Bitter Symphony

by Stinium_Ruide

Chapters

Prologue: Now
Chapter 1: Then
Chapter 2: Market
Chapter 3: Run
Chapter 4: Friend
Chapter 5: Bittersweet
Chapter 6: Investigate
Chapter 7: Outpost

Prologue: Now

“Dad!” Horst rushed to him, her horn glowing. “They’re coming.”

Indium grunted and stood up. “Not on our watch.” He turned to Citrine. “Stay here. Protect the house.”

His wife nodded, her hooves gripping a rifle. She slinked back into her hidden position—a small foxhole in the wall.

Indium swivelled back to Horst. “Horst! Follow me!”

“B-But dad! What’s the plan?!” Horst gasped, her lungs caught by her dad’s tug.

“I’ll protect you!” Indium threw Horst over his back, wincing a little, “And you...will teach them a lesson for trying to take our livelihoods away!”

She righted herself up on his back. “I won't let you down, dad,” Horst replied, ardent. She held his neck with her hooves as he galloped, caressing his fur, while her horn sparked with drive. “And I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Love you, Horst,” Indium whispered, before he caught sight of the interlopers—his old friends—ready to mince him with magic. He threw up a shield in a blink of an eye. “But now’s not the time, dear.”

A blast of fire slammed mercilessly against his shield, heat seeping into his fur. In a flurry, Indium spun back, and the fire was dissipated.

“Ah, Indium Indigo…remember us?” a voice rang. “Or maybe you don’t, because you’re an emotionless freak who cares nothing about us.”

“Blaze,” Indium muttered under his breath. He slid Horst off his back, her horn fizzling by his side. He took a step forward, between the group of purple and his daughter. “Why have you come?”

“Why!?” Blaze laughed. “Many reasons. Obviously, the Grand Master of the Mystic enlisted everyone to attack, including the Motic Research Wing!”

“Oh, Steadfast, that old chappie,” Indium stood his ground, “About time he surfaced from politics.”

“Says you,” spat the stallion, “But more than that, everyone just wants the opportunity to rip you from limb to limb, after how you treated us back then!”

Fire surged forward.

Indium flinched and gritted his teeth.

But nothing came.

"No pony talks to my dad like that!" Horst scowled, her horn blazing with aura.

"Dad?" Blaze burst out laughing. "Oh look everyone, Inquisitor Indium Indigo harbouring a unicorn!"

His entourage laughed with him. Indium did not.

"Not just any unicorn," Indium seethed. "She's my daughter."

"Oh really now?" another pony spoke up. "Sir Indium, a tyrant over nitty-gritty details in paperwork and presentation, is keeping a unicorn daughter as a pet!"

"YOU TAKE THAT BACK!" Horst's horn flared, shooting a concentrated beam of magic that penetrated her father's own shield. The pony dropped in pain, howling.

The rest of the Mystics didn't take any chances after that.

"Horst, stop." She turned and saw her father's lips quivering. "Please, stop."

"Why?!"

"Oh? The stone-faced stallion is now facing remorse for the first time in his career!" Blaze called out, from behind his own shield.

"Blaze." Indium's voice was cautious, and grainy. "As...old colleagues...please, just stop."

"Screw you," Blaze yelled back. "I went through Tartarus as your deputy head. I’m not going to listen to a phoney fogey!"

Indium's heart stopped. Anger seared through his soul. His blood was fire. His veins burnt with intent. Yet his voice was but a whisper. "You will pay for that."

He dropped his shield, and lunged forward.

"DAD!" Horst burst forward, her horn desperately trying to protect her father with shields.

Her shield bore the brunt of the assault of magical batteries thrown at them.

It didn't matter. Indium blared out in a guttural cry as he barreled through the frontline, smashing through shields like a hammer to glass.

He showed no mercy. He pulverised anyone who got near. Disable. Maim. Then kill.

His sides roared in pain. He didn't listen.

His enemies were a never-ending stream. Once faces he could attach names to, now bodies he wouldn't place gravestones on.

How dare they expose him, a tyrant, before a daughter he so beloved? How dare they come to remind him of the past he never wished to possess? How dare they desire to take his daughter away from him?

He needed to kill them. All of them.

His hooves were heated. His runic gauntlet was smoking.

Impale. Sever. Slash. Burn. Drown. Poison. Destroy. Obliterate. Devastate. Decapitate.

He fell to the ground.

The ground was silent.

He heard crying, but he felt no pain.

He rolled over and saw a shadow cast over his mane.

She lit her bloodied horn with a soft vibrant jingle.

Pain flowed through him once again. It was a sore, aching pain coming from all over his body.

Her mouth moved, but he heard nothing.

He lifted his hooves, and dragged her down, hugging the mare he was oh so proud.

His face was wet, with tears dripping down into his open lips.

He swallowed, the saline elixir racing down his throat.

He wished he could stay here forever.

He wished she could too.

Minutes passed, if time could hazard any meaning for the fallen. Even in consolation, consolidating black spots surfaced in his vision, threatening to sever her sight away from him.

This must not do. He clasped his eyelids shut, and forced them open again. Silently, he prayed and urged for her to remain in his vision.

The darkness tauntingly greeted him.

He could feel his heart sink below the bedrock, to find solace in the warmth of the mantle below. Empty, his soul desperately searched for an inner meaning to all his eternal suffering.

He felt weightless, and free-floating. He felt…nothing. Was this how it was like to ascend and die?

His ears could hear a soft jingle that seemed to chorus over and over again, in a stark, unending cycle. It seemed fitting for a being who believed in the reincarnation of spirits.

He breathed. The air tasted acidic, and it burned his tongue slightly with a dry, metallic aftertaste. Perhaps that was a sign of what was to come. A sign—an endpoint he had deserved. As it was fair to everyone in the end. No one could ever be free of their sins, he recalled. He gasped.

Suddenly, the air was fresh and vibrant. It was pleasant and healing. It was…comforting.

He could hear whispers chiming at the back of his ears, silent songs serenading searching souls.

They hummed and cooed, cascading into a mixture of solitude, remorse, and anguish.

They painted pictures of his past life, his imagination filling up the gaps in his memory. Hindsight, a vaulted history, resolved to convince him that he was always wrong. His vision became a whirl of grayscale colours, refracting and reflecting upon his own perceived reality.

It was up to him to judge himself, as he had done for many ponies down his life, and absolve his guilt.

He steadied and readied himself.

It was time to begin.

Chapter 1: Then

He woke up to a stupor, and the rancid stench of fried carrots.

He shuddered as he dragged himself up. He could feel his insides turn over, and a bubbly, frothing bellow emanating from his barrel.

The rotting floorboards bent and creaked beneath his hooves as his nose fed more and more complaints to his mind. He opted to breathe through his mouth instead.

Leaving, he could hear the sound of a spatula crashing onto the metal pan. His appetite soured, and he groaned in protest.

Unfortunately, his stomach’s desires were more persistent. A familial voice interrupted his thoughts. “Indium, can you please help set the table?”

“Yes, ma,” he returned, entering the kitchen, if you could call it that. He opened the closet, revealing a few plates, one of which was chipped by the side.

He forced that memory aside. He fished out three plates, and carefully placed them onto the nearby table. Next, the utensils. He went up on his hind legs, slid the drawer open, and extracted three metal forks with his wings. Spoons were reserved for the rare days his mother would cook a hearty vegetable stew.

He placed the forks by the side of each plate, and flicked the light switch on.

It didn't bother him that heat-starved flies were crowding to the surface of the central lamp for warmth. After all, the illuminating yellow light showered the plates, the cutlery, the table and the chairs with color and definition. As was in the past, he couldn't articulate that feeling that radiated from his heart when he brought his hooves to the switch. Maybe he cherished what precious little electricity he could enjoy before his father would say a word. Maybe the light offered hope to him, as it was the only candle that remained defiantly luminescent for miles on end. Maybe it was a reminder of his family; his loving mother, his hardworking father, and himself huddling between the two of them.

“Careful! Hot!” Indium turned, and saw his mother carrying a steaming hot pan of fried carrot sticks. Indium fluttered his wings, bringing him swiftly to the side. She placed the pan in the middle of the table, and gestured for Indium to sit down.

As he did so, as if right on cue, the main door swung open, accompanied with a heavy grunt.

“Ah, Cerulean, come and join us for dinner,” his mother said, looking up. “We'll wait for you.”

Indium looked at his father expectedly. His clothes were soaked with grime, and they stubbornly stuck to his fur. The occasional stain of mud came in patches throughout his forlorn garbs. “Just let me wash myself up first.”

“Alright,” his mother returned, allowing his father to disappear into a small room. Indium could hear a sharp click, and soon the sound of buckets scooping water, and water splattering to the floor.

He turned his attention back to the voluminous pile of carrot sticks sitting in front of him. Only then did he notice the black specks of ground peppercorn sprinkled all over the dish.

“Sorry, Indium.” His mother must have sensed his disappointment. “They're coming soon.”

His fork clattered onto the table. He didn't realize that he was playing with it earlier. “Again?”

Mist escaped his mother's lips. She patted him on his head, and then his shoulders. “It's just one more week, okay dear?” She thought for a moment. “Yeah, just one more week.”

Despite the coarse surface of his mother's hooves, he leaned into them. “But the orange ponies just came a few months ago…”

“I know…” She breathed. “And they will be back.”

“I don't understand, ma…” Indium pouted. “Why do they keep taking our harvest?”

“They said our farm had carrot blight,” his father interrupted, entering the dining room with a wet towel draped over his shoulder. “They'll probably be back for another round of ‘collection’...again.”

“Can we just not give them our carrots for nothing?” Indium retorted.

The answer was immediate. “No,” his father replied, his voice affirmative and defiant. “We must follow their instructions, or else—”

“Or else what?” Indium interrupted, jumping up from his seat.

“Indium.” His mother’s voice sliced through the pent-up tension in the room. “That’s enough. Let’s just eat before the food gets cold.”

The food is already cold, Indium grumbled internally, begrudgingly extracting the fork from the table and stabbing a carrot with his fork. He threw the fork into his mouth, and exaggerated his chewing in defiant protest.

Despite his antics, the dining table quickly died down to the sounds of chewing and munching. Still, his mother continued to glare at him with her sharp, thin green eyes even as she ate. He tried to steel his eyes to meet her gaze, but he soon relented.

Dad wouldn’t want to return to fracturing family after a hard day’s work, he reminded himself. He could still feel his legs gnawing in protest from the little work he did today. To think that his parents could endure this everyday…

The door interrupted his thoughts.

His parents glanced up from their food. They looked at each other for a moment, and stared. After a nod, his father gingerly stood up, being careful not to drag his chair. As silently as he could, he headed for the door, and put his hooves on its handle.

Indium watched, transfixed, as the door swung open, revealing two figures clad in dark and shadowy robes.

“Good evening Mister Cerulean Shades,” the lead figure remarked with an oily voice, “we apologize to come to you at this hour, but we have some urgent business to settle.”

“Sir Dotted, Lady Millenary,” his father said, “what’s the matter?”

“Unfortunately, we come again at the behest of the law,” Dotted’s words seemed to slither out of his mouth, “as to affirm that the farm is free of carrot blight, we must take additional samples to test.”

Indium sighed, but his mother threw a hoof over his mouth.

“Sir,” his father replied, his voice measured and composed, “we will be happy to provide the quantity you require. How much do you need?”

This time, a feminine voice spoke up. “For an independent enquiry, we would need twenty bushels.”

Indium’s eyes widened.

“Twenty bushels,” his father echoed. “Do you have any way of transporting this quantity of carrots back?”

“No,” the speaking figure shifted about in his hooves, “I was wondering whether we could also borrow one of your carts for a few days.”

Indium could see his father’s head shift to the side. “You can, but you would have to give us some time to take stock and bundle the bushels you need.”

One of the figures extracted a small disc-like device. Flicking it open with a conspicuous ‘click’, the figure held the mysterious object and looked at it, before snapping it shut. “Three days, no later.”

“That can be arranged,” his father uttered.

“Thank you, Mister Cerulean, for safeguarding us against the blight of disease. We ought to be leaving now. May Saint Applejack guide your humble, agrarian path,” the feminine voice returned.

“Don’t mention it,” his father replied, “I wish the same to you.”

The door closed with a thud, accompanied with a sigh and the sound of heavy hoofsteps.

“It's not fair!” Indium leapt from his seat, tasting poison in his tongue. “Why do they need a thousand pounds of carrots for testing?! We barely have enough for ourselves as it is!”

“Quiet Indium,” commanded his mother. “Life isn't fair. Dear, how many bushels do we have left in stock?”

“It’s enough.” His father returned to the dining table. “But we have to get the remaining carrots out of the ground in a few days’ time.”

“Dad!” Indium shouted, raising his voice. “Are we seriously going to starve ourselves again just so they can test our carrots?”

“We have no choice,” his father replied, grunting as he leaned over towards his wife. In a hushed tone, he whispered, “Should we tell him?”

His mother rolled her eyes. “Honestly, he should’ve known about this ages ago,” she replied. She cleared her throat. “Indium, those were the Knights Vigilant, upholding the standards of Saint Applejack.”

Indium frowned. Things were not adding up in his mind. “But aren’t the Vigilants supposed to protect ponies like us? With the law?”

“Well…” His father stopped, and glanced about his surroundings. “Not exactly.”

“Yeah…” his mother whispered, bringing her neck down low. “It’s just best to follow their instructions, otherwise…suspicious things happen.”

“Suspicious things?” Indium blurted out innocently.

“Yeah…” His father placed a hoof on his mane, stroking it slowly. “Basically, their word is law…and disobeying them is like breaking the law.”

Indium blinked, as he looked up to his father. “Oh…”

“Yeah,” his mother chorused, leaning back into her seat. “So…can you help mum and dad over the next few days to get the carrots out?”

“Okay mum,” Indium relented, his shoulders suddenly growing heavier by the minute. “I’ll help.”

“Good colt…” His father patted him gently. He then wrapped his hooves around Indium, squeezing him tight. Indium felt all the weight falling onto his father’s chest, and exhaled. With his father’s purple fur rubbing against his own, he couldn’t help but smile, familial warmth gushing into his heart.

After a few moments, his mother broke the silence. “We should eat; the food is cold enough as it already is.”

Indium nodded, his smile still lingering as he pulled away from his father's embrace. He settled back onto the chair, and began munching on the remaining carrots still left on his plate. His parents did the same, the clinking of cutlery filling the damp room, all accompanied by the sound of chirping crickets in the backdrop, and the occasional fly buzzing in their ears.

But Indium’s mind wasn’t idle. There was something gnarling and clawing at the back of his mind that he couldn’t place his hoof upon. With every bite, he could feel his head getting heavier, weighed by this unmistakable force of nature. Soon, he could only stare into his half-eaten plate of orange sticks. The once vibrant color exhibited by the carrots he pulled out of the ground himself now seemed dull, dark and morbid.

He gulped, forcing an empty ball of saliva down his gullet. Immediately, his stomach churned in dissatisfaction, crying foul. It begged him to shovel the remaining carrots on his plate into his mouth and be done with it. Yet, his body hesitated. In deep contemplation, his eyes bored into the remaining grayscale carrots, before he slumped back into the backrest of his chair. It audibly squeaked under the strain.

“Indium…what’s wrong?” His mother knew something was up. And so did he.

His words came right from his thoughts. “Ma, don’t you think this is wrong?”

He expected a long pause, but his mother replied immediately. It was as though she had the answer pre-prepared ahead of time. In a solemn tone, her voice returned, “It might be, but it is all part of the Saints’ will.”

“But do the Saints really want us poor peasant farmers…to just suffer everyday?” Indium uttered.

His mother placed her fork to rest onto the edge of the plate. “Indium, it’s not about us suffering every day. It’s about us hoping to live up to the Saints’ teachings,” she said. “Overcoming challenges we face is one way we can do that…to become a better pony.”

“Can’t I be a better colt if I could show those ponies in orange why they are wrong?” Indium snapped back.

“Indium,” his father interrupted. “That’s enough. The Knights are chosen by the Saints. Even if we think they’re wrong, it is a test to see if we follow their will.” He craned his neck to the side. “It’s getting late. Finish up your dinner and get going before it gets any later. I’ll go first.” He slid his chair back, deposited his plate into a small trough in the kitchen and disappeared out of the house.

Indium rolled his eyes. “So what’s stopping me from becoming a Knight then?”

His mother bit her lip, staring at Indium for several seconds. She then squeezed her eyelids shut, contemplating. After a time, she reopened her eyes and rose to her hooves. In a strangely serene voice, she replied, “It’s okay, Indium.” He opened his mouth in protest, but she gently reached out her forehoof and caressed his turquoise mane, all the while giving him a soft, wan smile. “It’s okay.”

It didn’t last forever. Soon her hooves would leave him behind, right by the side of the solitary lamp at the heart of the table. He saw her, just like his father, place her plate into the trough, and disappear into the expanse of their veiled farmland, leaving him alone in the house with nothing but his own thoughts.

As he left his seat, he felt the temperature plunge around him, causing him to shiver. His fur stood on its end as his hind hooves felt the icy floor. His thoughts continued to haunt him, like the shadows that danced eerily in the light, those he had finally grown accustomed to after years of living at night.

As he threw his uneaten carrots into the compost bin, his mind could barely register how much blood, sweat and toil he had discarded with a flick. Neither could his mind fathom the amount of love his parents had afforded him just minutes ago.

He worked on auto-pilot, washing the dishes his parents and he had left behind. The cold water provided some respite, but he could still spot two tiny figures wandering about in the field beyond through the kitchen window. The crescent moon hung limply overhead, providing little light for their arduous task.

After drying his forehooves, he found himself pacing down each row of carrots, yanking them out with his teeth, which quickly tasted grimy. The night was long, but the unending line of carrots proved even more unyielding against his efforts. Fatigue quickly set into his neck, his legs, and then his back.

His joints popped as he threw his neck back, his mind groggy and burdened. He peered out, finding nothing more than a uniform, flat patch of vegetation all around him. Eclipsed by the luminescence of the moon above, the house was a mere tiny spot of light in the distance, its promise of comfort seemingly miles away taunting him.

He dropped onto a small patch of soil by the side. He didn’t care if he was upending the order he and his parents worked so hard to maintain. He didn’t bother if the carrots he had just harvested had spilled out of his produce basket on his back. There was a rotting feeling within him that emanated out to every aching joint and muscle in his body.

Despite the grit in his mouth and the cold sweat covering his body, his heart felt neither longing, nor disappointment. Instead, it cowered at the static impulses shooting rapidly from his head.

He carried himself up again, but his pain persisted. Clenching his muddied teeth, he tried to pull the straps attaching him to his produce basket away from him, and soon, the weight on his back dissipated with the sound of carrots tumbling onto the ground.

He hoped the pain would dissipate too. It didn’t.

He hated that.

He kicked the basket in frustration.

He didn’t deserve this. They didn’t deserve this.

He knew it. He knew it all along.

His parents were wrong.

Chapter 2: Market

Indium trailed behind his father.

He eyed the half-filled cart of carrots that his father dragged along the dirt path to Sunhaven. A worn, ground sheet covered their early harvest to protect them from the sun and insects, though nothing could protect them from the unrelenting summer heat. The few carrots that peeked out of the sheet already appeared dry and flaccid. He hoped the wholesalers down the road in Sunhaven’s market wouldn’t mind.

It was his first time on the trip with his father to Sunhaven. From a young age, he had always wondered what the town was like; his mother barred him from joining his father to the marketplace until he was of age. She spoke of rebellious elements that were only interested in abducting ponies to their cause, never to be seen in Diarchy lands again. She spoke of vices that ran deep that served only to pollute his little immature mind. She spoke of things that he didn’t really understand then nor remembered now; whatever they were, they were dangerous.

Today was the day Indium would get his answers. As he and his father trotted further along the path, a wide expanse of yellowing wheat fields on either side coating their vision, he began to make out a faint, but observable, silhouette of a cluster of structures down the far end of the path. It almost seemed out of place, like a mirage in an unyielding sea of yellow.

“Sunhaven,” his father said simply, cocking his head towards it. “Make sure you stay close to me when we’re there.”

Indium could only nod at his father’s request as he continued following him. He could feel the air getting warmer as they approached Sunhaven as the silhouette resolved itself into a bustling town. The town was filled with irregular, nearly haphazard, wooden structures that seemed to cascade on top of each other. Despite the distance, Indium could make out a large clock tower in white marble reflecting the sun. That must be where the town centre was, he reasoned.

As they entered the town proper, ponies of all walks of life started to peer into Indium’s lenses, as did stalls of vibrant fruits, colourful fabrics, and diverse wares by the cobbled streets. Some stood behind the counter, lightly dressed but sweating from the humidity, touting their goods to anyone who passed by. Others stood cowering by the back alley corners, lying next to heaps of piled trash, their heads bowing to any for the prospect of copper coins gracing worn mugs by their side. Still others were just like Indium and his father, pushing carts of produce into the wholesalers’ market ahead.

Indium huddled close to his father as ponies brushed against him to pass through the bottlenecks in the crowd. The mixed, acidic stenches of perspiration, discarded rotting fruit, dirt and grime began permeating deeply into his muzzle, forcing him to hold his breath intermittently. He turned to check on his father, who seemed to be completely apathetic to the environment. He supposed that he was already used to it.

Before too long, the two found themselves at the entrance of a huge, red tentage erected by the clock tower. Under the tentage were perhaps hundreds of ponies crowded around in many circular pockets. Ponies shouted numbers and names of vegetables in a constant rattle, flooding his ears with a flat baseline of continuous noise.

His father prodded him towards the right. “Here.”

His voice was barely discernible, but Indium managed to follow and turn towards a makeshift wooden counter. He could see similar ponies depositing their produce to another on the opposite side, where earth ponies carried them towards the many circular congregations. They brought themselves to a vacant counter, where a mare and her notepad attended to them.

“What do you have today?” she asked gruffly. She tapped her hoof onto the notepad impatiently.

“Carrots,” his father replied. “Ten bushels. All bundled.”

“Load them up quick. The auction is about to end.” She pointed her hoof onto the counter sharply.

“I’ll bring the cart over to the other side,” his father offered. “Just tag and unload as required.”

“Fine!” she hollered, then she began scribbling on her notepad. “Your bushels are 121 to 130. Auction is at B5. Your receipt.” She tore a piece of paper and passed it hastily over to Indium. He cautiously took it.

“Keep it safe,” his father hissed into his ear, before he pulled the cart towards the rear.

Indium eyed the note, revealing it as some kind of proof of ownership and redemption. He clasped onto it tightly, shoving it into his saddlebag as he rushed over to his father.

“Alright, to the back, fifth from the left.” His father deposited the cart at the back of the counter, removing its strap from his barrel. Indium could see its imprint on his father’s back.

He made no comment, deciding to shuffle over to the group of ponies gathered around a circle at the stipulated location together.

“Sold! To the green stallion on the right for twenty bits! Payment at the counter!”

The auctioneer, a yellow Earth pony, shoved the carrots in the centre to the stallion, who gestured for another to carry the freshly won bushel out of the marketplace. Another pony recorded the price on a scrap piece of paper on the floor. The auctioneer then threw his grimy hoof into his mouth and whistled loudly, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Next lot! Bushel 120!”

Another bushel was brought to the circle from the counter. He poured the entire lot into the centre of the circle and spread them out with his forehooves.

“Asking ten! Asking ten! Yes, I have ten. Now looking for fifteen! Fifteen? Twenty! Twenty to the mare on the left. Twenty-five! Yes, sir. It’s still yours at the moment. Yes, you. Asking thirty now!”

Indium was in awe. How could anypony speak that fast? The auctioneer’s words seemed to flow right out of his mouth like a cascading waterfall, yet they were coherent.

“Thirty, thirty, anyone? No one? I’m selling this! Fair warning…fair warning! Last call!” The auctioneer paused for a moment. “Sold to the same green stallion on the right for twenty-five bits! Payment at the counter later, good sir.” He threw his hoof forward, pointing at the stallion, who remained impassive, simply tilting his head, signalling for the bushel to be taken away for payment.

Indium blinked. Twenty-five bits? That’s it? He couldn’t even buy half the amount for that price. He turned to his father expectedly, whose face remained blank and stoic. He must be hiding his disappointment underneath his emotionless expression, Indium reasoned, or he must have been sick and tired of watching all of these auctions over the many years—Indium didn’t know. But Indium prayed that their bushels would go for much more than that.

“Next! Bushel 121! We start again at ten! Yes, ten! Thank you, madam. Fifteen! Fifteen at the front right here. I have fifteen bits. Now looking for twenty, twenty bits. Would you like to go twenty? Okay, twenty bits on the right! Any further advance on twenty? Twenty-five? Twenty-five? No? Fair warning! And…sold again to the stallion on the right for twenty-five!”

Indium heard an audible sigh from his right. It was his father. He placed a hoof by the side of his father’s barrel, stroked it against his weathered fur. “It’s okay, dad…we have nine more to go.”

His father didn’t seem to react, but Indium guessed that it was the least he could do, especially since his father brought him here with him.

“Thank you—now next up we have Bushel 122! Ten again is the start as always, and now—yes! Ten I have, looking for fifteen! Fifteen, I have from the right! Looking for—”

Indium felt something bump into him. Panicking, he jolted and shifted even closer to his father’s side, before eyeing the suspect. It was a cerulean red coated pegasus, dressed in a purple robe—one that symbolised Saint Twilight’s colours. An intricate sword stood by his side, the gold inlay on its hilt capturing Indium’s attention.

Indium tensed. He made way for the mysterious stallion to watch the proceedings by crushing against his father’s ribcage.

His father noticed too. He nudged Indium out of the way, respectfully bowing his head in the direction of the interloper. Indium flapped his wings and landed on his father’s back, hugging his neck.

“Twenty-five from the right on the stallion again. Thir—” The auctioneer paused. He must have noticed the purple-cloaked pony. He cleared his throat. “Only twenty-five bits right now! What a bargain—looking for thirty! Madam, thirty? Thirty bits I have! Anyone else—”

“Forty!” somepony shouted from the left. Indium blinked. What was going on? Why did the price just jump so much? He squinted his eyes and gazed around, trying to locate the source of the voice.

“Thank you! Forty bits from the stallion right at the back! Forty-five? Still a very reasonable price for this fresh bushel! Going once…!”

“Forty-five,” a croaky, low voice rang from the left.

“Yes, forty-five! I have forty-five on my left. Are we all done here? Fifty might take it. Looking for fifty bits now!”

Indium turned to check on the mysterious pony in purple. He didn’t seem to be bidding, or doing anything for the matter, but simply observing. He appeared content with the hive of activity around him, despite the heat and humidity.

“Fifty-five! Thank you! This premium bushel is going once…twice, sold to the same stallion on the right for fifty-five bits. Thank you!”

Indium’s wings fluttered as his heart soared at the elevated price. Then it hit him—what caused this? It couldn’t be the Saint Twilight pony, right? He did nothing; he just watched everything. How could he be responsible?

The remaining lots flew past in a matter of minutes. Indium’s heart continued to jump for joy as the prices remained firmly in the green with a flurry of competitive bidding, though he constantly kept an eye out for that purple-robed pegasus in the front. His father seemed to have perked up at the sale, as he craned his neck to watch the proceedings; yet he appeared stiff and rigid, his legs rooted to the ground. Indium chose not to make too much out of it. He was already fantasizing about a new toy.

Soon enough, the auction ended. As ponies started to disperse towards the counter to transact, the pegasus clad in purple remained, thoughtful and contemplating as he espied his surroundings. Indium watched as he trotted towards the auctioneer, opening a conversation. The auctioneer seemed nervous, but after a moment, he was excused with a subtle bow before slinking out of the scene.

“Indium!” his father called out from behind. “We have to go to the counter.”

“One minute!” Indium then turned, cautiously heading towards the pegasus in purple. “Excuse me, sir.”

The pegasus spun towards him. “Yes?” he asked, his tone measured and mellow.

“Thank you sir,” Indium blurted out. “I don’t know what happened, but when you came by, ponies started to bid more on our produce…it helps a lot, sir.”

“Oh.” He raised an eyebrow, thinking, replying after a pause. “I see. It’s nothing, little one. I’m glad to have helped. What’s your name?”

“Indium Indigo,” Indium introduced, “I help my fami—”

Indium felt something drag him backwards.

“Sorry, Inquisitor, if my son is troubling you,” Indium heard his father say, “I’ll deal with him when he gets back home.”

The inquisitor let out a laugh. “Not at all. In fact, he has done me a massive favour.” He gave a subtle smile. “Your son has some potential.”

His father bowed, “We’re glad to be of service to you, Inquisitor.”

“Indium,” the inquisitor turned to Indium, “do let me know if I can return the favour in time. I will be stationed here for the foreseeable future at the garrison building.”

“No problem, sir—” Indium paused. “I mean, Inquisitor—”

“Red Remark,” the inquisitor finished for him. “Again, thank you. I wish you a good harvest and may the Saints keep you.”

“Thank you, inquisitor,” Indium’s father returned. “May the Saints keep you.”

Subconsciously, Indium echoed his father, prompting the inquisitor to leave. It didn’t take long for the inquisitor to disappear into the bustling crowd of the marketplace.

“What were you doing?!” his father whispered sharply at Indium. “That’s an inquisitor. Do you know what trouble you could have been in?!”

“...no,” Indium groaned, crestfallen.

“We are going to have a talk at home about this,” his father hissed, “do you still have that receipt on you?”

Indium rummaged his pockets on his saddlebag. Fishing out a crumpled scrap of scribbled paper, he let out a sigh of relief, passing it to his father.

His father snatched it off his grip.

“Let’s go.”

Author's Note

As usual, my update schedule is nonexistent. Fortunately, I recently had a burst of inspiration to write. I hope I can continue the momentum.

Chapter 3: Run

Indium slammed a hoof onto the table.

“I can’t believe you’re just accepting this!” Indium shouted at his father, his wings twitching in anger. His father raised his head from facing the ground, facing not a colt that he had to provide for, but now a stallion fourteen years of age. “The Knights Vigilant are just blatantly stealing from us—it’s not just unfair, it’s downright wrong! How can you expect me to just sit here and idly wait for them to take our harvest again, and tell me that it’s the ‘natural order’ of things?” Indium sucked a deep breath in, his chest quivering. “We’re—”

“I know.” The reply was sharp. “But we cannot change the way things are. Period. We are just trying to survive. That’s what the S—”

“Survival? Is that what you call this? Scraping by with what little we have while these so-called ‘guardians of honesty’ steal the literal fruits of our labor? This is not survival; this is submission!” Indium spat, pointing his hoof accusingly. “And don’t get me started on—”

“They are not stealing!” his father roared back. “Think of it as an exchange. By providing them with the produce that they want, we get the peace and quiet for us to live out our lives comfortably. It’s as simple as that.”

“That’s it? An exchange?” Indium’s voice grew louder, incredulous. “It’s extortion. How can there be peace and quiet if they come knocking on our door every month or so? How can we live our lives comfortably if they are gouging on our hard-earned harvest while we are threatened with starvation and malnutrition by the elements day in and day out? No, it is not as simple as you say. They have had you brainwashed to think this way!”

“You don’t understand, don’t you?” his father fired back, his expression hardening. “You are not seeing the full picture. The Knights Vigilant maintain order in Equestria, and we, as peasants, play our part in that balance.”

Indium scoffed. “What balance? There is no balance! We’re barely surviving with what little we have!”

His father’s eyes flared. “What are you talking about?! We should be grateful that we have what we have! Our kind had lived like this for generations without any complaint, while you whine at every little detail of it. If you have trouble with this order of things, then I invite you to get out. Right now.” He threw a hoof at the front door.

Indium remained where he was. “I won’t live like this. I won’t be a slave to their unjust ‘order’. We deserve better, and I won’t stop until we get it!”

“And how exactly are you going to do that?” his father questioned. “Face it. We are peasants. You are a peasant. They have the right to clamp down on us at any opportunity. You can’t do anything. I’ve seen what could happen. But if you want to be foolish, leave my family out of it.”

Indium’s lips trembled. “Dad—”

“Get out.”

“Dad!”

“I said get out.”

“Fine!” Indium shouted defiantly. “I’ll just take my things and go.” He headed straight for his room and began extracting what little possessions he had out, throwing them into his saddlebag—his diary, his Book of the Saints…

He clipped his bags shut and ambled right past his father, heading straight for the door. As he opened it, he turned back for the last time. “When I’m back, I’ll make sure you will never have to suffer like this ever again.”

“Indium—”

The door slammed shut.

Indium marched out of the family’s homestead, his nostrils steaming with rage. Soon, his march evolved into a gallop, and the shed he had once called home faded into the distance.

“Indium, what’s happening?” a familiar voice rang from the expanse.

It was his mother. She galloped over with a half-filled basket of carrots on her back.

“Mum. I’m leaving,” Indium said, rage burning in his eyes.

“What? You can’t just leave!” she exclaimed, her eyes collapsing into pinpricks. “We’re a family.”

Indium froze, his heart tightening into a gripping knot. “Not to dad. And I won’t—”

“You are to me!” his mother wailed, tears beginning to stream down her eyes. “Please, Indium—”

“Mum.” Indium’s expression softened. “I’ll be back. Believe me. I promise.” He sucked a short breath. “And when I do, we will not be living under the whim of some Knight Vigilant anymore.”

He turned and ran down the long familiar path.

“N-No!” his mother cried out. “C-Come back…Ind-Indium…”

He bit his lip hard as his mother’s shrieks continued ringing in his ears, the bitter taste of his metallic blood seasoned with saline tears lingering in his mouth, his heart tearing with desire and past familial bonds.

Eventually, the howling spring breeze consumed the echoes of his mother’s pleas. As the moon began to cast its ethereal glow over the imposing landscape, he continued to soldier down the well-trodden path, his hooves pounding against the damp, forsaken earth.

Fatigue and hunger began to set in. The dull thud of his hooves against the ground echoed a rhythmic weariness, punctuated by the occasional stumble here and there. His stomach, deflated and empty, groaned in protest against his will.

But his mind refused to stop. He could eat grass off the land. He could drink water from the streams. He could rest whenever and wherever he wished. He could always reunite with his parents again. Food, water, rest, family—these are nothing but secondary needs. They do nothing to quench his inner desire that fuelled his every step. Neither do they serve to fulfill the last promise he had made that justified his run from home.

His eyes flashed in the moonlight.

The Saints willed it.

A flash of light erupted from his flank.

He didn’t care.

Sunhaven.

Baggy eyed, Indium trudged into town, exhausted. He paid little attention to the rancid stench emanating from the back alleys or the vibrant colors around the marketplace. He had only one target in mind—the garrison building.

He stumbled from street to street, seeking out the location of the garrison, before finding it by the wholesalers’ market. It was a menacing structure of two or so storeys tall, dwarfing the young, disheveled stallion. Reinforced with strong, concrete pillars and made of chiseled stone bricks, it stood in stark contrast to the shoddy, decomposing wooden buildings surrounding it. A pair of guardponies, each equipped with a rifle, stood at attention, watching every and any creature that passed by.

And their eyes were on Indium.

“Sir,” one of the guards called to him, his hoof trained on the safety of his rifle, “what is your business at the Sunhaven garrison building?”

“I…” Indium fumbled as his sleep-deprived mind attempted to formulate some kind of response, “I’m looking for Inquisitor Red Remark.”

“What for?” the other challenged, eyeing Indium with contempt.

“He…he told me to come,” Indium admitted. He prayed that the inquisitor remembered him, or even the promise of returning the favor that he had given to him years back. He sighed. There was no going back now.

“Your name?”

“Indium Indigo.”

“Noted,” the other guard replied. “I will escort you to his office.”

“Thank you, sir,” he answered, before attempting to brush himself off at the entranceway. “I appreciate it.”

The guard sighed, beckoning him with a swing of his rifle towards the interior of the garrison, “Follow me.”

Indium dutifully followed. Stepping in, he found himself in a small featureless room painted in gray with various tables, lockers and chairs about. It appeared to be some kind of resting area for the knights and guards, with a designated dining area on the right. A small contingent of ponies dressed in full military regalia around a dining table munching on their morning breakfast: cereal. They failed to pay him any notice as they continued eating their rations.

The guard led him to a corridor on the right. Indium followed, eyeing the white, imposing doors on either side that presumably led to a knight’s office.

Suddenly, the guard stopped in front of one of the doors and knocked. “Inquisitor, sir. A stallion by the name of Indium Indigo wishes to see you, sir.”

Indium gulped.

“Come in,” came the voice from within.

The guard swung the door open, revealing the same, cerulean red coated pegasus sitting on an office chair he had met once before. A dark brown mane accompanied his features, as did his purple cloak embroidered with the cutie mark of Saint Twilight Sparkle—a sign of his duty to the Knights Mystic. His orange tinted eyes gazed back into Indium’s own, seemingly judging him from without.

“Ah, Indium Indigo,” the inquisitor remarked, his voice nonchalant. “Sergeant Ivory, you’re dismissed. Please close the door behind you.” Indium could only watch the sergeant saluting, as did the inquisitor after, before leaving and closing the door shut.

“Indium Indigo, what brings you to my humble office?” the inquisitor asked, placing a hoof on his desk, with files neatly stacked by the side and quills neatly on the right. “Before that, I must thank you again for your help a few years ago. We had managed to unearth a heretic plot from the wholesalers’ market thanks to your intel. Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you, sir.” Indium nodded respectfully. After a short pause, he tried to move as gracefully as he could to the chair opposite despite the soreness in his hooves. “It’s the least I could do.”

The inquisitor smiled. “So today, I presume you wish to ask a favor from me?”

“Sir, if I may…” His voice faltered with nervousness. He quickly attempted to remedy the situation by clearing his raspy throat. “I would like to become a Knight Mystic.”

The inquisitor leaned forward, crossing both hooves on the table. He turned away from Indium’s gaze, contemplating. “Why?”

“...Sir,” Indium tried to maintain eye contact with the inquisitor by following his gaze, “after that day when we met, I was trying to piece together what was happening on that day. I realized…that the ponies at the marketplace were trying to suppress the price of the produce, so that they may resell it at a profit.”

“Yes,” the inquisitor said, shifting his chair closer to his desk, “which profit was used to fund a cell of heretics.”

Indium’s eyes bulged, fire raging in his pupils. “So they were profiteering over our hard work, our labor, our sweat and toil for their own nefarious uses to spread disunity among us.”

“Indeed, Indium,” the inquisitor remarked in a mellowed tone, “so I presume you wish to play your part to quell these plots to take advantage of humble farmers like yourself?”

“I do.” Determination rang in his voice. “I can’t—I can’t sit idly by when the common pony who just wishes to make a decent living has to suffer the greed of heretics.”

“That’s fair,” the inquisitor stated. He turned to his left, his eyes fixated on a portrait of Saint Twilight Sparkle by the side of the room, his mouth closed. “What about your family?”

Indium’s chest visibly quivered. “Not anymore.”

“Not anymore?” the inquisitor asked.

“My father…he couldn’t comprehend my purpose.” Indium clenched his teeth. “He thought that I just wanted to find an excuse to stop working in the fields.” He clasped his eyes shut. “So…my father cast me aside.”

“That is disappointing,” the inquisitor replied, shaking his head. “I always thought that parents would always be supportive of their colt.”

“But…” Indium pressed on, his lips trembling as he sought the right words. “I know I can do better. For a higher purpose beyond providing sustenance for the populace. To fight against these heretics who wish to extort from us.” He locked eyes with the inquisitor. “Inquisitor, sir. I humbly request for your guidance as a mentor for me to join your ranks as a Knight Mystic.”

“I wholly understand, Indium,” the inquisitor answered. “But the journey to become a knight is fraught with challenges. From the start, there will be ponies who will see nothing but your background as a humble peasant; those who will try to stunt your growth because they do not think you deserve what they do.”

“I’m used to it,” Indium stated firmly.

“As I can imagine,” the inquisitor nodded slowly, “though, even if you successfully pass out as a full-fledged knight, there will still be those who will try to veer you off your chosen path and lead you astray.”

“I understand, sir,” Indium affirmed, straightening in his seat.

“Excellent,” the inquisitor remarked. “One more thing, Indium: as a Knight Mystic, your aspiration should be for the greater good for all of the Diarchy; for it is the same reason why unicorns are dehorned for the peace and prosperity of everypony else, and the same reason why I dealt with the heretics at the marketplace for the benefit of the humble farmer such as yourself. Clear?”

“Crystal, sir.” Indium nodded sharply, his heart fluttering.

The inquisitor smirked. “As I saw in myself fifteen years ago, I see what is in you. Well then,” he glanced at his watch, “the train to New Canterlot City is leaving this evening. I’d recommend you to board it. I’ll ensure you have the monies for your travel, lodging and other related expenses for the Ivy Seminary to start your journey as a knight.”

Indium could hardly contain himself. Jumping to his hooves, his heart blossomed with palpable gratitude and excitement. “T-Thank you, sir!”

“May the Saints guide you.”

Author's Note

I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I had the pleasure of writing it. Hopefully, I can keep up with weekly chapters, but time will tell.

Chapter 4: Friend

Two months in the Ivy Seminary.

As the bell rang, Indium shuffled his hooves out of the lecture hall, funneling out through the doors as with all of the remaining pages. Hoisting his saddlebags filled with notes and books up, he let out a small yawn as he eventually made it out of the bottleneck and to the main corridors.

As usual, he took the farthest staircase of the accommodation block up, glancing about for anypony as he approached. Seeing that the coast was clear, he steadily surged up the stairs to the third storey.

His room was the third on the left. He extracted his key from his saddlebags with a stretch of his right wing and inserted it into the lock. It was a loose fit, but it did the job. When he placed his forehoof on the knob—

Slime.

Indium sighed. He knew his day couldn’t be without any incident. Not when the other pages were snide in their remarks of him being a farming peasant, or when they were more daring with so-called ‘pranks’ like these.

He retrieved a handkerchief from his saddlebag, wrapping it around the knob before twisting it. He pushed the door open, throwing the dirtied handkerchief onto the laundry basket in the corner and stepped into his—

Clang!

Indium craned his neck down in horror. He had accidentally knocked over a bucket filled with the same slimy sap that now covered the floor. Cursing, he flapped his wings, lifting himself up onto the air and tossed his saddlebags onto his study table. He flew straight to the nearest sink and tried to wash the sap off his offending hoof. It took minutes before the viscous substance was forced out of his fur.

Indium exhaled, grabbing a set of cleaning equipment off the janitor’s closet by the staircase landing. Using a mop, he began purging the slimy substance out of his room and into the drain along the common corridor.

Hours had passed. The afternoon sun soon faded into a glowing orange orb on the edge of the horizon. After returning the mop back to the janitor’s closet, he returned to his room, finding it to be perfectly spotless. Closing the door, he rested his weary self on his study chair, where he couldn’t help but smile at a job well done.

Gazing about, his eyes moved from observing the picturesque view of the compound, to his humble wooden desk neatly organized with notes and stationary, to his bed, equipped with gray sheets, a pillow and a blanket. He felt a tinge of pride emanating from his heart, as he realized that everything in his room—everything he owned—was a culmination of all of his hard work and determination. It wasn’t much, but it was his.

He opened the drawer by his study table, revealing a small, monochromatic image of his mother, himself…and his father by the family farm. He stared at the picture for several, long moments, as memories of his bygone days working in the fields seeped into his mind.

“Mum…” he mouthed. “I’ll be back. And dad.”

A knock came from the door.

Indium immediately shoved the drawer shut and left the comfort of his seat. He headed for the door, opening it.

“Ah! You scared me ye know?” A young earth pony stallion stood outside, his coat matching the color of green vegetation and his mane the color of brown dirt. His orange pupils returned Indium’s gaze.

“Sorry,” Indium replied respectfully, though his body visibly tensed at the unknown face. “What do you want? Wait—you’re not the one who poured some slimy substance on my door knob, right?”

“N-No…I didn’t!” the young stallion admitted, averting his eyes away, “I was busy with the homework from Sir Raven!” He paused as he tried to compose himself. “But uh, anyways, you’re Indium Indigo right? The one that got top marks last test on motic combinations?”

“Yes?” Indium frowned with suspicion. “And you are…?”

“Page Medical At-Atlas.” He coughed into a hoof. “I was wondering if you were free for a bit. I got stuck on a question that I can't just quite parse.”

“Parse?” Indium tilted his head, finding Medical holding a few papers against his chest. “Alright, you can come in, but no funny business, okay?”

Medical nodded, walking in with Indium. “Right, thanks. Sorry to disturb you on…eh, this time.”

“It’s…okay,” Indium replied slowly, trotting over to his desk. “Can you please close and lock the door behind you?”

“Cen do,” Medical agreed, exemplifying a rather thick northern accent that Indium noted, locking the door behind them.

Indium sat on his bed next to the desk. “Anyways, what’s the problem?”

Medical reached into his small saddlebag and pulled out a piece of paper, filled with scribbles of mathematical equations and symbols. “The mathematical derivation of the runic gauntlet’s motic capacity.”

“That shouldn’t be too bad,” Indium replied, gesturing for Medical to sit on his study chair. “You can start by linking the motic volumetric capacity to the volume of the motic battery.”

“Thanks.” Medical took a seat on the chair and pulled out a pen, beginning to write using his left hoof. “And we can ignore environmental effects, right? I do know that at least.”

“Fundamentally,” Indium continued, looking at his scribbles, “you can assume the capacity is based on the standard of one basic rune, so it’s easier to calculate. Then you just have to consider the relative volumetric capacitances of different components using their purity as weights and sum them up.”

“So that’s about…eh, five variables to keep track of,” Medical noted, continuing to write.

Indium waited until Medical had pieced the equations for the variables together and rearranged them accordingly. “Yes, but you can just do it methodically; step by step,” Indium advised, pointing at different sections of his notes. “Start here to here and then here.”

“Damn,” Medical shook his head, “and here I was hoping to get by with just small arms.”

“Small arms…?” Indium frowned. Something had clicked in his mind. “Wait…you are the Page Medical Atlas, the markstallion at the range last week!”

Medical blinked, his cheeks reddening at the praise. “Erh, yep! The one!”

“You were amazing!” Indium exclaimed in awe. “I could never set my gunsight straight!”

“I’m sure it’s a matter of practice,” Medical consoled. “Thanks again for the help. Wouldn’t have figured it out.”

“I’m happy to help, Medical,” Indium said, smiling. “At least you’re not like those idiots who think they can push me around or pour sap or whatever that was in my room and get away with it.”

“Ah, you mean the nobles,” Medical remarked, packing his new notes into his saddlebags. “Of course, it’s rare to find outsiders like you here in the Ivy Seminary at times.”

Indium froze at the word ‘outsiders’, before quickly composing himself by clearing his throat. “Well,” he turned to check the clock on his desk, “I’ll see you around for dinner soon.”

“...Dinner?” Medical asked, standing up.

Indium stood up likewise. “No, I’m just going to the canteen,” Indium replied. “I’m famished.”

“...Well, do you want to go somewhere nice? I heard there’s a decent resto nearby,” Medical proposed, winking at him.

“Uhh…” Indium swallowed uncomfortably, his mind considering the amount of bits he had to budget out for the week. “I think I’m good with the canteen, thanks. You can just go on without me. It’s fine.” He feigned a weak smile.

“...Oh come on, take it from me. You helped me with a derivation!” Medical offered cheerfully, tapping Indium on his back. “If not, you alright with me paying for your dinner?”

“You are…paying for me…? Why?” Indium stuttered, his expression etched with greater discomfort. “Just because I helped you with one question…?”

“Listen okay,” Medical placed a hoof on his withers assuringly, “It’s nothing, alright?”

Indium shivered at the touch, glancing about uneasily, trying to avoid Medical’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, come on!” Medical grinned, opening the door and politely gesturing him out to follow. “Be sure to lock the door.”

It wasn’t long before the duo, still dressed in page robes, approached the restaurant just across the road from the seminary compound. Medical grinned as he strung Indium along, whose eyes tried to acclimate to a luxury he could have never imagined. Flashing neon lights and signposts dotted the walls and perimeter of the restaurant which was definitely catered to the upper echelons of society, with an attempt to be seen as hip and chic. Indium cringed at the flagrant waste of electricity that could have been used to power so many rural communities back home.

“You okay, Indium?” Medical asked.

Indium blinked, trying to quickly fashion a decent reply. “No, I’m just a little cold. Thanks for asking. But…uh, are you sure you can…treat me? We can still head back.”

“I can,” Medical reassured as they stepped in, passing high tables and chairs catering to diners who intended for an al fresco dining experience, finding themselves in the cool interior of the restaurant with fans and yellow lights. “It’s not like I’m going to always drag you here. Plus, it’s not that expensive.”

Indium silently headed in, finding eloquently-dressed diners reminiscent of the middle and upper classes and waiters in suits and ties. Despite the chatter in the air, the volume within was respectfully low and sufficiently private.

Eventually, Medical led him to a pair of cushioned seats near one of the windows, grabbing a menu from the table. “So, what do you like?”

Indium retrieved the menu from his side, giving the menu a cursory look. The numbers attached to every item appeared daunting and extreme. They would otherwise cripple his carefully-planned budget for several days, if not weeks. “Uh…” Indium scratched his mane uneasily, his eyes darting around, attempting to find the cheapest possible item without embarrassing his new ‘friend’. “I’ll…just go for the…mushroom classic sandwich.”

“...Mushroom classic? Good choice,” Medical grinned, waving a waiter over, “I’ll have a daisy, fettuccine…mushroom sandwich and a mushroom classic for my good friend here.”

As the waiter bowed and left with their order, Indium couldn’t help but feel anxious and insecure. Was this some kind of trap to guilt trip him into doing more favors? Was this a scheme to gain his trust and backstab him later? Why would he—

“So, how did you end up wanting to be a Knight?”

“Um…” Indium shook his head, attempting to snap himself out of his daze. “I want to help those who are taken advantage of by heretics. How about you?”

Medical smiled. “Wanted to follow in my grandfather’s and grandmother’s hoofsteps,” he regaled, his eyes dreamy. “Great ponies, I heard. The two of them were Knights. A crime fighting duo, as my father liked to put it. So I want to do good too. Do some good directly.”

“Oh,” Indium smiled weakly, “I think we’ll get along very well. I believe in that too.”

“So Mystics for you?” Medical asked, his tone inquisitive. “Will be a hard journey, though.”

Indium gritted his teeth. “It’ll be nothing after what I have been through.”

Medical leaned back into his seat. “Well, that’s why I chose the Vigilants. So good luck on that,” he commented, seemingly oblivious to Indium’s reaction.

Indium’s heart seethed. “Thank you.”

“Gentlestallions.” The waiter reappeared with the food, both at the same time. “One mushroom classic and one DFM sandwich. Enjoy your meal!”

“Thanks.” Medical nodded, prompting the waiter to excuse themselves. But he didn’t dig into his food yet, instead he gestured for Indium to start first.

“Thanks Medical,” Indium bowed his head slightly, facing the freshly toasted sandwich garnished with a dash of ground black peppercorns and parsley, “for the meal. I really appreciate this.” He hoisted the warm sandwich with his hooves and sank his teeth into it.

Indium would have cried at the multitude of dimensions of flavor bursting into his mouth, of flavors he would never have imagined of tasting. The sublime textures of exotic ingredients sent waves of ecstasy from his tongue to his brain. He slowly chewed, savoring every delectable bite.

“You look like me taking my first bite of mushroom soup.” Medical chuckled at the sight. “It’s good isn't it?”

Indium swallowed. “It’s really good!” Indium said between mouthfuls.

Medical chuckled as he joined in on savoring his own sandwich, relishing every moment of how Indium chewed on every mouthful of his sandwich. Before long, the two had finished their sandwiches, with Indium going the extra mile to recover the few microscopic breadcrumbs that dotted his plate. Medical could only laugh at the sight, before indicating for the bill.

After paying the bill with a few hefty banknotes from Medical’s pockets, they exited the restaurant, their bellies full. “I really, really appreciate the experience, Medical,” Indium said, bowing. “Thank you.”

“Thanks for the company as well,” Medical replied as he trotted across the road and into the seminary compound. “But we better head back; I have some work to catch up on.”

“No problem.” Indium nodded, trailing him, “I also have some things I have to settle tonight. Oh, by the way, where’s your room?”

“Second storey, sixth from the right.” Medical stopped and pointed with a hoof. “Room sixteen.”

Indium nodded. “Cheers, I’ll be sure to look for you if I need tips on handling firearms.” He smiled, noting the position of his room mentally as he stepped into the main corridor. “See y—”

“Oi, peasant!” A voice interrupted him. “You dropped something.”

Indium spun towards the voice, causing him to lose his balance, slipping on the grease-covered floor.

“Ah geez, you alright?” Medical scurried over at the sound of trouble, offering a hoof to Indium.

Indium ignored his helping hoof, choosing instead to hover over the sabotaged floor with the aid of his wings as he tried to resist the pain.

“Good evening, Nightshade,” Indium spat, his voice filled with contempt, facing the gray coated earth pony before him.

“We see that you have…enjoyed our little present for you.” Another pony, a yellow pegasus slightly taller than Indium, approached from his back. “As an example of what peasants should be doing instead of playing knights in the city.”

“Core Sprite,” Indium stated, malice in his voice. “You won’t get off scot-free for what you have done.”

“Oh really?” Nightshade burst out laughing, as did Core. “Unfortunately for you, a peasant’s testimony will not hold water against Sir Raven’s better judgment.”

“Peasant?” Medical spoke up, making his presence known.

“Medical?” Core blinked at the sight. “What are you doing with this filthy little peasant?”

“Oh, he helped with some homework problems.” Medical stepped towards Core sharply. “I brought him out for dinner as thanks.”

“Mathematical issues?” Nightshade repeated. "And you're telling me that this illiterate peasant can solve your mathematical issues?"

"Watch your mouth, Nightshade." Indium's voice grew dangerously soft.

“Can you derive equations?” Medical challenged, shifting his attention to Nightshade.

“Deriving equations should be left to us, not to some untested peasant crawling in,” Nightshade fired back, moving closer to Medical.

“Yeah, and your test scores sure do reflect that,” Medical commented sarcastically, “I suggest if you are a noble, to punch up instead of down.”

“With a peasant?” Nightshade asked, rolling his eyes. “I’ll rather remain stupid. Enjoy your little peasant pet then. I have better things to do than dealing with worms like him."

“I agree,” Core scowled. “Goodbye peasant. Enjoy your little puny company while it lasts.” With that, Nightshade and Core turned and left.

Medical sighed, shaking his head. “You alright?”

Indium dusted himself off. “I’m alright.” He checked his surroundings, finding no one else but Medical along the corridor. “But…Medical,” he whispered, “why did you defend me?”

“You helped me,” Medical answered without missing a beat.

"B-But but...you have already repaid me," Indium stuttered. "Why go out of your way to risk them targeting you, too?"

Medical chuckled. “Why not? I know now who not to trust later down the line.”

Indium's expression morphed into a small smile. “Thanks, Medical.” He extended his hoof. “Friends?”

Medical took it.

“Friends.”

Chapter 5: Bittersweet

Indium stepped into the room, stopping at a distance from a panel of five ponies.

“We are here to consider the candidacy of Squire Indium Indigo,” declared the pony farthest to her right. Her armor sparkled in the light, polished and refined with a tinge of orange, complementing her blue coat. She placed the parchment she was holding onto the dry, oval table, the paper crisp and deciding. “Squire, we have reviewed your paperwork and you have completed your training as a Knight. We’ll begin with your mentor. Lady Mithril, what say you to this stallion joining our ranks?”

The mare to her left cleared her throat as she turned towards the Knight Vigilant. “Squire Indium Indigo is sharp, with a significant penchant in runic magic. In spite of all of his initial challenges in physical sparring,” she turned to Indium, giving an encouraging smile, “I’m happy to say that his resilience had paid dividends and I have seen remarkable improvement. I recommend him to proceed as a Knight.”

Despite the Knight Adamant’s kind words, Indium’s expression remained indifferent, his gaze boring into his mentor’s eyes.

“To my knowledge,” the Knight Vigilant continued, “Squire Indium Indigo, you have decided to align yourself with the Knights Mystic. Sir Iota, what position do the Mystics have on this proposition?”

“Lady Clip,” the leftmost pony in purple addressed, “the Mystics believe that the said squire has value in our organization, for his drive and purpose herein would be well-appreciated. We have no objections on the matter.”

Indium’s joy bubbled.

“If that is the case, I call on the remaining orders to declare their disapproval, if any, on the candidacy of the squire before you,” Lady Clip announced, turning back to face Indium.

A moment of silence echoed through the windowless room. Indium could only feel his heart pounding faster and faster as the seconds dragged on.

“I hear no further complaints. Thus,” Lady Clip paused, “we find you worthy to join our number. Please repeat the Oath of the Squire.”

Indium steadied himself. “I am a Knight of Equestria.” He swallowed. “I uphold the Five Exalted Tenants with my life. I protect my fellow Knights from harm. I hold close to my heart the Elements of Harmony: Honesty, Loyalty, Generosity, Kindness, and Joy. I serve the Diarchy, its leaders and its citizens. I keep watch against heresy and corruption. I defend Equestria from enemies outside and within, with my life and breath.”

“We thank you, Squire Indium Indigo,” Lady Clip nodded slowly, “I now pass you over to Sir Iota for your final assessment.” She gestured towards the Mystic, who rose to his hooves and stepped before Indium.

“Follow me, Squire,” Sir Iota stated, trotting out of the room.

Indium meekly followed the Mystic out, following him to a massive library. Ancient scrolls and tomes filled antique, teak-grained bookshelves on all sides. A single chandelier hung in the middle of the room, giving light to a central marble top table with two similarly extravagant chairs on either side. Indium struggled to hide his exhilaration as he walked in with a noticeable bounce in his step behind Sir Iota.

“Squire Indium. Welcome to the Library of Wisdom, the same library where Saint Twilight Sparkle herself perused centuries ago,” Sir Iota gestured with a wave of a hoof as he moved to sit on the farside chair. “Please take a seat.”

Indium, eyeing the surrounding bookshelves, gingerly sat down.

“Squire Indium,” Sir Iota addressed, looking directly at him, “A Knight Mystic is one who guards against heresy for the good of us all. One who differentiates between the right, the wrong, the truth and the false. One who has the wisdom to perceive the gray between the black and the white,” Sir Iota placed his hoof on the table gently, “between the truth and the false.”

“Yes, Sir Iota,” Indium replied, giving a sharp nod.

“The divergence between right and wrong may deviate from what is true and false. This is where we do battle, Squire Indium; where we strive to correct those who have been led astray with their own confusion of the truth and what is right.” Sir Iota paused for a moment, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “I believe you understand that unicorns are sent to colonies where they are dehorned, and do not pose a threat to our society?”

“I do,” Indium acknowledged, his brow slightly furrowing as he attempted to grasp where Sir Iota was going with this.

“However,” Sir Iota continued, his eyes boring into Indium, “what if unicorn horns act as their own sacrosanct reservoir of life? Are we still wrong to do what we have done?”

Indium’s expression contorted, a moment of disbelief flickering across his face as his eyes widened at this new piece of information, his furrow deepening in concentrated thought.

After a few moments, the doubt in his mind quickly evaporated, as did the tension of his expression. Straightening his posture, he opened his mouth. “Sir Iota. It doesn’t matter. History has proven the danger of unicorns within our society, because they simply do not see the light of the Saints, or are unable to follow their light. They are misguided, but it isn’t their fault. It is because they are corrupted by the virtue of what they embody as a being.” Indium stopped for several seconds, his mind considering his next words carefully. “They are misguided to act immorally for their greed against us. If dehorning unicorns insulates their evils from our society and helps them move onwards, I see nothing wrong, sir. We are giving them a new chance towards being better.”

“A valid assessment,” Sir Iota commented, nodding his head gently. “I believe you have some experience in that aspect, as your sponsor had eluded to me just earlier.”

“I do.” Indium’s heart flared. “Their corruption leeches on our peace and collective prosperity. Giving them a chance to be reborn is nothing but our generosity to be merciful,” he spat.

“But why can’t we reform them?” Sir Iota questioned, leaning forward. “Why can’t we correct them?”

Indium’s answer was immediate. “Their morals have been corrupted by their own nature, as it has been proved by history, and their conniving acts up to this day. The entropy of their own corruptive nature makes their threat to our society inevitable. It’s much safer to keep them away and dehorn them.”

“Indeed.” Sir Iota stood up from his chair, stepping over to Indium. “Understanding nuance and evaluating the truth separates the pious from the heretic,” he declared. He opened a small drawer from the side of the table, extracting a small vial. Indium could see a black liquid within it, reminiscent of squid ink, with a few glittering particles mixed in. The Knight removed the seal gingerly, placing the vial on the table and slid it over to Indium. “This holy mixture will empower your will, your destiny, and your life towards greatness. May you drink it, and become one of us, the defender of the truth and what is right.”

Indium eyed the suspicious black liquid. A faint, earthy odor wafted into his muzzle. He gulped. This was it. Mustering his courage, he seized the vial with his right forehoof and poured every bit of it into his open mouth.

Indium nearly gagged as the coarse mixture entered his system. An acidic stench flooded his senses, his tongue coiling itself in discomfort. His eyes bulged. Blood seemed to rush into his brain, overwhelming his sense of reality. His hooves tried to clutch onto the table for stability. His ears started to ring.

This quickly spread to the rest of his body. He gasped, his lungs sinking and rising heavily, crushing his pounding heart. His wings fluttered uncontrollably as he held onto the surface of the table for support. Sweat rapidly drenched his quivering body.

Voices clashed in his head. Thoughts breezed through like they were nothing. Emotions slashed through his mindscape. Indium grit his teeth, shutting his eyelids, attempting to will himself to fight through the pain, like a ship weathering a horrible storm.

White spots began to grow in his blinded reality, rapidly mushrooming into a pure screen of emptiness, before…

…

Nothing.

A voice came. “I trust that you are alright now.”

Indium blinked, his frayed vision toying with his senses. He started to make out the grains of the wooden table, Sir Iota before him, the bookshelves, and shattered glass. A small trickle of blood leaked from his right forehoof, staining his robes with a maroon red, yet he felt no pain.

“Y-Yes,” Indium managed, giving a vague semblance of a nod, trying to concentrate what strength he had to his hindlegs to prop himself up. “Yes…sir.”

“Very well,” Sir Iota stated. “Kneel, Indium Indigo.”

Indium shakily left his seat and stood on one trembling foreleg. He tried to push his head up to face the Knight, who stood equipped with a ceremonial spear. Sir Iota stopped before him, tapped his forehead with the blunt side of his spear gently, and bowed.

“We welcome you, Sir Indium Indigo, to the Knights Mystic.”

Sir Indium hit the ground running. His purple robe fluttered in the cool autumn breeze as he dashed out of the Sunhaven train station, his saddlebags in tow. Beneath his robes, he discreetly equipped a magical spellcasting device—a runic gauntlet—which was tightly bound onto his right forehoof. Why equip a blade or even a gun if runic magic could do the job too?

Still, at the sight of purple, ponies on the platform parted aside, whispering and murmuring in the background, enabling him a smooth path forward towards the exit. He quickly found himself back at the familiar sight of the vegetable wholesalers’ market, the clock tower and the garrison building. But he knew that he wasn’t here for that.

He cantered out of the town’s outskirts, the landscape awash with yellowing wheat. As the wind intensified, he slowed his steps for a moment, his eyes glancing across the fields. He faced the direction of the wind, taking in a deep breath and held for several long moments. The cool air soothed his body, while the sun bathed him in a warmth he struggled to experience back in the Ivy Seminary, or even when he was training as a squire. Releasing a long, drawn-out exhale, he brushed his light turquoise mane to the side and continued his sprint home.

A small wooden house soon came into view on the horizon, prompting him to pump more strength into his hindlegs to propel him forward. Despite the exertion, his legs remained cool and unfatigued—a far cry from the experience he had when he ran in the opposite direction. He wasn’t sure if it was the effect of the Knight potion, his adrenaline fueling him, or his hidden, masked desire to return to one’s native homestead—not that it mattered, anyways.

As he neared the house, his eyes soon became inundated with brown. Indium became increasingly concerned at the unforgiving sight, his heart palpitating. Large swaths of land surrounding the house appeared barren and empty. The hardened soil seemed cracked and dry, illustrating a harrowing mosaic of neglect in varying shades of dull.

A wooden sign at the entranceway soon confronted him with reality. It simply had four words outlandishly written in moronic, black paint.

“State land. No trespassing.”

Indium skidded to halt, staring blankly at the accusatory piece of timber.

His body froze for several, long moments as his mind attempted to parse what could have possibly happened.

It didn’t take long.

Indium’s blood boiled. Every fiber of muscle within him tensed in an instant.

His hoof lashed out at the accusatory piece of timber, smashing it into smithereens. His body quaked as he inhaled and exhaled erratically, his chest rising and falling vigorously. He brought his hoof close onto his chest, as if attempting to quell the fiery tempest within.

He shook his head rigorously, his teeth gnashing against each other, before rushing into the house.

It was locked.

Indium glared at the small, metallic padlock that sealed his past.

He snorted.

He reared back and spun about his hooves, before launching a powerful kick with his hindlegs.

The door shattered into rotten splinters.

He pounced into the house. A hollow shell of decomposing wood greeted him. Encroaching green moss and creeping mold shrouded the aged wooden pillars, producing an earthy stench that permeated into his nostrils. Sicky light shone through the few crevices and broken windows, illuminating the interior weakly. Indium raised his gauntleted hoof, scribing a few runes on it and produced a bright yellow light that flooded the interior.

There was nothing left. The table he used to eat and study on, the chair he used to rest his flank after his long day on the fields, the small bookshelf he had helped build when he was a colt—everything was taken. He rushed into his former bedroom, finding a similar state—there was nothing but cobwebs and overgrown vegetation.

He cursed. He hurried to his parents’ bedroom, revealing an identical setting. Their bed, their closet, their belongings—they were all gone as well.

Indium burst out of the house.

He needed answers. He needed confirmation.

He will get to the bottom of this.

He promised.

Chapter 6: Investigate

“Sir, please! I don’t know what happened to this pony called Cerulean, honest!”

Indium’s muscles coiled and his eyes narrowed, glaring into the cyan pegasus’s green pupils. The usually busy farming supplies store was devoid of other customers, leaving Indium and the shopkeeper amongst sacks of compost, farming seeds and other assorted tools. The uneasy silence was only accompanied by the occasional crackling of his runic gauntlet by his side, prompting the helpless pegasus to cower in fear and disbelief.

“Impossible.” Indium’s eyes did not waver. “He always buys farming equipment at your store. Carrot seeds. Fertilizer. Plows.” He punctuated every article sharply, his hoof gesturing all across, and his voice slashing through the air within the empty store. “And he has done so for years. How can you possibly not know who he is?”

“I-I…” The shopkeeper’s lips quivered. “I haven’t had m-many ponies coming into the s-store since the c-crop failures.”

“Crop failures?” Indium furrowed his eyebrows further. “What sort of crop failures?”

“Drought!” the pegasus exclaimed. “Do you not know? It was cloudless for many months!”

Indium sank back a little, his mind considering the shopkeeper’s words. His voice softened. “...didn’t the Knights at the garrison do anything to help?”

“They…did,” the shopkeeper returned after a pause. “They dug wells and brought clouds from miles away to help with the crisis. But…”

“But what?” Indium interjected, his voice scything through the shopkeeper’s senses.

“There…there wasn’t enough water to irrigate the land,” the shopkeeper stated solemnly, his eyes shifty and avoiding, “especially for regions that are further out.”

“I…” Indium’s gaze mellowed and then fell, his eyes seemingly lost and empty. “I…see.”

“Sir…” The shopkeeper tilted his head uneasily, concern etched on his face. “are you—”

“I’m fine.” Despite his words, Indium’s shoulders visibly sagged. He clasped his eyes shut, struggling to put up a facade of authority. His left hoof, now as heavy as lead, sunk to the floor from the countertop.

“Sir—”

“I SAID I WAS FINE!” Indium roared back, his eyes bursting open at the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper jerked back at the outburst. His face was filled with abject horror, his teeth clattering at the terrorizing sight. Indium glared into his eyes, finding nothing but fear, anxiety and weakness all in one, confined into two, pale green orbs, both crying for him to stop.

Wait.

Indium blinked.

That fear…

He remembered.

After a bout of further silence, Indium shook his head, trying to wrestle against the cascade of emotions that surged through his body, biting his trembling lips hard. “I-I…” His steely eyes softened, shifting away from the shopkeeper. “No,” a subdued voice returned, “it’s not your fault.”

The shopkeeper didn’t believe him. His eyes never left Indium. He was visibly shaking, cowering behind the counter, his hooves jittery.

Indium sighed. “No, it’s not your fault,” he repeated, deactivating the half-cast spell on his runic gauntlet warily. “I shouldn’t have.”

The shopkeeper could only watch as Indium bowed his head, trotting out of the store slowly, his chest heavy and upset. As the door swung open, the cool breeze greeted his ailing senses, yet it did little to soothe his nerves. Neither did it help to answer the many questions in his mind.

Aimlessly, he walked, finding himself in the middle of a busy intersection, his mind deep in contemplation. He paid no heed to the rush of produce on carts glancing past his body, or ponies screaming for him to get out of their way.

It didn’t matter. The swaying purple robes on his frigid body was authority enough.

He looked up, finding himself conveniently outside the same concrete building that represented his shelter for the past few years—the garrison building. Despite his new standing as a Knight, the building remained tall and imposing to him, its shadow blanketing Indium’s form. He stopped in the front of the garrison building several paces from the entrance, his legs hesitant for him to step in.

Running away and shamelessly crawling back for help—was that all he had learnt in life? Did the time as a page or a squire teach him nothing?

His expression darkened. He wrenched his rooted hooves off the ground and threw them backwards, forcing his gaze away from the wretched grayscale building. Enough was enough.

His hooves carried him away in a gallop, shoving nearby ponies aside with raw momentum, the surrounding buildings whizzing past his field of vision. His eyes darted from building to building, searching for the barest hint of anything that could help. The cold air rushed past him, shocking his senses and snapping his shrouded mind back in gear.

Then it hit him. There was only one place else he could go to confirm his thoughts.

He made a beeline for Sunhaven’s customs house.

It didn’t take long. Unlike the relatively well-maintained and modern garrison building, the wooden customs house blended in well with the rest of the town. Nearing it, Indium saw makeshift pillars and scaffolding supporting its structure, a sight not too different from the adjacent buildings strewn about.

Pushing the door open, he found himself standing before a desk with a hodge-podge of documents and seals scattered around. A pony sat behind the desk, smoking a cigar, their muzzle buried in the day’s newspapers.

Indium cleared his throat. “...Excuse me.”

The broadsheet newspaper was lowered, revealing a gray-coated earth pony stallion in orange robes raising an eyebrow at the young Mystic. The Knight Vigilant took out his cigar, smothering it on a nearby ashtray, the pungent smell of tobacco permeating the stale air. “Yes?”

“Sir,” Indium bowed his head, acknowledging the two bars on his counterpart’s epaulet, “do you have records for ponies Cerulean Shades and Green Top?”

The voice was rough. “...Who?” The Vigilant grunted as he stood up, dusting himself off. “Cerulean?”

“Yes, sir, Cerulean Shades,” Indium clarified quickly, hoping not to inhale too much of the room’s smoke.

“Alright…let’s see.” The elder stallion trudged to some nearby filing cabinets and started sifting through them. “Spell Cerulean for me.”

“C-E-R-U-L-E-A-N—” Indium gagged and then coughed heavily, his throat irritated by the fine particulates in the air. “Sha-Shades.”

“Alright, alright,” the Vigilant replied, his hoof flipping through the ends of folders. “No luck, kid. Only a stallion called C-E-R-L-U-E-A-N.” He whipped the manila folder out and deposited it onto the table.

Indium frowned. He couldn’t have misspelled his father’s name, right? Without a word of thanks, he immediately opened the folder, revealing a monochromatic image of a familiar face on the topmost document—the death certificate of his father.

Indium’s heart stopped.

“Eh, what about the other one, Green Top, right?” the Vigilant unhelpfully interjected.

No reply came from Indium. He brought his hoof over the image of his father, stroking the mildly textured impression on yellowing paper. His portrait remained stern and unforgiving, yet Indium could see his sunken cheeks and disheveled skin from the temperature of the color alone. He remained staring at his father for many moments, before his eyes eventually slipped to the inscription at the bottom of the parchment.

They were quick to glance through the details. His father had died just sixteen months ago, aged forty-six. May he rest in peace with the Saints, said the parchment. Buried in Sunhaven cemetery—

“Hey, kid?” the Vigilant called out again, peeking out from the pile of cabinets.

Indium glared at the Vigilant sharply, his hoof still on the parchment. “What?!”

“There’s only a Grain Top,” the Vigilant remarked, fishing the folder out of the docket.

Indium snatched it from his grasp. He threw it over his father’s folder and opened it in a flurry.

He could barely recognise the familial figure. Like his father, her cheeks were sunken in, pressed against her facial bones and her skin was littered with deep wrinkles that cut into her complexion. Her mane was unkempt, fraying with tangled strands of dried, dulling hair. Her brows, as though wearied by the weight of the world, creased heavily to keep her lifeless eyes open. She died sixteen months ago, proclaimed the text below, aged forty-seven. May she rest in peace with the S—

He slammed the folder shut.

“What happened to them!?” Indium hollered at the top of his voice.

“Hey,” the Vigilant returned, closing the file cabinet. “I don’t know. I just got here a few months ago. And those had been in my cabinet since.” He eyed Indium for a few seconds. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Hmph,” Indium scoffed. “Empty words.”

“Look,” the Vigilant’s face hardened, “what do you want me to do? Bring them back from the dead?” He sighed, shaking his head. “Besides, I just told you I’ve been here only since last year. Millenary Minute had been forced out by Vigilant Command because of the famine. No idea how you could mismanage a farming settlement into running out of food.”

Indium’s face twisted into a scornful expression, before the steel in his eyes faded, his ears folding back. “...Sorry.” He turned away, facing the chaotic pile of papers on the wooden desk and the cigarette tray. The smell of cigar ash suddenly did not seem that intrusive to his nose. “Sorry, sir,” he repeated. “Sorry for wasting your time.” He didn’t know what to apologize for, but he supposed this would work.

“Well,” the Vigilant returned to his desk, sliding himself into his wooden seat, “chin up, kid. Time’s not wasted yet. For whatever journey you’re on, you’ve got yourself a lead, and I know you Mystics can work from the smallest hints.”

Indium tilted his head back up, bringing the Vigilant into view once again. “Thanks sir,” he replied. “May I…take these folders?”

“Go ahead,” the Vigilant waved him off with a hoof, “I’ll just set the custodian of those files to you.”

Indium nodded solemnly. With a sweep of his hooves, the files slid off the table and fell right into his saddlebags. “I appreciate that, sir. I’d better be going now.” He turned to leave, trotting out to the exit.

“Goodbye,” the Vigilant called out, waving a hoof. He quickly returned to selecting another cigar from the pack in the right pocket of his robes, setting on lighting it for another puff.

But Indium didn’t leave; instead, he remained just by the door. Despite the musty smell of moldy woodwork seeping into his nostrils along with the cigar ash, he silently retrieved the two folders from his saddlebags and opened both of them.

The truth remained, taunting.

He gulped. Weakly, he closed the two folders and placed them back into his saddlebags. Inhaling deeply, he lifted his head up and left the relative privacy of the Sunhaven customs house. Now, he only had one destination in Sunhaven left.

Back on the local streets, his steps were slow and heavy. He felt his stomach twisting into a tight grip that made his insides turn, threatening to halt the beat of his heart with every laborious thud.

As Indium trudged towards his final destination in Sunhaven, his lungs protested with every gasping breath, processing the little oxygen that funneled through his nostrils by the ambient wind. With every step, the sun descended lower and lower down to the horizon, shrouding his surroundings in an increasing sea of dark. A few lights from nearby buildings began popping up, but they too eventually faded away with his touch from civilization.

As the full moon rose, his hooves finally brought him to the sight of unending rows and rows of gravestones littering the expanse beyond. Trudging into the graveyard, he eyed the first few gravestones as he walked past, finding them embellished with marble and gilt.

He barely gave them a second glance. With the sound of crickets beginning to fill his senses, his eyes prowled for the smallest shadows that made each row.

It was the last row at the far end. Taking a pained breath through his cracked lips, his hoofsteps quickened, trekking through the unkempt, tall grass between the lines of graves. Before long, the fur in his legs became soggy with dew as he arrived.

He halted right before the nearest to him. Raising his right hoof up, he slid his robes aside, exposing his runic gauntlet to his left hoof. With obscured vision, he scribed two runes in the air from memory, formulating into a simple spell. A small, luminous white orb emerged by the side of his gauntlet, floating serenely next to it.

A wan smile glanced over his face. Heading down the row, he lifted his right hoof up, bringing the orb up to the grave markers and checked. But time had been cruel to some. Past rainfall had washed some of the inscriptions off, or had bred mold that ate away at the unlacquered wood.

But Indium pressed on, finding himself nearing the end of the row until—

Green Top.

Indium blinked.

Green Top. February 9, 1023 A.F. to May 12, 1069 A.F.

There it was: in stark, white paint. Indium lowered his hoof and his orb, staring at the patch of ground before the marker. It was covered with thin, healthy grass that reached his leg joints. Some even sprouted small white flowers.

“Mum…” Indium swallowed, his eyes watering. “I’m home…as promised.”

The constant drone of cricket chirping replied. The howling gust swept through the scene, catching his purple robe in the wind and exposing his runic gauntlet with all of its mechanics to the world.

Indium bowed his head. “I…” His throat cracked. “Mum…I’m sorry.”

The crickets continued, yet the wind stopped swaying. Indium’s robes fell back, concealing his damp fur.

“I should…” Indium wheezed in a breath. “I should have been there for you…as you were for me.” His eyes fell lower.

The wind rustled alongside the sound of crickets. The blades of grass danced with the wind before him, swinging back and forth, as did the white florets that peeked through shyly.

“It’s not fair.” He clasped his eyes shut, extracting tears. “You were supposed to be proud of me. You were supposed to see me back home—happy, excited and empowered by your son, but—”

Indium sucked in a cold breath. He wiped his tears with a sharp swipe of his left forehoof.

“I’m supposed to lift us up, but now I don’t even have anypony to come back to!” Indium yelled.

Stunned silence filled the graveyard for several long moments. The breeze stopped. The grass froze. The air seemed charged with an unspoken weight which essence settled amongst the sea of the dead.

Indium shivered. He opened his mouth, but words struggled to leave his throat.

“S-Sorry,” he stammered at last. “I shouldn’t—”

Lightning flashed in the distance.

“I shouldn’t have,” Indium said softly. He looked longingly at the blades of grass, clenching his muscles. He then raised his voice, punctuating the air, “But I swear by the Saints and the Diarchs—that those who had brought you here will pay. I may not have the means to do that now, but once I become a Knight Inquisitor…” He sucked in a breath of icy wind. “...I promise I will. And anypony who dares to hurt innocent, common ponies like us!” Indium slammed a hoof down onto the dirt with all his might.

The ground beneath him quivered. Yet the crickets soon returned to their trilling once again.

Indium raised his head and faced the grave marker of his deceased mother, his eyes set on the two words of her name. “Mum…thank you. You may not have witnessed the completion of my pursuit for justice…but,” Indium gulped, “I believe you will know. In time. And you will share it with me. Wherever you might be.”

Another tear streaked down Indium’s cheek. He turned away from the grass patch, the vibrant moonlight reflecting against his watery eyes, before sweeping it off with a forehoof. “Goodbye…mum. It’s time for me to get to work.” He took a step back, casting a final look at the marker. “May the Saints keep you for your next life, for they will be watching.”

Indium gave a low, respectful bow before the wooden placard, holding it for several, long moments. His orb accompanied him, shimmering defiantly against the emptiness of the night.

Eventually, after a time, he lifted his head up, his eyelids coarse and dry.

And then he left.

Chapter 7: Outpost

Knight Private Indium Indigo:

Congratulations on passing out. We wish you all the best in your future posting.

You are posted to: OUTPOST 24
You are to report to: KNIGHT CAPTAIN ARC RETICENT
Reporting Date: November 22, 1070 A.F.
Reporting Time: 1000 HOURS

You are required to report in full combat order. It is highly recommended to take the airships from New Canterlot City to arrive at your post. You can find the airship schedule and routes in the document enclosed.

Sensing that the airship was descending, Indium placed the posting order back into his saddlebags. He headed towards the windows of the airship’s cabin, his hooves weighed down by his purple-tinted light armor, finding a tranquil blue sky with clouds dotted across. Craning his neck down, a tree-ladened landscape filled his eyes, with a tiny dirt path meandering between the hilly terrain and the occasional rivers that flowed through the wilderness.

Yet, in the distance, there was a small gap in the woods, where trees had been felled and there appeared to be rapid construction of an establishment of some kind.

“Descending towards Outpost 24!” the intercom announced through a speaker by the side. “We should arrive in five more minutes before heading on to Acornage.”

Indium readied himself, checking out his equipment and saddlebags. He scanned himself, verifying the runic gauntlet on his right hoof and a blade on the left side of his barrel. Despite this, he opted to pack light for his saddlebags, choosing to bring the bare essentials to live out from civilization for a while. He left the remainder of what little he had else in his rented apartment back in New Canterlot City.

He turned back to the interior of the cabin, finding a few ponies sitting idly, reading or talking to each other, most of them dressed in common robes. There were, however, a few Knights, though Indium suspected they were not headed to the same destination as he was, judging by how lightly they were equipped. It was in a sharp contrast to the advice provided from his posting order.

He rested back onto a chair, till he heard the radiators above his head hum ever softer, and the opening of the screen doors.

“Touchdown!” the voice from the intercom declared cheerily. “We’ll be unloading equipment and supplies here and will be stopping for a short time.”

Upon hearing the news, Indium stood up. He stretched his hindlegs as far as his plate armor could allow him, popping his joints. He then made for the gangplank that led to a new world, ponies eyeing him as he walked.

The gangplank was surprisingly sturdy, having not bent under the weight of his saddlebags and his armor. Looking up, a small encampment came into view surrounded by dense woodland and recently felled trees at its fringes, with several soldiers armed with rifles guarding the perimeter. Bounded by a series of barbed wire fencing, a tall, half-erected outpost stood at the center of the camp, seeking to oversee the forest for miles on end, itself encircled by dozens of makeshift tents and pavilions in dull green fabric.

Continuing his march, he headed for the entrance, marked by a small gap in the barbed wire and the presence of two soldiers camouflaged in green tactical gear.

“Halt! Identify yourself, sir,” one of the guards snapped.

Indium stopped. “Knight Private Indium Indigo of the Knights Mystic. Reporting for duty as ordered.”

“Papers.”

Indium dropped one of his saddlebags down to the ground and fished out a clear file with his proof of identity. He passed it over to the guard’s extended forehoof, who promptly took it, his eyes scanning through the document. The other guard remained impassive, his hoof trained on the safety of his rifle.

“Very well, sir. Lady Arc Reticent is expecting you. You may enter.” The guard returned the document back to Indium, garnished with a little grime on its surface. “Her tent is the first on the left from the outpost.”

Indium nodded, placing the document back into the file. “Thank you.”

“May the Saints be with you, sir,” the guard returned, saluting with a hoof to the forehead.

Indium returned the salute. “To you as well.”

Dropping the foreleg back down, he entered the camp, finding several soldiers transporting construction materials up and down to other soldiers hard at work hammering in scaffolds for the lookout tower. Small piles of bricks, stone and wooden supports were scattered throughout, along with hammers, saws and buckets of nails left haphazardly in the open.

Indium shook his head, sighing, as he marched towards the specified tent, which bore no obvious differences from the rest of the tents in the camp. Surprised, he turned his head to the tower and back to the tent, affirming that, yes, indeed, this was the tent described by the guards at the entranceway. Mustering his courage, he stepped towards the tent, his ears picking up the sound of somepony scribbling on paper inside, and tapped onto its flaps a few times.

“Come in,” a feminine voice returned.

Indium unfurled the flaps and clambered into the tent, revealing a small, temporary office with a rudimentary table and chair at its end and chests of writing equipment and documentation around. Looking up, an earth pony stood up from the chair, her yellow pupils studying Indium’s every movement. Like Indium, she wore purple armor that extended to her neck with the symbol of Saint Twilight Sparkle on her flank. Three gold chevrons on her armor’s epaulet cemented her rank as a Knight Captain, prompting Indium to snap to attention before her.

“Madam! Knight Private Indium Indigo reporting, madam!"

“At ease,” Arc remarked slowly. “I was expecting you, Knight Private. How was the trip?”

Indium dropped back. “Madam, it was alright. It was my first time on an airship.”

“Drop the formalities,” she said, stepping towards him. “You may simply address me as Arc. Understood?”

“Yes, ma—Arc,” Indium stumbled.

“Good.” She nodded sharply. “Now then, I would like to ask: what is your primary weapon of choice?”

“Arc, that would have to be my runic gauntlet,” Indium replied. “I did well in spellcasting when I was in the Ivy Seminary—”

“Tsk.” She made her disapproval clear. “Private, if you were any other Order, I'd respect that. Some might even say it might be a waste for you to not be a Mystic. But you? You're a Mystic in an outpost, Private. Do not rely on magic as your main. Unicorns are on the field, and you will meet them one day. And they'll beat you six ways to the sea if you play their sport."

Indium tensed, his jaw tightening.

“...then, what do you recommend?” Indium asked, the barest hint of resentment seeping through.

“What I’d recommend?” Arc raised an eyebrow at him, catching onto his displeasure. “There’s soldiers around here. Take the opportunity to practice shooting with a rifle or two.” She paused. “Or, you could ask our Knight Adamant—Mithril Shear to hone your skill with a blade.”

Indium unhelpfully rolled his eyes.

“Look, Private,” Arc warned. “You’re not a colt anymore. I don’t wish to foalsit you into following some sound advice. Else, your punishment will be unicorns tearing you apart before you even have a chance to place a hoof onto your gauntlet.”

Indium grimaced. “Yes, madam.”

“Note,” she said, nodding subtly, “I will not sway you away from focusing on arcane studies if you so wish to pursue them during your free time. That is defined by whether or not the contingent you have led had finished their tasks for the day. Here,” she handed him a small scroll, “will be the details of the tasks and the soldiers reporting to you.”

Indium wordlessly took the scroll and slid it into his saddlebags.

“Your duty starts tomorrow at 0800 hours. I’d advise you to take the rest of today to check out the food in the mess hall and to settle down for tonight. If you don’t know where things are, you will figure it out yourself. You will only find me for serious matters, understand?”

"Yes, madam." Indium nodded sharply.

"Dismissed," Arc stated, waving him off with a hoof.

Indium saluted, swiveled back and left the tent, still seething at Lady Arc’s comments. He glanced towards his runic gauntlet, observing its pristine surface and numerous clockwork gears begging to be put into action by him.

“I’ll show you…Arc Reticent,” he hissed.

“Sorry, sir?”

Indium jumped. He spun rapidly towards the voice, finding a young earth pony stallion—perhaps not much older than him—equipped in what appears to be skeletal battle order, likely to aid in the construction work.

“Oh,” Indium exhaled, “it’s nothing. I was just…mumbling to myself.” He dusted himself off. “Oh, and uh, sorry, but do you happen to know where I can get a new tent?”

“Of course, sir,” he replied, nodding. “You can get the supplies from the quartermaster—Sir Mithril and just set it up within the camp. He’s stationed to your left in the brick structure where the stores are, sir.” He gestured.

“Thank you—sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” Indium sheepishly smiled. “You are?”

“Side Glance, sir,” he said.

Indium placed a hoof on his chest. “Indium Indigo. Nice to meet you, Side,” Indium returned. “I was just posted here today, so I hope to work with you on the outpost together.”

“Naturally, sir,” Side returned, bowing his head a little. “Sorry, but if you could excuse me, sir, I would need to continue construction at my work site. I was just on a short water break.”

“No, no, no,” Indium shook his head, “Please, please go. Sorry for interrupting.”

“Thank you, sir.” Side smiled back, before galloping away towards the far end of the outpost.

Indium watched the young stallion trot off into the distance, before smiling himself. He could get used to this.

With that thought lingering in his mind, he continued on towards the stores, passing by a row of tents. A massive line of thin, green rope extended between the tents, where soldiers hung their clothes to dry in the humid weather. The occasional jerrycan was placed at intervals of four to five tents, presumably filled with drinking water.

Soon, the monolithic brick slab emerged into view, which stood out like a sore thumb amongst the remaining temporary structures. Beyond the periodicity of its layered bricks on its walls, it was clear that it was built for function, rather than for its aesthetics. A lone window peeked out from its side, where Indium could see another pegasus stallion stationed within, dressed in turquoise armor, working on some documentation.

Indium approached the window. “Sir Mithril?”

“Yes, sir,” the Adamant replied flatly, before turning to him, revealing the twin chevrons on his shoulders. His demeanor changed immediately at the sight of Indium. “Oh, hello. You’re the new Mystic that Lady Arc said was reporting today—Sir Indium, correct?”

“Yes, that’s accurate, sir,” Indium said. “I was just posted here today.”

“About time we got some extra muscle around these parts,” Mithril remarked, leaning in. “So, sir, I presume you need some groundsheets and whatnot to build your tent?”

“That’s also affirmative, sir,” Indium replied, before pausing for a moment. “But Lady Arc also told me to look for you…for some further training on honing my skills with a blade.”

The Adamant’s eyes glinted. “Did she?”

Indium nodded slowly.

“Yes!” Mithril exclaimed, his face beaming. “I’ve just about had it with just being some quartermaster in some half-built outpost rotting away with Lady Arc and Lady Pure Shine!”

“...that’s it?” Indium blinked. “That’s all the Knights that are posted here?”

“The bare minimum in accordance with Common Knight Directives.” Mithril rolled his eyes. “And some directive-making Knight Vigilant decided to ensure that the quartermaster of an outpost must be a Knight of ‘some seniority’. So, instead of me teaching the soldiers how to fight like a real stallion, I’m stuck here.”

“And of Lady Pure Shine?” Indium raised an eyebrow.

“She’s a Knight Radiant,” Mithril waved it off, “so she has to oversee the infirmary. Not much at the moment, I guess, since the only injuries would be ponies ‘accidentally’ stepping into a bucket of nails.”

Indium winced. “I thought that would happen.”

“Anyways, I’ve prepared your kit…” He hoisted a bag full of supplies onto the counter. “...right here! Just help me sign against your name over here.” He placed a document and a pen before Indium, pointing at the empty box on the right.

Indium scribbled his name onto the paper.

“Thank you.” Mithril retrieved the document. “Actually, since we’re going to train together, why not set up your tent next to mine? It’s just over here.” He gestured to the nearby tent.

“That’s convenient,” Indium observed, finding it rather close to the stores.

“Yeah, I have to be near the stores so that I can open it up if somepony needs supplies at night or something. Or to stop those scummy heretics from stealing our supplies.”

“Right…” Indium nodded, taking the bag from the counter. “But sure, I can camp next to you.”

“Awesome!” Mithril’s wings fluttered. “If you need any help with building your tent, I’ll be happy to help.”

“Thank you, sir.” Indium tossed the bag over his back and adjusted its position.

“Don’t mention it,” Mithril’s voice came from behind as Indium turned back, heading for a small, flat patch of grass next to Mithril’s tent. Dropping his saddlebags and supplies off onto the ground, he stretched his neck and spine, releasing the strain on his back.

He opened the bag Mithril had given to him, revealing a set of pegs, rope, groundsheets and supporting struts. He quickly found himself throwing a clean groundsheet onto the grass, before hammering the struts into the soft ground and tossing more groundsheets over them. Pulling the groundsheets down with his teeth, he hammered the pegs down, anchoring his tent in place.

In a matter of minutes, he was done. He took a few steps back, grinning at his newfound construction, even though all the tents down the line looked identical to his.

Throwing the flap of his tent up, he collected his articles by grabbing them by the teeth and tossed them into the interior. After removing his horseshoes, he clambered into the tent, before closing the flap.

Lying supine onto the dry groundsheet despite his armor, he smiled.

It was home.

Author's Note

Happy Lunar New Year Eve to everypony!