Noctra Havarax

Chapters

1. 姻缘红线 [The red string of fate]
Interlude 1
2. 千里之行... [Journey of a thousand miles…]
3. …始於足下 [...begins with one step]
4. 希望... [Hope...]
5. …有双刃 [...has a double edge]
6. 新活开始 [New life begins]
7. 怕生恨 [Fear breeds hate]
8. 老友，新友 [Old friends, new friends]
9. 引狼入室 [Inviting the wolf to your home] part 1

1. 姻缘红线 [The red string of fate]

Mysterious. Incredibly handsome. Tall.

Apt words to describe The Courier. He is elite, indomitable, five out of five. This is his fifth mission of the evening.

Vehicle checks?

Tyre pressure - perfect. Judged not by a machine but by The Courier’s experience.

Oil level - low, but what can you do? Shit’s expensive.

He pumps the brakes. A loud squeak etches itself into the night atmosphere, no doubt drawing the ire of residents around. The Courier rises to his full height and flips back the hood of his specialist Winter Protection Gear. It is now that the connection is made.

He’s not tall.

Nor is he particularly handsome.

The ‘Winter Protection Gear’ has a massive picture of Donald Duck on it. He got it from Primark. It was 50% off.

The Courier’s long jet-black hair cascades from its prison and into his eyes. With a dramatic huff, he blows it out of his brown eyes as he examines his latest mission briefing. Deliver one Mighty Kebab PizzaTM from Doner and Dusted. The Courier makes a mental note to check out Doner and Dusted if he’s ever drunk and in the area. Returning his dossier (phone) to its specialist holding cell (selfie stick taped to his bike’s handlebar), The Courier prepares to deliver. The Courier always delivers.

Well, except for the time he misjudged the friction in his tyres and face planted, unceremoniously painting the pavement with blood and tikka masala.

-15 dosh, +1 zero star review, +1 banged up phone.

The Courier’s keen eyes glance once more upon his decrepit phone, making out the text on the spiderwebbed cracks. Chinese curses sail through The Courier’s teeth and into the night air: “哇擦！这什么鬼 [What! The fuck is this]!?”

Before him a mission of impossible proportions was displayed. He would need to deliver a Mighty Kebab PizzaTM from Doner and Dusted (Bermondsey) all the way to Nell Gwyn House (Chelsea). A grueling 45 minute bike ride. And those rich fucks wanted express delivery.

“Who the fuck in Chelsea eats kebab. I thought they only ate baby deer the boujie fucks. And why the fuck are they ordering from Bermondsey!?” The Courier mutters to himself while hoisting all 70 kg of his short stack frame onto his electric bike. The Courier is slightly overweight according to the National Health Service but it didn't really bother him.

Okay maybe it bothered him a little, but what can you do when your diet consists of energy drinks, booze, and instant noodles.

The Courier pushes off into the veil of night, worn calves and thighs giving protest to his strict money making schedule. He is determined to complete his mission.

Nothing more satisfying than +6 quid and a five star review that I’m not going to get… Fuck off Deliveroo, taking the fucking piss. Six bloody quid! The Courier thought, an expression one would see after exiting the toilet at KFC displayed on his face. At least I’m one step closer to that sweet, beautiful Steinway. Speaking of… The Courier haphazardly flips around on his phone while screaming through the streets of London at speeds way faster than he should be going.

Yes, he is the reason people in London hate bikers. However, like a true Londoner, The Courier does not ‘give a fuck’ about ‘all that shit’. After 5 seconds fumbling around with his phone and not paying attention to where he was going, Beethoven’s 5th piano concerto roars to life in his headphones.

Here we go, just a few more nights of this, The Courier thinks to himself as he settles into his biweekly routine of delivering food to the lazy denizens of London. The grand and triumphant opening of Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto invigorates his body, egging him on toward his goal.

Another night being the one and only Cyrus. So amazing. Very cool. Cyrus brooded, Beethoven’s music doing nothing to soothe the melancholy invading his headspace. Shutting his brain off, The Courier faithfully allowed his phone to lead him onward.

That pattern is damn infuriating, Princess Luna, Diarch of Equestria, former Grand General of Equestria, Immortal Manifestation of Night, thought as she stared up at her (very new) ‘avant garde’ ceiling. Her old room was redone upon her return, courtesy of her sister. Something about a change of scenery.

Change. Do away with the old sordid memories and welcome in the new sordid memories.

No! Steel thou emotions! Luna chastised herself. To her, bitterness was the norm. Screwing her sleepless eyes shut, Luna let loose an explosive sigh as if to expel her grim feelings across the room. Sleep often evaded her as it had evaded her tonight and every night for the past three months. Gingerly, she opens her eyelids, allowing her teal eyes return to the illogical and unending pattern. Luna’s attempts to trace an origin and end point are completely futile.

Where doth it begin and where doth it end! Infuriating! Against aesthetic and common sense! She thought, anger creeping into her head-commentary. She wasn’t actually angry, it was just something to distract herself with before-

*RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING-CLUNK*

‘Alarm clock’. Useless if one is as disciplined as I. It barely rings for a second before Luna’s magic shuts it off. Rolling to the edge of her bed she flops to the floor, four hooves landing in practiced fashion.

*Plomp*

She blinks. A familiar memory sinks its grotty claws into her mind. Wrenching it from the present, leading her down and down and down……

*Plomp*

Luna lands on her balcony. Her mane whipped and billowed in an invisible gale of her unconscious conjuring. She knew she needed to cool down, so she decided it would be prudent to fly three laps around the perimeter of the Everfree.

Cold. Bitter. Scorned. Hated.

Her emotions refuse to subside, leading her to snort in indignation. The cover of her night shrouded the land. Feared. Peppering the sky hung her painstakingly crafted tapestry of stars. Ignored. She marches into her room.

Cold. Bitter. Scorned. Hated.

Peasants! Daring to sully my name as scolding for children! Luna screams internally, her practiced stoicism creaking and groaning against the tides of her emotions. Details of the latest dream she had soothed rose to the forefront of her memory. An unsavory affair for the lunar diarch. The child, having received one too many ‘Princess Luna shalt eat thee if thou don't finish thine oats’ scoldings, had let out a monstrous shriek the moment Luna appeared to conduct her duty.

Cold. Bitter. Scorned. Hated.

My country knows NOTHING of my sacrifice, liquid anger spilt forth onto Luna’s cheeks, dropping to the marble below. The victories I hath won, comrades I hath buried! They see me as inept?! The angry thoughts grow like a hellish choir, ripping into the mind of Luna and tearing joy and pride away.

Forgotten. Useless. Inept. Unable.

I shall remind them of the bones upon which they stand! I AM my sister’s equal. In many ways, I am her better. Who was it that marched upon Old Cravenmore? Who was it that shattered the hippogriff-griffin alliance, delivering them defeat after defeat? Who was it that saw Sombra’s treach-

*WHAM-CRACK*

The bedpost never stood a chance.

Wounds on my body. All for peace. Some things never change, Luna bitterly brooded, nursing the new bruise forming on her tear stained cheek. Luna’s ears swivel, straining for evidence that somepony had heard her smashing her muzzle against the bedpost. Her keen and practiced eye sweeps the room, looking for other signs of damage.

Said room is quite sparse, Luna yearned not for the grandiose. Simply the essentials: bed, bathroom, liquor cabinet (loooooooooooooots of liquor), wardrobe with a mirror, and a small balcony. Of course, who could forget, a mare of her stature would also have an armor stand (chainmail and plate), sword and shield stand (her favorite), tail-blades (her invention, she's very proud), spear and halberd stand (she dabbles) mace stand (she dabbles less), and the latest in military technology: a repeating crossbow (she’s learning, she enjoys the challenge).

Yep. Nothing grandiose or superfluous. She’s a simple mare.

Convinced nopony heard, Luna’s ears fold back to equilibrium. She slinks toward the wardrobe to assess the damage. On her way she bumps against her easel, rattling the empty and neglected canvas that stood upon it. Courtesy of you-know-who.

“A time and happiness I no longer deserve,” Luna spat toward the paints standing dutifully to the right of her easel. Reaching the mirror, she inspects her wound with trained expertise.

A simple fix, I hath suffered far worse. Luna mused, the beginnings of a healing spell reaching out of her mind. A flash of her horn and the blemish is erased. Promptly, Luna marches to her bathroom to prepare herself for the night ahead.

Cyrus hates coffee, but he has no other choice. Coming home after completing his nightly duty as The Courier, he had (unfortunately) spied that his laptop was on. Even worse, as he was promising himself that he would go to bed at a ‘human’ time tonight, he noticed that a certain Discord channel was populated with four familiar usernames. In Cyrus’ culture 四 [four] meant 死 [death] but that had never stopped him before. The grim decree was displayed in yellow: ‘@ELCHINO445 @torbfromoverwatch flex? need one, on smurfs, free wins’, the irrefutable call. Duty and honor bound, Cyrus had no choice but to boot up League of Legends. This was mistake number one.

Gotta chug at least half this shit down before Waterloo. Otherwise I’ll be dead tired for this lesson, Curys thought, his face contored in the classic ‘fuck off’ London look. I wonder if she’s practiced at all or if I’ll have to suffer through another hour of dogshit Bach. Cyrus pondered, ‘fuck off’ face teetering toward ‘I will kill anyone who speaks to me’. He was listening to Mahler’s 5th, not the best choice for a grumpy, sleep deprived half-breed.

He sat in carriage six, the toilet carriage. It was the carriage closest to the ticket gates. He could sit in the less smelly and toilet free carriage five but that would mean like +5 seconds to his commute - an unforgivable sin. He gingerly blows on his coffee while ruminating on a lesson plan.

She’s bloody screwed if she doesn’t shape up. You can pass grade 5 without much practice, but grade 6 is different. If she doesn’t pass, it’ll be somehow my fault, Cyrus bemoaned, melancholy permeating his mindscape. Work had evaded Cyrus out of university, positions had went to people with more 关系 [relations, in this context: nepotism]. He had to teach to eat.

It’s not like I don’t like doing it, it’s just that the students do not fucking care, Cyrus brooded. Seriously, why bother learning if you don’t care? Cyrus mirthlessly chuckled to himself. Being half Chinese, he knew full well the answer to his question. Tipping the cup to his lips, Cyrus bravely gulped the bitter liquid, not noticing the trio of buildings whizzing by that signaled the slowing down of the train. This was mistake number two.

“哎，哇擦 [Ah shit]!”

Well there goes that coat, Cyrus thought, cursing his slowness. Jerking upright from his languid lounging position, Cyrus got to futility wiping at the offending brown stains. When did my life become like this, man. Wish I could go back to uni, those days were fun. Too long gone. And it’s only been a bloody year since graduation…

No, don’t moan. 笑一笑，十年少 [smile and you’ll be 10 years younger]. I’m going to depress myself into an early grave. Cyrus chastised himself, violently shaking his head as if to rid himself of his negative thoughts. The doors slid open accompanied by the shriek of the door alarm, jarring Cyrus into the present. Swiftly, he collected his bag and stepped onto the platform. Resolving not to let himself fall into the vices of grim reminiscence and depression, he finished his revolting drink. Muscle memory took over, deftly guiding him to his destination.

Luna loves coffee. To her, it was the perfect drink: concentrated energy. Perfect if she had a short time to refuel before marching to the next battle. Luna downs her third night court espresso, her seventh of the evening. Night court, following the trend of the past two months, was empty. It wasn’t always this way, the first resumed sessions of night court were abuzz with sinister activity. Nobles, in a bid to get away with some shady requests, had come pandering to the Princess of the Night to exploit her thousand year gap in knowledge.

Confuse her with modern linguistics and ideas, make a big pile of cash, thought every noble in the waiting room. They came, like mosquitoes to water, armed with graphics that were designed to confuse rather than enlighten. Of course, with all the tact gained through her long life, Luna had handled the situation with tact and finesse as expected of a princess……

“Tis thievery! Thou wish to cut HOW MUCH tax upon thy properties and revenue?! What say you to our hospitals? Our military? Our schools? Thou calls thyself a noble, yet act peasantly! Pray tell, dost thou think us inept?! ‘Trickle down’ economics? Blithering idiocy!” Luna shouted in her Royal Canterlot Voice, shaking the room with her (incredibly) poorly veiled contempt. Fortunately for the slumbering citizens of Canterlot, a magical sound barrier was erected before the processions began.

By whom? Guess.

Golden Coin, who’s confidence upon entering the room had all but faded, was shitting bricks.

“Y–your highness, if you’ll just look at the d-diagram,” Golden Coin bleated, gesturing a meek hoof toward the incredibly verbose bar graph. Her mind was too terrified to do anything except parrot her script. “L-less tax for The Golden Corporation m-means more money for development p-projects. T-the wealth will be r-r-regained by the crown when m-more workers work-” Luna interrupts her by blasting a sigh across the room.

“Thou speak like a brigand. Begone,” Luna declares, her royal raised hoof signaling the end of the meeting. Golden Coin beats a hasty retreat, legs shaking as she sprints for the door.

“Perhaps we shall ‘trickle down’ upon thee,” Luna snarks across the room. Golden Coin squeaks in fear as she skids out the room and round the corner.

“I shan't ‘trickle down’ upon her. She would derive pleasure!” A chuckle rising out of her chest and into the open air. Her guards have no fucking clue what to do with the illustrious, prim and elegant (so they are used to) Diarch of Equestria making piss jokes, so they stand in default: ‘uncomfortable silence’. Once upon a time, they would join her in laughter. Fear of status and station washed away by the friends they had buried and battles they had faced. Prudes, Luna thought, her joy soured as she sat in silence, yearning for days of old……

After that incident, nopony would bother to come. It was clear Luna was still pretty sharp despite her extended vacation and hotheaded nature. Straight back to the far more soft spoken Sun Sister who wouldn’t kick your shit in for saying stupid shit.

Of course, Luna received the scolding of a lifetime from her sister the next night……

“Tia, she was an idiot.”

“Yes, I understand that Lu, but you can't go calling ponies idiots or peasants in this day and age.”

“Why? If she so chooses to act peasant-like, I shall say it so. And I did not call her an idiot. I called her idea blithering idiocy.”

“Lu, calling somepony’s idea ‘blithering idiocy’ is the same as calling the pony stupid. Besides, you just called her an idiot like 4 seconds ago.”

“... Fine, I shall try to stow my temper”

“Okay… Last thing. What’s this I'm hearing about you threatening to pee on her?”

“Bah! A joke! I was simply trying to lighten the mood. Break the ice with the statues thou call the guard.”

“I… Ugh! Luna, you can’t joke about that stuff! Especially not in that context. I… know it’s hard adjusting, but- Oh Luna, it’s okay… shh… it’s okay……”

Celestia, leveraging her boundless influence, had tried to contain the fallout. Gossip, being the unstoppable force that it is, would not heel. Word of Luna’s temper and alleged proclivity for urinating on ponies had spread across the land like locusts.

On the bright side, Luna had a better understanding of what pissed off meant.

Truly, how doth Tia stand the incessant badgering, Golden Coin had me at my wit’s end, Luna pondered, gazing upon the empty throne room. Perhaps I should count my blessings. Tis not an easy task… Grahhh! Infernal boredom! Luna restlessly bounced her foreleg, hoof rhythmically bouncing on the floor. Her expression contorts to a bored, helpless frustration.

It has always been this way. Luna thought. A mistake.

The memories burst forth like a tsunami, dragging her into the depths. Suffocating……

Control slipping. 82 percent.

“It has ALWAYS been this way!” Luna screamed at her sister, angry globs of spittle flying from her mouth. Her illustrious sister wore an expression of abject shock, as did the guard. “Thou languish in the light, while I am cast toward scorn and darkness! The useless one! The tactless one! The bringer of death and misery! Thou hast surely heard the scorn thrown toward me, yet thou turn a blind eye! Lest thine image be harmed!” Accusations flying across the room like arrows, aimed directly at Celestia’s heart.

“Sister! Please, lower thy tone. Do not bring distress to my little ponies.” Celestia reasoned, annoyance made plain on her muzzle.

Control slipping further. 67 percent.

“Ha! Tone or not, I bring them distress regardless. I, the vile blood-drinker. I, who shall eat every misbehaving colt and filly in the land. I, the inept ambassador, with no tact or kindness!” Luna hissed, mane flying wildly as her emotions ran unbridled. Her tears flowed like angry currents, reflecting the torrent of her insecurities.

“Luna! Nopony calls you that. Nopony says-” Celestia’s counterargument is cut short by a howling scream from Luna.

Control diving. 23 percent.

“NOPONY CALLS ME THAT?!” Luna shrieked, “Sister. Thou forget I am privy to ALL secrets in the dreamscape. They TARNISH my name! I, who have BLED and toiled on the battlefields of old?!” The last statement said with such sweeping vitriol the guards were knocked to the floor.

“Luna, I did not mean to cause offense! See reason,” Celestia ordered, brow furrowing in plain frustration, “I am busy now, we can discuss this later.”

Control plummeting. 8 percent.

“Too busy?! For thou kin? Reason!? Do NOT accuse me of madness sister!” Luna spat, chewing each syllable like a disagreeable mouthful of oats. “Perhaps your little ponies require reminding of thou failures? Sombra?! Allowing the Griffins and Hippogriffs to amass troops near our borders?” Luna’s attention snaps to one of the recovering guards. Before she is able to stand she is wrenched in front of Luna, a blue glow of magic enveloping her body.

“Tell me, doth thou remember the war?” Luna coldly interrogates, the temperature of the room rapidly dropping. The winds pound against the windows, aided by supernatural forces. The guard can only manage a gurgle of pain as the full weight of Luna’s mana-field is brought upon her. Roaring at the unsatisfactory answer, the guard is violently smashed to the floor, tile parting to make room for its new guest. Luna lets loose a cold and loveless scoff. Her form shimmers, eyes becoming slitlike, fangs protruding from her mouth. Celestia’s mouth hangs open in shock.

“Proud to have it, selfish as not to share with thou ONLY kin. Perhaps a demonstration of my might is long overdue. A reminder of why”- she gestures to the guards -“they exist. Why thou EMPIRE exist!” Luna declares, all traces of warmth erased from her soul. Her coat blackened in the candle light as she grew.

“Sister! Thou has shed the blood of our guard! Our fellow countryponies! Do away with this form immediately! This show of violence is unnecessary, do not embarrass us further!” Celestia orders, stamping her hoof as if to end the conversation.

Control critical. 1 percent.

“EMBARRASS?! Thou art the embarrassment! Thou find me repulsive in this form? The form that won Equestria her wealth and peace!? UNNECESSARY!! I. SHALT. SHOW. THEE. UNNECESSARY!!!” Luna howls across the throne room, shaking the castle to its core. Last vestiges of self control shattered to pieces like ice thrown on pavement.

The tiling shatters with the force of her pounce, eyes glued on her sister with enough hatred and malice to fill the oceans. Her silver blade, glinting like a sea of stars, arced toward Celestia, grasped tightly in Nightmare Moon’s magic. The guards act quickly, forming a tight defensive barrier around their sovereign. Nightmare Moon changes her trajectory with practiced ease, left wing abusing the air currents generated from her magic as she deftly avoids the guard’s jabbing halberd. Twisting her body, she rockets out her hind leg directly at the guard’s head. The impact lets out a massive-

*CRRRRRRAAAACK*

The tiles stood no chance.

Panting like a madmare she shoots onto all fours, startling the guard in the process.

“We shall be in our training range. Alert us if we are needed.” Luna barks with a bit too much bite, her vision narrowing as her body vibrates with adrenaline. Her horn flashes to mend the tile, ridding the evidence of her sorrow. Her guards call out a resounding and confused ‘Yes, your highness’ as she rounds the corner and out of sight.

“Any luck on the job search?” Cyrus questioned, shooting a weary glance to his friend. The smell of sweat and booze permeate the air.

“Nah, nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Pigs will fly before I find work related to my degree. I’ll be working in a bloody Tesco for the rest of my life.” Cyrus’ friend flatly replies before taking a long drag of his Guinness.

“Bruh. Jake, don’t tell me it’s THAT fucking bad. You graduated with a First!”

“Listen, man. I just can’t win. Even with my degree it’s just fucking impossible to crack into psychology without contacts. Network is net worth and all that shit.”

“Faaaaaaaaaking ‘ell”

Jake lets out a dejected sigh, putting his glass down on the windowsill he was perched upon. Manchester City was playing Arsenal at 8:00 and it was 7:45. Naturally, this meant that The Wellington was packed wall to wall with rowdy football geezers, all joking, jeering, and letting out the occasional chant. Normally it would be impossible to find any space to occupy that wasn’t part of the churning human sea. However, unlike the sweaty hordes of jersey wearing chappies, Cyrus and Jake were professionals. On matches as important as these, they always made sure to get to the pub early and sit on the second windowsill down from the women’s toilets. It gave them unparalleled access to the tv and the bar was only a (literal) hop away.

Matchday aside, this was a ritual for Cyrus and Jake. Each friend was always sure to block out time to sit and bitch about life in The Wellington every Monday. It is a sacred ritual and both friends observed it like religious fanatics.

Cyrus had just finished his Monday teaching circuit and was feeling particularly moody, a fact reflected in his slouched spine and sagged shoulders. None of his students practiced because of course they didn't. They’re up to their necks in tutoring and clubs, who has time to practice the piano? They must win the rat race! And that meant being able to cram your university application with five billion accolades so you can go to university, then you can cram your CV with five billion more once you graduate!

A blanket of silence envelops the duo, both silently chewing on the state of the world like a bit of rind. Daringly, Cyrus breaks the silence: “Fucking grim, eh? Us povvos never stood a chance.” This gets a chortle out of Jake.

“Hah, yeah. Should have listened to our parents and become doctors or lawyers or whatever,” Jake shoots back, dimpled cheeks evidencing a small smile forming on his face. “Well, guess we all can’t be as subservient as him.” Cyrus barks out a laugh at the mention of him. A most unsavory classmate, a walking example of perfect filial piety. He was a douchebag, through and through.

“Yeah man, I think he deserves to be a doctor actually,” Cyrus says, raising his voice to a tone of exaggerated incredulity. “Oh, you’re sick? And I suppose that's somehow my fault.” Cyrus imitates his unique speech pattern. Jake bursts out in laughter.

“Hm, you say you have a lump? Yeah it’s cancer mate, unlucky. Now fuck off I’m too busy supplying the sperm bank.” Jake imitates in turn, earning a string of laughter from his friend.

“Mate, you’re so much better at imitating Yang than me,” Cyrus chokes out through his residual chuckles. Jake lets out a big sigh, swiftly killing the shared mirth.

“Yet he’s the one with job prospects. Maybe we shouldn’t slag him off too much…” Jake points out dejectedly, giving Cyrus a defeated look. Cyrus puffs out his chest and cheeks, letting out a massive raspberry in response.

“Listen man, I don’t care if that fucker is the god damn CEO of Amazon. He’s a fucking prick. Spent his life bouncing on dick perma tryna social climb or whatever. Then he went home and glazed his parents so they’d bail him out of trouble at school,” Cyrus says with faux frustration. He takes a break to drain the last of his Guinness before continuing.

“He may be the G.O.A.T. of bringing honor to the family but at least we had the backbone to do what we wanted. Even if it did end up with you working at Tesco and me having to endure ear cancer every time I listen to my students. And because I do what I want, I’m going to slag his bony arse off till the day I die.” Cyrus finished, dramatically bringing his glass to the windowsill with a loud thump. Laughter breaks through Jake’s pensive features at his friend's dramatics.

“Ear cancer eh? Nobody practiced again?” Jake asks, quirking an eyebrow at Cyrus. Cyrus can only respond with an exaggerated facepalm. Then, dragging his hand down his face as if to rip off his skin, Cyrus lets out the mother of all groans.

“Mate, don’t even get me started on those kids. They all bloody hate it. Bless them. Already got so much on their plates ‘cause their parents- '' drunken singing erupts from the pub, cutting Cyrus’ bitching short.

“NOOOOOOOOOORTH LOOOOODON FOREVER!” The rowdy pub crowd sings, unbelievably out of tune. Jake and Cyrus can’t help but smile. In sync, they straighten their backs as they raise their glasses. It was their national anthem after all.

Whatever the weather,

These streets are our own.

And my heart,

Will leave you never.

My blood will forever,

Run through the stone.

A loud cheer and residual blasts of ‘Arsenal, Arsenal, Arsenalllllll’ echoes across the pub as kick off begins.

“If we win this we win the prem right? What are the chances Arsenal take it?” Jake asks hopefully. Cyrus turns to his friend with a giant shit eating grin.

“Zero! We fucking stink man! But we can always hope.”

Her movements are swift and precise, like a falcon diving for prey. Her expression is that of pure focus as she tugs the invisible tether between her mind and blade. Her sword wobbles in response. Satisfied, she flicks her thoughts upward, twisting her blade through the air while whipping her tail around with deadly speed. Attached to the end of her tail a thin and sharp blade glints like water under moonlight. Poised to deal death, it is headed for one destination: her enemy. Luna’s deft and careful eyes track her tail-blade’s flight path. Synchronizing her strike, she brings her blade downward in one swift thought. An inescapable combo. A shattering crack echoes across the training room.

Staring directly into the eyes of her enemy, Luna admires her handiwork. The tail-blade was lodged firmly in her enemy's throat while her sword had split its skull. Wrapping a hindleg around her tail, she yanks her tail-blade out of her victim while urging her mind to dislodge her sword.

Right. I shall practice my sword forms next, then perhaps I shall play a bit with my new ‘crossbow’ thing. Luna mused, her plate armor clanking as she arched her back in a catlike stretch.

I miss sparring with the gladiators. Twas fun, even if I won every time. Focusing her magic on the battered dummy, Luna casts a mending spell. She takes the opportunity to give herself some reprieve, sitting on her haunches while staring at the reconstructing dummy. It was then she realized.

She smelled revolting.

It was only natural. Having stormed out of the throne room 3 hours ago in a state of distress, Luna had defaulted to her regular wind down routine.

50 laps on the ground
50 laps in the air
Twenty wing pushups
Repeat 1-3 wearing chainmail. Then half plate. Then full plate.

Once her short warmup was complete, Luna had made her way to the middle of the track where her dummies awaited their nightly punishment.

The offending stench reintroduces itself to Luna, her muzzle contorts to a grimace at the foul smell.

Stars above, I stink! Luna thought, turning her muzzle upward in disgust.

“Stars above, Lu, you stink!” A familiar and teasing voice snarked from across the training ground. Panting, Luna lazily flaps a wing in greeting.

“Salutations… Tia…” Luna managed through her steady panting, heart rate steadily receding toward rest. Levitating a cup of water to her side, Luna asks: “Pray tell, why art thou awake at this hour?”

“I thought I’d check on you. Heard from the guard that you… Well…” Celestia says, awkwardness settling around the room at her statement. Luna turns to give her sister an unimpressed eye roll.

“Twas a small hitch, I am fine. To borrow a phrase from modern vernacular: ‘I am as fit as the fiddle’” Luna retorts, a bitter edge creeping into her voice.

“Lu, I know you’re going to say that I am foaling you… but that’s exactly what the problem was. Lu, I…” Celestia trails off, her vocal chords paralyzed by her swirling emotions. Luna snorts.

“Tia, I am not a foal. Do not make me feel more useless than-” Luna’s sharp reply is cut short by a curt stamp of Celestia’s hoof.

“Lulu, you are not useless!”

“Thou seem to act as if I am.”

“I… Just…” Tentatively, Celestia raises her head, her mind churning with all the ways she could say sorry. Her eyes, brimming with yearning and pain, lock with Luna for a moment.

Familiar eyes.

Thousands of slimy appendages burst forth, abducting Luna’s mind into the waiting void.

“Too slow.” Nightmare Moon boasts, lazily flicking her blade to deflect Celestia’s desperate strike. Nightmare Moon throws a taunting hoof across the room, drawing attention to the corpses lying on the floor. The crimson blood of the guard pools into the cracks between the tiles. Nightmare Moon lets out a ghastly laugh.

“Look at how thee failed them,” Nightmare Moon jeers, sneer of utter contempt on her muzzle. “Thou art truly weak.”

I am truly weak.

Without warning, Nightmare Moon bolts forward like a flash of lightning, arcing her sword toward her sister’s head. Celestia’s mind is barely able to complete the logistics of a teleportation before the blade reaches her. Gasping, she collapses in exhaustion, last fragments of strength spent. Nightmare Moon saunters toward her prone sister, angry sparks flying as she drags her sword across the floor.

“Thou art pathetic” Nightmare Moon taunts, fangs spread in a sinister grin.

I-I am pathetic

Nightmare Moon reaches her prey, her lips curled in a predatory smirk. Pressing Celestia's face into the floor with her forehoof, she leans down to her ear.

“Thou could have prevented this.” Nightmare Moon sweetly whispers like a mother to their child.

I c-could have prevented t-this.

“If only thou were stronger…” Nightmare moon whispers as Celestia weakly thrashes underneath her. With a sudden motion, Nightmare Moon relinquishes her hold. Desperation and fear tainting her magenta eyes, Celestia turns to plead with her sister. A silver flash greets her.

Not a strike designed to kill. A strike to wound and maim. Celestia howls in pain.

“L-Luna… Lu-”

“-na? Luna?!” Celestia’s worried shouts rescue Luna from the dark recesses of her mind. The sound of plate armor clattering against each other fills the training range as Luna violently shakes, her breath coming in short ragged bursts. Doubling over, Luna unceremoniously retches the contents of her stomach onto the floor. Celestia rushes over, her wings wrapping her sister in a tight hug.

“Luna, it was my fault. I’m so sorry. I should have listened… I should have…” Sobs choke Celestia’s throat, cutting her apology short. Both sisters weep, past sins spilling forth from clenched eyelids and laid bare against the night.

Man, this has to be the last time I do this shit, 哇擦 [in this context: bruh], Cyrus promised himself, legs working double overtime to ferry him over Blackfriars bridge. Today was Friday and it was 8:23 PM A.K.A. The Goldmine A.K.A. The Grim Affair of Turbo Doom. Tonight’s artist in residence would be Tchaikovsky because The Grim Affair of Turbo Doom requires a balm of beautiful romantic expressionism.

Lurching and leering, Cyrus winds his bike onto the A3200. A straight shot down then a few side streets and Cyrus would be done for tonight. +32 quid would become +36 and ordinarily Cyrus would not give a shit.

This time, however, it was different. Today that +36 meant something special. Finally, after eight months of toil and sweat (and eating of incredibly cheap meals), Cyrus would be able to purchase a Steinway and Sons Essex Upright: Model EUP116E with an Ebonized High Gloss finish.

He was fucking drooling over that shit. He had been drooling over that shit ever since he sat down in Steinway Hall on Marylebone Lane and played on it for the first time. Gone are the days of renting out practice rooms or playing on his shitty pre owned electric keyboard at home. Soon, Cyrus would be a real pianist! He could invite all his friends around and play Chopin, Bach, Liszt, Beethoven, all the greats! Maybe his career would take off, he’d finally have a call returned!

Okay! Next right past Lavington street and I’m there! Oh! Beautiful white piano, you will finally be mine, Cyrus thought to himself, spirit soaring with giddiness and gleeful delight. Fanatical fantasizing egging him on, Cyrus increases his speed. Great Guildford Street comes into sight and Cyrus wasted no time, shooting toward it like an arrow. Shifting his weight to the left, he tilts his bike rightward and whips around the corner.

What awaited him was definitely not Great Guildford Street.

The first thing he noticed was how clean everything looked. London is a shithole, wherever the fuck he is right now isn’t. Pristine floor, pristine walls, pristine pots of lavender sitting on the pristine walls, pristine stained glass windows.

Wait, what the fuck? Stained glass windows? I’m… inside? Cyrus thought, absolutely befuddled and bewildered. His confusion is probably why he didn’t notice the giant open set of double doors, leading to a lavish and pristine throne room.

“Halt! Who goes there!” Comes a very authoritative female voice. Cyrus’ eyes immediately snap to the source. What greets him makes him do a mental backflip.

That’s a horse?! Uhhhh… with a… Horn? Wait what the fuck, wings too?! Cyrus thought as his poor mind raced at a mile a minute to make sense of his new situation.

Suddenly, he noticed the set of stairs growing in his field of view. And the other horses who were pointing very sharp objects in his general vicinity.

“FuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” Cyrus screamed, his fingers locking around the breakhandle. The loud squeak, akin to nails on a chalkboard, blasted around the room, causing the big blue horse’s ears to fold against her skull in protest.

Cyrus’ logical mind flew through all the possible explanations for what exactly was going on. Much like how Cyrus was flying through the air right now, courtesy of the friction in his bike tyres.

With all the grace of a walrus, Cyrus belly flops with an unceremonious plomp at the foot of the stairs. Adrenaline fueling his fried brain, he flips onto his back and bolts upright, only to find a silver blade nary an inch from his face. Cyrus lets loose a scream that would have him taking shit from his friends for the next year.

“什么鬼 [What the hell]!?”

Author's Note

Ello. This is my first story. Hope you enjoy.

Just kinda fleshing out characters this chapter nothing crazy yk.

Please lmk if my writing is passable, I've been told my imagery is a bit strange/odd. I like a bit of goofy and I like a bit of serious. Hope the moods don't crash too heavily.

Ch2 will come soon, I'm still depressed over Arsenal bottling the league.

Interlude 1

Birth and Youth of Noctra Havarax

Born during syzygy, no cry was uttered into the night but the cry of Her mother. 1:1

But She was given rage and life, She could see all. 1:2

Born to lead and born to carry burdens. 1:3

Born to dominate, all would fall before Her. 1:4

Born younger of the two, but not weaker. 1:5

They stepped from outer-lands, uniting the ground, sky, and mystics. 1:6

In hundred-thousand battles, She prevailed. 1:7

*NOTE FROM TRANSLATOR: A large section is too waterlogged to make out.

Broken blade, She fell to the ground in a heap of her own Zhet. 1:n

But she would be her own blade, from silvery moon came salvation. 1:n+1

Linked in mind, she slew the transgressors, beginnings of conquest. 1:n+2

Her allies, the ground, sky, and mystics, applauded her name in fanfare. So Her and Her sister’s princessdom is made by their howling cries. 1:n+3

She loved her ponies like Her mother loved Her, She wished to give them life. 1:n+4

She went to other lands, looking with Her all-seeing eyes under Her all-seeing moon. 1:n+5

And so our messiah came, dictated by red weave-trail**. 1:n+6

**NOTE FROM TRANSLATOR: unsure how to translate

2. 千里之行... [Journey of a thousand miles…]

Some time later…

Okay breathe in breathe out calm down be calm it’s okay I’m just dreaming it’s fine it’s okay its fine

A brown paper bag was glued to Cyrus’ mouth, rapid and gasping breaths causing it to expand and crumple in rapid cycles. He sat in the middle of the throne room, about three paces from where his bike lay. Surrounding him were colorful cartoonish mini-horses. Each had not so cartoonish and incredibly sharp medieval weapons pointed directly at him.

Okay okay okay okay it's fine everything's fine I'm just dreaming I’ll wake up soon and then I’ll be in bed maybe I’m in the hospital maybe I don’t know were there drugs in the house did I accidentally eat some LSD or whatever I knew I shouldn’t have gotten those dodgy yellow label mushrooms please let this be fake-

Cyrus is wrenched from his panicked thinking by a dainty and elegant ahem, his eyes instantly darting to the source. The Big White One, the one who convinced the Big Blue One to not turn Cyrus into human sashimi, looks at him with a strained smile. The White One takes a gentle step forward.

“Pardon me,” The White One begins in a female cadence. Her voice flows like honey, smooth and elegant. It could soothe stormy seas and calm the most rabid of beasts. It was like water to a thirsty man, angels descending from on high.

So, naturally, Cyrus’ panic increased.

Horses aren’t supposed to talk! WHY THEY HELL ARE THEY TALKING?! Cyrus screams internally.

“Are you ready to talk?” The White One gently asks.

FUCK NO!

Cyrus violently shakes his head in response while increasing his breathing frequency. The paper bag strained to contain the force at which air was being pushed into it. With a tired pop, it bursts, gaining an undignified yelp out of Cyrus. Startled, he falls to the floor and immediately assumes the fetal position. Next to the Big White One, the Big Blue One snorts.

To Cyrus, the Big Blue One’s voice was like cock and ball torture in audio form. Cyrus wondered if she had swallowed a microphone or simply had a subwoofer installed in her throat.

“Luna, what did you do to… uhh it?” The White One’s voice floats over Cyrus’ panicked hyperventilation.

Wait she has a name Luna thats weird what the fuck talking horses!!!!!!!!!! what the hell is going on and they weren’t even touching their weapons some have wings some have glowing horns is that how they move-

“I didn’t do anything, sister! This… creature had somehow evaded our guard and infiltrated the throne room! If it did not falter, its attempt on my life may have been successful!” The blue one, Luna, sounded pissed.

Sisters they’re sisters okay at least that makes sense they both have horns and wings and… attempt on her life??????? what is the Blue One talking about why is the horse talking she almost stabbed me in the face what the hell I want to go back to my shitty little apartment in shitty fucking Clapham-

“Lu, I really don’t think it’s trying to kill you. If it was, I highly doubt that it would be curled up on the floor having a panic attack right now.”

“It must be a trick! To let our guard down. It is a threat, it has developed some form of powerful concealing magics, its mana signature is invisible. Even I, with my magical prowess, was unable to detect it!”

“I dunno, Lu, I’m not sure-”

“EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!” Cyrus screamed in his best imitation of Luna’s voice, his burnt brain having reached his utmost limit. Shakily, he scrambles to his feet, his full height just about meeting the White One’s eyes.

“You! You! You! You! And you! SHUT UP!!!!!” Cyrus punctuates each you with a sharp jab of his finger. The White One takes a shocked step back, brow furrowing. Luna’s features tense.

“You’re not supposed to fucking talk!” Cyrus arms make gesturing sweeps toward every horse present, he then violently jabs his thumb into his chest, “I’m supposed to talk! I’m supposed to be delivering pizza right now! I’m not here to kill any of you freaky fucking horses!”

A gasp circles the room.

“Whorse! Thou failed an attempt on our life and now wish to insult us?! Insolent! Prepare thyself! Thy end is now!” Luna’s sweeping voice blasts Cyrus back a foot. For the third time this evening, Cyrus’ body impacts the floor, his hands clasping his ears in a futile attempt to block out the acoustic assault.

“Luna! Let’s not be so hasty, it is clearly confused!” the White One reasons as she gallops in front of Luna, putting a firm hoof down. The White One looks over her wither at Cyrus’ pathetic prone body. Turning back, she shoots Luna a sheepish look.

“Besides, it looks pretty… weak. Physically. Concealing magic or not I don’t think this creature would be able to withstand a melee with you. Or any guard. Just let me talk to the poor creature.”

“Fine, Tia, do as thou see fit.” Luna huffs, fixing upon Cyrus a death glare hot enough to evaporate water.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell. Can someone put ‘er on mute?” Cyrus moaned, cockney slipping through his practiced posh accent as he tried to rub the pain out of his ringing ears. He craned himself upright, racing thoughts now cleansed by the sonic bath he had just received. ‘Tia’ clears her throat again, gaining Cyrus’ attention.

“I’m sorry, please forgive my sister, I do not know where you come from but here in Equestria the word whorse is incredibly rude. It is used as an insult to describe… promiscuous ponies. In a very insulting way.” Celestia sternly, but gently, lectures. Cyrus blinks owlishly in return. He narrows his eyes and scrunches his face, clearly in deep thought.

Wait. Promiscuous? Synonyms: slut, harlot, whore, skank... Whore. Horse… Whorse? It clicks in Cyrus’ head.

Despite the situation he found himself in. Despite the various weapons that have been pointed at his face in the past hour. Despite the trembling fear and terror Cyrus felt at the moment, he could not help but throw his head back and laugh like a hyena on gas. The White One looks on in concern.

“I - aha- I didn’t mean - ahahaha - my bad-” Cyrus attempts an apology, unable to finish a coherent sentence between mad bursts of cackling. Luna’s death glare intensifies, upgrading from evaporating water to melting steel.

Without warning, Cyrus goes completely rigid. Eyes wide and face grim, he swings his hand in a mighty arc to slap himself across the face, knocking the laughter out of his body. The White One raises an eyebrow, her concerned face twisting into worry. Pain having replaced mirth, Cyrus locks eyes with the White One.

“Ahem. I apologize… uhh madame? I guess? I did not know. My bad.” Cyrus apologizes without bursting out into manic panic induced cackles. It was a close call.

“Thank you, apology accepted. Now, it appears we started off on the wrong hoof-”

“Wrong hoof!? No way…” Cyrus interrupts, breaking out into chuckles. Somehow, Luna makes herself look even more pissed. Displeased with the lack of fear being shown by Cyrus, Luna makes herself known by tapping her sword on the tiles, each clink ringing out a clear message: ‘I would literally cut your head off if I could’. Cyrus, having got the message, beats down his hysterics.

“Uhh. Sorry again. My bad. Please continue.”

“It’s okay. As I was saying, we have started off on the wrong hoof. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Celestia,” she gestures a wing toward Luna, ”and this is my sister, Luna. May I ask what your name is?”

“Cyrus. And uh. I’m a he. Just by the way. Not an it, thanks. Nice to meet you. Uhhh Celestia, right? I’m-” He is interrupted by a loud stamp of a hoof.

“Thou shalt address us as our station demands! Your majesty or your royal highness will suffice.” Luna activates the boombox, projecting her glass shattering voice across the room. Everyone around the room cringes as their ears are assaulted for the third time this evening.

“Lu, inside voice please.” Celestia speaks up with all the patience she can muster, her ears flattened against her skull.

Luna harrumphs, landing on her haunches with a metallic clang. To Cyrus’ abject shock, she wills a whetstone into existence. All the while, she keeps her sight trained on Cyrus, her eyes boring into him as if to dare him to step out of line again. She brings her sword to the whetstone.

“Lu, is that really necessary?” Celestia grouses while casting a nonplussed look at her sister.

*Shiiiiiiiing*

“Yes.” Came Luna’s curt response.

Celestia lets out a long and drawn out sigh. Collecting herself, she clears her throat again.

*Shiiiiiiiing*

“As my sister has so deftly pointed out, we are the sovereigns of this nation: Equestria. May I ask, given that you seem to be unfamiliar with your surroundings, where you are from?” Celestia gently poses the question, trying her very hardest to put Cyrus at ease despite somepony’s best efforts.

*Shiiiiiiiing*

Cyrus’ eyes dart between Celestia and Luna, each sinister scrape of Luna’s blade on the whetstone causing him to flinch.

“C-Clapham… uhhh…” Cyrus stops mid sentence, an idea clicking into place in his head, “yeah I’m fucking dying, innit.”

As if on cue.

*Shiiiiiiiing*

Cyrus could have sworn he saw Celestia’s left eye twitch.

“I can assure you that you that nopony here will attempt to kill you.” Celestia volleys, maintaining an air of calm and control. Luna rolls her eyes.

“I… don't mean it like that. I can’t lie, I’m pretty sure this is all happening in my head right now. As in this is the last thing my dying brain is doing to comfort me before I bleed to death. Bit of a strange way to do it though.” Cyrus returns in a surprisingly calm tone of voice, his deep fried brain at rest now that it has finally cooked up a reasonable explanation for his current predicament.

*Shiiiiiiiing*

The twitch intensifies. Celestia does her level best to give Cyrus a warm and reassuring look.

“Well, Mr. Cyrus, I can assure you that what you are experiencing now is definitely real.”

“Nah. I don’t think so.”

“I beg to differ-”

“Nope. 闭嘴，滚 [Shut up, fuck off],” Cyrus dramatically flicks his hand to a window, finger pointed directly at it, “should be dead any second now.”

Again, on cue.

*Shiiiiiiiing*

Celestia vehemently regrets waking up now. Plucking the last dregs of her patience from the depths of her soul, she steels herself for one last attempt at reason, restarting: “Well you’re not dead yet? And if I recall it has been about an hour and a half since you were… discovered here.”

Cyrus would have loved to ignore that piece of logic. It would have made things easier for him, better to live in ignorance after all. However, his brain, the traitorous and masochistic wretch it was, acted differently.

“Huh. Um. I suppose that makes sense… So. Uh. Oh god. This is real?” Celestia nods at Cyrus’ statement, concern visiting her features again as Cyrus slowly sinks to the floor.

Okay I’m not dead or dying is that really fact I don’t know maybe wait does that mean I’ll never see home again wait no I have to be dying right there’s no other explanation but it has been a really long time I’m stuck here I’ll never see them again I-

Suddenly, Cyrus collapses, his brain deciding that enough was enough. Luna scoffs, unimpressed. She disapparates her whetstone.

“Perhaps the worst assassination attempt I have ever borne witness to. Even still, we must stay vigilant.” Luna comments. Trotting over, she then prods Cyrus’ body with a hoof, dissecting him in her mind and pondering exactly where her blade should strike to dispatch him as quickly as possible.

Celestia’s sighs, massaging her temples with her hoof in a vain attempt to kill the oncoming migraine. Tonight was going to be a long night.

*Clink, clink, clink*

The sound of chains rattling fills the air as Cyrus shambles behind Luna. Celestia, abandoning Cyrus for sleep, had left him in the care of a very grumpy looking Luna. A horrid turn of events for the poor, confused human.

Luna had insisted that he be kept in chains, much to the ire of Celestia-

Well, actually, Luna had insisted that he be thrown into the dungeon with no less than six guards posted at his cell door. Also much to the ire of Celestia.

Celestia, desiring nothing more than to retire to bed and nurse her growing headache, had painfully negotiated a middle ground. Cyrus would be in the care of Luna. In chains. Those were non negotiable.

Yipee!

Better than whatever medieval torture dungeon they no doubt have here, Cyrus mused as he shambled along in his uncomfortable getup. The handcuffs - hoofcuffs? - were incredibly uncomfortable, certainly designed for any creature but humans. They bit into Cyrus’ wrists, gnashing against steadily chafing skin.

Won’t be long before they start bleeding. Christ… Cyrus inwardly lamented as he tried his hardest to keep in step with Luna. Fortunately, he wasn’t being forced to drag his chains around, nor were there heavy weights attached to the ends of the chains. They were currently being held by the contingent of guards accompanying him to his new abode.

Apparently he was super dangerous or something.

All things considered, it wasn’t the chains or hoofcuffs or various other items attached to Cyrus’ body that pissed him off the most. It was his shiny new collar. An incredibly gaudy and downright painful looking contraption, it was orange with jet black spikes jutting out at regular intervals along its circumference. Wearing it wasn't painful in the conventional sense, it was just really irritating. Similar to a tie, it was slightly too tight so that it’s always uncomfortable but not tight enough to choke you. It also buzzed for some reason, tickling Cyrus’ Adam's apple in the most aggravating way.

All in all, it looked, felt, and even smelled like it belonged in a BDSM deviant’s closet.

“Okay, listen, I’m okay with the handcuffs, I get it. And the arm and leg chains. And whatever the hell you put around my waist. I am begging you, can we please do away with the collar? It’s really really uncomfortable. And it makes me feel like I’m in a porno.” Cyrus bemoaned, earning an evil glare from Luna as she looked at him from over her wither.

“No. Thou shalt stay in chains until thee proves thine innocence,” Luna haughty retorts, her eyes narrowing further, “We do not understand the dark magics thou hast employed to hide thine mana signature. We shan’t allow thee to spread thy influence.”

The archaic speech was really starting to piss Cyrus off.

Self-preservation be damned!

“Alright then, my apologies. I shan’t question thy wisdom and most shakespearean modeof speech any longer, Your royal, esteemed and fair, highness. Bloody ponce.” Cyrus jeers with sarcasm so thick it could be bottled and sold. With a sudden angry stomp, Luna brings her march to an abrupt stop, startling the accompanying guard. She spins around.

If looks could kill…

Cyrus jerks forward, a sudden blue force ripping at his chains and tugging him to a kneeling position.

“What didst thou call us?” Luna hisses, bringing her muzzle uncomfortably close to Cyrus’ face. Cyrus, instead of backing down like the screaming voice of reason was telling him, chose to stand his ground. He brought his lips into the most contemptuous sneer he could muster.

“Nothing. Your royal highness. Your excellency must have misheard this lowly peasant’s uneducated and animalistic speech.” Cyrus languidly replies, dragging his vowels as much as possible to leave room for the concentrated sarcasm of the entire British isles. Luna’s fur bristles, her fiery eyes almost setting him ablaze. She opens her mouth. Cyrus braces for the incoming sonic megablast.

Her lip quivers. Sadness?

All that comes from Luna is a frustrated snort. Stamping her hoof once more, she relinquishes her magical hold on Cyrus’ chains.

The march resumes in thick and silent animosity.

Bloody?! Why would he call me that! Luna paced her room in a panicked, sleepless gait, How does he know?! Impossible! That part of history has long since been forgotten!

Luna had only felt panic a fleeting few times in her entire existence. Anger? Sure. Frustration? Plenty. But rarely had Luna ever panicked.

She did not panic when her hoof got stuck on a root while engaging an ursa minor. She did not panic when her squadron was ambushed, half of them wiped out in one volley of arrows. But somehow, one word from the newly arrived alien had completely set her off.

Normally, she would immediately head to the training range to blow off steam. Maybe disintegrate a dummy or twenty. That was not an option this time. It was designated sleeping time for Luna. That meant that there were ponies about.

Ponies who would stare.

Ponies who would shiver and slink away at the sight of her.

Ponies who wound her in ways that they will never understand.

So she performed her rapid, self-preserving gait in her room. The distant scenes of her past lash from the recesses of her mind, dragging her through that sordid memory lane kicking and screaming.

Her enemies fell like dominoes. Her fangs and blades sunk into their necks like a knife through butter. She feasted.

She would parade the rolling fields, head held high. Her brothers and sisters in arms would faithfully follow her conquest.

“We are invincible! Nothing can stand in our way!” They would jubilantly sing as they marched alongside her. This brought her joy.

She would win Equestria her rightful lands. She would bring prosperity to all. She would cut down anything foolish enough to stand in her and her sister’s will.

And so she shall bathe in the blood of Equestria's enemies and win victory after victory after victory…

Luna quickens her pace, her heartbeat pumping through her ears. The aching pain of old wounds shatters her defenses like glass, laid bare in her mind.

“I heard she performed some form of ritual with them. Gave her powers. But she requires sacrifices…” Come whispers in the night.

I bear this curse for you!

“Apparently, she can go berserk when she’s upset. The battle of Dyrant river…”

They would have slaughtered us if I had not intervened!

“She’s like them. Drinks blood like them. Verily, I do not feel safe with her as ruler… Keep this between us though? I don’t want her to overhear, she might come after me…”

I would never harm my countryponies! I……

Luna awakens from her harsh reminiscence huddled in a corner. Her muzzle is firmly buried beneath her wing, tears winding freely down her face.

I was once loved…

Slowly, Luna lifts her head up, catching her reflection from the wardrobe mirror out of the corner of her eye. She allows her tired eyes to drift toward it. Her reflection stares back, hollow and broken. Luna lets out a shuddering breath.

This is not… I will not… Luna screws her face in rare determination, I will not subject myself to such lows! I will prove myself to them! From the depths of her soul, a flutter of desperate hope rises.

He… he must be evil! Luna clamors to her hooves, her mind dead set on a single goal.

When he reveals his true colors, I will be there! Like I always was! I SHALL PROTECT THEM! AS I ALWAYS HAVE!

Approximately a week later

Cyrus sat on his cushion, pondering exactly when and where it all had gone horribly wrong.

Was it picking music in A levels or GCSE? When exactly did I think it was a good idea to pursue music? Had to have been the first time I heard Symphonie Fantastique… Yeah it’s for sure that French fuck’s fault, Cyrus bewailed in his head, being sure to curse every possible thing, god, and whatever in existence. Especially Hector Berlioz. Hector got twenty extra curses.

If I hadn’t had an interest in music, I would have done engineering or law or medicine or some shit at uni, then I wouldn’t have had to make bloody deliveries to bloody Great Guildford Street and end up in talking pony horse magic bullshit land…

To say that the past week has been an ordeal would be the understatement of the century. Even basic things like eating were horrendous for the poor human. Cyrus was subject to porridge and salad at every miserable meal. Ponies did not eat meat because of course they bloody don’t. When he did scrounge up the courage to request some meat to round out his diet, he was met with the wrath of Big Blue……

“The creature eats flesh!”

“Listen, I’m not going to eat any ponies! Relax. It’s just that we’re omnivores-”

“Nay! Falsehoods! We have seen thy teeth. Thou art carnivorous! How can we trust thee not to lose control?”

“For fuck’s sake!”

Celestia, watching this unfold while trying her hardest not to explode, smashed her hoof on the table……

Big White, as she often did, stepped in to smooth things out. Much to Big Blue’s chagrin, Cyrus would be allowed to eat fish for one meal everyday.

What’s her fucking problem? Cyrus ponders as he swaddles his makeshift blanket-toga closer to himself. It wasn’t that he wasn’t allowed to keep his clothes, although Big Blue did insist on incinerating them. It was just that today was laundry day. Cyrus’ clothes, fresh out of the sink, were currently draped all over his room in haphazard fashion.

To be honest, not much of a change from his abode on earth.

The only constant in Cyrus’ daily drip were his chains and collar. At the very least the hoofcuffs had been done away with after Cyrus bled at least a pint of blood onto the carpet. Of course, it was somehow his fault. Something about ‘splattering thy vile blood as a means to corrupt those passing by!’ Or something.

Whatever that meant.

However, these daily ordeals had evolved into somewhat of a comfort for Cyrus. He found that, although physically he was suffering, it was much better than being allowed to sit and think. That always ended in disaster……

“I… do not have good news on that front,” Celestia gently said to Cyrus while desperately trying to give Cyrus a comforting smile.

“Cmon, just give it to me straight. No sugarcoating.” Cyrus responded, his voice balking under the pressure of crushed hope. His eyes refuse to leave the floor.

“Ordinarily, most magical events produce a signature. However, your transportation… is somehow completely void of a magical signature,” Celestia’s voice wavers, the practice she had done this morning in the mirror faltering, “we’ve checked every avenue. Chaotic, harmonious, emotive, evocation. Nothing. WIthout the signature, we are flying blind…” Celestia trails off, the sheer despair emanating from across the room robs her of speech.

I’m never going to see home again.

And with that, the tears begin. They pause and waver every so often, but never end……

Sometimes he’d scream into his pillow until his throat went sore. Sometimes he’d sit in the corner of his room like a ghastly hollow, unresponsive until the guards burst in to clamp him in his chains. Sometimes he’d stand dangerously close to his window, thinking about doing it. There were many close calls.

Cyrus’ eyes glance toward his captor. Big Blue sat upon her throne like Ozymandias, complete with sneer of cold command and all such adornments. Cyrus really hated Big Blue.

Of course Big Blue Bitch here just had to take charge of me. What is her fucking problem!? Cyrus moaned to himself. He knew better now than to speak. First evening notwithstanding, last time he lipped off he ended up getting dunked in the nearby fountain. Magic didn’t affect him due to his alleged lack of a ‘mana signature’ but it did affect his chains. A fact that Big Blue liked to remind him of. A lot. The panic rises.

At least killing me would end up with Big Blue in big trouble. As much as it annoys her, she’ll probably keep me protected, Cyrus reasoned with himself, trying to bat down the rising anxiety brought on by the memory of his recent trip to the fountain. Cyrus knew that all any of these ponies-with-horns had to do to kill him would be to grip his collar and start shrinking. Or to grab his chains and start pulling in opposite directions. Or just kinda simultaneously stab him with ten-

Ah, there You are. Was beginning to wonder when you’d show up, I missed you last night, Cyrus thought, looking upward at His Monster. Its formless mass writhing and slithering, it cracks open its maw in a shrill laugh.

Look at you. SO helpless! It taunts, mocking laughter bouncing through the halls.

SO alone! It screeches while reeling its head back in joy and glee. Cyrus turns away.

Ha, alone? Still got you, mate. You can fuck right off, I don’t have time for You today. Cyrus retorts, causing the monster to writhe in laughter.

No time for Me? There is always time for Me. His Monster gently slides to Cyrus’ side, wrapping its fiendish appendages around his shoulders.

芒刺在背 [A thorn in my side], not the first time, not the last. Cyrus sets his jaw, bracing for the incoming war.

Ah yes… but this time it’s different. How are you going to get yourself out of this one, old friend? It slithers behind Cyrus, looming over him like a shadow. He knows better than to look, he must prepare.

Like I always have, Cyrus plants his imaginary feet in defiance. The battlefield comes into view.

What? With your irritating idioms and proverbs? Oh I bet you’re about to say something stupid like: 水满则溢 [Like how filling a full cup forces water out, misfortune will leave when there is too much; things will get better eventually]. It smashes against Cyrus, attacking his cracks like a rabid dog.

For a moment, It wins. Cyrus’ head turns halfway. It vibrates with glee.

Give in! I am trying to help you… It hisses, egging him on.

Better to light a candle than curse the darkness. Cyrus wrenches his head backwards and focuses his stare on the double doors as His Monster stirs behind him.

Ha! That one’s not even Chinese. What's the matter? Running out of steam? Jeering and shaking, it tries to recapture Cyrus’ attention.

Even if my situation is hopeless, I won’t give in. Remember? I promised You. 留得青山在，不怕没柴烧 [Where there is life, there is hope], Cyrus responds. His Monster slinks behind him in agitation.

Well that’s all very inspiring and whatever, but I know Big Blue wont be finished for another two hours and a half if memory serves. We can keep dancing to your vain tune, It whispers gently like a breeze. Cyrus finally turns to face It.

Go on then, I’ll lead. They lock eyes. Hand on waist, tendrils on shoulder, they start their vile dance with practiced familiarity.

To the side, Luna stares onward, dancing her own vicious dance.

Luna smashes her hind legs into another dummy, sending splinters sailing through the air. Unhappy with the speed at which the dummy was dismembered, she shakes her hind legs in an attempt to banish the residual stiffness brought on by five hours of uninterrupted sitting.

Right, three more of these then she fucks off and flys a few laps, Cyrus recalled, perched on his trusty cushion. This was routine for Cyrus now. Luna would drag him down to the training range for her nightly wind down routine.

Cyrus was pretty sure this was meant to scare the shit out of him. A childish tactic, a crude tactic, graceless and obvious.

But so incredibly effective, especially when she literally cut a dummy so swiftly it stayed upright until she pushed the top half over. So Cyrus sat there, shit successfully scared out of him. At least for the first few nights.

It was incredibly difficult not to imagine that he may or may not be on the receiving end at some point. However, repetition has slaughtered the novelty. Cyrus often debated whether or not slow clapping would be appropriate.

Nah. Definitely not appropriate given that’ll probably push this crazy fucker over the edge, Cyrus thought as Luna disembowels another dummy with a firm strike to its torso. Just what is her problem with me?

Celestia had been nice enough, often open for a chat as long as if You-Know-Who wasn’t in the room staring daggers. She’d even slip him a cuppa if he asked nicely. From what he could gather, the two sisters had a rather strenuous relationship. Cyrus bore witness to many tense exchanges between the two. Conversation between the two often never evolving past pleasantries.

Luna’s probably a spoiled posh brat. Too eager to hold her status above everything and everyone. Maybe she’s racist or something I don’t know, about par for the course for a boujiee. Although maybe not? She did shout at that guard for saying what I assume is a racist comment. ‘Wall clinger’. Apt slur for-

Cyrus’ inner abstractions are interrupted by Luna striding up toward him.

“We shall be flying laps for the next half an hour. We expect thee to stay vigilant with our charge,” She firmly orders while flapping the tightness out of her wings. Satisfied by the dutiful salute, she gusts off, gracefully lifting herself toward the night sky.

Can’t lie, she looks really cool when she does that. I’d compliment her but she’d probably tell me to kill myself. Or say she’d do it herself. Or something like: ‘thou ruffian art not worthy enough to gaze upon our form!’ Cyrus jested with himself.

Alone at last, Cyrus relaxes into his cushion, content with his thirty minutes of peace.

At least until the siren call of boredom wrests him from his calm, jerking him into restlessness. Ordinarly, music would be Cyrus’ escape from the clutches of insipidness. Unfortunately, Big Blue took hisphone away.

Not that it matters, haven't seen a bloody socket here since I’ve arrived. Cyrus inwardly groused.

He lets out a drawn out and throaty aughhhhhhhh, his battlecry against boredom. A few metallic clinks make themselves known to Cyrus as the guard behind him flinches.

Last time I tried to chat with one of these bat ponies I got the ‘sorry sir, under order of the motherfucking crown, I can’t talk’. Maybe this time…

“Sooooo… uhh. You like uhh… sports? Uhhh… foot- hoofball?” Cyrus starts.

Smooth one you bloody tosser, you don't even know what hoofball is! Cyrus chastises mentally.

The guard does not respond, opting to stare anywhere but where Cyrus was. Rearranging his chains, which were currently attached to heavy weights, Cyrus turns to face the guard.

“Um. Nice weather we’re having.”

Fuck’s sake you British wanker!

No response.

“Okay, listen, I know you’re not supposed to talk to me, but please I am going fucking crazy from the lack of human- er, pony contact!” Cyrus desperately begs the poor, flustered guard. The guard gives Cyrus an incredibly apologetic look, constantly flicking their eyes between him and the sky where Luna had disappeared off to.

“Please!” Cyrus rattles his chains in a begging motion. The guard’s stoicism remains untarnished. Immeasurably disappointed, bored, and thoroughly embarrassed, Cyrus begins the retreat toward his former position.

“Ahem. Um. I support the Crusaders.” A timid, definitely female, voice calls out to him from behind. Cyrus immediately shoots back around.

“Ah! Yeah! Uh. Crusaders! Ah,” Cyrus rapidly starts, overjoyed that he’d finally broken through, “okay, not going to lie, I kinda led you on a bit. I actually have no clue what hoofball is… Uhh is it kinda like, you have 11 a side and you have to get a ball into a net to score?” The last few sentences spoken with such vehement embarrassment it could kill a small elephant.

“Well, there are 11 players from each team, but we don’t exactly have a net. It’s more like a… zone?” She nervously replies, her ears constantly pivoting like a radar scanner.

“Ah! So more like rugby. Although that’s either 7 a side or 15,” Cyrus reasons aloud before it clicks, “American Football! Um. Hoofball. You score touchdowns?”

“Yes, we do. You have a similar game where you’re from?”

“Yeah! We do, although I didn’t follow it as closely as football- er hoofball- er soccer.”

Damn you Americans! Cyrus curses to himself.

“Oh! That’s quite an interesting coincidence. We also have soccer here, it’s really popular in Germaney and Trottingham. What team did you support? Maybe there’s a version of it here too!” The guard excitedly starts, former rigid caution thrown to the wind.

Puffing out his chest, Cyrus prepares his speech.

“Of course, as any sane individual born in the concrete shitholes of north London, I support the one and only Arsenal!” Cyrus widely gesticulates, flinging his chains through the air in excited pride. The guard giggles at his antics, finally put at ease.

Suddenly, a terrible thought enters Cyrus’ mind, freezing him in place. It causes him to shiver and shudder with a primal and evil fear.

“D-don’t tell me- You said that- Trottingham!” Cyrus wildly starts, his eyes shrunk into pinpricks, “Don’t tell me… TROTTINGHAM HOTSPUR EXISTS!” The guard reels back in laughter.

“I’m sorry to- ha -inform you, sir, t-that- haha -Trottingham Hotspur does exist.” She responds between fits of giggles. Cyrus flings himself backward as if he had been shot in the head, letting out a ‘nooooooooooooo’ of abject despair that would make Darth Vader blush. The guard is left in stitches. Cyrus clamors upright and onto his knees. He strikes a begging pose.

“At least tell me Arsenal is real!” Cyrus pleads, eyes shining with mirth. The guard bursts out in another fit of giggles.

“I- ahahah- I’m happy to inform you that they do indeed exist!” She responds, struggling to contain herself. Cyrus tips his head to the sky and shoots out a primal cry of relief toward the heavens.

“THANK GOD! Nooooooorth London forever,” Cyrus snaps his head down to look at the giggling guard, “you don’t know how much of a relief that is for me. Uhh… miss?” Cyrus trails off to allow the guard to respond.

“Cutlass. Pleasure to meet you, mister?” She offers Cyrus the same courtesy.

“Cyrus.”

“Well met, Cyrus. That was quite the display of passion. You remind me of a friend from Hornsey who has the same distaste for Trottingham as you do.”

“Again, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that actually, Cutlass. It’s really nice to have at least a tiny bit of familiarity here…” Cyrus’ tone journeys into sadness. He shakes his head with a sigh.

“You know, it’s been fucked ever since I came here to be honest. Like you’re actually the first person- pony, sorry, that I’m having an actual conversation with.”

“I… I’m sorry about that, really. I wish I could help but… I can’t really do much about it because… well. You know better than most.” She responds, sitting next to Cyrus in a show of companionship. Cyrus lets out a huff at the vague mention of You-Know-Who.

“Yeah, not to slag off your boss but she’s a right fuckin’ prick.” Cutlass shrinks back at Cyrus’ violent statement, ears back on high alert.

“Shhhhh! Don’t say that so loud!” She hisses.

“And what? She’ll cut my head off? Yeah, mate, she was going to do that anyway…”

“It’s not that!” Cutlass punctuates her statement with a passionate stomp. Cyrus is taken aback by Cutlass’ sudden conviction and firmness. Cyrus gives her a quizzical look. Her golden eyes reflect the care she is selecting her next words with.

“The situation is very complicated. She… She hasn’t been around for a long time. About a thousand years to be exact,” Cyrus’ eyes go as wide as dinner plates at the revelation. Cutlass sweeps the room once more with her ears before continuing: ”She was banished to the moon by her sister. It’s been really hard for-”

Cutlass’ ears shoot upright. Like a flash, she returns to her post. Cyrus gets the message immediately, he spins around, desperately untangling his chains and arranging them like they were before.

Luna swoops into the room with a refined gust of her wings, lazily landing on her hooves. Silver blade clutched firmly in her blue aura, she summons a dummy.

Cyrus puts on as straight of a face he can, his mind rushing with Cutlass’ revelation and the muted excitement of having finally spoken to someone new. It’s almost enough to block out the sounds of Luna’s morbid martial display.

Wait so… a thousand years is a really long time… That explains the way she talks. And the unfamiliarity with… She’s like me? Cyrus abstracts, eyes narrowing onto Luna’s form.

Then what is her FUCKING PROBLEM?!

Kew gardens is always beautiful in the springtime, Cyrus would always make a point to go. Coronation meadow, a favorite of Cyrus, is where he found himself. Sprawling to his left and right are the myriad of British wildflowers poking through the ground, each proudly sticking their flower buds upwards in a show of vitality against the universe. Cyrus stops to admire them. Even if they haven’t bloomed in full, Cyrus preferred it this way. It was life affirming to him, watching the struggle of nature as it grasped toward beauty and life.

The moon hung in the sky, gently beaming its soft silver light on the flora below. Cyrus crouches down to get a better look at a particular flower bush. His eyes trace the bush, moving from flowerbud to flowerbud, trying to find a pattern in the arrangement of the small purple-

Hang on, it’s night. Kew gardens is closed, Cyrus shoots back up, dread creeping into his chest. He shoots up, spinning round to observe his surroundings.

No way I stayed here past close. The security must have missed me… Cyrus trepidatiously tiptoes along the hedges, not wanting to get caught. That would be a very unpleasant mess and he had teaching tomorrow! Not to mention his friends were probably dutifully waiting at home for him to come on League.

“小火，你迷路了吗 [Hey kid, are you lost]?” Cyrus spins on his heels toward the source, eyes wide like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. What greets him is an old man, sitting on a bench. His baby blue suit and crisp red tie almost glow against the moonlight. Somehow Cyrus missed him on his walk.

The flowers are too pretty, what can you do?

“啊！对不起，我留太久了，忘记了时间 [Oh! Sorry, I stayed too long, lost track of time].” Cyrus throws his hands up in an apologetic manner. The old man chuckles, cracking out a smile.

“No problem, I’m not a security guard. Relax, we’re in the same boat. I’ve been waiting for you for too long.” The old man switches to perfect english.

Waiting for me? Cyrus clocks what the old man just said.

The old man’s smile suddenly appears incredibly creepy to Cyrus. The old man pats the spot next to him, motioning for Cyrus to sit.

“Cmon, have a seat. I need to talk to you about something, 红线小子 [red string kid].” The old man says as he reaches into his bag, pulling out a book as thick as his waist. Cyrus scoffs, taking a step back.

“神经病 [You’re crazy].” With that, Cyrus does a 180, putting as much distance between him and the old man as he can. As Cyrus strides away, he hears cackling laughter rising out from behind him. He shakes his head.

London, full of fucking crackheads.

“好吧！我时间多，我们一会聊吧。再见 [Fine! I’ve got loads of time, we can talk later. See ya]!” The old man shouts at the ever receding Cyrus.

Bloody hell, the security here stinks, Cyrus thinks to himself, his eyes flicking up to the signpost. Okay sign says the exit is to the-

Blood.

Pain.

A blade sinking deeper and deeper into Cyrus’ chest, draining his vitality as it plunges, winding its way through his body. Around him, cold golden orbs stare on. Their purple veils masking their mouths as they chant incomprehensible gibberish.

He can’t speak. He can’t scream. The pain is unbearable.

He wants it. Almost desperately.

As if in response, the red blade glows brighter. Twin ribbons are attached to the bottom of the grip. One blue, one red, they flap in the nonexistent gusting wind. Without warning, they shoot out toward Cyrus’ arms, wrapping around his wrists. The chanting gets louder, fervent excitement sweeping the room. The golden orbs look on expectantly. The ribbons pull forward, hilting the blade into his chest.

Cyrus is dying. His life is leaving his body. His vision blurs as he slips… deeper… into…

…

Hunger…

Rip them down! Tear their flesh! Crush their bones! DRINK THEIR BLOOD! Kill! Kill! Kill-

“Bleahrg!” Cyrus shot straight upward in an adrenaline fueled panic, sending the duvet flying in the process. Confused, he rubs at his chest, the dream he had woken from draining from the recesses of his mind. His eyes dart across the room in an attempt to locate any further threats.

Bedside table, wardrobe, drawers, Big Blue, Lamp-

“WHYTHEFUCKAREYOUHERE!?” Cyrus shrieks, throwing his pillow at Luna. It bounces off her magic shield and flops to the floor. Luna’s eyes narrow.

“We detected a vile nightmare originating from thee. Clearly this is how thou cast thy vile, dark spells. When we arrived, thou nightmare disappeared, an obvious attempt at trickery. Tell me, what is thou purpose here? Speak carefully, or face our-”

Luna’s raving rant is cut off by a choked sob.

“Please! I’m begging you! I did *sob* nothing! Please!” Cyrus cries out, his voice straining with the violence at which he was projecting his speech. Luna furrows her brow, her blade quivers in the air.

For a moment, Luna is convinced her sister was right. Cyrus was just a poor, confused creature who had been cruelly dropped into an unfamiliar land by the happenstance of fate. He needed help. He was alone. He was just like her. Maybe she-

NO! He is evil! He has to be! Luna banishes her empathy, bringing her blade closer to Cyrus’ head. The glinting silver catches Cyrus’ peripheral vision, he locks his eyes onto the sword.

“I-I did n-nothing. I just want to go home. Please…” Cyrus begs with a hoarse whisper, unable to contain the fearful shaking. Luna brings her scowling muzzle closer to Cyrus’ face.

I will strike him down! They shall love me for it!

“We are unconvinced with thou paltry acting. We have cast a sound barrier around thou room, there will be no emotional grousing to my sister tonight. Stop stalling. Tell. Me. Why. Thou. Art-”

“I don’t know! I don’t fucking know! It’s like the last five billion times I’ve told you and your sister, I just want to go home! I’M NOT TRYING TO KILL ANYONE!” Cyrus howls at the top of his lungs, sending spittle sailing across the room. Luna’s heart tugs at her mind, begging her to see reason. The cloud of wishful thinking refuses to budge.

“STOP STALLING!” Luna shouts, activating her Royal Canterlot Voice. With a tug of her mind, the flat of her blade makes contact with Cyrus’ cheek. The cold and icy silver drains the warmth from Cyrus’ body. He goes completely rigid.

Fight or flight?

Fight.

“DO IT THEN!” He screams, gripping Luna’s blade in his hand. Luna’s eyes widened in shock, trained on the blood dripping from Cyrus’ hand and onto the bed sheets. Her magical grip weakened for a moment. Cyrus takes advantage, wrenching the blade to his throat.

“Come on! I don’t have ANYTHING to live for anyway! Just slit my fucking throat and be done with it! Anything is better than the FUCKING torture you put me through everyday, you monster!” Cyrus spits through gritted teeth, the pain of his new self inflicted wounds screaming at him to let go. The blade’s soft luminescence grew to illuminate the blood trickling down its length. Luna lets out an uncharacteristic shuddering breath.

Weakness. Cyrus smells it immediately.

“What? Too chicken? Come on, mate, you’ve been drooling over this ever since you met me you fucking cunt. You wait too long and I’ll deprive you of the pleasure.” Cyrus taunts, wet and bitter eyes boring into Luna’s. Her lip quivers.

Cyrus senses it. Killer instinct activates. He violently pushes Luna’s blade away. The magical glow disappears as it clatters to the floor, plunging the room into darkness.

“That's what I thought. No balls. Too weak.” Cyrus jeers with his cracked voice, chewing on each word and spitting them out like venom. At that moment, the clouds move, illuminating Luna’s face. A shiny streak of water ran down the side of her face.

That was all he needed to send the killing blow. His bloodstained hand grabs the back of Luna’s head, wrenching it to his face.

“No wonder your sister wants nothing to do with you. Locked you up for a thousand just to get some peace of fucking mind.” Cyrus relinquishes his hold, flinging his hand as if to dismiss Luna. Blood specks fly from his hand and onto her face. She lets out a choked gasp.

Luna flashes her horn, disappearing with a loud *pop*. Cyrus stares at the empty space.

He rages into the night until he can rage no more.

What have I done?

What she always did……

Celestia begged her to stop. But she wanted more. She laughed as she watched her sister bleed out onto the floor……

The rebels begged her to stop. But she wanted more. She howled obscenities at them as she razed their homes to the ground……

The griffins and hippogriffs begged her to stop. But she wanted more. She cut them down, as cruelly as she could to serve as a warning……

She weeps into the night until she can weep no more.

Author's Note

Halor. Decided to split this chapter into two parts because it was getting waaaaaaay too long. Chapter three is in the pipeline & will be ready to go in the next few weeks.

Lulu is not being very nice (neither is Cycy to be fair), but can ya really blame em? They're victims of my character sheets.

Also where the fuck is Celestia, amirite? :trollestia: Why isn't she stepping in?! Does she value sleep that highly? I dunno, maybe you'll have to stick around and find outtttttttttttttttttttt :pinkiecrazy: .

Sry if this chapter is a bit of a downer, IT'LL GET BETTER PROMISE :twilightsheepish: .

I would like to thank you all for reading my story! :heart:

You lot got me into the feature box (for a pretty long time!) and that really means a lot. And thank you all for the kind comments! Hope this chapter delivered on your expectations.

Last thing: Anyone who can spot the ULTRAKILL reference gets +SSStyle and one (1) internet cookie. +ULTRAbrainrot if you respond in image form.

3. …始於足下 [...begins with one step]

The next day…

Knocking wrenches Cyrus into the realm of the living.

“Sir! Mister Cyrus!” A familiar voice calls. Cyrus’ memories of the previous evening rush past his mind. A sinking feeling of dread overcomes him as the details sharpen.

I’m dead as hell. Execution date: today. That’s Big Blue at the door with her guillotine. Cyrus’ animal brain proposes, logical side still booting up due to the cloud of fatigue clinging to his mind.

Although, that voice doesn’t sound like they’re trying to bust in here and chop my head off…

The knocking resumes, more frantic than before.

“Cyrus! Mister Cyrus!” The voice continues. It’s too familiar for Cyrus to ignore, his logical brain, having finally completed its boot sequence, needed answers. With great effort (not really), he pulls himself out of bed with a mighty huff.

Unrested and dehydrated, Cyrus shuffles to the door whilst tossing the duvet over his body to keep decent. He cracks the door open with his scabbed hand to greet the new arrival, squinting at the bright sunlight assaulting his eyes. A tired and haggard Cutlass stood in the doorway, a big smile plastered on her face. Cyrus’ trepidation melts upon seeing her.

“Oh, thank god it’s you… Give me a minute, my clothes are dry today. I’ll hop in them then you can put the chains on and we can…” Cyrus trails off. Slow and sleep-deprived, his brain makes a deduction.

“Hang on, it’s day. Like morning. Your boss is asleep.”

Cutlass’ grin gets wider.

“She’s decided to release you. You’re now free to go. I came to let you know.” She says, barely able to contain her growing excitement.

Huh? Wait what the… Cyrus’ brain does a backflip, face instantly switching to deep pensive thought. He stands in the doorway, his hand absentmindedly stroking the stubble he had accumulated in the past week.

“You okay?” Cutlass asks, concerned at Cyrus’ unresponsiveness. Cyrus, too engrossed in his thoughts to notice, stares onward. Cutlass’ smile wavers.

She… released me? But I could have sworn she… Nah this has to be some kind of trick or-

“Hey!” Cutlass shouts up at Cyrus, jerking him out of his deep funk.

“Sorry, just uhhh… not really sure what to think at the moment.” Cyrus mumbles, yanking his thousand yard stare down toward Cutlass. She looks back, concern endowing her muzzle.

“Well, she’s also appointed me as your escort. More like I volunteered. I was thinking you might need somepony to keep you company? Especially after… I don’t know. The princess had blood on her face? I thought you two fought.” Cutlass says, her tone tiphoofing around the elephant in the room. Cyrus lets out a grim chortle.

“Wasn’t really a fight.” He grumbles darkly.

“Either way, I thought you might want to talk about it?” Cutlass gently asks, projecting a gentle warmth on her features. Cyrus scoffs. She recoils.

“Nah. I really fucking don’t.” Cyrus mutters, his voice as prickly as a cactus.

“Oh.”

Cutlass looks genuinely hurt.

Shit, I’ve completely bottled that one, Cyrus mentally berates himself as embarrassment rushes to his face. Awkwardness fills the air as both parties remain in silence. Cutlass shuffles around a bit, eyes glued to her hooves.

They’re… kinda cute when they’re not trying to kill me… I really shouldn’t be so edgy. Cyrus muses. Feeling guilty at completely shooting down a well intentioned invitation, he breaks the silence with a dejected sigh.

“Sorry, emotions running high. Thanks. For coming. It’s good to know there’s someone- pony. Somepony out there. Fuckin’ ‘ell” Cyrus murmurs, frustration at his improper lexicon vented through cockney cussing and a slam of the door frame. Cutlass lets out an incredibly forced chuckle.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

The uncomfortable silence wraps Cutlass and Cyrus in its cold embrace. Neither party was willing to meet eyes or risk speaking, lest they say something wrong. Cyrus coughs, fidgeting with the door handle.

Yeah. I’ve fucked it. Stupid moron, your one chance… Cyrus broods, dejection invading his headspace. Clearing his throat, he prepares to salvage his embarrassment. Before he can, Cutlass cuts in: “Um… listen. I really don’t blame you if you don’t want to hang out with me. It’s not like we’ve done a good job earning your trust.”

Cutlass’ tone wavered with an antsy anxiousness. She wistfully turned her head toward the sky, her mind swimming with uncertainties. She draws out a forlorn sigh, despondently drooping her ears downward.

“I should have said something but I didn’t. This shame is mine to bear alone. I’ll leave you alone, sir. Please call on me if you need anything.” Cutlass finishes, professionalism regained in the last two sentences. Her face remains stony, but her golden eyes offer a portrait to her inner machinations.

She is genuinely sad. Cyrus’ heart could not bear to let her remain that way.

“Yeah. It’s okay. I get it, you were just doing your job,” Cyrus starts his ramble, Cutlass’ ears perk right back up in response, “it’s just… I really…”

“You don’t have to say anything if it’s too soon.” Cutlass cuts Cyrus off, gingerly stepping forward. She pauses for a moment to debate something. Mind set, she extends her hoof.

“Um… I really enjoyed talking with you last night. Will you… please give us another chance?” Her courage falters for a moment, “I’d like to be friends with you.” She finishes while hiding behind her indigo mane a tad.

Cyrus, for the first time in a while, lets out a genuine smile not brought on by coping mirth.

“You wanna be friends with the ugly gangly monster demon?” Cyrus jests in an attempt to lighten the mood. Cutlass flinches in response, but her worry is washed away by Cyrus’ growing grin.

“Yeah! Of course,” Cutlass volleys, returning Cyrus’ grin with an impish one of her own, “I mean, who wouldn’t? Once they see you with me, all the cute stallions will be lining up to talk to me. You carry some clout around here you know.” She finishes, throwing on a smug aura. Cyrus lets loose a genuine laugh at her antics.

“What about me?! Sure you get the stallions but where are my… uhhh mares? That feels really weird to say.” Cyrus quips back, injecting faux incredulity into his voice. Cutlass lets lose a hearty guffaw. Tension and trepidation melt away through traded wit.

“I’m sure they’ll be lining up for you too, ya freaky whorse.” Cutlass jibes back with the slyness of a politician, complete with all implied undertones. Cyrus breaks into a hearty chuckle.

“So you heard about that then?” Cyrus sheepishly rubs the back of his head.

“Half the guard has. Not often does somepony have the guile to call the princesses a ‘freaky fucking whorse’. You got teats, that's for sure.”

The pair laugh along, former awkwardness flowing away under the metaphorical bridge. Cyrus lets out a final chuckle, speaking up: “To answer your question. Yeah, friends.”

Cutlass looks like a kid at Christmas. Hoof bumps fist. The deal is sealed.

“Great! So, mister demon ape, what do you want to do?” Cutlass asks, golden eyes reflecting her golden smile. Cyrus tousles his hair in response, itching his scalp in an attempt to get some ideas generated. After a short (very) debate, he settled upon a tried and true British tradition, a tradition that has stood the test of time.

“Let’s go get drunk? Dunno about you but I could use a stiff one. If you’re lucky I’ll get drunk enough to sing. Are you alright with that?” Cyrus proposes. To his immediate relief, Cutlass gives him a nod and a smile.

“Absolutely! Although, we should go to the canteen first for some food. Then I can show you around? After that we can head to the officer’s club, cute stallions and- Don’t pout, you’ll get your mares. You get dressed, I’ll wait.” Cutlass answers, beaming a smile at Cyrus. WIth that, he shuts the door, excitedly leaping to his crumpled clothes that he had left in a ‘dignified’ pile on the floor. He practically flies into them. Whipping his face to his mirror, he starts to fix his hair.

He was beside himself! Finally, things were going to-

Silly, silly Cyrus. Too trusting. His Monster tuts as it materializes. Its black smoke creeps into the room, choking out light and joy. Cyrus grits his teeth in response, feet firmly frozen to the ground.

Fuck’s sake! Not now! Cyrus curses inwardly, caught completely off guard. His Monster, sensing his weakness, shatters into a thousand separate creatures, each one leaping through his mind as they gnash at his attention. They bite and scrape, tearing Cyrus’ joy and happiness into billions of tattered ribbons, never to be whole again.

You’re being played!

You can’t trust them!

YOU DON’T BELONG!

Alone… alone… alone…

She doesn’t care about you…

This is all fake…

They whisper over and over again, each repeating phrase a mouthful out of Cyrus’ calm. Like maggots they infest his mind and grow fat, cocooning into vapid and painful pellets. They torture his soul, metamorphosizing until they burst forth fully formed, ready to possess him.

All Cyrus could hear was the chorus of laughter as he slowly became consumed by His Monster. It growled in abject delight, eager to take control of Cyrus’ body.

I’m here to help… I’m trying to protect you… It whispers sweetly to Cyrus. He knows he needs to do something, he needs an edge, any edge. His Monster had ambushed him, he had no time to prepare an adequate defense nor would erecting one now make a difference.

Cyrus knew he had to counterattack.

Step 1: 分散敌功 [disperse the enemy’s progress].

Cyrus rubs the midpoint between his eyebrows with his thumb, the 印堂 [yintang: name of pressure point]. Placebo or not, it’s just about enough to shake a few of the thoughts off. A minuscule path forward is forged. His Monster rolls its hundred-thousand eyes.

Step 2: 知己知彼 [understand you and your enemy].

This is coming from the actions of another. Her actions are not equal to Cutlass’. Cyrus firmly reasons. The insects loosen their vice grip on his peace of mind as Cyrus slowly bats down each of his worries. His Monster snorts in annoyance.

Step 3: 攻击 [attack]!

I’m going to go out there and make something of this situation! Cyrus declares to himself, stomping his feet in tandem. The largest of his anxieties fade and flutter away, banished by his resolve. His Monster laughs in response.

You’ve already lost. Till next time… It whispers as It slinks into the floorboards and out of sight. Cyrus gently exhales. He lurches to the door and swings it open. The back of Cyrus’ mind flares, quiet infested whispers gently chastising him.

Be on guard!

You’re not like them…

This could be all a trick…

The terrible gnats gnaw at the back of Cyrus’ mind.

Upon seeing Cyrus, Cutlass perks up. This helps quiet Cyrus’ anxiety a little.

“Alright, let’s go!” Cutlass exclaims with a prance, jolting forward with uncontained excitement. Cyrus is glued for a moment, the debilitating whispers planted by His Monster singing its chorus in the back of his head. They scream at him not to leave, to stay safe in the confines of his room. Cutlass shoots back a comradely look, parting lips to say: “Hey! C’mon. You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Coming.” Cyrus replies, lie slipping through his teeth with such convincing ease. He jogs up to a beaming Cutlass. They walk along in lockstep to their destination.

The back of Cyrus’ mind quiets for a moment, but is ever present. There they remain, heavy, fat, and patient, ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

Celestia sipped her iconic tea out of her iconic teacup, sitting upon her iconic chair with her iconic regalia weighing gently on her iconic frame. The tea was a not so iconic marejeerling this time. First harvest. Produced by a family she had been buying from for generations. The tea had a wonderful floral aroma, no doubt helped by the bits of dried rose included in the blend. Simply put, it was delectable and perfect for the pre dinner snack of her choice: triple chocolate cake.

Celestia’s self destructive habit was sugar. She could eat it in droves, pounds, any form, any place. When cigarettes became popular, she had considered trading in her penchant for sugar. The first puff was quite nice, it made the stress of that particular day ooze out of her mind in heaping globs. The second puff felt great too, making her giddy like a schoolfilly out of class.

It took just about all of her willpower not to get addicted. Celestia knew she had to put a ban on them. Sugar would have to do.

Although, at the current moment, Celestia could have really used a cigarette. Like really really used one. Her mind drifts to the secret strongbox hidden in her safe which sat behind a portrait of the castle.

Life had been incredibly taxing for her. It was just one thing after the other. Budget issues (due to the new tax loophole), political issues (that bastard from the Equestria First party), her sister’s return (for obvious reasons), logistics of Discord’s reformation (still working on that one), and the new arrival, Cyrus.

At first, Celestia was overjoyed. It had been almost impossible for her little sister to make any friends upon her return; she had a thousand years of minuet social cues and interactions to catch up on. Each attempt Celestia made to help her sister make a connection had failed, shattering her heart into fragments of past guilt and shame.

I am still to blame. How could I have been so cold all those years ago… Too pushy… To headstrong… Celestia brooded over her tea, shoveling another mouthful of cake in her mouth to mute the oncoming sadness. Still, Cyrus’ unique circumstances presented an opportunity for her. Here was a creature, new to this land and completely alone.

Sheesh, Luna. Sound familiar at all? Celestia grouses, shoveling yet another mouthful of delightful triple chocolate into her gob. At this rate she’d eat the whole cake before Luna would inevitably shamble her way down to the dining room for breakfast. Celestia’s thoughts turn to the reports about Cyrus.

It took just about every fiber of Celestia’s near infinite willpower to not (lovingly) smack the shit out of Luna for being so daft. Especially after the fountain escapade.

And the time Luna refused Celestia the pleasure of engorging upon the raspberry pie she ordered after Cyrus had stared at it for too long.

And the time Luna insisted Cyrus walk around naked to ‘eliminate the chance of him stealing a weapon to harm somepony with’. Turns out his dick hangs out! Like he said!

There is still hope, perhaps they’ll reconcile.

She had desperately wanted to intervene, to tell them to make nice and be friends. To sing of rainbows and comradery while prancing the meadows of the castle.

But she knew that wouldn’t work.

And she promised herself, never again. Not after……

Not that path, you silly old mare. Celestia gently nudges her mind away from the past. She had spent enough time strolling through those old memories, wishing and wailing for a different outcome.

She has to want it for herself. I’ll leave her alone. Celestia resolves inwardly as the last morsels of cake find their way into her waiting maw. She’d always be there for her little sister, but now she understood she could never force her to do anything. As much as it pained Celestia to see her darling Luna go down the path of alienating yet another potential friend, she had to let her little sister do her own thing.

Celestia, having finished her last bit of triple chocolate distraction, turned her attention to the latest spending report. What she reads makes her wish she had another slice of cake to ease her frustration.

Silver Coat complaining about how much we are spending on public healthcare, again…

As she ponders the incredible display of greed laid out before her, something begins to irk Celestia.

It wasn’t the incredibly obvious attempt at dodging tax the Conservative Party was proposing.

Nor was it the incredibly concerning attitude the latest cabinet had on privatizing the Equestrian Rail Service.

She tries to blink the growing pit of uncertainty away, but it remains. She draws her eyes back to the budget report, only able to read about another two paragraphs before she drops it in disgust.

And to think. These ponies grew up abusing the graciousness of our programs and now they want to slash it to the ground… Maybe I should be more like my sister and tell them I’ll piss-

It clicks in her head. Her sister. Luna was late. Celestia’s uncertainty develops into nervousness. Her sister was never late. She’d always be on time to raise the moon, even when she was off conquering distant lands. Luna would only be late unless something utterly disastrous had occurred and at most for around ten minutes. Celestia glanced at the clock.

Five minutes. Either the world is ending or she’s been hit by a-

On cue, Luna brazenly smashes into the room in a staggered scurry.

The first thing Celestia notices is her bloodshot eyes.

The second is the smell of gin. Strawberry and rhubarb. Luna would only drink it when she was depressed.

The third was the absolute state of Luna’s tail, mane, and worst of all, wings. Hair and feather alike stuck up and out in the most wild and jumbled manner. Luna wasn’t exactly a mare to doll herself up for impressing stallions, but she at least kept it tidy.

“Lu, what the buck.” Celestia flatly exclaims at the thoroughly disheveled Luna. Luna only grunts in response, plopping her backside in her seat.

“Lu, why are you day drinking?” Celestia more demands than asks, brow already knitting together, displaying her frustration. Luna completely ignores her as she peruses the menu. It’s literally the same menu as last month, the castle changes its menu bimonthly. Luna knows this. Celestia, knowing Luna knows, can feel a twitch coming.

“Lu, did something happen? What-“ Celestia’s sentence is stunted by a fat sigh from across the room. With a gentle prod of Luna’s mind, she flicks the menu onto the table as she crosses her forehooves, striking the infamous petulant teenager pose.

“Tis not day drinking if it is past five o’clock post meridiem. I know your rules.” Luna bluntly mutters as she drives her muzzle into her wing, nipping at the offending feathers. Celestia’s eye finally completes its twitch. She knows she can’t win this one, so she tactfully switches the subject.

“Okay, fine, you got me. But, pray tell, why are you late?” Celestia asks in as gentle a tone as she can muster. Luna scoffs flippantly as she rips a mouthful of feathers out of her wing. She then spits them out onto her bread plate, earning a very raised eyebrow from Celestia.

“I am not late. I am due to raise the moon in thirty five minutes.” Luna declares before diving back into her wing, straightening her primaries.

“Lu, that’s not what I mean. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Oh buck off, Tia!” Luna shouts, accidentally ripping a blood feather out. She lets out a cry of pain, her horn instantly flashing to contain the bleeding. Celestia, spurred by the violent language and actions, pushes her chair back with a loud screech. She stomps onto her four hooves, face flickering between hurt and upset.

“Luna, please tell-“ Celestia is cut off by the sound of Luna’s glass smashing against the wall. Celestia is shocked still, her eyes darting to the broken glass. Luna lets out a guttural scream.

“WHAT IS THE BUCKING POINT!” Luna screams, fresh tears budding in her eyes. Instantly, Celestia moves to comfort her sister but she is rebuked when a dinner set goes sailing past her head and into the wall behind her. Celestia’s irises shrink to pinpricks, painful memories rushing and gushing to haunt her once more.

“WHY AM I HERE?! JUST TO RAISE MY INFERNAL MOON? NAY! THOU ART MORE THAN CAPABLE!” Luna howls to the ceiling. Luna brings herself to look at Celestia. Luna’s heart stops.

Celestia was shaking, magenta eyes dim and not present. Luna’s self loathing is doubled, crushing her lungs, filling them and drowning her. She sobs into her hooves.

“I-I am j-just a-“

Luna’s stuttering ramble is cut short by Celestia ramming her with a hug. She wraps her little sister with her ethereal wings. Luna gently raises her gaze to meet Celestia’s.

“Tia… I…is there no redemption for me? Am I doomed to repeat myself? Over and over…” Luna whispers, voice giving way to her emotions. Celestia gives her sister a loving nuzzle as she strokes Luna’s back with her wing.

“Lulu, please. Tell me.” Celestia begs, wiping Luna’s tears away with her primaries. Luna’s eyes find every space in the room but her sisters as she shivers in shame. Celestia never relinquishes her hold, guiding her out of her breakdown as she had done so many times before. Luna’s sniffles subside, with shackling shame, she tells her sister what she did.

How she bullied and belittled him, just to get a rise.

How she tormented and tortured him, just to see how he’d react.

How she stalked him in his sleep, desperately trying to pry into his dreams, to invade his mind.

“I wished upon everything I held dear that he was evil. I wished that I would be the one to prove it. I…” Luna can’t finish, the words are like glass, ripping her throat as she tries to eject them. Celestia’s heart breaks into a million pieces again as she watches her little sister wallow.

Celestia did not need an explanation as to why Luna committed those acts.

She knew full well. And that was the most painful part.

Everyday, Celestia watched Luna torment herself, trying desperately to win the love of ponies who would shun her anyway.

“Why did you leave him in my charge?” Luna asks, voice barely audible to the room. Celestia drags out a forlorn and distraught sigh, looking her sister in the eye.

“I think you know why.” Celestia whispers, analyzing every facet of Luna’s features to discern her reaction. Luna remains still, deep in pensive thought. Slow realization dawns on Luna, flashing behind her eyes as she mulled it over. Regret takes firm root on her features. Celestia’s already broken heart shatters again. Luna lets out a cold, mirthless laugh.

“And I shunned him instead of helping. Like he needed….” Luna cannot finish.

Not because of her tears, they had already run out.

Her emptiness fills the room with its tar blackness as she fixes her gaze on the dinnerware she had destroyed. The two sisters remain there, an all too familiar scene. With trepidation, Luna dares to glance upward at her sister, posing a question.

The question Luna had kept to herself for the past three months.

“Tia, am I a mistake?” Luna asks, barely above the ambient night sounds.

Celestia had prepared an answer for her question. Ever since her dear sister’s return, she spent hours in front of the mirror, selecting words with her years of political practice. Toning her expressions as she had done when comforting grieving husbands during tragedies long past.

All that practice was for nothing. Celestia could not form the words as she looked back into Luna’s broken eyes.

“Tia, is it too late for me?”

The implication is painfully obvious. It shatters the dam.

“No! Luna no please don’t say that! I *sob* please. I can’t lose you… please don’t give up…” Celestia begs between her heaving sobs.

“Spare your tears, sister. I am not worthy.”

“LUNA NO!” Celestia screams, guttural and primal, causing the room to vibrate as she projects her voice through the castle. The magic sound barrier glows, struggling to contain the audio bombardment.

Celestia breaks down, thousands of years of composure shattered by the crushing weight of a thousand years of loneliness. Unbridled and uncontrolled, with no end in sight she sobs. Like she promised herself she wouldn’t.

Especially not in front of the one she desperately needed to be strong for.

Luna no this is my fault all my fault everything is because I ignored you and told you you weren’t good enough and forced you to change and-

Suddenly, Celestia’s inner breakdown is halted when she feels an intense pressure around her midriff. Her eyes snap open to find her sister crushing her with a hug of her own, muzzle tracing the length between her chest and neck in desperate fashion. They lock eyes.

In unison, they plead: “I’m so sorry.”

Celestia returns her sister's hug, gently bringing her muzzle to Luna’s cheek, caressing in slow motions. The crying subsides slowly as a gentle warmth returns to the room. The two sisters share a moment in each other’s embrace, gently rubbing each other in comforting motion.

Just like the first time they stood beside their best friend’s grave, finding solace in loving embrace. Knowing that they could share their pain.

How many loved ones has she seen die, with no one to turn to? Luna pondered, bringing a hoof to her sister’s cheek.

How hurt were you when I turned you away, those thousand years ago. Celestia wondered, pressing her sister’s hoof deeper into her cheek to feel the warmth.

“I love you.”

“I love you too”

Does it really matter who said what?

Begrudgingly, they relinquish their hug. Luna, sober and somber, focuses her magic, fixing the broken dinnerware that lay scattered across the room.

“Perhaps the two of us were not being honest enough with each other.” Luna says. Celestia gives her a weak smile.

“Perhaps…” Celestia starts before melancholy forces her sentence down a different path, “I’m sorry, Luna. I should be strong. I should-“

“Nay. No more. It was never you or I who needed to be strong for the other. Just to be there.” Luna interrupts. Celestia breaks out into a smile more radiant than her sun, letting out a relieved laugh as her tension melts away. The two sisters take their seats in earnest.

“So. What are you going to do about Cyrus?” Celestia addresses the elephant in the room.

Luna’s face becomes the battleground for a fierce war. Regret, sadness, embarrassment and despair wage on, fighting for control.

In a flash, out of nowhere, a victor emerges. Determination. Real determination.

“The truth, sister. He may hate me for it. Verily, he already detests me. But he deserves the truth.”

Cyrus had a real pep in his step, he was almost skipping as he sailed his way down the castle vein.

Yes he was kinda drunk. Seven kirin pints (human pints mind you not prissy pony pints) was more than enough for the half breed, especially without having eaten much prior.

Inebriation aside, Cyrus was genuinely happy, which was great! It had been about a week since he had felt that way, he felt he was due for a break.

Hanging out with Cutlass had been a great experience. Surprisingly, none of the ponies stared at him or called him a demon monkey.

Well, that’s not entirely true. They did stare when Cyrus and Cutlass showed up. And a few times after. But Cutlass, the socially deft mare she was, had shouted a firm ‘everypony buck off back to what you were doing, didn’t daddy tell you it was rude to stare’ at every instance.

To Cyrus’ surprise, they actually did buck off back to what they were doing. Cutlass had explained that they were night guard and night guard gossip about him had been positive.

Well, actually night guard gossip revolved around how unbelievably weak and harmless he was. And how easy it would have been to subdue/kill him if he tried any shit.

All in all, Cutlass had firmly landed in Cyrus’ ‘cool ponies book’ at the top of the page.

He had been pretty nervous, having suffered somewhat of an anxiety attack before heading out. But Cutlass had managed to alleviate most of his fears with her brazen and bold attitude. Anxiety’s got one motherfucking strong grip.

Still, Cutlass did a great job. In Cyrus’ words, she was ‘chill as fuck’. This led to an incredibly intellectual discussion about how to properly cuss in Equestrian because Cyrus’ cuss game was some ‘dick shit’ (in Cutlass’ words).

Okay, dick shit equals pussy shit. Teats equals balls. Cuntlicker is cocksucker. Cyrus dutifully recites to himself, ensuring not to waste the wisdom imparted to him by Cutlass.

In return, Cyrus had introduced some Cockney rhyme slang to Cutlass. Classics such as ‘taking the mick’ (taking the Mickey Bliss, taking the piss) and ‘battle cruiser’ (boozer, pub). League slang was thrown in there too, ‘Turbo gapped’ (you suck) and ‘lobster low’ (you suck more) were now in Cutlass’ word arsenal. All in all, a successful and elegant exchange of culture.

However, it wasn’t the successful cementing of a new friendship that had Cyrus so giddy, although it was a contributing factor. No, it was something else.

Something that Cyrus had been itching to do since he got here.

The thing that gave Cyrus purpose in life.

Music! Glorious music! Cyrus would be able to play the piano again! For money?!?!

And it was all thanks to a certain golden eyed batmare……

“- so basically, right, we all hate Manche- Manechester City coz they buy all the good players.” Cyrus shouts over the busy bar atmosphere, sitting cross legged at their quaint and tucked away booth. Cutlass is hanging onto his every word like gospel, she intently nods.

“Yep, same here! My friend literally broke down when she read they won again. I think it was something like six in a row?” Cutlass responds, Cyrus groans and buries his head under his arms.

“Fuck’s saaaaaaaaaaake!”

Cutlass giggles at Cyrus’ flamboyant m reaction. Cyrus looks back up, the pout of all time adorning his face. They both break out into laughter. Cutlass reaches for her drink, Cyrus gets a devious idea.

“Weeeeeeee like to drink with Cutlasssssss,” Cyrus shout/sings as Cutlass’ glass reaches her lips. Cutlass quirks an eyebrow.

“Coz Cutlass is our maaaaate.” Cyrus’ grin grows wider as Cutlass’ confusion grows.

“When we drink with Cutlasssssss” Cyrus drags out the chant for as long as his breath is able. Cutlass’ eyebrow almost reaches the ceiling.

“She gets it down in eight!” Cyrus completes. Realization dawns on Cutlass’ eyes. She starts guzzling.

“Seven! Six! Five!”

The fizzy beer burns Cutlass’ throat as she chugs like her life depends on it. The rest of the bar, having figured out what was going on, joins in on the countdown.

“Four! Three! Two!”

Tears form in the corners of Cutlass’ eyes.

“Oneeeeeeeeee!” Cutlass slams the glass down in a nightly thump. She lets out a hacking cough as the bar lets out a mighty cheer. Cyrus doubles over in laughter, slapping the table with his recently bandaged palm. Cutlass staggers upward and gives a woozy yet dignified bow to the stomping of the rest of the bar. She points an accusatory hoof at Cyrus.

“Your turn next, cunthead!” Cutlass growls, Cyrus throws his hands up with a shit eating grin.

“Say less! But I gotta take a piss.” Cyrus responds as he shambles to his full height. Although the bar was designed for the pint sized ponies, the ceilings were tall. Cyrus speculated that it may have something to do with the size of Big White. Cutlass nods in response.

“Right! So you need to take a left at the second pillar then… down two flights… uhhhh. Buck it! Let me just show you” Cutlass sloshes at Cyrus, inebriation clear in her speech. Cyrus shrugs, following Cutlass through the sea of batponies. Down past the second pillar, up the elevated seating area, Cyrus chases Cutlass. She disappears round the corner. Cyrus leaps over a few chairs to catch up.

What he sees makes his breath hitch.

Ebony gloss, grand, strings open to the air. Clearly a spruce soundboard with oak finishings. It was as large as the ones on earth, a small, pony sized keyboard jutted out below a much larger one. In awe of the craftsman- craftsponyship Cyrus steps forward to get a closer look.

Emblazoned in gold: Hammersoft and co. The font: ITC Symbol Book. Same as Steinway and Sons. Cyrus almost orgasms.

Sitting on the music stand was an unassuming and muted blue book.

《Nocturnes and other notable pieces》

Sclizan

Sclizan? Nocturnes? Nocturnes. Who’s famous for- CHOPIN IS CHOPPING IS SCLIZAN IS SLICING! Cyrus dutifully abstracts in his mind, breaking out into a series of drunken giggles.

Cutlass, noticing the obvious lack of giant human, trots back to find Cyrus staring at the piano. Sidling up to his side, Cutlass nudges him with her wither.

“You play?” She asks. Cyrus spins around to look at her, his face adorned with prideful ornaments.

“Do I play!? Bloody hell, I play. I fuckin’ went to uni to learn how to play.” Cyrus declares, his ego flooding the room. Cutlass grins in response, the perfect revenge for Cyrus’ earlier antics appearing in her mind.

“Alright then, big dog. You go piss, I’ll grab you an audience!” Cutlass slyly responds, shoving Cyrus in the direction of the toilets. Spurred on by glee, Cyrus bounds inward, almost smashing his head on the doorframe. As he is doing his business, he can hear a very muted Cutlass shouting.

“Alright everypony, get your flanks over and shut your mouths. Gangly garat is about to give us a concert! Oi, Chilly, how do you work this thing? We probably need Minotaur mode…” Cutlass’ shouting trails off as she returned to a more appropriate volume. Cyrus gives his hands a quick and thorough wash because he isn’t a disgusting animal. He then does his classic pre performance routine, the routine that had earned him a distinction on his exam.

Three cold water slaps.

One loud ‘let’s do this’.

Another two cold water slaps.

Stepping out of the toilet, he is greeted by relative silence. The piano, small keyboard having been swapped for the large one, had been moved to the center of the raised seating area as a sort of a makeshift stage. Hushed chatter circled the room as Cyrus stepped up, his university practice taking over as he adjusted his piano stool to an appropriate height. Sitting down he flips through the music.

Hmmmm… should probably skip the nocturnes… too slow for this crowd. Hey I wonder if… Cyrus muses, flicking through the book, eyes scouring for the legendary opus 66. He finds it. His grin spreads.

Dignified and diligent, he sets the music on the stand. He allows a practiced dramatic silence to whet the audience's appetite. He begins.

The opening octaves echo through the room as a few eyes glint in recognition. With familiarity, Cyrus’ left hand launches into the fiery arpeggios, right hand joining soon after to deliver the melody. Tempering hours of practice, Cyrus adjusts his dynamics expertly, creating trepidation as he played. Cutlass, along with the bar, listen on in awe. The typhoon of Cyrus’ playing rages in the room.

Then, the dramatic transition! C sharp minor is no more!

Tenderness now flows from his fingers as the key changes to D flat major. Gently, Cyrus massages the piano, coaxing the notes to flow through the room. The bar patrons sway in response as the romantic sounds fill the room. Varying his tempo and dynamics, Cyrus swirls the music around the room as if he was dancing to it himself.

The slow and sweet melody draws to a close perhaps too soon. Quietly, like a creeping thundercloud, Cyrus brings the final section of the piece into fruition. The key changes back to C sharp minor as fire once again ignites his playing. Lightning strikes the earth as the storm rages from the piano. Possessed, Cyrus slams his hands on the keys, delivering fire, brimstone and despair.

Just when it seems like there is no end to howling winds and lightning, he transitions into the final part of the piece. Slowly, the sun peeks through the clouds, beaming onto the earth once more with its glow. Dutifully, Cyrus’ left hand plays the gentle melody from the romantic section, soothing the storm and parting the clouds with its beauty. Ritarding, he brings the piece to the close, final two chords ringing out like bells from on high. Cutlass is dumbstruck.

The bar erupts into stomping and whistling. Cyrus stands and delivers a bow as Cutlass bounds up toward him.

“That was incredible!” She exclaims, witherchecking Cyrus’ hip. Cyrus turns sheepish, rubbing the back of his head.

“Ah yeah. Thanks. I made a lot of fucking mistakes though.” Cyrus responded, self deprecating to mute his pride and remain modest. Cutlass quirks her eyebrow, seeing directly through Cyrus’ bullshit.

“Buck off! That was great and you know it.” Cutlass cheers, hitting Cyrus’ forearm with her hoof. It was about as far as she could reach.

“Haha, can’t fool you can I? Although I actually did make a lot of mistakes… some practice would do me good.” Cyrus responds, warring between sheepishness and pride. Cutlass’ eyes light up.

“I think can work something out!” She excitedly exclaims.

“Uhh, Cutlass! No worries, I don’t wanna force you to-“

“Shaddap,” Cutlass cuts Cyrus off before gesturing a wing to her eye, “Chilly and I are Galor Set. Golden eyes, we’re basically family. It’s no fur off my coat!” With that she trots over to the bar, motioning for Cyrus to stay where he was.

Cyrus’ eye traces Cutlass as she has an exchange with the much older looking barkeep. The barkeep darts her golden eyes to Cyrus and motions a hoof for him to come over. Obliging, he bumbles his way up, trying to keep his hope in check in the event of utter disappointment.

“Nice playing. Names Chilly. Heard you need a piano for practice?” The barkeep, Chilly, asks in a stereotypical gruff cadence. Cyrus nods his head enthusiastically. The barkeep clicks her tongue.

“Right, here’s the deal. You can practice between 1300 and 1700 hours. I don’t think nopony’ll be around. And you have to play sets for us. I like the classics but you’ll have to play jazz n’ whatever the gals want. Reckon you should brush up on some modern stuff too, Songbird’s real popular. You find the music, it’ll be in the caste library. I’ll pay ya. Sound good?” Chilly orders. Cyrus can not contain his smile.

“Say fuckin’ less!” Cyrus exclaims, sticking his fist out to bump Chilly’s hoof……

Cutlass, being the boss bitch she was, had hung out with Cyrus until near the very end. Unfortunately, after collapsing for the third time that evening, she realized that she needed to go to bed. She had been up since 6 PM the previous evening which was 24 hours ago. The pair negotiated more reasonable hours for the poor, tired batmare. Cyrus would be Cutlass’ charge starting the at the far more ‘normal’ times of 1 AM to 6 PM.

My corridor should be coming up soon… Cyrus thinks, nudging his mind away from his recent pleasant memories and onto the task at hand. Spotting the familiar stained glass window, Cyrus heads round the corner.

His Monster awaited.

You have a good time? It hisses at Cyrus, flashing Its rows of jagged yellow teeth. Cyrus scowls.

Yeah, I did. And I’m knackered right now so I’d appreciate-

Cyrus is cut off by the howling cackle of His Monster.

You’re alone now. And defenseless. Why wouldn’t we dance tonight? Come on, let’s do battle. It spits, motioning toward the door of his room.

Cyrus knows he has no choice.

It was time.

He enters, the attack is instant.

Is Cutlass genuinely being nice or does she just feel sorry for me?

What did it mean when that batpony flinched when I smiled.

Will I ever belong here?

Should I ever belong here?

On and on and on it goes. The battle ends only when restless sleep takes him.

A few days later…

Luna sat upright at her desk, quill clenched deftly in her magic. Her face was screwed in deep, intense contemplation.

If deep, intense contemplation meant looking for literally anything to do but the task she had laid out before her.

Following her sister’s advice, she had decided to sit down and craft a bit of an apology speech. Ordinarily, in proper Luna fashion, she would have marched straight to Cyrus and belted out whatever words came to her mind first.

Luna really wished she had just done that. Would have made it easier. It was hard not to feel like utter shit when writing out everything she had done and why. In the end, Luna knew that not taking the time to organize her thoughts would have ended in abject disaster.

Why is this so damned hard? Luna grouses inwardly. Her discipline slips and she allows her eyes to wander.

Luna glances at the bin. It was overflowing with discarded drafts, each one scrunched up in the most violent way Luna’s magic would allow. She lets out a massive groan.

These past few days she had been getting up earlier than usual to try and put her regret into words. The current apology read: Esteemed Cyrus of (find out from Tia/guards where he is from). We, the sovereign of night, would like to extend a formal apology to thee. The actions we took when thou first arrived were nothing short of-

Disgusted, Luna can’t read anymore, she crushes the parchment. Once more it is ejected toward the bin. She hits her target, but the bin is full so it bounces out and on the floor anyway. Luna lets out a frustrated groan.

Buck this infernal apology writing! Tis impossible. Luna inwardly moans as she haphazardly flicks her quill back into the inkwell. Slumping backwards, she glances at her liquor cabinet, squinting at her supply. She realizes that she’s out of strawberry and rhubarb gin. This makes her even more upset.

RAHHHHHH. Luna lets loose a primal mind-scream. If her enemies could hear it they’d turn tail and run for the hills. Probably shit themselves too.

Even so. Nopony to blame but my idiotic pride… Luna broods, sour mood souring her face. She looks for any form of distraction.

Lucky for her, she hears two sets of hooves clopping down the hallway at patrol speed. Luna’s ears activate high alert as she uses her trained hearing to pick out any abnormalities. Anything to distract from reliving the pain of her recent actions.

“-been talking to some nighties lately. Heard they got ol’ AA performing for them now down at the club.” The voice, which would have been incomprehensible if not for Luna’s abnormal hearing, says.

Gossiping in the halls! Loose lips shatter shields! Luna angrily thinks as she debates whether or not it would be prudent to step outside and give these two guards a bollocking.

“Yeah! Heard about that,” the other voice responds, “apparently he’s really good. Like freakishly good. Jav told me those flesh claws of his just dance on the piano, almost like magic.”

Flesh claws? Could it be… A musician? Luna muses to herself, unconsciously moving to her door to hear better.

“Haha, yeah. Bet you’d like to see what those things can do.” The original voice slyly responds, innuendo painfully obvious. The other voice lets out a harsh barking laugh. A clatter is heard. Luna’s expertise in armor deduces that it is most definitely hoofguard on witherguard contact.

“Yeesh, Silent, get ya head out the gutter. I just appreciate good art. I’d kill to sit in on a practice session. I heard he practices at the ol’ club between one and five, placid as hell,” The other voice responds before dropping her volume to a whisper, “makes you wonder what all the fuss was about.”

Those words make Luna cringe, hitting hitting too close to home. Having heard enough, she flicks her ears back to normal position, her mind currently at war trying to figure out what to do. Her eye catches the bin of insipid apologies. Fire lights within her.

Cowardly! I should not be sitting around composing frilly words. Sorry, sister, but I have pondered my words long enough! Luna resolves, stomping a hoof in tandem. Half curious and half determined to put her shame behind, she haphazardly throws her regalia on. She opens the door with a loud and dramatic bang, startling the two passing guards in the process.

“Guards. We shall be taking a trip to the officer’s club. Thou shalt alert our night guard command of my whereabouts.” Luna orders. The two guard bleat a startled ‘yes ma’am’ and salute. Once confirmed, Luna teleports in a brilliant flash of navy blue, not before reprimanding: “And thou shalt do well not to gossip in open air! Loose lips shatter shields!”

Finally realizing what Luna had just ordered them to do, the two guards exchange horrified looks. They were actually heading back to barracks for the end of their shift. Night guards wake up in an hour and forty five.

Ah well.

Luna flashes into existence in garden #3. Confidently, she makes her way from the garden to the T shaped intersection that ran parallel, striding forward like a lioness. She reaches the intersection, looking left, right, and forward down the halls. She frowns.

An unfortunate fact strikes Luna.

She knows that garden #3 leads to diplomatic chambers, grand hall #2, the officer’s club, and was host to a few well kept magnolias (sister’s favorite). Celestia was sure to point out the pretty pink and white flowers during the tour.

But Luna didn’t actually go to those places. So, unfortunately, she did not know where the officer’s club was located. Straight, left, and right could lead to any of the three aforementioned locations.

And she, in proper Luna fashion, had charged in headfirst. The embarrassment creeps from her mind to her cheeks.

She keeps her regal air for all of the (zero) ponies milling about. She was just stopping to admire the flowers. Yes, Luna had teleported from one side of the castle to the other to smell the lilies.

And what beautifully kept lilies they were! White, purple, red, orange, a true cacophony of color. Furthermore, they all looked delicious and ready-

What in tartarus am I doing?! Luna thinks, shaking her head to snap her out of her funk. Dejected, embarrassed, and feeling the creeping signs of oncoming sadness, Luna prepares a teleportation spell. Before the full logistics fall into place in her brain, her agile ears beheld something above the quiet of the late afternoon.

The faintest, most delicate melody, floating from her left and into the garden.

Letting her ears guide her, Luna steps toward the music. It is unlike anything she had ever heard before, cascading notes falling like rain yet a clear, guiding melody could be heard above the chaos. So Luna strode forward, music getting louder and more intense as she trotted down the hall in a trance-like state. Luna began to match pace with the music, moving faster as the piece built its climax. Soon the door came into view.

Luna slips in silently as the music slows, trickling scales leading back to the tenderness from before. One of her lieutenants, Cutlass Stellarbright she deduced, turns her head to greet the new arrival. Cutlass’ eyes widen, slits narrowing. Instantly Luna delivers a series of soft clicks, inaudible to all but those trained to hear: At ease.

Cutlass relaxes before clicking back: Princess. May I ask why you have graced us with your presence?

Cyrus plays on, completely engrossed in the tender ending movements of Liebestraum.

If thou would allow, I would like to be alone with our guest. Luna says with her clicks, ruffling her wings in a specific way to establish the correct tone. It is an order. Cutlass, having no choice, gently bows before hesitantly and noiselessly leaving the bar.

Luna brings her attention back to the closing section of the music, re-engrossed in the majesty pouring from the piano. Gentle chords echo in the room, dynamics tuned masterfully. Luna is struck by a scene……

A tender breeze on the field, her sister next to her admiring Luna’s moon.

How wrong could I possibly have been?

It had been a long campaign, but the sisters were reunited once more amongst the wildflowers near the Everfree.

Really, a creature of evil?

Luna had brought a new liquor back from the island she had discovered. Gin they called it. Celestia’s face puckered when she took her first sip. Luna bursts out into laughter. Snorting and harsh laughter. Her true laugh.

“What vile drink have thee brought from the isles?! Truly repulsive……”

For the first time in months, happy memories surfaced in Luna’s mind. The music draws to a close. Without skipping a beat, Cyrus descends upon the score with his pencil. He scribbles and scrawls between the pages, marking, circling and denoting, all the while muttering to himself. Luna is engrossed in his furious process.

“…Maybe a slight desync here would be better, who doesn’t like sloppy romanticism… no better to keep the integrity, it’s already romantic enough… still made too many mistakes here and here and… fucking Liszt hell man… hey Cutlass! What time is it?” The question is shouted out. Luna is shocked out of her trance. The lack of a response makes Cyrus turn his head.

“Hey, Cutlass, you-“ He freezes when his eyes land on Luna’s form. Luna steps forward. Leaping off the piano stool, Cyrus scrambles back as far as he can out of fear.

“W-what are you doing here?!” He demands through shaky breath, pointing his pencil at Luna like a knife.

“*ahem* Greetings-“

Luna can only get a word out before Cyrus hysterically shouts: “CUTLASS?! WHAT IS THIS? IS THIS SOME KIND OF SETUP?!”

Luna takes another step forward, trying her hardest to emulate her sister’s warmth. Cyrus flattens his back against the wall in response, fear and confusion obvious in his eyes. Luna opens her mouth, but regret robs her of words.

“J-just leave me alone. Please…” Cyrus pleads.

Luna is tempted. She looks to the floor.

Perhaps she should just leave. Perhaps it was for the best. She could live with it. Luna locks eyes with Cyrus once more. She is reminded.

No. Have courage. No more running.

Firmly, Luna plants her hooves.

“We- I am sorry.”

The words hang in the air.

“Thy treatment by us- me was entirely unfair. This shame I shall bear.”

Confusion wins out on Cyrus’ features.

“I am not a nice pony. That much is clear. I make others shrink in fear. I did not wish for them to be afraid of me anymore.”

Burning embarrassment swipes at Luna’s throat.

“I-I wanted thou to be evil. So I may rise as protector once more. That is the whole truth.” Luna finishes before shame conquers her courage. She shrinks behind her mane.

Cyrus is completely and utterly bewildered. Adrenaline still pumping in his veins, he stands up a little too quickly, causing him to stumble a bit. Luna looks up to the noise, expecting him to be marching over to deliver a massive slap to her face. Instead, Cyrus stands there, arms crossed as his breathing returns to normal.

“Right. So you wanted me to be some kind of monster demon so you could ‘slay’ me and be some kind of hero?” Cyrus demands, anger creeping into his voice.

“Yes.” Luna chokes out with incredible effort. Cyrus’ scowl deepens.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? Right? Okay. So just because you’re delusional I have to wear bloody chains and…” Cyrus can’t finish, all of his anger rushing through made it difficult to pick out the words. He smashes his fist on the piano stool in frustration before pinching the bridge of his nose.

Outwardly, Luna takes the verbal battering like a champ. Inwardly, she was shivering with emotion. Shame, embarrassment, and regret swirl, crafting a bitter cocktail in her throat.

“You know, I have no idea why Cutlass defends you so much,” Cyrus spits, “she’s always saying that it’s ’not that simple’. Seems pretty simple to me.”

Luna’s dam breaks.

Maybe it was the mention of her loyal guard, defending her in spite of her obvious misgivings.

Maybe it was the way Cyrus had said those things, justifiably angry and spiteful. All because of her.

Maybe it was because Luna wasn’t quite as strong as she thought she was.

But, either way, she begins to cry. It stays small, almost unnoticeable until Cyrus takes a few angry steps closer.

“I d-do not expect forgiveness. I j-just wished to tell thee the truth. O-of my disgusting…” Luna gets out before breaking out into a sob. She can not bring herself to look anywhere but the floor. Cyrus pauses his temper, blinking at Luna’s display of sheer despair.

Man, she’s really… sad. Maybe she isn’t trying to torture me this time. Cyrus thinks.

Animal Cyrus wants to attack, the perfect opportunity was laid out before him after all. Kick her while she’s down. Make her pay. Make her bleed.

But human Cyrus somehow can’t.

Delusion… desperation. I know the feeling.

Slowly, empathy works its way through Cyrus, allowing him to see without anger tinted glasses. An old thought emerges.

A thousand years. Everyone she’s known. Gone.

She just wants to belong again. Like I did when I started uni, trading my low class accent for a posh one. Fuuuuuuuuuuck! Why does she have to be real?!

“SHIT ON IT!” Cyrus vents, striking the poor piano stool once more. Luna looks back at the commotion. She lets out a rallying grunt, picking herself back up.

“That is all. I shall leave you-“

Luna is cut off by Cyrus’ booming sigh.

“Just… look… uhhh…” Cyrus starts, unsure on how to order his thoughts, “just fucking, I dunno. Stop fucking crying. That shit is not fair.” Cyrus finishes, smacking the piano lightly. Luna’s face evolves into slight bewilderment.

“Look, I’m still mad. But… admitting that you’re wrong. Takes ball- uhhh teats. And I respect it.” Cyrus admits quasi-kindly, although mostly begrudgingly, his animal brain making its displeasure at letting a clean kill go known. Luna shuffles her wings nervously.

Shaking his head once more, Cyrus makes his way behind the bar. Once there he randomly picks out a liquor and two shot glasses. Deftly, he pours while pulling some change out of his pocket, stacking the golden coins next to the register. Luna recognizes the smell as the aromatics waft past her nose.

Strawberry and rhubarb!

Bill settled successfully. He motions for Luna to sit. She trepidatiously trots to her seat.

“Listen. What you did? Inexcusable. But you seem genuinely sorry. If this turns out to be some kinda trick I… will probably end up dead anyway so what do I have to lose?” Cyrus rambles, tanking both shots in succession but holding up a finger to indicate that he wasn’t finished speaking. Luna waits patiently.

“I might be willing to move past it. But that’s going to require some effort from you. So you need to answer some of my questions. This thousand year thing. What’s the deal?” Cyrus flatly proposes, fishing more change out of his ratty trousers and pouring two more shots. Both make their way in front of Luna.

She laughs dryly, devoid of humor. The shots disappear down her gullet. Buying time to organize her thoughts, she gives the glass a cleansing lick and clears her throat.

“A simple affair. I was jealous. My sister had the adoration of our nation. I was relegated to… being the bucking monster-creature. I confronted my sister and my other half got the better of me and I attacked her. Out of fear for her life she sealed me on the moon.” Luna flatly recites, leashing her emotions as much as she could. Cyrus gives her his best rock eyebrow raise.

“You attacked your sister? Like swords and…? bloody ‘ell… So what’s this about a other half?” Cyrus returns while sliding another shot to Luna. Another pile of coins finds its way on the register.

“Yes to thy first and second questions. The answer to the third is… complicated. The citizens call it ‘Nightmare Moon’. The truth is a crown secret. As much as I wish to earn thy trust, I can not disclose that information.”

Luna fired another shot down the hatch.

“Huh. Shit.”

They stare at each other for a bit, contemplating their next move. Eventually, the alcohol reaches Luna’s brain, unhindered due to her empty stomach. Her bottled emotions finally blast the cap away. Luna lets out a frustrated sigh before launching into an impromptu speech: “I am just… so… grahh! I frustrate myself. I am so-“

“Lost?” Cyrus cuts in. Luna feverishly nods.

“Yes! Lost. I… spend all my time reaching…” Luna’s rational brain stops herself from ranting further as a blush creeps onto her muzzle. Cyrus is trying not to laugh. She clears her throat loudly.

“Apologies,” Luna offers, looking away and retreating behind her mane, “Can we please change the subject?”

Cyrus chuckles in response, flicking his hand to give his blessing. Another shot finds its way in front of her and another pile of coins on the register.

“Um. Thou playing is… wondrous. May… I ask… uhhh…” Luna trials off, having no idea where she was going with that one. The awkwardness makes Cyrus bark out a guffaw.

Nah who the fuck is this and what did she do to crazy Big Blue Bitch. Cyrus pondered as Luna stared at the bartop in utter defeat. Cyrus let her stew for a bit before mercy got the better of him.

“Thank you. I do practice a lot. At least these past few days I have. The piece was Liebestraum if you’re interested.” Cyrus says, saving Luna from herself.

“Ah, thou diligence has paid off. Is Liebestraum a tune native to thy land?” Luna asks, rapidly grabbing onto the conversational life raft Cyrus had thrown to her.

“Eh. Yes and no. Lots of weird parallel coincidences here. You have Sclizan who is Chopin from my world. Liebestraum exists where I’m from but was composed by a guy called Franz Liszt. Sorry to disappoint, it’s not totally alien.” Cyrus responds. Luna hangs onto every word, intrigued.

“Ah! Interesting… we are so different yet somehow music has connected us… And, no, I am not disappointed that the tune was not from thy home. It is still new to me.” Luna muses, a slight excitement entering her tone at the discovery of new art. Cyrus cocks his head.

“Yeah, it’s kind of weird, isn’t it? Although there is one problem. You lot don’t have Beethoven. Really starting to piss me off that is.” Cyrus lets a bit of frustration enter his last statement. It really did bug him.

“Intriguing! Not completely parallel then… was this ‘Beethoven’ an important figure?” Luna asks, trepidation washed away by the power of alcohol. Cyrus gives Luna fish eyed look at her question, preparing his dramatics.

“Important figure?! Beethoven was one of the greatest of all time! With just two chords in his third symphony he ushered in a whole new era of music.” Cyrus serenades, allowing his passion to get the better of him as he delivers his speech, swooning and swaying as if Beethoven was his lover. Luna, swept up by his fervor, lets out a snorting laugh. Her hoof instantly snaps to her mouth as bright red embarrassment flashes on her cheeks.

The pair stare at each other for a moment. Then, unison.

“BAHAHAHAHAHA- *snort* AHAHAHAHA.”

They share a raucous round of laughter, no doubt spurred on by alcohol. Cyrus is the first to recover, tossing his hands in the air and saying: “Listen, it’s *aha* okay, laugh your *heh* laugh sister.”

Luna’s chuckles subside. Abashed once more, she adjusts her mane with her hoof. The corner of her eye catches the clock on the wall.

5:35.

“Shit!” Luna exclaims, startling Cyrus a bit, “I have lost track of time. I am to meet my sister for breakfast and moon raising in five minutes!”

Cyrus throws his hands up.

“Alright. Uhhh… good talk?” Cyrus stutters as Luna flashes straight to the closest available reflective surface. Luna shoots Cyrus an apologetic look as she scrambles to make herself look presentable.

“I thank thee *spit* for allowing me to speak- MY INFERNAL MANE! -with thee after my… abject stupidity. I very much enjoyed the music and company. May I ask thee if it would be acceptable if I may listen in on thy practice?” Luna hurriedly asks, no time to feel shy or embarrassed at her request. She does one last preen before taking a few steps back. Her horn charges.

“Uhh… sure? I’m here one till five.” Cyrus kind of mumbles, a little flabbergasted. Luna cracks out a big smile. It reminds Cyrus of Cutlass’ friendly smile.

“Joyous occasion! Excellent! I thank thee again!” With that, Luna disappears with a bang and a flash, leaving Cyrus to simply stare at empty space.

Uhhhhh… wat.

Author's Note

Halor. You can probably see why I've split this chapter into two. Would have totaled ~17k and my ass is not SilentKnight (go check them out).

Took a gander at describing music. Hope it wasn't too cringe :twilightsheepish: .

As always please lmk how I'm doing. Feedback always appreciated.

4. 希望... [Hope...]

The next day (night, rather)…

“Cutlass. You know you’re my slime, right? Like my day one? My G.O.A.T. and whatnot.” Cyrus announces, stepping over yet another helmet while avoiding the deathtrap of beer cans scattered haphazardly across the room. Cutlass doesn’t bother to look at Cyrus as she fiddles with her gramophone, she knew exactly what he was about to say.

“Yeahhhhh?” Cutlass flatly replies, playing along with Cyrus’ game as she does every time her parents visit. Cyrus lets out a 哇擦 [shit] as he steps on a manebrush, snapping it in half.

“You really need to clean. First time? Fine, benefit of the doubt. But this is next level, how do you live like this?” Cyrus chastises as he tries to avoid breaking any of the other household objects Cutlass had lying around on the floor. Cutlass turns to Cyrus, sticking her tongue toward the frog of her hoof, the Equestrian equivalent of ‘bite me’.

Bored of trying to navigate the multiple booby traps set up around Cutlass’ room, Cyrus decides to give the walls a once over. It was pretty standard stuff: posters of bands, hoofball stuff, and a few pictures of her friends and family. That is until he spots that poster, tucked away but not tucked away enough.

If he was drinking something he would have definitely spat it out.

The poster in question, flanked by a standard mareband poster and a poster of a famous hoofball player.

The contents of the poster?

An incredibly risqué looking stallion. A stallion that was wearing possibly the most useless underwear ever, striped tube socks, and a burgundy veil draped across his face. His legs and bat-wings were splayed in what Cyrus assumed was an attractive pose. Underneath the stallion were the words ‘Playpony’ garnished in gaudy cursive. Cyrus’ face cramps inward.

“Cutlass why the fuck- buck do you have softcore porn in your room?! You bucking pig.” Cyrus bemoans to his golden eyed bat-friend, pointing an accusatory finger toward the very promiscuous picture. She casts a lazy glance to whatever Cyrus was desperately gesturing toward before breaking out into a hearty snicker.

“Yeah my mom got that for me.” Cutlass jibes. Cyrus gives her perhaps the most bombastic side eye ever conceived in response. Only one question floated to the human’s mind.

“Okay but like why?”

“Cuz I asked. Duh. I like pretty stallions.”

Cyrus is once again reminded of how different things were in Equestria, especially around more private things. Ponies did kinda walk around naked and Cyrus had been subject to a LOT of male anatomy. Not like, dicks hanging out or whatever but like (very) brief flashes of ballsacks. Apparently as long as you kept it in the sheath you weren’t a complete sex freak for ‘letting it all hang out’.

Clothes were also a weird subject. Things like shirts, trousers, or other items were considered luxury goods. Things like undergarments, however, were a different story, a more amorous type of story. Cutlass had suggested Cyrus ditch his socks ASAP on their first few days together. Apparently, in Equestira, wearing socks in public was like showing the world that you wanted to fuck all the time.

Cyrus did not want to fuck all the time. More importantly, he did not want to end up on a registry, so he took her advice and got rid of the socks posthaste.

Underwear was weird too. Unless you needed to be upside down a lot, wearing underwear was considered freak behavior. Luckily nopony could actually see him wearing it so he kept them on. No commando, thank god.

And then there was the gender stuff. Cyrus could not fathom it in the slightest.

Confusion aside, Cutlass had done a fantastic job of making sure Cyrus knew how not to act like a sex-addicted monster.

Cyrus lets out a frustrated sigh, facepalming in an attempt to ‘accept and understand’ that Cutlass just has porn lying about her room and that it was ‘normal’. Cutlass gives the poor human a once over, practically smelling Cyrus’ head smoking as it chugged and churned.

“Ah, don’t worry. It’s a thestral thing. My mom bought me way more things than posters, we are way more relaxed about sex in Threstelia. I told you about heat, right? Our attitude is why we have next to no heat related crimes.” Cutlass casually explains, throwing the struggling human a bone.

“Riiiiiight. I remember you telling me about heat. Fuckin’ ‘ell, you lot are strange.” Cyrus grouses as he makes his way over to Cutlass once more, stepping over all the random shit she had scattered about. Unfortunately, the already flustered Cyrus, who had already spent most of his brain energy processing the cultural differences of Equestria, is not looking where he is going. He makes his final few steps toward Cutlass and his foot makes awkward contact with something very… cylindrical.

He trips.

“哎呀我的妈呀 [Ay what the hell]!”

He notices exactly what he just tripped on.

“CUTLASS, YOU HAVE A FUCKING ILLNESS! Why the fuck is that on the floor?! IT GOES INSIDE YOU, YOU NASTY FUCK!” Cyrus screams from his position amongst the absolute mess of Cutlass’ room. Cutlass, having finally noticed what Cyrus had tripped over, bursts into raucous mirth, only able to choke out a few syllables of explanation as to why that was there. Cyrus, unable to process the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, soon follows suit. Such was their dynamic: The Gangly Garat and Cutlass ‘The Hammer’ Stellabright. And what a pair they were becoming, almost inseparable in the eyes of night guard gossip.

After the initial shock and worry of meeting a completely new alien species, Cutlass had finally managed to relax into her true self. Which was… interesting. Apparently, Cutlass had a bit of a reputation for being… crass? Leaping before looking. Fearless. She’s called ‘The Hammer’ for a reason.

On the other hand/hoof, Cyrus had been feeling a lot better about his situation. He actually didn’t completely dread waking up in the morning anymore, which was a far step for the poor guy. Cutlass had been nothing but nice to him and he, in turn, had started to open up.

Only a little bit though, you-know-what is always there in the back of his mind, waiting to pounce on Cyrus if he got too comfortable.

“So what album do you wanna go through this time?” Cutlass asks through recurring chuckles, bringing the situation back to the task they had set out to do. Cyrus picks himself up from the filth, scattering a rainbow hue of liquor bottles in the process. He reaches into his half saddleback-rucksack thing and pulls out some blank sheet music and a clipboard.

“We’ve gone over a lot of hits… Let’s try her experimental stuff?” Cyrus answers, plomping down on the edge of Cutlass’ bed and almost sending the batmare airborne. Cutlass starts to fish for an appropriate vinyl in the incredibly organized shelf that is definitely organized, so organized that Cutlass had no idea where any of the albums were at all!

Cyrus patiently waits for his next taste of the music of the wonderful music of Songbird Serenade, watching Cutlass wallow in the pits of her own disorganized folly. To the delight of Cutlass, Cyrus was not one of those fart sniffing classical musicians who loved bragging about how their music was ‘superior’ to all others.

After a long search, Cutlass finally yanks the vinyl she was looking for out of the shelf and onto the bed:

《Midnights》

Songbird Serenade

She deftly flicks the vinyl out of the sleeve, setting it on the gramophone. Cyrus pulls out the tuning fork and metronome he asked Cutlass to buy for him. Cyrus dings the tuning fork, establishing his musical grounding. He waves his hand like a conductor, signaling Cutlass to begin the lesson. Without skipping a beat, she launches into a brief prelude.

“So this album was done after that fatherbucker Golden Chord,” Cutlass confidently lectures before scrunching her face in confusion, “or was it Major Fifth? Too many bastards. Anyway whoever it was cheated on Songbird and she wrote this.”

“Okay, heartbreak album. Expecting a lot of D minor.” Cyrus predicts as Cutlass blows the dust off the vinyl. Cutlass sets the needle on and hits play.

No opening chords. No percussion. A single haunting melody flows from a guitar. Atypical but nothing crazy. That is until the same melody is transcribed in the subdominant and layered on top, creating the answer. The key is given: C sharp minor. Countersubject now obvious, the melody turns sad, dissonant notes ringing out like funeral bells.

Cyrus’ mouth flies open in shock. Songbird Serenade, the immortal popstar of Equestria, had composed a fugue, with every single baroque bell and whistle. All for a breakup song.

And that shit banged. Gently, the lyrics kick in as the guitar moves to a supporting role, having introduced the subject already.

I’m just a mare, I cant be sad or cry.

I’m just a mare, shut up, perform, and smile.

I’m just a mare, cant break, cant crack, just bad.

I’m just a mare, silly, this is the norm.

Cutlass gently sings along to the haunting tune as she watches Cyrus’ pencil scribble furiously on the sheet music. Jolting rhythms in the countersubject ensure that the music never stays quite at rest, like how a tortured mind never does. Quavers dominate the baseline, marching upward to create tension as the lyrics fight to be heard, each line cutting each other off, pulling the music deeper into the pits of anguish. Short reprieves are heard, slight resolution of Songbird’s despair, but they are few and far between. They never linger, always broken with a loud false entry or subject, linking each line of depressive lyric with the other.

Songbird filters sequentially through her lyrics, each entry making the fugue thicker and thicker in texture. By the time she gets to I’m just a mare, silly, this is the norm, Cyrus is completely blown backward by the amount of interweaving parts Songbird was juggling. It all lent to the pure raw emotion of the music, a window into Songbird’s broken trust, her shattered heart.

Just suck it up.

Those lyrics start the lurch toward a perfect cadence, but Songbird is no chump. There will be no resolution for her heart, she draws the piece to an incredibly unsatisfying and ugly imperfect cadence. Cyrus can not help but break out into applause and a couple ‘bravos’. The Immortal Songbird has done it again. Cutlass giggles at Cyrus’ theatrics, pausing the gramophone before it can play the next track.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you had the hots for her.” Cutlass ribs, jamming a hoof into Cyrus’ bicep. Cyrus gives a dramatic, incredulous ‘harrumph’ as he shoots a side eye at Cutlass, his mind already loaded with counter-wit.

“What and you don’t?” Cyrus jabs back with a healthy dose of snark. Cutlass contemplates for a second before sounding off a resounding ‘yeah, you’re right.’ The pair share a chuckle before continuing on with the rest of the album with Cyrus hard at work.

This actually was work for him after all, the library didn’t have any Songbird’s music on paper so Cyrus had to do some aural sleuthing. The album runs its course for the third time and Cyrus puts the final touches on the music, paying great attention to Songbird’s marvelous fugue: I’m Just a Mare. Satisfied, he clips it into his shiny new ring binder alongside the rest of Songbird’s music. With a sigh of contentedness, Cyrus flops onto the bed. Cutlass gives him a nervous glance before slipping the vinyl back into its sleeve.

The whole time, Cutlass had been showing the outward appearance of cool, professional calm, but on the inside she was fluttering with anxiety. Yesterday’s stunt by Luna had really thrown her for a loop.

Having been kicked out, she had stood on guard outside, pressing her ear to the door and straining to hear anything that was being discussed inside. Unfortunately, the officer club’s muffle enchantment was done by a real professional, she couldn’t hear shit. Thankfully, the confrontation went well; Luna and Cyrus were not going to kill each other.

But Cyrus had only given some passing details about what happened between him and Luna. Cutlass had to know more. She turns to Cyrus to start a conversation, but she suddenly finds herself winded by an emotional punch aimed straight at her gut.

She had completely abandoned Cyrus yesterday.

Cutlass fights to keep her ears remaining pointed and upright. The sinking feeling starts to set in as she steals a few more glances at Cyrus, trying her hardest to read his current emotions. He had seemed fine last night before bed, but Cutlass knew that he often put on a brave face, stiffening his upper lip at adversity.

Buck I really shouldn’t have left him. Stupid, stupid Cutlass! You literally apologize for ‘following orders’ but when push comes to-

“Hey Cutlass, can I ask a question?” Cutlass’ train of thought is derailed at Cyrus’ sudden query. Her heart leaps to her chest as the war to keep her ears upright increases in intensity. Cutlass gives her blessing with a curt nod. Cyrus scrunches up his face. Cutlass knew that facial cramping is often a bad sign. It meant he was thinking about what he was going to say. After a brief and tense pause, Cyrus de-scrunches his face while slowly craning upright.

“Um. Luna. She said something last night. I think it was… Nightmare Moon? What’s that about?” Cyrus nervously asks, unsure if he was shattering some forbidden taboo. Cutlass almost let out a gasp of relief, not knowing she had been holding her breath; she was sure that a heavy and uncomfortable talk was about to occur. Nightmare Moon she could handle. Cutlass gives Cyrus a warm but sad smile.

“Yeah. Nightmare Moon, that’s a big one. It’s really hard to explain but I’ll try. Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad, well not that bad at least.” Cutlass tenderly replies, trying to alleviate some of Cyrus’ worries by giving his arm a light nuzzle. She can feel him tense up a bit at the contact and her previous anxieties shoot forward in her mind. Cutlass beats them down with fact: Cyrus isn’t really used to pony affection. Cutlass gingerly sits upward, meeting Cyrus’ eyes.

“Depends who you ask, really. We Thestralians have a special relationship with Luna. My answer will be different to, say, a sol’s.” Cutlass lectures, pausing to see if Cyrus would allow her to continue. Cyrus listens intently, giving Cutlass the go ahead with a slight nod.

“Thestrals are creatures of the night. Luna is the Immortal Manifestation of night. So, we kinda got along. Even in ancient times. There are lots of stories of Luna being a hero to the Threstrals, slaying dragons for us and whatnot. She’s really important in our legends and history, but the sols had pretty much forgotten her. This may sound unrelated but it kinda is so bear with me.” Cutlass continues, bitter edge creeping into her tone.

“The Sols will tell you that Nightmare Moon was the personification of petty jealousy, that’s how the old tale goes. Nighties will tell you that it’s more complicated, Luna was bullied or rejected. Even though she tried her damned hardest to make things work. Nopony knows the truth. Either way we got the short end.” Cutlass finishes. Cyrus stares back, knitting his brow in pensive thought.

“By short end I’m assuming you mean racism?” Cyrus deduces, shooting Cutlass an empathetic look, “So what do you believe?”

Cutlass taps her chin, eyes glued to the ceiling as she tries to formulate an answer. The question was deceptively simple. Machinations complete, she draws her golden orbs once more to Cyrus.

“Some believe that Luna was our ‘god’. I’ve heard tales of Luna worship cults in days of old. But I know that she’s not all that. I believe Luna just needs our help. It’s up to us to welcome her back because everpony else had forgotten her.” Cutlass diligently answers, rocking uncomfortably on the bed. She didn’t realize how hard this would be, digging into the collective past of her race. Cyrus, sensing her discomfort, gives Cutlass a friendly nudge on the wither and a smile. Cutlass tries her hardest to return it, straining her face uncomfortably upward.

The pair sit in silent contemplation, eyes looking, but not seeing.

Forgotten her? That’s… and racism? Wonder how much she’s been-

“I’m really really sorry for leaving you alone yesterday.” Cutlass whispers above the ambiance. She glues her misted eyes on the patch of duvet in front of her, tracing the floral pattern as she allowed her emotions to bubble. She loses the ear war, they shamefully flop to her skull from their previous pointed state.

Cyrus lets out a sigh. Cutlass recoils at it. Gently she turns her head to meet Cyrus’ gaze, expecting scorn and anger. The face of someone who had put trust in her and had it broken.

Instead she sees a smile. A real warm one.

“Cutlass, relax. I know you were just following orders. Trying to blame you for that is like blaming a scorpion for stinging you after stomping on its whole family.” Cyrus jokes. Cutlass wipes her tears away as her ears shoot back up and a small smile builds on her muzzle. Cyrus is struck once again by how cute these ponies can look with their big puppy dog eyes.

“R-really? You’re not…?” Cutlass mumbles. Cyrus stands up from the bed, scattering the rubbish lying around. He had been here before and he knew that the only way to snap Cutlass out of her funk was with a ‘little bit of trolling’. With flair, he spins, putting his hands on his hips while bending forward, face almost booping Cutlass in the nose. Cyrus draws from deep within himself, mustering his best confused face.

“Dunno, should I be? Is that the correct cultural custom after your friend admits to just doing her job?” Cyrus jests. Cutlass reacts exactly how he wants. First she scampers back from the close proximity to her snout, Cyrus knew nose boops were intimate. Second she angrily opens her mouth, ready to volley a lesson about pony affection to Cyrus with all the curse words she had in her arsenal. Third, she remembers that she already told Cyrus about nose boops and her face contorts to confusion.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” Cyrus injects as much faux innocence into his tone as possible. Cutlass catches on, bursting into laughter, washing her tension away with mirth. Cutlass pounces, tackling Cyrus with a mighty hug.

“You’re a good pony, Cyrus.” Cutlass says as she relinquishes her hold. The dynamic duo share a moment of gentle smiles and tender silence. Sadly, Cyrus notices the time.

“Alright you sappy bat, I’ve got a set to play soon and I’m starving.” Cyrus moans, motioning toward his stomach. Cutlass, sensing the opportunity for revenge, narrows her eyes to slits and shoots an angry look at Cyrus. He freezes.

“What. The. Buck. Did. You. Call. Me?” Cutlass grinds each word before grunting them out, all the while continuing to give Cyrus the stink eye. He nervously shuffles, rubbing the back of his head, his face contorting into desperate apology.

“Ah, my bad. Didn’t mean to-“

Cutlass cuts him off with a guffaw, shooting out the door before Cyrus can react. Landing in the doorway, she shoots Cyrus a shit eating grin from across the ocean of bottles and other random shit she owns.

“Oh you’re dead, mate!” Cyrus shouts, grinning like a madman as he wades through the trash toward the door. Cutlass’ eyes widen as she notices one of her other cylindrical objects in Cyrus’ path, her lips part to deliver a warning. Her warning is too late.

On the floor he goes!

Cutlass’ shrieking laughter echoes all throughout the castle.

Luna’s room

Luna does a once over in the mirror, making sure that she looks as regal and presentable as always. Satisfied, she clips her chest piece on before levitating the letter Celestia had delivered to her room while she was asleep. Opening the envelope, she suppresses a snort of indignation as she reads.

《Tips on modern conversations》

Talk about the weather, great icebreaker!!! ‘Lovely weather we’re having’ or ‘weather team has done a fantastic job today!’

Tia, even I know that discussing weather is boring…

Listen and respond! (THIS ONE'S FOR YOU, LU!!!!!!). Make sure you keep engaged. Good examples are: ‘so what do you think of x?’ or ‘personally, I don’t quite like x, but I like y because of a, b, and c. What do you think?’

I am not that inept, am I? I can be blunt but…

DON’T use toilet crass humor until he does!!!!! And make sure to keep WITHIN BOUNDARIES. Do NOT make sex jokes!! And definitely do not start talking about your amorous olden days.

Oh for Harmony’s sake, Tia! Luna can not help but to give a hyper exaggerated eye roll at the frettings of her sister. Luna calms her annoyance, knowing that Celestia was just anxious and wanted to help.

When Luna had entered the dining room yesterday afternoon smelling once more of booze, Celestia had assumed the worst. It took a while to calm her down, with Celestia almost breaking out into tears over what she assumed was another failed attempt at friendship. Luna had to slap some sense into her sister, very literally. When Celestia had finally realized that it wasn’t completely over, she was overjoyed. Luna had to spend the rest of the dinner enduring her sister’s jabbering on what next steps she should take.

She cares for me. Luna surmises with a warm smile. Her eyes catch the postscript and she breaks out into a hearty chuckle.

P.S: I know you’ll do great Lulu! I’m rooting for you! Love you <3.

It was written in Celestia’s special cursive. Cursive that she reserved only for loved ones. And only loved ones could read it, the script was pretty damn illegible. Experience was a prerequisite for understanding Celestia’s cursive chicken scratch.

Exiting her bathroom, Luna tucks the letter away in her bedside drawer, letting out a sigh. She shoots a speedy glance at her clock.

4:12.

Celestia had calculated that it would be prudent for Luna to arrive at the officer’s club at around 4:37. This would ensure that she looked polite and interested in Cyrus’ company without looking desperate and destitute. That would leave about an hour of ‘hanging out’ (as her sister said) before she had to slip away for dinner.

Of course, Luna was confused at why showing up so late was a good thing. She had wanted to show up bang on 1 PM, exactly when Cyrus said he’d start practice. That way they’d have a full four hours of ‘chilling’ (as her sister had also said). Tiredness was of no consequence, Luna could always wash the weariness of lost sleep away with some more shots of espresso. Even if they didn’t get to talk much, she was really excited to hear the music, especially because it was so new to her.

Maybe she’d show off some of the songs of her time and they could compare notes! Luna loved singing with her friends while they journeyed across the expanses of Equus, looking for new lands to settle.

Not only that, but Luna found Cyrus’ casual attitude very refreshing. Reminded her of a comrade from ages past…

Luna starts to hum those old travel tunes, tapping her hoof on the floor to help her keep time. The clock hands moved agonizingly slowly, clicking toward the next minute, ever marching. She waits in eager anticipation.

Those old travel tunes. Her old friends……

Luna sat gazing upon her stars while they twinkle in the dark. She tried really hard this time, swirling the paintbrush of her mind amongst the sky to weave a sea of glittering beauty. Every detail was accounted for with her scrutinizing eye as she worked tirelessly to produce wonder.

“Beautiful as always, Your Eminence.” A voice calls from behind Luna. She turns to greet them, taking her eyes off the canvas of her sky. Her old friend, Javelin Brooch, stands there amongst the tall wild grass. Proudly displayed on her chest are her multi-colored, striped cloths, each one representing an act of bravery upon the battlefield. Luna gives Javelin a look of faux shock.

“Art thou making an attempt to court me? Such poor flattery shant win neither my heart nor my loins.” Luna jests, pulling a hoof to her chest piece to really sell the act. Unfortunately, Luna can’t hide the massive smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she tries to keep her snickering under control. Javelin lets out a hearty chuckle.

“Ah, perhaps a different tactic? Perhaps if I were to strike a fairer form, would that win Your Eminence over?” Javelin fires back while narrowing her eyes to a half lidded stare and puffing out her chest. She flexes the powerful muscles around her withers and barrel, making her shimmer under the moonlight. Luna fans her face with her wings in a show of being flustered before craning her head around in a sweeping swoon, bringing her hoof to her forehead.

“Thou hast truly won thy Princess over with thine handsomeness. Now come! Make love to me under the- BAHAHAHA *snort*” Luna’s lusty speech is cut short when she spots Javelin making exaggerated ‘sexy’ licks of her muzzle. Unable to contain her mirth any longer, she lets it explode into the air in short, snorting bursts. Javelin joins her in their amusement as the pair ruin themselves with uncontrollable glee.

Javelin, still giggling like mad, trots up while levitating a bottle of rum and two glasses out of her saddlebags before sitting next to Luna. Javelin does the honors, pouring the amber liquid into the squat glasses and offering one to Luna. They swap mana holds, gently crossing minds slightly in a show of friendly affection.

The drinks flow as easily as their animated dialogue under the blanket of Luna’s cool night. Eventually, as it usually did, their conversation transitions toward tender singing, with Javelin playing the lute and Luna providing the vocals.

Her chivalry bloomed under cold winter day,

As the pauper sought shelter from the snow.

And the knight did decree, ‘that her bread to share with thee’,

The pauper did thank great kindness……

And long after season did change and flow,

Did the knight find herself under wicked trickery.

The knight was to hang for a crime she did not commit,

But the pauper did come to plead…

Luna cuts the song short as the joyful memory fades from her mind, evidence of a smile still on her face.

It would not last for long.

Crushing anxiety lurches from the depths, leaping to the forefront of Luna’s mind. The thoughts start racing, of all the things that could go wrong. Maybe she’d be too forward? Maybe she’d be too scary. Maybe she’d say something wrong, make a social faux pas. She didn’t know much about modern social interactions anyway.

And he is not a pony. What if I do something that insults his culture? Something… weird? What if I say the wrong things? Make him not want to speak to me again…

The what-ifs claw at Luna’s mind with their jagged talons, each swipe planting a horrendous thought. They fester, rotting hope, robbing joy, embracing her in coldness. One by one they link up, feeding their true overlord.

Fear.

The raw, evil, and primal fear that came and went in Luna’s mind for as long as she could remember.

I do not deserve this.

It sits, the cruel black Obelisk in the forefront of Luna’s mind, casting its inky gloom across her mindscape. Joy, Hope, Happiness, and Love fade away from its corrupt glory, slinking in the barren backstreets, never to come back again. Luna’s breathing accelerates and her eyes screw shut as sad memories prowl in her mindscape, spurred on by that tall and looming Obelisk of dismay……

“THOU ART THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR HER DEATH!”

The scalding, tearful accusation of Javelin’s son. Luna stands shocked still at the display of pure vitriol……

“I do believe, if the court would listen to my humble request, that the winter moon celebration is not a wise expenditure of the crown budget. Travel during winter is quite difficult and providing food and festivity is nearly impossible with the climate. Instead, the court should pool our efforts into the summer sun celebration…”

The noblepony drones on and on with her carefully crafted speech. The court offers no word of support for Luna’s festival, or a word of protest at the noblepony’s proposal……

No.

“She’s dangerous, you know.”

No!

“Quick, quick! Do not linger too long!”

NO!

Luna definitely strikes forward, hoof making contact with that intimidating Obelisk. It offers heavy resistance, unwilling to move from its position, a position that it had held for the past three months. Screaming with all her might, Luna digs her hind legs further into the ground beneath her, pushing with all her might.

I do deserve this!

The Obelisk starts to crack against her sheer, cold determination, unrooting from its place slowly but surely. Sensing it was losing, the Obelisk redoubles its efforts, sending its monstrous anxiety army straight at Luna. The swarm sink their claws into whatever space they can find and begin to screech, trying to scare Luna’s determination away.

I shalt not budge.

Luna violently shakes her body, flinging the anxieties to the ground. Deftly, she stomps on them with renewed strength, crushing each one as they try to regain hoofing. Letting lose a mighty war cry, she brings her other forehoof into the fray, smashing against the obelisk with all her might. The Obelisk groans as it is pushed backward, cracking and flaking under the might of Luna’s vigor. Luna spreads her wings, gusting into the air like an arrow, aimed straight at the center of the Obelisk. The anxiety army leaps into action, biting her wings and dragging her down. They latch on to her primaries, trying to rip them from her wings, to break them so she could never resist again. Luna grits her teeth through the pain, holding on against the gnashing and pulling. Rocketing her forehoves outward, she smashes into the Obelisk, finally shattering it and breaking its onerous shadow.

Luna lands, much worse for wear. Her eyes scour the battlefield, gazing on the black bits of Obelisk lying smoking on the ground. It hisses as it slowly melts into the ground, creeping back to the alleys of Luna’s mind. She staggers, unable to support herself anymore, falling to the ground. Tears begin to flow.

Luna had won, but she does not feel victory, only the empty scars that lay on her body and mindscape. Dull aching pain of battle throb with every heartbeat. How badly does she want to scream, to tear at the walls and rip everything down.

I can’t fight anymore… I’m so tired… I…

A gentle birdsong.

The flapping of a dove’s wings, it perches light as a feather.

Hope.

I can do this.

Luna finally flutters her eyes open, the room comes into view. Luna exhales slowly, feeling the weight of her exhaustion upon her. Steeling herself, she looks at the clock once more.

4:25.

It was time to go. Equal parts excited, determined, and afraid, Luna channels her teleportation spell, her mind reaching across the veil of space, ripping forward and into reality. She steps proudly into garden #3, startling the wildlife in the process. Marching right past the rainbow lilies and mauve magnolias, she shoots a point turn straight left with a single destination formed in her mind. The tiredness begins to slip away as her steps echo in the halls, excitement building at the prospect of discovering more new music.

And of course, that bird, Hope, chirping its tune into Luna’s spirit. Daring her to believe once more.

Luna can already hear the music filtering down the hall as she jogs. The music starts and stops over and over, each repetition the same in melody and harmony, yet tuned slightly differently. One time it would be romantic, notes slurring into a steamy texture of love. Another time it would be pointed and frustrated, clear notes banging against the air. Luna is put into a trance once more, ears straining to take in each minute difference between the versions of Cyrus’ playing.

I must take lessons! This is truly wonderful! Luna happily imagines herself at the seat, her hooves gliding on the keys, producing beauty. Songs would flow and she’d make wonderful music with her friends once more. The odd tunes were not intimidating, rather exciting.

A whole new world to discover. Luna thinks, almost bounding down the hallway toward the door that would lead her into the new world of music. Her mind races with questions.

How do you make it sound so different every time? How are you able to accent the melody when there is so much going on? How are you even able to play all those notes at the same time? How are you able to play without looking? Can you sing? Can you play while I sing? What is this instrument called? How does it work? On and on Luna’s questions ramble in her mind, feeding her excitement, growing it to almost uncontrollable levels. Joy and Happiness make their way from the destitute backstreets, prancing into her mindscape as Luna’s imagination takes over.

It finally comes into view. Unassuming, brown, the crest of the guard sits on both its double doors. With all the patience of a schoolfilly, Luna rockets her hoof to the door handle, it makes contact.

The anxieties push back.

She’s frozen.

The black Obelisk’s base still sits in the middle of her mind. It is not as powerful as before, but it’s still there. Its jagged shape spreads across, pricking the hooves of Joy and Happiness as they try and dance. Every bit of pain Joy and Happiness feel causes the Obelisk to grow once more, feeding on their growing weakness. Soon the foul Obelisk shall return and cast its gloomy shadow once-

Tia believes in me.

Hope sings its tune deep into Luna’s soul. Joy and Happiness grit their teeth in determination, jumping, leaping, and waltzing in spite of the pain. They fight to stay afloat in Luna’s mind, urging her to keep going, to give it another shot. The army of anxiety watches her every move from the back of her mind. She puts on a brave face, knowing a single point of falter would spell doom. Luna parts the doors open and enters.

Cyrus is sitting at the piano, his pencil darting on the paper as he works, completely engrossed in whatever section of music he was revising. He shoots his hand out to mute the clacking of the metronome, choosing not to turn his head to whatever was going on in the room. Cutlass notices Luna’s entrance first from her perch at the bar. She sets her drink down and turns, this time expecting the arrival. Cutlass bows, drooping her wings to the floor in submission, uttering a reverent: “Your Highness.”

Cyrus, upon hearing those words, glaces up from his sheet music to meet Luna’s form. Luna gives Cutlass a curt ‘at ease’, allowing the batmare to remove her forehead and wings from the ground. Luna then turns to Cyrus, her uncertainty made bare by a nervous smile plastered on her face. Cyrus can practically taste the tension.

She showed up. Okay Cyrus, let’s give her another chance. Remember what Cutlass said. Cyrus reminds himself as past memories try to activate his animal side. The silence persists for a few seconds with Cutlass anxiously flicking her eyes to and from both parties. Cyrus arms his wit, his trusty weapon against the ugly face of awkwardness.

“Right, yeah, sorry I’m not bowing. My heart belongs only to my reverent King Charles the third.” Cyrus’ joke exits his mouth…

And falls completely flat on its face, arse, and other uncomfortable positions. Luna’s nervous smile turns upside down into a frown, ears slowly drooping toward the sides of her face. Cyrus’ stomach twists itself into a cringe-knot. Cutlass facehooves. Well she would have if she wasn’t absolutely terrified of what Luna was about to do at this brazen show of complete disrespect and disregard.

SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHO KING CHUCKY IS YOU FUCKING BELLEND. Cyrus berates himself internally as he lets out an awkward cough. Unscrewing his vocal chords, he kicks into salvage mode.

“Ah right sorry you don’t know who Charles is. Um… he’s the king where I’m from… uhh… but like he has no power? Also nobody likes him and everyone thinks he killed his first wife who everybody did like… yeah was making a joke. Sorry.” Cyrus blurts out, cheeks darkening with shame. Luna’s face enters a journey, confusion, contemplation, then a forced smile and a nervous chuckle. Her ears remain folded, however.

“Ah. Tis no issue. There is no need to bow to me.” Luna replies, shuffling on her hooves like she had an unpleasant itch to scratch. Luna and Cyrus both decide unanimously that the spot on the ground near their hooves/feet is perhaps the most fascinating thing in the universe, locking their eyes on it with great intensity. Cutlass’ eye twitches, her face darkening feeling the residual cringe of Luna and Cyrus’ interaction. She knows she has to rescue the situation.

“Cl*AHEM*air de*COUGH* Lu*HACK*ne” Cutlass hides her message amongst coughs, hacks, and wheezes. Cyrus’ face scrunches up a bit in thought before he deciphers the message, hand snaking into his knapsack to pull out the book he had borrowed before starting his daily piano practice.

“So… uhhh… last time you mentioned that you had never really heard much ‘new’ music before. And Cutlass told me some… stuff…” Cyrus’ tone dances nervously around Luna’s feelings, “So I thought I’d play you something. It’s called Clair de Lune. Moonlight in Fren- Prench. Thought you’d like it.”

Luna’s ears slowly moved upward during Cyrus’ babbling speech, returning back to mast at the mention of ‘Moonlight’. Her eyes sparkle with curiosity, songs of her time never had things of her night as the subject.

He… found a piece of music for me? Luna thinks to herself, the bird of Hope singing louder and louder in her chest. Luna cracks loose a smile, before replying: “Wondrous! I thank thee. I am excited to hear this piece.”

Previous trepidation melts away, thanks to the efforts of the brave Cutlass ‘The Hammer’ Stellabright. Luna and Cyrus offer an inward thanking at her timely intervention, both happy that the awkwardness has been banished. Cutlass clears her throat, drawing attention to her.

“Well, I think I’d better take my leave then. I’ll leave the two of you to it.” Cutlass states, flashing Cyrus a confident wink and Luna respectful salute before exiting the room, gingerly closing the door behind her. Cyrus mounts the book upon the music stand as Luna strides forward, picking a seat as close to Cyrus as possible. There she waits in eager anticipation, mind trying to predict what was to come as Cyrus runs a few phantom practices, marking a few troublesome sections of the music with light pencil strokes so as not to vandalize the book.

Preparations complete, Cyrus straightens his seat, looking to Luna for permission. With an enthusiastic nod of consent from the Lunar Princess, Cyrus starts off, drawing his eyes once more to the music.

Easy, slow. Make it romantic. Yung Claude Debussy was an impressionist, he loves mood… Cyrus reminds himself as he plays the opening phrases of the music, being sure to linger on the ends of each chord, dragging it for as long as tempo would allow. As each musical phrase comes forward, he changes the tempo slightly, altering the emotion, pausing in the notes that connect chord to chord to create a sense of mystery.

Luna listens along intently, her ears gripping onto every note, envisioning a valley under gentle moonlight in her mind’s eye. The river that runs through reflects the glow of her moon and stars, making anew her painting of the sky in the ripples and currents of the water.

Make it quiet Cyruuuussssss, dont fuck up the next sectionnnnnn. You’ve already made some mistakes… Cyrus chastises as the music begins to build, faster and louder chords pounding out a sense of urgency as the same theme is repeated with chordal development.

Luna leans forward and closes her eyes as the scene in her mind changes. More urgent, more fun, more activity, her friends are taking a midnight swim. Frolicking when she was young with her sister, playing hide and seek among the wheat.

All the while, Cyrus is shooting short glances toward the happily swaying Luna, trying to gauge her next moves. What he sees makes his heart melt a little; Luna had the biggest smile of pure nostalgia on her face, the sparkles of her mane glowing brighter as the merry memories made their rounds in her mind.

Not murderous at all… She’s really enjoying it! Cyrus inwardly concludes, happy that his playing was being appreciated. He returns attention back to the music, not wanting to play any dreadful devil's tritones that would surely snap Luna out of her magnificent mood.

The music reaches climax, glissando chords bringing the tone back to calm, accelerating toward a possible resolution. Cyrus, using his hours of musical experience, is able to trick Luna into thinking the piece is ending, slowing each arpeggiated chord until it is painful. Then, slowly, the theme repeats itself once more, but the baseline has changed. Ascending notes ring forward like a harp, Cyrus speeds up the playing pouring as much emotion as he can into his playing, accenting the tops and bottoms of the left hand arpeggios to create tension as the right hand belts out the melody once more.

Luna is now floating in a sea of sound, staring upwards into the beauty of nature as she gently drifts down the river. That special valley, she had watched it grow and change over millennia. The seasons fly by, death, life, and death again. The sprouting flowers, the falling leaves, all the beauty of struggle make themselves known in Luna’s beautiful trance.

The intensity draws to a close and the theme repeats itself once more, shambling toward resolution. While the theme remains the same, the supporting chords have morphed into arpeggios and changed their structure. The difference is clear, yet the spirit remains. In Luna’s special valley, time has clearly passed, it is now populated by buildings and bustling life. All under the gentle glow of her timeless moon. Slowly, Luna reintroduces herself to the room, cracking her eyelids open.

Cyrus draws it to a close and takes his hands off the piano. Luna pounds her hoof on the floor in awestruck approval. Cyrus, ever the professional, stands from the piano with a sly grin and takes a looping bow.

“Ah! Thank you!~ Thank you!~ My adoring fans!~” Cyrus embellishes, blowing kisses to his imaginary audience, earning pearls of laughter from Luna. Swept up by the revelry, Luna offers her own excessive praise in the form of a firework spell, letting flashes of color dance through the room. Cyrus pauses his egotistical display to look on in amazement at the lights flittering from Luna’s horn. He himself claps at the display, a look of clear bedazzlement on his face.

“That’s amazing, how did you do that? Ah, don't say, magic innit?” Cyrus praises, grin on his face. Luna blushes at the lauding, running a bashful hoof through her mane.

“Tis a simple spell,” Luna fiddles a bit with the ground before hesitantly adding, “thy playing is the impressive feat of magic here.”

Now it’s Cyrus’ turn to be under the scrutiny of praise. In expected motion, his hand finds itself at the back of his head and sheepishness invades his face. He lets out a chuckle, sitting back down on the piano stool.

“Thanks, I do practice a lot.” He responds, taking the music off the stand and back into his half-saddlebag. Luna steps up eagerly next to the piano, peering into the cabinet of the instrument with childlike wonder. Cyrus snickers to himself, Luna’s actions reminding him how amazed he was when he first got to see the inner workings himself. He presses a key, demonstrating the tandem interactions of the piano’s action. Luna is startled at the sudden sound at first, but her face quickly turns to amazement as she spies the deft strike of the hammer followed by the muting weight of the damper.

“Basically, when I press the key, the hammer comes up and strikes the string which makes a vibration. When I let go, the damper comes down and mutes it. If I press this pedal on the right, the damper won't come down, making it so the string never mutes till I let go. The piece I just played abuses the middle pedal a bit, which is the Sostenuto pedal. Bit of a tricky one. It lets me choose which notes I want to sustain, then makes the rest normal. The one on the left is the quiet pedal. It locks the damper in place.” Cyrus explains to a wide-eyed Luna. She buries her head deeper into the cabinet, trying to peer at the mechanism that the levers control, bumping her horn against the strings and letting out a gentle hum at the contact.

Cyrus can't help but let out a hearty laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of Princess Luna, with all her formal regalia on, shoving her muzzle as far into the piano as it can go. Hearing the laughter, Luna is jolted back from her curious foray into the depths of musical engineering. The coat of her cheeks darkens to purple.

“*ahem* A remarkable piece of ingenuity. Much has developed since I’ve been gone…” Luna salvages, trying to remain as dignified as she could. Cyrus offers a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, I was like that too at one point. Although if you have any questions, ask away.” Cyrus offers, trying to help Luna come down a shade or two.

“Yes, I do! Are the strings pluckable? Why are the hammers covered in fur? If it’s not your hoof touching the string, how do you make it sound loud or quiet?” Luna rapidly questions, giddy excitement replacing previous trepidation, her eyes sparkle with expectation as old feelings of discovery reawaken.

“Uh… first question, yes, but if done wrong it can damage the piano. Second, related to the first, less damage on the strings. Third question? Well, the short answer is practice, long answer is I press the key gently or roughly to make the hammer move slower or faster.” Cyrus lists off to Luna as she strides to the side of Cyrus, looking intently at the keyboard.

“And the black… things, why do they sit above the white ones?” Luna continues her interrogation. Ever the studious teacher, Cyrus straightens himself up, organizing the various bits of music theory required to answer Luna in his mind.

“That’s a bit of a tough one. The black keys are sharps and flats… are you familiar with that?” Cyrus lectures to a feverishly nodding Luna.

“Yes, I am familiar. Semitonal changes of the quote-unquote eight notes of the octave, am I correct?” Luna answers, looking to Cyrus for approval. Impressed, Cyrus quirks a surprised eyebrow.

“Huh, you’re familiar with music theory?” Cyrus asks with an impressed tone. Luna puffs out her chest and flutters her wings a little bit.

“I shalt have thee know that I often partook in singing in the days of my youth. An often forgotten fact…” Luna brags, but her tone drops into a low grunt of disdain at the last sentence. Cyrus nods in a show of respect, his own curiosity peaking at the prospect of being able to listen to ancient music from a primary source.

“Singing? You mind singing something, I’m curious as to what Equestrian music was like a thousand years ago.” Cyrus queries. Luna straightens out a bit in embarrassment, eyes darting away. Cyrus picks up on it, cursing his rudeness.

“Ah sorry, didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. It’s okay-”

“No, I would like to” Luna interrupts Cyrus, having found a semblance of courage within herself. Clearing her throat and taking a few steps back, she prepares one of her favorites. After a few slightly wobbly breaths, she begins.

She sat upon the ivory throne,

Drinking burgundy wine,

“O where will I find a sailor

To sail this ship of mine.”

Luna’s ballad begins, she slowly sets the scene, her clear voice filling the room with the cadence of a sea shanty. The rhythm isn’t too complicated, but it is interesting enough, but the singing is really what sets Luna apart. On key, yes, but more impressive for Cyrus is the sheer vocal range that Luna possessed. Not a single note was strained or reached for, no sliding or slipping between leaping octaves.

The court remained unimpressed

For this kingdom had no need for ships

The advisor spake: “My lady, seek reason!

We are locked by land, believe my lips!”

Luna increases tempo, kicking into the meaty part of the song. On she sung about the advisor’s tirade with the incompetent Queen, altering her voice masterfully to convey the tone of the story she told. Getting into it, she starts kicking her forelegs and hindlegs in rhythm of a traditional Equestrian jig. The advisor and the Queen go back and forth with the Queen insisting that they needed ships to cross the legendary ‘golden sea’.

It was a desert.

Eventually the Queen got incredibly fed up and had the advisor's head cut off.

Gory, gory, gory! What a horrible way to die!

Luna accents the finish with a few stomps of her hooves while Cyrus showers her with applause. Luna lets out a series of giggles, covering her mouth with her hoof to mute the unprincess-like sounds coming from her mouth.

“Huzzah! It has been an age since I’ve last performed that!” Luna cheers, happy that she finally got to share some of the tunes of her past with someone else. Cyrus puts the fallboard over the keyboard and pulls out some leftover blank sheet music, setting it down on the new flat surface. He starts to scribble, earning the confusion of Luna. She sidles up to Cyrus, peeking over his shoulder.

“Pray tell, what are thee…?” Luna trails off as she notices the symbols appearing on the staff. Cyrus glances up, midway through adding a few naturals to some of the notes.

“Figured this might be some ancient treasure you just dropped on me. Can’t hurt to transcribe it. Although, my aural isn’t really that amazing so I might need you to sing some parts again?” Cyrus requests, returning his attention and focus back to remembering the tune Luna had just sung, removing the fallboard every so often to work out a section using the piano. Luna is completely taken aback, this was the first time anycreature other than her sister had taken even a droplet of interest in the times of her past. She lets out a giddy grin.

“Absolutely, my friend! I await your call.”

Perhaps too eager. She freezes.

TOO SOON! Luna’s mind frantically bashes, cheeks coloring lavender at the zealous mention of possible friendship. Cyrus pauses, the overexcited statement from Luna jarring into his head. Slowly, he turns to look at Luna, face not betraying what was going on behind the scenes. She gulps.

Very audibly.

“Um… uhhh…” Cyrus mumbles, filling the air with uncertain filler words. They cut Luna like tiny jagged shards of glass, reminding her of her frenzied mistake. Dejection and despair start to fill Luna.

Until.

“You know, you gotta stop doing that ear thing, it’s really unfair,” Cyrus whines, rolling his eyes in indignation, “you lot are too cute. Unfair,” Cyrus shakes his head in defeat. Crossing his arms, he sighs before continuing, “Friends? I dunno…”

Luna awaits her judgment, keenly eyeing Cyrus, trying to pry into the warring emotions happening behind his eyes. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Cyrus lets out a cutting tisk.

“Part of me says you’re still out to get me,” Cyrus raises his hands defensively at his statement while Luna’s face cringes at the mention of her past ills, “just telling the truth.”

Luna wrenches her eyes to the floor in shame. Of course she had to mess it up. Why didn’t she listen to Tia? Silly, silly Luna.

Tia said: ‘don’t act too soon, wait, be patient.’ Stupid me! How could I-

“But a part of me also says that you’re trying... So fuck- buck it! Why not?” Luna’s eyes shoot back up to Cyrus’ face, the corner of his lip adored with a slight upturn. Daring, silent hope returns to Luna’s body. Cyrus’ sticks out his fist. Luna bumps it.

The deal is sealed.

Smiles return and Cyrus gets back to work.

“Can you repeat the ‘My Queen, the sand-sea is not of water’ section please?”

The pair work for the next half an hour, surprisingly, like a well oiled machine. Luna’s singing was always perfectly on key, never faltering, making it easy for Cyrus to reliably transcribe the music without confusion. The respect and reverence of each member’s skill grew with each passing note and scribble. Cyrus, taken aback by the sheer range of Luna’s voice. Luna, by the accuracy and creativity of Cyrus as he put down a few accompanying chords to her melody.

All things considered, the pair are jamming.

With a dramatic flick, Cyrus marks the appropriate tempo on the piece, finishing the pair's hard work. With a soft *click* the new addition is added to Cyrus’ growing music binder with reverence. Luna stood proudly, happy at what she had accomplished.

Not just the transcription of one of her favorite shanties, but at the inroads she had made in friendship. Her heart glimmers warmly, Hope happily chittering its delightful birdsong.

She only had one final thing to ask.

“Cyrus, friend. If it would not be too much trouble. Perhaps thou could teach me to play?” Luna humbly requests. Cyrus quirks an eye, mind reaching back to the countless lazy students he had the displeasure of trying to beat a sense of musicality into. He wants to say no, given that having money to eat wasn’t really a concern anymore.

But Luna seemed so excited, nervous, and willing, practically shaking at the prospect of unlocking the secrets of the piano.

Reminded Cyrus of himself. He stands up from the piano and drags a nearby chair over.

“Yeah. Sure, why not. C’mon, sit, let's start with C major.”

Luna practically leaps onto the piano stool.

“But you gotta explain how the hell your hooves are able to press the keys… Ah! Magic innit. I should just keep my mouth shut from now on… Okay so this is middle C, you start here, then you play all the white ones until you complete the octave…”

Luna can’t stop smiling.

Far from Canterlot, deep within the twin peaks…

She creeps silently among the shrubbery so as not to alert the wildlife of her presence. The uneven and sharp stones dig into her frogs yet she does not utter a syllable of pain or complaint. She knew well that in her homeland, the hunter can easily become the hunted. Leaving was not an option, these lands were sacred to her and her flock.

She swaddled her cloak closer to her barrel. It was the only protection she had if she was spotted. The journey was long, she was tired and her body ached. Her sanguine eyes scan the landscape for the minuscule landmarks, landmarks that would lead her home. She sniffs the air deeply for signs of struggle.

She spots the rock. It is slightly discolored. Vilviet, a shade lighter than Valret. Closing her eyes for focus, she launches probing clicks into the night air. Satisfied at the echoes, she slithers to the rock at light speed, unable to contain the ecstatic happiness radiating from her body.

The news she had to deliver to her cloud was the most joyous. She approaches the unassuming cave entrance, sweeping her right forehoof across the arid dirt before planting it. Next comes the gentle step of her hindlegs, she brings them close to her forehooves so that her back becomes arched. Then, leaping and bounding from rock to rock like a madmare possessed by the spirit of an angry dancer, she hops seemingly aimlessly among the shrubbery. She performs with fervor, knowing her lovers are eagerly watching.

She was Galor Viv! Red eyes! The chosen, who marched with Her Eminence across Equestria, freeing their brothers and sisters in times of old. How proud she was to be Galor Viv! To be Noctra Za’lav, chosen by night. This dance symbolized her dedication, her knowledge, and her devotion.

She hears the clicks she’s been waiting for: “Come, sister. Enter.”

Giddy with glee, she scurries into the cave entrance. Her lovers greet her with warm smiles, lips already pierced with their sharp pearly fangs. Delicious beads of blood formed on the surface of their lips, ready to be consumed. She bows to her herd, head touching the floor. The stallion steps up, clicking: “Welcome home, Lakla.”

Removing her forehead from the ground, Lakla steps up to meet her lover’s lips with her own. Her lips trace the blood her lover has so generously offered, relishing the flavor, picking out the recent meals her lover has had like a sommelier with fruits in wine.

Repeating, Lakla gives each of her herd a gentle kiss. First mare, third mare, and housemare all share their sacred life fuel with Lakla.

“And She declared: ‘All creatures who think must not eat others. Life-liquid is taken only in love.’ Holy are Stars and Night.” Lakla clicks in reverence. Her lovers bow to the ancient scripture. They embrace. Lakla practically melts into them, having yearned for their loving touch ever since she began her journey.

Unable to contain herself, Lakla breaks into her sacred native tongue: “Arvilas! Darvius, Lilet, Krivis, et Serval. Es dalv’tel holm slet trum golt.”

Formal greetings! Darvius, Lilet, Krivis, and Serval. I have returned home early with happy tidings.

Her lovers listen on. The stallion, Darvius, motions with his wings for her to continue. Vibrating, she steps up proudly, spreading her leathery wings in a display of passion. She was about to deliver the news she had giddily carried for a month and a half, across the burning sands and jagged rocks. Through the woods and towns that shunned them.

“Noctra Havarax! Trasalin! Sil est galor!”

Her Eminence, The Night Stalker! Returned! I saw it with my own eyes!

Lakla’s speech sends shockwaves through the room. Her lover’s lips quiver as they stare in disbelief, hopes of the past rising in their chests. First mare, Lilet, steps forward, her red eyes misty with tears, shivering with reverent fear and excitement.

“Non solat?”

Not a lie?

Frantically, Lakla shakes her head to dispel Lilet’s worry. Lilet’s fear turns into joy. The herd follows suit.

Madly they fly, scamper, and disperse, screaming good news throughout the caves, shouting the holy phrase. The phrase they had been taught as children, indoctrinated into believing that it was the goal of existence. To see Her return. To serve once more.

The twin peaks, for the first time in many, many years, scream once more.

Noctra Havarax! She has returned!

Author's Note

HELLO AGAIN.

You know, writing this I was all like: 'Yeah! I'm going to make my own songs.'

And then I realized that I actually can't compose anything that isn't akin to dog feces. :applecry: Unlucky.

Songbird's fugue is inspired by Well Tempered Clavier book 1, No:4, Fugue section by J.S. Bach. One of the more depressing fugues written. I think it conveys heartbreak/despair very well.

Luna's songs of old are meant to be sea shanties/monophonic chants.

Of course, I had to use Clair de Lune at some point in this story. Wouldn't be a proper Luna & music centric fic if it wasn't included.

ANYWAY LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU LOT THOUGHT PLEASE AND AS ALWAYS THANKS FOR READING! :heart:

5. …有双刃 [...has a double edge]

Three weeks of piano lessons later…

Cyrus straightened the shirt of his new suit, the disagreeable fabric gripping on his nipples as he squirmed. The royal tailor team had delivered a smarter form of dress for Cyrus at the behest of their Princess of the Night, who’s behest came at the behest of Cyrus himself. Unfortunately, they seemed to have missed a few marks. Wearing it just felt weird, the shoulders were slightly compressed, the waist was just a little too tight, and the trousers were incredibly breezy. Although, the crown clothiers didn’t completely fail their task. Despite the uncomfort, the black and white three piece suit did look the part, much smarter than the clothes that Cyrus had arrived in Equestria with. The illegal combo of Donald Duck hoodie and trackie bottoms are now forever relegated to pajama wear.

It was an interesting two weeks for the young pianist, his routine changed considerably now that Luna was taking lessons from him. After the first one, they had agreed upon meeting on the Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday of each week. This way Luna would have ample time for independent practice before each lesson.

And independently practice Luna did, having immediately splurged 2000 bits on a beautiful mahogany upright for her room. Cyrus had been completely shocked at the sheer studiousness Luna conducted herself with. She was a machine. Ask her to learn the C, D, and F major scales at 80 beats-per-minute? She’d have it done by the next class and it would be near perfect. It was very refreshing for him, having a student that took his teachings on with borderline insane levels of zeal. Luna was currently working her way through some Czerny-esqe Etudes, 110 progressive exercises, and was making remarkable progress.

However, as anypony does, Luna came with her own flaws. Very hilarious flaws. Finally comfortable showing some of her true colors, she had let her more easily frustrated side loose. She would, after making too many mistakes in a passage, often pound her hoof in exacerbation on the floor at her poor playing. Sometimes she’d get so upset that she’d have to kick off for a bit, pace the room for a second, or summon a dummy for rapid deconstruction. Cyrus can't help but smile at some of the memories. Him trying, rather unsuccessfully, to calm her down as she VERY literally hopped up and down in vexation. Listening to the stream of masterfully creative cuss words she’d let slip at her beginner-level playing. Trying not to completely lose it when she would pull the most absurd faces trying to suppress her screams of irritation.

In return, Luna had decided it was prudent for Cyrus to learn a bit about magic, given that he knew about diddly squat and was now surrounded by it. Unfortunately, his lack of magic-signature made it difficult for any practical demonstrations; most disheartening for Luna, that meant no dreamwalking despite the volume of rituals she performed. Although it didn’t really matter anyway, Cyrus’ sleep schedule aligned with the Lunar Princess’ quite nicely and dream visits were not necessary.

Thus, the magic lessons usually ended early, transitioning seamlessly into simply chatting shit and trading stories. Cyrus had deduced that Luna was a very chill pony when she wasn’t trying to commit homicide, always willing to crack a dirty joke or poke fun at something stupid.

More memories filter through Cyrus’ mind of Luna’s animated joking. She knew all the rude symbols and was sure to show and explain each one to Cyrus. Of course, Cyrus reciprocated, he is honor bound. Luna now knew what the ‘two fingered salute’ meant, she quite enjoyed that one even if she couldn’t perform it.

Overall, in an astonishing turn of events, Cyrus was actually looking forward to talking with Luna. Of course, the first week was incredibly awkward, but Luna was way too committed to let this opportunity slip by. Not to mention a certain batty pony who was always there to offer a bit of advice. Old wounds and embarrassments were starting to heal through time and comradery, each member becoming more and more confident in showing off their anima to the other. They even agreed to meet outside of lesson time for a few drinks.

Speaking of comradery and drinks, that studious batmare, Cutlass, had chosen to stick around as Cyrus’ escort, unwilling to let go of her ‘talk to me, cute stallions’ pass. Not only that, but the change of routine meant Cutlass actually had a bit of free time to do some things she wanted while Cyrus was off with cavorting with Luna. An insane win, win, and win. Cyrus offers a prayer of gratitude to ‘The Hammer’ for staying with him during the boring hours of the night and makes a mental note to figure out when her birthday was.

Individual performance aside, it was the combination of Cutlass and Luna that ensured that Cyrus had acclimated much better to his surroundings. The pair, through rigorous training, ensured Cyrus A) didn’t sexually assault anypony by making sure he knew which areas were okay to touch and which areas would land you in the slammer and B) not make a complete arse of himself when dealing with all of the intricacies of pony body language. Cyrus had to memorize it all.

There was an exam. Don’t worry, he passed with flying colors.

All things considered, Cyrus was having a lot of fun now. He was actually happy. Free room, good job, and most importantly: good friends. Even if life had thrown him for a crazy loop, he managed to walk away from the wreckage injury free.

Mostly.

Chuckling at the fond memories he had procured recently, Cyrus loops the tie over his neck, muttering the age old rabbit mnemonic. Successfully tied, Cyrus ganders closer to the mirror, peering at the knot for signs of imperfection. Satisfied, he gives himself a final once over.

The first thing he notices is how long his hair has gotten, its thick black sprawl almost becoming lady-like in its majestic length. The second, the lack of acne, probably due to the lack of incredibly oily food in his diet. Third, the offending stubble growing on his neck that really needed shaving. Cyrus makes a mental note to ask Luna/Cutlass for some razors.

A month and a bit since I’ve been dumped here. Moving mad… Cyrus muses while running a comb through his unkempt hair, trying to make it look somewhat presentable, Far cry from my first week. Now I’ve actually got something to look forward to.

Oh do you now?

There It is. His Monster materializes by the wardrobe mirror, nonplussed look upon its incomprehensible freakish features. It inspects its yellow, cracked talons like a bored store clerk dealing with a rude customer.

Oh for God’s sake… Cyrus mutters to It, turning away to ignore It. His Monster, ever the tormentor, slithers to block Cyrus’ path, boring Its rust colored eyes deep into his flesh. Reaching out, it stabs Its talons into Cyrus’ forearm, uncomfortably gripping it like the drunk uncle nobody talks to at a family gathering.

Let me go. I’ve got places to be. Cyrus cooly orders, determined not to let His Monster gain any footing in his mind. It chortles in response, shaking Its filthy black dust around the room while wrenching Cyrus’ body uncomfortably close to Its.

Oh I know, I know. That sickening little dinner party with the one who tortured you for a week without remorse and the one who did nothing about it. His Monster digs at Cyrus’ insecurities, trying to open an avenue of attack. Cyrus turns his nose upward at the petty attempt of getting a rise out of him, smacking the offending appendage away. Annoyance flashes across His Monster’s visage as Cyrus makes a show of dusting off his new suit jacket.

DO NOT IGNORE ME! It screams, reaching tendrils to try and shackle Cyrus once more in Its embrace, each attempt batted away by a willful smack.

Well first of all, she does feel remorse. And second, I’ll ignore you all I want, mate. Cyrus spits, unwilling to continue this petty squabble any longer. He waves a hand in dismissal. His Monster bristles.

This is usually how it went in the short bursts of alone time Cyrus had. At first, taking advantage of the uncertainty of his new surroundings, His Monster had made remarkable progress, planting worry after worry into Cyrus’ fertile and weak mind. But the resistance was on and Cyrus was slowly starting to unroot the foul weeds of insecurity. Each happy memory forged with Cutlass and Luna slowly adding to his growing arsenal of anti-anxiety gardening tools. The way they welcomed him, helped him acclimate, and, most powerfully, didn’t shun him when he let slip his apprehensions……

“Friend Cyrus, thou shalt tell me what is wrong posthaste.” Luna states with all the subtlety of a 40 ton lorry screaming down the M1. She stares at Cyrus with a flat expression, equal parts annoyed and concerned. Annoyed because she was trying to learn some modern music theory and Cyrus would not stop bucking sighing. Concerned because Cyrus does not read books in a way that hides his eyes from other ponies. That can only mean a few things and Luna had a pretty good idea as to what was going on.

After a second to gain a bit of composure, Cyrus lowers the book he was reading, Abridged History of Equestria, just below his eyes so he can meet Luna’s unimpressed gaze. Cyrus raises an eyebrow of ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ while Luna raises an eyebrow of ‘don't bullshit me, I see right through you’. A most impressive war of facial expressions wage on between the pair. Luna breaks the sacred silence: “Cyrus, thou hast been sighing and swooning for the past thirty minutes. Unless thou art reading some smutty romance, there is no reason to be ‘pining’ so much.”

Cyrus’ brow furrows, matching his frowning countenance. Pulling his book back up, Cyrus attempts a classic play: ignore. Luna rolls her eyes at the shoddy display of petulance. Her mind shoots out to grip the book’s mana-field. Once firmly in her control, she rips it toward the corner of the room where it lands in an undignified thump. Cyrus shoots Luna a glare and a raspberry.

“What was that for?” Cyrus moans, crossing his arms defensively. Now it is Luna’s turn to sigh, although much more aggressively than Cyrus.

“Cyrus, stop being, borrowing from thy lexicon, a ‘little shit’ and tell me what is troubling thee. Thou hast been sighing in the most irritating fashion for the past thirty minutes.” Luna states, completely ignoring Cyrus’ question and, unwilling to dance around it, completely murders the bush, striking at the heart of her issue.

“It’s nothing” Cyrus grunts, standing up to go pick up his book and continue off on the absolutely riveting history of the Chineighese-Equestrian trade imbalance.

It actually was pretty riveting for Cyrus. Equestria, in a bid to trade for tea, silk, and porcelain, had opted for a different route compared to the British. Instead of hooking the Chineighese citizens on opium to finally have something to export, the Equestrians simply just ‘got good’ and developed an actual product to-

With a yelp of confusion, Cyrus is yanked back into his seat by the glow of a cerulean aura, centered at the hems of his hoodie. He tries to struggle against it, but Luna’s magical hold is too strong.

“Is it the amenities? Or perhaps an uncomfortable spat with a passing guard? Or, harmony forbid, my company?” Luna injects a bit of jesting into the last question, smirking at the human as she usually did when they were joking around.

Her smile disappears when she feels the shivering disturbing the mana-hold she had on his hoodie.

Accelerated breathing. Chewing his cheek to keep his face straight. Keeping his eyes trained straight, but pipuls shrunk to pinpricks.

Like when she dropped him in the fountain.

Luna instantly relinquished her hold, blurting out a string of apologies and regrets. Cursing her brazen, attacking attitude, Luna’s face banishes jest, changing to pure concern. Recovering from his fit, Cyrus slowly straightens himself up, unable to bring himself to look anywhere but his still shaking hands.

Too hard! Learn restraint I beg… Luna chastises herself. She tries to reach out a comforting hoof, but is frozen by apprehension. Slowly, Cyrus brings his gaze to meet Luna’s.

“Please, don’t do that again.” Cyrus whimpers, barely audible. The words cut like knives and Luna’s heart falls victim to the primal fear exhibited in his eyes and voice.

“I am truly sorry. I was not thinking. Please forgive me.” Luna utters her apology with reverent ignominy. The silence’s thickness pervades the room, only broken by the ticking of the clock. Finally, Cyrus musters some courage, putting a hand on Luna’s wither and drawing her out of her tizzy.

“It’s not you, Luna. It’s me,” Cyrus admits, voice still bouncing with residual agitation, “I’m constantly reminded… how similar everything is. But at the same time-”

“Nothing makes sense.” Luna finishes, draping a wing of her own on Cyrus’ frame in a show of empathy, patting his back in comforting motion. Feeling the movement of friendship and connection stirring in his chest, Cyrus finally lets loose the locks in his inner vault of insecurities.

“To be honest, I don’t know if I’ll fit in here. I don’t know if any of this is real. I’m terrified of…”

“Trying at all.” Luna finishes for Cyrus again, pulling him closer to her. Cyrus lets out a hollowed laugh at Luna’s decisive deductions. They look at each other in silent sensitivity, allowing space to stew in contemplation. Relinquishing her hold, Luna settles next to Cyrus’ chair, planting her flank on the floor.

“I understand thy feelings. I, myself, have trouble speaking on my doubts. There is no urgency from me, do as thy see fit.”

Those eloquent words fill Cyrus’ void. He isn’t alone. He meets Luna’s smile with a melancholic look of acceptance.

“Do not fear the integrity of our friendship. Though it be young, it is true. I think thy understand by now, I have no patience for dishonesty. Ask any of the nobles my sister somehow has the tolerance for. Thou art not a flight of pity, thou art my friend. I bless thy courage for allowing me a second chance.” Luna assurges, drawing from her own insecurity to understand and quell Cyrus’ fears. Cyrus locks his jaw in silent determination, the assuring words of Luna giving him the strength to resist his anxiousness. He nods his head in respect.

Picking up on Cyrus’ turning mood, Luna engages her wit to further along the process, as he had done for her on many occasions.

“And thou have even less to fear with ‘The Hammer’. Yes, I do know her nickname. If she didn’t like thee, she would likely have tried to fight thee. Her file of misconduct is most entertaining,” Luna quips, apparating a brown file labeled ‘Cutlass Stellabright’ into her azure hold, “excellent reading material, if thou art inclined.”

Cyrus lets out a chuckle at the mention of the fiery, golden eyed Cutlass, scenes of her legendary temper playing in his mind. Luna begins to read, but Cyrus silences her with a gentle nudge of her wither.

“Luna.” Cyrus starts. Luna looks on with gentle, amiable warmness.

“Thanks. That really means a lot……”

Cyrus was on his way to healing, to accepting his new situation, to allowing himself to be vulnerable.

And that made His Monster unbelievably angry. Spurned! Cyrus should listen to It. That ungrateful wretch.

So His Monster changes tactics. Nothing was off limits now.

Honey. Please. We miss you.

Harrowing words. Familiar voice. It makes Cyrus’ heart drop to the pits of inky blackness. Slowly, he turns his head.

Next to His Monster stands Cyrus’ mother, her mousy brunette hair tied in a neat bun at the back of her head like the facetime before Cyrus had ended up in Equestria. She was wearing what she often wore, a sentimental cream coloured blouse covered by a blue hand-crocheted cardigan. A long floral skirt flowed from her waist and past her knees. Cyrus’ throat tightens at the familiar sight as dread creeps into his spirit.

How could he have forgotten? His own flesh and blood. Too busy dealing with his own shit to think about the one who gave him life. Ripples of guilt tear through Cyrus’ mind.

Now that the shock and adrenaline of the first month has worn off, I figure a little nostalgia ought to do some good. His Monster cackles, running a repulsive talon from Cyrus’ mother’s cheek to the bottom of her chin. With a final squeal of delight, His Monster dematerialises back to the pits of where It crawled out of, leaving Cyrus and her mother alone in the room. She steps forward, reaching her hand out.

宝贝, 妈妈想你 [Darling, mom misses you]. She whispers in her soft motherly voice, her mispronounced Chinese causing a nuclear explosion of homesickness in the pit of Cyrus’ soul. Desperately, he wants to reach out, to hug her again, to speak to her again.

To tell her he was okay. To tell her he was safe and that she didn’t need to stress anymore and she should move on and that she… she…

Cyrus takes a step forward.

The thought of her mother, all alone since his dad passed away, sobbing her eyes out because her only son had one day disappeared with no trace. The only son she could have. All the other attempts failed. Cyrus was her pride and joy.

She could face the blisters and pain of overtime to provide for him. She could face the harrowing prospect of going to bed hungry so Cyrus could have a little extra on his plate. She could face the freezing cold of winter, moving the only heater they had into Cyrus’ room so he could sleep soundly.

How proud she was when he graduated, how proud she was at his first recital, how proud she was when he received a distinction on his 8th grade exam.

How she had fussed and fretted over his school uniform when he was a teen, how she had fussed and fretted over his first tuxedo for his first school concert, how she had fussed and fretted over graduation gown and cap during his graduation from the Royal Conservatory.

Those thoughts shred Cyrus’ stability to ribbons and effortlessly shatter his mental defenses. He chokes out a gasp, a river flowing down his cheeks. He grips his mother’s outstretched hand and she leads him closer and closer…

The balcony comes into view. Sprawling out in front of Cyrus is the beautiful scene of Canterlot under the shining night sky. The architecture and city are designed to melt into the mountain, complementing the features of the nature around. Roads carve themselves upwards and downward, and the streets teem with business, creating a heavenly painting of life.

But Cyrus does not see the beauty.

All he sees is how far down he can go.

Come, honey, we are waiting for you. His mother gestures to the waiting concrete below. A steep drop. Down and splat. He probably wouldn’t feel it, right?

Cyrus can not stop shaking.

His stomach threatens to upheave its contents.

Suffocating, yet his breathing gets faster and faster. His hand makes contact with the railing.

I miss them so much I want to see them so bad mom please don’t worry I’ll be there soon oh my God I’m going to do it I’m going to do it nononononononnononononono

His leg swings over the railing.

Mom I want to see you Jake I want to see you I miss you what am I doing here what exactly is there here for me there is nothing this place I…

They’ll be so sad.

BUT WHO CARES!His Monster, fed drunk on Cyrus’ despair, roars to life.

I do.

THEY AREN’T YOUR FAMILY.

But they are my friends.

YOU THINK THEY CARE?! THEY’LL CAST YOU ASIDE AS SOON AS THE NEXT BIG THING COMES. YOU. DON’T. BELONG.

But maybe I can.

With a scream, Cyrus shoves himself backwards and onto the floor, his back protests in pain as it makes contact with the cold stone floor. Howling, crazy, and manic laughter overtakes him, relief and disgust melding into a strange alcohol, ejected by Cyrus’ vocal chords in the form of grotesque guffaws.

HOLY FUCK THAT WAS A CLOSE ONE. He screams in his head, laughing so hard at his destitution that his throat starts to seize, not allowing sound to pass through his throat. Cyrus scrambles to his feet and puts as much distance between him and that terrifying balcony as he can. Once inside he rushes straight for the bathroom, screwing the cold tap as far as it would go. Running his hand under the magically cooled water, he ensures that his hands are ice cold before delivering a mighty slap across his face.

And another.

And he screams. He screams until his throat goes sore.

Empty, he collapses onto the floor, tears unable to form as he had already cried them all away. His Monster, tisking like a parent who was proven right, rematerialises in all of its miserable glory.

Don’t you see, all this pain… Is it really worth it? It asks. Cyrus looks at It.

He has no answer. It writhes in delight.

You should have jumped. It spits.

Cyrus tries his hardest to look away, but It reaches out before he can, prying his helpless head to Its visage. He was finally under Its control and couldn't fight back.

YOU’VE LOST EVERYTHING.

YOU ARE ALONE.

GIVE. UP.

…

祸兮福之所倚，福兮祸之所伏 [Hard times are hard because of the good, good times are good because of the hard]. The final words of wisdom Cyrus’ father, borrowed from 老子 [Lao Tzu], had uttered as he lay on the hospital bed. He held his sobbing son to his chest like he was the most precious thing in the universe because he was the most precious thing in his universe. Cyrus didn’t understand the words at the time.

How could he? He was twelve.

GIVE. UP.

I wont.

YOU ARE ALONE.

No. Cutlass and Luna care.

YOU’VE LOST EVERYTHING.

But I’ve gained things in return.

His Monster screams in frustration. Not wanting to clutch defeat from the jaws of victory, it lets loose one final strike.

THEY CAN’T REPLACE THEM. THEY NEVER WILL.

Maybe so, maybe not. How will I know if I don’t try.

That’s what his father meant. 活着 [To live], he had read that book a thousand times. Determination creeps back into him. Where they made contact with His Monster, Its form would hiss, smoke, and disappear. Letting go, His Monster aims Its rust colored eyes at Cyrus, shivering in angry defeat. Conceding for now, it fades from the room, not before spitting at Cyrus’ feet.

A sign that It would be back. It always came back.

Battered and bruised, Cyrus straightens his suit. Although he had won his victory, he had never come that close before.

That thought terrified him to his core.

Meanwhile, the twin peaks…

“...yulvin til Noctis et Noctra.” Darvius finishes his prayer, the rustling sound of fabric and wings are heard as his herd unbow their heads.

Midnight Prayer. Darvius could never skip Midnight Prayer. It was too special to him. He grips his pendant, running his hoof along the bumps and ridges of the great oak tree it was fashioned after. It was his mother’s before she had left for the Great Beyond. She always wore it proudly, despite the fact it had fallen out of fashion eons ago. Noctra Za’lav do not wear symbols of nature, it is a weakness.

It never made sense.

His mother and father taught him to love everything. The earth, the sky, the stars, the night. Daylight too, for there would be no life without it. That is why he performs Midnight Prayer every day, a prayer for the living. Asking nature to live, asking it to grow and flourish under the balance of the universe.

The rest of Noctra Za’lav often skipped the Midnight Prayer.

House Hunt were always considered the ‘strange ones’, but they were an old house. In scripture, they had served Noctra Havarax faithfully in her conquest. In his youth, Darvius was proud of that, wearing it as a badge of honor to the chagrin of his parents.

Now? Who could say. He never was the same after witnessing the violence of the Ritual of Righteous Night.

His mother and father always regarded the festival with incredible vitriol, making themselves scarce during the week in which it was held. The young Darvius was forbidden to go. Of course, when parents make something off limits, it means that their children automatically have to do whatever it was that was forbidden. Darvius was no exception.

He came back sobbing, unable to process what he had witnessed, sick to his stomach.

Why? Darvius mused, as he often did while cleaning away the incense and quenching the candles. His herd disperse to perform their daily tasks, only housemare Serval remains by his side.

“What troubles you, dearest?” Serval clicks instead of speaks, not wanting to disturb the others who live nearby. She gently drapes her leathery wing over Darvius, pulling him close and planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. Darvius returns the affection, tiredly nuzzling into Serval’s chest, melting into her touch.

“Everything. Serval, I am terrified. The council-”

Darvius’ fretting clicks are cut short by an affectionate nip of his ear. Serval moves to comfort her lover, delicately caressing the spot between Darvius’ wings in the way he absolutely adored. Pressing her snout to his, she delivers warm solace.

“The council is full of rabid and violent fools. Do not concern yourselves with them. They cannot move without the High Elder’s permission, and she is no fool.” Serval’s soothing clicks cause the tension Darvius has held in his heart for the past three weeks to melt a little.

But only a little. The tension would remain as long as Darvius was forced to attend those bickering matches the council called meetings. Ordinarily, he would only have to attend the bimonthly traditional gathering, lovingly dubbed the ‘ordeal of fake smiles and empty promises’ by Serval. Things are different now, however. She has returned.

“They will destroy everything with their hatred, Serval.” Darvius clicks, shivering at the memory of their bloodthirsty eyes and howling screams of revulsion. Serval presses her hoof on Darvius’ cheek, pulling his gaze to meet her sparkling sanguine eyes.

“That won't happen, as long as if ponies like you remain. Courage, dear.”

“But how! How could She-”

Serval, having been here numerous times, pulls Darvius in for a kiss, shocking him out of his tizzy. Serval breaks it, now facing Darvius with a deathly serious expression.

“Then fight. Go to see Her. Ask your questions.” Serval orders through her clicks, snaking a hoof through Darvius’ mane in comfort, trying to inspire determination in her husband. Darvius sighs, closing his eyes, trying to let his thoughts melt into a pool of calm. Gently, he leans into Serval’s wither.

“You’re right. I will fight. I love you.” Darvius reverently clicks.

“I love you too.” Serval returns, trotting forward to collect the prayer mats. With Darvius back to baseline, Serval decides that it was prudent to return to what she was doing before Midnight Prayer: teasing the shit out of her husband. With dripping swagger, she saunters in front of Darvius, flicking her tail left and right in the way she knew he liked. Spreading her legs, she gives her rump a shake, relenting only when she hears a whimpering gulp from Darvius. Turning, she spreads her wings, lidding her stare and licking her lips, inspecting Darvius like a piece of meat.

“D-darling, n-now?” Darivus hesitantly clicks his question, blood already rushing southward at Serval’s masterful exhibition. Serval keeps up the act, stepping forward agonizingly slowly, swaying each step like a drunkard.

Before flashing her hoof forward, delivering a light boop on Darvius’ snout.

“Maybe later, but you’ve been shrinking your duties. Poor Lakla’s been neglected ever since she got back! Been away all that time… you know she’s not good at expressing herself. She’s been moping all week! I can’t stand it!” Serval nags in Serval fashion, digging her hoof into Darvius’ cheek to get the point across, “She likes it when you’re tied up, you know where the rope is. Now get to work!”

Chuckling, Darvius lowers his wings in defeat, bowing in respect to his housemare. Serval gives a jibing huff, turning and smacking Darvius’ face with her tail, a specific and faint scent makes its way into his nostrils. He knew he’d be in for a good time later.

Beside my family, I am invincible. Darvius concludes inwardly. Spreading his wings, he lifts off toward the garden shed. Lakla would be done hunting in about 45 minutes, plenty of time to get prepared.

He’s got a job to do, after all.

Royal Dining room

“Tia, I love thee dearly, but how in Harmony did you manage to allow these, as Cyrus says, ‘patients’ into power?” Luna asks, it is the same question she had been asking for the past two weeks, just phrased differently. The sisters are discussing, as they often did now, the ins and outs of the new Olde party government.

“Because, Lulu, democracy is, believe it or not, a good thing. They were elected, meaning they represent the will of the majority of the nation. That is useful to know, believe it or not.” Celestia answers, it is the same answer she had been giving for the past two weeks, pretty much phrased the same every time. Luna frowns once more.

“But those foul creatures represent no pony but themselves. Tia, I am not stupid. This budget proposal thy tasked me with reading is nothing but paper for making oneself decent after defecation. Tis selfishness incarnate.” Luna asserts, screwing her face in frustration as she remembers the incredibly thinly veiled suggestions of deregulating safety conditions for builders buried in the budget proposal.

Celestia, ever the professional, takes a dainty sip of her tea before answering: “Well, that may be true, but that is where we come in. Remember, we still hold executive and political power.”

“May be true?! Sister, doth thou have eyes? Furthermore, thou misspeak. Thy hold political power. I hold nothing but my bone-dry plot in terms of influence…” Luna jests, sticking her tongue out at Celestia in an incredibly mature display.

Celestia rolls her eyes at the brash vulgarity of her sister, flicking the menu up with her magic to place a barrier between them. She already knew what she wanted, the confit zucchini l’orange was back in season and Celestia was going to abuse that fact for the next two months.

Luna, having been Celestia’s sister for a long time, knows that Celestia had already decided what she had wanted to eat at dinner long before she had eaten breakfast. This whole looking at the menu thing was all for show, Luna was getting under her sister’s coat. Ordinarily, she’d back off.

Unfortunately, it has been a long while since Luna had felt the satisfaction of successfully annoying the tartarus out of her sister.

And Luna missed that feeling reverently.

Which is why, as Celestia cowered away behind the thin piece of paper, she began to feel a few tiny droplets of water flick against her cheek. On a reflex spurred by thousands of old memories, Celestia’s eye begins to twitch. She hadn’t had to deal with that one for a while. Why, it had been phased out ever since Luna turned four-hundred and thirty-five!

Do. Not. Crack. Celestia mentally resolved as the wet pellets increased in frequency, matching the twitching of her eye and ear. It’s not the droplets of water that annoyed her, no she could deal with that. It was the meaning behind it.

No matter how hard Celestia tried, she just could not replicate Luna’s mastery over water. For as long as they were children, Luna would always lord her superior mana-focus abilities over her, usually with a massive grin that Celestia would have just loved to plant her hoof into.

“Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisteeeerrrrrrrrrrrrr, dost thou remember this one?” Luna engages her most annoying teasing voice possible, masterfully honed by years upon years of trial and error. It was working, Celestia’s mane was starting to shimmer, rising in the air as darker and harsher colors invade the previous light and friendly colors.

Do. *splat* Not. *drip, splat* CRACK…

Oh but I’ve missed this so much.

What that thought, Celestia attacks, sending the menu flying at Luna who deftly dodges it by twisting her head around. Capitalizing on the slight distraction, Celestia pounces on Luna with a manic ‘eeeeeee’, her face split by a massive giggling grin. Luna, not expecting this kind of fight, lets out a mighty shriek as Celestia’s hooves make contact with her withers.

Still taken by surprise, Luna loses the initial moments of this newly declared ‘tickle war’. Celestia’s hooves find purchase in the many sensitive spots of Luna’s barrel, digging and agitating with incredible precision. Luna can only let out a defeated squee of pure delight. Not willing to take this assault laying down, Luna engages her counterstrategy.

Leveraging superior strength and combat capabilities, Luna twists out of her chair, wrapping a foreleg around her sister’s neck in order to transfer the momentum of her jolting action. Celestia is not a wrestler, so she is unable to counterbalance the powerful force ripping her to the ground. Her back makes thumping contact with the carpet below.

With a crazed smirk to put the Joker to shame, Luna descends like a sea of locusts, pressing the advantage with vigor, unwilling to let her hard work go to waste. Luna’s hind legs twist and wrap around poor Celestia’s barrel, locking her onto the floor. Swifter than a praying mantis, Luna’s hooves dart to and from the various weak points located on Celestia’s neck, attacking without abandon.

Foolish Celestia, the battle was lost before it began.

Celestia can only kick her hooves in thrashing protest, laughing and squealing as her sister ensures she does not forget how incredibly sensitive her nape is.

Luna can only let out pearls of stringing giggles at the sight of her squirming sister.

“S-stop! *ehehe* I surrend- NOT THERE AHAHAHAHAHA”

The harrowing sounds of utter, disgraceful defeat from the solar diarch sound off in the room. However, Luna is not cruel. At the notice of her sister’s capitulating, she relents, unable to contain the snorting chortles escaping her throat. Luna returns to her seat, pure smugness wrapping her every movement.

Celestia, through the bouncing residue of mirth, staggers to her hooves, tears of joy staining her cheeks. Still shaking, she takes her seat once more.

“*heh* Oh I missed that, Lu,” Celesta remarks, wiping at her cheeks with her serviette, “oh Harmony how long has it been?”

“Last ‘battle’ I *snort* remember was perhaps *giggle* when we were one-thousand and forty-three?” Luna chokes through her snorting laughter.

“Nooooooo, that surely wasn’t the last one. I fondly remember you ambushing me during my one-thousand, five-hundred and seventy-seventh birthday because I didn’t save any cake for you.”

“Ah! Of course! How could I have forgotten?”

The sisters share amusement at their golden memories, still letting out a few bouncing bursts of laughter every time a particularly hilarious moment flashed before their mind’s eye.

“It’s good to see you like this again, Lu.” Celestia beams a nostalgic smile at her precious little sister, who, in turn, is wearing one of her own. One thing does nag at Celestia, however.

“Luna. Why did you call the Olde party leaders 'patients’?” Celestia screws an eyebrow upward in confusion at her query. Luna lets out another harsh bark of laughter at the mention of her newfound lexicon.

“Tis a most amusing and apt comparison. As Cyrus had explained, when describing one as a ‘patient’ it is to say they are ill of mind who belongs in the hospital. A patient.” Luna explains. Celestia’s face scrunches into a frown.

“Luna, that is a horrible comparison!” Celestia rebukes, giving Luna a hard stare. As Luna opens her mouth to deliver a counterargument, Celestia deftly cuts her off: “They’re beyond saving, a waste of hospital time. Shitstain is more apt.”

Luna, unable to process her usually regal and uptight sister swearing, blinks in pure shock. Celestia does not break, keeping the joke rolling by calmly sipping her water until she spots the complete bewilderment of Luna’s scrunched muzzle. Unprincesslike giggles exit Celestia’s mouth. Luna lets out a ‘huh’ of respect, nodding her head.

“So, you and Cyrus seem to be getting on well. Seems you’ve finally found somepony who is as ‘creative’ as you are with words.” Celestia changes the topic, trying to keep the conversation going. Luna giggles at the mention of her gangly friend.

“Ha! He is the true artist. Thou should take the time to learn the rhyming slang of his. Most creative.” Luna praises, brimming with pride at the thought of her newly forged friendship. Celestia can not repress the happiness tickling her vocal chords, made known in the air.

It had been far too long.

“Speaking of Cyrus, he seems to be quite late.” Celestia wonders aloud, glancing at the clock to confirm her suspicions. Luna rolls her eyes in exacerbation.

“Yes. ‘Fashionably’ late as he likes to say, ‘musician’s right’. Utter drivel. He does this for our lessons, you know.” Luna answers, ears flicking in slight irritation.

“Oh yes, how are those going by the way?”

“Bah! Frustration abound. It is almost as if my hooves are no longer attached to my body with how slow they react to-”

At that moment, a unique, rhythmic pitter patter makes its way into Luna’s keen ear. Unlike the hard sound of hooves clopping on the floor, it was the sound of fleshy skin pattering against the marble. Celestia looks on with confusion as Luna leans further and further out of her seat, mana already locked onto the door handle of the dining room.

Yep. About forty-four hooves out… thirty six… twenty two… aaaaaaaaand, now!

Luna yanks the door open to an incredibly startled Cyrus. Turning, with a mock sneer, she greets the new arrival.

“Thou art late, slag.” Luna declares with the might an Equestrian princess carries. Cyrus, used to the ribbing, completely ignores the jab, purposefully not looking at Luna as he enters the room. With a dramatic twist, he saunters to an available seat, cramping his large frame into the low-set chair.

“And that is how you enter like a pianist. Take notes, Luna, might help the playing.” Cyrus fires back with a shit-stirring smirk. Huffing, Luna sticks her tongue out, a gesture rapidly becoming her favorite display of maturity.

Celestia, having had enough, clears her throat incredibly loudly, drawing the attention of the other two in the room. She magicks out a list in her aureate glow and sets it beside her bread plate.

“Hello, Cyrus, it is a pleasure to be able to meet you again under better circumstances. Given that you and Luna are such good friends and we are running late, I think I can skip the diplomatic pleasantries,” Celestia says, glad to be able to cut to the chase for once, “first order, press conference. Word’s been leaking, the press is getting rowdy, we need to put a lid on it.”

Cyrus, a little taken aback by the sudden mood swing, looks toward a stony faced Luna for help. She can only offer a nod of encouragement to the human. Turning back, Cyrus straightens toward professionalism. Luna relaxes back to her seat as her sister and Cyrus begin to discuss the ordeals of the coming week, barely listening as she gorges upon the delectable bread in the center of the table.

Blah blah, press conference, blah blah citizenship exam, blah. Very boring, very standard. On they drone, through the starters, mains, and dessert. Luna only ever quips in once in a while to inject a bit of wit into an otherwise dry conversation, earning some laughs out of Cyrus and annoyed huffs from her sister. Finally, the plan is formed. Cyrus would swear fealty to the crown a week from now and he would be granted an emergency visa until he can get his citizenship sorted.

“Oh, and one last thing.” Celestia manages to interject just as Luna and Cyrus shift up to leave. Luna groans inwardly, having been mere seconds away from freedom. Flopping with a huff, she retakes her seat.

“Cyrus, I would like to invite you to play at the Grand Galloping Gala. Luna tells me, and I quote, that ‘you are perhaps the most gifted musician to have ever graced her ears’.” Celestia slyly jabs, wanting to get one over her sister after the embarrassing tickle-war loss she had endured earlier. The effect is instant, Luna’s face colors lavender, not because Celestia was embellishing, but because she was telling the truth.

She did actually say that, albeit a little sloshed on gin.

Cyrus also blushes at the compliment, eyes darting toward Luna for conformation. She flicks her mane in expert movement to block of Cyrus’ vision while shooting her sister a withering look.

To the novice, Cyrus, Celestia’s smile seems kind and genuine. To the expert, Luna, Celestia’s smile was that of impish smugness, evidenced by the slight crinkle in her left eye.

“I- uhh… Sure? I mean… I’ve never heard of this event?” Cyrus stammers through his confusion, blissfully unaware of the war raging between the two sisters. Flashing a cheeky, almost invisible, wink at Luna, Celestia returns her attention to Cyrus.

“Oh, silly me. Of course you haven't. It’s quite the big event, dignitaries and nobles across the land gather for an evening of celebration. I’m sure there will be some other impressive ponies there as well.” Celestia lets the insinuation hang. She didn’t like nepotism, but for her darling sister she could relent. Cyrus lets out a massive grin, 关系 [affluence] finally working his way. Luna’s previous incredulity melts to a gentle appreciativeness. Reorganizing the set list would be no small feat and Luna understood that fully.

“Yeah, sure. I’d love to play! Uh… I’m assuming the programme is meant to stay in the realms of classical or romantic?” Cyrus forays. Celestia gives a nod of approval. Instinctually, her eyes dart to the clock.

“Goodness! Is it that late? Appears we are due to perform our duties.” Celestia rises from her seat, neatly setting her cutlery onto her plate. Grumbling, Luna follows suit. Before she exits, a bit of remembrance strikes her.

“Cyrus, I have something I would like to show you tomorrow. Would you be willing to meet at garden number three an hour before our lesson tomorrow?” Luna asks, cheeks slightly tinged with shyness but her chest bursting with excited anticipation at her plans. Cyrus nods and gives a ‘yeah sure’, flashing a smile. Slightly giddy, Luna skips down in her sister’s wake, catching up slowly.

Things are finally looking up!

The twin peaks…

The council bickers, roaring and screaming in their holy, clicking tongue across the cold stone. Twenty-four seats for the twenty four houses, Darvius sat on his lonesome. Behind them, the herds of the house heads sit and wait, glaring at opposition while whispering to allies. The horde is silenced by the slam of a hoof.

That pisser. He puffs out his chest, eyes of egotistical smugness scanning the room for any protest to his right to speak.

Darvius did not like this stallion. Leader of house Acheron. Brantus.

“We waste our time! She is waiting for us! The desire of our race has been made anew! We should march. NOW!” Brantus spreads his wings, flashing his teeth in violent fervor. His allies let out clicks of approval, filling the air with their savage approval. The dogma is strong, support is very widespread. Darvius knows he must quell the fury before it gets out of hoof.

“Let us not be so hasty. We still do not-”

“DO NOT KNOW WHAT?!”

Darvius’ speech is cut short by Brantus’ angry outburst. He stomps across the floor toward him, glowering. Poorly veiled contempt is made known on both of their faces as they stare each other down. Darvius usually draws back, giving space, allowing Brantus to pace about the room like a mating peacock, blasting his tired speech of hope. A dangerous hope.

Normally, Darvius would allow Brantus to spill his hatred into this holy space, unwilling and unable to fight back.

But not this time. There is much more at stake now.

Darvius stands, baring his fangs and lowering his head, the sign of conflict, while keeping his eyes trained on Brantus. Not expecting the display of hostility, Brantus is initially shocked, stepping back in reflex. Darvius hisses, stepping forward for every step back Brantus takes. Recovering, Brantus launches a counter offensive, lowering his head to match Darvius. The herd members watch on silently.

They pace the room in agonizing circles, every so often letting out a hiss or a growl, trying to see if the other would back down. Krivis and Serval look on in worry, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of fighting.

“House Hunt should stay where they belong. In the past.” Brantus resentfully clicks, earning a growl from his opponent.

“Perhaps you could learn from us. Immodest fools. House Acheron is full of blithering rock-heads.” Darvius volleys Brantus’ insults, stepping forward to protect his house’s honor. Brantus chuckles, raising his head and looking around the room dismissively. His allies shoot short mocking clicks toward Darvius.

“The pup wishes to play with us? And with what vigour? House Hunt is full of peace loving grass-eaters.”

A bridge too far, Darvius’ anger leaps forward into his wings as they poof outward. His crimson eyes shrink, pupils slitting thin.

I’LL KILL HIM! GRASS-EATERS? I’LL TEAR HIS BODY APART, I-

Calm yourself, Darvius. Remember mother and father. ‘Anger is your power, it is not to be wasted on trife matters.’ Father’s favorite verse.

Letting out a calming snort, Darvius folds his wings back into place. Spitting at Brantus’ hooves, he turns to retake his seat.

“Your base insults betray your immaturity. House Hunt has eaten more cups of salt than house Acheron has drank blood.”

Darvius can practically smell the shock emanating from Brantus and his allies. Shaking, Brantus stomps up to the retreating Darvius, treading in front of his path with a scowl of rage. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, unable to form the words to describe his anger. Without a sliver of emotion, Darvius seats himself, completely ignoring Brantus’ heaving and heavy breathing. He knew Brantus was powerless, everything spoken was the truth.

Bristling, Brantus retakes his seat.

The bickering resumes once more, never ceasing until the early dawn.

6. 新活开始 [New life begins]

Author's Note

There is some mild gore in this chapter.

I will probably do interlude chapters once every 5 chapters or so. They aren't required reading, mostly vomit from my worldbuilding doc.

Writing will slow down because life is heating up for me. I aim to post about once a week or so.

AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR READING! :heart:

6. 新活开始 [New life begins]

Afterwards…

Jubilee line stinks. It always stinks. It’s loud, there’s always a guy that’s high on something singing, and the air quality is so bad you can practically taste the carbon nanoparticles.

But the Jubilee line is also fast, convenient, and goes to every single major hub in London from Stratford to Stanmore. Which is why it’s the most crowded thing in existence. Salarymen and women line the car, uncomfortably close to each other. Most are going into central, probably toward Canada Water or Bank or wherever those soulless ‘young professional’ finance jobs are located.

Pretty sure every single person in this car wants to scream. Cyrus muses. Lucky for him, he was able to get on at Stratford which meant he could sit down. It’s always a bit of trouble, dodging the homeless, crackheads, and homeless crackheads on his way from his shitty university accommodation to the station, but living there is relatively cheap.

Relatively. At least it’s not 450￡per week.

Flipping to his Revolut, Cyrus checks his balance.

33,245￡.

Huh?

At once, the people disappear. The car is empty. There is a distinct lack of the infamous ‘Jubilee line screech’. Cyrus looks up from his phone.

Unease settles in like creeping ivy.

“你好，红线小子 [Sup, red string kid].”

Oddly familiar, yet not familiar at all. Cyrus spins to the culprit, it is an old man. His blue suit glows under the fluorescent light, crisp red tie splitting his torso in half like a bloody gash. Frozen in deja vu, Cyrus can only muster a few blinks.

“我告诉你啊，找你太难了！你比鱼多滑 [I’m telling you man, finding you is way too difficult. You’re more slippery than a fish].” The old man prattles, flicking through his gargantuan book, his black pen darting every so often to make a note or two. Regaining his senses, Cyrus engages rule #3 of his ‘How to Survive London Life’ handbook: ‘Ignore the weirdos’. He turns away, training his eyes on the ‘stop sexual harassment’ advert located above the seats infront of him.

PRESSING

RUBBING AGAINST SOMEONE ON PURPOSE IS SEXUAL-

“哎呀，他妈的 [Ah, fucking shit]. If only I could assume the form of that dream-stalker friend of yours…” The old man mutters, snapping his book shut with a mighty huff, jerking Cyrus out of his focus.

“Wait. What the- what do you mean by dream-stalker? Are you talking about Luna?” Cyrus demands, snapping his vision to the lounging old man. He laughs, pulling a pipe out of his- thin air?

“Got your attention with that one. Well, too little too late, that fucking thing of yours is coming. No matter, we are building our relationship. 没问题 [No worries].” The old man sticks the pipe in his mouth, lighting the tobacco inside with his finger. Taking a drag, he blows a smoke ring into the air as his features relax from the nicotine circulating his blood. He casts Cyrus a side glance before continuing his speech: “It will be here soon, slipping past that guard dog of yours is a pain in my arse. Again, no worries, I’ve read your chapter, it’s-” His face scrunches in, accenting the wrinkles along his weathered face, “-What the fuck am I saying, you won’t really remember this anyway. Hey before I’m mauled to death, let me give you a bit of advice.”

Cyrus leans forward in trepid curiosity, wanting answers for what exactly was going on. The old man stands, placing a hand on the rail to steady himself in the rocking car. The train announcement awakens.

The next station is Canary Wharf. Change here for the DLR-DLR-DLR-

The announcement skips on itself, pitch wavering up and down for every ‘DL’ it manages to spit out. The lights flicker on and off. Suddenly they’re hurtling through the air, a mile above The Shard. Landmarks filter through, not even of British origin. The Great Wall of China erupts from the Thames as the legendary 曹操 [Cao Cao] leaps forward, charging into the British Redcoats as they try and storm the wall. Cyrus can barely cling to his seat as the carriage is rocked by a bout of violent turbulence. The old man scans the room, underwhelmed by the chaos he is seeing.

“Yep, here we go. Remember, don’t push too hard. She’s going to tell you a lot of things, JUST LISTEN. 两只耳，一张嘴，按该比例- [Two ears, one mouth, using that ratio]-”

The Monster tears in, impaling the old man through his chest. Cyrus leaps back with a blood curdling scream as barbed tentacles snake around the old man’s legs, ripping the skin away layer by layer. The old man gives an unimpressed sigh as he’s ripped out of the carriage and into thin air. Black smoke fills the room, causing the lights to crack and shatter, spewing glass onto the floor. A rotting brown eye pokes its way out of the smoke.

Cyrus’ flight instincts activate. He pounds at the windows with reckless abandon, trying to smash the glass. It gets closer and closer, taking Its lavish time, creeping smoke slithering across the floor in filthy webs.

Unable to escape, Cyrus slumps to the floor sobbing, unable to look away at the grotesque filth making its way toward him. Torture was coming, pain, unimaginable anguish, the black smoke makes contact.

小Cy，我爱你 [Little Cy, I love you].

Warm? Is that-

Blood.

Pain.

Red blade, golden orbs. Chanting. Rapid chanting.

He can’t speak. He can’t scream. The pain is unbearable.

He so desperately NEEDS it.

Rip them down!

Blue and red ribbons pull him closer to his death.

BENEATH YOU. UNWORTHY TO EVEN WALK THE SAME-

The duvet is sent sailing into the air by a jolting shiver. Cyrus cranes upward with unholy speed, hands rapidly grabbing at his chest. Short, ravenous breaths cause him to heave, almost spilling what was left of his dinner last night onto the bed. Spinning around, Cyrus checks his surroundings, animal brain unwilling to let go of the primal fear he had just been subject to.

Gently, the logical side wakes up, coaxing the animal out of its state. Breathing returns to normal as Cyrus pinches the bridge of his nose, groaning at the adrenaline crash he was experiencing. Relief mixes with unease as he slowly slips out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom. Once there, he instantly dunks his head into the sink, turning the cold tap as far as it could go.

“Fuck me, they’re back.” Cyrus whimpers as the iciness spreads across his cheeks. Unpleasant past experiences bubble to the forefront of his memory of all the times he had found himself in this situation. Shutting his eyes, he allows the coldness to shock himself out of his fright.

It’s not working.

He was still jolty, thoughts jittering like a deer, only able to be at rest for microseconds at a time. The unknown stalks around him, its fog creeping through his mindscape, obscuring logic behind thick clouds of darkness. Releting, Cyrus flicks the tap off, sinking onto the floor in dejection, burying his head in his hands with a mighty groan.

Begging for peace, Cyrus tries to focus his mind on getting ready, running a hand through his bushy hair to untangle some knots, yanking at them in hopes that the pain will shock him into baseline. His mind would not allow rest, constantly grappling with the gaping hole of memory that his forgotten nightmare left.

I’m supposed to remember something…

What even happened? Why am I so terrified…

I thought I heard a voice…

两只耳，一张嘴 [Two ears, one mouth]. What…

The threads of his thoughts slither around, breaking any sense of coherence in his mind. On impulse, his thumbs find 印堂 [yintang: name of pressure point], rubbing in lazy circles. The instinctual clawing and grasping of deep memory fades away agonizingly slowly.

Too slowly.

Cyrus’ animal brain detects a new, familiar threat approaching rapidly. His perception dims at the creeping blackness, tendrils of terror grip at the bathroom door.

Of course It would come and kick him when he’s down. When he’s unprepared, out of his depth, unoccupied.

Unoccupied.

Rabid, Cyrus flings himself upright and over the sink, snatching his toothbrush with violent vigor. Uncapping the toothpaste, he squirts way too much on before shoving it into his mouth, almost gagging at the sensation. Ignoring the creeping smoke, Cyrus brushes like his life depends on it, rending his gums apart with his savage strokes.

It rattles the door, trying to smash its way in, smelling blood in the water.

Desperate focus. Cyrus spits the solution of blood, toothpaste and saliva out of his mouth.

It gets angrier, screaming obscenities, demanding to be let in.

Hop in shower. NOW! Cyrus screams at himself, obeying his shrieking order, trying his hardest to ignore the black iron lump of dread buried deep in his stomach.

Cutlass will be here soon I’ll be okay when she gets here when I get busy I can ignore it I just need to hold on…

Blasting jets of steaming water scald Cyrus’ skin, turning it redder and redder with each passing second. Precious seconds of pain meant precious seconds of peace. The roaring tide coming from behind the shower curtain demands his attention, but as long as his skin blistered under the burning heat of smoking water, he could stay afloat.

Stay afloat. Keep focused, don’t let it in. These mantras run through Cyrus’ head. His hand darts for the towel, crushing it against his frame and wiping in vehement motion, sanding down his body. He can feel Its eyes on his back as he leaps from the bathroom to the closet, dodging and weaving the shooting tendrils aimed at his mindscape.

Runrunrunrunrunrurnurnrunrurnurnr-

He catches a glance.

That's all It needs.

The pent up dread explodes out of his chest in a sob, tears streaming down Cyrus’ face as His Monster lords itself over him.

Finally caught you. Slippery rat, barely kept it together during that cute little dinner party. They waste their kindness on you. It taunts, retching Its words with a vile expression of pure glee.

W-what do you want from me? Cyrus barely whispers to It. His Monster oozes pure smugness, deriving sadistic joy at the display of utter ruin.

What do I want? You know what I want, YOU CREATURE. Face it. Do you really think you can make a life here? You fucking moron. You animal. You KNOW you don't deserve this. YOU KNOW you don’t deserve anything you fucking stain, fucking insect. YOU KNOW that Cutlass and Luna have better things to do than to play around with a WORTHLESS piece of FILTH. YOU KNOW you don't belong, and never will. Pathetic. All you do is find escapes, all you do is hide. YOU RAN AWAY! YOU KNOW THE REAL REASON-

Knocking comes through, sounding like glorious ringing from on high. His Monster’s visage splits into a scowl.

Saved by the bell. Go on, run away to your insipid little friend. I’ll be back. With that, It disappears into the void, leaving Cyrus shaking on the ground, gaping void of his own in his chest.

“Yeah! I’ll be there in a bit.” Cyrus shouts in fake confidence to silence the knocking. Desperately, he reaches himself toward busyness, trying to knock the shivering unease out of his body. Clothing on, he yanks the door open way too quickly, almost slamming it into the wall it is attached to. Cutlass flitters backward in shock at the sudden movement.

“Woah there, somepony’s happy to- hey, everything okay?” Cutlass’ jest turns to worry as she spies the puffy redness around Cyrus’ still darting eyes. Letting out a short exhale, Cyrus leans against the doorframe in an effort to play it cool, unwilling to allow the dread another chance at resurfacing.

“Yeah, all good. Just got some shampoo in my eyes, innit.” The lie effortlessly escapes Cyrus’ lips as he crosses his fingers behind his back, hoping Cutlass would buy it.

She does. Why wouldn’t she? Cyrus is too practiced.

“Ah I hate that, I’d wash with goggles on but then I’d look like I’ve just escaped from the mental hospital.” Cutlass continues on in jest, unaware. Cyrus breathes an inner sigh of relief, exiting his room and shutting the door behind him. The night atmosphere wraps Cyrus in its cold embrace as the pair begin the walk to the canteen, trading banter all along the way.

Occupied with other things, Cyrus becomes normal again.

As long as he was busy he could stand it.

Garden #3.

Ugly, rancid, affront to ponykind. A few choice words Luna would use to describe her latest failure. She erases the sky once more, stomping and snorting in frustration. It had to be perfect, and what she had just conceived was anything but perfect; those ponies looking up and freaking out about the rapidly brightening and dimming stars would have to suffer it.

Perhaps I am out of practice… Luna thinks, dejected at her loss of skill. Still, she was determined to make tonight’s sky as beautiful as she could. Once more, she focuses her mind, bridging the familiar link out toward the cosmos. Meek twinkling sparks out once more as a sketch makes its way onto the night sky.

Luna inspects the geometry, editing and shifting a few sparks to smooth out some curves. Tonight’s night sky would be gentle, friendly, and warm, unlike the haphazard crap she had been throwing up recently. She strengthens the control, brightening the stars, connecting light to light with splotches of color. Red, green and purple expand out from origin points, responding to the pressure exerted by Luna’s mental tether. An explosion of beauty makes it-

A frustrated sigh introduces itself into the night. The canvas is erased again as her mind disconnects from the night sky. To Luna, her efforts were nothing but excrement, at least according to the slew of expletives that exited her muzzle.

“I am not what I used to be…” Luna murmurs aloud to the nature around, planting her hind on the grass. The black sky stares back, boring into her soul at its sheer, blank void, exerting its pressure onto Luna’s consciousness.

She needs to get it done within the next twenty minutes or so and it has to be perfect or else she’ll never sleep again.

Not that she sleeps much anyway.

Grunting through the anxiety of failing yet again, Luna refocuses her mana onto the night sky in what she hoped was the last time this evening. Digging deep, she draws upon the reservoir of inspiration deep within her soul, trying to conjure an image worth painting in her mind’s eye.

Everfree edge? No, too pedestrian… What does Cyrus like? He goes on about his ‘Thames’ river quite a bit… Lucent river? Bleh, overdone… River… Dyrant river?

She can’t stop her mind making the connection.

The demons welcome her into their fold once more……

“Majesty, you must. There is no time.” A bleeding Javelin chokes out, despite the blood filling her lungs. Luna grips onto her friend with desperation, helplessly watching the life flow out of her eyes. Around them, fire rages on the green, fueled by unholy magics, howls of allies and enemies carve themselves into the night.

“Lu- *COUGH* -na, take it… only thy power can end this bloodshed. Before… it… is… too… late…” Javelin retches blood every third syllable, covering Luna’s coat with viscous sanguine liquid, meeting the stream of salty tears from Luna’s eyes. Arrows poke out of Javelin’s broken form, jutting out like antennas to elysium.

Her friend was dying. There is nothing she could do.

And now she was asking for the unthinkable.

“Javelin, hold fast, there is time… please… thou do not understand what thy ask of me…” Luna pleads, pressing against Javelin’s wounds in a desperate attempt to contain the bleeding.

Futility, the blood coats her hoof, running down her frog and into the grass, spreading like a filthy stain on the gashed earth.

“There is *COUGH* no other way…” Javelin whimpers, barely above the screams.

Luna knows she’s right.

There is no other way.

Shaking and sobbing, Luna’s mana-focus slithers out, coming into contact with Javelin’s in gentle, loving emotion. Javelin closes her eyes, relinquishing her defences, allowing Luna to slip in unhindered. Tracing Javelin’s forehead in gentle motions, Luna prepares her friend for what would come next. The spell takes effect.

Javelin’s back arches and her mouth opens to a wordless wail. Ripping sensations arc through her body and mind, bringing unbearable pain. Her biology reacts instantly, rocketing blood through her veins in an attempt to deliver any form of healing to her wounds, pouring through her rent body in unsustainable volumes. Convulsing, foam forms at the side of her mouth as she tries to voice the unbearable sensations being inflicted upon her.

Luna can’t bear to look, each shiver of her friend makes Luna closer and closer to vomiting. The tears won't stop flowing. She hated this filthy magic, this vile power that only she could wield, her birthright.

But what she hated the most was how, deep down in the basest pits of herself, she didn’t hate it at all.

S h e f u c k i n g l o v e d t h e f e e l i n g.

Manic laughter fills the air. The furnace roars to life, mulching what was left of Javelin’s soul into nothing but cold, inanimate fuel. It surges into Nightmare Moon’s veins, making her feel as if she were floating on clouds. Vision narrows into pricks and time slows to a crawl.

The death of her closest friend didn’t matter anymore.

All that mattered was m o r e.

Her form melts, crawling into her shadow and disappearing from sight. She becomes one with the ethereal plane, her mind stretches beyond her consciousness, greedily prodding for any sign of life.

She wouldn’t have to search for long. To her sadistic delight, dots of light surround her mind as her mind encompasses the space of the battlefield.

And they were all so blissfully unaware of her presence, she could slip into their minds and pry open their deepest secrets with ease. Walk through their memories and dreams as if they were her own.

But that was no f u n.

Her silver blade appears in her victim’s chest as she reaches out of the inky blackness of their shadow. Nightmare Moon’s mind instantly latches onto her victim’s spirit, their defense shattered by the sudden pain. She r e l i s h e s their suffering, giggling at the pained braying of her victim. The body collapses to the floor in a discolored heap, still twitching as its brain fires the last of its neurons.

An arrow finds its way into her chest. Of course she saw it coming, her mind was already wrapped firmly around the poor archer’s own. Whistling Flash was her name, Nightmare Moon could smell the intention of her strike long before it took place in reality. The archer whoops in a cheer, the last thing they’d do before their body is split apart by a silver flash, guts spilling to the ground in an unceremonious heap.

“Hey! Luna! Almost didn't see you there.”

Bleeding dead, they pile on the earth. They will utter no more sound, they will gain no more memory.

“Oi! Did you hear me?”

More and more. It invigorates her body. They could wound her all they wanted, blades, arrows, burns, tears, blunt force. She was just one victim away from recovering.

“LuuuuUUUuUUuUUnaaaaAAAAaa, are you trolling me or what?”

This was better than sex, better than masturbation, better than love. Who was Javelin again? Ally? Enemy? Did it really matter-

Luna leaps into the air with catlike motion at the feeling of a hand on her left wither, wings flomp straight outward as her hind leg stretches out and strikes Cyrus in the chest, launching him backwards and straight to the ground. Landing, she continues the cat cosplay by keeping her back arched, eyes darting between any conceivable threat in her vicinity.

Among the grass, Cyrus groans and gasps in pain, completely winded by the strike. Luna had delivered what she would consider a ‘love tap’, but it was still a love tap from an alicorn.

An alicorn who works out everyday for the sole purpose of beating the shit out of any creature stupid enough to cross her.

“*Gasp* Whuhhhh wuz *gasp* da for…” Cyrus demands through wheezing breath from his new position among the flowers, chest aching where he was struck.

No response from the night princess.

Getting upset at the lack of a deserved apology, the gasping human tries his damndest to get onto his knees, but staggers back to the floor, unable to get the breath needed to stand.

Holy fuck she could actually doughnut me… Cyrus grimly surmises as his limbs flail, eventually gaining purchase on the ground as he lifts himself onto his hands and feet. Finally, some semblance of oxygen manages to get into his lungs, rushing to his burning muscles to deliver relief.

Finally, after quite literally five minutes sprawled on the ground like a baby, Cyrus is able to stand.

And he is furious. Anger coagulates, clotting his brain in dominating fashion. Whirling around, he prepares to deliver comeuppance for the still aching bruise forming on his chest. Oh when he caught her…

He storms up, trampling the grass beneath, death stare locked onto the back of Luna’s head. She refuses to turn, even with all the noise Cyrus is making, adding fuel to the flame. Having learned his lesson, Cyrus instead marches into Luna’s sightline, turning and crossing his arms. Before he can deliver his scalding reprimand, he is paused by what he beholds.

Unfocused eyes, slight shivering, throat twitching? Is she having a… Cyrus deduces, features instantly softening into concern. His arms fall to his side, tilting his head, he inches closer toward Luna. Her eyes see right past him, looking toward a threat unknown.

Silence. The rolling hills around the winding Dyrant river drip with crimson, a ghastly splotch among the peaceful scenery. The vultures and crows circle, cheerily squawking at the grizzly smell of so many free, rotting meals. They descend, true to their nature, as a murder, feasting on eyes and gizzards in the harrowing aftermath.

Luna sits alone.

Nopony dared approach her.

It had been about three hundred years since the last time.

But last time she could control it, she had a say in the matter.

There are no tears left.

The stars would not shine.

Javelin’s broken body floats peacefully down the river, burning brightly against the black night, a tradition where she-

*Snap, snap, snap*

“OIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII”

The spell is broken, the imps let Luna back into reality. She spots Cyrus standing in front of her, fingers making rapid back and forth motion, producing loud clicks into the air. He would do that during Luna’s lessons to snap her out of her frequent storms of frustration.

Dread takes root. Cyrus was never meant to see her like this.

“*ahem* Greetings! A-apologies if I did n-not seem present. I was simply… uhh…” Luna trails off. Cyrus cocks an eyebrow at the stammering princess, still debating between chewing her out and asking her what was wrong.

两只耳 [two ears]...

“You alright?”

Luna swallows thickly, ears still pivoting unconsciously for threats. Her teal eyes are shrunk to half their size. Her jaw shivers as she tries to choke out a lie: “I am f-fine, do n-not worry.”

It crunches out of her vocal chords, bumbling and crashing, as insecure as a teenager asking their crush out.

And painfully obvious.

“Luna?” Cyrus asks in his best disapproving parent tone. Luna’s eyes dart to the corners of her eyes as she tries to keep up the facade. Cyrus crosses his arms again, tapping his foot impatiently. Like he does when Luna is bullshitting reasons as to why she made the same mistake twice during lessons.

I can't tell him I can not let him know this darkness MUST stay hidden I can’t I can’t I can’t-

She collapses her hind to the floor, unable to carry the weight any longer, starry mane dimming into baby blue. Unable to look, she kept her sight trained on the floor, unwilling to say anything for fear of the blinding pain.

For fear of going back there.

He should stay away from me. They all should. There is no need for me anymore, that is the truth. Luna’s grim musings, she falls further and further into her rabbit hole. Enemies she could face, pain she could bear.

Worthlessness. Identity. What is my role, if not the bloody tyrant?

Her ears pick up rustling leaves along with the crunches of grass.

He must be walking away. Good.

For the next moments, Luna keeps her eyes firmly shut. Escape, retreat. She can not face the world, for it is too cruel. Unwelcome. Never was in the first place. Born, like a rock, unstirring……

Javelin’s son didn’t know how she died. For the wrong reasons, he screamed the truth. “Thou killed her. Thou art the reason……”

Walking the dreams of her comrades, Luna tries to deliver peace as she would in times past. Instead she sees copies of herself rip apart countless ponies in countless dreams. When she reveals herself they always scream, and the dream is no more……

New friends, new time. Peace time. Would it last? Who knows. Celestia is off cavorting with the new Gryphonian Empire, sluttily parading bountiful harvest in exchange for iron, shrewd as a fox. Luna, surrounded by the merriment and drinking of this generation’s friends, is the loneliest pony in the pub……

Luna whimpers, bringing her head down to the grass, covering her head with her hooves. Flopping her ears down to block out any sound, shaking amongst the closed budded flowers.

Go back to your room, Luna orders herself through the attacking memories, somepony might see.

She gently lifts her head from the ground, daringly fluttering her eyes open.

Cyrus sits next to her, legs crossed on the ground, leaning on the arms outstretched behind his back. His expression is mellow, not concerned, not angry.

He stayed?

Luna looks at him.

Cyrus pats the ground, smiling.

Why is he smiling?

Luna shuffles next to him.

Cyrus’ hand makes its way onto her back. She recoils at the strange sensation.

The fingers start to trace the fur, rubbing back and forth gently. Nopony had dared touch her before. The contact feels amazing.

Unable to resist, Luna allows herself to be wrapped into a hug. The warmth spreads. Luna softens into it.

Too soon, the hug is broken. Luna looks into the eyes of her friend.

Never noticed the red before…

She offers a small, grateful smile. Cyrus smiles back, he knew words were unnecessary. They’d only make things worse.

Blends in around the pupil… wonder if I can do that…

Luna’s nose dives in for a gentle nuzzle of Cyrus’ shoulder in thanks. She knew words were unnecessary. They’d only make things worse.

He doesn’t pull away.

And that means the entire world.

Luna exhales.

“A bad memory from the past. I seem to spend most of my time living there.” Luna admits through the chains of anxiety, breaking the vow of silence. Cyrus brings his hand back to her back and delivers a few pats, silently reassuring and urging her to continue.

“I- the truth? I-Is um… I hold many regrets… They… I… am always surprised. No matter how far away they seem…” Luna whispers quietly, vulnerable state borderline unbearable for the thousand years of habits she had imprisoned herself with. She leans onto Cyrus’ frame. He welcomes her.

“I… even thee… I had treated thee… unkindly…” Luna is stopped by the shrugging of Cyrus’ shoulder. Luna refocuses her gaze into his eyes.

“Cmon, let's not think like that,” Cyrus firmly orders, “that leads nowhere. You’re making up for it. That’s what matters.”

“But… it doesn’t change what happened. I am still… still….” That thing. Luna finishes to herself, truth still trapped by layers and layers of shame, her eyes making their way onto the ground below, tracing patterns in the grass. Cyrus shifts his hand to her withers, rubbing in slow circles.

“It’s normal to feel lost…” I’m not doing so hot myself. Cyrus finishes to himself, truth still trapped by layers and layers of shame, his eyes making their way onto the ground below, tracing patterns in the grass. Luna wraps her wing around Cyrus, warming him from the cool night air.

Introspection. Words need not be exchanged any longer, they have served their purpose.

Only solace.

Luna’s horn lights up, Cyrus casts a weary glance to the sudden source of light. Luna’s face is scrunched in determination, wrinkles deepening into trenches of concentration. She shatters her inhibitions, spurred on by the silent confidence from her friend.

Maybe it didn’t have to be perfect.

Above them, the sky shifts, stars begin to twinkle and shine. All at once, everything flows, colors spreading through the air in strange splotches, almost translucent on the black backdrop. Streaming through the color, bright speckles dot the sky, flowing out inebriated and unplanned. They streak the sky in scattered thread, a tapestry in the making.

“Look up. I hope thou enjoy it.” Luna whispers.

Cyrus looks up, spurred on by Luna while also curious as to why everything seemed so much brighter all of a sudden.

His jaw flops open, unable to quite process exactly what he was witnessing.

And, to be frank, it’s quite impossible to describe.

But what Cyrus is feeling at the moment? That can be described.

Bewilderment, wonder, awestruck at pure beauty unfolding, throat-choking, existential and marveling.

If his ass wasn’t firmly planted on the ground, he would have fallen to his knees.

Van Gogh could never. Rembrandt? Forget about it. Vermeer? Dogshit.

He can hear Luna giggle behind him, but he can't tear his eyes away. When the northern lights were rumored to be visible in London, Cyrus camped out all night at Hampstead Heath, unblinking at the smoggy night sky. He always cursed the folly of humans, buried so deep in hubris that the pure beauty of nature is smeared away. So he reaches up, standing and craning his head around in circles to take in the majesty of Luna’s creation.

“Thou find it pleasing?” Luna asks, trepidation staining her tone in a quiet way. Cyrus spins around to look at her, the biggest grin known to man stuck right on his face with superglue.

“Nahhhhhhhhhhh. This? Yeah… nah you pulled a stinker mate- OF COURSE I LIKE IT?!” Cyrus switches between playful sarcasm into screams of faux anger, before he dips into a tone of wavering disbelief, “When you said you ‘held sway over all aspects of night’ I didn’t think you meant this?! Yeah, man, I hate this pure display of beauty, actually.”

Luna snorts a few laughs out at the animated joking of her friend, stepping out from behind her resuscitated mane and into the moonlight. She strides next to Cyrus with conviction, lighting her horn again.

“Then please, look up once more.”

He obeys, and beholds a scene only possible for the most powerful of lucid dreamers. From the center of a pillar of red and purple, comets fly in random directions, leaving a trail of brilliant blue in their wake. The expanding colors mix with the backdrop like waves in a lake, creating new color when they touch old.

Gaping, googling, gawking, flabbergasted, unbelievable, life-affirming.

“This is my way of saying thank you. Thou hast inspired me once more.” Luna mumbles in pianissimo, smiling at the stunned human as he fumbles his way around the garden, swaying drunkenly through the night. Cyrus doesn’t catch it, his brain is too busy redirecting neurons from his ears to his eyes so he can store every little detail of what he was witnessing.

Too soon, the show ends, leaving the pair to gaze upon the aftermath left in the sky. Beside himself, Cyrus starts to laugh, filling the air with unbelieving chuckles and enthusiastic applause. He turns back to Luna, head shaking with bewilderment, mouthing ‘you did this’ over and over, punctuating each repetition with a swift jab of his finger. Luna can only blush at the lavish lauding, bowing with an embarrassed giggle.

Shaking his head, Cyrus lets out a final few chortles before adding: “Right, now I look like a bum. All I do is wiggle my fingers in front of a keyboard…”

“Hark! Do not belittle thyself. The wiggling is, at least, skillful.” Luna jabs right back to shared merriment.

Hmmm… the manestyle is pleasing… tied back like that, it flows like a stream…

“Heh, you know, back where I come from, I’d never be able to see something like that. Thank you.”

“Thou art most welcome, friend.”

New friends. New time. Hope made new. The past gives way for the present as Luna lifts her glass high into the air. She had new aspirations in her life……

They both look back upward, together. An idea pops into Cyrus’ head, so perfect he had to voice it aloud. Without taking his eyes off of Luna’s painting, he says: “You know, now that you’ve shown me something that I never would have seen without meeting you, how’s about I return the favor?”

Luna reaffirms her eyes onto Cyrus, curiosity adorning her features. Cyrus glances sideways to meet her gaze.

“I know you’ve got Chineighese here, but from what I’ve read they’re completely isolationist… so, have you ever heard of Lunar New Year before?”

Luna shakes her head, small divots of nervous excitement showing on her muzzle at the mention of a moon based festival. Cyrus cracks an delighted smile at Luna’s ignorance, plans already formulating in his head.

“Well, I celebrate it. You want to celebrate it with me?”

Luna’s smile outshines her sister’s sun.

7. 怕生恨 [Fear breeds hate]

6 days later, the castle press prep room…

This attempt by the crown tailors was much better, albeit a bit baggy. Smart, but they made him look much larger than he actually was. The shirt hem is dutifully tucked into his trousers schoolboy style, otherwise it would have looked like he was wearing a dress. The bust section felt very breezy, his pectorals were not large enough to fit properly.

Still, Cyrus is grateful they aren’t ripping his nipples apart every time he shifts around in his too-small chair. The staff couldn’t procure a princess-sized one, they were all being used in the room next door where a score of gossip hungry journalists fought over each other to ask their incredibly deep and definitely-not-leading questions.

Raven Inkwell, who Cyrus had deduced is just about as short and blunt as Luna, is lecturing Cyrus on exactly what to do during a press conference. He is only really half listening, the other half of his brain is occupied by vomit inducing nervousness, not helped at all by the things Raven was saying.

“-and be sure to smile with every answer. Like I said before, that is very important for you to do. Don’t show your freaky teeth though, that’ll scare em’. Good luck.” Raven finishes to Cyrus' rapid nodding. Satisfied, she wastes no time with goodbyes, trotting away posthaste. Cyrus deduces that she is a very busy mare judging by the mile-long list of items she was furiously scribbling on as she walked away.

Cyrus covers his face with his hands, his tongue subconsciously tracing his teeth, trying to figure out exactly what Raven meant by ‘freaky’.

Too sharp? Too pointy? But Thestrals have fangs? All questions running through the anxious human’s head. He can’t help but eject his nervousness with a loud groan. Cutlass’ ear perks up from her post on the other side of the room at the sounding of her friend’s distress.

Muffled shouts leak from the press room and into Cyrus’ ears, doing nothing for the scattering butterflies in his stomach.

Celestia will keep it all in check, right? Cyrus prays, clasping his hands into a begging position, hoping the venerable Sun Goddess of Equestria was working her Luna-endorsed diplomatic magic, she’s been doing this for over a thousand years. It'll be okay… but, man, what they wrote about me…

Cyrus’ mind can't help but latch onto that particularly grisly article he had read from Equestria Times about how there was a new monster creeping around the castle. He was reading the paper for sporting news; August was coming to an end and semi-consistent to Earth, the ‘Premium League of Soccer’ was starting back up. Cyrus had to know what shape Arsenal was in before the start of the season; it was his prerogative.

Which is why about three days ago he was kowtowing in front of Cutlass, begging her to buy him a paper.

Cutlass had refused. It was a ‘direct order from Princess Luna’.

Which is why, after shamelessly begging Cutlass for the better part of an hour, Cyrus had smashed his forehead against the ground in front of the princess of the night, beseeching her for a newspaper.

Luna had also refused, she knew it would do no good. Unfortunately, Cyrus’ ‘list of ponies to beg for stuff’ ends there, so he had to settle for espionage. A little rooting around the rubbish bin in the toilets and behold: a partly damp copy of Equestria Times.

The fuck do they mean, mind controling monster? And what’s this about me being ‘in cahoots’ with Nightmare Moon? I swear, it’s like they’re making-

“BUEHGGUTH?!”

An elegant cry escapes Cyrus’ mouth at the feeling of a hoof impacting his arm. The culprit snickers, flashing a sly smile at the jittery human.

“Wasaamatter? Never seen you this freaked out before.” Cutlass jabs, wrapping a wing around Cyrus’ back and nudging his body with her wither. Cyrus simply snorts, scowling and crossing his arms.

“Aren’t you supposed to not abandon your post? What if a stab hungry homeless pony walks in?” Cyrus snarks with childish irritation. Cutlass gives him an unimpressed eyebrow, muzzle squishing to display her silent disapproval. Soundlessly, she brings her wing back, loading up for the smack of all smacks, reserved only for when her siblings were at their worst.

Cyrus’ head jolts forward at the impact, too shocked to utter out a cry of pain. His furious visage is met by Cutlass’ confident smirk as she deftly twists out of the way of Cyrus’ counterflick. Those fingers of his, while comfortable when providing ‘scritches’, had proven to be deadly weapons if utilized properly. Especially around the ears.

The staff don’t stop to watch. This was a common occurrence.

Taking to the air, Cutlass avoids yet another clumsy swipe from Cyrus. She hovers for a second before landing, making an arrogant show of keeping her back turned. Her ears, however, are always on high alert. They pick up the loud screech of a chair being pushed backwards and the rustling fabric of a gangly biped reaching toward her. She slithers out of the way of the clumsy grapple and, without skipping a beat, turns to poke a tongue out at the glowering human.

“You done being a cunt?” Cyrus demands, pointing an accusatory finger at Cutlass’ snoot. She snorts and rolls her eyes, blowing onto her frog. That gesture means fuck off, but not as bad as a tongue-in-the-frog.

“Depends. Are you?” She replies, interrupting Cyrus before he can counter by sticking up her hoof, “Just bucking relax, okay? As you say, ‘it’s not that deep’.”

“Easy for you to say, they don’t call you a ‘half-shaven fiend’-” Cyrus claps a hand over his mouth, realizing what he had just let slip. Cutlass’ eyes widen as worry and frustration grip at her muzzle.

“I told you- you really shouldn’t- why…” Cutlass stammers, unable to choose between scolding that nosy two-legged-bucker or reassuring him. Cyrus flops back into his seat with a groan, utterly defeated. Choosing concern, Cutlass pulls a seat up next to him, planting a hoof on his back. Cyrus peeks out from behind his hands, half glaring, half dejected.

“Don’t listen to them, the press is always going to be shit. They’ve got nothing better to report on.” Cutlass assurges, injecting her opinions on the Canterlot newspapers into the tone of her voice. Sighing, Cyrus retreats from his hand-shield, bringing them up to fiddle with his hair. The sweat patches growing on Cyrus’ armpits do not escape Cutlass’ notice.

Shit. It’s really gotten to him… Cutlass deduces, flipping through the reassurance playbook in her head. Deciding on a risky strategy, Cutlass leaps onto Cyrus’ lap, earning a short yelp out of the human. Before he can protest, he is grappled by a mighty hug, wings and hooves working in tandem to lock him into place. With a firm hold, Cutlass whispers: “Forget about them and what they think. I’ll still be your friend, no matter what. I’ll always stick up for you.”

Cyrus relinquishes his resistance, letting Cutlass deliver her hug. He needed it.

Unfortunately, the door bursts open and two very important looking staff members enter.

“Mister Cyrus! It is- uhhhhhhh…” The one on the left trails off upon witnessing the precarious position the human found himself in. They both look away.

Cutlass untangles herself, giving Cyrus a smile and a ‘you got this’ nuzzle to his chest. Standing, Cyrus flips his suit jacket on before undoing the damage wreaked on his outfit by Cutlass’ earlier stunt. Skittishly fixing his hairband for one last time, Cyrus jitters out and into the press room.

The first attack is the lights. There was no mercy.

Instantly, he is forced to bring a protective hand to his eyes as numerous flashes explode throughout the room, filling the air with the smell of burnt magnesium. Wincing, he tries to blink the white spots away whilst stumbling around for his seat, unable to process the rapid snapping and popping of the cameras. Eventually, his searching hand graces the back of his seat. Still blinking away the splotches of light dotting his vision, he flops down.

The second attack is the noise. The questions come like pouring rain, washing through the room in torrents.

“What is your purpose here?”

“Where did you come from?”

“A palace source says you are solely carnivorous, can you comment?”

“Why do you look like that?”

On and on, overlapping in to a symphony of pure chaos until a splitting voice cries out into the room.

“SIIIIIIIIIIIIILENCE!!!”

Celestia gives a nod of approval, mask of complete calm still adorning her features. Cyrus glances over for a modicum of help, but finds nothing but a cold forward stare from the sun princess. Gulping, he redirects his attention back to the crowd of journalists in the room. They wait with bated breath, inspecting Cyrus with incredible intensity.

Cyrus does not feel unlike a prostitute.

True to Celestia’s speech pattern, she clears her throat before beginning: “Thank you, sergeant Pipes. I would advise the room to remain silent and respectful. Please treat our guest, Cyrus, with respect, one question at a time please.”

At once, every hoof rockets into the air, twitching and shaking for attention like toddlers in a preschool.

“Um… do I?” Cyrus asks, turning to Celestia once more for guidance. A gentle nod confirms his suspicions. He turns back to the ravenous crowd, saying: “Okay, uhhh… third row, flower in hair?”

The mare in question, quite literally, stands up so quickly her seat is sent directly into the chest of the poor stallion sitting behind her. Ignoring his cry of pain, she blurts out her question with the force of a ten ton truck: “Hello! Goss Flips, The Canterlonian. There are many rumors surrounding your sudden appearance here, do you have any comments?”

“I- uhhhh… don’t k-know about any r-rumors?” Cyrus stutters, tripping over his words. He wasn’t briefed on this. Goss Flips’ eyes glint with pure animal predatory glee, leading questions of the most devious kind forming in her head.

“Such as the circumstances of your arrival. A reliable Crown source had informed us that your appearance left no mana signature? Only magics able to erase mana signatures are either incredibly difficult to cast, or require help from forbidden entities. Care to elaborate?”

Celestia grimaces inwardly, mask faltering for a fraction of a second. Worry grips deep at her chest; no matter how Cyrus answered, he was doomed. The press was not supposed to know that piece of information. Rats everywhere, it would seem.

“I- uhhh… well yeah okay, it didn’t exactly work out like that. But it makes sense? I mean I myself don’t-”

“No comment.” Celesta cuts Cyrus short before he falls into the trap. Her mind turns, trying to deduce who exactly in her cabinet would have been able to leak that information. Goss Flips sits down with a smug grin, scribbling down her drivel into her notepad. The tightness in Celestia’s stomach grows as the hooves shoot into the air once more.

If they know that… we just might be doomed, Celestia grimly surmises, the urge to eat incredibly sugary food biting at the back of her mind, the kitchen patisserie had better be prepared or they're all fired.

She casts a short glance sideways. The nervousness upgrades from butterflies to stomach knots.

Cyrus is sweating like a pig on the sun, fanning his collar to try in an attempt to cool himself down, looking as guilty as he can possibly look. Shakily, he wipes the sweat away with the sleeve of his shirt.

Incredibly rookie mistake, but Celestia can't blame him. Poor human.

The room lights up, reeking of magnesium once more as the cameraponies do their dirty work. Celestia swallows incredibly thickly.

“I- uhhhhh… y-you fifth row with the black and blue striped tie…” Cyrus mumbles, pointing at the pony. He stands up, casting his colleagues a wily grin of triumph.

“Thank you. Overtly Heard, Private Glance,” his languid voice drips with ego, “I would just like to confirm. Do you eat meat?”

“Yes, I do.” Cyrus replies, happy to finally have a simple question to answer. Overtly Heard nods in response, that had gone way better than he could have possibly hoped, a direct quote! This would sell…

Only when Overtly’s rump contacts the chair once more did Cyrus realize exactly what he had implied. Embarrassed salvage mode activates as he blurts out a follow up: “Well, not only meat! I can eat vegetables too but my… biology… makes it so… I have to eat… meat.”

Utter silence, his salvaging speech crashes and burns in the most spectacular fashion. Celestia cringes, glancing at the clock. Five more minutes and salvation would be delivered. Uttering a prayer to any and all deities above, Celestia hopes the next question isn’t too terrible. Hooves fly up once more. The sun princess’ desperate prayer is denied by the powers that be.

Oh Harmony… not her. Celestia grouses inwardly, eyes tracing the trail between Cyrus’ finger and the journalist he had picked for his final question.

“Hardy Digger. Thank you. Equestria Times. Our sources from within the palaces have spotted you, on numerous occasions, with Her Highness, Princess Luna. Given her… history-” Celestia’s eyes widen for a split second before she regains control, “-may I ask your intentions here? Our readers worry for their safety.”

That little… Celestia fumes to herself, skin crawling at the sheer nerve of it all, her inner demeanor shattered by the spear of anger flying through her emoscape. She parts her mouth to deliver brimstone, but is interrupted.

“Hang on. Now that’s a step too far!” Cyrus shouts, standing up from his seat, confidence returning to his voice.

What is he… Celestia thinks, her eyes snapping to the seething Cyrus. Slamming his palm on the table, he leans forward, drawing a gasp from the crowd.

“Okay, you can write whatever the fuck- buck you want about me. Call me a ‘hairless ape’, ‘unnecessary burden on the taxpayer’, or ‘vicious monster barely under the control of the princesses’, I don't care. But you leave her out of it, okay? Bloody hell, no matter where you go, it’s just buckin’ vultures. Shame on you.” Cyrus rants to the shocked room, jabbing a finger directly at Hardy Digger’s heart. He collapses back into his seat with an angry huff, muttering Chineighese curses under his breath.

The experienced photographers, knowing that shots of angry Cyrus is akin to pure gold, take advantage of his new mood, letting out a few flashes into the room. The peeved human looks up to Celeista, a look of pure incredulity adorning his features. Celestia keeps the facade up. Flicking her flowing rainbow mane, she erects a barrier before flashing Cyrus a grateful smile of respect. Cyrus gives a slight nod in return.

Hopefully that should keep her mouth-

“Um… you didn’t answer the question?” Hardy Digger bleats without a hint of shame, having recovered from the shock of earlier scolding. Cyrus turns to meet Digger’s gaze in the slowest way he possibly could. Hardy Digger was about to experience the pure, vile, and unfiltered wrath of a League of Legends player who had once been chat restricted for an entire month.

“Beg your pardon? I ‘didn't answer the question’? Okay, how about you answer me this question, are your parents alive? Because you’re showing me some fatherless behavior right now, you fucking lobster-low. Bet your dad ‘went out’ for milk and cigs when you were five and never came back. Don’t blame him, the way you turned out. 傻逼，操你妈 [Fuck you, stupid cunt]. What, writing career didn’t work out? Have to rely on gossip for food? Sister, there is no difference between you and a sixty year old retiree with a gambling addiction playing bingo every night and flipping gossip because without it they’ll be relegated to the reject table. Thing is, you’re already sitting there, piggie.”

The room is dead silent.

Celestia’s mask completely shattered, an expression of shock made plain on her face. She’s deciding between jumping up in a massive cheer, or smacking the shit out of the human sitting next to her.

To be perfectly honest, the former wins out by a mile.

The pure flow Cyrus had rapped his insults with was exceptional, not a hint of apprehension or trepidation could be heard. It sounded almost rehearsed with how little stuttering or stammering there was, a pure stream of rage. But, despite the vitriol, he didn’t shout, he didn’t need to, it would have taken away from the power of the speech. Every syllable was uttered with calm, ice cold fury.

And that’s what made it so unbelievably raw. The entire room traces Cyrus’ body as he calmly steps up from the table and makes his way out the room.

Okay… Wow… Respect. You’re bucked nine ways to Tarturus… but… thank you. Celestia lauds inwardly, donning her mask of calm once more.

“*ahem* I think that concludes our time together. If you’ll please join me outside for the swearing of fealty to the crown.” Celestia declares, trying not to break into giddy giggles at the sight of a frozen and flabbergasted Hardy Digger. Taking advantage of Cyrus’ verbally induced stun-lock, Celestia slips out the door, followed by her contingent of guards.

A collective blink is shared before the room breaks out into utter chaos.

A few moments later, backstage of the Royal Greene…

“Thou said WHAT?”

Really, it was the only acceptable response.

Cutlass was in stitches, unable to speak through the gasping bursts of laughter, every so often repeating to herself a few choice phrases from Cyrus’ speech to commit them to memory. Luna was pacing the backstage to vet her nerves, unhappy at the new turn of events.

She did expect to go poorly. Just not that poorly.

“What. They were chatting shit about you, what else was I supposed to do?” Cyrus mutters, arms crossed and a half scowl decorating his face. Luna stops her pace, spinning around with an exacerbated expression.

“Well… not that! I think thou do not understand the repercussions!” Luna shouts with a stomp. Expelling a short and gritty nicker to try and calm her jitters, she resumes in a calmer tone: “Before thou try and rebut, understand this. The purpose was never to paint thee in a ‘good’ light, twas damage mitigation! IF we gave the press nothing to discuss, they’d eventually move on. And now…”

Luna’s speech subsides, she’s gotten the point across. Groaning, Cyrus can do nothing but stare. His resentment gives way to reason as the logic starts to click. Raven did say ‘they will grill you, just don’t give away too much’, and he had completely ignored that advice. Once again, Cyrus had let his impulse get the better of him.

“I’m going to head to the changing room.” Cyrus mumbles, shuffling to the room in question, cloud of anger now broken to make way for the harsh, beating rays of despair. Luna brings a hoof to her forehead with an explosive sigh, landing on her rear once more. She musters enough mental capacity through the fog of fatigue to ring the service bell. Instantly, a dapperly dressed stallion flitters to her side with a flourished bow.

“Two espresso. Please.” Luna tiredly orders, her previous injection of caffeine (three double-shots) starting to wear off. The servant somehow dips his head lower, retreating with a ‘yes your highness’. Luna allows for a rare moment of weakness, sagging her wings and withers in tandem to alleviate the growing pain of keeping her posture straight. Her back aches for the comfort of her mattress, her head for the solitude of her pillow. For some reason, the geniuses in the public relations department had scheduled the swearing ceremony for three in the afternoon.

Dipping in and out of reality, Luna’s mind wanders through all the articles she had read about herself……

RETURN OF PRINCESS LUNA: THE FACTS

Hark, for our sovereign of the night has returned to us at last. Rumors have been flying ever since the climactic showdown during the millennial Summer Sun Celebration (more on page 12). What can we expect? Where did she suddenly come from? Is she really the Nightmare Moon of legend? Do not fret, dear readers, for this article shall reveal all.

Firstly, yes, Princess Luna is the Nightmare Moon of legend and our palace source can confirm that indeed the old mare’s tale is true! Yes, she did try and usurp her sister’s position over jealousy. Which begs the question, why is she still allowed to not only roam, but be given authority over Equestria? Given her past inclinations, wouldn’t it be wise to…

Luna can not contain her anger. The paper bursts into a ball of brilliant blue flame, charred black dust flittering down onto her desk. She wasn’t supposed to read it, but she couldn’t help herself-

“Your Highness.”

The most unusual form of speech snaps Luna out of her daydream, she whirls round to the source. Cutlass is standing there, saluting with a stony face. Shaking her head, Luna replies: “Yes, Sergeant Stellabright?”

“Permission to speak freely.” Cutlass clicks. Luna gives her a quizzical look, unsure as to why she was resorting to clicked tongue. Cutlass remains stoic, ever the professional.

“Fine. Speak.” Luna relents to Threstalian clicks, matching Cutlass. Relaxing, Cutlass gives a nervous throat clear, buying time to organize her words.

“If I may, he was simply standing up for you…” Cutlass lets the implication hang, giving her wings a nervous shuffle. Luna stares.

The implication dawns.

That’s…

Luna feels an odd feeling in her chest.

“Thank you, sergeant. Duly noted.” Luna clicks halfheartedly, resuming her pacing and pursing her lips in contemplation, stopping every once in a while to sigh or shake her head. The servant reappears with two espressos, dutifully balanced upon the silver plate in his hooves. Without breaking her pace, Luna picks them up with cerulean glow, downing the scalding liquid in two short flicks.

Yearning once more for bedly respite, Luna dives into her wings for the fifth time since entering the backstage, straightening her already straight primaries.

Again.

Meanwhile, Royal Greene changing rooms…

The cold water slaps were not working whatsoever, the jitters would not retreat. Cyrus stares at his reflection, repeatedly cursing his stupidity.

Just had to mouth off, fuck’s sake. Cyrus chastises himself, violently pulling at his long hair and dislodging a few strands. Bringing his hand back under the cold stream of water, Cyrus prepares for another strike across the face.

Fucking idiot.

*Slap* “Guh.”

Didn’t listen.

*Slap* “Bleh.”

Your life is-

“Well, that’s quite the pre-performance routine.” Celestia’s voice floats from behind him like a stream of tranquility, jolting Cyrus out of his anxious self-tirade. His hand shuts the water off and his eyes dart to the mirror, meeting Celestia’s eyes in the reflection.

She’s here to blow me up. Cyrus gruffly surmises, the pit of anxiousness giving way to dread. Muttering a prayer to whatever deities above, Cyrus turns to meet his fate. Celestia strides up to the mirror, floating a manebrush through her rainbow hued mane, grimacing whenever she rips apart a particularly nasty knot.

“You know, Luna was right, you really are an artist with words…” Celestia mumbles, eyes focused on the shape of her flowing strands of mane instead of Cyrus’. The manebrush is replaced with a rather painful looking comb, black iron jutting out into sharp pointy tips. Without wasting a moment, Celestia sets to work, straightening out any offending fibers on her perfect snow-white coat. Cyrus shuffles, idly fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

“Um… s-sorry…” He squeaks, finally summoning enough courage to make his vocal cords vibrate once more. Celestia casts a side eye to Cyrus, letting out an uncharacteristic chuckle. Cyrus flips to confusion, his hand now frozen at his collar button.

“What for? That bitch had it coming… cunt. Or as you say, lobster-low. Whatever that means…” Celestia spits her insults like rotten oats, flashing her comb away before turning to Cyrus with a sly smile, “incredibly well said. Somehow, you’ve put all the thoughts I had about that rat of a pony into the most beautiful poem I’ve ever heard.”

Cyrus chokes on his spit, not quite believing his ears. Coughing rapidly to the rising sounds of Celestia’s laughter, he brings his hands above his head to clear his airways. Celestia levitates a paper towel next to Cyrus.

“Thanks? I guess? You know, to be honest I thought you were here to cut my head off…” Cyrus admits, swiping the paper towel held in Celestia’s golden glow with a nodded thanks, bringing it to his face to rid himself of dampness. Snorting, as she never does, Celestia volleys with a raised eyebrow.

“Why would I do that? By tomorrow, I’m sure every rag-reader and noble will be banging down your door to do so,” Celestia jabs a hoof into Cyrus’ face in a way she’d only have done one thousand-five hundred years ago, “you are so unbelievably bucked.”

Reminded once more of his impending doom, Cyrus sighs, pulling himself up to a sitting position on the sink counter, slouching his posture into an acute angle. Once there, he runs a hand down his face, almost pulling the skin off, muttering: “Yeahhhhh… I mean. Only one word can save me now…”

Celestia looks on with morbid curiosity. Craning upright with fake bravery, Cyrus rockets his hands onto his hips, proudly proclaiming: “Worth.”

Celestia laughs, deep from her belly. Mirthful sounds for her but harrowing blasts of mockery for Cyrus. He sags back down into depression, defeated. Summoning a cloth, Celestia gives her regalia a much ‘needed’ spiffening, wiping away at the offending grime (two specs of dirt). She flicks the cloth under Cyrus’ nose to gain his attention, letting loose a genuine smile.

“I really appreciate you standing up for my sister. Whatever you need, if it’s in my power, I’ll grant. I owe you one.” Celestia says, giving Cyrus a warm touch of the shoulder with her own, a gesture she seldom imparts, before slipping out the door. Cyrus lowers himself from the sink and onto the floor.

Of course, the implications of Celestia’s newfound casualness is completely lost on Cyrus. Can’t exactly blame him, he has no reference point. Sighing he runs the cold water again.

Three more strikes and he’s ready to face the world.

Moments later, on the Royal Greene stage…

“-and so, by Sun, Moon, and Harmony, I, Cyrus Huang, swear fealty to the crown of Equestria. May the princessdom extend eternally.” Not as elegant as it could have been, but good enough. Cyrus remains kneeling, head bowed to the point where his neck hurt. His knee was begging for mercy as it stayed firmly planted on the carpet, right in front of the two towering princesses. Behind them, the smell of burnt magnesium wafts, carried over by a gentle breeze along with the pops of camera flashes.

Celestia was beaming her usual smile of love and acceptance, AKA smile number five, AKA the ‘public relations’ smile. What she really wanted to do was beam her smile of justified smugness, AKA smile number NEVER, AKA I-only-do-this-to-Luna smile.

Cyrus, that beautiful bastard, using his perfect hurricane of words, had absolutely blasted the flock of rag-writers gathered among the audience at the Royal Greene into a sense of pure fear. Something that Celestia wished upon every iota of her blazing sun that she could do herself.

She wishes she could do a lot of things. Sadly, ‘image’ exists, lest things become too difficult for her.

Celestia strains her ears. Only nature fills them. Not a single word of badgering annoyance from the press. The equivalent of a beautiful symphony.

The towering white alicorn breathes out a silent sigh of utter contentment. It was a beautiful day. She looks to her sister who is currently having her hoof kissed by Cyrus in a rather odd display. Cyrus wasn’t bent quite low enough for Luna to comfortably place her hoof into his… flesh talon thing, so she had to awkwardly splay her hindlegs a bit for better purchase on the floor. As in she had to assume the ‘position’. Celestia tries her damned hardest not to laugh. Cyrus remained as clueless as ever, pressing his lips against Luna’s baby-blue regalia.

Hm… truly a boon. Perhaps I shall invite him for lunch one day. I’d like to know more about him… Celestia muses, her mind already ravaging the sure to be fully stocked pantry of pastries the kitchen staff were ordered to prepare before she got on stage. Luna’s hoof finds its place on the wooden stage with a muffled clop. Cyrus, head still bowed as he was instructed, shuffles in front of Celestia.

Well. My turn to look ridiculous… Celestia shuffles her hind legs, lifting her hoof in the air with utter regality, splayed like a mare in heat…

She couldn’t care less, she was giddy, practically prancing on clouds.

Her sister finally had a real friend again. A friend who would stand up for her, thick and thin. A friend who would brave the consequences of having public opinion against him if it meant protecting the honor of little sister.

She had only heard from Luna, never seen with her own eyes the character of Cyrus. Too used to dealing with the painted, perfect masks of politicians and social climbers, Celestia always kept doubts, a nasty habit.

Cyrus Huang… interesting name. I shall endeavor to keep you safe… Well as much as I can. Celestia resolves, watching as Cyrus planted a dainty kiss square on the sun shaped crest of her regalia. Celestia’s ear flicks.

Without looking, hearing, or feeling, Celestia somehow surmises that her sister has noticed the position she was in. There was no logic behind it, no fact to justify.

But, she was right. Call it a sixth sense.

Luna’s chest bobs in repressed laughter, only the sound of a short ‘snrk’ escapes her muzzle, incomprehensible to anycreature but the three standing on the stage. Celestia knew for a fact that Luna was smirking the largest and most unprincesslike smirk she could possibly muster behind that royal azure mane of hers.

A thousand years ago Celestia would have been the most annoyed mare on the planet, ready to grate, grind, and grouse to Luna about her ‘inappropriateness’.

But now, Celestia’s heart soars higher than an eagle.

Her only family. And now, maybe, after a thousand years of utter soul crushing solitude, a new friend.

Cyrus cranes back upright, only Celestia’s horn giving her the edge in height. Cyrus spins and shuffles, just like in the clobbered together dress rehearsal, awkwardly squeezing himself behind the two sisters.

*Clomp, clomp*

Cyrus’ shoes hit the ground in practiced cadence.

Her que.

Muscle memory takes over while Celestia imagines the bursting, flavorful sweetness that was sure to come when she bit into her first almond croissant.

Smooth rivulets of sunshine, rainbows, and sickening flowery language flow from Celestia’s mouth, as masterfully practiced as a musician. A tale of how Harmony above had brought a new creature unlike anything Equestria had seen before into the fold of ‘our princessdom’. Tommyrot, poppycock, phooey, and bellywash. All for that nasty dominatrix, ‘image’. Celestia knew too well.

They’ll have only nice things to say about me… bet they’ll badger on about how ‘generous’ I am hosting this ‘monster’. Rats… Celestia’s bitter machinations are almost enough to spoil Celestia’s second course of imaginary cake.

Almost. The power of raspberry lava cake is boundless.

The speech ends to a round of marvelous applause and the three step exit stage left, Celestia leads, followed by a still bowing Cyrus who is flanked by Luna. Once wrapped in the solitude of the Royal Greene backstage, the trio let out a collective sigh.

Celestia sighs swooningly, for her marvelous lover, sugar, was waiting for her in the castle.

Cyrus sighs shortly, for his feeling of impending doom was back and hovering above his head, threatening to slam down with the force of a meteor.

Luna sighs in somnolence, for she was really running on fumes at this point.

Celestia is the first to leave, a quick good night to the two nocturnal of the three and she’s racing toward her salacious mistress, leaving the two friends to sag onto the floor. Cyrus covers his face again, retreating behind his shield. The thoughts latch on instantly.

Fuck me man what have I done what did Celestia mean when she said I was bucked will they really come through and try and cut off my head I really don’t want to constantly be-

“C-cyruushhhhhhh *yaaaaawn*” Luna mumbles through mile thick layers of fatigue, the coffee she had drunk coming to collect its toll, plus interest. Cyrus drops his shield, and he is incredibly glad he did, his heart almost melts when he locks eyes with Luna.

Her eyelids remain drooping and dipping, her ears flopped to the side of her face as she was no longer able to keep them standing. She’s letting out the mother of all yawns, a sagging hoof raised to give her decency while her wings spread across the ground in a feathery heap. Sat on her haunches, her dim, star-studded mane circles in front of her chest, flowing like a brook.

Oh. My. God. She can barely keep her eyes open… Cyrus thought as he tries to keep his giggling in check. Luna brings her wing up to her face, rubbing her eye in an attempt to banish her drowsiness. Cyrus’ heart almost liquefies with cuteness.

“Cyrushhhh, I need to shay somefing to thee…” Luna barely squeaks out, dragging herself over toward Cyrus, “Cyrushhhh, thy convicshon ish… *yawn* most…”

Luna’s eyes start to drift close as slumber takes over her brain, her surroundings melting into inky blackness as her body plummets toward the floor. Cyrus, complete with shit eating grin, reacts swiftly, scooping an arm under Luna to protect her head from the floor.

Luna remains drifting, her face a pure display of peace and calm only beat by a slumbering newborn. Tentatively, Cyrus runs a hand through Luna’s mane, marveling at the silky smooth texture of the fibers as they dance along his fingers. Oddly, it did not feel like mist.

Huh. It’s really pretty up close… and her coat is so smooth… Errant thoughts, they disappear as quickly as they arrive in Cyrus’ head. Unable to contain his mirth any longer, he begins to chuckle, the vibrations jolting Luna out of her well deserved peace for a little. Cracking her eyelids open a tad, she brings her brilliant orbs of teal onto Cyrus’ face. Luna’s visage splits into a massive goofy grin.

“Hehehehehe… T-thou art truly too *yawn* forward… Thou dare to touch thy princhess in this sala- *yawn* -chious…” Luna couldn't finish her raunchy joke, words bleeding into yawns back into words. The warmth emanating from Cyrus’ chest was too narcotic for her to keep focus, her wing already subconsciously wrapping around his back like he was her pillow.

Well, according to her sleep deprived brain, Cyrus was her pillow.

Shutting her eyes, she buries her muzzle deep into Cyrus’ neck, seeking the warmth within. She shifts too much and the tickling sensation of her coat on sensitive skin causes Cyrus to let out a few involuntary belly laughs, irritating Luna’s stillness. She jolts up with an adorable snort, snapping her eyes wide open.

“I wished to thank thee for thy conviction in defending me!” Luna blurts, logical brain injecting enough embarrassment into her system to make her realize that practically molesting Cyrus was probably not an okay thing to do. She shifts her mane in front of her purpling cheeks in an attempt to hide the burning shame. Calming down from being victimized by Luna’s precious sleep-deprived antics, Cyrus plants a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, forget about it. You probably would have done the same for me.” Cyrus says, putting on the bravest face he can.

That odd feeling sparks in Luna’s chest again. Only for a flash, quicker than a spark.

Nodding in appreciation, Luna’s muzzle cracks open for perhaps the biggest yawn of the evening. Cyrus quirks an eyebrow.

“Hey, Luna.” He starts.

“Yersh?” The reply from the night princess.

“Bed.”

“*snort* Thou… do not tell-”

“Shut up. Go.”

A large pout.

“Come with me.”

Luna’s prefrontal cortex is just a tad too slow.

Did I just…

“What?” Cyrus blinks.

Did she just…

“No-nothing…”

A brilliant blue flash ignites the room.

Hyde Park…

The rancid smell of manure wafts into Cyrus’ nose, causing it to wrinkle in disgust. Near him, the caretakers set to work in grim fashion, shoveling and spreading that crucial shit all over the green. Nasty, but without it, Hyde Park would never look as beautiful as it does. The perfect green grass, the rustling oak leaves whispering in the breeze, the beautiful blue lake reflecting the surrounding city in its infinite depth.

The ducks and swans meander and mingle on the water, allowing animal fancy to take them. Cyrus stops to admire the swans as they dive beneath the mirror-like surface, scavenging for morsels resting at the bottom of the lake. As elegant as they look, he knows that one wrong step and the swans would turn into territorial demons, ready to snap the bones of any creature silly enough to encroach on its personal space.

The flowers were just about blooming, still shy from the increasingly common late frosts that have been hitting. Still, they remain as beautiful as ever, and Cyrus simply has to take a moment to admire them. Always astounding how much beauty existed and how much of it you could see just by stepping out your door.

Hyde Park is a weird one. Smack dab in the middle of central London, it is flanked by some of the most affluent districts London has to offer. Not to mention, the infamous Oxford Street, with all it’s money-laundering American candy stores, runs directly toward it.

But that shit was for tourists. Cyrus was a local, which is why he found himself located on the left side of the Serpentine bridge, down by The Long Water. Away from the jumbled mess of random languages being shouted at volumes that really should be illegal. Twas a Londoner’s dogma to avoid tourists, and Cyrus was no exception to the rule.

Peaceful. There are other local families milling about, pushing strollers past the lake in their secluded cliques. Along the green, sugar-hopped children chase each other whilst barking out made up rules to whatever game they were playing.

“No tagbacks!”

“You didn’t hit me~ I ducked!”

Where the hell do they get their energy, man, Cyrus laments to himself, mind cast back, fishing for memories of his youth, these kids could play for hours. I get tired after thirty minutes of-

A pigeon breaks his line of thinking, swooping in kamikaze style near his head. Cyrus, of course, engages his reflexes and gracefully dips out of the way, throwing out a ‘哇擦 [WTF]’ at the offending rat-with-wings. Turning, he shoots the pigeon a dirty look of annoyance as it pecks at the flakes of crumbled pastry left by a passing businessman as he rammed his Greggs sausage roll down his throat.

We need to start shooting pigeons again, they’re getting too fearless-

As if the universe was listening, Cyrus spots another pigeon out of the corner of his eye making its reckless head dive straight toward him. Cyrus spins.

This time the pigeon course corrects. It wasn’t aiming for the crumbs.

Digging its talons into Cyrus’ head, the pigeon crash lands onto his head, ripping his scalp apart with relentless pecks. Screaming, the poor human rips his hand toward the general direction of the pigeon in an attempt to smack the shit out of it. He makes contact.

The pigeon does not budge, instead its pecking intensifies. Cyrus howls in pain.

The horde is alerted. A cloud of squab attack, cooing, digging, ripping, and eating. Cyrus flails his hands around like a madman, crying murder all the way. His clothes dampen and stick, slicked by blood. Unbeknownst to him, the peaceful scenery melts away into the ground, shadows creeping forward as the sun darkens into the moon.

“OIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII HELLLLLLLLPPPPPP!!” Cyrus gasps through his wild movements, trying to shake any of the randomly murderous birds clinging to his body like he was the first meal they’d had all day. He takes off toward the water in an anguished sprint, diving in as a desperate last resort.

He never makes it to the water, his shoulder comes into contact with soft, spongy grass. The birds disappear in an instant, leaving the poor human to grasp at his now non-existent wounds.

“Gah! Guh! Get off me! Ahh-”

Cyrus’ mind catches up. He shoots up onto his feet in embarrassment, instantly spinning around to confirm just how many people had seen him have his freakout on the lawn.

There is no-one there. The moon shines a deep, haunting silver onto the surrounding nature, stretching their shadows into frightful proportions.

“Well that was quite the display of… uhhh…”

Cyrus whips around to the noise. There stands a very familiar looking old man. His blue suit almost looks metallic under the intense glowing moonlight. Wrinkles break out around his smug smile, spreading in deja vu inducing patterns.

Who is? How did I miss him?! Cyrus ponders, frustration at his incredibly evident lack of knowledge growing in his chest. The old man gestures to a bench that wasn’t there before, sitting and crossing his legs calmly.

“Um. Do I know you?” Cyrus asks, squinting and scrunching his features as if that would help him pick out some connecting detail to solve his current conundrum. The old man lets out a string of harsh laughter in response, flicking his head to the sky and sending his silver hair spiraling in the process.

“Yes and no. Maybe so? 告诉你啊，我也不知道 [I’ll tell you what, I don’t even know].” The old man flips between Chinese and English with such practiced ease, not a single drop in pronunciation present. Pulling out his also incredibly familiar red rimmed slab of a book, he starts to skim, muttering as he flips through the pages. Sensing Cyrus’ stirring discontentment and unease, the old man holds a hand up while keeping his eyes glued on the flipping pages.

“No, not this… no… I was sure… Ah! Found it!” The old man whoops in a cheer, hand landing on the paragraph of tiny text he was looking for. Squinting, he folds his body to bring his face as close to his book as possible.

Cyrus desperately wants to pretend like this somehow incredibly sharply dressed and linguistically skilled weirdo wasn’t interacting with him and silently shuffle away.

But there was just something tugging at the back of his mind. Something telling him that this old man was worth listening to. Something about advice.

“Okay, Here we go! Noctra Za’lav mannerisms and culture!” The old man brings his piercing green eyes back to Cyrus, “this is going to be really important soon so I suggest you pay attention.”

The young pianist cocks an eyebrow, but his innate curiosity glues his feet to the ground. Clearing his throat, the old man cranes back down to read out a section.

“Noctra Za’lav do not bow their heads as a sign of respect. It is, in fact, the opposite. If a member of Noctra Za’lav raises their head while hiding their fangs with their tongue, it means they are showing you great respect. The head raising is them exposing their throat to potential predators, while the hiding of the fangs should-”

“Okay what the fuck does any of this have to do with me?” Cyrus blurts, impatience starting to win out. The old man looks up, rolling his eyes in a show of pure annoyance and shooting Cyrus a death glare.

“红线小子 [Red string kid], you keep quiet, okay? I’m taking a big gamble here, imparting this information upon you. Kinda leaving myself open for that motherfucker to land a big dent in my plans. Have a little respect and keep that yapper of yours shut.” The old man snaps with the crankiness of a thousand angry retirees rejecting the soup they just ordered on the grounds that it looked too salty. Cyrus glowers, but relents. Something was telling him that this old man was trying to help. Snapping the book shut, the old man stands, his eyes stabbing straight through Cyrus’ soul as if he knew every secret Cyrus had ever kept in his life.

“We good? Okay, cuz that bitch of a guard dog you have is starting to bark really fucking loud. Listen. They’re coming. You gotta try and remember what I told you about them. I’m cheating here, so that means mister-”

The old man is cut off by the sudden, rapid reddening of their surroundings. The old man lets out a guttural slew of Chinese cuss words as he scans the sky. He brings his attention back to an increasingly nervous and confused Cyrus.

“树，他的项链- [Tree, his necklace-]”

The old man never gets to finish his thought as he explodes in a brilliant shower of crimson. Where he once stood, a towering black spike of obsidian stands.

Cyrus’ voice goes hoarse from the screams. Above him, the moon crumbles to dust, leaving a rust coloured eye where it once stood, training its malicious pupil right onto Cyrus. The sky begins to crack, shards of night crashing to the ground, sending clouds of dirt and debris upwards in giant-

Blood.

Pain.

The chanting, it hurts his ears.

Rip them down!

On everything precious to him, he’d turn his back for-

Cyrus blasts upright in his bed.

His head finds his hands, the tears find his cheeks.

The fear gnaws. His mind churns. It arrives, right on cue.

The battleground is wrought with misery once more.

The badlands…

Swaths of brown stretches as far as the pegasus can fly, unending and unceasing in its sun-baked drabness. Ordinarily, daytime travel would be made impossible by the ruthless sun, slaughtering any creature foolish enough to toil under it. That is why travel only happens at night, or through the spiraling labyrinth of tunnels located under the cracked earth.

Vegetation scarcely exists, save for some of the hardiest shrubs nature had to offer. Animal life is equally minimal, the only diversity provided by the tough insects and rugged birds. Which is why, at this current moment, two very out of place batponies were haggling with a poor traveling pegasus merchant.

“Ve trade for ze vood, yes?”

The merchant is shaking to the point his wares are slipping out of his saddlebags. Lakla sighs, shaking her head in sweeping, dejected arcs, Darvius gulps, strained smile still lingering on his face. The merchant’s skittish gaze flickers between muzzle and harsh red eyes, unsure which is the freakier feature.

Perhaps haggling was the wrong word. Convincing may be more appropriate.

“Umh. Did I zay wrong? Vood,” Darvius gestures toward the caged badland three-tailed wombat in the merchant’s cart with his leathery wing, “vor zis,” he shakes the bag of gold held tightly in his hoof, flashing his fangy smile again.

Lakla’s heart warms at the sight of her lover’s smile, its fanged countenance glinting in the silvery moonlight. She loved the way his cheeks dimpled and how the corners of his eyes would crinkle, the perfect framing for his deep pupils of kindness. She adored running her hoof through his curly mane of sparkling navy blue, tracing its flowing rivulets toward his withers, groomed to perfection. To her, he was the pinnacle of stallion-like grace and beauty.

On the other hoof, the merchant almost pisses herself as the red eyed batpony’s fangs split wider in his maw. She can't help but imagine her neck in the way of them, sinking deeper and deeper as they ferry her to her demise. His eyes reflect the moonlight, glinting exactly like the century old demon who guarded the vault of souls from the latest issue of Hearts Intertwined (Equestria’s premier supernatural smut series). His mane is slick, glowing mystically under the moon (again, much like in Hearts Intertwined). To her, he was the pinnacle of I-will-murder-you-and-there-will-be-no-trace (not from Hearts Intertwined, rather a detective series known as Manehatten Murders).

Perhaps she reads too much.

The petrified merchant lets out a pathetic squeak. Darvius sighs, defeat winning out. Dutiful as ever, Lakla steps out, delicately draping her wing onto his back, rubbing the spot she knows he likes in a hasty circle. Clearing her throat, she wrenched the attention of the merchant onto her.

“Hello,” Lakla’s accent is much more practiced, “we were wondering if we could purchase that three-tail over there.” She flicks her snoot to the slumbering wombat, hiding her fangs with her tongue. Of course, she was wearing her special see-through blindfold as mandated by those who are allowed outside the coven.

They really should have received some training… Lakla muses, unease at their current situation taking root at the pits of her stomach once more.

It was all too soon. So strangely rushed and hurried that Lakla couldn’t help but lose multiple nights of sleep thinking about all the tiny things that could go wrong.

But the High Elder had spoken. Most unlike him.

Darvius’ grateful nuzzle snaps Lakla out of her funk. She turns her attention back to the shivering merchant. If they didn’t secure food within the next forty five minutes, that meant they’d have to go with his plan. That fleabag.

Brantus.

Creature! He has doomed us all in his rancid haste! Hot-headed stupidity-

“U-Um, h-he’s n-not for sale!” The merchant finally squeaks out, finally regaining her wits, “h-he’s my p-pet!” The focus is shifted from dark rumination and back onto the procurement of food.

“P-e-t?” Darvius confusedly sounds out to himself, rolling the syllables around in his mouth like an unfamiliar strain of blood, “so, vat means-”

“Deepest apologies, dear traveler, we did not mean to cause offense. Unless there is another animal we can trade for, we shall be on our way.” Lakla firmly cuts through before Darvius’ bumbling can make the situation any worse. The merchant desperately shakes her head, ejecting a shrill ‘nope’ in response before zipping off at the speed of sound, leaving behind only a silhouette of dust. Darvius raises his eyebrow, glancing at Lakla with perhaps the most innocently confused expression she had ever seen him with.

“So, whats a… P-E-T?” Darvius clicks, romanizing the unfamiliar word as carefully and slowly as possible so as not to be misconstrued. Threstalian is a difficult language. Lakla looses a half frustrated, half conceded sigh; it had been a long night.

“Sort of an animal that you keep around for companionship. You don’t eat them.” Lakla tries her best to explain to the increasingly befuddled Darvius.

“Why keep an animal around if you aren’t-”

“They just do! Okay? They just do!” Lakla snaps, gnawing frustration chewing through her patience and coming through in her impassioned clicks. Darvius flinches. Lakla cringes, knitting her brow into something more empathetic, fluttering in for an ‘I’m sorry’ nuzzle.

“Apologies, love, I lost to my anger. It’s just… this situation has been…” Lakla can’t summon the courage to click out the rest of her thoughts. Darvius’ muzzle shifts to a ponderous pout.

“Yes. This situation… I believe the decision was too hasty. I’m sure you feel the same. We are marching without a clear destination. And the compromise…” Darvius’ nostrils widen in an incredibly rare display of anger at the thought of their companions. House Acheron, Brantus and Y’valt. Their overzealous, dangerous, and incredibly violent traveling partners. Lakla instantly picks up, snorting out her own vexation through her nose.

“Yes… them. Grass-eaters… speaking of…” Lakla spreads her wings, stepping in front Darvius, crouching and baring her fangs. Brantus strides forward, unfazed by the aggressive and protective display of Lakla. Y’valt creeps like a shadow behind Brantus, fixing her battered muzzle directly onto Brantus’ back. Lakla growls.

Of the scouts, Y’valt was probably her least favorite. In fact, she was everypony’s least favorite given the amount of times the squad had to clean up her messes. Kvarid-Slishlef, Hate-Unchained, was her unofficial nickname.

Of course, true to her nickname, as soon as Y’valt spots Lakla, she pounces to meet her muzzle, a snarl of her own imprinted on the scarred tissue snaking her visage. Brantus spits on the floor.

“You let them get away.” He coldly clicks, stomping a hoof in anger. Lakla’s head lowers closer to the ground, her lips slowly rising to unsheathe more and more of her pearly fangs. Y’valt matches, hissing and frothing at the mouth at the prospect of combat. Darvius scoffs, flapping a wing dismissively.

This makes Brantus inconsolably mad. But he must keep his cool. The High Elder has spoken.

“We will find food. You two stay. Lakla, we take flight.” Darvius orders, cooly stepping past the rabid Y’valt with a calm grace. Lakla drops her hostility and follows her lover’s instruction, not before kicking dust onto Y’valt’s hooves. Y’valt bristles, rearing back on her hind legs.

She would not be disrespected in this way.

Brantus’ hoof finds her wither. She lowers to the ground, still glowering, disappointed her fangs did not make contact with flesh.

“Patience, dear. The High Elder has spoken. Best not to disrespect his orders. Worry not. Once Noctra Havarax is informed of house Hunt’s blatant weakness…” Brantus whisper-clicks into Y’valt’s ear. It’s barely enough to contain her as she traces the silhouettes of Darvius and Lakla flying through the sky. She wishes she could tear them from the clouds and rip their wings off, string their guts across the ground like the disgusting weaklings they were.

Hate is not spared between house Acheron and house Hunt.

But the High Elder had chosen them. They would make the pilgrimage.

It certainly is a long way to Canterlot.

Author's Note

ELLO!

Slow update, soz, but hope it's good.

So... how about that Jude Bellingham goal, huh? You can thank him for this chapter. Without his goal I probably would have spent the week in a massive funk sulking instead of writing.

AS ALWAYS FEEDBACK APPRECIATED & thank you guys for reading! :heart:

8. 老友，新友 [Old friends, new friends]

A few days later. Cadance’ room…

“But Shinyyyyyyyy, I wanna go!~”

How could Shining Armor, Captain of the Solar Guard, abjuration superstar supreme, hottest stallion this side of the mountain, ever refuse the begging pout of his soon to be wife, Cadance.

It was too powerful. Her eyes, brow, and lips working in tandem to swipe at the depths of Shining’s heart. There was no defense, no possible spell from the school of abjuration that could fend off the blazing offensive.

“Of course, Cadie, we can go…” He relents, unable to resist, but doubt finds a way to worm its way into speech, “but, I dunno…”

Cadance’s face morphs to an unimpressed raised eyebrow.

“You seriously believe that shit? Buck’s sake, Shining, thought you knew better.” Cadance rebukes, her northern accent starting to creep into her usually prim speech. Shining scrunches his muzzle, throwing his withers up in a defensive shrug.

“Hey, you know I don’t like the papers either. But, you know, something something grain of truth in every…” Shining lets the connotation hang. Cadance rolls perhaps the most exaggerated eye roll she can muster, earning a giggle out of Shining. The animatedness his fiancé conducted herself with was just one of the many things he loved about her. A fresh break from the stale drabness of the Canterlonian dating scene.

“Yeah, I’m sure if he was a meat munching murderer, he would be allowed to perform for the nighties every single day.” Sarcasm drips from Cadance’s voice like honey from a comb, shaking her head every syllable to drive the point deeper and deeper home. Sobering, Cadance flops a wing around her love, adding in a gentle tone: “It’ll be fine. If he tries anything I’m sure both you and I could take him on. Unless mister captain of the bucking guard, who rose to the top despite the thick stench of maresculinity that clouds the sols, is too helpless to take him on.”

Shining looses a warm smile at the wave of assurgence sent from his wife, relishing the relaxing feeling working its way through his tired muscles. That was another thing about Cadance, she could brighten up any room just by walking in. She just had such a strong vibe about her that was entirely contagious, spreading it wherever her golden horseshoes landed.

Quite literally. Cadance is an empath.

It was a bit odd at first, that lifting feeling, almost like smoking weed while shotgunning three beers and munching on special brownies.

Not that Shining Armor would know. He’s a studious colt. He would have never attended a certain party at a certain classmate's house in a certain lower district while three certain ponies were away on a special holiday. Being picked to be shoved in a closet with-

Ahem.

Eventually, Shining Armor grew to love the feeling. Cadance?

Many tearful nights of doubt were spent between the pair, insecurity at the conviction of love laid bare under the security of soundproofing… A really heart wrenching scene, perhaps that is all that should be said on that matter, it’s a little too private to divulge.

Shining Armor leans further into Cadance’s embrace, dragging his cheek against Cadance’s soft neck. She giggles at his adorable antics, leaning in to deepen their mental connection.

Something special they discovered one night after a particularly violent round of… activities. They could feel each other on levels beyond the physical. Cadance’s arua engulfs her lover’s, their favorite metaphysical position. It was almost like spooning, the way her mind gently caressed the edges of Shining’s consciousness, cradling it like a newborn.

Another weird Cadance thing that he absolutely adored. A thing that only he was privy to. That thought made his chest stick out with pride.

“Sooooooooooooooo…” Cadance’s whiny beg stretches across the room, “can we?”

Shining laughs, flicking his very conditioned mane sideways and firing a smirk at his marefriend before saying: “Cadie, I think we’re going no matter what.”

“He can be taught!” She proclaims in response, bopping Shining on the nose and chuckling when his muzzle crinkles into that adorable shape she loved.

Cadance’s smug aura overpowers Shining’s. Hopping off her bed, she rigidifies her posture in dominance, grunting out a ‘damn right’ before dipping into the bathroom without a word. Typical song and dance, Cadance has long forwent the silly practice of ‘notifying one’s partner’ of date nights. She would simply put on makeup and drag him by the tail to whatever event she had felt like going to that evening. Sometimes quite literally; peaceful slumbers rudely disturbed by sharp pain originating from Shining’s dock. Soon after his face would impact the floor.

Northern spirit. Just another thing Shining absolutely adored about Cadance, despite the bruising.

And Cadance made sure there was a lot of bruising. In more ways than-

Ahem.

Sliding off the bed, Shining Armor creaks off toward the wardrobe, humming while running a comb through his luscious blue mane. While he wasn’t the most colt-y colt, evidenced by the numerous fights he had gotten himself into in his youth, he did try. For Cadance at least. She is, in his eyes and the eyes of the entire nation, too bucking sexy to fumble.

So, Shining Armor, delinquent of the Sparkle family, tom-colt overlord, one-two-lights-out-for-you, begins the arduous process of straightening his coat and shaping his hair. Lounging around on the bed had done a number on him, as well as the previous bed related activit-

AHEM.

Thus, beautification remained an incredibly painful task. Shining Armor yanks his comb down his chest fluff, ripping apart the many knots that has wormed their way in. He suppresses a grunt of pain, gritting his teeth as he continues working at his chest-fluff.

This is more painful than taking two hind legs to the face! He bitterly grouses, working his chest fluff to be as puffy and ‘sexy’ as he possibly could. Shining screws his face in determination.

He would be that hot piece of ass for Cadance or he would die trying.

Now, his attention is turned to his hooves. Specifically, the shaggy bits of fur that partially covered them. With the care he would give to inspecting a subordinate, he starts to work, evening out the offending bits of hair into pleasing geometric shapes. They were also poofed up appropriately.

Cadance has a thing for fluff.

Ritual complete, Shining does one last inspection, twirling around, checking out his ‘features’ in the mirror as he did so. Spotting an unwelcome tuft of hair on his nape, Shining reaches around to rectify it.

His hoof never contacts the hair. He is suddenly shocked still by a wave of powerful emotion. That emotion.

“My my~ You look pretty.” Cadence purrs. Stalking forward she runs a feather across Shining’s jaw before sliding into his view.

Lip bit, creasing it in just the right places. Check.

Oh no…

Tongue darting out every so often to tantalizingly trace her perfect lips. Check.

But I spent so long getting ready…

Half lidded stare that would make a prostitute blush. Check.

OhmyHarmonyhowdoesshedothat.

Shining’s coat stands on end. Cadance’s mind envelops his wholly, absorbing his growing lust into her own. She slices inward, piercing his being and demanding his whole, undivided attention. Practiced, Cadance meanders to the bed, dragging each step out, agonizing Shining in every one of her movements. Her tail starts to make its journey upwards.

He can feel it starting to slip out.

“Well?~” Cadance asks, her voice dropping an octave to a more salacious tone, filling the air with desire so thick it could suffocate a whale.

I really should say something… I mean we really should probably go, it’s almost four o’cock- CLOCK.

…

Well. Might as well be honest…

He practically flies onto the bed, much to Cadance’ approval. She lets out a delightful sequel as-

Oh for God’s sake! Why do they… and? How big- why does she own… she had that there the WHOLE TIME?

These two are actual fucking animals!

Officer’s club…

Wow. I am playing like complete dogshit.

Cyrus was not exaggerating, he is playing like complete dogshit.

Uncomfortable rhythmic desyncs, disgusting dynamic mistakes, and to top it all off, random wrong notes. Not the wrong notes that you can get away with playing, but wrong notes that stuck out like an ugly streak of sauce on a white shirt.

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that he wasn’t even playing anything in particular. He was playing scales and arpeggios, the literal barebones of music. Things that eight year old kids could belt out on a whim. Stuff that an expert should be able to do in their sleep while being violently thrown around in a tornado.

HOW THE FUCK AM I MESSING THESE UP!?

The frustration starts to creep in, firmly rooting itself in Cyrus’ scrunched up face. The frazzled human pulls his fingers off the keyboard, despite his ego egging him on to play another round. He stares at them, flexing his fingers every once in a while as a little test to see if everything is in order.

Nothing wrong with my fingers… I did my stretches when I woke up… C’mon!

Ego wins, Cyrus lowers his fingers back to the keyboard. A deep breath, and Cyrus begins again. First, C major, ascending scale. Arpeggio down, swap to D major. Ascending scale-

An incredibly fat devil’s tritone screeches into the air. Cyrus had missed the F sharp. On his left hand. Not even children fuck up that bad.

A second of disbelief. Cyrus can only stare at his index finger, still firmly pressing down the glaringly wrong note.

He screams. A horrendous wail. His hand impacts his thigh, trying to smash it to pieces in an attempt to vent his frustrations.

The piano stool is ejected behind him, he rises to his full height. Unsure of what to do, he can only stand there, hands shaking with barely contained rage. Cutlass’ ears perk up, she shifts her attention away from the latest issue of Power Ponies and onto the baby-raging human.

Cutlass watches on in quiet contemplation. Cyrus starts to hop, all the while mumbling obscenities. Reaching the wall, he punches it.

“FuuuuuuuUUUUCK!” Comes the shout of a stupid man who thought it was a good idea to strike knuckle first. Far removed and sitting at the bar Cutlass is deciding whether or not to double over in laughter or go help the poor human. Still ruminating, she sips the last of her refreshing lager.

Maybe I’ll leave him to simmer down a bit… Cutlass thinks to herself a book goes sailing through the air, impacting the floor in a heap of fluttered paper. Still upset, Cyrus turns his attention back to the piano, picking the stool up from where it lay and smashing it back into position. He flops down and wastes no time angrily belting out frustrated scales, wincing every time he plays a wrong note or desyncs his hands. They pile on, adding to his frustration in an entirely unavoidable way.

Man was tilted.

Cutlass’ urge to laugh intensifies at the loony-tunes-esque antics of Cyrus. She just about loses it watching Cyrus start to pull extraordinary faces, stretching his jaw as low as it could go while sticking his tongue out like a pony possessed.

Oh my Niiiiiiiiights if I had a recording crystal right about now…

But a heavy worry holds her back, poisoning her joy.

Cyrus is having a really shit time. Not that it was all peaches and cream before, but things have taken a very noticeable turn for the worse.

The things they said! Cutlass furiously thinks behind her mask of calm. The press conference, while entertaining for Cutlass to hear about, had turned out to be a complete, objective disaster. The papers slaughtered him.

Every. Single. Article.

Every. Single. Frontpage.

Horrid Beast Stalking Canterlot Castle: Kindness Overstepped?

Meat Eating Monster! Possible Demon Stalking The Streets of Canterlot.

It’s Gone Too Far.

Reports Confirmed! Tartarus-spawn In The Castle!

Has The Princess Lost Her Mind?!

It was impossible to shield him from seeing them.

It was even more impossible to shield him from the looks, stares, uncomfortable shuffling, and worst of all, the constant side-eyeing. Of course, the majority of the guard didn’t really believe the outlandish and wild claims the papers make. But then again, rumors and grains of truth, surely there was something to it. After all, there must be a reason why it’s plastered everywhere from the low districts to the high.

Cutlass, being a good friend, had done her very hardest, diving into the trenches of guard gossip that she so vehemently despised to defend Cyrus. In vain, the small conglomerate of rag readers remain entirely unconvinced. They continue to trumpet their script all through the barracks and mess hall.

Cyrus tried to remain aloof, but ho matter how he denied it, Cutlass knew.

It cut him. Made his hairless coat crawl with insecurity. She was sure that it haunted him, creeping around him like a dense fog, striking in the hours before and after his sleep.

After all, she’d feel the same way.

But he’s just gotta be tough… This thought flashes through Cutlass’ mind again, one thing she had learnt about Cyrus during their friendship. The stupid wall she had been throwing herself against over and over these past few days, trying to peer beyond……

“You alright?”

About the third time Cutlass has asked him. He nods his head as wholeheartedly as a customer service worker dealing with a petulant customer. He tries to keep his eyes trained on the unfamiliar slew of shops passing them as they walk through Middlesward.

The stares demand his attention.

It was about three in the afternoon, the sun casting an amber glow across Middlesward. Aptly named, it sits in between the upper and lower district - the rich and poor alike mingle, reflecting the myriad of businesses housed by multicolored walls and eye-catching doors. This was the real Canterlot: the intermingling smells of regional spices fighting the general stench of tucked away rubbish bins, the random conversations all struggling for dominance over each other. Anypony could flitter toward whatever struck their fancy, unkempt and invisible.

But today, they were everything but invisible. At this time, getting from Don’s Decadent Mac N’ Cheese stall in the food section to the nerd store in the miscellaneous section takes about twenty minutes of mumbled ‘excuse me’s and ‘coming through’s. However, the pair managed to arrive in just under ten minutes, the usual hordes of ponies that would hinder their progress either shakily dipping into a nearby shop or crossing the street to keep their distance.

Oh, and the silence. The utterly crushing weight of silence that screamed at Cyrus each passing second they walked. The turning heads from behind the windows, tracking every movement until he disappears from sight.

The growing pit of anxiety in Cutlass’ stomach stretches ever further. Reaching up, she tugs on the hem of Cyrus’ shirt, earning a semi-pensive look and causing him to stop his gait. Fixating her golden eyes onto his brown, she tries her best to project warmth in her features, despite her growing worries.

“You know, we don’t have to… I mean, you don’t have to. I can grab the music.” Cutlass offers, her whispers carrying across the silence, causing her to wince. Cyrus presses his lips into a wrinkly pout, looking away to hide his emotions, clamming his body language shut by crossing his arms across his chest.

“It’s fine. I chose to do this. I need to follow through. Can’t play into the rumors.” Cyrus mutters, trying to sustain a brave tone through his wavering breath. He steps forward, ignoring Cutlass completely, focusing his attention forward.

Shut down again Cutlass thinks. Sighing, she picks up her hooves, catching up with the human……

Cutlass pulls herself out of her frustrated reminiscence, in part helped by the newfound silence in the room. Cyrus had calmed down enough to realize that continuing to practice was counterproductive. Instead, he stares blankly at the floor, void of all emotion. Taking it as her que, Cutlass slides off the barstool, trotting over to the disgruntled human.

“You okay?” Cutlass asks, feeling like a broken record. She takes a seat next to the piano stool, gazing up at Cyrus’ neutral expression. He turns to face her, rubbing his jaw, a myriad of choices flashing before his dull brown eyes. His mouth emulates a goldfish, opening and closing in a few slow cycles. His lip trembles with hesitation, spreading to the back of his jaw. Tentatively, he shakes his head. Cutlass shuffles closer, putting a reassuring hoof on his calf. Tilting her head, she ensures Cyrus knows the ball is firmly in his court.

“I… don’t even know where to start to be honest.” He whispers, feeling the floodgate in his mind buckle. He can feel it rise like the bile in his throat, threatening to spill forth like ugly, rancid vomit. Somehow, as if she could read his mind, Cutlass presses her muzzle onto his leg, rubbing in a small circular motion.

That contact, the muted feeling of her softness through the fabric, somehow it always manages to pull him out of the depths. His emotional dam would hold. For now.

Too cute… He muses through the pregnant silence, I… have a good friend.

But…

“It’s calm,” He mumbles, sniffing and swiping at his nose, locking his jaw as tight as it could go, “I’ll be fine.”

Cutlass screams internally, rebuked again. Her patience is unable to combat her growing exacerbation, relinquishing her hold, she stands upright in a scoff, flipping her royal purple mane into the air as she stomps away.

This bucking… I just want to grab him by the withers and shake the-

“What?” Cyrus’ agitated shout interrupts Cutlass’ angry thoughts. She whirls around to face him. His arms are crossed, slight scowl on his face: “What did I do?”

What did he? Did he seriously just say that?! Cutlass furiously thinks. Spreading her wings, she flaps them in tandem with a leap, arcing through the air and landing in front of Cyrus with a loud clop.

“What did you do? Oh, I don’t know, maybe stink up the entire room with your bucking cloud of denseness?” She rebukes, stomping a hoof to punctuate her vexation, drilling her glowering, steadily slitting, golden eyes into Cyrus. He uncrosses his arms with a grunt, shrugging his shoulders and turning away.

“I said I was fine. What’s wrong with that?” He responds, defensive edge abundant in the way he spat his question. Cutlass’ snout quivers as she shakes her head in disbelief. Kicking her hooves in irritation, she mentally debates the merits of smacking the stupidity out of the gangly stallion sitting in front of her.

“Buck’s SAKE!” She vents, slamming a hindleg into the ground hard enough to produce a resounding boom. Deftly, she rockets a hoof out, gripping Cyurs’ shirt with the mana around her hooves. Yelping, Cyrus is brought to eye level by Cutlass’ sudden roughness.

“You can tell that lie all you want, but I see. I see how it affects you, how it digs under your coat!” Cutlass yells, bringing her muzzle millimeters away from Cyrus’ nose, “And it bucking hurts to see! But you know what hurts more? Every time I try to help, you just push me away. What? Am I just some random pony from nowhere? Am I not your friend?”

Cutlass finishes her tirade with a forceful shove, almost knocking the now thoroughly vexed human off the piano stool. Growling, Cyrus whirls upright, staring down at the offending batpony burning intensity.

“Fine, maybe you are a fucking random! Maybe you’re just a figment of my imagination! How the bloody hell am I supposed to live? Is this place even real? I DON’T KNOW!!” Cyrus expels his thoughts in a jumbled, incomprehensible mess. Slamming his hand on the piano, he allows his dam to be broken: “And none of you lot like me. You’d all be celebrating if I- and what the fuck, how am I supposed to be happy here? Yeah, whatever, the dancing monkey can play the piano, yippee! When that runs out, then what?! And what about my-”

In his anger, he didn’t notice the steadily deflating Cutlass until she let out a loud sniffle, forcing him to look back down at her. Steadily misting, her eyes slaughter Cyrus’ heart.

“S-so that's it, you don’t want to be…” She trails off, unable to continue past her rising sadness, that thought she had relegated to the worrywart corner breaking free and celebrating its confirmation. Dejected, her ears lose the strength to stay upright. Internally cursing, Cyrus tries to reach out to offer a form of comfort. Cutlass dips away, causing Cyrus to freeze mid attempt.

“I- I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just- I do care- I want to be friends-”

“You don’t have to lie to me.” Cutlass’ hollow mumble cuts through Cyrus’ poor attempt at a salvage. She presses her lips together, willing herself to remain calm.

Shit shit shit… What is wrong with me?! Cyrus internally scrambles, trying to come up with a solution for his earlier mess. Each stretching second forms a deeper gash, rifting the two apart.

Ah! Screw it. When in Rome…

Cyrus jolts forward, surprising Cutlass and firmly gripping her armpits. Grunting with exertion, he lifts the surprisingly heavy batpony up and into a hug. A move that had been pulled on him multiple times before whenever Luna or Cutlass could sense his unhappiness. The warm and tender touch, they were unafraid of showing Cyrus how much they cared. It would always manage to make him feel better, and Cyrus wanted to replicate it, regardless of how embarrassing it was to the human.

Cutlass, at first taken aback, eventually succumbs to the hug, letting the flat of her muzzle against his shoulder. She feels a squeeze, prompting her wings to unfurl and drape against Cyrus’ back. After a short moment, Cyrus lets her down, artificial awkwardness getting to him. He ejects an awkward cough, sheepishly rubbing his neck.

“Yeah, I uhh… don’t do that often. Sorry if it was weird.” He mumbles, plopping back down on his pianostool. Cutlass laughs, eyes now sparkling and lips upturned. She brings a foreleg around Cyrus’ calf, giving a short embrace to dispel his worry.

“Ah come on! It’s not weird, I do it to you all the time. I know I’ve told you, we ponies are addicted to hugging. Call it acclimatizing to your surroundings.” Cutlass says as Cyrus settles in beside her, sitting cross legged on the floor. She nudges him, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder, allowing an appropriate amount of time to pass before continuing: “...You know I’m not going to let you off the hook that easily, right?”

Cyrus sighs, leaning back on his arms and giving the ceiling a good once over. He casts a glance to the now very serious looking Cutlass. She places a kind hoof against his knee, gently pressing as if to transfer some comfort.

“I… need a minute to organize my thoughts.” Cyrus says, shifting his weight upright and hugging his knees. Cutlass nods, shifting her hoof from his knee to his back, ensuring that he knew: she was there.

Silence shrouds the room, broken only by the occasional sighs of Cyrus. Deep in pensive thought, he enters a fierce internal battle.

I should tell her.

But… if I do…

She’s given me a lot. First pony to actually talk to me.

And she never will again, if you start spilling your sob nonsense.

She asked.

She doesn’t know.

…

C’mon, be honest with yourself.

…

Don’t be silly. Don’t risk it, you’re already hated by everyone else.

But… if she does end up hating me, was she ever really my friend?

Who fucking cares. It’s better than nothing.

… I’m going to do it. She cares enough to get mad about it.

…Fool.

“I feel- *cough*” Cyrus’ throat hitches from lack of use, the period of quiet was quite long, “I feel alone, to tell the truth.”

He keeps his gaze firmly fixed onto the floorboards.

“Not that it’s your fault, or Luna’s. It’s just- you said it yourself, it digs. And it hurts. And it’s not like anyone can fix it.”

He peeks to Cutlass, trying to gauge if he was perhaps overstepping his bounds. Cutlass looks back, ears pointed directly at him, nodding along to every detail. Pressing his lips together, Cyrus prepares to go further.

“I don’t know what to do. Nothing feels real- well, that’s not entirely true. It’s hard to describe… It’s like, so many things are similar. Music is about the same, language is about the same, even culture! But there are so many small differences that I can’t help but think that this is all fake.”

Exhaling, he hugs his knees tighter, gripping on for support. Cutlass’ hoof moves off his back, terminating their physical connection. She sits, digesting.

“So… you feel like everything is meaningless?” Even after everything… Cutlass half says, half thinks, drooping her ears down to reflect the sadness forming in her stomach. Cyrus grunts ambiguously in response, causing Cutlass’ anxiety to spike. She scans, trying to decipher his body language for any sort of assurance. Cyrus’ face remains ever stony, a barricade to his inner machinations. His strange rounded ears remain ever unmoved, small eyes offering no clue to what was churning in his mind.

Finally, after a tense pause, he turns to face Cutlass, as neutral as ever. Parting his lips, he offers a reply: “It’s probably not something you wanted to hear. Especially after all the time we’ve spent… I think you understand why I really don’t want to talk about it.”

A cold laugh bursts forth from Cyrus’ chest as his hands reach to rub his face.

“Well. Thanks for telling me. Even if it does kinda hurt.” Cutlass murmurs.

“I- that’s not… damn it!” Cyrus stammers, slapping his thigh, “I’m just a fucking schizo. I- you lot… if it wasn’t for you and Luna, I’d be a stain on the parade ground. But then again, am I just coping?! I don’t know! What am-”

“Stain on the parade ground?” Cutlass interjects, suddenly very animated, worry quickly spreading across her face as she pulls Cyrus face down toward her, “you don’t mean…”

“I- not really… I mean, I’ve thought about it? But…” Cyrus can’t continue, his steadily increasing breathing taking over his speech. He tries to look away in shame, but Cutlass’ strong hoof locks him into place.

“Cyrus… I had no- that is really serious. I can’t believe you haven’t told me!” Cutlass firmly says, drilling her eyes, full of concern, deep into Cyrus soul, “Like, are you bucking kidding me? Do you know what that would do to me!?”

Cutlass shouts the last sentence, startling Cyrus. The flurry of anger, sadness, and worry meld together, exiting her eyes in droplets of water. Winding back, she punches Cyrus in the shoulder, discharging some of her boiling emotions. Cyrus doesn’t react, frozen to the spot.

“You know I care about you, right? You know I look forward to hanging out, right? You think I’d spend my time on dead end, no prospects guard duty if I didn’t?! Shit!” Cutlass blurts, passion overcoming her being as she stands up, jabbing her left wing at Cyrus’ face. Whirling, she begins to pace, short angry clops ringing out against polished wood.

“Seriously! Come the buck on, Cyrus. Fucking cunthead!” She bellows, causing the wood underneath to shake with the violence of her speech. Bringing a hoof up, she gives Cyrus a healthy punch on the shoulder, face still split with her temper. He yelps in pain, shifting back and cradling his surely bruising arm. Cutlass stomps up, chasing the steadily retreating Cyrus until his back touches the wall. He raises his hands in defense, whimpering under the harsh scrutiny of Cutlass. Feeling the contact of hooves on his shoulders, he lets out a terrified screech.

“Don’t do it.” Almost a whimper.

Cutlass embraces Cyrus with her whole being, wrapping every able appendage around the terrified human. Sniffling follows, along with a steadily growing wet spot, ballooning from the place where Cutlass had buried her muzzle.

“If you feel like it please find me first… please…” She pleads into his chest, holding Cyrus tighter in her deadlock. Shock wearing off, he slowly and hesitantly responds, slowly snaking his arms around her body.

“Aw… Cutlass. It’s not like that, as in, it’s not that bad,” He mutters into Cutlass’ ear, giving her a squeeze, “you guys keep me from it. Seriously, without you and Luna, I don’t know what kind of state I’d be in right now.”

Cutlass peers up, trails of tears framing her face in winding rivulets, melting Cyrus’ heart into a puddle. Relinquishing a hoof, she wipes her snout, cleansing her of the evidence of her sadness, whispering: “P-promise?”

The softness of her voice, wavering with insecurity and kindness, eyes like deep pools of her soul. Cyrus’ only instinct is to console his friend. After all, she was the one who stuck by him, listened to him drone on about soccer and music, lifting him up when he felt down. Memories of their first meeting, nervous and awkward, fill his mind with the warmth of nostalgia.

But it calls.

Ah you’ve made her cry. Idiot.

…

Fool… She will never want to speak to you again.

Shut up. You’re the fool.

And he doesn’t look back. He retightens his grip onto Cutlass, inviting the warmth in.

“Promise. Thanks for… being my friend. Even if I’m a complete cunt.” He says, patting Cutlass on the back. She pushes, breaking the hug and returning onto all fours. Scowling, she gives Cyrus a few more tepid punches on his aching arm. Cyrus twists his body defensively, grunting in pain, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“You’re damn right you’re a cunt. But you’re my cunt.” Cutlass replies with a grin of her own, “and don’t whine, you deserve those punches. And I didn’t even punch you that hard, you marshmallow.”

Turning, she strides over toward the bar, gesturing for him to follow with a sharp flick of her clawed wing. Reaching the bar, she deftly slots two glasses under their respective beer engines. Hooking both her wings onto the pumps, she pulls, allowing the amber liquid to froth and fill up the glasses. Looking up, she sees Cyrus lumbering over, he lands on his seat with a flourish.

“You finished assaulting me?” He quips, reaching over the bar to collect his glass. Cutlass barks out a hearty laugh.

“Absolutely not.” Cutlass snarks back, picking her own drink up in her hooves.

Like so many times before, the friends share a drink, heartfelt conversation flowing as easily as water. This time, however, a newfound appreciation embraces the two, making their smiles and wit all the finer.

The next day. Celestia’s room…

The little wooden duck begins its intrepid journey toward the water well, propelled onward by its burning thirst. Swooping in a brilliant arc, it dives, valiantly piercing its beak into the depths of the pool. There, it satiates itself, dragging water into its needy throat in unsustainable volumes. Satisfied, it cranes back upright, swinging back and forth in complacency.

Then it gets thirsty again.

Da widdle duck goes down, da widdle duck goes up. Celestia narrates, her chin resting on her desk, magenta orbs trained on the desktoy doing its thing on her desk. A half read dossier lies next to her, black ink twisted into something about the current state of the Manehattan rent prices and how they were completely reasonable.

Perhaps half read is an overstatement. One-eight read is more accurate. That's about how long it took before Celestia wanted to rip her eyes out. Which, coincidentally, is exactly what is making it difficult for her to return to it. And it is the reason why she is currently staring at her dunking bird with an intensity that could rival her sun.

Da widdle duck goes- I really should get back to it. Celestia tries to wrench herself out of her procrastination, but finds she just can not bring herself to read another line of insipid Olde Party drivel. Her attention returns back to the duck.

Da widdle duck goes down, da widdle duck- maybe I should go for a walk or something. Celestia internally concludes, pushing her chair back and deftly teleporting a paperweight onto the dossier. This particular paperweight was in the shape of a dog peeing, a fitting tribute. Not a soul in the castle knew of its existence, not even her sister.

Slipping on her golden shoes, she steps out the door stealthily, taking great care to keep as low a profile as possible. Her ears are trained on a swivel, making note of every minute noise. She would be invisible, only the most powerful of tracking spells would be able to detect her presence.

The maid cleaning the hallway perks his ears up, raising a hoof in greeting with a smile before bowing.

Celestia is many things. Incognito is not one of them.

She forces a smile back, utterly dejected that she was unable to go five seconds without being spotted by a member of staff.

To her credit, she is a giant white alicorn with flowing rainbow hair.

Turning, she trots down the hallway in a show of absolute controlled grace, confidently putting one hoof in front of the other. The intersection steadily approaches her, but she remains unfazed, not even bothering to flick her eyes toward the directory posted in the middle where the two veins meet. With conviction, she decidedly turns right, moving down without breaking her stride. On and on she trots, homing in on-

Where the tartarus am I… Celestia’s mind turns, trying to grasp her bearings, was this- no this should be the ambassador’s corridor- but no, I could have SWORN the kitchens were… Oh dear.

She was meant to head straight. In fact, when the castle was built, she had made sure the kitchens were directly in line with her quarters.

Out of her depth and helplessly lost, Celestia meanders to a halt at the next castle directory. On it, a simplified map sits, each intersection marked with a name and each vein marked with a different color, very similar to a city subway. A very comprehensive system, designed for tourists and dignitaries alike to find their bearings in the labyrinth of Canterlot Castle.

It had been a very long time since invaders were a threat.

Squinting, Celestia brings her nose as close as it can go to the map, tracing the multicolored lines to and from their endpoints.

Hmmmmm I’m pretty sure I’m on the Manehatten vein…

Central vein.

And to get to the kitchens I need to get back onto the… oh dear, which vein?

The Royal vein goes unnoticed. Even more unnoticed, the very large ‘CANTEEN’ written in bright bold red, marking it as a notable spot.

Was it the…? Hmmmmm… logic… which vein would make the most sense for the kitchens to be on… Ah! Of course! The Supply vein!

Which would force her to walk about forty minutes more than she needed to.

“Um… you okay?”

Celestia almost jumps out of her coat, whirling around in an instant to face the culprit.

“Yes, my little pony, how may I-” Celestia’s practiced speech screeches to a grinding halt upon seeing the creature standing eye level to her, “oh, Cyrus.”

The human in question waves, unsure of how to respond. Clearing her throat, Celestia starts again: “Hello. To answer your question, I am fine. I…”

Celestia swivels her head, double checking to make sure that there was nopony lurking.

“Am completely lost! In my own castle, can you imagine?”

She laughs, barrel shaking in time. Cyrus narrows his eyes into a squint, plastering confusion onto his face.

“Hold on, you’ve lived here a thousand years, innit? How…” The human’s thought is quashed by the growing mirth of Celestia, who upgrades from simple laughs to belly guffaws. Cyrus, in a similar fashion, upgrades from confusion to bewilderment.

“Ah! *heh* Even so! I was always terrible with directions. It’s more my sister’s forte.” She responds through subsiding giggles. Cyrus eeks out a smirk, snorting to himself as he folds his arms, casting a faux nonplussed look.

“Riiiiiiight… Didn’t you build the place too?” Sarcasm flows thicker than mud from Cyrus’ mouth. Not to be outdone, Celestia unfurls her wings and brings them to her forehead. She shuts her eyes, sticking out her tongue with an apologetic smile. Cyrus bursts into hysterics at the bleping Princess.

Ah, it feels good to be a bit silly. Celestia thinks, sticking her tongue out further and tilting her head from side to side to the growing amusement of Cyrus.

“Aha! Oopsie!” Celestia says, putting on a cutesy voice before succumbing to her own ridiculousness into brilliant pearls of chuckles. At ease, Cyrus extends an arm, leaning on a nearby wall.

“So what brings you to Soldier’s Rest? You’re pretty far from the Central vein if I’ve read the map right.” Cyrus interjects, naturally shifting the conversation onto something a tad more serious.

“Weeeeeellllll. I was reading the latest, and most riveting, report on Manehattan rent prices. It was so incredible and rousing that I simply had to get to my hooves and take a walk to vent my pure excitement at reading that most wondrous document!” Celestia punctuates her sardonic praise with dramatic swoons and sighs, every so often bringing a hoof to her chest to really accent her overflowing enthusiasm.

“That dogshit? What has the wonderful Olde party cooked up for you then?” Cyrus asks, causing Celestia to roll her eyes.

“As you say, they have cooked dogshit. Disgustingly verbose prose to distract me from their real goal. Making bucketloads of bits off their property investments…” Celestia spits, words stinging like corked wine on her tongue. Cyrus strikes his stubble in pensive contemplation, letting out a simple ‘hmmm’. Pouting, he shakes his head.

“Well, you know what they say. Same shit, different toilet.” Cyrus snarks, earning a string of hysterical giggles from Celestia.

“Well said! There certainly have been many different toilets… in my age, I have lost track!” Celestia responds, nodding in approval at Cyrus’ adage. He harrumphs, smiling at the praise.

“So, you on your way back-“

Cyrus is cut off by a series of gagging noises originating from none other than the Sun Goddess herself. She hooks a hoof around her neck, twisting like she was choking herself to death, expressing her displeasure as violently as she can.

“Buuuuuck no! I’m running from my responsibilities here,” Celestia’s eyes glint with an idea mid sentence, “say… would you be happy to help a mare out?”

Cyrus waves an arm in approval. Celestia lowers her head, shifting closer to Cyrus and dropping her voice to a whisper: “If you can suddenly have a pressing diplomatic matter you need to discuss with me, I can go to day court tomorrow and say I had to deal with it instead of reading that heap of drivel on my desk. Sound like a plan?”

“Someon- pony’s procrastinating… What would this ‘pressing diplomatic matter’ entail?” Cyrus jabs, crossing his arms and raises an eyebrow. Celestia puts on a sly grin, shuffling ever closer to the shaggy haired human.

“Mhhh… perhaps the incredibly pressing matter of how you’re deficient in tea and cake? I have just the remedy in my quarters.” Celestia explains with a rare amount of cunning in her voice. Before Cyrus can respond, she raises an interrupting hoof: “You hang out with my sister and she likes you so I know exactly what you’re about to say. Yes, I’m inviting a stallion into my quarters unprovoked and I should ask you out on a date first. Hardy har har, shut the buck up.”

The last sentence was more sung than said, with Celestia mimicking the cadence of a well known Equestrian nursery rhyme. Cyrus scoffs, raising his hands in defeat and cracking a large smile.

“Touché. Well played” He admits. Celestia raises her head in smug victory.

It would be short lived, however. Celestia strides off, flipping a wing in the air for Cyrus to follow. Instead of trailing along, Cyrus clears his throat.

“You do realize you’re going the wrong way right?” He snarks, much to the chagrin of Celestia. She spins to meet the, now incredibly smug, Cyrus. Tapping his foot, he traces the incredibly obvious route with his finger on the map, making sure to tap on each stop along the way. Journey complete with his finger, he wordlessly slips down the hallway.

To snatch defeat from the jaws of victory… And such unbelievable disrespect! She muses as she follows the deft navigation of the much more competent Cyrus, I can see why my sister-

Celestia almost smashes into Cyrus, having been daydreaming while tailing Cyrus. They had reached their destination much quicker than she had expected; it would have usually taken Celestia twenty minutes to navigate to her quarters from where she was, no doubt due to her more creative pathing. Cyrus made the journey in about five minutes.

A quick series of blinks allows her to regain her bearing. A flash of her horn disables the security wards and forces it to swing open.

“Stallions first.” Celestia gestures with a dip of her head. Scowling, Cyrus crosses his arms.

“Oi, piss off. It’s ladies first where I’m from.” He quips, flicking his head toward Celestia’s room to allow her passage first. Celestia does not budge.

“You’ll find that my devotion to chivalry is unrivaled across my land.” Celestia’s challenge hangs in the air as her eyes narrow, bringing a defiant glare to her muzzle. Her wing flexes out in tandem with her head.

The infamous double down.

Cyrus remains unfazed, his years of being half-English having prepared him for this very moment. He extends a crossed arm, touching the door with his palm and bowing.

“After you. Age before beauty, after all.”

Age before… this little rascal! Celestia thinks, the inklings of laughter threatening to burst through and threaten her position in this game of chicken. She shifts her face to a more kindly form, beaming a sickly sweet smile.

“Nay! After you, your status far outstrips mine as sole ambassador and endangered species!”

Too engrossed in silliness, she realizes it as soon as it leaves her mouth.

The hurt flashes across Cyrus’ face for a millisecond before it is destroyed by his stiff upper lip.

But like sees like, and Celestia’s experience catches all the detail that would usually go unnoticed.

Buck! How could I have said that?! What a horrible thing to-

“Well, you’ve beaten me. I suppose I should take more advantage of my status.” Cyrus jests, playing it cool. He strides into the room, swinging his arms around confidently.

Celestia doesn’t buy it at all. Apprehension clouds her as she follows suit, magicking the door closed behind her.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a moment.” Celestia says, walking to the kitchenette. Instinct takes over as her mind starts to turn, planning an appropriate strategy to fix the massive mistake she had just made. She spies at Cyrus from across the countertop, trying to gauge the emotional state of the human currently lounging on her sofa.

Ah, should I just attack the problem head on? Or play it cool like he is? Ahhhh how could I have been so callous-

*Fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*

The whistling kettle jolts Celestia out of her thoughts. Practiced, she pours the boiling hot water into her florally decorated teapot. Today’s choice would be hibiscus and honey, a perfect pairing to the carrot cake she was currently levitating toward the coffee table. Tea properly prepared, she brings it over, sitting down in the seat across from Cyrus.

“I’ve prepared some hibiscus and honey. It’ll be properly steeped in about three minutes.” Celestia lectures. Cyrus shifts upward from his half-lying position, scooping up a fork to pick out a morsel of carrot cake, ensuring to ration out the orange colored icing appropriately.

“Thanks. Appreciate it.” Cyrus says, lifting the fork to his mouth but pausing before it enters. A short debate flies across his eyes before he puts his fork back down. He stares straight down at Celestia, continuing in a more serious tone: “I’m fine, by the way.”

The chunk of cake being levitated toward Celestia’s maw jerks to a stop, sending the piece flying into her face, impacting and imparting a stain of icing on her left cheek. Spluttering, she brings a napkin to wipe the sugary orange away. Cyrus chortles, although without much mirth, shaking his head slightly.

“It’s calm. Seriously. You don’t have to apologize for what you said, we were just messing around,” Cyrus murmurs before finally taking a bite of his cake, demolishing the sweet nibble in two chews, “your tell is your ears. They should bounce up and down a little bit. Luna has the same problem.”

Full of surprises… Celestia muses, recovering by pouring the tea.

“Duly noted. But despite your previous protest, I would still like to apologize. What I said was out of line… I do want you to feel welcome here, despite their best efforts…” Celestia responds with a dip of her head, chewing on her last statement disagreeably. Cyrus waves his hand as if to brush the offense under the rug.

“Hey, dogs will always bark… speaking of, there are a lot of dogs, aren't there? Must be a lot of work.” Cyrus adds before blowing on his tea.

“Yes, there certainly are. I’d hope my ponies would learn to be a little more… accepting. And it’s worth it, by the way, the trouble,” Celestia kills the implication swiftly, “you have no idea how much of a help you’ve been to me.”

“Help? Can’t lie, feel like I’ve been nothing but a headache for you ever since I’ve got here…” Cyrus counters, his eyes inadvertently falling downward. He adds a healthy dollop of honey to his tea before tracing his gaze to meet the radiant smile of Celestia.

“The absolute contrary. I don’t think I need to beat around the bush with you. Ever since Luna got back from…” Celestia’s visage darkens considerably.

Still cuts so deep.

“...my poor decision to banish her, she’s been- well… incredibly despondent.”

The impressive figure of the Sun Goddess shrinks remarkably as she stares into the depths of her pink, still steaming tea. She forces a series of rapid blinks and shakes her head, trying to reboot her brain.

“Right. Heard about that… although, I suspect you’ve heard way more than I have. I’m not one to pry into nasty business.” Cyrus says inbetween small, measured bites of his carrot cake, ensuring to ration it appropriately to have enough to enjoy with his tea. Celestia is much the opposite. Reigniting her horn, she rips a heft chunk out of her already half eaten slice of cake and delivers it to her mouth with blinding speed.

“Appreciate that… and it’s in the past. With your help, it’ll stay that way. I can’t tell you how worried I was seeing her mope around the castle day after day,” Celestia lifts her tea, taking a premature sip, grimacing as the still hot liquid scalds her tongue, “aside from the first week, I’d say you’ve had a remarkable impact.”

Cyrus pouts at the mention of his turbulent first week, mindlessly stabbing his cake a few times with his fork.

“Bleh. She’s still apologizing for that, we’ve patched it up. At least I think we have. She still doesn’t secretly think I’m a gigademon, right?” Half jesting, Cyrus pulls an impressive concerned face, leading Celestia to surrender a chortle.

“Of course not. She only speaks of you in high regard. Yes… the first week was rather… to borrow a turn of phrase, arse cancer to watch.” Celestia maintains a straight face as Cyrus explodes with laughter, thankfully not having any food or drink in his mouth.

“A-arse canc- wha… where did…” Logic fires in his brain, throwing his head back Cyrus lets out another barrel of chuckles before declaring: “Luna!”

“Yes! Quite. Luna!” Celestia parrots, finishing the rest of her cake with one deft swipe of her fork. The next one appears in rapid succession, teleported from its safe hold in Celestia’s fridge. Humming contentedly, she takes another bite of perfectly crafted cake, reveling in the natural and comfortable lull in the conversation.

Feels good to be able to let loose… She happily thinks, earlier dread thoroughly cleansed with good spirits. Wishing to resume, Celestia breaks the warm silence: “Well, to add to my sister’s apologies, I must offer my own for what transpired. I had to let her make her own choices, you know. She is perhaps the most stubborn and bullheaded pony I have ever known. That, combined with… well, you know.”

“Yeah. I understand,” Cyrus offers a simple, but effective response, running a hand through his black, shoulder length hair, “I mean, just the other day after the fealty ceremony. She could barely keep her eyes open and was still refusing to go to bed.”

“Ah, sounds like her. I remember very fondly how she absolutely refused to wear clothes to formal events when those came in fashion. Something about ‘not covering my natural beauty with insipid cloth’.” Celestia divulges before an evil idea bubbles to the surface of her mind. Sensing the chance to arm a soldier with the perfect ammunition for teasing Luna with, Celestia drops a bit of confidential gossip: “She’s still embarrassed, you know. Inviting you to come share her bed… honestly! I thought she had put her promiscuity behind her.”

“Oi oi, promiscuity? I know what that word means. Go on.” Cyrus excitedly banters, shifting himself, quite literally, to the edge of his seat. Celestia splits her face into an evil grin, mentally rubbing her hooves together and cackling to herself.

“Ah, her glory days. She would strut around, flaunting her very toned form for all the stallions to see. And being able to see dreams? Made target selection incredibly simple,” Celestia raises a contemplative hoof to her chin, rubbing in a slow circle, “I think her record was three in a day? Or perhaps four. Ah, sex was such a lax thing back then… When I’d scold her for it, she’d always call me jealous. And perhaps she was right! It was simply unfair, the amount of stallions she had falling head over hooves for her.”

Cyrus can not contain the slimy smile bursting across his face. His mind was already hard at work, thinking of all the different scenarios where he could use this newfound information.

“Interesting… very interesting. And if I were to ask her about this, do you think I could make her turn purple?” Cyrus suggests, mind spinning more deviously than Celestia could possibly imagine.

“Undoubtedly.” She responds, making the pair break into rounds of wicked crowing.

Ohhhhhh she’s going to be sooooooo mad! They both think in tandem, unbeknownst to each other. Once again, the conversation slows to a comfortable stop, allowing the pair to finish divulging in the deliciously tart hibiscus tea and perfectly moist carrot cake. Glancing to the clock, Cyrus lets out a massive groan.

“Ah, it’s already three? I gotta go, otherwise Cutlass is going to blow up the castle looking for me,” Cyrus sighed, slapping his thighs as he gets to his feet, “it was really nice talking to you, Celestia.”

“Likewise, Mr. Huang. Don’t worry about the tableware. You go on, I know of Cutlass’ reputation,” Celestia happily chimes, standing up herself, “before you go, I would like to say one last thing.”

“As you said, there are a lot of dogs. While it’s easy to say you don’t really care, I know firsthoof how aggravating it can be. What I’m trying to say is, you do matter. Take care.” She lectures in a more serious yet kind tone. Pressing his lips together, Cyrus nods in appreciation.

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.” With one last wave, Cyrus slips out the door and off to wherever he was meant to go.

A friend… they are few and far between for me… things are going pretty well! Finally. Harmony, I pray there are no diplomatic emergencies in my future… Celestia thinks while gently wrapping the dishes in her golden glow, ‘accidentally’ knocking Manehatten Rent Prices: An Argument For The Contrary onto the floor in her journey to the servant’s tray. Flopping down on her bed, she summons the rest of the carrot cake, humming a happy tune.

Author's Note

.... I may have lied about my promised update schedule.

Things have been very busy on my end. I cannot guarantee when I will next post, but I hope there won't be as long of a gap compared to this one.

As always thanks for reading! :heart:

9. 引狼入室 [Inviting the wolf to your home] part 1

A week later…

They made it.

Sitting on the edge of the cliff, the four gaze upon the castle. Two of them with ravenous glee. The other two with hopeful trepidation.

The goal of their species would be met soon.

She was waiting.

Messiah. Liberator. Savior.

As one, they descend down, blackened coats blending into the night unseen.

Meanwhile, in the throne room…

Luna can feel her hindquarters start to go numb. Shifting to encourage blood flow, she tries to mitigate the oncoming onslaught of pins and needles she was about to experience. She groans inwardly as her hindlegs start to prick and crinkle, crawling uncomfortably as her muscles seize, unwilling to respond to her requests to move them.

Such is the woes of night court.

As vigilant as herself, the night guard stands still, presiding over night court as peacekeepers. Their faces remain as stony as Luna’s as she tries her level hardest to banish her discomfort chipping away at her mental state. Gently standing so as not to draw attention to herself, she allows the last few remote sections of her legs to experience normal blood flow again, conquering her pins and needles once more.

A hollow victory, she had already gone through this four times, and would certainly go through it at least five more before night court finished. Although pins and needles are not what is bothering her. It is more the why. Usually, Luna maintains a strict anti-pins-and-needles routine, shifting her legs and hindquarters subtly every five minutes (on the dot, a clock would be less accurate) to ensure normalcy.

Today was very different. Luna’s usually uncontestable discipline had been completely shattered by an old foe: boredom. Months ago, the boredom’s blade would be dull, barely able to cause a chink in her iron will. And why would it? She had nothing to look forward to doing, other than smash up training dummies or sit and unwillingly reminisce about the past…

But that had changed. Luna had something to look forward to. The études and rather recent Easy pieces by Sweet Lullaby sitting on the music holder of her beautiful brown Hammersoft and Co. upright, her recently purchased bottle of Equestrian Mead (to be enjoyed with the resident two-legged alcoholic), and a secret little project covered by a unassuming white cloth, hidden behind her desk.

Unfortunately, the universe must maintain its cold balance, and the blade of boredom has been sharpened by these newfound joys. All of a sudden, Luna would be daydreaming (nightdreaming?) about her next practice session. Which pieces needed work? Which passages?

What do I want to work on for my next lesson? My technical skill has been lacking, maybe that? Hmmmmm… I wonder if he’ll play something for me… the way his ‘fingers’ move… magical… beauty…

Three minutes pass. No shuffling of the legs. No thought paid to the oncoming cramps.

Mmmmmmm… I should show him the observatory. And all the fixed stars for navigation… Oh! I can tell him that story about the time my sister got helplessly lost… in a field!

Another four minutes pass. The warning signals sent to her brain are utterly ignored.

I’ll bring the mead up. We can enjoy it together… I hope he doesn’t have anything on the next day, this mead should be very alcoholic…

AHHHH AGAIN!

With no other option, her muscles seize, sending rivulets of pain up her leg and forcing her to scrunch her face up in pain. Again, the odd and silent dance is performed by Luna. She forces her lips into a bored scowl, impatiently sitting back down.

This bucking sucks. Sucks more than a harlot in a brothel. I beg all facets of Harmony. Free me from this prison of stillness! Allow me to return to… ANYTHING BUT THIS.

Luna almost punctuated that thought with an angry stamp of her hoof. Grumbling inwardly, she casts her gaze on the empty halls, tracing the architecture.

Curse our unsynchronised sleep schedules! It would only bearable if I could walk in his dreams… alas, I’d have more luck smashing my head through the floor…

That last bit of errant musing was less errant than it seemed. Between the incredibly uncomfortable silence and the sheer emptiness of the hall, Luna really was considering smashing her head through the floor.

I am possibly the only pony in the castle capable of such a feat… I would need a sizable head start, it would only be accomplished with a proper dive…

Once again, Luna’s brain finds any small amusement to distract from her unbearable boredom.

Mhhhhhhhhh lalilulelo…

The time drips as slow as molasses while cycles of pins and needles assault her, driving quite nearly insane.

Maybe I should just mandate that he come hang out with me. I have the power to! She grumpily thinks, half serious about marching straight into her room and penning said decree. She would not be stopped! Those peasants could argue all they wanted! Moan to her about how was ‘irresponsibly exercising her executive power’. However, a tiny deduction stops her, almost small enough for her to have ignored.

Thou are obsessed. Her left side brain announces, cutting through Luna’s tyrannical fantasy in an instant.

Right side brain pauses, then laughs, rebutting. Oh cmon. It’s normal to miss my friend when one is being forced to glue thine ass onto a cold marble throne. Why can’t Tia get this thing heated! The spell isn’t even that hard!

Get real, Left side brain retorts, thou are literally seeing him after this and yet thou are fantasizing about legally binding him to you. Why don’t thou just ask him to marry thee? It is essentially the same, legally binding and all, but won’t cause a riot.

Marriage?! Are thou daft? Ha! And I thought it was my job to make jokes, Logic.

Emotion. Look at the facts. One, thou think of him too much to be considered a friend. Two, thou find any excuse to spend more time with him. Three, are thou forgetting the amount of times I had to stop you from ogling his strangely shaped ‘collar’ bones?

Emotion sputters at the memory, causing Luna to blush. That particular day, Luna had decided to show off her magical prowess, chasing Cyrus around with a water whip. Of course, his shirt got soaked and he had to take it off to dry.

I… Um… That was not a case of attraction! I was simply curious. Yep…

If Luna’s Logical brain had a face, it would definitely have an eyebrow raised.

Really. Is that why the image is seared into thy memory? The sheer novelty? Not because they’re called COLLAR bones AND they rest around his neck? Don’t lie to me, I know all your kinks. And the fact that he has-

SHUT UP, LOGIC! Emotion screams out of embarrassment.

Meanwhile, in reality, Luna tries her hardest to suppress the immense amount of cringe brought forth by her mental dialogue.

It is NOT like that! It just looks weird and I was curious. I am not a freak who likes strange two legged, tall, scruffy… funny… Emotion trails off.

I… no. It is too soon. I barely know him!

Yet, whenever thou are together, time rushes by like a river.

That’s normal for friends, especially close ones.

Not according to my bank of memory.

Oh come on! Thou are the one who is meant to be talking me down!

Why?

Because you usually do! That is thy job, Logic. Whenever I am about to rush headfirst into embarrassment, thou stop me!

Because I can’t take it anymore. Correction: we can’t take it anymore.

That thought causes Luna to freeze. Emotion, not willing to lose another debate to Logic, switches tactics, bringing forth a tidal wave of doubts.

I am being desperate. Latching onto him after knowing him for two months. Pathetic. Does he even think of me in the same way? Of course he doesn't-

Maybe not, Logic interjects, what evidence do you have, Emotion?

Who needs evidence?! Besides, I’ve been hurt too much. This would kill us. Thou know it.

Logic remains silent.

We should-

The double doors to the throne room burst open, accompanied by a hallowed cry.

“Noctra Havarax!”

Logic and Emotion are blasted from Luna’s consciousness, replaced by cold, hard shock, enough to turn Luna’s blood to ice.

Standing before her are two thestrals, heads held high, exposing their fragile necks toward her in the ultimate form of respect. Their eyes, despite the brightness of the room, still glow a vicious red. Their weapons, although sheathed, are displayed threateningly across their chests.

Luna’s guards are the first to react, forming a protective barrier between her and the four visiting batponies. The Captain, a unicorn with a bright yellow coat, steps forward, shouting: “Halt! Weapons are not permitted to be carried by unauthorized ponies. Drop them, now!”

The scarred one steps forward, much to the chagrin of the one to his left. Growling, he begins to click. Luna, still recovering from her shock, barely registers what he says.

“Filthy sun dwellers! I am Brantus of Noctra Za’lav. Release our sovereign at once or prepare to die!” He crouches low, gripping the hilt of his weapon in his mouth.

“T-this can’t be r-real… this can’t…” A batpony guard whispers, her eyes shrunk into pinpricks. Her rattling armor draws the attention of her commanding officer.

“Private Lavender! What are you playing at?! Get into formation, NOW!” The Captain bellows, causing Private Lavender’s basic training to override her fear. She shakily scurries into position, almost driving her face into the floor with how unstable her hooving is. Brantus throws back his head, letting out a horrific cackle.

“Sun-slave!” Brantus taunts, baring his fangs in a threatening grin and causing the trembling Private Lavender to squeak in fear. Unable to stand by any longer, Brantus’ male companion steps forward, his oak tree necklace bouncing on his chest as he puts his body between Brantus and the night guard.

“Please, let us not. We are here in peace. No fight.” He pleads in broken Equish.

“Then why bring the weapons?” The Captain snarls.

“Quite, Darvius. There can be no peace between us and them.” Brantus responds, unsheathing his blade. Darvius grunts in frustration, glaring daggers at Brantus.

“Was this really your plan? See reason, you fool! We are in their territory, how are we meant to win? Even now we are outnumbered.” Darvius pleads, desperately trying to diffuse the situation.

“Then I die gloriously and bravely! Liberating Noctra Havarax from her prison! They will shout my name as they raze this-”

“Enough!” Luna punctuates her shout with a firm stamp of her hoof. Instantly, the two intruders snap to face Luna, bowing till their snoots kiss the floor. Forcing down a silent and nervous swallow, Luna steps down from the throne.

“Stand down. Allow me passage, Captain Arcana.” Luna orders, much to the general displeasure of the addressed Captain. She begrudgingly steps aside, allowing Luna to come forward.

“Thou may face me.” Luna slips into Threstralian, the words leaving a lingering aftertaste of uncomfortable memories. In sync, Brantus and Darvius raise their heads, eyes pointed directly at her hooves. Anywhere else would mean blasphemy. An old custom. Another reminder of a violent past.

She promised me there was NO trace left! How is this possible!? What did he mean by ‘prison’! Luna’s subconscious screams, aiding the rising panic in her chest. If they were still around, especially after her banishment……

Deal with this first. Luna pulls herself back into the present, resolving to deal with one crisis at a time.

“Welcome, esteemed guests. Have thou traveled far?” Luna asks as confidently as she can, cringing at her inability to hide the slight waver in her voice. Brantus scowls, casting an untrusting gaze across the room.

“Noctra Havarax, I can hear the pain in your voice. Say the word and will rip down your captors. You can be free to bring eternal-”

“Shut your bucking flabbering mouth, will you?” Darvus hisses in a rare bout of anger, “were you dropped as a foal?”

“I’m not listening to some placid grass eater!” Brantus retorts, growling at his companion. The pair stare at each other with the intensity of a thousand suns, causing Luna to shuffle nervously on her hooves. Eventually, the awkwardness becomes too heavy to bear, and Luna has to intervene.

“The journey must have been long, and thou both must be exhausted. Perhaps we can continue this conversation tomorrow evening?” Luna offers with a pained smile. Brantus puffs out his chest, but before he can speak he is cut off by Darvius.

“Thank you for kind offer, Noctra Havarax. We are allow tiredness to speak,” Darvius gives Brantus the hardest glare he can possibly muster, “We accept Noctra Havarax’s wisdom. No foolishness tonight.”

With that, loosens the strap holding his crescent scimitar to his chest, allowing it to clatter to the floor.

“Don’t be stupid, Brantus, for once in your life, think. What’s going to happen to Y’valt?”

A tense silence follows, occasionally broken by the clinking of armor from a guard uncomfortably shifting their weight. All eyes are locked onto Brantus, each pony in the room trying to predict what he’d do next.

His blade clatters to the floor. Not without a frustrated grunt. A collective sigh of relief is shared amongst the guard as he kicks his weapon away from himself. Scowling, and no doubt thinking of all the ways he could rip Luna’s contingent of guards apart, Brantus nods his head.

“I follow you, Noctra Havarax. I do your wish.” Brantus grates in his incredibly broken equish. Hearing that, Luna’s stomach unknots and she dips her head slightly, trying her hardest not to awkwardly shuffle on the spot.

“Excellent. Then…perhaps it is best if thou are shown to the guest rooms?” Luna barely squeezes out, turning toward Captain Arcana, pressing her lips together to remain as stoic and stony as possible, “If you would, Captain…”

Captain Arcana nods with an unhappy scowl, clearly wanting to protest the order.

“Follow me,” Arcana almost splits at the batpony intruders, animosity and distrust flowing through her words, “guards, on me. I will inform Your Majesty when it is done.”

Arcana marches out in double time, causing Brantus and Darvius to have to rush to catch up. The rest of the guard soon follow, leaving Luna alone to stare at her dim reflection in the polished marble.

Finally, she lets out the shaky breath she had been holding for the past fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes that felt like a lifetime.

One hour later, outside Celestia’s chambers…

Night Light is more of a flat white kinda stallion, but tonight it’s efficiency over taste. To be honest, for many nights it has been efficiency over taste and the acid reflux has been a bit of a problem.

A small problem which is more telling of a deeper problem: Night Light is meant to be semi-retired. Instead of scrambling to prepare a short briefing about the resurgence of a terrorist organization that was thought to have been wiped out about six-hundred years ago, he was meant to be preparing government advertisements. Public library events and the like. Mundane. He could even work from home, book time to see his daughter or son, not get randomly called to midnight briefings.

“Piss on it, you bucking shitter…” Night Light mutters to no pony in particular. As in, no pony that is in the room. He really meant to say that to his boss, Covert Shroud, who practically smashed his door down to tell him the news. Just like how she smashed his door open about a week ago to inform him about a case she was working on that needed his help.

Can't blame her, she’s new and eager to impress.

Fortunately, his wife was on a mare’s trip in Manehattan at the time. At the time Covert Shroud showed up, Night Light and his wife would usually be… uhhh…

Force of habit from when their kids were young.

He scans the documents for the seventh time this evening.

Six hundred years of hiding… practically no trace… Night Light muses, flipping through a once incredibly dusty file full of civilian reports, and they called this pony crazy for keeping these… if it wasn’t for this, we’d be casting in the dark…

Seemingly tall tales of red-eyed vampires flicker past his vision, each one taller than the last.

They ate my farm animals… they abducted my children… they mind controlled my husband into a cheating slut… Night Light narrates in his mind, patiently waiting for Their Majesties to call him in. Mumbling, he finishes off his espresso, practically burning a hole in his stomach with how much coffee he had drunk since waking up.

The creak of Celestia’s oak doors causes him to look up, just in time to spot the poor secret service agent scurry out the door. No words are needed, Night Light knew exactly what had happened.

General Stoneheart. And she’s probably pissed. Night Light deduces. Sighing, he picks up his things and trots into the room. Luna, Celestia, and the increasingly irritated Stoneheart are sat along Celestia’s coffee table. Stoneheart grunts in greeting as Night Light settles into his seat across from them.

“Oh thank every last God or Goddess that may or may not exist that it’s you. That last mare was bucking useless,” Stoneheart moans, slamming her coffee onto the table and wiping her mouth with the back of her hoof, “y’know, ever since you left, military ‘intelligence’ has been a lot less intelligent.”

Night Light grimaces at the praise. If only Stoneheart knew what her nickname was back at the office…

He wastes no time, arranging the various clippings and notes from his file onto the table.

“Let’s start here,” Night Light taps on the copy of a very old document, “a report of Noctra Za’lav written about six hundred years ago. I’m sure you are familiar with it, Your Solar Majesty.”

Celestia nods in response, carefully spreading a coat of jam onto her raisin scone before taking a dainty bite. Luna leans over for a better look.

“Noctra Za’lav sightings have become incredibly uncommon. Recent scouting reports show no sign of activity along their hideouts…” Luna scans to the bottom of the report, “Local sightings have been investigated and no evidence has been found. Given the terrain they are faced with it is unlikely they will survive the summer. Noctra Za’lav is now marked as defunct and inactive.”

Luna sinks back into her seat cushion while dragging a hoof down her face. She shoots Celestia a worried look and the sisters have a short conversation with their facial expressions.

Ok, folklore seems all but confirmed… Night Light thinks while shifting the next set of documents into focus. Clearing his throat he continues: “Exactly. However that is clearly not the case. It’s not exactly clear what their goal is, but from the brief rundown I received about what happened in the throne room… I think everypony gets it.”

Night Light pauses to push the documents toward the trio, allowing them a brief moment to scan the information he was presenting.

“Now, according to the last known record detailing Noctra Za’lav’s movements, they were last spotted along the South Luna Ocean, one of their holy-”

“Yeah yeah, we know! I’ve already sent my mares down to check it out. You got anything new?” Stoneheart interrupts, her annoyance beamed straight toward Night Light in a death glare, “if you’re going to be like that last officer, then there’s no point talking to ‘intelligence’. Like I always say, nothing beats marepower.”

Don’t kill her.. Don’t kill her… Don’t kill her… Night Light repeats in his head before calmly pointing to the documents displayed before him.

“You’re looking in the wrong place. The report was correct, there is no way they could have survived the heat of the summer.” Night Light explains, sitting back down in his seat. Stoneheart grimaces, tilting her head at Night Light.

“Riiiiight, and how exactly do these documents prove that? All I can see are the insane ramblings of crazy ponies. Stuff you’d see on a mag: ‘Vampires Are Real: They Got Me Pregnant Out Of Heat!’ What kind of trash is this?” Stoneheart grunts, tapping her hoof and firing Night Light an unimpressed frown.

“I agree, these articles aren’t the most reliable - until you look at why they were saved,” Night Light taps his hoof on the top of each report, “every single report came from a town bordering the twin peaks.”

Luna’s eyes shrink into pinpricks and she suppresses a nervous swallow. The ever brash general Stoneheart lets out a mocking scoff, waving a hoof in front of her face.

“I had high hopes. You’ve got nothing, dismis-”

“He is correct. They are at the twin peaks,” Luna interjects, almost reverent in the hushed whisper she spoke in, “there is no doubt in my mind.”

Stoneheart flings her head around to give Luna a (angry) quizzical look before remembering who exactly she was looking at. Her expression softens to a more respectful one as she says in a calm tone: “Your Majesty, I do not believe that these reports are… trustworthy enough.”

Luna opens her mouth, clearly trying to form a rebuttal, yet something stops her. Passing it off as dry mouth, she smacks her lips before taking a sip of water. Night Light quashes his urge to raise an eyebrow at Luna. Celestia exchanges a quick worried look between Night Light and Luna.

“That will be all. Everypony is dismissed.” Celestia swiftly shuts down the conversation, gesturing toward the door.

“I’ve got work to do. Your Majesties.” Stoneheart salutes before marching for the door, no doubt marching straight to the war room.

With her gone, I can finally confirm some suspicions… Night Light thinks, purposely delaying the packing away of his documents to buy time for Stoneheart to leave and to calculate his next move.

I can fumble for about… three questions. He calculates, stacking all his documents neatly on the table. Night Light coughs, gathering the attention of the princesses.

“Your Majesties, in the interest of security and saving ponypower, it’s best not to work in the dark.” Night Light tactically says, dancing around the elephant in the room. At least, the elephant Night Light thinks exists. A dead and uncomfortable silence follows, enough to make any lesser pony shrink away in fear. But to Night Light this silence spoke greater than words could. The stack of documents find their way into his folder.

Two left…

“I have a daughter and a son. Many others have daughters and sons. For them, I am capable of withstanding any threat.” Night Light continues, ensuring his tone stays respectable, disguising his questions in doublespeak. Carefully eyeing Celestia, he witnesses, for the first time, her expression change to something akin to frustration.

Again, silence. Night Light’s question is entirely ignored. His documents slip into his saddlebags.

One left. Make it count, Night Light.

“Y’know, funny thing is, I’ve always preached honesty to my son and daughter. Yet at the same time, for them, the truth can become obscured. I can lie like-”

“Dismissed!” Celestia blurts, slamming the conversation to an abrupt close. If Night Light was startled, he hid it immensely well, clipping his saddlebag shut with an elegant bow.

“Yes, Your Majesties.” Night Light drawls, trotting out of the room in a timely fashion. Suits of armor and various pieces of art fly past him as he races out of earshot. Once confident nopony could hear him, he lets out a long and drawn out groan of pure frustration. Bringing his hoof to his temples, he massages in a circle, trying to unwind his growing migraine.

I spend ten years keeping secrets and the one time I need a bit of truth, I’m shut down, Night Light whines inwardly, smacking his head to straighten out his thoughts, it’s not even your job, Night Light, don’t bother.

Groaning again, he gazes up to the empty night sky, fixing his mind on the vastness and allowing it to absorb some of his irritation.

Leave it alone, Night Light… Life is good, you have 36 days of leave saved up. Your son is successful. Your daughter? Even more so…

Hm.

Sons and daughters.

Ah buck it, I could never have left this alone anyway. Night Light resolves, heading straight toward the archives.

Just what are you hiding?

Meanwhile, Celestia’s chambers…

Smoke curls toward the ceiling, guided by a sparkling glow where it is eventually trapped in an expanding balloon of translucent gold.

Every window is sealed shut, layers upon layers of spells cast to ensure any errant smell, sound or sight is unable to exit.

Celestia takes a deep drag, burning half of her cigarette. She frowns at the taste, something akin to the smell of moldy radish. She levitates the box to her face. The cigarettes expired about seventy years ago.

Despite that, does the job. Celestia surmises, melting into her artificial relaxation. She spreads herself along the couch, not bothering to appear decent for her sister who is sitting opposite. Throwing her head back, she blows a massive smoke ring up into the air. It rises for a moment before it is swept away by her cleansing magic. Luna wrinkles her nose.

“Tia, I do not mind you… what was it you said? Smoking? But, I beseech you, please cover up thou privates. It is not a sight any need to see.” Luna snaps, breaking the awkward silence that had befell the room ever since Celestia started smoking.

“Oh piss off, Lu,” Celestia rambles, flicking a bit of ash toward Luna before taking another drag, blowing out whilst continuing her sentence, “literally every stallion and mare WISHES they could see me like this.”

“Fine, yes. But I am not literally every mare, I am thy sister. I do not need to see this.” Luna rebutts, turning her head away in disgust. Celestia grunts, lifting her butt up to unpin her tail, allowing it to come to rest in front of her privates.

“There. Happy? Since when were you the prude? Buzzkill.” Celestia snaps, smashing the rest of her cigarette into her teacup, swiftly drawing and lighting another one at the same time. Luna sniffs in response, dissociating from the room as she is pulled back into her thoughts.

Celestia seldom smokes, maybe once or twice every four hundred years or so. That’s what she tells herself anyway. A more accurate figure would be thrice every two hundred years, with each session usually spurred on by some kind of diplomatic nightmare. Usually one does the trick, but tonight called for more.

Many more.

The number one question is, how did they survive? It should have been impossible… They tried killing me… what? Countless times… Celestia muses, automatically taking another hit of nicotine before shoving some lemon drizzle cake down her gob. She frowns, the old cigarettes she is smoking severely affecting the taste of her sugary baked goods. Her eyes catch her sister.

Buuuuuuuuuuuck… just when things were starting to look up for Lu… the stress is going to make her- well probably us, explode. Celestia thinks, inspecting the ever distant, and almost quivering, Luna. Celestia scans the room, looking for something that could cheer her little sister up.

Her eyes settle on the faded text of the box in front of her.

Worth a shot…

“Hey, you want one? They’re good for stress.” Celestia offers, floating a cigarette to her sister’s side. Luna snaps out of her funk to give the white and orange cylinder a wary look.

“No. And by what thou have told me before, I shouldn’t. Thou did ban these, correct?” Luna snarks. Celestia scoffs.

“Ok, grouchy, suit yourself. More smokes for me. And I did ban them, they’re dangerous and addictive.” Celestia half jeers, half lectures, forcefully levitating the cigarette back into the box. Irate, Celestia takes another puff from her cigarette.

“Thou banned them under the grounds of danger, yet partake in them? All this preaching about honesty and virtue. Is that not the very definition of hypocrisy?” Luna mutters, venom entering her snide tone.

“Well, yeah, I did ban them. And yeah, it’s hypocritical. But it’s my ONE thing, Lu, my ONE THING THAT I CAN USE TO UNWIND!” Celestia almost screams, flinging spittle in the most unprincesslike manner, before continuing in a more relaxed, yet grouchy, manner, “Besides. I have perfect control. I can quit when I want.”

“Okay. Sure. I believe thee. Perfect control. Where have I heard this before?” Luna snarks, watching her sister take another bite of cake before delivering the killing blow: “Shove more cake down thy throat, tubby, thou certainly have no issues with addiction! Thou overgrown wine barrel with wings! ”

“Wine barrel!?!? I… You!...” Celestia puffs in indignation, gasping like a fish out of water for a rebuttal. In a moment of intense anger, her filter slips: “You bitch. Do you have any BUCKING idea how stressful taking care of you is? All your whining, yapping in my ear like an untrained dog. Ungrateful shit, don’t talk to me like that!” It exits Celestia’s mouth before she can think about what she was saying.

Luna looks shattered.

Before any semblance of an apology can form on Celestia’s lips, the room is filled with a cyan flash, and Luna is there no more.

Liar.

Author's Note

Hello.

I uhh... lost track of time and uhhh...

Listen, I have an excuse. University! Master's programme! Project! Cut me some slack I'm trying to cure cancer! (not really, my boss is trying to cure cancer, I'm more of a minion who runs samples for him)

Sorry its taken so long, my mind is occupied with too many other things to sit down and think about horsewords. Thankfully I don't have any lectures next year meaning I should have extra time to write (famous last words).

I've decided to split this chapter up into three parts - mostly because I felt bad for not publishing anything for a while but also because my plan for this chapter is really long and thinking about how long it was was discouraging me from sitting down and writing.

I hope what I've written is not too disappointing. I spent a lot of time deleting sections and rewriting them because I just couldn't get it right. But this is what I've decided on so I'm going to roll with it.

As always, thank you all for reading. Happy belated Christmas and new year to all. Good tidings etc etc. Have fun. Live life.