Fallout Equestria: Burdens

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—

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…