouble.”

“Good. We have enough,” Kit said, “But somehow I doubt a fugitive such as yourself wound up here of all places by chance.”

“You should be glad I’m here,” Trixie said, “I brought you a doctor, and some extra hooves to help rebuild…..Are you going to tell Twilight?”

Kit scoffed.

“I serve Vertigo. Not Twilight Sparkle,” Kit said, “I won’t turn you over, but I won’t help you, either. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d rather not get involved.”

“We’ll be out of your mane soon enough,” Trixie said, “Be careful. Ponies tend to get fond of me fast. I’d hate to have a tearful goodbye. ”

Kit gave way to a grin, before lowering his head, forcing himself to resume his no-nonsense attitude.

“See what you can do to help around here,” Kit said, “These ponies need it.”

Trixie nodded her head, and made for the exit of the tent, before stopping and glancing back over her shoulder.

“Mind showing me around?” Trixie asked.

It was practically dark out now, as Kit trotted alongside Trixie through the camp.

“Have you heard anything about Princess Cadance?” Trixie asked.

“Cadance?” Kit repeated, “Little and less. Some say her prison convoy ran into dragons, that she was killed. Some say she’s being taken to Mercy Hill, or the Ghostfort, or Rockbottom. You’re looking for her?”

“Looking to rescue her,” Trixie specified, “We’re planning on taking the Black Pass, to try and catch the convoy before we lose them in the Deep Wood.”

“The Black Pass?” Kit said, “You’d need a carriage to take that way.”

Trixie bit her lip, and Kit scoffed.

“Ah. Well. You can have one of ours, though I’d like you to return it once you’ve rescued her,” Kit said.

Trixie smiled. She would be glad to have some allies further down the road, when Twilight inevitably found her.

“I won’t forget this,” Trixie said, “Trixie always pays her debts.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’d be glad to see Cadance safe. It’s no hindrance to us, anyway, I expect we’ll be here for some time,” Kit sighed, “Until Vertigo plans to march on Canterlot, at least.”

“On the dragons? Or on Twilight?” Trixie asked.

Kit glanced at her.

“I could not say,” he said.

“Captain!”

Two ponies emerged from the tents, both teenagers. One, a girl with thick turquoise locks and a coat of mud brown, had a bandage around her wing, and the other, a boy with a red coat and azure mane, had a brace around one of his legs.

Trixie saw the captain smile for the first time, as the two kids ran up to him, talking over each other such that neither could be properly understood.

“It was Bloofy,” said the girl, called Spur, “It wasn’t us! Honest!”

“Yeah, what she said,” came the boy, called Biscuit. He had a whirling mungtooth resting on his back, fast asleep.

Kit glanced over their heads at the mess they had made inside the tent.

“That’s the last time I have you two on kitchen duty,” Kit sighed, smiling and shaking his head, “Go clean yourselves up and see if Stokes needs help with anything. And Bloofy is in big trouble.”

“No!” Spur and Biscuit shrieked in unison, throwing themselves over Bloofy protectively, before scurrying off, shrieking and laughing and tripping over themselves.

Kit’s smile began to fade, and Trixie realized she was staring up at him for perhaps too long.

A soldier arrived from out of one of the tent corridors, carrying a bottle of whiskey in her hooves.

“Braeburn had some extra left over,” Stokes smiled, “It’s yours, Captain.”

Kit examined the bottle, before glancing up at Trixie.

“Your doctor will need it more than me,” Kit said, handing it over to Trixie. He left her with a nod, before joining Stokes to go inspect some of the troops nearby, idling around a campfire.

Outside the medical tents, Trixie found Amber and Starbuck. Starbuck was eating a bushel of apples, while Amber was scraping the gemstones out of pieces of jewelry she had found all around the ruins of the town.

“You’ve been stealing?” Trixie stammered.

“I couldn’t help it,” Amber shrugged, “We’re going to rescue a princess, right? We deserve some additional compensation.”

Trixie shook her head in disbelief.

“Go with Starbuck and look for ponies who need any help, and bring them to Doc,” Trixie instructed, “And no more stealing.”

Amber was very confused, but nodded along, taking off from the tent. Starbuck lingered.

“She didn’t mean any harm,” he insisted, though he hardly believed himself. He turned red for some reason, and quickly ran off to catch up to Amber.

Trixie found Heartburn inside, lying on the ground by the makeshift operating table. His white physician’s coat was stained with dirt and blood that had turned brown. His hooves were painted red, and he was gaunt, as if he had not eaten all day.

Trixie trotted over, but did not catch his gaze, only a vacant expression, and his tired breathing.

“Hey,” Trixie said, softly.

Heartburn moved his whole head to take a look at her, before sniffing at the blood in the air and wiping his face.

“What'd you find?” he asked.

“Not much in the way of leads,” Trixie answered, “....Are you alright?”

“I haven’t done surgery like that in some ten years,” Heartburn remarked, with an empty laugh to punctuate himself, “I’m not so steady anymore.”

“You just need a rest,” Trixie said, helping him up to his hooves, “Might I tempt you with a break?" She smirked and revealed the bottle of whiskey. Heartburn gave a hearty laugh, leaning his head back against the cot.

Heartburn took a great swig of the drink, before setting it aside.

"I shouldn't have tried to stop you," Trixie admitted, "These ponies needed you."

"We're in a hurry yes, but theirs was a tad more urgent, I'm afraid," Heartburn said. “When I was young and my hooves were more steady, I spent several years abroad, in the West and the East, with the International Volunteers. Vanhoover was a bit too dull for my liking, mind you. Most of us live and die in the same corner of the world we were born into. But I did not want to be most of us. I had learned so much in so many places, when I returned I was sought after, by the Erased and all sorts of ponies. Princess Celestia hired me to teach at the School for Gifted Unicorns, as an adjunct lecturer on somatomancy, that was where I met our mutual friend, Sunset Shimmer. I was one of three non-unicorns to ever teach at such a place. And likely the last - I was disgraced and thrown out after Celestia caught me practicing black magic."

"Black magic?" Trixie repeated, horrified.

"A colt was brought to me," Heartburn said, "A young boy, eight or nine. His parents told me no other doctor would treat him, that the disease he carried was incurable. It was a rare strain of black rot, a slow-acting, necrotic kind of magical decay. They had been told that he would die, or worse, the rot would go slow and he'd grow just enough to know the world before taking it away from him.

"Every herb, incantation, antibody, nothing did much at all. I sat with him and spoke with him and watched him while he slept. I listened to his ragged little breaths, I watched him twitch and jump awake in his sleep. I had seen cruelty before, but nothing like this. So yes, I resorted to unnatural methods. The gods had abandoned this boy, so I spat on the gods and looked to the devil instead."

"And did he live?" Trixie asked, "Did it work?"

"No," Heartburn said, "The boy died just a day later." The torch nearby began crackling a bit louder. "I destroyed myself, and all for nothing. I saved a thousand ponies' lives, but the only one I remember is the one I couldn't." He glanced at Trixie, his eyes red and strained. "I do hope we find your princess. She might go on to save a great many, and perhaps I'll see their faces in my dreams, instead."

“You will,” Trixie said, softly.

Starbuck and Amber arrived outside the tent, carrying a pony on a stretcher between them.

“Moron. You’re going to drop him,” Amber chastised.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it, I’ve-” Starbuck said, before nearly slipping and dropping the stretcher on the ground. Amber corrected his mistake with a spell, guiding the stretcher to the ground in front of Heartburn. She next lifted up a tent stake from the ground, telekinetically swinging it over to whack Starbuck over the head.

“Ow!” Starbuck exclaimed, “That hurt!”
Starbuck leapt to retaliate, though Trixie stepped between them.

“Where’d you find this one?” Trixie asked, glancing down at the pony on the stretcher. He wore grey rags discolored by ash, and his face was hidden.

“He’s been waiting all day for somepony to check out his foreleg,” Amber said, “Got crushed under some rubble.”

“Doc, you got one more miracle in you?.” Starbuck asked.

Heartburn knelt beside the pony, who was shifting in and out of consciousness, delirious from the pain in his foreleg. Stokes and another soldier, Aria, had stopped by, dropping off a crate of supplies Heartburn had requested.

“That doesn’t look good,” Stokes said, glancing at the pony on the stretcher.

“Multiple fractures,” Heartburn determined, “It won’t be pretty….I…mean, ah, hello there.” The pony had stirred awake with a jerk, reeling from the pain. The pony groaned in agony, as his whole body tensed up. Heartburn put his hoof on the pony’s foreleg, hoping to put him at ease.

“What’s your name, lad?” Heartburn asked, gently.

The pony, who was still somewhat dazed from the pain, answered without thinking.

“Chisel,” he said. He blinked in rapid succession, before trying his best to rouse himself. “You’re a doctor?” he asked, laughing in spite of the pain, as a wave of relief overcame him.

“That’s right, lad. Your leg’s going to be all better,” Heartburn said, “I’m going to need the table for this. First let’s get these rags off.”

Heartburn’s hoof reached for the pony’s tunic, but as he pulled the rags away, he noticed a black mark inked into the pony’s left shoulder.

“Hey,” Starbuck said, perking up from beside the tent as he noticed the mark too.

“What?” came Trixie.

“It’s an ‘R,’” Starbuck said, “‘R’ for ‘Red.’ The Red Regiment. Royal army. He’s a soldier, this one.”

“Nonsense. Why would a soldier be hiding in rags?” Heartburn said, doubtfully.

“He’s not with us,” Stokes said, suspiciously. “Hey, pal. What unit are you in?”

Chisel was short of breath, weak and half-awake as the pain in his leg made him wince and tremble and tear up.

“The Appleloosa garrison,” Chisel managed, “I survived the battle, but I was driven out into the Calliope Desert.”

“That’s a lie,” came Aria, “The dragons all went north, not west into the Calliope. And if you were with the Appleloosans, then Braeburn would know who you are. Should we go find him?”

Chisel turned pale.

“You fled the Everfree front,” Trixie guessed, “You deserted your post before the dragons reached the line, and you came here.”

Chisel tried his hardest to think of an alibi, but could only nod his head, too overwhelmed by the pain to keep his story straight.

“Cadance’s prison caravan would have had to pass the front,” Starbuck pointed out, “Princess Cadance. Did you see her?”

Chisel flinched at the mention of Cadance, and Trixie took an aggressive step forwards.

“You did. You saw her, didn’t you? Where?”

“No, I-I never saw her! Only rumor, only-“

Trixie’s horn invited, and the whole group took a step back except for her and Chisel, the latter of whom was paralyzed with fear

“Where was she?”

“Wisteria!” Chisel exclaimed, “But she’s not there anymore! He took her!”

“Who?”

“My captain!” Chisel stammered, “He fled Wisteria before the dragons took the castle. We had to fl-fl-flee, the dr-dragons were….They would’ve….Ah! He used Cadance as his reason to leave, to personally escort her to the Ghostfort. I fled too, but snuck around the dragons to come here. I figured the dragons wouldn’t hit the same place twice! Don’t kill me!

“Wisteria?” roared one of the soldiers from a nearby camp. It was Blackout who had spoken and risen to his hooves, and he was soon joined by Mellow Mirth. Shell Shock and Selene, and Meadows and Clair de Lune.

“You said your captain was at Wisteria?” Blackout barked.

Chisel was drenched in sweat.

“N-No! N-Not me, I-I only heard, I meant, I heard from-” Chisel attempted.

“The Traveling Circus held Wisteria,” Blackout said, “Are they your friends? The Surgeon. You serve the Surgeon?”

Aria and Stokes both recoiled at the calling of the Surgeon’s name. Stokes had her knife drawn in a flash of steel.

“Hawkbit’s mad dog?” Selene demanded.

“He was there at the burning mill some months ago,” said Clair, “You know what he did to them, the mares, and the foals. Little foals!”

“NO!” Chisel wailed, sobbing, “Not me, I never! I swear it! It’s him you want! I’ll take you to him! I’ll take you to him!”

“What road did he take?” Trixie demanded, “Is the Black Pass clear?”

“He took the Red Gap! He’ll be at the fort in three days!” Chisel squealed, “Don’t take the Black Pass, that’s where the deserters all went. Now tell them to stop! You need me! Yes! You need me! I’ll show you the way! But stop them! Make them!”

Kit Carina had arrived to investigate all the commotion, and when Stokes had whispered in his ear, Trixie could make out the words Surgeon, mill, and foals. Little foals.

She saw Kit’s face darken, and she knew then that she could do nothing more to help Chisel, who was weeping in a puddle of his own making.

“I think we can find our own way,” Trixie said.

“NO!” Chisel cried, but by then the mares were already carrying Chisel away, knives in their mouths and hooves and wings. And the Surgeon’s stallion screamed all the way back to the tent they took him to, and Trixie had to turn away, not wanting to match an image to the shrieking.

Trixie grabbed Heartburn and pulled him aside.

“The Red Gap,” Trixie repeated, “That’s where they’re taking her. They’ve got a headstart on us, so we’ll have to double-time it.”

“There's a shortcut I know,” Amber offered, joining the group, “Through the Macintosh Hills.”

“We’d better go now. We’ll make up time if we travel by night,” Trixie said, before glancing at Heartburn, who was dragging his hooves in the dirt.

“If they reach the fort before we catch them, Cadance is lost. And if this Surgeon guy is with her, she's in more danger than we thought,” Trixie said, “You did all you could here, Doc. Cadance needs us.”

Heartburn forced himself to move forward, while Trixie took one last look at the camp, before leading the others to where the carriages were kept.

But up above the ridge, Trixie did not see the pair of glowing eyes watching her. Callidus slipped away into the shadows, slithering down the ridge, his hoof pawing at the knives fixed to his belt.

Across candlelight, Rainbow twirled her hoof in her mane, her eyes darting around the room, searching for which of these ponies might be the one they had come here for.

She scanned the room, perusing the host of aristocrats in feathered headdresses and golden jewelry that had crept out from the safety of their hightower abodes, some for the first time since before the riots began. Collectively, these ponies held most of the wealth in Canterlot, perhaps all of Equestria as a whole. And hidden among them were three ponies, dressed as best as they could manage on such short notice.

Rainbow Dash wore the rose-pink dress that she had worn to the Andromeda, and had fixed her mane into a curlier, tight-tousled do that kept everything above her shoulders. Blondie sat across from her, clad in his black tuxedo. His stubble had grown back, but it was nothing compared to Salt Shaker’s bristly beast of a beard. The silver-maned giant seemed uncomfortable at the dinner table; he was slightly too large to sit properly on his chair.

They had been led here by the One-Eyed Pony, who had slipped away into the crowds, leaving them at one of the dinner tables in the ballroom of the Red Roan Hotel. The ballroom chamber was packed with ponies, all dressed in their best black suits or billowing gowns. She wondered what they all thought they were celebrating. One last drink before the war, she considered. But these ponies would not be the ones who would suffer, when the dragons reached the city. They would hide themselves away in their bunkers and wait out the storm, while everypony else would be left lambs to the slaughter.

"You're worried about her," Blondie said. Rainbow snapped out of her thoughts, to find Blondie leaning in towards her, while Salt was busy chatting up the waiter.

Rainbow took a quick sip from her glass.

"Of course I am," Rainbow said, "I'm worried about you, too, y'know." She wondered how close the knife had been to Brandy's throat, before she had called out to Blondie to stop. She wanted to believe he wouldn't have done it. But she could not know.

"I know," Blondie said. The memory frightened him, but Blondie made himself hold it, turn it in his head, stare at it hard. I tried to kill her, make no mistake. I would have stuck her with my knife if Rainbow hadn't stopped me.

He wanted to think of a better place, a snug little cottage by the maple lake. The walls were lopsided and cracked and the floor had been made of packed earth, but he had always been warm there, even when they let the fire go out. He wanted to think of Candle Light there beside him, with her eyes as blue as the lake.

They would kiss for hours, and spend whole days doing no more than lolling in bed, listening to the wind on the water, and holding each other. Her body was a wonder to him, and she seemed to find delight in his. Sometimes she would sing to him. "I love you," she would whisper before they went to sleep at night. "I love your lips. I love your voice, and the words you say to me, and how you treat me gentle. I love your face."

"My face?"

"Yes. Yes. I love your hooves, and how you touch me. And I love your name."

"Nopony calls me by my name," Blondie would say.

"But I like your name. I love to say your name. Dying Light. It goes with mine. Not the Dying part. the other part. Light and Light."

Lies, Blondie thought, all feigned, all for gold. She was a prostitute, his brother's prostitute, his brother's gift. He had been trying to kill Brandy, though it was Candle Light's face that he saw in her place. Her face seemed to fade away, dissolving behind a veil of tears, but even after she was gone he could still hear the faint, far-off sound of her voice, calling his name. "...Blondie, can you hear me? Blondie? Blondie?"

It was Salt speaking to him, he realized. Rainbow had gotten up to powder her nose.

Salt raised his glass, and Blondie followed suit.

"We don't belong here," Salt said, grimly, "We were born in the mud. When we talk, they all can see the mud on our tongues, and they know us for what we are."

"But we won't die in the mud," Blondie said.

Salt's smile began to waver.

"You won't," Salt corrected, "Your heart is stronger than mine, Blondie. You were made to live. I was made to die."

"Then why bother?" Blondie asked, "You can escape all this, anytime. You're not beholden to anypony."

"I am, to you," Salt said, "You told me once you had a debt to pay. I want to see that through, but perhaps not in blood. Brandy, an infernal creature she may be, is what you lost once before. I would see the two of you free of all this."

"Blood is your trade, you said once," Blondie said, "Why the change of heart?"

"Because you've come all this way," Salt said, "Once it only seemed foolish, but now it seems a crime not to do what I can to help you, Blondie, my friend."

"Are we friends, Salt?" Blondie asked, skeptically.

Salt smiled, and opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Rainbow Dash sat down at her seat. She had not come alone.

The One-Eyed Pony gave a vacant smile, eyeing the three of them. His eyes lingered on Blondie, the longest.

"We thank you for your patience," he said, with a subtle bow of his head.

He stepped out of the way to reveal a pair of ponies, a stallion and a mare, posed with their eyes cast down and their heads held high.

Jet Set sat down at the table, along with Upper Crust. Jet Set wore a coat of faint grey and a mane of black. A pair of bifocals rested on his snout, and he wore a suit with a red tie. Upper Crust was a golden mare with a bouncy lavender mane, wrapped in a deep purple dress.

“You must be Salt Shaker, I presume," Jet Set said, marveling at the sight of the giant, "Good Celestia, they weren’t kidding. You truly are a monster. And you must be the sidekick with the mouth I’ve been warned about,” Jet Set smiled, glancing down at Blondie, “I don’t hold any grudges, about that business with Trench. His childish rivalry with Crozer’s gang of thugs was his own undoing…..And Rainbow Dash, what an unexpected pleasure! Equestria’s been wondering what’s become of its prismatic Wonderbolt star. And now we know.”

“You wanted to talk,” Salt said, “So talk. But remember that we’re not as partial to your persuasions as our friends in the Black Hoof.”

“Yes, I know this. You’ve already demonstrated a keener sense of strategy than all the other gutter rats in my employ, I’ll grant you that. How do you know Malthos will keep his word about handing over the case?” Jet Set asked.

“Dash put the fear of Celestia in him,” Blondie said, glancing at Rainbow.

Jet Set grinned, delighted.

“Very good. Very good. Well, for all intents and purposes, I’ll assume that you’ll be the ones walking out of that wedding with the case in hoof. Now the only question is … how much can I pay you for it?”

Rainbow adjusted herself in her seat, uneasily.

“The Black Hoof have targets on my friends’ backs,” Rainbow said, “They've been holding off for now to wait and see if they can make us a deal. If we give them nothing, my friends are dead.”

“The late Crozer's unaccomplished acolytes are who run the Black Hoof now. I’ll soothe their appetites,” Jet Set said, waving her off, “In fact, if we go into business, I’ll go so far as to take over their entire operation. You already killed Crozer, stole half his ponies and a good chunk of the Underground. If I were to root out Hellcat and the remaining Black Hoof remnant, you could take their spoils and become the most powerful pony in Manehattan.”

Salt Shaker raised his eyebrow.

“Wait,” Rainbow interjected, trying to catch Salt’s attention, “What exactly do you plan on using the case for?”

Jet Set’s smile wavered.

“Rebuilding Equestria,” he said, gently, “I have the industry, resources, and connections to lead Equestria into the next era, once the dragons and royals and imperials are finished blasting each other to bits. With the case, I’d have the power to replant, reconstruct, revitalize,”

Rainbow glanced at Blondie, who had narrowed his eyes, skeptically.

“If serving the greater good doesn't tempt you, then perhaps a check for 4 million bits will,” Jet said, “...I’m offering you a chance to be a part of the new world order.”

“Your world order, you mean,” Blondie said, “No deal.”

“Yeah, sorry, but I’m not sure I want to leave Equestria's fate up to you,” Rainbow said.

Jet Set's eyes glided over them both and landed on Salt, who leaned in from the edge of the table.

“Ignore them both, they share a brain,” Salt said, quickly. Blondie and Rainbow stared at him, stunned. “I want you to join us at the wedding, personally. I’ll hand the case over to you and you alone as soon as I get it from Malthos. I will do this, and you will hand over 5 million bits, and not a penny less, and you'll follow through in helping oust the Black Hoof. So that our dear Rainbow and her friends won't have to sleep with one eye open for the rest of their lives."

"It's not so bad," the One-Eyed pony chuckled.

Jet Set grinned.

“They didn't tell me you were a negotiator,” Jet Set smiled, “Alright. 5 million.”

He rose from his seat, along with Upper Crust, who had been glaring at Rainbow and batting her eyelashes at Blondie.

“I hope to see you at the finish line,” Jet Set smiled, “There is the matter of all the other thieves and cutthroats I’ve sent to complete the task of obtaining the case. But I’m sure they won’t be much trouble for you.”

“I’ll have all of my friends in Manehattan joining us there,” Salt assured, “The case is as good as yours.”

Jet grinned.

"Well. My fantastic mammoth of a friend," Jet Set smiled, “It’s a pleasure doing business."

He nodded his head and trotted off with Upper Crust and the One-Eyed Pony, who was glaring at Blondie with his lonely eye.

Rainbow and Blondie were both glaring at Salt, waiting for a few moment for Jet Set, Upper Crust, and the One-Eyed Pony to slip away into the crowd.

“What a deal, what a day!” Salt boomed, gasping in relief.

“Have you lost your mind?” Blondie demanded.

“I don’t believe a single word that came out of his mouth!” Rainbow stammered, “How could you agree to that? He’s going to betray us!”

“He’s trying to play us for fools, Salt. All he cares about is the case. Once he has it, he’ll kill us all. Us, the Black Hoof, and the Thieves,” Blondie argued.

“I’m well-aware,” Salt said, "But he's not the only pony capable of subterfuge. He thinks he can rule the underworld, but all that he's accomplished so far is only because we're all divided, and rivalrous, and stubborn. This way of thinking will get us all killed and leave him with all the spoils, as you said, Blondie. There is a way to tip the scales back in our favor. But we are running out of time. We'll have to prepare on the way there.”

Blondie and Rainbow glanced at each other.

Salt checked his watch.

“We need to get out of the city, fast,” Salt said, “My friends, we have a wedding to crash.”

Author's Note

Did not mean for this one to turn out so long! Hopefully I can manage the final three chapters without going so high on the wordcount. I feel like the Goldilocks zone for this type of story is like 13k - 15k, but I have trouble sticking to that.

Next chapter is the wedding, very excited to write! Possible that after I finish the next chapter, I may move sections of this chapter over to that one, just a heads up. All depends on how long the next one turns out. I'm set on keeping it to three more chapters to this story, shooting to finish it all before the end of 2024.

Let me know what your thoughts are on this one, any and all feedback is welcomed! Thanks for reading!