Deja vu washed over Daring Do as she sat on the steps of the Church of the Seven Pillars. Once again, the front of the church and the cottage were awash in spinning red and blue lights from the coterie of squad cars and ambulances parked in the dirt lot.

The last of the bandaged cultists, limp as a boned fish between the two officers clasping his forelegs, was dragged into the back of the transport wagon and sat down upon the bench. The dozen cuffed figures slumped in their seats, shivering in place; none of them had moved or made a sound after the Tzacctlatl was banished, as though the defeat of their deity had stolen something from them. Trace Evidence and Red Herring were both speaking to the sergeant, who was listening to their (heavily condensed) story with a raised eyebrow.

Daring turned her gaze over to the ambulance, watching in silence as the stretcher with the reeking body bag into the back. I wonder how they’re gonna explain a guy who’s been dead for days wound up in there, she briefly thought.

Her gaze then turned to Phillip, who was being checked by another paramedic, a blue earth pony stallion. He sat next to the ambulance, slumped over, face pale, taking slow, deep breaths as the paramedic checked his heartbeat and breathing. Zecora was sitting next to him, one hoof on his shoulder supportingly.

“You okay?” she asked, heading over.

“I’ll be apples after some rest,” Phillip said, mopping his brow and taking a long draught from the flask of blood potion.

“You’re lucky that none of your stitches came out,” the paramedic said, shaking his head. “But you definitely need to rest. No more exertion for at least a day, and I really do think you should go to the hospital for rehydration.”

“No. I’m fine,” Phillip said flatly.

The paramedic sighed and retreated as Daring approached.

“A thousand thanks for your aid,” Zecora said, bowing her head to Daring. “A fine dibia you might have made.”

“Hey, you did most of the work,” Daring admitted. “I just picked up the slack.” She paused, glancing back to make sure that everypony else was occupied with their own conversations. “So. Your name’s Anyanwụ?”

The smile vanished from Zecora’s face. She closed her eyes and took a slow breath. “That was my name back home,” she said, frowning at Daring. “But I lost it when I left to roam. The reasons why are mine alone, and are my own sins to atone.”

Daring frowned at her, but released the issue with a sigh.

Trace and Red trotted over as the police wagon drove off, the spinning lights marking its travel through the woods. “So,” Trace said. “As far as the local police are concerned, some druggies dragged the corpse off one of their buddies down here to get high and worship it.”

“Wait, what?” Daring asked. “You’re not gonna tell them the truth?”

“Oh, we’ll tell the truth, all right,” Red snorted. “In our official report, which Cold will read and make a copy for herself before sending it off to be stuffed into some busted cardboard box in a dusty basement somewhere.”

“So we’re just gonna pretend that this whole thing never happened?” Daring asked.

“Professor, do a thought experiment with me,” Trace said. “Imagine that you were a rational pony–don’t give me that look–a rational pony who hadn’t just seen everything we saw, and someone tried to tell you that they had to fight a shadow monster that was using a dead druggie as a meat puppet. What would be your response?”

Daring started to answer but stopped herself as voices echoed through the back of her mind:

“Anne, you must have been hallucinating from the cold.”

“But I saw it!”

“Dear…Gallant is dead. Your father just lost his brother. Must you make it harder for us all by telling stories?”

“It’s not a story! He took that idol and–”

“Enough! I don’t want to hear any more about these shadow monsters or idols! Now eat your breakfast and think about what you’re going to say to your father.”

Daring glanced at Phillip. He turned his head towards the ground, but she noticed his right hoof twitch. Zecora stared back evenly.

“Fine. But that doesn’t make it right,” she grumbled.

“It doesn’t,” Trace admitted. “But most creatures don’t want to be told that there actually are monsters under the bed and that we don’t know everything there is to know about magic. And one thing you learn in the AIU: trying to beat that point into other creatures’ heads just gets you in trouble. Better for everyone that we tell the ones who will listen and let the rest think what they want.”

“You need a ride home?” Red asked.

Zecora nodded her thanks. “I will bid you all good night as you and I take flight,” she said, gratefully following to the car.

“You sure you’re good to drive?” Daring asked as Phillip stood up.

“Not far. I’ll be okay,” Phillip said, heading for his motorcycle. “Hoo roo, Daring, Zecora. And thanks.”

Daring watched as he swung onto the bike, trading his trilby for his helmet, and pulled away. She was left standing by herself with only a single cruiser for company, staring at the facade of the former church, illuminated by the cruiser’s headlamps and lights. She stared at the shattered window where Faust’s face had once been.

Right back where I started, Uncle Ad…in more ways than one. I might have stopped this thing, but I still have few answers.

Except for one thing: I’m facing something that’s very real and very dangerous.

And I’m not alone in this fight.

The two police officers were giving her strange looks, and fatigue was weighing down on her like a lead blanket. With a final nod to them, Daring spread her wings and headed home, gliding over the sleeping city, the streetlights below and stars above guiding her home.

By the time Daring got to her apartment and stumbled through the door, she was barely able to move her forelegs; every hoof felt like it was encased in concrete. She tossed her pith helmet and vest into a chair and collapsed into bed, allowing sleep to take her instantly.

After a final adjustment to her bow tie, Daring Do opened up the door of the Dean of History’s office. “I know you’re going to want to talk to me, so let’s just get it over with,” she grunted, shutting the door behind her.

Blotting Paper stared at Daring over the rim of her reading glasses, frozen in the middle of typing out a memo. The silence stretched on for a few seconds, then she sighed and placed her glasses on the table.

“Daring Do,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “What are we going to do with you? You’re brilliant, gifted, driven…and utterly undisciplined. You’ve missed almost two full days of classes, and gotten yourself involved with some kind of…drug gang.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault that they decided to use that site to–” Daring started to protest, but stopped herself at the look on the jenny’s face. She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I just wanted answers,” she said.

Blotting Paper closed her eyes. “Family Tree wanted answers, too,” she said.

The words hit like a punch to the stomach, briefly driving the wind from her lungs. “I’m not like that,” Daring protested.

“Really,” Blotting Paper commented. “She got herself killed running off after a rumor as well.”

Daring opened her mouth to protest, but the words died in her throat and she wound up hanging her head instead.

“But you’re not going to stop looking, are you?” the Dean asked quietly.

Daring looked back up, her stomach churning with a hunger that no food could sate. Once more she felt the bite of that taiga winter, heard her Uncle Ad’s dying scream. A tri-lobed pupil blinked at her mind’s eye, and shadows danced about the statue of the grinning beast.

And through it all, a single, burning question, resounding in time with her heartbeat:

Why?

“I can’t,” Daring Do answered. “It’s who I am.”

Blotting Paper sighed heavily and closed her eyes. “I can’t deny that you’ve done much to boost the University’s reputation…but you can’t be chasing after these legends if you’re going to teach classes. We shall discuss you moving to a non-teaching position later, and the board will be discussing your performance. For now, I expect you to get through the rest of the year without a single missed class. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Daring said, standing and heading for the door.

“And Daring.”

Daring paused at the door, glancing back at the Dean, who suddenly looked older and more tired than she had ever seen her.

“Please just be careful,” Blotting Paper urged.

Daring opened her mouth, closed it again, then just nodded lamely and exited.

As she passed the hallway to her office, she spotted Caballeron speaking to one of the student assistants. He paused when he saw her, eyes narrowing angrily, then resumed speaking to the student, pointedly ignoring Daring as she passed. Her heart sinking a little lower into her chest, Daring Do trotted past, keeping her gaze forward.

"Professor?"

Twilight Sparkle was waiting outside the door of Daring's office with a frown on her face. "What happened last night?" she demanded as soon as Daring approached.

Daring closed her eyes and took in a breath. "Would you believe me if I told you that a monster that was imprisoned in those stones possessed a dead drug addict and Zecora and I stopped it?"

Twilight stared at her for several seconds of silence, then spoke. "Is that really what happened?"

Daring grunted, hot, bitter anger filling her stomach. "I knew you wouldn't believe me," she grunted, trying to push past Twilight.

"Professor Do, you and Zecora ran out last night and then I heard that you were mixed up with an RBI raid at the Temple of Precious Enlightenment," Twilight protested, refusing to move. "You've been having nightmares and you're missing classes. I know that there's something wrong. I just want to help."

"It's none of your business," Daring cut her off. "Especially if you're gonna dismiss me like I'm crazy."

"That's not--I was--" Twilight sputtered, then sighed and lowered her head. "Fine," she mumbled and left, glancing over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner. The look in her eyes was full of pity, confusion, and sorrow.

The heat of anger passed, leaving behind sour regret. Daring Do proceeded into her office, locked the door behind her, and sank down into her chair, burying her face in her hooves.

“The loss of the Tzacctlatl is a heavy setback.”

“We didn’t anticipate that it would go rogue. It had to be taken care of before it became a threat.”

“Was letting the Professor and her friends take care of it wise?”

“Easier cleanup. And it did lead to one good thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Her ami, Doctor Caballeron. Give me a moon and I’ll have him wrapped around my hoof.”

“Good. He could do great things for the Order.”

“Such as finding Thicket, a thread that has proven most tantalizing. I already have a few ideas..."

Author's Note

I've never really liked The Masquerade trope, especially since most justifications for it always sounded hollow to me, especially in a fantasy setting where magic is considered a fact of life. This was a requirement for the tone of these stories, so I figured that people simply not wanting to believe certain things would make sense, especially in light of Daring's backstory.

And remember what I said about Names having power? That reflects back onto Zecora's story. More on that later...

But that's the end of this story arc! I hope that you enjoyed, and if you did, please leave a like and a comment! We'll see you next time, same pony time, same pony channel!