Fallout Equestria: Burdens

Chapters

Chapter 1- Monotony
Chapter 2- Oversight
Chapter 4- Evaluation
Chapter 5- Reassessment
Chapter 6- Formality
Chapter 7- Reunions
Chapter 8- Hindrance
Chapter 9- Prospects
Chapter 10- Lapse
Chapter 11- Trial
Chapter 12- Acclimation
Chapter 13- Disclosure
Prologue
Chapter 3- Inquiry

Chapter 1- Monotony

Chapter 1 - Monotony

“The world is a cage, circumstance is the warden, and we’re the prisoners...”

“Have you had recent thoughts of suicide, or of harming yourself?”

“Hmm?” Not a word, just a sound.

The doctor’s stare cuts into me from behind his glasses. He sits there, waiting like he always is. What does he expect me to say? What do I expect myself to try to say? Anything, I bet, to have him tell my “mother.” I know she’ll always want to know. Thinking about her makes me recoil inside. The more I think about an answer for the question, or think about answering the question, makes my tongue feel bloated and numb. It makes me think about the kiss the nag gave me, and how horrible it stings my cheek. The bandages can’t hide it, and that’s what scares me the most.

The doctor catches my attention, again. “Trade Wind, are you feeling suicidal?”

It’s hard to breathe and not think about the question, again. Hearing that name, again– even if it’s from another pony, is not the best feeling in the world. Disgusting. The air in my lungs feels corrosive. Pressure builds in my gut just thinking about all of it. The way she looked at me; talked to me; struck the daylights out of me for not looking at her. I can’t look at those cold eyes without wanting to spit in them. Even just thinking about it makes the pain come back. Damn it all. Damn her, and damn this place she makes us all call home…

Seething, hurting, I rub my forehooves together and close my eyes. I fight off the incredible urge to doze off and put my attention to feeling the smooth gem and necklace gently pressed between the frogs. I feel every imperfect hump, every glassy smooth surface that makes it. The warmth it gives me— what I always thought a true mother’s hug felt like. My lips twitch, and my breathing– although still stiff, is much less hard. “Trade Wind, is there something you need to tell me?” The doctor calls me that name, again; asks the same questions, again.

The power of his stare makes me look away. “I… I don’t know.”

He breathes deeply again. My body tenses up to hear the clipboard slam on the nearby countertop. It doesn’t come, and my body goes cold from a lack of that needed outlet.

“Do you understand self-destruction, Sergeant?” he asks, “Do you know what it can mean?”

I stay silent. I’m sure it’s just rhetoric or a way to make me look like an idiot. I won’t entertain it.

“Self-destruction is what happens when we try, endlessly, to pick ourselves apart in order to understand the things that don’t make sense to us. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you? Why it’s important that you tell me and let me know. It’s what I’m here for.”

Maybe I do understand, but it won’t make me feel any better. It only hurts knowing what it is and being unable to move past it. I know that if I do, I won’t forgive myself for what can happen next. For my sake; for her sake. He gets up from his seat gently and uses the countertop to write something on the clipboard with the pen between his teeth. When he’s done, he looks back at me. “The most I can do for you right now is set a follow-up appointment and prescribe anti-depression medication. I’ll also put in a refill order for your sleeping pills.”

I just nod my head to the things he says while I slip off the examination table and shake off the numbness in my flanks and wings. I then bring the necklace to my lips before gently letting it back down onto my chest and under my uniform. “How much?” I ask, now that my mind is focused on the bandage hugging my left cheek.

He looks back at me. “Sergeant, we are not the Corporates. We’re a flock that looks out for each other.”

A simple ‘no charge needed’ would have sufficed, instead of that Enclave propaganda bullshit I can’t stomach.

There’s a definite sound of tearing paper. The doctor extends the slip of white paper out to me, with the world’s most illegible writing and signature. “Give this to the nurse at the front desk before you leave. She’ll give you what you need.” As I take it, he moves out the medical room door and out into the hallway. “Good luck out there, Sergeant.”

He vanishes into the hallway. I follow moments later, backtracking the way I came. As soon as I reach the entrance lobby, I just keep going until I’m out the door and in a much colder but more crowded hallway full of pegasi. I take one more look at the prescription slip, grumble, then discard it. I am tired of the sugar pills and tired of how they make me feel every morning. My attention turns to the hustle and bustle in the halls. Soldiers, Security, Cadets, and the like– all faceless and lifeless with painted smiles.

I merge with the crowd, and as soon as I do their gawking eyes fall off me like rain. Keeping my head down and my wings to myself like I always have, helps make me feel less noticeable. It’s a twisted feeling of freedom to disappear into the crowd. Among the masses, I feel much more safe with the thought that Diamond Dust’s eyes can’t track me clearly. This is as much peace as I can have when it’s not out there, beyond the bunker– the birdcage. I should feel good about that fact. The peace I feel inside changes, easing the momentum I’ve built up. It’s rising out of me, another familiar warmth reminding me of… something. I know this feeling, and I know it too well. My momentum finally comes to a halt, and I look for her from where I stand.

I see her now, and she spots me too. That warmth snaps tight, yet a sinking feeling sets in. Something that was telling me to keep going and pretend I didn't just stop to notice her. I couldn’t. Whatever it is that gnaws at me in the back of my head, it sheds off me when she closes the distance between us. Her eyes radiate purplish-blue comfort, and the goggles atop her head glint softly. All I can do in the face of the warmth is lower my head, fold my ears back, and turn my bruised cheek away.

Her head is poking in through the side of my field of vision. Still waiting. Every time her eyes dart subtly to the patch on my cheek, a pang hits me in the chest. What should I tell her this time? I try to speak, but find a hoof gently put up to my lips. Wide-eyed, probably screaming, I bite my tongue to not make a scene. She takes a moment to look at all the passing faces in the crowd before walking a short way into the crowd and looking back at me. Her ears, gently nestled in her flight cap’s ear holes, flick the direction she’s hoping to go. When I don’t catch the hint fast enough she flicks her head subtly.

Concern is at the forefront of my mind as I follow her. What if the nag’s watching; her glare is fresh in my mind, glowing in the back of my eyelids when I blink. I wait for the chill to hit me, but it never does. The halls are less crowded in the residential wing, with not even a straddling neighbor in sight. It’s unsettling, to say the least. I follow the warm white mare to her door where she opens the door and steps in. I’m compelled, just to be sure, to look down the hall and stare at every corner I passed just now.

I step inside and the door closes on its own. I take in my surroundings—her home—and a powerful urge to lean on something just overtakes me. Instead, I’m met with an angel’s wings curling around me. I freeze, feeling all of her frame on me with her head under my chin. She’s so close, I can feel things in the back of my mind thaw with her warmth. Some of those things are best left as they are; it’s already too dangerous for both of us. I pull her into me slowly. “Ya found me.”

She breaks the hug and I feel a great weight in the back of my heart set in. She backs up a bit to get a better look at me, and I do my best to keep my bandaged cheek out of her sight. I can’t even look at her, afraid of what those eyes will have me do. She touches my cheek with her wing, their silken bristles glide across so calm and gentle. Soon as I feel them reaching the bandage, I jerk away. It has me thinking about what she’s trying to do and looking where she shouldn’t be. I can’t look at the hurt the reaction must’ve caused her, and I don’t need to.

There’s a silence slowly coming down between us, but it doesn’t have time to set. It breaks from the loud rumble in my stomach. The embarrassment hits harder in my gut than the rumble itself, mocking me. White feathers begin to tickle my nose and work up an itch. I look over to the source of the interruption and she’s not there. I look around and find her at one of the doorways. She beckons me with a tail-flick and a big smile.

I follow her to her kitchen, and a pleasant aroma greets me. These smells, I’ve met them before– a long time ago. A memory of pain, yet gracious comfort. It makes me look back to the living room, towards the couch just barely peeking around the edge of the doorframe. I keep my eyes on her while she stares at a tall pot atop a stove and as I take my seat she carefully uses her feather tips to pop the lid open and set it aside. Wafting white vapor comes up and out of it, strengthening the aroma I smelled before coming in. My ears twitch to the soothing sounds of bubbles popping away, forcing me to relax and sink into my chair; a faintly alien sensation at this point of my life.

Her hooves slowly lift off the ground with her steady wing beats, making the steam dance slowly with each waft dealt to it. Good thing there’s enough room for her wings to move about. She reaches into a drawer for a ladle and it goes into the pot where she stirs slowly, handle in her mouth. A minute later she lets some of the content drip onto the frog of her hoof and tastes it slowly. Her ears perk up, as does her expression. She gets two bowls from an overhead cupboard, sets them aside, and begins to ladle in portions of what she’s been making. She brings the bowls over in both hooves, her wings carrying her such a short way from the stove to the table. She gently places a bowl in front of me, and then takes her seat with her bowl.

I stare down at the bowl of cloudy liquid. No, it’s not exactly a liquid—it’s a bit thicker than a standard soup. There are earthy-colored bits floating about; leafy green and small orange or pale yellow pieces just bobbing near the surface. The steam that comes up from it and caresses my face taunts me with its warmth and dangerously alluring aroma. “I hope you like it,” she tells me softly.

I look up from the bowl. “What… is it?”

“Cream of Vegetable Soup,” she answers.

Cream of Vegetable…

The name entices me to look back down into the bowl of hot, thick broth. Hearing myself say it over and over again in my head makes it all the more alluring. Now I’m at the point where it’s starting to sound stupid. Why isn’t it called “Cream and Vegetable Soup”? “Vegetable Cream Soup”? Either way, saying that cream is of vegetables-- made by vegetables-- puts my head in an irritable twist.

I take the bowl in both my hooves and bring it right to my face slowly, so as to not let any of it spill. Looking at it closely, the colors are just so vibrant and pleasurable to see; greens, yellows, and oranges with a milky white backdrop. My tongue begs to see if it tastes as good as it smells.

I gently blow into the bowl, then take my first sip. Flavors upon flavors—old, familiar, new—all coat my tongue. Sweet, creamy, and savory; chunky yet smooth. I feel myself drowning in the ecstasy of flavorful food. Genuine, non-enriched goodness that puts the flavorless paste in the mess to shame.

It’s torture to put the bowl down to breathe. I feel eyes on me, again, and I turn to the mare. Her eyes are glittering; her chest fluffing up and out from the undone placket of her uniform. A familiar tingling sensation bubbles up from within me, and a sudden waft of heat crawls over my face. “What?”

Her wings visibly fluff up and flutter.

“Uh,” I look down at the bowl. Empty… nothing but a thin layer of soup at the bottom. My cheeks are starting to hurt, some, with realization dawning on me.

She laughs, “You like it so much you’re turning purple.”

The tension mounts, and I’m suddenly forgetting how to breathe. I pull my chin into my chest. I’m thrusting myself against the wall in my mind, trying to stop looking like a fool in front of her. I shouldn’t have to behave like this, but why am I? I feel a hoof slowly slide on my shoulder, and it’s like my immediate atmosphere just softens and gives way. I can breathe again; I feel warm again. I look at the hoof on my shoulder and follow it back up to her. “This has to be the most breathtaking meal I’ve had in a very long while.”

The warm glow in her eyes shines brighter than before, then she wraps a wing around my back. The amount of appreciation can be measured by the strength of the squeeze. Still, I feel something else is squeezing me on the inside; around my heart and I’m afraid to find out what it is. “Are these real vegetables,” I ask while feeling tempted to lick my bowl clean. She nods. “How?”

She pulls away, looking perplexed. “From the Corpos. I figured you already knew because General Dia-”

“I didn’t. I didn’t know. ”

The warm shine in her eyes starts to dull, a suffocating vacuum builds up in my chest. “Ward, what did she do?” She asks.

I take a deep breath, “These vegetables, the cream— everything that’s in here… Corporates drive hard bargains from what I’ve heard. How much did this cost ya?”

Her ears flick, “Huh?”

“The soup; what you used to make it. It’s delicious, but how did you get it from the Corpos?”

One of her ears folds into her cap, “I… bought them?”

I look over at her cupboards, the kitchen, the bowl, “You’ve been out.”

She shakes her head, head tilting just slightly, “Of course, you already know I’m a pilot. But Ward, this isn’t ab–”

“I bet the pay is pretty good,” I say while finishing off the bowl. I think it’s much warmer– hot. “How much do the Corpos pay you as a pilot, again?”

“Oh,” she exclaims, then thinks back. “I think the pay’s…pretty good. I’ve saved up for things like this, but I don’t think I’ll be able to get as good quality vegetables, or even cream, with what’s left over till my next deployment pay.”

“How long and how often?”

“I’m sorry?” She looks at me, surprised about something.

“I never knew…you’d be gone often.” She’s been gone, and I never noticed? I… I don’t know what to even be feeling right now. Hurt? Hurt at what? Myself? Why? Is Diamond Dust sending her away more frequently on purpose? Does that mean she knows, after all? The questions just keep mounting up, and my throat feels like it’s wanting to swell on me.

“It’s my job. I didn’t… why? I just wanted to know if something happened with you and the General, last briefing; if any of it has anything to do with why you’re hurt.” She tilts her head at me. She’s trying to look through me. The way her eyes move about fills me with dread.

“It’s just circumstance.”

“If something keeps happening almost the exact same way, is it even a circumstance anymore?” she asks.

“I’m always fine. That hasn’t changed,” I reaffirm.

Her eyes don’t look away from me. There’s something about them that just makes me want to shrink. They’re wondering, pleading. I can’t bear to keep looking into them, not one bit. Probing involves levels of risk, but curiosity will certainly get her killed. Doesn't she even know that? “Ward, I’m here.” She says, softly.

“I know.” With everything she does for me, not a minute goes by with how hard it must be for her, too. I think about how many times I must’ve told her those two exact words; how many times I must’ve blown her off and put distance between the two of us. I couldn’t say anything. It’s just like with the doctor. I can’t say anything, no matter how much I want to. It’s like the air is threatening to choke me if I keep trying to say just one small thing. Without looking, I hear her chair skid along the floor. My first thought: she’s finally had enough with my bullshit. It hurts, but it’s necessary.

It hurts, but…

Wings wrap around from behind my seat and pull me into a soft, familiar, down-feather pillow. Her feathers hold onto me, her fur supports me, and her head just rests on mine. I should be hurrying to shoo her away. I should just move and break the gesture… I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.

“I’m here, Ward. I’ll always be here, ” she tells me so softly, yet so sure in her delivery.

I can feel her squeezing me a little harder. Comfort. Love. This is what it is, isn’t it? I know I’ve felt it before, but it always feels so new to me– like a breath of fresh air. I can’t stop myself from bringing my hooves up and holding onto the wings that still envelop me, and the mare who won’t stop looking out for me. Thinking about it is enough to make me want to look back on it all– from when we first met to where we are now.

I say you’re my friend, but it’s more complicated than that.

I just close my eyes and let her just hold onto me. It lets me hear and feel her heartbeat behind my head– nestled in that chest fluff of hers. The reassurance she gives me– I wish it could be like this more often. I wouldn’t mind giving her everything if it weren't for how things are now...

“Avie…”

* * * * * *

Tick…

...tick…

I hear you. I can’t see you, but I know you’re there; always consistent, always loud, always counting. You also found me, how long has it been? What are you counting down for this time? I don’t have the urge to get up and relieve myself. Everything’s clamped shut, and nothing wants to make an exit. It’s almost time, anyway.

Tick…

...tick…

I still can’t sleep, not that I haven’t tried. She noticed after a while and asked about my meds. I said nothing and she didn’t try to prod, instead, she offered to let me rest my head in her room. I opted to stay in the other room, or at least the couch, but she wouldn’t let it happen. The bed’s comfortable, better than my barrack bed in every conceivable way. The sheets are soft and warm, just like her. They have her scent, too.

Tick…

...tick…

I don’t know how much time has passed. I lost track of the ‘tick-tick-ticking’ as things settled down and it allbecame white noise.

Tick…

...tick…

I toss and turn, doing what I can with little movement to not agitate my growing stomach ache. The creamy soup and the apples churn inside with discomfort. I need to keep tossing and turning, flipping onto my belly and onto my back. I can’t let it rest; it will challenge me with a slow and uneasy press against the lining of my stomach. Not even Avie’s reassuring feathers can ease it this time.

Tick…

...tick…

I know you want that, but I don’t know whether or not you remind me for my own safety— as well as hers. You’re with that nag and revel in the lingering pain that comes with the end of things; with the end of this good thing. Is this your plan? To remind me of the inevitable? To pester me about the deadline for all of this to end?

Tick…

...tick…

Cruel as ever. I never asked for anything, but just this once I’d like for this to last just a bit longer.

Tick…

...tick…

Please–

“Ward. Equus to Staff Sergeant Ward. Requesting a sitrep of Cloud-Cuckoo-Land. Come back.” A different sound, now. A stallion’s voice clears away the fog; a voice that I have, since training, learned to acknowledge when the clouds begin to roll over the horizon. Looking up at him I see the same featureless blur of a face staring back down at me. Vaguely familiar, still, but he’s the same as the rest– whether in dress uniform, or in combat gear like he is now. “Finish securing your gear, Ward. We have a job to do, and an expecting General. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her out of all pegasi.”

With that, he leaves me be as the others follow him out of the locker room, and his final thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth. So much time’s gone by, and the last thing that was on my mind was Avie’s comfort. How long was it since I left? Since we left? Couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours, for sure. Trying to map the events out makes my eyelids heavier than I normally know them to be.

I don’t think it matters anymore. What does is realizing that it’s almost 1800 hours from the Pre-War clock hanging above the door frame the Captain left out of. Wasn’t hard to spot it with the cloud mural backdrop painted into the walls all around the room. I finish securing my last boot, get to my hooves and grab the rest of my gear to meet the rest of the team. I trail the Captain’s last traveled route out into the bunker’s hangar— The Nest; the gasping lungs of the Enclave’s might.

Plasma cutters saw through metal, arc welders zap their blinding blue light, rivet guns scream and boom all around. The Enclave engineers still move about like they always do; shouting at one another, making their tools wear out, and tirelessly sacrificing sweat, time, fur, and blood to keep our fleet running. Four Vertibucks (previously five), two Raptors, a single Sky Tank, and a slew of bombing chariots. Antiquated, dated, rotting metal birds, surviving by cannibalizing their own along with the occasional pegasus. The cost of rushing to meet the demands of a dying system seems to be measured in the inexperienced youth if it isn’t by the blood their predecessors “gave” to the Enclave. To think that I put my life in the care of these machines, in our designate Vertibuck. It sits there, getting touched up by a small team of engineers; one talking with the Captain while the others run what I assume are diagnostics of the rotors.

A push rides up on my left, sharply pulling my attention away from the Vertibuck and to Avie. I jump and swear under my breath. She giggles. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

I ease up by brushing nonexistent dust off myself. “Ya just snuck up on me. Don’t do that.”

“Still worked up?” The question gets my mind going.

“There’s a lot to be worried about. It shouldn’t be news.”

“I don’t think it’s considered news if you’re not willing to talk about it,” Avie says.

She tilts her head, one ear folding into her flight cap. Why do I get the feeling she’s doing that on purpose? I glance over myself, even over Avie. Something didn’t feel right. “Feels weird… without the normal send-off from Ace, doesn’t it?“

I groan, “What spotlight is the “Sky Jock” chasing now?”

She snorts softly, shaking her head in surprise, “He’s been deployed… so I don’t think he’ll be back any time soon.”

“I’d say good riddance, but without him things seem—“

“Quiet? Missing him already?” Avie interjects.

The idea of me missing that stallion brings frustration. “I guess.”

“You… guess?” She sounds more surprised than she did a few seconds ago.

I sigh and keep my mouth shut on the subject. I would’ve preferred to see that asshole than Diamond Dust. I shake my head, confused about it alI. My mind quickly changes gears, and I look to Avie’s. Novel compared to mine, a black suit with ballistic padding around her flanks and shoulders with a matching wing harness system. It looks tighter, lighter, fresher, far beyond the antique fatigues that get tossed around as standard issue nowadays. Then my eyes shift to the only thing about her kit that doesn’t make sense with how our method of travel will be.

Those goggles, that matching leather head kit, really do dust off some old memories of mine. The longer I stare at them, the more the reflecting light seems to shimmer like a flame. Then came the white noise, crackling; the cold air, stinging and smokey.

“It’s been a while since ya rode one of those Vertibucks,” I wonder out loud, the glimpses of the past still fresh in my mind. “Ya think you’ll be alright pilotin’ that thing after a while?”

Her ears twitch as she looks out to the Vertibuck. The Captain is trying to call her over– both of us over. I figure whatever it is they were discussing is done, that and the routine diagnostic of the Vertibuck. Avie takes a couple of steps ahead of me before looking back, “It’s like flying with your wings detached from the body. It’s muscle memory for me, through and through.” She touches the leather of her flight cap, her eyes wander some place for a bit, “I have faith in the Techies. I’m sure that after… that day, a lot has changed.”

It doesn’t change the fact that whatever happened, happened. We lost a good pegasus that day; I almost lost somepony, too, as a result. It can happen again, even if you’re dead certain everything’s been triple-checked and quadruple polished…

“Yeah,” I say, following her to the Vertibuck proper. “I’m just forgetting who I’m talking to.”

That got her smile going, but it wavers a bit. “I wish it weren’t just about moments like these.”

My pace slows down a bit as those words reach me. That sinking feeling finds its way to me and my ears droop just slightly. It pains me to think back to all those short years, back to that room, to the graduation… to the cupcake. Every subsequent thought is widening that hole in my stomach, painfully urging me for relief. It’s still something I know I can’t afford, and all I can do is soldier on like I’ve always had to do to the best of my own abilities.

One hoof into the Vertibuck, one more glance over my shoulder. I see the nag on the observatory floor of the hangar– no, I can feel her cold gaze on me. The thought only urges me to pull myself faster into the Vertibuck. The claxons sound. The cabin door closes as diagnostics are exchanged between The Captain and Avie, both at the controls. The dark sky breaks, an orange glow creeps in from above.

Slow lift.

Pivot.

Out of the nest in a motorized cage.

Chapter 2- Oversight

“Sometimes things fall through the cracks, but never something like this…”

The Vertibuck’s right engine is visibly shooting sparks against the indigo-orange sky and occasionally puffs black clouds. The Outpost Engineer pulls herself from the source of the smoke with a sharp wingbeat. Her seasoned gaze falls on Avie. “Remind me who checked the diagnostics for your Vertibuck, again? Sergeant…name?”

“Aviatrix,” She answers before following up on the first thought, “I didn’t catch their names, but they ran through the procedure three times. The Vertibuck was doing fine until we were well on our way to our objective.”

The Engineer rolls her head back and wipes her brow. “Well, either they and their skills were undercooked coming out of the Engineering course, or they were attempting sabotage.”

Avie’s ears fold into her cap when those words reach her, and her eyes fall just slightly. “They were just kids.”

The Engineer stomps her hooves into the sand in front of us. “That doesn’t excuse their mistakes, and their negligence could have cost us much more. How can you expect to preserve anything with oversights like that– ” I snort. Those dull periwinkle eyes drag in their sockets towards me. “Something wrong, Staff Sergeant?” She asks with clenched teeth.

Do veterans' rants always have to leave a bitter taste in the back of my throat? I can’t be the only one in my generation who thinks it’s grating, nowadays. Instead of answering her question with any of that “generation gap” bullshit, I take a deep breath and focus on why she’s here. “How long until the Vertibuck can be fixed… ma’am?”

She holds her stare on me for a good while, then walks away from us with a tired sigh. Her eyes now look to the orange-indigo sky. “Nightfall’s coming. I can’t guarantee a quick fix, but…”

I raise my brows. “But?”

She looks back at me. “If you consider my deal, I can make this thing work as fast as possible— even in the dark.”

Somehow it sounds counterintuitive to everything she’s just said the past few minutes– wait. “Deal?”

She looks back at us. “Yeah. I think what I gotta say is a very fair bargain with less to lose for the both of us.”

I look at Avie, and we’re mirroring confusion right back at each other. Avie looks back at the Engineer. “What do ya want, exactly?”

The Engineer tilts her head towards the Vertibuck behind her. “This bird can’t fly without my know-how. You can’t fly this thing without me. All I’m asking for is home.”

A chill, a pang of discomfort; something that leaves my stomach roiling. Several instinctive sensations are telling me to not look away, like it’s something I’ll regret. “We’ll see what we can do on our side. Just please do what you can while we report the findings to our Captain,” Avie steers the conversation, then pulls me along and off the landing pad.

“See you soon. I’ll take gooood care of her.” The Engineer calls out.

We put some distance between the Vertibuck and the Engineer, and us. The farther we get away, the more I realize the tingling in my gut is not going away, but it’s not getting worse either. I can feel my muscles harden slowly like drying clay while my ears flick about trying to hear things above my heartbeat’s climbing tempo. This isn’t normal… This isn’t—

“Ward?” Avie’s voice reaches my ears from right in front of me, waiting patiently for an answer. I look down from her eyes with my cheeks burning, and cover my eyes with a wing to get them to stop feeling so damn big. “What’s wrong?” She asks.

I shake my head. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

“Ward, please.” She pleads softly. “It’s not nothing. You don’t just freeze up over nothing.” That’s what I want to say about the things I heard—the things I was just processing. I thought things would be different out here; that maybe I can go for a little longer in a different setting without feeling like I’m being fucking watched by vultures out in the open. I can still see them in my head—the pegasi in this dingy sand fort of an outpost. They way they all looked at us…. “Ward,” She gently puts a hoof on my shoulder. “It’s just us.”

“I don’t like any of this, Avie.” I tell her, letting my head fall on her hoof. “I didn’t like the way she spoke to us. I don’t like how any of them greeted us when we came here.” I rub one of my hooves through my mane, twitching from every hair the rubber soles pluck from my scalp. The twinges of pain make me think about where we are; what this place can do to a pony, and what it makes them want to do to others. I look up at her, seeing one of her ears is folded into her cap, again. “Do you feel… like this place is still friendly?”

I don’t know what describes what she’s expressing more; it’s either “confusion” or “discomforting realization.” She looks to her left, then her right. Does it mean she knows what I’m talking about? “Of course I do, but it’s only because I’ve been out here more often.” She tells me quietly. “I haven’t seen places this bad, but… they’re not Greenhorn Raiders. Remember what we were told growing up?” I suck my teeth trying to remember the hundreds of things we’ve been told about this place. It could be anything. I shake my head when I can’t think of what she wants me to think about, specifically. “The Arids have a tendency to drive ponies a little crazy with the extremes. Remember what the General told us: a Catalyst Storm just happened.”

It gets me thinking about those things— those “Catalyst Storms”. If memory’s clear, those Storms were always briefed as “Major Enviro-Hazard Phenomena” along with the word “unpredictable”, and a description of “high displacement rates.” I never got a straight answer on that last bit, only that it’s “nothing to worry about.” With what I’ve seen just a while ago, I call bullshit on Command. “Fucking assholes.”

“It’s not their fault. They’re just stressed.”

I give her hoof back. “The only stressed pony I know right now is the Captain. Let’s just find hi—” My shatters when a mare bumps right into me, knocking my helmet off my bag. “Watch it!”

She doesn’t acknowledge my comment and just continues her ungraceful walk, nearly running into Avie the same way she did to me. “Soldier,” Avie tries to get the mare’s attention, “Soldier?” The hobbling mare doesn’t react and just keeps going until she’s out of sight. Avie looks back at me, and I’m not sure what she wants me to say.

I pick up my helmet off the ground and dust off the sand with one of my wings. I look back to Avie and freeze up to see a sunken face behind her. She turns around to see what’s got me tensed up and nearly jumps into me in surprise. This hollow-cheeked mare gives us the same glare as the Engineer, only… more featureless. I don’t know how else to describe this absence in her eyes.

“More of you on the way? It’s an awfully small group to manage an outpost like this.” She comments to us with a wispy voice.

Avie’s words fumble at this mare’s weary voice, “I-I’m sorry–I don’t–”

“You’re here to rotate us out. That’s why you’re here.” She clarifies. Nothing about that mare’s voice tells me she’s confused. She sounds dead sure about it.

I don’t like the way that mare’s gripping the lantern’s handle in her mouth. The way her teeth lock around the thick crooked bail handle felt unnerving to look at. It’s like seeing puzzle pieces fall into place when they’re not part of the same set. “Avie, we need to be someplace.”

“You’re here… to rotate us out,” She says with more force.

I look at her fatigues—at the lapels for any insignia or rank identification, hoping that it’d be enough to use mine to diffuse the situation. I’m not sure what rank she is. Her uniform is devoid of everything and anything necessary for identification. No rank or insignia, but what about clean tears with suspicious dark stains? Which of the dark camo blobs is the one that tells me? Just how far gone is she— if she even is some pegasus of the “flock”? I would ask, but my stomach sinks thinking what kind of attention that question will draw. We don’t even know how many like her are in this outpost with us. I shouldn’t be thinking about that now, and instead act on this mare right now.

I lunge to grapple the lantern mare as she lurches at Avie without warning. She growls and pushes into the hoof and wing I’ve got her by as she screams. “You were supposed to get us out! You were! You w—”

A hard shove sends her fumbling into the dirt, knocking out her lantern’s light. My muscles tense and my wings begin to unfurl slowly as she pulls herself up. She glares at me with bare teeth and flared nostrils; looks like the fall broke her “friend” mask. It doesn’t budge me, but it does make my lungs tighten up. There’s a looming suspense in that maddened expression, telling me… us to leave while we still can. I look over my shoulder quickly, flicking my head to tell Avie it’s our time to go. She catches on and leaves while I keep my front towards the danger, not taking any more attention away from the animal until there’s enough distance between the two of us. Walking backwards is over faster when she trots off in the opposite direction– away from me and Avie. That mare took the suspense with her, and I can breathe a little easier now. My lungs are still so shaky, though.

“Thank you.” She tells me with a tone that’s as soft as her usual wingbeats, or maybe even her feathers. The warmth in those words can be felt easily from where I’m standing. It might as well be one of her hugs. Those thoughts don’t linger for long.

“Fucked.” That's all I can say about it. No other words can accurately describe that mouth full of dull broken daggers hanging in my head like a disturbing portrait on the walls of my mind. It’s something I never asked for, and trying to tear the image down before it settles in begins to make my skin crawl. It’s like a spiteful parasitic emotion that paints a clearer picture now that I’m dead set on trying to not think about the worst. A bitter tang overwhelms my tongue seeing those fangs ooze with warm crimson in my head. Death hangs in my nose as a revolting compliment to the unwanted imagery. It all makes me belch, and the tremors rile my already irritated stomach.

My knees become jelly, and I stumble in place. I feel her wings and her small frame immediately meet my weaker side. She’s to my… two o’clock— to my right, looking into me with worry in her eyes. Her ears are folded into her cap, again.

What do I tell her? How do I tell her that the whole event played differently in my head; that I imagined what would’ve happened– what I thought could have happened, and it meant I couldn’t protect her from something that was a danger the whole time? “I don’t like this place. I don’t like what happened back there.” I finally say shaking my head, disappointed in myself and embarrassed at the fact it’s all I have to say about it.

I don’t know what I’m waiting for, now. The silence settles in with the grainy whistling of blowing sand and chilly young-night wind. I guess I feel lost for words to her answer, or maybe she expected something else out of me. Maybe I know, or maybe I don’t. Who the fuck am I kidding?

“I didn’t like it, either. But Ward, there’s no reason for you to be upset, okay?” Her gentle words stroke my mane.

As comforting as those words are, they don’t make me feel any more at ease with myself. It feels like those words relate to more than just what went on, and they weigh in on everything I’ve held onto up to now. A worthless, troublesome bag of insecurities and worry that will kill anyone who looks too deep. I’ve put up with it for a long time, and I still wonder how long I can keep up with holding it all in for her sake. I won’t put her in danger.

She leans into me a little more, gently, then the whole of her head brushes up my neck. I breathe a sharp breath of cold air, and my chest starts feeling tight. Everything feels hot. My neck feels prickly; my legs are stiff and my wings feel itchy. My eyes won’t stop looking everywhere else but Avie. All my warning bells are ringing in my head with a ferocious vibrato that makes me go numb. “Why don’t I do something? I should know better?!”, are the two most consistent thoughts ringing the loudest— roaring like angry drill sergeants; demanding the answer that will give them every right to tear me apart from the inside.

I do know those answers…

She looks back at me with a smile. A split second later, her smile disappears as her eyes flash like something had hit her. “Oh.” She unfurls a wing and digs her muzzle into her side and pulls out a small worn box in her mouth. My heart jumps when she gently reaches for my hoof and brings it up to level, where the box is gently dropped into my hoofboot’s sole. “I meant to give you these back home. I almost forgot about them now.” She didn’t have to grab my hoof to do it, but she did it anyway. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel about that…

My attention is on the box now, and my first thought is to hear what’s inside the small thing. It rattles like there are marbles inside, and it’s a sound that gets my dry mouth-watering. I take one more look at the box and make out the cartoonishly saturated green and red borders under the aged grime that coats the wax. I can feel delight welling up inside seeing the caricature of a dapper pony in a bright red suit and polka-dotted bow tie; tipping his large black hat with one hoof and pointing his cane to the title like it’s a major show attraction. It’s ridiculously hard to miss the attention-grabbing font, huge letters, and its accompanying spiky text bubble: “Dandy Pony's: Candy Apple Bites; {NEW!!!} Green Apple.”

I don’t think it’s normal to be producing this much saliva just remembering the flavor; it definitely isn’t normal to be hurting from feeling my mouth gush with anticipation. I don’t want to burn through these, already, but fuck do I want to for that sour-sweet zappy candy flavor.

“How did ya find these?” I ask her after a hard swallow. I’m even surprised I was able to say anything clearly without the cramps making my jaw seize up. I can feel my face turn red or…purple just thinking about how that’d make me look. My question goes unanswered, and my eyes look up from the box. The beaming light in her eyes is impossible to look away from, and neither is the way her fur plumes gently from the V-shape of her suit’s zipper placket. Just thinking about how soft and warm it is… was… I take a deep breath before I get too lost. “Thank ya.”

Her wings flutter. “I just had to keep looking. It wasn't too hard.” I know I should be concerned about this. I should, given what this means— no. I’m playing too much into it. It’s just candy; really, really good one-of-a-kind candy…

I don’t know. There’s an irrelevant feeling that’s growing in the back of my head– something having to do with this candy and something a little more forlorn. Out there, beyond the rampart that surrounds this outpost— somewhere out in the great, bonedry nothing we’ve been forced to call home…

How does candy make me think of hope? Why does it? Hope is just a claptrap— and I don’t have to look far to see what that looks like. Buried alive, but complacent to the cramped living conditions; comrades eager to turn on you for their own benefit; times when home isn’t the place you can feel the safest because the monsters can easily get through the walls when you’re sleeping and unaware. Hope is a placebo, and I know my fair share of those things. It only makes things worse. I don’t want that.

A gentle nudge snaps me back to reality. Avie’s looking right up at me with that familiar, yet watered-down look in her eye. She sighs. “Feeling a little better?” I nod to answer her question while I enjoy a piece of candy.

The conversation ends with that, and we continue on the path. We keep on a little more cautiously through the sandbags, canopies, and reinforced trenches until we finally reach the entrance to the Outpost’s Command Post. There are no guards, only a wooden doorway fixed in place by sandbag walls and a roof of sheet metal. I enter first through the door, and the cold air is eager to rush into the room. Some of the hanging lanterns inside go out shortly after. “Who’s up there?!” A voice shouts from a short way down. “Shut the damn door! You’ll let it in!”

“Lieutenant, calm down!” Another more collected and familiar voice talks over the last one, immediately. “Sound off! Names?!”

“Captain, it’s us!” Avie calls out.

“Aviatrix? Ward?! Get down here–”

“Don’t let the other candles go out, do you hear me?! Shut the damn door!” The cold breeze kicks up and howls around Avie and I. The door slams shut behind us while we make our way down a small square spiral of wooden stairs. There’s only two flights of stairs, and it feels like with every step we take the air gets a bit thicker. It reminds me of the showers back at the bunker; the salty stink of sweat, the humidity; I can almost see a haze enveloping the room at the end of the descent.

The Captain’s there waiting for us, and across from him– on the other side of a large wooden crate doubling as a desk, is who I assume that first voice belonged to. His side of the desk is littered with empty cans of what I assume is foodstuff, and his uniform looks stained with thick fluids glistening off his front and placket. Does this pegasus not know he’s been talking to the Captain? “I expect the two of you to relight those candles when you leave. And don’t fucking take my tinderbox when you do!” The way those words hit me is like a very familiar shove. I don’t hear a leader, but a bully.

“Lieutenant, get a grip,” Our Captain sternly pulls his attention away from Avie and me.

The Pegasus responds by slamming his hoof on his corner of the table-crate, “Captain, you haven’t the slightest clue what just blew through here last night.” As he says that, I notice something between his hooves. It’s a small cube of some sort that he constantly fidgets with. Whatever’s inside shimmers to life for a moment, and then goes dark. It’s hard to see what it is that’s doing that, exactly, in this lighting condition.

There’s a sharp exhale from the Captain, “Don’t condescend me, Lieutenant. You know that’s not our call.”

He shakes his head furiously, breathing heavily, “So we don’t matter then, is it? The General’s got us out here for slaughter or sacrifice? You don’t care for your own kin—from how I see it, Captain. The General doesn’t either, from what it feels like. That whole Flock Ideology crap is just cirrocumulus clouds.”

I’m not sure what The Captain thinks but a big part of me knows how true that statement is. We just die in the dark and behind closed doors compared to them. I can’t say either side is truly enviable.

The Captain shifts his attention towards us while the Lieutenant goes back to fidgeting with the thing in his hooves, “Aviatrix. Ward. You have something to say?”

Avie snaps to a salute as she addresses him. “Captain. The Head Engineer tells us it’s going to be a while.”

“The cause?” He asks.

“An… oversight.” She answers.

The Captain takes a long drag of musty air. I can see the haze curl up and around itself as his breath slowly jets itself from the nostrils. I half expected him to explode, but it never seemed to be in him. Maybe that’s why he’s captain, and from looking at the Lieutenant– and hearing him, too– it’s no wonder.

He doesn’t say anything but only pulls something already on the desk towards him. He puts his hoof to it like a book and beckons me over. When I do, I get a clear view of what it is he’s looking at. It’s an old physical map of the region. The details are few and far between, from the overlapping reference grid to barely discernible colors of regions to railroads and named dots. The Captain’s hoof is pointing right at our current position: “Outpost SE-7.” His hoof then glides several squares to the east– right near a striped area labeled “Gray Zone.” He taps that part of the map twice, “We’re close.”

* * * * * *

Without my forehoof boots, I can feel the talisman in my frogs again. The more I think about this Outpost and its smell, the slower I move my necklace’s rock around in my hooves to feel its soft faces in its rough cut. My quills feel like they’re standing. Somepony’s watching me. I look up, and it’s our Scout’s maroon eyes gawking from across our Vertibuck cabin. My hooves stall as I stare back. “What?”

She double-takes and shakes her head. “Oh, it’s just, you’re smiling. Since when do you smile about anything?”

I almost look at Avie, but the nosey Scout’s got my full attention. I furrow my brow at her. “What’s it to you, Sergeant?”

She waves a hoof, dismissively. “Ah, don’t worry about it. I just— I don’t think any of us have seen you smile. Always thought you had face paralysis or something.”

My brow rises. “What… made ya think that?”

“I don’t know, maybe the food we’re always having to eat?” She says with what sounds like a half-hearted chuckle. What’s so funny? “It’s a bad joke, Staff Sergeant. Trying to lighten the mood.” She breaks eye contact, umming out loud before grabbing Avie’s attention. “So, Aviatrix. Did you and the Staff Sergeant find anything noteworthy out here?”

Avie and I look at each other. I guess we both thought the other would say something about it, at the same time. She looks down at my clasped forehooves, and a pang of embarrassment hits me when she does. Her eyes go back to the Scout. “We did, but it wasn’t anything too unnerving. Just a couple of worried pegasi wondering why we’re here.”

And the nervous wreck of a Lieutenant…

What Avie said is probably the best way to put it. I can’t get those broken teeth out of my mind, and the intrusive thought of what got them that way only prompts me to fidget with my talisman even more.

“This place gives me the fucking creeps. Every pegasus here just stares like we’ve got the blight or something with their glassy eyes and disheveled-ness.” The Scout comments while sweeping her mane to one side of her face. She wipes her brow, then pauses to look at her sleeve. The way her face shifts slightly makes me think she’s growling at whatever’s wrong with what she’s seeing. “Say Doc, can I borrow the sewing needle?”

“You know that’s for emergencies only.” The Doc rejects her request, outright. “I’m not wasting any kind of thread for something like… what is it you want my needle for?” The Scout answers by presenting her sleeve like an offering. I can see what she’s on about: the sleeve definitely opened up where it met her knee. The Doc just pulls away from it. “That’s what I thought. Still not happening.”

THUNK! THUNK!

All of our ears are pulled up. A stillness settles in as we wait for something. What it can be is anyone’s guess, but I’m keeping my carbine by my side and making sure I know where Avie is. Nothing happens after all, and there’s a pensive sigh of relief.

“The Engineer, right?” Our Heavy Gunner spoke up. They, on Scout’s right, look to Avie. “How can you trust her?

“We have to.” Avie answers.

“I thought the engines were in the back of the cabin. Is she trying to listen in?” Scout steps in with a grimace clear on her face.

“You can’t hear through carbon fiber composite like that.” Avie answers her question with her eyes looking up. “She’s probably just trying to check the wiring from the outside; looking for any other problem that can be fixed while she’s at it.”

“Well, I’m sure some of us didn’t fall asleep through the entirety of the mandatory Vertibuck remedial.” The Scout comments aloud with a sigh. “We should've just taken our chances. I don’t like this place.”

“Neither of us do.” I speak up, still keeping most of my attention on the talisman.

“Did anypony notice their own E.F.S. readings while they were looking around? Or am I the only one who’s been seeing red here and there?” She continues on.

“Probably just tech showing its age,” The Heavy responds, “I haven’t seen any with mine. How old is your E.F.S. Spell Matrix?”

“Same age as yours, I’d think.” The Scout slumps back with a hoof to her chin, “You know what? Huh, what are the odds of the Corporates even having more of them?”

Hearing their conversation go back and forth makes me look back and realize I never had my Eyes Forward System toggled on while roaming about the Outpost. I didn’t need to have it on to feel the red in the ambiance and in the silence. The Lantern Mare, the Engineer, the Lieutenant; just thinking about all their quirks, their appearances, and the flavors of desperation in their voices all reinforce the idea of what our Scout may be trying to say. We’ve given these ponies some way out of the shit they went through. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, and we’re on our own. I wouldn’t want to think about it, but circumstances won’t let me ignore it– especially when Avie’s well-being comes to mind.

My thoughts are broken by their conversation, which somehow shifted to the Corporates. “They’ve been dealing with these Storms all their time here, right? Why don’t they do more for us? I mean, we contribute to their stuff going on in their part of the Great Arids. Can’t they do more for us?”

Heavy just bobs his head to the Scout’s questions. “You’d think that, but no. They’re quality lovers, and that’s why the Wonderbolts are always out on assignment with them. Why would they want second rate? Wonderbolts are few; we’re a bit more numerous than them.”

“Exactly. Shouldn’t that make you feel overlooked? What part of “More Stormtroopers than Wonderbolts” don’t the Corporates get? They’d be getting more bang for their buck, right?” Scout continues on with the subject. A pang of validation can be heard in her words and even seen in her eyes.

The Heavy looks unfazed and breathes deeply. “You’re missing the point. There’s more of us than there are Wonderbolts; that means there’s more of us to police our patch of heaven.”

“If you can call this patch of dead dirt and sand a patch of heaven. It’s bullshit.” The Scout’s gaze falls onto me and she calls my attention, “Sergeant Trade Wind, you’re the General’s kid, right? That means you know a bit more about the goings on between the Corporates and the General, right?” Discomfort ties a knot in my stomach from the questions.

One of the cabin doors opens and a gust of cold, sandy air races inside. I brace my carbine when the occurrence paints the image of emaciated pegasi crowding in with broken teeth, skeletal faces, and wild, despairing eyes. A dark shape stretches across what little moonlight shines in from the outside, and the chill I feel in my hooves grows stronger as that shadow grows. Not a word is said when a leg comes into view, and after that the Captain himself. As soon as he closes the door, it’s as if the room just breathed a sigh of relief. I know I did. “Captain.” The title strays from my mind and through an exhale.

He settles in around the small stockpile we’ve made of everything we brought for the mission; from plasma weaponry to combustibles, and ammo packs to medical packs. We’re huddling around it all like a campfire—something that isn’t too far off what is a small mound of travel-sized lifeline essentials. The Captain stares into all of it intently to the point where anyone meeting him now might’ve thought he’d gone blind or dozed off with his eyes open. “This is all we brought?”

“Yes, Captain,” I speak up for the group, then begin to wonder about what he’s done out there. “Did ya square away things with the Engineer ?”

“She’s with us, and will help out however she can to the best of her abilities.” He answers. I guess Scout’s eating her words, then. “Still, we’re behind schedule and need to move in spite of our current predicament. I thought about it while I was working things out with the Engineer, we’re going to need a skeleton crew to watch over the old girl.” He pauses for breath and looks at Avie. “Aviatrix, you’re the better flier out of all of us. We’re going to need you here until she’s ready.”

His sentence doesn’t settle with me, and neither does Avie’s nod. The thought of just leaving her here with a shaky ally just isn’t enough of a counter-argument for me to be fine with this. I wait until The Captain says more after that—another name-call at least, but it never comes as The Captain begins going on about how equipped we should leave her.

“I volunteer as the plus one.” I nearly shout as these thoughts just begin to get louder in my head and threaten to make me pop. My hooves clasp the talisman a little tighter than usual. “Captain, ya can’t just leave… Aviatrix out here with these pegasi. What if the EFS isn’t lying, and we’re leaving her to fuckin’ wolves in sheep's clothing?”

The Captain holds his gaze on me, and I feel a lingering sense of success that I made my case of keeping Avie safe. “Denied.” He tells me simply. What? Is he serious?

“It’s a mistake, Captain!” It’s a struggle to keep my tone from rising. I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “Four Pegasi are enough for the mission– it’s more than enough.”

“It won’t be.” He tells me immediately after I finish my sentence. “This is Search, Retrieval, and Rescue, Ward. We know where we need to go, but remember the circumstances that lead to where we all are right now— us and those of us out there waiting for us. We’re going to need to cover a lot of ground.”

My wings ruffle at my sides and I snort at the situation. “She’s gonna be alone, Captain—”

“You’ve got two minutes to gather your things.” His eyes peer into me. When I open my mouth, he tilts his head at me as if he wants me to challenge him. “We’re not doing this, Sergeant. One more word, and its insubordination. You’ve now got one minute—I will not repeat myself.”

I hold my eyes on him for a while longer, then look at the rest of the crew. The Heavy and Scout just look on as if I’ve threatened murder. The Medic just looks on with a typical cold disposition. And Avie… her ears are folded into her flight cap.

I can’t be the only one seeing what’s wrong here. Why am I the only one? Just… why?

* * * * * *

I didn’t want the silence to follow us from the Outpost. The further the distance between Avie and myself, the more it just taunts me. If something happens, I won’t be able to hear it. If she screams, how will I know? If my heart isn’t so loud from the weights upon weights it’s enduring; if my swallowing wasn’t so hard, or my breathing even harder, maybe I’d be able to hear her then. To hell with the rushing altitude winds, to my heartbeat in my ears, and to the quiet static in my headgear; all of it.

Eight kilometers away from the Outpost—away from Avie and that much closer to the Gray Zone, we find it: the great crack in the earth where our objective is. From up here, I can’t see what's in that gaping crevasse; I can’t see the bottom, even with the moonlight. If anything, the light just makes it all much more prominent— like a scar from long ago. Just how far does it go?

“Follow my lead, and stay close. We don’t know what to expect.” The Captain instructs us as he dives into it from our current height with a controlled fall. As I’m the second in command of this group, I follow immediately after— wings spread and falling just as the Captain did. The rest of the team follow.

Six seconds later, our hooves touch the gritty ground. Our weapons are primed, the Low-Light Optic Function in our helmets filter out the dark with an orange glow, and we take a minute to scan our surroundings before we continue with our objective. I make my ears focus on every small noise and every gust of wind that blows through here. The hardest part is trying to filter out the soothing power hum of my plasma carbine. In the stillness, there’s nothing outwardly concerning. No suspicious activity or anything out of the ordinary; just bending walls reaching up into the sky and seem to get narrower and narrower, further and further away from where I stand.

My radio feed crackles to life. The first voice is a mare, our Scout. “Clear south.”

Immediately after her, the Heavy. “Clear up.”

“Clear north. We’re all alone down here.” I had the need to speak my mind. Something isn’t sitting right with my stomach; it’s a familiar feeling that comes with telling bullshit to those who don’t deserve it. There’s no reason for me to be lying, not in a place like this. So why am I feeling this way? Why won’t it go away? Why won’t my eyes peel away from the dark path in front of me?

Wait… is that—

A horrible, frightening squeal came into my ears to break my thoughts. I nearly threw my helmet off my head in frustration at the signal quality. It’s the Captain’s voice that mellows out the squealing in my ears and breaks through the small feelings of tinnitus. “Ward, fall in. We’re waiting on you.”

I groan and shake my head before giving an answer. “Right. On my way.” As I turn, my wings rustle with the unease I feel lurching up on me, threatening to twist my head violently in a hundred and eighty degrees; telling me to not look away from the nothing staring right back at me. Get a fucking grip… Not even mentally slapping myself is helping.

As I meet up with the team who huddle in a half-circle, I can feel the Captain’s eyes on me through two layers of reinforced plastic visor— my own and his. “Something the matter, Sergeant?” he asks. There’s no reason to bring up the concerns I brought with me that involved leaving Avie behind. What else should I tell him? That I saw nothing? That I had another one of those “hunch episodes”? I don’t know, I feel like telling him that it’s nothing just isn’t convincing.

“It’s fucking cold.” I tell him, despite being used to the temperature.

There’s a slight jerk in his figure, maybe a silent laugh? “It always is at night, isn’t it? Nothing to complain about, really—we’re weatherproof horses by nature. You all know that...” Yeah. Yeah, we all know that. It’s just a shiny plus one for the Pegasus race according to the stupid propaganda. He quickly steers the subject back to the matter at hoof with a quick throat-clearing, “We’re at the objective sight, and now we search and rescue. According to our briefing, the package is priority number 1. If we find it, odds are we’ll find our missing team.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard, we’ve only got two directions to look.” The Scout quips about the order, and then lets out a long sigh, “What are the odds of them having buried it? How much sand are we going to have to comb through? Any way we can more accurately find it without spending a whole night looking?”

“As long as it takes.” The Captain says simply. “If they turned on the encrypted tracker, we’ll find it. If not…” he takes a long, probably contemplative pause before bringing the subject back to the forefront of the situation. “... well, we’ll find it. So fan out and start looking. It can’t be far, so sound off when you do find something of note. Keep comms open and weapons at the ready. Understood?”

“Sir.” The entirety of the team acknowledges and disperses with caution. I turn on my helmet-mounted flashlight alongside my L.L.O. for an extra field of view. It’s still off-putting that I can’t see as far ahead in the canyon as I want. The walls look like they’re inching closer to one another until the moonlight can’t illuminate anything ahead of me anymore. There’s nothing but the dark ahead. How deep does this crack go? The closer I get to that unyielding darkness, the slower my pace gets; the tenser my muscles become; the smaller my steps, and the harder the knot in my stomach twists until it snaps.

There’s something there…

My legs stop moving, and I’m at a complete halt. The terrible unease in my stomach that I’ve been carrying changes into a gnawing dread. My eyes can’t stop searching the dark, and I can’t turn away. I shouldn’t turn away, or break my line of sight. If I do, I’ll regret it. These feelings and thoughts won’t leave me alone. They only fill my head with terrible thoughts and depictions from the cautionary tales of the deep recesses of this dust bowl.

There’s something in there, and it’s looking right at me. The dark bends and twists in strange, rigid ways around this thing. It’s just a trick of the light, or my eyes trying to make sense of the nothing, but then those eerie sockets spark a ghostly aura. A powerful tremor of fear makes me stumble backward, then a headache rakes forward from the back of my head to dig its claws into my eyes. Just as they close from the pain I hear raspy breathing. It’s not from my lungs trying to keep up with my hastening heart, because I hear it over my short, mousy bursts of breath from inside my own helmet.

“… Hello.”

My rapid breathing robs me of a scream. I throw off my helmet with my eyes still shut and my hooves desperately clasping my head. That was a voice— not my voice— inside my own helmet. It wasn’t grainy, or electric— it was alive, labored, and gravely sharing my own headspace inside my own fucking helmet! My mane crawls at the revelation; it hurts to have so much hair stand up all at once.

I open my eyes slowly, trying to keep my thoughts and hooves locked on my carbine. Once I feel the safety flip off, my eyes snap open completely to face that dark corridor ahead of me and the same, bending canyon walls that give it its shape. There’s nothing there… Nothing there at all. It still doesn’t warrant me dropping my guard completely. With my gun pointed down that way, I look for where I think my helmet is and find it staring up at me while it’s cradled in the sand. There’s something next to it, and it’s looking at me, too. After one more glance down the canyon, I angle my helmet till the headlamp shows me what’s next to it. Amid the sparkly-as-the-stars sand is something sleek; a familiar honeycomb pattern. Is that… I carve the sand around it to see if there’s more to it, and I keep carving as it keeps showing more of itself. “Son of a bitch…” I whisper under my breath, realizing what it is.

Any Enclave soldier can recognize those honeycomb lenses and onyx black plating. Staring up at me is a quarter of an Enclave-issue Power Armor Helmet. The first piece of evidence since we’ve shown up. I keep on digging in the hope of finding it all there. The cheek plate’s visible, now; the right ear, too. It might be completely intact, and that can mean it still has its black tape. I know the Captain will want to know if it has it, as soon as I get him on the coms.

Scraping and scraping, tracing the silhouette of the helmet; I notice it’s lopsided into the ground somewhat. I wiggle it to see how deep in the sand it is, but it comes out fairly easily to my surprise and utter shock. “Fuck…” It’s only half a helmet. The entire left side of it is gone, the respirator is missing; it can't even be called a helmet, anymore. That damage is extensive, and it’s not a clean cut, either; the edge of the metal looks angry and jagged like something blew up from the inside of it. I shudder to think what might’ve happened.

The black tape… seeing the mess of wires sticking out from underneath like guts… I don’t think there’s a black tape left— or even one that isn’t damaged or corrupted to be remotely useful. I turn it over—

Pressure booms in my chest, so fast and so sudden, that I lose my grip on the mask. Tremors run through me like a chain reaction, but the hoof that just held it shakes harder than the rest of me. Holding onto it— to try to control it— only makes it worse.

The color around me dulls and grays out, but the glow behind that mask in the sand remains. It takes it all in greedily, pulsing like a galvanized heart; spreading like a vile fungus along the inside of the mask's face; filling my ears with sounds like sifting, crackling glass...

The mask landed face-first into the sand when I dropped it. It wanted to show me; the whole of its being becomes exhumed by the scaly glass carpet of cancerous crystal rooting itself into the metal and consuming it from the inside out! The mask starts to shift in the sand like a writhing thing going through agony!

I can see them in my head. The mask— who it belonged to, being struck down by something I can’t see. My imagination shows those claw marks flare up with that glow as it crawls into the cracks of their armor— into their wounds. Their screams— how they writhed in agony as The Curse drank their blood, mauled their organs, and became their very sanity. Their cries for help devolve into unnatural, manic, glassy noises as the Curse Crystals burst from their gut, tear through their armor like paper from the inside, and distort the pony they once were—

‘We can never help them… we never could… We can only save ourselves, and save them by sparing them of their Affliction…’ It’s the rules, and it’s too late. Whoever they were— the Pegasus who owned the mask was their face. They tore their own face off to try and save themselves from a doomed existence.

They left it here when they should’ve burned it, too! The mask is overgrown; the Curse Crystals are wearing it. It’s… infected! It’s afflicted! The Curse got here first!

I got too close! I-I fucking touched it!

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I’ve gone deaf from how hard the warning bells in my head rung, and it’s like I can feel The Curse’s influence eating through that boot like liquid plasma. I throw the hoof boot that touched the mask as far away from me as I can, snatch my headwear, slap it on, and raise the coms as fast as I can while the crystals spread along the sand. It’s too hard to coordinate these tiny movements with my hooves with the way my body’s still shaking. I can’t get a grip on my breathing while watching that blight creep from the mask in all directions. I’d turn my back, but the crest on my hairs pleaded for me to keep my eyes on it. If I turn away, it’s like I’ll regret it! Those feelings have my focus shift between the mask and the darkness ahead.

“C-Captain…” I try raising him, but my voice is too shaky. One more time…“C-Captain!” My words are louder, but there’s only static listening to me. Stupid fucking waves! Work! “Captain the Curse! The Curse– it’s here! Captain?! Captain?!” More static and whining sounds that don’t help me any. Stupid tech– why now?!

What should I do?! I thought somepony would’ve heard me with how loud I’m being— Where is anyone?! Did they go deeper into the other side of the canyon? Am I the only one here?! ‘Don’t turn around’ I hear myself. ‘Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t–’

I have no choice; it’s either make a break for it now or collapse from the mountain of panic building! I snap back around, and my heart sinks to see what’s behind me isn’t the slot canyon, but complete darkness staring right back at me.

No…

I look up from where I stand, the starry slit above is completely gone. Shining a headlamp up there or anywhere around me shows me nothing. The dark doesn’t give an inch to the light from my headlamp, and my L.L.O. can’t peel it away, either. It’s as if I’m looking into nothing— no, no this is bullshit! When did this happen? How long have I been displaced? Why didn’t I notice?! "No! No! Dammit! Dammit– fuck!!!” Eerily my words bounce back and forth with inconsistency from different angles– some close, some far away, above and below.

My radio perks up slowly. The white noise and the whirring are leveling out into some form of stability. It gives hope that a signal can be reached, but I stop myself from fiddling with it. I reach for the killswitch, knowing damn well how pointless it is to try. “CHHHHHHHHrrrrriiiii— No-rrerrreccchhhhHH” I hesitate, did I hear a mare just now? It sounds like someone I know– no. No, no, it’s just my ears making sense of the nonsense. “Riiiiiii—e–rrrrrrrr—t’s there— rrrraaarrroooo—so real—rrraarriii—” It cuts out. Toggling the controls doesn’t stir it. I know what it means… ‘A hungry thing’... That’s how they describe The Curse, and it ate my radio…

What happens now? What can I do? All these questions flood my mind one after another, and they won’t stop. My heart is pounding as I keep looking around myself over and over, trying to look for something. Anything. Anyone! I can’t see my own body, not even the hoof I’m waving in front of my face. I can notice the reinforced glass that makes up my plasma shroud. It’s definitely on—I can make out the green plasma glow clearly at my side, but the light doesn’t give anything, either; just like my lamp and my optics. There’s something else, and it’s coming from that curse-rotted helmet. It’s a sickly, cold, iridescent growth spread across the floor like a moss, twinkling and filling the void with that glassy sound. I can see something strange– like an aura– wisp and curl from the glow it emits into the air, and it’s unnerving to see the dark void curl with it; sometimes mixing, and sometimes fighting. Terror, discomfort, all these things scream at me to stay far away from it.

My ears twitch and my feather quills stand on end. Every fiber in my body is screaming through the paralyzing chill coming over me. It’s happening again. There’s something there, and I can’t see it. I pull up the helmet’s integrated target identifier as quickly as I can. The HUD’s become spasmodic, glitchy, and the T.I. 's spell matrix— in the times I can see it clearly— is reading red whichever way I turn. It’s confused… It’s dying, too…

Stop thinking about it!

There’s a squawk in my ear that makes my head spin. I fall over from losing my balance, and all I hear is ringing and swelling static. It’s that mare voice again, bending the sounds to make coherent phrases that make me want to vomit. “Riiiiiii—e–rrrrrrrr—’most there — rrrraaarrroooo—almost—rrraarriii—” I frantically try to turn it off, but it already is. Panic takes hold of my hoof as I try to fix this stupid machine by pounding it, not even caring how much worse it makes me feel. “Errrrrrr—n’t—rrreeeaaaa—going—rrarreeeiii—here–rrrrrrr— something he—”

“Shut up!” I scream at the static and pound harder and harder at the frequency knob. My eyes are burning, watering, swelling; too much to keep them open, anymore.

“Reeeraarrrr— path— reerreaarrreee— lost—wrrrrrerrrrr—here—’’

I can’t take the misery anymore. Frantically, haphazardly, I throw my helmet off and away from me while screaming into the void. “SHUT UP!” It vanishes, and I don’t hear it hit anything. Regret roots itself into me, and forces me on my knees. I just threw away my lifeline to my squad; to the outside… to Avie…

Avie… “DAMN IT!” There is no one to hear it. It just echoes back at me again, and again, and again. I fight the pain in my eyes and grab my carbine, fuming with frustration, and fire into the void indiscriminately. The plasma bolts fizzle out and die before they even fly an inch from the barrel. Sickly-sounding hums come from my carbine, and the toxic green light flickers and dies. Panic and confusion crushes my heart like two bricks. I thought closed systems were protected from the sapping!

I fumble along my body to feel for the spare microspark batteries, find them, pull one from its strap pocket and hold it in my mouth as I throw away the dead one in the gun’s battery mount. The new spark battery is in and the gun charges up when I engage it, my hopes rise with the hum and die just as quickly. The glow didn’t come back, and the gun fizzles out, again.

My helmet’s internal lighting is beginning to flicker and grow weak. I clasp my head, thinking it’s what will keep it safe. It’s all around me– just beyond the lenses looking in. Watching me. Waiting. Curious about how long I can hold onto my dying light. Don’t take it away from me… Don’t take this away from me!

The static is restless. It wants me to hear the nonsense it’s producing. I’m brought to my knees as the HUD lights go off like desperate fireflies in my helmet.

Why… why…why why why why!!! The more I ask the question, the more I can’t stop saying it. The more the word bounces in my head the more the static drowns out my own thoughts and threatens to split my head open. I can’t hear myself think anymore. I can’t see anything anymore. I can’t rely on this stupid Enclave tech anymore. The static in my head… “SHUT UP!!!!”

My eyes water up and sting. It’s like my own tears are boiling the moment they come out and coat my eyes. I claw and rub at them ferociously. The burning is too intense like my eyes are melting in their sockets. Every time I rub at them— every time they blink, shapes begin to dance in the dark. The more I rub them, the more I realize that all but one change in shape and position; all but one gets closer and closer the more I blink. The closer it gets, the tighter the knot in my stomach paralyzes me with discomfort and fear. It’s not my mind or my eyes, anymore– It’s right in front of me, now. I don’t know how I can see it, but it’s there— a dark…thing that stands out from the void around me. The more I try to focus and make it out, the clearer it makes itself out to be; the clearer it is, the more uncomfortable it makes me. The only thing that isn’t a vague shape or a blur, is that curse-rotted Enclave helmet at my eye level. The single orange lens blinks open– revealing one tiny, but piercing dot of dark light. It thrusts a part of itself into me, and my breathing stalls to a suffocating halt. I fall back and then…

* * * * * *

I jolt upright, screaming bloody murder. I can’t stop, and trying only makes me scream harder and harder until my throat is raw and my lungs burn from the lack of air in them. My forelegs pull themselves into me for support as my chest feels like it’s collapsing and the volume in my voice begins to die and become a raspy wheeze. My throat tightens from the strain and there’s no air left in me. My chest burns, then it explodes, forcing cold air into my lungs until I’m gulping all of it in as much as I’m letting it out. It doesn’t help my raw throat, the stinging forces me to get control of my shaky breath. “Calm down…” I mouth to myself, rocking back and forth. “Calm down… Calm down…”

My body still rattles from the chill in the air brought on by my damp fur, and the lingering terror in my bones. The static in my head is gone. My body creaks with lethargy and sore muscles, like I had been running, flying, and given fair beating in training. With the sweat heavy on my brow, I’d think I did if my eyes didn’t have that ‘just-woke-up’ fatigue and burning. Only it isn’t. “They’re just dreams…” I tell myself in the most motherly voice I can. I bury my swollen eyes into my hooves and press them hard into the frogs. “It was all just a bad dream. It was all just…”

I’ve always told myself these things. It’s always the same, in the end. The words are numb and they do little to make me feel any better, but I still hold onto the hollowest of hope that they’d somehow still make it all go away. It’s always just— it always feels too real for a fever nightmare. How many times have I been there? I’ve lost count.

I peel my eyes back with my hooves like it’d loosen the weight on them, then my ears twitch to an unfamiliar sound. I pull my hooves back and there the sound is again. I blink to clear the blurry vision. I can see my hooves as vague dark shapes, but everything else is just a blinding white nothing. They come into focus, my stomach sinks and my senses blare in alarm to see shackles and a chain running through and down the middle of them. “Wait…” I say as a lump in my throat begins to lump up, and my limbs become uncomfortably tingly again. “Wait, wait, wait—what the fuck?!”

I yank my hooves up in the air to get a clear look at what I’m seeing. The length of it is running through my bed from under the sheets. I throw the damp cover off me to see that the length of the chain runs off the side of the bed and into some hole in the very white ground. I can see the hole clearly… huh? I look up from the hole to see what’s around me. It’s still a great white nothing. I blink quickly, then harder when the scene doesn’t change. I rub them the same way and nothing changes. I’d think I’ve gone blind, but I can still see the chains and myself in them. This can’t be real; it couldn’t be real. This is another dream—it has to be. My head won’t stop shaking, as if it’s denying what I’m saying all on its own. “It has to be a dream!” I scream when my thoughts just aren't making me feel any better.

I yank at the chain, then try using my wings when I realize there’s more slack to it. My wings feel stuck—they just won’t open! I try to get a good look at them, but I can’t see any of my blue feathers. I feel them struggling at my sides. I look there, too, and don’t find my fatigues but a strap harness around my waist. Now my heart is in my throat, and the tingling becomes too much for me to sit still. I jolt off my bed and tighten the slack on the chain. I yank hard, trying my best to get free. My knees scream from the stress of trying to break them. I claw at my harness but get nowhere. While I did so, I realized my necklace had vanished from where it always was. The weight of the realization makes my guts want to fall out of me. My hooves begin to shake when I don’t feel its cord around my neck.

“No! No!” I forget the chain and the harness, the necklace has my full desperate attention. I search all around me, around the bed. I throw everything off to scatter the pillows, the bedsheets, and the mattress. I try flipping the bed frame, but it won’t budge. I want my talisman; I want it to give me my talisman. My forelegs burn from the strain, I try to get a better grip using my heels. The edge of the frame digs into them, I begin to scream as my strength and pain tolerance reach their limit. Even at my best, I just couldn’t. I clench my teeth, growl at the stupid thing, and buck at it until either my hind hooves break or the tremors sap what leg strength I have left. The weight got harder and harder until my hooves were becoming too heavy, too numb, and too painful to use. The air makes my throat raw, it feels like I’m choking. I look back at it, all of it, by now I should’ve found something to tell me it’s still here. It doesn’t tell me anything at all. “No! No! NO! NO!”

How could I have lost it? Where did it go?! Where is it?! Where are you?!Mother...

I forget how to stand and fall on my bare rump. Breathing becomes like taking air through an ever-shrinking pinhole. The inside of my head is like clouds, and my ribcage is sore from my heart beating it down from the inside. My nostrils, eyes, and throat are on fire. My mouth is dry, and my vision gets fuzzier and wet. I can’t– I can’t–

Everything’s too heavy for me to keep standing. It’s too cold for my fur. I curl up on the floor, trying to emulate the warmth I crave. It doesn’t help. It just doesn’t…

I want to feel glad that this is all a fucking night terror; that the stress was just the nightmare, and the talisman is with me and hugging me close. That Avie… that she’s there waking me up, waiting for me.

Please…

Chapter 4- Evaluation

“Something on your mind?”

There has to be another way…

There’s always another way, right?

These thoughts carry anxieties that cut deep. They keep stalling me from going through with this…

Don’t know anything…

What do ya know about any of this?

I just woke up a while ago— the first time I’ve ever woken up… soundly, I guess is the word. I can’t remember a day I’ve ever gotten out of bed not feeling worse for wear or terrified of something. There was always nothing to be terrified of, but somehow raw, real fear finds its way through my veins to make me tremble and sweat till the bed shakes and the covers cling to me.

Ya don’t know them…

How can ya trust them?

She is the first real face I’ve seen since I’ve been here, and talks to me like we’re friends— To get close to ya…To get inside your head.

Quacks and shrinks do that. All my life I’ve seen them, I think I’d know what’s bull and what isn’t by now. I don’t see it in her—Desperate…

For answers. I know they’re hiding up here, somewhere in the farthest corners of my mind. I can’t forget the slow drag of sharp edges across my mental walls. I can feel it now, the creeping, slicing, dragging itch somewhere in the back of my brain as I think about it. It’s hard to not think about it when I’m close to figuring out this gap in my thoughts; how I got here; why I’m here; How safe Avie really is— She’s already safe. Ya don't need to do this.

I need to. It’s something I have to do– Ya don’t–

I know I’m compromising myself like this, but I have to keep my promise. It’s the least I can do— even if I can’t be one hundred percent certain of any of it. There’s still so much I can’t grasp about my situation, and the worst part is knowing that it’s there but cannot for the life of me recall any of it. It doesn’t make sense; it shouldn’t make sense; it’s not supposed to make sense…

Ya already know she is okay. That is all that matters doesn’t it? So why keep going on with this?

I already told myself. I want more answers. Truth be told, with everything I know of this place from all those years having to learn what little we do know…

I really shouldn’t be here… should I?

* * * * * *

“You seem rather absorbed in thought, Ward.” Stagona’s voice broke through my headspace, snapping my senses awake. I take a deep breath, look around the room, and notice the zebra at my bedside with the small little table or nightstand between the two of us. “Is there something you want to say? Something that could be troubling you?”

I look around, again, and back to myself under the sheets covering me. “Is there anything I can wear?”

“Excuse me?” she asks, sounding surprised for a second.

“Garments? Clothes? Anything to cover myself better than the bedsheets?” I elaborate. She just stares, her expression shifting as if she’s playing my words on repeat in her head and it’s making less and less sense. I don’t think it’s that hard of a question. “I’m not gonna do… whatever it is we’re actually gonna do buck naked in bed.” Saying it makes my skin crawl and my feathers ruffle.

“I understood what you meant initially, Ward.” Stagona tells me. “I’m more…baffled.”

“That I’m asking for something to cover myself?”

“Indeed.” She says. “I figured a pony would already be comfortable in their own skin. You’re not without your natural fur coat, and you are currently not exposed to the Grand Aridian element. Why the need for covering now?”

I can’t say I’ve ever felt comfortable in my own fur coat. I can barely keep my discomfort in the public showers or the medical check-ups. Always eyeing me with thoughts I don’t want to imagine they have; invading my space when I never ask for it. I don’t need to feel more eyes on me than what I’ve had to live with, and I don’t want to feel like there isn’t anything between me and them for any reason. I’m just glad Avie understood after a while. I can’t forget about these feelings without remembering how hurt she looked when I asked if she could cover herself… didn’t mean to offend, nor did I mean it like that— I digress.

My mind repeats Stagona’s questions, which I idly shake my head at. I loosen the bedsheet till the bed can’t hold it tautly anymore, and then throw it over myself— making sure everything I want covered is just so. Better this than barding…

There’s a little tinge of comfort, but the way Stagona’s looking at me is quickly snuffing it out. She’s not expressing it completely; I know it looks strange, but it’s not any louder than the gilded tapestry she’s wearing.

I guess the silence lingered a lot longer than normal. I didn’t answer after all the time, and she just shakes her head subtly with a small sigh, “It is fine. I will see to it that we find something comfortable for you to wear, but only once we are done here.”

“Can’t ya just get something quickly? What’s a couple more minutes?”

“There simply is not any to spare. We need to remain committed; to… how do the Mutfalinn say… ‘to strike when the ingots are hot’, I believe. Furthermore, it is believed by my contemporaries and I that being unclothed provides substantial benefit during the process.”

Moot-fay–uh… “Like what?”

“Mediation, Ward; it generally allows for increased comfort, and therefore a much more sound mind.” She reaches under her cloak-blanket, again, and pulls out another oversized marble. It’s not much bigger than the amber stone from before— sitting off to the right, but this new one is pretty much glass. Something about it draws my attention to the center of it where I see… something. It’s not like those colorful ribbons typically seen in marbles, but just a single black-like dot. It should be too small— and the room too dark— to even see it, but I do. It’s unnerving that I can. It’s like my eyes strain and my stomach wants to twist into a knot the longer I look at it; like that feeling someone may get when their mother, angry, bitter, full of malice and contempt starts to come for you… howling your name…It’s staring into me…

My line of sight is broken when a tissue cloth gets draped over it. The things I felt die just as fast. I blink twice, realize I forgot to breathe, and take deep breaths to loosen the strain on my lungs. “What…” I can’t get the words out over what just happened.

“Alarumite-Quartz; our first indicator to what we fear.” Stagona tells me, looking at me with a cautioning disposition.

“ ‘Alarm’...” I think about it for a minute. “About what, specifically?” I can feel my mind wanting to go back to the idea that something else may really be wrong with me.

“Do you remember what we discussed back in the White Room?” She asks.

“Ya told me a lot of things…”

She clears her throat. “Yes, I did. But do you remember how I told you— before we pulled you out of the Room— that all we want answers?”

I nod, pensively. She brings a hoof closer to the clothed marble. “This is just a precaution. The precaution to a fear that what we both may find can be… more concerning than any of us could anticipate.”

I begin to shake my head at her words. “Why are ya talking to me like that? What are ya trying to say, really?”

“We are not sure what we are going to find.” Stagona clarifies. “If you knew any more than you do, now— and told us— then maybe things would be a little more different. For now, all we have are ‘maybes’ and a gap in your story. The Saan-Al'Kima along with her Council do not want any risks. Please understand, Ward, our intentions are not to alienate or make you feel unwelcome. Do you not remember?”

Remember what, exactly? What went on in that… white nothing? As far as I know, there are still gaps in this present story. Why am I being treated like there’s more than just memory issues with me? Is there something they’re all not telling me? There has to be—

“I still promise you answers. We still promise you more answers.” She tells me, gently. “What we are going to do, now, is to help you and us, respectively. Who knows, we may both find what we are looking for in this.”

I can feel my uncertainties tugging on me. My head shakes a little bit, then itches when my mind thinks back to that mask and that horrid blight infesting it. I can feel the nerves in my hoof that touch it want to twitch like mad with discomfort and worry.

“Can’t ya just tell it to me straight… Is–” A lump gets caught in my throat and is hard to swallow. “Is the Curse involved in this somehow?”

A silence hangs in the air. My thoughts tell me to take it as a confirmed ‘yes.’ “We do not know for certain, Ward—”

“So it’s possible, then, that all of this is because I–” My words halt with my thoughts, and they suddenly turn to questions. The pang of contradiction pulled at me from both ends, threatening to snap me in two. ‘Nothing comes back from what they call ‘The Brink’…’ It’s the only bit of knowledge I have to go on for what happens to those who become a victim to The Curse. But how can I possibly know what that means? As far as I know, there isn’t any pony who’s gone through it and has given anything lucid and concrete about the things they see. It’s like asking the dead what comes after.

Damn it, what are the odds this is some kind of hell that’s all too like the real world? There can’t— I mean—

“Fuck!” I slam a hoof into my bedside. I’m tired of hearing these thoughts in my head and feeling them knead at my heart like dough. They’re stalling me! It’s a fucking conspiracy, and my head’s in on it!

“I cannot imagine just how—how do you say… ‘twisted on the inside,’ you must be feeling.” Stagona’s soft words reach me with that familiar burnt smell. Another cup of coffee waits for me at my end of the table, along with a green apple. “I have been told you like green apples. Maybe this will settle things before we move on. We have stalled enough, and it is imperative that you have as clear a head as possible. It will make traversing the recesses of your mind relatively easier.”

* * * * * *

My stomach would’ve settled better if it was hot water instead of that dirt water. However much I managed to make it down my gullet, it’s only making my stomach more frenzied; the bitterness, remembering how strong it is makes me writhe on the inside. The green apple probably didn’t help either. I never thought I’d have to eat the entirety of it, let alone a coreless one. It all isn’t mixing inside, and my anxiety of anticipation are both reveling in it— whether it’s sitting up on the bed, or laying down in it like Stagona asked me to.

I turn my head to the right;, she’s gotten rid of the small table stand between us and is sitting at my bedside. She reaches for my left hoof, my muscles tense immediately.

“What’re ya doing?” I ask.

“Getting us started. I need you to take the Gleaning Stone in your left hoof and hold it to yourself.” She tells me, passing the stone over. “I am sorry. I should have told you first.”

My stare doesn’t let up. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being dotted on like I’m a veteran who can’t control any part of himself. Maybe it’s more a feeling of being physically touched by somepony… some zebra that I just met. It’s a gross feeling on my skin, and I feel that part of my hoof wanting to peel away like scurrying sugar ants.

“Just run it by me, next time.” I tell her, taking the stone in my left hoof and staring at it. “So how does this work, do I just hold onto it or…”

“Yes, hold it as you are doing right now— at your chest.” She tells me. “Are you comfortable enough?”

“As comfortable as I can be.” I confirm, moving my back a little in the sheets. “Wouldn’t it be better if I was sitting up, or something?”

“The transmitter… you… must be in an as comfortable position as possible for this to work.” She explains. “We have found that for ailing Remembrancers, it is usually in a reclined position— or in bed as you are.”

‘Ailing…’ I take another glance at the dark amber stone. It’s really smooth to the touch in the frog of my hoof. It’s got some weight to it, too— I’m just starting to feel it weigh in on my chest. It won’t be crushing me anytime soon.

My ears flick to the hydraulics of a door opening. I sit up a little to see what’s going on. Stagona’s at the door, the white light pouring in is almost blinding.— I can’t make out who she’s talking to. Whoever they are, they’re far taller than her. My ears try to focus on the mumbling, but I can’t make out anything she’s saying… I’m not even sure if I’m hearing proper words, or if it’s my mind trying to make sense out of the nonsense from across the room.

The door closes, the mumbling dies instantly. Stagona makes her way back to my bedside, and there’s something in the air that’s making me feel like a foal who did something they weren’t supposed to— like sneaking in on their mother during her… moment.

“I’m sorry I walked off.” She tells me. “I was just double-checking on some things outside the room.”

It wouldn’t be the smartest thing to make an assumption of anything. I know I only heard mumbling, but still… curiosity’s a nagging little thing at any age, I guess. “Is it anything I should be worried about?”

“No, not at all.” She reassures me. “It would be that the Saan-Al’Kima and her Council are wanting to know our progress.”

It wouldn’t be much to tell her, all things considered…

“What about Avi—Aviatrix? Any updates?”

She shakes her head. My ears droop. She takes a deep breath and fixes her headpiece. “Listen very carefully to what I am about to say. This process, a ‘mindscaping’, if you will, is unlike the recollectors that the Enclave may be familiar with. In this process, memories cannot be extracted— willingly or otherwise. Instead the Gleaning Stone will allow the both of us to sort out the transmitter’s memories— your memories; to find and clear away mental fog and deterioration…”

It’s starting to make sense, but the unease of the unknown still lingers around me. “What will we both see?” It’s all still fresh– these feelings and speculations that make my stomach tingly and my mind fraught with nervousness. Where will my mind go with it? What will we both see when we finally hit that block in the road? What can be waiting for us? Why… Why am I saying it like that? And why do the butterflies in my stomach flutter much more aggressively at the thought? Why can I hear myself in the back of my mind just screaming to leave it alone? What do I know that I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing– if that makes any lick of sense?

“... as I have stated before, this is a very invasive process. The upside to all of this is you are in control. My questions are only to help you find your way in the expanses of your own mind.” She further explains, then I notice her unveil the clear marble from before. She reaches out, gently, with her free hoof. I stare at it… does she need something from me? “The process starts by a joining of free hooves and some focusing light on the Gleaning Stone.”

Uh… okay, then… Slowly, pensively, I reach out to her hoof with my free right one. As soon as they touch, the ball of light illuminating the room starts coming closer, bringing its luminosity down as it does. It bobs between the two of us, and then it eclipses itself behind the stone resting on my chest and held by my left hoof.

“Your ears to my voice; your eyes to the light in the stone…” She tells me, in a voice not unlike someone trying to maintain volume in a room full of light sleepers. “...let the light pass through you, to show you what you must know; in your mind— your house of memory. Listen to my voice and stay with the light…”

I can see cirrus and cirrostratus clouds in the stone. They’re frozen in the light and begin to shimmer— first subtly, but now as clear as day. They flow like a breeze is being blown through them… It’s a nice day…

They expand, swirl into each other and block out the warm glow of the sun in the stone… a cold cloud-cover is all I see, but the underlying clouds begin to cyclone. The cover does not let up, but the eye of that cyclone grows darker. There is nothing left to see, but an empty, black sky—

* * * * * *

Something’s off…

I touch my face;, my eyes are open,; I can feel them blink, too, but the darkness doesn’t change. The faint hum of the air recyclers— or the air conditioners…or both– whichever it is, I can still hear it. My bed still creaks when I shift, and the spread is still itchy and heavy; suffocating.

My hoof reaches for my chest and— I know I should panic; I feel it in my heart now, but I already know it isn’t there? And I won’t find it? What am I thinking? Why am I thinking that—

The overhead light’s light glows pale like a star. The dense darkness overhead does not retreat or fade away, but stays as it was. As it always has been…

I throw off my covers and then my hind legs off the side of the bed. That whole sweeping motion together is enough to tire me out, and my eyes remind me why that is. They sag and threaten to close, but I just take deep breaths and rock my head back to get the tiniest crick out of my neck. I’d want to get myself covered up fast, but I guess I slept in my uniform. A little wing stretch and ruffle, and I’m off to meet the dull day.

The moment all four of my hooves meet the floor, immediately something’s made different. The barracks around me are replaced by something else. It's… just a hall. No matter which way I looked– left or right– it’s the exact same thing: an endless stretch with countless doors, and the fact that I can see every one of them when I shouldn’t— I-I don’t know how else to describe it. There should be lights, but there aren't. It’s as if these doors carry a light of their own, and I am aware of all of them. The number of them… uh… I’m not sure if there really is one.

This place has changed… or has it always been like this?

“Can you hear me?”

That voice… I know it. A name immediately comes to mind… Stagona?

“Yes. Can you tell me what you see?”

Everywhere I look is either the stretch to infinity; a hydraulic door indicative of underground shelters and stables; the cold, metal floors and gray walls; doors, doors, and doors going on and on for the length of the hall; a void for a ceiling, with lights that are… just there. I don’t– I can’t explain it. They just are…

Where… It feels… I don’t know. It feels fluid— if that makes any sense. Like this isn’t normal— I know it isn’t, but I feel… content? Like it was always like this?

“Sometimes we are comfortable in our own heads; sometimes not. What you see, currently, is… Hypnagogic; a dreamlike representation of your own mind filtered through the Gleaning Stone…”

I can recognize the steel walls as I get closer to look and feel them to the touch. They’re the bunker’s walls, the cage’s guts buried deep below the arid land; without murals for comfort, or banners meant to indoctrinate and instill pride. There was none of that— only a layer of fear; of a cold that bites deep to the bone… It’s not here, but I can still feel it…

“What do you feel?”

O’Leery. That’s what we called our flag. It hung over us so much, I’m sure the majority of newborns saw those eyes first before our mother’s or the doctor’s. They peer at ya from under the dark arch… I swear they followed me, always; they were ice blue, and ya feel them on ya. Invading your privacy; always watching, and never wanting to let go of ya…

“Remember why you are here. Take us to the time your assignment was given to you and your team. What were you told?”

I see it from where I stand. Somehow, someway, down this endless hall there is one door I need to open. The entire hall contracts, without any way of me knowing that I’ve moved; no directional breeze or shift in place, I’m just there, the door I need is in front of me. It opens…

It smells volatile inside, like old office carpet or a classroom after it’s been cleaned. The fluorescent lights buzz as the room illuminates. It’s our briefing room 2B, just as it was that morning. There are ponies dispersed throughout the seating— sitting and facing the front– towards the Hologlass Map, elevated platform, and podium.

“Who is in the room?”

My squad… half my full squad; my designated fireteam. The Captain, our scout and heavy… Avie… We’re all here, all waiting for the– the General at the pedestal to tell us what the situation is. It was something about our other fireteam…

“What did she say?”

“...their search and retrieval mission has also become your search and rescue..."

I’m hearing it in her voice—in that old mare’s voice. It’s so in the moment, as if she’s there in the room…My blood is cold; I can feel my veins crystalize and frost over with each word being heard in that seasoned, droning voice. Do I really need to relive these things? These feelings?

“Has anything changed? Do you see anything different?”

My eyes scan the space around me… Nothing…

“Stay with the memory a little while longer. Please, continue telling me.”

“...half of them are missing with debriefing revealing that they had been lost in a Catalyst Sandstorm while retrieving the priority payload. Whether they are dead or alive you will bring back what you can and destroy everything else. Is that clear?”

“Hmm… Interesting. Yes, some of this appears to line up.”

"Captain, here is the detail and the written orders for the engineers at the hangar. If a Corporate asks, it is Level 6 clearance." The memory continues… “Do not disappoint me. Do not disappoint your family. Do not disappoint the Enclave.”

Everypony in the room snaps to a salute, while I barely attempt to do the same. She’s looking at me again, leering into me… and who’s next to me. My muscles petrify; my throat closes. Everyone in the room makes their way to the exit— at the door I stand at. They fade through me like a ghost. I don’t even feel them…

“Master Sergeant Trade Wind.”

Her words pierce through me. No matter how much brain power I use— no matter how much I scream in my head to move, my legs won’t; mine and my figment self in front of me. I stand there wide-eyed as I feel her shadow crawl towards me.

“I need some of your time.” Her words floated through the air and slithered into my ear. My lungs seize up, but I dare not show it. Not to her.

I look to the door in front of me, and this yearning feeling tries to claw its way up from inside me. Those amethyst eyes from Avie’s face look at me with worry.

"This does not concern you," Diamond Dust firmly tells her off, her words stopping the mare at the door from backtracking to me. "Dismissed, Tech Sergeant."

‘I’ll be fine…’ I meant to say something else. I couldn’t leave on my own—I had to, though. For her safety… It hurts… It feels self-inflicted, but at the same time it does not.

I can’t keep going with this memory…

“Is this how you say hello to your dear mother, Trade Wind?" Her voice, couth, gentle— two-faced and wicked. My manes’ crawling, hearing it again. My nerves are misfiring, making it hard to do anything else. I keep my eyes down, away from hers. Everything freezes in that line of sight. The memory of those eyes feel too real! “Look at me…” She pleads.

“Ward, you can walk away from it. Remember what’s important; remember why you are here. Remember the mission!”

“Trade Wind…” The General’s voice is right in front of me. I can feel the weight of her presence where I stand. It’s hard to pretend how shaky I really am. “LOOK AT ME!”

My gaze snaps up, but the door has vanished. The tone of her voice fades, and the weight of the memory lifts immediately. I can breathe again, but I take in a bit too much and brace the wall to keep myself up. My cheek… it stings all of a sudden.

“Do you want to take a break, Ward? Or can you continue?”

As much as I want to, I can’t. It was a bad dream… a bad memory… I thought I wouldn’t have to relive it.

“You got lost in the memory, Ward. It is what happens. Sometimes it cannot be helped, but thankfully it has ended. I’m sorry.”

I had let some of that through. I know it was a memory, but it was just too real to fight back. I could’ve ended it, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Damn it all…

“The good news is that we have a way forward. It should be easier now, to find the necessary memories. Let us see… Take us to the mission at hoof; take us to the outpost. Do you remember the outpost?”

The hallways from before are different now. It feels less overwhelming; somehow smaller than what I thought. I know where I need to go, and I walk when my strength comes back. It is different from the last time. I can hear sand blowing, feel it in the air and in my eyes while it comes down the path ahead. When I clear my eyes, a booted forehoof meets them; my dress uniform has been instantly replaced by the Stormtrooper combat fatigues. Looking up from myself, the hallways have expanded out since I last saw it; sand has replaced the cold steel under my hooves. I can see the dunes for miles, but there’s still nothing illuminating the dunes overhead.

An instinct urges me to turn around, and I do. The Vertibuck— Avie’s Vertibuck— sits at the landing pad, looking down at me. Whichever my head turns, I see things come into view– from the loose networks of trenches; to tents atop mounds where makeshift observation posts are held up; to the comms center; to the barbed wire and defensive fortifications keeping the outside away from this place. The things I see are never consistent when I turn my attention away from them; they’re either different in place and appearance, or completely absent.

“Same place; different memories and experiences. Sometimes they overlap, and sometimes we forget the details.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been here more than once…

My attention is back to the Vertibuck. Its right-side cabin door is open now, and I see four pegasi hop out. Their features are blurred and vague; I can still make them out. It’s like whatever makes them is made out of smoke and is flickering like the wind does to fire. I don’t know how else to describe it…

“Northeast,” the first Pegasi figment says. It sounds like the Captain, but his voice is grainy; windy; like hearing a poor-quality vinyl play on an old and weary phonograph. The figment making his voice points a wispy wing outwards, “That’s that way. Do we have everything?”

“This is matching up.”

We had everything… almost everything. It turns my guts into squeamish knots, and makes my breathing heavy to know we were leaving some of the team behind. We were leaving Avie behind; our only pilot, alone in a camp full of… I can’t even call them fellow soldiers. They looked like pegasi; they were more… pegasus-shaped monsters wearing the skins of what may have been decent ponies. All it took was one aggressive mare to know it wasn’t all right…

“I see…”

The Captain was more focused on the missing team. We still had no clue if they were… whatever counts as dead, or alive. Avie was our lifeline to a quick getaway if things went south, and we were leaving her. I couldn’t accept that, and I might as well have bitten my tongue off for how fucked it sounded.

“Did you not have confidence in her? In your pilot?”

Nopony is invincible. Ya can have all the confidence in the world, but it makes for an empty shield against the real dangers literally all around us at the moment…

Verified Vertibuck Pilots are invaluable. They are far more specialized than any pegasus qualified to fly the steel air-cav; more qualified than all of us. More valuable than us…

I couldn’t do anything. I could’ve gone against direct orders and stood my ground and left them with my share of the supplies. I can’t trust a dog like The Captain not to rat me out to the General; I couldn’t rely on my disgusting status as the General’s son to reinforce my want to keep her safe. It’s all rigged against me… It’s just not fair…

“Please focus, Ward, I believe we are almost there. Take us to the destination; to where your General needed you to be.”

The words dispel the figures, the Vertibuck, and the base around me. They all become plumes of sand blown in a wind I can’t feel. The dunes around me begin to move rapidly in one direction as if I’m flying over them at flight speed. What seems like an endless sea of dust drops off. My movement is halted at the very edge of the canyon— it is more of a ravine than a crack in the earth as I remember it. There is nothing else beyond it, and looking down I only see the same abyss as the one overhead. I look to my left, the edge keeps going; to my right, it’s the same thing. This is just like the first hallway…

Instincts catch on, again. I look back to my left and see five even wispier pegasi-like shapes standing over the edge. They descend in a systematic fashion over it and disappear into the blackness below. I can’t see anything down there. No matter how much I squint and focus in that dark, I can’t make out anything– in front of me… In front of me?

All around me, the rock walls stretch high into the abyss above. But… that can’t be it, can it? I’m already in the canyon? I was just up there– I didn’t– I don’t think I even jumped down here on my own– what– how?

“In our own minds, things appear more fluid. It is best to keep going.”

I stand and watch the ledge above me go higher, higher until I can’t even see it. It’s much deeper than I remember. My gaze comes back down and I stare ahead of me. The longer I stare down the corridor ahead of me, the more things feel…off. It’s weird enough to see the things— feel the things—I'm experiencing but compared to that one memory this one is… I can’t say I feel any safer.

As much as I want to high-tail it— to say I want out— I can’t. Every time I do, this strong feeling of deja vu pulls me down that way. I’ve been here before, but it feels like I need to see this. It’s why I’m here, right?

They’re just my memories…

They’re just memories…

Mine…

I stare down that familiar path a little longer, take a deep breath and walk.

* * * * * *

It’s all the same; all of it.

The way the sand crunches under my hooves; the way the smooth walls ripple like waves; the dark veil ahead of me keeping a consistent distance. I keep walking towards it— fixated on seeing what’s beyond it. No matter how much I walk or how fast, I can’t get anywhere near it. It tantalizes me— leaving me to think that it and the deja vu I’m feeling are conspiring against my need to know. It’s just like what it was back in the White Room— always so close, but never getting any closer no matter the effort!

I haven’t felt tired; I don’t get hungry; the frustration is the one thing I’m feeling. I grind my teeth— break into a sprint and hold my breath like it will give me the requisite speed boost! Nothing to show for any of it— no closer!

It’s no use!

“So we have reached it. The gap is right here.”

What happens now? I can try flying back up to the edge, maybe go around it? Is that even possible?

“A mask… you mentioned a mask. Do you see anything resembling a mask?”

Mask? I don’t see anything that’s a mask…

“It was buried, was it not? Under the sand? Look for it.”

My eyes drop down and I sweep the gritty mess once across, and then again. I use both my hooves now, and even my wings on occasion. I dig away at the spot under me, feeling an even stronger sense of deja vu than I originally had. Yes! This’ gotta be something!

I keep going… and going… and going… I’m not feeling any closer to what I’m looking for. I’ve been digging for a while now, and I’m not even seeing anything that even remotely looks like a mask. There’s just sand– it probably goes on for miles!

I growl at my progress and pull myself out of the hole— a hole that is a little deeper than I thought it actually was. The fatigue in my limbs from the repeated motions nearly becomes cramps, but the pain that comes from it never shows up.

The hole I dug sits there between me and the darkness ahead. I stare at both of them a little longer, trying to think. What’s missing? I was on the right track, wasn’t I? This can’t be it. I’m literally digging myself into a hole and trusting that it’s the way to go, but… Fuck, I’m getting nowhere! There’s no use arguing what may have felt right about it— for all I know I’m lying to myself that I’ll find answers going about it like that!

What are ya hiding?! What am I hiding?! The answers are right there, barely out of reach, and— nothing! The same fucking song and dance! The frustration builds the longer I sit here, and I pound the wall to feel unstuck. When I don’t feel any better, I take an idle rock and throw it at the darkness that still taunts me…

I don’t know what’s more strange: the fact that the rock didn’t even make it past the darkness’ border, or that what I heard sounded like a rock hitting at reinforced plexiglass.

“What was that?”

The rock physically hit the dark. It’s like an actual physical barrier. I repeat the process once more with another rock making sure to see it happen. As soon as contact is made, the whole veil ripples like water where the impact was, and then the rock, itself, drops straight down.

Getting a closer look, the veil really did move farther away from me. The rocks I tossed sit where they dropped, but the darkness is now farther away from where they sit. Taking a few steps back, it creeps up; moving closer, again, it recedes.

This still isn’t helping me any…

“Do you wish to stop? Rest may lead to something we both are not seeing…”

What we both are not seeing… Why is that feeling like it makes sense?

What is beyond that veil?

If I can’t get through, or the rock can’t get through… what about light? Fuck me… why didn’t I think about that sooner? I look at my person for anything that may have materialized on me when I changed clothes, but there’s nothing I can use. I guess it’s too much to think that I’d have all my gear and armor plating along with the faded and worn cam—

My breathing stops for a minute. Feelings of relief and warmth come to me, somewhat. I thought I didn’t have ya. I thought I lost ya— I’m sure I did. Were ya here all this time?

I pull away at the velcro strap running down my center. Resting on my chest, my talisman twinkles brightly— brighter than I ever thought it could. Gently, I cusp it in one of my hoof’s frogs and bring it closer. It’s really, really warm; soothing. My talisman… Mother…

“It is…”

My attention snaps like my fur standing up. Who the fuck said that?

“Said what?”

It’s something else— it was something else that didn’t sound familiar. I look around in my immediate area but there’s none of those figments or anything to make words like that. It’s just us, right?

“Yes, just us. Ward… is everything okay?”

I feel my heart racing and my joints tightening; my blood running colder than usual and my nerves cranking up with sensitivity. I can’t say I feel alright…

“...How?”

I snap around and find nothing there! My wings ruffle and my skin crawls ferociously; that was in my ear! There’s nothing but the same black veil in front…

In front of…

My talisman… that strange light it had earlier, it’s shining through. I can see beyond the dark, now, and it’s a slow crawl to see what’s on the other side, but something isn’t feeling too right about all of this.

There’s a nagging feeling in the back of my mind– a lingering dread; like deja vu that’s heavily fixed on the side of apprehension. I shouldn’t be here, is what it’s telling me. I can hear those words begging in the building gust of hot air that’s blowing through me from further ahead. It’s getting hotter, gustier, and more aggressive the further I go. That voice of apprehension is gone with the wind and replaced by several voices— all of them screaming in a mix of terror and pain.

The darkness closes in around me, but the light of my talisman stays strong. The looming presence of the canyon walls vanishes into an open scape. I can barely see a thing— it’s a brownout; a severe sandstorm peppering me with millions of sand specks that burn my skin on contact. I shield myself with my wings and press on.

Those pained voices, they’re everywhere– hollering with the wind all around me. I’m surrounded by those noises. They circle me like vultures, pleading for me to stop. Some call me a monster; others just scream in abject terror. They smell like burning cocktails; flamer fluid; ash and smoke. Between my feathers, I can see something burning in the distance. I’m hurled towards it…

The Outpost is on fire, munitions are scattered about; errand signs of a skirmish are everywhere. The fires roar around me— yelling at me to stay away! They all sound like I should know whose voices are being used, but trying to remember makes them turn to static noise. All of the fire is spiteful. They spit at me, call me disgusting; an abomination; lost. I’m nowhere near the flames, and I can feel my skin wanting to split from the heat.

There are shapes in the wind— more wispy, vaguely pony-shaped figments. Some lay motionless on the ground like mangled dolls. There are dozens of them all around me. Screams are carried into my ear through the wind; gagging, convulsive babbling— a mix of crying and maddened pleas; glass shattering, flames roaring against a monstrous sound…

A great fire erupts from just in front of me. All the fibers in my body shriek at the sight and hateful intensity of the red flame; my eyes won’t look away, they only widen to see the evil in that flickering madness. ‘Purify! Purify! Burn the lost; Purify!’ I can hear it chant and rave. ‘I’m a monster; an abomination; I need to be put to rest; I’m lost to this world, to myself; I have lost my place in this world.’

It’s creeping closer; the heat is rising with my heart rate. Where do I go? What now?! One word rings loud and frantic like a bell with my heart’s pace: ‘Run! Run! RUN!’ I kick up sand in a mad dash from the danger. The heat’s gaining— eager and desperate to put an end to me. The roars sound like please to reason— telling me to stop running. My pace quickens!

I need to get out of here; I need to get out of here; I need to get out of here; get out; get out; get out; lemme out! Lemme out! Lemme out!

“...Set us free.”

The ground disappears.

Falling; my wings won’t flap for me.

The hellish streak of light keeps going overhead, getting farther and farther away; thinner and thinner until it vanishes into the nothingness around me.

There’s nothing, now— that's all I feel I can say about where I am; absence for miles… I can look anywhere, and what I see doesn’t change. I’m not falling anymore— I’ve always been standing. Was that even called falling back there? There was no free-falling, flutters-in-your-stomach feeling to it; the center of gravity didn’t feel like it changed the whole way down, but my hooves were up in the air and I was staring at the world above me fade into nothing.

Maybe I should take a break from this. It felt too real, my hooves are still shaking and I’m sweating like crazy. I’m ready to get out of here and try again next time…

…Stagona?

That Zebra’s voice always found a way to answer or provide context. I thought she’d be able to hear me now. Where are ya? Stagona?!

Still no answer…

The blackness around me becomes a dull, flickering orange. There’s harsh, panic-stricken breathing in my ears. Fog clouds my vision, and my face feels like it’s in a smelly steam bath. I wipe my eyes, but it doesn’t do anything to help me. The fog is inside my helmet, and I don’t want to take it off; I’d be welcoming the void to strangle me, again…

The radio flicks to life. I play with the frequencies… Stagona? Stagona?! Avie?! Guys?! Anyone?!

Still nothing. My teeth are grinding against each other— what good is a fucking radio if it can’t send or pick anything up?! Is it even this place? Or is it just me? I can’t have forgotten the basics of a helmet radio, have I? I don’t know… I don’t–

Everything’s so fuzzy and floaty, now. There’s nothing… No, there’s something there. Is that— I can see it; can see ya. Weren’t ya here with me a while ago? I check my chest, and it’s bare. How did ya get over there? Did I lose ya when I fell into this place— Found myself in this place? I still don’t know where I am. Maybe ya can show me the way out. Ya got me here, after all— ya gotta know something. Right?

The closer I get to it, the more pronounced the glow is; the more sure of myself I become. This feels right like it’s something I have to– and need to– do. The orange glow around my vision flickers out, replaced by my talisman’s on the… the floor? Can it be called that if there’s nothing under-hoof? Doesn’t matter.

My hoof feels warmer the closer I bring it to the talisman. When I finally touch it, a smile tugs on the ends of my lips. I got ya…

“...Yes…You do.”

What–

The whole of my hoof is shot up with a searing cramp. I try to move it, but it hurts too much. It’s stuck in place, tugging away makes my ears ring and my body buckle. All the warning bells in my head still scream at me to move, but every cell in my body pleads to stop! They’re screaming to let go– to not let go– that doing anything hurts worse, and will continue to get worse. They’re telling me to let go of the talisman as its glow becomes too much for my eyes to look at. But I can’t— I can’t! My hoof’s grown too numb to listen– it won’t pull away from it; it’s stuck!

I can’t see anymore, but I can feel everything happening to my hoof. My skin’s blistering, tearing at itself; the flesh is rending while all the nerves are shot to hell! I can’t think; the pain’s taken my focus, making me feel everything! Bones break to make way for growths erupting from under my skin. It doesn’t stop; it wants all of me; to become me; to see me disappear in this hellish misery. It wants my heart, my mind, my soul, and it will devour all of them and leave me to shrivel till I’m nothing but a memory in my own body!

“... You can be free if you tell us.”

Help me…

“... No consciousness can reject the blessings, but somehow you did. You got away, and somehow you defied us. We would never let you go for what you have done. Defiler of our sacred duty, where…”

I can’t… What are ya? Who are ya?

“...We remember you; we will always remember. We know you have it. Where is it?”

Get out of my head… get out of my head!

“Where is it?!”

* * * * * *

I’m falling off the edge, and I feel myself slam into the floor. My head’s throbbing too hard to keep my eyes open, my ears still ring, and my heart’s racing so fast that I can’t hear the individual beats.

I can’t hear anything that’s going on, but in my strained, choppy vision I can see striped ones backing away with a panicked pace, light flickering in and out, and a cracked smokey ball of polished stone rolling into view. Every time I close my eyes, it pulsates a different color; a vile color. I can hear hoof steps echo in my head and a shape in the clouds growing bigger and bigger. A hoof-like shape reaches out for me and begins to push through the cracks in the stone itself. My head screeches like a corrupted radio signal, but I can’t lift my hooves to cover my ears. I can’t even scream to project the pain wracking my cognition.

A flash comes out of nowhere; the orb is gone, and my head stops ringing almost instantly. There’s nothing in front of me, but glassy shards scattered about the floor and wisping smoke from someplace I can’t see.

I can’t keep my eyes open anymore…

* * * * * *

Everything comes back; breathing, hearing, touch—my eyes open, again. I look about the space in front of me, and it’s so dark. It almost feels like… like the barracks. It isn’t; it smells different, like an empty room or a room that’s never been lived in. There’s no snoring, no errand sounds of ponies shifting in their beds. This isn’t the barracks…

It’s difficult to get up– I can’t tell if it’s from another night of insomnia, or if it’s the way I laid down in my bed. My joints are all creaky— and my right foreleg is painfully sore and it’s crawling with ants; pins and needles. Now I’m more convinced I slept wrong— probably slept on it at some point. I don’t know, my head’s still fuzzy as all hell, but I can still feel everything that’s happening to that hoof— it’s annoying, but not strong enough to wake me up completely.

And my head… fuck me, it feels bloated at the front. My eyes feel like they wanna pop, fall out, or both. It’s like I have to dig my hooves into my eyes on purpose to make sure neither happens immediately after pulling myself over the side of the bed.

“You are awake. Thank the gods.” I follow that zebra mare’s voice across from me. She’s standing on the other side of the room as the glow bulb from before shines to life gently. “You remember me? Do you remember who I am?”

I nod to both of her questions and remember the elaborate blanket she wears; the initial headache some of its patterns gave me; her stripes; the way she sounds when she speaks; even her bad taste in caffeinated dirt water. The glass ball comes to mind, and then… well… I’m not too sure. I’m shaking my head a little to make the details clearer, but everything feels shot; distant. I give myself a few hoofs to the temple like it’ll jumpstart it, but it does nothing other than aggravate my throbbing brain.

“Please, do not agitate yourself,” Stagnoa tells me. “You had quite the nasty journey, and a lot has been done to ensure it could not happen again.”

I’m in bed again? Or… was I always in bed? I can’t— it makes my head hurt more. How many times have I been getting up from stuffy pillows and sheets? I thought I didn’t sleep as much anymore… Why am I suddenly coming in and out of these things?

I bring one of my wings around and rip a few feathers out at once, without a second thought. It hurts… almost brings tears. Stagona exclaims with shock and rushes over, “Stars above, why on this good earth would you do something like this?!”

It hurts…What was that saying? Pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming. How much does it have to hurt to know? Does it need to be something more… more blood? More scream-inducing?

I spit out the feathers and watch them dance down toward the floor. My eyes wander, and so do the hoof and forehoof that still tingle. The bedframe doesn’t feel sharp enough– that or I’m not feeling the edge, right? It’s hard to say; harder to tell. The footboard of the bed looks like it’s got narrow-enough edges that can make something hurt.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three hard smacks against that metal-lined edge. Those invisible ants crawling under my skin disperse with each impact, scurrying harder in multiple directions as waves of pain wrack my forehoof. Feeling all of it forces my jaw open; no scream to give, even if I’m begging in my mind— hearing myself yell in desperation— for one to come out. I fold over the hoof as it starts to burn and pulse with sore pain; the tingling is fiercer, now, and nowhere near numbed.

“Ward!” Stagona cries out in shock. I feel her hooves come down on my back and her muzzle near my face. “Ward, what did you do?!” What did I do? What did y'all do to me?! “Let me see, Ward! Let me see!” I can feel her hooves try to get at mine, and all I want is for her to get away from me. I back away— try to get away; to run! “Let me s—” I throw my weight at her, and we both fall onto the floor.

I try to get up, but all my hooves feel tingly and numb at the tips. All of the pins and needles scurry like ants, again, on the forehoof that I whacked scatter and resettle— making it exceedingly difficult to stand on it. The blaring pain from where I know my hits landed tell me how hard I’ve actually hit it, and I wince every time it blips aggressively.

The door is right there. If I can just—

“Ward, please! Calm down!” She’s insistent on getting me to sit still. I won’t. Not this time! “Please ca–” Her words die instantly with a shove that sends her into the bedframe where it screeches and skids. Now or never!

I turn my attention back to the door, and I catch something really fast square in the nose. The force of the impact sends me falling onto my back before I can even get up. The pain fills my sinus; scrunching my face is utter hell. Every single nerve in my nose is on fire, and it’s a fucking tear-jerker. It’s more than I’d hope to feel from what I just did to myself. There’s the smell of blood; the wet, hot feeling of something running down both my nostrils.

I strain to see what just hit me. In the warm, blurry light, I see the shape of something covered in a veil of gold or brass-colored sparkles rise over me. It plants itself right into my gut like a ton of bricks. I instantly feel like I’m going to blow chunks and suffocate on it. Stars dance in my vision with the circling glowbulb as I hold my sore belly, trying to take back my breath.

“Wildcat, that’s enough!” Stagona’s voice seizes the sparkly object’s momentum. Looking over to see… it was way too close. I can see what was gonna hit me, and it’s a long ballistic rifle veiled with an aura that stands out from the orange-ish glow of the room. There’s a horn atop this pony’s head that’s glowing that same color, and a pair of brass-colored eyes leering down at me from behind a set of reddish-orange bangs.

“Are you hurt, An-Skolarinn?” The unicorn— Wildcat— asks over me.

I roll over on my stomach slowly, painfully, until I can look back the way I came. Stagona’s already up, her mane a little messier than usual. “I am. How is he?” She gently makes her way to me, kneeling down to put a hoof on me. I flinch at its presence.

There’s a snort; one sounding like disapproval. “Do you really want to put your hooves on this one? You do realize he tried to get away and ruffed you up, doing it, right?”

I feel the zebra’s hoof on my head, and I start shaking. My eyes slowly shift up to hers. “He is not contagious–”

“He tried to get away, and that thing is still skulking around in his head! You do know what that could've meant right? If I wasn't here to see it didn't get out?"

"We are taking care of it, Wildcat, but he is not dangerous."

"With all due respect, An-Skolari–”

“Please, just Stagona.”

Wildcat lets out a frustrated sigh. “You’re being too open with him. That could’ve killed you just a moment ago and compromised every soul in this mountain.”

“But he did not.” Stagona says. “He is not like those before him. I did not see it in his eyes– not then, and not a moment ago. He could have done something, but he did not. If I saw anything, it was both confusion and lingering fear.” She looks back down at me. The way she strokes my mane makes me feel strange. Maybe it’s the fear; maybe it’s dread; maybe it’s old memories making me associate these mares with two sides of a bad lived experience. I shudder at the thoughts vaguely coming to me like shadows in the dark. “Can you get up, Ward?”

I try, but freeze when I hear something heavy and metallic rack behind me. “Lower your weapon, Wildcat.” Stagona orders as she takes my shoulder. “Please help me, help him, to the bed.”

My ears pick up a subtle, windy snort, before I feel my left side get held and pulled level with my right. I can use my hindlegs just fine, but they drag a little with each step. I’m eased back onto the bed, and left on the bedside.

“Thank you, Wildcat,” Stagona says. “You may resume your sentry— actually, may you please bring some gauze for his nose? It does not look broken, but there is blood.” That comment has me checking, and I find a glint of fresh crimson lining the edge of my hoof.

The unicorn—clad in gear that I can’t say is like anything I remember, stops to acknowledge the Zebra. “With all due respect, I believe I’d be more useful if I stayed until the team arrives.” She shakes her head. “We can’t be too careful, A– Stagona.”

“Trust in my word, Wildcat, that this will not happen again,” Stagona tells her. “Please do this for me. I am in need of this time, as this is a private matter. Ward needs to know where he has been.”

I can see Wildcat’s unconvinced eyes looking at me through my peripheral vision. Stagona’s words echo in my head, still. Where have I been, exactly? I hold my stomach with one forehoof, and the slightest touch makes me wince, and the pangs bring me back to that small beatdown…

“Fine.” Wildcat says, “I’ll be back, hopefully by the time they get here. If I come back and things happen again like they just did, I’ll use the other end of my rifle when I walk in. You hear me, you Cloudskip?” I don’t acknowledge those words no matter how hard they scrape across me and only sniffle to stop the blood from flowing out both my nostrils.

She’s gone, and it’s just the two of us… again.

The silence is heavy, and the distance between the two of us— despite being a few steps away— somehow feels farther. The room feels larger, or I’m just that much smaller. I look at my hooves’ frogs and they’re still the same. My chest, naked; the rest of me, covered in blankets; my head, drawing blanks. It feels like there’s a big hole in my thoughts, still, or… there are so many holes they’ve become one. I still don’t know which idea makes me feel… I don’t think it’s right to feel good about any of those ideas. I’m just lost in my own head— stuck on an island, or… something. I want to feel that frustration of being stuck— that something to tell me that there’s a way out, but all I feel is resignation; a defeat that makes me want to sit down and realize there is nothing I can do because there really is nothing I can do. I want to squeeze my head as hard as I can to push the edges of that hole together hoping that something makes sense. “What’s happened to me?”

“There is no straight answer, Ward.” Stagona tells me. Her words, they’re not soft like they were. They sounded heavy. “I am sorry— I truly am, but what you have and what we have found has caused quite a stir.”

“What do ya mean ‘a stir’?” I ask.

There’s silence. “Do you remember your own memories? As in, do you remember your journey through the mind?”

I think really hard about it, this time. I can feel it— even see it— flash across my vision like those ancient movie reels or instructional weather videos. The stone comes to mind, first, and then the glowbulb illuminating it. It grew dark, and I was in my bunker; a hallway full of doors. Some of the details are blurred or missing entirely, and I don’t know if that’s me not remembering the mundane, or refusing to remember the cold and the demanding voice…

“If you don’t remember, that’s—”

“No.” I cut her words off. “No, I remember; and I remember most of it.” The Outpost– two of them in the same place, in the same spot; flickering in and out like corrupt film footage, or a ghostly imprint of a photo atop a similar photo. The chasm, how deep it went and how it swallowed up the sky and the space around me… “Then came that dark veil.”

“Excuse me?”

“I got past it.” I tell her, “It wouldn’t let me go through…”

“I… I see.”

My ears perk to the way she said those words. “What?”

She fixes her headpiece. “I was there when we were looking into your memories. I was at your bedside while I asked questions that prompted your search. Along our session, we found that memory block— and we only learned of it from how it functioned. To put it simply, it looped; kept you in one place. Yet, somehow, someway, something happened…” I blink, trying to think about that ‘something’, and my thoughts go to the memory of my talisman; the very thing that dispelled that dark veil.

“I found a way through that block.” I say idly, the memory still at the forefront of my mind.

“Yes.” She says. “But before that happened I realized you may not have been talking to just me. See, while we were there, you began to acknowledge things I never prompted. What that was, I could not see but you could hear. And after that… you stopped responding; you would not acknowledge my words, yet you still relayed incomplete descriptors.”

I began to shake my head, slowly. “This doesn’t happen?”

“It never does, nor should it. It was when we realized we may have made a grave mistake in trying to see past this. Shortly thereafter, I tried to bring you back, but couldn’t. You were trapped within your own mind, and then you started to seize. I knew what we were up against when I saw the gleaning stone, and the color it took on…” She looks me dead in the eye. I don’t look away. “It was a memory of a fiend. It looked at me through the stone, thanked me in your voice, and began to escape through the stone. Its dark crystals bent light and began to break from your memories, through the stone, into the now. Whatever pain you were in, it threw you off the bed and your convulsions grew worse the closer it got to transcending thought.”

She can’t be serious, can she? Am I really wanting to believe any of that?

“I understand this is hard to take in, but you must. Your memory— your mind— somehow walled off what is possibly one of the most vile beings to have been born of The Curse that plagues these lands. Do you not understand? Your mind has been compromised the moment you met and remembered a Tulpa.”

A Tulpa?

“Never heard of it.” It’s definitely not anything I remember from talks and lessons about The Curse. I’m not even sure if it’s been called any other name besides that. I wait for an answer, but I notice her ears drop and a sadness come over her eyes.

She puts a hoof to one of them, rubbing it in as she takes a deep breath and says something that’s not common tongue in her exhale. “I would tell you all you need to know about these amalgams, but sadly, I do not think it will matter.”

A stone makes itself known in my gut, and it grows heavier. “I don't… I don’t understand.”

“I will tell you this, as it may help you now at this moment,” she says. “This thing— currently a memory— resides within the answers we have both been looking for within your mind. Unfortunately, this also means— for your sake and those of this mountain— that drastic measures must be taken to ensure the survival of both.”

“I still don’t–”

“We know some things about a Tulpa, but what we know is that those who have come into close contact with these entities meet a painful nonexistence. It will consume you from the inside out, and if we do not act now it will happen to you. We simply cannot afford that.”

That’s a lot to take in— enough to give me a headache. “So there’s something skulking around in my head? How does— how do we get rid of it? How did this happen?”

“You met it.” She tells me. “That, unfortunately, does not answer some of the questions we still both have. We cannot mind-dive again, either.”

“Why?”

“I speculate that your mental block was not due to injury, but possibly a defense against it having taken residence within your memories. This sadly does not answer how this happened in the first place… and we will not know, it seems.”

“What do ya mean?”

“It is quite possible that our meddling has loosened the lock— so to speak— and it is only a matter of time before what happens to the others happens to you. It is only speculation, but I will not wait to find out, and neither will you if you value yourself.”

I think about this whole thing, again. I remember that unbearable itch the closer and harder I thought to try and fill in the gaps in my head. Now I can only think of those itches as claws against a defensive fortification; a beast in a cage. My skin crawls to remember those words, and how they howled hauntingly into my ears…

“...Set us free.”

“What happens now?”

“We cut it out— so to speak.” She tells me. “The order had already been put in, and they should be arriving soon with the recollector and black opals. To ensure that it cannot come back, we have found that in this state it still adheres to the rules of memory. Every memory you have experienced with the Tulpa must be removed.”

I analyze her words, then lower my head when I realize, “So you’re taking my memories.”

“Yes.”

I look at her, not wanting to think about what will happen to me after everything is gone. What I could lose…“All of them?”

“Only the ones with the Tulpa.” She reassures me. “This means we will have to comb through your memories and take every single instance of you with the Tulpa out, as if separating wheat and barley from a pile. It may take a while, but rest assured, when this is done you need not worry about any intrusive, alien thought.”

There’s a hint of disappointment in her delivery. It must be the fact that we’ll never have our answers. I guess there’s no point in dwelling on any of it, anymore, is there?

The door opens. In come a small group of Zebra— three of them, with a trolley full of equipment. I recognize the largest item— a skeletonized tiara— as the recollector, and a large case-like box. Stagona greets the others in that strange language and the three all look at me. They exchange a couple more words or verbal messages before Stagona grabs a bluish stone that glows brightly like a flashlight.

“What’ll happen to me? After all of this?” I ask.

Stagona takes a minute to look at the recollector— making sure of something, maybe working order? She sets it down gently, picks up a black opal, and gives it to me. “That all depends on what you tell yourself.”

Chapter 5- Reassessment

“Let’s go over it again… just to be safe…”

Where is it?

Those words don’t leave me alone. They bother me like a tiny fly buzzing into my ear in a dark room, one that baits me into thinking I’ve got a moment’s peace. The irritation it leaves me with has me shaking my head a little harder every time I hear them come around like it’ll make it stop. It worsens when my head swings left to right– growing louder than my hearing whines with each headshake.

Where is it? Where is it? Whereisit?Whereisit?!Whereisit?! WHERE—

Just like that— just like a fly, gone again, as if I hadn’t been hearing it save for the faint buzzing that always finds itself in empty rooms like this. Dizziness and a throbbing forehead, both sensations come at me one after the other and I brace my head at its sides for the worst of it. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and squeeze them shut, then groan it all out; all of the creeping vertigo and the growing, sore pulses against the forward wall of my skull. Those words, I realize, don’t just taunt me but drive me to hurt myself. Fuckin conspiracy…

My ears flick to my left, driving my attention away from those irking thoughts. “Good morning, Ward.” Stagona greets, coming in with… what I guess is a bouquet of foodstuff on a trolly. I have to blink several times and rub my eyes with hoof and feathers just to make sure what I’m seeing isn’t something I’m dreaming up. The arrangement is just way too artsy; peeled oranges stuffed with red berries, cut to look like a budding flower; lettuce wraps looking like—I think the word is ‘cornucopia’, stuffed with some kind of dark, brownish filling; an egg in a dainty-looking cup; water, sugar, and a small cup full of brown, oily-looking liquid. I’m not sure what it is… maybe an incredibly watery dressing? But for what?

“Why does the food look like an art project?” I ask as the trolly rolls to a stop near the foot of my bed.

She smiles a little— chuckles, even, “You have been here a while. I figured that, with the grace of the Matriarch, you were deserving of something a little more special than just line-food.” Her smile wanes slightly, “Especially with all you have been through, thus far.”

This is an apology for keeping me locked up, then. How long has it been? I still can’t tell— even back in our bunker, we had at least something to tell us when the morning started and when it ended. Am I actually missing the reveille and morning report? No, no, I can tell when in the day it is just fine— food comes in and out in consistent intervals, but it’s not just breakfast, lunch, and dinner; there’s more between each. With that in mind, I’m guessing this is somewhere between breakfast and lunch… everything on the plates, now, looks somewhere between “wake-up” and “top-up”, respectively.

“How is your recollection today, by the way?” Stagona asks, holding out a cup for me. A brief peer shows water reflecting off the warm light in the room. I take it, slowly realizing that there’s a faint residual heat at the bottom of the cup that I can feel through my hoof. “It is just water, rest assured.”

I discreetly smell it as I bring it to my lips for a drink. The water is hot, but not scalding; drinkable, and comforting as it makes its way down. I set it aside when I’ve drunk up half the glass, and go for the fruit arrangement. Now that it’s in my hooves, a part of me begins to wonder about its taste this time. Their colors are so vibrant, and the skins are so smooth and shiny; it’s almost too pretty to eat. I carefully take one of the wedges, plucking it like a flower petal between my teeth and being careful not to break the pulp, yet, until I have the entirety of it in my mouth.

If there is any bit of personality to the colorful arrangement; anything about them to make me feel good for having tried real fruit… there’s nothing but disappointment. No matter how hard I close my eyes and savor it, I only grow more disgusted by the flavorless, watery mush with its strange textures getting everywhere in my mouth. Swallowing it is almost like soft torture. The notes I do taste are metallic and bitter, like sucking on a rusty bit melting on my tongue. A gag forces me to take a drink to wash it all down. I thought the Corporates had the best of anything— what the fuck is this?! Did they get these from the Enclave mess?

I shudder at the thought of what it all looked like inside my mouth. Another one crosses my mind: What if it’s just the fruit? My attention turns to that lettuce wrap, waiting for me to take a bite. I stare at it a little longer, still not sure what I’m seeing in that brownish filling, and trying my best not to think of anything… inappropriate. My stomach will kill me if I sit on that idea for too long, and all I think is “fine.”

Taking the wrap in my hooves, the lettuce does sound crispy. It feels wet, too. I gently bring it to my mouth, and my jaw strains to open from hesitation. Unable to bring it any closer, my mouth lunges for it and snaps with a crisp bite into the lettuce and the filling.

Stagona’s ears flatten into her head, “I am sorry.”

“About what?” I ask, rolling the fruit back on its plate.

“For how hard it must be for you, right now.” She says. “Again, with all that has happened—”

“No.” I cut her off, glumly. “I don’t— ‘with all that’s happened?’ I can’t even remember any of what happened.”

“You must be, for certain. I do not think anypony would be able to take any of this well, yet…”

I look right at her and make sure her eyes lock onto mine. “Why do you talk to me like we’re friends?” I sigh and rub my hoof across my mane, trying to think. “We’re not. I don’t know you as much as I think I should for you to be like this.”

It’s always bothered me, now that I think about it. The way she talks to me, gently— like I’m one of her own or something close. I only know her name, and she treats me like that. It reminds me of that nag— in a way. Is that another torturous element to my scenario? Having holes in my memory, but the ones completely untouched are ones of that old pegasus trying to be something she’s not? I can’t help but breathe out heavily now that I’m seeing it like that.

“You are right to think that,” Stagona tells me. “It is true: I do not know you, but I know you enough to help you, Ward. You may or may not remember this, but I am responsible for you now— per the wish of the Matriarch. I’m only trying my best to make your stay here as comfortable as I possibly can.”

“Why are you really here?” I ask. Silence fills the room, threatening to get denser with each passing minute.

Tick…

…tick…

“I suppose…” She says, “I suppose this is a reassessment; to ensure that you are of sound mind, body, mana, and spirit.”

“Why?”

“Because we both lost substantial information. We both lost it because we had to, and… you may find things will not be as temporary as they are now.” Just as I’m about to ask more about what she means, she reaches into her indigo cloak blanket and her hoof comes out, gently, with an iridescent glass orb in it. “As to the meaning behind my words, part of that is here. This memory orb was made by you, for you.”

I reach out to it gently and she places it in my hoof. It’s cold to the touch, and I swear I can hear it sing as it glides across the hoof-line; the word ‘serene” comes to mind as it does. Weighs less than a feather, I think, and it’s got a small, but noticeable glow to it— various grays and blues shine across its pristine surface. When I hold it up to the glowbulb’s light, the inside is hazy, yet I think I see something moving there, briefly before it fades away. “Do I just… watch it here?”

Stagona doesn’t say anything, but she goes to the trolley and reaches for something on the bottom shelf. It’s… some kind of brass cylinder? Almost looks like those thin cookie tins. She pulls on one end with her teeth, and there’s a faint mechanical-sounding whine and snap as the object extends like a telescope while one end sort of blooms open like the folding stabilizer fins on a warhead. They blended so seamlessly with their initial form that it felt strange to see them come out with that pop. She then twists the end that was just in her mouth and it expands, again.

What will it do next?

She sets it down on the floor, then holds out her hoof again. The glowbulb floats right on over and into it like her hoof was its bed, and she does that ritual-esque thing, again, where she brings it to her muzzle. The size of the light sphere shrinks, and she guides it into a small compartment just above the fins holding the telescoping thing up. She presses down the whole shape and it clicks, but when she steps off the side of the device underneath her hoof pops open like a lid, letting the concentrated beam of light out.

“Just place the memory orb onto the stand and close the ring around it.” She tells me. “I will leave you to be with it.”

“What?” Her words catch me off guard like a snap.

“It is a message for you.” She tells me. “You and you alone. I merely wish to respect the privacy of that.”

“Wouldn’t you want to know?” I ask.

I don’t know if I mean it as a genuine question or a remark reflecting my time here, bombarded with questions, and cooped up even tighter yet somehow less so than home… but I say it nonetheless. She says nothing, and I’m not sure if it’s the confusing delivery of my question, or something else.

“I will need to take care of some things. Wildcat will be outside to make sure nothing happens while I’m gone. If you need anything, she’s there.”

Hearing that mare’s name makes my stomach writhe and flare with soreness. I growl at that being my reflex towards her. “Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath.

She leaves and the door closes behind her, leaving me to stare at the pillar of light and back to the iridescent marble still sitting in my hooves.

I need to do this, right? I mean, what can it be about? What did I have to say— no, why did I do something like this? And why do I have butterflies in my stomach thinking about it? Can’t believe I’m getting worked up over a glass marble. But those shapes I saw. I couldn’t see them clearly, but… I feel like I should know what they are. It’s like details in a dream; the more I focus on it the more I feel like I know. But then again, it’s just a feeling— an instinct that, in this case, can be nothing but self-sabotage.

I plop the marble into the beam of light, then seal the ring over it as Stagona told me to. Just as the seal clicks in place, I flashbang myself when I look right into it. Groaning in frustration, I rub the flash out from under my eyelids— periodically seeing grainy pictures in the splotches in my vision….

My ears flick; my fidgeting stops instantly. I hear mumbling— chattering, in the room with me. Slowly, I bring my eyes out from my wings and see grainy ghosts in my room. There are three of them, they haven’t noticed me, and I instinctively hold my breath while they crowd around the bed.

“That’s it? I just start speaking out loud?” I recognize my voice. It is me. I’m actually there, sitting in the bed with a skeletal tiara around my head talking to the two zebras around me there. This is hard, I can’t help but also feel awkward hearing myself doing that, but not actually doing anything, currently— fuck me. It’s disorienting.

“Yes. It may feel a little weird, but that is just the imprinting process.” An unfamiliar, stallion speaks up before gently walking away from the me on the bed.

“We will give you some privacy. Just tell yourself everything I’ve shared with you thus far.” A familiar voice this time— Stagona— speaks to the me in the bed. “Remember, you later— now I suppose— will not. Tell yourself everything.” She follows the stallion that walked away, and both of them phase through the door to the room so seamlessly it almost throws a chill up my spine.

“Well…” I hear myself speak up, bringing my attention back around. “I guess this is it.”

* * * * * *

“Hey, Ward. I don’t know when you’ll be seeing this— not sure if you’ll ever want to see it, really, but whether or not ya did I really hope ya do, and am glad ya did… However this works…

“... It's weird having to hear yourself talk to ya, right? I wouldn’t doubt it. I’ll just be clean with what’s going on. I’m sure ya have these intrusive thoughts ya aren’t sure are yours. You’re probably telling yourself you’ve heard these things before and are trying to make these things fit into what’s there in your head. You’re probably on the road to driving yourself crazy doing that, whether you’re aware or not. Well… the short answer is that your memory is full of holes for a reason. Here’s what ya need to know for now about that:

“In case you don’t remember, we were part of a mission to retrieve something for the General. Somewhere along the way we got lost, ending up… somewhere— nowhere; a non-place. What I found out, trying to find answers for the two of us after finding ourselves here, is that we came back out of that place… different; we were not us. But there was something else, and it followed us all the way here. It sat in our head like a cocooned hawkmoth— ready to crawl, infest, and eat all that we are from the inside out until… Well, the zebra called it “husking” or “shedding”— I can’t remember which word she used— the point is this thing— this big gap in our mind was something meant to protect us. At least that’s what I think, from what the zebra’ve told me.

“This thing they call a ‘Tulpa’, and it’s the very thing that got us here. Ya may not remember it— I don’t remember it, now, but that feeling of ‘knowing’ tells me we did.. And it’s a feeling that’s getting stronger the more I think about it… It’s like a growing itch in the back of the brain. Whatever we did, it was angry, and it stayed in our heads as a memory. It bought its time, waiting for us to set it free from… I still don’t know if it was us who blocked it out, or…

“It doesn’t matter anymore; maybe it won’t matter… It was looking for something, I think. It kept asking ‘Where is it?’, and talking to us like we knew it intimately— like we were somehow more than friends. Might’ve just been trying to make its squirming all the more hellish for us. Again I don’t think it will matter, but I feel like I had to say it…

“Oh yeah, the memory thing. I don’t know how far this procedure will go, but they tell me it needs to happen. Apparently, it follows the same logic as memory, in this current state, and that means in order to get rid of it we need to get rid of every memory it was ever a part of. It’s the surest way to make sure that the worst doesn’t happen— again, I’m not sure what that is, but these zebra and their… Matriarch insists it’s something we don’t want. Considering this thing is part of The Curse in some way, I’d take their word for it.

“This will be permanent, and it’s best that it stays that way. I don’t know what we will lose, but it’s better to keep these things in the dark.

“Last thing: If you hold any doubt against these ponies... zebra... Aridians, I think it’s best if we just go along with it. Don’t take a risk ya don’t need to take, and definitely don’t go into this blind thinking whatever the Enclave taught us will do us any good.

“Don’t forget Avie, either. She’s still out there– and they say she’s safe, but I still worry. We both have a reason to worry; don’t forget that, either.

“Okay, I’m done.”

* * * * * *

The memory blurs and flickers until there’s nothing left but a faint, pulsing light filling the room. I stare at the spot I had been sitting, and I don’t want to move until it all has time to settle. There’s just so much of it. I mean, that was me— literally me, right? This can’t be— I mean it shouldn’t be—

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, hoping it clears those senseless questions. They are senseless, right?

Breathe in; breathe out…

A bang on the door to tell them I’m done. I step back to let Stagona inside, briefly catching a brass-eyed leer from the unicorn outside before the door cuts her off. The zebra makes her way to the little projector thing and fidgets with it, popping out the memory orb, and then letting the little ball of light out before bringing it to her muzzle to let it shine. “Did you find everything you need from yourself?” She asks, holding the memory orb in her open hoof.

I can’t say that I did. Maybe? I don’t know. “There’s a lot.”

“A lot of what?”

“Uncertainty, I guess. It’s annoying that these holes in my memory exist.” I think out loud enough for her to hear me. “He… I… told me a lot that carries an air of familiarity.”

“Does it?” She asks. Her question has a distinct pang of concern that makes my blood want to flare with a chill.

“Yeah.”

She stares, but I’m not sure if it’s toward me or something beyond me. Her eyes jitter while her lips move up and down; it’s all so subtle I’m not sure if I’m imagining any of it. “Well, I suppose this would be the perfect time to sit down and evaluate what you have seen. I have been meaning to do it, nonetheless, as it is around that time we were to see how you have been— all things considered.”

With her words, she takes a seat in the same chair across from my bed. I take mine on the edge of the bed; the same dance, and I know all the steps well at this point.

“Tell me, Ward,” She starts. “What was it you saw in the memory projector?”

“Myself.”

“Would you want to elaborate?” She asks. “You do not have to if you do not want to.”

“There is nothing to elaborate on. It was just me, talking to me.”

She nods. “Yes. And what was it that you were telling yourself?”

I begin to think about it, replaying segments of the whole thing over and over again until something feels right to talk about…

“It was… I was talking about my head and how it was full of holes– how I’d be trying to make sense of things— things I’m… I’m not sure about it.”

“Elaborate?”

“Like… Like imagining things, I guess. I told myself that I’d be trying to make sense of things that I’m not sure ab— I said that already—”

“It’s okay; you are perfectly alright.” She reassures me with a smile. “Sometimes repetition helps, especially in this case. Now, can you continue, please?”

There’s a pang in my gut, telling me otherwise about the repeating. I’m trying hard not to knock against my own head. “I told myself that… that I would be having thoughts that weren’t mine; intrusive ones. Told me that I would drive myself crazy trying to make sense of it.”

“I see.” She muses.

“And… Well, I jogged my own memory with things I already knew. My briefing with… with the General; the mission— most of that stuff.”

“Most?”

I wave my hoof, “Yeah… it feels like a dream when I try to remember certain things like the Outpost. I don’t know, it’s more like a word to me now than a troubling thought.” I notice her nodding a little, but go back to thinking. “Mentioned things like being ‘nowhere’, and coming out ‘different’— whatever that means. I even made some comments about something in my head… like a cocooned hawkmoth or something like that.”

“Do these things mean anything to you?”

“I… don’t think so?”

She tilts her head, “You are not certain?”

I shrug, “Guess I’m not.”

“That is okay. Now, are there any further comments worth mentioning? Any at all?”

I think back, again, and find several. “What’s a ‘Tulpa’? And what did you all mean by ‘husking’ or ‘shedding’?”

There’s a change in her eyes. Is that supposed to be apprehension? Or is it something else? “The Enclave… they never properly informed you of these things, did they?”

I shake my head and shrug. “I can’t say. As far as any cadet knew, we were being told what was in the know— or what you all knew.”

There is silence for a little spell. “I see. Well, this is true; we do not know much about these Curse-Entities, but that should not explain why you were not informed properly.”

“I think some officers get this idea that if there isn’t much to say about anything, it’s probably not worth mentioning. It’s just a hunch, but if the info is that scarce they may not have bothered.” It sounds logical enough to think of it like that, yet it’s a leap that’s counterproductive, nonetheless. If what I said turns out to be true, then we both know who’s at fault. Then again, if there’s little to go by, how can we even identify the enemy effectively? But… These zebra know what they are so… they should know a little bit about that. “How do you know about these things, anyway?”

“Recollections; lost files; artistic depiction in journals and wall messages found across the land.” She tells me. “They remain wildly inconsistent, and even that is only a theory— the idea that they are not all the same.”

“Then how would we know when we would stumble across them?” I ask, then realize that I may have answered my own question. “Oh…”

I guess it all lines up a bit. Still, it’s reckless of our officers…

She clears her throat, “We should remain focused on the subject at hoof. As for such, is there anything else of note that you may need to know?”

“Husking? Shedding?”

She nods. “Yes, yes. For those… they go… how do you say, ‘hoof-in-hoof’ with the Tulpa. But rest assured you will be informed appropriately in due time. For now, I ask how you feel about your recollection, overall?”

How do I feel? I lower my head with that question setting in. Its discomforting weight makes my stomach whine and my ears fold into my head. “I feel like we’ve barely moved with this; with any of this; what we’ve been doing— trying to do.”

“I understand,” she tells me. “Sometimes these things happen. Who is to say? Maybe we will find what we are both looking for if we just wait enough.”

“And how long will that be?” I may not remember the days accurately, or count them all together, but I sure as hell can feel that time passing. It rubs at me— first like a sponge, and then like sandpaper. I don’t want to know how much more grating it would be when this single cell becomes my whole world. I try to tell her that— and I would— but… the smallest inkling tells me that it will fall on deaf ears.

‘Don’t doubt these ponies…’

Right…

The silence has lingered for a good while, and it hasn’t changed. Stagona just stares at me with that same, soft look in her eyes. “This is not permanent. Do not go thinking this is the end of the world. We just need to wait a little longer, and by the grace of the Saan-Al’Kima, you will leave this room. You have my word— as it has always been the agreement between us.”

My gaze falls, again, “You’d send me back to… the General.”

“I cannot say.”

The squeezing in my stomach tightened, and I swallowed a lump, closed my eyes, and tried not to remember those icy blue mirror-like eyes. “What about Avi-atrix.”

“Yes, we are still trying to have her transferred here, but—”

“But what?”

“I believe the term used by the Corporate branch of dam-Mutfalinn is ‘Red Tape’ ?” She answers with a question. “As it turns out, she is not on duty— but rather on leave. Your General calls it a ‘Leave of Absence’. As far as I have been told, there are numerous complications in the transfer— namely the nature of her absence.”

“That being?”

“‘The Outpost Incident’ is what your kin call it. You remember, yes?” I nod my head. The softness in her eyes shifted into something else– like she was trying to see something in me. Did I do something wrong? “I am sorry to detract from the subject, but I believe I glanced over something from our session just moments ago.”

I cock my head slightly, “Yes?”

“Do the words ‘where is it’ mean anything to you, Ward?”

Why did that pressure in my gut sink like a brick of lead? I know the answer, and I’m afraid to say anything. Why am I afraid? “N-n-not exactly.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s just—” An errant thought cuts in and dismantles the flow in my head, “I– Why that question?” I can’t tell if I’m shocked or not, hearing the way she asks me that question. My head feels strange thinking about it, and it doesn’t seem any better to feel— let alone see— those dots connecting in my head.

“It is just an observation, Ward.” She tells me. “As a matter of fact, you have said it more often— and I am not sure if you are aware of yourself doing it.”

“I…” I have no answer.

All there is to go on is just vivid blurs of time, and my mind conjures voices in my head to put something to the rampant, intrusive thoughts and sentences still bouncing around. The discomforting feeling, slow as it is, is still too annoying to ignore. I reach for my chest, and I only feel cloth; just cloth, and nothing else over or under it…

Where is it…

“What troubles you, Ward?” She asks.

I look up from my chest, still hearing those three words echo endlessly in my head, again. Slowly, that lurking feeling of something making sense makes itself known. I can feel light bulbs coming on, slowly, as my eyes begin to widen with realization.

“I… I guess I’ve been asking myself that, after all.”

Her eyes noticeably widened with surprise, “Oh?”

I nod, “Because…I lost something— something… that I’ve never thought I’d be without.”

“What did you lose?”

“My talisman.” I’m still scratching at my chest, now that my attention is focused on the fact that it isn’t where it should be. It’s cold, where it once was, too. Even with this garb on, I can’t help but feel like a part of me is missing— and I don’t want to think about how long it’s been since I’ve seen it. I won’t expose myself like that in front of this zebra if it kills me…

I’ve lasted this long, but now I’m fighting to keep all that bottled-up nonsense shut and locked away. It hurts, but… I won’t…

“I am sure we can help you find it. What does it look like?”

“It’s a gem— a roughly cut one, actually. It has a long leather cord, and the gem’s somehow connected to some kinda wire keeping it all together. It looks homemade…”

“It must be really special to you.”

I nod. “It belonged to my mother; my real mother.”

She puts her hoof to her chest, her face expressing what I assume is compassion. “You hold onto a part of her, then.”

“I guess you’re right…”

“Well, maybe we can help you find it— if it will help you with everything that has been happening thus far? When was the last time you had it?”

I pause to think, focusing on its color; its feeling in between my hooves. I’m still rubbing them together, trying to make that memory a little stronger while I focus. “I had it… before I ended up here… Before I jumped into that crack in the ground; before I ended up here. Yeah, I remember it… it vanished in that gap in my mind…”

There’s a pause. I don’t know what I waited for; maybe it was validation— from myself, or from her— for some reason. Looking at her, again, her compassionate expression is gone, replaced by a look of sharp concentration. She’s not even looking at me but at one of her hooves.

“What?” I asked loud enough to get her attention. It doesn’t budge her. Does she know something, after all?

Her hooves touch the floor and she stands. Those orange eyes look about her immediate space like some Technician would look at a multi-screen terminal display. She takes a deep breath soon, afterward, “I thought I had seen it, but I cannot be too sure. We are done with our assessment, for now. I will take this time to inquire about your talisman and Aviatrix.”

“That’s it?”

She nods, taking the trolley. “Yes, for now. Rest assured, we are not done. There are still certain things we must see to completion.”

I tilt my head. “Such as?”

She looks back at me, “There are still ponies who wish to see you.”

The door opens. The pale light from outside the room shines in and is then shut out once she steps into it.

Alone, again.

* * * * * *

Tick…

… tick…

…tick…

I hear you, again. I can’t see you, and you’re not here. I’ve gotten so used to hearing the ‘tick-tick-ticking’ that it really is my white noise, isn’t it? It sounds so real, even if it is a hallucination in my current situation.

Tick…

…tick…

This place… what can I really say about it? It’s secluded; it’s lonely; I’ve got all I need for calling this place a stay-in. The bed is a tier up from the ones in the barracks, and the sheets actually feel nicer– lighter than the itchy, heavy, wiry ones back at the bunker. The food… Well, at least it shows that they care about how food is presented to somepony. I called it eye candy, but it tastes like sand or mud or mush… all of that. Stagona… she called it something. Aj-eh… Aah…A..Ageusia, I think? I don’t know why, though. Maybe my tongue died from years of eating toxic waste-looking food for as long as I lived? But that wouldn’t explain why I can taste Avie’s food…

I can go for her Vegetable Cream Soup right about now. My stomach roils from having to force something down my throat just to kill the pangs of hunger. They still bring me food, but I barely eat it. I can’t even take any of it if I mix anything with the water. It just makes the feeling in my gut worse with each gulp.

Tick…

…tick…

It’s just waiting. That’s all there is to do. Sometimes it’s walking around in circles; sometimes it’s swaying in place. Wing-ups with the nightstand; crunches… none of it feels like it makes time go faster.

Tick…

…tick…

I still think about the way she looked at me. The way her eyes darted about when I mentioned my talisman. It looked like suspicion— and the way her lips moved like she was muttering something my ears can’t pick up. It’s not the first time she’s done it, but still, it’s an interesting way to think— if not a little concerning.

Tick…

…tick…

Avie…What is that nag doing to you? Do you remember what happened that day? Were you there? How many of us survived? Did… did she see you with me?

Tick…

…tick…

It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry if I got you involved.

Tick…
…tick…
…tick…

Avie—

My ears snap at attention to the door opening, breaking the silence and letting in a blinding light. I hear them come in while I fidget with my eyes, trying hard to get the floaters to go away in between blinks. No matter how hard or how fast I rub, they’re still there— regardless of whether or not my eyes are open or closed. I thought I’d be used to it by now, but I guess not.

“Stagona?” I groan, still fidgeting with my eyes. “I thought ya’d knock…Stagona?” She doesn’t answer. She didn’t even prompt me with a question to gauge me, did she? What day is it, anyway?

My eye problem settles down enough to where I feel comfortable keeping them open a little. I scan the room with a blurry, worn squint— panning directly to the bedside; to the chair, she normally sits in. A strange feeling comes over me the moment it’s in the center of my vision. Blinking several times makes it all a little clearer, but the pony in the seat… there’s a different vibe coming from them. The room is colder, and the silence has a vaguely familiar weight to it. The more I realize it, the stronger the rigor compels me to straighten my posture and avoid the eyes ever so slightly. But this isn’t like the General’s presence; the haunting dread is absent in this, and there’s only… something else.

“Who—”

“Fear in the eyes; just like all from before.” An old, old mare’s voice booms through the hardened air. My spine rattles from the cool, firm authority in her words. I can’t look away no matter how hard I try, but I can still look past her. “Son of the pariah-flock; scion of a dying legacy; one who has come back from the Brink; an observation that eludes.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I don’t—”

“Silence!”

I’m thrown aback, forced to swallow my unfinished sentence. My chest is squeezing against my lungs too hard, and I can barely eke out a full breath through my nose. It wasn’t a scream, but I felt it boom in my head, and it became the only thought I could comply with. Just what is she? Who is she?

I can’t see her face through the dark shroud. My thoughts paint a phantom in the corner of my room, growing bigger and darkening the room with a fear-inducing, dominating presence. It threatens to take the whole room, and I’m left wanting to shrink as far away from it as possible.

“Stand.” That same feeling; compels me to obey. “Closer.” The same feeling brings me close. For a moment it felt like a dream while my brain turned off everything but what controls my obedience and my movement. I can’t stop shaking from having felt hijacked like that.

A stripped hoof comes out from her cloak, holding itself out as if expecting me to grab something from it. There is nothing but some kind of clear jewel embedded in gold. The whole thing sits neatly within her hoof’s wall, like a perfect-fitting shoe sole. She flips it over where it doesn’t fall out, and she touches my chest with the point of her hoof.

“What’re…” I flinch, expecting verbal reprehension. It doesn’t come. “What is this… ma’am?”

“A final test.” She tells me. “You will need to do something for me, and if done right you should not expect anything to happen.”

“Where’s Stagona… ma’am?”

“Stagona Sophia. She has other duties to attend to, for she does not have the means nor experience for this specific test, as of yet.”

“What is the test… ma’am?”

“The artifact I hold to your chest is what is called an “extractor” in the common tongue. You will listen to my instructions. I shall reiterate that failure to listen to my given instructions will mean severe complications that are of no fault of my own; negligence will spell a hollowed existence that you will not come back from.”

An extractor… Context clues aside, I’ve never heard of it. It looked more like a pendant than anything— and I would’ve assumed they were trying to pass a fake talisman for my own. A part of me is glad, but it doesn’t last. This doesn’t feel like my pulse is being checked— I’m not a doctor or a medic, but I know it isn’t that.

“Listen close.” She grabs my attention,

“You must close your eyes and focus on your most important memory. It must be one that you hold in high regard; of which you have a strong emotional attachment. Under no circumstance are you to open your eyes until the test has run its course.”

I take a second to think, “How will I know when it’s done… ma’am?”

“You will know.”

It’s always my memories. If this is an extractor, and it needs my memory… will I lose it all the same? Will I be giving up a golden moment that means the world to me?

“Rest assured, you will not lose anything. This test relies on the emotional connection, not the memory itself. You will not be subject to that, again.”

I can’t hide the chills her words gave me, and how they seemed to line up with the concerns piling on just a moment ago. It’s not important, now, is it? “When do I start, ma’am?”

“That is dependent on you. One should not find it hard to find a memory they remember closely; fondly even. What will you remember?”

All of my focus comes back to Avie. I would’ve asked about her status; her situation, since I last heard it. She’s on my mind, still, and I have nothing but worry brewing in the back of my mind…

* * * * * *

It was supposed to be a live demonstration. We were still cadets, not even three years into our training, and they took us outside to watch one of The Enclave’s best pilots show us what a Vertibuck was in action.

I can still remember seeing the smoke, and nobody could say they didn’t hear the way the rotors whined and died in the sky. Our first demonstration went down like a rock, and then up in flames. Nobody was prepared for it, and the rapid response was too slow… The casket to be buried was a shoebox full of charcoal…

She didn’t come out of her place; it was all hers, now. The ambiance of washed-out memories was palpable; it is so thick you can cut it, and it was difficult to breathe while it weighed on my chest. It got more difficult the closer I got to where she had been holed up. She never left that bedroom. Her back was always towards the door, under the covers. I swear the room was damp with tears, and sorrow clung to the walls…

She hadn’t touched her food from yesterday; just like last time, and the time before that. She didn’t even touch the two cupcakes I left for her. That cut me deeper than anything else.

I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what to say. She needed to hear something, but what would help? I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t want to cause harm. I’m the last pony to know what it’s like to lose a parent who’s been with you forever, but I still had to try.

“Avie…is there anything you need? Is there anything I can do for you while I’m here?” I told her I would be there for her, the first time I came to visit, and I want to think that I’ve been consistent. It’s hard to shake the nag and her watchers; I shouldn’t be here, for Avie’s sake… but she needed someone.

She said nothing, just like last time. I sighed and took in the moment, giving her some space by leaving the room and staying on the couch for a while to think about all of the things that must be getting to her. I just sat there, staring at the family portraits on the counter. I don’t think I ever met her pa properly, but he looks like a great pegasus in that picture with a little Avie and her brilliantly positive smile. It’s even cute seeing them wear matching goggles— even if hers are way too big for her head then. It tugs at the ends of my lips, but what smile I would’ve had falls flat to see the blatantly torn part of the photo opposite to her pa…

“I’m all alone now.” She caught me by surprise. I didn’t know how long she stood there, mane a mess and covered in her blanket. Her dark goggles were over her eyes. “I’m all alone…”

I asked, “What happened to her?” The knot in my stomach snapped tight the moment I asked. I still feel like I could’ve done better and kept my yap shut.

“Ma? She… She hadn’t been with us for a long time.” She told me. “Pa had always tried to tell me… that she decided it would be best if she had some time to herself. He found her in the closet sometime later…”

The minute I began to see her white face turn red and her lip quiver, I stood up, apologizing as much as I can just so she didn’t have to hurt anymore. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to upset ya—I’m sorry.”

My mind ran a thousand miles a second. I shouldn’t’ve prompted her; I’m an idiot for coming here and saying that— I should’ve left well enough alone— why did I have to say anything?!

I just kept apologizing under my breath, trying to slide back to the door— feeling like I shouldn’t be here, anymore— that I should give her more space. She needed more space.

“I’ll just…” It was so hard to say I needed to go, but I just couldn’t. “I’ll just…”

“Please stay…” She asked, her voice heavy. “Please stay, just a little longer…”

I couldn’t ignore the hurt I heard. Any excuse I made to myself to leave just disintegrated, “Yeah. O-of course.”

She took a seat on the couch, and I took mine a little ways from her on the opposite end of it. I waited for her to say something— anything. I didn’t want to say a word, as much as I hated the silence. For her, though, I’d rather she be ready to say something…

“I remembered that night.” she started,

“Pa and Ma were fighting, again. It was worse that time. Ma had been drinking, and she kept getting angrier with each bottle. She kept going on, and on, about how she wasn’t happy with what we had… I think she mentioned wanting to go outside, and… and not looking back…”

Her head craned lower. She took a deep, sniffly breath, and let it out through her mouth shakily. She fidgets with the goggles a little, but keeps them where they are, nonetheless, “Pa told her some awful things— things that nopony should say to family. I guess… I guess it was the last straw for ma…”

I still listened.

“I guess he spent those years, the two of us, trying to make it up to me; making sure I wasn’t alone, or upset. He said—” She choked on her own words, face turning red again while she silently sobbed into her hooves for a minute before forcing the rest of the sentence out, “—he tried telling me Ma had to go someplace. Now he’s gone, too… and it was all so… so—”

It was all so quick…

“Pa didn’t see it happen with Ma, it happened so quietly. I saw the crash happening, and…and I could see how bad it was gonna get. There was still time. I saw him there, reaching out to me from the cockpit. He was screaming…I could’ve saved him— I could’ve done something— he was right there, and I could’ve gotten to him before it went to hell… But you… you—”

I knew what she was going to say. It’s been on my mind the whole time she’s walled herself up in here. “I don’t think he would’ve wanted ya to get hurt, Avie. I just—”

“You just what?! You should’ve helped me get him out! He was right there!” The fury in her voice made me sink back into the couch. I braced myself, wings raised over me as I sank deeper into the cushion when she shot up from her seat, threw her blanket off, and snorted with a rage I never knew she had.

“I-I-I-” Her words, how they bit at me— it’s hard to say anything. If I’d so much as say a word, my tongue would be snapped off.

“You have no right to speak for him, you hear me?! You hear–” Her words, full of spite, erupted into a furious whinny that rocked the room. She reared, flapped her wings till her dead feathers flew across the room; stomped her hooves a little harder each time; threw a portrait over my head, screaming like she had known great betrayal that burned her. It’s what it sounded like to me; it was familiar, but it wasn’t the only thing that was…

The more she threw her rage across the room; the more things shatter in her path, the more I feel and hear things drag themselves across the blackest corner of my brain to bang and claw at the door I keep tight under locks and keys. Every scratching sound; every insistent bang on that metaphorical door made me flinch the longer Avie went on like that…

The more her rage sounded like–

No–

The more she becomes like–

NO–

The torrent of emotion building in the room; the chill was setting in the air. My darkest memories were trying to twist her pain, and make her look like the monster of my life… I had enough of it— enough with myself— what kind of friend was I for actually paying attention to those thoughts!? It was sick, twisted; selfish of me to do that to her!

This was not the Nag’s rage; she was not like her in any way! This wasn’t anything like those dark years! She had everything, and it’s all gone; all she can do is let it out! It’s ugly; it’s fear-inducing, but it was necessary nonetheless.

To know what that must feel like— to have the most important things in life vanish from under your hooves… I couldn’t fathom it, even if I tried. I didn’t have a foundation like that, and I had no right to say I knew what she was feeling.

As I stared on, letting those thoughts settle, she collapsed on the floor. Her words; her raw rage, so loud moments ago, were quiet. “Why? Why did you have to do that? Why did you have to hold me back?!”

Her wings fell limp at her sides as her mane and ears drooped. She shivered, but I don’t know if it’s her crying, or because she’s bare and without a blanket. It didn’t matter…

Did she want me to answer her? I thought about it— always had, at the moment. It was all too vivid to forget. She was the first to try and get him out; the first to run and fly at her top speed while the first response clamored to save the wreckage. I don’t think she knew about that… or the rising flames; the sparks trying to touch the exposed fuel lines. It was already too late; she would’ve joined him. I had to… I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I stood by like the rest of the sheep.

Did he want her to save him? Did he want her to stay away? Did he want her to live for the both of them? Does he think bad of me for tackling her and dragging her away while she tried to get to him?

“Why, Ward…” She muttered, looking back up at me. “Dammit, Ward, tell me why?! It’s not fair!” My ears drooped, and my eyes were full of water. Her questions stabbed at me harder than I thought they ever could. I can see its other meanings, and I sat there trying to pretend like it didn’t hurt me either way. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling, or the words from coming out.

“I didn’t know what would happen… I don’t– I didn’t– I didn’t want to see you eaten by the fire. I’m sorry… I’m sorry that I don’t know what it’s like to be close to someone who’s been there with you; who may have been among the first faces you’ve seen in life. Nothing I can say would make it any better, and I’m sorry.”

Her quiet sobs were the only thing in the room. I tried hiding my tears, “I needed you…”, she says.

Something brought me closer to her. I still can’t explain it, but with an aching heart and water in my eyes, I made my way to her until I was sitting right in front of her. The goggles lifted over her eyes, and tears fell from them as they fogged up over her cap. Her eyes showed all they had to before she leaned into me and cried into my shoulder.

The shock that would’ve come from it, didn’t. I wouldn’t let it. She had the right to feel these things, and I won’t let the repercussions of my personal life get in the way. I let her cry into me and helped carry her pain by letting my tears fall. My wings wrapped around her as I pulled her in closer, to give her the blanket she needs so much right now. Her hooves clung to me slowly.

“I got ya.” I told her as the sorrow threatened to close my throat. I laid my head on hers, telling her one more time with much more strain. “I got ya…”

“Can you stay for a bit? Please? Just like this a little longer?”

I held her tighter, pushing down my own fears and focusing on her needs. I nod slowly, “I will…”

* * * * * *

My eyes open, and everything is slightly blurry. I rub them, realizing that they’re wet. A cursory glance at the feathers I used shows the tears clinging to and seeping through the baby blue vanes of some of my primary feathers.

“Good. Very good.” The veiled zebra says, bringing my attention to her. She had retracted the hoof she held on me, turning it over to show me the gem. It’s got a glow, now, and it’s shimmering like light in water. It’s almost beautiful, watching these strands of multi-colored light dance within the gem itself.

“What happened to it?” I ask, knowing for certain it wasn’t like that just a moment ago.

“Did you feel any pain?” She asks, instead. My heart feels like it’s been torn open after thinking back to that moment, but it’s not what she means. I check my chest, again, finding it bare… again… but I don’t feel anything else that’s discomforting, burning or anything else that I’d call concerning.

“No.”

“Good. Very good.” She drones like the old mare she is. The hoof holding that artifact disappears into her cloak, and I step back as she stands. My eyes follow her making her way toward the door, but she stops about halfway to it. “If all goes well, you should have one last visitation. I will see to it that you are properly prepared for when the time comes.”

I try pulling her words apart for context clues. “Does this mean I’ll finally get out of here?”

“Perhaps.” She says, walking out of the room.

I walk to the edge of my bed to take a seat. Processing everything suffocates me, and I pound my aching chest to force deep breaths. I can see Avie in my head; I can still feel the raw emotion of that lived moment taking hold. They cling to me, throw me on the bed— I try my damndest to keep a sob and fight the bubbling pain inside from making a mess out of me; swallowing hard and rubbing my face to keep it from tightening up. I can feel it like it’s still happening now. Her words... Dammit…

Chapter 6- Formality

“We are all friends here…”

‘There will be some who will want to see it, to take advantage of it. Show it to the ones who matter, and they will be your rock…’

I can’t remember who told me that, but when I hear it it’s always in a mare’s voice. I can’t put it down, no matter how hard I try. It won’t let me go like gum in my mane, and the more time passes the more irritating it becomes.

One thing after another— a growing itch in my wing demands my attention. It thinks I’m not moving fast enough and erupts into a sharp burning. Sitting upright from my bed, I unfurl the wing to see what’s causing it. ‘Feather mites’ pops into my head, but the room is too dim to see clearly. The glowbulb, whimsical and bouncy, reads my mind and gives me the light I need.

Strange as it is… is it weird to thank a sentient light bulb? Is it even sentient? Can it be considered sentien—FUCK!

The sparking in my wing is now a raging wildfire. My hoof swipes across the feathers as if there really was a fire to put out. The feeling condenses afterwards, and I’m able to find the discomfort in the obvious holes in the wing’s pattern. Where feathers are supposed to be is instead speckled with little white bodies, and the thought of feather mites feels substantiated. In a blink their little white bodies are far longer than just specs.

Not mites. Not by a longshot…

Every one of them crumbles and peels at the slightest touch, leaving behind waxy flakes and dark, flush vanes underneath.

‘Cabin fever’; ‘insomnia’; ‘monotony;’ All the words coming to me, wanting to sound like the reason I suddenly have pin feathers within a… day of being here? It should take a month, at least— none of it feels right…

The door opens and floods the room with amber light. The glowbulb zooms over, dancing around the unicorn mare just on the other side. Despite the whimsical little thing’s effort, it does little to soften her abrasive glare. If anything, Wildcat’s expression is so rough it hurts to look at.

My attention snaps to something landing on the endboard of the bed. It’s some kinda sleeveless tunic, along with some other articles— like a scarf that’s way too long to be practical, and some kinda… corset? A corset?

“Get dressed. We’re leaving in five.”

“Where?” My eyes can’t look away from the damned corset of all things.

“Don’t get too excited— you’re not outta the desert yet. Hurry up.”

“Didn’t think I was,” and I’d oblige if the dress wasn’t so strange to put on. Even with the loose undershirt provided, the corset holds my breath like one wrong assumption, spoken or otherwise, would snap me in two. It still pinches at places, and some let a cold creep under my skin to have me freeze in place. Her words…

“I’ll be good… I promise.”

“You better, pegasus.” The sharpness in her words make me wince, but as I look at her I’m reminded she’s not the mare I’m thinking about. She’s not her…

I throw the last piece of the outfit on, shaking my head as those last words bounce slowly in my skull. “Who is this all for?”

“Who do you think?” She asks. “The Matriarch wanted to see you specifically.”

* * * * * *

‘Saan-Al’Kima…’ The Matriarch of Grand Aridia… ‘Mother Aridian.’ The weight of those titles and codename loom over me more than the ambient shadows through the hollow halls and rock-carved staircases. More threatening than Wildcat’s rifle; sharper than her tongue; more ever present than the sand under our hooves.

I know why she wants to talk to me. Why is every step in the sand louder, crunchier, and more drawn out than the last?

“You’re here.”

I stop and turn to Wildcat as she says that. She pulls the rifle’s barrel up in her magic, and flicks her head. Looking back, there’s nothing but a white tarp or something acting like one in the way. There’s the slightest breeze brushing through the smallest hairs at the tips of my ears going towards it, “A door?”

“Quite the detective,” My ears catch a small rattle behind me. I look, and it’s her gun having shifted— resting across her front. She says nothing and only stares on, looking bored and irritated; waiting.

Right…

“Like I said: Don’ keep the Matriarch waiting.” She warns.

I know, but hesitation tries to root my hooves deeper and deeper with each step taking me closer. It’s like wandering up a flight of stairs in the dark.

I take a deep breath, reach a hoof out, and slide through the tarp. On the other side is a room bathed in a homey, orange glow from many candles sitting in several little niches along the walls.

Something slumps behind me; a grinding sound kills the breeze going through me. I don’t need to look to know the way is closed— what else would it have been? Acknowledging it still does not stop me from lifting the tarp to check for myself.

All that stares back is a blank wall where there was once a hole. My hooves, searching for a defining edge to dig into and pull, don’t find anything that tells me a way in was ever here. I can’t shake the feeling, and it squirms in my gut. Unicorn magic?

The amber light flickers with a cool rush from behind. My wings clamp closer to my sides, and the instinctive need to lower my head creeps up on me. Too sharp for an errant breeze…

My ears search with my eyes as every feather stands on end with my mane hairs. The shadows bending in the light of the candles don’t feel right, and neither does the space in this room. I bite my tongue ever so slightly, holding the urge to call out for whatever’s here with me hostage.

No sudden breeze disruption; no crunch in the sand underhoof; not a candle out. Where are ya?

There…

In the archway ahead of me is where the hair raises highest on my neck. It’s too dark to see, but I know it’s there. The temptation to call it out strains, but I clamp my tongue a little tighter.

It steps out seamlessly into the amber light, bowing, curling a veiled hoof around the center of its chest with their frog angled right at me. “Kalsha-haam,” It– she– speaks in that native tongue, “Welcome, honored guest of our Dear Mother.”

A glowbulb flies over her shoulder into the room and outshines the candles. Towering, long eared; veiled in delicate-looking cloth from head to hoof; deep indigo eyes covered with an interesting half-mask; scales along the bridge of her nose, and fangs just barely jutting out from her upper lip. Even in this light, those slitted eyes carry a glow— like soft shining gems. I never thought I’d see one of them this close… A real Aridian native…

“Shem-ah.” She says.

I don’t…

She turns and gestures, “Follow.”

Is that what that was? “Yeah.”

I do as she says, following as close as I can but out of reach from that serpentine-like tail. I don’t want the rumors of their prehensility and strength to be found out first hoof.

The short walk is tight, but then the hallway takes a deep breath, turning into the largest atrium I’ve ever seen. The both of us cross a soft rolling sea of glittering gold dunes. Far to the left is something like a chair carved from the largest gold veins spewing from the rock; above us are thousands of bright, twinkling yellow stars that dance and bob across a dark carpet in the ceiling. Something about all of it— all of this— makes me want to get on my knees and let the radiance carry my mind into its radiance. All I do is trip and quickly regain composure.

My ears begin to twitch to an ambient hymn. It’s getting louder, clearer, but that doesn’t do much to tell me what the singer is saying. It’s just voice-noise making long notes— no real way to describe it completely. Harmonic nonsense? Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s terrible. It’s strangely beautiful to hear.

We draw closer; the hymn gets louder and comes from a hole in the wall in front of us. I follow my escort in, and find myself in an oval room where there are more Aridians dressed in silk and half-masks; all of them stand around while one sings the melody in the air.

“It is said that music can open the soul; that the sounds we make are reminiscent of the very thing that binds all of us to the very nature of things. You do not need words to know what the melody says, because it is the unspoken language of our beginnings.”

I know I heard words. A mare’s voice, but it’s different— different from how others' words calm. I’m not just understanding them, but feeling them on a level I can’t put words to.

I look to the left of the room— to where those words and more are coming from, to see two Aridians, standing like mountains, gilded in brilliant white that constantly shimmers. They each wield what I can’t tell is a staff that’s a blade in itself, or just very large— very skinny— curved weapons that bend forward like fangs. Their eyes glow a haunting, piercing yellow.

Between them, I feel all of Aridia; the gaze of a blazing sun piercing through a delicate violet veil, making me feel exposed, isolated, but warm all around; a presence that can sap my strength, but will give it back with sincerity and security…

“Welcome, Ward. My honored guest.” She speaks; Aridia speaks from a veiled, hooded face and an elegant metal mask. The Matriarch of Grand Aridia.

The air in the room’s getting harder to breathe. It can’t be just the intensity of this mare’s presence. I look around and everyone in the room stares at me; the mare that has been singing even stops. Missing something…

Those two words keep echoing in my head. The more I hear them, the thicker and heavier the air gets— the more my knees want to give out.

Missing something… Damn it, what?!

Something in my mind prompts: the gesture my escort made. It clicks, instantly.

I kneel, using one forehoof to do that gesture— curling it under and around my chest; then I lower my gaze and keep my mouth shut.

She makes a noise that makes me flinch; it sounds aggressive, bringing the thought of a military command to mind. I stay unmoving, phantom blades at my neck. “My dear Ward, you almost have it right.”

The fact is dense and weighing on my stomach…What did I do wrong?

I look up to see her doing the hoof-curling gesture I’m trying to do and compare it to mine. I see it just as she explains it, “Always have the frog of your hoof faced outward. It shows you have nothing to hide from those who address or whom you will address.”

I adjust my hoof immediately, and the still metallic face nods. My posture relaxes and unravels, and the music comes back to the room.

“Please, do not starve yourself from breathing. There is no need to hold yourself hostage.” The tone in her voice is beyond gentle. It’s like having my mane stroked, absent of looming threat. Why isn’t it there?

From her simple filigree-ornamented robes, a black bandage wrapped hoof and golden shoe stretch out towards the other end of the table, to an empty pillow nestled in the sand.

* * * * * *

The table is so low to the ground, and the food brought out… there’s so much of it on such small plates.

On the Matriarch’s end, everything is earthen and red. Freshly baked grain; flattened breads; mysterious red stews and pastes that leave a faint, but noticeable metallic tang in the back of my throat.

All the shades of brown are speckled with dark charing and even more red, oily glazes— some of the meat plump, while others are dry and look like hard sheets of leather. Goblets made of clay are filled with a deep ruby drink. Blood fills my imagination. The desert takes the weak…

Here on my side is the oasis. Everything is a healthy shade of green, and my cup is full of water. Fruit sits in bundles, glittering from moisture like jewels…there is more than I could ever have. On my plate is a flower made of green leaves. Every one of the arranged petals looks so crisp— lively and bouncy instead of dark, soggy, and wilted like I’m used to seeing. At the very center is a vibrant mound of what looks like cubed fruits and vegetables with more shredded greens mixed in.

My stomach gnaws much harder than I’m comfortable with. I keep myself from lurching, but now my sense of smell focuses on the lush greens still sitting on my plate. It’s so fragrant; it’s got a pungent, soapy, cool— kind of sweet and citric smell that fattens my tongue and makes salivating hurt.

…Is it my turn?

“What stays you, dear Ward?”

Looking over to the Matriarch, her hoof is over her muzzle. The food on her side of the table looks like it’s just been disturbed, and the mares around her are refilling the goblet from before.

“You hardly touched what is yours to have,” She says. “Is something the matter?”

It’s mine to have… “I… Mine to have? I can eat it… now?”

She nods, “You do not need to ask, or wait for me to have mine. You are my honored guest. At this table, we are equals.”

Is it for real? Is it a test? A tease? No pecking order or hidden meanings behind her words? My stomach gnarls, again. Thoughts of what this beautiful serving must taste like wipe away the apprehension creeping from memories, and urge me to reach for a first bite.

I slowly take a piece of it, stopping when anticipation bites at me from the back of my mind and looking at the Matriarch. She waits, nods at me. I take it in; explosions of mute flavor come alive the more I chew.

I can taste… The shock doesn’t have time to settle, and the worry is buried under the little pain in my mouth and a gladdening heart that pushes a haze into my vision. Every bite is so much more lively than the last; so fresh, cool, and crispy; every fruit and vegetable has its own personality that shines and mingles with one another perfectly. The water is so clean, and I feel even better with every swig and gulp.

“I have never seen such ravenous eating habits.” The Matriarch says, “It only makes me wonder of the quality of food your kin must subsist on.”

Night and day… “Yes, ma’am. Thank ya, ma’am.” Something about the last thing she said stirs in my head a little. “If I may—”

“You do not need to ask permission for any subject discussed at this table, dear Ward,” She calmly informs. “You are my honored guest, and as such you are allowed to speak freely with me.”

I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…

She lifts her chin and gently points to one of the bowls of fruit, “Everything you see— everything on this very table has been grown and reared organically; our fruit and vegetables in our communal gardens and still-greeneries, and livestock grown and graze in pasture by our Zarinn.”

Sharr… Shaaryn…

Everything on my side of the table does feel and taste alive compared to everything we have back at the bunker. The whole fruits are plump, glossy, and juicy as opposed to being small, shriveled, hard-skinned, and tasteless.

To think a tree that thrives in the desert can grow better fruit than the trees made to grow on clouds… To think that they’re not raisins growing on trees like ours… “You grew these… ma’am?”

She puts a hoof to her gorget, and ‘flattery’ comes to mind, “Every Aridian knows the importance of communal-sufficiency. While one grows for themself, they must also be sure to have more for others. Aridia first, above themselves. Does the Enclave share such a mentality about themselves, dear Ward?”

“I’m sorry… ma’am. That doesn’t— I don’t think that answers my question.”

“Aridia did,” she says. “We grew them on promises, family, and hard work. The desert is my domain, and my kin can turn its harshest wastes into what we need of it. The fruit you eat is proof of our achievement; of our bonds and the strength in those very bonds.”

‘Family’; ‘promises’; ‘kin’; those words stir in my head, and I start to remember, letting the words slip, “We… used to be taught to think of the Enclave as a “flock.” Sometimes it’s that, and sometimes it’s a machine allegory, but it’s always the same: “Do not disappoint the Enclave. Do not disappoint your family…” Ma’am.”

“I see. Is it something said to the entirety of the Enclave, or is it— perchance— a statement that is told to you, specifically?”

My ear flicks at that question while my mind draws those words towards every moment the nag looks at me as she says that. Every nerve in my body trembles with the recollection; the memory of those icy blue eyes are still so cold. “I try not to see it that way… ma’am.”

“How so?”

“It’s what needed to stay with me— what was welded and burned into all of our brains— all of us who started our service. It’s what would make us good soldiers, according to her.”

“To your general, yes?”

I take a deep breath, looking away and nodding.

“Do you see yourself as a good soldier, dear Ward?”

I feel things building up in my chest that burn hot and cold at the same time, “I don’t understand… ma’am.”

“Do you love your kin? Do you love your general?”

My eyes remain low, but my chin pulls back around.

“You are her son, are you not?”

“That’s just a formality—” I clamp a hoof over my mouth. Taking deep breaths, I try clearing my mind. More than anything, I want to hide. “I’m sorry, ma’am— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say that— I’m sorry.”

I wait for it. Clenching my teeth, holding my breath, squeezing my eyes shut— waiting for the hammer to come down. It doesn’t come down, and I look back up at the Matriarch.

“That word: “Ma’am” — it’s such a silly-sounding word, but one that carries a great modicum of respect, if my understanding is sound. It is, correct?”

I nod.

“You say it quite often— more times in one sitting than I am used to hearing any word. But there’s so much apprehension in it when there is usually an air of confidence and assertiveness. The Enclave is a dying beast, and you are frustrated about it.” I can see the glow in the eye-holes of her mask, narrow.

Yeah…That would be the case if I were somepony else… I shake my head, unsure what to make of the situation and her words.

“Your General— Your mother— claims to be in charge of a powerful faction; one that has stood the test of time and is unrivaled in all the Wastelands,” she says. “Do many of your kin believe this to be fact? Do you believe these claims of grandeur and invulnerability?”

It’s all waxing, wistful veteran-speak; and that connection… I just can’t shake it, can I? “I haven’t seen it happen… yet… ma’am.”

“How long has it been since things have improved for your kin? How much longer will you wait for such things? How long must my kin and I hang upon tenterhooks about what your Enclave will wrought? Your General speaks of ‘reinforcements’ being elsewhere, yet she is woefully ignorant of the Law of the Land in spite of past events— having complete disregard for the misery she will lead others to if her claims are correct.”

The more the questions pile on, the greater the weight I feel on my shoulders. It’s as if all of this is—whatever it is— the Nag is doing is all on me.If there’s any more reason to hate everything that she is— to hate that fucking acting connection— it’s where I think all of this is going. I should’ve known better; the food, the hospitality, the private conversations and the lack of discretion… It was all to soften these blows, wasn’t it?

“Is that why I’m here, ma’am? Am I just here so you can throw every criticism ya have about the Enclave at me? She should be the one hearing all of this.”

The settling silence in the room is weighing on me like a thick blanket. Everything about me is spring-loaded, lungs tight… Judgment, this time…

“We would have.” She says with such an unwinding calmness. “Dear Ward, your General is inanely stubborn when it comes to such discussions— and whether or not that is a consequence of a bigoted upbringing can hardly be debated. She would only come here and forgo all reason— to lie in the light of truth and be blinded by it to the issues in which she remains ignorant.”

What? I don’t…

“I don’t understand…”

“You see, this land is not what it used to be. My fal’qum have grown suspicious of outsiders this past Age— and your Enclave, in spite of past agreements, have continued to cause quite a controversy.”

Oh… “Fal… coon?”

“It means… ‘kindred.”

I drink more water, and it helps steel my nerves a little, “What kind of controversy were ya talking about, ma’am?”

Her gaze grows sharper behind the veil, “One that has its roots since before the Age of Dissonance— what you and your kin call ‘The Great War’ and ‘The Last Day.’ The final straw— as you all would say— was Equestria’s subjugation. Even now we still fight its ever-changing shadow, and that is where the controversy starts.”

“How… ma’am?”

“With everything your General has done thus far, Aridia and the Grand Council question the Enclave’s contributions.”

“Contributions?”

“It is among the Laws of the Land,” She explains. “In Aridia, our Tribes are expected to support and provide for one another. Tell me, does the Enclave believe themselves as above others? Are they that self-serving of their own perceived importance in the fabric of the world?”

Self-Serving… Egotistical… Hyper-Nationalistic… Militant-beyond-compromise… I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks it, and I don’t know whether to feel sorry for, or disgusted by, the poor bastards that buy into that purity crap.

“It’s more than that, ma’am. Just about every pegasus has it in their minds that if they can hold on for a little longer, things will be great again. To the veteran, it’s a return to the glory days; to the cadet, it’s Enclave Pride; Glory to the Enclave.”

“One brightly colored thread does not a tapestry make.” She says, and seems to catch my immediate confusion. “That which stands out with the belief that they are far more important than the grand design, are a seed of dissonance; those who believe themselves deserving of something greater than their worth are apostates, blind to themselves and those around them.”

“Hmm?”

“Bias may tinge the view my kin have for yours, but another factor of our views towards the Enclave is their lack of integration— of understanding.” The Matriarch takes another sip from her cup after she’s finished a serving of what looked like grain. “During the Reclamation War the Enclave were allowed to settle within our lands— given the same autonomy as any of the Tribes. In return, they were to devote their available resources whilst being given time to recover from their long journey to Grand Aridia–”

“And they have been doing that, ma’am, haven’t they? As far as I can tell, the Wonderbolts are constantly deployed to aid you and your Tribes; Vertibucks make regular transportation of goods—”

“—Yes. The Mutfalinn have continuously reported on such deeds, and your… Wonderbolts… have contributed to the bolstering of security—”

“Then, if I may, ma’am, what’s the real problem here?”

“It has been a little over two decades since the agreement, and little else has changed. Why does your Enclave hold the majority of its force within its boundaries when— per the agreement— your General is to provide more than a few metal birds, and these—these…gilded pegasi that make a mockery of my Saan-Srah and slander what privileges we give them for their contributions?”

That anger is like a sweltering sun. The more she brings these up, the harder it is to swallow. It’s hard to look at her, like somehow I feel part of that whole problem. It’s that fucking connection, again, isn’t it? Because I just happen to be related to that mare, on paper? “I can’t speak for the whole Enclave, ma’am—”

“No, you cannot,” She says immediately after. “See, dear Ward, what burns me so is how your General takes our hospitality for granted. For the length you have been here, she has done nothing but demand your return. What possesses her so to forgo all cooperation and refuse mutual compromise over this?”

I’ve always wondered the exact same thing, but I never thought she’d go that far. I’d say I don’t believe it, but then I think I’d be lying to myself about it.

“This brings me to my next point,” she continues. “No pony or Aridinn— not even a mother with such power— would go to such extremes, unless there was something else at play. First there was nothing, and then there was that incident that sparked the interest of the Schularinn; then you were brought here for a great curiosity, and now this. Things such as this are not fortuitous— they cannot be; not with the Curse still here.”

The mention of the Curse pulls at my ear. “Do ya mean the Na— that General Diamond Dust was responsible for the Outpost Incident… ma’am?”

“No, dear Ward. It’s the fact that out of all the reported casualties, it just so happened that there was one who had reportedly succumbed to The Curse and returned from the Brink. And that happens to be the son of the Enclave General.”

If it were anyone else, I’d probably be shocked; if it was someone I loved, I’d be in denial. If there is anything I feel right now, feeling all her words fall into place like some kind of jigsaw puzzle, it’s probably confusion. It’s just… It doesn’t feel right to think that…

“Tell me, Dear Ward: Do you have faith in your Enclave? Do you have faith in your General? Do you have faith in your mother?”

* * * * * *

‘Mother’... ‘Mother’... ‘Mother’... My gut can’t wrench any harder hearing that title tacked onto the General. It followed me all the way through training, and I can’t shake seeing that awareness in everypony me— from the drill sergeants to the cadets. It attracts all kinds of attention… All kinds…

I can’t say I don’t envy having seen foals embracing such nurturers, but those dark memories kill any chance of appreciating it for those who still have them.

‘Do I have faith?’ If the General had anything to do with what’s caused all this ballyhoo from the Zebra and now the Matriarch, I’d take it for a practical joke. I never learned to laugh because of her, and I certainly ain’t trying to now. Story of my life…

Everything the Matriarch has said— the questions she asked, that I mulled over in my own head for a long while— I’d say I’m not a believer; never was. But for the Enclave… “I don’t, ma’am.”

I still can’t see what she’s expressing through that mask— even with half of it detached, but I can feel the surprise from here. “But you are a soldier, are you not?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Soldiers; Warriors; Fighters, all swear an oath—in faith— to their tribe and to their leaders. You are honor-bound by such a foundation, else how can you call yourself one?” She pushes.

I’ve heard somewhere— somepony or someplace— that faith, like magic, comes from someplace deep within the heart. It’s as strong as one’s unyielding resolve— and that line’s up with what the Matriarch just said. But what if there’s no heart to give? Maybe the echelon knew that, and that’s why they force-fed us that grandeur; trying to sow the seeds of nostalgia-fueled pride that didn’t belong with the younger generation.

“It’s just a formality, ma’am…” I think aloud.

“How so?”

“I doubt a draftee can swear an oath— in faith— the same way a patriot can, ma’am. I mean, how can one have faith in the leader who pressed them into uniform, and forced them to grow up too fast?”

“It must come from the heart.” She says, almost like a warning— or like it should have been common knowledge.

That’s just it… Forced faith makes for a flimsy foundation…

“The hoof gesture you did as you walked in, I told you it was to show that you have nothing to hide from whom you greet.” She continues, “With everything that has happened thus far, I can say for certain that the Enclave’s days are numbered.”

Her ears droop a little as she rests her head on a hoof, slowly shaking her head like she’s worn out. The guard takes immediate notice, and one has even dropped to her level— kneeling— to be close to her. That one stays with her while the other’s gaze is fixed on me. The Matriarch soon picks her head back up, gesturing to the kneeling guard who immediately returns to attention.

“You’re wording it like it’s a purge that’s coming, ma’am.” Thinking those words aloud makes me think of what comes out of it. “The new soldiers… I doubt many would think for themselves, ma’am. Not with how the General’s running things.”

“Do not assume my words for a punitive course of action.” She sets my thoughts straight. “Such events have happened before; it is not the first time Aridia has had a great, violent change when outsiders wander into our lands from beyond the ‘Alsaahn-jal… but with how the very nature of things have changed, I would rather not risk shedding blood and feeding life to the blight and resolve such as smoothly as possible.”

“The Enclave doesn’t talk much about what’s going on out here, ma’am. As far as I’ve noticed, the echelon care more about the preservation of their way of life and ensuring the next generation go about carrying it into the sky; over everything else.”

“And that is the issue, is it not?”

It’s slowly clicking in my head the more I mull over it. The realization gives me severely mixed feelings. “You’re suggesting that Diamond Dust be relieved?”

“If that is what it takes, it will happen. Do you have apprehensions about this?”

I’m beginning to see where this is coming from. It’s obvious now that I think about it: a sudden transfer; out of reach from the Nag’s eyes and ears; dinner with the most powerful mare in all Aridia, and politics leading to talk that considers potential overthrow. She’s gotta be thinking I’d be the one, right? Going about it like that gives me the chills, and a lingering suspicion that she knows other things…

“What about every other pegasus? The dogs; the gullible; the…innocent?”

She shakes her head slowly, her lips moving but I can’t pick up what she’s saying. “We are better than that, dear Ward. We know to not hold those accountable for what their leaders and parents wrought. Whether bullets and blades fly, however, we will not feed the Curse if it can be helped.”

That parents comment— that whole statement… Why does it sound like it was meant to seem personal to me?

“Then what, ma’am? Will ya just absorb what’s left?”

“That would be… ideal. However, it may be easier if they had one of their own to rally behind— one which can be trusted, with a good heart and sound mind.”

I knew it…

“So with all of this, ya take me for a prime candidate, ma’am…No.”

Her long, pointed ears twitch. “No?”

“I apologize, ma’am, but I’m not the one you’re hoping for,” I tell her, looking into my cup before taking a sip. “I don’t think I need to explain, ma’am. With how the General’s run things so far down into the ground, I will not stand where she stood.”

And inherit a rotting kingdom that was never mine to have— not that I ever wanted it…

Nepotism…

“But they are your kin. Do you not care for their well-being?” She asks.

“They are not my family, ma’am. It’s all just a code of honor we’ve been forced to recite; the faith is faulty, and any one of those pegasi who vehemently recite and make it their own are hopeless. I won’t want anything to do with them.”

My heart thuds into my stomach, as hearing my own words makes it quiver and moan for the only one worth anything. I’ve lost the rest of my appetite. The food looks paler to me, now, and the full-belly sensation feels dense and hollow all at the same time; a messy, confused, aching feeling. It’s hot…

I look up slowly, and I see the glow of her eyes lower onto me. It feels intense— like all of their eyes are on me. The gravity of their judging eyes makes me want to slink away, while dreadful anticipation creeps from my memories; to the moments that make my body remember every bruise, and red-raw follicle on my head.

Judgment. It’ll happen now, for sure…

“...How unfortunate.” Those words— that tone in her voice… I don’t get it…

Where’s the scorn?

“One last question, if you may indulge me,” she asks. “Who is Aviatrix? The Vhuskilinn often made mention of this mare..”

She’s not mad? Why isn’t she mad? The tone of her voice just doesn’t make sense, and now she’s talking about Avie? Where’s this coming from?

“She’s…Um…” I’m not sure how to approach this; it feels like a trick, “She’s… a pegasus I know… ma’am.”

“I see.” She acknowledges, “I would very much like to meet her, and I wouldn’t be the only one.”

“How do you mean… ma’am?”

“I mean what I mean. There are some things known to me, such as why your General is so adamant to keep her from us. Quarantines are irrelevant, yet she continues to use it until she wears it down like an excuse. I am telling you this because you will need to know for the future…”

The Nag? Quarantine?

“...dear Ward, your General will not let her go unless one condition is met.”

I stare with worry wafting over me. “That being?”

“In spite of our solemn words, she remains unconvinced. She wishes to see you.”

There it is. The whole reason why this entire thing was set up. What else is there to gauge from all of this? The Nag had to be involved, somehow, but I couldn’t see that. Or maybe I did but was lost in the Matriarch’s presence…

But that’s it, isn’t it? Just me. It makes my stomach churn to think about it, and the food already inside isn’t helping. The water is still foul…

Can’t she just make her do it? She’s the most powerful individual in the entire region— can’t she just show a display of political dominance? Something tells me not to even try to say any of that out loud. Pride? Overstepped boundaries? Ignorance? There’s no way of knowing; it all sounds the same to me, at this point…

Avie…

She won’t let her go without me…

“You mean it’s an exchange, ma’am?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “That would not be possible. There are still too many questions left unanswered.”

A tiny, distant echo of relief reaches me. I should be glad, but I know that nag. She won’t let things go quietly…

“So… what then? I visit her, then what?” I ask.

“Then she respects the bargain. She would know what it means.”

That’s what concerns me the most…

Chapter 7- Reunions

“Old faces, bitter memories. Some, better than others…”

It doesn’t feel right…

It’s been on my mind, and I can’t just leave it; the way that dinner-meeting ended— one of the last things the Matriarch said. Fear. Suspicion. Paranoia. They descend on me like vulture-hawks to pick at the cracks in my brain. I tell myself I know why…

Diamond Dust. I know how she is. I still get chills from every memory she’s a part of. Does the Matriarch know how she thinks? I know what she’s going to think when she sees Avie come back with me to the Mountain. Could those mystic eyes see it? I can’t help but shudder in the heat…

I just don’t know what’s worse…The haunting sense brought on by all this, or the fact that I’m going back to the Cage? No. That can’t be the worst of it; it would have to be wondering if she’s at least safe. The Matriarch mentioned a quarantine, but I don’t think that’s safe enough from the mare who holds all the keys to the Cage…

Huh… That’s a thought… Why do the Zebra, and the Matriarch, want to see Avie so badly? I hadn’t thought about it, and now that I’ve brought it to the forefront of my mind… I don’t know if it was a good idea…

What don’t I know? They can’t be this generous with something like that… I expected it to be dismissed as easy as that. No, they wouldn’t be going through all of this trouble… So… What?

If there’s anything that’s making any of the things on my mind fester worse it’s the relative silence of my immediate area. There’s not a word spoken— and there hasn’t been since we left the Mountain some time ago; it’s just me on my end of the roomette and Wildcat on the other. No social ambience, only the mechanical, steady, and rhythmic clickity-clack I can hear clearly and barely feel under the both of us. Occasionally there’s a loud, howling whistle from the engine some carts ahead in the direction we’re going, and as discordant as it’s as if the noise helps me take as deep breaths as it does for the train itself; all together it’s like blowing into a pot of water to keep the bubbles from spilling over. I can’t turn off the proverbial stove, but everything else helps balance the muddle in my head and stomach, somewhat…

Click-click—

–Clank—

Screep—

—Click—

The clangor yanks at my ears. Shock pounces at my heart, and my swollen, dry eyes dart across the roomette aimlessly…

Click-click—

–Clank—

Screep– Screep– Screep—

That fervent brushing noise pulls my focus to the front of me as it makes my teeth tingle uncomfortably. I take a deep breath and wipe the blurriness away to let everything come through clearer. Oh…She’s at it again…

The way she’s fixed on the laid-out tarp full of arranged bits of junk— it’s like I can throw something at her and she wouldn’t even feel it. Her horns glowing, and the aura wrapped around some of those pieces, reflecting off her brass-colored eyes, it’s like she’s not even here in the roomette right now.

Screep– Screep– Screep–

There’s that grating noise again, and it came from what looks like a barrel of a ballistic, without its body. Something bobs inside one of the ends of the tube, and comes out gently all at once. It’s a metal brush of some kind that she sets aside in a pouch next to her while a thin wire is pulled from the laid out arrangement and fitted with a small piece of cloth. It goes in, and she pushes the wire in, twiddling it on occasion before she pulls it out with care. The fabric was a light blue, I think, and now it’s some shade of sickly gray…

“Somethin' botherin’ you?” She asks in her usual curt disposition.

Nothing comes to mind, and it doesn’t matter. As soon as she asked, it’s like I’m gone from her world. She puts away the little rod and uses a small flashlight to shine it into her eye that’s peering into one end of the barrel.

There’s a shared rule about looking into the ends of anything that shoots. Although it’s not really a gun at the moment there’s also one about never looking directly into a lightsource— especially with how that metal tube would be funneling an undispersed source of light directly into her retin. And she’s not even bothered by that? What in the world is she thinking?

“Yes?” She asks, this time sounding mildly annoyed.

I say nothing, again, but the tone’s left me stiff. She’s back to fidgeting with the rest of the laid out parts after the barrel and flashlight ordeal, and… begins to put them back together with her eyes closed?

One by one, the parts float off the tarp and gravitate towards one another. They float about the room, giving me a celestial or spiritual vibe with how listless yet harmoniously they circle and click with one another as the brass glow of her magic fills the roomette. First it’s smaller pieces, and then it’s a moderately-sized assembly; finally, it’s a whole ballistic rifle, gently snapping itself straight, before finally resting upright next to Wildcat. I never thought something putting itself back together can be so… mesmerizing.

With her eyes open, now, she takes her rifle and lays it flat in front of her. She’s inspecting it like a machine— checking everything about it, flipping it around and checking the ornaments that hang along it. They’re just brass casings in a loop, accompanied by red and white cloth ornaments. It looks like the same kind that she’s got wrapped up along her hind legs— bisecting into a criss-cross pattern. How is that advantageous out there?

“Are you run-of-the-mill Enclave normally this quiet? Is gawking what you all do when you’ve got nothin’ else?”

I narrow my gaze and turn my attention back to the little window on my left, adjusting however I can to feel the steady crosswind hitting my face. There’s still a lot of sand to travel over…

It’s still too quiet… Need to fix that…

A gift from the Zebra before we left. Its thick gray frame is hard to miss on my right forehoof, but somehow I don’t feel the weight of it. I never thought I’d be seeing a Pipbuck in this good shape. Everything I know— and heard— it comes with, is still on here; it’s relatively new save for what I take for sand scuffing along the frame. Still, it doesn’t look bad for a hoof-mounted terminal… A little too bulky, in my opinion…

I’ve only been able to handle one before it was scrapped for salvage, but it doesn’t take a genius to find the radio setting…

Damn it… There’s not a single radio station out here it can pick up. I thought these things had infinite range, or was that just a techie rumor? Or was it the Zebra themselves? Nothing comes from tuning the frequency but that same warbling static that tells me there’s absolutely nothing for my Pipbuck to catch.

“I don’t think you’ll be findin’ anythin’ on the radio.” Wildcat tells me. I look up at her and she shakes her head. “That Pipbuck was given to you by the Vhoskilinn, right? Yeah, they’ve been studyin’ those things for a while, and that one’s probably shielded.”

Vou… “Shielded?”

“The Stables always had a technician who knows the ins and outs of these things— how to track them, and the like. You can’t know who else besides them knows how to do it, and as far as I know the Si-Min-Shilinn haven’t been able to clean up everythin’ of theirs from the Reclamation War. It’s a big mess.”

See-Min— The thought fizzles. I shut the fucking radio mocking me, and something else about the Pipbuck catches my eye. They’re supposed to have only one gauge, right? The geiger counter is there, but there’s an extra window coming off it— almost like it’s conjoined or dividing off. It’s like a dark bubble or an eye with the blackest pupil I can imagine. That idea alone sends chills down my spine that tears my gaze away from it. It was like being sucked in just now…

“You should be happy. I thought you— or any decent pony in your boots— would be happy.”

In reference to what? My eyes look back at hers for a moment, hoping for clarification. She shrugs at me, giving a vibe that comes off the same way that someone asking a rhetorical question would radiate; the same ‘you’re-smarter-than-this’ wise-eye always rubs me the wrong way. And what does she mean by ‘decent’?

“So you’re not at the very least happy you’re goin’ home?” She asks aloud. “Wish you were able to stay for longer, maybe?”

Every one of those questions tighten the knot in my stomach, hard and fast with a sense of dreadful urgency. I want to tell her how I feel about it; want to deny the implication that I’m more than eager to get back “home.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bird so eager to get back into its oppressive cage, and I’m glad that won’t be the case; happier that we’ll both be going this time…

Maybe she’ll have the answers. I know she does, and so does Stagona. It still weirds me out that she’s more eager to meet a mare she’s only ever heard of. I mean, I can see why— she’s still around, and she was among the last contacts from the mission… She has to know something, right?

Still… The Nag just can’t let go. Not until she gets one good, long look at me— to coddle her “baby colt” — her “good little soldier” — one more time. All for Avie…

I’m doing this for Avie…

I have to do this for her…

Otherwise… I don’t want to think about it. Not now. I’ve just got to endure it a little longer, and it’ll all be over.

“Fine. Don’t tell me— Don’t even say anythin'.” She says with an annoyed-filled sigh. “To think that, maybe, a caged bird would at least be happy to be outside, again. Hell, maybe it’d be good for you— but you’re just as muted out here as you were inside that hole you’ve been held up in for a good while.”

Again, what was going on that made her assume any of this? That’s not me talking— better yet, “Why do ya care so much?”

She huffs, adjusting one of her bangs, “Nice to know the change in scenery didn’t completely fuck with you. I’d figure you really were institutionalized.”

“Answer the question.” I demand.

She threw a hoof up and raised her brows, “It was just an observation. No harm in it— I don’t think there’d be a reason—”

“A reason for what?” I ask.

Her brows furrow. “Do you really hate the idea of visiting your home?”

“Where are ya getting these things from?”

“The fact that the Cloudskip in front of me has a gawkin’ habit, and constantly looks like he’s in between fading away and shittin’ his seat. Do you mean to tell me somethin’? Do I bother you that much? You don’ say anythin’ at all, and I’m supposed to be okay with it?”

“Ya didn’t have to come. This is involving me.”

“That wasn’ up to you. The Matriarch stuck me with you, and I intend to follow through with Her decision despite the things I can’t stand.”

I’m pressured to ask her what things she specifically couldn’t stand, but I just take a deep breath instead. What are we even going back and forth on, again?

“Just sayin’,” Wildcat continues, “I don’t know what you told the Matriarch when she invited you— or if what we’re doin’ and where we’re goin’ has anythin' to do with it— but it baffles me— disgusts me, even— that you don’t seem grateful for this in any way.”

She falls back into her seat, pulling her bangs back and rubbing her head like she’s got a headache. “The Reclamation Wars took a lot of things. What do you think happens when you’re robbed of everythin' held dear within a decade of conflict? You have the slightest idea?”

I don’t. I don’t want to know, and I’d rather not want to feed that line of thinking with possibilities. Not anymore than I already do. I don’t know about war, but I know what it’s like to live with the fear of loss; knowing that at any moment, I can lose everything because of the ones sitting in the seats of power. I’ve had to learn that since the day I got my cutie mark…

A sharp, windy whistle cries out from somewhere ahead. The momentum, it’s slowing with the panning of scenery from the window. A thought comes to mind and out my mouth, “We’re not there already, are we?”

Wildcat looks as confused as I am. She stands to poke her head out of the door to our roomette. Through the crack, I can hear some faint chatter going on, and some armored Aridians coming from behind us— her immediate right— stop momentarily to respond to what I guess is her own questions about what’s going on.

She pulls her head back in and the Aridians continue going to the front, “Routine supply stop.” She says aloud, sitting back into her spot. “Looks like we’ll be here a while.”

Wait a minute… we’re actually going to stop here? Right this second? I’m torn; all I feel is a pensive loosening of the knot in my stomach. “What about the Na— the General?”

“The Enclave’s gonna have to wait.” She says, waiting at the door for me to get up, “I’m sure the Matriarch— or at the very least the Qalkam-Hal’shalinn— had told them about the route this freight train would be taking, and the Mutfaylinn need to keep to their schedule…”

Another word I don’t know? Or have I heard it before? It feels like I do…

“Just hang in there, and stay outta the way.” She continues, “The faster they get this whole thing done, it’ll go by like nothing.”

My stomach growls with agony as the knot gets tighter and tighter, writhing on the inside as it threatens to constrict all the nerve bundles from inside. Fuckin dammit… Fuckin dammit!

“Supper’ll come along soon, too.” She says. “Just hang in there and don’t throw a fit.”

That’s not what I’m waiting for… I don’t want to wait for anything, anymore…

* * * * * *

The train whistle sounds off in a strange, familiar pattern. Momentum pulls at me slightly like before; it’s slowing down, but this time I can hear it. It’s a long, dragging, metallic creek that echoes under us as we’re eased to a halt. Finally, it stops, and the whole armored locomotive breathes long and hard, easing in its entirety.

While it rests, everything else stirs. Wildcat jumps up, throwing her tarp over her frame— becoming a cloak— followed by her rifle, proper. “We’re here,” She says nonchalantly, before her tone whips into a more stern and pushy type, “Get movin!”

The way her words cracked in my face, my knees go rigid and cold— forcing me upright and stiff as armor in stasis. Memory echoes the first time she spoke to me like that; when the Matriarch was expecting me. I know who’s expecting me, and my stomach becomes lead while my blood slowly becomes ice. I don’t have to think about where my head’s going, and I can’t stop it; not until every fiber in my body is frozen till my joints creek, and my cheeks begin to burn…

“We’re not doin’ this again, Cloudskip,” Wildcat snaps with restraint. “C’mon!”

I lower my head and follow her out, keeping my eyes open and to the shadow of her tail. The whole trek through the bowels of the armored snake it’s as if there’s a fire just at my flank; if I don’t maintain a steady pace and keep up, I’ll get bit. Just go along with it… Just go along with it… It’ll be over and done with; just a little back and forth, and then we’re done… Just a little longer…

The air, it’s full of chatter, invading the stillness of the train. Beyond the step in front of me is concrete. My booted hoof reaches out, makes contact, and I force myself to jump off. There’s a bump at my shoulder, and I instantly recoil. Senses flaring, joints springing; my wings ruffle and pop half-way open. What was that? Who was that?!

“Hey, are you still with me? What was that?” Wildcat asks, shooting me a skeptical look.

Everything settles, and my breath slows with my heart. Throbbing comes around to make my head a beaten drum. I hold myself at the bridge of my nose, cover my eyes and rub them in to make it go away.

“Don’t—” A throb catches me. “Don’t sneak up on me. Not here.”

She looks even more confused. “You weren’t sayin’ anythin,’ and I was right here the whole time—”

“The lost son’s finally here!” A sound that cuts through the ambience. It’s a stallion’s voice that pushes everything and everyone else aside, bringing animosity to the forefront of my mind. Wildcat looks caught off guard by it, and she turns around into the direction of those loud, boisterous words. And there he is…

“Ace…” I mumble.

He comes up with a cold strut that betrays the energy his words had, clad in Wonderbolt-themed combat armor that starkly contrasts his fiery red colors. His smile makes me think he’s genuinely happy to see me, but I can’t say the same— not for him or his entourage of lackeys.

Wildcat steps between us, and Ace looks genuinely surprised. “Back up,” she warns.

He looks over her, fixing that one large, ridiculous bang hanging over his face. “You’re really Trade, huh? I almost didn’t recognize you under all that Aridian garb. Seriously, almost a month or so and you start mingling with the natives?” I give him a cold stare, and not a word.

“Where’s your General?” Wildcat asks, finally catching his attention.

“Actually, that’s why I’m here. That’s why we are here.” He says. “The General’s inside, waiting. She wanted us to bring him to her while we wait for the arrival of your Matriarch. Say… are you really an Aridian? You don’t look like—”

“You’re about to look like a real mess if you don’t shut it.” She snaps.

“Feisty like one; maybe you really are. I apologize.” He says. “Anyways, Trade you’re with me—”

“Wherever he goes, I go.” Wildcat interrupts with firm certainty in her voice. “I’m his Keldusrani'; it’s the job given to me by Her.”

“Last I checked, we had jurisdiction within our own territory given to us by… her. The General wants him, and him only. You can wait here and help your cousins, or sisters, or whatever this crew means to you, with unloading the supplies. It’s only him that’s allowed.”

She looks back at me. Is she expecting an objection? I don’t even know if I can. Her nostrils flare with a snort and she turns back to him, “You have your duties, I have mine. I’ll leave when she’s the one to tell me.”

That’s a little bold… I wish he was wrong about the whole jurisdiction thing, but he isn’t. Still, I don’t think it’d be in the Nag’s interest to do anything drastic with an Aridian in the Cage…

Ace rolls his head back, opening up his smile, “Alright. Alright, we’ll play it like that.”

Wildcat exclaims something, though I can’t hear what it was she just said above all the commotion going on. A part of me is relieved, nonetheless, but another isn’t so sure how to feel about it. It’s like I’m floating without a harness and no control over my own buoyancy; I’ll sink at any minute. Any minute…

“You can’t be walking around with either of those things,” Ace gestures to her brass- gilded get up; to the rifle she has slung on her, and such. “Check in with the Master of Arms, she’ll hold your stuff, and then maybe I’ll consider letting you tag along.”

I can hear her equipment clatter against her frame. One of her hooves is firmly against a particular place along the side of her chest. The burning look on her face makes me think of a mare who’s been asked a deeply personal question that would’ve had a stallion slapped for bringing it up.

Ace’s own expression is unmoved. “I didn’t think a mare could marry what amounts to metal and wood. What, flesh and blood stallions too much for you?”

He chuckles; his lackeys chuckles. Wildcat steams.

“You’d get your toys back.” Ace reassures her in his condescending tone. “If you’re not okay with it, then just wait here. Help your fellow Sandtrotter and stick to your social codes or whatever it is you all do. I’m sure Momma Aridian will completely understand why you chose your toys over your duties as a… Kel–Kal–Keldu–whatever it is you call yourself.”

Wildcat’s eyes twitch and the bridge of her nose creases. Her nose is flared and her eyes look more orange than brass. Everything tells me to back up, and I’m slowly letting it happen. She begins to swear something fierce under her breath. Whatever it sounds like, it makes me think of a tantrum.

“It’s not that hard.” Ace comments.

“I will leave them, and I will know if you’ve done anythin’ to them.” Wildcat finally speaks with a tone that can cut skin by just being near her.

Ace actually looks like he can’t hold his laugh, and it comes out. He catches himself afterwards, this time looking like he broke the high score at the range. “ I might actually like you. Just… wow— that’s a lot of fire for firepower! Heh…”

She’s not having it. The feeling is mutual…

“That’s exactly what I needed to get my morning started…” Ace thinks aloud, giving himself a good headshake as he takes point, “Stick close— especially you, uh…”

“Wildcat.” She says.

“Yeah. Just stick close, watch yourself, and you’ll be able to leave your guns with the Master of Arms stationed at the entrance further down the loading station. It’s not everyday a horned one walks in, especially one like you.”

Wildcat says something in response. Still not sure what it was, but I recognize a razor’s edge in the exclamation.

“If that’s the split-tongue I keep hearing, try showing a little hospitality and regard for those around you. Not every pegasus here can speak it.”

Nothing else is said. I’m glad she recognizes the value in going back and forth with this stallion. It’s just not worth it. Never is…

Into the Cage proper.

Can she see me? I know she can; the chill hits me strongest here.

What do ya want? What is it ya really want? I already know the answer, but asking regardless helps me, somewhat… If just a little…

* * * * * *

Nothing has changed since not waking up here. It’s still the same crowded and cold halls; the same murals along the walls— some of it has expanded, if only a little; the same O’Leery banners hanging under the lights lining the edge of the ceiling.

But their eyes— all of their eyes, every one of them in the halls— they gawk at me, as Ace and his Wonderbolts part the traffic. I try keeping my head down, but the feeling doesn’t fall off like rain; not like it used to.

Do they know something, after all? Am I that big a blip on their radar, now? How spread out is the incident?

Nothing around me helps, not even the hood I pull over my face. It’s as if their stares burn through the fabric hiding me; neither does Ace or Wildcat’s presence help. The attention is worse by their proxy, and it’s getting harder to breathe; colder to move.

“Keep up back there!” Ace hollers before turning his snout back to the crowd yet to be parted before him, “Make way! Make way for the Wonderbolts! Nothing to see! Make way; Go about your business!”

“Nothing to see”... Pointless. These drones, they listen to him; they part way for him, but when they’re out of his immediate area it doesn’t matter. “Go about your business”... In one ear, and out the other for all of them. I can feel every one of them, but I can still feel hers over all. It gets stronger and stronger the higher and closer we get to the acme of the Cage.

One flight; Two flights; it’s not that far from when we left the station— it shouldn’t be that far. Is it me or is it the world that’s forcing the distance to stretch and time to slow. I don’t want to be there, but the anticipation bleeds me cold.

It’s all the same, but things still feel out of place in the back of my mind. The Captain; the team, I can’t make any of them out. They’re somewhere, but I don’t know if they’re here in the Cage at this moment. Even as the crowds begin to thin the lower we go, they still don’t show up. Slowly, it’s starting to seem just as likely that they’re up and about… Or worse…

“What do you all even do here?” Wildcat speaks up as we continue our descent. I don’t know if she’s asking me, or our escort. Maybe both?

“Depends on the job and the officer.” Ace speaks up.

“Like what?”

No answer.

Taking a peek to my right, Wildcat makes a peeved face. “So many pegasi for one place, in a land that needs as much of them out there, than in here. Why?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions.”

Nothing else is said. The rest of the walk is still, and we stop right at the last flight leading up to the acme room looking down on everything inside this bunker. The Wonderbolts guarding the set snap to attention the minute Ace rolls up. They salute; he exchanges the gesture, and they resume guard the minute he drops his hoof.

“This is it.” Ace says, turning to look at me. “Your friend’s gonna have to wait out here while I bring you to her.”

We’re not friends… “What about her?” I ask, flicking my head towards Wildcat.

“She’ll be escorted back.” He answers. “She can’t linger anymore than she’s been allowed. We can’t be too careful, eh, uni?”

Wildcat audibly snorts.

“And that’s what I’m talking about right there. She’d be better with her kin or whatever they call themselves. The General wouldn’t want any fuss or complications, and neither do I since I’ve had to deal with her so far.”

I take a deep breath, looking at the stairs and seeing the landing at the top of this flight get away from me. Freezing at the first step, looking up and seeing many more to go. I’d fly over them— get it over with like a bandaid, but the dimensions won’t let me open my wings comfortably to do that. It’s forcing me to walk them; to count every step up as my own heartbeat gets louder and louder with every thud my walking makes.

It’s not that many stairs… It’s frustrating and dreadful.

With every step the atmosphere changes just a little, it seems. Colder, and harder to breathe.

Just get it over with…

The door’s right there… It’s right there!

My hoof won’t budge to push the button to request entry. She’s right behind the door, I just know it. She’s waiting for me… The first thing she wants to see…

“Open the door, Trade.”

Ace’s words give me the shock my hoof needs to buzz for entry. The door opens to jolt me even more. She’s… She’s not there…

The open doorway is clear, but I could’ve sworn she was there grinning at me.

“Anytime, Staff Sergeant!” Ace pushes me into the spacious office. She’s not at the desk at the center of the room, or at the numerous screens behind it. The dread pulls my attention to the left — to the giant glass eye overlooking the hangar. Her back is turned towards me, and she’s quiet…

“General Diamond Dust, ma’am!” Ace snaps at attention, his stomp and salute startle and bounce off the walls. Her ears flick, and are the only thing that moves in response to Ace’s introduction.

“What is the first thing you do when in the presence of an officer, Trade Wind? What aren’t you doing, now?” Her words—seasoned, windy, ostentatious— crawl into my ears and rake at my brain.

The deeper they go, the more lost I feel— the more lost I feel the more every thought feels wrong, stuck, and hesitant— the more they feel stuck, wrong, and hesitant, the angrier she’s getting that I’m not saying or doing what she wants me to do…

She’ll be mad if I salute now because I didn’t when I was supposed to, but if I don’t salute I’ll still get what’s coming…

I-I-I didn’t—I mean—Um—I’m supposed too—

“Captain Ace. Leave us.” She says, stern and authoritative like a gavel strike. “Thank you for bringing me what I asked. Now see to the preparations for the eventful arrival of the Matriarch of Grand Aridia.”

“Ma’am!” Ace snaps with confidence and pride. My eyes fall onto the floor as my ears hone in on the fleeting hoofbeats of the Wonderbolt leaving the room.

The door closes behind me.

Time stands still, and the dread seeps into every muscle and joint that’s holding me up. I just keep my eyes down, fighting the urge to look at the General. She hasn’t said a word, and my blood runs cold because of it.

My eyes shift on impuls—

The room shifts into a blur, sound becomes a buzz in my left ear, and it’s as if the world slid out from under my hooves. The floor meets me with a harsh thud that knocks at my head. Stars are in my vision, and everything I see is dimmer. My cheek feels fat… Numb… Stinging… Burning…

Thinking about it makes it hurt, and I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s hot to the touch; my hoof won’t stop shaking, the wounds won’t stop throbbing. Tears well up and blur everything as I hold my head to keep it from falling off. I try to say something, but all that wants to come out is a hissing; too many things that want to come out.

I’m trying to say I’m sorry… I need to say it, but she won’t like the scream…

Her words slowly slither through the droning, getting right into my ear and biting hard, “Do you remember now?! Answer me!”

Taking a deep breath, stifling the sniveling and shakiness in it, I get back up on my hooves and crack the salute.

Tells her what she wants to hear… Tell her what she wants to hear…

The pain from the smack’s welling up and pushing what needs to come out down. It’s suffocating to dredge it up, and it’s like I’m going to pop. “Staff Sergeant Trade Wind! Third Stormtroopers! Reporting, General Diamond Dust, Ma’am!”

Those icy blue eyes. The air burns my skin as they radiate everything that makes my bones rattle. I can’t drop the salute, and I suck up the pain as best I can. She’ll kill me if I do, and…

She doesn’t blink, not once. Her hoof sharply raises and I wince from the jolt to my heart, trying hard not to look away. I dare not move away, but so many things are screaming in my head; painting blurry pictures that rouse bring up all the horrible stings and bruises. What did I do? What did I do— I’m sorry—I’m so—

My heart might’ve just stopped, but— it doesn’t make sense. Her hoof’s blow is a lot softer, and she decided to go for my shoulder. It doesn’t stay there, but wraps around and pulls at me, bringing closer to her. She hums into my ear, the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. Her breathing is deep, slow, but it stops abruptly. Why did she stop? Why did she?

“Those split-tongued animals,” She says with a growling whisper. “When was the last time you had a shower? Answer me.”

“A-a-a day before—” I cough and swallow the growing lump in my throat. “A day before the departure… ma’am.”

“They don’t have running water on those trains?” She prods. “Or do they drink that, too, after they’ve used it— per their backwater custom?”

I’ve never seen anything like that… “No… ma’am.”

“Trade Wind, I thought we were past all of this. This isn’t how I remember my good soldier.”

I know what she means. My brain and my heart tussle over reason and fear, trying to figure a way around this. I don’t know what to do— What does she mean? “I’m sorry.” Is all I can say.

“I’m sorry?” She echoes… or does she?

“I’m sorry, ma’am!” I repeat, a little louder.

“Sorry about what?”

I shake my head a little. I’m sorry for something, and it’s what she just said. I’m not being a good soldier, and I can’t keep my words steady. They just… fumble out of my lips and fizz out like a dying spark on a wick.

“How can I have a pleasant conversation with my son if I can’t hear a single thing he’s saying? I certainly hope you weren’t this meek with the Aridians.”

The crushing weight of realization makes my ears fold. That’s what happened, sometimes, but all the time. I didn’t mean to…She knows, right?

“You did, didn’t you?”

She saw right through me, and I can’t look her in the eye to tell her. “I’m sorry… ma’am. I didn’t know what happened… ma’am.”

“Trade Wind, you’re not making any sense. Why are you so worked up? You’re home.”

This isn’t— “I know. It’s just… It’s been a while. I don’t— I don’t know what happened…”

“You decided to contribute, for once, to the Enclave.” She points out. “I’m disappointed it didn’t go as smoothly as I hoped. How often does this happen, to have your son suddenly disappear? You nearly gave me a heart attack for everything. Everything.”

“But… I came back.”

There’s a long, debilitating sigh. She braces my shoulders again, “Yes you did, for the better.”

I did come back… But then I left… I left her behind…

“Still, it’s good that you’re back, and not entirely lost to indignation,” Her hoof glides across the clothes Stagona gave me. “These clothes, however, stink of the desert. I’d rather you get out of them before I can barely recognize you.”

“They were a—”

“A what?”

“I had nothing… ma’am.”

My chin is pulled up, and my eyes follow. It’s hard to keep the chills from showing, and it’s harder to to look away, again. “We really need to work on how you say “mom” like that. It wouldn’t’ve been an issue if you were still here— where you should always be.”

But… I’m being respectful… I’m saying “ma’am” not “mom” — She heard me say it… Unless I really did… I did…

Another smile creeps over her face, and she begins to laugh at herself. No, she’s laughing at me. My cheeks feel hot, and that sinking feeling gets a whole lot worse as she chortles.

“Oh Trade Wind, just relax— it’s just a joke. Don’t overthink it.”

That doesn’t sound right. “For once”? I’ve contributed more than that. But how can I do that when she wants me here? She didn’t have a problem with me moving to the barracks, but then again I got a nasty look when I decided to move forward with it. It’s confusing…

“Look at us still standing; we should be on the couch.” She shakes at my shoulders and makes her way to it against the wall, sitting on her preferred cushion. The moment she turns her head to me, I jump to take my seat. She insists with a gentle patting that I sit right next to her.

Taking a deep breath, and easing onto the spot she set for me, I keep looking elsewhere. Somewhere; some place ahead of me. Waiting…

“So tense as always.” She comments. “You can’t seem to relax, can you. How… ironic.”

Ironic? What’s ironic?

“Look at me,” she asks. My body tingles along the parts of me closest to her; I don’t know where she’ll be touching, or how I should react.

Where’s she going to come from? I can’t make it out. The tingles are scrambling along my left side from my face to the wing…

I can’t… I can’t…

“I thought you knew better, Trade Wind. I will not be made the bad pony, again. All I’m asking for is your eyes. Show them to me.”

Like she hasn’t seen them enough, already? It’s always my eyes, always. What does she see in them? I don’t understand; never did. They’re just like anyone else's…

My right cheek is hooked, and my face torques painfully in her direction. She doesn’t let go of me, and I can feel my skin burning.

Her hooves come up and hold both my cheeks. I dare not look away. Her cold eyes are so happy with my vermillion in their reflection. Her lips come close, and she bends my head down a little to peck my forehead. One time; two times, almost back to back, but everytime our eyes are forced to lock the peering gets a little longer.

“Good soldier.” She tells me. “Good, good soldier.”

I am… The Matriarch’s words echo in my head; the talk of oath and faith— honor-binding, and the like. I know what I said; I know what I thought to myself. What I said, and what the Na– what General Diamond Dust says. How am I a good soldier, when I ended up where I am, now?

The general lets my face go, and now her attention goes to the Pipbuck on my forehoof. She pulls it up to her face where she can get a better look at it. “Now, why would they give you something like this if not to trade? That is unbecoming of them, now… hello?”

She was asking me that time? Taking a deep breath to come up with the explanation. It’s there, “Um… Yes, ma’am. The Pipbuck was… was given to me because… Well, because…”

“Because what?” She asks, fidgeting with the knobs.

I can’t get my words out. There’s not enough air coming past my lips to project them, “I-I-I don’t know. I don’t…remember...”

“You mean you’re forgetful? Or you just won’t tell me?” She snaps. I look away as she says that. “This is not like you to keep secrets from me. You wouldn’t want to keep from your dear mother, Trade Wind. Remember that? Do you remember what happens when you keep things in the dark?”

I want to say I don’t, but I’ve always had a feeling. But it’s just that; a gut instinct that makes imagination and speculation run wild. It's a coincidence, but maybe it’s not? I don’t know— there’s nothing substantial about it. They always disappear, but everyone and anyone can get lost out there or suffer an accident doing something. Just like Avie’s… No, that one was an accident!

“Your eyes say it all.”

Stones drop in my stomach, en masse. I’m sinking into the couch; shrinking; I can’t close my eyes or stop thinking about it. She knows… She knows!

“You wouldn’t break my heart, again, now, would you?” Her words are sad. “First you turn down my exemption for military service; then you brush me off callously when I worked hard to bring you into the Wonderbolts; and now you continue to lie, lie, lie to me!”

All those things. I had my reasons, and they were mine to be made. “It’s not like—”

“Like what?!” She bursts, throwing my forehoof away from her and forcing me to look her in the eye, again. Her hold’s too tight… It’s too tight… “Don’t. You. Dare. I seriously doubt I taught you anything like that. From where and from whom did you pick this up? Is it those split-tongued savages?”

There’s a rumble in her voice; a low growl itching to come out.

“I-I-I wanted to do things on my own… Spread my wings.”

“And look where that got you!” She snaps. The force of her words is like a grenade, and the shock makes me jump. “Look at yourself, now! It has barely been a month that you have been taken from me, and you only have yourself to blame! A son should never have to come back like you did. The way she was carrying you… The danger she brought into this place— those eyes from the desert gawking at you! Careless! This is what happens when you completely disregard all I’ve tried to do for you! Everything! None of this would have happened!”

It’s like a hammer coming down. One remark after another pounds into my head, knocking me down several pegs until I’m the size of a colt. It never grows numb, no matter how many times I hear it for any little thing; always more aggressive. Always the loser.

My eyes hurt, trying to fight back the tears from the words worming into my head. I can’t get them out, because I know she’s right. It’s my fault. It’s always been my fault.

I didn’t mean to…

I did mean to…
I couldn’t—
I wouldn’t—
I…

There’s a presence on my head easing itself down, and I still flinch. It feels like a hoof, rubbing itself into my mane in a stiff, seemingly gentle manner. I can’t get over her words, even if she were trying to scrub the thoughts away— Or rub them in…

“Forty years since we lost everything; twenty-odd years since I lost everything.” She says, in a waxing tone this time. “I do not like having to do or say things that are difficult to swallow, but sometimes they need to be done. I won’t lose more— not to the Wasteland, or to the ghosts of the past. It won’t happen.”

There’s too much noise in my head. I understand all of it, and none of it at the same time. One word stands out from the buzz: “-She-”

“I’ve done your mother’s last wish right, in spite of every bump in the road. You are my responsibility. Mine. ” I feel her lean into my ear. Her subtle, cold breathing crawls down my ear and makes my hair stand on end. “She won’t take you from me. No matter what. Now, give me a hug and a kiss.”

Who’s she? Which she? Don’t say anything…

Don’t assume anything out loud…

Hold my breath, count to three; bite on my tongue if I need to…

Don’t say a word…

Don’t step out of line…

Compulsions jerk me around to give her a peck on the cheek and the hug is nothing but me lounging onto her frame until my entire side is up against her front. I can never hear the heartbeat from a mare so cold to the touch that it bleeds through my clothes, too; one who calls herself a ‘mother...’

My mind drifts to Avie, and her gentle hugs. It’s hard to try and hold onto that memory of her cozy, warm, soft fur and wings; the soup and her glee; her eyes and smile. It’s too cold for that feeling to stay…

Avie…

Where are you, Avie…

What did she do to you?

“Now,” the General says aloud, “you better get that bruise on your cheek sorted before the Matriarch arrives. I want you to look exceptionally presentable, and, thankfully, I’m prepared.”

She gets up from the lounging couch, and I stay where I am. My eyes follow her slow gait to the far end of the office— past the circular desk at the center of the room and to the right of the master security terminal, to a separate room beyond another door.

The minute she vanishes, my eyes catch onto a standing picture frame. Those are my eyes staring back at me, but the pony in the picture is a smiling mare with colors like the sun. It’s a face I haven’t seen in a long time, but it’s one I have no feelings about. She looks so happy… Is she?

Diamond Dust enters the picture, and my attention’s back on her. Underneath a pale white wing are… “My… My dress uniform.”

“I had saved it when they took you from me. It’s all you needed, and everything else has been donated. I know you understand.”

It’s the one thing I didn’t think would happen. I might as well have been considered dead, and the Na– the General, kept what she felt was important. Still, a part of my heart wrenches over some of the small things I collected; all gone.

“What about… these… ma’am?” I ask, weakly gesturing to what I’m wearing.

She takes a deep breath, and her eyes pull up to the ceiling. Annoyed. “We could have it burned if it didn’t mean offending a certain somepony. I suppose you can just leave them here, and I’ll have somepony throw them back into the train.”

I nod and she drops the folded clothes next to me. Atop the pile is a manilla folder.

“That is for the mare she’s been asking about. You’re going to get yourself presentable and leave this with the Med Wing staff. Once you do, you will come right back to the station and we will wait for the Matriarch. Do I make myself clear?”

The question sounds like it’s said through gritted teeth. I swallow the growing lump in my throat. “Yes… ma’am.”

“I’m sorry?!”

Fear forces my eyes back up at her; forces the answer she wants out, “Yes ma’am! Right away, ma’am!”

That smile creeps across her face, again. A sated smile that burns into my mind.

Yes, ma’am…

Sorry, ma’am…

Right away… Ma’am…

* * * * * *

The call was relayed; a call from the Mountain. She’s on her way, and we wait in the shade of the Mouth of the Cage— looking out towards the emptiness slowly gaining a tint of orange, and trying to make sense of the rippling heat waves. It’s deathly silent, and that’s more than unnerving. It’s just us— me, the Na— General, and the small ceremonial welcome standing in formation and waiting to go forward with the welcoming. The crew of the train— they’re also waiting, but I don’t see Wildcat. Is she still wrangling with her things at the QM? Or is she just lost in the crowd on account of the Aridians’ size?

A breeze rolls though to pick up dirt and sand to make it dance along the tracks. It comes back around, this time bringing more of it up like a curtain or a veil. Once more, only something’s different. There in the distance, where it looks like sandy whirlwinds are forming— There’s something there. Someone.

At first, it may have been just a shape; my mind making something out of the twisting shadows, but it’s more than that. As the sandy curtain builts, the shape becomes a distinct silhouette, and when it finally drops there is a figure walking towards us. The lookouts confirm it: it’s her.

Not just her… Something’s off about her. The heat-haze, the way it dances around her… It’s like I’m seeing two…three of her—now five of her, walking towards us…

Each of those mirages split from her, still walking as she does as they drift away from her at the center. I blink, now there are four figures fanking her— two on each side, and the closest to her were different. To her right was a figure covered in dark robes from head to hoof. The veil over their face, in particular, is familiar.

On the Matriarch’s left is somepony else. They’re definitely a pony, but their face is covered with a muzzle-less mask.

Accompanying the three— flanking all of them, is a small group of the Matriarch’s Guard… Saansrah, I think? The sun highlights their brilliant white robes, but as they begin to stand out from the mirage, it’s their eyes that remain the most luminous thing in the sun-bleached emptiness— more than their dress, and more than their wicked armaments. Yellow… Violet… Yellow… All their eyes glow, save for the extras.

My eyes shift over to the General. Without turning her head to Ace on the other side of her, she says, “Proceed with the welcome.”

The dog parrots her words with a howling order. The leads of each of the welcoming parties begin their march and pour out into the sun as the Matriarch gets closer, following a vocalized tempo; left-left-left-right-left. Marching side by side in their own single-file lines, they split from the track in a Y-fashion until they’re roughly the same distance from one another. They keep going, going, then stop; snap their attention towards the track and the direction of the Matriarch relative to them; stomp their hooves once and keep themselves stiff as boards while she walks on through.

They shouldn’t be out there like that… They don’t even have camel packs, and their peak caps don’t help with the sun… Doesn’t dark clothing absorb more heat?

None of them are bowing…

The Aridian crew, they’re out in the sun; covered in their garbs, hoods, and face-masks. They all bow with the gesture, some of them going even lower than others— so low they might even kiss the sand, or fall face-first into it. Huh… All of their tails are curved around in the same direction—

“Kalsha-haam!” Diamond Dust shouts out towards the Matriarch from the shade. “Welcome, Great Mother of Grand Aridia! I wasn’t expecting the School or the Inquisitor. Is there something in particular that I should know?”

I do the gesture; hoof to heart, frog out, and a gentle bow. As I do it, the cold creeps up on me, disapprovingly. Without turning to acknowledge those icy blue eyes, I slowly take back my gesture and go back to standing about, staring out.

The Matriarch keeps her attention to Diamond Dust, speaking clear through the mask, “General. How thoughtful a welcome, but careless.”

“The desert may take the weak, but my soldiers can endure. It’s what they trained for; it is the Enclave, itself.” The General retorts. Just as she says that, I’m beginning to see the cracks forming under the heat stress. It’s seen in how they keep their chin too far high, mouths open, and their booted hooves shifting restlessly in the dirt. How long until the sun dries them out? Until they’re unable to sweat and overheat? The weather’s still strange; a pegasus should handle it. The question is whether or not the General can see that…

“Bring them in, General.” The Matriarch tells her. The way she says it, is like a cautious command; considerate.

The General waits for a bit before saying something, finally, “Bring them back in, Captain.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Ace barks before parroting the orders over the Matriarch. For fuck sake, is he serious?!

“Why don’t we come inside,” The General suggests. “I can see if the cooks—”

“I will not take long with these discussions. Where we are will suffice, so long as you stay in the shade.”

There’s a noticeable, but still very subtle turn to the Matriarch’s head when she hears the General speak up. “I suppose that works. How about we wait until the station has been cleared of any eavesdroppers. This is a private negotiation that nopony other than our entourage should hear—”

“The train is right there,” The Matriarch gestures to the armored beast. “It should have a compartment that can make this exchange more formal and comfortable.”

“Ah yes, your train,” The General’s words are a little uncertain, but she sets herself straight, “I apologize for overstepping, but I’d like to repeat my question from before.”

“This is about the stallion, no?”

“That doesn’t thoroughly answer my question.” The General says, almost annoyed.

“And it will be answered once talks begin.” The Matriarch reassures her. Her mask looks about our immediate area, “I cannot help but notice that we are one party short. Where might Aviatrix be?”

“She is being prepped, and will be with us shortly.”

“Excellent, then we shall proceed,” As the Matriarch turns to the entrance of the train, she looks back at me. “Trade Wind, would you be the one to inform us when she has arrived?”

Hearing the name make my heart skip a beat. I didn’t think I’d hear it from her, but my skin crawled hearing her voice say it.

I nod, but a chill crawls up my back to stop my head midway through it. In the edge of my vision, I feel those icy blue eyes burning into me, again. This time, I know what I need to do…

With a gulp of air, I push out my chest and salute firmly. “Ma’am, yes ma’am!”

I haven’t let go of my breath, nor have I let my salute drop. The flow from the eye-holes in her mask don’t calm like the last time I saw them.

What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong? What did…

“He’s such a good young stallion, General.” The Matriarch comments to the pegasus in black.

Diamond Dust’s lips twitch into an open-mouthed smile. “Why thank you, Saan-Al’Kimah.”

Not another word as they step up into the cart. The Matriarch’s guard escorts the entourage and the General inside, and some remain posted outside like sentries. They stare out, the intense glow of their eyes are like searchlights. Always scanning; always waiting.

Alone, again… There’s nothing left but my thoughts, and they’re all saying the same things: What are they discussing?

It’s not my business… But it’s about me… Me and Avie—

The thought brings my attention to the way I’ve been coming and going; past the Wonderbolts and Aridians; past the entrance to the Quartermaster. I’d hope to see her just as I focus on it, but nothing. It’s as vacant as it gets.

There’s nothing better to do, but to just wait for things to happen— I guess. With that, I ease near one of the support beams, facing the way into the Cage.

Tick…

…tick…

A familiar face comes around from the Aridians. The sight of her amber-orange bangs and gray horn isn’t the kind of hope I’d be feeling— I’m not even sure why I’m feeling like that, honestly. Still, it’s something, I guess, seeing her checking her guns at the Master of Arms station several times over even though she’s not at the focus of my attention.

Tick…

…tick…

The heat and humidity are going, and the lights are dimming awake.

Pegasi go in and out, trading places as the cold starts to settle. The uniform I’m still wearing isn’t too good at keeping the heat when it matters. I wrap my wings around myself to try and make things feel a little better, and make sure that the wind coming up on my back doesn’t get through.

“Well, this looks familiar…” Ace’s voice cuts the gentle ambiance with his smug voice. “The General’s son, all by his lonesome, wrapped in his wings and waiting for pegasi to come to him.”

I look over to see him coming around my right and looking down at me. I’ll give him credit: this does feel uncomfortably familiar and juvenile.

“I thought the lapdog would be with the General.” I told him, turning my attention back to the entrance ahead of me.

“I thought her pet would be with her, too. But here you are, looking less the soldier and more the lost pup.”

“Pet”... He has no fucking clue what he’s talking about…

“What do ya want, Ace?”

He clicks his teeth, “I can’t play catch up with an old friend?”

It’s like he’s mocking me with the way he plays with those words. It makes my teeth grind, “Shouldn’t a Captain of your outfit be doing more important things than talking to me?”

“Na, I’m off duty! Friends get together for that… unless they’re you— a shy-eyed recluse who’s more occupied with things other than what he’s already got.”

“How you got into the Wonderbolts with an aim like that, trying to shoot the shit, is a mystery.”

He chuckles, “I prefer ‘miracle’; a hard-earned miracle.”

“Ya haven’t answered my question—”

“Yea, and neither did you— do you remember that? When you abandoned friendship and end-goals for pussy?”

His words are gas on embers. I feel it boiling in my chest with how he’s worded her— objectified her like that and put obscene thoughts into my head. It’s hard to keep my tone down; too tempting to explode if it didn’t mean worse things. Steam is still coming out of me, and my breath feels hotter than it should. “Who…the fuck…do you think you are?!”

“Maybe you’ve forgotten that, too,” He says with a dimming grin. “Speaking up to somepony higher up than you is grounds for disciplinary action.”

That’s just like you: hiding behind your occupation when it suits you— you pretentious prick…

I snort hard and bury half my head in my wings— fighting myself not to scream at the situation.

“Bless you,” He says, making it much harder for me to vent silently. “You know, that mare that follows you… you have a terrible taste in mares. Why do you do that to yourself? You literally can’t look elsewhere?”

It could be those words he’s shoved into my head a while ago, but I can see what he’s trying to say. I think I know him enough to know what he’s trying to say, and it’s pissing me off. Why is he even still talking? Is he baiting me into doing something I’ll regret? Something that’ll come with a transactional cost to waive? “Get out of my head…”

“What was that?” He asks.

“Ream someone else out… Please… Sir!” My jaw can’t take the teeth grinding anymore than it already is.

I look up at him, he just stares at me. Some part of me expects something snarky to come out of his mouth. His ears twitch instead, and he looks in the direction I’ve been trying to keep my focus on this whole time. “And here she comes.” He says in a lazy singing tone.

My eyes slide over in that direction. She is… What did they do to her?!

Avie’s coming over, her head hanging low; mane is a tangled mess under her hat; her eyes obscured by goggles; muzzled by a constricting breathing apparatus; chained, wings restrained; surrounded by pegasi in orange-dommed helmets and white outfits that cover them head to hoof.

Everyone around makes room for the group as they walk on over into our direction. The closer she gets, the more I see the state she’s in; the more it tears at me to see her like this. My thoughts go wild with how she’s gotten like this; how a mare in quarantine could end up… like this! She looks more like a prisoner of war…

My knees are aching to sprint for her— to push all these armed escorts away and to just… hold her! Why?! Why is she like this?! The more the questions pile up, the more this pain in my chest festers and threatens to take out the asshole that just shoved her along with the broadside of a rifle!

“Avie? Avie!” The questions, the concern, they all propel me towards her in haste. The closer I get— the harder my heart starts to pump. “Avie!”

She’s not reacting to me. Her warm natural smile is a cold, withered frown. I can’t see her eyes through her goggles, and it’s even harder with her mane dropped over them.

One of those faceless monsters puts his rifle out to keep me from getting to her, “Back away, soldier!” His filtered voice warns, “Step away from the thaumahazard!”

“She has a name!”

“I said step back!” He shoves me back, causing a slight stumble. “For the love of the flock, don’t make this any harder than it already is!”

A hoof lands on my shoulder, and my heart jumps immediately.

“Easy there, Sergeant.” Ace speaks up, coming around at my side and keeping that hoof on me. “Let’s just back away, and let the Hazard Team do their stuff. Don’t worry, they’re taking good care of her.”

Good care of her?! Nothing about the way she looks tells me that’s the case! If I see so much as a bruise or a scuff on her I’ll—

“Let’s give them the space, Sergeant.” Ace continues, pulling me back before speaking over me. “Carry on.”

The Hazard Team moves Avie into the third cart down from the one the discussions are taking place. Following them are two of the Aridians, beckoned by one of the Team— may be asking where’s the best place to leave her. I expect them to be asking about a proper isolation space on the train; that and their incessant demands for them to speak a language they can understand. The expectations go on in my head…

“Hey, there comes that Unicorn.” Ace points out, still holding my shoulder and shaking it as if I were more than just an ‘old friend.’ I finally pull away from it, and look to where Wildcat would be coming from.

Her walk is stiff, with a bad eye and frown, stopping for a moment to notice the Hazard Team’s coming out of the train with the Aridian escort before moving along towards us.

“Say, hope everything went smoothly for you!” Ace calls out. “I know the QM is a little hard-nosed, but maybe she kept your things as they were the minute you set them on her counter.”

Wildcat snorts, then looks at what I’m wearing. “Where did your clothes go?” She looks right at Ace.

He gently raises a hoof in protest, cocking his head away from her. “Don’t look at me, Mutfay—however-you-say-it. Weren’t me, but the General. He looks more dashing than those bandages you had him wear. I wouldn’t’ve been surprised if she mistook him for a mummy.”

“He looks like a doll.” Wildcat retorts.

That comment… It doesn’t stick well with me, at all…

“I’ll take that as a compliment, then. Dolls are nice, and these little fashion accessories are the latest model. Makes us stand out, proper.”

Ace’s comment just feels wrong… Worse, even…

“Civilization isn’t just about clothes, Captain.” Wildcat comments.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Ace chirps. “Remind me: what’s a civilization without technological advancement and decent clothes that actually match the cultural and social ensemble?”

Wildcat just shakes her head. “Ponies with the gift to fly into the heavens, but so full of clouds they’re blind to everythin' but themselves. You Enclave can’t be humbled, can you?”

“I would love to sit here and play a game of Back-and-Forth,” Ace says as his eyes wander, “but from the looks of things you’re going to be on your way, anyways.”

I look over to the train. The game’s over, and the parties are stepping out; first the Matriarch, her cohorts, and finally the Na— the General, herself. The Hazard Team from before meets with the General, and they pass something to her. Then she passes the item along to the Matriarch.

“Ah, Wildcat Cartridge! There you are, my dear,” The Matriarch gently calls out.

Wildcat drops, instantly, into the gesture and bow. “My Matriarch! I’m sorry! I got caught up, and it’s entirely on me. I had priorities, and I overlooked them over my own. Please, forgive me!”

The aggression in her voice, it’s turned into something else entirely. Is this still the same mare that gives out evil eyes like candy?

“My dear Wildcat, I only asked that you do what it takes to fulfill your duties, and you did. You brought our guest to his nest, and for that you have succeeded.”

“Thank you, my Matriarch.” Wildcat keeps her stance for just a little longer before relaxing.

“Trade Wind, may you come here?” The Matriarch calls me, but hearing her has the General’s hoof snake around my foreleg. It gets tight, and I can feel the joint in her knee pinching me through the uniform. I can’t move forward. I dare not move forward.

The Matriarch extends a hoof. I feel the General’s eyes fall on me with her tightening grip. The pressure’s building; everything’s slowly cascading— the avalanching questions and anxieties drown me slowly.

What do I do? What do I do? Do I grab her hoof? Do I just come over? “Yes, ma’am?” “Yes, Matriarch?” I’m wasting time— I’m embarrassing her—I’m sorry— Do something— I’m sorry—

I see her eyes shine sharper at me, and all the small streaks of light stretch into my vision. I made her mad. I know it… I know… I don’t—

The cold runs up the side of my face. She’s looking at me with that forced smile. Do I comply? Is she okay with me complying?

The General turns me towards her. Her hoof finds its way under my chin and pulls it up towards her. I didn’t— I didn’t do it this time. I won’t keep you from seeing my eyes. I won’t. Not here…

She steps back from me, that faint smile still holding. I still don’t know what she wants me to do. She’s not telling me. I–I guess I go to the Matriarch then? Biting my tongue, fighting the nerves rattling my legs, I keep my gaze low and inch closer to the Matriarch, trying my damndest to keep face. I brace for a scolding. Nothing happens…

“A mother’s love has rooted your son, General.” The Matriarch comments.

“I haven’t seen him in so long. I apologize.” The General explains.

“Remind me, again, dear General. This mare— Aviatrix. She is what would be called a ‘squad-mate’ of Trade Wind, correct?”

“Yes, Matriarch.” Diamond Dust clears her throat.

The Matriarch looks down at me, “Then it would do the poor mare some good to see a familiar face, wouldn’t you agree?”

There’s a stiff pause. “Matriarch, she was brought in with a Hazard Team for a reason. I will not let my son be contaminat—”

“You allowed your son here.”

Diamond Dust’s words are cut off and crash in her teeth as a flabbergasted hiss, “Excuse me?”

“Aviatrix poses no threat. Your measures, while thoughtful for the safety of your kin, may not have been necessary. It would do her well to see a familiar face, and your young stallion would undoubtedly be a welcomed one.”

“I don’t wish to speak out against you, Matriarch, but this is not about my son.”

The knot in my stomach tightens more and more, from hearing it over and over…

“It has always been. All of this, and where we are now; what we have just discussed was because of him. You will not spin a web to convince me otherwise of the subject that has brought us to this very moment, in this very bunker.”

The Matriarch’s words, they were gentle— were. It was like a rolling storm; calm one minute, then slowly becoming more imposing the next. I can’t help but slink at the implications of the tone; how the wrath of the Matriarch could have gone, if she even got to that point…

Diamond Dust still holds her chin high, inhaling sharply as she speaks, “Well, I still aim to keep him free of affliction, Matriarch.”

“And that he shall be,” The Matriarch reassures, before turning her attention back to me. “Would you please ensure that young Aviatrix is okay?”

“I insist–”

“Nothing more. You will insist nothing more, General; no more and no less than what was said at our most recent negotiation.”

The look in the General’s eyes; the way her lips tighten and her wings puff. I want to duck and cover for an impending explosion.

She lets out a deep sigh, fixing her mane back. “I apologize for my…indignation, Matriarch.”

That forced, wide smile; a wicked, foreboding one from my nightmares. Her teeth were clenched when she just apologized. My head shakes slowly with chilling discomfort, knowing what it means. My heart’s racing, again…

The Matriarch nods, and turns back to me. “Now, may you do me this favor and see to Aviatrix’s spirit. As I said, it would do her well to see a familiar face.”

I get to see her? Finally? Finally… Nodding my head, I let out a deep sigh. “Yes, ma’am. I will.”

She gently picks up my hoof, guiding me to turn it over, and while still holding it some other pony drops a small set of steel keys. The small chimes they made, I know what they belong to. “Wildcat, let him have his peace. I need to speak with you.”

“Yes, my Matriarch!” Wildcat confirms, making her way over. Just as she does, the Matriarch gently brings my hoof with the keys closer to me and letting go. I slide them into one of my chest pockets.

“May the Sands pave you the Path, dear Trade Wind. Until soon.” She tells me with words sweet as honey, and full of motherly wisdom. They give me the energy to do what I’ve wanted to do since I saw Avie, but I have enough awareness to take the time to stop and salute the General.

“Ma’am!” I tell her, as sharp and with feeling as possible, trying hard not to show how much I want to get this out of the way. Those sweet, encouraging words from the Matriarch freeze just a little, but now I can look her in the eyes… like she always wants; always wanted…

The subtle twitches in her face and in the icy blue, they’re not the same. She salutes, her eyes narrowing with a silent scorn, “Until we see one another, again, Staff Sergeant.”

* * * * * *

There in the roomette; in the quietest train cart, alone with only a glowbulb for company, is Avie. Finally, I’m allowed to see her. I’ve been given the opportunity too…

But…

I can’t just walk in unannounced. I need to say something, but nothing comes to mind. How long has it been since we last saw each other? Her goggles… She hasn’t covered her eyes like that in a long time. It only serves to stir the imagination, with thoughts that want to boil my blood.

Did they hurt her that much? Did the way they parade her do more than humiliate? Did Diamond Dust force her to wear them to save face and fake regard for her well being? Those fucking chains shouldn’t be something to be proud of, and I remember the General smiling like there was nothing wrong with it— right in front of the fucking Matriarch of all ponies.

Calm…

I’m getting ahead of myself, more than I’d like and faster than I’m afraid of. But Avie— What did she do to you?! The thought twists and turns in my gut. I know there’s only one way to get it to stop: take the leap and open the damned door to see her. My words will need time, but I need to move. I need to know she’s alright. I have to…

Looking through the window, I see her huddled in the farthest corner of the room– back towards me; bound wings under a tight harness. She’s curled up, even, and her only company is the glowbulb that floats daintily over her like a whimsical drop of sun.

There’s so many things wrong with what I’m seeing, it hurts too much to keep looking. I won’t turn away; I need to commit. Reaching the lever to open the door takes longer than I’d like. It’s like reaching for a pan you know is still too hot to touch, but you need to get to it to save your breakfast. The fear of pain lingers, grows stronger the closer my hoof gets.

More thoughts; more emotions; more uncertainty. It’s a recipe that makes time want to dilate the distance between me and Avie. If I run, I won’t stop; If I continue walking, I’ll never get there.

Avie… You make this look easy… How did you do it, when I was there and you were here?

No. It wasn’t always like this, I remember now. That one memory stands out: the day her pa… That day.

You needed somepony…

You needed me…

I know it’s different, but… You need me now, don’t you?

The lever clicks. I freeze, straining to open the door as calm as possible. I don’t want to spook her. What do I even say when I finally do? I’m thinking about words, but it’s like everything wants to come out all at once. There’s too much on my mind and in my heart; both are too agitated like the unstable particles in the energy cell; itching to get out however they can. There’s only one way to do it, and I have to keep telling myself or else I’ll explode.

A deep breath, the door slides open. It catches her attention immediately— her ears perk up as her muzzled face turns sharply. I’m sure there was just a gasp of surprise, but I can only assume that with how covered up her face is. Short silence sets in, and I can’t figure a way to break it. There’s nothing appropriate coming to mind; no words, only frenzied urges.

That mask needs to come off. Her goggles need to lift. I need to see the damage; need to see her eyes, again… Why isn’t she doing anything? Why isn’t she saying anything? Why can’t I say anything?

The thumping in my chest is booming up into my ears the longer this goes on. Everything I see feels like it zooms in without my input. The subtle breathing from that mask over her muzzle shortens my breath, and the sight of her bound hooves and wings make my skin feel tight. I can’t sit still anymore— everything’s jittering harder and harder with every passing second.

She stumbles to her hooves, and my heart jumps into my throat— thrusting me forward just in case she falls, completely. Everything stalls as she finds her footing and looks right at me, “Ward?” She calls out softly in a tone that’s twisting my insides.

“Avie…” Is the only thing I can say.

“... You’re here.”

I nod, “I tried… to get your attention earlier. Ya wouldn’t—” She stumbles, again, and this time she really might fall. I lunge for her, catching her with my shoulder and wing just as she leans too far forward and into me. “Avie, y—”

“They…tightened the chains,” She says weakly. I feel her pulling herself away, and I haven’t been able to hug her right yet. It doesn’t feel like one, anyway.

We’re face to face, and closer than I would’ve been able to get by myself. The goggles’ lenses only reflect me; I can’t see her eyes. The mask she’s wearing— it looks too tight, and her breathing is so tinny and heavy.

I gently bring my hooves up to that mask, and she stays still as I do. Tugging makes her whimper in pain, and my joints turn to stone while my lungs just stop. “Those bastards…” I say aloud.

“They padlocked it.” She says, turning around and taking off her pilot hat to give me a better picture. Sitting there in her mane is the small block of metal holding everything so tight it outta be pinching her whole head.

Reaching for my chest pocket and feeling the uneven lump in there, I pull out the small bundle of keys. Only two: one big, and one small— not hard to tell which belongs. Jamming the little key in is something that really hardens my stomach. Hooves just aren’t made for this kind of thing, and I’d rather not tell Avie to lay down flat to get it—

No. No, I don’t want that in my head. I don’t want to imagine how they got this on her— stop!

“Just give me a second, Avie.” I tell her, getting the key to click. “Almost…” The padlock gives with a hearty snap, letting go of its tightening hold over her face. It comes off and the straps over her face ease up, fall off, and the mask itself slumps under its own weight.

She takes an immediate, sharp breath like she’d been forced to hold in the air for way too long. I take the muzzle, give the fuckin’ torture aparatus one more disdainful look, and toss it away from us. If I had talons I’d do more to it than a stomp ever could…even if it is leather.

The chains. Their mockful, dissonant song tell me what needs to be done next. I bring myself around to Avie’s front, and take her hooves. My eyes won’t look away from the grimey steel. “Do they hurt?” I ask, trying to see how tight their bite is on her soft white coat.

“A little.” She answers.

“Damn them.” Wasting no more time, I take the big key and shove it into the first keyhole I see. It slips in, but there’s no click. No, this isn’t right. The key fits and it twists, but only barely. It feels like I’m turning the key with a lock under springy tension. The more I feel it not cooperating, the wider the hole in my stomach stretches.

The longer this goes on the more other things begin to press into the back of my skull. The Matriarch’s probably waiting; Wildcat will come in to ruin the moment; I’ll still be here fidgeting with these damned hobblers when the sun rises, and I can’t get this one lock open— four more waiting in line, and no progress to show!

“The damn thing won’t—shit!” Even with my teeth, it’s as if I’ll lose my front teeth trying as hard as I am. No matter how much I wiggle it in the lock, it’s like wherever it needs to sit just moves out of the way like some kinda joke.

My growl becomes a snarl; jaw is hurting from clenching too tight. I can get this. I just need to get it right. Hooves or mouth, this lock is having a chuckle at my struggle while the chain's tiny rattles continue to irk.

“Ward. It’s okay.” She tells me.

“This isn’t okay. The last thing I wanted, and you’re in them. I need to do this.”

“Ward…”

I don’t want to be useless. If I can’t even get you out of your chains, then what am I? How can I start to make things up to you?

Click…

…Click…

…Crrrick–chonk!

My jaw drops with the lock’s weight on the chain-link still holding onto the keys. Yes! A rush of good feeling comes with seeing that shackle lose its grip. Now four more. Every one of them that comes off, this feeling builds gradually in big waves. Hearing the steel hit the floor, defeated, is like triumphant music. It’s harder to keep myself from ripping the final lock off; her wings are under there.

“Can you still feel these?” I ask her. My answer comes with a wiggle under the oppressive canvas. When the padlocked straps give, and the lock undone, I gently unravel the whole thing. Her wings drop out like there was no life in them; some feathers— dead, broken, and bent, scatter about. Something catches my ears; a hard, but meek thunk a feather shouldn’t make.

An inkling of wonder trills its way up from inside me. It prompts me to look about the floor for whatever made that noise. Scanning for it, that feeling grows stronger like it’s a game of hot-and-cold with instinct. Under broken feathers, blown away by a gentle beat of air, is my talisman.

That wonder from before explodes, and I can’t hold myself back from picking it right up. It’s back in my hooves, its soft faces in its rough cut twinkling in the glowbulb; it glows gently, like a welcoming smile in my eyes. It’s here… You’re here…

“I thought I’d never see you again… Ward.” Avie speaks up, pulling my attention back to her. Those flowery feelings wilt, she’s still in rough shape.

“Avie…” I look back down at the talisman, minus its leather loop that kept it around my neck. “Avie, I— Ya. Ya kept it?”

She nods, slowly, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

I give one more cursory glance at the talisman, and move between its condition to hers. I can see the imprint of those shackles on her hooves— where they bit into her from the unevenness of her fur to the pinkish-red lines that cut into her soft white complexion.

Everything’s sour, like curdling milk, now. My stomach’s pulling into itself, taking my lungs and chest with it. Something’s boiling in my blood, seeing the broken feathers and those marks that paint pictures of abuse and neglect in my head; riling up memories of my own so much that I’m wanting them out of my head.

“This isn’t how it should be,” I tell her, looking down at her hooves and the feathers. “The chains— the depravity— that muzzle. It’s just—” My lips curl inward and I snort, taking one more look at everything I’ve taken off her. If I stare at it long enough, would I be able to burn it just so it isn’t there anymore? It would’ve made this whole thing less of a hassle.

“They’re just… scared.” She tells me. I look up and her ears fold back into her cap; goggles turned away a little. “I’m scared too.”

The way she says it, it’s like I have to hold myself; like I need to fear something that isn’t there. What isn’t with me; something I don’t know. “Of…”

“I don’t know. I… can’t be sure, but I know it involved Outpost SE-Seven. Maybe they checked it after we came back. They would have, I’m sure— they wouldn’t have believed me, or any of us that came back.”

“That doesn’t excuse these chains, Avie. These—” I pocket my talisman and pick her hooves up, making sure she sees the chains’ bites. “What she did to you!”

“She blamed me…”

“Hmm?”

“She blamed me. The look on her face when I brought you back. It’s like… like I had done sacrilege; like I wasn’t allowed to bring my teammate… My…” She moves to wipe her face, pulling a few mane hairs away. “I don’t know what happened… but you came back.”

Blamed her…

“I wanted to wake up thinking it was all a bad dream.” She says. “That night still haunts me— how it played out; what memories it dredged up. One minute, I was surrounded by familiar faces; good friends, and better company. The next… I was alone, again; just me in an empty, cold room without colors. Everypony looking in…”

Quarantine… “What about the team? Didn’t they…”

She shakes her head. “Only the General. But through all of that, I wondered where you were; what had happened to you since. I never got an answer… only that look from her when she checked in infrequently…”

There’s a pause, her chin pulls back into her chest a little while she takes a few breaths. The small sharp cuts in her breathing pull at my heartstrings.

“That whole time I was there… I wasn’t just in that cold quarantine. I was reliving that day… And I waited— was waiting.” Her words are struggling to come out. The more she spoke, the more her lips seem to strain with her scrunching features. She puts a hoof over her eyes, as if trying to wipe something but stopping at her goggles.

Her shuddering breath becomes a sharp gasp. I reach for her, first stroking the side of her leg and feeling that punch in my gut. No, she doesn’t need this. She needs more…

If I have to go outside, again, and see the Nag there… If she can smell it… I’m ready…

I bring myself in closer to her, my rubbing hoof around to her back— both hooves, this time— minding her wings, and holding her close to me. Her wings gently unfurl and come around my back, and I can feel her hooves sliding up near mine as she buries her muzzle into my chest.

She’s quivering, holding me tighter than I am to her. “I don’t know how else I can say it… I wanted to know you were here. I wanted to see you come through that door; I wanted you to come back from the desert like nothing was going to happen. I thought all I’d have left… was your necklace…”

It’s wrenching to hear her like this. It’s as if her squeezing can pinch the growing pit in my stomach close for good. There are still things about her words that make it hard to digest, but now… All I want is to hold her.

“I’m here… Avie.” It feels like the right thing to say.

“Ward… Can you help me?”

“Hmm?”

Her tight hold around me loosens, and I reciprocate the gesture. We’re staring at each other— eyes to lenses. She looks down, my hooves in hers, and back up.

“I want to see you...”

The stone’s back in my gut and its mass is denser than ever— What does she mean? Why is she talking like that? Is something else wrong with her eyes?— Questions mount and flood my head about it, and they’re not letting up. They compel me to bring my hooves to the sides of her goggles, gently, and lift them over her eyes, slowly— What will I see? How bad is it? Did the Nag do something else? Something worse? — I’d rip those goggles off if I didn’t know what they mean to her.

I rest them atop her forehead. Her eyes— although closed— are sunken, dark, and wet. My heart jumps, but settles— they’re not bruises after all. She isn’t opening them, though…

“Ward…”

“Avie…”

She opens her eyes, slowly. The glowbulb’s light shines through the glistening windows to the soul; purplish-blue, and still stunning to see. They get hazy, her lips quiver and become a shaky smile.

It strikes me right in the chest seeing them again; seeing her eye-to-eye, again. Feeling her here with me, again. Everything’s growing blurred, but her face remains clear in my vision.

We cling to one another. I don’t know if she’s the one quivering, or if it’s me. It doesn’t matter. She came closer than a hug could ever be. The space between us bridged at the lips; Feeling hers on mine— it’s like something that’s been a part of me had come into the light, completely. My heart beats a different kind of rhythm; a fluttering, daring, fulfilling kind. It’s as if the world made more sense, and it’s in slow motion. The longer we stay locked like this, the more the sorrow, the hurt, and yearning in this reunion becomes easier to deal with.

I don’t want it to end…

Chapter 8- Hindrance

“It’s never easy. It’s just the nature of things… “

“Seems like you had a good reunion with your khum-hal.”

Her words come out from behind me, grabbing me so hard I nearly drop the servings meant for Avie and myself. They’re narrowly saved by a small maneuver of the wings, and some of the unicorn’s magic.

“You could’ve just asked me to get these things for you. You know that, right?” Wildcat goes on, “The line wouldn’ have been as long, either.”

I try maneuvering my way across packed mazes of ammunition, gun metal, and ponies— both Aridian and not. “How does the Matriarch know Equine? How do ya know, yourself? Stagona? Is it because of the Enclave?”

I’m not sure what I heard was a sneeze or a scoff. “Vain. No, Stagona’s a Scholarinn; knowledge and language— as far as I know from hearing her— go hoof in hoof. I know it because it’s one of two of my mother tongues…”

Passing by another ladder out in the middle of the train cart. A pony’s moving heavy boxes along one side of it that’s got some kinda chain ladder. I catch a glimpse of the box as he pops it open. That’s some big ballistic lead…

“Vain”... That word pops up in my head in Wildcat’s voice. “What did you mean by that?”

“Huh?”

“I asked a question about ya, Stagona, and the Matriarch knowing Equine, but— ya called it ‘vain’ when I asked.”

She doesn’t answer for a little while, “You call them ‘Corpos.’”

“What about them?”

“The story goes, according to the faith and the Remembrancers, that the Mutfalinn came through Aridia with the idea of exploring and expanding the map of the world they knew. My ancestors. The Matriarch was there, and that’s where she learned ‘Equine.’ ”

“That… does answer one thing. It doesn’t answer the other.”

“You’re not that dense. I hope you’re not, anyway.” Silence sets in. I don’t know if she expects me to say anythin’, or if she is going to say anythin’ more. It’s the latter, “I guess you Enclave are lucky the Matriarch and others know how to speak to you in a way you’ll understand. I won’t say anythin’ more about it.”

“How long ago was this?” I ask, wondering if the next cart over is our stop, or not.

“A long, long, long time ago.” She answers. “I know what you’re thinkin’. There’s things about Aridia— things about the Matriarch— that you or the Enclave don’t know. She was always here, and she’ll continue to be here long after all of this.”

“She’s immortal?” I ask. Even as I just said that, it’s like I already know the answer. I guess I just want to hear it from somepony who is a part of this whole thing.

“She’s the All-Mother— what would be the translation, at least.”

I guess that’s a “Yes”…

The cart we enter looks familiar. It’s ringing like deja vu, and it’s not as crowded as the last few. Almost there…

Huh… “What does that word mean?”

“I can’t read your mind.” She says.

“Con— something. You’ve been using it for a while. What are ya saying when ya say that?” Trying to say it is tying my tongue into tight knots. She’s always saying those strange words, and when she’s speaking it to the Aridians so naturally it’s like I’m being choked up on the inside while my bones get jittery. Just the fact they could be talking about anything…

“Khum-hal.” She says it, almost like she’s enunciating it this time. “You’re pronouncing it like ‘a’ in ‘apple’ when it should be a long ‘o’ sound like in ‘boom’.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means…‘other’; ‘Other’ in a more intimate sense, but it’s what the direct translation is.”

“You mean like a ‘significant other’?” I ask, suddenly feeling strange that I point it out.

“Close? Not really? It means more than just that.” She explains. “Would you rather I call her your lover? Your spouse? Your marefriend? ‘Significant Other’’s too robotic; not respectful of… Aviatrix is her name?”

Deconstruction after deconstruction. Now none of them sound right in my head. I’m not sure if it’s because of her little ramble just now, or if it’s something else. Maybe I’m just trying to put those fuzzy and awkward feelings away somewhere. Suddenly that word she uses sounds a lot better; feels right.

We’re just outside the door to our roomette, after hopping, dancing, wing-beating over crates of ammunition from the last two carts. So much fucking ballistic chew for a train— and some of it looked like it ought to be in something bigger than a rifle.

I take one glance inside, and she’s still in there. Avie’s quietly sleeping, wrapped in my uniform jacket. It’s better than the rags they had her wear. So much better…

A lover… A spouse… A marefriend… Mildly annoying to hear those labels. I don’t know if it’s the fact that Wildcat is prodding in our business, or the fact that it’s like none of those titles come close to what I think of her. We became closer than all of that… If only for a quick second…

“She’s still sleeping?” Wildcat’s words cut through the warm fuzziness in my head. She gets around me to peer in, “Wore her out, hmm?”

A pang in my chest brings out a snarl or a snort. “Watch it, Uni.”

She snorts at my words, “Wasn’t what I was thinkin’. At least you thought to get her something to eat.”

“What did ya mean, then?”

“I was thinkin’ about the Enclave— your General— that was what I was thinkin’.”

That pang from before rolls up into a ball and drops with a dense thud into my stomach. A chill washes over my face, afterwards, and then heat.

She just stares at me. I can’t make out what that flat expression is, or the way her eyes jitter and hop side to side in her narrowing gaze. “The Matriarch did ask me to give you time. I guess you had plenty to make it up to her.”

I reach for the latch, but am stopped by Wildcat, “We’re not done.”

I try again but nothing budges no matter what. A quick peak reveals a glow, and it leaves me growling. “What?”

“This is about the Matriarch and your mare. Her name is Aviatrix? You didn’ answer me last time.”

“Yeah. That’s her name.”

“Right. About the Matriarch, she wanted me to tell you somethin’.”

I tilt my head and raise a brow. “She couldn’t tell me back at the Cage?”

“That’s what you call your own home?” She asks, brows rising sharply before settling. “Yes. She spoke it in that ‘split-tongue’ language as your stallion escort called it— if that gives you an idea about the situation with who was involved.”

The last thing I needed was to hear “stallion” and “escort” together and tack both on Ace’s face… “The General didn’t like that, did she?”

“She didn’ need to know. Nevertheless, she wanted me to tell you that she understands.”

Another pause; my brain is studying those words much more than I think would be normal. The more I let them seep through the cracks— the more it’s filtered over and over again— the more that disturbing pang in my gut gets to me. “She understands… what?”

“I won’ assume anythin’.”

I want that feeling in my gut— the idea that I know what she’s telling me— to be nothing but hunger pains. Why can’t they be just that? And why do I know what she means now?

“Look,” She says. “Whatever’s eatin’ you… just look after your khum-hal.”

Right…

* * * * * *

Avie stirs in her spot, pulling herself up to look over at us walking through. A small squeak escapes her yawning maw as she stretches her forelegs over her head and wings out as much as she can. No matter how hard she stretches, my one–size–too–big dress coat barely hugs her small frame. Her wings beat and she rubs an eye, smiling sleepily and humming, “Breakfast?”

“Well, it’s not exactly sunrise, but it’s a little past high-moon.”

She holds the smile, chuckling a little, but taking another look at the food. The glowbulb dances about, carefree. I set my serving aside to give hers. “They didn’t have much, but it’s all there was for us.”

Avie takes her serving, gently letting her hind legs drop off the edge. After a minute of looking at the citrus fruit and dates, she pecks my cheek. Warmth washes over like a hug.

“You tryin’ to give yourself a nosebleed?” Wildcat’s intrusive words pull me out of my head. Lungs start pumping air in and out, and I’m dizzy all of a sudden. “Damn colt. You’re lookin’ like you treatin’ affection as if it were a slap across the face.”

All good feelings wither and sour at her comment. My brows become heavy as I stare at the unicorn across from us.

“Are you… A friend of Ward?” Avie asks.

“I meant no disrespect. Somethin’ about the way he turns purple gets me thinkin,’ is all.”

I look away as I feel the blush getting stronger from the embarrassment, and then a gentle brush against my back. It beckons me to look over, and Avie’s still smiling back at me. The strangling feeling from before lifts easily.

“He does that.” Avie says, turning her attention back to Wildcat. “You didn’t tell me your name. I’m sorry, I thought—”

“Nothin’ wrong.” Wildcat says almost immediately. “You did nothin’ wrong. You were tired, and I gave y’all the space.”

“Oh.” Avie looks away a bit, rubbing her eyes. “I’m sorry. I wish we met a little more formally.”

“Wildcat. Wildcat Cartridge.”

“Heh. That’s a neat sounding name. Creative...”

It really is… I know that I can say it over and over again in my head and it just sounds weirder every single time. I thought it would’ve been more outlandish, somehow. I guess that’s only raiders.

“And you’re Aviatrix, right?” Wildcat asks.

“Yes. Call me ‘Avie.’”

I take a citrus wedge and a sip of warm water, listening to the two of them go back and forth. Still, is there more to what Avie’s saying to Wildcat about her name?

“So… What do you do?” Avie asks. “What… Why are you here? A guard?”

Wildcat bobs her head, shrugging even. “Keldusrah.”

“Not one of the… the Saan-Srah? I hope I said that right.”

There’s a twinkle of surprise in Wildcat’s brass eyes. “Your accent’s almost on point. Where’d you learn that?”

“From the locals, mainly. You pick it up when you’re exposed to it enough, right?”

“Yeah…” Wildcat trails off with a stare that makes me uneasy. It’s like something isn’t clicking, until it does. “You’re one of the Sanctioned Couriers aren’t you?”

Avie nods, “I’ve done some work for the Aridians.”

“But you’re one of them.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you’d be treated better,” Wildcat says. I hear Avie shift, in tandem with the tightening of the knot in my stomach. The unicorn takes a sloppy-looking bite of her meal, dripping with what I take for gritty, mud-looking oil clinging to and slipping off flatbread. “I’m not of the Saan-Srah. I was too old when our Matriarch took me in.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Wildcat shakes her head, sighing deep, “It’s just how things are. Still, I guess you can say I’m blessed with what I have.”

“What do you do? What’s a… a Keldusrah’s job?”

“Well,” Wildcat breathes, “I’m more of a reserve guard; part of the greater Qummsrah-han. We cover the blind spots of the Saan-Srah. Kinda redundant, really— forgive me, my Matriarch.”

Why does that resonate all of a sudden?

“And you’ve been looking after Ward?” Avie asks.

“I volunteered…” She… What?

“All you Aridians love your Matriarch, do you?” Avie asks in that gentle, reaching voice.

Wildcat nods. “My family was a Neo-Tribe from the East Region; all ponies— all Mutfalinn.”

“Which one?” Avie asks.

“The Munitionists.”

‘Munitionists?...’ My eyes pull attention to her hind legs hanging off the edge of her seat. It’s odd. In a landscape where bright colors would be a disadvantage, she decides to wear overlapping red and white wrapping. It’s on her and her gun— around the scope and barrel and in some off places. Is there even an advantage worth mentioning, at all?

Avie’s about to ask something, but she doesn’t. Her ears droop, “I’m sorry…”

About what?

“Don’t be.” Wildcat tells her. “I’m doin’ what I can for their memory, and this right now— where we are— you and him, are part of it. Whatever it takes.”

Something about her— it’s like slowly watching hooves come out from behind her to strangle her; like expecting to see the thing that’s got her in such a space whispering right into her ears. She just shakes whatever’s going on in her head away and finishes her meal.

The ambient cool of the air reminds me I’m without my thick jacket— nothing but some kinda undershirt; the only thing left from the clothes the Matriarch gave me. A thought, a memory, goes off in my head. A hoof to my chest makes that vacant hole far more noticeable from before. I look over to Avie, seeing her gently sip her steaming cup.

Her ears flick my direction, and she turns. That glowing smile widens, “You okay?”

“I–uh–” There’s a lump in my throat. There’s too many knots coming up from my stomach. Clearing my throat helps a little, but the water keeps those feelings from climbing for now; long enough for me to tell her, “—I left my talisman in the chest pocket.”

Avie doesn’t say anything, putting a hoof to one side of her chest and then to the other. Her face lights up and she gives it to me, “We’ll find something to replace the neck string.”

Seeing it again is like feeling an extra gust go through me. Every nerve ending and every feather tip breathes to see it, again. It doesn’t last as she points it out, and she’s not wrong. “Yeah.”

“Wait, what if…” Avie turns to Wildcat. “Do you have anything to help keep a pendant around the neck?”

“Hmm? What’re you—” Her words sound like they’ve hit a brick wall. Those brass-colored eyes look up from her rifle and laser focus on the talisman between my hooves.

“It’s something of mine,” I tell her.

“It’s his mother’s talisman.” Avie speaks up for me. “He’s never been without it until now. We need something so he can keep it around his neck.”

Wildcat doesn’t take her eyes off it, and I’m half tempted to see just how long she’d keep them glued. Instead, I cover the talisman and bring it back into one of the pockets I still have.

“It’s okay. We’ll find something at the Mountain when we get there,” I say, trying not to sound bothered by those brass eyes, and the way they blink rapidly afterwards tells me I did the right thing.

“For the record, your stone reminds me of the Curse-Crystals,” Wildcat says.

“Curse-Crystals?” I echo.

She rubs a hoof into one of her eyes, looking like a mildly annoyed instructor, “The Enclave didn’ teach you about those either?”

“We know what they are. The Enclave isn’t that ignorant,” Curse Crystals; “concentration and corruption made visible”… A terrible sign… “They beat it into our heads pretty hard.”

“You Enclave don’ make pendants of those things, right?” Wildcat asks.

The question is quite the curveball; Avie and I aren’t sure what to make of that. “My talisman isn’t one of those things— if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Wildcat shakes her head, “It reminds me of when my tribe was still around, and our longhunters would come back with the strangest stories. We knew about the Curse; we knew the signs. The Greenhorn Raiders— when they weren’ as big a nuisance— they wore them like trophies along their bodies; treated them like jewelry to be proud of. They clearly didn’t understand the danger, because what our longhunters found…”

Her words trail off as did her eyes. She pulls a hoof up to her lip as she looks to be sinking deeper in thought. “They found?” Avie prompts, bringing the unicorn back.

“Well, the story went that our longhunters— who had been keeping an eye on a nearby Greenhorn Raider Camp— found it as quiet as a flatlan’ roo-rat. They thought it was abandoned, until they found their underhill. They were all there, and they couldn’ tell who was who from the crystals. All their pale, ugly colors blended around the jewelry that came together and made one, giant, underground sigil that pulsed with their united anguish… The Greenhorns are sick bastards.”

“The jewelry did that?” Avie asks.

Wildcat takes a deep breath, “Yes, that’s the whole thing about it.”

“How did it do that?” Avie asks further.

Wildcat just shakes her head, “I wasn’ there. I was too young to go on my first hunt, and I only know the story they told. The longhunters, they were hardy stallions and mares, and even they didn’ get over it with time.”

“It does seem to line up with some things we were told about the Curse-Crystals,” Avie speaks up, again. “Why you shouldn’t touch them, and what could happen if you did.”

“Yes, but it’s not instant,” Wildcat points out, “The School— the Vhoski— they study the Crystals often from the… the… the Null Voyagers who bring them.”

“The Vhoski?” I echo, then try connecting the dots in my head till they become cohesive, “The Zebra. They expose themselves to those things?”

“They do, but they’re not careless; far from it.” Wildcat snaps at me, the force of which pushes me back into my seat. “I can’t tell you how they do it— I’m not even allowed in some of those rooms. Maybe you can ask Stagona when you get back. Maybe.”

“Yeah,” I nod my head, “And you think my talisman is one of those things?”

She groans through her teeth, “If it was then you wouldn’ be talkin’ to me. I wouldn’ be havin’ this conversation, or have met either of you. Don’ fuss; it’s nothin’ I’d worry about.”

My focus shifts to Wildcat. She’s sitting down now, and back in her own bubble. Her serving of food is set aside— empty for all it has without a single idea that anything was in it— and the rifle is back in her lap. “Remember to eat,” she says without taking her eyes off the ballistic, “Try to keep courtesy by fin—”

Wildcat is pulled back. I brace my seat and Avie, but my fruit bowl flies from my lap onto the floor. The apple wedges splat and the large skinless dates disappear under the unicorn’s seat. The metallic shrieking is in my ears, and it’s outside the metal plating; outside the cart, itself. Everything grinds to a halt, and I relax.

Wildcat says something in that Aridian language, again; sounds nasty with the way it comes out. She gets out of her seat and pokes her head out the cabin door just as we all make out the distant clamor of voices and hoofbeats stepping out in haste towards the front of the train.

She tries hailing somepony, and one of them— one of the crew— stops. An exchange of words is being made, then it ends when her head is back in the cabin. Her horn lights up, and her packs are laid out where she sat. Her tone’s still sharp, but saw-toothed.

“What’s happening?” Avie speaks up.

“Reports came in. We might have trouble— hope to the Sands that we don’t, but I won’t slide with it.” Wildcat answers, pulling a block of a ballistic pistol from one of her packs. She ejects the clip and pulls the slide back simultaneously. A single bullet flies out of the ejector port, but her magic catches it, putting it back with the others before ramming the whole magazine back into the pistol and letting it chamber forward.

Of course it couldn’t have been that easy. There’s always something, and it’s always when I forget. Fuck me, I don’t see this panning out, already…

“You familiar with these?” Wildcat asks, checking that clunky thing again.

“Never liked them.” I answer.

“It’s not for you.”

What?...The pistol floats right over to Avie, mouth-grip first. “You know what it is, right?” Wildcat asks.

Avie reaches for it and the magic grip vanishes, placing the pistol into her hooves. “Only one magazine?”

“It’s for emergencies, only.”

“What kind of report is going on?” Avie asks, again.

“I can’t be too sure. I didn’t get the details other than from here until the next couple of miles it’s goin’ to be a Vanguard Escort; slow crawl to safety.”

“Ya don’t have an extra?” I ask Wildcat.

“An extra… What?”

“Weapon? Pistol?”

“No.” She answers. My eyes immediately shift to the red-gripped gun slung along her chest. I look back up at her with a glower, and she puts a hoof over it, “Not for you; not a spare.”

“If we don’t know the threat, wouldn’t it be best if we all had—”

“It would. It would be ideal to have everypony with iron, only if you had a different state of mind.”

“What—”

“You’re not in any fit state to be given a weapon. You’d be more of a danger to yourself, your khum-hal— everything around you. I can’t have that.”

I expect her to keep going, but even if she didn’t I can still hear her. I can feel the doubt creep in for a mental pecking order, beating into my brain ideas that make my chest burn.

“Avie’s been isolated the same time as I have.” I say, out loud.

“And she has a cooler head on her shoulders. I’m glad for her, but I can trust her to know where to point that ten mil.”

I growl, fixating on her ‘cooler-head’ saying, “I have a Pipbuck. S.A.T.S..”

She shakes her head with a sigh that reminds me of a disappointed drill sergeant at grenade practice, “Pipbuck or not, I don’t trust you with anythin’ higher than twenty-two Long Rifle.”

“Ya haven’t told me why,” I point out. Why won’t ya just let me help?

“I don’t trust you with any kind of gun right now. Does that settle it?” she asks with a razor-like tone. “If you want to help, stick to your Eyes-Forward Sparkle and be your khum-hal’s eyes.”

I guess no matter what I do, we’ll be here all night. I can see it in Avie’s eyes, and they make me swallow this whole ordeal. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and this building sense of inadequacy looming over makes it hard to breathe like it doesn’t bother me. Only one magazine for Avie… “If ya won’t give me a ballistic, then at least give Avie a spare mag.”

“She’ll only need one.” The unicorn says, taking one more peek outside and pulling her head back in.

“If that’s your way of saying ‘we only need ya,’ then why give her the pistol? We’re riding too much on this being smooth— from the sound of it,” I tell her. “Ya want somepony watching your back, then give her more to work with.”

There’s a long pause as Wildcat puts her packs back on her person. Her eyes wander up, then her focus falls with her muzzle. One of the flaps to her pack slips open and two black pistol-sized magazines float over to Avie in what looks like a flank-style holster.

“You need help putting it on?” Wildcat asks.

“Yes. Thank you.” As she gets up I feel the slightest tug, again. It’s not as sudden as the last one, and definitely softer; as soft as the rhythmic chug-chug-chugging outside.

* * * * * *

A snail’s pace isn’t the best thing to describe just how slow this train is going. I only know it’s moving because of the rhythmic, repetitive, droning noises outside. Looking through the eye-slits in the armor panels, barely anything’s changed.

The cool, blue moonlight makes my eyes feel like lead, and the dry cold air quickly saps the moisture from them. Everytime I rub them out I get a rush; not a good one, either. It’s like if I don’t look up after I’ve got the sleepiness out of my eyes fast enough something’s going to be right in front of me.

The E.F.S. doesn’t tell me anything to worry about. There’s just the same yellow notches that idly, lazily, slide across the compass lines. The Aridians; there’s so many of them out there walking the train, ears flicking at strange angles and their glowing eyes scanning every bit of their surroundings. None of them say a word; no holler of reassurance to one another. Not one…

“How long ‘till this whole alert dies down?” I ask.

“However long it takes; however long is necessary.” Wildcat answers.

I yawn again. When was the last time I slept?

“Ward can I ask you something?” Avie asks, pulling my attention away from the eye-slit. “Who gave you the Pipbuck?”

I look down at the thing, again. That yellow, cartoonish-looking pony’s walking in place; wings out, beady-eyed, and smiling like he just doesn’t care how the night will drag him down. “The… Vo—Vooo— V-hoa—The Zebra.”

She exclaims softly, “That’s nice of them.”

“Yeah. I guess it was.”

“Well, how do you like it?”

Her question prompts me to look back on it, again. Shaking my forehoof I think, “Well, it’s a bitch to deal with when putting jackets on, but it’s lightweight. Half the time I can’t feel it unless I knock it against something.”

“Are the rumors true about the Stable-Tec HUD?” She asks.

I shake my head, “They’re not very annoying. They only come up when… I don’t know— when I need to see something, I guess? It’s hard to explain, but it’s like I can’t tell if half the time the compass and all those features are always in my peripheral vision— just out of sight— or they only show up when I want to pay attention to something about it.”

“Is it fused to your forehoof?”

Bringing the Pipbuck back up, I put more focus on where the rim and the fur meet. “I wouldn’t say it is? Again, it’s a little hard to explain. When I look at it I can’t see anything that tells me it’s fused to me, but when they put it on… It…Ugh!”

My feathers stand on end, and every nerve in my body shutters hard with the memory. The moment I gave the Pipbuck the light of day to settle on me, it felt like my heart was gonna come out my ass. Calling it a ‘shock to the system’ doesn’t do that feeling justice.

“That bad?” She asks.

“Yeah. Though, Stagona says it only feels that way at first. Come the next time— if ever— it shouldn’t be the case anymore.”

Her head tilts a little, “Stag-ona?”

I shrug, “A little hard to say. She’s… She’s the zebra who looked after me when I woke up.”

“She’s a Vhoskinnyi,” Wildcat says, “The Zebra apparent to the Grand Scholar’s Seat of Aridia.”

“That doesn’t sound entirely like Aridian,” Avie points out.

Not sure if I can hear a difference, myself…

Wildcat looks right at Avie, but not letting her rifle down. “It’s a borrowed word. Vhoskinn, plural; Vhoskinnyi, singular.”

“What does it mean?” Avie asks.

“Something about pastures,” Wildcat looks like she’s stuck mentally, “I forget how she told me, but it’s their name from where they came from. Vhoski.”

“You know her?”

“Yes. She’s one of the reasons I’m here lookin’ after your khum-hal.”

“That’s a nice word. What does it mean?”

“Your stallion asked the same thing earlier.”

I can feel Avie’s eyes on me. I should feel flustered like I normally do when I’m not seeing them, but with how the cold creeps in it’s a welcomed warmth.

“You goin’ to tell her?” Wildcat prompts.

I shift my focus back and forth between Avie and Wildcat, and I try finding the words, “Something like a significant other, but not really? I think–”

My ears flick. What was that? All my senses pull me to the eye-slit. I can hear that noise in the back of my head; a faint, audible ‘boom’ noise. An explosion? “Something’s happening out there.” I think aloud, trying to look for anything that told me. A sudden column of smoke building; a distant, barely peeking flash of light just somewhere out of reach. I’m not sure which direction it came from. “Y’all didn’t hear it?” I ask aloud.

“Might just be a distant skirmish,” Wildcat says. Her words aren’t arrogant or dismissive; they sound like they’re tip-toeing about the subject.

-*boom*-

There it is, again— I swear it’s closer this time. Looking back at the mares, both their sets of ears are flicking about like mine. I don’t need to say anymore, then…

“Check the Pipbuck,” Wildcat tells me, looking into her rifle. “That’s too close, right now.”

The E.F.S. toggles with my focus. Yellow… Yellow… Yellow… “Nothing.”

It’s coming to me now. I don’t know what to expect, and that might be messing with the Pipbuck, itself. I don’t know the specifics, but how does it know an enemy from a friend? A friend from a liar? Can I say something’s an enemy ahead of time, when I’ve never known them? How does it work?

There’s a great shout from outside like an alarm going off. Overhead; might as well be next to me, the roar of a cannon stresses my ears; the ringing doesn’t have time to settle, and the room rumbles relentlessly—

A breath-snatching thump hits me in the chest; everything is tingly for the slightest seconds, like in free-fall; a great and terrible force pushes, then shoves with intensity. My vision goes lopsided– the room’s spinning so fast, I can’t catch my—

* * * * * *

I gasp and cough immediately. My lungs sting; head’s pounding; ears ringing. The air is thick, I can feel it weighing on me as I try to pull myself up.

Something grabs at me; pulls at me urgently. Once more, my head’s killing me from the pressure and strain from getting on my hooves. I haven’t opened my eyes yet— I don’t want to. They’re bobbing around in their sockets on their own, aimless and unable to sit still. It’s like the room’s spinning too fast. I feel and taste the fruit sludge in my guts rushing up the back of my throat. I can hold it… I can hold it…

Deep breath, followed by immediate release of all my stomach contents onto the floor. The pressure isn’t helping; now I feel something creeping along my scalp towards my forehead. Reaching for it, there’s nothing. My searching hoof is wet with something. I open my eyes slowly and with effort, catching a glimpse and a glint at my hoof tip; it’s trimmed with crimson red.

What’s in the air? Why is it so thick? Why does it burn everything? No matter how small I try to breathe, it’s enough to feel like something’s crawling down my throat and pulling on everything till it’s clogged.

The room stops spinning for a second, I can see purple… Amethyst eyes. Her white coat is stained, and the mane poking out from under her cap and goggles is frizzy. What’s she saying to me? Why’s she waving her hoof in front of me with that look in her eye? I’m alright… Honest…

* * * * * *

Gasping, again. Everything’s different. The air stings a little less, but everything still feels fuzzy and loose. My eyes are a little more open this time, and she’s still there behind them.

She’s ducking behind the crates I’m leaning up against, but I can’t hear what’s going on. My ears can’t pick up on anything— not the panic in her face or the teeth-baring ferocity in Wildcat’s behind her… Not even the cocking of the pistol Avie just drew in front of me.

Ducking, peeking over; the gun in her maw’s flashing, and each one makes the ringing peak in pitch. The only thing I can make out is the slow, steady rhythm of a heartbeat.

It’s hot here. Everything feels so sticky and stinky, I can feel the sweat cling to me as it slowly rolls down my throbbing forehead and onto my muzzle. My nose is runny, too. Wiping it away… my hoof’s even more red, and everything smells like blood now.

The top of Avie’s head comes into my tunneling view. She’s loading a pistol? She’s shaking… Avie… Avie stop shaking… I try to reach for her, but my foreleg is lame; it weighs a ton, and the Pipbuck adds to it. Her eyes come up. “Let me…” I try to say, “Let…” What was I going to say, again?

* * * * * *

My ears ring like an alarm, and my eyes snap open. Gasping again, coughing— sand wafts into my mouth, gritting everything up. I think I can hear again— no, not anymore. I can hear them; distant-sounding, muffled, rapid-paced cracks.

Everything’s lopsided; only one of my eyes will open. There’s shapes in my blurry vision, tussling and jumping like lightning in a bottle. The shadows become slightly more defined; I know they’re different shapes, now. A built, towering figure is trying to grapple with something smaller than it. I blink, and the more I do the clearer the picture.

Still can’t hear, but the muffling… it’s like they’re speaking to one another. Shouting?

It’s a pegasus; a white pegasus; Avie. She’s fending off a… bird-cat… A griffin. The snarl in that beak is growing. Their hind legs move funny, and I can feel the alarm in my mind and chest ringing loud.

“Avie… watch his wings! Watch his legs!” I’m trying to say it, but I think it’s only loud in my head. “Avie! Avie… Avie! The legs! The wings!”

The griffon pulls himself up into the air, digging their talons into her head and slamming her down under its squatting physique. Seeing her toss and turn does things to me; forces me to dig desperately for the strength and the authority to make my lame body move. I can feel myself wanting to move with the sand in my face moving in reaction to my struggle.

“Get away from her…

“Get off her…

“Get away…

“Get away!!!”

My words are louder; my head throbbing at the strain to get my words out. Still nothing. I can’t see her anymore. Something else saying I shouldn’t and tears my focus away from the fight. My mouth is still not cooperating, and I need to scream; to protest, even if the pressure splits my head open.

The sky’s dark, or maybe it’s the way I’m still seeing things. The moon’s staring down at me with its pale face and bluish white glow. There are no stars I can see. Silhouettes move into view, and one of them gets closer to me— bringing their features into clearer focus. They have a beak and feathers for a face.

My hearing clears a little, and I hear a voice come through the closing dark.

“It’s them… Bag ‘em…”

Chapter 9- Prospects

“What are the odds of this panning out? The same as them not…”

A tearing, burning sensation yanks me awake. The air’s like fire; thoughts of water flood my mind, shock my senses alive.

My head is racking. I can’t stop coughing, and every hoarse one threatens to close my windpipe for good. I grab myself, trying to control it all.

“It’s okay…You’re okay… You’re okay…” her voice— Avie’s voice— reaches my ears. I can feel a pressure along my back, moving along my spine; going up and down at a steady pace. “I’m sorry, Ward.”

“S—” The coughing chokes my thoughts out. My ears pick up the familiar sound of dripping water beside me. A sponge is in her mouth, soaked.

Taking a deep breath reminds me of how raw and dry my throat suddenly is. The water dripping from the sponge makes my mouth ache for relief. Avie brings it to my lips, and they hang on for a desperate suckle. Feeling the water rush from the tiny holes onto my tongue—calling it the greatest feeling can’t do it justice.

I have to tear myself away, nearly taking a bite from the sponge itself. Breathing heavily— savoring the moisture and leaning back, I look up to see pointed rocky teeth growing out of the ceiling. Everything else, everything around us… It’s all stone; a small outcove and a barred wall and gate behind Avie. This isn’t the Mountain...

“Avie… Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” she tells me, drinking her own fill of the water before bringing her hooves to my head. “How are you? Does it hurt?”

I’m still processing her questions as she brings my head down gently. She prods around an area that makes me wince from the pain— from the memories it brought, getting clearer and clearer until it cracks the wall of my skull. “Fuck!”

Avie pulls her hooves away, “I’m sorry. I guess it’s still sore… I know it’s there, but I can’t find it. There isn’t even a scab.”

“What do ya mean?” I ask, looking for what she’s talking about myself and feeling nothing out of place. Checking my own hoof, a memory of crimson trimming flashes over, but goes away the minute I blink. “Right…”

“Ward, don’t be upset.” She tells me.

“I’m not upset—”

She nods, keeping her eyes level with me, “Your words sound heavy, again.”

“They are?” I ask, ears folding and my eyes looking down at my bare self— covering the more delicate areas. “I don’t remember all of it, but I remember how heavy I was; how I slowed ya down when ya needed to be quick—”

“Stop, Ward.”

“Avie—”

“I know where this is going. Don’t blame yourself for this.”

How can I not? It’s been stuck with me for a while, and the more I think about it, the deeper this feeling of inadequacy digs its claws into me. It’s been nothing but me, and my memories are showing me that; Diamond Dust is telling me that as if she were here…

“Ward, please,” Avie rubs one of my forehooves gently, “remember what I told you? That day we were about to leave for our mission? What I’ve been telling you even before that?”

Her questions settle in my gut like bricks. I try looking away from her, but she pulls herself into my view.

“I need you to tell me, Ward.” She pleads, “Please.”

“Ya weren’t…”

“Hmm—”

“Ya weren’t supposed to be here, I mean— you’re not supposed to be here!” My heart was on the verge of popping. I needed to get those words out, but I couldn’t get them out sooner. Now the lament is replaced by fear and the great, disturbing irking in the back of my mind: I fucked up. Hard. That can be said for all of this…

I said it right this time…

I said it right this time… Right?

Right…?

“I didn’t mean to sound so…” My words are dying on me. The thoughts aren’t holding together. “I didn’t mean to— I didn’t— I’m sorry.”

The heavy silence weighs on my heart. My gaze falls right after my ears fold, and I look down at my uncovered self, pinching my hindlegs together when they’re too far apart.

I hear her sigh, and I feel the room open itself up; the walls pushing themselves outward, making me small and cold. My chest is bare; no pockets; my talisman’s gone. Damn it… Damn it…

Something doesn’t feel right. The blood in my veins feels weighty, sluggish. Everything’s feeling cold and numb right after. My heart won’t stop pounding to keep it from hardening, and the rush is building up; going up into my head. I keep my hooves to my temple and eyes, trying to think of other things while hoping nothing explodes.

I can’t ignore it. It’s too loud. Creeping in and taking hold…

My talisman…

Where is it…

Where—

Something brushes over my head and down the back of my neck. My lungs start to work, again; the room pulls itself back to the way it was; and my head’s not wanting to explode, anymore.

Turning to Avie, it hurts to see her eyes look so crestfallen; the twinkle in her eyes going cold; her smile a small frown. “Ward, we have time. Please, talk to me. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Trying to look into her eyes is like scurrying in the dark to look for a light. Rising panic saps the color from my surroundings, and steals my breath.. Her eye’s color doesn’t fade, and the longer I look into them the easier it is for me. I look up from them, seeing what’s missing atop her head. Regret digs itself up from the depths, and I feel it in my stomach. They’re gone… “You’re here because of me…”

“Ward—”

“I shouldn’t have asked for ya at the Mountain. Things would’ve been different— ya wouldn't be here right now!” The words turn my stomach. I want to hide from the feeling; from the look in her eyes. It digs deeper, bringing up more of the same thoughts torturing me until I acknowledge them…

“Ward, I’ve been in that quarantine for… months. Maybe one; maybe two, I can’t remember. I don’t know why you asked, but I’m glad you did. We saw each other again; you were alright, and that made me feel better inside than the hope I’d get out and away from the General. You know what I’m trying to say, Ward? You saved me.”

“Maybe I did, but it led us here. We’re not where we’re supposed to be, and I couldn’t help the way I wanted,” saying these things is like tearing gashes across my heart. “I was dead weight when… when… We were attacked, right?”

She nods, “You hit something because of it.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and my chin drops a little, “That’s what I thought…”

“Ward, you’re not dead weight. That is not what I was referring to, at all.” She nuzzles me, “You are somepony who means something to me— not just a soldier. You already showed me that, remember? I didn’t abandon you before, and I won’t start now. It’s just life; we take the good and the bad, but in the end we face it. Only this time— and I hope for a long time— we continue facing it…together.”

“Why, Avie?” I ask, feeling her words squeezing at my heart. “Why would ya be willing to go through the bad if it’ll only get worse?”

She brings my head closer to her warm, soft fluffy chest and her heart, “I already told you, you silly mustang. I already did.”

Everything’s turning hazy, and my throat feels like it’ll close up. I hold onto her, burying my muzzle into her and trying not to show the welling up in my eyes. Her wings unfurl in the background, and I feel them come around as she holds on and rests her head onto mine.

My ears flick. The hold Avie has me in stirs a little, and I feel her head lift off mine. I look up at her to see she’s looking behind her. I pull away gently to see what’s got both our attention. It’s coming from the dark, poorly-lit hall— I can’t tell where it’s coming from.

A brief glimpse of something coming from the shadows to the left; first I thought it was my mind playing tricks. Whatever it was came into the small light hanging from a bulb wedged into the rocky cavern, and the yellowish glow shows what’s coming. It’s a beak, then a feathered head; barrel-chested in black-metal armor. A white talon grasping upwards is emblazoned on the chestplate, and the steel gashes are as easy to spot as the chiseled scars along their neck and face. So these are the griffins…

They come up to our gate, staring at us with the grayest glassy eyes I’ve ever seen, and drops his bag and rifle along the opposite wall. He stands on his hind legs— the legs of a… lion, I think— and leans back with crossing forelegs— foretalons?

He doesn’t say anything, just staring at us with a narrowing gaze that leaves me thinking he’s either really tired or he’s trying to look for something from where he stands. The latter thought has me wanting to cover myself.

“What do ya want?” I ask him. He doesn’t say anything. I fight back the urge to press the question; something’s just telling me I won’t get anywhere trying. I put a hoof on Avie’s shoulder to get her attention, “It’s them… right?”

She looks back to me and nods.

I vaguely remember the details from the attack, and I do remember the silhouette. This griffin fits the hazy memory like a puzzle piece.

Two more griffins come from someplace off to the left. One of them opens the gate to our cell, and the other stands up on her hind legs and puts her gloved talons over a holster in her belt. They move into our space in succession.

The first griffin immediately ignores me and moves towards Avie, grabbing at her as she tries to back away. They yank and she yells, “Wait— Wait!”

I swing at the hassler, but he pulls back and shoves me into our bowls of water. Avie’s protests and her desperate wing flapping rile me.

“C’mon you fuckin—” The grappling griffin’s insistence is met with a blow from one of Avie’s air kicks. A roar shakes the room and he smacks her across the face.

I spring to my hooves with my blood boiling, head still pounding. A deafening crack retorts and I flinch as fast, snappy whizzing goes all around us. In the griffin at the door’s talons is a smoking pistol. Something between a squawk and a roar fills the room immediately after, “Watch it, Galea!”

She snorts and nods her head curtly before asking, “We can’t just do away with the mare here, boss? Would save Garz the trouble.”

“It’ll make the air stale. Can stand to be without the smell after the raid.” The griffin— the boss— points right at me, “Yew stay perfectly still. With all the crap my unit’s gone through to get just the two of you, I’m wantin’ the full bonus.”

My eyes shift between the griffin with the gun, and the one Avie’s struggling against. Everything in my being is telling me to jump— run— tackle— bite and break for every bruise she gets.

“Ward!” Avie screams as she’s put in a submission lock. The longer I stay put, the more the rage will eat me alive, and it gets worse with every second that passes.

I engage, throwing my hooves right in his face with all my weight to get him off. He tumbles and falls back, and I stand over Avie. My wings spring open and I lower myself as close to her as possible.

“Bastard!” The grappling griffin growls after rolling onto his talons and paws.

“We should’ve left her with the others, boss.” The gun griffin retorts.

“Leave us alone!” The words are venom leaving my mouth, with a growl coming up from the back of my throat, and my breath getting hotter.

“Stand aside, pegasus.” The boss— orders.

“No y’all back the fuck up!” I seethe. “You’re not taking her!”

“Boss? Orders?” The gun griffin asks, raising her pistol towards me.

“Our contract only needs the one, alive and unharmed,” the boss says, “I never questioned high-payin’ contracts, but this might be my first. Yew, pegasus, give me a reason to not see it through? Why shouldn’ I have Galea here shoot her from under yew?”

I snort, looking down at Avie as she stays under me, “Who sent ya after us?” Deep down I feel things clicking. With little information, I’m already having a feeling as to who would do this.

“I’d keep to my own things,” he snaps, “yew recovered, and that’s all that matters; obligation’s not complete until the money’s in my talons. She isn’t a part of it, anymore. Now here yew are givin’ us a hassle, and I’d like to know why it’s even worth any of our time. ”

“What— Who— is paying?” Who…

“Give me a reason, pegasus.” His words are reinforced with the gun griffin checking her pistol from the ready position.

A pause. My mind, racing; pulling up everything and anything I know about Avie. C’mon… Think of something. There’s something there, I know there is— But no. No, that would mean that— it’s the only way. She’s valuable as that! Too valuable to lose…

If I say nothing they’ll kill her, if I don’t and say it I know I’ll still lose her. I don’t want to lose her— I have no choice—She’s…

“She’s a pilot.”

The boss’s brows raise, “A pilot, yew say?”

“The best I know— the best in the Enclave.”

His eyes dart about, and a subtle nod starts to come to him.

My mind’s a little clearer now, and the details from before start to come back to me. The smallest things in all their banter start to come together like puzzle pieces, “You’re talking about bonuses and paydays. If I’m your target and she isn’t, then do something with what I’ve shared—”

“Don’t yew dare be patronizin’ me, pegasus!” He squawks. “That whole operation could’ve gone smoother. That whole time watching the armored monster of a train smoke and spark with hailfire and lead, it should’ve been easier with the AA out of commission; a whole fireteam of loyal, tough-as-nails griffins, traded for two small pegasi and some Aridians.”

“I’m giving ya an option for compensation—”

“I said shut yer yap— we know yew want her alive!” He roars, “I’m not blind to the facts or the opportunities! My problem is yew shovin’ it in my face when I’m considering it!”

A lasting silence fills the space, and almost all of us refuse to move from our place. Avie stirs under me, and I look down at her. Those amethyst eyes meet my vermillion, and I try to tell her without a word to stay down.

“Right, it should be enough…” The boss mutters aloud, “Gaela, Grits, one of yew report to HQ about the new prospects. It’s time we earn bonus and more with a new contract for our extra.”

“Sir.”

Both of the griffons closest to us leave back through the door, slamming shut and locking. I step off Avie and help her up gently. The first thing I’m pulled to is the tinge of red bleeding through her soft white cheek.

“Be glad it wasn’ a bullet,” The boss comments, “Enjoy the time yew have with one another. It’ll be the last.”

The griffin leaves us alone, and I start brushing off all the dirt and gravel from Avie. She pulls her mane back, “...thank you.”

“It’ll be the last time they do that,” I mutter, looking at her reddened cheek. Her ears flick, and my eyes focus on the lack of leather and goggles on her head. “We’ll get out of here. Somehow.”

She falls on me. All those thoughts once kept frozen in the back of my mind… There is still hesitation, but… It doesn’t feel as bad as before. Still…

A hoof over her head, and a gentle stroking of her chocolate mane.

She nuzzles, slowly, and I wrap my wings around her.

What a mess…

* * * * * *

The bars are long rusted but deceptively sturdy. Every one of them is probably more than two inches thick and rooted far into the ground. Kicking at them hurts me more than it does the bars, and if the spacing between them is enough to stop a single hind hoof from going through, there’s no way we’re squeezing our way out.

“Who do ya think put these things here? Way down here?” I ask.

“Corpos, I’d think.” Avie answers.

“But why?”

“Anything. Supplies that are dangerous, redundant, or not— maybe it was always a jail cell.”

The Pipbuck tells me where we are: ‘Quarry Junction #5.’ Toggling map features doesn’t do anything— the display is hard locked on local settings, and there’s nothing on the screen but everything I’ve already seen in this room.

“Damn thing,” I mutter. “For everything it’s good for, it never has what you need.”

“What do you mean?” Avie asks.

“Look at this,” I show her what the screen has been showing me for the past hour or so. “Nothing. The damn Pipbuck knows this place, but it isn’t even sure where on the ‘World Map’ we even are. ”

‘Pinnacle of Arcane Technology’ my ass… Can’t figure out where it is— where we even are— and it can’t even pick a lock with its myriad of features.

Avie brings the Pipbuck closer to her, toggling through the features and backtracking on all of them, “The Aridians gave you this, right?”

“The Zebra.”

“Where’d they even find something like this?”

“There’s Stables out here, right? I mean, there’s gotta be.”

She shakes her head, “Well, kind of. I did cargo runs for the Aridians, and sometimes they would take me to places I always thought were like the Stables far off the tracks. I mean, they looked like the bunker we grew up in, and they almost match the old Stable-Tec Stable layouts we had laying around.”

“And this is leading to?”

“Where there are Stables there’s always Pipbucks, but I haven’t seen any come around on the manifests.”

“Ya mean the ones ya would’ve been allowed to see?”

“I know what you’re saying, and I’d think the same thing too if it weren’t for the fact that Aridians actually pay… a lot, for something like this.”

“And that means?”

“Kaerauh, this Corpo I met often, mentioned something about rarity and availability. There just isn’t enough of them.”

K-Rough? Oh, my head… I try to disperse the growing feelings of discomfort, and push down the thoughts that want to escalate just who this Corpo is, “So… Stable-Tec is all the way out here?”

“They worded it like they were here; compared them to a weed that died before it even bloomed. Unmarked Stables and few working Pipbucks; no dwellers. If the Aridians have them, then they must have a means to track the identification tags of a corresponding Pipbuck.”

“Maybe that’s what got the griffins in a hurry.”

She nods, “All of that being said, I’m glad they didn’t take it.”

“Yeah? They probably thought trying to remove it would upset somepony. It’s practically fused to me.” That or they have a counter means to disrupt its tracking…

There isn’t much to go on, but all that’s been said— all that’s happened— it’s not hard to figure out just who caused this series of events.

She looks up at me, “You think—”

I can see it already: me, hobbling on a wooden peg to the old Nag. Her cold deposition burning up. The griffons wanting their pay, and she makes them pay for it, “It wouldn’t surprise me, Avie. Not one bit.”

One of her ears flop to the side. Those searching eyes come back, too, and I can’t stand to look at them. My hoof drops, but hers is on my other cheek. I freeze, but she doesn’t pull it towards her. Instead, she keeps it there and gently brings herself into my field of view.

“I wish you said something sooner, Ward.” She tells me, sounding so sullen. My ears droop from the guilt welling up a little on the inside.

Until now it’s all been me trying to unravel the mess inside. The years we had, the days I remained cold and distant; coming close to death on at least one occasion and earning the rump mark for it… All because of you... “I… I already told ya. I thought if I ignored it— ignored your prodding, pretended like ya didn’t know already… That things would be okay…”

The Outpost Incident… The quarantine… Chains and shackles, neglectful spite from a Nag… Ya didn’t deserve any of it, Avie… I told ya…

“We could’ve ran, Ward,” Avie says, “We would’ve just needed the right time, a Vertibuck, and then—”

“Then spend the rest of our lives running from that Nag? What about the rest of Aridia bound by that stupid oath? We’d have nowhere to go.”

The desert finds the weak, and it will grind deserters, oathbreakers to dust. They would not have to chase us, but they will. Nopony leaves the Enclave, and the old Dashite branders were scrapped for their metal— save one. The Nag hangs that one in her quarters somewhere.

“I don’t want to run away.” I tell her, “I want to run towards something better without the worst things behind me— behind us— every step of the way. That’s not living, it’s worse than just trying to survive.”

“I think you don’t give the Aridians a lot of credit.” Her voice is softer than usual. I don’t know if what I heard just then was a small treble trailing her words, or if it was an echo bouncing off the walls. I don’t know what hurts worse: not knowing and wanting to ask about it, or knowing and not wanting to talk anymore about it.

* * * * * *

How long since we’ve decided to wait? How long until the inevitable? The questions will start getting more personal, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Asking to stop… I don’t know who to ask — not myself or Avie or… or if there’s anything that actually listens out there. I can’t bend my knees to something that I can’t say is really there, and I’d rather not feel I’m being watched anymore than I like.

Something’s coming. My ears hone in on distant shuffling and clatter getting closer and closer. Avie notices as well and she pulls herself up from me until we’re side by side watching the steel bars. From the left are familiar griffins, armored and armed— an odd number of five. One’s talons rattle with a hoop of keys, and they jingle at the lock to the door. It swings open and two of them come right in, flaking the both of us.

“Come along now,” The one on my right, a stocky griffin with a bandana, flicks his head towards the door.

I take a step alongside Avie, and the one on our left, a white feathered griffin, follows close. Bandana comes up behind us, and his partner is the first out of the cell where she immediately turns around and unslings her rifle.

We’re finally outside the cage and Boss is here to greet us, “No nonsense. Stick close and don’t try a thing less ye want a new necklace for that neck of yers—”

“What’d ya say?” My eyes start searching, trying to find any sliver of seafoam green in the blackened steel of his armor, and the speckled feathers that—

The door slams shut behind us and I’m shoved from behind, tripping on the uneven rock and nearly losing my hoofing and a few teeth. Avie manages to catch me before I can bite the rock. I growl all the way back to my hooves, hearing subtle chuckles, like a familiar group of bullies.

“We’re movin’ out. Remember what was just said: stick with us and there’ll be no problem. Divert or try anything, the collars come on and yer hobblin the way to delivery. Now move!”

I anticipate another shove, but it doesn’t come. The moment I try looking for the wise griffin who did it, one of them barks, “That’s not a suggestion— move!”

Not another word is said as Avie and me are herded by the griffins to and fro. It’s nothing but the lanterns and candescent bulbs swaying, playing with the shadows all around. The shapes are never the same as we pass them.

The quiet is held back by the tapping of our hooves on the rocky floor beneath us; the swaying and muffled clanking of armor and equipment hanging from the griffins, themselves; and the occasional echo of ruckus coming from someplace.

Is there a way out of this? Something to throw them off and get away, maybe? It comes to me as a fake fall, maybe a little dramatization to get their guard down before swinging; wrestle them for their guns, knock them out, and take what we can carry. We are smaller than them, and in the tight tunnel there may have been a chance…

No chance at all… Just wishful thinking… We wouldn’t have made it….

Another shove from behind, but I manage to keep myself from falling. I turn around to hear bandana snort, “You’re slowing down. Don’t.”

Beyond a door and into a massive cavern, griffins are moving with haste— taking what they can and breaking the rest— from tools too big to carry to raw materials being dumped into inconspicuous holes. Many of them are still standing guard, on their hind legs and talons on their rifles; every one of them giving us a stink eye as we pass them up.

Where ya’ll going…

“Eyes to yourself, Pegasus.” Bandana barks from behind. A stone ker-plunks into my stomach.

“We’re not goin’ to miss our window, sir?” A new voice from the escort, a helmeted griffin from in front of us.

“We won’ if we keep movin.’ It’d be faster if some griffins wouldn’ stop for breaks in the middle of the fuckin’ tunnel!” The Boss’s words almost turn into a beastly screech while we pass the very thing he’s complaining about: two other griffins catching their breath, sitting on the bulkiest crate I’ve seen pass through. All of us in this escort are hugging the wall, slowing down to let others through, and the Boss is letting his frustration seethe through the cracks and holes in his beak.

“Shit’s heavy, sir!” One of the slacking griffins throws their talons up like they didn’t deserve the sharp criticism.

“Not my problem!” The Boss roars like a drill sergeant, “Get yer ass— both yer asses— movin’ and stop congestin’ the traffic! Remember quota! Falk wanted us out ten minutes ago!”

Both these griffins getting yelled at, they give an air of delinquency that remind me of the bad batches from preparatory; the sour looks, frustrated groans, and the forced way they pull themselves up are all very familiar and reminiscent of those kinds of backward fillies and colts. I guess it’s everywhere in some form…

The Boss snorts, then turns to Avie and me, beckoning curtly, and giving the two aforementioned griffins another seething set of words, “What’re yew sittin’ still for?! Move!”

Part of me feels like it’s an order meant for all of us. Soon enough, the tunnel gets easier to traverse, and there are less of these mercs being seen the farther down we go. The shadows are dancing in the swaying lights, still, and now there are carved out holes in the wall; rooms that are irregularly spaced between one another, and each of them are as empty as a gutted living room.

The light is still fighting with the crevasses and pools of dark along the walls, but there are fewer lamps than last time. Every one is more spaced out than the last. There are stands sitting in nestled alcoves, and each of them has a reflective disk that points to another one further down the line; to one another, throwing the light further down the way. Looking into one of them while passing them up burns my eyes, leaving dark patches dancing in my vision.

I try to blink the patches away as they saturate everything I see. Avie’s face remains clear, though, and I recognize the concern in her eyes as I try to rub the discomfort out of mine. The more I try rubbing them away with Avie being my crutch, the more anger bubbles up from deep inside—

Somewhere from the back of my mind; an inkling— a sensation. The more I focus on it, the more it festers. It nibbles, then it gnaws harder and harder as I try to pull my focus away from it, but I can’t— I don’t want to ignore it. It’s telling me to not take my awareness off it as it begins to chomp and claw and pound at the walls in my brain. Its incessant drumming burns the inside of my head, and the pressure builds so much I can’t keep walking.

“What’s the matter?!” Helmet’s voice rises— his words gonging in my ears and distorting everything. “Get him up! Now!”

“Ward…” I hear Avie; I feel her presence on me as I brace the floor, and then my head. “Ward, what’s going on?!”

I try to tell her but all that comes out is straining noise; a signal getting worse and worse, lashing out at my attempts to communicate. The noise… The noise! It’s in my head, and it’s howling! A scream that will split my head open with the force of a thousand— “It’s nothing… It’s nothing!”

Buzzing; blaring—claxons and whirring shrills in real time— I hear all of it; I can feel all of them. They’re rolling in from the unseen horizon; creeping out from where it’s been held, and it wants out— it wants that more than anything. It wants to try again, and it will; it’ll scream louder, harder until the cage breaks…

It’s coming…

Murmurs rise from the alarms, punching through the pressure building up. I see it in my vision and on my forehoof; a heart-sinking light; an emblem of danger…

All of the HUD is dying; fizzling, flashing, deconstructing into spazzing lines of arcane code that want to explode…

It’s coming…

There’s too much noise— too much noise— “Make it stop! Too loud! Too loud!”

“Shit! Get him up! In the hole, now!” the words warble in my ears. Everything I see doubles onto themselves; a shimmering outline rippling from our movement, and in the light. It’s like water caustics—

The distortions are flowing in like water and are being shut out by whatever safety measures there are. Avie’s in my face, speaking. I need to say something, but the pressure is pinching the way out for my words. She’s holding my face, and I’m holding my head.

Everything’s so hot; the sweat and tears are almost boiling out of my pores. The drum in my chest distorts everything with its ramping thumps. Every boom in my ears makes the caustics fly away from our silhouettes like dust, but they always stay— bleeding from the light that still is.

The door they shut and line with tape won’t keep them out; the lanterns the helmeted griffin light won’t guarantee safety. I know from training; I know from inside— from the inkling that’s growing and raking into the black matter of my brain. It’s building… Building… Hundreds…Thousands…Millions— Growing—Deafening— Drowning—

Gone… The pain’s not there. Was it ever there? Taking deep breaths, it’s floating away. Going… Going… It’s far from me, but still there— back to where it was. The inkling’s brighter, but far, far away. It doesn’t mean it’s over. I don’t have to question how I know, because everything around me is evident.

The Storm is here…

* * * * * *

The candle light is quivering in the darkest corners of the room. Everytime it flickers too harshly, it pulls the guards’ eyes off us in an instant. They don’t always go out, but when they do there’s always a griffin with a quickmatch.

The door moans all the while. The thinnest barrier between us in the room and them out there rattle with a quiet fear permeating everything. None of us dare to look. It is easier that way for everyone gathered…

One way in… Only true way out…

Avie holds onto me, and the griffin guards— Bandana and Helmet— sit along old crates, rifles always ready, and staring on at us with the door to their back. The Boss taps his talons along his chest guard, and periodically scratches at something underneath. Everytime he does there is… something more… Something I think— Something I know, I should know, somehow.

…

“What was that?” White-feathers chirps. Every other griffin look at him— worry, flabbergast, and cold expression all on their faces. I keep my ears, and so does Avie.

The Pipbuck is all but worthless. What little of it I see in my vision doesn’t stay clear for long. Even the device itself is having a seizure, and it can’t tell if everything’s an enemy, or probably an enemy. The entire bar is flooded with red…

There is nothing out there… There is nothing… Nothing is nothing…

‘They will come in. It can be anything, anyone; it’s none of them, but it’ll seem like somepony ya know… Block it out… Shut it out… You need to… You have to… If that doesn’t work…’

“Sir, there’s someone out there. You all don’t hear it?”

The other griffins look to one another for a moment, and back on their recently chatty teammate.

“You all don’t hear them?” Whitefeather asks, again.

The softest click from a rifle answers his question. Those green eyes dart around the room to everyone else’s focus on him. Not another click, but now the Boss pulls something from his gear— a slick, hefty-looking tube in one talon, and a pistol in the other. The quickmatch comes out, too.

Something beyond the walls. A croak, a groan, getting louder and louder; shaking the room of its dust until the door threatens to come off its hinges. The reverberations peak, and then slope— the noise getting farther and farther away. The room breathes, and Bandana goes to check the door with the longest, mousiest steps he can muster. His glance is quick, and his “okay” gesture is even quicker. Not a word.

…

A shot; a short burst of gunfire rings out from somewhere outside. Bellowing reverberates across the room, and the gunfire is drowned out and then immediate silence settles in. Not a scream.

…

“It had to be a Catalyst Storm,” One of them finally chirped, cutting through the layered silence. Her voice is low enough to hopefully not bring attention, but loud enough for us to hear.

“All the way out here. Another rogue cell, most like,” White-feather chimes in.

‘How long does it last?’ Pegasi couldn’t tape those clouds— none of them, Catalyst or not. Those that did just… vanished, as far as the records told. No natural pattern; a small window of predication and preparation; hunker-down protocols…

The L.T.’s words, they echo out from the back of my mind: ‘Close the door… You’ll let them in…’

The door starts to rattle and grab at all of our attention. It shakes and shakes on the verge of coming off the damn wall. Two of the griffins spring to it, bracing against it and holding into the stone with their weight. Bandana moves one of the weighty crates with straining effort. Avie and I stay where we are as the Boss keeps his eyes on us.

The door goes from a rattle to thunderous banging. The wood frame, despite its frail appearance, keeps itself standing. All the noise funnels into my head, and it escalates— getting louder and louder until I can’t hear anything anymore; nothing… but the faintest mangled tune behind all the noise.

It starts to sound like horrible music; a melody that shouldn’t be. Scratching at my brain, worming into the folds in my gray matter and pulling them open. Everything blends together, melting away into a macabre of words I feel; noises I see; and feelings I can taste… Drowning… Drowning…

Air…

It’s stopped. The door has held together, and the three griffins back away from it like the slightest jerk will kill them.

“Hello?”

My heart jumps, pushing my back into the wall.

It sounds like… No.

It couldn’t be… She’s beside me, not behind the door.

“Anyone. Any-griff… Can you hear me? Please, open the door.”

“It’s her…” White-feathers speaks up, “I wasn’t crazy…”

“Gael? Boss? You all in there? Open the door— before it comes back! Please, you have to believe me!” The voice beyond the barricade insists.

“Find a room; light it all around; close the door; not a hoof outside, and not a stranger inside…”

White-feathers looks around at us, “You all believe me, now?”

“Gael? I hear you in there—”

“Don’t.” Bandana warns, rifle ready. “Block it out. You hear nothing.”

“Bullshit, I hear her. What about the gunfire? We can’t leave her out there— she’s one of us—”

“Take it easy, Gael” Bandana warns.

“No, no! She’s just outside the door!”

“Voice down, Gael.” The Boss also warns.

“Are none of you going to do anything?!”

“You know protocol—”

“Fuck protocol! We’re no good if we can’t save some of our own from this bullshit Storm! We can’t lose anymore!”

“Open the door! Open the door, please— Gael!”

Rifles raise the moment the griffin—Gael— lunges for the box. The latter draws his own weapon, changing target every so often, “We’re not leaving one of ours out there to them!”

“There’s nothing there, Gael. Sit down or…” Bandana warns.

“No, you’re not! You’re no—”

A snap silences the room, and a griffin drops like a heavy stack of cards.

“Gael…” One of them calls their comrade, limp and unresponsive.

I look over to the Boss— all of us do. A pistol is in his talon, and the cylinder is affixed to the end of it. He drops his aim and stares at his fallen subordinate.

“I didn’ wanna believe it,” he says. “I thought maybe he’d ignore it. I would’ve wanted that more than anythin’. It was too late for him. Fuck.”

The noise on the other side of the door ceased the moment Gael stopped being alive. Nothing’s changed, and I know the griffins know that.

He walks over slowly to the corpse, and the rest of the team steps back with their guns now lowered to the floor. The Boss takes the time to kneel down and run his talons through the dead griffin’s head— the parts of it that are not soaked in blood and brain.

Three more pops go off, and three more times the fallen griffin’s head geysers with each shot. Avie slinks back into me, and I look away thinking it’ll keep going for a while. It doesn’t.

“That should buy us some time,” Boss mutters loud enough for us to hear.

“W-We can’t leave him like that, sir,” Bandana says. “He’ll turn into—”

“We don’ have the room or space for a fire. The smoke will kill us before the ones outside do, and then it won’t matter. Watch the blood…” The Boss holsters his pistol for now with the silencer still attached. He bends down, looking irritated and rubbing at his chestplate again. My own chest itches just watching him. Without a word he starts to move the body with Bandana’s help, leaving Helmet to turn his attention to both Avie and I.

“I wonder what he heard,” Avie asks. “He sounded so… so worried and longful about whatever he was talking about. It must have meant something…”

“Sounded like a mare,” It sounded like Avie to me, but to the griffin…

She squeezes at my foreleg, and I see worry in her eyes, “Ward… I’m right here. Don’t listen to it.”

The weighing guilt is in my stomach, and my ears fold as I nod. I hold onto her, bringing my forehead to hers and fighting the sudden onset of lethargy. The scent in her mane… Her scent… How long since I’ve slept, for real…

Something strange stirs inside and becomes a yearning. The threads being pulled catch my throat, and I’m forced to take long, deep, almost shaky breaths. My heart squirms, steaming with thoughts coming from someplace in my mind. I can’t stop thinking, feeling, a homesickness that can’t be mine— it can’t be mine. I don’t have a reason too, but—

“Return…”

“Get it off! Get it off!”

Bandana’s screams shake the room. All of us look at the female griffin struggling. Her frustrated grunting quickly becomes fretting, and a horrible glow starts to emit from the one talon she’s worked up about.

The Boss starts to pull his pistol without warning, and Bandana freezes. She raises her talons, showing all of the glow in her right. Curse Crystals have blanketed it, and are crawling all the way down her wrist; pulsing, crackling— everything it does causes her to wince, streams down her face glistening in the candlelight.

The Boss’ talon digit runs along the back of the pistol, and the hammer pulls back with an authoritative click. Bandana’s wavering voice stiffens, and her talons lower with her beak. Her digits glide near her own holster—

Helmet stands sharply, “Sir!—”

A pop and a crack smash into one another. The room reverberates, and my ears ring like mad. The flickering light on the end of that room goes out with a thud, and the Boss stumbles into a nearby crate.

“Dammit!” He hisses, pounding at the crate holding him up. “The light! We need the light! Don’t let the shadows—”

“Boss…” Helmet raises his rifle towards the wall as it feels like it’s getting darker than before. Any light that touches it slinks away, vanishing like the darkness was a rising water level.

Something like claws dragging along a glass window goes off in the back of my mind, making me spring up and off the ground. I pull Avie up and hold her close, watching this thing consume the two fallen griffins.

“...Hello…”

I bite my tongue to hold back a scream— It was in my brain— it was in my brain!

The shadow ripples the light shining into it, and something inky begins to show itself through it.

“Get the match…” The Boss urges, keeping his breath low as he slowly backs away from it, as more of the room falls into obscurity.

“Sir, we need to—”

“I know what yer about to say! We ain’t got luxury! Get a fuckin’ match, no—”

A horrid, garbled scream lashes out at his words and at the Boss. He struggles against a rampant form of what was the griffin, Gael. What he was, what he now is— Curse Crystals grown over him like a cancerous blight; eyes hollow and full of that horrid color; voice like a busted radio.

Avie slinks back into me, and I cover her with my wings as the Moribund bashes and claws at the Boss, “GET IT OFF ME!” He screams bloody murder.

Helmet raises his gun and fires several shots at his former friend. The bullets shatter through the crystal and rip through hollow flesh like it were a paper tarp. No blood pours from the wounds, only more crystal where the bullet once was— rapidly growing and covering the wounds all over. It didn’t even flinch!

“Fuck!” The panic in Helmet’s voice was rising. He fumbles for another magazine and immediately drops it. “Shit–Shit— Shi—”

Another warped scream turns his words into panic as he’s flung off to the right of us by a blur of terrible light and feathers. The room is full of screams, garbled nonsense, and a curtain of darkness that inches closer and closer to us as the room burns away, unraveling into oblivion and the inky silhouette moving into the both of us.

Something— anything! Anything to try and slow them down. Our backs are against the wall, and the door is lost to the dark— burning away like paper to a fire until there’s nothing but an emptiness.

The room grows silent, and the candles left around dissolve away.

There’s gotta be a way out! The last of the door is gone, and the violent mayhem in the room fizzes away like static in the dead air. There’s gotta be something!

Avie holds onto me closer, “Ward…”

I hold her even closer, putting myself further around her frame as if I can shield her from the force creeping up on us. I don’t take my eyes off it, even with my heart screaming; drumming a ramping, desperate beat into my ears.

Four pairs of glowing eyes light up in the dark. In the dead air, I… think I hear something.

Something strange…

Something familiar…

Something… Like…

“Fall…”

There was a floor beneath us. Above, the shadow and the eyes stare and vanish into snaps of light and shape. Directions— up, down, left— they don’t mean anything anymore. My stomach doesn’t know where gravity is, and the bile is in limbo. Avie’s still with me…I can’t feel Avie’s presence around me.

“AVIE!” Would have been the word heard, if there was anything to carry them out. As hard as I scream— I can feel the strain in my throat, but not a sound leaves my lips. I can’t find the means to use my wings to break my fall; trying to flap them feels like they will shear off.

The oblivion around me feels like it’s tumbling, and in the twisting shadows I swear I see things— hear others— flash by me. Sometimes it’s like the sun breaks through the clouds; sometimes there’s a terror-filled scream of defiance and the sound of clashing thunder making my muscles feel like they’ve exploded; a horned creature stares at me through the darker cracks in the veil, peering at me with one disfigured and pale green eye, whistling a—the— low tune.

I don’t know how I know, but that tune…

Something about it changes in the sudden, lashing static. The melody is being stripped, warped— there is nothing right about it. At the same time, it’s as if hearing it for the first time was what I’ve always known from deep inside; like seeing in a dream I can vaguely remember, but somehow know so well… I’ve heard it before. It sounds like… Feels like…

My HUD sparks back to life in my vision, buzzing and trying to force epilepsy. The Stable-Tec mascot flashes over on occasion, the expression twitching from complacent, then to agony, then to accusative; his face falling into itself until there’s a hole in the code and an angry light destroying the static. A screen comes up at the center of my vision, and a single message spells itself out:

[H-E-L-L-O]
"Hello..."

It’s in my vision— it’s in my head— speaking right into my brain. I think it; it said it. My skin tightens, my blood robbed of warmth. AVIE!!!

An instinct sparks inside. I look around myself with the feeling pulling me in all directions until it’s taut. My eyes wander until I notice a pinprick of familiar light— the sense, warm and fuzzy-like, bringing me closer to it. It gets brighter. Closer?

In the disharmony of the void, there is something peeking through all of it so clearly. It plucks at my heart like a painful nostalgia. I have to get closer. I need to get closer.

This feeling grows, blooming into a mother’s embrace. The pinprick gives itself shape as an uneven, glossy face floating in the oblivion. Mother…

I reach for my talisman with my whole coat feeling three sizes too small…

Almost there… Just a little more… Am I still falling? Are you waiting for me? I’m almost there— Where’s Avie? Can she see you too? She needs to— It’s how she’ll find me in this place— Just let me get to you…

Just a little more… Just a little more… Got you…

“You. We know you…”

That’s not my—

My hooves around the talisman are wracked with tremors that paralyze with hundreds and thousands of cold, burning needles. They burrow deeper, and the grip on my treasure tightens. I scream for my body to stop, but every muscle lashes out in sadistic defiance. The Pipbuck’s screen in the bottom right of my vision burns white, flickering mad until the faintest whine bleeds into my head.

A haunting light pulls itself from the inky glow around my talisman into a vague shape. Its coiling features writhe within the pit in my stomach; becoming fuller and more distinct, my breathing faster and faster.

Pain and terror rise with the form. It ripples like a puddle and something beyond it starts to pull itself out. The haunting glow of the curse crystal pokes out from the veil with scorched metal. The cracked lenses stare right into me; my heart’s desperation bursting, clawing out of my ears.

“We know…”

The lenses snap open; the voice rattles my brain with every echo bouncing off the inner walls of my skull. My mind is seized by the pinpricks of the unknown in those sockets, sending me screaming with the static in my head and in my forehead until a great, tearing force overwhelms my right forehoof into a screaming numbness.

“You know…?”

Gravity pulls me down. My frogs still keep glued to my talisman; the pain is growing, and the numbness sends drool from my lips. I try to flap my wings, but every feather is a brick.

“Do…?”

My eyes focus on the talisman. Muscles going limp, stretching far beyond what they should; the talisman getting further and further… but my grip… is still…

“Where?... How?... When? You know what we ask…”

Out of my head…

“Relinquish… Open… See… Submit—”

The talisman’s glow burns a sickly light that shakes me to the core. My one last hoof that holds roars with a greater pain that splits through the numbness. It’s crawling in my veins, rupturing every cell like a monster in my blood— carving, hardening, cracking, banging, churning—

My chest starts to burn with a cold, and it’s forcing my eyes on the mask that stares, demands; caresses and gently lays me into a thousand grasping strands. In the dark around us— falling into eternity— I’m not— I’ve never—

“Embrace—”

A thunderous roar shakes the abyss. The dark mask flashes; wrong sparks fly; foals cry from nowhere. The horrible bliss shatters around me and I fall with the talisman.

“...Ward!”

Avie…

“...Ward! I need you to— Ward!”

Avie… What’s going on…

“Get up…! Please!”

I can’t find the ground…

“Ward! Ward! Please! No! No!”

More thunder rings out around me. My eardrums feel like they’re on the verge of bursting.

“You can run… You can climb… You can fall… You can’t fly…”

My talisman floats about in front of me without the horrible light, only it’s own now. In the wisps around the dark, I can see glimpses; Avie’s face…

The pistol is in her mouth; her mane is sticking to her face like webs. Her gun is holding itself open, clicking furiously, and it drops from her maw. The scene flickers, and I see her from somewhere distant at an off angle low to the ground. There’s something there, inching towards her— fazing closer and further away, settling right in front of her.

“Cannot run… All the roads… All the ways… They come to us…”

It’s flickering closer to her. Her scream shakes the vision and pierce through the dark.

“Get away from her!”

The shadowy visage blinks into my view.

“Join…”

Blackness forces its way down my throat. My screams come from deep inside, coming up from the voiding cold that hollows me out. The crystals nip, and they bite— tearing me inside and out. My body shoots out from all sides, thrashing at its own volition as my voice cries out into static.

It’s slipping away… Joining the rest… My head won’t stop throbbing against it all. Against hundreds, thousands— hundreds of thousands. They’re all inside me, crawling into me— stretching my mind until I vanish into the sea of mangled melodies.

I can hear their tunes, in the smallest of seconds. Every single one of them.

They are me, and I am them. Neither and none, against that which is.

DROWNING in the growing sea, and unable to DO anything... Not WANTING to do ANYTHING…

Which one was I? Who was the me on the floor—

Thousands-of-I— too much of— too LITTLE—

DROWNING…

Burning…

—waking—

A burning inside…

—locked away—

The glow of my time… Burning brighter…

—Need you—

—Need her—

Burning inside. A spark calling to a flame, looking for its light… Slipping through the cracks. Spilling out from inside. Not like this…

Not like this…

It needs— I need—
—I need—

Calling to me… Asking of me… Giving… to me… In the frog of my hoof…
—My heart—
A—Vie—

Our screams… becoming a melody…
—Will not—

Her voice… becoming mine…

Becoming ours…

-–Fading—

A greater melody…

—MY voice—

To find a way…

—TAKE IT—

In my hoof now… Cry all ya want…

—abomination—

Burning… In me… —Release—

“What…”

—You will not have her—

“Different…”

—THE SAME—

“We…”

— Mine—

—MY body—

—MY magic—

—MY heart—

“Submit—”

—Burning— Its shadowy facade shatters, it cries in the dark. The goggles staring…. The light coming back…

—I’m ME—

She’s fighting it… The look in her eyes… Our bodies —OUR— Ravaging…

“You…”

My name… on her lips… fighting the static…

So much more personal. The pain, the crystals… So much more…

“Reject?...”

— She will not be erased—

“Defy?...”

—BURN—

DEPARTMENT OF ARCANE AND ALCHEMICAL SCIENCES-

NULL WATCH DIVISION

MEMORANDUM FOR:

TO:Qulumhil-Na’Thalishin, High Inquisitor Qaluhai’na

FROM:Null Zone Zalef

Watchpost X
Grand Aridia, Region South

SUBJECT: After Action Report, Null Zone Activity Recorded

SUMMARY:

The following is information regarding the duties of Null Watch, itself:

New report of Null Zone activity from Watchpost X.
Ambient localized magic through the adders
Contact made, two new entities emerge from the aforementioned shimmer— one perceived hostile, and the other on its back.
Agents deployed to investigate new shimmer from the hole in perception following strict assessment and decision procedure. Entity cognisance, questionable.
Action taken, mitigated. Contact made, expenditure of warding resources minimal to negligent.
Entities collapsed. Observation and assessment of new arrivals revealed to be two pegasi matching descriptors for missing ponies of interest.
Both pegasi are being kept for observation until orders are received on the next course of action.

Addendum:
This one was on fire. It walked out of the Null, just like the Blip did when it showed up. It burned a different way from the cleaners. It seemed to understand our requests, but it didn’t talk back or acknowledge our questions. It bled something that turned the sand under its hooves to glass in an instant, but none of those flames erupting out of the crystals spread throughout the body, so much as burned the pony on its back. She was directly in its flames. Hammerdown Protocol was considered, but the burning one fizzled out. It begged. I heard its cries for help before it settled.

I believe it is the best course of action that they are held until the matter of their nature can be assessed properly by the Vhoskilinn or the Arcane and Alchemical Sciences Division. If they are a danger, ma’am, then I’ll humbly accept a demerit for not throwing them both back into the hole sooner. It may be a trick, but I know that the School of Mysticism and the Arcane and Alchemical Sciences Division would want to know if it is something new.

- Kae, Head of Null Watchpost X

Chapter 10- Lapse

“Drowning…”

My eyes are open to it, and my heart is with her.

I can see what it did to her— feel what it’s done. The light of her being; the thread of her existence; her piece in the great symphony… Dimming out; unraveling; flaking off; crystalizing; reducing…

— It won’t erase her —

Those words— my words, my feelings, feed the thing inside. The very idea of everything to do with her. It still claws with every fiery clasp raking along its way out until it’s nothing but me.

This isn’t just what I’ve kept under lock and key; it isn’t just fear of confession. It's an actual dread for what’s come alive, and I can feel it when those urges and yearnings creep up on me.

I thought it was just me imagining things— trying to put a picture to something mundane and nonsensical, but the fear is always the same. It’s still with me, chilling my bones to the core to see the very thing staring up at me as I look inwards.

Cool as embers now; smaller than the pyre that it sat on. It stares up at me, with a broken Enclave mask in its hooves turned to dust in its smoldering grip, consumed. It’s face…

—It won’t hurt her—

—They won’t hurt her—

—None of them will hurt her—

—Ever again—

—Find her—

* * * * * *

“Avie!”

Her name is like adrenaline in my veins. Everything screams, desperate for release. I can feel it in my body— the unraveling going through her— getting more intense every second, “Let me go! Let me go!”

“You can understand me, can you?” A mare’s voice— not Avie.

The leather along my hooves bites into me, trying to keep me from her. That’s why I’m here— it’s the only reason: they are keeping me from her when she needs me more than anything. It gets bigger and bigger in my mind; the whirlwind inside getting closer and closer to an explosion I can’t keep inside anymore, “I’ll kill ya! I’ll kill all of ya!”

They speak in that fucking tongue. They can speak all they want, but I won’t stop. They don’t understand— they won’t even if I screamed it.

“I need to see her! Let me go— I need to see her now!”

I can feel it from here; I can see the unraveling. Her thread gets thinner and thinner with each passing moment; her song is dying, and it’s taking her with it. My hooves thrash against the restraints, and they bite harder into me. I try to get back at them, but the handlers try to keep my head down.

Something pinches at my neck, becoming a cold throb that courses throughout my body from that point of contact. Everything becomes even blurrier than before, and the raging drum in my ears slows with my breathing. The restraints stop biting as my limbs grow heavy and cozy-like.

A voice becomes echoey, speaking in split-tongue. I can’t make it out as the words shrink and fade into obscurity.

~~*~~

I smell the salt in the air, and eventually hear a soft crashing sound in the distance. It stirs me awake, and it’s the only noise around me in a cozy little hut with everything we need. I check my bedside to find her sleeping soundly, her face full of content, a faint smile to her lips.

Something about being so close, like nothing can hurt me anymore. She can sleep all day, with the blankets bundled up into her chest, and all I can feel inside is a fuzzy warmth that caresses and soothes the worry. I don’t even need them, anyways.

As quiet as a desert roo rat and with the caution of an EOD Specialist, I slide my hind hooves off the side of the bed. It creaks; I freeze. Over my shoulder, she’s sound asleep. Good…

I try again, and the creak is a little louder. The bed conspires against me, damned thing won’t let me go quietly. Guess I have to be quicker…

Three…

Two…

One—

I’m pinned in place, held down by white wings wrapped around me. Her face is buried into the side of my neck where she lets out a small muffled chuckle, coming up to my ear, “Got you.”

I was so close, so fucking close to doing… something, and now I’m trapped by angel’s wings. Can’t help but smile, “Damn it.”

“Better luck next time, Ward,” She squeezes a little harder, and she drags me outside into the sands. It plumes up around us, a fine gritty cloud getting everywhere. I don’t even have my clothes on, but I can’t be bothered. It’s just the two of us, after all…

I pull myself up to look out onto the ever-stretching blue horizon of sea and sky, seeing and feeling the breeze waft over the two of us. That salty air really makes the mind spark, leaving nothing but warm fuzziness and an inkling of wonder. I can stare at this all day and wonder just how great it must really be…

“Is it everything you hoped for?” Avie asks right beside me.

A lazy smile comes over me, and I get to thinking about it. “Soft, rolling water; clear skies above; a gentle sun that doesn’t want me dead… I don’t think I’d share it with anypony else.”

She sits up right next to me, “You think there’s a place out there just like this? Without the radiation? Without the small things that will tell us the world’s still… less than what it used to be?”

The dimming sun in the passing clouds tells my mood, plainly. I don’t think I need to say anything more than what my folding ears will say on the matter, either. “It’s just a dream.”

“Maybe it doesn’t need to be one. Maybe we can go looking for it together.”

I take my deepest breath, letting all of the salty sea air in to lighten my mood on the matter; hoping it does. Everything feels like it’s wilting on the inside. Things like this, I can’t help but think about how quickly it slips away, like this sand between my hooves.

Too fast…

“I’d want that. I owe ya.”

I feel her lean on me, her nuzzles riling tears up in my eyes. None of them fall; none of them will. “You still have time. I’m still here… I’m still there.”

Yeah… Yeah ya are… I wrap my foreleg and a wing around her, bringing into my embrace as gently as I can. My heart pleads for me to tighten my hug, to give her more like before. Something in the back of my mind tells me not to, and then the clouds move in with a chill; callous, venomous. My blood runs cold as I hug Avie tighter for her warmth. There’s only sand…

“No. No!” I stare at the destroyed sand mound, unable to take my eyes off it. I try desperately to bring her back, building the mound back up only for it to collapse every time. My mind screams every time it does, hoping the next time she’ll be right there like she just was.

The cold comes in full force, turning everything gray— from the water to the sun overhead. The wind picks up, forcing me into a self-contained huddle as the once soft sand turns into little needles of ice piercing through my coat.

“Avie! Avie, where are ya?!” The wind roars in defiance, drowning my words out. I scream her name again, and I’m thrown off my place on the shore. My cheek burns to no end. I get up to look over the horizon, and the cold, cold sun shining through the overcast takes on a seafoam green color.

In the churning sea, amidst the foam rising over the caustics I see her, “Avie!”

She doesn’t turn around, and she’s so far out— like a post in the water, staring out at the odd-colored sun. It hurts to stand with every pour of my body screaming till they bleed, but I need to. The blood in my veins is icicles, but there’s something more rising up inside; something that keeps things flowing and giving me what I need to push forward.

Winds kick up to keep me from using my wings. Every attempt forces me back into the sand, harder every other time. I try to move into the frigid waters, keeping her in my sight, pushing forward as the sky darkens and the current goes against my legs. The further I go, the harder the undertow goes against me; the thicker the water becomes; the harder the wind howls and lashes against my skin.

“Would you do the right thing, Ward?” I hear her voice as if she was right besides me, but she’s still out there in the waters— her back against me.

I don’t understand… “I don’t understand—” I lose my stance and plunge into the heavy water. It gets into my eyes, mouth, forcing itself down my throat as I grasp at the air just above my head. Thrashing, gurgling, lungs are set ablaze and desperation pulls me back to the surface. The sky is abyssal— not a star, and only the odd-shaped, seafoam green moon staring down at us. Avie is still there, a white silhouette against the dark horizon.

“Do you love me, Ward?” She asks, with a waver in her voice that ties my stomach in knots. The wind lashes, tearing my body open with vile disgust and drowning my cry out with its howls.

The warmth of my own blood pouring out from the gashes in my skin doesn’t last. It seeps out like syrup and hardening into rubies in my fur before it even hits the water.

“I need you to say it,” She asks, demanding even. Something’s wrong with her voice, and I hear it in the wind this time. “I need you to tell me.”

It’s a lot to— it isn’t a lot to ask. It is, but— I can’t—

The cold wind whips at me several times more, rending and cracking my skin away into the water; my screams growing louder than the last for every one of those kisses.

“It’s not that hard,” Her voice isn’t even hers anymore. It’s bitter, older than before. My skin begins to crawl with the realization creeping up on me. “Do not make this any harder than it needs to be. Just three little words. Three little words to make it go away.”

No… They’re not just three little words. They’re more than that to me. I know what will happen, and it will happen like before. I— I won’t…

The cold grabs me by the face— burning it all the while. It pulls me out from the water, puts my eyes on ice until they feel like they want to explode from the jelly freezing inside them,“You ungrateful little shitstain.”

I scream— try to scream. Nothing comes out. My wings won’t work; I still haven’t learned to fly, yet. I can’t breathe no matter how hard I try; I can’t cry even if I wanted to, but the panic takes hold in my chest and my brain.

The pressure around my head starts to tighten with the terror throughout my body. My mind starts to race— firing off anything that can help me like a wild microspark cell. The longer it drags on, the louder the desperation becomes in my head: Say something— Apologize— Be good— Momma— I’m sorry— I’M SORRY—

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good, I promise!” I scream, trying again to fix my horrible mistake. They’re not worth a damn anymore, and she drags me along the cold metal floor that scrapes and nips at my fur.

“How dare you lie to me,” she spits. “I try and I try, yet you always find a way to make me hurt you. Do you think I want this? Do you think I want to have to deal with the ungrateful likes of you? Well, maybe Steely can.”

“No! No! Not Steely, No!” I thrash against her hold on me. “I promise I’ll be good! I promise! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I— I love ya, momma! I said I love ya! Please!”

Please work… Please, please work… She pulls me up, and the metal monster stares into me with soul-shaking, orange eyes. Its whole back opens up, and I’m lifted over it. A cold black abyss stares up at me, hungrily waiting; licking its lips at my sweating desperation.

“NO! NO! PLEASE! MOMMA! NO! NO!” I don’t know what to say. I’m saying all I can! She’s not listening— she never listens— I never listen! I can’t— I don’t want to— “PLEASE, MOMMA! PLEASE NO—”

Her grip vanishes over the scruff of my neck.

I plummet like a rock, my voice lost to terror as the dark swallows me whole. Her icy blue eyes disappear in the maw of the metal beast, becoming a stranger, sinister color that vanishes completely.

My coltish screams bounce back, seizing my body and keeping me fixed. I can still cry out, plead for momma to let me out of Steely, but she won’t hear me. Through two little orange windows I can see her staring back at me, and leaving the room. The door closes, and all goes still, but my breathing picks up.

Every second becomes longer; every breath makes time go slower. The creeping worry and horror agitates every question that pops into my head, making each one louder than the last. When will she come back? Will she ever come back? What if I have to go to the bathroom? When will she let me out? Will she forget me this time? Am I going to die? Will she know if I die?

I try moving, but my body’s too small and too weak to make it move, even a little. Something sharp digs into one of my legs, tearing all the way up the side of my shin. It throbs with my crying, and I feel it weeping red down the servos underneath. She’s going to kill me for this…

The suit creaks. My babbling cries catch in my throat. I try looking around through the orange windows. Is there somepony there? Did she really leave? “Come back! Please, come back! Momma! Please!”

A horrible metal squeal shakes the suit and knocks me around. Everything feels closer than before, and it is harder to move. There is something wrong.

I try to move, and something else cuts me again from behind. Another metallic shriek, and my right foreleg is pinched too tight between the mechanisms. The servos are sinking teeth into my leg, and I can feel every part of me getting pulled, chewed, and crushed through a grinder. My throat goes raw from the painful screaming. I try pulling away and get my other foreleg trapped in another hole that holds on too tight and starts to do the same as before.

Everything is a cascade of impossible feelings— all of it hot, gnawing, and throbbing beyond what I should be feeling. My screams do not do it justice, and my attempts to pull away from it— to not feel it, anymore— only get my other legs caught, and then my little wings.

Steely has me, and he’s not letting go. He’s coming in all around me; the air getting smaller and thinner with each passing breath until my skin becomes the metal pressing into every nook, cranny, and angle that is my body. The orange lenses blink at me as I cry my heart and stomach out, getting closer and closer. They open up, and two pin-points of eternity stare into my very being.

My tears freeze against my skin, and my muscles turn hard as crystals inside Steely. The thought and want to… What… What was I supposed to be doing, anymore…

Those pin-points, staring back at me, let me go.

The world forgets me, and I sink into a dark place.

—Promise—

What promise?

— They will not take her—

In the cold, empty void, a star comes to me. It glows that familiar seafoam green, pulsing light like a heartbeat with its rough, uneven face glistening every which way.

—What is a shield—

My body is mine, again, but the pain still lingers. I can’t get up from the cold abyss. The rock… My talisman… rolls itself over to me.

—What—

—Is—

—A Ward—

Every part of me is torn up, but I can still manage to move my hoof towards the rock. The only thing that’s been with me for as long as I can remember, and I do remember the name… I do remember its meaning… I remember… Who gave me the name, for the times she needed me…

She needs me…

—She needs me—

My reaching, broken hoof is crushed when I finally touch my treasure. There isn’t a scream to give that my body can outdo, and I writhe. I look up and see that Enclave mask…

That horrible, wretched Enclave mask just staring down at me! It cocks its head and reaches for the talisman. The comforting glow turns sour, and it pulses through its shadowy form. A low, enthused groan emanates from the specter.

"It is true…”

That’s my voice, but it’s not…

A cry shakes my heart, and I yell at the figure, “GIVE IT BACK!”

Something shoots through it like a surge of energy. A foal’s cry echoes out into the emptiness as it’s shoved away by an unseen force. My talisman falls back to the ground right in front of me.

“How…”

I finally grab it with all the strength left in my mangled forelegs, and my face is slammed back into the solid void beneath me. A cold, raking itch spreads from the back of my head, seeping in. First there is darkness, and now there’s truly, absolutely nothing but the bedrock of all reality in my vision. Nothing can be felt but the slightest twinges of pain resonating throughout my body; everything so cold, it’s burning so small.

My vision, overtaken, by the eyes of eternity level with mine. I can’t fight back, even if I tried. The thought— the want— feels so far out of reach, I don’t think it exists anymore… Did it ever exist?

“One closer… Seven lost…”

The specter pulls me closer to itself, drawing its blistering cold appendages around my face. Rupturing pangs that should be there feel so far down a dark tunnel, I can hardly say they are there. It vanishes moments after a while.

“We asked how… Maybe… Maybe the wrong one… Maybe the wrong demand…”

Those eyes stare back into me. Something like a growl emanates from it, and the inky black wisps against the dark visibly writhe.

“No… Still don’t understand… What—”

The prodding, caressing silhouette erupts into an off-colored flame. A baby’s cry— a dragon’s shriek— a howling abomination— all the sounds of distress come from the shape in the dark. The fires tinkle like glass instead of spit and crack, and the shadowy mass writhes against them as they overtake their body.

“Different… Not like before… Damn it all! Damn it—”

It goes out like a whimper, and the talisman slides towards me without a sound. I can feel something warm coming from its pulsing light. I need to hold it close. Picking it up, it burns brighter and my hooves start to split open from the inside, all the way up my forehooves.

The light from the talisman dispels the void and a white emptiness is left behind. The weight of it shifts. I look down at my rending hooves and find a pair of aviator goggles, instead. It smells like burning leather, and one of the lenses is cracked.

In the light, I see amethyst eyes staring back at me, pleading.

—Find her—

Something inside is stirring, like a stormfront inching closer to where it needs to be.

—Find her—

Fear starts to take hold. This thing is now up and pounding at my chest, demanding to be let out. I hold myself in and try to push it down. It’s too strong; it’s too crazy. What—What even is it—

—FIND HER—

The blood in my chest is boiling. Every heavy breath comes out too hot for me to handle. My vision is getting blurry, wet, and so very cloudy red. I want it to stop— I need it to stop—

I need it to come out…

Thinking that has something clicking, like it was always something that meant to be. That little feeling, soft and reassuring, is overtaken by a hurling maelstrom of fury erupting from within. All the thoughts I didn’t want; all the feelings I wanted hidden… I can’t keep them in, anymore…

—I NEED TO BE HERE—

—I NEED TO BE THERE—

—I AM WHAT I NEED TO BE—

—FOR HER—

The faintest tune rolls through me. It’s strangely familiar— homely and smelling like… Like cream of vegetable soup, green apples, and a cupcake. For a moment, the horrid outbursts settle down, and then burn hotter out of me when the warming song trills like a sick claxon. Something’s wrong… Something bad!

My sight tears through the blank reality, taking sharp turns in a place I don’t know. I’m blitzing through vague shapes with bright eyes, beyond walls— out in the open—through dugouts and trenches into a lone room where the song is loudest.

There, over her, is another specter in that horrible, fucking mask.

“Such a pretty song…”

Every sense of my body jumps seeing those cracked lenses stare right back at me. From its form, something vaguely like a hoof reaches out towards the source of the song: a colorful, dancing thread coming out of the mare on the bed.

It touches the cord; the song starts to distort and discolor; the mare on the bed starts to convulse and cry out.

Her screams make me writhe, and the last part of me— too afraid of what’s coming— are destroyed. There’s no more fear, only the raging force inside. Her pain and suffering fuel it, become it…

It’s violating her… I won’t have that… I will not stand for that…

Leave her alone…

It’s still standing there, only giving me a passing glance as the song continues to suffer; as Avie continues to writhe at its mercy, unable to defend herself…

LEAVE HER

ALONE

—FIND HER—

~~*~~

A terrible scream is all I can produce. Everything is hot, and the world starts to lose its features until they’re nothing but abstract shapes made of smoke and wisping light.

They try to keep me down, and their yelling becomes frantic. There’s a flash of a needle, and I bite back at the one holding it. Something hits me on the other side and I meet them with my forehead until something snaps like plastic. That same worried noise is going off, and it flies into a panic— leaving me where I am. The bed still holds me while the world shifts to the left and on its side. A metal scream goes off all around me, blaring and blasting— trying to drown out the harrowing rage that needs to be heard.

They won’t hold me here… They can’t hold me here— They can’t hold me!

Won’t hold it in, anymore…

Not now!

–NOT NOW–

It smells like burning leather, and my hooves are free. I stumble along the floor and run.

I can see the way to her, and I follow it with all the speed I can muster. The closer I know I’m getting, the harder I run.

They come at me with all they have. I know they throw what they have at me from the front, from behind— it doesn’t matter. They can’t keep me down, and some are thrashed as I tear through their attempts to keep me away.

The hardest part is not killing them… Every fiber in my being wants to because of what they are doing. I can’t… I won’t. It will doom them… It will doom them all…

—Nearly—

—Killed—

The urge is biting at me from inside my blood, and every crack between the smallest parts of me turns to ice.

—Unraveling—

Everything becomes a smokey blur. The walls are plumes of the haziest smoke, but I can see where I need to be. I can see it getting dimmer; becoming that horrible, fucking light!

The wall comes down. They are gathered around the light streaming from her.

“How’d it—”

“Keep back!”

“Don’t let it get closer!”

All their voices overlap— mare and stallion—

—All Damned—

—All Tainted—

—Gone—

—It—It’s staring at me from inside her light. Those goggles in that shadowy facade weaving itself into her, dragging her into the Curse. She’s writhing as its malicious touch creeps up her body…

—No—

I lunge for it, but the voices try to get in the way.

—Get back—

“GET BACK!”

They scurry like rats, but the shattered visor still stare as she starts to whimper and cry out. I lunge and tear at it— the smoke pulling away and wrapping itself around my hooves.

Hardly a struggle…

—Not fighting—

—Can’t fight—

—Only a memory—

Her light looks fresher, but I can still see it in her. The Curse, pushed back, but still a part of her. I look down at those shattered visors still in my hooves and close myself around it—

The dark world stumbles, and the floor almost comes at me. My shoulder is gone, and a splitting pain roars from an absence that vanishes as soon as it arrives. —DAMN YOU ALL—

There are so many of them now. So many little points of light funneling in, making a barricade of themselves around me. They can’t have her… —They can’t have her—

“LEAVE US ALONE!”

—Leave us alone—

“It talked. It fuckin’ talked!”

“Sands preserve…”

The howling maelstrom of fire and rage tempers, but doesn’t go away. It’s in my eyes, casting cold light on all of their faces. They are in front of me, and Avie will always be behind me.

—Protect—

—Need to—

One of these fuckers pulls away from the crowd. Their eyes are covered, and they blend in with the rest— but I can still see them for what they are, the motherfucker—

“Listen to my voice. I know you can.”

The voice is plucking at my strings. Every thought rattles in my head, and I shake myself for control.

“You can understand me, can you?”

Like talons on a chalkboard… The maelstrom is rolling throughout my body. My head thrashes to get it out.

“Answer me! I know you can!”

—Yes— The word rips from my mouth like a hook. It’s too hot to speak…

Was… Was that me?

“Listen to my voice! Come back to us!”

—OUT OF MY HEAD— They can’t keep me from her. I know what they’ll do, and they won’t take her from me. They won’t leave her like this, and they won’t take her away!

I roar against the commands and let the fire burn hotter in response.

“Do not do this! Please, stand down! Stand down!”

The words are fighting me to bend the knees. It’s my body— it’s my mind! How dare they…

One of them approaches, and everything glows a fierce, cool color. A rumbling is in my head, and I see their face… Too many swirling stripes to give me a headache.

“ You know who I am. You know who that is behind you. You are… You are protecting her, are you not?”

A sensation along my back brings out a roar— Behind— It dies when I see those amethyst eyes staring back at me. The smoke in my eyes clears, and the light becomes a white pegasus on the table.

“Avie…” Don’t look at me like that… Why—Why— Why are you… “Why are you looking… at me… like that?”

Her eyes, so full of hurt and disbelief— somehow twinkle, faintly, with something like hope. She reaches for me, trying to tell me something. It’s barely a squeak.

She… She looked at me like that… She… She never— Am I—She yelps in agony, and her hoof plummets like a rock. I leap for it, but I don’t see my hoof reaching saving hers. It’s something smoldering, crusted and cracked. That’s not mine… It can’t be mine… Couldn’t…

The bellowing in my chest cools. Wisping things all around vanish and settle into distinct shapes. The noise in my mind settles as the cracks in my hooves fill with her touch, and the nasty things fall off like ash.

“You’re okay…” she tells me, weakly, giving me her best smile. She’s okay… but why does it hurt so much? Why am I, more than anything, wanting to claw my eyes out for feeling like they’ve gotten too big for my sockets?

I can’t stand on my own hooves anymore, and I don’t want to let go of hers. As I fall, my talisman plops out right in front of me.

I want to say it… More than anything, I want to say it… I can’t… It eats me up inside, and I know all I need to do is let it out— but I can’t…

Not now…

Not with how she is, now…

In the dim light of the room, I can see what’s left of the Curse. It pierces faintly through her body, like ghostly vines creeping up the hoof I hold; her soft white coat, tarnished and bruised. Feathers having to the wayside, sickly and withered like ash. They become something like that when touched.

How can I tell her now? How can I tell her… How can I—

“Ward?”

The voice is behind me. I can hear her for who she is— that strange accent and reassuring tone. “I thought I knew your voice… Sta… Sta…Sta-Gona.”

“We are here for you. For the both of you.” She tells us.

I know what the signs mean. Avie has the first of them, and that means… It only means—

Something doesn’t feel right. It’s not just my legs… My ribs are like they’re made of glass holding a very loud and eager bird, chipping away at me from the inside. The strength in my muscles wither, and my vision becomes gray and clouded with every thump.

I can’t even pull myself forward, but I try to keep myself as upright as possible. There isn’t even anything in my lungs for a scream, only a weak, ebbing sigh while the world pulls me to the ground.

There should’ve been a hard thud, but something soft catches me— something like a bed, or a hammock. A grayish blob comes into my vision, and it waves something in front of my eyes.

“What he did… He did…” Her words are like they’re coming from a pipeline. She’s closer than that, but somehow so far away. What is she asking? Are they the same sentence, or are they completely different things?

“D—” There isn’t enough strength to even speak.

“...how is she?” She asks.

I can’t say anything, but my thoughts are as loud as my words would be. They yell, demanding an answer. I can’t even hear that; my body won’t let me perceive anything beyond a growing, numbing ringing in my ears.

It’s a conspiracy. It has to be… I want to know what will happen— I want to know! Why can’t I just know! I have a right! It’s her life on the line!

The cold facts of affliction come to mind, and they lay themselves out flat like the manuals they came from. The only mercy for those in the first stages of Curse Affliction: “mercy.”

Mercy… ‘A shot to sleep; a fire to set ya free…’

Please tell me she’s okay...

Please say something…

Say just… something…

Distant noises far down the narrowing tunnel, so muffled. There are two of them, but I can’t tell what they are saying. The worst comes to mind, and I want to cry out and keep them from her…

It’s not in me. I want it to be there, but it just… Why isn’t it there?! Where is my strength?! Where is my voice?!

The blob reaches across my vision, and the only thing that is not gray, is a familiar, warm seafoam green light.

I can see Avie in the back of my mind. The constant smiles; hugs and presence that can warm all the way through. They want to wither and gray. I try to preserve it in my mind— the color of her eyes; the light of my dark world, but it hurts too much. I’m burned every time on the inside, and her face starts to rot and peel away like an old painting— exposing the truths that force me on my knees, force me to watch the cold reality of where we are now.

Her screams… The terror in her eyes when that thing cornered her; my name coming from deep within her heart when she couldn’t do anything…

The fire inside is so cold. I still feel it festering. Everything up to now, peeling away and leaving deep, gushing wounds that won’t stop…

I couldn’t do anything…

I— I should’ve…

It’s…

It’s who I am…

What am I, if I couldn’t stop it…

* * * * * *

Between the curtains, things bleed through the dark…Becoming me…

A brilliant light, at the beginning of it all… Hurts too much to watch, and it wouldn’t be ignored…

A gentle world beyond, among a great carpet on the “right” side of all things… It’s pull, too strong…

Ripped away… before it closed…

Drowning in infinity, too many things— too many sensations— none of the likes of…

Too much… All of it, is too much… Pouring into my awareness, becoming too big… Too full of light… Too loud a song… Too much order… Too full of chaos… Too much…Too much…

Realms within realms… Dreams that are not mine… Crushing me… Pressing into the center of my center, hardening all around…

Stars… Suns… Sky…Clouds… Every single one… Faster and faster… hotter and hotter… closer and closer…

Foundation…

A great quake… A dark flash… bleeding and rippling around… This noise barely beginning…

It still hurts… Beyond me, all of it… To know, what shouldn’t for me…

Shutting myself out, into myself… Partly me and partly this new, obnoxious, hurtful reality… I can dream my own dreams… Tune out the noise that is not mine…

Still there… So close… Behind the veil that is always there…

Home…

My home…

* * * * * *

A familiar, rocky ceiling greets me as a shock slams through my chest and forces a deep breath in and out of me. The air is hell on my lungs, and I feel everything itching on the inside. Every cough makes it worse, and I can’t stop it even if I tried.

My body can’t stop fluttering, and every uneven jerk makes my heart leap uneasily inside. Everything about my skin and coat doesn’t feel right, like it’s hugging me too tight and every subtle movement will make something tear. Even my wings… My wings don’t even feel like they are there…

A growl comes from my stomach, followed by a stabbing pain that eases and skewers right through me. It leaps up like it wants to desperately leave my body; thinking about it makes it worse.

I smack my lips, the throat is unbelievably dry. The tongue is nothing but a rough carpet, and everything else is a barely sticky mess that makes swallowing feel like something that will kill me.

An instinct pulls my attention to the right of me. A fruit bowl sits there, and a pitcher of water. The array of colors coming through the gray in my vision, and the water glittering at me, make my stomach twist the knife. I take an apple to make it stop.

The skin and chunks of it cling to everything. The juice seems to make the dry mouth worse, and everything else is a rough ride down the gullet. A large gulp of water helps everything down. Should have started with that, first…

It hurts to feel my stomach get filled with something, but I press on through the discomfort until it stops. First the tart green apples, sticky dates, and finally the barrel-shaped fruit left over. None of them had seeds, and that just makes the experience as easy as it can be.

The bowl’s empty, and my stomach still feels like a painfully bottomless pit. There’s nothing but the water left, and the thought of drowning the feeling out comes to mind. It’s still there even after forcing so much of it down my throat, forgetting to breathe.

There’s cramping, a bubbling urge to burp where it feels like everything will come out if I give it the slightest chance. I coil up, lay on my side to keep it in, until everything settles inside and I find the confidence to move about without the fear of something coming back up.

A ditty source of light comes over me. Circling overhead, a little glowbulb dims itself to something more warm and soothing. Some part of me thinks it helps, but… Hrm…

This place, this bed and room… It hits me like deja vu as the pain dulls and withers away. I’ve been here before, and the more I hold it in my mind and let it pass along it clicks. When it does, a pit starts to open up again from inside: full of anxiety that yearns to get worse with each passing second.

Avie…

Her name pulls me upright and off the bed. Everything feels more distant than it should; limbs feel stagnant and numb, still, but at least I’m not falling flat on my face or my back. Just like last time, there’s nothing under the sheets but the real me— bare and shameless. My face feels so hot it may as well be on the verge of peeling skin with a thought creeping in my head. However long I was out, whoever had to look after me… I hide myself, from myself and look to the bedsheets. They’re coming with me…

The cold metal door to the room, still wedged into the rockface, doesn’t seem to budge. There isn’t a means to open it— no handle or button to press. Tracing my hooves along the edge of the door, I’m a little weirded out by its existence. Some parts of it are cold steel-feeling, but it somehow gets to a point where there isn’t that but smooth rock. The glowbulb comes around as I try to get a better look at what it is, and the dispelling shadows in the crevasses make me think they are one in the same.

It’s gotta be some kind of magic… Something like that…

I put my ear to the door, and it kisses me on the side of my face with a cold shock. Should expect to hear nothing, and there isn’t anything but the blood pumping through my ears to the drumming of my heart.

What am I even doing?! There’s somepony out there that needs me!

My hoof pounds on the door as hard as my current strength can allow. It’s dense, and I don’t think any sound made it through. I look down and find a slit where a much more yellow light comes into the room. It flickers every now and then, but I can’t tell if it’s a trick of my imagination or if there’s somepony actually there…

I put myself as close to the dusty floor, pushing as hard as needed to get as clear a view as possible for what’s outside. It’s still not crystal, but I keep my ear trained on anything going on outside. I could probably hear a rat’s fart if I tried, but there is nothing.

My memory stirs. Wildcat comes to the forefront of my mind, and my nose starts to sting and pulse; the smell of blood hanging in my sinus. “Hey, who’s there? Can ya hear me?!”

I swear to myself that the stirs off to the right is more than just a trick, or maybe just the irritating dust kicking up into my eye with every breath. The last snort throws up a good sum, and I pull back to rub out all the grit. It takes a while, but it eventually clears up.

“I’m back at the Mountain, am I?!” I call out to whoever’s listening. “When did I get back?! How long have I been here?! Where’s Avie?!”

Another stir from the back of my mind. It’s fuzzy like static, and something hollow is in the heart. Whatever’s supposed to be there, it feels too distant to even connect with. Somehow there’s the smallest pang of longing and regret, growing numb like I just can’t be bothered no matter how much I prod myself with what amounts to questions starting with “why.”

Please… Please be okay… I don’t believe. I won’t start now. I can’t let it go from my mind or my heart. I need to say… something… It’s the only thing that can come to me, and the only thing that wants to come out like it will fix the issue. Like anything could be listening now…

The thought makes my skin crawl to no end as it makes me feel… vindictive? Just plain angry? More or less the idea, I guess.

The door opens so suddenly. I back away from the familiar face in front of me. Her soft eyes don’t waver, and her reassuring smile in that brown-accented facial mark opens a little bit. “I’m glad you are up. I was… beginning to worry.”

Stagona steps inside, taking the time to look back beyond the door before inviting herself in— bringing a cart of sorts with her full of so many things. The glowbulb dances around her head, illuminating all the jewelry in her headpiece. She grabs the orb, brings it to her lips, and lets it up to shine brighter than before. Deja vu…

“How are you feeling?” She asks.

“I’m—” My tongue suddenly wants to twist itself in knots. So many things that I want to talk about, all wanting to rush out at once through an opening so small.

“Hmm?” She asks, pouring hot water into an earthen cup.

“I’m— this isn’t— I mean—We… made it?”

She finishes the pour and gets her mouth free, “Yes. Both of you.”

Both… Both! “Ya mean she’s—”

She nods, but there is no smile in it— and that starts to twist my stomach up a little on the inside. I wanted relief, but what little of it there was in it didn't come around. A hollow density fills me up on the inside, so strong that I backpedal enough into the bed and rest my haunch on the edge.

“But… But she made it. We made it!” Saying it out loud, hoping that what I’m feeling inside just turns into something better. It doesn’t. Somehow, wanting to say it louder with more gusto and passion—hoping that it would change that— it just doesn’t. It won’t… Why…

Stagona’s hooves find mine and she guides them together, putting between them the earthen cup from before. I expect the pungent smell of dirt water, but instead there’s a new— more fruity fragrance being carried in the steam up to my face.

“Drink it,” she says, “Before we do anything, please drink it. It will help.”

Help with what, exactly… “Help with what?”

Stagona finds her seat. She focuses on me, giving me a look that doesn’t help the dread that lingers on the edge of my mind. The silence hanging in the air makes my neck stiff, and every fiber pops with the slightest twitch. My joints are shocked, tingling with every passing second with a jolt that amps with every tick in my mind.

All of my focus locks on the smell from the drink, her words, and I bring it to my lips. It burns everything it flows over, but the warm earthy sweetness steadies the nerves. My mind breathes with my lungs, in spite of the eagerness still poking and prodding me. At least its hot iron is much cooler than before.

Those brilliant orange eyes still look on, and I need more of the drink to help its magic. I down the rest of it in one go, leaving nothing inside the cup.

“Say something,” I ask softly. “Tell me what I want to know— ya said ya would. The drink’s gone.”

Her eyes dart around so subtly. They stop and focus back on me, “I believe… it would be better if I showed you.”

“Show me?” I echo.

“That is what you would want, right? To see her?” She clarifies.

I didn’t expect that. I thought there would be more stops along the way— more questioning to get me anxious. Or maybe she already saw that. There’s something else in her eyes… sadness? It’s bothering me way too much, and I’m wanting to back away from the situation. I swallow it all, holding my chest like my hoof would quiet the thumping.

“Would you want that, after all? Would it help you to see her?” She asks, again.

I swallow, but I can’t say anything. I nod instead.

She gets up from her seat and reaches for the lowest tray of the small cart she brought in. It’s a folded pair of simple-looking barding that she sets aside on the bed. “I hope they fit.”

* * * * * *

Tick…

…tick…

Don’t do this to me. Please, please don’t do this to me.

Tick…

…tick…

You’re a sick bastard. Every step, you get louder; every breath, you threaten to stop my heart with the crushing weight on my chest. The hall gets longer. The sand underhoof becomes looser, threatening to suck me in and drag me under. Why are you doing this to me?

Tick…

…tick…

You can’t keep me from her. I was given the opportunity to see her, and I’m taking it. Nothing else matters— I need to see her, myself. With my own eyes.

Tick…

…tick…

I meant what I said. Whatever it does to me… It can’t be any worse than what’s happened to her, and not knowing is only making it worse. It won’t make it better, and I still fight myself on that. I want to believe things are alright… but if I do, then I’m no better than every Enclave sap back at the Cage.

Tick…

…tick…

I won’t feed a fantasy. I don’t care how blissful ignorance is… It will only numb the pain that has the right to be here…

Tick…

…tick…

Please—

“This way.” Something else. A mare’s voice— Stagona’s— saves me from drowning inside. I can finally breathe, and I notice a gilded rock face at the end of the small hall in front of us, behind the zebra. Veins of goldish color spread throughout and all around us, pulsing and glistening with soft light in the dimly lit corridor. Is it my imagination? A trick of the light? There are no glowbulbs around to convince me it’s them causing it.

“We call it ‘Orichalcum,’” Stagona explains. “The Mountain is imbued with it.”

“Are we almost there?” I ask. The perpetual twinkle of the veins is too distracting. I can’t stop trying to rub the glare out of my eyes.

“She is here,” she answers, lifting one of her hooves to the rock face behind her. My ears twitch to a whine… No, something else. It tickles the inside of my ears, might as well be my brain, to hear the lightest metal chimes sing a song the veins respond to. They change, moving about the walls like worms and pulling away the rock like a curtain. The dim hall is illuminated by a giant crystal growth from inside.

I follow her into the spacious hole, my eyes unable to tear away from the brilliant, shiny tower of a cluster from the ground to the ceiling. Nearby is a spherical gem that stands out from the rest, seated on a natural pedestal, and next to it is…

My heart screams; my body springs frantically towards the capsule-like face in the whole thing. I rush past the other zebra in the area, and I’m holding my breath, reaching for what I’m after like it’s my way out of a dark tunnel, and I find…

Avie looks so peaceful. That alone should put me at ease, but… it doesn’t. Why doesn’t it? Why do I know something is still so wrong?!

She’s sleeping in water that doesn’t spill out of the place she rests in. A silver bug-like thing is on her chest, with a gem that constantly glitters with so many colors. Bubbles come out from her mouth so often, and the oversized broach looks to move and pinch into her skin.

What do I even say? How can I even say anything? I don’t know what to feel. Relief? Confusion? Anger is even there, and I don’t know why. I try to reach my hoof into the water, but I’m pulled back by Stagona. She gives me a look of understanding but shakes her head nonetheless.

“What happened to her?” I ask, looking back at Avie. My mind flashes with thoughts, memories, of her sickly appearance and her pained groans on a table. “What did you do to her?”

“What we can.” Stagona tells me, gently. “You know of Affliction, correct?”

The word kerplunks into my gut like the densest rock known. I nod.

“There are few who know of this, and all would say what this is—”

“Don’t!” I let the sharp word fly from my mouth. I’m not a fucking idiot— I know what they all will fucking think! My memories, clearer than before, I know what I saw. I know what it means. It’s in her— was in her— where she is… It’s against the protocol for those who become Afflicted. I want to tear my own brain out for even reminding me what’s fucking wrong with this whole thing!

Torture… It’s fucking torture… I know I don’t see it in her clean complexion… I know what’s happening to her… I can’t see her eyes… Her eyes…

I can feel the zebra coming up next to me, “I am so sorry.”

The look in her eyes, I remember them so vividly. In that dark place, they lit up when I… “She was okay. She is okay!”

I tell myself that over and over, but the words just won’t stick. They feel hard, dense; every one a punch to the gut that gets worse. Why…

“You gave her a chance, Ward, but it is only for the time being. This is the only thing we have as of now that can keep the inevitable at bay. So long as she is here, she will not succumb to the Affliction that is still there—”

“Stop!” I don’t want to hear that word. I don’t want to be near the zebra. I don’t want— I can’t stand to be near Avie. As much as I want to, something wants to slip and I just can’t!

What chance did I fucking give her?! Where the fuck is that even coming from with this fucking stripe?! She’s not out here— She’s not walking! She’s not sickly! She’s not rabid! The Curse isn’t there!

She isn’t afflicted!

She is not afflicted!

Why won’t the words stop punching me until I’m down?!

“I thought you would be in more hopeful spirits, Ward.” Stagona says. I can hear the caution in her voice, behind the sympathy. “You know what is to be done with those afflicted. You know.”

And yet she’s here in that… thing. Ambivalence is kicking me down, strangling my heart the more she tells me these things. “Why didn’t ya? Why didn’t ya do what was supposed to be done?!”

The look on her face… “You would have preferred that?”

“I… I don’t—” My heart’s pushing up into my tightening throat. I can’t swallow it fast enough. “Why didn’t ya?!”

My heart wants to tear itself inside out with what I know and what is being told. I’m breathing hard and swallowing air to make sure it doesn’t. My words feel fat, and they are hurting me trying to make their way up and out my mouth. I keep it shut, holding it in.

Stagona looks at her colleague at the terminal, and back to me. She takes a deep breath,

“When the Inquisitora was informed, we came— I came with— to the Null Zone that gave you both back. While we were there, we saw two pegasi that had both come from a place where the Curse is at its strongest. One was healthy; the other ravaged by The Curse. What we saw confirms a theory my colleagues had regarding you and Outpost SE7, but it also gave her… a chance.”

This buildup— this fucking buildup— “Tell me! Say it!”

“We saw a moribund unlike the others reach into her without so much as tearing her physical form, pulling the Curse out and into itself. We saw you, and you shed your form just as she regained vitality…”

It sounds like bullshit. I has to be bullshit, right? Right?! “You’re saying I’m— that I was— that—”

She takes a moment and reaches under her dress-blanket. Her hoof comes out with a gold chain, “...This is yours, is it not?”

The memory flashes across my mind, and I can see the way it shines with its rough face behind an ornate golden cage. It’s like it tells me everything is okay, and I refuse to listen to it. My heart starts yowling, again…

“It came off when she reached you. You came out of what you became. You collapsed, and I caught you, finding this.” She explains. “Whether the Enclave knew— whether your General knew— it is still under investigation. But this, we know there are more. We also know just how close it is to you...”

Diamond Dust…

“I don’t— I don’t understand.”

She walks over, taking my hoof and letting it down gently into mine, “If there is a means to cure her, it is with the others just like this one. There are more of these, we know of that. How many there are we have yet to determine, but the promise is exponential. We now know it is possible because of you, even if you do not remember.”

I stare at it… Mother… I can’t feel the security it gave before. Avie. The look she gave me… The things still unspoken…

“Ward, listen to me,” Stagona asks. “This is a poor situation, but rest assured she feels no pain. You were here when we brought you to this Mountain. She is there now. What will be achieved, through her and you, we can cure Aridia. The Curse, lifted.”

“Ya can fix her…” I try to ask the question. The dull, squeezing ache in my chest makes it harder.

“Not as things are,” she explains. “But it is possible.”

“Don’t tell me that.” I snap. “I need to know if ya can. Can ya? I need to know!”

The pause is irritating. “Yes. Yes we can. As I said: Not as things are, but for now she will be okay. We will monitor her.”

“How?! How can ya fix her?!”

She looks taken aback. I can feel her partner’s stink eye on me, and I’m itching to do something to make it stop. Stagona points to the talisman in my hoof, “With that.”

“Tell me!”

“Please listen to my words, Ward. It may be difficult to understand. What you have there is very special. With my observation, and that of the Inquisitora, we know something can be done. We did tests prior to you reawakening from your reacclimation, but we know it isn’t enough. We know there are more. Out there, somewhere…”

I’ve heard this before. It’s grating my mind: I still know nothing about it, and I can’t do anything with this! I’m like a bloatfly in a glue trap; itching to run, fly as fast as I can and getting nowhere because there just isn’t anything to go on!

“So ya don’t even know where the answers are?!”

“Not yet, no. But for now we have this solution. She will be safe. You have my word.”

Her reassurance about Avie— knowing she’ll be stuck here like this, but she will not become one of them… I should be feeling glad, but… It doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right. To think I’m going along with this at her expense, and weighing the options…

I’m a piece of shit. No, I’m more than that. Worse…

All the more reason to go ahead with it…

I put my talisman on and get one more look at Avie, “Will I be able to see her?”

“Of course.”

I push down the dull ache with as deep a breath as possible, closing it all off as best as I can, “What do I need to do?”

Chapter 11- Trial

“Are you sure you’re ready for what lies ahead? Have you taken the time…”

She looked so peaceful…

It feels so wrong to think. Every time I try to change those words to sound like something that could ease my nerves, it just… doesn’t.

She isn’t suffering anymore; how can I know that? Because she isn’t struggling in that… suspension; because her colors are still there... She’s got a fucking silver bug-thing digging into her chest, and I’m supposed to think that’s okay?!

These thoughts— knowing, not knowing— tearing at me from the sides like rabid mongrels. Digging deep, thrashing, pulling me apart and spitting me back out to have the whole thing happen again! I want to ignore it, but I can’t…

I… I just can’t…

I don’t want to think about it. What’s the point of even trying to— about what’s got the folds in my brain crawling with discomfort, if it will only—

Fuck!

I’ll drown in my own thoughts if I don’t figure things out. I need to. It’s the only way to help her— to fix it. I can fix this. I just can’t do it from inside this fucking hole in the wall.

The way she looked at me— the way she gave me my talisman. My talisman…

Vivid images come to me from the dark. Wispy walls, a void in reality… a melody defying another, so wrong and vindictive. No, desperate? I can’t remember…

She was there with me… Was she there with me? Was there more than just us?

The light… That familiar glow that helped… I can’t help but stare at my talisman and feel…

There’s still not as much as I thought. What happened?It still means so much to me, but…

I guess I just don’t want to think as much as I did? I don’t know…

The chain is so smooth, reminding me of the simple leather thread that held it to my chest for so many years. I can’t believe I’m actually feeling nostalgic for something so cheap and… well… At least the goldish chain seems sturdier. Maybe a little too lurid for my taste. And the mesh around it… I think it’s taking it too far. What made the zebra think it was a good choice to do something like that?

Ya don’t glow like ya used to…

Something still feels like it’s missing. A hole in my head; a gap in my recollection. A wall too familiar, but so quiet like… last time? Yeah, I think so. Actually… Did I ever?

Avie…

How long will ya sleep?..

Do ya still dream?..

Of what?..

Can I still dream?..

* * * * * *

Sleep would not have me, even if I had let the sorrow run dry. I tried to let it be the case; tried to let every drop out. Eventually the tears just stopped coming. I know they’re still there, and I can feel them holding back when I want it all out. But no, some part of me doesn’t think it’s necessary. They should stay.

I’m still strained by the maelstrom inside: to let it out and to not. Disgust, shame… regret; content, justification… closure. Overlapping one another, pushing the other down to occupy my headspace. Buried and drowning under everything that won’t leave me the fuck alone…

“You cannot go. Not yet.” Stagona tells me. Her clarification only adds to the pile of ambivalent bullshit dragging me down by the hackles.

I find the earthen plate in my hooves beginning to slip. I just want it to fall off like it would make things feel like they were getting somewhere. Accomplishing nothing in the end, but losing good fruit…

Everything touching my tongue is just texture and water. These had to be the same fruits from that meeting with the Matriarch. They have the same colors, the same beautiful arrangement, but they’re so pale in their personalities. Nothing to enjoy.

“Are you listening to me, Ward?” She peeves.

“I just need to go.” I tell her, trying to savor the bland, colorful mess.

“I understand, but just slow down. You did not take last night’s revelation all too well, after all. You need to take time to process these things.”

“I’ve had nothing but time. Let me do something with what I have and make up for the rest. Just let me get out there and…”

I still can’t find that fire. It was there before, but… Just where is it?

“I understand, but—”

“If ya understand, then let me just go do what I need to do!” There isn’t even enough energy to raise my voice. I’m tapping my chest and throat like it was a gauge that needed help.

“Where would you go? Do you even know where it is you need to go?” She points out. “I am trying my best to help you. I do believe with all that has happened you are owed as much of a chance as Aviatrix is. I am doing everything I can to ensure such an opportunity can come to fruition— with as much benefit attached, for you and for her.”

“Like what?”

Her head tilts, “Like… what? What?”

“Benefits— what kind of benefits?” It was a pang that I decided not to ignore. The prospect of there being more to what I want to do… I need all the help I can get. I need to remember that.

“Favor of the desert.” She explains. A followup question doesn’t have time to come out as she continues, “I apologize. What I mean is that you will need to prove to the Matriarch that you can withstand the trials of Aridia.”

I try to pull apart her words to make them a little easier to understand. It’s feeling like it does make sense, but I’m not sure if the uncertainty is warranted.

“The Matriarch thinks I don’t have what it takes? Is that it?”

“No. Not exactly.” She says. “Think of it more like an assessment.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The Matriarch has told you the situation with the Enclave prior to all of this. It was when she invited you to her chambers?”

There was no scorn in the Matriarch’s words when I let my stance on the matter slip. It still doesn’t feel right…

“The Aridians do not allow outsiders to roam their lands. As far as we have come to understand, it is the same principle as to how you would never let a stranger into your house without having taken the time to know who they are.”

This isn’t making any sense… “I don’t know… how long have I been here? Since when does something like this matter? The Matriarch invited me into her part of the Mountain— y’all let vertibuck couriers and Wonderbolts come and go, as far as I can tell! And suddenly none of what’s happened before applies?! Am I missing anything?”

There’s a long pause between the two of us. I finish the plate, set it aside, and drink the water besides. Stagona takes a moment, and she sighs, “As the General’s son, did you ever come to understand the Enclave’s place in Aridia?”

The Nag never told me anything. She would only smile with that cold, skin-freezing stare and a hoof on my head that dug into my scalp.

“Your Wonderbolts and your Vertibuck support were necessities,” She explains. “By some measure they were exceptions to certain clauses the agreement set by the Matriarch and your Enclave as you have come to settle. What this means for you, however, is a different matter entirely.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Enclave pegasi are not allowed to operate independently within territories outside their realm of control, per the agreement. You were an exception, and that exception is why you have been here; why the Matriarch allowed you to stay per the proposal of my kin— of the School. You wish to do so without our oversight, correct? To help her?”

“More than anything.”

She shows her hooves, as if telling me something that should be there, “It can only be done if you can prove to Aridia that you are to be trusted. Already, opinions of the Enclave are far more shaken with recent events. The only way to do that is to show them that you are capable— show the Matriarch that you are worthy of the blessings… how do you say… per say. It is all they really want.”

Memories take me back to basics. I’m not sure why, but it’s the thing this all is pulling me towards. Seeing all the foals in my grade— noticing some who didn’t look like the conscription was ever for them. We were there to prove we can be useful to the General…

I can’t help but take a deep breath, letting a heavy feeling ease down into my guts until the sigh becomes an aggravating groan.

“So what then? I go to the Matriarch and beg on my knees? Kiss her hooves?”

“No. No no— nothing of the sort.” She shakes her head, face scrunching with disbelief. Her words were soaked with it, too. “Do you really think of her as one who demands self-degradation?”

My skin crawls at the memories of a scornful nag resurfacing. Shame, fear; all the unsettling, familiar things want to have their way with me. I shake my head.

The talking stops, finally, but now I’m not so sure. The peace it should’ve brought to ease the nerves is stale and leaving a bad taste in my mouth that makes my stomach quiver.

“Do the walls bother you, Ward?”

I don’t know how to take the question: a merciful break of the silence, or an intrusion.

“There’s always walls. Don’t matter to me if they’re rock, or steel, or made of grimy, rusted bars…”

“Did you ever go on missions in the blasted heaths of the Aridian Desert— where the Enclave were relegated?”

“Only for basic— Where is this leading?” Parts of me hope it’s the fact that I can just get out there right now. Still, cynicism keeps me from running away with the idea. It’ll hurt less when it won’t end up being the case, too. Not that it matters, I guess…

Can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop bouncing my hindleg off the edge of the bed I’m sitting on. It needs to happen— something needs to happen.

“To answer your question, Ward,” She breaks the small pause and stands up from her seat. “I do think that a change of scenery is in order.”

A change in— A change… “Ya just said I couldn’t leave yet until I deal with this thing with the Matriarch—”

“I did, but I believe it should not mean you are forbidden from leaving this room. So long as I accompany you, as well as one other escort, there should be no problem. Aside from that, it would also make this forthcoming trial much more… how do you say… snappy?”

“And you’re telling me this now?”

She takes my empty bowl, “A little rest after eating helps the body process more efficiently, and a little change in one’s surroundings will help you mentally. We were never meant to stay idle for long, after all.”

I can’t tell if those are platitudes, but they rub me the wrong way as if they were. Or maybe I’m getting two ideas mixed up somewhere along the lines. I think I end up finding it, “The School of Mysticism is okay with this?”

“Of course.”

Something feels off. I can’t tell if it’s her open demeanor or some other thing I think I’m picking up between the lines of her wording.

* * * * * *

Snaking tunnels, moderate descents that go downwards in all kinds of ways. Eventually it’s just just Stagona and I, then a few other strangers, and later larger and larger groups going about their day in this Mountain. Still a lot of golden zebras with the same fashion sense as my escort; very loud colored blankets and jewelry...

“Have you had any issues as of late?”

“Hmmm?”

“Your recollections. How do you say… Has everything been… running okay upstairs? Nothing else bothering you, like last time?”

If there’s anything bothering me at the moment, it’s the mumbling that’s killed the ambient quietness. It’s not loud, but it’s making me wish it were. That feeling of being watched still hangs over me like a clinging cloud. I dare not look over my shoulder, feeling like the first thing I’ll see is nothing but eyes. My imagination isn’t helping with it…

“Ward, talk to me.” Stagona asks.

“What? About what, again?” It’s hard to focus without drawing attention. My feathers want to stand along my folded wings, and trying to keep them from doing it with nothing but willpower just burns in all the wrong ways.

“Is it all too much?” She asks. “Or is it something more?”

There is something else, but not related to me. This extra with us isn’t who I thought it would be. Just some fill-in zebra stallion built like a brick wall. “Did Wildcat… make it back?”

“She did.” Stagona answers. “I talked with her some time ago. She is currently on leave, which is why she isn’t here…”

I figured that much, already…

“The poor mare deserves her time alone,” she continues with a sigh, “she has not slept properly since the Steel Caravan Raid that took you and Aviatrix. She will not come home, even when she is there.”

Not sure how to interpret that. Do I even ask? There are suddenly more mares and stallions around. Dammit, have I gotten so used to being locked up that everything else is too much? They’re staring. I know every passing glance is longer than it needs to be. I clamp my wings closer to my sides and hold my breath, shaking my head to loosen the stiffening hairs on my crest, “I just wanna get out of here. Never liked crowded places.”

“Agoraphobia.”

It’s not the crowds it's— I can’t even speak it. You can get lost in a crowd, and that never bothered me. It’s just… There are so many zebras in one place; so many fillies and colts. All of them talking in languages I don’t understand. Language barrier keeps things secure between parties… That cold feeling isn’t letting go. The weight of it is slowing me down…

“We can rest, if you want. Let the fillies and colts go along. It is about time their lessons end.”

Lessons? “What are we even doing here? I thought that—”

“Thought that what?”

It never occurred to me. The way the rooms are lined up across from one another, how spacious this particular hall in the rock is.

“Let us wait for them.” Stagona says. “Give it about ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Won’t the Matriarch get upset about the delay?”

“No, she understands.”

“How can ya be sure?”

“If there is one thing we have learned since my tribe migrated to these lands, it is that one of the Aridian tenets is an emphasis on patience. You have been through a lot, and I suspect she understands. They do seem to know, regardless.”

I would’ve preferred the long way, if that was the case…

There are a lot of them, and it reminds me of those days. The halls, smaller; the colors, grayer. Their uniforms are similar to the zebra, but they aren’t as elaborate or colorful as their teachers. They just stay at their respective holes in the wall and watch them go and the most convincing painted smiles on their faces.

“There aren’t a lot of Aridians.” Lots of fillies, colts— pony and zebra, in the little herd. “Ya don’t take Aridians?”

“We do, though most of the Alinn-Aridians prefer theirs to a form of home education— or rather, clan-based education.”

“Clan-based?”

She nods, “While we believe education to be universally owed, the Aridians are of the same opinion, but they keep their bonds with one another just as strong. The young learn from their family; all they need to know for their clan’s longevity.”

Clan’s longevity? And now I’m thinking how the Enclave’s any different if it’s keeping to itself. “Aridians know not to suffocate themselves too much on self-pride, I guess…”

“Hmmm?”

Crap…

“Oh…” She pauses for a moment, “The truth of the matter is that while pride is good to have, too much breeds arrogance.”

“Yeah, that checks out.” Didn’t even need to push it forward with my mind still on the Enclave. The nail got hammered deep on the first go.

“Your kin very much… how do you say… fit the description?” She asks.

The more I let the words sit, the more it just… feels like she’s expecting disapproval. With the little herd thinning out, the echo in my own head grows along with the discomfort in my gut.

My mind looks to other things. There’s that hall to our left, and then there’s the one we’ve been traveling that goes farther down. “What are we doing?”

“Learning, mostly. At least, I prefer to see it that way.”

I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be quippy or she’s actually serious. I’m almost tempted to ask, but some part of me just doesn’t want to go through with it for some reason. As far as I understand any of this, we’ve just stopped to have a chat rather than getting along with what is needed. Don’t care if an Aridian values patience, it’s rude to keep a pony waiting for longer than they should. Probably the only time I appreciate some facet of militant indoctrination… Nothing else beyond that… Don’t need to go farther…

Going far… “Go farther; climb higher”... Expectations in school… “So y’all are really just a school? On top of… whatever it is y’all do for the ones in that observation wing I was kept in?”

Stagona nods, “As I have said before: the right to education is universally owed. We value knowledge as the Aridians value their water-seeds and the Corporate value favvers.”

“Like… what?”

A small smile comes over her face, “Anything and everything a young mind would want to know.”

“Anything self-defense related?”

The smile wanes a little, “That is a different branch for a very different set of circumstances.”

Self defense?.. “So ya don’t have military training.”

“A different branch for very different circumstances, Ward,” She reiterates, almost enunciating it. “Foals should not be exposed to battle. It would only stunt them; hurt their future.”

I guess I can see her point. I have the memories of before and after. Foals with promise, bright eyed, turned into dull-eyed cogs in a propaganda machine. Only stopping when the proverbial teeth wear down until smooth, or broken. That’s taking it too far, though, but what about basics? Shouldn’t a foal at least learn to defend themselves?

“But they’d need to learn—”

“That falls to their own kin— their fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts. If it is something they deem necessary, then they should be taught.”

Sounded like I stepped into sensitive territory… Wait… There’s something else. I don’t see it, but… I hear it— feel it, even. What is that? How do I know that? Such a calm, yet longing song I’ve never heard. It hurt to even think that, like I’d offended some part of myself for forgetting.

“Ward?”

“Do ya hear that?”

I look to Stagona and see her ears flick in the direction of the class hall, “Hmmm… Have you heard that tune before?”

So she does hear it… Good… “What is it?”

“I know who,” She steps out in the middle of the archway. The hall is empty, and the zebra at their holes have gone as well. “The way forward is open. Come, there is a certain pony I need to see.”

I follow her, down the hall and over the hoof-beaten sand towards the far end. Getting closer, the tune gets louder as if drawing me in. Somehow I want that, but… I still don’t know how I know that tune. Why do I even care if I don’t? I just want to hear it…

Stagona’s ears move like mine, searching and honing in on the song. Coming to the other end of the hall, she notices a small filly sitting on the left side of the opening, the source of a song.

“Amara,” Stagona calls out.

The stripped filly’s head snaps over— the tune cutting out almost immediately mid-note, “MissSophia! Hi!” She wasted no time bouncing up from her spot to give the mare the biggest hug her small frame can manage. Stagona bends her head down to wrap her in an even bigger squeeze.

“I thought I heard you singing, little mentee,” Stagona says with such a warm welcoming tone in her voice. It shifts as does her hug towards the little filly. “What are you doing out here? I thought that you would be on your way to your mother.”

She inflates her cheeks, eyes swishing left and right as she hums up her answer, almost sounding like a generator powering up, “Mmmmmm-No. It’s papa’s turn!”

Stagona mimes her realization with a silent ‘Oh’, “...I see.”

“Mmmm-hmm! He said he would come soon!” She says, then looks right at me. She radiates optimism, and it’s all shades of striped brown. Those golden eyes just widen, and then her head cocks to the side. Now she’s looking at me like I’m something she doesn’t understand, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.

“Amara,” Stagona grabs her attention, “Please, don’t stare at the young stallion like that.”

“He’s a pegasus.” She says.

Stagona nods, “Yes, he is. He is somepony very special who is going to see the Matriarch.”

I don’t think I can get over the parentese-hints in Stagona’s speech. It’s like something itching to get too exaggerated for a filly her age…

The filly— Amara— looks back at me with so much confusion, “Why does his song sound so—”

Hmmm?

“Amara, we talked about that.” Stagona’s tone straightens and stiffens a bit, but not enough to sound chastising. “You do not say things like that. Not when they do not know. Remember? Understand?”

My song? The way that filly’s question felt like it was leading up…

That song again. A proper whistle this time, and I’m not the only one to hear it. All of us turn our attention to a stallion coming from the crowd. Amara wastes no time, her ears perking up and practically jumping from her place towards him. She dives into his hooves as he returns the sudden embrace, lightly spinning her around.

I didn’t think a pony can be so… fluffy… I don’t know what puts me off about him: the fact that he has enough fluff on him to make a whole matching bed and pillow cover set. His face is so seasoned-looking; three long gashes and a burn mar the left side of his face. That one open blue eye stares right at me. Even from where I am, I can see something in it. Clear, shining like a crystal and sparkling like the way snow often looks as it falls…

Thought of something unspoken; a haunting under a sea of starlight. Where have I seen it before?..

“See you after the break, Miss Stagona!” Amara waves, and Stagona returns the gesture with a small chuckle.

The stallion waves, smiling with a light-hearted, “Buh-bye!”

Not at all the tone I thought a pony looking so seasoned would give…

He turns away with her, and a chill rushes over me. I notice the dark stripes along his back as the two disappear.

“I thought most pony-Aridians here kept their fur short.” I think aloud.

“They do,” She answers. “But him… Well, he’s not.”

“An outsider, then.”

She nods, “He does work for us and we look after that which is his.”

“Like what?”

We start moving again, navigating through the lazy and sparse crowd trails in the round room. So many halls leading every which way and a ceiling that goes all the way up. A blanket of stars, actual constellations, moving like a round star chart come to life… What kind of magic…

Stagona answers my question, “He scavenges, trades his services in mostly paramagical affairs. Despite recommendations, he never takes anyone with him; quite a loner he is. I digress, he knows quite a lot, while his knowledge of the esoteric is on the level of a grand scholar… I'm not even sure if he can read.”

Hearing that now doesn’t feel right. Still, a question hasn’t been answered, “Where’s he from?”

“From what he has told us… North. Stalliongrad. He did not come through the usual way as the Greenhorn Raiders did, or even the alicorns, among others.”

“Then how did he?”

Stagona takes her time to answer, “In due time. It is possible there is some alignment for what is to come regarding your questions as well as ours. For now, your trial.”

* * * * * *

She keeps calling it a “trial”; my mind immediately thinks of court martials, demerits, restriction of rations, and… a one-on-one. I know this isn’t like any of those things back in the Enclave, but if this is meant to test me somehow, there is still this tremendous discomfort looming over me. It’s there, following me and much clearer than it had been since the idle chatter of so many zebras faded away into sparsely occupied halls.

The way forward opens up, eventually, into an impressive chamber or amphitheater. The glowbulbs overhead, but so much fewer than in the atrium-like place from my meeting with the Matriarch. They are so spaced out that, instead of proper light, there is caustic-like illumination that dances along the many hills and small dunes in the center of the room. The air is so still that I feel slight pressure build up in my ears the deeper into the room we go.

We are not alone, either…

There, at the far end opposite of the way we came is an elevated set of steps raised higher above the others and cut from the same rock. She sits there, accompanied by those Aridian mares in delicate clothing.

They are not alone. I recognize two extras from the negotiations at the Cage: that same elderly zebra in black, and the thin Aridian in a mask. Still, there’s somepony new here. I’ve never seen them before, but their clothes are distracting.

I stop at the center of the room, unable to take my eyes off the Matriarch’s gaze. Stagona walks forward and does that Aridian greeting gesture from before, “All-Mother of Aridia, Delegates of the Concert. I have brought you the pegasus.”

The urge to do the same comes over me, even more so that I have been put on the spot, namelessly.

Eyes forward, maintain contact.

Bow.

Hoof to heart.

Frog presented outward.

She does nothing at first, but then gestures with her hoof all the same. “Dear Ward, I am glad you made it. Schularinni Stagona, thank you for bringing him to me.”

The both of us straighten our stances, keeping my eyes down and ears open for what comes next. Stagona speaks up, “Of course, My Matriarch.”

All the focus falls onto me, like the room is threatening to crush me if I do something I shouldn’t. I hold my breath.

“Is something the matter, dear Ward?” The Matriarch asks, voice smooth as silk and full of gentleness. How do I even approach that? What do I even say?

“Speak when spoken too, Pegasus.” Another voice; familiar, old, drawing up to my ears like a club waiting to come down.

Say something… Say fucking something… Now’s not the fucking time… Just do it!

I take a deep breath like it may be my last, “I’m just rearing to go… ma’am!”

The air is thick with silence, coming down on me slowly like a leaded blanket. Was I too harsh? Too impatient? Fuck!...

“Do you mean ‘raring’? Eager?” The Matriarch asks.

My cheeks are heating up and my body strains under the weight of my embarrassment. I can’t believe I fucking— “Ma’am, yes ma’am! Sorry for the misunderstanding— ma’am!”

If there was a chuckle at my remark, I probably couldn’t hear it over the thumping in my ears. The air is thick, and I still dare not move. The want to lock up my knees is impossible to ignore.

“Dear Ward, you know why you are here, right?” She asks.

I think back to everything leading up to now. As fast as it comes to me— blanks included— everything stops her sleeping in that crystal, “Yes ma’am.”

“What would that be, dear Ward? Please, I wish to hear this from you.”

I struggle to find the words, and my heart’s thumping won’t stop jumbling them all over the place so I can form the necessary sentence. Why is this so hard? There’s no need for it. Am I stalling? No, I’m—

“That color, again,” Another mare's voice breaks the silence.

Color? What color—

“Stay the Voice, please, Al’Skularinnyi Eunomia,” Stagona says.

“He is taking too long. Has the audacity to not look you in the eye, All-Mother.” That old mare is really sounding like a crone left without her laxatives. The worry I had twists into a knot of resentment, and a growl is pushing through the gaps in my teeth, but not past my lips.

Fucking say it… Fucking say it— asshole!

–NOW–

“I’m here because I want to make things right, ma’am!”

The words ripped from my mouth just now, and the room falls silent with them. I feel them all staring, and I don’t want them to. My gaze goes up until I’m looking into the eyes of Aridia itself from where I am. “I want to do my duty, ma’am! My duty to her!.. I want to right my wrongs, ma’am!”

“To right your wrongs?” She echoes, “You are not here for crimes against Aridia— far from that. But this is about her…”

I nod my head, taking a deep breath, “Ma’am, yes ma’am.”

“You understand the threat we face, do you not?”

“I understand, ma’am— maybe not all of it, but whatever it takes I will, ma’am.”

“Sheltered, hidden away from all of us, like a secret. It only makes me worry for those under your General’s command. And there are some secrets she has kept from us, no doubt— and now we know at least one…”

I still don’t understand that. Is it even right to ask? Something in the back of my mind just tells me to bite my tongue and wait.

“Nevertheless, what I want to know is why, dear Ward— not like before, no. I want to know why you want to do this.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I thought that—”

“What do you want, dear Ward? What do you attempt to prove by asking for my blessings?”

“I want… I want to prove that…” Suck it up! I can’t drag myself down, now— not now! “I– I don’t want to sit here knowing I can do something for her, ma’am! That’s all I want— to get out there and somehow… do something!”

I look down at my chest, feeling for my talisman and slowly fishing it out. My focus is on Stagona and some of the things she told me, about this, about the situation. Still not too much to go off of, but there’s something in what was said, then; something that’s melding with a prevailing thought in my head… ‘One of Eight’...

I lift it from my shirt, as high as I can, “Y’all need something from out there. Stagona mentioned it, and— and I know I need it too.”

There’s a twinge of something inside, yowling at what I’m leading up too. This, my one and only treasure…

The only thing I’ve ever had until then…

Until now…

Mother… “I don’t know anything about them—and I wish I could prove I can help in this endeavor, but…” I take it off, lifting it up to her, “I’m willing to part with it, if it’s what it’ll take…”

More silence, more doubt creeping onto me— taunting me. My prospect isn’t working, it was never going to work. I’m avoiding the question, and I can’t beat around the bush all the same. I can’t say it… I still won’t say it… Not with where she is… I can’t… I won’t…

“Willing to part with that which is yours,” The Matriarch almost sounds sad, “but dear Ward, you are not answering my question—”

“I don’t want to sit in that hole in the wall knowing that there is something I can do to help Avie with where she is now!” My tongue slipped just then, and my heart almost jumped into the back of my throat with the prospect of repercussion. Yet, I feel something move, dislodging with that small burst of fire.

Nothing said. Everything is still. I get the hint, but I keep my head down,

“It kills me knowing that the only thing to keep me company in that room are the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘what is.’” Do you know what it’s like? Sitting in that bed, just wondering how things could’ve turned out if I had done something different? If I could’ve done something instead of being completely useless to those around me? Especially the ones who mattered? “

My offering hoof drops, and I try putting the necklace back where it was. Everything’s becoming so clunky; nothing I’m doing is running smoothly. It burns inside, and I feel like I’m starting to drown. The damn necklace just won’t go over my head!

“Now look where she is— she’s there because I couldn’t do a damn thing! Everything was her! I’m here because of her! Because of her! ME! IT’S ON ME!” I push my point by drumming my chest, trying to breathe and get it out. Somehow all I think is how my hooves won’t punch through my chest to make the pain from the rising flame inside stop.

I want to say “sorry”, but apologies only go so far. Words can’t mend it, no matter how hard or how many times I try…

“...I believe I understand now.” She says, gentle-like. But does she? Why do I feel so scared?

“I’m begging you… Please… Let me try… Let me try… I don’t know where to start, but I’ll find a way. Ya have my word; ya can have my everything. Just let me help… I need to… Please…”

I can hear them, speaking amongst one another in hushed tones; in that language I still can’t understand. What are they saying now? What are they judging? Have I convinced them, or did I do this for nothing? I look at Stagona, but her expression doesn’t help. The same anxiety, worry, and anticipation stare right back at me with a curly-striped face.

The low deliberation ends. I look back to the Matriarch and she says, “You would do anything for her…”

Something inside bubbles, and I know I can’t hold it in. Not with what I’m trying to get at, but the internal build up to it still hurts some. “... She’s all I have.”

“What of those in the Enclave? Surely you have had more than her.”

Once, I had something of a “mother…”

Once, I had something of a “friend…”

“No. Never.”

“But they are your home—”

“She is my home.” I think back to the small things I’ve learned along the “grapevine,” about Aridia and its inhabitants, pieces of hearsay that feel true. “I don’t know enough, but I know the connection between ya and those around ya is strong. They’re as much your family as they are your home; as much as this place is your home. Ya do anything for them… I would too. I will.”

I stand by my words, here in the sand, and wait.

“This stallion has proved great resilience from what we all have gathered,” The sharp-looking mare in the suit speaks up. “Sticks to his words, neir the same answer every time. Considering everything, I— and neither would the Company— doubt the resolve. It is the execution— ‘na, the demonstration— that would prove more revealing to the matter, my Matriarch.”

Her words— so formal, sharpened to a point— dignified and curt without impatience. Almost reminds me of a Drill Sergeants temper if it were… on the rocks?

“We of the School do not doubt, either. Do not assume we do not,” The elderly Zebra spoke up, “It was the mare that brought things to pass, and it started with this stallion. We still do not know enough to determine the ramifications. It can prove useful, yes, but should something happen… I doubt we can ill afford to lose another Pipbuck.”

The Matriarch’s ears flick a certain way, and the back and forth stops before it begins, “Words alone will not be enough for the trials ahead. I do not see an off-stain or ill color in your resolve, either, dear Ward. Enclave matters aside, there is much out there that you and your kin do not yet understand. Do you desire to understand and to prove? If the answer is ‘yes’, do so.”

So many things are coming to me at the moment: gratefulness; pensiveness; guilt; anxiety; perplexion… It keeps going on and on until I can find the words, “Thank ya, ma’am.”

Still, it sounded almost too easy…

I have to ask, “When can I start, ma’am?”

“Now, of course. And they are where you start.” Her veiled, shoed hoof points outwards, over my head. I follow it and see one of her guards, veiled in gold-trimmed white— staring at me with a striking emerald vision, glowing like the rest.

Where did they come from? I didn’t hear a thing…

There’s nothing in the sand that can tell me they just walked in. It hardly looks like they were even there, at all. Just what—

A thud comes at my hooves and I jump back, wings flared and senses trilling. Just before where I stood was something made of wood sticking diagonal out of the ground. I look back up at the Aridian, and they have one of their own— ready and waiting.

It’s so strange. The hoop at the end of what I presume is the hilt is so stretched, I might as well mistake it for the hilt. Aside from that, it’s like those blades I’ve seen them have— smaller. It comes out easily from the sand, but the wood it’s made of is so dense that it feels like it might as well have some kind of steel reinforcement on the inside. I can feel the weight in my lower jaw, and it’s already starting to ache.

“Standard rules: First one to subdue the other, wins. No gifts— no wings, no sand dance. Any means of victory are allowed. Yielding is permissible, and is not shameful.” That voice isn’t the Matriarch’s, but it carries the same considerate and gentleness as she does. Must be one of those veiled mares accompanying her.

The guard in front of me kneels with their right leg, flicking the blade forward until it’s pointed straight towards the ground. Their brownish tail bends around from the right all the same, and their left forehoof crosses along their hooded forehead. They hold the pose, and straighten afterwards.

I’m perplexed, to say the least, and then it comes to me. The memory of the gesture I gave the Matriarch the first time I met her comes to me, and from that I get it. A courtesy; a salute…

I try my best, but my tail isn’t as flexible or as made of muscle as theirs is.

I flare my wings slowly, bringing myself as low as I can— remembering the no wings rule, and tucking away the baby blue feathers.

My maw’s grip tightens around the weapon given.

They just stand there. So still, they might as well be a white-cloaked rock in the middle of the desert.

* * * * * *

—Waiting—

Waiting for what?...

Waiting for the moment?...

Waiting for me?...

I don’t know if I should make the move. Every twitch of my muscles shriek like warnings of something terrible about to happen.

I gotta do something…

—Now—

—NOW—

A burst in my heart compels me to lunge, and I do. Their chest is open for a strike. Their stick meets mine and the thwack reverberates off the walls with the tremors shaking my teeth in their roots. So close and not enough to land a blow, I try getting them from another angle.

Faster! Stronger than last time. No difference. Blocked before it began.

Again! They meet my stick at the next angle. I swing and they slip by— something grabs at the short end of my weapon and I’m thrusted forward, losing my grip on it. The world flips around, and the ground slams right on top of me.

What… What just happened—

I see the stick coming down. I flinch, curl up and hold my hooves out— every nerve charging for the strike to come down with fury.

It’s coming… It’s coming…

It… doesn’t…

Do I dare to look? Ignoring everything from the past screaming in the back of my mind that this is just something to let my guard down? Why can’t I fucking move?

My eyes open, and the white-robed Aridian stands over me with the end of their stick inches away from my snout. The glow from their eye-mask is the only thing illuminating from underneath their hood.

Shame. Defeat. Soured aspiration threatening to drag my drive through the mud curdle in my stomach. Realization creeps in as their presence lifts off me and recedes like it was never there.

Somehow, I still feel a great weight that won’t let go. I know what it is, and it sets in with Avie’s concern in my mind.

I get up, grit my teeth and find the stick. It was next to me the whole time, and it doesn’t help these feelings that tell me I’ve failed the first, and they all saw it. I’ve proved nothing, and it’s burning in my mind and in my chest…

Don’t stop…

* * * * * *

I swing and they meet me again. I try once more, and still nothing.

Dammit, faster! Again and no such luck; they don’t even flinch. I have not landed a blow, and my jaw is aching from my attempts to break their guard with nothing to show for it.

I jump back, put distance and watch. Their stance has not changed— nothing about what has happened is different. I’m breathing a little heavier than before, and my pores are venting heat.

It hasn’t even started, and I’m already losing stamina? They aren’t even winded, just staring at me from under that white, gold-trimmed hood… Damn it all—

They’re in front of me, their stick coming at my neck. I swing, they disappear from under me. Trying to jump away, something catches my back legs before they can give any leverage. The world tumbles down and over me; the stick is ripped from my mouth-grip; my belly and chin meet the sand beneath with a breath-snatching thud.

The fuck— The fuck just happened…

Every joint feels lighter than air but aching with shock. Trying to breathe is like a dull jab to the gut. Did they even hit me at all?

Getting up, the end of their stick is at my muzzle again. The same face shrouded stares back at me. Not again…

The sour feeling; the weight of the situation… My pride; my drive… I can’t get my jaw to unclench itself, and I don’t want it to… This feels right in more ways than one, and at the same time it’s all so wrong. Very, very wrong!

My opponent backs off, and I get back up to shake the sand out of my mane and stare at my own shadow staring back at me from underneath. It’s getting harder to breathe normally, the longer I stare at the blank, pony-shaped thing judging me like the rest. Nothing to show for anything…

I punch it in the head and leave a hoof-shaped crater in the tiny dunes.

“Again…” I pick up my stick and snap my teeth over the grip, “Again!”

* * * * * *

Aridians are roughly twice the height of a pony. They are bigger, and that should mean they're easier to hit. Whoever thought of that logic can go fuck themselves with such a bullshit claim!

I swing, lunge— try my fucking best to subdue the bastard and nothing. Not one single inkling of proof that what I’m doing comes close to even throwing them off guard or on the back hoof. I’d have a better time slamming my head through a Sky Tank chassis for how hard I try to get through, and nothing!

Swinging down, hit nothing. A tap on my neck— the fuck—

Lightning strikes my chest and rides up and down my ribcage as I tumble forward, holding a hoof to myself to rub it out. I can’t stop hissing with each breath feeling like it hates me for having my chest on numbing fire.

The hair in my neck raises with their presence suddenly on me. I dodge to the left, tripping over something I swear wasn’t there just a moment ago but keep my hoofing. They lunged and missed, but their recovery comes back around with their massive tail.

I pull back, almost losing balance again. My eyes catch their stick coming back around, and I’m ready.

They clash too hard. The force of the impact knocks me off balance, “Shit! Shit Shi—”

The sand catches me, and the first step of the amphitheater finds the side of my head. No scream comes from my lips; there can’t be one for the pain raking along the side of my face.

“He loses, again.” The old zebra croaks.

I can hear myself wanting to snap back at the Nag, but the fear keeps it in. No, more than that… and it hurts my heart.

“Until now you have not been hurt, dear Ward. Yielding is not offensible,” The Matriarch says.

What does she mean by that? Is she telling me I’m not ready? Is there something else I’m missing here with this whole situation? I can’t have that… I won’t…

I’ve had worse than this… Just like this… Worse…

I get up without a word, rubbing my cheek in to make the throbbing stop. My opponent waits at their end of the circle and I stare back at them, trying to think back on everything that’s happened. How long has it been now? How many times?

Irrelevant… Disgust comes over me thinking that.

No blood on my hoof just yet from the wound. None on that pearly white cloak…

My teeth grind, nostrils flaring with every breath. This Aridian can’t just fucking be touched, can they?

I’ve been hurting myself, haven’t I?And they set me the fuck up…

A… Fucking… ace…

I can see him staring at me with those neon green eyes, a smug so proud of a face left to ache and an eye that can still see him. Bastard…

They’re staring at me. All of them. Every single one…

And I see her in the back of my mind, almost like I’m still there in that room. She, asleep, but still somehow aware of what’s going on. A memory: What would be my fucking cutie mark if I couldn’t take a few rough beatings?

“I don’t care who ya are, or what’s not being said…” I find the stick in the sand and pick it up, “... ya can keep anything from me… but not this. This is mine. Ya can’t take that from me…”

I ready my stance, staring back at the Aridian and focusing on the heat in my heart.

* * * * * *

Clashing sticks; sand in my mouth.

One, two, three blows against their guard; flipped on my back.

Lunging; tumbling.

Three rounds…

Five more…

Pushing harder, faster; my mind on getting a hit on them.

Every time— This time— I almost have it.

Never closer…

It’s harder to stand up. The shock and tremors from hitting the sand is getting to me; never softer the first time, and the grains between my coat hairs grind against my skin with each hit. It’s everywhere, clinging and pooling in the beads running down my face and mane; getting into my eyes.

My ears flick to a pleading word from somewhere in the gallery, “Yield.”

I snort and charge again, roaring with my swings and hitting nothing but air. They dodge and I pick up on the tugging at my weapon and hang onto it, swinging one of my hooves in the direction they vanished into. Nothing—

The thought is crushed with a heavy, stinging blow to my stomach. My vision goes blurry; dry gasps. My lungs writhe, deflated with the inability to breathe, and I curl up in the sand, again, trying hard to drink the air. The fruit— what’s left of it— is in the back of my throat and doesn’t want to be where it should. Demanding an exit, and I won’t allow it.

Move…Fucking move… I can feel my brain’s desperation with that in my heart, but nothing else wants to. Things still want out, and my throat is still closing up on me. If I breathe, everything will come up. But it burns…

Lost… Again…

Damn it… I roll over, pound the sand. Frustration passes through the ache into the sand, and it feels good. It feels…. deserved. There is so much more wanting to be let out, suffocating with the restraint; shaking my hoof the longer I keep hold of it.

My hoof comes down heavy, but it doesn’t hurt. It should…

I bring it down again…

Again. It doesn’t hurt like it should…

Harder…

It’s building up inside; something so corrosive and asphyxiating that hitting the sand is all I can do while the pain in my gut eats away at me. It reminds— all of this, everything about this, still burns into me.

Damn it… Damn it… “Damn it!” I can’t stop thinking it; I can’t stop saying it. The only thing I can hit is the fucking ground under my hooves and I’m ashamed. It chokes me harder and I throw it back at the sand.

“Yield, dear Ward,” The Matriarch pleads. “There is no shame—”

“One more!” My foreleg is numb from the pounding. I fall into it to hide the tears and the shame from this tantrum, and my failure. My breathing is betraying my resolve, weakening my words, “Please… One more— One more time!”

“Zyn’shah,” The sharp-cut mare speaks up. “He does not know when to quit. ‘Na, it is nothing to what was on record. Empty.”

Her words are so hollow, and yet they bite hard. I want to yank away from it, across her face if possible.

My ears pick up the crunching in the sand, and a presence is near me, reaching, “Come, Ward. I will help you up—”

I yank away from Stagona’s grabby hooves, “Get away from me!”

“Ward, that is enough. The Matriarch is watching—”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m blind,” I try getting up. “Don’t talk down to me like I can’t do this!”

The joints are so wobbly, but I can do it. I can stand up and keep my stomach down. Reaching for the stick, Stagona puts her hoof over it. I stomp on it before she can slide it away, and we meet one another’s gaze.

“Ward, look at yourself. You are hurting in more ways than one— they can see that. You need to yield.”

Yeah, they can see it. They have the power to stop this, but they don’t. Whatever point they’re trying to prove, I will play the game until I’m the one on top. I can’t stop.

The stick slides from under her hoof with a fierce tug, and I bring it around as fast as I can towards the Aridian. I miss, and theirs finds my face and I spin back around with a screaming sore on my right cheek. A thunderous voice rings out in that language as I hold my face, and taste an iron warmth seeping from a stinging cut in my mouth. I swallow the excess while I ride the pain. None of it will escape my lips…

Their hoofsteps; I don’t hear them. Where are they?..

I hold my breath to hone in on them. There is still nothing to be heard. I chance it, opening my eyes and flinching at the slightest change in the light. They’re looking over me, without a stick pointed at me. A hoof is there instead, outreaching. Waiting.

Nothing happens; nothing is allowed to happen. Not yet. Memories swim to the surface, trying to shift that dark brown hoof into a distinct brick red. I can’t read their face; I don’t know what they’re thinking.

I reach for it, slowly, and stop. The thought of what they’re expressing lingers in the back of my mind, and I see their lips curl. Damn you…

My hoof drops and they reach for it. I pull it away, “Back off, I got it!”

Getting up, I hold my breath and strain against myself. The throbbing in my cheek is gone, but my bones have gotten heavier; my muscles weaker with lying on the ground. I won’t fall for the hoof-out. Not again.

On my hooves, stumbling. My tongue glides across the open, stinging gash in my cheek. Won’t happen again…

I find my maw’s grip on my stick, again, and get my stance ready. Holding it has my legs wobble, and I lock my knees at the slightest indication.

Waiting… I need to do something different. Something that—

Their curling, smug smile turns into—was— could have always been— a frown? Their gaze turns to the Matriarch, and slight blooms inside me. The feeling turns into a prospect that rejuvenates my strength… An opening!

I lunge for it, my head swimming with the hope that this time will be different. It will be different. The distracted Aridian square in my vision is intercepted by Stagona getting between me and them. I almost hit her square in the chest, and now all the energy sours throughout my body. More than anything, I want to scream! My chance, gone!

“Ward, that is enough!” Stagona pleads, reaching her hoof out.

“Out of my way—”

“ENOUGH!”

Her words. They grab at me without a single physical hoof raised; booming into me without her voice rising, coming to me after her lips stop physically moving. I can’t find the want to fight past her demand. “What…”

“That is enough.” She tells me, her voice normal and her attention going towards the delegation. “This has gone long enough. I beseech you, my Matriarch. He will never yield.”

I haven’t won… I haven’t proved a thing worth a blessing… She knows that— she shouldn’t be doing this…

“Why will you not yield, dear Ward?” The Matriarch asks. How many times has it been now? Since she’s asked that question? I can’t read the tone of her voice; no way of knowing if she’s disappointed, or if she is, then about what? My mind runs with the questions, throwing answers and reason at each one like darts to a board…

That I won’t bend the knee?.. I didn’t need a fight to bend a knee… I already did, didn’t I?

That I’m not what she… what they expected?.. Seeing them now, I know the mask some of them put on— that sharp mare, especially. The Matriarch, though…

She doesn’t think I’m ready?.. I know I am. I’m trying to show that. I need to.

Something else inside; a feeling that I only half-acknowledge as it creeped in and out between the light and darkness of my mind. I felt it especially as the Aridian struck my cheek, reaching its hoof out to caress me and let the wound fester in my mind. Deserved.

“The Matriarch, Ward. Answer her,” Stagona tells me.

I take a little more time. The weight of expectation for myself comes down on me like a heavy blanket. My weakened knees want to give, but I won’t let it— no matter how cozy the thought of burying myself seems.

I can’t keep my chin up; my eyes can’t bear to look at the authority over me.

‘Why won’t I yield?’ I guess there are two answers… Both of them vie for dominance in my own head, but one is more comfortable being the spoken answer over the other. Wanting to bring it out feels like I’d be gutting myself right here and now. That means…

“Ward—”

“I won’t yield, because—” The words jumble in my throat, closing the air off for a split second, “— because what am I if I can’t even beat one of your best? What am I to her?”

“To Aviatrix,” The Matriarch clarifies.

I nod. My answer is truthful, but it churns my stomach as a lie should, “I told ya, ma’am, that I would do anything to prove I can do what is needed of me; that I can be the one to fix what I know is my responsibility to her. To me, yielding would mean… that I’m not the one who can do this. And I won’t have it. I can’t I— I just can’t.”

The words get harder and hotter to work with. My throat burns with the idea of wanting to bawl up and cry like I used to, thinking that would be the way forward.

“Ya said there was no shame in yielding,” I say, “Maybe that’s… Maybe that’s something you and your… your kin are brought up understanding. For me… I can’t disappoint my family.” So much unsaid… Too little, too late…

I can’t speak any louder; my ribs burn, bruised from the trial. Too many things so subtle find ways to hurt on the inside— from breathing to just wanting to fix how I’m standing. They won’t keep me, not if I have to do this, again. I’ll do it all over again, if they will keep me here. I’ll find a way…

They speak amongst themselves, the silence taken aback by the strange words and expressions going back and forth, barely above a whisper. I just wait. Their talk subsides, and the Matriarch’s voice reaches out, “We will see each other again, dear Ward.”

* * * * * *

What did I hope for her to say? What else would’ve been said? I still don’t understand— first I was needed, and then sent back just as casually. ‘What-ifs’ are all I have to play with while that send-off echoes in my mind. The way they all stared… I was just barely eighteen when eyes like that cut into me, at the final hurdle of special ops try-outs…

They won’t leave my head, no matter how distracting the glowbulb dances over me as I lie in bed with another Zebra poking methodically at my belly and ribs. It’s like she’s playing a piano laid across the length of my body, and her eyes are closed, head twisting softly and subtly like she’s seeing things go across the inside of her eyelids.

Belly, ribs; sometimes needing to roll over so she can do this strange poking technique across my back, and along my limbs. At least I got to keep my barding on…

“Minor bruising along the extremities; trauma to the sternum. No compound fractures; nothing broken. The stomach, agitated. Breathing, normal. Nothing else comes as cause for concern.” Her voice is so breathy; her words, methodical.

She takes a deep breath and the light tapping along my body stops. Vivid red eyes look back at me from under the dangling jewelry across her face. Her mane is different from Stagona’s, but her fashion sense is more or less the same.

“Does it hurt to breathe?” She asks. I stare back and shake my head. She nods, “Good. I cannot say that there is anything to worry about; the swelling has reduced, and your heart rate is…well, it is normal.”

“Why does any of that matter?”

“Just procedure,” She explains, gently. “Although you were hardly given the worst, most brutalistic experience of a Saan-Srah, one cannot be too careful— even in a fight such as the one you just had.”

She backs away and looks to Stagona. Again, they both speak in their own language, and they bring their hooves and heads together. The mare leaves, and Stagona looks back at me without the small smile she had given the former just seconds ago.

I’m already sick of it, and I turn away from her. I can already feel the bed wanting to suck me in and drift me away, but it won’t happen. I’d rather just stare at the wall and let the thoughts of everything burn in my head.

“Why are ya still here?” I ask.

“Would you prefer that I leave you alone with your thoughts on recent events?”

“Ya just gonna sit there and wait until I do?”

“Yes,” She says, calmly; matter-of-factly.

“That doctor of yours said there’s nothing wrong.”

“She is a physician, Ward. Different paradigm to what I am here for.”

Like I didn’t know already from the many other times we’ve talked…

I hold my talisman between my hooves, staring at the dim light collecting in the small pockets in my frogs from behind its cage. It feels so different; so wrong. It can’t quite soothe with its new face. Mother…

“You’re here to pick at me, then? For what?”

“I am not your enemy, Ward.”

“Ya got in the way of what I needed to do, and now ya try telling me?”

“I do not mean ill towards you; I do not wish harm upon you,” she says. “That is what an enemy is.”

“But ya got in the way—”

I hear her take a deep breath, the air coming out sharp from her nostrils, “I did. An enemy, as you have just assumed, would have let you throw yourself around like that; not even cared how bruised, or how broken, you would have become. Does it make me an enemy? When I cannot stand seeing you struggle so hard without any regard for yourself?”

I had my reasons. She should know them well enough— as far as I know she’s the only reason I haven’t lost Avie, entirely. Does this mean she doesn’t understand to the fullest extent what I’m trying to do?

“Why do ya care so much?”

“Connections; bridges; twine; it is what we are, Ward. I know why you did what you did—”

“Ya prod into things that aren’t your business. All you shrinks do is give pity where it fits, and hope sugar pills make your job easier. Ya can’t just leave well enough alone, can ya?”

She snorts at my words, “I am the one who has been with you since you came back from the Outpost Incident. I have accommodated you, made sure you were well kept in our care… and you have the audacity to spit in my face when I show an ounce of empathy for your situation?”

I say nothing. The words sting like acid and make my chest creek with the agony of regret.

It’ll go away soon… This’ll all be over soon…

“You can buck and scream hate and loathing if you seek validation in pushing such things away, but know that when you do, I see it; the Aridians, especially, can see it.”

“See what?”

“You push compassion away, and, without words, you cry out from within.” she explains, her sharpened tone softening, “You may find loathing in compassion, but it does not mean we… I… will find you any less worthy of the wordless help you cry for.”

It has to be a trick. The sincerity I think I hear could be anything. I don’t understand— why would anypony be so… so fucking candid, stubborn with their bleeding heart? Why does it hurt so much?

Is it bleeding, or crying?..

Why am I falling for this so much? Why do her words hurt like they do? A burning cry inside my chest, somehow different from what I feel with Avie. My imagination is painting such strange pictures, and it looks like a stripped, firm hug. It won’t let go, and it’s strangling me; trying to keep me still and take it.

I don’t understand…

I still don’t… understand…

Avie… Why…

“Whether you do understand, or not,” she speaks up, again, “know that there need not be another reason. We have seen the pegasus you are— The Matriarch has, as well as the entire delegation. It only takes a small bridge for two to meet.”

Then who’s the toll master? Who controls it? What is said then?

I can hear my own words; an echo of an echo from what feels like forever ago: ‘go along with it.’ Will the kicking of the can down the road numb over time?

Shifting in my bed, I peer over at her strangely painted face. Her eyes close and open softly, and a small smile gives a small reprieve from the pain, from memories that still scar.

“You did excellent,” She reassures, “You did not win, but you still…won.”

“That means what… how?”

“As I’ve said: The Aridians can see much about you—”

The door opens. A tall, shrouded silhouette with piercing yellow eyes is on the other side. I know immediately who they are, and that fact pulls me up from my recline. Stagona approaches, not a word is said, and she turns back towards me, “The Matriarch wants to see you.”

* * * * * *

Some kind of assessment, most likely. The long walk to her place, all the same as the many others before, leaves me alone in my own head. Suddenly, Wildcat comes to mind, and the thought of what she would have to say about this whole thing. I think I’d rather have whatever mildly-annoyed commentary she’d have to offer than the silence this Aridian just… radiates.

I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s still something about them that’s off in some way. The silence is somehow… loud; full of volume. I’m not sure if it’s laden tension or something else in its entirety, but it sure as hell wants to suffocate me. I’m sure the only thing I hear are my own hoofsteps in the sand, and that’s what makes my skin crawl like crazy.

Do I even say anything? It feels all sorts of wrong to even suggest opening my mouth. What would I even say? How do I even know this is the same Aridian from the ring— it came to me without even trying the minute I saw those luminous eyes from that half-mask. They all have those eyes…

It’s not just that, either— now that I think about it. The cloth they wear, the armor; delicate and archaic, respectfully. Don’t even hear a single metallic shift in from the segments…

Why am I thinking about any of this? Am I really that uncomfortable? I wasn’t before, but— why am I looping back around?

I recognize the tunnel ahead, how it ascends just slightly. That faint sound— noise that feels like a song— tickles my ears like last time; synchronizing with the sheen of goldish veins crawling through the rock around us. We reach the dead end, and then it isn’t— opening up like the fabled light at the end of the tunnel as we pass through into the candle room. I look back and it’s as if it was never there, just like last time. How…

The narrow way forward; the trail I can’t possibly miss if I tried; the glowbulb greeting the two of us, taking us to the golden sand atrium. Out in the open, more accompany us; several of them, floating around us so softly and taking us to a place further back, towards the seat overlooking all of the glittering dunes.

Getting closer, the size of the seat is far larger than I actually remember. The gold veins that make it bulge into and around the ground like roots. They are the only things that protrude from the smooth cut of the elevated platform the entire display is built from.

We move to the last room to the left, down a descending path— where many of the glowbulbs flow along the ceiling. Further, deeper, eventually finding an open room.Despite being specious it somehow too small, bathed in a solemn orange light that reminds me of a dying campfire.

A floorpiece takes up a good part of the ground, its edges buried and its colors dark. In front of it is a small pool of water stretching until it touches the opposite side of the room; on top of it, facing the wall, is Grand Aridia, herself; alone.

My escort gestures that Aridian greeting, and their native voice light, airy— I might even say like silk. The hood and mask turn slowly in our direction— the violet glow coming through the ambient color of the room. I look away from them, feeling a slight stir in my gut telling me to just don’t.

Realizing what I’m not doing, I rectify; gesturing as I should, but keeping my eyes down. Trying my best to find comfort is like sifting through a vat of needles; no matter how delicate or calm I try, things still hurt. My heart’s beating too harshly for me to breathe easily, and I can only manage short breaths. My mind, memories of recent events— my outburst towards Stagona, and my failures burn.

… Just what is this about? I can hear myself ask the question, but my lips won’t move and the air in my lungs won’t carry the message to her. The air is so dense with silence my ears are on the verge of plugging up with a low drone. This is different from the walk; different from any other silence. Is it the room, itself?

“Look upon the wall’s face, dear Ward,” She tells me, softly, as if trying to not disturb something sleeping near her. I expected something more scathing.

Reluctance slows my attempt, but as I do I notice the wall isn’t entirely what it seemed. The glowbulbs revolve around it, illuminating its uneven surface and the armor stuck inside of it. Suspended, almost looking like the rock holding it in place is eating it, or the suit is sinking into it— it’s quite the piece. Elegant, powerful— the goldish inlays, minimalist engravings, and imposing outline— somehow fear isn’t the thing that comes to mind. Something like this should stop hearts, but that aspect feels like it’s missing.

My eyes feel strange; fuzzing in and out like a scope with a shit auto-focus feature. The glowbulbs, again, make the shadows dance. In the light they give, I see clumps of crystal scattered around the suit itself. Were those always there? Or were the shadows lifted over their glow?

“ ‘The Emerald War’; that is what it would be called in your tongue, dear Ward,” she says with a small, solemn volume. “I come to this room to reminisce about that century of a past life. A life that I often converse with, more than I find myself doing as of the world’s current circumstance…”

‘The Emerald War’? A resource war?..

“... It was a time when I deeply questioned my role in my kin’s world; what living legacy, and what the weight of necessity, integrity, meant to me as it did for those I called my own. The armor, there, was the skin of war I shed from the sorrow left in the wake of that realization.” Her doleful words get heavier, and I can almost feel the strain in her voice wanting to peak and break it. She takes a deep breath, and hums a low requiem.

I want to ask what it all means; why she’s even telling me this— or if what I’m reading from them is what she’s trying to say. But no matter how much I want to, something twists harder in my chest as if telling me “no.” As I look at the armor, I notice the mask and all the cracks along the eye slits. They look like streams of tears, now.

“I share this with you, dear Ward, because of what has happened recently,” She finishes the heavy tune. “You will not say it, but I can see it. These eyes can see the layers and colors which make you. Through them, in you, I know why you do this. The Emerald War taught me that, and the sacrifices— how they made the soul crack under the weight of such necessity. I, too, would do anything for a chance with the one my kin have demonized. I would not want the same for you, or for any other.”

Why tell me this? Why tell me any of this? Is that all there is? A story about a war, and the armor that I’m guessing was hers? Do I— Am I expected to ask more about it?

“Your walk is heavy; your tenacity unyielding against many a wall that will not give. You would sooner split your head open, and for what? For things left unsaid; for what is unrequited?”

To talk; to listen— what is the right call here? A knot building in my chest, not enough to make me cry but desperate for reprieve. “...What… are ya saying… ma’am?”

“You did not provide an answer, and I am only left to speculate. However, the gnawing force of a concealed biqqul of the mind and soul… I am trying to say that you will feel better if you, yourself, were the one to say it.”

My shoulders jump, wings puff up at a sudden touch along my back. The blood in my veins flash cold and I shrivel in feeling its presence on me. Every possibility in my mind flies through like a wonderbolt in a high-speed, nosediving. I can hear it in her voice: to look at her, fangs bared and elongating, dripping with truth-telling venom.

“I ask you, again, dear Ward: why do you wish to go out there?” Gentleness easing through the ice like a reprieving warmth.

Too many thoughts crying over one another. The visage of every one of them raising their ideas over one another to be heard sends chills down my spine. I put my hoof to my talisman, taking a deep breath, and they vanish.

This needs to happen…

“I already said, ma’am…”

On my hooves…

“…I’m responsible for this. Whatever that’s needed, I’ll give myself up. Anything… for her.”

The reprieve I feel helps keep the weight of a lie from being as heavy as it— as I know— it should be. Am I not ready? Should I even feel better telling myself that? I guess it doesn’t matter, now.

“Very well.” Her words have that calmness, as always, but I notice the heaviness underneath. It sounds like disappointment, and it’s a real knot twist.

My ears flick to the subtle sounds of cloth shifting. I turn to face her, and her gaze stares down at me from underneath the gilded crimson hood, and the veil over the mask. Her gold hoof extends outward. I reach for it, gently, pensively, wondering what will happen next. I won’t know if I don’t just go for it. I do, and I find myself on my hooves.

“The journey ahead is of sand and wind; with no set course. Many doors will be closed, dear Ward— and they will open… with this.” The hoof she offered, I never removed mine from it. Where hers was below mine, now it was on top. Removing it, something is left behind.

Bringing it close… A charm? A dewdrop on a segmented string; the world’s colors in my hoof, glittering with the same goldish veins shooting through it like confetti trapped in a single moment. All of it, surrounding a large tear-shaped rock— no, a seed.

“This I entrust to you: my blessing.” she tells me, “The doors will open, as I have said. It is a means of permittance where one would detain and deter you. Do understand, however, that it is not a means to wave authority over another, or neglect the rules in which make the Law of the Land. Everything is an exchange of respect and good will; as this is to you, dear Ward. Remember this.”

Even in the dim light, I can see the bands of color glide across its polished surface. The seed, firmly in place, “What kind of seed is it?”

“A seed from the oldest tree; the mother of our promise from our capital city. So few of them, and only one can ever be planted at one time.” She explains. “Can you tell me, dear Ward. Do you understand what my blessing means for you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I bring it close, putting it in one of the pockets along my chest. “Thank ya, ma’am.”

I look back up at her, and her hoof is on my shoulder, “I do pray to the Great Triad that you find peace in your endeavors. I will find you when you are needed; there is still much to do, and so much I fear is coming soon. May the sands pave your path, dear Ward.”

She leans in, and the mask touches my forehead. I stand still, feeling her great presence so close to me; unsure of what to do.

No… That’s not true. I know what I need to do… I know what comes next…

Chapter 12- Acclimation

“It’s a start...”

I always thought marbles were a silly thing to call a foal’s game. If anything, they were more pretty to look at until one of them mistakes it for a candy, or causes an accident with them; a sack of problems waiting to happen.

The bag I have, in particular, is hefty enough. A cursory clacking brings all of those errand thoughts to mind, and a small, steady pour of its contents have it all justified. Rolling along the frog, a small little bead. “What am I supposed to do with a sack of marbles?”

Stagona takes a small sip of her coffee, looking like she has reached some state of relaxation before setting it aside. “They call them ‘water seeds’.”

Water… “seeds?”

She nods, a small smile and a sharp breath have me taking it for a joke, “You and the Enclave work more closely with the Company, so I doubt you would have seen them very often. They are very valuable, unassuming on a cursory glance— a currency, as a matter of fact.”

A strange thing, alright, but I’ll go with it. Looks like an ordinary clear marble; nothing too out of place about it. No colorful ribbons or a detail along its smooth face, just a round piece of… glass or crystal— either, except for an idle bubble that is, for the most part, static.

Something about it though…

I put the bag down and hold one between my hooves, putting it up to the glowbulb. It knows what I want to do and dims its light, getting just behind the small orb. I don’t expect any— woah…

The light passing through them dances so serenely. I can make out something almost like a phantom of a puddle, and the small bubble dances with rainbow caustics. I can’t believe it— so much so that I’m passing the marble in and out of the light’s range to see the stark, beautiful difference between its luminosity and its dullness.

“If memory serves you should have a total of three hundred and fifty in that bag alone,” She explains. “One hundred and fifty of those are water seeds, proper; the rest are slabs.”

Slabs… The mention of something so blocky and weighty has me feeling the bag itself. Juggling the whole thing doesn’t tell me what she’s referring to is with the seeds. “Where would those be?”

She doesn’t say anything but flicks her chin and gaze at the next thing on my bed. Setting the marble sack aside I stare at the small, square, cloth-wrapped parcel-type item and unwrap it slowly. There are two of them, one on top of the other, appearing as thick as a mortar brick. Picking the top one up, there is some weight to it, but nothing that’ll leave a pony overencumbered anytime soon. Looks the same as the water seeds: same rock, same idle bubble but bigger, but its face was substantially different. It’s got a small shallow circular cut at the center of it where tiny slivers of that same goldish metal appear frozen in place. Reminds me of the Matriarch’s gift to me in that regard.

Speaking of…

“This all feels very generous,” Almost too generous, despite the sum… “What’s the catch?”

“Catch?”

Part of me wanted to immediately take the confusion in her question as a facade. Still, “Does this make me in debt with what I’m going to use for it? Who do I owe, what?”

“Ward, you do understand gifts, correct?”

“Yeah. I guess… I’m too used to the idea of always having to owe what’s given. It doesn’t feel right to get something with no sort of string or hidden obligation. We were kept safe, we were all expected to take up arms to keep ourselves safe. Nothing was free, that’s what we were taught.”

Stagona is silent for a quick spell, “Well, there may be some merit to that statement, and this was not free— not at first. I would phrase it as a gift that you have earned through your efforts; through the resolve you displayed among the Delegation of your trial.”

“So I got money for having my ass handed to me.”

“Ward, this is not anything in regards to pity…” Sure as hell feels like it… “You displayed strength that was more than what you may consider such. How do you say… case in point… you showed the strength of your character— you showed promise. The Matriarch… what she may have seen in you… Nevertheless, this is what they all allotted you for the way forward.”

“Right. Thanks.” The sack of marbles are set, and so are the slabs. Next thing is next, “There is a market here, right?”

“Already looking to spend?”

I nod, “It’s on my list of things to do, alongside figuring out the best way to start looking for a way to save Avie.”

“That will still take a long while, Ward.” She tells me like I don’t already know. Still kinda hurts to hear it isn’t something I can’t immediately do.

“How long will it take, then?”

“One of the Laws of the Land involves mutual benefit and companionship. The School of Mysticism, as well as the Company’s Archaics and Alchemy Division may be able to help you, but you do know that means you need to help both parties, correct?”

Jobs to get started; income to get more of what I need. It’s all coming together slowly… too slow… “Right. Well who do I talk to with the School? The Company’s Division?”

“Astron Atenízo for the School of Mysticism. He was among the first to invest his knowledge and skills in the research and cataloging of the Curse; a fine vested scholar. You may have already met him, if my recollections are correct.”

I can’t deny how her observation clicks in my mind. It’s a flash in my mind; there and then not, but I do remember another zebra stallion when I was here the first time. “Where can I find him?”

“Do you remember the rotunda on the way to your trial?” She asks. I nod, “The hunter’s arrow should point you in the right direction.”

How could I forget something like that… “Orion, ya mean?”

“Yes.” She says, a small pip of surprise in her voice. “I shouldn’t be surprised you would know their names. Who taught you?”

Can’t remember them off the top of my head, but I remember what they smelled like… Why is that the one thing I remember most clearly?..

All said and done, the most basic barding is on me already; beiges and browns from the roomy shirt with wrapped sleeves to the flank coverings with so many pockets. Not much, but I’m glad to have it.

Something else still prods my mind, and it involves the Company, “The Corpos look into the Curse, too, right? Who’s their expert on this whole thing going on?”

I can see Stagona’s calm demeanor shift slightly; her features twitch with what I’m guessing is uncertainty, “That… would be the pony they call a doctor… Hypothesis. Though if I recommend anything, Ward, I would be careful with him.”

“Why’s that?”

“That pony’s fixations on the obscure are concerning. The Inquisitora are aware of it, and I am most certain he has not been prying into your unique set of circumstances. If you need to consult him, keep your guard and be wary.”

“How bad is the fixation?”

She doesn’t blink. I can’t even tell if she’s even breathing until she speaks, “I believe you would understand once you consult Astron.”

Right…

The bags are secured in the pockets that make the most sense; the Matriarch’s pendant in a place I can access it readily; my talisman secured around my neck and tucked under my shirt. One last thing… “Where’s the market in this mountain?”

* * * * * *

She called it “The Belly”... At least it’s what it’s called in that Aridian language or… whatever language I hear her and the other Zebra speak.

It’s warmer than usual in this place— just as crowded as that rotunda area— and the ceiling just goes on for a good several hundred flights. The walls all around, stairs carved into them and buildings on top of buildings with glowing holes and windows dug deep inside. Stranger smells that vaguely remind me of the crowded halls of the Cage, different all the while with salty, savory, and even metallic notes. The din of socialization, so mellow and almost cozy in a strange way— the only thing loud are what I take as barking advertisements in that Aridian language.

This place, the way its ponies and Aridians move about… their smiles; their banter; their stalls and workplaces all huddled together with vast, colorful drapes that go from one tent to the other. Feels like a cozy dream; a “circus” from the old world without mockery and self-depreciation.

Walking into the crowd is no different from how it was back in the Enclave. Stepping in is like I find myself being carried by a water current that guides gently to where I need to be. And where I need to be is a place where I can find essentials. Looking around is a little hard, but stopping is no hassle; like a rock in said stream, everypony just walks around me so seamlessly without a shove.

So many stalls; so many places that could be selling anything. Some of them are built up off the ground; some are half-buried into the ground, looking shorter compared to their neighbors. I can’t even tell which is the right place to start, and I’m feeling the idiocy slowly drill into me for not asking Stagona that very question.

I look to one reminding me of a commanding officer’s dugout position. Nothing on it tells me what it is, or what it even specializes in, but I gotta start somewhere. If not this place, then maybe they’d point me in the right direction. Climbing down a small zig-zagging set of rocky stairs into a more open room-like area. Everything is either a blank robe, a charm, or both in a more elaborate display. Colors in here just as they are out there; patterns so subtle and so mind-numbing all the while.

On the other side of a room-spanning countertop stands a gray-faced Aridian, tall and with small wrinkles that just barely collect shadow. She greets me, I think, and her scratchy voice does sell the idea of her being an older generation.

“Erm… Hi…” It’s all I can say. Hearing being addressed on my own like that just ties all kinds of knots with my guts inside. I know I need to say something— I need to ask, but— my tongue is too afraid to help me say anything.

The Aridian’s words sound like a question; still, I’m not sure what she’s saying. I’m too embarrassed to even gesture, and that’s starting to aggravate.

“I—I—” The words don’t want to work; my tongue is doing backflips for no fucking reason.

There’s that same questioning tone coming from her, again. Just stop talking in that fucking language so I can say something, dammit!..

C’mon… C’mon!..

“I’m… uh—” I take a deep breath and beat my chest to help push on through, “I’m looking for some supplies to… go outside.”

There’s a silence, and she stares at me like I’m something that isn’t supposed to be where I am now. She pulls back away from the counter and pokes her head into an open hole in the wall behind her, calling out into it.

A glow comes up from it— a glowbulb zooming out and waiting for what’s behind it: another Aridian, much younger and just as tall. She addresses the elderly Aridian and they converse for a little bit before the former looks on at me.

“Yuu— You…don’t speak not-Aridian?” She asks.

That accent is so strange, and the words so skippy. It’s an honest shock to even hear her speak it; I thought I would be here all day. The building tension slacks, and I’m glad I don’t need to feel it anymore. “No.”

“What…Yuu— you, looking for?”

“A supply store?”

“You… sure naat—not sure?”

“No, I mean—damn—” I take a deep sigh. Why is this so hard? “I… don’t know my way around. I’m looking… for supplies. I’m here to find things… for the desert.”

It’s like my brain is needing to slow down all of a sudden. Why am I talking to her in a more stilted and choppy manner? I wouldn’t doubt her looking at me like I’m being condescending, but instead of that all I can see is her mumbling to herself as her eyes move side to side like she’s juggling an idea.

“You… a… ah… mmmmm— dunedrifter?”

“Dunedrifter” ?... “I… I guess?”

“Naa—Not sure? Yes? No? No…” Her focus drifts off to one of my sides, and then her neck cranes over as if she’s trying to look at something. The hairs on my neck stand instantly, and I clamp my wings closer to my sides like it would be enough to cover myself up better.

Her brows rise high and she talks to her senior; the former’s stilted speech flowing freely compared to how she tries to talk to me. Their back and forth doesn’t take long, and the younger glides over the countertop— minding everything around her.

“Caaah— come,” She asks, guiding me back the way I came. Out near the crowd, she grabs at my shoulder and I yank myself away the moment I feel the contact. Surprise comes over her and I shake my head, folding my wings tighter to my side. She nods and points out towards one of the walls— I’m not so sure what direction it is; no way of knowing without an actual sun for a guide.

“That way?” The wall in particular looks more uniform and structured compared to everything else. Nothing really natural about the rock’s shapes, only the rock it’s carved from.

“Go.” She says, nodding.

“Uhh… Thanks.”

Two steps forward. I look back at the Aridian mare, and she gestures for me to go forward like I’m some kinda reluctant pet. That smile doesn’t help; feels fake. I nod, turn away; eyes on where I need to be.

* * * * * *

Either the walk was so short, or the place that the merchant told me to go is much larger than I originally thought. It crawls up the face of this mountain chamber and somehow doesn’t feel like it’s stopping on its way to touch the ceiling.

It’s almost strange, realizing now that most of the Aridians seem to gravitate towards that little tent town— for the lack of a better term; it’s mostly pony over here, but that’s not to say that there aren’t natives in this area. These ones look… different from the ones I’ve seen— more brightly colored, tufted tails, and wearing shoes of some kind.

Getting closer to what I presume is the entrance, a tinge of familiarity hits me. Ahead of me, a small group of pegasi in worn purplish blue outfits are gathered in front of the establishment.

Enclave… the thought clicks in my mind so snug it just doesn’t feel right. I look back the ways I came, focusing on the memory of the mare and the way she looked at me and my— Of course… Of fucking course…

The din of an anxious gathering rises. I turn back to the flock, my ears start to pick up on some things being said; mare’s and stallion’s voices, each sharing some opinion coming over one another like a rolling tide:

“How long will they keep us here?!”

“We’ve done our part, let us go!”

“Fuck protocol! We’ve waited long enough!”

“Jailors!”

“Sand-blasted snakes!”

Fucking foals… The Matriarch; Stagona— they weren’t lying about the situation. I just didn’t think there’d be this many trapped on this side of the standoff. They’re all so huddled together, It’s gonna be a doozy trying to squeeze through all of them. The thought of flying over the whole obstacle comes to mind, but something’s telling me I shouldn’t. I’m not too sure how cordial the Corpo Security Sector is.

I pick a gap and push on through, many start voicing their opinion on it:

“Watch it!”

“Ow! Quit shoving!”

“Sonuvabitch— Wait your turn, asshole!”

I’m not waiting for this to end. I’ve got a job to do, and I don’t care how much my heart starts to race or how fucking smelly this bog of feathers and fur is. I’m getting to the front of this mess.

The closer I get to where I need to be, I start to hear a more cohesive discussion taking place.

“Look, ma’am, we don’t want no trouble. We’re all just itching to go home, check in with dependents— loved ones,” a stallion speaks up, calm and collected.

“Protocol two dash seven nine,” A curt, sharpened voice cuts through, “Orders are that the skies are off limits until circumstances surrounding the necessity of said implementation is rectified. You and your ilk are to stay put until further notice.”

“I thought the no-fly order was towards transportation— this is ridiculous!”

“Orders are orders; we do not make them, but enforce them. Once again: until further notice, you pegasi are to stay put!”

“Just… Look, we can trickle our way out; small numbers at a time, not large enough to ruffle any manes or feathers. One at a time if needed.”

“Not your prerogative, pegasus. No amount of shouting and protest will make the order lift any faster. Do I need to repeat what I’ve already said— control your herd, soldier.”

Somepony I pass up voice their opinion, “We don’t take orders from you!” A small swell of agreement follows.

“Yeah, tell us the truth!”

“Your no-fly or the General’s no-fly!”

I can’t tell if it’s the collective heat of the crowd or the damn idiotic stubbornness churning my stomach. I’m almost there…

“Ma’am, we’ve been honest folk— we’ve done our part, steadily working off whatever debt we have on our hides. Can’t you find some kind of reason to let us go? I’m sure it would do many of us good.”

“Let’s think about this for a moment,” The mare speaks up, “would you— as soldiers— do anything for your general? For your Enclave?”

“Of— of course! That’s why we need to go home, because some of us have our own to look after—”

“Then do not think it unfair for showing my loyalty to my own. That goes for all of us in the Company. Now, I would help you, but I honestly doubt any would take the offer.”

“That being?” The Enclave stallion prods.

“It is in the vein of independent contracting work. You and your little flock can integrate, and you would graciously accommodate doing so— granted, most benefits withholding during a probationary period.”

“Swindlers!” A mare from behind me shouts in protest. More join in after, throwing more insults and adjectives to the pile.

“You understand that means defecting, right? And we just started talking about loyalty, for fuck sake!”

“That is our ultimatum on this. I repeat: you can either take this offer now, or you can spend the rest of this lockdown back in your Vertibucks. The choice is yours. All of yours!”

I finally make it to the front of this whole fiasco. Two ponies, both of whom I assume were the dominating voices of the conversation I’ve been hearing, turn their attention to me.

Things look much worse than I thought: on this side, nothing but pegasi in cobbled combat gear— none of which look armed; on the other, a mare with a distracting outfit and a small wall of armed ponies behind her. They seriously considered lethal force?.. Fuck me…

“Soldier,” The stallion addresses me, pointing a wing in the opposite direction, “Back in line. I’ve got this.”

Sure you do…

My eyes turn to the mare, “Y’all the Company? I was told I could find some supplies here for the outside.”

Her eyes narrow, head tilting just slightly, “We just went over this: there is a no-fly order in place. I understand that you may not have been able to hear it from where you were, but that’s—”

“I understand, ma’am, but that isn’t why I’m even here. Not for them, but for something else.”

“Who are you, son?” The pegasus stallion asks.

“I’m not wearing your uniform. Hardly think what you’re asking matters.”

“No, I’m sure I know you.”

My skin runs up and down my back, from neck to dock. I brush it off and take a breath, “Well, I don’t know ya. Don’t drag me into whatever it is y’all got stuck up in. Hardly my business.”

“You’re a pegasus, though—”

“When does that mean anything? It’s what I always hated— how y’all tote it like it’s something that should mean some prerogative or exclusivity.” My wings don’t feel right all of a sudden.

“You don’t sound too particularly proud of those wings,” he points out.

I shake my head and brush him aside, turning to the mare. She’s wearing a similar, but equally distracting set of clothes like the delegate from the trial… “I assume you have something of note pertaining to the situation, young pegasus?”

I can already tell she’s going to be uncompromising from the way she tells me that. Her words, so cold and distant; uncaring. Almost familiar, but not enough to leave me frozen. I guess this is one of the proverbial pathways the Matriarch was talking about…

Teaching into my chest pocket, I manage to wiggle the pendant out and present it. Her blue eyes lock in and she reaches for it, takes it, and flips down some kind of rock-monocle. She holds it up like something to behold, staring into it like it would open. She finishes gawking, puts it in my hooves, and extends hers towards the way inside, “Go on through. Front desk will help you with what you need.”

Outrage swells behind me, and I look back over at all of them. Some just stare like they haven’t a clue; some look insulted; others like I’m a meal to them, and one to be spat on and stomped on.

I move on through, but feel a heated stare burning through the back of my head. The stallion looks on at me, and that scowl looks way too personal, “Good luck to you, soldier. Watch yourself, and think about all of this.”

There’s no telling whether he means it in confidence, or not. Either way…Noted…

* * * * * *

From the front desk a well kept mare with a dull coat and bright eyes addressed and guided me on my way. Down a hall, off to the left and down two flights of steps, finding myself in a place similar to the one the Aridian mare was holed up in. The largest glowbulb brightens the shine of several coverings from fur to leather; textures that look so soft and delicate to rugged and sturdy. Vast mobile step ladders run across the walls where mares and stallions fix whatever small things they find off-putting; more are practically waltzing around dummies or models of frozen ponies of varying sizes, pining and changing small things here and there in circular stands that are half-buried into the foundation.

“Kalsha-haam!” A fruity voice greets. Walking up to me is another one of those brightly-colored Aridians; colors of a pony but all the physique of one of the natives. Same piercing eye-glow.

“Uhhh… hi.” I look up at her. Still so tall… “I’m looking to get… fitted…”

“Do you have an appointment?”

A stone kerplunks into my gut, but I keep myself steady, “No. I was just told I’d find what I’m looking for… here. By the mare at the front desk?”

She mimes a small expression of realization, “Oh, oh, I see now. You were the honored guest.”

Honored guest… “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Come now,” She’s leaning into my ear and my body seizes, “Why else would one have the Matriarch’s blessing?”

Shivers avalanche down my spine and my feathers pin up so hard the pores ache. Hardly think that was necessary, and I can’t find it in me to tell her outright.

She does that Aridian gesture, “Quli Ma-Ashiiq. I’ll be helping you today.”

So that was a name?.. Feels and sounds like a tongue flipper…

Pushing all that down, I return the gesture, “Ward.”

Her smile is as beaming as her eyes. Her tufted, ringed tail comes around and she beckons, “This way.”

I follow her along the carved rock path going down the middle of the atrium-sized room, towards one of the sunken circles. At its center, amidst the smallest layer of sand, is a pedestal. I step onto it.

“You are going to have to remove your barding before we get started,” She tells me.

The rock that plopped in my gut earlier just expanded, and everything slowly twists with the pangs of anxiety. “I’m… I’m sorry?”

“It is how it is. I cannot get the proper measurements without what you already have on warping your dimensions.”

“I’m not removing anything. Just… why do I need to take off anything for something like this?” I start shaking my head at the idea. Fucking hell…Fucking hell…

“You are getting fitted, right?” She asks.

“Yes. For the desert!”

A blush comes through her already bright red face, “Oh. Oh-oh–oh! Not a robe or a Stalwart Sti— Oh! I’m sorry! I'm so sorry!”

I snort to get the nervous fits from digging deeper into me. Some of the feathers are stuck standing up; patting them down flat helps ease the nerves. “Look, I’m just looking to get whatever I have to… dry and desolate standards.”

“Of course,” The bright Aridian reassures, “Yes, yes, we can do that. In that case, I can measure with what you already have. No need to do what I asked earlier.”

She pulls herself back up, pulls her purple-streaked mane back and clears her throat. “So, what is your budget range?”

Digging into my memories for Stagona, “Around three hundred and fifty Water Seed is all I have. Two slabs and marbles.”

“Three hundred and fifty water seed. That would make… one thousand and fifty favvers…” She starts to mumble the rest as she stretches a thin, notched belt along and around my limbs.

“What’s that? ‘Fah-fears’? ”

“Transaction rates. That’s… That’s all it is,” she says before rolling up the belt. “So tell me: are you going to spend it all on your outfit, proper?”

“What? It’s not enough?”

“Well, no, you can buy decent, pre-made, medium-grade accessories and material upgrades with that much, but I’m wanting to believe you have yet to make all necessary preparations?”

“No.”

She nods at that, looking like something has been snagged, “I see. Well in this case, I can probably have something ready for you while you get your other affairs in order. It will take me a while to—”

“How long?”

“Depends on how much you are willing to invest.”

“Like what again?”

“I can give you a modular package: detachable leather sleeves with zippable air holes, no brigandine. That alone should be around… sixty five water seeds.” One of her fangs begins to pinch and chew at one of her lips, “I would also have to make some adjustments to the vest you are already wearing… Does your shirt have a cowl?”

I think for a minute and pull at my loose collar, “No.”

“This means a whole new shirt on top of that— needs to be one piece.” Her tail flicks side to side, brushing the sand down as she continues chewing at herself and what I’m guessing are the numbers dialing in her head. I can already feel my allowance bag getting lighter and lighter with every second she takes with this little thing she’s doing.

“Look, I get that everything I have is less than optimal…” My mind starts to trail off, listing everything I know I need without a shadow of a doubt. “What can I get for a hundred water seeds?”

“Three hundred favvers…” She thinks aloud, “I could get you the basics for just about everything. The bare basics— from boots to cowl with a necessary grommet and gasket—”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

I reach into one of my deeper pockets, fishing out the one wrapping that has one of the slabs. I’ll need to invest in a proper saddlebag or something… Unwrapping it, I push the one I intend to use off to the side and pocket the remaining one.

Her oval pupils sharpen and thin into proper slits as she picks it up and angles it towards the glowbulb. She hums a little, and then sets it aside, “Pristine. This will work. I can get what is promised done by the end of the day, but I will need your vest.”

I transfer any and all materials from the vest pockets to the flank ones, and hold it out towards her.

“Wonderful. Now, I will need you to do one last thing for me. Do you have a tail ring with you?”

“No.”

“Ah. Okay, okay. Wait here,” she walks away and comes back with a small earthen plate full of glossy ink, and a fine strip of leather. Both are set down in front of my hooves side-by-side, “I will need you to make your mark; since you don’t have a tail ring, all I will need is a hoof, and feather inked, and pressed into the leather.”

“A feather?”

She nods. “Will you need scissors? I have—”

“No. No, I…I got it.” My wings ruffle as I unfurl the one on my right. Seeing all the aligned primaries, secondaries, coverts— trying to find one that wouldn’t need me to pluck. I brush my hoof along all the baby blue and dark cerulean until one slides out of place and dangles sideways; holding for dear life. I help it into my hoof then look at the bowl.

“Good, now you—” The Aridian speaks as I drop it into the ink, gently. It stays on top like it was lounging in a pool of water. “Yes, like that. Don’t forget to sign it as best you can.”

My hoof goes in, touching the surface of the black ink and making sure the feather comes out with it. Both of them go right onto the leather, and I put all of my weight into the damn thing to where it feels like I’d slip. She holds onto the edge of the whole art project, and I pull away from it.

“Great! I say that looks pretty okay, don’t you?” She asks.

Sure, nothing more riveting than a kindergarten art project… Can’t even look at it without my eyes feeling fuzzy; the shape with the feather’s blotted outline just reminds me of other things for some reason.

My name goes on it. The ink dries up, and the Aridian pulls out a thick pair of scissors and snips right down the middle. I don’t have any words to say about it, but she takes one of the halves, folds it neatly, and gives it to me, “Bring this when the day starts tomorrow as a proof of purchase. I shall be ready with what you need by then.”

“Right. Thanks for this.”

“Not at all,” She chirps. “Sorry about earlier, again— I got so used to— and you know—”

We all make mistakes…

She clears her throat, “Is there anything else I can help you with mister… Ward?”

So I have this settled— even if it’ll take some time. Packs and other essentials would be necessary, and a means of self-defense. Will I have enough to eat something somewhere down the middle? Not being sure of it just makes me feel that creeping gut cramp sooner than I’d like.

* * * * * *

Down the hall.

More stairs.

Down, down; deeper and deeper into the guts of this mountain to find a whole half of a corridor hollowed out and lines with segmented posts facing a vast empty, cleanly-cut and carved atrium with several rock formations spaced out unevenly.

I know I found the place even before I got here, as the authoritative shouts of ballistic weaponry got louder and louder. There is nothing left but the faintest whine in my ear and a looming specter itching to have me pounce at the slightest, sudden noise.

On my right, opposite to the range is a small door and a viewer’s slot cut across the rest of the wall all the way down. Reminds me of a pill-box viewpost, but far longer than what’s contemporary. Can only imagine going just past the door’s entrance and seeing rows of weapon emplacements…

I don’t find that on my way in, only rows of cushion-seats with some already gathered and viewing what’s already happening outside—

Another sudden bang has my wings spring open and my joints freeze. First one, and then more; it doesn’t stop and I can’t find it in me to move for a good few seconds. Some staring eyes thaw the cold from my legs, and I can bring my wings down with ease. Knots twist inside from the gawking… Can’t slip up like that…

Further back, past rows upon rows of gutted ballistics and organized metal ammo boxes on small islands of rock, is another countertop and a gray-on-gray, mustached pony— wearing the exact same distracting clothing as every other Corpo in this place— in front of rows upon rows upon walls of displayed weaponry. Looks to me as if the entire collection of any and every way a ballistic can appear is there on full display behind a grated cage.

“Kaylsham,” The mustached pony greets with a curtly raised hoof. “You don’t look familiar to me. Not one of us; not an Aridian, for sure… You lost?”

His forehooves spread out across the counter-top, mustache twitching and eyes narrowing.

“You’re the armorer? Quartermaster?” I ask.

“One of several, in this place. But I can’t say more till mine is answered.”

“Yours?”

He nods, “You sure you’re not one of them mimibirds, Pegasus?”

Was that a fucking insult? “Hang on a sec—”

“‘Na, you’re in my establishment. What comes, goes. I asked a question— that doesn’t mean regurgitating my own questions back at me or being rhetorical. I ask, you answer. Simple? Simple.”

A real what’s-what. I don’t know what’s worse with this pony: the fact that he brings the hammer down like a peevish, blue-balled instructor because of a question, or the smallest inkling in the back of my mind telling me it’s just who he is and to just go with it. Somehow I think there are more layers to this whole thing.

I take a deep breath, “No, I’m not lost.”

“Yeah? From what I saw you looked like you were about to fly off in a tear over a ten millimeter sounding off.”

Fucking hell…

Another gulp of air for this shit, “I’m just here looking for some armaments. Weapons?”

“I know what it means, Cloud-kick,” he taps his hooves with gusto on the rock, a yawn bellowing from his gaping maw. “See, I don’t have any of them light-shows you and yours call ‘armaments.’ Here? I’m sure you can tell it won’t get you very far with them Catalyst Storms, and I ain’t got one of them— mmmm, it was one of them fly-boys who said it— Ah, a ‘C.F.C.’”

His whole demeanor is as much a slap across the face as is his breath still lingering around my head. Fuck me, it’s sour…

“So no M.E.W.s,” I already dread on what’s left for me, then. “Nothing but ballistic, then.”

“Only thing the null fields can’t take away from. So are you here to actually buy one, or are you going to see yourself out?”

“Yeah, I’m here to buy.” Just to get out of this fucking place… “I’ve got about one hundred and… let’s go with one hundred and twenty water-seeds.”

He makes these low, raspy chirps as he mumbles, looking back at the stock behind him, “What is it you’re looking for?”

“Whatever one hundred and twenty will get me.”

“What are you going to do now? Why are you even needing any of this?”

“Do I need to give a reason?”

He looks back at me, “Yes. I can’t just give these out to anypony like honeyed dates to foals in the market play area. Hell, I don’t even think you have a valid permit for these kinds of things.”

I maintain eye contact, fishing out the Matriach’s pendant and leaving it right where he can see it past his fucking pudgy snout. He pulls his head back and brings his eyes down on it, and suddenly his expression changes from irritable to bafflement. “‘Na. ‘Na.”

If he’s saying what I know it sounds like he’s saying, “So… your recommendations for the budget?”

He puts his whole hoof over it, sliding it towards himself while he fishes for one of those strange monocles like the one the mare at the entrance had. He stares into it, looking like he’s trying to find a single thing to probably complain about and waste my time with.

His mustache twitches, and he sets the monocles to the side and my pendant slides over back to me. “Truth is, that would just get you a standard pistol. Here’s what I can give you for now.”

Several pistols are laid out in front of me, one at a time. With each, he gave some kind of namesake or moniker: “IF”; “HM”; “Colt”; “CSQ”; “Spring”; “SMA”; the list just keeps going… or I think it does. It doesn’t.

Six pistols, and each one of them look like they’ve seen their fair share of use. Brushed steel, bruised finish; questionable quality, to say the least. “Don’t start looking like I’ve cheated you…" he says, “You have one-twenty; I’m giving you one-twenty’s worth. Want something better? Pinch your bag for more; otherwise… This is it.”

“Do I at least get some ammo?”

He tilts his head, “This is not a charity, and these aren’t something I give out of the bottom of my heart.”

More the ass than anything…

Do I even need to ask what he recommends? A ballistic’s a ballistic; it shouldn’t matter, right? I stare at the selection for a little longer before putting my hoof over the third one from the right: a black pistol outlined by continuous steel scuffs along every raised edge.

“You want to test the gun, I’m obligated to let you try,” He says as he slides over a single magazine. Is there a reason why it’s got a purple stripe wrapping around it?

I set the pistol aside and reach for it. His big hoof falls onto mine and I pull away.

“Keep to your post; load it at your post. No funny business. Got it?”

“Yeah…I got it.”

His hoof comes off it; I snatch it away. On my way out, a unicorn passes me by, and something snags me by the back of my shirt’s collar. I can’t move forward without stretching and ripping the shirt, “What gives?!”

“Calis, why are you playin’ this business game with this pegasus?”

I know that voice. Turning around, seeing the red-orange tail; the white and red leg wrappings. Fucking hell…

“You know that cloud-skipper?” The stallion answers, “Look, we don’t have time for special orders that’ll wither and die before they arrive; no M.E.W.s to stroke their ego, and that one’s got a budget. I’m only working with what I can give him—”

“You didn’t even let him see which one really speaks to him?”

The stallion— Calis, snorts, “I’m running a business, trading cold steel and smokeless casings with our own for their needs. That Neotribal mystic bonding philosophy doesn’t have a place here. Let the stallion just take his piece.”

I don’t know what the two are going about, but I’d like for Wildcat to just let go of my fucking collar. It’s fucking degrading, and I’d cut myself away if I had the tools or dismissive regard for my own wears. It’s all I have, and it’s not worth it. Dammit…

My heart’s thumping with burning discomfort, and my breath feels a little hotter than it did. “Ease off the collar, Wildcat.”

The collar laxes over my shoulders, and relief shakes the discomfort away.

“Don’t leave, yet,” she says. “Still need somethin’ to do, and you’re goin’ to need to be here for it, Ward.”

“Don’t forget to pay up if the weapon is to your liking, Pegasus—”

A loud, intrusive thud cuts his remark off. “He won’t be payin’ for that half-dead pistol, Calis. It’s not his.”

“An eye for the obvious, Miss Wildcat— why do you think I’m telling him to pay up when he—”

“What did you show him?” She almost growls.

“Stay that attitude, Wildcat. You might be one of us now, but your deposition still affects your prospect and our outlook.”

I guess he doesn’t practice what he preaches…

“This isn’t about me, Calis, this is about making sure he gets exactly what he needs for what will happen outside.” She pulls her goggles up and her muzzle covering down, “He did show you, right? The Blessing?”

“So what if the Matriarch gives him some privileges— the budget is still the issue. He was offering one-twenty water seeds, so this is all he gets.” He enunciates his point by pulling out the selection, again– minus the one I already have.

Wildcat looks at every one that comes out as he raves. Each one has her frowning, squinting, wincing, at either how he slams them down or the lackluster quality and display of the pistols available. She points a hoof at me without taking her eyes off, “Bring the one you already have.”

Things were going just alright, and now I’m back to being ordered around. Part of me is wondering if this will happen again.

I put the pistol back with the others, and a familiar brass sparkly glow engulfs it, pulling it mid-air. She checks for ammo, finds the magazine port empty, and moves on to putting the side of it next to her ear. My ears pick up a faint clicking, and I can see the trigger squeezing like a real creaky son of a bitch.

Another pistol floats off the counter-top. Calis sighs and rubs at his temple, his other hoof tapping at the countertop while Wildcat does the exact same thing to every single one of the ballistics. I’m not even sure what she’s doing. It’s a hunk of moving metal; not something that’s alive or sickly. This just feels excessive and a little odd…

“Ward, how would you say your gun preference is?” She asks, before clarifying with some punctuated annoyance, “Before you mention any M.E.W.s, I’m talking about these weapons.”

So that means I shouldn’t say anything at all…

She sighs as a pistol comes at me, barrel down and mouth-grip to my muzzle, “None of them are loaded. Try it out— say how it feels— then tell me anything that bothers you about it.”

Here we go, again…

The mouth-grip slides in with no real issue. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be looking out for— this isn’t like checking the optimization of arcane components or the charge flow of an M.E.W. The damn thing’s just… dead, and somehow heavier than the standard P-Model M.E.W.s.

“How does it feel?”

“...Like a hunk of metal.”

“Trigger pull? Cocking friction? Ergonomic quirks or kinks that don’t resonate? Actually…” She sets the pistols aside, dividing them up in some kind of order I can’t figure out for the life of me. “...It’ll do. Run a dry check of that pistol, and then try another from the selection and we’ll work from there.”

And now she’s more invested in my shopping than I’d like. I’m not even sure what’s going on, anymore— it’s like something blurred past me without looking and now she’s acting like some kind of guide for something that’s just trivial. Now I’m actually sharing some kind of sentiment with the keeper on the other side of the countertop; things are really fucked up.

I set the pistol down, turning to the others laid out in front of me. My eyes shift to Wildcat waiting next to me, brow still furrowed as she bobs her head slightly for some reason. Her words are in my head: “Pick the one for you.” Do I just make something up? And why do I feel like the moment I go for one, she’s going to groan and complain like some foal upset about the wrong candy their parents got them?

No hustling remarks; no pushy, smart-alec quips. Just the ambient, aggressive barks of weapons going off behind at random intervals. My body still jumps a little, but it’s getting less disruptive.

Am I really indulging this? I can’t believe I’m about to…

I don’t know what I feel in my hoof as it hovers and stops over them: anxiety? Irritation? Something that is somehow validating this spiritualistic crap Wildcat’s spouting? I’m just taking too long on the decision. I let it drop over a black, slim, angular pistol that vaguely reminds me of a dog’s pointed snout. These things are supposed to have a hammer on the back of the slide? The heel? Just didn’t feel right the first time.

Whatever spring is inside is a little stiff, but not obtrusive. I like the design for how slick it is. The trigger’s like it’s wading through a quagmire before I hear any discernible click; even that feels and sounds too quiet. The weight… I’m not sure if it’s too light or too slim. Is there a difference about that with these things?

“Well?” Wildcat asks, a demanding tone absent.

“It’s… eye candy? I guess? Pretty to look at if I ignore the criss-crossing scratches all along its body.”

The quartermaster chuckles audibly. Wildcat shakes her head, “Aesthetics are not critical to survivability. How does it feel to you?”

Fuck me, this is like dragging my knees in coarse sand— Okay… “I can’t see or hear a hammer; the trigger takes its sweet time getting anywhere; and it feels like one shot will make the damn thing break its back.”

I set it aside, and the quartermaster sets it aside from the others. The next one: looks similar to the first one I grabbed, but like someone decided to trim as much of the excess material off as possible. So many angular surfaces— “lightning cuts,” I think they’re called— and it gives it a much more workable silhouette.

Still no visible trigger, again; smooth throughout the pull; The click at the end of it, I can hear it. The slide lever gets the job done, and the whole thing slams forward with gusto. It all feels… snug. I can’t find anything too obtuse aside from what it isn’t.

“How about now?” Wildcat asks.

“It’s not an energy weapon…but I think it’s what I’ll work with.”

“Yes? Or no?”

“... Yes.”

Wildcat looks at the quartermaster, “We’ll take this one.”

Wait… “We”?..

He takes all the other pistols back, and then addresses me, “You want to test it? Find a booth. Same deal.”

“I already said we’d take it.” Wildcat says, catching both the quartermaster and I off guard. My mind won’t let go of the plurality she used a while ago. Just… why?..

“I am conducting business with the pegasus, ‘iz Wildcat. It’s his decision.” He points out the honest truth about this whole affair. He pulls out a magazine, sets it down.

“He’d do better with a holster—”

“Te’-te’-te’— his decision. His water-seeds for the holster,” he turns to be. “That would be at least thirty more water-seeds. I’ll even throw in a spare, empty magazine if you do. The ammo is separate, in case you’d start asking about it.”

“Yeah, I got that from the word ‘empty’.” I take a deep sigh and take what’s mine on the way out, trying to ignore the ebony gray shadow with a fiery mane tailing me. There’s an itch in all of this— one that I can’t ignore, but is so far back in my mind I can’t even tell what it is. No, it’s more like a “why.” Why is she following me? Why with the overfamiliarity? We don’t even know each other, and she’s here trying to be something that juxtaposes the initial impressions from our first meeting. My stomach rolls with the memories, still…

My booth is the seventh one down from the entrance. In my lane are mounds of white, painted rocks. A closer look at the magazine that quartermaster gave reveals another purple stripe wrapped around its body, and the ammo’s nose is much more round than the last ones.

It loads in with a click. Refreshing myself on more of the basics of ballistic firearms is like blowing dust off a manual.

The slide pulls back. A glimpse of brass comes from the opening port atop the pistol, and I let it ride forward. Right… Next is…

Just pull the trigger…

Just…

Pull it…

Sight in…

Pull it…

The safety is off, right?..

Cursory check. The lever is showing red. Right…

The front post is where it should be between the notch aiming right at one of the mounds. Why am I starting to think about a target marker, already? Just fire the damn—

A pop robs me of my hearing. My jaw tingles— teeth are fuzzy in their roots. My neck doesn’t feel right, but it doesn’t hurt like a sprain. The damn thing shoved me in the face. All of them do…

Barbaric…

Every quill is standing in their pores. Physically noticing them makes them raise higher, straighter. Touching them, patting them down, doesn’t feel right at all. Hurts like pins and needles.

“I’ve seen and heard all the same: that Enclave never adjusts well to the recoil. Most say it’s due to your Magical-Energy-Weapon-centric military doctrine. Sounds like a load; hard to believe your kin are so adamant about usin’ them in spite of the way things are.”

I take a deep breath, “Why… are ya following me?”

“No thanks for helpin’ you find a pistol that’s more yours?”

I spit the pistol out, but there isn’t a thud to be heard. The pistol floats just barely off the countertop in front of me; held by the sparkling glow. “That gun has been through a lot,” her voice is like a slow-burning fuse, “don’t be part of its issues— don’t add to its issues— or there will be an issue.”

She pushes the pistol into my chest, and my forelegs spring to catch it. The ice in my joints settle, thawing with an uncomfortable seething in the back of my mind. Something that isn’t making sense to me, burning like a hot coal that won’t go out.

“Just who the fuck are ya?” I set the pistol down, glaring back at her. “Last I checked, ya were the type who thought I couldn’t be trusted with one of these. Now here ya are acting like we’ve been a little more than acquaintances— did I miss something? Are ya even that same mare with the rigid deposition?”

That cold squint and glare comes over her face along with her bangs, “I don’t like it either, but I’m keeping my promises whether I can stomach it or not.”

Now it just feels too out of place to assume it was the Matriarch. It might as well be, but it just doesn’t click— no matter how much I try to make it fit in my head. It’s all stripes in my head… “How did she convince ya?” I ask, thinking back to Stagona’s concern about her.

Her furry ears flick, “Why do you love her?”

My heart stops with the blood flash freezing throughout my body. Barely there, flaring through that frost, is something that wants to ignite, “...don’t.”

“I’ll ask the same… No? Then watch your snappy maw and drop your hackles. The pistol…”

She just had to fucking say it. Now I’m thinking it’s best that I keep my mouth shut and play along. As for the ballistic, “Yeah, it’s a real piece of work.”

“Can I trust you with it?”

“...I’m the one buying it.”

She takes a deep breath, “You know what? Forget I said anythin’. At least I saw from how you handled it you’re not entirely at a loss nor are you made of clouds. The recoil of a standard nine mil is stiff, but that’s most pistols.”

“Not like I’m a complete stranger, I just don’t like them.”

“Get used to it. It might save your life out there.” She turns away, stopping mid-step and pulling her chin around just slightly, “Next time I see you about to mistreat that firearm, I won’t pull anything. Got it?”

I take another look at the hefty metal and all it’s scuffed, lightly used glory. Is there anything more to say about this, at all? No, I don’t think there is…

* * * * * *

Almost a third of my funds are left, and I still haven’t gotten more of the essentials; no saddlebags, no provisions. At least I didn’t have to carry the hunk of steel with me all the way back up to the entrance because of damn “carrier processing.” At least I can finally get away from that prickly son of a bitch, and I already don’t look forward to seeing him again.

I’m almost out, seeing that central carved pillar of the foyer that reminds me of an apple core. There’s a different pony from the greeter that pointed me in the right direction— and it’s a stallion this time. The hairs on my back prick up; feathers standing on end all the while as I pass him up. “You are Ward, right?” He asks.

“...Yeah.”

He holds his stare, a hoof feeling for a radio mic that blinks red as he finally finds the button to speak into it. I don’t understand a word; it sounds like the Aridians, but somehow doesn’t at the same time. Not sure how, but I can just hear it.

He’s done with whoever he’s been talking to, “Al’Kiqyalinnyi Feidynne wishes to see you.”

Great… Who and what now?..

“Behind me— your left— the first entrance,” he says, “Elevator will take you to the executive floor. They know you are coming. Do not let her wait.”

Those jotted instructions rub me the wrong way. I don’t want to move now, instead wanting to just make something up on instinct. That very feeling chews at me, wanting to settle in and think back to those dreaded sessions with the General. His instructions just hit those notes, and I don’t want to hear it.

I don’t want to…

I need to.

The first corridor I see, guarded by two ponies carrying light weaponry— pistols and stun prods. They do not stop me, only stepping aside as if I’m larger than I am or something that shouldn’t be touched.

The elevator is a big, creaky box; bars and gratings for walls, and a two-stage door. Stepping in is like walking into a spacious cage. I can see how far this shaft goes up, and I can’t see when or where it ends. The doors close smoothly despite the rust and wear. Everything pulls up with a sudden jerk, and a dulcet— but invasive— hum fills the space.

Going up.

Up.

Stop.

Arrived.

Four ponies; two unicorns right outside, and two more right across the room. They about-face to one another just as the door opens. Beyond them is a polished room with a metal door wedged into the rocky face across from me. None of the guards flinch or react to my presence, and they stand like statues, not even looking at me. I walk on through, eyes forward.

One of the other ponies— an earth pony— steps forward as I approach the door. He holds his hoof out, stopping my advance. His ears flick, as does his head, towards his partner. The latter knocks on the door with rhythm: two taps and a scrape. It opens after a minute or so, and the tail end of a conversation dies as it does.

A stallion’s voice, sounding like simmering water cooling down, “...good fortune unto you.” He turns, passing me by. Deep wrinkles and creases in his features; round glasses with weary brown eyes glance at me. Did he just scoff? Or am I hearing things?

“I’m waiting, pegasus.” Another voice; familiar and a mare’s.

The door closes behind me the moment I’m inside. Her clothes are still distracting; features sharp. I’m not sure which is more so: the white coat, or the vibrant stretch of colors that wrap around parts of her like it was some kind of stitching accident or some out-of-place eccentricity.

She fixes her short, clean-cut blonde mane; eyes of gold that sting mine, and a coat so black she might as well be a shadow on the wall. “Hamtak’irr; thank you for accepting my invitation.”

It’s just double-guesses every time, now; the genuinity in her words doesn't mesh with the way she taps an errand hoof on the countertop she sits behind. The room doesn’t offer much, and neither does the table. What passes for decoration are just rocks on stands; rugs on walls; no flags to be seen. No symbol of an oppressive environment that prods with unease, but her little fidget is doing what it can.

“You know my face. Do you remember it?” She asks.

Those eyes glitter like gold plates; more like a knife’s edge. “I know your voice.”

She takes a sharp breath and leans back, “That’ll do. You do know who I am, right?”

I shrug a little, “Can’t really say. I know what you are; not who.”

“Oh? And what am I, to you?”

“A Corpo Magnate. At least that’s what the General would call ya.”

Those eyes look up from me, “Yes. As do most others in your general’s inner circle. The Ah’linn call us Al’Kiqyalinnyi; ‘Lesser-Greaters,’ ‘Minor-Chieftans’ — whichever synonym you feel appropriate. More to the point, and in a language that won’t trouble, I am a Director for Internal Affairs.”

There were stories of companies with resource departments before and during the war. The filterers and the enrichers of what comes into an organization; some part of a greater whole that was crucial to their success. I’m thinking there’s some kind of medical analogy in there, somewhere. I digress…

“Enough about the enrichment— I had you come here to settle some… lingering matters that me and my equals would rather see fulfilled.” She says.

My ears flick. “Lingering matters” ?...

“What do ya mean?”

“Kymi’ah, being obtuse— It does not look good. The Pipbuck. One that the Vhoski insisted we donate, and now we know for whom… Unfortunately, I see you have no such arcana on your person. Need I ask?”

I look down at my absent forehoof, and vivid memories paint it where it would have been. The details change with each blink, and the Pipbuck mascot’s accusative stare burns with the phantom of pain lingering around my limb. Pins and needles brush through it with feverish intensity, and then nothing.

“If I had an answer, it isn’t with me anymore.” I shake away the lingering prickliness.

“I see. Yes, the report implied as much— however, we cannot ignore what was lost,” Her words are void of sympathy, but that just feels right about the way she carries herself. “At any rate, what was lost was a significant investment. I believe you, or at least your scavenger teams, understand the price for something so rare in this part of the world.”

“Enough to the point the Enclave even disputed the finder’s rule,” I answer. They are incredibly rare; more so with all of its hardware, spellware, intact. It made premium spare parts for the more arcane-science aspects of Enclave Power Armor; they don’t completely die after a Storm. Still… I know it still doesn’t count for shit in something like that. Again, my brain thinks back to the hate in that program’s eyes as it vanished…

“I would get into the Suzerain Agreement, but this is not why I called you here.”

“I owe something. That’s what this is about, yeah?”

An amused smile comes over her, “Not as obtuse as I thought.”

The smallest, faintest cries in the back of my head; I can barely hear a thing they say. It sounds something along the lines of outrage: I owe them because of circumstances outside my control? Feels as if I should be vocal about the statement— the audacity. Then again…

“So… I work off this debt.”

“Yes. That is all that is being asked.”

“Doing what?”

“Now that is the question,” she stands from her seat and walks around the side of the . Her tapping hoof glides along the table. “Do you know what I do for Aridia? Show me the insight the Enclave has on such things.”

My stomach takes a turn with a pang, “You’re Internal Affairs.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“It’s in the title—”

“Do you know… what that means?”

A dense stone drops right into the pit of my stomach, and everything in the room looms over me with judgment. Gravity is getting to my knees, and my ears are getting heavy; the air is too thick to take easy breaths anymore.

Those eyes look at me, and my tongue doesn’t want to cooperate with me. I should just keep my mouth shut and save myself the embarrassment…

She sighs, “I only asked that you understand my role without a vagueness. No matter. My role… is everything to do with what we call home; from the interconnectivity of clan resources; to the Enclave; to the Null Zones— everything, everything. When something unexpected happens with any, I am one of the first to hear, and one of the ones who rectify the problems...”

I don’t want to show how it all numbs the brain. Absorb it; role with it; maintain eye contact when possible. She’s not her, but… No, she’s not her!

“Permission to speak… ma’am?”

The surprise in her face is like a knife unsheathed, glinting at me. “Permission? I am not the chief of security— I would not hold you at the crest if you wished to speak your mind—”

“It’s just—” I have to swallow a lump in my throat. “It’s habit— it’s a habit… ma’am. I… want to know why I’m here… ma’am?”

She fixes her collar and clears her throat, “Right. Thank you for not letting it get away from me. It has been difficult as of late— with the debates and the Steel Caravan’s recent… kerfuffle. Where was I— oh yes. Your debt.”

“When can I start… ma’am?”

“You… do not have any questions regarding the work I may ask?”

“... Ma’am?”

“These are trying times— for the both of us, I may add. From what I gather you are seeking answers to a problem for which there are none. I’m sure the Vhoski has told you as much…”

It’s the most grueling flower plucking; the way she speaks. The more I process her words, the more they… don’t line up with what I remember? “The zebra told me they have an answer. You’re… you’re talking about Avie’s situation… ma’am?”

“‘Avie,’” she almost hums the name, “That is her name?”

I nod, “Aviatrix.”

“Then I am. And I don’t mean to alarm you, but I feel you should know just how dire it really is. Have they told you what they know?”

“I haven’t gone to see the zebra they told me to see. Urm… Aster— Astra—”

“I know whom you speak,” she clarifies, “and I must say that you would find their solution a little… labyrinthine.”

“I don’t follow… ma’am.”

She puts a hoof at the edge of her table and starts to tap at it, idly, “How do you go about explaining something when it manages to defy every leap and true-tested observation? What I mean is they only have hypotheses on what we face in the Null. As observant and knowledgeable as they are, they are not the ones who stare into the nothingness so tangible. And yet they fear it. How does one expect to understand if they are to pine from a distance in an attempt to understand?”

“I still don’t follow… ma’am.”

She looks back at me, “I’m offering you alternatives. Yes, you have a debt that needs to be paid, but the solutions to paying it may line up with what you seek. I can provide— as can my cohorts. We both want the same thing— all of us. Do you understand now?”

I try to, but maybe I still don’t. Is that what I’m telling myself now? My pride trying to paint a different truth, and too afraid to say anything about it?

“We know who you are, Ward. We know the mare who wears our crowning achievement in arcane understanding. You may not see it but we are the same, and I try my damndest to ensure their safety in what I do. All I am offering is a means to help you, help us, help you, with the key the Matriarch has given you.”

So many hoops to jump, but I’m starting to stick the landing,“ What are you looking for… ma’am?” How can it help her…

A small twitch comes from the ends of her lips, “Answers. Answers and solutions to what plagues our home, our investments. Our top priority, and one that desperately needs more willing and daring souls.”

“You’re talking about the Null Zones… ma’am?”

“Yes, though it would be a flex proposition. By that I mean it would not be strictly Null Sector-related, and there will be times we will need you to do other things for the Concert. Do you understand?”

“… ma’am?” Do I even need to keep asking?..

She pulls her chin up, swaying it side to side, “It means that you will find work elsewhere as well as with us.”

“And this will help me…”

“It will. As far as I understand, you do not know where to start as of yet. You still want answers for your predicament, no?”

I think back to all of what’s happened, again, and my mind settles, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Very good.” She says, sounding proud. “As a matter of fact, I do think I can provide a little incentive to your dilemma. Did the Vhoski ever mention anything about the solution?”

“No… No I don’t think—” It hits me like a dart, “Wait. No, they did. It involved… my talisman.”

“Do you still have it?” She asks, before gesturing to her own chest like there was a visible necklace. It clicks immediately, putting my hoof to mine and feeling the hard, distinctive lump pressed between me.

I try taking it out, but my ears pick up a swift shifting of something. Looking back at the director, her hoof is waving subtly on the low. I give up trying to show it, “I promised I’d give it to the Matriarch for Avie’s well-being, and for me; it’s all I have.”

“And do you know its value?”

It’s been with me forever. I say there’s value in that, already… The griffons, though, thought something else… and that’s coming up prominently in my mind. Stagona’s reaction was the same, minus the blatant greed. “What… is it, exactly?”

Chapter 13- Disclosure

“Some things in this world should never be left in the dark…”

A dainty ball of light, wisping its way into my view to brighten the space around me. As gentle as its light is, I can’t stop myself from wincing at it. Reaching for it, it just… bobs there for a little bit and softly dances around my forehoof. Feels like the way small hairs feel the slightest breeze touching them, but much more faint.

The light settles better, and I count every familiar divot, crack and crevice that make my room. Pulling myself up, everything feels about two times heavier than it should be. The blood in my head surges towards the front, and it swells into a throbbing pain that has me hanging over myself. Exhaling helps just a little.

I throw my hind legs off the side of the bed, letting my head hang like it’ll help with the annoying headache. I slept too long, didn’t I?..

My own thoughts are answered with vivid images rolling across my mind. I sit there, letting them sink in. All of it feels right: the Matriarch’s blessing; the pegasus flock at the front of the Company’s hole in the wall; the almost-undressing with that vibrant Aridian; and the talk with that Director. Everything lines up until it just stops.

I was there… and then I’m here. There’s nothing between then and now, and the more I try to think back on it, the more it’s the same. It doesn’t feel like a block; more like something just fell away.

Was I dreaming?... There isn’t much else it could be, right? “Awww— Fuck!”

I throw myself off the edge of the bed. Damn, the headache still tapping, and the grogginess weighting me down— I just wasted fucking time for preparations! Damn it! Damn it!

My barding slips on; my talisman where it should be. The bag of those water seeds is accounted for, and is much lighter as to be expected. Half a leather agreement is still with me— good. So I got everything I needed, now all that’s left is meeting… What was his name again?

Starts with an A…

Right at the tip of my tongue…

As—Astron?

The mind takes; I remember who, and what I need to do. As for where he was, I can actually remember that one pretty well. I know I’ll need to head back to that… rotunda. There’s more to it, and I have a feeling that it’ll come to me a little easier the sooner I get the lead out of my bones and muscles. Just thinking about it is getting me even more antsy.

* * * * * *

Here, smack dab in the middle of what makes for the busiest, most social intersection of the Mountain. As crowded as it gets, my skin still crawls. How can so many ponies… zebra… both— how can there be so many faces in one place, and still not enough sound to drown out any thought? You can’t get lost in this if you try, and I don’t know how I feel about that now.

Move on— Just move on— Keep going, Ward…

Right. I remember Stagona saying something about the ceiling. Looking up at the stars above, glittering specs on a blanket of blue. Some of them stand out more than others; the constellations hidden in plain sight. No matter where I look at it, it’s as if all of them shift with my perspective— like they sit still while the background moves with my view. How the fuck did they manage to do something like this?..

Orion’s Arrow… Orion’s Arrow… Stagona told me about the arrow telling me where I need to go. The constellation as a whole always looked more like a butterfly to me, or maybe a pair of drums with a corresponding stick. There it is…

I spin in place until my line of sight matches with the direction the arrow is pointing. Looking down, towards the wall… there’s nothing there.

Getting closer, minding the crowd, there’s still nothing to see. It’s just an empty wall, but I can’t stop moving towards it. There’s a shimmer in the rock face— coming from it, like a ripple in water.

A sensation’s nibbling at me like an itch I can’t scratch. My eye won’t stop twitching. The sounds of the crowd go still. I turn my attention back the way I came, and all the sounds that were dying, just aren’t. The more I do it, the more noticeable the audio change is between perspectives.

Okay, something’s definitely there… It’s a strange thing, but everyone here doesn’t seem to think about it. None of them even seem bothered or alarmed by the idea of a pegasus just messing with an empty space they happen to avoid so that’s proof enough.

I squint, get gloser, and see the rippling settle with a growing shadow against the wall. The more I lean in, the more steps I take towards it, the more borders become defined; the edges clearer, and the shadow becomes a definite carved hole in the wall. Illusion magic…

It’s odd. If it’s supposed to be a very discreet place, it’s not exactly hidden somewhere; anyone can just find it if they get close enough to where the spell stops obscuring it.

There are carvings along the top of the entrance. Are those supposed to be letters? Or just really bad writing? There’s no way I can read it, either way. Looking back to the dark entrance ahead of me, and back up at the arrow pointing towards it…

It couldn’t have been a more creepy welcoming mat, Stagona?..

If this is the way forward, I hope this Astron zebra isn’t any more a riddler than most others I’ve met today. I’m starting to think the way others address me is way too unnecessarily long than it needs to be. I came here for answers, and something short and to the point is what I need right now.

I make my way in, past the entrance to the first step. That strange itch—

* * * * * *

A dainty ball of light, wisping its way into my view to brighten the space around me. As gentle as it brightens, I can’t stop myself from wincing at it. Reaching for it, it just… bobs there for a little bit and softly dances around my forehoof. Feels like the way small hairs feel the slightest breeze touching them, but much more faint.

I throw my hind legs off the side of the bed, letting my head hang like it’ll help with the annoying headache. I slept too long, didn’t I—

Something isn’t settling right. Here at my bed, I’ve seen this before. Every thought I think of having feels like it’s going to happen… happened, one-for-one. I look at one of my hooves, watching it wave and move around… it’s like everything swims in the uncanny.

I’ve seen this before… I’ve definitely seen this before…

A moment for myself. I take the time to jot a mental list to slowly go through everything I know I did…

I remember getting up just like this…

I remember the headache; the bag of marbles; the barding; the need to do… something…

I know I went out to spend… I set myself up for the basics; a weapon, basic gear… a receipt in my pocket…

A conversation I know happened with a Director… A debt I apparently owe for a Pipbuck…

Then I left that place, left behind the flock-crowd of pegasi… and then…

Everything matches up. The further down the mental list I go, the more solid things become until I reach something I just can’t. From the last fact I know happened, to here, in my bed …again?

I put a pin on the feeling, getting up, pacing around my room. The more I hold onto it the stranger it becomes. I can’t tell if I’m going to fall off or if I’m just hitting the wall about something that’s becoming less and less relevant. And somehow, I can’t let it go no matter how much I try.

The door opens and lets a shadow stretch in. Stagona’s there, and the look in her eyes is the same look as before: something mildly concerned, but trying desperately to hide some kind of disappointment.

She walks inside, closes the door, and sits in her spot across from me. The glowbulb dances between us as she gets comfortable, her jewelry rattles softly as her soft robes bunch up and flows into the sand.

This is different…

“I was told about your meeting with Astron and Doctor Hypothesis,” She says, “Ward… this is not going to be a normal occurrence, is it?”

Astron. I know that name, but not sure how or how well. The second one, though, “Did I… miss something?”

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and fixes the band across her head, “I suppose with what has been happening, you certainly are. That is what happens when the Law of Names is broken, unfortunately.”

Law of Names?.. Law of Names… No matter how many times I think about it, there is no air of familiarity coming to me. “What are ya talking about? What Law of Names? Do ya… know what happened?”

“I do,” She says simply, but somewhere in her voice there’s something that comes to me. Is she disappointed?

“Well… I guess it has something to do with the deja vu I’m having, then. Something ya and the Zebra did? Rooted in my mind again, only ya didn’t tell me this time?”

She looks taken aback, “No. No no no— never! We would never take from you without telling you.”

“Ya seem to know what’s going on— so what’s happening then? I’m feeling like I’m about to go in circles.”

“I will be forward with you, but first I will tell you that you are not going insane. What you are experiencing is a consequence of a broken Law.”

“And this isn’t some kind of political-based or social law…”

She nods, “Correct. This is one founded in magic and enforced by a pact. An ancient ritual used to safeguard secrets under specific requirements. As a matter of fact, it is why I have come to talk.”

The more I listen to her, the more she sounds like some kind of peevish principal or a drill sergeant on the way to simmering. There’s injustice in this. Am I supposed to feel guilty for something that happened that I don’t remember? That can’t be fair at all!

She finds the seat she’s always sat in, and cleans her robes, “I suppose I should ask just how much you remember, before we discuss anything else further. You can tell me everything you remember within the past couple of hours, and when you cannot, is when we will proceed.”

I want to say it’s a waste of time, but I can’t get past the feeling of being stuck in place with what’s occupying my mind… or what isn’t. She makes it sound so pivotal, and that alone is telling me to listen. For Avie’s sake.

I take my seat at the side of the bed, rub my forehead, and remember.

* * * * * *

“... Then that’s it. I didn’t think much about it the first time, and then when it happened a second time… well that’s when ya walked in. That’s when ya thought it would be a time for this.”

Stagona kept eye contact the whole way through. At least, that’s what I think from the moments I picked my head up to look at her. The longer she sits there now, unmoving and leaning on the seat like some kind of secretary, the more I think something’s coming. I don’t know what, but I hope she got what she thought to hear from that spiel.

The quiet is going on for way too long. I don’t know if I’m supposed to say anything more, or if she’s processing. All I see is that steely look in her eye, and I don’t know what’s going on in them.

“This circumstance…” she says, “I would want to call it equivocal, but at the same time find myself gravitating to the side of… I suppose I would want to call it a learning lesson. Yes, consider this a learning lesson.”

My head cocks to the side just slightly. “A learning lesson on… what?”

“Well, let me ask: do you remember what the Matriarch has told you regarding trust?”

I can see her mask bathed in that dim orange light of the room we sat in. Her words, I speak with the memory, “...everything is an exchange of respect and good will… remember this…”

“Good. Good that you remembered,” She says, almost sounding relieved. “I suppose I should now ask if you know what it means.”

“Ya telling me I don’t?”

She raises a hoof like I was about to pounce just then, “I only ask because when one says it, mutual understanding is achieved. Also, remember: it helps you, if you say it. I am not putting you anywhere, only wanting to ensure it stays with you moving forward. Please.”

I take a deep breath and run my hoof through my mane, scratching an itch on the way back to help the thoughts gather more easily. “All of ya kinda don’t speak very forward. I’m not used to it. It uh— it means—” C’mon… I know it’s there… Just need to string it together… “It means that I need to have more trust.”

“Partially right,” she says matter of factly, “You have a base understanding, and that is a start. But what is expected is that when you are given something, you take with a modicum of gratitude and respect…”

“You’re saying it like that, again.” I squint.

“Saying it like how? How do you mean?”

“You’re talking to me like I did something terrible; like I somehow upset ya on a personal level.”

“You did not,” she reaffirms. “I do not mean to come off as such. If anything I am worried about the circumstances created surrounding this. I am worried for you, specifically.”

“Then what? What did I do? Does it involve that… Law ya talked about a while ago?”

“Yes,” she says. “It involves that law: The Law of Names!”

“Ya still haven’t told me what it even is!”

“And I will!” She firmly states. The force in her words pushes me back a little, “The Law of Names is a countermeasure for our most dangerous and safeguarded secrets. It is in the name, itself, regarding what it involves. Ward, you have just excommunicated yourself from learning any of our knowledge of The Curse.”

Excommunicated from learning about The Curse? “I know what it is, though…”

“What you, yourself know, is not what is affected. It is whatever you learn, have learned, or will learn, from the Temple of the Skoteinós involving the Curse, that is.”

“I don’t…” My head is starting to hurt all of a sudden, “I don’t remember anything about any temple by that name.”

“That’s because the safeguard worked,” She tells me.

Nothing she is telling me is taking. Everything about it feels and sounds as fuzzy as static on a broadcast channel, “How? How did that happen?”

“The Law of Names is enacted when you give your name to the Keepers within the ritual’s circle. It is and always has been the only way to get inside that house of secrets. If anything breached the conditions that bind the law to your name, then it is activated.”

Something about this isn’t going away. I’m trying to be calm and collected about the whole situation. I know I am, but there’s a boiling feeling inside that’s telling me I shouldn’t take this bullshit…

“Ward,” She says, “you breached a condition, meaning that everything you have learned, up onto the point, is effectively ripped from your mind. More than that, but all knowledge you sought is now locked to you.”

Sure. Sure this might explain the holes in my head. I can believe it, all things considering the time I literally saw myself tell me things on this bed, but the deja vu was never a part of it. Not like this, “That shouldn’t explain—”

“It is a secondary preventative measure. For however long your name is deemed restricted, you are unable to go near the Temple of the Skoteinós. If anything, it is impressive you caught onto this on your own. You should not even be able to notice it, at all.”

How am I supposed to take that kind of statement at the end? Should I be proud or worried just like she is projecting. “Does that mean you’re impressed?”

She says nothing. All she does is just sit back in her spot, wiping her stripped brow, “I was informed that you had broken the Law by display of impatience and hostility. You had fallen into some state of anger, and after some time you removed your blindfold. That is what most definitely triggered it. I was informed only after you were brought back here the first time. The second was… well, you were well on your way back to the temple.”

I understand needing to take all of this in stride. I can get behind just taking whatever it is they tell me and just moving forward with it. But this? Another scenario where I get more holes in my head than much needed answers for Avie… Maybe that rising feeling in my gut is telling me something about all of this. It’s making my neck hurt just trying to keep a lid on me wanting to give some piece of my mind about the whole thing.

“So… everything’s laid out, now. Is that what you’re upset about?” I ask. “Ya upset because I inconvenienced ya trying to do…something with my spare time? I don’t remember what I was angry about, but I know I had a good reason for it.”

“No, Ward. No,” She firmly establishes, “I am upset because of what it means for you going forward, as I said previously.”

“Y’all are into this kind of magic, right? Isn’t there some kind of… loophole? An exemption to undo this messy bullshit?”

“No. No there isn’t.”

The lid cracks inside, “Bullcrap!”

“If I knew a solution— if there was a way for you to try again at this moment, I would be the first to try and undo it. But it is not up to me. I cannot alter the Laws established in the ritual.”

“Then who made it? What about them? They’d know how to undo it— there’s always someone who does this kind of thing, right?”

“That is not how it works, Ward.”

I shoot up from my bed, wings itching to flare open at her, “So tell me who, then. Tell me who, and I’ll handle—”

“You’re not listening to me!” She firmly says, “The ones who can do anything about it are long dead. Breaking the oldest magic is impossible. This is not like a machine or a gun you can fix with fine adjustment; this is not an ailment that can be remedied with alchemy or miracle. It is an establishment of an order upon a part of the world, invoked. It has happened, and there is nothing to be done.”

“Then stop it.”

“Ward—”

“I know what you’re saying, but…” I try to fumble the idea in my mind, letting the details sift until something substantial comes up. There’s always something… “... how about… you turn it off? It can be stopped, maybe whatever this thing going on with me stops too, and then… bring it back up—”

“It is not like a machine, Ward— you cannot just turn it off. Please, listen to me—”

“Why aren’t ya trying to help me here?!”

She stares at me with some ghost of disbelief coming across her face, “If I could, I would; if I had the power, I would. For you, for her… but I cannot. It is beyond me…”

There. She says it again. And it doesn’t feel any better hearing it. It wouldn’t feel any better hearing it anymore, right? Like hitting my head against a brick wall, and a mess of things creeps up on me with it. Dizziness, a heavy weight in my knees, and a need to sit down. I want to breathe… Not until I get the next couple of words out. I can’t do it without her looking at me like that.

It’s beyond her… It’s beyond me… It’s just a couple of holes in my memory. What they had… I could’ve used; whatever I learned, to save her. And I just had to fuck it all up, somehow. I don’t even know how I did it. That fact alone is burning in my mind like it’s got its own thing for sadism, and it’s creating a tight bubble in my chest that I don’t want Stagona to know about. I can’t stop reaching for my talisman… I keep fucking up the number of faces Mother has, again… And again… And—

My hooves come over my head, and I let myself fold tightly. To see the glow of my treasure, and try to find something to soothe. Why… Why aren’t ya… What did I do?..

“Ward—”

I jerk away from the creeping presence. All the words I want to say are so prickly and sharp, it hurts just to think about speaking. I can only take deep, sharp breaths. And then I try, “I’ll deal with this shit on my own in the morning! I’ll find my own answers! Just… go!”

I stay here, coiled up over the edge of my bed until I hear her hoofsteps leave out the door. It’s all quiet now. Nothing here to keep me company but the annoying bulb of light, and my own new-found stupidity.

Fuck me…

From the Department of Inter-Aridian Affairs to the Steel-Caravan Commission:

Director Irnes:

It has come to the Concert’s attention that the re-establishment of the Steel Caravan’s north-central route is going steady as planned, as reports come in to establish a near forty-five percent recovery rate of all assets damaged from the most recent Griffon-led incursion on the Steed Dutiful’s return route. A thanks would be in order for your continued attempts to revitalize our routes across the territory.

However, there are more pressing matters that have also come to all our attention. In light of recent events, pegasus unrest among us is on a slow rise. The Matriarch and the Inquisitora share growing concern of the Enclave’s objections to the no-fly order established in the wake of the raid. This being said, I implore that you and your attached salvage teams increase productivity so that this proverbial fire stays colder for just a little while longer.

Necessary steps have been taken to insure recovery rate is increased, and by the time you get this message more resources have been allocated and dispatched for the task. Among them are volunteers, one of which is indebted to the Company. To ensure the income, have him do what is necessary so long as it adheres to the tenets of labor and good standing.

I advise caution, all the same. The Concert shows intrigue in that one, but it does not mean he shall be treated any different from the others.

May the Sands pave your way, Director Irnes,

Feidynne, Director of Internal Affairs

Note 282:

That one still intrigues us all. His threads, how they sway when the veil is lifted, not unusual at first glance. It is when brought into proximity of curse-related peculiars that we see through them to know what hides inside. No, hide does not begin to describe it.

It does not fade from the naked eye like most, but the way it reacts to the Curse— like a dancer finding their tempo in a messy melody. And from the reports and testimonies, it very much confirms the Resonance Theory. More tests, pending.

Dr. Hypothesis knew. He knew, and wanted to see what would happen. His actions concern, and his methods are like a foal playing with a cracked vial of sticky fire. The Law of Names currently remains effective. In hindsight, what transpired did intrigue, and testimonies from Stagona currently show full integrity of memory rips.

He is currently not dangerous. Still not dangerous. I fear how long it will be until our most resilient safeguards are not enough. The chain has yet to tarnish, and that is good; the windows remain clear; the spirit spurred strong, but nonetheless volatile.

Perhaps it is best he remains oblivious; a blessing in disguise is the nature of the Knownauts. The less known, the better the chances for all of us— that is a factor we know for certain about The Curse. It does not excuse the actions of Dr. Hypothesis towards that pegasus.

For something like The Curse, we cannot afford to lose more to bull-headedness. We cannot afford to lose the opportunity we are given with him, either.

May the gods hear me, if they still can.

-A

Prologue

“Some things in this world are best left as they were…Never has it been right…and terribly, horribly wrong...”

Our orders were to keep a low profile, to make sure nopony knew that we were out here; a clandestine mission. If the damn Company finds out it will be like Operation Cauterize all over again. We will be in the same situation as our grandparents: us, alone, in a hostile wasteland full of savages. Unfortunately, the ones out here are far from savage; efficient and deadly, like a well-oiled machine.

We were never meant to find this place, but we did. And the repercussions of coming here cannot be fathomed. The risks are higher than ever, but orders are orders, and it’s our duty to ensure the Enclave’s survival. What we do is for the reinstatement of the Enclave as a force of nature to the entirety of the wasteland. We do this for the rebirth of our great society.

“Okay, how about this one,” AB-49 killed the silence via radio, “Would you rather know when you’re gonna die? Or how you’re gonna die?”

I dreaded the thought and sighed so hard I nearly fogged up my helmet’s visor, “You seriously had to go there with the thought of death? Not a good way to start this off, Forty-Nine.”

The thought of death in any way, shape, or form, just doesn’t settle well in the mind. Nopony likes the thought of death, that much is certain. But death, here… I have no intention of going through with that experience. I’m afraid of it. I’d rather not know either and focus on the life ahead of me.

Forty-Nine groans like an irritated foal, “I’m just trying to pass time. How long does it take to find a dead drop on a marked location?” she breathed in and out, “It’s fucking freezing out here. I want to go back home and out of this fucking place.”

“We all want that, Forty-Nine,” I reminded her as I paced a bit in the sand to get the blood flowing. Standing around too long gave me pins and needles, “The sooner Ten and Eighty-Seven secure the drop, the faster we can leave. So just keep your feathers in order, alright?”

Forty-Nine growled audibly in the coms, “How does anypony in this forsaken place live with these conditions? The blistering heat, the blistering cold. It’s sunburn and frostbite, day in and day out! Madness!”

“The wasteland is a fucked up place as it is,” I told her, “Did you expect the weather to be any better out here—away from Equestria?”

“This temperature is abnormal!”

“It’s the desert, quit complaining.”

“Yeah, Thunderburst? Those Corporate sons-of-bitches can’t do anything about it? I thought they owned this place.”

“I swear Forty-Nine, just endure it! You’re an Enclave Soldier-- soldiers endure and they survive. That’s one of the lessons we had to learn by heart.” I growled, “Using code saves lives, Forty-Nine. It’s ideal when you don’t want to be found.”

“Not like anypony’s out here to listen. We’re in the middle of nowhere, for crying out loud!”

Another break of static interjects, and a different mare’s voice comes through, AB-Eighty-Seven, “That doesn’t mean we’re alone, Forty-Nine. Speaking of which, are you actually keeping your eyes out on the horizon?”

“Not like there’s nothing else to do. I bet you’re all warmer down there in that cavern or whatever it is you all are in.”

“You mean a slot canyon? Not very, sometimes--”

“Alright alright, Bl-- I mean Eighty-Seven. I don’t need a whole lecture on geography.”

“It’s...Geology.”

“Whatever.”

There are distant rumbles to the south, disrupting my wandering thoughts. Looking in the respective direction, there were disturbing beats of flashing, off-colored light in the sky. Anxiety sank in and I became restless when I noticed it coming towards us at an oddly distorted pace. I counted, anticipating the next rumble. A minute later, it arrived; twelve miles away, but given the briefing’s detail on the weather patterns here it’ll change shortly. I almost envy the control we were said to have over the weather-- over the clouds. These seem to have a mind of their own.

“Sir, we have a storm coming in,” I radioed the situation to Ten. “Twelve miles out, and closing in.”

“Shit, we almost have it,” Ten cursed, “Call in Eighty-Nine, Forty-Four. By the time he gets here, we should be ready with the dead drop.”

“Aye, sir.” I immediately switched to calling the Vertibuck on our frequency,

“Come in, Alpha Bravo Bird. Alpha Bravo Bird, this is the ground team. ‘Package has been located, repeat, the package has been located and is being prepped. Requesting extraction at our location, over!”

There was a chirp, and AB-Eighty-Nine came through, “This is Alpha Bravo Bird. Wilco AB-Forty-Four, we’ll be on our way shortly. ETA ten minutes. Shit hits the fan, we request you meet us halfway—the storm is looking pretty bad from over here...over?”

“Copy, Alpha Bravo. We’ll see you soon. Over and out.” I grumble while the link goes out. ‘Shit-hits-the-fan’ isn’t exactly a radio etiquette thing to say, “They’re too casual about this.”

“Okay we get it, Forty-Four, you still got your gripes about following things to code and military regulation…” Eighty-Seven comments on the radio, “But with all due respect, keep it to yourself, sir.”

“And he gets after me for complaining.” Forty Nine follows up.

“For good reason, Forty-Nine. I don’t care if we are all alone out here, still doesn’t mean that we’re not being heard.”

“You already said that--”

“I know. It’s because it’s a valid point to have. Please, Forty-Nine. Just asking for this one thing from you.”

She scoffs, “Like anypony out here cares if we can just drop a bit of this militant bull--”

“I swear to the clouds and back, Forty-Nine…”

Always about maintaining face. Always about showing that we are organized to those who can happen to hear us. If they did it would be a scary thought, but we have to at least present ourselves verbally to maintain face.

There’s a loud crash in the distance. I glance at the horizon, the storm rages and roars. The clouds, swirling and crashing like a mad body of water, cast ominous shadows that swallow the moonlight.

My radio opens to Ten’s voice, “We’ve got it!”

The clap of thunder nearly scares me out of my gear. The moon’s blue rays hitting the sand black out as the storm races towards us. The off-colored lightning shoots out towards the sky, within the clouds, and into the sand all at once. The brisk air kicks up, howling into our earpieces.

“Damn, it’s heavy!” Eighty-Seven comments. “Wish we had Power Armor!”

Flash! Boom!

That’s too soon to hear thunder that fast. Did I miscount? The thought that we may have had more time turns sour in my chest. That sourness ate into my stomach and created a pit. I count again, knowing what the storms bring. I’m wanting to flee.

“Sir! It’s going to be right on top of us! It’s now six miles from our location!” Forty-Nine shouts with alarm.

“Fucking hell that’s a fast storm!” Eighty-Seven swears, “We’re at the mouth! Coming out!”

Ten and Eighty-Seven slowly rose out of the hole with a dingy and worn industrial cargo case.

Just as Ten and Eighty-Seven reach the edge of the slot canyon, I see them lose their grip on the package. Fear grips my heart and pushes me to go and help them.

“Shit! Grab it!” Ten shouts as both he and Eighty-Seven dive back into the canyon.

“I don’t see them, anywhere! ABB should be here now!” Forty-Nine’s voice, now more wracked with heavy breathing, booms into the radio while I near the canyon, “Alpha Bravo Bird where the hell are you!? Alpha Bravo Bird, are you receiving? Where the hell’s our extraction!?”

We can all hear ABB’s voices, butchered by the ambient magic… no. Magic doesn’t describe what that storm has, something is hacking the message like a knife to meat.

“ BRRRRCHHH--ZZZZZ-- ea-- CHHH-CHH-ZZRRRR---”

“REEE--RRRRR---REEEE-- too cl-- HE-HE-HRRRRRR--EEEEEEE--”

The garbling, the white noise, the choppy vocalizations, none of it is helping! I can’t pick up a single coherent thing with this interference! Fear and a headache are racking my head from all of it!

I reach the slot canyon, and I peer my head over the edge to see Ten and Eighty-Seven struggling with the cargo. I’m uncertain how to help them without causing more problems. All my attempts to analyze how are coming up short.

“I see them! There they are!” Forty-Nine’s voice reaches my ears through the growing static from my radio. Her words have me look to the clear night horizon to see our vertibuck moving through the lit-up night sky. I feel relief wafting over me seeing it moving through the horizon. The relief dies quickly when it’s realized that the Vertibuck isn’t coming closer to us. It’s going in the direction of home.

“No… No where are they going?” Forty-Nine starts to ventilate, “They-- They-- They’re leaving us! ABB, don’t go! We’re over here, you bastards! Don’t leave us!”

“We took too long…” Ten’s words sound as heavy as lead, “...they won’t come for us-- not with this storm. We’d lose the Vertibuck.”

A flash of thunder, an arc of off-color lightning strikes. We duck on instinct, my spine tingles from the close call.

“Fuck this! Fuck this! Fuck this!” Forty-Nine’s crazed yelling came in when my ears stopped ringing. She kicks off the ground and flies along the rising wind and towards the shrinking horizon.

“Misty!” I yell after her, but I can’t hear my own words. I was about to fly after her, but Ten’s voice kept me on the ground.

“Forty-Four, leave her! We missed our window!”

I turned around, to see Ten beckoning to me with his armored hoof. He pointed a little to his left and I saw it. My blood ran cold when the lightning lashed out from the churning clouds now a mile or so away and clawed into the sand behind me. A monstrous, deafening boom erupts behind me and a terrible color illuminated the sky around me.

My eardrums explode again from the follow-up boom. Unable to stand, disoriented from sudden vertigo, I lose my footing and tumble with the ferocious wind. Despite my head continuing to spin, I manage to keep my wings closed and at my sides.

The wind wasn’t letting up, so I attempted to make myself dead weight to fight back against the elements. I curl up into a ball to maximize my weight, and it certainly starts to help while my tumbling came to a halt.

“Brrrrzzzttttt---Wrrrrrrrr---AAAAUUU---Four! Overrrrrrrr----ere!!!”

My radio buzzes to life, but I can’t tell if it’s Ten or Eighty-Seven. My HUD is on the fritz from the magical disturbance. It’s useless to me now. I can’t track where the noise is coming from. My E.F.S. is busted. My vital readings keep shifting between numbers and status warnings. Even the internal lighting in my helmet blinks and buzzes erratically.

I want to stay here and ball up, let the sand consume me. I want to disappear. Anything to avoid Them.

A white light barely pierces the haze of the storm just as another clap of bright thunder illuminated the sky and casted so many obscure, heart-stopping shadows. Two voices reach my ears-- one from my radio and one coming through the wind. Both are barely audible.

“Tccchhhhhhhhhhzzzzzz---on!”

“Thunderburst, c’mon!”

Eighty-Seven’s light came right up to me, and I’ve never felt more happy to see her. She helped me up; I didn’t think about resisting. When somepony sends you help in dire straits, you take what you can get.

The both of us huddle together and push through the storm, periodically having to lock ourselves in place when the harsher winds come at us. I keep my gaze down but my friend close; I feel like if I look up, They’d see us. The thought that they are seeing us makes me want to turtle and hug Eighty-Seven closer.

‘I...see...you…’

A voice. A voice that wasn’t mine trailed into my mind and froze me in place. Eighty-Seven kept going, and stopped to look back at me, realizing I wasn’t with her. My breath feels thick, and my heart sinks through my stomach; I’m paralyzed by fear.

Eighty-Seven's voice echoed again, trying to get me to move,

“Zzzzzrrrrrr---go---rrreeeeerrr--’mon!”

“Thunderburst! Keep going! We’re almost there, c’mon!”

There was another thunderclap and a flash of lightning. The shadows became more defined from the last time, and they are looking vaguely like a pony. I pray my eyes are tricking me, and I don’t want to bring Eighty-Seven’s attention to it; I’m afraid if I do, They’ll all see us.

Does she see them, too?

Flash. Boom. Shadows. There are more of Them, now– more than the last. By ones, then by threes. I feel their eyes on me with their luminous gaze and pulsating lights infecting their bodies. Perpetual screaming; moans carried in the wind constantly whipping into our armor. I’m wishing that my ears were ringing louder from the thunder, but the storm wants us to hear Them.

Their moans found form and became words. Disembodied. Intelligent. Misty’s question...

‘Would you rather know…

...when you’re going to die...

...or how you’re going to die?’

Grand Pegasus Enclave- Stormtrooper Division Squadron 1, Team B- Alpha Bravo.

RETRIEVAL MISSION STATUS REPORT:

-Chief Master Sergeant, Doldrum- AB-10: Missing in Action, Presumed Deceased

-Master Sergeant, Thunderburst- AB-44: Missing in Action, Presumed Deceased

-Staff Sergeant, Luft- AB-89: Returned to Base, Quarantined, Pending Debriefing

-Sergeant First-Class, Alto- AB-66: Returned to Base, Quarantined, Pending Debriefing

-Sergeant, Misty Cloud- AB-49: Returned to Base, Quarantined, Pending Debriefing

-Sergeant, Blazing Rain- AB-87: Missing in Action, Presumed Deceased

STATUS OF PRIORITY PACKAGE: UNKNOWN

COURSE OF ACTION REQUIRED
LEVEL-1 PRIORITY
RETRIEVAL TEAM ASSEMBLY IN PROGRESS...

Chapter 3- Inquiry

“You can tell me anything. It’s what I’m here for, darling… ”

Briefing… Quack… Crowd…

I pace back and forth, never leaving the side of my bed. Over and over, again, I think back as hard as I can.

Avie… Soup… Departure… Accident… Outpost… Outpost SE-7… Bastards…

I need to look hard– as hard as I can. It’s all I can do right now while my nerves are all jittery and fired up like crazy.

Crack… Descent… Searching… My ears begin to twitch. The itch slowly comes back like gnats swarming to the smell of a festering, open wound. I feel it prickle and grow with intensity the closer I get to what I’m looking for, and with how it’s starting to burn now tells me I’m very close. I feel it there at the forefront of my memory; the answers—maybe the one that will tell me everything.

I bang on the metal headboard to distract from the itch. The chains rattle to remind me they’re still there, and the link that binds the two cuffs together pulls taught every so often. The links chime on top of the banging, the whole ensemble paints gray walls and bars in my head. Both of my hooves are now knocking on the bare metal, and I’m done holding back. A part of me hopes the tremors running up my foreleg will do something for my mind.

*Clang!* *CLANG!* *CLANG!*

I need the momentum if I’m going to catch it. It’s just out of reach– I know it is! It’s stuck and it won’t let go! My anticipations are starting to sour; my craving for closure is going bad, too. As they do, my frustration builds in my joints, my muscles, and my aching head with the itch that grows stronger. I can’t stop, not when I have it!

*CLANG!* *CLANG!* *CLANG!*

My head begins to burn all over. A hot, searing, clawing pain begins to overcome my skull and my thought process. I can’t think of anything else but to bury my head in my hooves and scratch it all like putting out a wildfire. It’s enough to make me scream with how overwhelmingly menacing the sensation feels– the maddening itch that can’t be scratched. Eventually, it dies down and leaves my head tender and sore, but I know what it means. Again, the memory went away.

It got away again… The very memory I hoped would bring me rationale just vanished like feather dust in the wind.

*CLANG!CLANG!CLANG!CLANG!CLANG!*

“FUCK!” I hold my head and squeeze, pulling myself inward while both my hooves try to pull my mane apart down the middle. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

I scream into the whiteness all around me and at myself. These fucking sensations that nag me; the poison of watching all I had hoped to gain from searching turn to the sourest of feelings. I force all of them out in loud screams that keep going for as much air I can take in one breath. It’s still not enough, and I keep going until I can feel my vocal cords want to snap; my lungs want to burst; and my throat peeled red raw from the strain.

My lungs bring in air with snappy, quivering breaths. My head feels light, but hot to the touch with a dull throb. My eyes… they feel puffy and like they burn at the edges of my vision. It hurts to use them, and there’s no way of telling if the white nothing has some responsibility in it.

“Why?” I ask myself, pulling myself into a small ball as best I can to keep myself from collapsing. “Why can’t ya just fucking…get it!”

“Why” is my only company. It’s always been here with me, and knowing it gives it incentive to drive me insane. It knows what I want, and it dangles it just out of reach. Everytime I reach for it, it gets farther away. ‘Ya almost had it!’ I can hear the question taunt into my ear. ‘C’mon! You’ve gotta work harder than that! Where’s that determination? You need it if you want it!’ I growl and hit my head to shut those thoughts up. It’s not fucking fair…

I bite my tongue the moment I feel my eyes welling up. I’ll be begging on my knees before I let myself go like that, again. The growing, pinching pain on my tongue makes me hiss while the welling up goes away. Even though they’re gone, my grip doesn’t let up. The pain grows with biting heat where I feel my teeth sinking into my tongue. Should I just bite it off already? Can I live with the consequences if the pain is real? My stomach sinks with the thought in an instant. I open myself up to see them, and both of them are still there. They shake just barely, and they both feel like they’re on fire now. My eyes follow the chains down to the center, and down the third chain connecting the two of them. I pull them apart with a snarl until the chain is taught, and I do it again and again– holding my breath as I pull on them a third time and keep going. The fore-hooves they cling to feel like they’re about to bend or break; my face feels like it’s going to pop with my lungs expanding in my chest.

Nothing comes out of it but lightheadedness and sore, gasping muscles. I can’t do more but leer at them like it will be the thing to get the links to open up and set me free. Never in my life did I think that I’d actually see physical chains and cuffs bite into my legs like they do. They’re cold, and I can feel them thirsting for blood around their sharp edges.

My wings shift uncomfortably at my sides. It’s a discomfort that makes my whole back coil and shift along with them. Around my chest is an off-white vest, and across my belly are several straps of thick, white canvas or some other material. It’s strong, and that’s all I know about it. There’s no way for me to get it open, and I’m willing to bet that there are some buckles in the hard-to-scratch areas of my back. Unlike the chains, they feel less aggressive and give me a bit of wiggle room to keep my wings feeling like they are there. But chains are still chains– even if they are for a different part of the body, and are made of a different material.

“You need not worry about them. They are only temporary.”

What? I can’t believe it; that was a voice just now, and it was right in front of me. So something is here… something is here… The revelation doesn’t lift my spirits like it should– no thought of rescue makes the tension slide off my shoulders. That voice… Was it a young stallion, or a mare? Or was it two ponies– both stallion and mare talking simultaneously like some hive-mind abomination? Looking up… I’m not even sure if I should be put off by the fact that something’s here with me in this nothingness; that I did not even hear or see it coming prior to hearing it call out to me; or that the thing across from me, sitting at the opposite end of the table, is only a vaguely pony-shaped emptiness that sits in that chair.

All the hair on my body stands. The tingle of fear ruffles my feathers and makes my saliva coagulate and ball up in my throat. There’s just no other way to describe it, other than it’s as if something took a pair of scissors and cut a shape out of the white void– as if to make an implication that something is there.

“How is your head, Ward?”

My scalp immediately begins to burn when the words reach my ears. It’s like the very breath from those words being said was a deliberate blowing onto dying embers laid out across my head. For a minute it’s an intense, burning itch, but it vanishes just as it peaks. It leaves my thoughts feeling smokey and hard to grasp. Not even Pegasus magic can make smoke clouds tangible in my own head. Ironic, and hopeless, at least I can hold my head like it will make things clearer than they frustratingly aren’t…

“Ya know my name…” I say between a hiss, feeling another small crawl of scorching pain make its way across my scalp and reach deep into my hair roots. “Ya know… my name?” They know my name– the only name so few know about…

“I do” The voice states, firm as thunder. “Your eyes look so heavy; have you gotten any sleep since you last woke up? If memory serves, you had broken out in a cold sweat. I am so sorry…”

The tone of voice, the kind that makes me want to think of them like a friend. It hits all the right bells in my head– all the little notes of trusting nostalgia. Except… There are some of those bells that weigh heavy like lead, and play sour notes that I feel all the way into my gut. My stomach twists into a thick knot, and I shift a little in my posture thinking that would ease it, somewhat. It doesn’t go away, and it builds a thought and leaves it at the forefront of my mind. “Do I…know ya from somewhere?”

“Not formally, no. Not at all.”

“Then who are ya? What are ya?” All I have are questions, and that’s not even half of them, or the more concerning ones. As much as I want to scream and demand answers for… all of this; for the emptiness; for the bindings; for the indecency and everything else… What was it our Drill Instructor said about situations like this? “Assess and proceed?” It sounds right to me, but I think that’s as generalized as it can be. I’m not sure if this is an interrogation, or if it’s something else…

I wait for their response…

“Well, to the former and the latter, I am an attache; I am here on behalf of the Grand Aridian High Council, The School of Mysticism, and The Saan-Al’Kimah, herself.”

“The Grand Aridian High Council”… “The School of Mysticism”... “Saan-Al’Kimah”... It’s a lot to unpack, but not too unfamiliar. “The Concert of Aridia?” I sum up all the names under one umbrella.

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise. It seems that your mind has not gone too far, has it? Good sign.”

It’s a thought that I can’t believe I owe the Nag’s neglect to. What else do you do when you’re all alone? With nothing but holotapes and old books— the former, at least. Couldn’t figure the writing for the life of— hold on. “A good sign? What— What’s a good sign?” Is something really that wrong that Grand Aridia’s governing body is listening in? That, alone, gives me a good idea about who the architects of this place are. “What is this place?” I ask on top of my previous question.

“We call it the “White Room”. Think of it like… like a safe pocket-space.”

Is that supposed to be ironic at my expense? I lift my chains, holding them up as long as I need to until she knows what I'm trying to imply. A part of me doesn’t think I need to say anything about it; they’re not hard to miss.

“We were concerned you may have at any moment done… things.”

“Any of them being why you’re over there, and I’m over here?” I ask, pulling the chain.

“If you mean thoughts of ransom with the intent to harm, then no.”

Too casual a tone, and no regard for the fact that they figured I’d do something like that… Something’s missing… “Then why have me in them? In here– this place?” I had to get that question out, but the relief in doing so hasn't come yet. Instead of relieving the stones in my stomach, it’s like their density increased. “Answers. I need answers…” I add.

“The chains are not meant for my safety, but for yours, Ward. It was… is, your safety.”

Since when do chains mean safety? Did a slave ever feel safe with explosive collars around their neck? The chains may not bite as hard as those things are said to, but captivity still means captivity. I can’t help but feel gaslit by those words now that I think about them, again… Son of a bitch…

“We are trying to help you, Ward, but first I need you to trust in my words. Understand that this will not be permanent. The chains will come off. You have my word on that…”

I look back down at the offending item, shifting my forelegs at different angles to see the links twist ever so slightly in place. “How can I trust you?”

“What is it you want? If there is anything I can do for you, name it; if it is within our power and within reason, we will ensure you get it.”

My mind refocuses on those amethyst eyes. “There is a pegasus back— a pilot for the Enclave. I remember her saying that she did runs for y’all as a supplier, or something to that effect… is she safe?” Her eyes, how they searched for an answer in me…How I’ve kept her in the dark… Both these things make my skin feel like it’s freezing while my stomach burns with sinking, superheated stones. “Her name is Aviatrix… Technical Sergeant Aviatrix; tell me if she’s safe.”

The voice doesn’t respond.

The anticipation, the worry, are so thick that it’s like my lungs are caking up with it. I tell myself it’s the wait, but I’m more than sure that it’s dread; dread in the thought that by asking, I’ve put her on the spot. What have I done…

I reach for my talisman, but my chest is bare. It’s too cold. My stomach churns. There’s nothing there–how can nothing be there– how can I lose it?! I had it—had it close, I couldn’t have dropped it! Why–Why is it gone?! Why can’t the tingle in my limbs leave me the fuck alone?! The need to run, turn over, scream– it’s all too much that it’s making my head pound at the sides. I hold my head and coil up to keep myself warm, to shut out the perpetual light. To try to find the faint, warm glow of my mother’s memory within my own body’s darkness.

“We will find her. I promise you. By the time this is over, we may get word.”

My eyes feel hazy and wet. I know what it means, even if I can’t see it. My lungs feel skippy in rhythm, and I hold my breath in hopes that it stops the tears from showing– or any indication of this gets out. They say they’ll find ‘em… “Find ‘em fast–” I say, trying to keep the creakiness out of my voice. Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in… I pull myself up from my hooves– scraping away any small indication of tears while doing it. A hard swallow bottles the rest of it up, and I focus on that promise to keep it sealed like wax over a bottleneck.

One more deep breath for ease of mind, I get off my bed and make my way to the table. I take my seat, and take an extra deep breath before looking at the silhouette and ignoring the discomfort in seeing it. “What happens now?”

The figure doesn’t answer immediately.

“Can you tell me… the last thing you remember before waking up here?”

* * * * * *

Crack… Descent… Searching…

“It’s as far as I can get before drawing a blank.” I confess. “It’s like no matter how hard I try, there’s a wall I can’t get over.”

“A wall?”

I nod. “I’ve been trying to figure it out for a while, but…that stuck feeling… It’s like I’ve got nowhere to go.” My ears begin to twitch as an itch makes itself known somewhere in my head. “Everytime I run back my memory, it’s like I can’t just not keep myself from… from immediately remembering waking up in the bed in a cold sweat.”

“Would you say that it is like…like a record skipping?”

“Probably.” I think aloud, reaching for that itch. “Yeah, like a book that’s got its middle chapters ripped out; ya know something’s there, but you’ve got no way of knowing that part of the story.” Yeah… Yeah that’s the best way to put it…

“Interesting way to put it.”

My brows furrow. “It’s just a metaphor.”

“Well, do you feel as if something is intentionally keeping you from looking into these recollections? Or do you feel like something is missing because there is something missing?”

Those words, I’m not sure if it’s the way they were arranged or the angle she’s trying to get me to see, but I feel even more stuck.

“You do not understand. Okay, let’s see…When you recollect these memories, do you feel as if it is at the tip of your tongue where you know these recollections are there, but obscured? Or are you trying to piece together a memory that you feel no longer exists when it should be there?”

I think back to just moments ago… Minutes? Hours? I still can’t tell how long it’s been– it may have been at least thirty minutes, an hour tops. My memories echo those frustrated thoughts and the sounds of me slamming on metal to drown out the chains and shake the memories free. “It’s a tip-of-the-tongue sensation.”

“I see. The memories are indeed there— which means it is unlikely there is deliberate memory tampering via recollectors and memory orbs…Well then…”

My ears flick to a sudden change in the air. There’s no real way to describe it, other than something’s different with the atmosphere. I look down at the table, and my hooves are resting atop a manilla folder. An arbitrary date is written on the file tab, and the words [CONFIDENTIAL] are stamped in red bold letters on its face. Seeing those words almost makes me not want to open it out of subconscious soldier instinct. I can’t tell if it’s some unknown fear of what I might find or if it’s the indoctrination beaten into my head. More than likely, it’s the former…

“Please read it. Confidentiality is no longer needed for the contents of this file.”

I slowly open the folder. The most eye-catching detail is the Enclave’s Coat-of-Arms in the upper left corner of the paper. Everything else is what I come to expect from the formatting of an After Action Report, or an EARR. I fuckin hate these abbreviations– they’re like puns, but more obnoxious. “Where’d ya get this?” I ask, looking up briefly.

“Does anything about this documents’ context seem familiar to you?”

My eyes drop back down to the text. A few words and terms jump out at me— some of them familiar, and others that have me feeling clueless as hell…

‘Outpost SE-7’... I can feel the chill of the desert night and smell things that are burning, and sweating; I can taste the salt and see crooked teeth and bloodshot eyes…

‘ESF- 44122’... Avie’s Vertibuck…

There are several names that I can recognize being mentioned, from Avie, to the Captain, to even Diamond Dust, herself. There’s a basic summary that talks about what the mission entails– “Operation: [REDACTED]”. I didn’t even know our mission had a name to begin with, and there’s no way of telling what it is now with the deep streak of black ink obscuring it. Why would they do that?

“Anything to comment, Ward?”

“This is… was my mission.” I comment. Everything else is what was covered in the morning briefing, worded in the most general description possible… It feels arrogant, or tone deaf, to how Diamond Dust worded it. Just how was this so imperative to our future?

“Does the story it tells match up with any of your recollections?”

The rest of the file’s story… is full of holes. The nag did not skimp on the black ink. Huge paragraphs had been blotted out, save for a few lines that confirm a few things– such as the fact that at least two missing Stormtroopers had been rescued, and the Item of Interest had been recovered. So the mission was a success? “The Captain found what we were sent to find.” I think aloud.

“Do you remember this? Any of this?”

I shake my head. “I don’t remember finding missing teammates, or the thing she wanted us to find. This is all news to me.”

“Where were you amidst this rescue? Do you remember that?”

I take one more look at the file to find mention of me, and nothing. The holes are too big, and the black marker ink goes on for paragraphs at a time. I’ve never seen any paper with this much of it on there– I wouldn’t be surprised if it weighed a bit more from these redactions. What is Diamond Dust keeping– “In the dark…”

“In the dark?”

“I wish it was a dream.” I barely get my words above a whisper. It’s hard to swallow and keep my mouth from drying up for some reason. “It felt like a dream. One minute I find something that the Captain would’ve been either hopeful or fearful to find, and the next…” I look around slowly; everything is still white, but it is still a void… “The next thing I know… I’m nowhere.”

“Like an abyss had taken you?”

I nod slowly. “Like reality vanished and left me behind when my back was turned.” A brief pause and rewind, I hear their words again in my head. It gets me thinking, “How did ya know that?”

“We have kept records of such things— peculiarities; paramagical phenomena…From the sound of it…we call it a ‘Corridor,’ but it was not already there– was it? You did not go towards any bizarre darkness that did not give to the slightest illumination?”

“There was darkness.” I remember. “There was… something else.” That feeling of being stalked, hunted, or… “I couldn’t see it, but it was there. Somehow I knew that something was watching me in that canyon.” It’s vivid in my mind and it goes places– painting an image of what it could have been. No image can come to mind, though, except one word. “I heard it say ‘hello’... from inside my own helmet.” My shoulders become jittery and sensitive, my fur feels like it wants to fly off my skin; a wave of unease crawls up my spine like spindly crawler bugs. I try to throw my hooves around myself to swat those feelings off me, but the chains say I can’t even give myself a hug to calm down.

“Was that it?”

I feel it again beyond the mental block; the urge to get over it, and those answers clawing at the walls on the other side. They rake deep in my head, and the itch they leave is unbearable. “No.” I said, “No, that wasn’t it.” My eyes look to the hoof that dug out the eye in the sand. It tingles with a noxious discomfort as my mind vividly paints the mask sitting on it, and then it falls to show me its ugly side— the malignancy. My hoof feels like it’s touched raw plasma remembering it like that. I shake my head vigorously before my mind begins to paint the malignance growing over my hoof. “I found proof.”

“Proof?”

I twist my hoof hoping it would shake off the lingering, burning tingle. “There was something else. It was there, in the dark.”

“Yes you were just describing that, no?”

“I-I-” I took a deep breath, trying to grab all the pieces strewn about in my headspace.

“Take your time, Ward. It is okay–”

“But, there… in the dark… after finding that stupid mask. It got up when I wasn’t looking…” It’s this one image that’s burned into the walls of my brain, and the sear marks are still tender and red to the touch. I can see its one, cracked, unblinking orange lens staring at me. I close my eyes sometimes, and it’s there. Sometimes it’s closer; sometimes it vanishes; sometimes I see it blink at me, slowly— as if it’s curious. The crackle of glass echoes in my head the longer the image sits there at the forefront of my itching mind.

The dark swallowed me whole; blinded me; deafened me; bound me to crawl. It constructs without mercy, all my senses useless to me; all that I am and what I could feel, see, and taste— useless! There was no way out! My eyes can widen as much as they wanted to take it all in— to try to process, but there was nothing— too much of nothing! It’s suffocating. The silence; the loneliness; the dread; the fear to take one step forward, or backward, or up or down— No way out! None!

And it was there, that stupid mask! That stupid, horrible, corrupted, vile mask of a lost pony! It writhed in the dark like a still-beating heart with a glow that curdled the dark around it! It didn’t illuminate; it didn’t kindle; it loomed like an inanimate reaper that not even the absence of everything could obscure! That place, it wanted me to see it! To watch it take shape into something that makes my head feel like it’s on fire!

There was nothing like it! Nothing else can describe it! That face; that horrible fucking face! What the fuck did I see?!

* * * * * *

“Ward? Ward… Are you listening?”

“Hmm?” The only sound to come out of me. My head lowers, I bite my lip and grimace at myself. I shut my eyes, the image isn’t there; the emotions are absent. The memory… “I lost it, again.” My hooves slam the tableside— Damn it all!

“There is a way we can help you with that. But it cannot be from inside this place.”

I grumble under my breath. Their words aren’t making the fact that I’m no closer to— wait. “What?”

“We have another method to help you. I cannot imagine what beating your projected self might have on your spirit, and as far as we have seen… Yes. Yes, it is all within acceptable– if not satisfactory conditions.”

‘Projected self?’ ‘Spirit?’ ‘Acceptable and satisfactory conditions?’ “Where is all of this coming from?” Asking the question aloud, I can’t help but think back to the E.A.A.R. and their own questions about me knowing what it all said. “Why is any of this important? Why are ya… not like the others?”

Tick…
…tick…
…tick…

“Well… We want answers, too.”

* * * * * *

Harsh hissing lashes at me, blowing cold wet air straight into my face. My eyes, even though closed, sting while my lungs force in large gulps of chilled, somewhat salty air that I cough up almost immediately after. I can’t move my limbs, they’re either really heavy or they’re still locked up at my sides. Trying to talk… my mouth churns out half-baked and mushy sounds that seem loud. It’s as if I’ve never learned to talk since coming out of the womb.

I hear things; muffled sounds. Is that someone talking? I can’t tell with my slow heartbeat pounding at my eardrums, trying lazily to sync with the low humdrum buzzing permeating everything. My eyes still won’t open on their own.

A tearing, retreating pain erupts with vicious gusto from the center of my chest. It turned the buzzing into a high-pitched shrill in my ears and forced both my mouth and eyes open as wide as they both can. My heartbeat’s pounding fast, now, and I can feel air escaping from my mouth. Am I screaming? I can’t hear it. Too taxing to do anything…

Something wraps itself around my body and pulls on me till I’m upright. My head wants to go down with my chin digging deep into myself, but something else pulls it up and away.

My eyelids, I feel them prying open. The cold air comes through the small cracks to dry them, and they clam shut. Eventually, they open and show a half-lidded, fuzzy picture. A shape is in front of me; I can’t tell who or what it is. Something brushes my face, gently, like what a mother may do to a foal coming out of the shower.

The ringing subsides slowly, and I can hear the noises become less fuzzy and more defined. A calm, warm voice reaches my ears; oddly familiar. “Welcome, Ward. Welcome to the mountain.”

* * * * * *

A deep sharp breath jumpstarts my senses and pops my eyelids open. No screams, no cold sweat; no need to run, hide or fly; there’s just an air of calm; lethargy in my joints and in my bones; and a moaning headache. I fight those heavy chains keeping me weighed down to pull myself up—slowly, as insisted by my grouch of a gut that’s hating me right now. Every part of me that bends croaks like a grandma’s wooden rocking chair, even my eyes as they try to adjust the picture. It’s dark, at first, but the smell of burning wax and a faint light catches my attention. Following it, a glow with great intensity blasts my eyes with gouging white light. I turn away sharply from it, shouting and groaning with my face buried in my hooves.

The burning fades, and dread slowly looms over me like the reaper. A chill rattles my spine and ruffles my wings, taking in the moment. Just what is the moment? What happened? Where am I? Am I still in chai— The questions trigger the vaguest memories and the faintest feelings. The weight on my hooves, the chains that bound them. Will I see them if I take my hooves away from my eyes? Do I want to know if this is another abstraction to torment me? Do I want to find out? Will that be what I’ll find when I look? I won’t know until I look— that much is certain. But… Do I want to? Can I bear the sinking feeling any longer?

I pull away from my hooves to see them, to find…nothing. I keep twisting them around to find any chain bite; any indication that I ever had them, but there’s nothing to tell me I ever did. My wings! They open instinctively, without restriction. I can feel every little breeze through the fibers of my feathers. A quick glance over my shoulder and an outstretched wing shows that nothing is out of place. I can faintly see the hidden baby blue under-feathers, nestled in among the dark cerulean ones. Everything’s here… I want to believe it, but something isn’t right. It’s like… like what those Enclave mural artists show they’re going through when they find that there’s something off between what they’ve made and what looks right in their head. I don’t know how else to explain it, but it’s how I know my legs are skinnier than I’m used to.

The feeling turns into a mild compulsion to check everything about me. It can’t just be my hooves and legs right? The urge to check makes me throw the bed cover off me. I’m completely indecent, but that pang of embarrassment falls apart like sand when my focus shifts to my bare, empty, naked chest. Where are you? You have to be here! You’re here somewhere— you have to be! I just need more—

The light source brightens. Another chill brushes by me then creep back like spiders to see my own shadow stretching and migrating slightly as the space around me is bathed in a yellowish-white light that’s right on top of me.

My gaze shifts from my shadow to the source. It’s… it’s like the world’s tiniest sun. Hurts to look at, but it isn’t warm. What are you? It has to be magic— there’s no other explanation. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen it, and it’s just a glowing ball of light. In an odd way, it’s alluring; mysterious. Who is the caster?

There’s a mechanical hiss from in front of me, and there’s light in the shape of a door. Within the frame is a silhouette, but the floating globe of light zooms over to quickly dispel the obscuring shadow. It all peels away, clearly showing a mare covered in stripes from ear tip to hock. That and the mohawk mane are dead giveaways, but I never expected to see a Zebra whose crest is all tied braids and as long as a pony’s.

She walks in, and the door closes behind her. The glowball circles around and follows at her side. “Hold on.” She tells me as she takes a hoof to the light, brings it close to her snout, and then lets it up. Now the bulb grows brighter than it already was, illuminating the whole room as it sits suspended like the noon sun. This is a sparsely decorated room; it has an iota of grim familiarity— how empty the walls are…“That is better, don’t you think so?” That voice sounds as warm as the bulb outta be projecting, radiating comfort the room lacks. She sounds like—

I’m still fucking indecent!

Anxiety racks my mind, constricts my joints, and makes my wings clamp shut. There’s no time to think about anything else, but to cover myself as best I can with the thin sheets. This zebra mare just walks in without warning or permission and all of me down there was still exposed!

She stops mid-walk and covers her mouth. “Excuse me. I was not interrupting anything, was I?”

What is that supposed to– Oh… Oh! Hrm… Should I be feeling bashful? Flabbergasted? Or insulted by the implication in that question? “Wh–” An unstoppable urge to cough cuts my words short. My vocal cords feel grainy, and my stomach feels like it’s been pounded in with a hammer; I feel how sore and tense it is from the small little coughs. Feels like how I felt after a physical, but bordering on worse.

“Try not to talk too much.” She warns gently. “You have not beaten pneumasthenia, yet.” ‘New–mass–theenie–what?’ “Oh, you have not touched your fruit. No appetite? Or perhaps neither are your favorites?” Fruit? My eyes pan right, there on a nightstand-looking piece of furniture is a brown bowl full of colorful fruits.

“I-I-I… had no–” The cough keeps me from saying anything. I bang my chest, partly out of frustration, and because I don’t want to suffocate.

“Just breathe.” She urges me, gently. “Breathe; in through the nose, out through the mouth. Relax while I get your drink.”

In through the nose, out through the mouth…

…in through the nose, out the mouth…

My lungs untangle, but my throat is still gritty. I’m just realizing— how labor-intensive it is to breathe naturally. I’m still taking in as much air as I can, but my lungs feel like they want to collapse every once and a while.

Another burst of short coughs, I close my eyes to ride it out and breathe in when the opportunity comes. Hmm? The air is a little different. It smells aromatic, nutty, hot, and steamy. My eyes open and I find a small elegant cup waiting for me in a brown hoof under my nose. I gently take the cup and look at its contents. It’s a black liquid that peeks at me through a brown cover of foam bubbles. The smell from before is much stronger, and much more burnt— so much so that it makes my face scrunch up a little.

“Be careful, it is hot.” The Zebra warns. I look at her at my bedside, and she’s gently holding a small cup of her own in the frog of her hoof. She brings it to her mouth and takes a generous, but smooth sip from it. A look of satisfaction, and maybe pride, passes over her face before her amber-orange eyes meet my vermillion.

She is a Zebra, right? The gold is there— it’s on her head like a diadem with ornate, jeweled chains at the sides; in the bands holding her long braided crest over her shoulder. But… I thought they were described as monotone. She’s brown, cream, and white. And those clothes aren’t like the old artistic depictions. I don’t think any artist can put all those complex shapes and patterns into an illustration— there’s just no way. Who in their right mind thought that kaleidoscope patterns needed to be on loose robes? Just why—what does that even do for anyone but induce a seizure or trick the mind? Because I swear the longer I look at them, the more they move—

“Your drink, Ward.” Her voice snaps me out of it. My eyes go back to staring at her, and they catch one of her hooves under that garb gesturing to the cup still in my hooves. “Please, do not let it get cold.”

I tell myself I was killing time, but… this is the first time I’ve ever seen one of her kind. I wish I could feel that thrill, but everything feels so null; so distant. It was a long time ago when I had that kind of wonder. But right now, the only wonder I have is what’s in my cup.

Gently, I bring it to my lips and stare at the contents the whole way through. It’s hot— she was right about that, and damn it’s foamy. That blanket of bubbles dissipates at the slightest, shaky blow from my lips. All those smells from earlier are so much stronger than I thought— much stronger than any kind of coffee I’ve smelled. The steam; the smells they carry; I do feel something like a breath of fresh air blowing through to every tip of my being.

One small sip.

I grimace, nearly choke on it— spasm, even; Acrid, pungent, harsher than the grit in a drill sergeant’s voice; all those adjectives and more falls short of the absurdly bitter taste of this gritty cup of foamy dirt water. “Fuck!”

I set the cup down with haste, smacking my lips and hating it every time. Fuck me, it’s like putting out a fire with turpentine! Where’s the fucking fruit? I find it where it was last left, pluck several grapes and eat. They don’t work– damn it! How about an orange? I find the biggest wedge and take it in whole. My mouth feels fuzzy and detached from taste. Everything tastes like sand…

“I’m sorry you did not like it.” The Zebra mare apologizes.

No matter how hard I try, the stuff always tasted like shit– even on a good day. I don’t know if it’s the bitterness or the fact that what makes it looks like a bunch of processed dirt, but I just can’t ever recall liking it; even if it was just colored hot water. I cleared my throat, sticking my tongue out with disgust when that revived the coffee taste at the back of my throat. “I– Hot water, next time.”

My voice came back. I really don’t want to give credit to the coffee. In fact, I’m pretty sure it was the fruit’s juices. Still, I’m bummed that I couldn’t taste any of that fruit— genuine, fresh fruit.

“I see. Okay.” She says, then clears her throat. “I wish introductions could have gone a little smoother, but we will press on. My name is Stagona; Stagona Sophia. By any chance, do you remember me?”

Stagona… Stagona…Soo–phi–a? Aside from the strange way that name comes out of her mouth, my memory’s straddling on a tightrope of uncertainty. “I can’t say I have.” Seriously, what the fuck kind of name is “Sophia” or “Stagona”; “Stagona Sophia?”

“But we talked before— in the White Room, as a matter of fact.”

There wasn’t any— hold on. “You’re the guest? That silhouette thing?”

She cocked her head slightly with a raised brow, “Silhouette?”

I nod. “Yeah. Spoke with two voices, I think— if I remember it right. Couldn’t tell which was which– but now I know you’re a mare and not some young colt.”

“Two voices?” Her gaze narrowed with what I assume is a firm thinking face.“ An interesting way to put it. Unusual, even. So I sounded like a mare and stallion?”

“Mare, filly, stallion, colt– could’ve been any of them, or all of them, all at once. Why does that matter?”

“It is just unusual. I did not think that voice would be affected when speaking through it, and it certainly warrants more study.” She pauses to sip from her own cup of coffee, and my eyes wander along her exposed brown stripes. I can see why those books call them “exotic”; the strange patterns that run the length of her body are almost like art in their own right— coming together to make symmetrical shapes that I’d never think a coat can do. They’re complex, but much easier to look at compared to the patterns on her indigo coat-thing. It’s a shock to the system to follow the stripes and see it disappear behind that nauseating pattern of geometry when she pulls it back.

“Anyways,” she says as she finishes her cup and sets it down. “Do you need me to go over anything before we get started? Do you remember the last thing we talked about before you woke up here?”

I take a cursory glance around this place. “Where…am I now?”

“The Aridian Mountain Complex.” She explains. “This is a spare rest chamber near our Observational Studies Wing.”

“ ‘Our’? ”

“The School of Mysticism.”

Right… That’s one question down, and a mountain to go. “How long have I been out?”

“Not too long. At least a full two days and a half– your cognition was still… reacclimating. We would check up on you and make sure all the necessities were taken care of. Your mind may still be a little foggy, but it will come back. Rest assured. Anyways, I promise you more explanations in the very near future.” She dispels the quick silence. It felt like it went on for longer. “For now, we must get ready.”

“Ready?”

She nods. “Yes. I told you about a solution to help you with your memory issue. Do you remember? ” She sets her coffee cup out of the way and flips her glitzy cape-thing; I swear there was a name for those things. Her hoof reaches in and she pulls out a sizable, round pouch and sets it on the table. The little knot comes undone quickly to unveil a smooth, spherical, dark amber rock. “Do you know what this is?” She asks. I shake my head, knowing damn well that it isn’t an oversized black opal. “The Aridians call it a ‘gleaning stone.’ This is what will help with that memory block you have.”

I stare at the stone, and immediately get crystal ball vibes from it. It looks like it could fit completely within the frogs of my hooves. “How will a stone help me up here?”

“Well to put it as simply as I can,” she takes a deep breath and gently glides a hoof across its shiny surface. “This stone, used by Remembrancers, will guide the both of us through your recollections until we find—”

“‘Both of us’?”

She nods, “Yes, the both of us. It is the only way.”

My ears fold back, and my wings pull tight into my sides. I grimace, “Says who?”

“You must understand, Ward, that this is an invasive process.” She explains, gentle-like. “I cannot sugarcoat it, and I would rather not lie to you. If there were another way, we would have presented it.” I know the memories are in there somewhere, but I can’t get to them for some reason. This thing– if it can do it, then it’s great. Still, a part of me can’t be certain that I’d completely let myself be compromised to that degree. It’s Ministry of Morale levels of privacy violations.

“Can’t I just do it on my own?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I am sorry, but it is a process that requires two or more parties. One cannot do it alone, and we could not do it back in the White Room with what it was and what could have happened or not.”

I look down from her with a snort. How do I know this isn’t some excuse to get a hold of my weaknesses? To see my most private moments? My most humiliating moments? To know what matters to me and use that to my advantage? I just met this Zebra, and they’re already wanting to get into my head further than I’d let any other quack!

“Ward,” She calls out. “Ward, I understand. Just know that we want to help and that we provide the only options we know. The last thing we want is to make you uncomfortable, but this must be done. If at any moment, you are too uncomfortable with my questions— or with what you want to show me, you can always say you want to move on.”

I want to move on from this, more than anything; this being here, this waking up in different places–I just want my talisman… I want... “Is Avi–atrix— Is Aviatrix okay?”

“She is fine.”

I look up, “She is?”

“Yes.” The pressure in my chest releases, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief. It’s like my heart can rest a little easier– if just a little. “Where is she?”

“You need not worry, Ward. You two will see each other, as soon as we proceed with current matters.” She tells me, confidently yet gently. “I do not mean to spoil the mood, but I promise you more when we are done here. Remember?”

I do, and it has me looking at the dark amber rock. “Will it hurt?” I ask.

“Painless.” She responds.

Avie is safe, and that brings me more comfort than I could hope for. Still, what gnaws at me is still somewhere there in the back of my mind. It’s there, somewhere, and it’s something I still cannot ignore. Avie might be safe, but I still need to know what happened for her sake. “Confidential? My memories, I mean.” I ask.

She nods.

One more cursory glance at the stone’s face. “When do we start?”

“When you are ready.”